M1S8  PARDOE'S 


COMPLETE   WORKS 


COMPRISING 


THE   CONFESSIONS   OF   A   PRETTY   WOMAN. 

THE   JEALOUS   WIFE. 

THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 

THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 

THE   ROMANCE   OF   THE   HAREM. 


BY 

MISS   JULIA   PARDOE. 


COMPLETE   IN   ONE   VOLUME. 


^•^   OF  THE         v^ 

[U1II7BESIT7] 
J)  I)  tltt  5  c TpTTi  a : 

T.    B.    PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS, 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET, 


^8  5*1^ 


PREFACE. 


Thb  only  explanation  required  by  the  following  pages  is,  perhaps,  a  brief  account  of 
the  manner  in  which  they  came  into  my  possession.  Driven,  for  change  of  air,  into  a 
distant  county,  after  a  long  and  severe  illness,  I  accepted  the  hospitality  of  a  friend  liv- 
ing in  one  of  those  beautiful  villages  which  are  to  be  found  in  no  other  country  than  our 
own.  The  castellated  cottage  of  my  hostess,  half-smothered  in  creeping  roses,  white 
jasmine,  and  passion-flowers,  stood  midway  upon  a  gentle  slope  which  formed  the 
southward  boundary  of  the  village-green :  the  gray  old  church,  overtopped  by  three 
venerable  yews,  and  surrounded  by  its  humble  gravestones,  joined  the  shrubberies  on 
the  east ;  snug  cottages,  with  each  its  fenced-in  garden,  and  its  group  of  fruit-trees, 
were  scattered  along  the  base  of  a  low  range  of  hills,  clothed  with  beeches ;  and,  at  an 
easy  walk  from  the  hamlet,  rose  a  stately  mansion,  with  an  extensive  park,  stocked 
with  dcf  r,  and  rich  in  timber.  This  noble  property  was  inhabited  by  a  widow  lady, 
whose  extraordinary  matron-beauty  startled  me  when  I  saw  her,  for  the  first  time,  at 
the  village- church  ;  and  induced  inquiries  on  my  part,  to  which  the  replies  only  served 
to  increase  my  curiosity.  I  was  told  that  she  was  immensely  rich,  profusely  and  un- 
weariedly  charitable,  but  that  a  dark  shadow  hung  over  her  former  life,  by  which,  even 
now,  her  mood  and  manner  were  occasionally  influenced. 

Her  circle  was  limited,  for  she  would  not  tolerate  mere  acquaintance ;  and  some  of 
the  families  of  the  neighborhood  shrank  from  decided  friendship  with  an  individual  who 
might  compromise  them,  although  her  hair  had  become  gray,  and  that  her  lofty  figure 
was  somewhat  bowed  beneath  the  pressure  of  time. 

From  her  own  hand  I  received  this  written  record  of  the  past,  only  a  week  or  two 
befoxe  her  death ;  and  I  give  it  (with  her  permission)  to  the  world,  in  all  confidence 
that  such  a  transcript  of  the  real  struggles  of  a  woman's  mind,  and  of  the  actual  trials 
of  a  woman's  life,  will  present  more  lasting  and  wholesome  interest  than  the  romaniia 
creations  of  fiction,  or  the  poetical  miseries  of  a  merely  fertile  fancy. 

March,  184&. 


CONFESSIONS  OP  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

1  DO  not  know  why  I  am  about  lo  write  my 
own  memoirs.  It  is  said  that  a  bhnd  man 
should  not  judge  of  colors,  but  I  am  by  no 
means  inclined  to  submit  to  the  truth  of  the 
sentiment.  Why  should  not  a  ci-devant  beauty, 
reduced  to  a  tour  de  tele  and  metallic  teeth,  be 
able  to  lay  hare  the  intricate  recesses  of  a 
pretty  woman's  heart,  because  that  woman  may 
chance  to  have  been  herself!  Perhaps  it  is 
merely  to  prove  the  invalidity  of  the  proverb 
that  I  have  conceived  the  project  of  recording 
nay  own  confessions  ;  and  it  is  very  possible 
that  I  may,  in  this,  be  about  as  wise  as  the  boy 
who  thrust  bis  hand  into  a  wasp's  nest,  to  se- 
cure the  honey  before  any  one  else  could  appro- 
priate the  prize  ;  but  1  have  at  least  tile  conso- 
lation of  feeling  that  I  can  only  be  canvassed 
and  condenmed  in  effigy,  for  I  have  far  too 
much  respect  for  the  tranquillity  of  my  old  age 
to  appear  on  tlie  title-page  of  a  book  ;  and  the 
success  of  my  afternoon  nap,  or  my  evening 
rubber,  will  consequently  run  no  risk  of  being 
periled  by  the  comments  and  criticism  of  the 
public  ;  or  the  guesses  and  gossipry  of  my  own 
immediate  circle,  who  will  at  once  find  a  reply 
to  their  suspicions  when  they  look  me  in  the 
face. 

Heroes,  monarchs,  and  statesmen  (I  place  the 
heroes  in  advance  advisedly)  have  bards  and 
historians  to  sing  and  say  all  their  great  deeds  ; 
therefore,  it  is  truly  an  excess  of  self-immola- 
tion when  they  meddle  with  the  work,  and  rub 
in  the  shadows  of  the  picture  as  a  pastime  ; 
and  an  equal  fully  when  they  take  pen  in  hand, 
for  the  purpose  of  broadening  th-e  lights.  In  the 
first  case,  all  the  world  laugh  at  tliem  as  fools, 
for  having  betrayed  their  own  poor  and  petty 
weaknesses;  while  in  the  second  it  is  still 
worse,  inasmuch  as  no  one  believes  one  sylla- 
ble of  the  self-laudatory  labor,  which  to  all, 
save  the  workman,  appears  to  be  a  mere  web  of 
egotism  and  fatuity.  This,  however,  is  far 
from  being  the  case  with  that  potent  and  influ- 
ential portion  of  the  creation  entitled  pretty 
women.  Where  lives  the  man  who  could  un- 
dertake the  biography  of  one  of  these  1  He 
can  talk  of  well-Cougbt  battles,  intriguing  cab- 
inets, court-gossip,  or  party  measures  ;  but  what 
knows  he  about  flirtations,  or  palpitations,  or 
heart-economy!  How  can  he  undertake  to 
raise  one  veil  after  another,  each  as  mysterious 
as  that  of  Vesta,  so  as  to  lay  bare  the  myriad 
mysteries  of  a  woman's  spirit  1 

Pooh  !  pooh  !  Man,  all  self-sufficient  as  he  es- 
teems himself,  would  deserve  the  fate  of  the 


I  detected  school-boy,  did  he  even  attempt  so  im- 
possible a  feat. 

I  can  give  another  reason,  also,  for  thus  vol- 
unteering a  record  of  the  past  in  its  relation  to 
myself  The  world  has  run  wild,  of  late  years, 
upon  biographies  and  auto-biographies.  Every 
class  of  society  has  contributed  its  quota  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  "a  discerning  public;" 
and  each  succeeding  triplicate  of  volumes  has 
been  received  with  welcome.  From  the  quaint 
sketching  of  dear  old  Pepys,  and  the  sonorous 
periods  of  stately  Clarendon,  to  the  "dramatic 
twaddle"  of  Miss  Burney,  and  the  professional 
sallies  and  struggles  of  defunct  players,  nothing 
appears  to  have  come  amiss  ;  and  this  is  just 
as  it  should  be. 

"  The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man  ;" 
and  it  acquires  an  additional  zest  when  we 
have  reason  to  apprehend  (as  must  frequently 
be  the  case)  that  we  were  never  intended  to 
have  the  opportunity  of  doing  it  at  all.  How 
many  "sayings  and  doings,"  meant  for  the  se- 
clusion of  liome  ;  how  many  opinions  and  sen- 
timents, uttered  only  for  the  privacy  of  the 
family  circle  ;  how  many  letters,  scratched  of! 
a  tutto  volo  da  penna,  have  been  put  to  press, 
injurious  to  the  memory  of  the  dead,  and  painful 
to  the  feelings  of  the  living  ! 

For  my  own  part,  whenever  I  meet  with  an 
advertised   announcement  of  the   forthcoming 
"  biography"  or  "  memoirs"  of  some  deceased 
celebrity,  whether  noble,  political,  literary,  fash- 
ionable, or  dramatic,  I  am  invariably  hst  in  as- 
I  tonishment  at  the  reckless  courage  of  the  indi- 
!  vidual  who  left  such  a  task  of  delicacy  and  diffi- 
I  culty  to  be  performed  by  others  ;  when,  at  the 
j  expense  of  a  little  labor,  he  could  have  accoiin- 
j  plished  it  himself,  adducing  his  own  motives,  and 
assigning  his  own  reasons,  for  a  thousand  ac 
tions  which  must  inevitably  suffer  from  miscon- 
struction. 
!      If  then   such  false  readings  may  and   must 
be  the  result  of  the  interference  of  a  second 
person  in  the  written  lives  of  statesmen,  poets, 
and  players,  what  had  /  to  expect,  if  I  left  mj 
motives,  reasons,  actions,  and  impulses,  to  he 
decided  upon  by  others  1    Truly,  a  pretty  woman 
resolved   (as  I  am)   to  be  frank,  and  truthful, 
I  and  honest,  has  more  than  sufficient  cause  to 
I  apprehend  a  host  of  evil  judgments,  not  only 
from  one  sex,  but  from  both ;  and  can,  there- 
fore, ill  afford  to  leave  herself  without  that  best 
of  all  advocacy — her  own.     An  acknovvledgefi' 
beauty,   like    the    turquoise-flowering    flax,    ia 
marked,  even  from  the  first  years  of  her  bloom- 
ing girlhood,  for  future  appreciation  :  the  germ 
is  the  index  of  the  maturity ;  but  she  must  bo 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


weil  immersed  in  the  stuj.'nant  waters  of  envy  | 
and  maliciousness,  and  well  beaten  by  tbe  i 
cudgels  of  jealousy  and  miscon&truclioii,  be- 
fore she  is  deemed  fitted  for  the  uses  of  the ' 
world  ;  and  the  parallel  holds  good  to  t^ie  last ; 
for  neither  the  beauty  nor  the  flax  is  estimated 
at  its  real  value,  until  all  that  charmed  the  eye 
has  been  destroyed,  and  that  nothing  is  left  but 
the. good  touuh  fibre  which  may  render  their 
available  qualities  serviceable  to  others. 

Let  no  one  imagine,  however,  that  I  deem  it 
expedient  to  offer  an  apology  for  these  my  coti- 
fessions.  Far  from  it.  I  consider  that  I  am 
doing  the  world  a  service  by  their  transcription. 
My  own  sex  may  learn  better  to  analyze  their 
feelings  and  actions  by  the  perusal,  and  the 
other  to  be  less  ready  to  misjudge  both. 

Of  this  I  am  well  assured,  that  men,  in  the 
aggregate,  can  form  no  just  or  correct  idea  of 
the  trials  and  struggles  of  a  woman's  life.  It  is 
an  admitted  conventionalism,  that  the  world 
was  made  (or  man,  and  home  for  woman.  Be 
it  sw.  on  the  broad  basis  upon  which  it  should 
be  understood.  I<et  the  stronger  and  the  holder 
portion  of  creation  strive  and  wrestle  with  the 
ocean-waves  of  public  life  :  they  are  the  best 
fitted  to  its  duties  ;  hut  let  them  not  imagine 
that  there  can  be  no  "  death  from  drowning" 
in  the  mere  placid-seeming  river.  The  violence 
of  the  cataract  corrodes  but  slightly  the  face  of 
the  rock  over  which  it  pours  its  impetuous 
volume;  hut  the  slow  and  monotonous  dropping 
of  the  domeslii  drain  wears  a  deep  hollow  in 
the  surface  of  li  e  stone  upon  which  it  falls. 

Now  and  then  we  hear  of  a  suicide  in  what 
is  called  "  genteel  life  ;"  and  it  is  always  a  man 
who  has  had  recourse  to  the  razor  or  the  pistol 
— the  moral  coward's  remedy  for  worldly  dis- 
appointment. No  woman,  save  among  the  more 
degraded  of  the  sex  (except,  indeed,  in  very 
rare  instances,  where  she  commits  self-destruc- 
tion in  conjunction  %vith  a  lover  or  a  husband, 
and  cannot,  consequently,  be  correctly  esteemed 
a  free  agent,  but  rather  as  acting  under  a  tan- 
gible and  controlling  influence),  ever  contem- 
plates such  a  method  of  release  from  trial ;  and 
thus  the  obituary  of  the  year  teems  with  cases 
of  female  consumpticm  and  heart-complaint. 
Ay,  truly  !  'lis  no  misnomer — heart-complaint ! 
— where  the  thread  is  most  worn,  there  it 
breaks;  and  the  "  we^tker  vessel"  carries  her 
sorrows  with  Ik.t  to  the  grave,  and  hides  them 
there. 

But  the  word  grave  has  startled  me  !  I  have 
no  intention  to  moralize.  My  life  contains  iis 
own  moral.  I  will  leave  men  to  tlieir  sell- 
satisficd  view  of  the  economy  of  human  nature. 
It  is,  at  best,  a  very  harmless  egotism  :  for  ilu-y 
arc  -lo  sooner  in  care  or  in  nece.ssity.  than  they, 
one  and  all,  recant  their  error — at  least,  until 
they  no  longer  re(|uire  counsel  or  consolation  ; 
ami  this  fact  may  well  make  women  smile  at 
their  ilelusion,  and  forgive  it. 
Thus  much  by  way  of  preface. 
My  father  v.  as  a  wealthy  merchant.  Of  a 
highly  respectable  but  impovcriabed  family,  he 
had  received  for  all  portion  an  admirable  com- 
mercial education,  and  a  re(;oiniMendatory  letter 
to  one  of  the  first  eslabli.>diiiients  in  London. 

Unlike  such  lMls^lTes  in  general,  which  are 
commonly  "bought  off"  by  a  family  dinner, 
»»r  ••  thrown  off"   with  an  apology,  the  docu- 


ment in  question  procured  for  him  a  hish  stooi 
in  the  oflice  of  the  Messieurs  Ostialdiston,  and 
a  daily  seat  at  their  table,  while  his  own  good 
and  useful  qualities  did  the  rest. 

There  was,  I  believe,  some  distant  relation- 
ship between  the  principals  and  their  young 
clerk,  wliicb  doubtless  cemented  the  connec- 
tion ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  thus  much  is 
certain,  that  my  father  had  not  been  more  than 
five  years  in  their  counting-house,  when  he  was 
intrusted  with  a  mission  of  great  importance  to 
the  West-Indies;  of  which  he  acquitted  him- 
self so  skilfully,  that  the  brothers,  on  his  return, 
felt  that  they  could  offer  to  him  no  recompense 
more  adequate  than  a  share  in  their  gigantic 
establishment.  They  were  no  longer  young 
men  :  began  to  prefer  port  wine  to  burgundy, 
and  a  comfortable  nap  in  an  easy  chair  aftei 
dinner,  to  a  renewal  of  business  ;  and  thus  they 
found  it  pleasant  and  profitable  to  transfer  the 
overplus  of  their  occupation  to  their  young,  and 
active,  and  intelligent  partner. 

My  father  made  three  voyages  to  the  islands 
before  the  death  of  the  younger  Mr.  Osbaldis- 
ton  ;  and  became  an  experienced  man  of  busi- 
ness at  an  age  when  most  merchants  are  merely 
in  their  novitiate.  Advancing  years,  and  the 
loss  of  his  only  brother  and  near  relative,  and 
moreover  his  junior,  began  to  produce  their 
effect  upon  the  head  of  the  firm  ;  who,  ere  long, 
abandoned  all  the  interests  of  the  house  to  my 
father,  and  contented  himself  with  sinning  his 
name  to  transfer-deeds  and  bank-checks,  loun- 
ging away  his  mornings  in  the  warehouses, 
and  giving  himself  up  to  the  care  of  his  cook 
and  valet  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

Nor  had  the  old  gentleman  ever  reason  to 
repent  his  confidence  ;  for  when  he  was.  in  his 
turn,  gathered  to  his  fathers,  he  died  calmly,  in 
the  comfortable  conviction  that  all  his  depend- 
ents could  live  respectably  thereafter  on  their 
several  legacies,  without  seeking  a  new  and 
strange  servitude  ;  and  that  my  father  was  not 
only  the  proprietor  of  a  magnificent  business, 
but  that  his  name  was  "  good  "  for  some  £80,000 
at  his  banker's. 

Happy  testator  !  and  still  happier  legatee  ! 
My  father  was  only  two-and-thirty  years  of  age 
when  he  was  thus  cast  upon  the  world  ;  but, 
unlike  many  other  young  men,  he  did  not  relax 
an  effort  in  the  pleasant  occupation  of  money- 
making.  Let  it  not  be  supposed,  however,  that 
his  per.-<everance  arose  from  a  sordid  love  ot 
gold.  Far  from  it.  He  had  his  projects.  Riches 
were  to  be  the  means,  and  not  the  enil.  of  his 
ambition.  He  admitted  no  partner  into  the 
hou.se.  He  was  sufficient  to  himself;  and  he 
would  not  delay  the  accom|)lishment  of  his 
hope,  by  dividing  and  subdividing  his  receipts. 
At  the  termination  of  a  couple  of  years  he 
ventured  upon  a  gigantic  speculation.  Many 
of  his  friends  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and 
exclaimed  upon  his  rashness,  in  an  unctuous 
and  tranquil  lone,  which  satisfied  their  hearers 
that  It  would  be  no  particular  heart-break  to 
themselves  even  if  he  should  happen  to  have, 
as  they  expressed  it,  "kicked  down  all  that  he 
was  worth  ;"  but,  luckily,  they  were  not  put  to 
the  trial,  for  he  was  still  the  favorite  of  for- 
tune ;  and,  after  the  suspense  of  a  few  months, 
he  awoke  one  morning  worth  X500,000. 

I  think  I  have  already  shown  that  my  father 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


was  a  wise  man  ;  nor  did  his  mother-wit  for- 
sake him  on  this  occasion.  He  was  no  gambler 
at  heart,  so  he  abandoned  all  speculation  for 
the  future;  and  while  his  anxious  friends  were 
awaiting  from  day  to  day  the  intelligence  that 
he  had  again  tempted  the  smiles  of  his  slippery 
patroness,  they  were  startled  and  surprised 
(in  some  cases  it  was  even  hinted  not  pleas- 
antly), by  learning  that  he  had  disposed  of  his 
house  in  the  city  for  an  enormous  sum,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  starting  for  a  tour  on  the 
Continent. 

Circumstances  alter  habits,  says  the  Span- 
iard ;  and  it  was  certainly  an  apothegm  per- 
fectly ap|)licab]e  to  my  father's  case  ;  for  he  no 
sooner  saoolc  the  dust  of  commerce  from  his 
feet,  than  he  flung  away  with  it  all  the  habits 
of  his  past  life.  Not  to  play  the  purse-proud 
faineant,  however,  did  he  do  this.  He  had 
higher  aims  than  that  of  lounging  through  ex- 
istence. He  knew  that  he  had  been  a  capital 
man  of  business.  He  was  reminded  of  the  fact 
by  every  hat  that  was  lifted  to  him  as  he  passed 
along  the  city  streets  ;  his  purpose  was  now  to 
become  an  accomplished  gentleman  ;  not  a  pro- 
found scholar,  nor  a  scientific  virtuoso ;  he  well 
knew  that  it  was  too  late  to  indulge  in  such 
lofty  dreams  as  those ;  nor  was  he  quite  sure 
that  erudite  acquirements  would  at  all  further 
the  plan  and  project  upon  which  he  had  built 
up  his  own  particular  Chateau  en  Espagne.  His 
aim  was  simply  to  become  a  man  of  tFie  world  ; 
what,  in  the  days  of  Addison  and  Steele,  would 
have  been  called  "  a  pretty  fellow  ;"  and  what 
we,  in  our  times,  understand  by  "  a  man  about 
town  ;"  only  shorn  of  his  vices,  and  delivered 
from  his  duns. 

Abroad  he  went  then.  Conveniently  but  not 
ostentatiously  attended,  he  traversed  France, 
Germany,  Switzerland,  and  Italy  ;  visited  cathe- 
drals, galleries,  mountains,  and  waterfalls  ;  ope- 
ras, grottoes,  and  Houses  of  Assembly  ;  learned 
to  distinguish  one  popular  singer  from  another, 
and  to  call  the  premieres  danseuses  of  the  three 
great  capitals  by  their  correct  names  ;  pur- 
chased a  few  undoubted  {copies  of)  rare  pic- 
tures, some  fine  Roman  medals  (manufactured 
and  verdigreased  at  Milan),  and  several  equally 
well  authenticated  busts  and  statues ;  which 
were  all  carefully  packed,  and  transmitted  to 
an  English  warehouse,  to  await  his  return 
home  ;  after  which  he  had  nothing  more  to  do 
than  to  amuse  himself,  and  be  careful  not  to 
suffer  any  opportunity  of  accomplishing  his 
cherished  purpose  to  escape  him. 

He  was  not,  however,  destined  to  succeed 
while  on  his  tour.  He  had  made  many  eligible 
acquaintance,  but  he  was  a  shrewd  man  ;  and 
he  did  not  require  to  be  told  that  the  fashiona- 
bles and  hyper  fashionables  with  whom  he  had 
partaken  of  champagne  dinners,  and  whom  he 
had  accommodated  with  seats  in  his  opera-box 
on  an  equal  footing  on  the  Continent,  might 
perchance  look  more  coldly  upon  him  in  Eng- 
land, when  they  discovered  that,  in  their  own 
set,  he  was  utterly  unknown.  Nevertheless, 
he  did  not  despair.  Gross  geld,  grosser  glaube, 
and  he  knew  it ;  so  he  was  content  to  bide  his 
time. 

Among  the  many  pressing  invitations  which 
ho  received,  to  renew  at  home  the  friendship 
so  pleasantly  commenced  abroad,  was  one  so 


frequently  and  so  earnestly  repeated,  that  my 
father  could  not  doubt  its  sincerity ;  and  ho 
accordingly  promised  to  accept  it.  That  ho 
was  flattered  by  the  pertinacity  of  the  mviter, 
there  can  be  no  doubt;  for  he  was  not  only  a 
man  of  ripe  age  and  matured  judgment,  but, 
moreover,  a  Scottish  peer. 

That  the  Earl  of  Gleufillan  was  not  wealthy, 
was  sufficiently  evident  from  the  facility  with 
which  he  availed  himself  of  the  different  domes- 
tic luxuries  of  his  new  friend  :  and  the  remark- 
able tardiness  which  he  exhibited  in  making 
any  return  not  purely  verbal.  This,  however, 
was  perfectly  immaterial  to  my  father,  who 
required  nothing  at  his  hands ;  and  who  was 
by  far  too  proud  a  man  to  have  suffered  their 
positions  to  be  reversed.  And  so  Lord  Glen- 
fiUan  rode  my  father's  horses,  ate  my  father's 
dinners,  traveled  in  my  father's  carriage,  and 
borrowed  my  father's  money,  to  his  heart's  con- 
tent ;  while  he  received  in  return  the  I  0  Us 
of  his  noble  friend,  and  the  reiterated  invitations 
to  which  I  have  already  alluded. 

"Did  Mr.  Tilden  fish  and  shoot  1" 

My  father  at  that  time  did  neither,  but  he  m- 
tended  to  do  both  ;  so,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  replied  in  the  affirmative.  There  was  mag- 
nificent fishing  and  shooting  at  Glenfillan  ! 
Four  thousand  acres  of  moorland,  and  a  lake 
like  an  inland  sea,  visible  from  the  windows  of 
the' castle.  Mr.  Tilden  was  an  admirable  bil- 
liard-player. His  lordship  was  rejoiced  at  it, 
for  they  had  the  best  table  in  Scotland  at  Glen- 
fillan— rather  out  of  repair,  he  was  afraid,  for 
his  gout  had  obliged  him  to  abandon  the  game, 
and  the  ladies  of  his  family  did  not  understand 
it ;  but  he  would  have  it  set  to  rights  against 
he  had  the  honor  of  receiving  Mr.  Tilden,  who, 
perhaps,  would  be  able  to  induce  "  Flora  and 
Madelaine"  to  make  an  attempt  at  learning. 

Of  course  my  father  was  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  teaching  two  hoydening  girls  to 
play  billiards  on  a  rickety  old  table  ;  and  he  felt 
half-tempted  to  ofTer  the  earl  a  new  one  of  his 
own  selecting ;  which,  without  doubt,  he  might 
have  done  safely,  as  Lord  Glenfillan  was  not 
prone  to  take  offence  at  such  trifling  matters  ; 
but  he  forbore,  for  he  was  strongly  imbued  with 
a  strange  sort  of  delicacy,  which  always  prompt- 
ed him  to  make  his  wealth  as  little  conspicuous 
as  possible,  and  never  to  presume  upon  it  by 
taking  liberties  with  others. 

The  close  of  their  continental  communioji 
took  place  at  Calais,  whither  my  father  had 
conveyed  his  lordly  friend  from  Marseilles  m 
his  own  carriage  ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
the  earl  had  been  his  guest  throughout  the 
journey.  This  arrangement  was  agreeable  lo 
both  parties  ;  for,  as  the  courier  who  had  ac- 
companied my  father  from  England,  transacted 
all  business  upon  the  road,  so  neither  of  the 
milords  in  the  caleche  and  four,  which  opened 
the  traveling  procession,  were  broken  in  upon 
by  dull  details  of  the  day's  expenses.  In  short, 
they  got  on  together  admirably.  The  earl 
shared  my  father's  carriage  ;  his  solitary  man- 
servant was  de  tiers  with  my  father's  valet  and 
his  I  kef ;  all  the  luggage  jolted  along  amicably  in 
the  same  voiture  d'occasion,  guarded  hy  the 
sleepy  grooms  ;  and  nothing  could  be  more 
amicable  or  more  pleasant  than  the  whole 
arrangement. 


a  CyjSc^s>olOiS>3  yJl    A  litEl"!  i    WOMAN. 

Once  or  twice  his  lordship  of  Glenfiilan  ex-  of  his  own  society,  and  glad  of  any  incideHl 
eeeded  a  little  at  table  upon  the  road  ;  but  that  which  promised  a  nnomentary  amnsement. 
was  the  fault  of  my  father's  hospitality,  and  the  No  better  prelude  to  rapid  acquaintanceship 
hyper-zeal  of  Ins  attendants  ;  and  the  noble  could  have  been  suggested  by  the  most  prac- 
earl  had  a  gout-mixture  in  the  carriage-pocket  ticed  social  tactician.  Lord  Glenfiilan  was  drug- 
near  his  hand,  which,  diluted  in  a  little  pale  ging,  gorging,  and  frightening  hiriiself  into  his 
brandy,  generally  succeeded  in  procuring  him  grave,  with  all  possible  expedition  ;  and  there 
an  hour's  sleep;  so  that,  upon  the  whole,  he  he  sat,  with  his  foot  swathed  in  flannels,  a  Glen- 
might  have  been  worse  off  on  the  rugged  high-  garry  cap  upon  his  gray  head,  a  tartan  waist- 
ways  of  -a  belle  France ;  and  he  admtlted  the  coat  covering  his  acr.ple  chest,  and  a  flowered 
fact  with  a  graceful  frankness  which  could  not  dressing-gown  en'^.vjloping  his  tall  and  bony 
but  convince  my  father  of  the  sinceriiy  of  his  figure  ;  with  an  English  journal  a  fortnight  old 
assertion.  (lor   in   those   days   Galignani   was    not,   and 

By  the  by,  Lord  Glenfiilan,  as  I  should  have  L'Echo  du  Continent  lay  hushed  in  chaos),  en- 
explamed,  had  visited  the  French  capital  lor  i  deavoring  to  read,  for  the  twentieth  time,  the 
the  purpose  of  consulting  a  celebrated  gout-doc-  |  speech  of  one  of  his  political  opponents,  most 
tor  of  that  day  ;  from  whose  skill  he  had  been  jprovokingly  broken  up  by  "hear!  hear!"  and 
led  to  expect  that  he  should  obtain  both  speedy  i  "  cheers  from  all  parts  of  the  house." 
and  permanent  relief.  But  it  is  certain  that  if  J  once  heard  it  declared  by  a  gallant  officer, 
his  counselors  had  themselves  really  derived  I  now  >n  his  grave,  that  the  greatest  misery  of 
any  benefit  from  the  Gallic  Galen  in  a  similar  human  life  was  to  hall  with  a  party  of  men  in 
extremity,  they  had  been  of  a  different  order  of  a  country  village,  and  to  remain  throughout  the 
men  from  the  earl,  who  backed  up  all  the  reine-  <  day  in  its  sohiary  inn,  with,  for  all  companion- 
dies  of  his  medical  adviser,  with  dinners  served  ship,  an  old  Army  List,  in  which  your  own  par- 
ai  Les  Fieres  Fiuccngaux,  and  burgundy  from  ticuiar  regiment  was  torn  out.  I  am  tempted, 
Jusim.  however,   to  believe    that   I   should   have   pre- 

This  state  of  things,  or  rather  this  system  of  ferred  even  that  dilemma  to  the  earls.  Be  it 
curative  ethics,  could  not,  of  course,  last  lung,  as  it  may,  he  averred  that  this  unlucky  paper 
wittioul  convincing  his  most  giislaiive  lordship  was  his  only  resource  between  his  paroxysms 
that  he  was  rather  becoming  worse  than  better.  ;  of  pain,  which,  as  he  was  a  fabid  politician,  il 

That  It  was  reruler  pour  mienx  sanfer,  he  was  '  had  probably  assisted  to  multiply, 
not  altogether  clear ;  and  in  this  dilemma,  with  |  No  wonder  that  my  father  soon  ceased  to  be 
very  real  and  natural  reluctance  to  tear  him-  considered  as  a  stranger,  and  that  his  daily  ad- 
self  from  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  and  a  still  vent  in  the  sick  room  was  hailed  with  delight  by 
more  invincible  ohjectitin  to  be  conveyed  home  the  querulous  invalid.  Ere  long.  Lord  Glenfiilan 
in  a  leaden  receptacle,  .six  feet  by  two,  he  had  extorted  a  promise  from  his  friend  not  to 
seized  with  avidity  the  hope  held  out  to  him  of  abandon  him  during  his  illness  ,  and  soon  after- 
better  success  With  an  Italian  empiric  eslab-  wards  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  make  the 
lished  at  .Marseilles;  and  forthwith  departed  homeward  journey  together ;  and  this  was  how 
for  the  fair  city  of  the  south.  i  ii  came  to   pass   that  the  earl  and  my  father 

Alas  for  tlie  goui-iormented  earl !     To  an  in-  |  arrived  at  Calais  in  company, 
dividual  of  hi.o   tendencies,  this  was    fairly   a 
case  of  cadcr  dalta   padclla  nclla  brace  ;  for  at 
Marseilles,  in  addition  to  the  sublime  cuisine  of 

Paris,  he  found  all  the  luxuries  of  the   East;  CHAPTER 

all  the  Iruiis  of  the  earth;  and  all  the  fish  of| 
the  sea.  .My  Lord  Glenfiilan  bad  such  a  fit  of  |  It  has  just  struck  me  that  I  ought  to  give 
the  gout  ai  Ins  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  Rome,  eight  some  idea  of  the  personal  appearance  of  my 
days  after  his  arrival  n  the  paradise  of  gastion-  father.  I  remember  him  well,  for  I  loved  him 
omers,  that  he  alforded  a  noble  opportunity  for  very  dearly  ;  and  my  memory  supplies  me  with 
the  display  of  skill  possessed  by  II  Signor  Eer-  the  picture  of  a  tall,  finely  made,  and  aristocrat- 
dinando  della  Placida— the  very  name  of  the  ic-looking  man,  with  large  gray  eyes,  a  hand- 
man  would  have  seemed  to  me  to  he  either  an  some  but  somewhat  too  prominent  nose,  haii 
insult  or  an  epigram — and  began  to  have  se-  which  had  once  been  almost  black,  magnificent 
nous  thoughts  ot  making  his  w  ill.  !  teeth,  and  a  smile  so  beautiful  that  at  times  I 

It  was  at  this  period  that  my  father  returned  still  see  it  in  my  dreams.  His  extreme  nicety 
from  Malta;  and,  having  heard  that  he  was  and  neatness  might  have  passed  into  a  proverb  ; 
under  the  same  root  with  a  sick  countryman,  ,  but  he  was  no  whit  a  prig ;  and  he  had  so  thor- 
veiy  inellicienily  attended,  and  in  the  hands  of  oughly  divested  himself  of  all  the  formalities 
an  Ignorant  pretender,  who  was  dc  moilic  with  and  technicalities  of  his  early  pursuits,  and  fall- 
the  cook  in  winding  up  what  had  been  an  affair  en  back  so  easily  and  so  naturally  upon  the 
olinany  years' standing,  in  a  very  complete  and  proud  old  blood  which  filled  his  veins,  that  I 
concise  manner ;  he  sent  m  his  card  to  his  feel  convinced,  had  he  ever  been  raised  to 
noble  neighbor,  and  begged  permission  to  wait  j  the  peerage,  no  one  could  have  considered  him 
upon  him.  |  misplaced. 

The  gouty  lord  desired  no  better,  for  he  had  al-  I  have  a  miniature  lying  beside  me  now,  how- 
ready  heard  from  his  valet  of  the  arrival  of  a  '  ever,  which  has  preserved  a  far  more  flattering 
mttord,  the  fracas  of  whose  return  to  Ins  old  portrait  of  my  father  than  even  my  loving  mem- 
apartments  had  reached  even  to  the  sick  cham-  ory.  It  was  taken  the  year  of  his  marriage,  as 
ber;  had  received  a  detailed  account  of  the  ^  a  bridal-gilt  to  my  mother;  and,  judging  from 
nature  and  number  of  his  attendants,  equipages,  I  the  ivory  counterfeit,  he  must  at  that  period 
horses,  am*  packages  ;  and  was,  moreover,  tire;     lavc  been  supremely  handsome. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


Moreover,  most  courteous  reader,  he  was  my 
father ! 

After  a  few  months  spent  in  London,  which 
were  fuliy  occupied  by  the  arrangement  of  his 
monetary  affairs,  the  purchase  of  an  eligible 
residence,  and  daily  practice  at  a  shooting-gal- 
lery to  fit  him  for  his  coming  campaign  in  Scot- 
land, my  father  began  seriously  to  meditate  a 
descent  on  Glenfillan.  The  earl  had,  at  times, 
been  grandiloquent  on  the  subiect  of  his  pater- 
nal estate;  and  his  visitor  consequently  left 
town  with  very  magnificent  ideas  of  the  local- 
ity which  he  was  about  temporarily  to  inhabit. 

There  was  no  steam  at  this  time,  so  that  the 
journey  was  rather  a  long  one  ;  but  my  father 
was  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  seeing  Edin- 
burgh, and  would  not  allow  himself  to  consider 
it  tedious. 

He  spent  a  week  in  Auld  Reekie,  and  then 
started  for  the  Highlands.  He  saw  all  the 
"lions"  (as  per  guide-book)  before  his  depart- 
nre  ;  but  I  am  afraid  that  he  was  deficient  in 
historical  sentiment,  if  not  in  morals ;  for  he 
took  no  interest  in  Holyrood,  simply  because  he 
had  not  made  up  his  mind  whether  Mary  were 
a  martyr  or  a  culprit,  and  rather  inclined  to  the 
latter  opinion.  Now,  if  my  father  carried  one 
particular  prejudice  to  excess,  it  was  against 
coquetry  and  coquets  ;  therefore  it  requires  no 
explanation  that  the  very  idea  of  conjugal  infi- 
dehty  was  to  him  hateful  beyond  the  power  of 
words. 

He  was  the  very  aftertype  of  Caesar. 

This,  par  parcnthcse. 

When  he  advanced  beyond  Edinburgh,  the 
scene  changed.  Glenfillan  lay,  like  a  lion's  lair, 
in  the  very  centre  of  the  Highlands,  and  the  roads 
were  anything  but  macadamized.  All  around 
him  was  wild  and  grand,  but  the  air  was  hun- 
gry ;  and  as  he  had  left  all  his  establishment  in 
town,  save  his  body-servant  and  a  couple  of 
grooms,  he  fared,  as  he  traveled,  somewhat 
roughly.  He  had  no  taste  for  mountain-dew  ; 
not  a  soul  to  speak  to  except  his  man,  who  be- 
gan to  wax  slightly  sulky,  as  he  left,  according 
to  his  own  opinion,  all  civilization  and  comfort 
behind  him  ;  and,  altogether,  his  progress  was 
as  dreary  as  it  was  slow. 

At  length,  however,  they  reached  a  hamlet 
with  an  unpronounceable  name,  where  they 
found  half  a  dozen  of  the  earl's  retainers,  who 
had  already  been  waiting  there  several  days, 
with  as  many  wild-looking,  wiry,  ungroomed 
mountain  ponies,  to  serve  as  guides  to  the  cas- 
tle, and  to  help  the -Sassenach  gentlemen  over 
sundry  "  bad  bits"  which  they  had  to  traverse 
on  their  way.  Only  one  among  them  could 
make  himself  understood,  and  they  were  all  as 
savage-looking  as  a  party  of  bandits  ;  but  nev- 
ertheless they  were  a  relief  to  the  monotony  of 
his  journey,  and  to  the  eye  of  an  artist  would 
have  been  in  admirable  "keeping"  with  the 
scene.  They  were,  moreover,  active,  strong, 
and  willing ;  and  proved  eminently  useful  to 
the  unaccustomed  and  helpless  travelers. 

From  the  crest  of  a  mountain  which  it  had 
ta4<en  them  three  dreary  hours  to  ascend,  and 
which  my  father  had  partly  mounted  on  foot, 
his  guide  at  length  pointed  out  a  small  gray  ob- 
ject which  he  exultingly  announced  as  Glenfil- 
lan Castle.  He  was  answered  by  a  shudder. 
Nothing  could  be  more  desolate  than  the  aspect 


of  the  "  promised  land"  from  the  spot  chosen  U 
make  it  known. 

The  travelers  were  standing,  as  I  have  said, 
on  the  brow  of  a  high  mountain,  covered  en- 
tirely with  heather,  and  utterly  destitute  of  trees , 
before  them  and  beneath  them,  at  the  distance 
of  several  miles,  lay  a  deep  valley,  backed  by 
another  rugged  and  cloud-capped  height ;  and 
in  this  hollow  stood  the  castle  ;  while,  about  a 
furlong  off,  commenced  a  bleak,  cold,  unshel- 
tered sheet  of  water,  which  was  lost  in  the  dis- 
tance as  it  wound  round  the  base  of  the  giant 
mountain  that  shut  in  the  view. 

There  was  an  expression  compounded  of 
contempt  and  mortification  on  the  countenance 
of  the  highlander,  as  he  met  the  look  of  disap- 
pointment and  disgust  which  my  father  c(*uld 
not  repress ;  but  he  gave  no  signs  of  annoy- 
ance beyond  leaving  his  side,  and  talking  in  a 
quick  and  indignant  tone  to  his  companions. 

The  descent  of  the  mountain  proved  to  the 
full  as  tedious  as  its  rise;  and  thus,  fortunate- 
ly for  himself,  my  father  had  both  time  and  op 
portunity  to  amend  his  first  judgment,  and  tr 
give  due  admiration  to  the  several  really  noble 
features  of  the  scene.  The  sun,  "  that  great 
landscape  painter,"  threw  in  opportunely  a  few 
touches  which  greatly  relieved  the  vastness  of 
the  picture ;  and  as  the  light  vapors  swept 
along  the  sky,  casting  their  flying  shadows  Hp- 
on  the  hills,  and  succeeding  each  other  like 
pleasant  thoughts  in  a  weary  mind,  he  began  to 
see  positive  beauty  where  half  an  hour  befose 
all  had  seemed  black  and  barr,en.  As  they  ad- 
vanced, too,  the  old  gray  castle  loomed  out 
majestically  from  the  green  heather,  and  grew 
into  size  and  importance.  My  father  could  dis- 
tinguish a  round  tower  of  res[)ectabte  altitude, 
and  a  length  of  wall  tvhich  might  be  a  battle- 
ment or  a  terrace,  but  which,  in  either  case, 
gave  a  dignified  and  solid  air  to  the  whole  edi- 
fice. Trees  there  were  none,  even  about  the 
building,  at  least  none  that  he  could  discern  on 
his  approach  ;  but,  nevertheless,  he  felt  more 
reconciled  than  he  had  done  on  the  mountain- 
top,  and  became  at  last  even  interested  in  the 
aspect  of  bis  temporary  home. 

They  had  no  sooner  reached  the  outskirts  of 
the  glen  than  one  of  the  guides,  springing  to 
the  back  of  his  pony,  rode  off  at  a  p9ce  of  which 
my  father  had  never  believed  the  animal  to  be 
capable,  in  order  to  announce  the  arrival  of 
the  expected  guest  to  his  noble  master;  and 
in  about  an  hour  the  well-appointed  English 
chariot  passed  the  gate  of  Glenfillan  Castle,  and 
my  father  found  its  lordly  owner  waiting  to  re- 
ceive him  on  the  threshold  of  his  own  stately  halL 

The  day  was  far  advanced  ;  and  after  a  warm 
but  brief  welcome,  the  visitor  was  ushered  to 
his  dressing-room  to  refresh  himself  after  his 
journey,  and  to  prepare  for  dinner.  The  ladies 
were  already  busied  with  their  toilets  ;  and 
my  father  consequently  retired  without  having 
been  presented  to  any  member  of  the  lamily 
He  was  conducted  to  his  apartments  by  a  fine- 
looking,  gray-headed,  soleiim  butler,  who  seem- 
ed almost  coeval  with  the  building,  and  who 
appeared  to  consider  himself  the  greatest  per» 
sonage  on  earth,  except  Ills  lord. 

Tlie  dressing-bell  was  already  ringing  oui 
sonorously  from  the  belfry-tower,  and  the  sound 
harmonized  agreeably  with  my  father's  sensji- 


10 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


lions.  He  was  gratified  by  the  reception  of  the 
earl,  somewliat  impressed  by  the  ancient  state- 
liness  of  all  around  hira,  and  disposed  to  see  ! 
everything  en  beau.  His  apartment  was  spa- 
cious and  somewhat  gloomy.  The  bed  and 
window  were  alike  hung  with  dark-green 
damask  ;  and  the  walls  were  of  richly  carved 
oak,  into  which  were  panneled  a  series  of  what 
were  evidently  family  portraits,  the  size  of  life, 
all  grim  and  ^liastly  with  age.  The  bed  itself 
was  (jftlial  capiicious  description  which  would 
lead  one  to  infer  that  oi>e's  forefathers  and 
foremolhers  iniist  have  been  of  unconscionably 
broad  dimensions  ,  the  window,  deeply  pierced 
into  the  miis^ive  wall,  was  of  a  totally  different 
character,  for  it  was  narrow  to  an  inconvenient 
degree  ;  hut,  en  revanche,  it  reached  from  the  , 
ceiling  nearly  to  the  floor,  while  its  arch  was 
filled  with  stained  glass  to  the  depth  of  half  a' 
dozen  of  the  <tiamond-fashioned  panes,  which 
reduced  the  alreaily  small  quantity  of  light  ad- 
mitted into  the  chamber  to  something  still  less. 
There  was,  moreover,  an  aspect  of  decay  and 
rustmess  about  everything,  which  betrayed 
that  the  Taplow  and  Holland  of  the  day  had 
not  laid  thcif  refined  and  renovating  spell  upon 
the  place,  but  that  it  was  mouldering  away 
quietly  and  comfortably,  without  interlerence 
of  any  kind.  Although  it  was  yet  early  in  the 
summer,  the  air  of  that  mountain-valley  was 
still  keen  enough  to  render  the  huge  fire  which 
was  burning  upon  the  hearth  the  most  attractive 
object  in  the  room ;  and,  as  my  father's  valet 
somewhat  sulkily  remarked,  "  it  was  a  relief, 
in  such  a  hobgoblin-looking  place,  that  nobody 
could  understand  who  hadn't  seen  it." 

The  gold-furnished  dressing-case  had  scarce- 
ly given  up  all  its  costly  contents  for  the  decora- 
tion of  the  loilttiable,  when  the  second  bell 
rang,  and  my  father  prepared  to  obey  the  sum- 
mons ;  but  a  difficulty  arose  as  to  the  means  of 
reaching  Uui  dining-room  without  a  guide  ; 
there  was  no  bell  in  the  room  ;  while  my  father 
felt,  en  preux  cheralier,  that  he  would  rather 
nsk  any  inconvenience  than  detain  the  ladies 
from  the  dining-room,  and  create  an  unfavora- 
ble impn  ssion  within  the  very  hour  of  his  ar- 
rival. He  opened  the  door  of  his  apartment 
abruptly  ;  rushed  out  into  the  gallery ;  and 
nearly  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  same  solemn 
old  genileiiian  who  had  marshaled  him  from 
thepnsenie  of  the  earl,  and  who  was  patiently 
waiting  to  conduct  him  back. 

And  now  I  come  to  an  event fiil  moment  in 
my  father's  life,  and  otie  to  whii-h  I  owe  my 
own  existence.  The  double  doors  of  a  spacious 
drawing-room,  comforlably  draperied  with  tap- 
estry, were  thrown  back  by  two  livened  at-  j 
lendants  ;  and  as  my  father  entered,  the  earl 
abandoned  his  posiiir)n  upon  the  hearth-rug, 
where  he  had  been  ct)infortably  facing  the  la-  j 
dies,  and  backing  to  the  fire,  in  that  peiuliarly 
graceful  style  wliich  has  been  popular  among 
the  male  sex  in  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great 
Driiain  and  Ireland  from  time  immemorial ;  and 
advanci  il  lo  meet  him  with  a  mixture  of  state* 
Ij  urbanity  and  hospitable  frankness. 

He  was  presented  in  turn  to  Miss  Alargery 
Macspleuilian,  a  tall,  stiff,  bony,  high-cheeked, 
sharp-nosed  spinster  of  some  filty,  "or,  by'r 
lady,  threes(;ore"  years,  attired  in  a  very  stout 
and  rather  rusty  dress  of  black  labinei,  with  a 


pointlace  apron  and  ruffles  ;  the  ostensible  dawu 
chatelaine,  and  sister-in-law  of  the  earl ;  to  the 
Lady  Flora  Glenfillan,  his  lordship's  elder  daugh- 
ter, a  sepia  facsimile  of  her  maiden  aunt ;  and 
ultimately,  to  the  Lady  Madelaine  •'  of  that  ilk," 
his  youngest  child,  the  offspring  of  a  second 
marriage,  and  one  of  the  loveliest' maidens  who 
ever  furnished  forth  the  day-dream  of  a  poet. 

The  Lady  Flora  was  all  smiles  and  welcome ; 
she  spoke  with  a  strong  accent,  and  laughed 
until  she  displayed  an  awful  vacuum,  where 
teeth  were  not.  She  was,  as  I  have  said,  a 
modified  duplicate  of  her  aunt,  who  had  been 
the  sister  of  her  mother.  She  was  not  quite  so 
stiff,  nor  so  tall,  nor  so  bony  ;  her  cheeks  were 
not  quite  so  prominent ;  and  her  nose  was  a  lit- 
tle more  moderate  in  its  sharpness  ;  all,  or 
most  of  which  circumstances,  were  probably  to 
be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  ,hat  she  had  not 
long  passed  her  thirtieth  year ;  neither  was 
her  sable  silk  quite  so  rusty,  nor  her  point  quite 
so  yellow  ;  but  in  all  about  her  there  was 
goodly  promise  that  the  likeness  would  in- 
crease from  day  to  day. 

Lord  Glenfillan  had,  in  his  first  matrimonial 
venture,  made  a  prodigious  mesalliance,  having 
marrieddthe  daughter  of  a  petty  laird,  no  one 
could  ever  rationally  decide  wherefore.  But 
Jessie  Macspleuchan  was  a  shrewd  body ;  she 
required  rw  spectacles  to  detect  the  prominent 
weakness  of  the  great  man  ;  and  she  according- 
ly reverenced  with  so  awful  a  reverence,  and 
worshiped  with  so  hurnhle  a  worship,  the  digni- 
ty of  his  peerage,  that  the  plain,  homely,  prim  no- 
body soon  grew  to  be  the  most  sensible  woman 
of  the  earl's  acquaintance.  Her  nose  was  no 
longer  sharp  ;  her  voice  had  ceased  to  be  shrill ; 
her  dull  gray  eyes  were  turned  with  so  much 
meek  wonder  upon  his  coronet,  that  he  felt  as- 
sured, in  his  own  mind,  that  even  matrimony 
itself  would  never  induce  any  undue  familiarity 
or  pretensions  of  equality  on  the  part  of  Miss 
Macspleuchan. 

So,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  one  save 
the  lady  herself,  she  became,  after  due  delibera- 
tion on  the  gentleman's  side.  Countess  of  Glen- 
fillan ;  and  then  she  taught  the  proud  peer  a 
lesson  which  he  never  afterwards  unlearned. 
She  had  not  "  served  seven  years"  for  her  cor- 
onet, crushing  every  natural  impulse,  and  quell- 
ing every  rebel  disposition,  to  be  "shelved" 
by  her  own  husband,  and  made  a  nonentity  in 
her  own  house.  Contention,  as  the  word  is 
Usually  understood,  could  not  occur  between 
them,  for  Lord  Glentillan  was  too  innately  a 
gentleman  so  to  degrade  himself;  added  to 
which,  he  soon  learnt  to  feel  that  he  was  no 
verbal  match  for  his  lady  ;  but  for  years  it  was 
a  war  of  wits,  and  a  war  of  will,  that  most  ef- 
fectually prevented  all  stagnation  in  the  estab- 
lishment. At  length,  however,  the  earl,  whose 
armor  began  to  chafe  him  from  constant  wear 
and  who  had  no  wish  to  die  in  his  harness,  pru- 
dently laid  down  his  arms,  and  my  Lady  Glen- 
fillan had  il  all  her  own  way. 

This  state  of  things  lasted  for  six  years, 
during  which  period  she  became  the  mother  of 
a  daughter — the  Lady  Flora,  to  whom  my  reader 
has  been  already  introduced — and  whom  she 
only  lived  to  see  enter  her  second  year. 

The  noble  widower  was  not  disconsolate; 
and,  whether  il  were  from  respect  for  his  de- 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


11 


parted  wife  that  he  was  anxious  to  demonstrate 
his  confidence  in  her  family,  or,  on  the  con- 
trary, that  he  desired  to  remove  from  bef(  re  his 
eyes  everything  which  could  remind  him  of  llie 
deceased  lady,  he  never  declared  ;  but  it  is  cer- 
tain that  he  forthwith  proposed  to  his  honored 
fatheF-in-law,  the  laird,  that  his  daughter  Mar- 
gery should  lake  charge  of  the  infant  until  she 
became  of  an  age  to  require  more  accomplished 
guidance.  Miss  Macspleuchan  desired  nothing 
better;  and  declared  herself  quite  ready  to  re- 
move to  the  castle,  and  to  receive  her  dear  little 
niece  from  tlie  hands  of  her  noble  parent,  "  di- 
rectly after  the  great  wash  ;"  but  this  conces- 
sion by  no  means  formed  part  of  the  earl's 
arrangement. 

He  had  been  Macspleuchaned  long  enough, 
and  their  season  was  over.  He  did  not  wish 
his  will  and  pleasure  to  be  put  into  competition 
with  soap  and  blue  ;  and  he,  therefore,  gave 
Miss  Margery  civilly  to  understand,  that  the 
conventionalities  of  life  would  not  permit  a  man 
of  his  age  to  otTer  a  home  beneath  his  roof  even 
to  the  sister  of  his  wife.  That  the  Lady  Flora 
Glenfillan  would  be  no  burden  upon  her  moth- 
er's family,  he  deemed  it  almost  needless  to 
add  ;  and  he  felt  convinced  that,  when  Miss  j 
Macspleuchan  had  taken  time  to  reflect  upon  j 
the  subject,  she  would  find  that  her  obliging 
proposal  was  utterly  out  of  the  question. 

Now,  all  this  was  not  said,  but  written — writ- 
ten upon  a  very  ample  sheet  of  paper,  and 
sealed  with  the  earl's  coat-of-arms  ;  to  produce 
which  effectively,  it  required  almost  sealing- 
wax  enough  to  fill  a  tea-saucer.  This  signet 
never  failed  to  produce  its  efTect.  It  was  the 
fet-faw-fum  which  announced  to  refractory  ten- 
ants that  their  rents  must  be  paid  ;  and  to  pre- 
suming petty  lairds  that  his  lordship,  the  earl, 
understood  nothing  about  liberty  and  equality. 
It  may,  consequently,  be  imagined  that  its  ap- 
parition at  the  hill-farm  rendered  further  discus- 
sion useless.  In  short,  it  performed  a  miracle, 
for  it  shut  Miss  Margery's  mouth. 

Th3  Lady  Flora  was  accordingly  transferred 
from  the  castle  to  the  laird's  house,  and  from 
the  cold  caresses  of  her  noble  father  to  the 
hearty  hugs  of  her  less  exalted  relations  ;  and 
in  due  time  initiated  into  all  the  mysteries  of 
meal-porridge,  baked  sheep's  heads,  and  haggis. 

A  happy  man  was  Lord  Glenfillan  ;  a  very 
happy  man  !  He  felt  vastly  as  Sinbad  must 
have  done,  when  he  shook  the  old  gentleman 
from  his  shoulders,  whose  organ  of  adhesive- 
ness he  had  so  long  mentally  voted  a  nuisance. 
Right  glad  was  he,  when  his  eye  chanced  to 
rest  upon  the  hatchment  which  he  had  caused 
to  droop,  like  a  heavy  eyelid,  over  the  upper 
section  of  one  of  the  drawing-room  windows, 
as  a  last  token  of  respect  to  the  deceased — 
much  on  the  same  principle  that  a  man  who 
has  completed  an  unpleasant  letter  appends  an 
enormous  flourish  to  his  signature,  in  the  exu- 
berant joy  of  his  heart  that  he  has  come  to  an 
end  of  it — right  glad  was  he,  I  say,  that  her 
departed  ladyship  had  not  presented  him  with 
an  heir  to  his  family  honors.  A  son  of  Miss  Jes- 
sie Macspleuchan  to  inherit  the  name  and  rank 
of  the  Glenfillans — faugh  !  And  he  was  still,  as 
he  reflected,  so  young  and  active,  that  a  season 
in  London,  and  careful  making  up,  would  repair 
all  the  ravages  of  carelessness  and  seclusion. 


This  idea  haunted  him  for  several  years  ;  hut 
no  man,  not  even  a  Lord  Glenfillan,  can  throw 
ofT,  withoit  a  violent  eflbrt,  the  bonds  which 
time  and  habit  have  woven  about  him.  The 
■parvenue  countess  had  reduced  her  husband's 
confidence  in  himself,  and  in  Itis  own  value, 
full  fifty  per  cent. ;  and,  although  he  still  talked 
very  big  to  himself,  he  shrank  involuntarily 
from  the  effort  of  testing  the  opinions  of  others. 

At  length,  however,  he  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  behoved  him  to  marry  again  with 
all  convenient  speed  ;  but  he  had  become  a 
wiser  man  than  he  was  when  "  caught"  by  the 
Macspleuchan  ;  and  consequently  now,  when  he 
was  many  years  older  by  the  calendar  of  time, 
and  twice  as  many  by  the  gnawing  of  mortifica- 
tion and  disappointment,  he  decided  that  two 
things  were  absolutely  indispensable  in  the  for 
tunate  woman  whom  he  should  select  as  his 
second  wife — extreme  personal  beauty,  and  an 
undeniable  pedigree.  A  few  thousands  into  the 
bargain  would  not,  he  felt,  be  amiss  ;  but,  in 
favor  of  the  two  former  attributes,  he  resolved 
not  to  make  a  point  of  the  last. 

He  had  remained  throughout  all  these  years 
at  Glenfillan,  visiting  his  orphan  child  scrupu- 
lously once  in  each  month,  and  shuddering  as 
he  remarked  how  much  the  Macspleuchan  nose 
and  bone  were  beginning  to  develop  themselves; 
but  eventually  he  put  his  purpose  into  execu 
tion,  and  started  for  England.  He  had  not 
reckoned  without  his  host.  A  clever  artiste 
succeeded  in  making  him  up  admirably  ;  and, 
being  really  a  fine  man,  and  moreover  a  peer, 
he  was  soon  the  cherished  friend  of  half  a  score 
middle-aged  widows,  fashionable  demireps,  and 
matrons  with  marriageable  daughters.  My  noble 
grandpapa  was  not,  however,  so  practicable  as 
he  might  have  been,  had  he  not  already  learned 
wisdom.  He  listened,  smiled,  and  looked  about 
him  ;  and  th.e  more  he  looked,  the  less  chance 
had  the  ladies  in  question  of  making  him  their 
prey. 

Many  young  and  beautiful  girls  did  he  see  in 
the  hotbed  of  London  society — girls  in  look,  and 
women  in  mind — who  would  gladly  have  bar- 
tered their  loveliness  against  his  coronet;  but 
half  of  them  were  parvenues,  and  the  other  hah 
nobodies.  Many  a  titled  dowager,  whose  quar- 
terings  rendered  her  eligible  for  a  German 
court  circle,  and  whose  diamonds  were  far 
brighter  than  her  eyes,  did  not  scruple  to  let 
him  understand  that  she  was  not  inexorable  ; 
but  my  Lord  Glenfillan  was  anxious  for  an  heir. 
The  very  eligihles,  the  young,  the  beautiful,  and 
the  high-born — the  creatures  of  his  dreams — 
considered  him  too  old,  or  too  poor,  or  hated 
widowers,  or  could  not  contemplate  the  horror 
of  being  molhers-in-law ;  and  thus,  entre  chien 
ct  lou.p,  he  made  no  progress. 

The  London  season  was  drawing  to  a  close 

"  Fashion,  you  know,  prescribes  tlie  minute 
VViien  to  be  out  of  it,  and  in  it: 
Slie  waves  lier  liand,  and  woe  betide 
Tlie  lingering  few,  unless  they  hide. 
Or  swear  they're  passing  through,  to  go 
To  Norfolk,  in  an  hour  or  sn ; 
And  mean,  next  month,  to  show  their  faces 
If  possible,  in  twenty  places." 

The  earl  was  just  contemplating  a  journey  to 
"the  moors,"  and  sighing  as  he  remembered  that 
the  solitude  of  Glenfillan  must  remain  unbroken 
for  another  year  ;  when  he  was  accidentally 


13 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


introduced  to  the  honorable  Dennis  O'Finistree, 
who  was  on  his  way  ihrDugh  town,  with  his 
fair  sister  Madelaine,  whom  he  had  escorted 
from  Naples  ;  and  who,  after  a  brief  sojourn  in 
London,  was  to  be  his  companion  to  their 
paternal  home  in  the  wilds  of  Connaught. 

Every  one,  who  is  any  one,  must  know  all 
about  the  O'Finisirees,  so  it  were  a  mere  waste 
of  words  for  me  to  expatiate  here  upon  the  an- 
tiquity of  their  family,  or  to  explain  in  what 
manner  their  patrimonial  estate  had  dwindled 
into  one-tenth  of  its  original  splendor,  and  "  their  i 
noble"  had,  actually  as  well  as  figuratively, 
"come  to  ninepence."  They  were  also,  as 
they  always  declared,  lineally  descended  from 
the  kings  of  Connaught,  (who,  soil  dil  en  pas- 
sant, if  all  be  true  which  is  laid  to  their  charge 
in  this  way,  must  have  been  wonderfully  pro- 
lific !)  an  assertion  which  few  persons  felt  dis- 
posed to  question,  for  the  O'Finisirees  were  all 
celebrated  shots. 

The  honorable  Dennis  took  a  great  fancy  to 
my  grandfather.  He  was  a  high-spirited,  dash- 
ing, fine-looking  young  fellow,  and  a  perfect 
man  of  the  world.  After  a  time,  he  proposed 
to  introduce  his  new  friend  to  his  sister,  who  , 
was  residing  perdue  at  an  hotel'  near  Portman 
Square.  The  earl  thought  of  his  star;  and,  I 
without  asking  any  questions,  accepted  the  civ- 
ility. He  did  right.  Madelaine  O'Finistree  was  1 
a  genuine  Irish  beauty,  with  dark  hair  and  eye- 
lashes, anil  eyes  of  a  deep  rich  blue,  which, 
when  she  laughed,  looked  positively  black.  She 
was  tall,  and  well-proportioned  ;  had  something 
of  a  foreign  deportment,  tempered,  however,  by 
extreme  gracefulness,  and  a  spice  of  haughti- 
ness which  went  straight  to  the  heart  of  my 
grandfather. 

Of  course,  the  gay,  thoughtless  Dennis  had 
never  contemplated  any  serious  results  from 
the  acquaintance  of  his  sister  and  Lord  Glen- 
fillan.     He  could  not  have  heard  from  his  asso- 
ciates that  the  Scotch  peer  had  rejoiced  in  the 
name  of  "  the  wife-hunter"  throughout  the  sea- 1 
son  ;  and  it  could  not,  consequently,  have  been  ! 
in  the  hope  of  "  bringing  down  his  bird"  that  he  I 
had  detained  Madelaine  in  London,  when  their 
finances  had  "dwindled  to  the  shortest  span," 
and  that  every  guinea  was  to  them  thrice-refined 
gold.     Nevertheless,  everything  fell  out  well.  { 
The  earl  returned  home,  "seven  fathom  deep"  | 
in  love  with  the  fair  Hibernian.     He  felt  that! 
his  hour  was  come.     She  was  so  utterly  unlike  I 
Jessie  Macspleuchan.      She  was  so  graceful,  | 
so  beautiful.     Her  proud  brow  looked  as  though 
(how  novel-like  is  the  phrase  upon  which  I  have 
Btumbled  !)  nature  had  designed  to  cincture  it 
with  a  coronet.     In  short,  Lord  GlenfiUan  wasj 
a  lost  man,  fmm  half-past  four  o'clock  p.  m.  on 
that  29th  of  June. 

He  was  found  again,  however,  a  few  months 
afterwards.  The  hatchment  of  the  defunct  lady 
had,  years  before,  been  consigned  to  the  attic ;  I 
the  earl  bad  almost  forgotten  her  thrall ;  and 
he  was  flying  along  the  highroad  between  Lon- 
don and  EdinliiirL'h  in  a  traveling  chariot  and  ' 
four,  with  the'  new  Countess  of  GlenfiUan  by 
bis  side. 

A  year  subsequently,  my  grandfather  was , 
once  more  a  widower.  His  beautiful  and  high- ' 
born  wife  gave  birth  to  a  dai^jhter,  and  in  so 
doing,  resigned  her  own  life ;  hut  it  was  a  year 


of  happiness  which  cast  its  spell  over  the  after 
existence  of  the  bereaved  husband,  'ihe  first 
wish  cf  his  heart — the  first  object  of  his  ambi- 
tion, had  indeed  been  disappointed.  He  had  no 
son  to  inherit  his  name  and  honors ;  but  the 
memory  of  his  young  and  gentle  wife  was, 
nevertheless,  too  dear  to  be  obliterated  by  a 
newer  tie. 

His  only  consolation  wa3  derived  from  the 
fact,  that  she  had  left  to  him  an  infant  image  of 
herself,  a  second  Madelaine,  in  whom,  as  she 
grew  to  womanhood,  he  might  trace  a  renewal 
of  her  mother's  beauty,  and  to  whom  he  might 
thereafter  devote  his  best  affections  for  that 
mother's  sake.  Nay,  so  unaffected  was  the 
self-abnegation  of  the  widowed  father,  that  he 
gratefully  accepted  the  proposal  of  an  aunt  of 
Mr.  O'Finistree's,  the  widow  of  an  old  English 
baronet,  who  divided  her  time  between  Went- 
worken  Hall  and  her  house  in  Cavendish  Square, 
to  take  the  motherless  infant  into  her  own  care  ; 
and  so  well  did  Lady  Sinclair,  who  was  herself 
childless,  fulfil  her  voluntary  duties,  that  at  each 
successive  visit  to  England,  the  earl  found  his 
daughter  more  beautiful,  more  graceful^  and 
more  accomplished  than  at  their  previous 
meeting. 

At  rare  intervals.  Lady  Sinclair  accompanied 
her  niece  to  GlenfiUan  Castle,  where  they  were 
met  by  Lady  Flora  and  Miss  Margery,  who,  on 
such  occasions,  contrived  to  display  her  houso- 
wifely  capabilities  to  great  advantage  in  the 
eyes  of  the  earl ;  while  she  found  so  much  and 
such  serious  occupation  in  the  buttery  and  still- 
room,  that  she  was  rarely  visible  elsewhere.  In 
short.  Miss  Margery  was  a  genuine  Macspleu- 
chan, and  as  sharp  as  a  needle  ;  and  she  looked 
upon  these  opportunities  as  "  the  very  skimming 
of  her  life's  milk,"  as  she  herself  graphically 
expressed  it  to  a  particular  friend.  It  was  now 
or  never  with  her,  and  she  played  her  cards 
well ;  for  when,  on  the  death  of  Lady  Sinclair, 
which  happened  just  as  Madelaine  had  completed 
her  eighteenth  year.  Lord  GlenfiUan  found  it 
necessary  to  establish  both  his  daughters  be- 
neath his  own  roof,  he  could  not  deny  that  she 
was  the  most  correct  and  eligible  person  whom 
he  could  select,  to  relieve  thern  from  tiie  drud- 
gery of  housekeeping,  and  to  throw  a  matronly 
air  over  the  establishment. 

Fortunately  also,  as  Lord  GlenfiUan  consider- 
ed, Macspleuchan  of  Macspleuchan  had  paid  the 
debt  of  nature,  though  he  had  left  several  less 
imperative  debts  unpaid  ;  and  there  being  no 
son  to  perpetuate  the  name  and  vulgarity  of  his 
father,  the  earl  felt  less  repugnance  to  offering 
a  home  to  the  solitary  Miss  Margery. 

Such,  therefore,  was  the  organization  of  Lord 
Glenfillan's  household  when  my  father  became 
his  guest.  The  lovely  Lady  Madelaine  had 
already  been  an  inmate  of  the  castle  for  a  te- 
dious year,  during  several  months  of  which 
period  she  had  been  condemned  to  the  sole 
companionship  of  her  sister  and  her  aunt ;  the 
earl's  gout  expedition  having  taken  him  from 
home,  before  she  had  logg  been  domesticated 
beneath  his  roof 

And  now,  how  am  I  to  i 
Madelaine  1     I   have  said 
nineteen,  that  loveliest  of  all  .nges 
when,  in  additicm  to  her  owi  individual  attrac- 
tions, she  possesses  also  wlun  a  French  write' 


to  drscrihe  the  said  Lady  J 

said   that  she   was  ju.st  I 

of  all  .Hges  for  a  woman;  1 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


13 


has  wittily  der.ned  as  la  beaiUi  du  diable,  that 
sweet  anj  evanescent  freshness,  which,  after 
the  age  of  twenty,  is  gone  forever. 

Like  her  mother,  she  was  tall,  and  fair,  and 
fracelul,  with  regular  and  well-cut  features  ; 
eyes  like  amethysts  ;  and  a  mouth  of  that  rare 
»nd  peculiar  description,  which,  when  it  is  met 
with,  appears  to  convey  more  expression  than 
all  the  rest  of  the  face  combined.  Her  smile 
was  the  very  sunshine  of  the  heart ;  and  her 
scorn  was  so  naturally  seated  upon  the  arched 
and  ruby  lip,  that  it  would  have  been  insolent 
in  any  one  of  less  rank  than  a  peer's  daughter. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  this  latter  expression  was  the 
more  habitual  one  to  that  fair  mouth  ;  for,  un- 
fortunately, the  exclusive  education  and  habits 
of  Lady  Madelaine  had  prepared  her  to  find  much 
to  despise  in  her  natural  home  ;  nor  did  her 
French  suivantc  suffer  any  of  the  deficiencies  of 
either  persons  or  things  at  Glenfillan  to  pass 
unobserved.  The  "  Aunt  Margery"  of  the  elder 
sister  never  ceased  to  be  the  "  Miss  Macspleu- 
chan"  of  the  younger — an  alien  alike  to  her 
heart  and  to  her  blood.  She  never  forgot  that 
Lady  Flora,  altho|gh  the  first-born  of  an  earl,  | 
was  nevertheless  the  child  of  a  roturirre  ;  and, 
as  Felicie  delicately  expressed  it,  merely  "sa 
s(Kur  par  rneprise."  The  family-coach  was  a  ] 
never-ceasing  theme  for  contempt ;  and  the 
family  expedients  something  almost  too  absurd 
to  provoke  a  laugh. 

From  such  of  these  as  arose  from  certain 
deficiencies  in  the  Glenfillan  treasury,  the 
haughty  young  beauty  was  happily  exempt, 
Lady  Sinclair  having  considerately  wound  up 
all  her  account  of  kindness  and  affection,  by 
bequeathing  several  hundreds-a-year  to  her  be- 
loved niece  ;  and,  perhaps,  to  this  circumstance 
might  be  attributed  much  of  the  deference  with 
which  she  was  regarded  by  her  female  relatives. 

But,  although  pride  was  the  predominant  fea- 
ture of  Lady  Madelaine's  character,  it  must  not 
be  supposed  that  she  was  destitute  of  other  and 
more  endearing  qualities.  Her  generosity  was 
unbounded.  Her  purse  was  a  common  prop- 
erty whenever  it  could  be  rendered  available  ; 
and  her  nature  was  enthusiastic  and  unsuspi- 
cious. 

Thus,  it  was  only  to,  her  very  particular 
friends  that  Miss  Margery  ventured  to  pour  out 
her  vial  of  wrath  against  the  "  stuck-up  Eng- 
lish-bred quean  who  dared  to  look  down  upon 
her  niece  Flora,  her  own  niece  by  blood,  and 
own  daughter  to  the  right  honorable  the  Earl 
of  Glenfillan  ;  and  herself,  own  sister  as  she 
was  to  the  right  honorable  the  countess,"  in 
some  of  those  quiet  hours  of  gossipry  and  local 
scandal,  wliicii  she  contrived  to  secure  in  her 
morning  room  ;  and  which  helped  to  support 
her  through  the  tedium  of  a  life,  which,  how- 
ever enviable  she  had  esteemed  it  so  long  as  it 
appeared  to  be  unattainable,  she  had  since  learnt 
to  consider  as  an  existence  of  constraint ;  obli- 
ging her,  as  she  graphically  expressed  it,  "always 
to  wear  her  company  face."  But,  as  Miss  Mar- 
gery was  not  a  bad  woman  at  heart,  it  is  only 
fair  to  remark,  that  even  after  these  little  con- 
ferences, aUnough  they  always  were  held  "  with 
closed  doors  "  her  conscience  frequently  pricked 
her,  as  some  act  of  uncaiculating  generosity  on 
the  part  of  the  '•  stuck-up  English-bred  quean" 
toward  herselt  suddenly  Pushed  upon  her  mind. 


Nor  should  the  haughtiness  of  my  mother—^ 
for  the  beautiful  and  accomplished  Lady  Made- 
laine was  my  mother ;  and,  as  I  am  not  writing 
a  melodrame,  and  have  no  genius  for  mystery, 
I  may  as  well  say  so  at  once — nor  should  her 
haughtiness  be  too  severely  censured,  inasmuch 
as  it  had  been  one  of  the  darling  endeavors  of 
Lady  Sinclair  to  iinpress  her,  from  her  earliest 
girlhood,  with  an  exalted  idea  of  her  own  posi- 
tion in  society.  Such  a  lesson  is  readily  learnt, 
for  few  things  ^re  more  susceptible  than  human 
vanity.  "  I  will  not,"  had  said  the  cautious 
aunt,  "  talk  to  her,  at  so  early  an  age,  of  her 
own  personal  attractions.  The  knowledge  of 
those  will  come  soon  enough  ;"  and  so  the  dis- 
creet lady  only  poured  the  guano  over  the  soil 
which  was  to  produce  "  the  earl's  daughter," 
and  left  the  comments  of  her  friends  and  ser- 
vants to  administer  the  unctuous  matter  which 
was  to  force  into  bloom  the  budding  vanity  of 
"  the  little  beauty." 

Thus  she  grew  up — thanks  to  the  care  of  her 
anxious  teachers — moderately  vain,  and  uncom- 
promisingly haughty  ;  whilst  all  her  better  qual- 
ities were  the  spontaneous  growth  of  her  own 
purer  and  nobler  nature.  A  solitary  season  in 
town,  immediately  before  the  death  of  her  aunt, 
during  which  she  had  been  "  the  observed  of  all 
observers,"  had  not  tended  to  diminish  these 
failings ;  and  thus,  in  her  nineteenth  year,  the 
Lady  Madelaine  Glenfillan  was  possessed  of  a 
perfectly  accurate  knowledge  of  her  own  pre- 
tensions, both  personal  and  social,  only  to  be 
condemned,  without  any  consolation  save  the 
companionship  of  her  French  maid  and  her 
Marlborough  spaniel,  to  the  solitude  of  a  high- 
land castle. 


CHAPTER  HL 

And  now  some  curious  reader  may  wish  to 
be  informed  what  motive  the  Earl  of  Glenfillan, 
who,  as  the  reader  must  have  gathered,  was  by 
no  means  a  wealthy  man,  could  have  had  in 
pressing  a  casual  acquaintance  like  my  father, 
and  one,  moreover,  to  whom  he  owed  money, 
to  visit  him  in  his  home,  and  to  see  him  sur- 
rounded by  his  Dii  Penates  in  the  undress  cos- 
tume of  a  Scottish  country  gentleman. 

Heaven  bless  the  bonhomie  of  the  simple- 
hearted  individual  who  ventures  the  inquiry  ! 
My  lord  had  a  penniless  daughter,  on  the  wrong 
side  of  thirty,  still  unmarried  ;  and  it  had  natu- 
rally suggested  itself  to  his  mind  that  her  quality 
was  an  admirable  counterpoise  to  my  father's 
wealth ;  and  that  the  luxurious  commoner 
would  be  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  ol 
hearing  himself  and  his  wife  announced  as  Mr. 
and  Lady  Flora  Tilden,  in  the  saloons  of  his 
London  friends. 

But  those  who  calculate  without  their  host 
require  two  reckonings.  The  noble  lord  did 
not  understand  my  father.  That  he  had  re- 
solved never  to  marry  any  woman  save  one  ot 
high  rank,  was  perfectly  true  ;  but  he  was  also 
determined  that  she  should  do  as  much  credit 
to  his  taste  as  she  would  do  honor  to  his  name  ; 
and  it  was  consequently  in  vain  that  poor  Lady 
Flora  had  received  that  very  mysterious  in- 
junction, which  is  frequently  given  to  young 
ladies  under  such  circumstances,  <o  "  make  thff 
moat  of  herself ;"  and  .  .  n   Mis*^-  Ma'-gery  an 


14  CONFHSSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 

Douiiced,  in  close  conclave,  to  her  favorite  gos-  1  driven  home  to  the  very  head  bY  a  determined 


sips,  lhat«  Southron,  worth  his  weight  in  golil, 
was  coming  to  the  castle  to  marry  her  pet 
niece. 

I  think  I  mentioned,  when  I  originally  intro 


hand. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  easy  for  lookers-on  to 
perceive  thai  the  earl  quite  considered  lite  rich 
Englishman  (to    use  a  phrase  of   Madame  de 


duced  the  reader  tolhe earl's  family  circle,  that  I  Sevigne),  as.  un  chou  de  son  jardin.  Noil 
the  Lady  Flora  was  all  smiles  and  welcome:  could-  exceed  his  delightful  urbanity.  In  hi? 
she  was'  doing  as  she  was  bid  ;  and,  after  her  '  self-graliilation  at  having  caught  such  a  gudgeor. 
first  glance  at  the  stranger,  she  found  the  task    for  his   first-born,   he  performed  upon    himself 


by  no  means  difficult.  My  father  bowed  and 
amiled,  and  his  how  was  very  graceful,  and  his 
smile  very  gracious,  but  his  eyes  had  already 


exactly  the  same  ceremony  to  whicti  Mr.  Petti- 
grew  subjects  his  mummies.  One  slifT  fold 
was  cautiously  unrolled  after  another,  until  at 


wandered  to  a  sofa,  which  was  occupied  by  a  I  length  the  complete  "  form  and  fashion"  of  his 
beautiful  girl  and  a  small  lapdog.  Having  said  I  gracious  composition  was  laid  bare,  and  his 
all  that  she  could  well  say  at  such  a  moment,  i  whole  purpose  stood  revealed  to  his  astonished 
the  Lady  Flora  suffered  Lord  Glenfillan  to  lead  1  guest. 

his  guest  toward  his  other  daughter;  and  the  ]  Meanwhile,  as  I  have  said,  the  dessmts  des 
fair  vision  by  which  he  had  already  been  at-  |  carles  was  palpable  enough  to  all  save  the  pre- 
tracted  t)ent  her  snowy  throat  in  a  mule  saluta-  '  occupied  lover.  Every  one  could  at  once  have 
tion,  worthy  of  an  empress.  Something  like  a  laid  a  finger  upon  the  truth.  Lady  Madelaine, 
mocking  smile  played  for  an  instant  about  her  I  indeed,  was  not  left  to  the  natural  perspicacity 
mouth;  but  she  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  as  she  '  of  her  own  nature.  She  was  duly  informed  by 
again  fell  back  upon  her  cushions,  and  pursued  the  earl  of  his  lordship's  condescending  inlen- 
her  occupation  of  clasping  a  string  of  coral  ^  tions  ;  and,  at  the  moment,  she  opened  wide 
about  the  neck  of  the  spaniel.  both  her  fine  eyes  and  her  riroy  lips,  in  intended 

She  was  plainly  but  richly  dressed  in  deep  expostulation  ;  but  an  instant's  reflection  de- 
mourning,  which  she  had  never  thrown  off  since  cided  her  to  silence.  Who  shall  determine 
the  death  of  her  aunt  :  and  ihe  dazzling  white- i  wherefore  1  I  think  that  1  am  myself  suffi- 
ness  of  her  neck  and  arms  was  rendered  still  |  ciently  cognizant  of  the  impulses  and  inirica 
more  conspicuous  from  the  contrast.  I  shall  cies  of  a  pretty  woman's  heart  to  give  a  shrewd 
enter  into  no  further  detail.     I  have  already  !  guess— but  I  forbear. 

Slated  that  my  mother  was  eminently  beautiful ;  j  Miss  Margery  was  radiant  with  happiness, 
and,  having  given  the  grand  outline  of  the  pic-  She  had  lived  long  enough  in  her  youth  among 
ture,  I  Will  leave  my  reader  to  wash  in  the  lints  the  involved  expedients  and  manoeuvres,  to 
as  he  may  see  lit.  1  which    those    housewives   devote   themselves 

The  curtain  had  now  fairly  risen  upon  the  who  act  upon  the  homely  old  proverb  that  "  a 
drama  which  was  to  be  enacted  at  Glenfillan.  penny  saved 's  a  penny  got,"  to  appreciate  at 
Like  tho  renowned  Marquis  of  Carabbas,  the  ,  its  full  value  the  extent  of  my  father's  wealth, 
earl  believed  that  the  world  and  all  its  con-  '  so  far  as  she  was  enabled  to  comprehend  it. 
tents,  sentient  and  non-sentient,  were  created  '  To  be  sure,  as  she  remarked  more  than  once 
for  the  comfort  and  convenience  of  the  aristoc-  I  to  her  pet  gossip,  "  her  niece  Lady  Flora  Glen- 
racy  ;  while  no  price  could  be  too  high  for  the  fiUan  had  a  right  to  look  higher ;  but  '  a  fat 
plebeian  to  pay,  for  the  privilege  of  entering  its  purse  makes  lean  sorrow  ;'  and  if  she  gained  no 
charmed  circle  ;  and,  with  these  sentiments,  it  title  by  this  marriage,  she  would,  at  least,  not 
is  not  wonderful  that  he  considered  the  mar-  I  lose  her  own." 

riage  of  his  elder  daughter  as  certain  as  though  I  My  father  had  been  bidden  to  the  castle  for 
it  had  been  solemnized  at  St.  George's,  Hanover  |  "a  few  weeks  ;"  and  when  three  of  these  sec- 
Square,  "in  the  presence  of  a  select  circle  of  tional  periods  of  time  had  elapsed,  desperately 
distinguished  friends."  It  would  be  a  dignified,  as  he  loved  the  Lady  Madelaine,  he  lelt  that 
and  lordly  (and  convenient)  way  of  repaying  as  she  had  '•  made  no  sign,"  despite  all  his  ef- 
all  his  obligations  to  his  worthy  guest:  and  he  |  forts  to  awaken  her  from  her  indifference,  it 


resolved  that  he  would  do  the  thing  freely,  and 

cordially,  and  as  though  he  scarcely  looked  upon 

it  as  a  condescension. 

Oh,  delicious  self-delusion !    In  what  exquisite 


was  incumbent  upon   him  to  appear  occupied 

with  parting  intentions,  leaving  it  for  awhile  to 

absence  and  memory  to  work  some  miracle  ia 

IS  behalf;  but  this  free  flight  of  the  yet  unjess- 


mummery  does  poor  human  nature  occasionally    ed  falcon  formed  no  part  of  the  earl's  scheme, 
indulge  !  I  He  could  not  tell,  if  he  thus  launched  the  noble 

For  a  time  my  father  had  no  suspicion  of  the  I  bird  once  more  into  the  wide  horizon  of  London 
generous  intentions  of  the  earl.  How  should  I  society,  what  quarry  he  might  chance  to  strike  ; 
hel  It  was  only  by  the  common  and  necessary  |  and,  moreover,  there  were,  as  I  have  already 
courtesies  of  life  that  he  was  recalled  to  the  fact  I  hinted,  some  small  pecuniary  matters  still 
of  Lady  Flora's  existence.  His  heart  had  soon  pending  between  them,  which  at  that  particular 
followed  the  thrall  of  his  eyes.     He  was  passion- I  moment    it  was    not  altogether  convenient  to 


ately  in  love  with  the  scornful  Madelaine ;  si 
was  precisely  what  novel-writers  call  "  the 
realization  of  his  dreams  ;"  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  my  father  began  to  believe  that 
he  had  found  a  woman  of  whom  he  was  not 
worthy:  (or  that  Lord  Glcntillan  should  have 
had  the  audacity  to  couple  him  even  in  thought 
with  his  elder  daughter,  was  an  idea  which 
could  never  enter  his  imagination,  until  it  was 


himself  to  investigate;  it  was,  consequently, 
not  surprising  that,  with  such  strong  reasons 
on  either  side  to  remain  together,  the  importu- 
nities of  the  earl,  breathing,  as  they  cIkI,  all 
the  disinterestedness  of  overflowing  hospitality, 
soon  convinced  my  father  that  the  weeks  of  his 
residence  at  Glenfillan  might  grow  into  months, 
without  any  impropriety  on  his  part ;  an  ar 
rangement  which  would  enable  him,  m  all  protv 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


15 


ability,  to   ascertain  his  fate  before  he  parted 
from  Lady  Madelaine. 

My  fatlier  was  no  petulant  and  peevish  lover. 
He  had  wisdom  enough  to  feel  that  if  he  were 
indeed  compelled  to  renounce  all  hope  of  win- 
ning the  noble  beauty,  ilie  sooner  he  was  made 
conscious  of  the  fact  the  better ;  and  that  he 
should  be  less  an  object  of  commiseration  to 
himself  on  his  departure,  if  knowing  the  truth, 
even  although  it  should  be  an  unpleasant  one, 
than  living  on  in  a  slate  of  uncertainty  for 
months ;  only,  perhaps,  to  be  ultimately  disap- 
pointed, when  lime  had  rendered  the  one  en- 
grossing subject  of  his  thoughts  essential  to  the 
after-happiness  of  his  life.  i 

The  only  disinterested  member  of  the  family 
was  the  little  Marlborough  spaniel,  which,  as  it 
lay  on  the  sofa  beside  its  mistress,  rolled  its 
bright  eyes  over  the  group,  with  an  expression 
of  luxurious  and  languid  indifference. 

To  thejiospitable  entreaties  of  the  earl  that 
my  father  would  extend  his  visit,  both  Lady 
Flora  and  Miss  Margery  added  their  own  ;  but 
the  younger  lady,  toward  whom  the  guest 
glanced  anxiously  more  than  once  during  the 
discussion,  preserved  a  profound  and  apparently 
unobservant  silence.  Lord  jGlenfillan  was  so 
earnest  that  he  became  heated  by  his  own  elo- 
quence. Miss  Macspleuchan,  when  she  re- 
flected upon  the  probable  consequences  of  the 
"rich  Southron's"  departure,  grew  positively 
agitated.  She  had  so  long  accustomed  herself 
to  look  upon  his  marriage  with  her  favorite 
niece  as  a  matter  of  course — for  the  earl  had 
duly  informed  her  also  of  his  gracious  purposes, 
even  before  my  father's  arrival  at  the  castle — 
that  she  actually  felt  herself  aggrieved  ;  and 
she  sat  fuming  and  fidgeting,  like  one  laboring 
in  silence  under  an  affront  which  would  gladly 
have  revenged  itself  in  words.  But  Lady  Flora 
surpassed  all  the  other  actors  in  this  exciting 
scene.  At  first  she  had  mingled  her  own  en- 
treaties with  those  of  her  father ;  then,  sud- 
denly, she  sank  into  silence,  keeping  her  eyes 
steadily  and  imploringly  fixed  upon  the  yielding 
guest,  who  had  no  sooner  murmured  the  assent 
for  which  she  was  so  eagerly  listening,  than, 
uttering  a  faint  and  smothered  exclamation,  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  rushed 
from  the  room. 

By  a  spontaneous  movement  the  earl  seized 
the  hand  of  his  guest,  and  wrung  it  earnestly, 
with  a  most  expressive  gravity  of  countenance. 
Miss  Margery  rose  hastily,  in  a  state  of  great 
alarm,  and  followed  her  niece  ;  and,  it  so  chan- 
ced that,  at  the  same  moment,  a  servant  enter- 
ed to  announce  that  a  gentleman  who  had  called 
by  appointment  was  awaiting  Lord  Glenfillan  in 
the  library. 

For  the  first  time  since  his  residence  in  the 
castle,  the  Lady  Madelaine  and  my  father  were 
tite-a-Ute. 

It  was  a  sufficiently  perplexing  position  for 
the  visitor,  who  could  not  quite  repress  his  mor- 
tification at  the  studied  indifference  of  his  young 
hostess  ;  nor  was  the  difficulty  lessened  by  the 
fact  that,  even  when  she  heard  her  father  sum- 
moned from  the  room,  she  never  raised  her  eyes 
from  the  book  upon  which  she  had  been  engaged 
tkf  ^'ghout  the  conference.  The  earl  had  been 
enchanted  with  her  dignified  reserve,  forming, 
as  it  did,  to  admirable  a  contrast  to  her  sister's 


emotion  ;  and  he  had  consequently  made  no  ef- ' 
fort  to  obtain  her  cooperation.  Miss  Margery 
considered  that,  for  once,  she  had  acted  with 
proper  discretion  in  not  interfering  wilh  the  pros- 
pects of  her  elder:  while  Lady  Flora  herself  was 
so  absorbed  by  her  own  hopes  and  lears,  that 
she  had  utterly  forgotten  her  existence. 

Poor  Lady  Flora,  meanwhile,  was  really  an 
object  of  pity.  She  had  been  pompously  in- 
structed by  her  father  to  overlook  Mr.  Tilden's 
want  of  rank,  when  he  was  first  expected,  and 
to  accept  at  once  the  hand  whicli  would  assured- 
ly be  at  her  disposal  belbre  he  left  Scotland,  and 
even  then  she  (elt  no  whit  inclined  to  disobey, 
for  her  position  in  her  paternal  home  was  by  no 
means  hyper-pleasurable.  She  heard  that  the 
Englishman  was  immensely  rich,  and  unusually 
handsome  ;  and  when  the  earl  admitted  that 
he  had  reason  to  believe,  from  certain  words 
which  had  dropped  from  Mr.  Tilden  himself, 
that  he  had  been  at  some  period  engaged  in  com- 
merce, he  somewhat  abruptly  reminded  her  ihat 
this  fact  would  by  no  means  render  ilic  match 
a  misalliance,  as  it  would  have  done  in  ilie  case 
of  Lady  Madelaine  ;  her  own  mother  having,  pre- 
viously to  her  marriage  with  himself,  occupied  a 
station  much  less  exalted  than  that  of  an  English 
merchant. 

Lady  Flora  felt  no  inclination  to  contend  the 
question.  She  was  satisfied  wilh  complaining 
of  the  taunt  to  her  sympathizing  aunt.  She  had 
almost  begun  to  consider  her  establishment  as 
hopeless  ;  for  even  among  the  petty  lairds  who 
were  occasionally  received  at  the  casile,  there 
was  a  sufficient  taste  for  youth  and  beauty  to 
fortify  them  against  the  prestige  of  her  rank ; 
and  strangers  were  rarely  indeed  guests  at 
Glenfillan. 

Like  many  persons  whose  means  have  been 
inadequate  to  their  pretensions,  Lady  Flora  had 
an  inordinate  idea  of  the  power  of  wealth.  She 
could  conceive  no  earthly  evil,  save  death  itself, 
to  which  it  could  not  afford  a  remedy — while 
even  to  this  exception  it  lent  a  sort  of  glory 
which  almost  divested  it  of  its  bitterness — the 
glory  of  lead,  and  mahogany,  and  gold-headed 
nails :  of  armorial  bearings,  and  velvet,  and 
feathers.  The  rich  man's  last  sad  and  solemn 
mockery ! 

In  this  acquiescent  mood  of  mind,  she  met 
my  father ;  and  what  had  at  first  been  mere  cu- 
riosity and  self-gratulation,  soon  grew  into  a 
deeper  feeling.  Although  utterly  undble  to  ap- 
preciate, as  they  deserved,  either  the  elegance 
of  his  person,  or  the  refinement  of  his  manner, 
Lady  Flora  could  nevertheless  feel  that  he  was. 
to  every  man,  save  her  father,  with  whom  she 
had  hitherto  been  brought  into  contact,  as  "  Hy 
perion  to  a  satyr."  Assured  that  she  was  to 
become  his  wife,  she  made  no  attempt  to  checV 
the  admiration  with  which  she  regarded  him ; 
and,  from  day  to  day,  the  feeling  grew  and 
strengthened,  until  she  began,  for  the  first  time, 
to  indulge  in  a  violent  jealousy  of  her  young  aim 
beautiful  sister. 

Despite  the  remonstrances  of  Miss  .Margery, 
who  affected  to  talk  of  Lady  Madelaine  as  a  fro- 
ward  child,  she  could  not  blind  herself  lo  liie 
fact  that  she  was  a  most  formidable  rival ;  and 
it  was  only  the  dreaded  beauty  liersuH  who  suc- 
ceeded in  relieving  the  mind  of  Lady  Flora  from 
its   unaccustomed  weight.     Her  coldness,  bf 


16 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


indifference,  her  apparent  abstraction,  ultimately 
satisfied  the  more  vehement  and  less  refined 
mind  of  the  bride  presumptive  that  she  was 
perfectly  uniniereste'l  in  the  English  stranger  ; 
and  she  accordingly  pursued  the  even  tenor  of 
her  way,  arranging  with  her  prime  minister, 
Miss  Margery,  all  her  intended  movements, 
when  she  should  have  become  Lady  Flora  Til- 
den,  the  mistress  of  countless  thousands,  and 
the  titled  member  of  an  untitled  family,  who 
would,  as  a  matter  of  course,  appreciate  the 
honor  of  her  alliance.  Miss  Margery's  projects 
of  housewifery  were  miraculous,  and  would 
have  astonished  Meg  Dodds  herself;  while  those 
of  her  nieco,  although  their  magnificence  did  not 
fail  to  dazzle  the  conspirators  by  whom  they 
were  mooted,  would  have  made  no  very  serious 
inroad  upon  my  father's  income. 

Singular,  meanwhile,  had  been  the  transition- 
state  of  Lady  Madelaine's  feelings.  When  first 
informed  of  the  expected  advent  of  the  English 
stranger,  and  the  intended  purpose  of  the  earl, 
she  only  curled  her  lip,  and  murmured  some- 
thing which  sounded  like  "roturier!"  at  which 
Lord  Glenfillan  laughed,  patted  her  smooth 
cheek,  and  bade  her  remember  that  it  was  not 
herself  whom  he  was  anxious  to  establish.  Her 
own  independence  of  the  arrangement  she  could 
easily  understand  ;  nor  was  her  noble  father's 
anxiety  to  provide  for  her  plain,  and,  as  Feiicie 
called  her,  antediluvian  sister,  at  all  difficult  to 
comprehend  ;  but  the  result  of  the  conference 
was  a  deep  and  scornful  contempt  for  the  mo- 
neyed plebeian,  who  could  thus  be  disposed  of 
at  the  will  of  a  tilled  acquaintance.  So  utter, 
indeed,  was  her  disdain,  that  she  never  heard 
his  name  mentioned  without  a  feeling  of  annoy- 
ance. The  unknown  guest  was  her  bete  noire; 
and  she  shuddered  as  she  reflected  on  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  showing  civility  to  such  a 
brother-in-law. 

When  they  at  length  met,  the  graceful,  and 
withal  haughty  demeanor  of  my  father,  in  some 
degree,  disturbed  her  calculations;  but  as  she 
had  a  most  powerful  prejudice  to  overcome,  she 
almost  persuaded  herself  that  she  dislrivcd  him. 
The  high-bred  simplicity  of  his  character,  his 
utter  want  of  value  for  wealth,  save  as  a  mean 
for  the  attainment  of  higher  objects,  she  de- 
nounced as  a  pitiful  afTeciation.  How  was  it 
possible  that  a  man  should  under-estimate  his 
only  advantage! 

Three  weeks,  as  I  have  already  stated,  had 
elapsed  from  the  arrival  of  my  father  at  Glenfil- 
lan Castle,  to  the  morning  on  which  he  announ- 
ced his  intention  of  departure.  Why  did  the 
volume,  upon  which  the  Lady  Madelaine  ap- 
peared to  be  so  earnestly  engaged,  tremble  in 
her  clasp  1  No,  sapient  reader !  you  are  wrong. 
She  did  not  love  my  father.  And  yet  his  threat- 
ened evasion  afltcted  her  powerfully.  Here  is 
the  word  of  the  enigma.  In  the  first  place,  Lady 
Madelaine  was  a  woman  :  in  the  next  place,  she 
was  a  pretty  woman  :  and,  in  the  third  place,  she 
was  young  and  vain.  She  had  soon  suspected 
that  my  father  loved  her :  she  had  penetration  and 
judgment  enough  to  decide  that  he  was  a  gentle- 
man, and  that  he  was  quite  conscious  of  all  that 
was  due  to  himself  as  such  ;  to  all  which  con- 
victions was  superadded  the  fact  that,  since  her 
domestication  at  Glenfillan,  she  had  never  pre- 
vioufcly  seen  any  one  on  whom  it  would  not  have 


been  caviare  to  expend  her  brilliant  coquetries. 
There  was  someiWmg  fiquanie,  too,  in  the  idea 
of  having,  without  one  poor  effort,  won  the  heart 
which  was  already  considered  as  "  property"  by 
another,  although  that  other  did  chance  to  be 
plain  and  antediluvian  ;  and  there  was,  par  des- 
sus  tout,  a  spice  of  mortification  in  being  com- 
pelled to  believe  that  the  net  was  too  frail  to 
hold  the  capture. 

And  thus  it  chanced,  gracious  reader,  that 
the  volume  did  tremble  in  the  clasp  of  the  Lady 
Madelaine,  when  my  father  announced  his  in- 
tention to  depart  on  the  morrow.  Lady  Flora 
had,  as  I  have  stated,  rushed  from  the  room  in 
the  attitude  of  a  tragic  actress  :  Miss  Margery 
had  followed  with  more  good-will  than  dignity; 
his  lordship  of  Glenfillan  had  been  summoned 
to  an  interview  ;  and  the  Lady  Madelaine  and 
my  father  were,  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives, 
titc-li-tete. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  ^My  fathei 
stood  where  his  host  had  left  him,  near  the  ta- 
ble in  the  centre  of  the  vast  apartment ;  and  the 
lady  sat,  half-buried  amid  her  cushions,  in  a 
lounging-chair  near  the  open  window.  The  po- 
sition was  embarrassing  for  the  gentleman  ;  but 
he  soon  rallied,  and,  approaching  the  silent 
beauty,  remarked  steadily — 

"  If  I  could  only  flatter  myself  that  the  Lady 
Madelaine  was  not  utterly  indifferent  to  my  de- 
cision...." 

He  was  met  by  such  a  look  of  scornful  won- 
derment that  he  was  at  once  answered  ;  for  it 
said,  as  plainly  as  a  look  could  say  :  "  How  do 
you  imagine  that  it  can  have  awakened  my  in- 
terest!" and  then  the  large  eyes  were  once 
more  dropped  upon  the  book,  and  their  long, 
dark  lashes  rested  like  a  fringe  upon  the  slightly- 
suffused  cheek.  My  father  bowed  profoundly, 
with  a  haughtiness  worthy  of  Lady  Madelaine 
herself,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,  sir ;"  said  the  sweet 
voice  to  which  he  loved  to  listen,  before  he 
had  traversed  the  floor  ;  "  I  am  happy  that  Lord 
Glenfillan  should  have  been  enabled  to  render 
his  residence  sufficiently  agreeable  to  his  guest, 
to  make  him  willing  to  extend  his  visit ;  but  I 
have  never  considered  myself  privileged  to  in- 
terfere with  any  of  my  father's  arrangements." 

There  must  have  been  something  infinitely 
less  cold  in  the  tone  than  in  the  words  of  this 
address  ;  for  it  is  certain  that,  instead  of  leaving 
tlve  room,  according  to  his  original  intention, 
my  father  reversed  his  movement,  and  again 
approached  the  lady. 

This  was  her  first  triumph.  She  felt  that  she 
had  not  deceived  herself— that  he  could  not  leave 
her  coldly — that  he  did  love  her.  The  convic- 
tion brought  a  bloom  to  her  cheek.  Her  wo- 
man-vanity was  satisfied ;  and  she  valued  his 
preference  the  more  that  she  had  seen  him  in 
the  very  act  of  sacrificing  his  passion  to  his 
pride.  Accustomed  as  she  had  been  since  her 
girlhood  to  admiration,  she  felt  the  dreary  and 
monotonous  tenor  of  her  life  at  Glenfillan  agree- 
ably relieved  by  the  certainty  of  a  new  adorer; 
and  one,  too,  whom,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  she 
was  conscious  that  she  could  not  despise.  With 
these  sentiments,  nothing  could  be  more  natural 
than  that  she  should  be  averse  to  the  departure 
of  so  eligible  an  inmate. 

Let  no  rigid  moralist  decide  that  this  course 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


17 


CI  a  ;ti(>n  involved  treacliery  to  Lady  Flora.   My  \ 
tiioilier  was  well  awnre,  lieiore  the  Englishman  j 
had  passed  a  week  in  the  casiie,  that  her  father's  ' 
P'.oject  must  I'atl.     He   was  not  one  of  those 
inanageahlo  and  will-less  heinu:s,  who  are  mere  \ 
numan  thistle-down,  sa:liM<,',  wahoui  reluctance, 
along  any  wmd  wlneh  may  chance  to  blow  ;  and  , 
still  less  did  I.e  resemble  the  mean-spirited  para- 
sites who  feci  SPfMrity  only  in  the  stability  of 
the  object  to  which  I  hey  cling.  She  had  long  been  1 
convinced  that  even  had  there  existed  no  Lady 
Madelaine   GhnliUan,    there   would    assuredly 
never   have   been    a   Lady  Flora  Tihh'n.     Mt/ 
f'itlier  and  her  sister  were,  as  she  at  once  dis- 
covered, the  very  antipodes  of  each  olh?r ;  they 
were  oil  and  water — snow  and  fire — romance 
and  reality — sentimeni  and  maiter-of-fact — the 
two  e.Kiremities  of  a  straight  line,  never  destined 
by  any  possibiliiy  to  ciuiie  together;  and,  such 
being  the  case,  her  (tonscience  was  at  ease  as 
regarded  her  d^niy  to  her  family,  while  she  felt 
no  inclinatKin  lo  Ibiego  the  opportunity  of  re- 
lieving her  own  cnmu. 

If  I  go  on  ampliiyiiig  iny  explanation  so  large- 
ly, however,  i  shall  never  terminate  tlie  tetc-a-  ' 
f&te  upon  which  I  have  ventured  lo  intrude  ;  and  ! 
I  will,  therelbre,  resume  it  with  the  second  ar-  j 
rival  of  my  fiither  beside  the  lounging-chair. 
Pygmalion  had  at  least  awakened  the  statue 
into  life,  and  he  was  naturally  anxious  to  ascer- 
tain in  how  lar  his  skill  would  turn  to  his  own 
advantage. 

"  Do  ytm  indeed  believe,  Lady  Madelaine," 
he  asked,  in  the  same  suppressed  voice  in  which 
he  had  tirst  spoken,  "  thai  your  presence  under 
his  lordship's  roof  can  tail  to  exert  a  despotic 
power  over  all  within  ihe  sphere  ol  its  inHiiencel  ' 
And  am  I  to  he  the  only  milortunate  individual  to  , 
whom  it  is  hrrbuhlen  to  acknowledge  its  suprein-  ' 
aoy  1     Surely  this  is  someuhat  ungenerous!"    j 

"Nay,  nay!"  exclaimed  the  lady,  with  a 
half-coijiieiiish  and  all-harmomous  laugh,  as  .she 
extended  iowaids  him  her  small  white  hand  ; 
"you  remain  here,  and  we  cannot  aflbrd,  in 
such  a  sohtude  as  this,  o  live  together  in  en- 
uiity.     At  all  events,  I  p  opose  a  iruce." 

"And  1  accept  your  u  rms,"  said  my  father, 
bending  his  lips  u|)on  Ihf  hand  he  held. 

"Do  you  admire  Ka"  ne  !"  asked  the  lady, 
raising  her  Ixauiiful  ey.  3  to  his  face  for  an  in- 
stant ;  "  with  all  his  monotony  of  cadence, 
surely  he  was  a  great  fr..et." 

"And  lived  in  a  grct  age,"  was  the  reply  ; 
"  great  ahke  in  its  Iu7-..ry,  its  ambition,  and  its 
vices.  It  is,  1  conff.?.i,  somewhat  difficult  to 
me,  as  I  turn  ove/  the  pages  of  his  tragic 
dramas,  to  f^.^i-e  to  myself  the  auihor  of  An- 
dromache fj'.e/  ,-)g  'Jic  caprices  of  a  court,  and 
the  chances  r;  r^  camp." — (Uy  this  time  my  i 
father  had  dr  ,w  ,  a  chair  near  that  of  the  lady,  I 
and  estal)lislicd  '.irnielf  comfortably  at  her  side.) 
— "  Nor  do  1  h.)  j  it  more  easy  to  reconcile  the 
pliability  at'  ler.perament  which  enabled  the 
man  of  genius  to  v^ie  with  a  group  of  witless 
courtiers  in  (lailrr:ng  a  vain  and  sensual  mon- 
arch, beyond  t^c  bounds  of  modesty  and  rea- 
son." 

"Racine!"  exclaimed  the  Lady  Madelaine, 
interested  in  spite  of  herself  by  the  turn  which 
her  own  quesl'oii  had  given  to  the  conversa- 
tion ;  "  I  do  not  remember  to  what  you  allude. 
Perhaps  you  will  relate  the  anecdote." 
C 


"  It  is  brief  and  simple,"  said  my  father 
"  \\'hen  Louis  XIV.  pensioned  Racine  and  D(!S 
preaiix  as  the  historians  of  his  reign,  the  war 
against  Germany  was  still  at  its  height ;  and  a 
few  days  after  the  Marshal  de  (/reijiii  compelled 
the  Prince  of  Saxe  and  Senac  to  capiiulaie,  the, 
king  remarked  to  them  that  he  regretted  their 
absence  Iroiii  the  army  upon  that  occasion,  a3 
it  would  have  enabled  them  to  see  a  little  light- 
ing, without  much  exertion  or  fatigue;  upon 
which  Racme  replied,  '  Sire,  wc  are  two  citi- 
zens, who  have  only  jirovided  ourselves  with  a 
costume  suited  to  peace  and  study ;  we  had  in- 
deed ordered  suits  more  appropriate  to  the 
camp,  but  your  majesty  takes  the  places  which 
you  attack  with  such  rapidity,  that  our  tailors 
have  not  had  time  to  hnisb  them.'  Surely 
this  was  unworthy  of  a  great  genius." 

"Paliry  and  pitiful!"  acquiesced  the  lady, 
with  a  contemptuous  toss  of  her  little  head  ; 
"a  woman  would  have  spurned  st)  coarse  and 
so  fulsome  a  flattery." 

Now  I  am  quite  sure  that  my  reader  was  to- 
tally unprepared  for  siu-li  a  dialogue  as  this  ; 
and  yet,  all  hough  il  progressed  m  preci.sely  the 
same  manner  lo  its  clo.se,  and  Uial  not  one 
word  of  gallantry  escaped  the  li()s  of  my  f.ilher, 
and  not  one  seiitein'c  ,il'  eiieou.ragemiiU  was 
uttered  by  those  of  his  companion,  both  paitiea 
were  c<mscious,  when  the  reappearance  of  tlie 
earl  broke  up  liie  conversation,  thai  each  was 
an  object  of  interest  to  the  other.  My  father 
had,  by  a  delicacy  of  tact  natural  to  him.  avoid- 
ed every  opportunity  of  alarming  the  piide  of 
the  young  beauty,  and  eonse(|uenlly  made  more 
progress  in  her  favor  than  he  could  have  done 
by  a  sc(ire  of  idle  flattejries.  She  was  indi-bled 
to  him  for  an  hour  of  calm  and  rational  enjoy- 
ment ;  and,  moreover,  she  felt  she  had  con- 
vinced him  that  her  beauty  was  not  ihe  only 
quality  for  which  she  was  worthy  lo  be  loved. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

My  father's  orders  were  countermanded.  His 
valet  somewhat  sullenly,  and  very  reliictanily, 
replaced  all  the  cosily  toys  on  the  dressing- 
table,  and  returned  all  the  linen  lo  the  drawers. 
There  was  no  Lady  Madelaine  in  the  .servant's 
hall. 

A  few  days  subsequently  the  earl  ceased  to 
address  his  guest  as  "Mr.  Tildm  ;"  he  believed 
that  he  had  now  all  the  court-cards  in  Ins  own 
hand;  and  it  was  simply  "  TiKlen,"  or  '''my 
dear  fi  How."  He  made  no  comment  upon  the 
fact  that  both  gun  and  fishing-rod  were  aban- 
doned, and  thai  my  failier  lounged  away  all  his 
mornings  beside  the  work-table  of  the  ladies, 
tuning  Lady  Madelaine's  guitar,  or  drawing 
patterns  for  her  sister's  worstedwork. 

By  the  by.  Lady  Flora  never  looked  so  com- 
pletely as  though  she  were  fulfilling  the  end  ol 
her  creation,  as  when  seen  behind  her  frame, 
and  amid  piles  of  (Jerman  wool.  The  labori- 
ous idleness  of  this  heating  and  ponderous  em- 
pioyirient  just  suited  her  capacity.  She  felt 
that  she  was  busy,  that  she  appeared  indnstiious;. 
and,  moreover,  nothing  could  be  more  conve- 
nient Ihan  the  fact  that  when  she  ventured  tc 
lake  part  in  a  conversation  to  which  she  was 
not  competent,  and  could  not  readily  exlncats 


18 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


herself  from    the   consequences    of  her   own  ' 
temerity,  she  found  a  never-failing  resnurce  in 
the  "  one,  two,  three,  light  green — two,  dark  ' 
preen — one.  two,  three,  yellow" — and   so  on, 
by  which  she  contrived  to  wind  up  her  periods,  i 

Tins  was,  however,  a  case  of  "  voluntary  la- 
bor ;"    for  I  do  not    hclieve   tiiat  eitiier  I,ady 
Madeleine  or  my  father  would  have  remarked 
the  circumstance,  even  had  she  strangled  every  I 
sentence  in  the  utterance.  I 

Miss  Margery  was  tiie  only  blot  upon  this  | 
picture  of  still  life.      She  was  so   essentially  j 
what    the   French  denominate   remuanfe,  that  ! 
she  Was  never  quiet  in  one  place  for  half  an  I 
hour  logfiher.     If  her  niece  were  born  to  exe- 
cute large  pieces  of  worstedwork,  which,  when 
they  were  linished  (and  very  few  elaborate  un- 
deriakiiigs   of  this   nature  ever  are   linished), 
looked  almost  as  well  as  squares  of  indifferent- 
ly-woven carpet ;    she  was  as  certainly  sent 
into  the  world  to 

"chronicle  smnll  beer;" 

and,  accordingly,  her  miiuiie  avocations  were, 
if  not  altogether  without  aim,  decidedly  with- 
out end. 

Dut,  alas  !  this  state  of  things  could  not  last 
forever.  The  earl,  quite  convinced  of  the  wis- 
dom and  desirability  of  his  own  arrangements, 
never  suffered  himself  to  doubt,  for  a  moment, 
to  which  of  his  daughters  Mr.  Tilden  was  de- 
voting himself.  Of  course,  he  would  not  pre- 
sume to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  Lady  Madelaine  ;  [ 
and  equally  of  course,  the  large  fortune  of  the  | 
handsome  commoner  should  not  be  allowed  to  ' 
go  out  of  the  family.  Noihing,  theielore,  could 
have  happened  better.  The  Glenfillau  star  was 
in  ilie  ascendant.  Flora  would  soon  be  provi- 
ded for;  and  he  should  orfly  have  to  find  a  suit- 
able and  satisfactory  parti  for  his  bcautiiul 
.Madi'laine.  In  this  there  could  be  no  dilhculty. 
The  climax  of  his  reflections  was  their  most 
raiioiial  feature. 

All  these  fair  visions,  dovetailing  so  pleasant- 
ly together  in  his  mind,  like 

'•  A  liiikeJ  chain  of  sweelness  long  drawn  out," 
naturally  rendered   him   anxious  to  force  for- 
ward their  realization;  and  my  lather  was  ac- 
cordinj;ly  disturbed  one  morning — ^just  as    he 
was  dcfply  engaged  in  looking  over,  with  l.ady 
Madelaiiic,  a  portfolio  of  drawings  and  prints 
l)y  which  he  had  illustrated  his  European  tour, 
and  accompanying  each  landscape  or  cobtume 
with  soini'  appropriate  anecdote — by  a  message  1 
from    the   earl,  requesting,  should   Mr.  Tilden  | 
not  be  oilierwisB  employed,  the  pleasure  of  his 
company  in  his  lordship's  study.  i 

Ajircipos — What  a  singular  caprice  it  ra  on  I 
the   priit  of  all  stupid   men    to  nickname   one  I 
cosy,  snug,  .sleep-mviiing   liiile  a|)arimenl   in 
their  houses  by  tliis  imp>ising  name;  crowding 
Its  walls  with  shelves  lull  of  books  which  they  | 
never  read,  and  its  tables  with  paper  upon  which  | 
they  never  write  I     I  rarely  enter  one  of  these  [ 
calumniated  cabinets   without   thinking  of  the  ; 
Uashfiil  Man  in  the  Spectator,  who,  m  helping 
hims'lf  to  what  he  supposed  to  be  a  voIuuk;  oI' 
Xenophon,  drew  down  on  his  unhapjty  head  a 
ponderous  lioard,  leathered  artd  gill  into  tlie  (air  | 
semblance  of  a  set  of  classics  ;  and  expended  i 
upon   his  best  suit  the    ink  of  the  cajiacious  I 
stand   wh;ch   had  been  destined  to  dry  up  in  | 
quiet  and  undisturbed  dignity.     He  is  probably  [ 


not  the  only  individual  who  has  suffered  from 
a  similar  mistake. 

The  request  was  peculiarly  ill  timed,  for  my 
father  felt  that  he  had  never  yet  hi  en  listened 
to  with  an  attention  so  marked  and  fiattering. 
'J'he  fair  lady  had  taken  so  unaffected  an  inter- 
est in  the  liille  episodes  of  his  traveling  life, 
and  had  received  with  so  much  genuine  pleasure 
the  half-dozen  drawings  and  cameos,  which  he 
had  ventured  to  offer  to  her,  that  a  bright  hope 
sprang  up  in  his  heart  which  he  had  never  he- 
fore  entertained.  There  was,  however,  n' 
remedy  for  the  evil.  Common  politeness  co!.i- 
pelled  his  immediate  acquiescence  in  the  carl's 
request:  and  he  closed  the  portf(dio  with  a  lit- 
tle gesture  of  impatience,  easily  interpreted  by 
his  companion. 

"  I  beseech  you,  do  not  run  away  with  it," 
she  said,  smilingly  ;  "  if  you  have  sufficient  con- 
fidence in  my  good  taste  to  believe  that  it  will 
prove  a  charming  resource  for  my  indolence, 
while  my  lord  asks  your  advice  on  some  mat- 
ter of  agricultural  interest,  or  country  justice; 
though  I  warn  you  that  I  may  probably  lay 
aside  all  that  strikes  my  fancy ;  and  condemn 
you,  on  your  return,  to  such  graphic  and  legerj- 
dary  illustration  as  may  sorely  try  your  pa- 
tience." 

"  I  will  willingly  encounter  the  risk,  hazard- 
ous though  it  be,"  replied  my  father  as  he  lelt 
the  room.'w'ith  a  firm  intention  to  render  the 
period  of  his  absence  as  short  as  possible. 

His  own  impression,  as,  preceded  by  the 
grave  old  butler,  he  wended  his  way  to  the 
earl's  sanctum,  was  simply  that  Lord  Glenfil- 
lan  was  psobably  in  want  of  a  few  additional 
hundreds,  and  was  about  to  do  him  the  lionor 
of  asking  them  at  his  hands  ;  and  no  idea  could 
possibly  have  been  more  agreeable  to  my  fathei. 
It  vvould  be  another  link  of  kindness  and  good- 
will between  them  ;  and  he  was  naturally  anx- 
ious to  create  these  by  every  means  in  his  pow 
er,  while  this  was  one  of  the  most  ready  and 
easy  which  he  could  encounter. 

One  glance  at  my  lord,  as  he  entered  the 
room,  however,  sufficed  to  undeceive  him. 
The  earl  had' by  no  means  ihe  appearance  of  a 
m;in  about  to  ask- a  loan.  There  was  a  self- 
gratulatory  graciousncss  about  him,  which  for 
an  instant  made  my  father  fear  that,  on  the 
contrary,  he  was  about  to  rescind  that  which 
he  had  already  contracted.  But,  in  this,  he 
was  equally  at  fault. 

Lrtira  Glf.nfillan  was  in  the  true  study  cos- 
tume :  a  brocaded  silk  dressing-gown,  yellow 
morocco  slippers,  and  a  velvet  skull-cap.  He 
was  rubbing  his  palms  together  gently  and 
quietly,  like  a  person  well-satisfied,  who  was 
prepared  to  be  amiable  ;  and  when  tired  of  this 
amusement,  he  indulgfd  the  playfulness  of  his 
spirit  by  twirling  the  tassels  which  were  at- 
tached to  the  cord  that  confined  his  dressing- 
gown  at  the  waist.  He  inoti(.ned  my  tather  to 
an  easy  chair  with  a  sweet  smile  and  a  grace- 
ful wave  ol  the  hand  ;  and  seated  liii)i>elf  oppo- 
site to  him  with  much  the  same  air  as  a  mon- 
arch assumes  when  he  is  about  to  give  audi- 
eiiee.  He  had  evidently  more  trouble  in  "ton- 
ing down"  his  urbuniiy,  than  in  creating  a 
semblance  to  the  virtue  when  he  had  it  not 
He  was,  in  short,  the  very  embodiment  of  h" 
man  sunshine. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


19 


Hf- opened  the  conference  with  a  sapient  re- 
mark upon  the  weather.  The  dense  log  which, 
8t  iJayhreak,  iiunir like  a  dark  douil  upon  the  lake, 
and  maite  the  larches  on  the  opposite  hill  quite 
invisible  from  the  windows,  had  really  cleared 
off  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner.  Indeed, 
he  did  not  kno'v  wlien  he  ha(l  seen  a  finer  day. 
It  was  almost  a  sin  in  a  young  man,  like  his 
friend  Tilden,  to  remain  mewed  up  in  the  house 
when  he  might  be  amid  tiie  heather  with  his 
gun  upon  his  shoulder.  He,  however,  could 
not  hut  feel  the  contrary  mode  of  action  as  a 
vast  coinplimant  to  his  family  circle;  and  was 
delighted  to  find  that  there  was  amusement 
enough  within  the  castle  walis,  to  satisfy  so 
truant  a  personage  as  his  present  guest. 

My  faiher,  of  course,  could  only  bow,  and 
smiie,  and  declare  that  he  could  expect  no  en- 
joyment without,  even  upon  the  heathery  hills, 
with  sport  at  pleasure,  to  equal  that  which  he 
could  command  within.  And  then  there  was 
a  short  pause.  The  guest  waited  to  learn  what 
was  to  he  the  subject  of  the  tctc-atcte ;  and  Use 
host  did  not  altogether  know  how  to  broach  it.  i 

At  length  he  assumed  his  most  sonny  look,  | 
and  throwing  himself  back  upon  his  seat,  while  ! 
he  kept  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  an  experi- 
ment which  he  was  trying,  and  which  consisted 
in  joining  the  fingers  of  iiis  two  hands  at  tlie  | 
point;  and  then,  closing  the  palms  slowly  and 
caiefully  together,  as  thocgh  he  were  anxious 
to  convince  himself  that  they  were  both  per-  j 
fectly  of  a  size,  he  said,  in  an  accent  of  great 
benignity—  | 

"  I  am  more  than  pleased,  my  dear  fellow, 
that  it  should  be  so ;  for,  although  no  longer 
young  myself,  I  have  not  yet  quite    forgotten 
that  men  of  yojir  age  do  not  abandon  the  sports  | 
of  the  field,  and  ihe  manly  exercises  to  which 
they  are  accu.stomed.  without  a  powerful  induce- 
ment ;  and,  even  delicately  situated  as  I  arn,  I  \ 
cannot   resist  telling  you,  Tilden,  how  much  I  j 
rejoice  that  such  should  be  the  case."  | 

And  the  earl,  having  by  this  time  satisfied 
himsell  that  his  hands  were  indubitably  fellows, 
extended  one  of  them  to  his  vrsitiir,  with  a 
frankness  which  \vas  quite  beautiful. 

My  lather  was  s<miew|iat  startled,  but  still 
more  gratified.  He  eagerly  grasped  the  offered 
hand,  and  was  about  to  reply,  when,  with  a  nod 
of  intelligence,  Lord  Glenlillan  continued  : 

'•  I  am  the  last  man  in  the  wiirld,  as  I  am 
sure  that  you  who  know  me  will  concede  at 
once,  to  approve  of  fetnale  demonstration  in 
delicate  aflairs  of  this  kind  :  but  still,  I  am 
aware  that  women,  even  of  the  purest  minds 
and  most  refined  natures,  have  certain  little  oc- 
cult methods  of  testilying  their  preference,  of 
N\hich  ilipy  are  themselves  almost  uoconscious, 
!2ut  whi(th  iriust  carry  conviction  to  the  mind  of 
the  person  so  distinguished  ;  nor  do  I  fear  to 
have  deceived  myself,  in  the  belief  that  you 
have  IkjUi  experienced  and  reciprocated  these 
evidences  in  my  dear  girl." 

"  My  h)rd,'"  exclaimed  my  father,  earnestly  : 
**  this  IS  indeed  noble  on  your  part !  For  I  can- 
not, 1  Will  not  affect  to  misinterpret  the  gene- 
rous feding  which  has  prompted  you  to  speak 
thus  openly.  I  only  fear  that  your  friendship 
for  me  has  led  you  to  exaggerate  in  my  favor  the 
few  sfght  marks  of  attention  with  which  the  lady  I 
kas  honored  mc."  i 


"  Tush  !  tush  !"  coughed  his  lordship,  sup- 
pressing under  this  slight  convulsion  the  sm-ile 
that  was  rising  to  his  lips  ;  "  I  will  be  your  se- 
curity ;  and,  had  I  valued  you  less,  either  as  a 
man  or  as  a  friend,  than  I  actually  do,  1  would 
not  have  been  so  imprudent  as  to  domesticate 
you  for  weeks  together  with  my  daughters. 
Had  I  been  merely  ambitious  for  them,  I  might 
doubtlessly  have  tna.ried  them  to  rank  equal, 
if  not  su[)erior,  to  my  own  ;  but  I  am  at  on<;e  a 
father,  and  a  man  of  the  world.  As  the  first,  I 
desire  only  their  happiness.  As  the  second.  I 
feel  that  I  shall  be  more  honored  in  a  son-in 
law  like  yourself,  than  in  many  a  titled  booby, 
who  has  but  his  ancestry  to  keep  his  folly  and 
his  vice  in  countenance.  Permit  me — "  (lor 
my  father  was  about  to  speak) — "  I  did  not  re- 
quest the  pleasure  of  your  presence  here  this 
morning  in  order  that  we  might  bandy  compli- 
ments, but  simply  that  man  to  man  we  might 
speak  openly  and  frankly  on  equal  ground.''^ 
(Here  the  emphasis  was  ponderous  ;  and  the 
earl  coughed  again,  for  he  felt  tliat  he  had  sur- 
passed himself)  "If'  I  am  not  deceived,  and 
that  you  love  my  daughter,  say  so  unreservedly  ; 
and  I,  on  my  side,  will  venture  to  assure  you 
ttiat  you  are  not  indifferent  to  her." 

"  My  lord,"  said  my  father,  in  considerable 
agitation,  "  I  do  love  her,  and  that  with  no 
common  affection,  but  with  the  whole  energy 
of  a  heart  which  bad  ever  hitherto  been  insen- 
sible to  the  attractions  of  her  sex." 

'*  I  rejoice  extremely  to  hear  it,"  replied  Lord 
Glenfillan,  "  extremely  ;  and  rather  that,  like 
your  own,  hers,  I  can  venture  to  affirm,  is  also 
her  first  love.  Such  marriages  are  of  rare  oc- 
currence in  the  worhl  at  the  present  day." 

And  the  earl  looked  intelligent  and  senten- 
tious, and  as  though  he  had  discovered  the  nest 
of  the  phcenix,  and  was  about  to  rifle  its  ashes. 

"  Will  your  lordship  pardon  me,"  said  the  visi- 
tor, "  if,  despiie  the  encouragement  which  your 
opinion  is  so  well  calculated  to  hold  out,  I  ven- 
ture to  hesitate,  ere  I  yield  to  the  hope  of  so 
much  happiness  ;  for  /  cannot  conceal  from 
myself  the  conviction,  that  the  lady  has  never 
given  me  the  most  remote  cause  to  believe  that 
she  entertained  any  regard  for  me,  save  that 
which  she  considered  to  be  my  due  as  lier 
noble  father's  guest." 

"  And  yet,  my  dear  Tilden,  I  am  so  well  con- 
vinced to  the  contrary,"  replied  the  earl,  "  that 
we  will,  if  you  please,  lay  aside  that  considera- 
tion this  morning,  in  order  to  discuss  others  of 
more  irioment.  But  first"  (and  once  more  he 
extended  his  hand,  with  a  gesture  of  affection- 
ate and  paternal  frankness),  "let  me  tell  you 
that  you  have  made  me  a  happy  man — a  very 
happy  man.  My  dear,  motherless  girls  are  my 
greatest  treasure  on  earth  ;  and  to  feel  that,  to 
all  human  seeming,  I  have  secured  the  happi- 
ness of  one  of  them,  is  huleed  a  great  comfort. 
Having  premised  tln^s  uiuch,  however,  I  consid- 
er it  due  to  myself;  as  a  man  of  honor  and  a 
gentleman,  to  warn  you,  before  the  affair  ia 
mentioned  to  my  daughter,  that  I  shall  be  en- 
abled to  do  little,- very  little,  for  her,  as  regards 
fortune." 

"  My  dear  lord  ! . . ." 

"  Nay,  my  good  sir,  do  me  the  favor  (o  hear 
me  out.  The  lailure  of  a  son  to  succeed  to  my 
title  and  estates,  and  who  would,  moreove- 


20 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  \^  OMAN. 


have  doubtlessly  lell  it  to  be  his  duty  to  portion  l 
Ills  biaU'i's  as  hecuiiie  llieir  rank,  has  Irainiiieled  j 
me  in  a  paintnl  degree.  'I'he  lutiire  Earl  of, 
Glenfillan  is  a  morose  recluse,  with  a  needy  i 
family  of  five  boys.  There  is  nothing  to  he  ex- ' 
peeled  from  him  ;  and  the  rather,  that  there  has 
been  feud  between  us  for  tlie  last  twenty  years. 
In  fact,  we  were  never  friends,  even  from  our  I 
'joylioud.  He  was  apt  to  piesume  upon  our  re- 
lHiionshi();  and  I,  Mr.  Tilden.  was,  on  my  side, ! 
quite  willing  to  foigei  it.  Enough,  iiowever,  | 
of  the  luture  earl.  The  fortunes  vvliich  I  can 
otier  wiih  my  daughters  are,  consequently,  only 
the  fruits  of  my  personal  economy  ;  and  I  am, 
therefore,  an.xious  tliat  the  liitle  which  they  do 
possess  should  be  secured  to  ihein." 

"  Sutler  me  to  he  equally  concise,  my  lord," 
said  my  Jalher,  when  tiiere  was  a  pause.  "  I 
am  ready  to  settle  ten  thousand  a  year  upim 
liie  Lady  Madelaine  Glentillan,  to  be  di.-;posed 
of  as  she  shall  see  fit  at  her  demise:  and — " 

"  To  settle  upon  iclwm,  sir?"  asked  the  earl, 
grasping  his  knees  wiili  his  hands,  and  leaning 
lorward  in  his  eh.nr,  until  his  face  almost 
touclied  tliat  of  his  companion. 

"Upon  your  lordship's  daughter,  the  Lady 
Madelaine." 

"  The  Lady  Madelaine !"  gasped  out  the  be- 
wildered nobleman.  "  Surely  you  never  imagin- 
ed, sir,  that  I  was  offering  to  you  the  hand  of 
l!ie  L<)dy  Madelaine!" 

"  I  know  not  how  (Hherwise  to  interpret  your 
lordohip's  words,"  said  my  lather,  with  ofl'end- 
ed  dignity;  "1  caniioi  sup()ose  that  such  an 
interview  was  inieiuied  as  a  jest." 

•>  Have  I  not  two  daughters,  sir?  Does  not 
«  father  n:iturally  seek  to  establish  the  elder  I 
Is  the  l.ady  Elora  a  cipher  !  I  offered  to  you, 
sir,  I  he  hand  of  the  Lady  Flora." 

"  In  that  case,  my  lord,"  said  the  guest,  ris- 
ing Irom  his  seat,  "  our  conl'erenco  is  ended.  I 
have  the  greatest  possible  re.--pect  for  Lady 
Fhira  CJlenrillan  ;  but  I  must  he  excused  if  Ij 
decline  to  hecome  the  husband  of  any  woman 
for  whom  1  could  never  enieriain  a  warmer 
feeling.  I  deeply  regret  the  misunderstanding 
which  lias  led  to  so  unpleasant  a  scene ;  but 
feel  satisfied  that  l)oih  the  lady  and  yourself 
will  exonerate  me  trom  tilame  when  you  have 
calmly  and  in  detail  passed  my  conduct  in  re- 
view." 

'•  I  have  uttered  no  word  of  blame,  sir,"  said 
the  earl  sullenly,  as  he  also  ro.-^e  ;  "I  confess 
myself  deceived  by  appearances,  by  prohahili- 
lies — perhaps  somewhat  by  the  bent  of  my  own  j 
wishes."  I 

My  father  bowed  coldly.  "Has  your  lord- 
ship any  commands  for  England  !" 

'•  IS'ay,  nay,  Mr.  'I'ilden,  do  noi  be  so  jjrecipi- 
taie,"  said  his  host,  in  a  more  concdiaioiy 
lone.  "13ecau;e  I  have  conlebsed  that  1  de- 
eired  y(tu  as  a  son-in-law,  and  that  vou  have 
declined  the  alliance  which  I  proposeil,  we  need 
not,  in  consequence,  become  sii angers — I  will 
not  say  eneiMcs;  f.ir  1  know  my  own  nature, 
and  have  loo  good  an  opiniim  of  yours,  to  be- 
lieve such  an  extreme  prol),d)le." 

"  You  do  no  more  than  justice  to  both  of  us, 
my  lord,"  rejihi'd  my  failier ;  "  but,  my  eyes 
being  now  (qiened  to  the  hopelessness  <d  an  at- 
ta<diiiient  winch  I  have  not  scrupled  to  confess, 
I  will  be  frank  enough  to  avow,  moreover,  that 


r  dare  not  remain  within  the  influence  of  thfl 
Lady  Mddelaine's  beauty,  fi)r  tiie  sake  of  my 
own  peace.  I  may  yet  be  enabled  to  overcome 
the  passion  which  I  have  conceived  for  lier.  I 
will,  at  all  events,  struggle  to  do  so;  but  the 
longer  I  expose  myself  to  the  charnjs  of  an  in- 
tercourse, which  brings  me  into  constant  con 
tact  with  her  lovely  person  and  accomplished 
mind,  the  less  hope  can  I  ratiimaiiy  entertain 
of  regaining  the  peace  that  1  have  lost.  I  have, 
as  I  believe  1  may  have  mentioned  to  your 
lordship,  occasionally  contemplated  a  voyage  to 
the  East.  I  will  now  execute  that  intention. 
I  shall  leave  none  behind  to  regret  me,  be  my 
fate  what  it  may  " 

There  was  a  sadness,  almost  a  bitterness,  in 
the  tone  wiih  wl»icb  the  last  words  were  utter- 
ed, which  served  as  a  fair  apology  for  the  emo- 
tion with  which  the  earl  grasped  the  arm  of  his 
companion,  as  he  exclaimed  hurriedly — 

"  For  my  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  hospitali- 
ty, my  good  sir,  I  cannot  siitFer  you  to  leave 
Glenfillan  in  such  a  mood  of  mind.  Surely  you 
have  roved  about  enough,  and  owe  something 
to  your  country  and  your  friemls." 

"  My  friends  are  few,"  was  the  reply  ;  •'  and 
to  my  couniiy  I  can  be  of  no  service  whatever. 
I  have  now  only  to  learn  to  live  for  myself,  and 
the  lesson  is  scarcely  worth  the  pains  that  it 
will  cost." 

"  Nay,  nay — the  world  has  too  many  claima 
upcm  you  to  suffer  that  you  should  fall  into  mis- 
anthropy," persisted  Lord  Glenfillan.  "  Your 
very  wealth  multiplies  your  duties,  while  it  as- 
sures you  alike  power  and  enjoyment." 

"  Do  not  mock  me,  my  lord,"  said  my  father, 
with  increased  bitterness;  "an  hour  has  not 
yet  elapsed  since  your  own  words  taught  me 
the  amount  of  each  which  riches  could  com- 
mand. After  what  has  passed  between  us,  I 
feel  that  I  must  necessarily  he  dc  trup  under 
your  roof,  both  to  the  Ladies  Glenfillan  and  to 
myself." 

"  Do  not  wrong  /hem — do  not  wrong  us  all, 
my  dear  Tilden.  Be  ruled  for  once.  Again  I 
beg  of  you  not  to  leave  us  in  such  a  mood  oj 
mind.  Indeed  we  cannot  spire  you  at  this  mo- 
ment. You  have  made 'several  engagementa 
with  the  ladies,  for  which  they  depend  on  you. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  not  leave  us  with 
a  sudtlenness  which  may  excite  surprise,  and 
perhaps  remark.     I  ask  this  as  a  favor." 

"  Your  lordship's  reipiest  is  undoubtedly  too 
flattering  to  he  opposed,"  said  my  failier.  "1 
will  not  leave  the  casile,  at  least,  for  a  day  oi 
two,  since  such  is  really  your  wish  ;  hut  suffei 
me  now  to  retire  to  my  room,  for  I  feel  that  1 
am  somewhat  agitated,  and  shall  be  beltei 
alone." 

"Ten  thousand  a  year!"  muttered  the  earl, 
as  he  again  sank  into  his  chair,  when  my  fathei 
bad  left  ihe  room:  "ten  thousand  a  year,  to 
be  disposed  of  at  will,  on  her  demise  !  and — I 
wonder  what  was  to  follow  !  Could  1  have 
sup|)ressed  my  aimoyanf-e,  I  might  have  heard 
all.  Fo<d  that  I  am  !  I  ought  to  have  foreseen 
that  a  fellow  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  as  rich 
as  Gia?sus,  woulil  never  marry  Flora.  J  won- 
der if  M.idelaine  might  be  induced  to  bend  hei 
proud  spirit  to  the  match.  Certain  it  is,  thai 
she  will  never  again  have  such  an  opportunity. 
However,  au  jour  la  journce,  i  must  dciaiu  hira 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN.  21 

^e^e,  and   trust  to   time  and   foituiie  fof  the   Mr.  Tilden  has,  indeed,  become  attached — pow 

rest."  erlully  attached — to  a  member  of  my  family; 

And  having  finished  his  soliloquy,  the  earl   but,  I  fear,  hopelessly." 


rang  his  hell,  and  desired  a  servant  to  summon 
the  Lady  Madelaine. 


You  fear,  my  lord  !"  exclaimed  the  young 
lady,  suddenly  looking  up  with  a  flash  of  her 
natural  haughtiness.  At  that  moment  she  en- 
tirely lost  sight  of  the  interesting  and  refined 
companion,  and  saw  only  the  plebeian  in  her 
nohle  father's  guest. 

"I  used  the  word  advisedly,  my  dear  Made 
laine.  You  well  know  how  highly  I  estimate 
our  proud  and  ancient  blood,  as  well  .as  your 
own  excelling  lovelmess  and  merit;  but  I  have 
already  hinted  to  you,  that  for  a  time  our  con- 
versation was  carried  on  in  nnitual  misunder- 


corne  the  husband  of  Lady  Flora' 

"I  (lid,  indeed,  commit  that  extravagance," 
said  the  earl,  somewhat  offended  by  the  tone 
in  which  tlie  question  was  put ;  "  nor  do  I  con- 
sider it  so  extreme  as  it  may  appear  to  your- 
self    Mr.  Tilden  is  no  longer  a  boy  ;  therefore 


CHAPTER  V. 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  r,ady  Madelaine  ap- 
peared, fiillowod  by  lier  Marlborough  spaniel, 
who,  with  all  the  confidence  of  a  spoiled  favor- 
ite, intruded  himself  into  the  conft-rence. 

There  was  an  expression  of  tremor  and  anx- 
iety about  the  young  beauty,  very  unusual  ; 
and,  as  she  took  possessi<m  of  the  chair  to  i  standing.  \,  very  naturally,  thought  only  of 
which  the  earl  motioned  her,  she  raised  her  your  sister;  Mr.  Tilden,  full  of  his  own  feelings, 
eyes  to  bis  face  with  an  earnestness  which  be-  thought  only  of  yourself;  and  thus  we  dis- 
spoke  at  once  curiosity  and  alarm.  |  cussed  the  affair  without  either  having  named 

"You  will  npver  believe,  Madelaine,"  com-  j  the  person  of  whom  he  spoke,  until,  in  allusion 
menced  Lord  Glenfillan,  "  that  I  have  requested  to  the  settlement  which  he  proposed  to  make 
your  presence  here  on  such  a  suiiject  as  the  ,  upon  his  wife,  Mr.  Tilden  mentioned  the  Lady 
refusal  of  a  commoner  to  form  an  alliance  with  j  Madelaine  Glenfillan.  You  may  imagine  my 
tny  family."  asionishmeni !" 

The  cheeks  and  forehead  of  the  lady  grew  |  "  And  is  it  really  pf)ssible,  my  lord,"  asked 
suddenly  crimson,  and  her  eyes  flashed  ;  but  |  the  lady,  with  the  pretty  scorn  of  a  spoiled 
she  did  not  utter  a  syllable.  I  beauty,   "that,   having  so  long  made   the  ac- 

"I  see  how  sensibly — how  deeply — you  fee!   quaintance  of  this  proud  cominoner,  you  should 
this  affront."  pursued  her  father;  "for  which    have  conceived  it  probable  that  he  would  be- 
ymi  must  have  been  as  unprepared  as  I  myself 
was;   hut  high  birth  and  noble  blood  are  now 
at  a  discount  in  this  country — gold  is  the  great 
principle  with  al!  ranks.     Yet  I  cannot  avoid 
thinking  that,  al'ter  the  extreme  step  which  I 
took  in  mooting  the  subject,  when  I  was  de- 
cidedly the  condescending   party.   Mr.   Tilden    the  age  of  your  sister  was  by  no  Uicans  a  fair 
should  have  been  less  abrupt  in  bis  negative."   objection.     In  other  resppcts,  the  one  p'recisely 

"Surely,  my  dear  father — surely,  my  lord,"  I  possesses  what   the   other  needs;    for  Tilden 
said  the  Lady  Madelaine,  in  a  tone  of  offended  I  recjuires  only    connection   to   command   every 
dignity,  "you  did  not  o/fcr  your  daughter's  hand  jgood  which  this,  world  can  offer." 
to  Mr.  Tilden  !"  j      "You  would  not  include  the  Macspleuchan 

"  Certainly  not — decidedly  not,"  was  the  sen-  physiognomy  in  this  list  of  advantages,  I  trust, 
tenti<Mis  answer.  "  Your  delicacy  alone  makes  my  dear  father,"  laughed  the  lady  ;  "  I  thought 
you  jump  to  such  a  conclusion.  I  flatter  my-  that  you  'had  suffered  persecution,  and  learnt 
self  that  I  conducted  the  affair  in  a  manner  at  mercy !' " 

once  dignified  and  diplomatic  ;  .and,  for  a  con-'  The  earl  could  not  resist  the  contagion  of 
siderahle  tiine,  I  had  every  reason  to  conclude  her  saucy  mirth  :  he  smiled  without  any  .symp- 
(hat  Mr.  Tiiden  was  transported  with  gratitude  tom  of  displeasure ;  and  the  more  cordially  that 
and  happiness — hut — in  short — can  you  not  im-  his  lovely  daughter  appeared  by  no  means  so 
agine  bow  the  c'/uivoi/ue  arose ^ — can  you  not  inuch  shocked  at  the  presumption  of  my  father 
guess  in  what  his  rejection  of  Lady  Flora's  {  as  be  had  anticipated, 
hand  originated  I"  "Imagine  my  delight,"  he  pursued,  after  a 

His  fair  daushter  had  suddenly  become  sin-   momentary  pause,   "when  I  heard,  as  I  sup- 
gnlarly  interested  in  disentangling  two  curls  of  posed,  a  settlement  of  ten  thousand  pounds  a 
one  of  the  long,  and  lustrous  ears  of  her  little  i  year  made  upon  Lady  Flora — " 
favoriie;  and  she  did  not  immediately  reply.  "I  can  well  understand  it,"  said  the  beauty, 

"That  Mr.  Tilden  had  become  strongly  at-  quietly. 
Inched  to  some  member  of  my  family,  was  evi-  "Ten  thousand  a  year,"  repeated  his  lord- 
jent,"  continued  the  earl ;  "and  I  accordingly  ship,  complacently,  "upon  a  wife  whose  entire 
never  entertained  a  doubt  that  my  project  for  fortune  consists  of  precisely  half  that  amount, 
the  establishment  of  your  sister  had  fully  sue-  Nor,  evidently,  was  this  all  which  Mr.  Tiidea 
ceeded.  lfo?/W  not  suppose  that  he  had  become  Was  about  to  propose,  when,  in  my  astonish 
enamored  of  Miss  Margery  Macspleuchan," —  ment  at  bis  mention  of  your  own  name,  I  in 
here  his  lordship  smiled  at  the  facetiousness  of.terrupted  him.  The  offer  was  certainly  most 
fiis  own  conceit — "and  I  u-ou!d  not  think  that  |  princely." 

lie  had  raised  his  eyes  and  his  hopes  to  your- 1  He  paused,  not  altogether  certain  how  far  he 
self." — and  here  he  fixed  a  long  and  scrutiniz- 1  might  proceed  with  safety  upon  this  new  tack — 
ing  look  upon  the  young  lady — "there  was,  I  but  be  paused  in  vain  ;  for  I.ady  Madelaine  ap- 
consequently,  no  other  meihnij  of  accounting  j  peared  resolved  not  to  come  "to  the  rescue." 
for  what  I  saw  ;  and  I  acted  upon  that  very  ra-j  Why  was  she  thus  silent]  We  can  only  say, 
tiona!  conclusitm.  I  was  wrong,  however,  my  with  the  German  proverb,  Dan  Hcrz  liigt  nicht. 
'eve — wrong  in  all  my  premises,  save  «J'*»  irst.  I      "What  a  splendid  figure  might  be  made  by 


y2 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


a  woman  of  fashion  and  beauty  upon  an  unen-' 
cumbered  len  thousand  a  year!"  once  more 
declainud  his  lordship;  "I  must  again  repeal  j 
that  ihe  ofl'er  was  princely." 

"And  intended  (or  myself,  if  I  have  under- 
8too-^.  you  rightly,  my  lord,"  said  I^ady  Made-i 
laine.  "It  ahnost  makes  me  smile,  when  1 1 
remember  the  marvelous  projects  of  my  poor 
aunt  in  my  favor,  liiat  the  tirst  suitor  who  has 
6eriou.^ly  pretended  to  my  hand  should  be  a, 
commoner,  and  one,  moreover,  who  has  l)een 
contaminated  l)y  commerce;  and  that  I  should! 
say — knowing  myself  as  1  do — that  I  pray  you 
not  to  precipitate  this  matter.  Of  course  Mr. , 
Tilden  leaves  the  castle  at  once." 

"  Such  was  his  intention,"  said  the  earl,  who  ] 
could  scarcely  conceal  his  astonishment  at  the 
words  and  bearing  of  his  daughter;  "but,  in 
compliance  with  my  request,  he  has  consented 
to  remain  for  a  couple  of  days  longer." 

"With  any  hope  of  succeeding  in  his  suit  I" 
asked  the  lady,  with  a  very  peculiar  expression. 

"  VViiliout  the  shghtest,"  replied  the  earl; 
*a.id  very  reluctantly  ;  hut  I  asked  it  as  a  fa- 
vor, to  prevent  the  possibility  of  remark  among 
the  hou-sehold." 

"You  have  acted  wisely,  my  dear  father,  as 
you  ever  do,"  said  Lady  Madelame  ;  and  she 
removed  the  spaniel  from  her  lap,  and  drew  her 
chair  directly  opposite  to  that  of  the  earl, 
sweeping  away  as  she  did  so  the  piles  of  pa- 
pers wlii(di  occupied  the  tai)le  before  her ;  and 
then  she  leant  her  head  upon  her  hand  for  a 
time,  in  an  attitude  of  grave  thought.  "  That  I 
was  not  quite  unprepared  for  this  event,"  she 
said  at  length,  after  a  ccnisiderable  pause,  upon 
which  his  bewildered  lordship  did  not  attempt 
to  break,  "  I  will  at  once  concede.  I  could  not 
mistr..ce  the  manner  of  Mr.  Tilden,  guarded  as' 
it  has  been  ;  nor  was  I  blind  to  the  fact  that  1 
am  not  altogether  calculated  to  play  respecta- 
bly the  role  of  a  nonentity  with  which  your  I 
lordship  had  favored  me  in  this  domestic  drama.  \ 
Lady  Flora  has  been  de  tiers,  and  not  myself. 
So  much  for  the  state  of  things  at  home  ;  and  i 
now,  I  will  give  you  a  slight  sketch  of  the  rea- 
sons which  have  induced  me  to  tolerate  the 
proposal  of  Mr.  Tilden."  j 

As  she  ceased  speaking,  she  glanced  towards 
the  earl,  who  replied  only  by  a  silent  inclina- 
tion of  the  head.  "I  know  that  I  am  hanti- i 
some — all  the  world  have  so  dec  ded,  and  all  I 
tlie  world  mujt  be  right.  I  know  that  my  fam- 
ily, on  both  sides,  is  unexceptionable,  and  in 
antiquity  would  do  no  dishonor  to  a  German' 
court;  and  I  am  assuredly  not  of  a  tempera- I 
menl  to  consider  such  advantages  as  a  matter' 
of  indiHerence.  But  these  are  not  the  only 
truths  which  the  world  has  taught  me.  I  am 
young  in  years,  but  old  in  experience.  Tiie 
tuition  of  Lady  Sinclair  was  able,  and  I  have  , 
learnt  somewhat  of  myself  I  have  been  flat-  ' 
tered,  fetal,  and  followed  ;  but  the  mention  of  j 
my  piispects  has  always  hitherto  sulliced  to 
cool  the  passion  created  hy  my  person.  I  am  ! 
liaughiy  and  aml)itiou3.  Glentillan  is  to  me  ex- ' 
ile  fiom  all  the  haunts  and  habits  of  my  early  I 
and  brilliant  girlliood.  You  have  considerately  ] 
warned  me  that  I  must  not  hope  to  revisit  Lon- 
don for  several  years  ;  and  I,  m  my  turn,  have  ' 
asked  myself  what,  under  existing  circumstan- 
ces, I  can  liope  from  another  season,  when  1 1 


am  f  rippled  in  my  resources,  and  have  Tost  my 
affectionate  and  skilful  chaperone.  And  now  ] 
have,  perhaps,  my  lord,  said  enough  to  justify 
my  present  apparently  capricious  conduct  with 
regard  to  Mr.  Tilden." 

"  I  have  listened  with  as  much  admiration  as 
surprise,"  exclaimed  the  earl.  "  I  had  fallen 
into  a  somewhat  similar  train  of  reasoning  while 
awaiting  you.  But  remember,  my  dear  child, 
that  you  are  still  very  young,  and  that  you  are 
very  beautiful.  I  will  be  as  frank  as  yourself, 
and  at  once  admit  that  this  marriage  appt^ars  to 
me  to  be  singularly  desirable.  Reflect,  never- 
theless. You  have  great  advantages  on  your 
side — youth,  beauty,  and  patrician  birth.  You 
are  doing  great  honor  to  Mr.  Tilden,  even  by 
this  deliberate  consideration  of  his  proposal." 

"I  am  not  insensible  to  the  fact,  my  lord; 
nor,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  will  he  be  so.  I 
do  not  profess  to  love  Mr.  Tilden.  Tiio  thing  is 
impossible  under  the  circumstances ;  but  i  re- 
spect his  intellect,  and  admire  his  person.  He 
is,  in  short,  perfectly  presentable;  and,  vvherj 
you  have  ascertained  that  his  fortune  is  as  it 
lias  been  represented  to  you  by  others,  I  will 
engage  to  permit  his  addresses; — and  the  ra- 
ther," added  her  ladyship,  with  a  little  of  the 
sententioiisness  of  her  father,  "that,  as  you  did 
me  the  honor  to  rontide  to  me,'  you  are  at  pres- 
ent under  some  i)ecuniary  engagement  to  the 
gentlem'an." 

As  she  ceased  speaking,  she  rose,  and  hav- 
ing bent  her  head  gracefully  to  the  earl,  glided 
out  of  the  room. 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass,  gentle  reader,  that 
at  the  end  of  three  iTionihs,  my  father  became 
the  delighted  husband  of  the  lovely,  the  young, 
the  high-horn  Lady  Madelaine;  the  brilliancy  oJ 
whose  presentation  at  court  during  the  ensuing 
season  was  the  theme  of  universal  comment 
and  envy. 

Lady  Madelaine  Tilden's  jewels.  Lady  Made- 
laine Tilden's  equipages,  and  town  house,  hei 
beauty,  her  rank,  and  her  perfect  high-breeding, 
were  the  "lion"  of  the  day;  and  when,  at  the 
close  of  the  spring,  she  retired  with  her  hus- 
band to  a  magnificent  estate  in  the  west  ol 
England,  situated  within  six  miles  of  the  couirty 
town,  and  in  the  very  centre  of  a  fastidious  and 
aristocratic  neighborhood  (a  purchase  made 
by  my  father  from  a  bankrupt  duke),  she  car- 
ried away  with  her  the  hearts  of  all  the  men. 
and  the  hatred  of  half  the  women.  She  felJ 
that  she  had  not  lived  in  vain  ! 

And  what  of  Lady  Flora  1 

Little,  and  yet  much.  Her  sister's  parting 
present  was  the  bequest  of  Lady  Sinclair  to 
herself.  Lady  Flora  was  a  sort  of  heiress  a* 
Glenfillan,  and  a  match  for  a  laird  !•  She  wep< 
over  her  disappointment,  but  she  did  not  breal 
her  heart ;  she  only  sat  still  closer  to  hei 
worstedwork,  and  executed  with  great  rapidity 
and  precision  a  serie.s  of  blue  p.irrots,  geranium- 
colored  ladies,  and  knights  in  armor,  with  pea- 
green  gauntlets,  and  swords  somewhat  taller 
than  themselves. 

Miss  Margery  was  furious.  Even  the  annuity 
did  not  console  her ;  and  she  became  so  garru- 
lous and  vetiement  in  her  displeasure,  (hat  the 
earl  found  it  necessary  to  dispatch  from  his 
study  to  her  apartment  a  very  concise  and 
lordly  letter,  sealed  with  his  seal  of  office 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


»?hen  the  missive  so  ably  performed  its  duty 
thai  the  ihuiidcrs  of"  Miss  Margery's  wrath  sud- 
denly died  away  iu  low  grovvis  of  dl-suppressed 
indignation. 

And  what  of  my  Lord  GlenfiUan  himself  1 
Liite  his  daii},'liter,  he  felt  all  the  mortification 
of  Mr.  Tilden's  pleheianility ;  but  like  her  he  had 
also  very  readily  tmt  Ic  chat  en  poche,  and  satis- 
fied himsdf  that  s.he  was  not  altogether  to  be 
pitied.  His  ov\n  little  money  matters  were  ar- 
ranged witii  his  son-in-law  by  a  cordial  shai<e 
of  the  hand  ;  and  when,  as  he  lounged  in  his 
dressing-gown  and  slippers  in  his  study,  with 
the  "Morning  Post"  in  his  hand,  he  read,  with 
eparkling  eyes  and  gratified  pride,  of  all  his  fair 
and  wealthy  daughter's  triumphs,  he  was  much 
in  the  same  mood  of  mind  as  he  who  sang  on  a 
somewhat  similar  occasion : 

"'Tis  a  very  fine  tiling  to  be  father-in-law 
To  a,  very  niajjiiificenl  thiee-tailed  basUaw." 


CHAPTER  VI.  • 

The  newly-married  couple  bad,  as  I  have  al- ' 
ready  stated,  at  the  close  of  the  London  season, 
repaired  to  liiC  west  of  England,  to  take  posses- 
sion of  their  new  estate  ;  whilber  they  were  to  1 
be  followed  in  August  by  a  numerous  ^arty  of  { 
sporting  men  and  pretty  women.  It  had  been 
my  father's  first  earnest  request  to  his  beautiful  i 
young  bride  that  they  should  proceed  there 
alone.  It  was  his  only  rational  prospect  of  a  | 
quiet  month  with  the  fair  creature  whom  he 
now  called  his  wife  ;  and  she  conceded  the  j 
point,  although  with  considerable  reluctance,  j 
She  remembered  Glenfillan,  and  considered  that 
she  had  already  sacrificed  sufficiently  to  daty 
in  that  way.  Moreover,  Sir  James  Domton 
was  liie  best  riding  companion  in  the  world, 
and  Mr.  De  Clifford  was  to  teach  her  billiards, ; 
and  she  wanted  the  second  of  Lord  Otterford  in  ' 
her  new  duets;  and  it  was  very  vexatious  to 
suffer  dictation  on  the  subject  of  filling  her  own 
house ;  but,  as  she  was  not  yet  the  wife  of  a 
year,  she  determined  to  yield  ;  and  having  come 
to  this  virtuous  resolution,  she  was  too  high- 
bred, and  too  conscious  of  what  was  due  to  her 
own  dignity,  to  do  so  sullenly,  and  like  a  pout- 
ing scliool-miss.  She  only  asked  herself,  with 
Bometliing  like  a  shudder,  how  long  the  month 
was  likely  to  endure,  which  she  was  destined 
to  pass  in  solitude  with  Mr.  Tildenl 

As  for  my  father,  be  was  still  deeply  and  pas- 
sionately in  love  with  his  young  bride.  He 
would  not  beheve  that  either  pride  or  indiffer- 
ence was  the  root  of  ihe  unswerving  (roldness, 
the  calm,  fashionable  placidity,  with  which  she 
met  all  the  ardor  of  his  generous  and  self-abne- 
gating affection.  No,  no.  Since  their  mar- 
riage, they  had  been  in  one  constant  whirl  of 
dissipation  and  frivolity.  Her  heart  had  not  bad 
time  to  speak — poor,  self-deluding  reasoner  ! 
as  though  the  heart  were  not  independent  of 
all  such  secondary  influences.  They  were  not 
yet  thoroughly  acquainted.  He  had  not  hitherto 
been  essential  to  her  happiness.  When  they 
were  left  (or  awhile  alone,  among  the  lawns  and 
glades  of  llooksley,  nature  would  speak  out  in 
tenderness,  and  they  should  become  everything 
to  each  oiher. 

A  wit.  celebrated  during  the  regency,  amused 


himself  by  advising  the  newly-marrif^d  to  bo- 
ware  of  exhausting  all  their  slock  of  hearl-(>n- 
thusiasm  during  the  solitude  of  the  honeymoon, 
and  to  avoid  the'peril  of  the 

"  Long  probationary  week 
Of  clofJC  rL'Tirtiticiit,  as  profound 
As  if  they  both  were  undeigroiinil ;' 

warning  them  of  the  consequences  likely  to  ac- 
crue from  entire  and  uninterrupted  mutual  do 
pendence. 

"  Be  counseled. — Stir  not,  near  or  far, 
But  st;iy,  L  charge  you,  where  you  are. 
The  dream  of  passion,  soon  or  late, 
Is  liriiken — don't  anticipate. 
Haste  not  to  lose  your  hopes  in  fear."). 
Stark  mad  for  moments,  dull  for  years; 
Devour  not,  for  your  comfort's  sake. 
At  onci!,  like  children,  all  your  cake ; 
Truth  (on  your  memory  well  engrave  It) 
Whis|)ers,  you  cannot  eat  and  have  it. 
Gold  IS  too  precious— lay  it  not 
So  thickly  on  a  single  spot; 
But  beat  the. bullion — husbands,  wives — 
And  spread  it  over  all  your  lives." 

My  mother's  worldly  sense  had  been  pro- 
phetic of  this  counsel.  Married  quietly  and  un- 
ostentatiously at  Glenfillan — for,  as  both  she 
and  the  earl  agreed,  the  less  parade  made  on 
the  occasion  of  becoming  the  wife  of  a  com- 
moner, the  better — it  was  not  for  (hem  to  seem 
to  invite  congratulations — the  journey  to  town 
had  occupied  a  sufficient  space  of  time  to  eiiahSe 
Lady  Madelaine  to  announce  herself  at.  once  lo 
the  gay  world,  and  to  rally  around  her  all  the 
hundred  and  one  friends  whom  she  bad  left, 
grief-stricken,  when  she  was  last  coiTipilled  to 
abandon  "London  and  its  dear  delights."  The 
anticipation  of  coming  pleasures — the  foretaste 
of  anticipated  triumphs — the  newly-insured 
possession  of  affluence  and  independence — all 
conduced  to  make  the  mood  of  the  lovely  bride 
sunny  and  sweet  as  the  tnost  exacting  bride- 
groom could  desire  ;  while  the  pleasant  languor 
arising  from  a  long  journey  so  luxuriously  and 
deliberately  performed  as  to  make  fatigue  im- 
possible, rendered  the  anxious  and  tender 
attentions  of  the  newly-made  husband  alike 
well-timed  and  welcome  ;  and  they  were  conse- 
quently so  gracefully  and  graciously  received 
that  my  father  was  enraptured  with  the  bright- 
ness of  his  destiny. 

From  the  hour  in  which  they  reached  town, 
all  was  changed.  The  splendiilly-mounted 
mansion,  which  had  been  carefully  prepared 
for  the  occupatitm  of  its  young  mistress,  j^tariied 
her  into  an  exclamation  of  delighted  acknowl- 
edgment. Her  boudoir,  lined  with  plate-glass, 
and  draperied  with  pale-blue  silk;  her  toilet, 
covered  with  costly  toys;  her  morning-room, 
where  pictures  by  the  old  masters  were  pan- 
eled into  walls  hung  with  crimson  velvet,  and 
exquisite  statuettes,  mounted  on  pedestals  of 
ormolu,  filled  up  the  ni(;hes ;  the  spacious  ro- 
cepi  ion-rooms,  over  whose  arrangement  the 
hand  of  wealth  and  elegance  had  successfully 
presided  ;  all  these  tlattered  the  pride,  and  satis- 
fied the  ambition  of  the  earl's  daughter.  The 
better  feelings  of  her  nature  were  awakened  t)y 
the  effort,  everywhere  visible,  which  had  been 
made  to  gratify  her  peculiar  tastes  and  wishes  ; 
and  the  first  evening  "  at  home"  was  spent 
tete-a-tctc  by  my  father  and  his  patrician  brido 
in  harmony  and  happiness. 

There  was.  bO  uiuch  to  examine — so  much  t« 


24 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


admire — and  when,  on  toncliing  the  spring  of  a  ' 
casket  w,.ich  stood  upon  her  toilet,  .is  the  hd 
flew  up,  my  mother  discovered  a  set  of  dia- 
monds which  a  iimnarch  miyht  have  envied,  j 
she  forgot  her  moif^ne  for  a  moment,  and  gave 
loose  to  all  the  sincere  delight  inspired  by  the 
princely  present.  I 

My  failier  was,  as  a  matter  of  course,  over-  j 
paid  for  all ;  and  he  believed,  unhappily  for  him, 
lliatthis  was  but  I  he  commencement  of  a  long  lite 
of  love  and  confidence.  No  friendly  voice  had 
whispered  in  his  ear  that  the  beautiful  Lady 
Madidaine  Glenfillan  had  considered  it  neces- 
sary to  apologize  to  her  own  pridtJ  for  her  con-  \ 
descension  m  becoming  his  wile  ;  and  that  his  ■ 
magnificence  gratified  her  the  more  because  it 
tended  to  show  her  that,  at  whatever  sacrifice  ' 
of  dignity,  she  had  done  riL'ht.  He  believetl  j 
that  they  had  met  upon  equal  terms.  The  earl  | 
was  a  needy  man,  to  whom  the  retention  of  the 
slender  portion  destined  to  his  daujihter  was  an 
object  of  great  and  serious  importance — he  had  | 
asked  only  the  fiand  and  heart,  and  not  the  por- 
tion, of  that  (laughter.  The  first  had  been  ceded 
to  him  readily  and  gracefully  ;  he  had  yet  to 
learn  in  how  far  he  had  secured  the  other. 
.  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden  had  taken  her  meas- 
ures skilfully,  and  like  a  good  tactician.  The 
first  evening  of  her  arrival  in  Giosvenor  Square 
^Tas  the  last  which  she  was  compelled  to 
spend  alone  with  her  husband,  and  perhaps  it 
was  better  so  :  for  these  compulsatory  matri- 
monial duels  are  more  frequently  cases  of  moral 
dosa-dos  than  tcle-a-tcte ;  and  it  is  diflicult  to 
decide,  when  this  occurs,  which  individual  of 
the  ctinjugal  duo  is  the  best  entitled  to  com- 
miseration. 

A  woman,  however  pretty  and  graceful  she 
may  be  at  oiher  times,  when  once  she  has  re-] 
solved  on  investing  her  spirit  in  its  wrapping-' 
gown  and  papillolcs ;  and  a  man,  however  in- 
tellectual and  fascinating  in  society,  who  deter- 1 
mines  on  pcnnilting  his  higher  faculties  to  ap- 
pear at  home  in  the  easy  negligence  of  a  robe 
de  chamhie  and  slippers,  are  each  apt  to  appear 
considerably  less  attractive  to  the  one  looker-on, 
for  whose  peculiar  benefit  the  scene  has  been  , 
got  up,  than  may  be  altogether  desirable.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  the  system  of  "hanging  up  the 
fiddle  at  home"  is  a  somewhat  dangerous  one 
lor  the  performer,  who  is  accustomed  to  "  dis- 1 
course  eloquent  music"  elsewhere. 

Here,  then,  was  another  peril  from  which 
Lady  Madelaine  wisely  resolved  to  deliver  her- 
self at  once.  It  was  out  of  the  question  that 
she,  young,  handsome,  highly-born,  and  fash- 
ionable, should  hide  her  advantages  from  a 
wtirld  which  she  was  so  well  calculated  both  to 
enjoy  and  to  adorn,  in  order  to  shut  herself  up 
with  Mr.  Tilden,  even  in  a  room  lined  with 
|)late-glass  and  dra|)eried  with  pale-blue  silk  ;  i 
and,  acting  upon  this  principle,  she  had  been  ! 
careful  to  a|)piise  her  friends  of  the  probable 
period  of  her  arrival  in  town.  ^ 

The  season  was  just  commencing.  The 
race  of  idleness  and  folly  had  scarcely  begun. 
The  arrival  of  the  beautiful  bride  of  the  wealthy 
Mr.  'J'llden  (the  lame  of  whose  large  liMlune  had 
reached  Loiidcm,  through  the  medium  of  the 
earl,  some  weeks  before)  was  an  agreeable 
event ;  and  not  the  least  pleasurable  emo- 
lion  which  she  had  experienced  on  taking  pos- , 


session  of  her  new  home  flushed  the  cheek  of 
my  mother,  as  she  saw  the  table  in  her  nioru- 
ing-room  coverevl  w'ih  minute  notes,  and  up- 
heaped  with  visiting  tickets. 

She  had  no  sooner  examined  them  on  the 
morrow  than  she  found  herself  in  the  very  vor- 
tex of  dissi[)aiion.  Admiraiipn  in  some,  and 
curiosity  in  others,  had  <-oiiibmed  to  send  "all 
the  world"  to  Lady  Madelaine"s  door,  and  each 
had  some  engagement  in  which  she  was  in- 
cluded. Her  e)  e  brightened,  and  her  lip  smiled, 
as  she  threw  aside  each  note  after  a  hasty  peru- 
sal, until  she  opened  one  upon  which  she  dwelt 
long  and  earnestly,  with  a  heightened  color 
and  a  healing  pulse,  and  which  she  consigned 
to  her  reticn'e  as  soon  as  she  had,  for  the 
second  time,  reached  its  conclusion. 

Here  it  is  : — 

"  Eureka  !  you  are  really,  then,  once  more 
on  your  way  to  town,  ma  toiitr.  idle !  I  am  en- 
chanted, and  so  is  Sir  Herbert.  Ol'  Otterlbrd  I 
say  nothing,  save  that  I  have  not  been  able  to 
trust  him  out -of  my  sight,  since  the  news  ar- 
rived. Al  btion  intcvdidure.  pochc  parok  hastano  ! 
Can  you  condescend  to  the  opera  l)el()re  Easter ! 
I  shall  reserve  a  seat  in  my  bo.v  for  Saturday, 
as  perhaps  you  may  not  yet  be  mo/ilcc  there  ; 
at  all  events,  let  me  have  yon  the  first  night  ■ 
Pray  make  my  baisemains  to  ;/  mnrito.  and  say 
how  much  I  regret  that  I  cannot  make  rooru 
for  him  ;  but  I  have  been  persecuted  since  this 
French  dnnscuse  made  her  appearance,  about 
whom  all  the  men  in  the  world,  save  one,  have 
gone  mad  ;  and  I  have  not  moral  courage 
enough  to  say  '  no,'  so  long  as  I  have  a  chair 
left.  She  goes  to  Milan  next  week,  so  don't 
fail  me  for  your  own  sake.  How  did  you  leave 
Lord  Glenfillan? 

"  Toutc-a-rous  ! 

"  Sydney  Devereux.' 

And  this  was  Saturday.  This  was  her  first 
day  under  her  husband's  roof  For  a  moment 
she  hesitated.  Mr.  Tilden  might  think  it  un- 
gracious were  she  to  leave  him  the  first  evenirjg 
in  a  house  as  sirange  to  himself  as  to  her.  He 
might  not  approve  of  her  appearing  for  the  first 
time  in  pul)lic  under  any  protection  but  his  own. 
But  then  the  French  dancer,  whom  she  might 
never  see  at  all,  if  she  missed  her  to-night !  It 
was  very  provoking  that  there  should  be  no 
room  in  the  box  for  Mr.  Tilden.  To  whom 
could  Lady  Devereux  have  promised  ail  her 
ivories  1  It  was  a  strange  question  for  my 
mother  to  ask  herself,  as  she  had  been  so  long 
absent  from  town  ;  hut  nevertheless,  she  did 
bL'gin  guessing  who  were  to  be  the  occupants 
of  ihe  box.  No  more  women,  she  knew.  Lady 
Devereux  was  far  too  fastidious  to  hold  a  par- 
liament of  petticoats  at  the  king's  theatre.  Sir 
Herbert  detested  all  places  save  the  pit.  (There 
was  no  onmibns  in  my  mother's  time.)  And 
the  result  of  her  self-questioning-  upon  the  su!>- 
jecl  was — Lord  Otterlurd. 

Lady  Madelaine  threw  herself  back  among 
the  satin  cushions  of  her  bcrfr'eie,  and  fell  into 
a  fit  of  deep  musing.  Lord  Otterford  had  wor- 
shiped her  for  a  whole  year.  Her  aunt  had 
looked  forvvard  with  confidence  to  their  mar 
riage.  They  had  sung,  danced,  and  rode  to- 
gether.  Otterford  was  very  handsome,  with 
large,  almond-shaped  black  eyes,  a  well-formed 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


25 


and  prominent  nose,  fine  teeth,  and  a  graecfiil  I 
figure.     Had   there  been  any  mind  under  tlie 
mask,  he  would  have  been  eniinenily  handsome. 
As  ii  was,  Otieriiird  was  only  a  musician  and  a  j 
roue.     He  had  pursue<l  the  Lady  .Madelaine  un- 
til he  discovered  that  slie  was  tiearly  penniless ;  | 
when,  havmg  bestowed   upon  her,   in   a  fit  of 
sentimental  regi^t,  the  title  of /a  ucllc  rr.al  dotce, 
he  quietly  withdrew  his  pretensions  to  her  hand, 
and  left  it  to  be  sought  by  others  with  fewer 
wants  and  more  resources  than  himself. 

Lady  Madelaine  felt  bis  secession  severely. 
It  was  not  thai  she  loved  him,  for  she  had  at  once 
discovered   his   tnental    deficiencies,   while  his 
moral   lapses  had   been   more  than  once    hint- 
ed at  in  her  presence ;  hut  he  was  well-look- 
ing, fashionable,  and  heir  to  an  earldom  ;  and 
she  liad,  moreover,  become  accustomed  to  his  | 
assiduities,   and    conscious  of  his   admiration. 
Among  the  defections  of  this  nature,  which  we  ' 
elsewhere  hinted  to  have  been  comprised  in  Itie  j 
early  experiences  of  the  flattered  beauty,  she 
had  been  less  insensible  to  that  of  Lord  Otter-  , 
foul  than  to  those  of  n)aiiy  more  wealthy,  and,  ! 
iii  the  acceplaii'ja  of  the  world,  more  eligible 
admirers. 

The  lip  of  Lady  Madelaine  curled,  as,  in  think- 
ing of  the  past,  she  remembered  how  her  flat- 
terers had  likened  her  to  a  new  and  brilliant 
sun  in  the  hemisphere  of  fashion  ;  and  how 
truly  they  had  borne  out  their  own  hyperbole, 
by  melting  away  like  snow-wreaths  under  her 
influence,  when  they  discovered  that  she  had 
little  beyond  her  beauty  and  her  high  birth,  with 
which  to  compensate  their  homage  ;  and  as  the 
memory  came  back  up(m  her,  siie  instinctively 
sufTered  her  eye  to  wander  over  the  magnifi- 
cent accessories  of  her  married  home.  But 
with  these  reminiscences  of  her  first  triumphs 
came  also  the  dangerous  recollection,  that  Lord 
Otterford  had  Ireen  the  last  arid  the  most  re- 
l)ictant  to  witbd>raw  his  pretensions,  and  that, 
in  truth,  his  expensive  habits  and  comfiarative- 
ly  sleiwler  res()urces  ha<l  left  him  without  an' 
alternative  ;  for  Lady  iMadelaine  had  no  concep- 
tion of  the  beautiful  self-abnegation,  which  will 
occasionally  lead  a  man  who  truly  loves  to  di- 
vcs^t  himself  of  his  own  tastes,  and  to  "cleanse 
jiis  bosom  of  the  perilous  stuff"  wiiich  separates 
him  from  the  object  of  his  affection. 

Her  first  impulse,  after  these  reflections,  was 
to  show  the  note  of  Lady  Devereux  to  her 
husband,  and  to  claim,  upon  the  score  of  her  old 
attachment  to  her  friend,  his  indulgence  on  the 
present  occasion  ;  but,  on  recurring  to  the  note 
itself,  it  struck  her  that  it  was  not  exactly  cal- 
culated to  afford  him  any  particular  satisfac- 
tion ;  or  to  impress  him  with  any  great  preju- 
.iice  in  favor  of  the  fair  writer ;  "and  then  her 
two  besetting  sins  came  to  her  aid.  Her  pride 
told  her  that  she  owed  it  to  herself  not  to  ap- 
pear to  shrink  fiom  a  meeting  with  her  former 
admirer,  who  would  he  an  eligible  acquaintance 
for  Mr.  Tilden,  and  who  could,  of  course,  never 
again  be  more  to  herself:  while  her  haughtiness 
reminded  her  that  it  was  unworthy  of  Lady 
Madelaine  Gleiifillan  to  suffer  herself  to  be 
trammeled  in  li^^r  social  arrangements  by  any 
one,  simply  because  that  "any  one"  had' been 
honored  i)y  h^r  hari 

Just  as'she  bad  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  a 
Wxricle  drove  to  the  door,  and  a  fooinian  shortly  i 


afterwards  put  a  card  intt  ner  hand,  with  an 
intimation  that  Lord  Olterlord  was  at  the  door, 
but  would  nut  inijiidii  optm  her  at  so  unseemly 
an  hour;  having  merely  called  at  the  desire  of 
his  cousin.  Lady  Deveienx,  to  request  a  verba*, 
reply  to  the  note  which  had  been  left  s(une  days 
previously,  in  order  lo  save  her  ladyship  the 
trouble  of  a  written  answer  so  immediately 
upon  her  arrival.  My  mother  hesitated  for  an 
instant — the  position  was  sufficiently  perplex- 
ing— but,  in  the  next,  an  affirmative  reply  was 
given,  and  the  well-appointed  curricle  drove  off. 

The  rubicon  was  passed.  At  whatever  cost 
of  annoyance  lo  licr  husl)and,  the  engagement 
must  be  kept ;  and  the  haughty  lady  practiced 
her  first  lesson  it»  dissimulation,  by  tearing  the 
little  note  of  her  giddy  and  thoughtless  friend 
into  minute  jiicces,  and  throwing  them  into  the 
superb  basket  of  Sevres  porcelain,  which  stood 
under  her  writing-table. 

Mr.  Tilden  returned  lo  dinner  at  eight  o'clock, 
having  been  engaged  during  the  morning  at  the 
Heralds'  Office,  in  ihe  agreeable  occupation  of 
superintending  the  quartering  of  the  Glenfillan 
arms  into  his  own  shield,  and  in  selecting  a  su- 
perb pariire  of  pearls  for  his  beautiful  young 
wife.  He  was  somewhat  surprised,  but  infi- 
nitely more  flattered,  by  the  exquisite  toilet 
in  which  he  was  received  ;  and  hastened,  alter 
a  brief  and  eager  greeting,  lo  fasien  upon  the 
throat  and  arms  of  the  young  beauty  the  orna- 
ments of  which  he  was  the  bearer,  and  which 
he  tenderly  denominated  "  her  welcooMi  home." 
They  could  not  have  been  presented  more 
apropos,  for  they  gave  the  last  touch  of  elegance 
to  the  simple  and  rich  costume  which  she  had 
selected  ;  although  it  is  equally  certain  that 
they,  at  the  same  time,  rendered  the  ungracious 
act  which  she  was  about  lo  commit  tenfold 
more  difficult. 

It  was,  however,  necessary  that  an  imme- 
diate expIanaiKin  should  be  given,  as  Lady 
Madelaine  had  ordered  her  carriage  at  nine 
o'clock  ;  and  she  accordingly  mentioned  her 
engagement  wiih  as  mui.-h  insouciavce  as  she 
could  command  ;  dwelling  pri!>ci|)ally  upon  the 
French  dancer,  and  the  regret  of  Lady  Deve- 
reux that,  on  this  occasion,  she  was  unable  to 
offer  Mr.  Tilden  a  seal  in  her  box  ;  and  wind- 
ing up  her  communication  by  entreating,  with 
the  sweetest  smile  in  the  world,  that  he  would 
not  trouble  himself  to  dress,  as  she  had  not  a 
monaent  to  spare,  and  would  therefore,  for  her 
own  sake,  overlook  the  solecism. 

The  astonishment  with  which  my  father  list 
ened  requires  no  comment.  He  was  slung  to 
the  very  soul ;  and  had  Lady  Madelaine  raised 
her  eyes  to  his  countenance  as  he  kfi  ihe  room, 
she  would  have  be?n  at  no  loss  to  understand 
the  effect  which  her  words  had  pr(«hiced  ;  but 
she  was  already  too  good  a  tactician  to  ex- 
pose herself  to  unnecessary  annoyance,  and 
she  ctmsequently  kept  thetu  riveted  upon  her 
bracelet. 

My  father  was  no  longer  a  young  inan,  and 
he  loved  for  the  first  lime  It  i.s,  therefore, 
scarcely  lo  he  wondered  at,  that  i)efore  he  de- 
scended from  his  dressing  closet,  after  a  hasty 
and  imperfect  toilet,  to  ciindu(;t  his  bride  lo  the 
dining-room,  he  had  found  what  lie  endeavored 
to  believe  were  siidicirni  excuses  for  her 
thoughtlessness.     She  was  so  youn^j,  and  so 


26 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


aJtiiired — bore  lio  invnluntarily  wincptl  a  lilile, 
but  soon  recuvorpil  himself.  Slie  had  heen  so 
is&laled  at  (jlenfillan  ;  and  now  slie  was  again 
among  the  I'l  lends  of  lier  early  youth,  and  the 
6cencs  of  lier  first  girlisli  liuppiness  :  sucii  a 
circunislance  would  not,  iti  all  pmhability.  oc- 
cur again.  She  had  been  taken  by  siir|irise. 
and  could  not  propt^rly  be  blamed  for  waiiiiug 
the  consideration  whii  h  a  married  woman,  con- 
siderably her  senior,  had  not  deemed  it  neces- 
eary  to  display  towards  hiiiiself.  Still,  it  was 
proveking ;  and  when  he  had  fancied,  too,  that 
the  becoming  and  careful  toilet  had  been  made 
for  him  ! 

There  %vas,  however,  no  possibility  of  show- 
ing even  the  sliadow  of  harshness  to  so  beauli- 
fui  a  being — the  bride  of  two  weeks  only — and 
60 — most  gracious  reader !  my  father  reentered 
the  drawing-room,  in  which  he  was  to  spend 
liis  solitary  evening,  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips, 
and  thus  taught  Ins  fair  wife  a  lesson  on  her 
own  power,  which  she  tiever  afterwards  un- 
learned ;  and,  at  the  elose  of  a  constrained  and 
hurried  dinner,  handed  her  carefully  to  her  car- 
riage, to  feel,  as  she  drove  towards  the  Hay- 
market,  that,  afier  all,  Mr.  Tilden  was  really 
less  imreasonahle  than  many  men  whom  she 
had  known  ;  and  to  wonder  whether  Lord  Ol- 
terford  would  he  glad  to  meet  her  again. 

She  was  nut  hmg  left  in  suspense;  for,  as 
her  carriage  slopped  at  the  Opera  House,  the 
subject  of  her  thoughls  stood  at  llie  portal, 
ready  to  assist  her  to  alight,  and  to  conduct  her 
to  La<ly  Dcvereux's  box.  She  at  once  saw, 
however,  I  hat  he  was  no  longer  the  laughing, 
joyous  raliie,  from  whom  she  had  parted  a  few 
months  befnre.  There  was  a  tremor  in  his 
voice  as  he  addressed  her;  an  unsteadiness  in 
the  arm  wh;eh  he  intended  for  her  support ;  an 
evident  eHort  in  ihe  cold  and  brief  congraiula- 
tions  which  he  irrminated  with  a  smothered 
sigh,  as  ihough  their  utteranee  had  cost  him  a 
pang;  and  his  manner  was  altogether  so  con- 
tagious, that  Lady  Madelaine  fell  confused  and 
nncomforiatile  in  her  turn;  and  was  glad  to 
find  herself  in  the  box  of  her  friend,  as  though 
the  presen<*e  of  a  third  person  were  neofssary 
to  restore  her  self-possession  and  composure. 

As  the  carriage  drove  off,  my  father  lighted 
a  cigar,  and  strcdied  into  the  square  ;  and  when 
he  was  weary  of  this  ainuseintnl,  he  returned 
to  his  splendid  home.  The  two  footmen  who 
had  alleiidetl  "  my  lady"  were  already  in  the 
hall,  and  he  knev/  thai  she  had  arrived  safely 
at  her  de.stinaiion.  When  he  reached  the  draw- 
ing-room, he  took  up  a  b</ok,  but  he  could  not 
read.  Disguise  it  as  he  Wdiild  from  himself, 
he  was  wounded  to  the  heart.  He  knew  no- 
thing of  Lord  Otterfoid — how  should  he!  but 
he  could  not  avcnd  (eelmg  that  he  had  bef>n 
treated,  if  not  exacily  wiili  contempt  by  his 
■  wife,  at  Irasl  with  a  want  of  courtesy  emi- 
nently galling  to  a  ppiud  spirit  like  his.  In 
short,  his  reverie  was  anything  l)ut  pleasant ; 
and  he  was  'ilad  wIk  n,  at  midnight,  he  heard 
the  carrii'ge  oiiee  more  drive  from  the  dour  to 
feleh  h(mie  his  iriiant  wife. 

On  this  occasion  he,  for  the  first  lime,  paid 
the  penally  of  his  wealih  ;  for  his  esiablishment 
was  formed  on  so  extensive  a  scale,  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  lo  relieve  the  tedium  of  his 
soli'.ude  by  making  one  aflcclionate  arrange- 


ment to  welcome  her  return.  There  was  no- 
thing which  he  could  do  that  would  nol  he  tenfold 
belter  done  by  her  maid  or  her  fuoiman  ;  so  he 
amused  himself  by  walking  up  and  down  the 
spacious  apartment,  and  accommodating  his 
paces  to  the  patiern  of  the  carpet,  in  order  that, 
at  least,  he  might  nol  appear  weary  wlien  she 
came  in. 

Bui  amusements,  even  as  intellectual  as  that 
which  he  had  selected,  will  not  interest  for- 
ever; and  my  father  had  omitted  to  remember, 
that  the  departure  of  a  carriage  did  nol  neces- 
sarily involve  the  return  of  its  mistress  ;  and  so 
it  proved  in  this  case;  for  Lady  Devereux  hat" 
a  petit  soiipfr  after  the  opera,  and  she  declared, 
and  Lord  Otierford  looked,  the  impossibility  of 
consuming  chickens  and  champagiK?  Wft!n)Ut 
their  long-lost  friend  ;  while  Lady  Madelaine 
was  so  delighted  with  the  admiration  which 
she  had  elicited  "from  all  parts  of  the  bouse," 
and  was  so  bewildered  by  the  strange  and  un- 
accountable melanclndy  of  the  once  gay  and 
brilliant  man  who  had  stood  throughout  the 
evening  behind  her  chair,  taking  no  share  in 
the  lively  conversation  of  his  cousin,  but  as- 
siduous in  his  silenl  atleniinns  to  lierscK,  that 
she  could  not  forbear  a  feeling  of  curiosity  a-s 
lo  its  cause;  so  she  resolved  to  join  ihe  sup- 
per, anil  lo  take  an  ,9pporiuniiy  of  iiueslioniiig 
Lady  Devereux  upon  the  subject. 

There  is  assuredly  a  spell  m  lliosc  Opera  sup- 
pers ;  and  this  paitieular  one  was  enehaiumg! 
As  she  left  ihe  house.  Lady  Devereux  was  be- 
sieged by  entreat les  for  permission  to  accom- 
pany her  home,  but,  having  formed  her  party, 
she  was  obdmale.  '•  Not  to-night,  my  huci — not 
to-nighl,  my  dear  sir. — Impossible,  Sir  James  ;  I 
never  exceed  a  dozen" — formed  the  running 
accompaniment  to  her  retreat ;  and  when 
Lady  Madelaine  drove  off  in  her  iVieinrs  cha- 
riot, her  own  w;as  ordered  to  follow  her  to  Port- 
land Place. 

Half  past  two  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning 
liad  chimed,  when  once  more  the  knocker  ol 
the  hall  door  sent  its  s/oc':«/o.thun<ler  through 
the  house  ;  but,  loud  and  prolonged  as  it  was, 
it  failed  to  awaken  my  father,  who,  worn  »)ut 
with  watching,  had,  an  hour  previously,  fiung 
himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  fallen  inio  a  deep 
sleep. 

Lady  Madelaine,  pale  and  exhausted,  hurried 
to  her  aressing-room,  and,  having  iirgeil  liei 
Abigail  to  expedition,  soon  was,  m  seemed  to 
be,  buried  in  as  profound  a  slumber  as  that 
which  had  overtaken  her  liii>band. 

And  so  ended  their  second  iiiglil  in  town. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  last  ball  had  been  given  ;  the  last  dinner 
eaten  ;  the  la-st  lounger  had  dejiarted,  or. finite  de 
nttcitx,  bad  declared  himself  gmie,  and  become 
temporarily  invisible;  the  belle  of  fi\e  seasona 
had  reluctantly  admitted  lo  h^rsell',  and  been 
reminded  by  her  chaperone,  iliat  anoi  her  chance 
was  lost,  and  had  despairingly  belaken  herself 
lo  a  cheap  watering-place,  to  ijecruit  alike  her 
healih  and  li(;r  finances,  and  to  sigh  over  the 
past;  the  last  beiiefii  was  over  ;  Ihe  drive  was 
dusty  and  deserted  ;  a  few  who  had  announced 
tiial  they  were  '■  oil'  tu  the  cunlineni''  had  beea 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY.  WOMAN. 


87 


compplled  to  content  themselves  with  crossing 
the  water  in  liie  neiirJihuriiooiJ  of  liie  Uoioiigh  ; 
peileshirtns  could  venture  upon  passing  (Voni  the 
pavement  of  one  great  thorouglifare  to  another, 
wiuidut  risking  their  necks  ;  tradesmen  hegan 
to  reckon  up  their  profits,  and  fathers  of  lainilies 
to  letlect  upon  tlieir  biils  ;  in  short,  "  Lonihm 
itself  was  out  of  town,"  and  still  my  mother 
lingered.  Rookslcy,  and  a  matrimonial  icle-a- 
teic  of  a  month's  duration,  were  more  th;in  she 
had  courage  to  contemplate,  alter  the  brilliant 
and  triumpiiant  debut  which  she  had  made. 
'  There  was,  however,  no  aliernative.  Tiie 
season  was  at  an  end.  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden 
had  i)een  the  fashion.  Royally  had  eulogized 
lier  beauty  and  her  grace  ;  diiiers-out  had  de- 
cided on  the  excellence  of  her  c/ief ;  sour  dow- 
agers h.ul  sneered  at  her  mesalliance  ;  and  bud- 
ding beauties  had  intrigued  and  entreated  for 
invitations  to  her  ball ;  where 

" '  Wreathed  smiles'  went  round,  and  speeches 

Fine.  I'Drceil,  ;ind  pleniiful — as  (waches; 

And  cosily  wines  on  every  side 

Tuared  ih'eir  bright  current  t'ur  and  wide." 

And  what  role,  it  may  be  asked,  did  my  father 
en.ici  in  this  brilliant  drama  !  I  am  proud  to 
answer,  that  it  was  one  so  dignitied  and  irre- 
proachalile,  that  Lady  Madelaine  herself,  had 
she  had  lime  to  remark  it,  must  have  felt  how 
greatly  her  own  consequence  was  enhrtnccd  by 
the  noble  bearing  of  her  husband.  They  were 
occasionallv  seen  together  in  public  ;  espacially  , 
at  the  Opera,  where  she  had  secured  a  ho.x  next 
to  that  of  Lady  Devereux  ;  and,  on  these  oc- 
casions, ihe  manly  beauty  and  graceful  hearing 
of  Mr.  Tilden  never  failed  to  elicit  both  com-  j 
mcnt  and  curiosity.  Who  was  he  !  Where  did 
bis  money  come  froml  These  were  the  two 
priiicii)al  queries;  and,  although  they  were  fre- 
quently answered,  it  was  always  by  inference 
or  surmise  ;  for  the  "set"  into  whi.-li  his  mar- 
riage had  introduced  him,  were  as  little  likely  to 
know  anyihuig  of  the  late  tirm  of  Osbaldislon 
and  Co  ,  as  of  the  leading  tea-mart  at  Pekin. 
That  he  was  a  man  of  refined  tastes  and  fas- 
tidious habits  was  visible  at  once — there  was 
notliing  of  the  parvenu  about  him.  Half  a  dozen 
titled  acquainiance  volunteered  to  propose  him 
at  their  respectiveclubs  ;  a  few  accommodating 
friends  were  anxious  to  transfer  to  him  some  of 
the  best  horses  in  England  ;  bijt  they  quickly 
discovered  that  Mr.  Tilden  knew  as  much  of 
horse-flesh  as  themselves,  although  he  might  not 
condi'scend  to  make  his  talent  quite  so  profita- 
ble ;  and,  in  short,  it  was  soon  evident  to  every 
body  who  was  anybody,  and  tiiese  composed 
Lady  Madelaine"s  visiting  list,  that  Mr.  Tilden. 
be  he  who  he  might,  was  not  a  man  who 
could  either  be  "  shelved"  or  "done." 

And  now,  a  circumstance  has  just  struck  me, 
which,  from  my  own  knowledge  of  the  veracity 
of  my  narrative,  never  before  presented  itself  to 
my  mind  ;  but  which  riiay  very  fairly  have  in- 
duced some  dout)t  in  those  of  su(;h  of  my 
readers  as  may  feel  disposed  to  be  difficult  and  I 
hypei  critical.  I 

I  have  made  repeated  allusions  to  the  refined 
mind  and  elegant  tastes  of  my  father,  and  there 
may  he  individuals,  who,  themselves  liighly-born 
and  elaborately  educated,  may  revert  to  the 
early  training  and  occupation  of  the  young  mer- 
diaut  with  a  feeiiog  of  fastidiousness  and  cou-  i 


tempt;  and  pirascihemselves  by  believing  in  the 
impossibility  of  so  utter  a  change  a>  ihat  which  I 
have  represented,  and  in  comparatively  .so  short 
a  space  of  lime.     They  have  only,  however,  to 

remember  that  human  will  is  a  st  powerful 

engine  ;  and  that  where  it  was  worked  by  am- 
biinin,  pride,  and  self-respect,  it  was  urged  on 
l>y  three  of  ihe  great  impulses  of  our  nature. 
Nor  was  the  social  conversion  of  my  father  a 
sudden  miracle,  wrought  by  the  mere  [)ossessiori 
of  wealth  ;  it  was  the  slowly  and  sti;adily  at- 
tained result  of  time,  and  distance,  and  applica- 
tion. I  have  myself  not  spared  the  satisfied  ig- 
norance of  the  traveled  novice,  who,  anxious  to 
assume  the  attribuies  of  a  connoisseur,  dabbled 
in  doubtful  originals,  and  consigned  to  the  ad- 
dress of  his  agent  in  England  a  case  or  two  ol 
worthless  pictures  :  but  those  ftdlies  were  the 
early  mistakes  tW  his  inexperience,  by  which  he 
had  far  loo  much  sense  and  discriiiiination  to  he 
long  misled.  A  total  estrangement  from  the 
scenes,  the  associates,  and  the  pursuits  of  his 
early  manhood,  threw  the  active  iniiul  <if  my 
father  upon  the  individuals  and  habits  of  those 
by  whom  he  was  surrounded  ;  an  I  ilie  same 
steady  and  strong  will  which  had  iiiiiiaied  him 
into  the  complicated  mysteries  of  commerce, 
soon  provided  him  with  an  open  sesame  to  the 
more  easily-atlained  conventionalisms  of  general 
society.  Wherever  he  paused  during  lus  travels, 
he  applied  himself  strenuously  to  the  examina- 
tion and  comprehension  of  all  that  fell  under 
his  notice  ;  while  he  was  careful  to  select  his 
casual  society  among  that  description  of  persons 
with  whom  he  was  desirous  thenceforth  to  as- 
sociate on  equal  terms.  His  evident  wealth  and 
total  want  of  pretension  rendered  this  by  no 
means  so  ditRcull  a  matter  as  at  first  sight  it 
may  appear.  Long  voyages  al  sea,  in  the  in- 
fancy of  stream,  and  the  generalizing  accommo- 
dations of  foreign  posting  houses,  were  able  aids  • 
to  his  design.  But  who  thai  has  traveled,  even 
of  late  years,  has  not  experienced  the  truth 
which  I  am  here  endeavoring  to  enlbrce  !  Suf- 
fice It  that  my  father  did  succeed  to  the  full  ex- 
tent of  his  wishes;  and  that  at  the  period  of  his 
iwarriage  with  Lady  Madelaine  Ulenlillan  he 
was  at  once  a  finished  gentleman  and  a  complete 
man  of  the  world  ;  and  perhaps  he  bad  the  more 
readily  adopted  the  tastes  and  usa<ies  of  the 
noble  anil  the  wealthy,  because  in  t!ie  outset  of 
his  career  of  ambition  he  had  nn/hini,r  in  nndo. 

It  is  only  those  who  h.ive  tramneled  them- 
selves with  low-bred  associates,  and  degraded 
their  own  minds  by  low-bred  hajiiis,  who  cannot 
rise  Willi  their  fomines  ;  and  this  is  a  fact  which 
the  narrow-minded  insolence  ol  the  "  exclusive" 
would  do  well  to  learn,  inslead  of  atlecting  to 
believe  that  his  '•  order"  came  into  the  world 
after  "  every  god  had  set  his  seal"  upon  it, 
while  all  other  classes  of  society  were  branded 
with  the  mark  of  Cam. 

To  this,  my  reader's  first  possible  objection, 
not  only  to  the  positive  veracity,  hut  even  to  the 
verisiinilitgde  of  my  family  skeich.  he  may  also 
advance  the.  improbability  of  the  decision  and 
the  world-wisdom  of  which  I  have  shown  my 
mother  to  be  possess(;d  at  so  early  an  age  as 
nineteen  ;  hut,  should  he  imleed  do  so,  he  can 
know  little  of  woman's  nature.  With  women, 
I  do  not  hesitate  to  affirm  that  inielleci.  strong 
will,  and  extraordinary  powers  of  perspicacity 


28 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


and  fitneas,  are  of  no  particular  aire.  Watch  an 
intelli;^n'rit  1,'irl  as  she  parses  ("nun  chililhood  into 
youtii,  ami  my  arirunifnl  will  ho  at  once  horne 
out.  I  am  hazarding  no  rash  opinion.  Tiie 
assertion  is  fmnidHd  upon  extensive  experience. 
Gcnerailv  spnakin^,  the  youth  at  sixteen  is  still 
a  boy,  ahsoihed  hy  his  lexicon,  his  Imat,  and  his 
pony;  hut  the  girl  who  a^  sixteen  is  not  a 
woman,  alike  in  mlcllcct  and  in  heart,  hids  fair 
to  die  a  child  or  a  simpleton  at  the  dose  of  a 
long  life.  All  children,  particularly  those  who 
are  banished  to  the  nursery,  and  consigned  to 
the  coiiip;mionshi|)  of  hiielmgs.  necessarily  hear 
many  tilings  wlucli  they  are  not  supposed  to 
remark,  f.ir  less  to  understand;  hut  the  young 
are  peculiarly  siisceptihle  to  all  that  is  passing 
about  ihi'iM.  and  miiliing  falls  to  the  ground  un- 
heeded which  is  hrouglit,  under  their  otiservation. 

In  comparative  infancy  hoys  experience  tliis 
external  influence  far  less  ih-\n  their  sisters. 
Their  liahits,  at  oAce  boisterous  and  active, 
afford  to  them  fewer  op[)ortunities  of  hearing 
discussions,  and  ar,giiments,  and  inferences,  re- 
lating to  social  ties  and  social  usages.  The 
sedentary  amusements  of  girls  lend  themselves, 
on  the  contrary,  not  only  to  mouientary  atten- 
tion, hut  to  afi(>r-speculation.  Jemima,  as  she 
trims  her  fiock.  is  frequently  employed  in  won- 
dering what  mamma  meant  last  nigiit  hy  telling 
Mrs.  Smiih  that  Miss  Jones  hail  jilted  Mr. 
Drown,  because  she  discovered  thai  Mr.  Rob- 
inson was  a  richer  man  ;  and  when  the  frock 
is  coinpleKMl  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  she  is  j 
very  prot)ai)ly  still  occtupied  in  wondering  wliet.h- 
er,  when  she  is  a  little  older,  she  shall  ever  j 
jilt  any  one,  and  if  it  is  a  pleasant  amusement,  j 
and  what  it  really  means.  Fanny,  as  she 
dresses  her  didl,  liids  her  be  good  and  quiet,  I 
an-d  then  she  shall  have  a  rich  husl)and,  and 
ride  in  a  carriage,  and  dn  just  as  slic  likes  ;  for 
mamma  told  papa  yesterday,  when  he  was  an- 
gry with  her.  that  she  would  do  as  she  liked — 
while  the  girl  of  thirteen  already  begins  to  crit- 
icise ner  mother's  beauty,  and  to  ask  herself 
what  will  be  the  probable  effects  produced  by 
her  own 

Where   there   are  strong  powers  of  mind, 
these  are  merely  subordinate  speculations.    The 
intellect,  as   it  awakens,  is   insatiable  ;  and  it 
seizes  upon  every  aliment  within  its  reach.   How 
often  do  we  all  witness  instances  of  this  fact  1 
How  often  do  we  see  the  really  clever  and  in- 
telligent girl   sink  into  the   dull  and   mindless  I 
woman  !     Woe  be  to  them  by  whom  the  holy  I 
lamp  of  intelligence  was  suffered  to'  liicker  and  ' 
go  out !  I 

Gifted  with  extraordinary  powers  of  percep- 1 
tion,  of  retention,  and  of  analysis,  my  mother, 
under  the  aide  tuition  of  the  world-worshiping! 
Lady  Sini-I.ijr,  was  at  fifteen  a  wdman  in  tact  ' 
and  fa.-.liion.  Slie  fully  understooil  the  priv- 
ileges of  her  high  birth,  the  advantages  of 
her  exlrctni'  beauiy,  and  the  necessity  of  mak- 
ing both  contribule  to  her  after-establishment. 
These  were  her  aunt's  lessons.  Tlie  world 
itself,  ere  Unig,  taught  her  others..  Intoxicated 
by  the  adulatmn  (if  the  men  and  the  envy  of  the 
women,  she  miglit  have  become  insolent,  had 
she  not  felt  the  «m;>o/(cy  of  such  a  weakness  ;  and 
the  eame  admirable  tact  which  preserved  her  in 
this  insiancc,  saved  her  a  second  time,  when, 
as  her  fiaiierers  fell  away,  "  each  after  each," 


I  on  discovering  the  slender  amount  of  her  dowry, 
I  she  learnt  that  even  she — the  higlily-burn  and 
the  beautiful — could  he  put  into  a  huiuiiiating 
competition  with  —  money!  Then,  again,  her 
woman-wit  lent  its  aid  ;  and,  where  a  weaker 
mind  would  have  become  hitter,  she  unly  became 
wise  Her  after-fate  confirmed  this  wisdom.  In 
the  seclusion  of  her  father's  castle,  and  ren- 
dered painfully  aware  of  that  father's  trammeled 
position,  she  had  time  to  revert  to  the  past. 
She  began  to  concede  that  tiie  fortune-liiinling 
adorers,  by  whom  she  had  been  first  worshiped 
and  then  deserted,  might  advance  a  valid  ex-' 
cuse  fornheir  aposiacy — she  began  to  discover 
that  there  was  wisilom  as  well  as  wit  in  the  old 
song,  which  declares  that 

"  Not  even  love  can  live  on  flowers ;" 

and — she  married  my  father. 

Lady  Madelaiiie  Tilden  had  not  studied  (or 
the  nine  long  years  of  awakening  wuiii.inJKJod 
under  such  al)le  tutors  as  the  world-  and  Lady 
JSinclair  ;  she  had  not  suffered  mortilicalion  and 
disappointment ;  she  had  not  fell  her  pride 
prostrated,  her  self-love  woundeil,  and  her  heart, 
made  the  toy  of  idle  ami  inteiesied  f'oplmgs ; 
she  had  not  been  suddenly  withdrawn  Inim  the 
giddy  vortex  of  fashion  and  celebrity,  and  buried 
alive  in  the  Highlands,  to  muse  over  ih(;  motives, 
the  impulses,  the  feelings,  and  the  weaknesses 
of  those  among  whom  she  had  previously  lived, 
to  reappear  in  the  same  l)iiglit  and  busy  world 
a  wcunan  in  stature,  l>iit  a  child  at  heart. 

Remeiiibering  my  mother  vividly,  as  I  still  do, 
I  feel  satisfied  that,  with  the  saiiie  experience 
(had  that  been  possible),  she  would  have  played 
at  fitteen  the  same  cold,  and  haughty,  and  deci- 
sive part.  Age  has  no  influence  upon  princi- 
ples, and  feelings,  and  prejudices,  like  those  of 
Lady  Madelaine  Tilden. 

The  seasmi  was  at  an  end.  The  woods  and 
glades  of  Rooksley  were  in  ah  their  beauty 
The  domain  was  exiensive,  and  in  admirablo 
taste.  If  a  fault  could  be  found,  M  existed  in 
the  absence  of  all  ancient  timber  —  the  leafy 
honors  of  Rooksley  Chace  had  been  stricken 
down  by  the  hammer  of  the  auctioneer.  It  is 
true,  thai  greai  skill  had  been  evnujed  in  repair- 
ing this  evil,  in  so  far  as  it  was  suscepiilile  ot 
reparation  ;  but  the  anti(|ue  grandeur  of  the 
mansion  seeiiied  to  frown  forth,  in  haughty 
scorn  of  the  new  generation  of  forest  timber 
that  was  growing  up  about  it. 

Lady  jDevereux,  on  her  first  visit  to  the 
Chace,  laughingly  told  her  cousin  tiiat  tiie  new 
acquisition  of  Mr.  Tilden  reminded  lier  of  him- 
self :  it  was  very  stately  and  very  magnificent, 
but  it  wauled  time  ! 

"  At.  last,  my  sweet  Madelaine,"  said  her  hus- 
band, as  for  the  -second  time  they  sat  leic-h-icie 
by  lamplight  under  their  own  roof,  "at  last  )ou 
are  all  my  own,  and  I  have  time  to  ask  you  a 
thousand  (piestions,  which  you,  more  slraii^jely 
still,  have  iiiik!  to  answer.  And,  first,  how  do 
you  like  Rooksley  !" 

"  It  IS  impossible  not  to  like  a  place  upon 
which  the  Duke  of  Dorchester  prided  himseU 
so  much,"  replied  my  mother,  who  had  never 
been  surprised  out  of  her  ml  admiran  since  her 
arrival  in  Grosvenor  Square;  "but  it  sadly 
wants  timber." 

'  Our  woods  are  very  promising,  and  we  must 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


29 


have  patienrG,"  said  my  fallier,  in  whose  voice 
llitTC  was  a  sliglit  tone  ol  disappoiiitineiit. 

"And  you  must  excuse  me  if  I  add,  Mr.  Til- 
den,  that  itie  liouse  as  sadly  requires — inmates. 
We  are  positively  lost  here  alone." 

"  Bill  just  now,  my  dear  Madelai.ne,  repose 
and  quiet  are  so  essential  to  yon.'  Your  roses 
have  waned  fearfully  during  the  past  season.  I 
shall  ni.l  be  iiappy  until  I  see  them  bloom  again." 

"  Have  we  any  neighborhood  !"  asked  the 
young  wife  in  her  turn. 

"  i  have  not  yet  made  the  inquiry.  I  only 
fear  that  we  shall  ascertain  the  fact  too  soon. 
In  so  line  a  sporting  country,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  we  shall  find  many  resident  families, 
who  will  not  fad  to  seize  so  ailmirable  an  op- 
^Jomlnlly  ol  making  the  acciiiaintaiice  of  the 
fair  ami  Cashiimalile  Lady  Madelaine  Tildti.." 

"  ProvHied  thatjhey  prove  visitable.  >  will  be 
a  blessing  ;"  said  my  mother,  as  she  suppressed 
a  jawn  ;  "  Glentillan  has  perfectly  disgjsied  me 
wall  einpty.eclioing,  overgrown  family  houses." 

My  laibfr  walked  to  the  open  window,  and 
drawiiiii  back  the  curtain,  looked  out  upon  the 
beautiful  expanse  of  wood  and  water,  which  lay 
steeped  in  moonlight,  beyond  the  lawn.  Tlie 
tleer  were  lying  in  groups  u|)(m  the  soft  green 
sward  of  the  home-park,  and  their  long  shadows 
formed  fantastic  outlines  upon  llie  grass.  The 
nigbiingales  were  answering  each  other  from 
the  ieal-laden  boughs.  At  intervals  a '  hare 
started  from  the  untlerwood,  and  scudded  across 
the  open  glades,  brushing  away  the  heavy  drops 
of  dew  which  fringed  tlie  blades  of  the  long 
grass  ;  and  the  peculiar  cry  .of  the  pheasants 
broke  the  silence  for  an  instant,  as  it  rose  from 
the  more  distant  preserves. 

It  was  a  scene  of  rich  and  tranquil  English 
landscape  beauty;  and  as  my  father  mentally 
ran  over  tite  vaiij>us  and  vaunted  spots  which 
he  bad  visited  during  his  wanderings,  he  could 
recall  noihing  by  which  it  seemed  to  him  to  be 
rivaled  in  pure  and  placid  loveliness. 

After  having  contemplated  the  enchanting 
view  for  a  time  in  silence,  be  could  not  refrain 
from  expatiating  upon  its  extreme  beauty  to 
Lady  Madelaine,  who  rose  languidly  from  her 
chair,  as  if  rather  with  a  courteous  desire  to 
give  bim  pleasure,  than  fiom  an  idea  of  receiv- 
ing any  herself  My  moiher  was  no  whit  a  sen- 
timentalist: she  had  never  been  taught  to  con- 
sider the  country  otherwise  than  ai  the  most 
correct  refuse  after  the  season,  and  that  portion 
of  Ihe  British  empire  in  which  the  (lowers  were 
growH  that  composed  her  bouquets.  But  even 
she  was  not  altogether  proof  against  the  spell 
ofihe(|uiel  holiness  of  nature:  and,  for  a  time, 
she  gazed  long  and  silently  on  the  clear  glory 
of  that  summer  night  ;  watched  the  reflection 
of  the  blight  stars,  as  they  appeared  to  dance 
upon  the  undulating  ripple  of  the  lake  ;  and  then 
sent  her  long  and  searching  glances  deep  into 
the  blue  and  cloudless  sky,  over  which  they 
were  strown  like  diamcmd-sluds  upon  a  regal 
mantle  :  while  the  moon,  that  lay  lovingly  upon 
the  open  glades,  and  on  the  glittering  waters, 
oiily  touched  the  summits  of  the  tall  trees,  and 
trowned  them  with  silver,  leaving  broad  masses 
of  shadow  about  and  beneath  them,  which  lent 
a  mysierious  indistinctness  to  t!ie  distance. 

Hers  was  not,  however,  a  nature  to  remain 
ang  thus  absorbed.     The  very  beauty  of  the 


scene  soon  suggested  other  and  more  worldly 
ideas.  She  beg;in  to  think  how  admiiably  Iho 
park  lent  itself  to  the  idea  of  a  br.lliant  fcle 
champclre.  P'ireworks  would  have  a  dtdightfnl 
effect,  if  let  olF  from  the  island  on  the  lake. 
Noihing  could  be  prettier!  And  two  or  three 
boats,  gaily  decked  with  streamers  and  colored 
lights,  would  be  I'airy-like  and  ma^jical,  as  they 
appeared  and  disappeared  among  the  overhang- 
ing willows.  Then  she  peopled  the  lawn  with 
dancing  booths,  marquees,  and  [)arii-colored 
groups  ;  and  then  she  heaved  a  sigh,  as  she  re- 
membered that  they  were  utter  strangers  in  the 
county,  and  that,  to  do  all  this,  the  lew  friends 
whom  they  expected  would  not  suffice  ;  while, 
even  for  the  advent  of  those  few,  she  had  yet  a 
weary  month  to  wait. 

"  Is  it  not  calm  and  lovely  1"  asked  my  father 
at  length,  as  vvitb  affectionate  anxiety  he  threw 
a  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  and  passed  bis  arm 
about  her  waist.  "  The  long',  deep  sigh,  to 
which  you  just  now  gave  utterance,  awoke  me, 
j  my  sweet  wife,  from  the  most  delicious  train  of 
thought  in  which  I  had  ever  indulged.  Dare  I 
tell  you  what  was  its  suliject !" 
'  "As  it  would  seem  that  we  were  similarly 
engaged,  we  have  alike  done  treason  to  the 
beauty  upon  which  we  looked  ;"  was  the  reply ; 
!  "  for  in  me,  also,  it  induced  a  chateau  en  Es- 
'  pagne,  that  was  not  without  its  charms." 
j      "  Will  you  not  confide  it  to  me  I" 

"I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  refuse.  I  was 
picturing  to  myself  how  beautiful  a  fete  we 
might  give  here,  and  how  well  everything  would 
tell,  for  no  natural  accessory  is  wanted  ;  when 
I  suddenly  remembered  that  we  knew  no  one, 
and  that,  consequently,  I  could  do  nothing,  save 
cons(de  myself  with  the  Italian  jiroverb,  Soffri 
il  male,  e  asjjetta  U  bc?ie.'' 

'      "And  I,"  said    the    husband,   as  he  looked 
down   fondly,   and   yet   somewhat   mournfully, 
]  upon  the  beaulilul  face,  on  which  the  moonlight 
'  shed  its  clear,  calm  radiance;  "  I  was  thinking 
^  with  how  proud   a  heart  I  might  one  day  see 
'  you  lead  fcutn  our  child  to  gamtxd  on  that  vel- 
vet lawn,  and  to  sport  beside  those  glittering 
waters.     I  was  thinking — " 
i      "  I  beseech  you,  do  not  read  me  a  homily ;" 
said  my  mother,  withdrawing  herself  from  hia 
clasp  with   a  slight  shudder,  and   reiurning  to 
her   seat:  "that  is   a  suliject  ubich   I  by  no 
means  wish  to  dwell  on.     I   assiiie  you,  Mr. 
,  Tilden,  that  to  a  young  and  fashimiable  woman 
such  a  pros[)ect  is  by  no  means  a  pleasant  one." 
I      "But  to  a  wife,  Madelaine — " 
I      "  Ha,  that  is  the  text  of  another  homily.   Fif- 
;  teen  years  hence  I  shall  myself,  perh.ips,  babble 
of  maternal  dunes  ;  at  piesenl  1  ilo  not  affect 
to  understand  them,  and  am.only  thankful  that, 
at  all  events,  such  tilings  have  been  created  as 
nursery-maids  and  governesses." 

"Que  day  I  trust  that  you  will   feel  difTer- 
ently,"  said  my  father,  forcing  a  smile. 
1      "Perhaps;"   was   the   cold   reply;    "but  at 
'  present  1  will  only  ask  you  to  ring  for  the  chess- 
board." 


CnAFTEU  VIII. 
The  dreaded  irionth   went  by  more   rapidly 
than  the  Lady  Madelaine  had  aiiticipalcd.     It 
was  impossible  to  be  thrown  entirely  upon  mv 


20  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


father's  society  witliout  appreciating  his  many 
adtniraWe  qiirililies ;  and  had  not  ihe  twelve 
previous  weeks  of  dissipaiiim,  coquetry,  and 
folly,  thor<tui;lily  unhinged  tiic  mind,  and  per- 
vi-rted  tiie  ft-ehngs  of  the  young  wife,  slie  miglit, 


with  the  easy  and  winning  manners  of  tha 
Ladies  Trevor ;  but,  as  the  frani<  polilf  ncss  of 
my  fallier  offered  an  agreeahle  rehel  Iroin  ihe 
supercdiiius  insouciance  of  his  wife,  »\u\  invjiri- 
ablv  lieaied  the  wounds  which  her  indifference 


possihly,  have  learnt  to  love  her  hushand  as  he  had  inflicted  on  the  self-love  of  their  vi.-iiors, 
deserved.  But.  alas  !  those  twelve  short  weeks  no  decided  affront  was  given  to  the  female  por- 
had  heen  sufficient  to  destroy  this  hope  forever.  I  tion  of  the  guests  ;  wiiile  the  extreme  hi-auiy 

Let  it  not  he  tlmiiglit  that  my  mother  wil- 1  and  inherent  love  of  admiiation  wliirli  ma. le  my 
fully,  and  with  her  eyes  open,  plunged  herself  mutlier  so  aitractive  to  ihe  other  sex,  sulficienlly 
into  positions  of  difficulty,  and  rcs(dved  to  in-  propitiated  their  hushands  and  brothers,  to  in- 
dulge her  own  predilections  co»'/e  7»i  couic.  Far  duce  ihem  lo  believe  and  to  declare  that  Lady 
from  it.  Had  she  imagined  that  Lord  Otter-  Madelaine  Tdden  was  an  angel  ! 
ford  was  a  deliberate  and  cold-blooded  proQi- 1  As  a  matter  of  cour.se,  invitations  poured  in 
gate,  who  was  amusing  himself  at  the  expense  '  at  llookshy  ;  and  among  the  rest,  came  oni* 
of  her  vaniiy  and  inexperience,  she  would  have  from  the  Vernons,  whose  estate  j<iined  that  ot 
shrunk  from  him  with  horror.  It  was  that  my  father.  Mrs.  Vernon  was  a  widow,  whose 
very  vaniiy  and  inexperience  which  Minded  husband  had  represented  the  county  m  parlia- 
her.  Had  she  gone  a  step  further,  and  sus-  ment ;  and  who,  although  he  had  been  dead  for 
peeled  that  he  had  yet  darker  and  more  guilty  several  years,  had  never  quite  recovered  her 
designs,  she  would,  in  all  prohabiiiiy,  have  loss.  She  was  a  genile.  amiable  woman,  still 
sought  for  protection  and  refuge  in  the  affec-  possessing  Ihe  remains  of  great  heauiy,  but 
tion  of  the  man  to  whom  stit;  hail  given  her  I  thoroughly  indifferent  to  everything,  sav(!  the 
hand  ;  but  no  such  jdea  ever  crossed  the  pure  I  happiness  of  her  son  and  dauuhler,  at  whose 
mind  of  Lady  Mailelaine.  She  was  vain,  im-  |  entreaty  she  had  emerged  fnuu  retirement,  to 
prudent,  and  exacting.  She  required  homage,  !  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  new  owners  of 
but  blie  never  dreamt  of  paying   it  by  a  return.  |  liooksley. 

The  haiiuhtiness  of  her  natural  disposition  made  I  Frederick  Vernon  was  a  fine  young  man  of 
hoT  jealous  of  all  interference  on  the  pari  of  her  six-and-twenty,  with  a  full  appreciation  of  hii 
husiinnd  ;  and  the  line  of  conduct  which  she  personal  and  worldly  advantages  ;  which  latter 
had  adopted  immediately  after  her  marriage  had  attribute  i  mention  rather  to  give  a  proof  of  his 
so  thoroughly  emancipated  her  from  his  control,  consistency,  than  from  conceiving  it  to  be  an 
that  she -soon  ceased  to  understand  that  he  had  extiaoidiiiary  feature  of  his  hi.si.uy  which  re- 
aiiy  riglit  to  exert  it.  It  was  true— as  her  friend  ([uired  to  be  put  on  record.  He  had  lerenlly 
Lady  Devereux  had  sententiously  observed,  in  !  rciurned  from  a  lour  of  Europe,  and  was  strongly 
one  of  tiiose  hours  of  female  confidence  which  tinged  with  foreign  habits  and  ideas.  To  bun 
are  productive,  at  times,  of  a  vast  amount  of  the  sojourn  of  Verncm  Pricuy,  beautiful  as  it  was, 
cvd— iliat  Mr.  Tilden  had  rescued  her  from  the  would  have  been  insupportable,  had  not  the  ex- 
monotonous  exile  of  Glenfillan,  and  surrounded  treme  affection  which  he  hove  U>  his  moiber  and 
her  with  magnificence;  but  what  had  she  not  sister  made  every  spot  which  they  inhabited  no» 
done  for  A;m.'  Look  at  her  rank— her  coiinex-  only  bearable,  but  pleasant  lo  him.  Fiederi< 
ion  —  her  beauty!  Was  he  not  almost  old  Vernon  was  not  constituted  for  retirement.  His 
enough  to  be  her  father  1  And— her  dear  Mad-  '  talents  were  dazzling,  hut  by  no  mC-aiis  solid  ;  his 
elaine  must  forgive  her  for  speaking  frankly—  j  acquirements  were  barely  respectable  ;  but  he 
was  he  not,  before  their  marriage,  a  nobody  I        had  the  tad  lo  ajjpear  far  wiser  than  he  was — 

All  this  was  undeniable — and  iijion  these  pre- '  a  secret  more  generally  diffused  in  society  than" 
mises  my  mother  acted.  There  can  be  no  '  it  is  supposed  to  be,  and  pariitularly  easy  to 
doubt  that  there  must  have  heen  moments  in  '  practice  by  a  handsome  young  man  of  good 
which  the  (luestion  K-ou/(/ arise  in  her  own  heart,  !  property,  whom  no  one  is  vastly  disposed  to 
in  how  far  her  renewal  of  intimacy  with  Lord  '  criticise  with  severity.  His  success  abroad  had 
Olterford  was  either  desirable  or  correct ;  but,  heen  considerable;  and  it  was  even  rumoied 
if  it  were  so,  the  extreme  pride,  which  was  her  ihat  he  had  been  requested  to  quit  the  territories 
besetting  sin,  must  equally  in  those  momenis  of  a  petty  Ilahaii /Ji/ra  within  twenty-foui  hours, 
have  proved  her  worst  enemy,  by  blinding  her  although  it  had  never  ocemred  to  Mr.  Vernon 
to  the  danger  she  had  so  thoughtlessly  evoked,  j  to   have  any   political  opmmu  out   of  bus  own 

Be  all  this,  however,  as  it  may,  ibe  monih  of'  country  ;  hut  he  had  danced,  and  sighed,  and 
matrimonial  domestication  wore  away  swiftly  ;  '  looked  love-lorn  m  a  quarter  where  such  |  ro- 
the  neigidiorbood  provjng  not  only  vis. table  but  [  ceeiling--.  win:  m>t  admissible  ;  and  he  accoid- 
eociabie.  My  father's  surmise  was  a  coirect '  mgly  o^reyed  wiihout  demur  the  obliging  sug- 
one.  The  fame  of  the  dashing  Lady  .Madi-laine  gestion  of  the  oMn-ial  who  waited  upon  liinj  at 
'Jilden  had  preceded  her,  and  all  the  cotiniry  j  his  hotel  ;  and  passed  out  of  the  di.chy  vn  the 
were  anxious  to  be  numbered  among  her  ac-  lollowing  morning,  carrying  away  with  hirn  a 
quainlance.  'J'be  men  were  prepared  lo  lose  |  heavy  heart  and  an  exceedingly  magnificent 
their  hearts,  and  the  women  to  profit  by  so  ad-    brilliant  ring. 

mirable  an  opportunity  of  imitating  the  dre.-s  |  No  one  could  exactly  decide  how  this  travel- 
and  style  of  a  celebraied  beauty.  It  is  true,  ing  adventure  became  whispered  in  England, 
that  the  extremely  cold  and  sometimes  arrogant  as  his  valet  w.is,  of  course,  as  secret  as  the 
bearing  of  my  mother,  led  a  few  of  the  most  im-  grave  ;  and  the  affair  w  as  allogcther  loo  delicate 
porianl  lamilies  to  doubt  whether,  after  all,  the  !  to  have  borne  mention  Iroui  himself;  but, 
long-talked-of  Tildens  would  prove  any  very  nevertheless,  it  jras  whimpered  ;  and  it  is,  there 
great  acquisition  ;  and  to  contrast  the  haughty  fore,  not  sinprisinir  llial  Mr.  Frederic  Vernon 
and  indolent  courtesies  of  their  new  neighbor  i  was  considered,  and  con.sidert>d  himself  lo  be. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


31 


the  hero  of  the  county.  He  had  fits  of  abstrac- 
tion— in  siicicty  ;  occasionally  started  painfully 
as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  ring;  sunj;  one  partic- 
ular and  pathetic  Italian  ballad  with  peculiar 
pathos  and  expression  to  his  guitar;  and  was, 
in  short,  a  drawing-rooiiti  Corvdon. 

Eiriily  Vernon  was  a  charming  girl  of 
eighteen.  Tall,  and  fair,  and  gentle;  tenderly 
aitaciii^d  to  her  widowed  mother,  and  devotedly 
fond  of  her  handsome  and  sentimental  brother ; 
wiihoiit  one  thought  of  self,  or  one  craving  for 
admiration. 

Mr.  Tddi'n  had  been  from  home  when  the 
Vernons  called,  and  my  mother  had  returned 
the  visit  without  him,  by  leaving  cards  at  their 
lodge-gate  during  her  drive;  nor  had  she  con- 
sidered it  necessary  to  mention  the  circum- 
stance, until  the  arrival  of  the  dinner-card  ; 
wlien  she  carelessly  inquired  of  my  father  if  1'3 
considered  it  expedient  to  accept  the  invitation. 

"  Since  you  request  my  opinion,  I  should  say 
decidedly  yes;"  was  the  reply.  "On  passing 
tiieir  place,  a  day  or  two  since,  I  inquired  to 
whom  it  belonged,  and  was  informed  that  the 
late  |)roprielor  represented  tiie  county  during 
several  sessions,  and  that  the  ladies  of  liie 
(kiiiily  were  almost  domesticated  at  Rooksley, 
with  the  daughters  of  the  duke  !"  * 

"  And  Felicie  tells  me,"  followed  up  my 
mother,  "that  Mrs.  Vernon's  son,  who  is  now 
at  the  Priory,  is  a  sort  of  hero  de  roman,  who 
eloped  with  an  Italian  Principessa,  fought  a  duel 
with  the  prin(;e,  and  was  expelled  the  country 
by  the  p<ii)e  himself — n  personage,  in  short,  who 
is  coniiaband  over  half  Europe." 

"  Ha,  indeed  !  Is  it  so  1  Am  I  fated  to  find 
my  old  traveling  comrade,  Frederic  Vernon,  in 
my  nearest  neighbor  1"  said  my  father  with  a 
smile.  "The  name  was  not  sufficiently  un- 
common to  strike  me:  hut  the  affair  with  the 
Italian  Di(cliessa  settles  the  point." 

".-\nd  was  he  really  involved  in  a  duel,  and 
afterwards  expelled  the  country  !"  asked  my 
mother,  roused  for  a  moment  into  a  feeling  of 
interest. 

"  JSo  it  was  said  ;  and  it  is  certain  that  liis 
disparition  from  the  duchy  was  so  sudden  that 
he  did  not  favor  his  friemls  by  any  leave-taking. 
There  was  decidedly  some  mystery  attached  to 
him  ;  hut  as  we  never  ai'terwards  chanced  to 
meet,  I  am  unable  to  afford  any  precise  infor- 
mation on  the  subject." 

"  We  will  dine  with  the  Vernons,  at  all 
events,"  said  the  bride  ;  "I  will  c^incel  my  ac- 
ceptance to  Lady  O'Halloran  ;  the  hall  is  at 
least  four  miles  from  hence;  and  the  Vernons 
live  nearly  at  the  park  gale  ;  the  fatigue  will 
be  much  lessened  by  the  change." 

And  having  so  decided,  my  mother  once 
more  bent  her  fair  head  over  her  desk  ;  gave 
the  note  which  she  had  already  written  to  Lady 
O'Halloran  to  herspaniel  for  a  plaything  ;  wrote 
an  accejitance  to  Mrs.  Vernon  with  her  best 
crowqiiill;  and  then  threw  herself  back  among 
her  cushions,  to  wonder  what  effect  her  own 
beauty  would  produce  upon  a  man  who  had 
been  expelled  Irom  an  Italian  duchy,  to  save 
the  honor  of  its  female  sovereign. 

For  the  first  time  since  her  arrival  in  the 
country.  Lady  Madelaine  took  considerable  in- 
terest in  the  operations  of  Felicie,  on  the  even- 
ing of  Mrs.  Vernon's  dinner.     She  resolutely 


resisted  all  the  cndcavois  of  her  attendant  ia 
induce  her  to  make  her  delmt  in  the  eoiiniiy  en 
grande  dame:  relused  to  wear  any  ornameni*, 
and,  notwithstanding  the  volul)le  horror  and 
visible  mortification  of  the  scuhic/lc,  declared 
her  intention  of  eschewing  all  coiffure  save  hei 
own  magnificent  hair.  Felicie  urged,  entreat- 
ed, and  eventually  wept  over  the  extraordinary 
resolution  of  her  mistress;  and  closed  drawers 
and  caskets  with  a  series  of  gestures  of  offend- 
ed dignity  which  were  quite  indescribable  ;  al- 
though she  afterwards  conceded  to  Mrs.  Lockall, 
the  housekeeper,  that  it  was  a  comfort  to  know, 
in  spite  of  the  cavrice  which  induced  Miladtj  to 
go  out  for  the  first  time  in  a  costume  better 
suited  to  a  pctile  fiUe,  than  to  thi;  wife  of  a 
millionaire,  that  she  had  seldom  seen  lier  look 
so  well ;  and  therefore,  it  was  ea.sy  to  imagine 
how  she  would  have  looked  had  she  been  mise 
comme  il/nul  ! 

It  was,  hf)wever,  as  I  need  scarcely  explain, 
no  part  of  Lady  Madeline's  system  to  owe  ad- 
miration to  a  ribbcm  or  a  set  of  baubles.  If  sh-e 
could  not  command  it  by  the  graces  of  her  per- 
son, she  scorned  to  win  it  by  the  magnificence 
of  her  attire;  or  to  share  it  vvi'Ji  diamonds  and 
gauzes.  That  she  had  judged  wisely,  in  the 
present  instance,  she  at  once  perceived  by  the 
expression  of  her  husband's  countenance,  as 
she  joined  him  in  the  library,  previous  to  their 
departure  for  Vernon  Priory.  SIk^  had  indeed, 
as  Felicie  wisely  remarked,  seMoin  looked  so 
beautiful.  There  was  an  utter  absence  of  pre- 
tension in  her  whole  appearance;  ;i  (IJLniitiod 
simplicity  in  her  dress  and  bi'aring,  which  de- 
lighted my  father.  She  had  evidenily  no  inten- 
tion of  overawing  her  new  ac(juaintance  by  the 
power  of  her  wealth — that  most  uiiderioned  ot 
all  amhiti(jn — and  her  extreme  loveliness  was 
so  conspicuous  in  the  utter  absence  of  extra- 
neous ornament,  that,  as  he  raised  her  hand  to 
his  lips,  he  could  not  resist  the  iiiteraiice  of  a 
cimiplimeiit  more  lover-like  than  matrimonial. 

Five  minutes'  drive  from  their  own  pari<gate 
brought  theiTi  to  that  of  Mrs.  Vernon  ;  and 
even  in  the  twilight  my  father  could  not  forbear 
remarking  the  magnificence  of  the  (dd  avenue 
through  which  they  approadied  the  house, 
which  was  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  elms  and 
beeches  of  stately  growth.  The  building  itself 
appeared  to  be  coeval  with  the  timber.  A  great 
portion  of  the  exterior  was  overgrown  with  ivy, 
amid  which  the  lofiy  lancet-headed  windows, 
streaming  with  light,  produced  at  that  hour  b. 
magical  effect  ;  while  the  deep  perspective  ot 
tiie  principal  entrance,  whose  receding  arches 
were  terminated  by  massive  doors  of  iron-stud 
ded  oak,  gave  an  antique  stateliness  to  the  edi- 
fice, and  heightened  its  monastic  character. 

Considerably  less  extensive  than  Kooksley, 
Vernon  Priory  was  infinitely  more  attractive  to 
a  stranger.  No  woodman's  axe  had  ever 
sounded  in  that  quiet  spot.  It  was  easy  to  see 
that  sire  and  son  had  alike  resf  ected  the  place 
of  their  birth,  and  the  liome  of  their  ancestors. 
When  a  giant  tree  lay  prone  within  the  la; 
of  the  moss-grown  fences,  it  was  because  lime 
had  eaten  away  its  stout  heart,  and  rilaxed  its 
weakened  roots;  and  while  the  scattered  rooks 
cawed  their  hoarse  requiem  over  the  prostrate 
ruin,  it  conveyed  no  reproach  to  the  lords  ol 
the  soil.     No  croupier's  rake  had  ever  swept 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


32 

away  Ihe  leaTy  honors  of  ihe  Vernon  woods ; 
no  dice  box  liad  ever  r.itiled  its  triumph  over 
their  sturdy  lrunl<s.  Lii<e  the  treasure  of  the 
pre-adaiiiiio  siiUaiis,  to  which  travelers  tell  us 
that  every  monarch  is  compelled  to  add  his 
share,  wlulc  none  are  permitted  to  withdraw 
any  portion  of  tiiat  alieady  hoarded,  so  did 
every  succeeding?  Vernon  plant  his  saplings  in 
the  soil  o(  his  ancestors  ;  while  each  would  have 
considered  it  as  sacrilege  to  destroy  the  work, 
or  counteract  the  intenlmn  of  his  predecessor. 
When  my  father  and  I'.adv  Madclaine  entered 
Mrs.  Vermin's  drawmg-roi.m,  the  party,  which 
was  hy  no  means  a  l.trgn  one,  had  already  as- 
scmhled  ;  ihe  hostess  received  her  stranger 
guests  with  a  quiet  elegance  of  demeanor  which 
accorded  well  with  her  stalely  although  faded 
beauty,  and  her  deej)  m<iuriiing  dress  ;  and  af- 
ter having  presented  her  son  and  daughter, 
proceeded  to  introduce  my  mother  to  the  lady 
who  occujiied  a  pinlion  of  the  sofa  to  which  she 
led  her,  while  my  father  renewed  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Mr:  Vermui. 

Tins  lady,  whM  chanced  to  be  Lady  O'Hallo- 
ran,  found  an  iimncdiaie  topic  of  conversation, 
in  her  regret  tliat  Mrs  Vernon  should  have 
proved  mcire  fortunate  than  herself,  in  being 
the  first  to  receive  their  new  neighbor ;  and 
then  she  proceeded  to  congratulate  herself  on 
having  at  least  so  agreealde  an  opportunity  of 
making  her  acquainlaiice.  Lady  Madelaine 
bowed  and  smiled,  aliliough  she  felt  greatly 
disposed  to  yawn  ;  hut  she  I'ound  the  volubility 
of  her  new  fneii  I  less  importunate  when  she 
discovered  that  there  was  no  necessity  fur  her 
to  olTer  any  reply  ;  so  she  conimued  to  bow 
and  smile  at  intervals  during  the  five  minutes 
which  preceded  dinner;  and  she  had  scarcely 
left  her  seal,  and  taken  the  aim  of  Mr.  Vernon 
on  its  amioimcemciit,  ere  Lady  O'Halloran  as- 
sured Dr.  James,  the  reclur,  under  whose  es- 
cort she  was  preparing  to  follow,  that  Lady 
Madelaine  'I'ilden  had  been  cruelly  misrepre- 
sented by  her  corre.si)iN)dent,  Mrs.  Gordon,  for 
that  she  had  sehloin  met  with  a  more  simply- 
mannered  or  sensible  person.  'I'he  worthy 
gentlewoman  was  n-ot  aware,  or  had  forgotten 
that  "the  beard  docs  not  make  the  philoso- 
pher;" and  that  it  was  very  possible  for  a 
fashionable  beauty  to  be  all  that  she  had  heard, 
when. she  fell  il  expedient  to  assert  herself ; 
•  and  yet  patiently  to  suinr  tlie  garrulous  civility 
of  an  cliieily  genllewnm.ui  where  she  was  anx- 
ious to  disarm  lucal  criticism. 

Lady  U'll.illoran  was,  accordingly,  by  no 
means  ilw;  only  person  svhose  goUlen  opinion 
my  moiher  won  that  evening.  Mrs.  Vernon 
was  dcligtited  at  the  jirospect  of  obtaining  such 
a  friend  l.ir  her  g*  ntle  Emily  ;  who.  on  her  part, 
was  t'licbanled  with  the  (juiet  grace  and  high- 
brcediiig  of  the  new  unstress  of  Rooksley. 
Ijiitof  all  those  whom  she  thralled,  not  one  was 
so  thoroughly  the  slave  of  her  fascinations  as 
Mr.  l''rcd«ric  Vernon.  He  assured  Mrs.  Alex- 
ander, wlio  s,it  on  his  left  hand,  that  liady 
Madelaine  'I'llden  niinndcd  htm  almost  pain- 
fully ol  a  wiiinan  id'  high  rank  whom  he  had 
kiwvvn  abroad  ;  and  then  he  sighed,  and  glanced 
down  upon  Ins  brilliant  ring,  and  fell  into  a  fit 
of  ah>iractii>n ;  ilnring  which  his  <lark  blue 
eyes  were  riveted  on  the  table-clolli,  and  he 
looked  like  one  who  lived  rather   upon  the 


mernoiy  of  the  past,  than  the  realities  of  lbs 
present. 

When  the  ladies  retired  to  the  drawing.room, 
my  moiher  turned  the  light  of  her  most  sunny 
smiles  upim  Emily  Vernon.     She  was  precisely 
the    person    calculated  to   please  a   handsome 
young  married  woman  of  high  fashion.     Strik- 
ingly pretty,  and  highly  accmnplislied,  she  was 
!  nevertheless  so  gentle  and  i^o  new  tu  the  world, 
that  her  attractions  were  veiled  by  her  extreiae 
timidity — she  had  not  within  her  ihe  elements 
i  of  a  rival !     Nothing  could  liave  been  so  fortu- 
nate; and,  acting  upon  this  conviction,  Lady 
i  Madelaine,   instead  of  closing    her   eyes,  and 
throwing  herself  upon  a  sofa  to  await  the  re- 
I  appearance  ol  the  gentlemen,  at  once  entered 
I  into  conversation  with  her  young  hostess  ;  and 
I  ere  twenty  minutes  had  elapsed,  she  was  seated 
I  at  Miss  Vernon's  harp,  explaining  to  her  a  difli- 
cull  passage  in  a  popular  piece  of  music  ;  allei 
I  which,  as  enlliusiasiically  as  though  she  had 
only  thai  ime  delighted  auditor,  she  swept  the 
chords  with  a  master  hand,  and  electrified  the 
assembled  paity  by  her  brilliant  execution  ;  and 
then,  sudiieiily  suffering  the  strings  to  vibrate 
[  inio  silence,  om^e  nune  established  herself  be- 
side liie  astimislred  and  delighted  giil,  and  re- 
|Suined  The  conversation  which  the  music  had 
I  interrupted. 

"You  kiow  Rooksiey  well,  I  nnderstand," 
she  said  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"  Oh,  very  well — 1\..'  well.  t  was  almopt  as 
much  my  home  as  this,  befoi  i  Ihe  duke's'  — 
She  paused,  uol  knowing  how  jest  to  shape  he; 
meaning. 

"I  understand;"  said  Lady  Madelaine  aa 
she  laid  her  own  beauiilul  hand  u|)oii  that  o) 
her  companion  ;  "but.  Miss  Vernon,  you  must 
cease  lo  say  '  too  well,'  or  I  shall  despair  ol 
making  it  again  agreeable  to  you.  llemember 
that  you  aie  my  nearest  neighbor,  and  that  I 
shall  depend  greatly  upon  your  kindness. 
Doubtlessly  you  had  your  own  aj)ariment  at 
'  Rooksley;  ymi  niusi  come  back,  and  take  pos- 
;  session  once  inure  " 

1      'i  ears  swehed  in  the  mild  eyes  of  her  list- 
ener. 

"  Mr.  Tildcn  and  I  are  at  present  /lislcs  com' 
me  ties  liunncls  dc  niiit,"  pursued  my  moiher  ; 
"but  we  pidinise  to  behave  heiler  ere  long.  I 
am  supposed  lo  be  worn  out  hy  the  Loiid(»n 
season,  and  am  consequently  sentenced  to  a 
month's  quiet.  I  S\\a\\  not  regret  it  so  much  if 
you  consent  occasionally  to  share  my  solilude 
We  expect  a  sliootmg  parly  in  August,  and 
Mr.  TiKlen  is  already  lull  of  anxiety  about  hia 
preserves,— in  faitt,  he  is  endeavoring  lo  be- 
come a  respcclable  country  gentleman  ;  which 
is,  I  imagine,  quiie  correci  under  the  circutu- 
stances." 

I  "  His  Grace  of  Dorchester  was  immensely 
popular,"  said  the  eldest,  over-dressed,  Misa 
Alexander,  who  sat  near  them. 
I  My  moiher  turned  upon  her  a  freezing  look 
!of  non-recognilion,  and  then  calmly  withdrew 
her  eyes. 

!  "  Von  are  not,  I  believe.  Lady  Madelaine 
Tilden,  acinjainled  with  Miss  Alexander,"  said 
Emily  Vernon,  whose  check  was  crimson  with 
confusion.  "  Will  you  permit  me  to  present 
her]" 
,      The  ladies  bowed  ;  and  at  the  conclusion  ol 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


33 


'he  ceremony  my  mother  threw  herself  back 
jpon  the  sofii,  and  made  no  reply  to  the  remark 
31"  Miss  Alexander,  that  her  mother  had  done 
lerselt"  the  honor  of  calling  at  Rooksley.  It 
was  no  [lart  ol  her  system  to  be  condescending 
and  approachable  to  all  the  connty. 

The  gentlemen  and  the  cotree  appeared  to- 
gether; and  Mrs.  Vernon  hastened  to  make 
known  to  her  new  neighbors  Dr.  James,  the 
worthy  rector  of  the  parish,  and  chaplain  to  his 
grace  ihe  Duke  of  Dorchester.  Nothing  could 
be  more  amiable  than  the  reception  which  he 
nuet  Willi  from  my  mother;  and  Miss  Alexan-  j 
der  was  once  more  compelled  to  feel  how  | 
charming  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden  could  make 
herself  when  she  pleased,  and  how  exceedingly 
iil-bred  she  was  when  she  thought  proper  to  l)e 
BO.  Indeed,  as  Dr.  James  afterwards  remarked, 
the  Lady  Madehune  Tilden  not  only  met  him  ! 
ill  the  most  charming  spirit  in  the  worhl,  but 
even  summoned  her  husband,  who  was  at  the 
moment  in  deep  conversation  with  young  Ver- 
non, in  Older  that  he  might  reiterate  her  own 
friendly  assurances  of  a  universal  welcome  at 
Rooksley. 

And  Dr.  James  was  quite  correct  in  this  state- 
ment.    When  he  \jas  led  up  to  my  mother,  ; 
Miss  Vernon  was  summoned  to  her  lieTp ;  and, 
when  Miss  Vernon  obeyed  the  summons,  the  i 
reverend  doctor  remained  standing  before  his  j 
fair  and   smiling  inteilocutor,   until  a  gesture 
brought  her  hiisband  to  her  side,  leaving  Mr.  | 
Vernon  plantc  m  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  who,  ' 
as  a  matter  of  course,  no  sooner  saw  the  doe-  ( 
tor  engrossed  by  Mr.  Tilden,  than  be  hastened  ! 
to  establish  bimsell  in  the  seat  which  had  been  ; 
vacated  by  his  sister.  i 

It  was  a  /eeling  compounded  of  coquetry  and 
curiosity,  which  led  my  mother  to  exert  her 
utmost  lasciiiatiuns  against  Mr.  Vernon.     She 
w.as  not  new  enough  to  flattery  and  adulation  I 
to  value  them  for  their  own  sake ;  but  her  van-  ! 
ity  was  pKjueil  in  this  instance,  and  she  was -at 
present   thrown   U[)on  every  passing  folly  for 
amusement.     She  did  not  even  remark  (as  she 
(lid  sul)*e(iiienily)    that  Frederic  VerQon   was  [ 
amaziniily    iiandsomc,    and    that  ^  he    had    the! 
sweetest  voice   and   the  whitest  hand   in  the  : 
world  ;  she  only  thought  o-f  the  Duchessa,  and  j 
was  anxious  to  see  if,  indeed,  as  Felicie  had  in-  1 
formeil  her,  "//  n'avoit  plus  de  gout  -pour  Ic  scxe."  \ 

Need  I  say  that  s'hc  had  arrived  at  a  totally  i 
different  decision  before  her  carriage  was  an- 
nounced ;   or  that,    as   he  handed   her  up  the  I 
steps,  and  saw  Mr.  Tilden  take  his  place  beside  j 
hei,  Mr.  Vernon  believed  himself  to  be  once 
more  des|ierately  in  love  1  I 

My  moling  loft  one  heavy  heart  behind  her  : 
when  she  (luiiicd  Vernon  Priory;  and  that  j 
heart  beat  in  the  bosom  of  Miss  Caroline  Alex- 
ander. Slic  lia.l  long  loved  the  truant  knight, 
who  had  evidently  become  the  slave  of  the 
beauliliil  and  fashionable  stranger;  while  Mr.  ! 
Vernon,  on  his  side,  had  everT  previously  to  i 
this  evening,  appeared  more  hapi)y  in  her  so-  ; 
ciety  ibaij  in  that  of  any  other  marriageable  j 
young  lady  in  the  county;  and,  with  that  un-  ' 
Ibrtuf.aiK  faciliy  common  to  gnod  looking  and  . 
well-downed  girls,  who  are  frequently  thrown  j 
into  the  sociny  of  handsome  and  idle  men  of 
Bentiiiifiiial  tendencies,  she  had  very  readily  ! 
«Jlowed  herself  to  believe  that  the  inclination  \ 


was  mutual ;  an  opinion  strongly  supported  by 
Ifer  mother,  a  dashing  widow,  who  was  quite 
willing  to  see  her  daughters  established  ;  and 
by  her  elder  sister,  who  being  a  year  or  two 
Mr.  Vernon's  senior,  had  no  designs  upon  him 
on  her  own  account. 

Jt  will  be  easily  understood,  therefore,  that 
the  undisguised  admiration  of  Mr.  Vernon  for 
my  mother,  sent  a  pang  to  the  liearl  of  Caro- 
line  Alexander;  and  when,  on  his  return  to  the 
drawing-room,  he  proceeded  at  once  to  the  in- 
strument v\here  his  sister  had  again  taken  up 
her  station,  instead  of  sharing  the  lounge  upon 
which  she  was  herself  seated  alone,  she  had 
great  difficulty  in  suppressing  the  tears  which 
rose  to  her  eyes.  Stie  had  dreaded,  during  his 
absence  from  the  room,  that  on  his  reappearance 
she  should  be  condemned  to  listen  to  his  admi- 
ration of  the  new  star  which  had  risen  in  their 
hemisphere  ;  but  she  did  expect  that  she  should 
have  been  the  auditor  whom  he  would  select; 
and  she  accordingly  comforted  herself  with  the 
recollection  that  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden  was  a 
mairied  woman;  very  heroically  compelled  her- 
self to  join  in  the  comments  which  were  made 
upon  her  grace  and  be<?uty  direc;ly  she  had  ta- 
ken leave  ;  and  had  also  quite  ileiermined  on 
agreeing  with  her  recreant  lover  (lor  such  she 
believed  him  to  be)  in  every  |)ariiciilar,  however 
provoking  his  hyperbole  might  prove. 

The  unexpected  movement  which  he  had 
made,  however,  on  entering  the  room,  and  his 
utter  silence  on  the  subject  of  the  departed 
guest,  counteracted  all  her  projects  ;  r.«id  as 
she  watched  him,  half  buried  in  a  large  chair, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  carpet,  and  the 
thick  masses  of  his  auburn  hair  falling  partially 
over  his  face,  she  for  the  first  time  fell  a  bittei 
pang  of  jealousy  and  doubt.  Tlie  memory  of 
the  Duchessa  did  not  affect  her — but  the  appa- 
rition of  my  mother  rendered  her  wretched ; 
and  the  rather  as  she  was  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge to  herself  that  it  was  an  effect  pro- 
duced without  efl'ort.  Nothing  could  be  more 
unpretending  than  Lady  Madelaine's  manner; 
nothing  more  simple  than  her  costume.  What 
would  it  be  should  Frederic  be  fated  to  see  her 
in  all  the  magnificence  of  dress  and  fashion,  as 
she  had  been  described  in  Mrs.  Gordon's  letter 
to  Lady  O'Halloran !  Poor  Caroline  looked 
down  Ujiun  her  own  elaborate  toilet,  and  could 
have  wept.  It  was  a  relief  to  her  overcharged 
heart  when  her  mother's  carriage  was  an- 
nounced, and  they,  in  their  turn,  departed  from 
the  Priory,  which  had  so  long  been  the  centre 
of  all  her  hopes  and  of  all  her  ambition. 

Nothing  could  be  more  simple  than  that  the 
Vernons,  who,  in  addition  to  their  near  neigh- 
borhood, claimed,  through  the  gentlemen,  a 
previous  acquaintance,  should  become  speedily 
intimate  at  Rooksley.  The  fair  Eoiily  pioved 
an  admirable  cicerone  to  my  mother  ihroiigh  the 
mysteries  and  beauties  of  her  own  domain  ; 
while  she  soon  discovered  that  Mr.  Vernon 
rode  as  well  as  Sir  James  Doriiton.  and  was 
even  more  careful.  Under  these  circumstan- 
ces, the  time  ceased  to  hang  so  heavy  indeed, 
when  in  addition  to  her  new  inmai.es,  for  such 
they  neaily  were.  Lady  Madelauie  linind  her- 
self absorbed  in  a  never-ending  round  of  dinner 
engagements,  she  had  no  longer  a  moment  un- 
eniployed. 


J4 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN- 


My  father,  through  the  medium  of  Mr.  Ver-  |  particular;  and  they  accordingly  proceeded  to- 
niui,  stKiR  made  accjuahiiance  with  all  the  gen-  |  geihcr,  and  selected  a  spot  at  the  entrance  of 
try  on  bis  own  side  of  the  county  ;  and  was  [the  village,  where  a  handsome  gothic  edifice 
prevailed  upon  to  make  some  extensive  purcha-  was  soon  in  progress,  wherein  all  the  poor 
se.s  in  land,  which  hrought  him  into  close  con-  'children  in  the  county  might  have  heen  com- 
laci  with  the  farming  interest.  His  old  hahits  I  modiously  lodged  and  taught.  Such  heing  the 
of  business  enabled  him  to  do  this  at  less  loss  |  case,  the  centre  was  appropriated  to  ihe  schools, 
than  generally  attends  upon  such  speculations;  |  and  the  wings  were  fitted  up  as  alms-houses  ; 
and  he  derived  perpetual  amusement  from  his  an  arrangement  which  at  once  rendered  Lady 
schemes  of  improvement  and  amelioration.  At  j  Madelaine  popular  throughout  the  parish.  The 
the  suggestion  of  Emily  Vernon,  my  mother  I  respectable  inhabitants  got  up  an  address  ot 
adopted  the  scho(ds  which  had  been  established  i  thanks,  wiiich  was  presented  by  Dr.  James  ; 
by  tiiu  Ladies  Trevor,  under  the  sanction  of  the  '  and  the  sensation  was  so  new  and  so  delightful, 
duke,  and  spared  no  expense  in  rendering  them    that  for  a  time  my  mother  was  engrossed  by 


"  model-sell. lols."  The  children  wore  the  pret- 
til  ^i  of  all  pretty  uniforms  ;  they  had  a  dinner 
in  the  serviuus"  hall  at  Rooksley  every  Sunday  ; 
the  leacht-rs  were  amply  supplied  with  books 


this  novel  occupation  ;  but,  unfortunately,  just 
as  the  walls  began  to  show  themselves  above 
the  ground,  llooksley  suddenly  became  full  of 
uests,  and  the  thoughts  of  la  dame  Chatdaiug 


of  every  description  ;  and,  in  short,  the  gentle  suffered  a  serious  revulsion. 
Emily  was  rejoiced  to  see  all  the  schemes  car-  ]  The  first  arrivals  were  Sir  Herbert  and  Lady 
ried  out  whicli  iiad  been  the  day-dream  of  her  j  Devereux,  who  had,  as  lier  ladyship  expressed 
former  friends.  But  the  Ladies  Trevor,  never-  lit,  been  stupifying  at  their  place  in  Kent,  until 
tlieless,  had  done  for  these  local  schools  what '  the  happy  moment  .when  they  should  fly  to 
my  miulier  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  imi-  [  Rooksley.  She  cast  a  surprised  and  rather 
tale  :  they  had  watched  over  the  individual  '  chilling  glance  upon  Miss  Vernon,  whom  she 
welfare  and  progress  of  their  little  scholars  ;  found  calmly  employed  at  her  embroidery-lVame 
and,  tliroogh  the  medium  of  their  artless  com-  in  my  mother's  morning-roam  ;  aiid,  the  iieoes- 
iiiunicaiiims,  they  had  ascertained  the  necessi-  sary  introduction  over,  llirevv  I  erself  upon  a 
ties  and  ttru^gles  of  many  a  deserving  family,    sofa  near  her  hostess,   and  forthwith  plunged 


and  had  thus  heen  enabled  to  relieve  their  wants 
w  ith  judgment  as  well  as  kindness. 

into  iiie  detail  of  the  establishment,  my  mo- 
ther WHS,  on  the  contrary,  quite  incompetent 
to  enier.  Her  ideas  of  poverty  did  not  extend 
>!i->oiid  the  deprivation  of  particular  luxuries, 
or,  at  worst,  comforts  ;  but  she  liked  to  see 
the  chiidreii  looking  pretty  and  well-dressed  in 
cliurcli  on  ihe  Sunday  ;  and  it  was  pleasant  to 
led  iliat  11  was  her  own  work.  She  really  felt 
glad,  loo,  when  Miss  Vernon  suggested  tlvat  the 
si'hool-house,  which  stood  on  the  verge  of  the 
Rooksley  estate,  was  in  a  dilapidated  condition  ; 
and  that  on  driving  out  with  her  friend  to  look 
at  it,  she  discovered  that  it  was  an  unsightly 
barn-like  building,  which  had  been  erected  with 
a  VII  w  ui  do  the  greatest  possible  good  at  the 
oinallesi  jjossible  amount  of  outlay.  This  was 
a  charming  circuiiislance  ;  and  before  they  left 
the  village,  a  cottage,  which  chanced  to  be  un- 
tenanted, was  at  once  secured  by  Lady  Made- 
laine Im-  the  use  of  ihe  children  until  their  own 
school-house  could  be  rebuilt ;  and,  immediately 
on  their  return  home,  my  lather  was  commis- 
sioned to  write  to  town  Ibr  architectural  draw- 
ings, from  which  a  design  might  be  selected  to 
replace  the  present  building. 

No  proposition  could  more  thoroughly  have 
dehghied  Mr.  Tilden.  He  was  rejoiced  to  see 
so  wholesome  a  taste  superseding  the  frivolous 
piirsiiiis  by  which  Ins  beautiful  wife  had  hitii- 
eito  bfcn  totally  engrossed  ;  and,  as  he  lost  not 
a  moinent  in  complying  with  her  desire,  the 
pi. ins  soon  arrived,  and  were  at  once  submitted 
to  the  lair  speculators. 

Alter  iireat  deliberation,  the  choice  of  Miss 
Vernon  was  absolutely  negatived.  It  was  too 
s'riiill,  too  .plain,  an<l  too  insignificant.  Lady 
M.idt  lame  was  anxious  for  an  erection  which 
should  hi;  at  once  imposing  and  picturesque  ; 
and,  when  my  father  smih.d  at  her  earnestness, 
sh;'  looked  serious,  and  talked  of  improving  the 


estate.     Mr  Vernon  agrwed  with  her  in  every  j  ful  as  she  is '." 


into  a  stream  of  fashionable  jargon  totally  unin- 
telligible to  the  simple-minded  Emily. 

"And  now,  cara!"  she  cyniinued,  after  a 
momentary  pause,  "how  have  you  manaL'ed  to 
exist  so  long  alone  in  the  country  1  You  really 
deserve  to  be  canonized  I  So  idolized  as  you  are 
in  the  world,  your  virtue  must  have  been  Spar- 
tan to  bear  you  up.  I  am  well  aware  that  cosa 
nuova  sempre  piace,  but  this  of  yours  was  really 
an  extreme  case.  What  have  you  done  !  AVhere 
have  you  been  1  I  am  not  cruel  enough  to 
taunt  you  by  asking — whom  have  you  seen  1 
I  suppose  you  have  a  parson  in  the  parish.  I 
believe  thera  always  is  one  where  there  is  a 
church,  and  I  saw  yours  on  my  way  here — ct 
a  pics  '" 

'•  Aprgs,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  there  is  (uir  neigh- 
bor— our  near  neighbor, Mrs.  Vernon — the  moth- 
er of  my  young  friend  here  ;"  (Lady  Devereux) 
drew  her  eyebrows  together,  and  again  gLinceil 
at  Emily)  "her  daughter  and  her  son,  who  is 
now  walking  with  Mr.  Tilden  : — llien  there  are 
half  a  score  of  county  families  within  twenty 
miles,  with  all  of  whom  we  have  made  a  sort  of 
acquaintance." 

"  Ah,  yes — I  perceive.  Will  you  allow  me 
to  ring  for  my  maid,  and  change  my  dress  !" 

"I  will  accompany  you,"  said  my  mother, 
risin~g  as  she  spoke.  "  I  am  quite  sure  that  Miss 
Verno.n  will  excuse  me." 

"  Oiterfitrd  will  be  here  to  dinner,"  observed 
Lady  Devereux,  as  she  lounged  out  of  the  room. 
"  Sir  Il(;rbert  wished  him  to  accompany  us  ;  but 
he  was  not  proof  against  a  journey  with  D-.inioh 
and  Phillis  ;  that  is,  after  their  loves  had  heen 
rendered  dull  and  legitimate  by  matrimony." 
And  she  disappeared,  followed  by  my  mother. 

"  And  is  this  the  chosen  friend  of  Lady  .Made- 
laine Tilden  1"  murmured  Emily  Vernon  to 
herself,  as  her  eye  followed  their  reiirin<;  fig- 
ures. "Alas',  alas!  how  unfavoalde  is  the 
impression  which  she  has  made  on  me,  beauti- 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


35 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  distaste  which  Miss  Vernon  instinctively 
felt  towards  Lady  Devereux  was  returned  witli 
interest  by  Lord  Olterford  towards  her  brother. 
When  they  met,  there  was  i\  mutual  freling  of 
distrust  and  suspicion.  The  handsome  person, 
insinuating  manners,  and  romantic  reputation 
of  Mr.  Vernon,  had  rendered  hun  higlily  accep- 
table to  my  mother  ;  while  to  my  father,  com- 
paratively m  a  land  of  strangers,  he  had  stood 
in  the  position  of  an  old  friend— a  link  between 
the  past  and  the  present.  I  have  already  hinted 
that  he  was  a  vain  man  ;  and  I  am  bound  in 
justice  to  add  that  he  had  become  passionately 
attached  to  my  mother,  although  she  had  never 
for  a  moment  suspected  tliat  such  was  the  case. 
His  quiet  but  zealous  attentions  had  flattered 
her  vanity;  his  evident  admiration  had  gratified 
her  self-love  ;  he  had  amused  her  idleness,  and 
piqued  her  curiosity — but  that  was  all. 

Nor  had  Frederic  Vernon  any  ulterior  designs 
in  his  adoration  of  the  beautiful  wife  of  his 
friend.  He  loved  her  ardently,  but  he  never 
looked  beyond  the  moment.  He  was  jealous  of 
every  hour  that  was  spent  out  of  her  presence  ; 
happy  under  the  influence  of  her  smiles;  proud 
of  the  confidence  with  which  she  honored  him  ; 
and  anxious  to  render  himself  necessary  to  her 
by  every  means  in  his  power.  Had  he  been 
suddenly  deprived  of  her  friendship,  he  would 
have  felt  it  bitterly.  It  would  have  been  to  him 
afar  more  severe  trial  than  his  romantic  separa- 
tion from  the  Duchcssa ;  but  he  never  suffered 
himself  to  speculate  upon  such  a  contingency, 
and  so  lived  on,  an  jour  la  journee,  occupied 
only  in  devising  new  methods  of  givingpleasure 
to  the  bright  object  of  his  homage. 

But,  as  Lord  Otterford  could  only  form  his 
judgment  of  others  from  his  experience  of  him- 
self, and  of  his  own  motives  and  impulses,  so 
he  could  not  for  a  moment  imagine  such  a  state  ( 
of  things  as  this.  He  saw  before  him  a  man 
eminently  handsome,  evidently  well-bred,  and  ! 
pal[)ahly  established  as  rami  de  la  maison.  He 
watched  him  closely  for  five  minutes,  and 
thenceforward  honored  him  with  his  hatred. 
Lord  Otterford  patronized  no  half  measures. 

Was  it  not  enough  that  throughout  his  sojourn 
at  Rooksley,  he  should  have  Mr.  Tilden  for 
^ver  in  his  path  1  Before  the  party  separated 
for  the  night,  he  had  vowed  vengeance  against 
this  new  intruder.  But  how  to  accomplish  if? 
"An  idle  brain  is  the  devil's  workshop,"  says  a 
quaint  old  proverb  ;  and  man  seldom  prepares 
the  anvil,  that  his  satanic  majesty  fails  to  pro- 
vide the  hammer! 

From  the  period  of  Lady  Devereux's  adveut 
at  Rooksley,  each  day  witnessed  some  new  ar- 
rival, until  the  expected  party  Was  complete. 
The  gentle  Emily  was  nearly  domesticated  with 
her  new  friends,  and  became  completely  so, 
when  important  business  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly called  Mrs.  Vernon  to  town.  After 
having  duly  escorted  his  mother  on  her  journey, 
and  seen  her  safely  established  in  the  house  of 
her  sister,  Frederi"  returned  in  all  haste  to  the 
Priory  ;  for  his  .ocal  knowledge  and  his  ready 
kindness  had  rendered  him  so  indispensable  to 
my  father,  that  they  saw  each  other  daily,  al- 
most hourly.  His  moments  of  active  usefulness 
were  given  to  Mr.  Tdden  ;  while  those  of  re- 
laxntion  and  feeling  were  all  devoted  to  his  wife. 


Rooksley  became  the  scene  of  perpetual  dis- 
sipation and  amusement.  The  game  had  been 
well  preserved,  and  the  prowess  of  the  sport»- 
men  was  sulKciently  murderous  to  merit  men- 
tion in  the  county  paper.  Nor  was  the  slaugh- 
ter within  doors  inferior  to  that  without.  Blight 
eyes  did  as  certain. execution  as  patent  fowling 
pieces  ;  and  the  wet  days  and  the  long  evenings 
were  perhaps  more  full  of  peril  to  the  said 
sportsmen  than  was  their  own  aim  to  the  par- 
tridges and  pheasants.  More  than  one  of  them 
ere  long  abandoned  the  sport  altogether,  be- 
neath the  influence  of  some  more  potent  attrac- 
tion. Among  the  first — the  ladies  called  thera 
"  rationals,"  and  the  gentlemen  "deserters" — 
was  Lord  Olterford,  at  whose  special  instiga- 
tion the  party  had  originally  been  made.  The 
sportsman,  par  excellence,  whose  admirable  lenue 
and  skilful  shot  might  have  suggested  the  de» 
scription  of  a  witty  poet  of  more  recent  times  •— 
" Ne'er  was  such  a  brown  and  green 

In  gaiters  or  in  jiicket  seen. 

Indeed  no  partridge  could  do  less 

Than  tremble  at  the  shooting-dre,ss, 

In  which,  through  all  the  livelong  day, 

Fresh  and  untired,  he  hUlzed  away. 

Scrambling  through  bush  and  briar  to  traco 

Haply,  but  /ia//anotlier  brace; 

Till,  near  the  house,  one  might  leinarlc 

From  both  his  barrels,  just  at  dark. 

Two  short,  smart  pops — ill-omened  sound. 

Echoed  o'er  many  a  turnip-ground. 

Where  coveys  fed,  in  fearand  sorrow. 

Prophetic  of  their  fate  to- morrow." 

His  secession  was,  under  the  circumstances, 
matter  of  amazement  to  all  parties.  Sir  Her- 
bert Devereux,  who  lived  only  during  the  hunt- 
ing and  shooting  seasons,  and  contrived  unac- 
countably to  exist,  Ite  never  thoroughly  under- 
stood hoio,  for  the  rest  of  the  year,  was  unspar- 
ing in  his  sarcasms  and  comments  ;  all  of  which 
produced  upon  his  friend  much  the  same  im- 
pression as  pumice  flung  against  a  rock.  Lord 
Otterford  was  decidedly  a  man  of  character. 

Surrounded  by  a  phalanx  of  her  own  friends, 
and  thus  secure  from  all  undue  neighborly  fa- 
miliarity, my  mother  issued  continual  invita- 
tions to  the  families  who  had  left  iheir  namns 
at  Rooksley  ;  while  she  held  herself  excused 
from  all  return  visits  by  the  guests  whom  she 
was  compelled  to  entertain  at  home ;  and 
among  those  who  never  failed  to  obey  her  sum- 
mons were  Mrs.  Alexander  and  her  daughters 
The  lady  hers«lf  had  a  passion  for  nr.aking  new 
acquaintance.  She  was  never  ha  py  save  in  a 
crowd.  The  elder  Miss  \lexander,  tall,  dres.'sy, 
showy,  and  perfectly  self-possessed,  felt  that, 
at  eight  and  twenty,  there  was  no  time  for  her 
to  throw  away  in  solitude,  if  she  ever  contem- 
plated an  establishment ;  while  poor  Caroline 
was  eager  to  find  herself  in  a  house  in  which 
she  was  but  too  well  aware  that  Frederic  Ver- 
non spent  two-thirds  of  his  time. 

To  Lady  O'Halloran,  the  great  attraction  ot 
Rooksley  was  the  table.  She  was  at  onee 
gourmette  and  gouimandc.  During  her  lord's 
life  they  had  kept  open  house  in  the  county 
Kildare  ;  a  fact  which  had  compelled  her,  as  a 
widow,  to  close  her  doors.  The  family  estate 
was,  at  this  period,  "  at  nurse"  for  her  son  ;  an<l, 
as  she  herself  declared,  "  the  lawye-rs  proved 
very  sorry  dry-nurses  indeed."  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran was  universally  popular  ;  she  was  earnest 
in  everything,  and  thoroughly  good-natured  ; 
frank  to  a  fault,  accommodating, /ac/7e  a  vicn' 


36 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


and  of  a  temper  proof  against  all  trial.  To  my 
mother,  she  was,  however,  notwiihsianding  al. 
these  siicial  (jualifications,  displeasing  in  an  im- 
minent degree.  To  her,  the  earliest  frankness 
and  joyous  good-humor  of  the  Irish  widow  con- 
veyed nothing  but  vulgarity  and  coarseness  ; 
but  as  she  had  no  plausible  pretext  for  declin- 
ing her  society,  and  as  she  was  certain  to  find 
her  in  every  visitable  house  in  the  neighborhood, 
she  contented  herself  by  expressing  her  disgust 
to  her  own  immediate  friends,  and  suffered  her 
laughing  ladyship  to  be  included  in  every  invi- 
tation which  collected  at  Rooksley  her  particu- 
lar intimates. 

Since  I  have  grown  old,  and  have  been  com- 
pelled to  make  ho^ie-avocaiions,  I  have  found  a 
great  resource  in  novel-reading.  I  have  a  few 
sententious  associates,  who  tell  me  that  such  a 
pursuit  is  too  trifling  for  my  years  ;  but  I  let 
them  say  on,  and  read  not  a  volume  the  less. 
My  retrospective  vanity  is  flattered  by  the  grace- 
ful fictions,  which  so  often  make  power,  wealth, 
and  even  virtue  itself,  bow  down  before  the  om- 
nipotence of  beauty.  I  iove  to  identify  myself 
with  the  bright-eyed  heroine ;  to  live  over 
again,  in  her  company,  past  experiences  of  tri 
umph  ;  and,  although  all  this  may,  in  point  of 
fact,  be  trifling,  it  is  oidy  the  more  consistent,  and 
worthily  wiudsup  thelife  of  a  pretty  woman.  Of 
art,  doubtlessly  I  have  had  my  share  in  my  time  : 
the  only  science  svhich  1  ever  understood  was 
the  science  of  pleasing  ;  how  then  was  I  to  gain- 
say in  my  old  age  the  pursuits  of  my  whole  lifel 

My  motive  for  this  apparent  digression  is  to 
remark  that  if,  in  the  said  works  of  fiction,  it  be 
admissible  for  the  aullwr,  who  has  all  the  uni- 
ties at  his  control,  and  who  may  take  what 
liberties  he  pleases,  both  wiih  times,  places,  and 
persons,  to  put  ten  or  twenty  years  into  a  pa- 
renthesis, I  may  well  be  excused  lor  arrogaiing 
to  myself  a  similar  liberty  in  wriiing  my  own 
veritable  memoirs.  All  that  I  have  yet  placed 
upon  record  was,  of  course,  in  my  case  merely 
traditionary  ;  but  I  felt  it  to  be  necessary  that 
my  readers  should  know  my  father  and  mother 
"  m  their  habits  as  they  lived,  wiih  the  habits 
they'd  acqnireil,"  before  1  introiiuced  that  more 
important  personage — myself;  and,  as  I  was 
born  within  eigiiteen  months  after  the  marriage 
of  my  parents,  all  reasonable  readers  must  at 
once  concede  that  I  hi.ve  availed  myself  of  my 
privilege  with  singular  c;  -cretion.  1  shall  there- 
fore make  no  apology,  m_»  conscience  being  at 
peace. 

It  may  he  as  well,  however,  to  premise  that, 
in  the  interval,  the  school-house  was  con)pleled, 
and  that  its  expanded  winus  afforded  shelter  to 
twenty  aged  paupers.  The  ceremony  of  the 
"  opening"  was  a  festival  ihr  the  neighborhood  ; 
there  were  drums  and  fiddles,  and  beer  and  beef, 
for  the  poorer  classes ;  and  a  procession,  in 
which  ihe  children  ap|ieared  in  new  uniforms, 
the  old  men  in  blue  coals  and  gray  worsted 
stockings,  and  the  old  women  in  brown  gowns 
and  seal  let  cloaks.  These  having  been  duly 
inetalled  in  tlieir  pinnacled  and  |)iciiiiesqiie  dom- 
icile, the  "gentry"  were,  in  Iheir  turn,  enter- 
tained at  Rooksley.  where  a  splendid  ball  suc- 
ceeded a  sumptuous  dinner,  ami  where  many 
Bpnecbes  were  made,  on  the  disappearance  of 
the  ladies,  tf'iiding  to  impress  upon  my  father 
the  extent  of  his  worth,  and  the  many  virtues 


of  his  wife  ;  for  which  he,  deeply  impressed  by 
the  unexpected  (I)  honor  done  to  Lady  Madelaine 
and  himself,  returned  thanks  in  a  speech  eulo- 
gistic of  the  friend  who  had  made  himself  this 
"  bright  honor's  mouthpiece,"  and  begged  to 
propose  the  health  of  some  one  else  then  pres- 
ent, who  did  the  same  in  his  turn,  until,  at 
length,  the  whole  company  presented  the  spec- 
tacle of  "  a  suit  of  dittos  ;"  alter  which,  there 
remaining  nothing  of  importance  to  detain  them 
longer,  they  joined  the  guests,  who  were  al- 
ready rapidly  filling  the  ball-room. 

This  was  the  great  starting-pomt  of  my 
father's  popularity  in  the  county. 

It  is  true  that  the  Duke  of  Dorchester  had 
not  only  given  the  land  upon  which  the  original 
school-iiouse  stood,  but  built  the  house  itself; 
while  his  amiable  daughters  had  clothed  the 
children,  and,  as  I  have  already  shown,  more- 
over made  them  the  medium  of  far  more  exten- 
sive charities;  but  the  duke  had  a  very  expen- 
sive family,  and  had  been  involved  by  his  sons 
to  an  extent  which  compelled  him  to  sell  off  a 
portion  of  his  estates,  and  to  retire  into  Italy 
with  his  daughters  for  a  few  years,  in  order  to 
give  bin)  time  to  retrieve  himself 

Now  ii  was,  perhaps,  somewhat  unreasonable 
in  his  Grac? of  Dorchester,  when  he  disposed  of 
Rooksley,  to  consider  that  he  had   done  quite 
sufficient  for  the  parish,  in  giving  them  the  said 
land  and  house  in  perpetuity.     He  should  have 
remembered  that  llie  parochial  authorities  had 
a  claim  upon  him.     He  had  built  the  schocl- 
housc  for  his  own  gratification,  and  it  had  been 
a  great  amusement  to  the  ladies  of  his  family; 
and  such  was  the  opinion  of  the  vestry,  when 
an  intimation  was  made  to  them  at  one  of  their 
'  meetings,  that   some   repairs   were  needed  to 
I  the  building.    They  very  naturally  decided  that, 
I  had  not  the  Duke  of  Dorchester  thought  proper. 
I  at  his  own  instigation,  and  on  his  own  author- 
iiy,  to  build  the  said  school-house,  the  parish 
would  not  have  been  burdened  with  its  repaiis  ; 
the  chililren  learnt  very  well  previously  in  Mar- 
gery   Drake's   cottage ;    and    it  was   perfectly 
I  dear  that  if  noblemen   and  gentlemen   had  a 
I  fancy  for  building  schools,  it  w'as  their  duty  to 
I  endow  them,  and  to  prevent  their  becoming  a 
burden  to  the  parish. 

In  short,  the  neat,  plain,  appropriate  little 
tenement,  which  had  been  the  admiration  of 
the  churchwardens  and  other  local  authorities, 
when    it   replaced   the   brick-paved   kitchen  in 

which  the  young  ideas  in  had  previously 

been  taught    to   shoot,  and   for  which  profuse 

thanks  had  been  lavished  upon  his  grace  on  its 

erection,  was   no  sooner   discovered   to  need 

j  some  trifling  reparation,  than  it  was  decided  to 

;  be  "  a   burden  on   the  parish  ;"  and  as,  under 

j  such  circumstances,  the  conscientious  members 

of  the  "  select  vestry"  would  have  considered 

j  it  a   dereliction  of  principle  to  apply  the  paro- 

:  chial  funds,  where  it  was  so  clear  and  self-evi- 

I  dent  that  the  Duke  of  Dorchester  was  the  re- 

'  sponsible  person,  it  was  unanimously  agreed  that 

i  an  olhcial  letter  should  be  written  to  his  grace, 

I  representing  the   stale   of  the    building;    and 

suggesting,  at  the  same  time,  that  as  the  num- 

I  ber  of  scludars  had  greatly  increased  of  late, 

some  additional  forms  and  desks  would  be  very 

j  acceptable.     This  luminous  idea  was  at  once 

I  acted  upon  ;  but  the  letter  superscribed  "  Imme 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


37 


tfiate,"  in  order  that  their  noble  correspondent 
miglit  not  keep  them  in  unnecessary  suspense 
by  attending  to  any  irrelevant  personal  all'airs 
before  he  replied  to  it,  never  received  any  an- 
swer, having  been  f«»rvvarded  to  Florence  from 
the  duke's  lovvn-house,  and  lost  on  the  way. 

My  nioiher,  at  ihe  suggestion  of  Emily  Ver- 
non, took  ihc  affair  into  her  own  hands,  at  ihe 
most  fortunate  moment  in  the  world.  The 
slight  dilapidations,  which,  had  they  been  imme- 
diately attended  to,  might  have  been  effectually 
checked,  had  increased  greatly  during  the  pro- 
gress of  a  h)ng  and  wet  winter.  The  relatives 
of  the  children,  anxious  to  preserve  themas  long 
as  possible  from  the  weather,  had  patched  and 
pieced  the  roof  during  a  stray  leisure  hour,  but 
the  great  evil  remained  unremedied  ;  and,  as  I 
have  already  stated,  my  mother,  in  the  first 
burst  of  her  philanthropy,  found  herself  com- 
pelled to  hire  a  cottage  even  for  the  temporary 
accommodation  of  her  little  protegees,  before 
the  great  work  of  building  the  new  edifice  com- 
menced. 

Nothing  could  have  been  better  timed.  The 
intention  alone  aflbrded  conversation  to  the 
whole  neighborhood  ;  and,  when  half  a  score 
of  carpenters  and  masons,  who  h'ad  been  for 
some  weeks  out  of  employ,  found  themselves 
once  more  in  full  work,  and  that  the  result  of 
their  labors  began  to  show  itself  above  ground, 
the  county-papf  r  spread  the  news  far  and  wide. 
Paragraphs,  headed,  "  princely  liberality  !" 
"generous  munificence!"  and  "noble  ex- 
ample TO  LANDED  PROPRIETORS  !"  appeared  in 
weekly  succession.  The  festival  of  the  "  open- 
ing" settled  the  business.  Not  a  man  got 
drunk  upon  my  father's  strong  ale  that  day, 
who  ever  remembered  such  a  gentleman,  or 
who  had  ever  seen  such  a  lady.  And  when,  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  excitement,  it  was  ascer- 
tained that  my  father  had  purchased  some  ex- 
tensive farms  in  the  neighborhood,  every  indi- 
vidual present  was  ready,  glass  in  hand,  to  work 
upon  them  for  nothing;  an  arrangement  which 
would,  no  doubt,  have  proved  extremely  eco- 
nomical, had  it  ever  been  acted  upon. 

Most  political  reader !  do  you  not  discover 
the  embryo  M.  P.  under  all  this  popularity,  and 
all  this  acquisition  of  land  1  Of  course,  you  do. 
Will  It  be  objected  that  my  father  was  new  in 
the  county,  and  that  there  were  old  ties  and  old 
sympathies  still  existing,  and  still  dear  to  true 
hearts  and  fast  memories  1  Pooh,  pooh  !  the 
Marquis  of  Portintown,  the  duke's  elder  son, 
had,  it  is  true,  represented  the  county  during 
three  sessions  ;  but  hia  noble  father  was  no 
longer  a  resident ;  and  it  had  been  evident,  even 
at  the  last  election,  that  the  marquis  did  not 
"  bleed"  so  freely  as  formerly  ;  and  as  to  the 
letter  which  he  wrote  on  the  dissolution  of  par- 
liament, stating  his  perfect  reliance  on  the 
stedfastness,  good-faith,  and  old  attachment  of 

vhe  "  worthy  and  independent  electors  of ," 

it  was,  of  course,  "  nothing  but  proper,  and 
what  they  had  a  right  to  expect,  seeing  what 
they  had  done  for  him  ;"  but,  unfortunately, 
straightforward,  manly  letters,  even  written  by 
the  sons  of  dukes,  will  not  suffice  to  pay  bills, 
or  to  supply  "unlimited  refreshments"  at  the 
Angel  or  the  George — and  my  father  was  known 
to  be  very  rich. 

The  Marquis  of  Portictown  was  a  superb, 


I  young  man,  whose  aristocr;f?y  was  written  on 
I  his  brow;  and  he  was,  moreover,  aflahic,  and 
i  polite,  and  considerate.    The  women  were,  one 
:  and  all,  in  his  favor;  i)ut  my  father  had  a  hand- 
1  some  wife ;    and,    although    the   ladies   might 
j  have  the  voices,  their  husbands  had  the  votes. 
And  thus  ii  occurred  that  my  birth  took  place 
I  on   the  close  of  a  contested   election,   during 
I  which    money,   and    heavy   dinners,   and    slili 
heavier   speeches  had  been   at  a  discount,  al- 
though   "  bribery    and    corruption "   had    be(!n 
sonipiilously    eschewed.     A    few    small    land- 
holders got  their  farms  that  year  for  a  pefiper- 
corn  rent.      The    tiines   wer^j   hard,    and    my 
father's  agent  was  a  man  of  intense  feeling. 
There  was  an  immense  display  of  new  gowns 
and    showy   ribbons    at   church   for   the    next 
j  month.     My  mother  was  a  philanthropist,  and 
I  liked  to  see  happy  faces  about  her.     The  cir- 
cumstances of  certain  families  changed   in  a 
sudden  and  extraordinary  manner ;    but   who 
requires  to  be  reminded  of  the  unaccountable 
mutations   of   fortune  1     Th?    school-children, 
wearing  the  Tilden  colors,  paraded  the  streets 
with  banners,  and  created  a  general  feeling  ol 
generous  enthusiasm  ;  for,  wijen  they  appeared, 
they  not  only  reminded  the  local  authorities  ol 
what  the  new  candidate  had  done,  but  of  what 
the  father  of  the  old  one  had  left  undone,  which 
was  better  still. 

In  short,  my  father's  gold,  his  agent's  tact, 
and  my  mother's  beauty,  carried  the  day.  All 
the  old  ducal  virtue,  and  liberality,  and  munifi- 
cence were  forgotten ;  but  still,  it  must  be 
said,  in  my  father's  praise,  that  so  thoroughly 
satisfied  was  tlie  marquis  with  the  frank  and 
manly  bearing  of  his  adversary  in  the  struggle, 
that  he  consented,  at  the  close  of  the  election, 
to  become  a  guest  at  Rooksley  for  a  couple  ot 
days,  while  he  arranged  certain  matters  of  local 
business;  and  where  the  family  tradition  de- 
clares that  the  bright  eyes  of  my  mother  so 
thralled  him,  that  he  extended  his  visit  to  a 
week,  and  ultimately  took  his  departure  on  the 
best  possibJe  terms  with  his  successor  in  sena- 
torial honors. 

My  birth  followed  closely  upon  his  retreat. 
Extreme  fatigue  and  excitement  had  overtasked 
the  strength  of  my  mother;  and  the  establish- 
ment was  still  sens  dessus  dcssous,  when  I  ap- 
peared to  claim  some  sJiare  of  the  public  atten- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  X. 

My  first  tangible  memory  attaches  itself  to  a 
frock  of  white  muslin,  looped  on  the  shoulders 
with  strings  of  jet.  1  was  supposed  to  be  in 
mourning  for  my  maternal  grandfather,  the 
Right  Honorable  Alexander  DiiiK'an,  Earl  ol 
Glenfillan.  My  name  was  Eveleen,  and  I  was 
the  pet  and  plaything  of  a  party  of  ladies,  who 
passed  me  from  one  lap  to  another,  and  from  one 
pair  of  white  arms  to  a  second  quite  as  hand 
some,  under  tlie  light  of  a  superb  chandelier.  I 
believe  that  this  was  my  debut  in  polished  so- 
ciety, and  that  I  was  indebted  for  my  early 
honors  to  Lord  Otterford  ;  who,  having  met  me 
by  accident  in  one  of  the  galleries,  when  re- 
turning from  a  walk  in  the  park  with  my  nurse, 
was  so   enchanted  with   my  likeness   to   rav 


J8 


CONi'^i-ISSlONS  OF  A  rRE'lTY  WOMAN. 


ruoihei,  that  he  petitioneil  for  my  immediate  ' 
pieseiitJilioii  'II  the  drawing-niom.  ' 

I  liave  said  tua!  this  was  my  first  tangible 
memory,  but  I  had  maii>  others,  misty,  indis- 
tinct, dreamhke,  yet  nevertheless  far  rno-e 
deliglilfiil.  Memories  of  tender  endearinents 
hivisiied  on  me  by  day  and  niglit,  amid  my  ; 
nursery  sports,  and  over  my  hitle  bed.  The 
endearments  of  a  fond  father,  bestowed,  in  ail  ^ 
their  lender  profusion,  upon  his  tirsl-born.  And  | 
yet,  surely  I  must  have  been  a  breathing  disap-  ' 
pDinlment  to  that  fond  father,  who  had  doubt- 
lessly sigiied  for  a  son  and  heir,  an  inheritor  ol 
his  name ;  wliydi,  however  iusigniiicant  it 
might  liave  appeared  to  my  mother,  iier  friend 
Lady  Devereux,  and  id  genus  omne,  was  with- 
out doubt  a  matter  of  interest  toliimself.  If 
such  indeed  I  were,  however,  it'  was  a  fact 
whicli  I  never  learned.  The  apparition  of  my 
father  was  to  me  the  signal  for  a  scream  of 
joy;  his  presence  always  brought  delight :  hut 
it  was  not  until  I  grew  to  girlJiood,  and  was 
compelled  to  feel  its  loss,  that  1  learnt  to  ap- 
preciate his  value,  both  as  a  father  and  a  man. 

The  noise,  the  glare,  and  liie  novelty  of  the 
drawing-room  delighted  me.  It  is  probable  that, 
half  unconsciously,  I  looked  around  for  my 
good  genius  in  this  scene  of  enchantment ;  but, 
be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain  that  my  father 
was  not  there  ;  while  it  so  chanced  that,  satis- 
tied  wiih  feeling  that  my  nurse  was  near  me,  I 
exhil)iied  du  fear,  I  utiered  no  cry  ;  and  thus  I 
was  transferred  from  each  to  each,  receiving 
from  every  one  in  turn  a  word  of  delighted 
commi'ndalion.  ; 

"  *iV'bal  an  angel!"  exclaimed  one.  "Wliali 
a  lovely  creature  !'" said  another.  "-What  a 
porlcia  image  of  Lady  Madelaine  !"  apostro- 
pliizt.-d  a  third.  "  What  a  miniature  of  perlec-  j 
tioii  !"  expatiated  a  fourtli  ;  and  then  I  was 
rekissed,  rehiigged,  and  dismissed  to  the  un- 
known regions  in  which  the  nurseries  were  | 
situated.  I 

This  opening  scene  of  my  little  drama  of 
exisieiice  i.--  the  more  forcibly  im|)ressed  upon  | 
my  mind,  finm  the  unpleasant  effect  of  the  j 
transition  whii-h  immediately  supervened.  The 
liead-nurse,  on  arriving  in  her  own  dominions, 
forthwith  gave  me  over  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  a  deputy,  while  she  doffed  her  best  cap  and 
collar,  exclaiming  loudly  against  the  new  ca- 
price which  had  at  once  hroknii  up  her  evening 
naj),  and  delayed  her  lea-drinking. 

The  voice  of  murmuting  and  complaint,  com- 
ing so  directly  afier  the  pleasant  whisperings 
ol  adulation  and  endearment,  produced  an  uii- 
coiiiforiable  contrast,  lo  which,  young  as  I  was, 
I  was  nevertlicless  fully  susceptible  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, while  Mrs.  Harris  retired  to  her 
lirivate  apartment  to  deposit  iier  finery,  I  com- 
menced afeH  dc  joie  of  screams  and  lisping  en- 
treaties to  be  carried  back  to  the  beauiilul 
ladies.  I  might  as  well  have  a^sked  for  the 
moon.  I  was  first  soothed,  and  then  threaten- 
ed, and  then  shook,  until  my  feeble  breath  caine 
gaspingly  from  my  little  lieart,  and  ultimately 
put  into  the  corner,  with  a  chair  before  me  to 
prevent  my  escape,  and  left  lo  sob  as  I  pleased, 
while  my  guardian  resumi^d  her  novel.  This 
was,  however,  hurriedly  restored  to  her  pocket, 
and  myself  once  more  caught  up  in  her  arin^ 
on  the  reappearance  of  her  principal. 


O  course  a  renewal  of  shrieks  broke  up  the 
quiet  of  the  nursery,  and  the  "miniature  per- 
fection" of  the  drawing-room  was  suddenly 
transferred  into  the  "  brat"  of  the  north  wing, 
in  which  the  apartments  ot  myself  and  my  de- 
pendents were  siluat?d. 

But  the  ice  was  broken.  My  vain  and  beau- 
tiful mother  was,  it  appeared,  herself  struck  by 
my  infantile  loveliness,  to  which  she  had  pre- 
viously paid  no  attention  ;  the  reflected  com- 
pliments induced  by  my  appearance  were  pleas- 
ing from  their  novelty  ;  and  the  caresses  which 
I  lavished  upon  her  were  an  agreeable  variety 
in  her  daily  existence.  Thenceforward  1  be- 
can)e  her  frequent  companion.  My  childish 
attractions  were  enhanced  by  all  the  auxiliaries 
of  dress,  I  was  one  of  the  "lions"  of  Rooks- 
ley  :  while  lo  its  mistress  I  was  a  new  toy,  an 
animated  plaything. 

Alas  !  I  was  destined  to  outgrow  this  char- 
acter ;  nor  was  such  an  amusement  suited  long 
to  satisfy  the  tastes  of  a  young  and  fashionable 
woman,  surrounded  by  flatterers,  greedy  of 
pleasure,  and  devoted  to  dissipation. 

Abandoned,  as  a  matter  of  course  under  such 
circumstances,  to  the  care  of  hirelings  during 
three-fouribs  of  the  day,  I  imbibed  instinctively 
and  unconsciously  the  germ  of  the  many  defects 
which  my  after-life  so  sadly  developed.  Nor 
did  the  violent  transition  from  the  high-breed- 
ing and  luxury  of  my  mother's  circle  to  the 
sordid  and  interested  tactics  *of  the  nursery 
tend  to  iiiiprove  my  natural  disposition.  I 
came,  with  my  mother's  kiss  still  warm  upon 
my  cheek,  into  my  own  apartments,  to  hear 
the  dress,  the  temper,  and,  above  all,  the  liber- 
ality of  her  guests  freely  canvassed.  I  was  so 
very  a  child,  that  all  was  discussed  unhesitat- 
ingly before  me ;  and  although  I  understood 
much  of  what  I  heard,  it  was  probably  fortu- 
nate for  me  that  my  perception  was  not  more 
extensive;  for  the  morals  of  my  mother's  inti- 
mates met,  at  times,  with  quite  as"  little  quar- 
ter as  their  manners. 

The  first  lesson  which  I  learnt,  and  it  was 
by  no  means  inculcated  with  gentleness,  was 
the  necessity  of  utter  silence  upon  all  that  oc- 
curred in  the  nursery  :  I  was  neither  to  repeat 
what  I  heard  there,  nor  to  mention  who  were 
its  visitors.  No  wonder  that,  when  I  began  to 
be  conscious  that  I  understood  a  great  deal 
which  1  was  not  supposed  to  hear,  far  less  to 
comprehend,  I  should  instinctively  keep  this 
secret  as  well  as  the  other.  1  saw  much,  in 
caricature,  in  my  own  apartments,  which  I  wit- 
nessed in  high  comedy  in  the  saloon  of  my 
mother.  If  Lord  Otterford  or  Frederic  Vernon 
kissed  the  hand  of  Lady  Madelaine,  so  did  my 
falber'Si  "gentleman"  kiss  the  cheek  of  Mrs. 
Harris.  There  were  the  same  coquetries,  the 
same  grimaces,  the  same  interchange  of  un- 
meaning follies  ;  the  only  difference  existed  in 
the  fact,  that,  in  one  instance,  the  canvas  was 
touched  by  the  pencil  of  a  master,  and  in  the 
other,  daubed  by  the  brush  of  a  sign-painter. 

At  six  years  old  I  was  provided  with  a  French 
governess.  She  was  a  sister  of  Felicie,  who 
had,  like  herself,  been  destined  to  the  honors  ol 
the  dressing-room,  but  who  ha^l  not  evinced 
sufficient  talery,  to  be  intrusted  with  the  toilet 
of  a  woman  ol  rank,  and  who  naturally  could 
not  condescend  to  serve  a  bourgeoise. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY   WOMAN. 


When  my  mother  decided  upon  this  appon 
dage  U)  my  mdivuinal  establishment,  she  named 
it,  as  a  matter  of  course,  lo  her  attendant,  who 
immediately,  like  an  atlectionate  sister,  recom- 
mended Mademoiselle  Josephine,  who,  as  she 
assured  her  lady,  ''avail  des  talents  cxlraoriU- 
Mtrcs  pour  I' education!''  Such  an  assurance 
from  such  a  quarter  settled  the  affair  at  once  ; 
my  mother  merely  stipulating  that  she  nmst 
"lonk  at"  mademoiselle  hefore  she  was  detini- 
lively  engaged  ;  and  as  Feiicie  felt  that  nothing 
Oi'wKi  t)e  more  reasonahle,  her  extraordinarily 
tal^iiwd  sistf  r,  wiid  was  ti>o  dull  lo  dress  hair 
and  "  ;,'et  up"  poini-Iace,  was  immediately  sum- 
moned ;  and  being  very  pretty,  very  graceful, 
and  remarkably  well-dressed,  was  secured  at 
once  by  Lady  Madelaine  at  a  high  salary,  to 
form  my  manners  and  direct  my  mind. 

Her  installation  in  her  new  dignities  followed 
within  a  month  ;  the  day-nursery  was  duly  pro- 
moted into  a  school-room  ;  and  Mrs.  Harris, 
not  with  the  best  grace  in  the  .world,  subsided 
into  vice-president. 

Soon  after  the  arrival  of  Mademoiselle  Jose- 
phine we  removed  to  Grosvenor  Square.  Par- 
liament had  assembled,  and  my  father  was  at 
his  po^t.  It  took  two  or  three  weeks  to  settle 
my  p.i'jther  comfortably  for  the  season.  Hei 
arrangements  were  minute  and  complicated. 
•During  this  period  I  saw  but  little  of  her.  The 
rooms  appropriated  t(j  myself  and  my  precep- 
tress were  situated  at  the  back  of  the  house  ; 
and  save  that  my  father  generally  came  into  my 
sleeping  chamber  on  tiptoe,  on  his  return  from 
St.  Stephen's,  to  kiss  me  as  I  slept,  and  that  I 
v»  as  informed  of  the  circumstance  on  the  mor- 
row by  my  maid,  I  might  well  have  believed 
mysell  to  be  forgotten. 

Psevertheless,  mademoiselle  did  not  partici- 
pate in  my  ennui.  The  transition  from  a  home 
of  penury,  where  she  Had  been  daily  reproached 
with  a  want  of  common  capacity,  which  threat- 
ened to  make  her  a  burden  upon  her  family,  to 
a  situation  of  authority  and  trust  in  the  man- 
sion of  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden,  was  of  itself 
happiness;  but  when  to  this  circumstance  was 
superadded  the  control  of  a  carriage  which  was 
called  mine,  and  a  liveried  lackey,  nicknamed  in 
like  manner,  she  was  intoxicated  with  her 
good-forliine. 

How  I  hated  the  everlasting  Park,  where 
we  drove  slowly  to  and  fro,  amid  dust,  and 
noise,  and  clatter  I  It  used  to  make  my  head 
swim,  and  my  eyes  ache.  It  had,  however,  a 
far  different  effect  upon  my  companion.  Sb* 
was  too  pretty  to  pass  unobserved.  Her  iden- 
tity was  soon  ascertained  ;  and  Miss  Tilden's 
governess  was,  ere  long,  as  well  known  lo  the 
horsemen  as  the  Serpentine  itself.  But  if  the 
drives  were  thus  distasteful  to  me,  the  walks 
were  a  hundredfold  worse.  I  remembered  the 
woods  and  glades  of  Ilooksley,  its  glancing  lights 
and  shifting  shadows,  and  contrasted  lliein  in 
sadness  with  the  dreary  and  i;nonotonous  gar- 
den of  the  Square,  and  the  unfamiliar  and  peo- 
ple-thronged avenues  of  Kensington  Gardens. 
In  trnie,  however,  I  became  reconciled  to  both, 
and  thus  the  last  touch  of  nature  was  removed 
from  my  heart. 

My  mother's  personal  arrangements  once 
made,  she  turned  her  attention  lo  myself,  and 
masters  of  every   description   were  forthwith 


provided  for  me.  The  exert'ons  of  mademoi- 
selle had  already  commenced.  Jt  was  decided 
that,  short  as  had  been  the  period  of  her  dicta- 
torship, I  was  undeniably  improved — in  ajjpear- 
ance.  I  made  a  more  graceful  courtesy,  had 
got  rid  of  my  shyness,  and  did  nitl,  by  any  un- 
landladylike  demonstrations  of  energy,  disturb 
the  propriety  of  my  dress. 

Nothing  could  be  belter  !  Compliments  were 
showered  upon  mademoiselle,  and  praises  upon 
myself;  after  which  we  each  made  a  lower  add 
more  elegant  courtesy  than  before,  and  with 
drew  to  our  ultima  Thule. 

Under  the  care  of  this  invali^ble  preceptress 
I  learnt  to  apply  the  apothegm  which  has  since 
been  (falsely)  attributed  lo  her  distinguished 
countryman  Prince  Talleyrand,  that  "  words 
j  were  given  to  us  to  disguise  our  thoughts." — 
j  By  the  way,  how  frequently  it  occurs  tliat  the 
world  fastens  upon  an  acknowledged  wit,  a 
shrewd  saying  to  which  he  has  never  given  ut- 
terance !  It  would  appear  that  individuals  who 
occasionally  stumble  upon  a  good  thing,  of  which 
they  themselves  do  not  perhaps  appreciate  the 
full  merit,  anxious  that  it  should  not  be  lost,  ter- 
miwate  it  with  "  as  so  and  so  said  ;"  and  in  this 
manner,  in  order  to  save  their  saying,  sacrifice 
themselves.  Even  so,  I  should  imagine,  was  the 
really  profound  and  diplomatic  "  saw"  which  I 
have  just  quoted  fastened  upon  the  modern  Ma- 
chiavel,  who,  nevertheless,  disclaimed  its  pa- 
rentage. 

I  learnt,  also,  to  agree — at  least  in  words — 
with  every  one  upon  every  subject,  and  never 
to  betray  my  own  sentiments  and  opinions;  to 
look  upon  everything  through  the  medium  of 
expediency  ;  and  to  appreciate  rank  and  riches 
beyond  all  other  human  attributes. 
1  In  this  manner,  and  under  this  guidance,  I  al- 
ternated between  Grosvenor  Square  and  Rooks- 
ley,  until  I  had  reached  eleven  years  of  age.  I 
had  been  told  incidentally  that  I  had  a  sister, 
who  was  born  twelve  months  after  myself,  but 
I  had  never  seen  her.  .  The  reason  for  this  ex- 
traordinary fact,  as  I  afterwards  ascertained, 
existed  in  the  circumstance  that  her  birth  near- 
ly cost  the  life  of  my  mother,  who  continued 
for  many  months  afterward  a  confirmed  inva- 
,  lid  ;  while,  pour  comble  dc  malheur,  the  infant 
i  proved  so  sickly  and  so  irreclaiinably  plain  that 
'  Lady  Madelaine  could  not  endure  its  presence  ; 
^  and  it  was  consequently,  at  the  instigation  of 
my  father,  sent  down  lo  Scotland  under  the 
charge  of  a  trusty  nurse,  and  placed  in  the  care 
of  Lady  Flora  Glentillan. 

I  well  remember  that  my  first  sensation  on 
hearing  I  had  a  sister  was  one  of  intense  de- 
light. I  longed  to  fold  her  in  my  arms,  to  flasp 
her  to  my  heart.  I  felt  the  blood  rush  into  my 
face,  and  the  tears,  into  my  eyes.  For  a  mo- 
ment my  whole  'oeing  overfltiwed  wiili  love. 
But  these  highly-wrought  feelings  were  soon 
repressed  by  Mademoiselle  Josephine  ;  who,  not 
being  herself  troubled  with  any  par'.icular  senti- 
ment toward  her  own  sister,  save  one  of  in- 
j  tense  jealousy,  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  my  emotion  ;  and  who  most  ellect- 
I  ually  rebuked  it  by  reminding  me  that  had 
\miladi  considered  this  invisible  sister  as  so 
'  great  a  blessing,  she  would  not  have  been  ex- 
iled from  her  paternal  home  ;  ihat  I  .should  be 
I  more  reasonable,  if  I  gave  m;'scll  ihe  trouble  li« 


40  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 

lecollect  that  my  fortune  would  be  diminished  Frederic  Vernon  ;  but  I  also  discovered  more 
Jn«-half  by  the  birth  of  tliis  sister,  whom  I  was  than  this.  I  saw  that  ihesweel  and  dove-eyed 
prepared  to  love  so  ardently;  and  who,  being  j  Emily— she,  whose  caresses  were  to  n)e  Ihe 
he'll  ugly  and  sickly,  would,  of  course,  be  con-  most  welcome,  and  whose  praises  were  tiie 
stantly  envious  of  my  beauty  and  grace.  j  most  judicious  and  well-timed — loved  the  sel- 

No  argument  was  ever  more  effective.  I  fish  and  cold-hearted  nohiemaii  who  woie  my 
dried  my  tears,  stilled  the  beating  of  my  heart,  mother's  chains.  How  often  did  I  long  to  clasp 
and  sat  down  to  think  !  What  subjects  of  re-  [  my  arms  about  her  neck,  and  tell  her  how,  in  my 
flection  were  these  for  a  pure  young  mind  !  No  j  young  spirit,  I  loathed — I  knew  not,  nor  cared 
marvel,  trained  as  I  had  been,  that  the  evil  seed  j  not  wherefore — that  polished  liypocrite  !  But 
took  root  quickly  ;  and  that,  at  the  close  of  the  '  I  had  studied  in  too  faJse  a  school  to  give  way 
longest  fit  of  musing  in  which  I  had  ever  in- i  to  so  natural  and  pure  an  impulse;  and  so  I 
dulged,  I  almost  loved  Mademoiselle  Josephine  looked  on,  and  marveled,  and  reasoned  with 
for  the  generous  devotion  to  my  interests,  which  myself,  as  children  will  do,  upon  tlie  social  phe- 
made  her  so  vehement  against  my  unknown  nomena  that  were  taking  place  about  me. 
Sister.  j      I  was  not  then  aware  of  the  vow  taken  b/Ot- 

It  was  provoking  that  I,  certain  as  I  was  of  terford  on  his  first  meeting  with  Frederic  Ver- 


creatiiig  a  sensatiim  by  my  beauty,  should  be 
robbed  of  half  my  wealth  by  one  so  greatly  my 
inferior.  Mademoiselle  was  right.  This  un- 
wisheri-forand  unloved  younger  sister  was  bet- 
ter away.     This  was  my  conviction  at  eleven 


or  in  the  pale  cheek  and  aching  heart  of 
the  fair  and  innocent  girl  before  me,  I  might 
have  traced  the  operations  of  his  vengeance. 

How  well  do  I  remember  a  certam  evening 
in  August  I     The  first  dressing-bell  had  rung. 


years  of  age  ;  and  as  my  mother  had  never  in    and  all  the  Rooksley  guests  had  obeyed  its  sum- 
her  life  mentioned  to  me  the  existence  of  her  I  mons.   As  I  was,  of  course,  excluded  by  my  ten- 


second  child,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  avoiding  the 
subject. 

Of  my  father  I  saw  less  than  ever.     As  a  pub- 
lic man  he   was  popular  and  powerful,  but  at 


der  age  from  my  mother's  table,  it  conveyed  no 
warning  to  me,  and  I  consequently  lingnred  in 
the  drawing-room  after  it  was  deserted.  For  a 
time  I  amused  myself  among  the  costly  toys 


home  he  was  a  cipher.  No  voice  had  ever  been  which  were  scattered  in  all  directions  ;  but,  as 
raised  against  Lady  Madelaine  ;  no  murmur  ^  they  were  familiar  to  me,  I  soon  weaned  of  an 
low  but  deep  had  ever  turned  toward  her  the  |  occupation  so  devoid  of  novelty  ;  and  being  at- 
eye  of  suspicion  or  the  finger  of  scorn  ;  but  my  tracted  by  an 'unusually  brilliant  sunset.  1  saun- 
father  was  no  lass  a  wretched  man.  Fortunate  tered  into  a  smaller  apartment  formed  in  one  of 
indeed  was  it  for  him  that  ambition  was  the  '  the  turrets,  and  known  as  the  octagon-room  ;  a 
most  powerful  principle  of  his  nature;  for  it  place  of  comparative  retreat  occasionally  sought 
enabled  him  to  pass  by  without  comment  or  by  those  of  the  company  to  whom,  from  some 
expostulation  those  thousand  small  and  minute  passing  cause,  the  movement  and  hilarity  of  the 
indications  of  indifierence  and  supercilious  cold-  more  public  reception-room  were  for  a  moment 
ness  which  characterized  the  bearing  of  my  distasteful.  The  large  bayed  window  stood  in- 
inother.  He  felt  that  they  were  touched  so  vitingly  open,  and  I  approached  it,  and  leant  out, 
lightly  and  so  skilfully,  that,  taken  individually,  watching  the  rich  and  changeful  colors  of  the 
they  would  be  almost  imperceptible  to  a  com-  j  western  skyi  unconscious  that  I  was  screened 
mon  observer,  and  that  the  world  could  have  no  from  observation  by  the  ample  crimson  curtain 
sympathy  with  such  sorrows.  He  therefore  which  was  drawn  partially  across  the  recess, 
folded  them  closely  in  his  heart;  and,  satisfied  '  How  long  I  had  been  thus  engaged  I  know 
that  the  very  egotism  of  ray  mother's  nature  not,  when  I  was  aware  of  voices  in  the  adjoin- 
was  his  best  safeguard  against  dishonor,  endeav-  ing  apartment,  and  immediately  afterward,  of 
ored  to  forget,  in  the  vortex  of  political  excite- '  steps  approaching  the  spot  on  which  1  stood, 
ment,  that  he  had  ever  forined  dearer  visions  of  My  first  impulse  was  to  discover  myself,  but  a 
happiness.  ,  feeling  of  false  shame — a  fear  of  appearing  to 

Many  who  were  acquainted  with  public  men  have  overheard  what  had  been  already  said — de- 
and  public  measures  upwards  of  half  a  century  terred  me;  and  I  drew  still  farther  back  behind 
ago,  will  have  little  trouble  in  deciding  the  iden-  the  folds  of  the  damask  drapery.  Peihaps,  had 
tiiy  of  my  father.  another  moment  been  left  to  me  for  decision,  1 

I  have  already  said  that  I  had  attained  my  might  have  obeyed  the  better  prompting  which 
eleventh  year,  i  had  naturally  quick  talents,  had  suggested  my  first  thought,  but  the  hesita- 
and  great  powers  of  observation  ;  it  was  con-  tion  of  an  instant  had  rendered  this  impossible, 
secjuenlly  not  wcjnderful  that  my  progress  in  My  heart  heat  painfully.  Accustomed  as  I  had 
all  womanly  accomplishments  was  rapid.  My  been  to  mean  and  unworthy  theories,  I  had 
masters  spoke  of  mc  in  flattering  terms  ;  my  never  yet  reduced  them  to  practice  ;  and  I  con- 
mother's  guests  londled  and  praised  the  "  show-  sequcntly  shrank  like  a  coward  from  the  bare 
child"  who  relieved  their  high-bred  weariness  I  semblance  of  a  dishonesty  which  I  had  still 
with  her  harj)  or  with  her  voice  ;  and  forgot '  nerve  enough  to  execute, 
that  the  same  instinct  which  awoke  in  me  the  The  voices  became  more  distinct — theynrere 
power  of  combination  and  exertion  in  the  one  those  of  Miss  Vernon  and  Lord  Oilerford. 
•nstance,  was  not  likely  to  lie  dormant  where  j  Theie  was  a  tender  persuasiveness  in  his  tones, 
my  own  personal  feelings  were  still  more  active  '  which  struck  me  on  the  instant.     I  had  heard 


Hiid  acute.  ;  iiiu)  gay,  and  sententious,  and  seiitim(?ntal,  and 

Young  as  I  was,  I  required  no  prompter  to  even  eloquent;  but  this  was  an  inflection  of 
point  out  to  me  that  my  mother  lived  only  fori  lis  voice  altogether  new  to  me.  They  entered 
admiration,  and  that  among  the  most  devoted  .he  room — they  paused  beside  the  window,  just 
<j.    Iier  g'aves    were  Lord    Otterfoid  and    Mr.  I  heycmd  the  curtain,  wl  ere  the  last  beam  of  th^ 


CONFESSIONS  Of^  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


41 


tapiilly  descending  sun  sent  a  ray  of  brightness 
to  the  brow  of  Eioily,  and  made  her  luxuriant 
hair  ghtte,r  hke  threads  of  gold.  She  was  hang- 
ing upon  the  arm  of  her  cotnpanion,  heavily, 
languidly,  like  one  who  rather  sought  than 
needed  his  support. 

I  was  still  a  mere  child,  but  I.  had  already 
read  her  secret — she  loved  him  ! 

What  a  rush  of  thought  swept  across  my 
brain  !  I  was  bewildered.  I  had  seen  him  look 
into  my  mother's  eyes,  as  though  he  knew  no 
otiier  light.  I  had  seen  him  bow  to  her  slight- 
est caprice,  as  though  her  will  invested  it  with 
reason  :  and  yet  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  he 
loved  my  best  friend,  my  gentle,  indulgent  Em- 
ily. I  was  lost  in  difficulty.  Had  I  even  doubt- 
ed the  latter  fact,  I  should  at  once  have  had  that 
doubt  removed  when  he  next  spoke,  and  that  I 
could  distinguish  his  words. 

"  You  are  ungenerous,  Emily,"  he  said,  in  an 
accent  of  tender  reproach  ;  "  you  accord  nothing 
to  the  dilfic-uhy  of  my  position.  Why  will  you 
thus  persist  in  misinterpreting  my  every  word 
and  action  1" 

A  deep  and  painful  sigh  was  the  only  an- 
swer. 

"  Look  dispassionately  at  my  very  delicate 
and  peculiar  position  in  this  family,  my  sweet 
girl,"  resumed  his  lordship.  "  You  are  well 
aware  that  my  cousin  Lady  Devereux  is  Lady 
Madelaine's  chosen  friend  ;  that  I  have  known 
her  for  years  ;  and  that,  in  short,  like  all  spoiled 
beauties,  she  exacts  unlimited  devotion  from  her 
male  acquaintance.  See  your  own  brother,  for 
example  !  Has  he  eyes,  ears,  or  senses,  for 
any  woman  save  our  fair  and  haughty  host- 
ess? And  yet,  do  you  believe  that  if  his  heart 
were  to  speak  in  opposition  to  his  fancy,  his 
reason  would  not  soon  sever  the  idle  links  which 
bind  him  now!  Fie!  fie!  You  are  a  child, 
my  dear  one,  and  must  be  schooled  into  more 
sober  judgment." 

"  But  Frederic,"  faltered  Miss  Vernon,  "nev- 
er knew,  never  loved  Lady  Madelaine  before 
her  marriage;  and  I  have  heard — " 

"WhatV  interposed  her  companion,  impetu- 
ously ;  "  that,  in  all  probability,  I  did  both. 
Why,  this  is  still  more  idle  !  I  did  know  this 
vain  beauty  in  her  first  youth — in  all  the  in- 
solent glory  of  her  opening  loveliness  ;  and  yet 
you  see  that  I  have  survived  her  union- with 
Mr.  Tiiden.  Think  you  that,  had  I  willed  she 
should  be  mine,  she,  with  her  haughty  and 
imperious  spirit,  would  have  rejected  me,  to 
give  her  noble  hand  to  a  commoner]  Surely 
you  know  her  belter." 

"All  this  may  be,  my  lord,"  was  the  reply; 
"  and  yet  I  feel  degraded  by  the  part  which  I  am 
now  playing.  To  me  your  suit  can  but  bring 
honor,  and  surely  to  yourself  it  can  convey  no 
disgrace.  /  also  am  a  commoner,  the  titleless 
daughter  of  a  gentleman,  but  one  of  no  mean 
race,  and  of  no  tarnished  memory.  I  have 
done  wrong,  very  wrong,  in  so  long  permitting 
you  to  talk  to  me  on  such  a  subject,  without  the 
knowledge  of  my  mother.  While  you  are  pres- 
ent, 1  find  a  thousand  excuses  for  my  weakness  ; 
but  when  I  am  alone,  my  reflections  are  one 
long  reproach  " 

"These  refinements,  Emilj',''  said  the  wily 
voice  of  her  lover,  "are  unworthy  of  you — of 
both  of  us.    If  you  believe  that  there  never 


existed  a  man  insensible  to  the  spells  of  this 
wedded  Cine,  then  must  I  frankly  tell  you  thai 
you  argue  from  your  perfect  ignorance  of  the 
world,  and  in  the  very  wantonness  of  your  own 
over-susceptible  nature.  Am  I  too  bold  if  I  ask 
more  even-handed  justice  !" 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say,"  replied  Miss  Vernon  ; 
"  but  as  the  Circe — since  you  see  fit  so  to  de- 
signate your  friend  and  mine — is  the  wife  ol 
another,  why  should  there  exist  a  necessity  for 
the  mystery  which  you  have  flung  over  our 
mutual  affection  1  The  ambition  of  my  own 
mother  would  have  been  satisfied  with  less.  She 
asks  for  my  husband  only  a  gentleman,  and  a 
man  of  honor ;  and  her  principle  is  to  me  sacred. 
Do  me  justice,  my  lord  ;  I  am  no  love-sick  girL 
That  I  esteem  you — that  I — in  short — I  scarce- 
ly know  what  I  meant  to  say  ;  but  of  this  be 
assured,  that  if,  since  the  moment  of  enthusiasm 
which  prompted  you  to  tell  me  that  you  loved 
me,  you  have  seen  cause  to  regret  the  impulse ; 
if,  in  calmer  hours,  you  have  thought  it  probable 

,  that  a  union  with  myself  would  not  realize  the 
hopes  of  your  family — your  own  views  in  life — 

1  or  the  interests  of  your  ambition,  speak  frankly. 

j  Be  assured  that,  far  from  reproaching,  I  shall 
honor  you,  and  reverence  your  truth.  There 
are  some  things,  my  lord,  which  are  often  learn- 

■  ed  too  late  for  all  parties  concerned." 

There  was  an  instant's  pause.  His  habitually 
fluent  lordship  was  evidently  probed  to  the  quick, 

j  but  he  soon  rallied. 

"  I  see — I  see  it  all,"  he  said,  with  a  light  and 
bitter  laugh.  "  You  are  kind,  you  are  generous, 
Miss  Vernon,  to  open  my  eyes  at  once.  It  saves 
suspense — it  spares  the  necessity  of  doubt.    And 

!  now,  perhaps,  in  this  moment  of  overweening 
confidence,  you  will  even  intrust  me  with  the 
whole  secret,  and  tell  me  who  is  the  happy  mar 
by  whom  I  am  so  suddenly  supplanted.  Sir 
James  Dornton  is,  as  I  am  well  aware,  an  Apollo 
in  the  eyes  of  your  sex;  and  De  Clifford  is  a 
millionaiTe.     I  must  abide  my  fate." 

"  My  lord,"  said  Emily,  haughtily,  as  she  rais 
ed  her  drooping  head,  and  withdrew  her  hand 
from  his  supporting  arm,  "you  outrage  me, 
and  I  have  not  deserved  this  insult.  But  I  ap- 
peal to  yourself — to  yoi^  own  ideas  of  justice 
and  propriety — whether  the  silence  which  you 
have  imposed  upon  me,  on  the  most  important 
measure  of  my  whole  life,  is  either  womanly 
or  correct?  I  would  be  respected  as  well  aa 
loved." 

"  You  are  both — on  my  soul,  both  !"  exclaim- 
ed Lord  Otterford,  repossessing  himself  of  the 
hand  that  she  had  withdrawn  ;  "  but,  for  the  mo- 
ment, all  mention  of  our  mutual  attachment 
would  be  inexpedient  in  the  highest  degree. 
Can  you  not  trust  me  1  Have  you,  rigid  moralist 
as  you  are,  given  your  heart  to  a  man  in  whose 
good  faith  you  have  no  confidence  ?     I  will  not 

I  — I  dare  not  believe  it.  I  ask  only  for  time,  and 
I  ask  it  for  my  own  sake,  fondly  hoping  that  I 

I  can  urge  no  stronger  plea." 

I      "  But  surely  to  my  mother — "  murmured  the 

j  soft  and  tremulous  voice  of  the  agitated  girl. 

I  "I  have  done,"  said  his  lordship,  coldly,  i'' 
his  turn.  "  I  have  deceived  myself,  and  hav«j 
no  desire  to  blame  you  in  what  lias  taken  placa 
I  have  perhaps  merited  no  better  treatment. ' 

The  sound  of  low  and  suffocating  sobs  sue 
ceeded. 


43 


CONFESSION'S  OF  A  .^RKTTY  WOMAxN. 


'•  Nay,  nay  ;  do  not  distress  yourself,  Miss 
Vernon."  pursued  Lord  Ollerl'ord  ;  ••  we  will 
niuiually  forgel  and  forgive.  You  will  proba- 
bly hear  of  me  occasionally,  and  you  shall  have 
no  reason  to  deprecate  the  period  of  our  friend- 
sliip — ()f  our  iniimacy — of  our — " 

"  I  cannot  bear  this,  my  lord  ;  indeed  I  can- 
not bear  it,"  wept  his  victim.  "  Why  will  you 
so  wilfully  misunderstand  me  !  Do  not  con- 
found me  with  the  heartless  coquets  of  fash- 
ionable life.  Remember  that  I  have  been  edu- 
cated in  retirement — that  I  am  unused  to  the 
world's  ways — tliat  I  am  but  as  a  child  in  your 
hands." 

"  Only  swear  to  me  that  you  love  me." 

A^ain  there  was  an  instant  of  deep  silence. 

"  Do  you  really  love  me,  Emily  V 

"  Deeply — devotedly'!" 

The  murmuring  lips  %vere  silenced  by  a  kiss. 
I  heard  it — I  felt  it— and  I  hated  him  thencefor- 
ward with  a  tenfold  haired. 

"  And  you  will  trust  me  1" 

"  As  my  own  soul." 

And  once  more  she  hung  upon  his  arm  ;  her 
hand  was  clasped  in  his  ;  and  his  breath  trem- 
bled in  her  hair.  They  stood  thus  for  several 
minutes,  and  then  it  was  the  voice  of  Emily 
which  broke  the  stillness. 

"  Only  promise  me  that  you  will  be  less  en- 
grossed by  Lady  Madelaine.  I  love  her.  She 
is  my  friend.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  own  weak- 
ness ;  but  when  I  see  you  devoting  your  every 
care,  your  every  thought  to  her,  I  feel  as  though 
my  heart  would  break." 

I  heard  a  sudden  movement.  I  leaned  for- 
ward. I  saw  Miss  Vernon  clasped  to  the  heart 
of  her  lover.  Her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder  ; 
her  lovely  face  was  hidden  in  his  breast  ;  but  it 
was  only  for  a  moment.  By  a  sudden  and  de- 
termined action  she  liberated  herself  from  his 
grasp,  and  I  saw  the  tears  stealing  silently  down 
her  cheeks. 

"  You  are  answered,  Emily,"  said  Lord  Ot- 
terford,  as  he  stood  tenderly  beside  her.  "  Ls 
it  possible  that  yoM — you,  young,  pure,  innocent, 
and  lovely,  can  be  jealous  of  the  meretricious  at- 
tractions of  a  practiced  woman  of  the  world] — 
How  little  do  you  knov^our  sex  ]  How  little  are 
you  able  to  appreciate  the  merits  of  your  own  ! 
Should  you  indeed  require  the  assurance  that  I 
more  value  the  clasp  of  this  small  white  hand 
than  all  the  blamli&hments  thai  can  be  lavished 
upon  me  by  a  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden." 

"  Yet,  why,  why  do  I  feel  so  self-reproach- 
ed." 

"  Because,  dear  girl,  you  love  for  the  first 
time,  and  love  is  born  of  fear.  See,  now,  how 
very  a  coward  it  can  make  of  me  !  I  shall  not 
approach  her  splendid  ladyship  to-night,  with- 
out the  dread  of  seeing  tears  in  the  deep  blue 
eyes  which  may  be  turned  upon  me." 

"Not  tears,  my  lord  I" 

"  Yes,  tears,  m^  little  lady.  Traitorous  tears, 
springing  from  want  of  faith  where  faith  is  due. 
Know  you  not  that  such  faith  will  be  your 
boundcn  duly,  when — " 

"Enough,  enough,"  said  his  companion; 
and  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  rich  and  mel- 
low With  happiness  ;  "  I  will  promise  to  be  less 
weak." 

''  I  must  have  a  pledge." 

'My  honor,"  said  Miss  Vernon,  almost  gaily. 


Lord  Otterford  laughed.     The  laugh  grated 
unpleasantly  upon  my  ear. 
I      "  Shylock,   w  ho  was  learned  in  bonds   and 
mortgages,  refused  so  uniang-We  a  deposit.     1 
,  must  have  better  security." 

"  My  bracelet" — laughed  .  Miss  Vernon — in 
her  turn,  but  in  a  different  spirit,  as  she  aflect 
ed  to  unclasp  the  jewel  from  her  arm. 

"  Your  lips  !"  whispered  her  lover ;  and  once 
I  more  he  pressed  them  to  his  own  His  peace 
was  made. 

Voices  were  heard  in  the  next  room.  Twi- 
light had'fallen  over  the  earth.  The  servants 
were  busied  in  lighting  the  lamps  ;  and,  ere 
long,  the  dinner-bell  rang  out.  The  supposed 
solitude  of  the  lovers  was  over ;  yet  still  they 
stood  an  instant  side  by  side,  and  hand  in  hand. 
They  spoke  no  more.  There  was  no  need  oj 
words. 

A  light  laugh  in  the  drawing-room  herald- 
ed the  reentrance  of  Lady  Devereux,  and  her 
cousin  immediately  sauntered  forth  to  meet  her, 
after  one  long,  last  look  into  the  eyes  of  Emily. 
For  a  moment  she  believed  herself  alone.  She 
stood  where  he  had  left  her,  motionless.  Gradu-. 
ally,  her  head  sank  upon  her  bosom  ;  and  a  deep 
sigh,  drawn  from  the  very  depths  of  her  spirit, 
fell  sadly  on  the  silence.  After  a  time  she  ral- 
lied, but  it  was  evidently  by  a  violent  and  pain- 
ful effort :  a  slight  shiver  passed  over  her  grace- 
ful limbs ;  and  then  she  hastily  approached  the 
window,  and  leaned  out,  as  if  greedy  of  the  re- 
freshing breeze  which  swept  into  the  apartment. 

Need  I  say  that  I  shrank  into  the  most  re- 
mote corner  of  my  retreat  1  I  felt  as  though  I 
should  expire  upon  the  spot.  My  brow  burned  ; 
my  heart  beat  almost  to  bursting  ;  my  clench- 
ed hands  were  rigid  in  their  tension.  I  had 
heard  my  mother  mocked  at — made  the  theme 
of  scorn  and  banter — branded  as  a  Circe  I — and, 
although  I  knew  not  then  the  precise  meaning 
of  the  appellation,  the  tone  in  winch  it  had  been 
applied  had  lelt  me  little  doubt  that  it  was  one 
which  reflected  slight  honor  upon  her  own. 

And  still  Emily  Vernon  stood  there,  and  I 
had  no  opportunity  of  escape.  I  thought  that  I 
w-as  suddenly  smitten  with  fever.  I  felt  the 
curtain  quiver  with  the' trembling  of  my  limbs. 
My  tongue  was  parched,  and  1  had  set  my  teeth 
so  hard,  that  1  heard  the  laboring  breath  as  it 
escaped  from  between  them.  But  she  heard 
nothing.  She  was  alone  in  that  siill  hour  ot 
darkne.ss,  with  her  love,  and  with  her  doubts. 
Ay,  they  were  there  still — hushed,  but  not  an- 
mhilaled  ;  for  she  sighed,  and  at  intervals  swept 
from  her  cheeks  the  tears  which  had  gathered 
there,  and  shuddered,  as  if  some  vision  darker 
than  the  night  had  risen  upon  her  spirit.  Poor 
Emily  !  Even  in  the  paro.\ysm  of  my  rage  I 
pitied  her.  There  was  a  prophet  whisper  in 
her  ear  that  told  of  ills  to  come! 

When  she  at  length  withdrew  her  head  from 
the  window,  smoothed  her  bright  hair,  and  slov  ly 
prepared  to  leave  the  room,  the  sound  of  voices 
was  loud  in  Ihe  next  apartment.  Theie  uaa 
no  other  egress  from  the  retreat  that  she  had 
chosen  ;  and  accordingly,  after  shrinking  back 
into  the  darkness  more  than  once,  she  event- 
ually disappeared  ;  and  then  I  threw  myself  uoon 
a  sofa,  and  wept  bitterly. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRF/PTY  WOMAN. 


43 


CHAPTER  XL 

ffAD  I  been  dilferenily  conslitiitod,  or  bad  I 
Deeii  differeiilly  educated,  I  sliould  pn)bal)ly  at 
once  have  iviade  my  way  to  my  mother's  dress- 
iiig-rdoiii,  and,  m  ibe  f-ank  and  overflowing  con- 
titience  of  girlhood,  have  told  her  all.  No  snch 
'dea,  however,  crossed  my  brain  even  for  a 
moment.  I  had  never  been  a  child.  I  had 
siiiung  from  the  infant  into  the  woman,  as  the 
hiiilioiise  flower  is  forced  into  premature  blos- 
som by  unnatural  warmth.  The  examples  by 
which  I  was  surrounded,  the  spirit  in  which  I 
Mas  tutored,  the  self-appreciation  in  which  I 
was  encouraged,  all  tended  to  the  same  point. 
I  felt  as  if  upon  me,  and  me  only,  devolved  the 
duty  of  revenging  the  affront  offered  to  my 
parent. 

The  vengeance  of  a  girl  of  eleven  years  of 
age  appears  absurd,  and  no  doubt  generally  is  | 
80.     I  know  one  tall  hoyden,  of  about  that  pe- 1 
riod  of  life,  whose  ideas  of  mischief  to  others  ' 
were  all   concentrated  in   throwing   stones  at 
them;   and  laughable  as  this   may  seem,  it  is 
doubtlejisly   quite   as    rational   as   many  other 
methods  of  revenge  adopted  by  children  of  the 
same  age  ;  but  such  is  not  universally  the  case. 
.All  we  adults  and  centenarians  may  rest  assured 
that   there   are  many  instances  of  precocious 
thought  as  well  as  of  precocious  action  ;   and 
we  should  be  wise  to  remember  that  there  is  a 
small  species  of  worm  in  existence,  which  has 
frequently  destroyed  a  three-decker.  \ 

■^  Had  I  been  able  to  appreciate  my  father's  real 
character,  it  is  also  probable  that  I  might  have  | 
unveiled  to  him  the  true  moral  qualities  of  my 
mother's  favorite  guest :  but  with  the  close  of| 
my  infancy  came  also  the  cessation  of  that  1 
demonstrative  paternal  tenderness  which  had  ' 
made  the  joy  of  my  baby  life.  I  no  sooner  de- 
■generated  into  the  plaything  of  the  drawing- 
room,  differing  only  in  stature  from  those  about 
nie;  engrossed  by  the  same  vanities,  encour- 
aging the  same  seltishness,  and  eager  after  the 
same  adulation,  than  my  father  seemed  alto- 
gether to  have  forgotten  my  existence.  He 
visited  my  little  bed  no  more.  When  we  acci- 
dentally met,  he  had  always  a  kind  word  and  a 
hasty  kiss  for  me;  but  neither  his  voice  nor  his 
caress  was  what  it  had  once  been  ;  and  as 
occasionally,  when  more  hurried  than  common, 
instead  of  pressing  his  lips  to  iriine,  he  merely 
greeted  me  with,  "  Ha,  Eveleen,  is  that  youl" 
and  patted  me  on  the  head  without  stopping,  my 
dignity  took  offence,  and  I  universally  returned 
the  salutation  by,  "Really,  papa,  you  are  too 
bad  ;  you  derange  my  hair  in  a  shocking  man- 
ner!" 

My  poor  father !  How,  as  I  look  back  upon 
these  things,  I  can  now  understand  what  closed 
his  once  loving  heart  against  his  home,  making 
a  cold  and  careless  world  the  shrine  at  which 
he  knelt,  and  that  world's  smile  his  idol.  ! 

Under  all  circumstances,  it  cannot,  however, 
be  matter  of  surprise  that  1  confided  not  my 
secret  to  any  one.  In  about  half  an  hour,  during 
which  time  coffee  had  been  served  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  my  retreat  hau  continued  unin- 
vaded,  I  contrived  to  overcome  my  agitation  ; 
and,  creeping  once  more  to  the  fatal  window,  I 
turned  my  hot  brow  and  my  aching  eyes  to- 
ward the  sweet  evening  wind  that  was  lifting 
the  leaves  of  the  trees  and  the  buds  of  the  i 


flowers,  and  weaving  a  double  web  of  perfumf 
and  melody  over  the  bosom  of  nature.  .1  had. 
however,  at  the  moment,  no  such  poetical  as 
sociaiion  with  the  said  wind.  All  I  soiigiit  war 
that  it  shoulit  restore  the  freshness  to  i..y  *o>-e' 
head  and  the  brightness  to  my  eyes .  that  il 
should,  in  short,  be  af  efficient  aid  in  my  lirsl 
grand  essay  in  hypocifsy.  And  it  was  so ;  thf 
fair,  full  cheek  and  the  sparkling  eye  of  earlj 
youth  do  not  tell  their  tale  of  suffering  like  thr 
worn  features  of  after-years.  The  green  ani' 
vigorous  leaves  of  June,  moistened  lliough  thej 
may  be  by  the  thunder-shower,  are  restored  tc 
vigor  and  to  beauty  by  the  next  gush  of  sun 
shine  ;  but  those  which  have  outlived  the  sum- 
mer months,  are  scattered  by  the  raindrops, 
less  heavy,  perhaps,  but  more  frequent,  to  which 
they  are  exposed. 

Even  so  was  it  with  me.  Ten  minutes  after 
I  had  mastered  my  emotion,  and  sought  in  the 
sweet  influences  of  nature  for  the  relief  I  needed, 
I  was  once  more  perfectly  presentable  ;  and  did 
not  hesitate  to  join  my  mother's  guests  :  but  I 
reentered  not  that  luxurious  drawing-room  as  I 
had  left  it.  The  best  and  purest  moral  remnant 
of  my  girlhood  had  been  torn  away.  I  hau 
learnt  that  even  my  own  proud  and  beaiitifu. 
mother  had  descended  from  her  pedestal,  and 
could  be  spoken  of  in  other  terms  than  those  of 
adoration.  Emily,  too,  the  mild,  the  loving,  the 
gentle  Emily,  whom  hitherto  I  had  considered 
faultless,  she  had  also  her  secret  sin — her  cher- 
ished hypocrisy — her  dangerous  mystery.  As 
for  Otterlbrd,  words  have  no  power  to  tell  how 
bitterly,  how  utterly  I  loathed  him. 

As  I  passed  into  the  saloon,  I  saw  him,  as  I 
had  seen  him  a  hundred  limes  before,  lolling 
over  the  back  of  the  large  lounging-chair  which 
was  sacred  to  Lady  Madelaine.  The  company 
were  scattered  in  groups  over  the  room  ;  Lady 
Devereux  and  Frederic  Vernon  occupied  the 
same  Persian  couch,  and  were  almost  lost 
among  the  yielding  cushions.  I  had  grown  an 
age  in  experience  within  the  last  two  hours; 
and  the  first-fruits  of  my  awakened  perceptions 
might  have  been  discovered  in  the  fixed  and 
almost  stern  attention  with  .which  I  observed 
these  two  friends  of  mynnnother.  Lady  Dev- 
ereux was  languidly,  but  not  the  less  assidu- 
ously, endeavoring  to  appropriate  the  thoughts 
and  glances  of  the  handsome  young  man  beside 
her.  Her  magnilicent  arm,  half-veiled  by  rich 
black  lace,  lay,  in  all  its  rounded  beauty,  upon 
the  pillow  against  which  he  leant.  The  ample 
folds  of  her  black  velvet  dress  were  confined  by 
a  plain  girdle,  clasped  with  jewels,  whicli  drew 
the  eye  to  the  sii.allness  of  her  waist,  and  the 
fulness  of  her  beautifully- moulded  neck.  Hei 
little  feet  were  coquettishly  grouped  togelhei 
upon  a  cushion,  and  were  visible  beneath  the 
embroidered  stockings  even  to  the  well-turned 
ancle.  There  was  an  arch  smjje  playing  about 
her  lips,  and  a  languid  softness  glistening  in  hei 
eyes,  which  rendered  her  more  beautiful  than  I 
had  ever  previously  believed  her  to  be. 

As  I  advanced  up  the  room,  I  saw  that  she 
was  speaking  pla}  fully,  almost  tenderly,  though 
I  could  not  hear  her  words  ;  but  a  single  glance 
sufficed  to  show  me  that  her  companion  little 
heeded  their  import.  His  look  was  riveted  upon 
my  mother;  not  fully  ar>d  freely,  but  with  all 
the  caution  uf  one  who  cares  not  that  his  secret 


44 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


shouiil  be  read  by  idle  eyes — and  how  full  of 
misery  was  that  look  !  j 

1  /oTiowed  its  direction.  The  triumph  of  un-  > 
striving  and  uiidi)iibting  vanity  sat  on  my  moth- 
er's brow,  and  fluslied  her  cheek.  Her  eyes 
were  closed,  hut  the  play  of  iier  rich  lips,  and 
the  frequent  inoiion  (d  her  small  head,  showed 
that  she  did  not  listen  onheedingly  to  the  low 
murmur  that  fill  upon  her  ear.  And  Lord  Otter- 
ford  1  He  it  was  who  was  breathing  those 
honeyed  sounds  ;  but,  though  he  bent  over  Lady 
Madelaine,  his  gaze  was  turned  elsewhere. 
Emily  Vernon  stood  near  the  harp,  which  she 
had  been  engaged  in  tuning  and  at  her  side 
was  Mr.  De  Clifford.  To  those  who,  unlike 
myself,  were  not  in  the  secret  of  .Miss  Vernon's 
heart,  she  must  have  appeared  all  calmness  and 
mental  repose.  The  tears  had  been  dried,  the 
pulse  had  ceased  its  tumultuous  throbbings,  the 
flush  had  faded  from  the  fevered  brow  ;  she  was 
graceful,  ea-sy,  and  self-possessed.  Her  taper 
fingers  wantoned  among  the  chords  of  the  instru- 
ment ;  her  small  foot  pressed  down  the  yielding 
pedals  :  and  ultimately,  at  the  close  of  a  hrd- 
iiant  prelude,  she  shook  back  her  long  ringlets, 
and  looked  up  with  a  smile  in  reply  to  a  remark 
of  De  ClilTord's,  when  her  eye  chancing  to  wan- 
der further,  I  saw  her  suddenly  falter  and  turn 
pale  ;  the  sinile  (led  from  her  lips,  and  the  light 
from  lier  countenance  ;  while  at  the  same  mo- 
ment Lord  Otterford  started  from  his  position 
near  my  moiher,  and,  passing  rapidly  beside 
her,  I  heard  the  word  "  Woman  !"  breathed 
bitterly  from  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

Here,  then,  was  another  coil  of  the  reptile ; 
for,  in  my  present  excited  and  suspicious  state  of 
feeling.  I  was  at  no  loss  to  read,  in  the  alarmed 
expression  of  De  Clifford's  face,  as  he  marked 
the  change  which  had  so  suddenly  come  over 
his  fair  companion,  a  more  lively  interest  than 
mere  friendship  would  have  inspired.  Ke  loved 
her — hut  the  serpent  liad  already  made  its  way 
into  his  Eden  ;  his  dream  was  nearly  o\er. 

Lady  O'Halloran  was  asleep.  Miss  Alexan 
der  was  endeavoring  to  draw  the  fashiorablc 
and  fastidious  Sir  James  Dornton  into  i  (liita- 
ton  ;  and  her  sister  sat  apart,  beyond  tl  e  More 
busy  guests,  with  her  eyes  riveted  on  Proderic 
Vernon.  Mrs.  Alexander,  all  blonde  and  biar;c- 
lets,  was  doing  her  utmost  to  appear  interested 
in  a  political  discussion  which  was  going  on 
between  my  father  and  Lord  Cornbury,  a  broth- 
er member  ;  while  good  old  Dr.  James,  more 
sincere,  and  already  outwearied  by  their  pro- 
lixity, had  settled  himself  comfortably  in  an 
an)ple  fauUuil,  and  was  half-way  to  the  land  of 
dreams. 

How  false,  how  hollow,  and  how  tedious, 
everytliing  appeared  to  me,  child  as  I  was!  I 
felt  saddened,  disappointed,  dissatisfied.  I  had 
indeed  succ-eeded  in  subduing  all  trace  of  the 
violent  emolHuj  which  1  had  lately  undergone  ; 
but  I  soon  discovered  that  I  had  by  no  means 
resumed  my  ordinary  manner,  from  the  expres- 
sion of  n:y  father's  eye,  as,  during  a  '^ause  in 
his  conversation,  it  clianced  to  turn  upon  me. 

"You  are  unwell,  Eveleen,"  he  said,  ten- 
derly, as  he  approached  and  took  my  hand. 
"Your  cheek  is  pale,  my  poor  child;  these 
hours  and  .hese  habits  are  undermining  your 
health.     Would  tlwt  I  could  see  it  otherwise  !" 

I  f«lt  a  deep  blush  rise  to  my  brow.     "  In- 


deed, I  am  well,  quite  well,"  1  answered,  nnr 
riedly.  "  I  have  been  annoyed — agitated — but 
it  is  all  over  now." 

".And  may  a  grave,  middle-aged,  old-fashioneu 
individual,  like  myself,"  said  Lord  Cornbury,  ir. 
a  lone  of  quiet  sarcasm,  as  he  also  api)roached 
and  seated  himself  upon  the  sofa  beside  me, 
"  venture  to  inquire  what  event  can  have  oc- 
curred of  sufhcient  importance  to  'agitate'  and 
'annoy'  the  charming  Miss  Tilden,  the  em- 
bryo beauty,  he  precocious  wit,  and  the  envied 
heiress  !" 

It  was  the  first  lime  that  I  had  ever  been  ad- 
dressed in  such  an  accent,  and  my  indignation 
fully  equaled  my  surprise  ;  nor  was  it  by  any 
means  diminished,  when,  on  glancing  towards 
my  lather,  as  though  I  looked  to  him  to  revenge 
liie  insult,  I  saw  a  quiet  smile  dancing  in  his 
eye,  and  playing  al)out  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
I  was  petrified.  1  could  not  have  spoken,  had 
my  earthly  happiness  depended  on  the  exer- 
tion :  but  I  felt  my  forin  dilate,  and  a  frown  of 
offended  dignity  gatlier  upon  my  brow. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Eveleen  I" 
asked  iny  father,  somewhat  severely,  after  a 
moment's  pause.  "  Did  you  not  hear  Lord 
Cornbury  address  you  I  and  have  you  forgot- 
ten— quite  ! — "  and  he  sighed  as  be  spoke, 
"that  you  are  yet  a  child,  and  should  be  grate- 
ful for  the  notice  which  is  accorded  to  you  ?" 

I  hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  then,  turning 
calmly  towards  the  astonished  nobleman,  I 
said,  with  all  the  composure  I  could  command, 
"Since  Lord  Cornbury  is  obliging  enough  to 
take  so  evident  an  interest  in  my  joys  and  sor- 
rows, and  since  it  is  my  father's  wish  that  I 
should  do  so,  I  feel  bound  to  inform  him  that  I 
have  been  'annoyed'  to  find  falsehood  where  I 
looked  for  truth,  and  'agitated*  to  discover  hy- 
pocrisy where  nothing  but  sincerity  should  have 
existed."  And,  as  1  ceased  speaking,  I  rose 
from  the  sofa,  courtesied  ceremoniously  to  my 
father  and  his  companion,  and  moved  away. 

"An  extraordinary  girl,  that.  Tilden.  i'faiih," 
I  heard  his  lordship  exclaim,  as  I  cn^ssed  the 
floor.  My  father's  reply  I  could  not  catch ;  and 
the  rather  that,  as  I  approached  Miss  Alexan- 
der (who  was  just  in  the  act  of  commencing  a 
laborious  sonata  to  Mr.  De  Clifford's  flute  ac- 
companiment, evidently  much  to  her  own  an- 
noyance, and  equally  to  the  relief  of  Sir  James 
Dointon,  whose  flirting  vocabulary  was  fairly 
at  its  close,  in  so  far  as  it  regarded  herself),  I 
saw  poor  Emily,  half-concealed  behind  the  folds 
of  an  Indian  screen,  pale,  listless,  and  droop- 
ing. Otterford,  meanwhile,  had  resumed  his 
station  near  my  mother,  and  they  were  sup- 
posed to  be  deeply  engaged  in  a  game  of 
chess. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that,  at  so  early  an 
age,  I  was  able  to  estimate,  or  even  wise  euBugh 
to  glance  at  the  probable  results  to  my  mother's 
reputation,  of  the  heedless  and  reckless  loose 
which  she  was  thus  giving  to  her  vanity.     My 
only  and  absorbing  feeling  was  one  of  haughty 
I  indignation  against  the  man  who  had  dared  to 
love  another,  while  he  professed  lobe  her  slave; 
!  nor  can  I  deny  that  a  considerahie  portion  of 
j  this  displeasure  was  reflected  upon  Emily  her- 
self    I  knew  nothing  then  of  the  tyranny  of  an 
I  awakened  passion.     I  looked  not  beyond  the 
I  visible  homage  which,  frorn  the  mcmenl  of  mjr 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


45 


d mission  to  my  mother's  circle,  had  been  the  ' 
immediate  object  of  my  ambition.  I  bad  be-  ' 
lieved  it  to  be  real  and  genuine — a  spdntaneous  I 
oflering  at  llie  shrine  of  tieauty — and  I  was  by 
no  means  prepared  to  fiiiu  that  it  was  a  mere 
pleasing  delusion — a  shadow  upon  the  wall — a 
vapor!  I  had  heard  at  least  twenty  times  a 
day  of  my  own  loveliness  ;  for,  when  it  became 
the  fashion  in  the  saloon  to  enumerate  all  my 
diiidish  attractions,  I  was  forthwith  the  ad- 
mired idol  of  the  servants'  hall.  Not  a  foot- 
man passed  me  on  my  way  from  the  nurseries 
to  the  drawing-room,  who  did  not  assume  a 
countenance  of  wondering  admiration  as  he 
stepped  aside  ;  not  a  female  servant,  from  the 
housekeeper  to  the  laundry-maid,  who  did  not 
utter  a  whispered  comment  loud  enough  to 
meet  my  ear.  and  (lattering  enough  to  make  my 
little  heart  beat  more  quickly  ;  while  my  inesti- 
mable governess,  as  time  went  by,  buckled  on 
the  armor  of  her  ignorance  in  quiet,  satisfied 
that  with  my  beauty,  and  my  six  masters — 
(tiiere  were  no  professors  then  for  young  la- 
dies I)  I  was  quite  independent  of  her  teaching ; 
and  she  was  frank  enough  to  tell  me  so. 

The  understanding  wa.s  a  comfortable  one, 
as,  being  under  no  obligation  to  mademoiselle, 
even  fur  doing  her  best,  which  I  must  have 
been,  at  least  morally,  had  she  made  a  stand 
against  her  own  ignorance,  and  struggled  to  do 
her  duty,  I  was  thus  enabled  to  despise  her  at 
my  ease;  which  I  accordingly  did,  at  an  age 
when  I  should  not  yet  have  been  permitted  to 
form  an  opinion  of  tiiose  about  me. 

Sycophants,  paid  and  unpaid,  how  little  do 
ve  relleet  upon  the  pernicious  consequences  of 
your  time-serving  and  degrading  condescension, 
especially  -.ipon  tiie  minds  of  the  young  ! 

Years  have  passed — long,  and  weary,  and 
eventful  years,  since  the  evening  which  I  am 
now  endeavoring  to  describe  ;  since  that  first 
awakening  of  doul)t,  and  suspicion,  and  hatred, 
in  my  girlish  heart  ;  and  yet  is  all  as  distinct 
and  fresh  about  me,  even  as  when  the  moments 
were  speeding  by.  It  was  a  dark  lesson,  which 
I  was  never  to  unlearn.  It  taught  me  to  muse, 
to  reason,  and  to  combine  upon  subjects  ill- 
fitted  to  my  age.  It  laid  a  false  foundation  for 
my  after-life. 

I  roused  Miss  Vernon  from  her  reverie.  At 
first  my  conversation  was  evidently  irksome  to 
her  ;  but,  as  she  strove  against  her  preoccupa- 
tion, it  became  a  palpable  relief.  I  watclied 
her  narrowly.  At  times  she  sighed,  even  when 
we  were  speaking  on  the  most  indifferent  sub- 
jects ;  and  at  others  her  eyes  wandered  to  the 
chess-table,  and  she  answered,  as  if  uncon- 
sciously and  quite  irrelevantly,  to  my  ques- 
tions. Had  she  loved  any  other  than  Lord  Ot- 
terford,  I  could  have  wept  over  her ! 

I  once  read  a  quaint  German  story,  in  which 
t\ie  secret  marriage  of  a  wealthy  young  widow, 
whose  fortune  was  to  be  forfeited  in  the  event 
of  her  disposing  of  her  hand  a  second  time,  was 
betrayed  to  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  heirs-at- 
lavv,  by  the  fact  of  her  dropping  her  fan  in  so- 
ciety, while  in  conversation  with  her  new  hus- 
band, and  picking  it  up  herself  without  his 
interference.  I  was  then  ignorant  of  the  tale  ; 
but  assuredly,  judging  from  such -premises,  my 
mother  was  as  free  as  air.  Her  slightest  ges- 
ure  was  sufficient.     Que  would  have  thought 


that  Otterford  could  read  her  heart,  and  that 
speech  was,  in  her  case,  supererogatory. 

Six  weeks  afterward  iny  mother  returned  to 
Grosvenor  Square  for  the  season  ;  and  for  the 
first  time  I  was  left  at  Rooksley,  under  the 
very  satisfactory  and  efficient  charge  of  Made- 
moiselle Josephine.  My  pride  was  wounded  : 
I  had  begun  to  believe  that  1  was  necessary  to 
the  happiness  of  Lady  Madelaine.  It  was  a 
natural  mistake.  In  her  drawing-roorn  in  the 
country  I  was  an  attractive  ornament.  I  cre- 
ated conversation,  and  I  afl"oide(l  to  the  guests 
in  the  house  numerous  and  happy  opportunities 
of  flattering  my  mother,  both  directly  and  in- 
ferentially.  I  was  a  miniature  representative 
of  the  prevailing  fashion,  however  oulrcc;  thus 
proving  to  the  initiated  that  if  the  beautiful  wife 
of  Mr.  Tilden  clung  to  the  graceful  and  the  be- 
coming, it  was  purely  from  taste,  and  not  from 
lack  of  acquaintance  with  the  reigning  mode. 
My  flippancy  had  been  elevated  ir.to  wit;  and 
as  cliildren  are  naturally  fearless,  1  had  more 
than  once  spoken  with  a  point  well  calculated 

.  to  amuse  all,  save  those  who  were  the  suffer- 
ers;  while  my  whole  education  had  been  con- 
ducted on  a  system  of  surface  and  display, 
which  made  me  a  welcome  plaything  to  the 
idle  and  the  unthinking. 

Religion  I  had  none.  Mademoiselle  tried  the 
village  church,  and  the  preaching  of  good  T)r. 
James,  on  one  solitary  occasion,  and  then 
pleaded  her  conscience  as  an  excuse  for  ab- 

I  senting   herself   ihencefol-ward.     I    had   occa- 

I  sionally  accompanied  my  mother  and  her  party; 
but  as  the  family  pew  was  closely  curtained 
round  with  heavy  damask,  and  I  sat  on  a 
cushion  beside  the  fire,  amusing  myself  with 
the  richly-illustrated  prayer-books,  and  catching 
fragments  of  their  conversation,  wliich  out  of 
respect  for  the  place  was  carried  on  in  soft 
whispers,  and  thereby  only  rendered  the  more 
attractive,  1  seldom  heard  more  than  the  re- 
sponses, and  the  extremely  inharmonious  sing- 
ing of  the  children  of  Lady  Madelaine's  schools, 
which,  even  at  that  early  age,  used  to  set  my 
teeih  on  edge. 

My  notions  of  religion  were  consequently  of 
a  very  vague  and  unformed  description.    When, 

I  as  I  sometimes  saw  my  mother  and  her  guests 
preparing  to  attend  the  morning  service  with 
undisguised  and  even  acknowh  dged  reluctance, 
I  ventured  to  inquire  for  what  reason  she  sub- 
mitted to  an  annoyance  which  it  was  in  her 

!  power  to  avoid,  she  answered  me  veiy  senten- 
tiously  that  she  went  t(»  church  "  for  the  sake 
of  example" — that  "  it  was  necessary  that  the 
lower  orders  should  see  persons  of  station  up- 
hold the  clergy,  or  they  might  presume  to  ab- 
sent themselves  in  their  turn,  which  was  a  thing 
not  to  be  thought  of"  .She  did  not  explain  for 
what  reason,  nor  did  I  inquiie,  for  she  was  evi- 
dently weary  of  the  subject ;'  while  I,  on  my 
side,  felt  no  particular  interest, in  its  continu- 
ance. I  was  accordingly  quite  satisfied  from 
that  time  forth,  whenever  I  swelled  the  train  of 
my  mother  on  this  septenary  duty,  that  I  was 
setting  an  example  to  the  "lower  orders,"  and 
was  consequently  a  person  of  considerable  im 
portance  both  to  Dr.  .lames  and  his  parish. 

Such  was  I,  in  body  and  mind,  at  the  close 
of  my  eleventh  year.  My  entrance  into  the 
twelfth  was  uawimessed  by  any  sav  my  own 


46 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTV  WOMAN. 


attendants  ;  for,  as  1  have  already  stated,  I  was 
left  at  Rooksley  on  the  next  departure  of  the 
family  for  town. 

I  pouted  for  eight-and-forty  hours  after  their 
departure.  My  fattier  had  kissed  me  hurriedly, 
and  put  five  guineas  ihto  my  hand,  as  he 
stepped  into  his  chariot.  My  mother  had 
pressed  her  lips  to  my  hrow,  and  then  turned 
away  to  desire  mademoiselle  not  to  suffer  me 
to  spoil  my  complexion  over  the  fire.  Lady 
Devereux  had  saluted*me  with  an  injunction 
not  to  grow  any  taller,  lest  \n  a  year  or  two  I 
should  oblige  Lady  Madelaine  to  shut  me  up, 
and  keep  me  out  of  sight ;  wtiile  the  gentlemen 
were  all  so  much  occupied  in  final  arrangements 
about  their  dogs,  their  horses,  and  llieir  guns, 
that  they  overlooked  my  existence  altogether. 

Emily  Vernon  was  the  only  individual  of  tho 
party  who  embraced  me  vviili  effusion  and  evi- 
dent regret.  She  was. to  lie  Lady  Madclaine's 
traveling  companion  to  town,  and  then  to  join 
her  motlier'in  Curzon  Street.  What  a  ^ong, 
sad,  wistful  gaze  she  turned  upon  all  the  fa- 
miliar objects  from  which  she  was  about  to 
separate  !  She  visited  the  octagon-room  more 
than  once :  it  had,  doubtless,  been  the  locality 
of  many  sirfiilar  scenes  to  that  which  I  had 
witnessed  ;  and  in  wtiat  had  they  terminated 
so  far?  Even  I  could  read  the  riddle  on  her 
pure  young  brow^in  uncertainty  and  doubt,  in 
anxiety  and  heart-sickness.  Pooi:  Emily  !  and 
amid  all  her  sorrow,  she  was  the  only  one  who 
thought  of  me. 

My  heart  swelled  with  resentment  as  I  saw 
the  party  disappear ;  and  I  retreated  to  my 
"  room,  fully  resolved  to  tax  ttie  patience  ot 
Mademoiselle  Josephine  to  the  utmost,  by  the 
manifestations  of  my  virtuous  indignation. 
But,  alas  !  I  had  no  opportunity  of  so  doing, 
for  during  two  hours  no  mademoiselle  made 
(ler  appearance.  I  was  totally  abandoned. 
This  was,  indeed,  a  new  phase  of  my  exist- 
ence !  Had  not  the  little  Frencli  clock  upon  my 
mantlepiece  convinced  me  that  my  solitude 
had  endured  no  longer  than  the  said  hundred 
and  twenty  minutes,  I  should  have  computed 
It  at  a  day,  so  sad,  and  weary,  and  desolate  did 
it  appear.  I  rang  the  bell.  It  was  answered 
by  my  own  footman  ;  and  even  he,  as  he  open- 
ed the  door,  was  evidently  working  himself  into 
his  coat,  as  though  he  had  drawn  it  on  hurriedly. 
I  inquired  for  mademoiselle.  She  was  just  then 
particularly  engaged  with  the  housekeeper. 
Did  I  want  anything  1  I  replied  ttiat  I  did  not 
think  proper  to  be  left  any  longer  alone  ;  and  I 
was  met  by  tlie  remark  that  my  liarp-niaster 
would  l)e  with  me  in  less  than  twenty  minutes; 
at  tlie  close  of  which  ot)liging  and  pleasant 
piece  of  information  the  man  tiastily  withdrew, 
before  I  could  make  any  rejoinder. 

This  was  the  commencement  of  my  new 
mode  of  existence  ;  and  such,  with  very  slight 
variations,  it  continued.  The  visits  of  my  sev- 
eral tutors  broke  in,  agreeably  rather  than  the 
reverse,  upon  the  daily  monotony ;  and,  more- 
over, a  sudden  fancy  for  carriage-exercise 
seized  upon  my  preceptress.  It  is  true  that, 
esclK'wing  all  the  romantic  cross-roads  which 
hail  hittierto  been  familiar  lo  us,  we  no  hinger 
drove  in  any  other  direction  than  to  the  post- 
town,  where  mademoiselle  lounged  from  one 
shou  10  tlie  other,  making  purchases   of  the 


most  heterogeneous  description,  and  coMecting 
all  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood. 
■  To  me,  young  as  I  was,  these  hitherto  for- 
bidden excursions  were  disagreeable  to  an  ex- 
treme degree.  I  had  never  forgotten  the 
malicious  inuendos  and  withering  witticisms 
which  formed  the  staple  Conversation  of  my 
nursery;  and,  since  I  had  become  baliituatcd 
to  the  polished  elegance  and  epigrammatic  wit 
of  my  mother's  circle,  the  female  cackle  to 
which  I  was  occasionally  condemned  in  my 
own  apartments  was  absolutely  abliorrent.  It 
may  well  be  supposed,  therefore,  that  1  in  no 
wise  interfered  with  the  new  vocation  of 
Mademoiselle  Josephine ;  and  it  was  wIuIp  she 
was  collecting  her  "  shreds  and  patches"  lor 
the  edification  of  the  housekeeper's  room,  that 
I  first  imbibed  tliat  love  of  books,  to  which  I 
am  indebted  for  some  of  the  happiest  hours  in 
my  stormy  existence. 

It  will  be  readily  understood  that  I  had  not 
been  idle  during  the  fortnight  which  intervet:ed 
between  the  eventful  evening  last  described 
and  the  departure  of  the  family  for  town.  I 
had  closely  watched  the  chief  actors  in  the 
"  Comedy  of  Errors,"  represented  at  Rooksley. 
The  more  narrowly  I  observed  my  mother,  the 
more  plainly  I  discovered  that  her  vanity  was 
a  slirine,  before  which  she  required  that  a  lamp 
should  be  constantly  burning ;  but  that  her  af- 
fections were  quite  independent  of  her  self- 
esteem.  Now  as  there  existed  nothing  upon 
earth  half  so  attractive  in  my  eyes  as  mv 
mother,  and  as  children  ever  seek  to  imitate 
those  whom  they  admire,  so  my  scrutiny  only 
made  me  tlie  more  stedfaslly  resolve  to  emu- 
late the  Lady  Madelaine  in  all  things.  That  I 
resembled  her  in  person  had  been  so  endlessly 
repeated  in-  my  presence,  that  I  was  already 
aware  of  my  natural  advantages.  Merely  to  be 
the  ol)ject  of  general  comment  and  admiration 
did  not,  however,  satisfy  me  ;  I  felt  that  there 
was  a  marked  and  unpleasant  distincticm  be 
tween  the  homage  paid  to  my  mother,  and  ll 
caresses  lavished  upon  myself;  and  for  some 
lime,  as  I  pondered  over  tliis  fact  in  my  en- 
forced solitude,  I  was  unable  to  comprehend 
it. 

For  a  while  my  vanity  had  been  gratified  by  the 
flatteries  and  blandistunents  poured  out  upun 
me  ;  but.  the  feeling  once  awakened,  that  I  was 
not  worshiped  like  my  mother,  thenceforward 
rendered  the  triumph  incomplete  ;  and  my  pride 
was  wounded  as  I  rememt)ered  that,  while  I  had 
merely  tieen  tlie  pet  and  plaything  of  the  idle 
and  the  thoughtless.  Lady  Madelaine  was  an 
object  of  deep  and  exclusive  devotion  ;  making 
ilie  happiness  of  one  worshiper,  and  the  misery 
of  another.     Why  was  thisi 

I  was  on  the  ttireshold  of  my  twelfth  year.  1 
had  been  the  almost  constant  companion  of  a 
young,  giddy,  flirting,  and  ignorant  French  gov- 
erness  since  I  emerged  from  the  nursery,  the 
remainder  of  my  life  having  been  spent  in  the 
society  of  my  mother  and  her  friends.  Is  it  then 
matter  of  surprise  that  I  soon  discovered  the 
solution  of  the  enigma  1  "  My  mother  is  loved  !" 
I  whispered  to  myself;  "and  I  —  they  look 
upon  me  still  as  a  ctiild,  but  this  will  not  last 
forever.  Einify  VeT.on  is  younger  than  Lady 
Madelaine,  and  yet  Lord  Otterford  loves  her — 
ay,  and  better  than  he  loves  my  mother ;  foi 


H 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


47 


(liJ  he  not,  to  make  Miss  Vernon  smile,  call  her 
a  Circe  !     1  will  know  wlial  he  meant." 

I  seized  my  (iiclionary,  but  I  sought  in  vain. 
I  was  in  despair ;  when,  as  a  forlorn  hope,  [ 
appealed  to  m  idenioiselle.  "  Cirrc,  Circe!  mais 
ccrtainc})ieiit"  said  she,  as  a  sudden  recollection 
came  upon  her,  "  Circe,  c' est  une  decsse.  I  re- 
member an  old  schoolfellow  of  mine,  qui  fit  un 
tres  beau  manuge.  She  became  a  modiste  fort 
disliitgiice.  Rue  Richelieu,  and  her  enseigne  was 
A  L.\  CIRCE.  C'ctait  une  tele  charmante,  el  admi- 
rahlfimeyU  coiffee." 

This  hint 'sufficed.  My  mythology  completed 
the  information.  Mine  was  not  the  age  of  de- 
duction, inference,  or  analysis ;  and  I  accord- 
ingly laid  aside  the  volume,  murmuring  to  my- 
self, "  and  I  too  will  be  a  Circe  !" 

I  wearied  in  a.  week  or  two  of  my  school-room 
volumes.  I  had  many  hours  of  solitude  at 
home,  many  in  the  carriage  ;  and,  as  Mademoi- 
selle Josephine  and  I  appeared,  as  I  have  before 
remarked,  to  have  entered  into  a  tacit  agree- 
ment to  interfere  as  little  as  possible  with  each 
other,  she  made  no  comment  when  she  saw  me 
surrounded  by  books  withdrawn  from  my  moth- 
er's library.  It  were  needless  to  do  more  than 
to  observe  that  they  were  invariably  novels  and 
roinances  ;  and  that,  through  their  medium,  I 
soon  began  to  comprehend  more  perfectly  both 
my  own  position  and  that  of  my  mother. 

I  remember  that  I  threw  aside  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  in  disgust.  It  appeared  to  me  cold, 
formal,  and  tedious.  I  had  no  taste  for  the 
tender  passion  treated  mathematically  ;  and  I 
found  many  other  works  upon  the  same  shelves 
which  revenged  me  upon  his  monotony.  From 
my  first  admittance  to  the  drawing-room,  I  had 
heard  the  subject  of  love  constantly  discussed — 
my  presence  was  unheeded  ;  cliildren  are  com- 
monly overlooked  at  such  moments;  and  yet 
upon  children  nothing  is  lost.  Several  argu- 
ments and  opinions,  of  which  I  had  thus  be- 
come an  auditor,  remained  impressed  upon  my 
memory  ;  and  now,  when  I  began  to  reason 
and  to  reflect,  they  returned  vividly  to  my  recol- 
lection. 

The  example  of  my  mother  imprinted  them 
on  my  heart. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Unhappily  for  myself,  I  was  abandoned  to 
•his  existence  of  perverted  taste  and  unwhole- 
some occupation  for  upward  of  a  long,  w^eary 
year.  At  the  close  of  the  season,  Lady  Dev- 
ereux,  whose  beauty  was  on  the  wane,  and 
whose  coquetry  became  only  the  more  exacting 
in  consequence,  persuaded  my  mother  to  travel. 
My  father's  approbation  was  requested  as  a 
matter  of  form,  and  yielded  as  listlessly  as  it 
was  asked.  He  could  always  establish  a  genial 
home  at  his  club  ;  and  he  had,  inoreover,  the 
good  sense  to  feel  that  what  must  ultimately 
be  conceded  was  better  unopposed. 

To  Paris,  accordingly,  the  party  proceeded  ; 
consisting  of  my  mother,  and  her  friend  Lady 
Devereux,  Sir  Herbert,  Lord  Oiterford,  Fred- 
eric Vernon,  and  his  sister.  Thence  they  pro- 
gressed to  Home,  and  ultimately  to  Sicily  ; 
returning  to  winter  in  Pari.s,  where  the  ele- 
gance and  beauty  of  Lady  Madelaine  created  an 
Jrtense  sensation  at  the  French  court.     The 


pure,  pale  loveliness  of  Miss  Vernon  also  pro- 
duced its  eflect,  but  her  health  was  undermined 
— that  precious  health,  to  produce  whose  res- 
toration her  an.xious  mother  Kad  alone  been 
prevailed  upon  to  pernut  her  absence  ;  and  her 
spirits  were  strangely  depressed. 

Nevertheless,  as  they  traveled  en  grayids  sei- 
gnmrs,  and  met  with  neither  obstacle  nor  acci- 
dent, the  tweKe  months  passed  rapidly  away  ; 
and  the  ladies  returned  to  London  for  the  sea 
son,  renovated  in  health  and  refulgent  in  fashion. 

I  had  meanwhile,  ere  their  reappearance  at 
Rooksley,  entered  my  fourteenth  year. 

I  have  often  since,  after  experiencing  in  my- 
self the  chances  and  changes  of  the  world, 
looked  back  in  wonder  at  tlie  tenacity  with 
which  my  mother's  coterie  held  together.  It  is 
extremely  probable  that,  were  I  aware  of  the 
personal  motives  and  interests  which  conduced 
to  this  result,  it  might  be  no  longer  matter  of 
marvel ;  but,  with  no  other  guide  than  my  own 
bitter,  recollectionsj  it  is  still  to  me'a  subject  of 
unceasing  wonder.  True  it  is,  that  it  was  com- 
posed of  individuals  whose  worldly  position 
placed  them  beyond  the  hazard  of  requiring 
deep  sympathy  or  serious  assistance  the  one 
from  the  other.  They  w^ere  all  butterflies, 
sporting  in  the  sunshine  of  fortune.  There  was 
more  matter  than  mind  in  the  bond  which  held 
them  together;  and  I  have. lived  too  long  to 
plh,,e  any  reliance  on  the  soi-disant  friendship, 
which  is  alimented  by  the  popularity  or  the 
wurldly  qualities  of  its  object.  Let  one  party 
be  exposed  to  the  pressure  of  circumstances  ; 
let  health  fail ;  let  necessities  sicken  the  heart 
and  depress  the  energies ;  and,  on  the  other 
side,  let  modish  fools  lisp  lightly  of  a  tie  which 
they  are  unable  to  comprehend  ;  let  new  pur., 
suits,  new  flatterers,  and  new  prospects  super- 
vene, and  wliat  becomes  of  the  sick,  the  sad, 
tlie  suffering  absentee  \  There  is  still  verbal 
pity — there  is  still  lip-deep  regret — where  all 
good  feeling  is  not  utterly  annihilated  ;  but  there 
is  also  more  than  this.  There  is  a  luant,  there 
is  a  necessity,  for  the  favorite  of  fortune,  first  to 
conceal,  and  ere  long  to  throw  off  these  incon- 
venient feelings.  The  race  of  pleasure  must  be 
run;  the  path  must  he  made  easy,  and  the 
journey  light  ;  the  shadow  of  another's  suffer- 
ings breaks  the  comfortable  and  self-caressing 
progress  of  the  better  dowried  child  of  chance  ; 
and  it  is  accordingly  swept  aside,  or  passed  by 
unheeded.  Little  think  or  reck  they  whose 
chariots  press  forward  in  the  race,  of  the  over 
burdened  hearts  which  they  assist  to  break! 

But,  psliavv  !  Complaint  is  not  my  purpose. 
I  know  the  world.  The  lesson  is,  perchance, 
difficult  to  learn  ;  but,  once  well  conned,  it  is 
one  which  is  never  forgotten  ;  and,  after  all, 
philosophy  teaches  us  that  we  were  born  to 
trial  ;  ^\\\\g  a  bette.  faith  points  to  a  still  more 
valuable  truth. 

And  now,  fet  me  revert  to  myself  as  I  was. 

A  year  and  a  half  of  desulttny,  anil  in  many 
cases  of  pernicious  reading  ;  of  partial  solitude, 
broken  oidy  by  still  more  lU-boding  companion 
ship,  at  a  period  of  life  when  the  mind  works 
out  its  self-development,  and  searches  eagerly 
for  subjects  of  interest  and  excitement ;  coupled 
with  a  disposition  naturally  precocious  and  ob- 
servant, had  done  its  silent,  but  no  less  cer- 
tain work  upon  me,  mentally  and  morally  ;  now 


48 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


had  it  failed  to  produce  also  its  physical  effect, 
[needed  no  prompter  to  whisper  this.  The 
looking-glass  .at  which,  on  the  departure  of  my 
mother,  I  could  only  satisfy  myself  of  the  pro- 
priety of  my  head-dress,  now  reflected  my 
whole  face  ;  nor  was  I,  by  any  means,  inclined 
Id  quarrel  wiili  the  reflection.  One  of  my  fa- 
vorite amusements  was  to  compare  my  features 
with  those  of  a  magnificent  full-length  portrait 
of  my  mother,  which  was  suspended  ahove  the 
mantle  of  the  library  ;  and  I  was  perfectly  sat- 
isfied with  (he  results  of  my  scrutiny;  while 
my  heart  bounded,  as  I  remembered  (thanks 
to  Lady  Madelaine's  book  shelves  !)  that  my 
triumph  was  but  beginning,  while  hers  would 
oe,  ere  long,  upon  the  wane !  Still  I  was  con- 
scious that  there  was  a  charm,  a  spell,  about 
my  mother,  wanting  to  my  unformed  and  neg 
iected  girlhood  ;  and  as  I  had  treasured  her 
looks,  and  tones,  and  caprices  in  my  memory, 
I  forthwith  began  to  practice  them,  to  the  great 
annoyance  of  MiHiemoiselle  Josephine  and  my 
maid.  I  was  unable  to  appreciate  her  better 
qualities,  and  therefore  they  escaped  me  ;  while 
I  clung  to  her  defects,  with  a  tenacity  which 
soon  made  them  perfectly  my  own. 

The  ne.vt  step  was  one  which  may  appear  ex- 
aggerated and  unnatural.  Let  those  who  so 
esteem  it  reflect  ere  they  affect  to  doubt ;  for 
they  can  know  little  of  a  woman's  nature.  It 
is  a  common  assertion  that  events  have  been 
preordained — 1  had  been  preiiducated,  in  that 
most  uncertain  of  ail  mysteries,  the  intricacies 
of  the  heart.  And  therefore — my  next  step 
was  jealousy  of  the  homage  which  my  mother 
had  liiiiierlD  engrossed.  I  had  been  often  told 
of  my  beauty,  of  my  grace,  of  my  attractions, 
but  it  was  in  another  tone.  The  child  had  been 
pelted  and  pampered  as  a  child  ;  but  the  van- 
ity of  the  girl  could  no  longer  be  satisfied  with 
such  questionable  worship. 

When  I  made  my  first  appearance  in  the 
drawing- roiim,  on  the  evening  of  my  mother's 
return  to  Rooksley — for  she  had  not  previously 
found  a  leisure  moment  in  which  to  receive 
me — I  remarked  that  a  look  of  vague  wonder 
f(dlowed  my  steps  as  I  crossed  the  floor  ;  but, 
as  I  fell  liiat  my  appearance  was  unexception- 
able, I  consequently  interpreted  the  sensation 
which  I  had  cieaied  in  a  way  well  suited  to 
gratify  my  vanitv  ;  although  it  received  a  very 
severe  shock  in  the  extrcma  coldness  of  my 
mother's  recognilicm.  She  looked  (or  a  mo- 
ment as  though  she  really  doubted  myjdenlily; 
and  then  a  slight  flush  spread  over  her  brow, 
and  she  tuiiiud  lier  head  aside,  as  if  anxious  to 
shut  out  an  olijcct  that  was  disagreeable. 

Resolved  lo  follow  up  the  effect  which  I  had 
produceil  upon  her  circle,  I  had  no  sooner  made 
the  circuit  of  the  room,  and  exchanged  greet- 
ings with  the  guests,  than  I  seated  myself  un- 
bidden al  the  liarp ;  and  as  this  had  been  my 
favoritf!  study,  im;jclled  as  I  was  to  exertion  by 
a  knowledge  of  the  admiration  which  Lady 
Madelainc  had  always  commanded  when  per- 
forming upon  that  showy  and  graceful  instru- 
ment, my  pr(!rinency  was,  as  I  have  reason  to 
*jclieve,  something  extraordinary  ;  while  it  is 
pnihahlc  that  its  effect  was  enhanced  by  the 
listless  and  unsettled  mood  of  my  hearers,  who 
had  not  vfi  re.covcr<;d  the  dissipations  and  ex- 
aclioiis  of  Loudon  life. 


Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  it  is  certain  that 
exclamations  of  wonder  and  delight  resounded 
on  all  sides ;  and  that  I  engrossed,  for  full  five 
minutes,  the  entire  attention  of  the  company. 
My  father  was  not  present.  He  was  attending 
his  parliamentary  duties.  It  was  well  that  I 
enjoyed  my  triumph  freely  and  fully,  for  it  was 
not  destined  to  be  soon  repeated. 

On  the  morrow,  during  the  progress  of  mj 
mother's  toilet.  Mademoiselle  Josephine  was 
summoned  to  her  dressing-room,  to  make  a  re- 
port of  my  mental  and  moral  progress  ;  and  ten 
minutes  afterward  I  was  myself  bidden  to  the 
conference. 

Assuredly,  Lady  Madelaine  was  very  beauti- 
ful ;  and  on  this  particular  occasion  I  was  more 
than  ever  impressed  by  the  fact.  Slie  was 
seated  in  a  large  lounging-chair,  her  fine  hair  fall- 
ing in  masses  over  her  shoulders,  her  graceful 
figure  loosely  draped  by  the  soft  folds  of  a  wrap- 
ping-gown of  pale  blue  cashmere  ;  and  the  ex- 
tremities of  her  small  feet  thrust  into  a  pair  of 
crimson  velvet  slippers,  edged  with  swans- 
down.  Immediately  opposite,  and  refiecting  the 
whole  of  her  person,  stood  a  cheval  glass  of  im- 
mense proportions,  set  into  a  frame  of  or-molu ; 
upon  which,  after  her  first  brief  salutation  on  my 
entrance,  the  eyes  of  my  mother  were  riveted 
with  great  complacency. 

"  What  is  this.  Miss  Tilden,  that  I  hear  of 
youl"  sheexclaimed,  with  a  harshness  of  which, 
had  I  ever  reflected  upon  the  subject,  I  should 
have  considered  her  incapable  ;  "  mademoiselle 
informs  me  that  your  vanity  is  so  great,  and  so 
troublesome,  that  your  maid  has  repeatedly 
complained  of  late  both  of  your  caprice  and  of 
your  violence." 

"Indeed  !"  I  replied,  with  all  the  composure 
that  I  could  assume  ;  "  I  was  not  aware  that 
mademoiselle  considered  it  as  a  part  of  her  duty 
to  enter  into  the  details  of  our  late  proceed- 
ings ;  but,  since  such  is  the  case,  I  may  proba- 
bly, on  my  side,  be  enabled  to  afford  your  lady 
ship  some  interesting  information." 

My  mother  was  evidently  petrified  at  my  au- 
dacity, while  the  frown  and  the  bhi.sh  which 
simultaneously  spread  over  the  brow  and  cheeks 
of  the  conscious  Freni^hwoman  turned  her  com- 
plexion purple.  I  kept  my  eye  steadily  fixed 
upon  her ;  she  knew  that  she  was  in  my  pow. 
er ;  and  I  never,  thereafter,  sufl'ered  her  to 
overlook  the  fact. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Eveleen  1" 
asked  my  mother,  after  a  momentary  silerre. 

"Much,  or  nothing,  as  Mademoiselle  Jos^ 
phine  may  consider  best,"  I  answered,  quietly. 

"  If  you  expect.  Miss  Tilden,"  pursued  Lady 
Madelaine,  evidently  higlily  provoked,  but  en- 
deavoring to  conceal  her  annoyance,  " that  I 
shallconsent  to  waste  my  time  upon  your  crimi- 
nations and  recriminations,  I  beg  you  at  once  to 
undeceive  yourself  Thus  much,  however.  I  feel 
it  my  duty  to  remark — that,  had  mademniselle 
acted  fearlessly  and  energetically,  and  as  i  had 
every  right,  from  the  recommendations  upon 
which  she  was  received  into  this  family,  ti»hope 
that  she  would  have  done — these  complaints 
against  mydaughier  nevercould  baveoccuired." 

No  wonder  that  Felicie  tossed  her  little  head, 
and  snuff-^d  the  air  with  an  expression  of  vir- 
tuous imlignation  and  outraged  dignity,  when 
she  remembered    that   it  was  by  her  own  un- 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN.  49 

tssisled  cleverness  that  '' ccltc  bete  de  Josephine"  Had  I  been  in  the  Piesenno,  I  c-oiild  not  have 
rjad  lieeii  s(i  pleasanily  established.  made  a  more  punctilious  courtes)  than  that  with 

••  Vanity  '"  continued  Lady  Madelaine  in  a  which  I  withdrew,  foMowed  by  the  shriiikina 
tune  of  contemptuous  mockery,  which,  looking  and  trembling  Josephine.  I  turned  one  loox 
upon  her  at  that  moment,  was  quite  an  epigram  ;  upon  the  unhappy  delinquent,  who  was  stand- 
"  can  there  be  a  more  despicable,  a  more  un-  ,  .'ng  apart,  crying  bitterly  with  mingled  pain  and 
worthy  vice?  Felicie,  I  am  leally  weary  of  passion;  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  was  easi- 
le/hng  you  that  I  will  jw't  have  my  ringlets  so  ly  consoled,  for  I  saw  heron  the  following  Sun- 
uiassed  together !  Scatter  them,  in  order  that  day,  glorious  in  a  dress  of  violet  lutestring. 
the  lines  of  the  forehead  may  be  traced  in  pro-  which  I  remembered  to  have  once  noticed  upim 
file  ;  and  do  not  let  me  have  to  remind  you  of   my  mother. 

this  again. — Then  I  have  been  compelled  to  |  Need  I  say  that  no  particularly  high  moral 
hear  of  your  violence,  Miss  Tilden.  Upon  my  ^  efl'ect  was  produced  u[)on  me  by  the  interview 
word  !  Your  education  has  progressed  in  less  which  had  been  so  strangely  terminated.  I 
than  two  years,  since  you  have  learned  within  was  no  longer  a  child — I  felt  my  power.  My 
that  period  to  strike  your  maid."  |  own  mother  had  shrunk  from  my  observation. 

I  own  that  I  did  now  feel  considerably  I  forgot  all  that  she  had  uttered,  both  in  reproach 
ashamed.  The  rebuke  which  I  had  just  re-  j  and  warning  ;  but  the  action  which  had  suc- 
ceived  for  my  vanity  rather  amused  than  dis-  ;  ceeded  the  words  was,  for  months  afterward, 
concerted  me.  My  mother  was  off  her  guard  ;  still  vividly  before  me.  Example  is  a  hundred 
she  forgot  that  I  was  two  years  older  in  time  fold  more  potent  than  precept  upon  the  spirit  of 
since  we  parted,  and  she  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  young.  When  the  hour  came  at  which  I 
I  was  ten  years  older  in  knowledge  of  the  world,  I  had  formerly  been  in  the  habit  of  joining  my 
or  rather  in  that  shrewd  and  active  observation  ;  mother's  circle,  I  was  already  deep  in  doubt  be- 
t)y  which  it  is  the  most  easily  attained.  The  sec-  tween  a  dress  of  white  muslin,  and  a  frock  of 
ond  charge  brought  against  me  was  less  easily  ,  blue  brocade,  when  mademoiselle  very  senlen- 


excused  to  my  own  heart.  I  was  as  proud  as 
Lady  Madelaine  herself;  and  when  my  trans- 
gression was  thus  abruptly  laid  before  me,  there 
was  a  coarseness  about  it  by  which  I  was  re- 
volted. 

Well  had  it  been  had  my  mother  dismissed 
me  at  that  moment,  while  a  wholesome  feeling 
of  compunction  planted  a  burning  flush  upon  my 
-well,  alike  for  the  respect  which  I  owed 


tiously  informed  me  that  miladi  would  dispense 
with  my  presence,  and  that  I  was  not  again  to 
present  myself  e?;.  socicte,  until  I  had  received  in- 
structions to  that  effect. 

A  week  before — even  a  day  before — such  a 
message  would  have  made  me  furious ;  now,  I 
received  it  with  perfect  calmness  ;  and  desiring 
that  my  maid  would  replace  the  rival  dresses  in 
my  wardrobe,  I  flung  myself  upon  a  sofa,  and 
to  her,  and  for  the  effect  produced  upon  my  i  was  soon,  to  all  appearance,  deeply  engaged  in 
own  character.  But  this  was  not  to  he.  Lady  the  last  volume  of  Fielding's  Amelia.  I  could 
Madelaine,  who  detested  the  exertion  which  she  see  that  my  unquestioning  resignation  astonish- 
considered  herself  in  this  instance  called  upon  i  ed  both  my  governess  and  my  waiting-woman  ; 
li»  make,  and  who  had  evidently  determined  to  they  exchanged  glances  of  surprise  which  did 
avoid,  if  possible,  all  chance  of  its  recurrence,  i  not  escape  me,  and  which  was  just  what  1  Je- 
had yet  a  few  more  "last  words"  to  deliver;  |  sired  ;  but  they  had  no  sooner  left  me  to  my- 


and  I  was  still  standing  silently  beside  her,  self- 
condemned  and  humbled  in  my  own  eyes,  when 
Felicie,  who  was,  unfortunately  for  herself, 
much  more  intent  upon  the  conversation  that 
was  going  on  about  her,  than  upon  her  own  oc- 
cupation, and  who  had  just  commenced  opera- 
tions on  the  other  side  of  her  lady's  ringlets,  be- 
gan once  more  to  pile  the  glossy  curls  thickly 


self  than  I  laid  aside  the  book,  and  began,  as 
was  now  my  invariable  custom,  to  search  for 
the  explanation  of  my  mother's  conduct.  Task- 
ed myself  why  she,  who  had  been  formerly  so 
blind  to  my  faults,  so  demonstrative  in  her  affec- 
tion, so  indulgent  in  her  rule  when  I  was  a  mere 
mindless  child,  should  suddenly  have  become 
cold,  repelling,  and  even  harsh  in  her  bearing. 


together ;  when  the  taper  fingers  of  the  angry  now  that  I  had  attained  a  more  companionable 
beauty  suddenly  wound  themselves  about  the  :  age,  and  was  more  capable  of  appreciating  kind- 
handle  of  the  brush,  and  wresting  it  from  herlnessi  The  simple  banishment  from  her  imme- 
hand,  flung  it  violently  into  her  face,  whence  it  j  diate  circle  I  could  at  once,  and  without  difii- 
bounded  off,  and  falling  upon  a  table  on  which  culty,  have  attributed  to  her  annoyance  at  my 
stood  a  breakfast  service  of  Nankin  china,  |  presence  during  the  scen.e  of  the  morning,  and 
brought  the  cup  and  saucer  about  to  be  used  by  \  her  anxiety  that  the  impression  should  have 
my  mother  to  the  floor,  where  they  lay  scatter-  time  to  become  fainter  ere  we  again  met.  I 
ed  in  fragments;  at  the  same  instant  when  did  not  waste  a  moment  upon  that  phase  of  the 
Felicie,  with  a  faint  shriek,  raised  her  black  silk  affair.  It  was  the  abrupt,  uncompronrising 
apron  to  her  face,  to  stanch  the  blood  which  dictatorial  tone  which  she  had  assumed  at  that 
was  flowing  from  her  nose.  j  very  interview,  which  struck  me  as  incongru- 

I  remained  for  an  instant  aghast  and  motion-  ous  and  inexplicable.  That  she  had  listened  to 
less,  and  then  I  fear  that,  despite  my  better  rea-  the  complaints  made  against  me,  and  to  the  cir- 
8on,  I  smiled.  I  imagine  that  I  must  have  cumstances  which  had  called  them  forth,  was 
done  so,  for  at  that  very  moment,  as  the  eyes  evident  from  the  spirit  of  her  rebuke  ;  but  that 
of  my  mother  and  my  own  chanced  to  meet,  I  she  should  not  coiidescend  to  make  some  ap- 
saw  a  cloud  gather  upon  her  brow.  Her  little  peal  to  me  individually,  and  thus  enable  me  to 
hand  instinctively  clenched  itself,  and  her  slip-  excuse  or  to  justify  myself,  was  the  great  sub- 
pereu  foot  beat  against  the  floor,  as  she  exclaim-  ject  of  my  bewilderment. 
ed  hurrie-dls  "Leave  the  room.  Miss  Tilden!  Had  I  not  for  years  been  encouraged  and 
Have  you  not  the  good  taste  to  leave  the  room? "  applauded  whenever  I  endeavored  to  imitate 
G 


60 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


her  either  in  air  or  manner?  HaJ  I  not  bpcn 
praisetl  and  petted  when  I  succeeded  in  ai)iii^a 
Hme  or  a  gesture  with  t-utficient  accuracy  to  in- 
sure Its  immediate  recognition]  Mad  she  not 
frequently  chidden  me  for  the  disorder  of  a  stray 
ringlet,  or  the  discomposure  of  a  ruffled  flounce  ! 
Had  I  not  received  repeated  injunctions  not  to 
spread  liie  muscles  of  my  hands,  hy  attempting 
to  grasp  objects  too  large  fur  them,  and  to  be 
careful  to  tread  evenly,  lest  I  should  spoil  the 
turn  of  my  ancle!  Was  not  her  parting  com- 
mand to  Mademoiselle  Josephine  connected  with 
the  preservation  of  my  complexion?  and  were 
not  all  these  cases  so  many  incentives  to  van- 
ity 1  My  reason  answered  "  Yes  ;"  and  I  felt 
that  lierein  at  least  I  was  entitled  to  the  high- 
est coniinendation  for  my  implicit  and  unvary- 
ing obedience. 

I  walked  to  the  glass.     There  could  be  no 
doubt  that  on  this  point  my  mother  had  every 
reason  to  be  satisfied.     Stie  had   given   me  a 
text,  and  I  had  composed  a  whole  volume  upon 
thai  single  sentence.     There  could  be  no  doubt, 
I  say,   upon   the  subject.     I   was  decidedly  a 
beauty,  and  it  was  beauty  of  a  very  high  order. 
1  tried  my  head  in  several  positions,  and  it  came  j 
triumphantly  through  every  ordeal.     I  was  tall, 
too  ;  I  felt  it  was  extremely  probable  that  in  two  j 
years  more  I  should  be  as  tall  as  Lady  Made- 
jaine  herself;  and  in  two  years  I  should  be  six- 1 
teen.    How  many  of  my  most  cherished  heroines 
had  been   fenced  in   by  lovers  at   sixteen  !     1 1 
wondered  whether  this  fact  had  ever  struck  her  ;  , 
she  must  have  known  it,  for  I  learnt  it  from  her  i 
own  books. 

Decidedly  she  could  not  have  been  disap- 1 
pointed  wiih  my  appearance.  Wherein  then  j 
could  lie  the  cause  of  my  disgrace  1  I  was 
satisfied  that  my  masters  would  report  well  of 
my  progress,  one  and  all  ;  and,  indeed,  I  had 
already  afforded  to  Lady  Madelaine  herself  the  , 
opportunity  of  estimating  my  musical  profi- 
ciency. I  had  excite;l  not  only  attention,  but 
even  astonishment.  Here  again  I  was  conse- 
quently blameless.  I  could  find  no  clue  to  the 
enigma. 


CHAPTER  xnr. 

On  one  point  I  was,  at  the  close  of  my  delib- 
erations, absolutely  determined  ;  and  this  was 
to  endure  the  maternal  caprice,  for  simply  as 
such  did  I  consider  it,  in  dignified  sil'-tn-e.  I 
would  not  condescend  to  complain.  I  was  no 
longer  a  child  to  be  chiiiden  without  a  cause. 
In  two  years  I  should  be  sixteen,  and  there 
was  to  me  impunity  and  emancipation  in  the 
very  thought. 

As  I  resolved,  so  I  acted.  That  I  suffered 
deeply  I  will  not  deny  ;  for,  greedy  of  admira- 
tion, and  accustomed  to  indulgence,  I  could 
not  think  of  the  brilliant  circle  collected  in  the 
other  wing  of  the  house,  without  severe  morti- 
fication ;  but  I  sulfeied  in  silence.  I  did  not 
relax  a  tittle  in  my  application  to  the  various 
accomplishments  which  formed  my  duties.  I 
pursued  my  reading  with  the  same  avidity  as 
erer  ;  but  I  was  now  driven  to  the  general 
library,  for  I  dared  no  longer  invade  the  book- 
shelves of  Lady  Madelaine.  I  found,  however, 
on  ample  store  of  fiction  even  there,  although, 
fortunately    for  me,  it  was   of  a  higher  class. 


Still,  I  had  many  unoccupied  moments,  and 
these  were  invariably  employed  in  speculating 
upon  my  mother's  extraordinary  change  of 
feeling  ;  and  in  building  some  very  magnificent 
"  castles  in  the  air,"  of  which  I  was  one  day  to 
become  the  tenant. 

Things  remained  in  this  position  for  a  fort- 
night, at  the  end  of  which  lime  my  father 
arrived  from  town  ;  and  with  this  information 
was  coupled  the  command  of  Lady  Madelaine, 
that  I  should  take  my  coffee,  as  I  h  d  formerly 
done,  in  the  drawing-room.  I  ob(  ,ed  with  the 
same  composure  as  on  the  occasion  of  my 
banishment.  In  vain  did  mademoiselle,  who 
condescended  to  superintend  my  toilet,  en- 
deavor to  elicit  from  me  some  expression  oj 
surprise  or  curiosity;  for,  sllhough  I  studi- 
ously tried  the  patience  both  of  herself  and  my 
attendant,  and  three  times  clianged  my  dre-ss 
when  they  supposed  me  ready  to  join  my 
mother's  guests,  not  a  syllable  did  I  sufler  to 
escape  my  lips  upon  the  subject  which  actually 
engrossetl  my  mind.  At  length  their  toil  was 
over.  I  confessed  myself  satisfied — gave  a 
last  look  at  the  glass — arranged  a  stray  hair — 
and  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  if  not  with 
the  same  feeling,  at  least  with  the  same  ap- 
pearance of  coniposure  as  though  I  had  never 
been  exiled  from  its  gaieties. 

As  I  anticipated,  my  father  was  the  first  who 
greeted  me  on  my  entrance.  Absorbed  by 
public  business,  as  my  mother  had  been  by 
pleasure;  and,  moreover,  with  little  cause  to 
hope  that  my  companionship  would  repay  him 
for  personal  inconvenience,  he  had  never  once 
visited  Roolcsley  during  the  whole  period  of 
her  absence ;  and  I  observed  that  he  appeared 
no  less  struck  hy  the  change  in  my  person  than 
Lady  Madelaine  and  her  friends  had  been  upon 
the  former  occasion  ;  but  his  surprise  was 
evidently  pleasurable.  There  was  a  proud  ex- 
pression in  his  eyes  as  they  lingered  upon  my 
face,  and  a  deep  tenderness  in  the  tone  with 
which  he  addressed  me  ;  nor  was  I  slow  to 
reinark  that,  mingled  with  that  tendeiness, 
there  was  a  courteous  deference  of  manner,  of 
which  a  really  high-bred  man  can  never  divest 
himself  when  conversing  with  a  woman,  but 
whicli  I  had  never  before  observed  in  him  when 
speaking  to  myself. 

The  conviction  gave  me  courage.  "  In  my 
father's  eyes  I  am  no  longer  a  child  !''  I 
whispered  proudly  to  my  own  heart  ;  and, 
after  having  liiigi'red  for  a  moment  at  his  side, 
I  slowly  aijproached  the  lounging-chair  of  Lady 
Madelaine,  without  looking  either  to  the  right 
or  left,  hut  making  my  way  with  all  the  grace 
and  self-possession  of  which  1  was  capable. 
When  I  stood  before  her,  my  mother  gave  me 
a  slight  nod,  and  a  faint  smile,  just  what  would 
have  been  a  graceful  and  becoming  acknowl- 
edgment of  my  propriety  of  bearing.  Lad  we 
only  parted  an  hour  or  two  [jreviously  :  and 
who,  save  myself,  was  aware  that  it  was  iidso  ! 
I  This  ceremony  over,  1  found  my  hand  cl  isped 
}  in  that  of  Miss  Vern(m,  wlio,  drawing  me  aside, 
began  eagerly  to  explain  that  Lady  Madelaine 
had  peremptorily  forbidden  all  invasion  of  the 
school  room,  or  that  she  should  have  shared 
my  solitude  frequently,  very  frequently.  I 
thanked  her  with  ft  beaming  smile  and  a 
hrighteGed  color ;  b\i*.  .t  "rv  not  her  affection 


CXDNFESSIONS  OP  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


51 


we  ad(!ress  which  had  elicited  either  the  one 
or  llie  other.  At  the  very  tiionieiil  that  she 
was  speaking.  1  iiear.l  the  voice  ol"  Sir  James 
Dornioii,  who  exclaimed,  m  an  accent  loud 
t'nougli  to  reach  my  ear — 

•'  Can  It  be  possible  that  the  beautiftil  girl  I 
see  yotidcr  is  M.ss  Tiltlen  !— tiie  little  Evtleen 
of  a  lew  moiiilis  ago  1  Egad,  in  a  year  or  two 
Biy  Lady  Madelaiiie  hersell'  must  look  to  her 
laurels." 

I  ha<l  never  thought  the  fastidious  baronet 
half  so  agreeable  ;  and  was  glad  wben  lie  soon 
afterward  approa-ched  nie,  and  I  found  that  he 
had  just  arrived  from  town  witli  my  father. 

"  We  traveled  ««  tiers,  Miss'rilden.'Mie  said, 
affecting  inlciise  disgust;  "which  is  what  no 
one  siiould  do  who  is  not  prepared  to  risk  all 
the  conse<iiiences,  however  fatal  ;  and  this 
alarming  (act  I  considerately  laid  before  youi 
senatorial  |>apa  ;  but  lie  gave  no  heed  to  my 
remonstrance  ;  and  accordingly,  after  we  had 
each  possessed  ourselves  of  a  corner  of  the 
chariot,  the  process  was  complcleu  by  the  appli- 
cation ()•!  a  human  wedge  in  the  shape  of  ihal  tall 
young  gentleman,  wlio  is  now  louivging  against 
the  maritle-piece.and staring  most  impertinently 
Hit'  (he  face  of  a  young  lady  with  whom  I  have 
Uit-  honor  of  being  in  conversation." 

1  instinctively  iooketl  in  tlie  diiecti(m  which 
hi  indicated  ;  and  as  I  did  so,  even  raiiidly  as 
-lie  withdrew  his  gaze,  my  eyes  met  those  of 
the  stranger  lor  an  instant  1  bad  never  be- 
fore seen  such  eyes  ;  so  large,  so  dark,  and  so 
soft  in  I  heir  expression,  'full,  and  slight,  but 
with  an  air  of  fashion,  and  a  gracefulness  of 
attitude  which  appeared  to  realise  all  the  nii)ied 
perlectum  of  the  heroes  of  my  imagination,  I 
saw  at  the  first  glance  that  the  new  guest  was 
a  mere  stri|)ling  ;  hut  I  dared  not  pursue  my 
scrutiny:  and  the  pause  was  consequently  biief, 
which  I  terminated  by  inquiring  his  identity. 

"  That  very  fortunate  young  gentleman," 
said  Sir  James,  "is  the  only  child  of  your 
mother's  pet  friend.  Lady  Devereux — que  voild, 
showing  her  pretty  foot  to  the  insensible 
Frederic  Vernon — and  he  is  consequently  the 
sole  heir  of  Sir  Herbert,  who.  1  have  been  con- 
fidently assured,  loves  him  almost  as  well  as 
(lis  favorite  hunter.  Think  of  that,  Miss  Til- 
lien  I  and  emulate  his  perfections.  The  jolt 
faj-^on  hasjiist  left  college;  and  as  his  lady- 
mother  is  of  opinion  that  black  and  scarlet 
Wend  very  harmoniously,  she  has  coaxed  bis 
onwilling  papa — whose  principal  study  is,  as 
you  are  prolsably  aware,  how  to  do  the  least 
possible  good  in  the  longest  possible  time  :  or, 
oerbaps,  1  should  rather  say,  to  live  out  his  life 
vithout  dx;ing  anything— to  allow  her  darling 
to  go  inio  tiie  Guards;  and,  such  as  you  see 
him,  be  is  actually  and  l.'ona  fide,  at  this  mo- 
nient,  one  of  the  defenders  of  his  country,  and 
has  run  down  to  Rooksley  to  '  kiss  hands'  on 
t!ie  momentous  occasion." 

"  He  appears  to  be  very  young,"  I  hazarded 
IB  reply. 

"  He  completed  his  seventeenth  year  a  day 
01  two  since  ;  but  you  must  venture  no  remark 
upon  his  juvenility  ;  horse-guardsmen  of  that 
age  being  wonderlully  punctilious  on  the  matter 
of  their  manliness." 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  when  my 
fethir,  followed  t^  ^cang  Devereux,  advanced 


to  the  sofa,  upon  which  we  wore  sealed,  when 
the  subjectof  our  conversation  was  made  know.q 
to  me;  and  Sir  Jamts,  with  a  saicastic  ceio- 
mony,  for  which  at  the  moment  I  deiested  liirrj, 
rose,  and  resigned  his  place  beside  me  to  the 
stranger,  who,  however,  possessed  himself  of  it 
with  a  composure  and  good  faith  which  soon 
restored  my  complacency. 

I  felt  as  though  I  [;?w  saw  one  of  my  favor- 
ite novels  in  action,  and  that  I  was  to  becomu 
the  heroine  of  a  plot  full  of  romance  and  inter- 
est. I  required  no  prompting  to  teach  me  thai 
he  admired  my  person  ;  and  I  had  been  too 
long  prepared  lor  a  similar  event,  to  be  found 
wanting  in  the  attempt  to  display  my  perfections 
in  the  most  favorable  light.  1  closed  my  eyes 
languidly,  after  the  fashion  of  my  mother;  and 
wben  the  long  lashes  bad  produced  their  cflecl, 
I  raised  them  suddenly  to  the  face  of  my  com- 
panion, only  to  avert  them  in  the  same  haste. 
.My  triumph  was  great  as  I  remarked  his  grow- 
ing interest.  He  was  evidently  '.visuspicious  of 
artifice  ;  and  as  all  my  mother  s  lady-guests 
were  absorbed  in  their  own  peculiar  partialities 
and  avocati(ms,  no  comment  was  made  upon  the 
factof  our  continuinginconveisation  throughout 
the  evening,  and  parting  only  when  mademoi- 
selle entered  to  reclaim  what  she  was  pleased 
to  call  her  pupil. 

As  my  father's  public  duties  would  not  permit 
of  bis  leinaining  long  absent  from  town,  it  was 
intimated  to  me,  that,  with  the  exception  of 
those  hours  which  were  habitually  dedicated  to 
my  several  masters,  my  time  and  movements 
were  at  my  own  disposal.  I  had  suddenly  at- 
tained to  happiness  I  I  was  free  to  come  and 
to  go.  I  was  beloved — this,  above  all,  was  the 
thought  which  gave  a  new  charm  lo  my  exist- 
ence ;  nor  did  i  suffer  mysell  to  doubt  iliai  ic 
must  he  so.  It  is  true  that  at  the  cud  of  a 
week  I  began  to  have  some  misgivings  of  the 
progress  of  tlie  devoted  attachment  ol  which  I 
was  resolved  to  become  the  object.  Engrossed 
by  my  own  vanity,  the  idea  of  the  conquest  whicli 
J  bad  made  was  ever  present  to  me  ;  nor  could 
I  force  myself  to  feel  an  interest  in  any  othei 
subject.  I  did  not  reflect  that  it  was  lar  other- 
wise with  young  Devereux.  He  might  admire 
me  as  a  pretty  girl,  and  find  a  pleasure  in  con- 
versing with  one  who  treated  his  sentimenisauJ 
attentions  with  respect;  but  he  had  aUo  other 
contemplations  even  more  agreeable.  He  bad 
justescaped  the  trammelsof  college. and  taken  a 
decided  and  honorable  position  in  society.  Diight 
visions  of  the  future  mingled,  therefore,  with  his 
enjoyment  of  ttie  present;  and  it  is  probable  that 
long  after  I  argued  myself  into  the  belief  that  I 
held  {lis  happiness  in  my  hands,  the  placid  rev- 
eries in  which  he  loved  to  indulge  wen;  fi'.Il  of 
gold  lace  and  tborougb-bied  cbar.ije.-o,  instead 
of  bright  eyes  and  weil-turned  atikles. 

This  coldness  did  noi,  however,  longcontinua. 
He  was  dazzled  by  tlu;  showiness  of  my  accom- 
plishments, flattered  by  the  pltasure  which  I 
did  not  attempt  to  conceal  when  we  met,  and 
surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  redolent  of  gal- 
lantry and  dissipaMon.  Nevertheless,  Herbert 
Devereux  was  a  greater  novice  than  myself  lu 
the  language  of  admiration.  Timid,  wholly 
unconscious  of  his  personal  advantages,  anil 
deeply  imbued  with  respect  for  the  sex,  he  was 
guarded  in  every  word  and  look.     He  lived  in 


58  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 

perpetual  fear  of  offending,  and  took  alarm,  '  workmanship.  The  Glenfillan  arms,  her  own 
more  than  once,  at  the  very  jueans  whicli  I  ,  cipher,  and  other  appropriate  ornaments,  were 
adopted  to  give  him  confidence.  Time  and  wrouglil  upon  it,  with  a  delicacy  and  finish 
opportunity,  however,  were  my  hest  allies.  My  which  rendered  it  of  extreme  .value,  especially 
lather  returned  to  town,  leaving  the  young  to  Lady  Madelaine  herself 
solflier  quietly  domesticated  under  his  roof:  This  fan  she  one  evening  chanced  to  mislay, 
and  thus  the  only  watchful  and  wary  eye  which  nor  could  any  of  the  servants  succeed  in  find- 
might  have  delected  our  childish  folly  was  with-  j  ing  it.  A  search  hy  the  guests  ensued  the  fol- 
drawn.  ;  lowing  morning,  after  luncheon ;  and  while  each 

Sir  James  Dornton  was  the  first  person  who  was  engaged  in  disarranging  some  article  of 
directed  aitentioii  to  the  precocious  flirtation  in  furniture  in  the  saloon,  under  the  plea  of  seek- 
winch  we  were  engaged;  but  as  he  did  so  in  ing  for  the  lost  fan,  I  passed  on  into  the  octa- 
iiierry  mockery  rather  than  in  prudent  warning,  gon-room,  followed  by  Herbert  Devereux. 
it  was  acknowledged  only  to  become  the  new  As  I  was  really  anxious  lor  the  recovery  of 
amuseiiienl  of  the  circle.  They  even  jested  the  pretty  toy,  I  did  not  remark  the  circum- 
with  us  on  the  subject.  They  were  wrong.  |  stance ;  but  approaching  a  sofa  which  stood  in 
Tiiese  boy  and  girl  attachments  frequently  lead  a  recess,  I  at  once  began  to  displace  the  cush- 
lo  more  serious  results  than  is  imagined  by  j  ions,  when  I  suddenly  felt  an  arm  folded  about 

my  waist,  and  a  warm  lip  pressed  to  my  cheek. 
I  started,  and  turned  round.  My  woman- 
instinct  had  at  once  told  me  who  was  the 
aggressor  ;  but  I  had  no  time  to  chide,  for  in  the 
doorway  also  stood  my  mother,  with  her  dark 
that  even  her  only  son  would  have  had  some  and  angry  eyes  riveted  upon  us. 
difficulty  in  making  a  more  judicious  mar-  j  Herbert  drew  back  in  evident  consternation 
riage,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view.     So,  while 


those  who  look  on  them  in  sport. 

Lady  Devereux  alone  never  appeared  to  re- 
liiark  our  growing  fancy.  It  was  her  policy  to 
affect  perfect  indifference  and  contempt  of  so 
extremely  improliable"  an  idea.      It  is  certain 


..ord  Otterford  jested  with  my  mother  upon  the 
prepossession  of  his  young  cousin,  and  revolted 
against  the  threat  of  my  renewed  banishment 
from  the  drawing-room,  Lady  Devereux  pursued 
the  even  tenor  of  her  way,  leaving  events  to 
dl^|H)se  of  litemselves. 

iMy  mother,  always  self-absorbed,  and  unwil- 
ling to  contend  with  her  devoted  admirer  upon 
80  very  immaterial  a  subject,  left  us  in  peace, 
and  soon  ceased  altogether  to  remark  our  pro- 
ceedings. Many  romantic  hours  did  we  spend 
upon  the  lake  ;  across  which  Herbert  Devereux 


— it  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  dared  so 
much,  and  he  was  cowed  at  the  etfects  of  his 
audacity.  My  own  heart  beat  violently,  and  I 
felt  the  hot  blood  mantling  over  my  brow  ;  but 
1  stood  my  ground.  Tlie  after-conduct  of  my 
mother,  however,  for  a  time  humbled  and  dis- 
concerted me.  She  softly  closed  the  door  be- 
hind her,  and  pushed  the  boll ;  and,  this  done, 
she  seated  herself  haughtily  upon  the  sofa,  and 
turned  towards  young  Devereux,  who  support- 
ed himself,  as  he  stood,  against  a  chair. 

"  I  have  intruded  upon  you  at  an  unfortunate 
moment.  Mi.  Devereux,"  siie  said  coldly  ;  "  but 


used  to  row  until  the  boat  was  fairly  hidden  you  must  pardon  me.-  This  child  is  my  daugh- 
among  the  willow-boughs  which  fringed  the  |  ter,  and  with  her  I  shall  know  how  to  deak 
island  that  intervened  between  them  and  the  With  regard  to  yourself,  you  must  pardon  me 
house.  Here,  with  one  of  my  favorite  books,  '  once  more,  if  I  say  that  you  had  better,  without 
all  which  were  new  to  my  companion,  or  with  more  delay,  enter  upon  your  military  duties." 
riiy  guitar,  which  he  played  to  admiration,  we  I  "Miss  Tilden  is  blameless,  madam — "  com- 
s;(eiit  lonjz  hours,  during  the  riding  excursions    : 


"ig 


menced  the  agitated  young  man,  hurriedly. 

"  Of  course  she  is — she  is  my  daughter,  sir," 
interrupted  Lady  Madelaine,  in  the  same  tone 
of  forced  composure  as  before  ;  "  she  has  not 
yet  escaped  from  the  nursery,  and  is  conse- 
quently quite  unable  to  take  care  of  herself  I 
will  henceforth  be  cautious  that  she  shall  not 
mere  girl ;  nor  did  \,  on  my  side,  pause  to  re-  \  require  to  .do  so.  The  mail  passes  through 
member  the  fact.  My  day-dre,uu  was  accom-  Rooksley  to-night ;  and  perhaps  you  would  novr 
plished.  I  stood  on  the  same  level  with  my  like  to  go,  and  take  leave  of  your  mother." 
mother ;  and  when  the  elegant  stripling  raised  '  Devereux  was  thuniierstiuck.  He  made  an- 
my  hand  to  his  lips,  and  prayed  me  to  pardon    other  attempt  to  obtain  a  hearing;  but  Ladv 


of  Lady  Madelame's  party ;  while  the  park 
afforded  walks  sufficiently  secluded  to  satisfy 
even  my  exacting  spirit  of  romance.  At  length 
Herbert  told  me  that  he  loved  me.  Tall  in 
stature,  and  perfectly  self  possessed  in  man- 
ner, he  had  soon  forgotten  tliat  I   was  still  a 


the  avowal.  I  was  violent iy  anilated.  It  was 
the  first  great  triumph  of  my  vanity,  and  I  felt 
as  though  earth  could  thereafter  hold  no  evil 
destiny  for  me. 

My  emotion  gave  me  new  charms  in  the  eyes 
of  my  young  admirer.     He  was  too  unworldly 
^uspect  Its  source  ;  nor  was  it  a  confidence 


Madelaine  was  inexorable. 

"  Enough,  enough,"  she  said  impetuously ; 
•'you  to  your  parade-ground,  and  this  child  to 
her  school-room.     All  argument  is  useless." 

Overpowered  by  her  manner,  Herbert  bowed 
profoundly,  turned  one  long,  supplicating  look 
toward  me,  as  though  to  crave  my  pardon  for 


which  I  felt  called  upon  to  make  ;  but  from  that    the  displeasure  which  he  had  brought  upon  me, 
hour  I  vvas  conscious  of  my  power,  and  resolved    and  shooting  hack  the  holt,  slowly  left  the  room. 


to  exert  it. 

An  incident  which  shortly  afterward  occur- 
red, nevertheless,  changed  materially,  not  only 
my  ftiellnga  oi  self-reliance,  but  the  actual  tenor 
of  my  life. 

Lady  Madelaine  had  received  from  a  friend 
iu  India  a  fan  of  carved  ivory  of  magnificent 


You  have  commenced  early,  Miss  Tilden," 
was  the  sarcastic  observation  of  my  mother, 
when  he  had  disappeared;  "your  education 
has  indeed  progressed  far  beyond  my  expecta- 
tions, and  you  are  likely  to  do  honor  to  your 
father's  name.  These  are  then  the  creditable 
results  of  the  vanity  which  I  sought  in  vain  to 


CONFESSIOxVS  OF  A  PRET  FY  WOMAN. 


5S 


cdrtt '  Do  you  not  remember  how  seriously  I 
exposuilateJ  vvitli  you  upon  Uiis  subject  not  a 
uiuiUli  suice  !"' 

"  I  do,  madam,"  I  replied,  witli  a  courage 
which  it  astonishes  me  even  now  to  look  back 
upon.  "Your  ladyship  rebuked  me,  both  for 
my  vanity  and  for  my  violence.  I  am  not  likely 
to  forget  the  circumstance  ;  nor,  from  my  own 
experience,  to  doubt  the  correctness  of  the  Ital- 
ian proverb,  which  says,  '  Come  canta  il  capal- 
lano,  cose  rcspundc  il  sacristan.'  " 

"  Ha !  you  attempt  also  to  speak  in  epigrams," 
exclaimed  Lady  Madelaine,  intensely  provoked ; 
'truly  you  are  a  precocious  young  lady,  and 
cannot  fail  to  be  one  day  a  credit  to  your  fam- 
ily !  Ho'w  long,  may  I  venture  to  inquire,  have 
these  familiarities  been  permitted  between  your- 
self and  Mr.  Devereux  |"' 

I  was  silent. 

"  It  is  not  your  pleasure  to  satisfy  me  upon 
this  point.  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  shall  at 
least  know  when  they  terminated  forever. 
And  now,  listen  to  me,  Miss  Tilden.  I  have, 
as  you  are  aware,  lately  purchased  a  villa  upon 
the  Thames.  Thither  I  shall  remove,  with  my 
guests,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days.  You  will 
remain  here  ;  not  under  the  guidance  of  a  weak 
and  too  indulgent  governess,  but  under  strict 
and  siringent  guardianship.  I  have  conde- 
scended to  explain  this,  because  I  shall  never  , 
again  permit  myself  to  hold  any  conversation 
with  you  on  the  subject." 

"And  my  father — "I  asked  proudly;  "is 
your  ladyship  well  assured  that  he  will  sanc- 
tion the  imprisonment  of  a  daughter  whom  he 
love.-!" 

"Tlie  experiment  shall  be  tried,"  answered 
my  mother  coldly.  "  I  am,  at  all  events,  well 
provided  with  reasons  for  tlie  step  which  I  am  i 
about  to  take  ;  nor  do  1  believe  that  .Mr.  Tilden  j 
will  be  insensible  to  the  disgrace  which  has  I 
already  been  brought  upon  him  by  your  levity." 

'.'  Disgrace  !"  I  exclaimed  recklessly;  "  I  deny 
that  1  have  in  any  way  disgraced  my  father. 
My  fault,  if  fault  it  be,  was  involuntary.  I  was 
not  even  aware  of  Mr.  Devereux's  presence. 
I  will  not  be  denounced  to  my  father  as  having! 
forgotten  the  respect  I  owe  to  myself." 

"You  will  not.  Miss  Tilden  T' 

"  I  will  not,  madam.  It  was  the  first  occa- 
sion upon  which  Lady  .Devereux's  son  had 
done  more  than  kiss  my  hand.  I  trust  that  he 
did  not  err  in  so  mere  a  triUe  as  that  salutation, 
and  that  I  am  not  to  biame  in  having  permitted 
it.  Stunild  it  be  otherwise,  your  ladyship  will ! 
forgive  me  if  I  once  more  recall  the  Italian 
proverb." 

For  the  moment,  I  knew  that  my  mother  was  | 
in  my  power  ;  there  was  no  escape  from  the  \ 
room,  as  1  have  before  mentioned,  save  through 
the  saloon  in  which  the  guests  were  now  as-  ! 
sembled  ;  nor  did  she  dare  to  raise  her  voice,  \ 
lest  the  sounds  of  altercation  should  attract 
their  notice  ;  and  it  was  doubtlessly  the  knowl-  j 
edge  that  such  was  the  case  which  inspired 
ine  With  a*  temporary  daring,  ill-suited  alike  to 
my  age  and  to  our  relative  position. 

For  a  brief  interval,  Lady  .Madelaine  exhibit- 
ed, however,  no  inclination  to  reply.  She  was 
petrified  by  my  insolence.  She  little  knew  or 
guessed  the  education  which  her  own  neglect 
and  baneful  example  had  combined   to   work 


out,  in  a  nature  as  confident  and  as  self-wiiled 
as  her  own.  1  feared  her  still ;  but,  girl  as  I 
was,  I  had  almost  ceased  to  respect  her.  I 
was  aware  of  her  power ;  but  I  was  also  quit*" 
as  cognizant  of  her  weakness. 

"This  to  me!"  she  at  length  gasped  out, 
with  an  eye  that  flamed  with  indignant  anger, 
and  in  a  suppressed 'voice  which  vainly  strug 
gled  to  be  calm  ;  '•  is  this  the  return  whic!i  you 
make  for  my  indulgence  ^  Eveleen,  Eveleen,  I 
never  anticipated  this.  Do  you  presume  to 
measure  your  own  conduct — the  conduct  of  a 
mere  child — by  that  of  those  about  you  1  It  is 
indeed  time  that  the  viper  should  be  crushed 
I  shall  waste  no  more  words  ;  you  are  unwor 
thy  of  them.     Follow  me." 

She  rose,  drew  up  her  stately  figure  to  its 
full  height,  and  disappeared  into  the  saloon, 
lea  ing  the  door  of  communication  open.  I 
stood  (or  an  instant  irresolute.  My  pride  re- 
volted at  the  possibility  of  being  subjected  to 
the  ridicule  of  the  assembled  guests,  should 
my  mother  deem  it  expedient  to  betray  the  un- 
guarded action  of  Herbert ;  while  I  shrank  with 
almost  equal  repugnance  I'rom  the  idea  that  I 
might  be  dismissed  to  my  room  like  a  chidden 
child,  after  having  played  the  part  of  a  woman 
before  her  circle.  Suddenly  a  thought  flashed 
upon  me — Tlie  window,  which  was  pierced 
nearly  to  the  ground,  stood  invitingly  open.  I 
laid  my  hand  upon  the  frame,  and  sprang  out. 
The  sounds  of  laughter  reached  me  from  the 
drawing-room  ;  and  my  brow  burnt  as  I  figured 
to  myself  that  I  was,  in  all  probability,  the  ob- 
ject of  the  ridicule.  I,  so  proud,  so  vain,  and 
so  self-centred. — The  pang  was  terrible  !  For~ 
a  time  I  had  not  courage  to  escape  from  the 
odious  merriment,  but  supported  mysell' against 
the  wall  of  the  house,  and  listened  with  an  in- 
tensity which  seemed  to  absorb  all  the  faculties 
of  my  being;  this  state  of  emotion  was,  how- 
ever, too  violent  to  last.  I  had  already  main^ 
tained  a  severe  struggle  with  myself,  in  order 
to  preserve  an  appearance  of  composure  before 
my  mother;  and  this  last  trial  was  almost 
more  than  I  could  support.  After  a  short 
pause,  therefore,  1  rushed  away  into  the  wood 
which  skirted  the  lawn,  where  1  was  alone 
with  itiy  own  feelings,  with  no  eye  upon  me; 
and  where  the  voice  of  ridicule  and  sarcasm 
could  not  meet  my  ear. 

I  threw  myself  down  under  a  treC:  and  tried 
to  think  ;  but  I  could  not.  Every  pu^e  throb- 
bed almost  to  bursting,  and  the  pain  in  my  head 
was  intolerable.  I  clasped  my  forehead  with 
my  spread  hands,  and  wept — tears  of  passion- 
ate energy,  such  as  were  ill-suited  to  my  years. 
1  felt  that  I  had  been  harshly  used — that  I  liad 
been  rebuked  for  errors  similar  to  those  which 
were  hourly  passing  before  my  eyes — that  all 
opportunity  of  justification  had  been  coldly  de- 
nied to  me.  I  experienced  no  remorse  for  tlie 
mortification  vv'luch  I  had  entailed  upon  my 
mother  ;  but  rather,  on  the  contrary,  believed 
myself  worthy  of  praise,  for  the  generous  for- 
bearance which  had  induced  me  to  conceal 
fronn  her  the  interview  of  Emily  Vernon  and 
Lord  Olterford  on  the  very  spot  which  she  had 
so  lately  occupied  as  an  inexorable  judge.  I  un 
derstood  her  suflficiently  to  know  that  by  such 
a  revelation  she  would  have  been  humbled  ta 
the  jjust,  however  successfully  she  mi;;ht  have 


64  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 

struggled  to  conceal  il.  I  might  have  done  used  as  a  blind  for  his  oocasinnii)  insotenee  t» 
IhisrJiiui  did  not  ;  ami  by  a  strange  anuinaly  ot  those  around  liun  ;  giClfd  vmiIi  exiraordiniiry 
feelintf,  prrleei'.y  incoiTiprehensible  lc«  inysc'lf,  I  llm-ncy,  and  a  reieniive  inenmry  ;  pnliie  anJ 
rejoiced  that  il  was  so.  It  was  Uie  one  con-  fascinating  in  ins  nime  amiable  in..n)enis  ;  iin- 
Bolalory  point  of  my  relleclions.  when  at  len;zih  coii.proaiising  and  decided  m  iliose  of  greaU 
I  was  cnahied  to  reflect;  and  t'hc  cool  night-  er  importance,  and  singularly  handsome.  Sir 
air  and  the  deep  stillness  had,  ere  long,  so  James  Domion  was  ilio  tn/a«i  <:/?«(»  of  his  set ; 
benelicial  an  efTect  upon  my  nerves,  that  I  a  welcome  visitor  to  the  gay  and  the  idle ;  and 
arose  in  a  state  of  comparative  calm;  and,  celebrated  among  the  dissipated  as  a  «(j/c/i/«n,i 
slowly  retracing  my  steps  to  the  house,  pro-  — which  means,  that  in  keeping  his  own  secrrls, 
ceedud  at  once  °to  my  own  room  ;  where,  ring- 1  which  he  was  always  clever  enough  to  do,  he 
ing  for  my  maid,  I  retired  immediately  to  rest,  at  the  saii>e  lime  kepi  theirs.  There  can  he  no 
(jirthe  plea  of  sudden  indisposition.  !  doubt  that  there  is  a  certain  degree  of  talent  m 

Did  I  say  to  rest  !     It  was  a  mere  profana-  ,  being  al)le  to  do  this, 
lion  of  the  word.     I  could  not  close  my  eyes;  '      1  need  scarcely  say,  that  this  is  not  the  por- 
and  now  that  I  had  in  a  great  degree  overcome    trail  vvliich  1  should  have  drawn  of  the  baronet 
the  effects  of  my  interview  with  my  mother,    at   fourteen  ;  it   is  the    production   of  a  more 
my  thoughts  reverted  to  Herbert ;  and  a  burn-  ;  practiced  and  familiar  pencil, 
ing  blush  overspread  my  cheeks  as  I  remein-        And  now — revcnons  a  n«s  mrmlons. 
bered  tiiat  I  had  been  treated  in  his  presence  |      My  reverie  was  long  and  earnest ;  but  I  still 
as  a  froward  child,  who  needed  chastisement,  .failed  to  discover   the  actual    moiives  of  my 
He  was  about  to  depart,  too;  to  mingle  with    nioihrr's  conduct;  and  I  consei|uenlIy,  alter  a 
the  world  of  which  1  believed  and  feared  that ;  considerable  time,  turned  fmm  the  speculative 
lie  would  soon  become  the  idol ;  he  might  for- 1  to   the  actual  position  wluch  I  now  occupied, 
yet  me,  or  remember  me  ere  long  only  in  the    I  was  once  more  to  be  abandoned  to  the  soj.i- 
odioiis  character  which   it   had   pleased  Lady    tude  of  llooksley.     The  tirsi  use  lo  which  I.ady 
Madelaine  to  attribute   to  me;  and  this  was    iMadeiaine  proposed  to  convert  her  river  villa, 
the  most  bitter  thought  of  all.  j  was  that  of  ridding  her  of  the  obtrusive  presence 

I  found  some  consolation,  however,  in  dwell-  of  a  daugliler  who  had  gradually  become  dis- 
ing  upon  the  changed  manner  of  all  the  men  tasteful  to  her.  .Mademoiselle  Josephine  was 
who  formed  my  mother's  circle.  They,  at  to  be  discarded  from  the  school-room.  This, 
least,  it  was  suliicicntly  evident,  had  ceased  to  at  least,  was  a  relief;  it  was  the  only  pout  of 
regard  me  in  the  same  light  as  Lady  Madelaine.  light  in  the  picture.  The  Frenchwoman  was 
Foremost  among  those  who  had  admitted  my  peculiarly  disagreeable  to  me — she  was  the 
claim  to  be  otherwise  considered  was  Sir  James  most  contemptible  of  all  things—a  cipher;  a 
Dornioii ;  and  I  did  not  seek  to  restrain  a  feel-  creature  at  once  aimless  and  heartless,  whorD 
ing  of  triumpii  wiien  1  remembered  this,  j  it  was  a  waste  of  feeling  even  to  despise  ;  and 

Perhaps  I  could  not  choose  a  more  fitting  I  very  soon  saiislied  myself  thai  I  should  cmi- 
place  in  which  to  describe  the  said  baronet ;  nently  prefer  the  '•  strict  and  stringent  guardi- 
who  plaved  so  promment  a  part  in  the  history  anship,"  with  which  I  was  thrcaiened,  let  i» 
of  mv  aUer-life.that  it  is  necessary  to  introduce   come  in  what  shape  it  might.     My  present    " 


him  lormally  to  the  reader. 


piled  subserviency  to  a  discarded  lady's-maid 
was  ignoble ;  there  would  be  some  glory,  at 
least,  in  conieniion,  if  contend  I  must,  agains* 
a  superior  intellect,  and  a  less  equivocal   au- 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
Sir  James  DoRNTo.N,one  of  the  most  impor-  thoriiy. 
tant  pcr.>on3  in  my  history,  was  of  a  lamily  ,  I  can  look  back  now  upon  this  haughty  reas- 
more  ancient  than  illustrious.  His  fortune  was  oning  with  a  smile,  when  I  remember  the 
greatly  inferior  to  his  ambition  ;  and  he  valued  result  ;  but  at  the  time  il  afforded  my  only  con- 
money,  as  those  universally  do  value  it  whose  j  eolation. 

liabits  of  personal  luxury  bear  no  proportion  to  The  threat  of  Lady  Madelaine  was  by  no 
the  capability  of  its  indulgence.  I  need  scarcely  j  means  an  idle  one.  Her  removal  to  Putney 
remark,  however,  that  this  undignilied  passion  ,  followed  wuhiri  a  month;  and  llooksley  was 
was  carclully  concealed.  Sir  James  was  as  j  bereft  of  many  of  its  more  costly  ornaments  for 
proud  as  he  was  poor.  He  was  one  of  those  |  ihe  decoration  of  the  new  villa.  Nor  was  this 
men  of  fashion,  some  of  whom  are  encountered  ,  all.  There  were  signs,  impossible  to  be  mis 
every  day,  who  have  the  tact  of  passing  off :  understood,  which  convince<l  me.  witlmut  a  hint 
their  counterfeit  ascurrent  coin,  wiilioul  sulfer-  I  (lom  others,  that  she  did  not  Uudi  forward  to  a 
ing  the  penalty  of  the  law  for  their  social  forgery,  speedy  return.  So  nmch,  indeed,  was  ihme,  oi 
Nature  had  done  everything  for  him  physically,  1  rather  undone,  that  the  mansion  ere  long  as 
but  had  been  extremely  economical  in  her  i  sumed  the  apjiearance  of  a  religious  house, 
dowry  of  virtue.  He  was  tall  and  graceful  ;  rather  than  11. e  abode  of  luxury  whicli  it  had 
with  a  fine  and  expressive  countenance  ;  re-  lately  been.  I  confess  that  this  fact  wounded 
maikably  quick  at  repartee;  and,  like  all  per-  me  deeply.  The  elegances  by  which  1  had  been 
sons  who  care  not,  when  they  launch  their  surrounded  from  my  childhood  had  become 
arrows,  whom  they  may  ultimately  wound,  so  necessary  to  oie.  I  worshiped  the  graceful 
long  as  their  flight  attracts  attention,  he  passed  and  the  beautiful.  They  were  essential  to  my 
for  a  man  of  wit.  Peeling  he  had  none,  save  comloit.  My  mother  was  already  revenged  ! 
for  his  own  comfort  and  convenience  ;  and  his  ,  How  often  did  I  laugh  in  the  hitierness  of  my 
principle  was  as  accommodating  as  his  senli-  spirit,  as  I  walked  hurriedly  about  the  nobla 
nipnt.  Afliecting  a  hyper-fastidiousness  which  |  park,  seeking  in  violent  exertion  to  still  the  un 
exonerated   himself  from   criticism,   and   was  i  comfortable  feelings  by  whicli  I  was  haunted. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


6» 


wftei  I  rememViercd  that  here  at  least  Lady 
Mailelaine  had  been  unable  to  separate  me  from  ; 
llie  liivelmess  I  so  mucli  prized.  My  lai'ier's 
apartments  alone  remained  iniact.  The  genius  , 
of  desolation  had  not  invaded  their  precincts  ;  ! 
and  there  I  consequently  spent  a  great  portion  i 
of  my  time.  | 

As  the  idea  of  my  mother  was  always  painful 
to  me,  ])resent  itself  in  what  shape  it  might,  I 
began  to  lurn  with  more  interest  than  I  had 
ever  hitlierto  felt,  to  that  of  my  father  ;  and  to 
examine  careluUy  and  earnestly  every  object 
which  could  allbrd  an  insight  into  his  hal)its 
and  feelings.  The  more  I  studied  the  subject, 
the  more  I  recalled  his  early  caresses,  his  sub-  1 
dued  tones,  his  tender  indulgence  ;  and  coupled 
with  these  tlie  many  evidences  of  his  fine  taste 
and  cultivated  mind  by  which  I  was  now  sur- 
rounded, the  more  deeply  I  felt  that  I  had  never  i 
returned  his  affection  as  I  ought.  I  had  just  | 
discovered  the  delight  of  being  beloved;  and 
Iherefoie  I,  for  tlie  first  time,  rightly  unde.r- 
stood  the  bitter  feelings  with  which  he  must 
have  seen  his  tenderness  rejected.  This  con- 
viction carried  me  far,  very  far;  for  I  instinc- 
tively traveled  from  my  own  vvant  of  sympathy  \ 
:o  that  of  my  mother.  Et  lu.  Brute !  was  the  } 
aspiration  of  my  heart.  Yes — it  was  even  so  ■ 
— tlie  wife  of  his  bosom  did  not  appreciate  his 
worth.  The  holy  shrine  of  home,  which  should 
have  been  wreathed  with  blossoms,  was  heaped 
with  ice  ;  and  the  only  garlands  by  which  it  | 
was  rendered  attractive  were  beaten  out  of  cold 
and  sordid  gold.  | 

Involuntarily  my  thoughts  glanced  towards 
Otterford  ;  and  my  breath  came  thick  as  I  re- 
membered that  his  bland  hypocrisy  and  unmean- 
ing gallantries  had  turned  away  the  eyes  and 
heart  of  my  mother  from  the  higher  and  more 
noble  qualities  of  the  man  on  whom  she  had  be-  | 
stowed  her  hand.  [ 

Amid  these  uneasy  and  conflicting  reveries 
time  wore  slowly  on.  Despite  the  new  rule  to  j 
which  I  had  been  informed  that  I  was  about  to 
become  subject,  no  alteration  had  as  yet  been 
made  in  the  household,  with  the  sole  exception 
that  Mademoiselle  Josephine  had  laid  aside  even 
the  affectation  of  supremacy,  and  had  quietly  de- 
generated into  a  sullen  and  very  inexpert  at-  j 
tendant  ;  wliile  I  could  trace  an  expression  of 
triumph  in  the  manner  of  the  bustling  Mrs.  j 
Harris,  in  our  occasional  encounters,  evidently  ! 
intended  to  provoke  inquiry.  Such  condescen- 
sion was,  however,  foreign  to  my  character. 
Lady  Madelaine  had  made  the  communications 
which  she  deemed  expedient,  and  I  neither 
sought  nor  cared  for  any  others. 

Of  iiiv  own  fate  I  was  still  comparatively  care- 
kss — my  leading  anxiety  was  my  present  posi- 
tion with  Herbert  Devereux.  Could  I  have 
been  I'ully  assured  of  the  continuance  of  his 
affection,  I  might  have  put  even  my  mortified 
vanity  to  rest.  Had  we  been  separated  with 
some  degree  of  delicacy  and  consideration,  I 
might,  at  least,  have  looked  back  in  calm  and 
dignified  sorrow  to  our  parting ;  but  now  its 
memory  rev(dted  me.  I  had  been  placed  in  a 
position  for  which  the  whole  course  of  my  ex- 
tensive reading  olFercd  no  precedent.  l"  had  ! 
been  humbled  in  the  eyes  of  my  first  lover  ! —  j 
anti,  let  those  laugh  who  list,  this  was  no  slight  i 
tnal  to  a-  budding  beauty,  looking  forward  to  | 


her  fifteenth  year.  When  not  overwhelmed  by 
this  recollection,  I  occupied  myself  in  specula- 
ting upon  the  possible  renewal  of  my  fiilher'a 
affection.  I  was  more  conscious,  day  by  day, 
of  the  value  of  the  friend  whom  I  had  lost ;  and 
I  becanie  comparatively  anxious  to  make  some 
attempt  to  reillumine  liis  extinguished  tender- 
ness. Alas  !  such  a  blessing  was  not  de^stined 
to  me — his  heart  had  been  for  years  a  closed 
casket,  of  which  he  had  flirng  away  the  key. 
Kind,  and  gentle,  and  indulgent,  he  could  still 
be,  for  these  endearing  qualities  were  natural 
to  him  ;  but  they  grew  no  longer  out  of  the 
deep  feelings  of  a  husband  and  a  father. 

Mr.  Tilden  in  his  own  house  resembled  a 
stately  forest-tree  planted  in  a  conservatory,  and 
he  sickened  at  the  unwholesomeness  of  the  at 
mosphere. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  autumn  ;  Mrs.  Vernon 
was  still  detained  in  town  ;  and  it  had  been  de- 
termined that  her  daughter  should  remain  there 
also  throughout  the  winter,  in  order  that  she 
might  secure  the  best  advice  for  what  the 
Galen  of  Rooksley  had  decided  to  be  a  confirm- 
ed ciiest-complaint.  Mrs.  Alexander  and  her 
daughters  were  sojourning  at  Cheltenham  ;  and 
of  all  my  mother's  habitual  circle,  no  one  re- 
mained in  the  neighborhood  save  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran  and  Dr.  James. 

I  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  her  portly 
ladyship  so  slightingly  mentioned  when  she 
chanced  to  be  absent ;  to  hear  both  her  physical 
and  moral  attributes  so  freely  and  wittily  dis- 
cussed ;  and  to  look  upon  her  so  decidedly  as  a 
person  rather  tolerated  than  desired,  that  I 
confess  it  was  with  a  feeling  very  far  from 
pleasurable  that  I  heard  her  name  one  day  an- 
nounced, and  thus  saw  my  solitude  for  the  first 
time  invaded. 

It  was  immediately  evident  that  she  perceived 
the  impression  produced  by  her  presence,  but 
she  was  too  generous  to  show  any  resentment. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me.  Miss  Tilden," 
she  said  kindly,  as  she  extended  her  hand ; 
"  nor  should  I  have  intruded  at  iio(d<sIey  contrary 
to  the  express  request  of  Lady  Madelaine,  had 
it  not  been  at  the  desire  of  your  excellent 
father." 

This  assurance  changed  at  once  the  whole 
current  of  my  feelings  :  I  both  looked  and  ex- 
pressed my  acknowledgments. 

"  I  thought  you  also  were  absent  from  the 
neighborhood,"  I  said  in  conclusion,  "for  I 
was  not  aware  of  my  mother's  prohib.ijcn ;_ 
and  believed  it  probable,  that  had  any  of  her' 
friends  been  within  reach,  they  would  have 
taken  pity  on  the  poor  prisoner." 

"No,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  my  visitor 
with  a  smile;  "I  am  content  to  rcinnin  at 
home  throughout  the  year,  when  necessity 
does  not  call  me  to  town.  I  have  a  holier  and 
a  better  use  for  the  little  I  can  spare,  than 
squandering  it  in  folly  and  in  dress.  Not,  how- 
ever," she  added  hastily,  with  a  delicacy  which 
did  her  honor,  "  that  I  blame  those  who  enter 
into  the  gaieties  of  a  London  life,  or  who  find 
pleasure  in  change  of  scene  ;  in  all  probability, 
I  should  have  done  both  under  different  circum- 
stances. And  now,  my  dear  girl,  what  can  I  dO' 
to  be  either  useful  or  agreeable  to  you  !" 

For  a  moment  I  did  not  reply,  fur  the  lan- 
guage of  Lady  O'Halloran  was  new  to  me.    I 


66  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY   vVOMAN. 

«ad  been  so  accustomed  to  consider  that,  as  i  and  in  every  folly — I  was  made  the  idol  not  only 
a  matter  of  course,  all  persons  of  a  certain  con- 1  of  others,  but  of  myself  also,  in  order  that  ihere- 
dition  in  life  had  eo'.d  at  command,  and  that  to  verse  should  be  more  deeply  felt.  You  talk  of  the 
declare  yourself  poor  was  to  acknowledge  your  |  feelings  of  a  mother,  Lady  O'Halloran  ;  you  talK 
own  want  of  caxic  and  consequence,  that  I  was  |  as  I  have  read  of  them  in  books  ;  yon  do  not  un- 
thiuidcrstruck.  I  recovered  myself,  however,  I  derstand  the  nature  of  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden." 
I'n  the  instant ;  and  warmly  thanking  my  visitor  '  "  I  implore  you  to  speak  no  longer  in  such  a 
for  her  kmd  mteiiiions  in  my  favor,  I  requested  |  strain,  or  you  will  banish  me  the  house,"  said 
her,  in  the  first  plaite,  to  give  me  tidings  of  my  my  visitor,  shrinking  beneath  the  violent  pas- 
father.  .  '  sion  which  I  displayed.     "  It  is  quite  true  that 

"  Mr.  Tilden  is  doubtlessly  quite  well,"  she  '  you  were  prematurely  dragged  from  the  nur- 
said  ;  "  for  he  writes  nothing  on  the  subject  of  i  sery,  and  made  to  play  a  part  utterly  unsuited 
his  health,  which  is  always  to  me,  at  least,  con-  j  to  your  years,  to  the  great  regret  of  all  who 
elusive.  \Ve  are  all  so  apt  to  dwell  upon  our  '  cared  to  speculate  on  the  results  of  such  a  sys- 
little  ailments,  both  of  body  and  spirit  ;  and  it  j  tern  ;  but  this  was  merely  for  the  gratilication 
does  us  so  much  good  to  prose  where  we  feel  of  a  whim.  You  are  now  loo  oid  to  be  made 
sure  to  meet  with  sympathy,  that  I  do  not  think,  I  a  toy  ;  and  your  mother,  on  discovering  her 
had  anyihing  been  amiss,  he  would  have  suf-  error,  has,  probably  in  her  haste  to  repair  it, 
fered  so  excellent  an  opportunity  to  escape  ;  exceeded  somewhat  in  severity.  But  you  are 
whereas  his  whole  letter  is  filled  with  an.\ieiy  still  very  young,  my  dear  Miss  Tilden  ;  and, 
for  your  happiness  and  comfort,  wiiich  he  ,  sliould  you  resolve  to  exert  your  good  sense, 
seems  to  fear  will  both  sutler  from  tlie  contein-  and  meet  the  new  inmates  of  llooksley  in  a 
plated  arrangement.  He  tells  me  that  yeu  have  feeling  of  welcome  and  relationship,  it  will  he 
never  seen  either  your  sister  or  your  aunt  ;  and  but  a  passing  trial,  which  will  ultimately  tend 
therefore  it  was  that  he  encouraged  me  to  to  enhance  the  pleasures  of  tliat  world  to  which 
break  through  the  ban  of  excommunication,  you  must  necessarily  return  in  a  short  lime, 
thinking  that  a  familiar  face,  even  though  it  Beside, — reflect  only  for  a  moment.  Shull  yoa 
siiould  be  that  of  an  old  woman,  may  occasion-  j  experience  no  delight  in  holding  to  your  heart 
ally  afford  you  pleasure."  a  younger  sister,  ready  to  love  yuu,  and  to 

"  My  sister  !  my  aunt  !"  I  exclaimed  breath-   cling  to  you  for  companionship  and  sympathy  1 

lessly ;    "what   can    you    possibly    mean!     I    Remember   the  long  and  tedious  banishment 

entreat  of  you,  my  dear  Lady  O'Halloran,  to  i  which  this  unoffending  sister  has  already  under- 

.  explain  yourself"  gone,  while  you  have  been  lapped  in  luxury,  and 

It  was  now  my  guest's  turn  to  feel  surprise  i  cradled  in  indulgence." 
— she  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  won-  j  I  laughed  scornfully,  as  I  recalled  to  mind  all 
dering  pity.  "  Can  it  really  be,  my  poor  child,"  |  the  comments  which  I  had  heard  made  in  the 
she  said  at  length,  after  a  pause  which  to  me  nursery  on  the  young  lady  whose  cause  my 
appeared  interminable,  "that  you  have  been  j  zealous  visitor  was  advocating. 
kept  in  ignorance  ol'  Lady  Madeline's  inten-  "Listen  to  me  for  a  moment.  Lady  O'Hallo- 
tion  1"  "  I  ran,"  I  said,  as  quietly  as  though  I  were  arguing 

"I  know  nothing,"  I  answered,  bitterly,  '  a  mere  abstract  question  ;  "you  are  evidently 
•save  that  I  am  forsyken  and  disliked — that  I  laboring  in  the  dark.  Have  you  ever  heard 
have  become  an  alien  from  my  motiier's  heart."  ,  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden  mention  her  younger 

Lady  O'Halloran   drew  her   chair  closer  to  '  child  1" 
mine,  and  gently  look  my  hand.     "  Do  not  suf- 1      "  Never  ;  but  your  father — " 
fer  yoursell   to  believe  so,"  she  said  gravely ;  j      J  waved  my  hand  impatiently. 
•'  such  morbid  fancies  will  only  serve  lo  rentier       "  Shall  I  tell  you  why  !     Her  advent  into  this 
your  own  life  miserable,  while  they  can  afi'ect   world  nearly  cost  the  life  of  her  mother.     Was 
no  one  but  yourself     To  your  father  you  are  an    this  no  crime  1    That  mother's  recovery  was 
oiiject  of  deep  and  sincere  interest ;  but,  young    slow  and  precarious.     Was  this  no  sin  1  ay, 
as  you  are,  you  must  already  be  aware  that  he    and  sin  past  all  lorgiveness,  in  the  eyes  of  aa 
jsnot  demonstrative  in  his  feelings.     That  your    acknowledged  beauty,  whose  triumph  was  de- 
mother  is  at  present  exasperated  against  yuu    pendent   upon   time.     The  child,  sickly   from 
liiere  can  be  no  doubt  ;  while,  however,  it  is    its    birth,  was   fretful  and  plain,  and  gave  no 
quite  as  certain  that  the  feeling  will  soon  pass    promise  of  physical  perfection.     Did  not  this 
by.    I  know  by  experience,"  she  continued,  with    fact  exonerate  a  fashionable  parent  from  all 
a  sigh,  "that  no  mother  can  long  retain  dis-    natural  ties  1     Of  course — of  course.     All  the 
pleasure  against  her  child."  j  world  knew  that  the  beautiful  Lady  Madelaine 

•*  But  my  lather.  Lady  O'Halloran — may  I  {  Tilden  had  given  birth  to  a  second  daughter, 
not  ask  somewhat  of  him  '.     You  spoke,  too,  of   whom  she  had  thrust  forth  in  her  inlancy,  be- 

ly  aunt — of  my  sister.     Did  I,  could  1  indeed    cause — But  shame  upon  me  !"  I  continued  con- 


understand  iliat  they  are  coming  herel"  1  templuousiy  ;    "I  was  about  to  give  a  reason 

I  feared  that  they  would  already  have  pre-  !  for  the  act ;  and  why  should  I  !     Throughout 


ceiled  me,"  she  replied  calmly  ;  "  and  I  entreat  the  world  which  she  worshiped,  none  sought 
you  to  remember,  my  dear  girl,  that  one  is  to  ask  one  of  the  Lady  Madelaine ;  nor  did  she 
your  own   sister,  and  the   other  the  sister  of  win  a  smile  the  less." 

your  mother."  I      "  Calm  yourself,  my  dear  child,  I   beseec> 

I,  mdeed,  required  lo  bear  this  in  mind,"  I  j  you,"  murmured  the  astonished  Lady  O'Hallo- 


remarked,  with  increased  bitterness  ;  "  I 
understand  all  the  extent  of  Lady  Madelaine's 
diplomacy.  In  my  childhood  I  was  petted  and 
caressed — I  was  encouraged  in  every  caprice 


ran. 

"  Have  no  fear  for  me,  madam,"  I  said 
proudly  ;  "  you  have  been  kind  enough  lo  ex- 
press a  wish  to  serve  me,  and  I  will  be  frank 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


67 


With  you.  You  shall  not  lavish  your  civility 
upon  ail  ingratc.  I  have  been  disciplined  in  a 
strange  scliool  ;  and  would  fain  convince  you 
that  I  have  learned  to  judge  for  myself.  I  have 
told  you  what  is  Miss  Adela  Tdden's  relative 
situation  with  her  mother;  now  learn  what  it 
IS  toward  myself.  Pliysically,  her  worldly  ca- 
leermust  bca  blank,  fur  she  is  totally  devoid 
111  personal  attractions.  Of  her  education  you 
will,  at  once,  he  enabled  to  form  a  correct  idea, 
when  I  tell  you  that,  since  the  death  of  Lord 
Glenfillaii,  niy  maternal  grandfather,  the  Lady 
Flora,  at  once  his  daughter  and  my  sister's 
guardian,  has  resided  in  the  heart  of  the  High- 
lands, witii  III)  other  assistance  in  forming  the 
mind  and  manners  of  her  young  ward  than 
what  could  be  afforded  by  a  widow  lady  of  good 
family  and  slender  means,  whociiaiiced  to  have 
buried  herself  in  the  neighborhood  ;  and  who 
was  happy  to  embrace  any  method  of  increasing 
her  inadequate  income.  In  addition  to  these 
circumstances,  I  pray  you  also  to  remember, 
that  my  own  fortune  will,  in  all  probability,  be 
dimiiiishedone-half  by  the  existence  of  a  sister 
so  little  calculated  to  do  honor,  either  to  her- 
self or  to  her  family,  in  those  circles  where  it 
is  essential  that  she  should  shine  ;  and  then  I 
think  that  you  will  readily  exonerate  me  in 
your  heart  for  any  repugnance  which  1  may 
testify  to  her  close  companionship.  At  present 
we  are  uiier  strangers  ;  mere  matter  of  tradi- 
tion the  one  to  the  other  ;  and  this  is  as  it 
Bhould  be.  Why  disturb  so  simple  an  arrange- 
ment ]  When  I  was  first  told  that  I  had  a  sis- 
ter, my  heart  bounded  to  meet  her  ;  but  I  was 
rebuked  and  ridiculed  for  the  impulse.  I  have 
been  tutored  into  indifference — it  may  be  into 
something  more.  I  ask  only  to  be  left  as  cir- 
cumstances have  made  me." 

"You  wrong  your  nature  by  such  an  argu- 
ment, my  dear  girl,"  said  my  good-natured  vis- 
itor; "these  are  prejudices  which  have  been 
instilled  by  those  around  you  ;  they  cannot  be 
the  growth  of  your  own  mind,  for  they  belong 
neither  to  your  age,  your  sex,  nor  your  disposi- 
tion. You  are,  and  have  always  been,  essen- 
tially companionless  ;  for  I  cannot  consider  your 
tolerated  appeaiance  among  your  mother's 
guests  as  society  to  one  of  your  tender  years. 
Reflect  only  how  beautiful  a  bond  is  that  which 
unites  two  sisters  ;  especially  when,  as  in  your 
case,  the  two  are  alone  to  love  each  other ; 
and  believe  ine  when  I  tell  you  that  a  very  few 
weeks  of  close  and  affectionate  communion  will 
suffice  to  convince  you  that  your  present  feel- 
ings are  both  erroneous  and  ungenerous." 

"  Have  you  the  same,  or  as  ellicient  consola- 
tion to  ofler  as  regards  the  Lady  Flora  Glenfil- 
lan,  madam  1"  I  asked,  with  a  smile  conijiound- 
ed  of  scorn  and  melancholy. 

"  In  her  case,  my  dear,  1  can  say  nothing," 
was  the  frank  reply  ;  "  for,  as  I  never  had  the 
honor  of  meeting  the  sister  of  Lady  Madelaine, 
I  am  necessarily  hors  de  combat.  I  would,  how- 
ever, venture  to  remind  you  of  lier  near  rela- 
tionship to  both  your  mother  and  yourself." 

"  Which  you  must  permit  me  at  once  and 
most  unequivocally  to  deny,  as  regards  myself. 
Lady  O'Halloran,"  I  said,  haughtily.  "My 
grandfatiier  was  twice  married — in  the  first  in- 
stance, to  the  daughter  ol  some  obscure  Scotch 
farmer,  m  hose  ve  v  name  has  escaped  me — if, 
H 


indeed,  it  was  ever  uttered  beneath  this  roof 
and  the  second  time,  to  a  woman  of  rank  ecjual  to 
his  own,  and  probaldy  of  more  ancient  descent 
— my  grandmother.  The  Lady  Flora  is  descend- 
ed from  ihe  petty  Highland  laird  ;  and  is  con- 
sequently a  connection  of  mine,  not  a  relative." 

Lady  O'Halloran  shook  her  head  in  evident 
sadness.  "  I  have  done,  my  dear  Miss  Tilden  ; 
and  yet,  for  your  own  sake,  I  would  fain  see 
you  adopt  a  more  conciliating  spirit.  Leaving 
this  point,  however,  to  your  serious  and  dispas- 
sionate consideration,  let  me  assure  you  that  il 
my  occasional  ])resence  at  llooksley  can  afford 
you  either  comfort  or  gratification,  I  shall  glad 
ly  avail  myself  of  the  suggestion  of  your  father, 
and  risk  the  displeasure  of  Lady  Madelaine,  to 
reconcile  you  to  your  new  mode  of  life." 

"  Surely,  madam,"  I  said  hastily,  "  neither 
this  Scotch  connection  nor  this  uiik*nown  youn- 
ger sister  will  interfere  with  my  hoine-habitg 
and  occupations  !  Am  I  now  at  an  age  in 
which  the  novelty  of  unaccustomed  coercion 
can  be  tamely  borne  1" 

"  Will  you  forgive  me,  dear  girl,  if  I  am  hon- 
est enough  to  tell  you  that  in  the  false  idea 
which  you  have  just  put  forth,  lies  yolir  most 
dangerous  error  1"  asked  my  visitor  in  her  turn  ; 
"  after  all,  what  is  this  age  of  which  you  speak, 
and  in  which  you  would  find  a  safeguard  against 
authority  1  Had  you  been  less  thoughtlessly- 
I  was  about  to  say,  less  viciously — educated,  you 
would  still  have  been  a  mere  child,  withyournur- 
sery  and  your  school-room  for  a  world  ;  but  your 
mind  is  like  an  exotic  plant  forced  into  prema- 
ture blossom  ;  you  have  begun  to  think  and  to 
judge  at  a  period  when  otiier  girls  only  act,  and 
even  then  merely  as  automata  of  which  others 
direct  the  springs." 

My  dignity  was  wounded,  and  although  Lady 
O'Halloran  paused,  as  if  in  expectation  of  some 
rpply,  I  remained  resolutely  silent.  To  tell  me 
— I  who  was  beloved  and  who  loved  in  turn 
with  all  the  ardor  and  romance  of  a  first  passion 
— that  my  proper  an<l  fitting  sphere  was  the 
nursery,  and  my  sole  duty  a  blind  and  unreason- 
ing obedience,  was  an  excess  of  plain  speaking 
to  which  I  dared  not  trust  mysell  to  answer. 

"  That  I  am  a  sharp  and  rude  [iliysician,  I  am 
well  aware,"  continued  my  companion,  after  a 
glance  at  my  clouded  countenance  ;  "  but  this 
is  a  subject  which  I  have  often  discussed  with 
your  excellent  father,  to  whom  I  have  faithfully 
promised  that  I  will  leave  no  measure  unat- 
tenijjted  to  secure  your  happiness  ;  and  I  have 
boldly  braved  your  anger  at  once  in  order  that 
you  should  be  convinced  I  am  really  earnest  in 
the  work." 

I  bowed  coldly.  I  had  not  yet  recovered  my 
self-ccimmand. 

• "  When  you  have  taken  time  to  think,  you 
will  remember  also,  my  dear  child,"  puisued 
Lady  O'Halloran,  perfectly  unmoved  by  my  dis- 
pleasure, "  Ihat  if  this  premature  ph-a  of  age  is 
to  avail  yourself,  your  sister  may  also  urge  it  in 
her  own  behalf,  with  almost  equal  pretensions, 
for  she  is  merely  one  year  younger  than  your- 
self; and  you  would  probably,  twelve  months 
ago,  have  advocated  your  privileges  upon  this 
score  as  tenaciously  as  you  do  to-day.  More- 
over, believe  me  when  I  assure  you  that  thh 
society  of  a  sister  will  be  very  dear  to  you.  Ii 
1  is  a  pure  and  holy  tie  ;  and,  in  yout  case   't  wik 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


be  doubly  swppt ;  for,  reared  as  this  poor  girl  I 
has  been,  at  a  disiaiice  frmn  all  iiossiliility  of, 
acqiiirinjj  those  acc(iiii|ilisbiritMiis  to  wlncJi  so 
larye  an  amoiiiil  of  your  own  life  has  been  tie- 1 
voted,  yon  have  it  in  yonr  power  lo  be  to  her  a 
nosl  generous  and  valuable  (rienil.  and  to  bind 
her  snil  more  closely  lo  you  by  gratitude  lliaii 
Uood." 

I  became  inslinciively  interested. 

"  Will  yon  not  endeavor  to  accomplish  this 
bcauliCiil  and  sisterly  undertakin;^  !" 

"  I  will.  Miadam." 

Laily  O'Halinraii  bent  over  me,  and.  as  if  in- 
voluntarily, pressed  her  lips  to  my  foreiu-'ad. 
That  calm  and  aliinst  solemn  kiss  had  a  strange 
effect  npiin  me.  I  bad  been  accuslomcd  lo  liie 
most  lavish  caresses  from  my  infaiury,  and  I  be- 
lieve that  I  esiimaled  lliem  at  Iheir  just  value  ; 
but  there  w'as  soimiliin!^  so  liearMcIl,  so  ma- 
tronly, so  real,  in  that  of  Lady  O'llalloraii,  that  I 
raised  iier  fingers  to  my  li|)s,  and  the  large  tears 
gushed  from  my  eyes. 

"Why  was  I  never  before  treated  like  a 
reasonnide  being?"  f  e.xclaimed  mournfully. 
"If  I  were  old  enough  to  play  my  part  among 
the  other  puppets  in  my  m<illier"s  drauing-room, 
was  I  not  also  capable  of  being  bid  by  heller 
impulses  than  liiose  of  vanity  and  selfishness  ? 
I  have  been  unfairly  dealt  with  ;  but  I  have  at 
last  a  friend  I  u-ill  love  this  unknnwri  sister, 
dear  Lady  O'Hallcnan — liiai  is,  I  will  strive  to 
love  her ;  but  my  heart  tells  me  tiiai  there  is 
much  to  undo." 

"She  will  come  to  you,  meek,  timid,  and,  it 
may  be,  strangely  ignorant  of  all  ihe  showy  lore 
of  modern  seliolarslii[),  perhaps,"  pursued  my 
companion  ;  '•  hut  then  she  will  also  come  to 
you  pure,  and  fresh,  and  charming;  knowing 
no  guile,  uri.sijspicious  of  deceit,  coiiliding,  sim- 
ple, and  adectionate.  Would  you  close  your 
heart  against  so  genial  an  inm.iie  !  Credit  me 
when  1  assure  you  that  it  would  be  no  easy 
task.  But  you  have  already  decided  that  the 
attempt  siiall  not  be  made  ;  and  1  iiave  sutfi- 
cient  reliai.ee  on  your  honor  and  good  failh,  my 
dear  iMiss  Tilden — " 

"  Call  me  Eveleen  !"  I  cried  passionately. 
"All  the  world — even  my  own  moliier — seems 
to  have  foigetlen  that  I  bear  another  name  be- 
side that  of  my  family  ;  but  you — dear,  kind 
Lady  O'Halloran — you,  wiio  are  at  once  the 
friend  id'  the  iailier  and  ihe  child,  surely  you 
will  cease  to  address  me  so  coldly,  when  i  con- 
vince you  I  hat  1  am  not  altogether  unworthy  of 
your  regard." 

"  Your  father,  at  least,  understood  you,  my 
poor  victimized  girl,"  said  my  visiKir,  as  she 
opened  her  arms,  and  1  dung  myself,  deeply 
HiOved,  upon  her  bosom.  "  He  told  me  that 
jou  Would  well  repay  my  zeal ;  and  you  will 
repay  il,  will  you  not,  Eveleen  !  And  I  shall 
see  the  liitle  family-paity  at  Rookslcy  at  once 
atlectionaie  and  happy,  even  including  the 
'Sooteh  connection.'" 

1  could  not  jiiin  in  the  smile.  Her  descrip- 
tion of  the  meek,  coiitiding,  delicieiit  sister,  to 
whom  I  w,is  ere  long  to  he  all  in  all,  had  over- 
wlielmed  me  with  romantic  delight  ;  but  the 
\ision  of  La  ly  Fhua  Glcnhllaii — whose  "  strin- 
gent guardianship"  had  been  the  most  bitter 
threat  of  my  mother,  passed  like  a  dark  shadow 
over  my  heart. 


"  I  will  pledge  myself  no  further  tn-day,  even 
to  Lady  O'Halloran,"  I  said  at  lengtii. 

"  Well,  well,  perhaps  I  am  unreasonaide  to 
e.xpect  more,"  replied  the  good  lady,  gaily. 
"  I  hope  lo  see  you  again  before  your  new  in- 
mates arrive  ;  you  will  then  have  recovered 
the  first  shock  of  your  surprise.  And  now, 
will  you  do  mc  a  pleasure,  my  dear— Eveleen  1 
If  so,  tie  on  your  shawl  and  bonnet,  jump  into 
my  pimy-chair,  and  S|)end  the  remainder  of  this 
bright  day  with  me.  Your  carriage  can  con- 
vey you  home  at  night;  and  1  promise,  indeed 
1  (In.  that  unless  you  yourself  provoke  it,  tne 
suhjecl  which  we  have  just  been  so  eai-.-stly 
discussing  shall  not  be  touched  upoi  again. 
So  come  fearlessly,  my  dear  girl,  p'.j  admire 
the  hundred  expedients  by  which  '  ndeavor  to 
conceal  from  myself  the  fact  Xh^  ^  am  no  lon- 
ger rich  ;  and  learn,  at  the  .  ame  time,  the 
wholesome  truth,  that  it  is  very  possible  to  be 
bajipy  without  either  esiahiishment  or  equipage, 
when  the  heart  is  filled  by  a  much  dearer  in- 
terest." 

Need  I  say  that  I  accepted  an  invitation  so 
given  as  frankly  as  I  received  it.  Far,  how- 
ever, from  shrinking  away  from  the  subject  of 
the  forthcoming  change  in  my  destiny,  I  recur- 
red to  it  more  than  once;  and  when  I  at  length 
parted  from  my  Kind  hostess,  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  increased  respect  for  her  ;  and  what 
1  had  never  in  my  life  experienced  until  that 
moment,  a  growing  distrust  of  my  own  perfect- 
ibility. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

It  was  fortunate  that  Lady  O'llalloran's  at- 
tention to  my  father's  retpiest  had  been  so 
prompt,  for  the  travelers  arrived  on  the  suc- 
ceeding evening.  Never  shall  1  forget  my  sen- 
sations when  their  arrival  was  announced  to 
me  !  Before  1  left  tin!  Hall,  my  zealous  hostess 
had  wrung  from  my  reluctant  lips  thai  I  would 
do  my  best  to  love,  not  only  my  unknown  sis- 
ter, hut  also  the  guardian  of  her  childhooil;  in 
making  the  latter  promise,  however.  I  felt  that 
iTiy  heart  had  no  part  in  the  pledge.  Civil  I 
knew  that  1  should  necessarily  be,  for  I  be- 
lii.'ved  thai  1  was  too  well-bred  to  degrade  my- 
self by  any  e.xhibition  of  rudeness  ;  r.nd  I  re- 
solved to  struggle  at  courtesy  ;  but  I'or  auglil 
beyond  this  I  was  still  quite  unprepared. 

I  rt)se  from  my  harp  with  a  throbbing  heart. 
Stir  a  step  beyond  the  room  to  welcome  the 
new-comers  I  could  not.  I  felt  sick  and  faint. 
1  was  angry  with  myself  An-  my  ill-timed  emo- 
tion, but  1  could  not  overcome  it ;  and  while  I 
was  endeavoring  to  rebuke  myself  into  at  least 
the  semblance  of  composure,  they  were  ushered 
intii  the  apartment. 

In  the  vail  stalked  a  tall,  gaunt  figure,  draped 
in  a  cloak  of  woolen  plai.l  ;  which  checkered 
horror,  I  was  subsequently  informed,  was  the 
Gli.'iitillan  tartan.  There  was  a  heail-dress  also 
id  some  nameless  material  and  indescribalde 
form,  which  was  fiung  off  abruptly  ;  and  before 
I  ciiuld  command  my.self  sufficiently  to  give  ut- 
terance to  one  word  of  greeting,  or  bad  even 
caught  a  glimpse  of  my  sister,  I  found  mysell 
clas|)ed  in  two  long  arms,  and  hugged  so  lightly 
to  tlie  Glenfillan  tartan,  that  I  had  not  breath 
even  lo  scream  ;  while  a  shrill  voice,  in  a  strong 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


Srotcli  accent,  was  pouring  forth  a  flood  of  ve- 
lienieiil  ejaculations. 

I  will  not  alienipt  to  expatiate  on  my  disgust. 
This  was  stringent  guardiansliip.  indeed  !  The 
travel-reeking  cloak  ;  tlie  hot  hreath  that  seem- 
ed to  stagnate  upon  my  forehead  ;  the  fearful 
clutch  from  which  I  really  believed  my  very 
bones  to  be  endangered,  settled  the  relative  po- 
sitions of  Lady  Flora  and  myself  forever.  It 
was  an  unaccustomed  and  coarse  contact  tt) 
which  I  instinctively  felt  thai  I  could  never 
submit  witliout  the  deepest  repugnance.  I  was 
at  once  terrified  and  disgusted  ;  and  when  the 
grasp  was  at  length  rela.xed,  and  that  my  tor- 
mentor (for  sucii  she  seemed  at  the  moment) 
drew  back,  and  held  me  at  arms'  'nglh,  in 
order  to  e.xamine  my  person  at  her  ase,  and 
that  I  saw  the  prominent  cheek-i  mes,  the 
sliarp  nose  and  chin,  and  the  disoidered  and 
uncurled  masses  of  grizzled  hair  which  had  es- 
caped from  beneath  what  was  evidently  intend- 
ed to  repiesent  a  cap,  I  involuntarily  closed  my 
eyes  to  shut  out  the  unpleasant  object  which 
had  f(irced  itself  upon  me  so  abruptly. 

jMi/  aunt !  No,  no — even  in  that  moment  of 
intense  annoyance,  I  found  leisure  to  thank  the 
fates  that  if  this  were  indeed  the  Lady  Flora 
Glenfillan,  she  was  at  least  no  aunt  of  mine. 

"And  my  sister — "  I  at  length  gasped  out; 
"where  is  my  sister?" 

"Ay,  come,  Addy,  and  show  yourself!"  ex; 
claimed  the  gaunt  apjiarition,  in  a  tone  which 
betrayed  at  least  as  much  asperity  as  affection. 
♦'Come  and  show  yourself,  child.  Ye  have  no 
reason,  that  I  ken  of,  to  be  ashamed  of  facing 
even  your  town-bred  sister!" 

And  "Addy"  did  come  forth  from  her  hiding- 
place  behind  her  aunt;  and  my  romantic  sus- 
ceptibilities were  somewhat  chilled  by  the  fact 
that  while  I  had  been  imprisoned  in  the  arms 
of  Lady  Flora,  instead,  as  I  anticipated,  of  be- 
ing overwhelmed  with  emotion,  curiosity,  and 
avi-e,  fclie  had  quietly  divested  herself  of  her 
traveling  wraps,  and  was  just  giving  a  last 
touch  to  the  glossy  bands  of  auburn  hair  which 
were  parted  upon  her  forehead.  I  nevertheless 
opened  iny  arms  to  receive  her  ;  but,  instead  of 
availing  herself  of  the  movement,  she  folded 
her  hands  primly  over  her  bosom,  and  dropped 
nie  a  courtesy  which  would  not  have  been  out  of 
keeping  at  the  close  of  a  dancing  lesson. 

"Hech!  child,  is  that  what  I  bid  you  doT' 
harshly  demanded  the  titled  duenna.  "  Do  you 
not  know  that  Eve-leen  is  your  own  sister? 
Why  should  you  not  make  free  with  her  !  ■  Did 
you  see  me  stand  courtesying  and  making  cere- 
monies 1  Are  you  not  under  your  own  mother's 
roof?  And  have  you  not  as  nmch  right  to  ex- 
pect a  loving  welcome  as  she  has  to  otfer  it?" 

1'he  apparent  automaton,  ujjon  tiiis  judicious, 
well-timed,  and  conciliating  address,  did  as  she 
was  desired.  The  cheek  was  cold,  however, 
which  was  pressed  to  mine,  for  our  lips,  as  if 
through  mutual  disappointment,  did  not  meet; 
tlie  pulsations  of  the  heart  which  for  a  brief 
instant  beat  against  my  own  were  calm  and 
regular.     I  was  altogether  taken  by  surprise. 

When  we  had  sealed  ourselves,  awaiting  the 
announcement  of  refreshments,  of  which  the 
travelers  stood  greatly  in  need — for  Lady  Flora 
had  lived  all  her  life  beyond  the  Tweed,  and 
made  it  a  principle  not  to  scatter  her  money 


upon  the  road — refreshments  which,  par  parr.tf 
these,  she  was  provident  enough  to  oicier  as  she 
passed  through  the  hall,  I  had  leisure  to  exam- 
ine my  two  new  companions.  With  the  aunt 
my  curiosity  was  soon  fully  satisfied.  I  felt 
that  Lady  O'Halloran  herself  would  not  have  a 
word  to  say  on  that  subject ;  and  when  I  turned 
my  eyes  upon  the  niece,  I  discovered  that  she 
was  similarly  occupied  with  myself  What  ef- 
fect had  been  produced  by  my  appearance  upon 
the  mind  of  my  sister  I  could  not,  however,  even 
guess.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  emotion  of 
any  sort  upon  her  countenance.  She  was  as 
calm,  as  cold,  and  as  composed,  as  though  no- 
thing had  occurred  for  which  she  was  not  per- 
fectly prepared. 

As  our  eyes  met,  those  of  Adela  were  quietly 
withdrawn  ;  and  I  pursued  my  survey  in  the 
intervals  of  a  conversation  in  which  I  was  little 
more  than  an  auditor.  It  consisted  of  reminis- 
cences of  the  road  ;  comments  on  the  grievous 
outlay  to  which  they  had  been  subjected  by 
their  journey;  surmises  of  impositions,  to 
which,  nevertheless,  Lady  Flora  could  not  at- 
tach any  tangible  proof;  and  other  etfually  high- 
bred and  interesting  topics.  I  had,  however, 
no  alternative,  save  to  sit  by  as  i)atiently  as  I 
could,  and  endeavor  to  form  some  idea  of  what 
my  sister  miffht  be,  when  relieved  from  the 
strait-waistcoat  of  her  guardian's  presence. 

With  her  personal  appearance  I  was  aston 
ished.  She  was  decidedly  not  a  beauty;  nor 
did  she  give  any  promise  of  ever  becoming 
such  ;  but  she  had  one  of  those  piquante  and 
peculiar  faces  which  frequently  prove  more  at- 
tractive than  merely  regular  features.  It  was 
evidently  a  countenance  capable  of  immense 
expression  ;  although  at  the  present  moment  it 
was  as  passionless  and  immobile  as  a  paste- 
board mask.  She  was  unusually  tall;  indeed, 
in  this  particular,  she  had  the  advantage  of  me, 
for  despite  my  year  of  eldership  I  stood  no  whit 
higher  than  herself;  nor  had  she  been  under 
the  roof  of  Rooksley  many  hours  ere  I  discov- 
ered that  if  I  had  acquired  elegance  by  study 
and  long  habit,  my  sister  was  no  less  gifted 
with  a  gracefulness  to  the  full  as  desirable. 
Even  disguised  as  she  was  in  a  costume  in 
which  I  would  not  have  permitted  my  waiting- 
woman  to  officiate  at  my  toilet,  this  fact  did 
not  escape  me  ;  and  it  induced  a  feeling  of  in- 
terest in  the  fair  creature  who  displayed  so 
much  good  material  to  work  upon. 

"And  now,  lassies,"  said  Lady  Flora,  before 
we  left  the  supper-room,  where  she  had  con- 
sumed a  greater  quantity  of  food  than  had  ever 
been  previously  contemplated  by  the  attend- 
ants ;  "  now,  we  are  all  quite  at  home  together, 
and  shall,  I  dare  say,  get  on  weel  (Mieugh. 
What  Eve-leen  does  not  know,  you,  Addy,  can 
teach  her;  for  I  dare  say  her  education,  as 
they  call  it,  has  been  but  a  strange  rumgumfery 
o'  useless  and  unprofitable  nonsense;  and  il 
she  should  chance  to  know  anything  that  you 
have  not  been  taught,  why,  she  can  teach  you. 
I  shall  say  naething  o'  other  things  to-night. 
To-morrow  will  be  a  new  day,  and  we  shall 
soon  understand  each  other." 

I  felt  that  we  already  understood  each  other; 
and  my  contempt  for  the  new  authority  which 
had  been  set  over  me  was  so  great,  that  an  ex- 
pression of  scorn  rose  involuntarily  to  roy  lip, 


60 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


which  I  instantly  discovered,  by  the  aeep  flush  ' 
that  passed  transiently  over  her  face,  was  not 
lost  upon  lay  sister. 

"  I  have  consented  to  leave  my  home,"  pur- 
sued Lady  Flora,  turning  the  lounging-chair 
upon  whicli  slic  had  been  seated  at  table  to- ' 
ward  the  fire,  throwing  herself  back  in  an  at- 
titude infinitely  more  easy  than  graceful,  and 
crossing  iier  feet  upon  the  fender,  with  an 
expression  of  well-fed  resignation;  "I  have 
consented  to  leave  my  dear  GlenfiUan,  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  in  order  to  be  useful  to  my 
sister  and  her  cliildrtn.  It  is  na  every  one 
who  is  cumiieient  to  lake  charge  of  two  young 
ladies  wi'  noble  blood  in  their  veins,  and  co- 
heiresses into  the  bargain."  (I  winced  slightly, 
as  she  spoke;  but,  on  looking  into  the  placid 
face  of  my  sister,  the  feeling  vanished.)  "I 
flatter  myself,  however,  even  although  I  liave  j 
heard  some  sad  rumors  o-f  your  giddy  doiiigs,  I 
Eve-leen,  that  all  will  end  conformably,"  con-  \ 
tinued  the  lady,  very  sententiously,  while  I  felt 
my  brow  burn  on  discovering  that  the  large 
brown  eyes  of  Adela  were  riveted  uptm  me. 
"  You  will  have  a  gude  example  in  your  sister, 
and  a  still  belter  one  in  me  ;  for  I  am  proud  to 
feel  that  never  from  my  girlhood  even  to  the 
present  day — or  I  sliould  rather,  perhaps,  say 
night,  for  I'm  afraid  that  its  growing  awfu'  late 
— has  any  one  ventured  even  to  hint  a  doubt  of 
the  virtue  and  propriety  of  Lady  Flora  Glenfil- 
lan." 

"  I  can  quite  believe  it,  madam,"  I  said,  with 
another  saucy  smile,  as  I  looked  her  stedfastly 
in  the  face.  i 

"And  not  only  it  was  never  doubted,"  she  re- 1 
sumed,  "  but  I  may  also  boast  that  there  never  j 
was  cause  for  it  to  be  sae." 

"  The  one  position  is  as  easily  credited  as  the  j 
other,"  1  again  lejilied,  in  the  same  tone.  "A 
woman's  reputation,  like  the  water  of  the  ocean, 
should  not  only  be  able  to  reject  all  impurities, 
but  also  to  resist  all  taint;  a  task  in  which  it 
is  probably  sometimes  assisted  by  its  natural 
nauseousness." 

I  was  conscious  that  my  sister  started  as  the 
words  fell  upon  her  ear;  and  their  cool  inso- 
lence was  too  palpable  even  for  the  obtuseness 
of  Lady  Flora.  She  turned  her  small,  light, , 
gray  eyes  upon  me  with  a  questioning  expies- j 
6ion  to  which  her  lips  did  not,  however,  provide 
an  echo.  The  trope  had  bewildered  her,  and 
she  could  not  clearly  see  her  wny. 

"It  is  no  sina"  thing,"  whistled  the  shrill 
voice  once  more  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  to 
root  out  a'  one's  old  habits,  and  to  leave  all 
one's  old  friends,  to  live  in  a  strange  place  and 
among  strangers;  and,  had  the  present  Lord 
GlenfiUan  been  a  little  more  civil  and  wiselike 
towards  his  own  kith  and  kin,  I  do  not  know 
that  I  sliould  have  had  resolution  to  upset  all ' 
my  plans  and  arrangements,  to  come  wandering  ; 
the  world  now-a-days  ;  but  to  be  shut  out  o'  the  i 
castle,  where  I  had  been  born  and  bred,  was  ! 
more  than  I  could  bear;  and,  besides,  it  was 
time  that  Addy  made  acquaintance  with  herl 
nearest  blood  relations,  and  had  a  chance  of 
showing  what  was  in  her;  and  tlte  diflt-rence' 
between  a  good,  honest,  steady  education  in  the 
heart  of  the  Highlands,  and  a  flashy,  tricky, 
ne'er-do-weel  bringing-up  by  JVench  flirts  and 
fly  away  dancing-masters ;    and  so  you   see,  I 


Eve-leen,  here  we  are ;  and  I  ohall  De  glad  .f, 
by  doing  my  duty  to  my  sister,  I  should  haplj 
be  the  saving  of  you,  while  it's  yet  time ;  for, 
being  both  my  nieces — " 

"Your  ladyship  will  pardon  me,"  I  hastilj 
and  resolutely  interposed  ;  (or  I  was  now  urgeO 
beyond  my  forbearance  by  the  stolid  self-suffi- 
ciency of  the  speaker,  and  felt  that  the  struggle 
for  supremacy  must  come,  and  that,  conse- 
quently, the  sooner  it  were  commenced,  the 
less  difficult  I  should  find  it  to  assert  my  i)re- 
tensions  and  to  secure  the  victory;  "your 
ladyship  must  really  pardon  me,  if  1  disabuse 
you  without  further  delay  of  the  error  under 
which  you  appear  to  be  laboring.  Neither  Miss 
Adela  Tilden  nor  myself  have  the  honor  of  be- 
ing your  nieces.  Our  connection  with  you, 
through  the  medium  of  our  mother,  is  at  once 
slight  and  undefined.  We  are  the  descendants 
of  the  Earl  of  GlenfiUan  throuj;h  his  marriage 
with  the  Honorable  Miss  O'Finistree;  and  we 
claim  no -kindred  with  the  race  of  Mac — some- 
thing— I  have  really  forgotten  the  precise  name 
— from  which  you  are  yourself  descended." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  pause  which  ensued. 
Lady  Flora  lay  back  upon  her  cushions,  with 
her  small  eyes  dilated,  and  her  large  mouth 
wide  open.  The  demure  countenance  of  my 
sister  was  bent  down  over  the  hearth-rug  ;  and 
I  sat  erect,  and  panting  with  indignation  and 
offended  dignity,  confronting  my  victim. 

"  Heard  ever  human  ears  the  like  V  at  length 
ejaculated  Lady  Flora  in  a  tone  of  horror.  "  Be- 
fore Addy  would  dare  to  breathe  such  blasphemy 
against  the  family-name,  she  would  consent  to 
be  laid  in  the  family-vault.  And  you  not  fifteen ! 
Well  was  it  that  my  father,  the  earl,  was  car- 
ried there  before  these  things  came  to  pass  !" 

"  You  appear  to  have  taken  your  present  step 
under  a  delusion,  madam,"  I  said  coolly,  so 
soon  as  she  had  delivered  herself  of  this  some- 
what irrelevant  apostrojihe  ;  "  and  I  consider  it 
better  at  once  to  undeceive  you.  The  induce- 
ment held  out  by  Lady  Madelaine,  which  has 
decided  you  to  undertake  the  charge  of  my  con- 
duct and  princiides,  is,  of  course,  best  known 
to  yourself  Tliat  I  should  find  your  dtlcgated 
authority  essentially  disagreeable,  and  discord- 
ant to  all  the  past  habits  of  my  life,  my  mother 
very  considerately  hinted  to  me  ;  and  I  as  reso- 
lutely made  up  my  mind  to  abate  the  annoyance 
to  the  uttermost  of  my  power.  I  had  conse- 
quently schooled  myself  to  receive  you  with 
civility  and  respect — even  to  go  further  than 
this,  if  I  found  it  possible,  and  lo -endeavor  to 
look  upon  you  as  a  family  conncctMui.  You 
have,  however,  at  once  and  forever  relieved  me 
frtim  the  extreme  difficulty  of  such  an  attempt  ; 
for  you  have  met  me  in  the  spirit  of  a  task-inis- 
ircss,  and  sought  to  humble  me,  noi  only  in  my 
own  eyes,  but  even  in  those  of  a  younger  sister, 
utterly  unknown  to  me  until  within  the  last  few 
hours.  This  line  of  conduct,  as  unexpected  as 
it  is  indelicate;,  quite  exoneraies  me'to  my  own 
heart,  for  the  future  ;  and,  as  my  mother  has 
decided  that  you  are  to  be  an  inmate  of  Rooks- 
ley  for  some  lime  at  least,  we  had  better  come 
to  an  understanding  at  once.  You  have  been 
pleased  to  depreciate,  in  by  no  means  measur- 
ed terms,  the  education  which  1  have  received. 
It  is  a  system,  nevertheless,  that  I  have  not  the 
most  remote  intention  to  abandon,  and  in  which 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN.  6l 

it  ts  more  than  probable  that,  your  ladyship  will  i  several  inmates),  to  imagine  that  she  differed 
not  feel  the  slightest  interest.  Your  propo^al  greatly  in  ail  points  fVoni  iier  more  gilted  and 
that  I  should  make  it  uselul  to  my  sister  I  ac-  favored  relative  ;  I  had  only,  howevi-r,  to  pass 
cept  cheert'ully,  (brshejs  niy  sister — and  I  shall  the  salient  points  of  her  career  in  review,  to 
esteem  it  a  happiness  to  i)e  of  service  to  her.  j  teel  that  my  astonishment  was  misplaced.  The 
This  concession  is,  however,  the  only  one  which  ^  pupil  of  Miss  Margery  Macspleuclian,  actually, 
I  feel  inclined  to  make.  In  your  eyes,  I  may  |  if  not  nominally,  deserted  throughout  her  girl 
probably  be  still  loo  young  to  assume  such  a  hood  by  her  father — the  despised  siep-child  of 
position,  but  I  have  been  reared  with  different  j  a  high-born  mother-in-law — the  tolerated  corn- 
ideas  ;  and  an  appeal  to  Lady  Madelame  Tilden  I  panion  of  a  half-sister,  with  whom  she  had 
will  convince  you  that  I  am  quite  capable  of  neither  taste  nor  sympathy  in  common — still 
maintaining  the  resolution  which,  from  your  dependent  on  the  will  and  sulr^cled  lo  the  con- 
own  over\veening  assumption  of  authority,  and  j  tact  of  a  vulgar  aunt — the  rejected  kinswoman 
want  of  regard  for  my  feelings,  I  have  found  it  of  the  tenant  of  her  dead  father's  home — and 
necessary  to  adopt  at  once."  |  the  great  lady  of  a  low  circle,  into  which  she 

I  was  somewhat  overcome  by  my  own  effiirt  was  flung  by  circumstances,  could  not  fairly  be 
at  eloquence,  but  its  effect  was  infinitely  greater  j  expected  to  make  a  very  brilliant  figure  in  the 
upon  my  auditor.  She  was  absolutely  transfix-  new  position  into  which  she  was  now  forced. 
ed  with  astonishment,  and  quite  unequal  to  the  |  Then  came  the  question — How  bad  my  sister 
emergency.  It  was,  indeed,  scarcely  surprising :  escaped  !  only  to  be  followed  by  the  more 
that  under  the  circumstances  my  indignation  startling  one  of — Had  she,  in  truth,  escaped! 
should  have  been  great,  for  the  transition  was  and  I  felt  a  pang  when  I  was  obliged  to  answer 
too  violent  and  too  sudden,  from  ttie  adulation  |  my  own  query  by  the  avowal  that  I  could  not 
and  encouragement  of  the  refined  and  the  j  judge.  I  had  scarcely  heard  her  utter  a  dozen 
educated,  to  the  coarse  comments  and  vulgar  [  sentences.  I  knew  only  that  she  was  attractive 
dictation  of  the  ungainly  woman  before  me. '  and  graceful  in  her  person  ;  with  a  voice  ot 
Feeling,  nevertheless,  that  I  had  better  not  trust  |  unusual  sweetness,  so  slightly  impregnated  with 
myself"  with  further  discussion,  and  satislied  i  the  Scottish  accent  as  rather  to  increase  than 
.that  I  should  be  wise  to  follow  up  the  impres-  diminish  its  charm  ;  and  that  she  had  about  her 
sion  which  I  had  visibly  produced,  I  rose  I  a  collt'ctedness  and  self-possession  which  would 
haughtily  from  my  chair;  and  without  giving  necessarily  protect  her  against  the  vulgarity 
my  discomfited  antagonist  time  to  rally,  I  said, ,  of  which  she  had  so  fearful  an  example  before 
in  a  tone  of  sarcastic  cduitesy,  "As  I  presume  her  eyes.  Altogether,  she  was  an  enigma, 
that  we  are  ail  equally  at  home  on  all  points  at  Lady  Flora  had  even  urged  her  to  assert 
Kooksley,  and,  as  your  ladyship  must  need  re-  herself;  but  her  ladyship  had  no  Pygmalion 
pose  after  such  multifarious  exertions,  I  will  touch,  and  the  maible  uwuld  not  breathe, 
have  tlie  honor  of  wishing  you  good-night  I"  At  length  I  fell  asleep,  and  dreamt  that  my 
and  laying  my  hand  upon  the  bell,  I  rang  for  my  sister  was  dumb,  and  that  I  was  inventing  a 
maid.  i  system  of  shorthand  by  which  I  might  be  ena- 

Still  Lady  Flora  was  silent.  She  was  half- 1  bled  to  converse  with  her ;  when  suddenly  the 
frightened,  and  half-exaspeiated  ;  while  the  sounds  of  heavenly  music  stole  upon  my  ear, 
scene  in  which  I  had  enacted  the  tragic  muse  j  and  Isaw  her  seated  beside  my  bed,  endeavoring 
did  not  appear  to  discompose  my  incomprehen- ,  to  awaken  me  by  the  most  delicious  ballad  to 
sible  sister  in  the  slightest  degree.  She  still  which  I  had  ever  listened.  I  saw  her  distinctly, 
wore  the  same  expression  of  listless  fatigue  and  Therewerethesamesoul-speaking,  clear,  brown 
unsympathizing  ennui  with  which  she  had  met  eyes,  the  same  attractive  face,  the  "ame  tall, 
my  welcoming  embrace;  and,  on  the  entrance  slight,  graceful  form;  but  now  every  feature 
ol  my  attendant,  when  I  had  courtesied  silently  |  spoke  ;  every  lineament  was  redolent  of  radiant 
and  distantly  to  the  elder  lady,  she  placed  her  and  loving  expression  ;  her  gentle  h)ok  was 
passive  hand  in  mine,  and  echoed  my  "good-  turned  upon  me;  her  fair  arms  were  outspread 
night"  as  calndy  as  though  she  had  never  in  her  to  embrace  me;  we  were  indeed  sisters,  in 
life  retired  to  rest  without  our  having  exchang-  heart  as  well  as  name, 
ed  a  similar  greeting. 

When  I  reached  my  own  apartment,  and  had 
hurried  through  the  necessary  duties  in  order  to 
be  once  more  alone,  I  dismissed  Josephine,  and 
flung  myself  upon  my  bed  in  a  paro.xysm  of  pas- 
sionate morlihcalion.     Was  tliis  the  clinging, 


It  was  a  beautiful  apotheosis  ! 


CHAPTER  XVL 
I  WAS  wide  awake  on  the  following  morning 


for  hours  before  Josephine  made  herappearance, 
confiding,  loving  sister,  whose  aff"eciion  was  To  but  I  could  not  resolve  to  rise  ;  for  I  felt  that 
repay  me  for  every  trial,  and  for  every  disap-  thencel.irth  I  should  be  able  to  command  no 
puintmenl?  Was  this  the  guardian  who  was  solitude  save  that  which  was  afforded  by  my 
to  control  my  destiny  1     This  !  j  own  apartment ;  and,  for  aught  that  I  could  tell, 

I  need  not  expatiate  on  the  result  of  my  delib-i  even  that  might,  in  its  turn,  be  invaded  by  the 
erations.  I  was  at  first  startled  at  the  extreme  extraordinary  auihority  which  it  had  ph-ased 
wantof  breeding  and  the  homely  idioms  of  Lady'  my  mother  to  set  over  me.  As  i  recalled  the 
Flora,  when  I  remembered  that  she  was  the  image  of  Lady  Flora,  I  at  times  doubted  if  I 
sister  of  my  dignified  and  fastidious  mother,,  were  not  bewildered  bv  a  wild  dream,  in  whicfi 
even  prepared  as  I  had  been  by  the  inferences  I  had  so  blended  fallacies  with  facts  that  I  r  ould 
andcommentsofthenursery  (wheremy  latlier'Sj  not,  at  once,  disentangle  them.  But  no  .  the 
valet,  during  his  period  of  favor  with  Mrs.  more  I  dwelt  upon  the  events  of  the  past  even- 
Harris,  had  often  beguiled  the  tmie  by  his  broad  i  ing,  and  the  more  I  cast  off"  the  lingering 
sketches  of  the  castle  in  the  Highlands  and  its|  trammels  of  sleep,  the  more  I  became  conscioun 


m 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


of  the  hirleo<is  reality.  I  felt  sick  and  feverish 
vvjiji  disgust;  and  I  strove  to  put  away  the 
iiria!;e  of  the  elder  lady,  and  to  (iiink  oidy  of  my 
sistpr.  Here,  at  least,  there  was  interesting 
food  for  s|ipculali(in.  I  could  not  have  seen  her 
:n  her  real  character.  Such  coldness  and  reserve 
were  innoinpatiljle  with  her  sex  and  youth  ;  and 
under  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case, 
almost  impossihle  had  she  heen  a  free  agent.  My 
dream,  too  !  Had  not  my  dream  siiown  me 
what  she  really  was,  when  delivered  from  the 
incid)us  of  Lady  Flora's  presence  ]  Yes — yes 
-1  had  found  at  once  a  sister  and  a  friend. 
And  then  my  vanity  awoke.  How  I  should 
astonish  this  iiiountain-nraidcn  hy  iheexhibition 
of  my  dazzling  accomplishments;  and  how  de- 
lighted she  would  be  when  I  undertook  to  in- 
iiiaie  her  in  the  same  brilliant  mysteries  !  Her 
toilet,  too,  must  be  relbriried  ;  and  she  should 
make  use  of  my  wanlrolie  until  her  own  was 
rendered  available.  1  was  full  of  [irojecls  ;  and 
still  my  iiarmonioiis  and  graceful  dream  gave  a 
charm  and  a  melody  to  all  which  related  to  this 
new-found  sister.  I  even  became  anxious  lest 
Lady  O'llalltuan  should  not  do  her  justice,  in 
lier  hfirror  of  the  maiden  aunt. 

••  I  fear  that  the  sleei)  of  mademoiselle  was 
disturbed  last  night,"  said  Josejjhine,  as  she 
drew  hack  my  curtains,  and  let  in  a  glorious 
gush  of bunshine. 

••  liy  no  ineans  ;  I  never  slept  more  soundly, 
nor  tiieamt  more  pleasantly." 

"'I'hen  mademoiselle  did  not  hear  her  sis- 
ter!" 

"Hear  my  sister!  Why,  what  apartments 
did  she  occupy  1" 

"'I'liose  next  to  mademoiselle.  It  was  the 
order  of  miladi ;  and  miidamc  la  tanle  has  the 
rooms  opposite.     Tiie  gallery  is  now  full." 

".Ah,  indeed!  And  did  my  sister  walk  the 
said  gallery  all  night,  that  you  imagined  she 
had  broken  my  r(;st  !" 

"  riiint  du  lou/,''  said  the  Frenchwoman, 
somewhat  surprised  at  the  iiKiuiry,  and  mar- 
veling still  wKue  at  any  question  from  my  lips; 
"  but  before  she  went  to  rest,  (a  dame  icossaise 
was  an  hour  wiili  her  in  her  dressing-room, 
Rhere  they  were  em[)loyed  in  reading  ;  after 
R-liich  jMadeiiioiselle  Allele  sang  a  hymn  ;  ct 
mrdi,  c'cst  unc  licllc  x-oixl  " 

tiang  a  hyiiin  !  My  own  sister  sang  a  hymn 
jcfore  she  retired  to  her  bed  !  I  fell  as  though 
1  had  received  a  heavy  blow.  I  couhl  liave 
oetler  borue  anything  than  this!  I  was  so 
overwhelmed  that  I  remained  tor  an  instant 
with  my  eyes  riv(;led  upon  Josephine,  and  ut- 
terly unable  to  articulate  a  word.  A  mocking 
smile  sat  on  the  t;ountenance  of  the  .suuhrcUc. 
She  evidently  enjoyed  my  discomfiture,  but  I 
was  indili'ereiit  lo  her  triuin|)h.  1  bad  but  one 
feeling  of  monilicaiion,  of  disappoiiiimeiit,  of 
humiliation.  My  dream  had  not  been  all  a 
dream — and  mv  only  sister  was — a  Methodist ! 
This  was,  inil"od,  an  unlooked-lor  mislnriune 
— an  almost  irremediable  evil.  She  mighi  have 
Btayed  away  from  church  forever,  and  relused 
to  set  an  example  to  the  lower  orders,  as  1  oc- 
casionally thought  it  right  to  do  ;  she  would 
have  met  with  no  inteilereiu-e  from  .me,  nor 
shoidd  1  have  commented  upon  her  absence  ; 
but  to  fall  into  the  other  exiieme  was  so  low, 
80  unladylike  !     1  had  no  distinct  perception  of 


the  meaning  of  the  term  "Methodist,"  but  1 
knew  that  it  must  he  low,  that  it  mux/  he  un- 
ladylike, for  I  remembered  to  have  oiu^e  beard 
Dr.  James  tell  my  father  that  nearly  all  the 
tradespeople  at  the  post-town  were  Meihodists  ; 
and  I  knew,  moreover,  that  my  mother  hati  re- 
fused to  suffer  a  servant  who  jwofesseil  .Methud- 
isin  to  he  received  into  her  househola. 

And  now— here  was  my  sister  psalm-singing 
under  her  very  roof!  These  were  the  results 
of  Lady  Flora's  guardianship.  Poor  Adela's 
prospects  were  ruined,  if  once  her  delintiuency 
was  noised  abroad.  I  had  no  longer  any  hope 
of  seeing  her  make  a  figure  in  the  world. 
Without  this  misfortune,  with  time,  and  my 
instructions,  she  miffht  have  been  rendered  pre- 
sentable ;  but  .now  all  was  over.  Who  could 
make  anything  of  a  Methodist  1  Of  course,  as 
she  sang  hymns,  she  sang  nothing  else  ;  while 
dancing  and  drawing  must  be  deadly  sms.  No 
wonder  that  she  always  sat  in  silence;  she 
evidently  considered  it  wrong  to  converse  ;  so 

',  there  was  an  end  of  all  pro.spect  of  companion- 
ship. She  might,  under  other  circiimsiances, 
have  consoled  me  for  the  advent  of  Lady  Flora  ; 
but  now  it  was  a  case  of  Gog  and  Magog ;  and 
I  should  be  inevitably  tutored,  and  i)rayed,  and 
preached  to  death!  How  sincerely  I  pitied 
myself,  I  need  not  say  ;  nor  in  how  haughty  and 
self  centred  a  mood  I  descended  to  breakfast. 
/  had,  at  all  events,  sung  no  vesper  or  matin 
hymn. 

Lady  Flora  had  taken  a  violent  cold,  and 
remained  in  bed.  How  happy  this  casually 
would  have  made  me  had  it  not  been  for  Jo- 
sei)hine's  unlucky  news ;  but  now  I  met  my 
sister  with  a  face  as  composed  as  her  own  ; 

j  and  while  we  uttered  our  earliest  greeting, 
each  extended  her  hand,  and  neither  ap|)eared 

I  to  desire  a  warmer  salutation.  I  ought  to 
have  rememl.«ered  the  h(dy  calm,  the  delicious 

I  happiness  which  was  shed  over  my  dream,  but 

i  1  did  not.  I  felt  only  that  my  sister  was  a 
Methodist ! 

There  is  a  strange  and  startling  power  in 
that  mystic  word,  esjjecially  to  th(»se  who,  like 
myself,  were  altogether  ignorant  of  its  meaning. 
1  looked  upon  it  as  a  kill-joy,  as  a  marplot ; 
and,  worse  than  all,  as  something  quite  beyond 

'  the  pale  of  fashionable  society.  "  We  are  all 
horn  to  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upward  ;"  but 
this  was  a  trouble — a  misfoitune  beyond  all 
polite  calculation  !  Even  my  moihei,  m  her 
lirst  outbreak  ol  displeasure  against  me,  could 
never  have  imagined  or  conceived  that  she  was 
about  to  make  me  the  daily  and  hourly  com- 
panion of  a  Methodist. 

When  our  almost  silent  breakfast  was  at 
length  brought  to  an  end,  1  proposed  to  my  sis- 
ter that  we  should  pass  into  the  saloon,  as  I 
was  anxious  to  prepare  for  my  rausic-masler, 
Wiiom  1  expected  that  morning.  She  complied 
in  the  same  tame,  listless  manner  which  had, 
since  her  arrival,  distinguished  her  bearing. 
My  principal  motive  in  this  arrangement  was, 
however,  as  my  reader  will  at  once  have  guess- 
ed, to  astonish  her  hy  my  musical  proliciency. 
After  a  slight  apology  for  leaving  her  to  amuse 
heisi.'ll  for  an  hour,  1  sealed  myself  at  the  harp, 
and  began  to  ppclude,  with  a  rapid  hnger  and  a 
steady  touch,  which  I  t(;lt  convinced  must  elec- 
trily  my  solitary  auditor,  but  my  skill  produced 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


63 


no  such  eflpct ;  or,  if  Miss  Adela  Tilden  worn 
indeed  asUmislied,  lier  surprise  was  sufficnenily 
great  to  prevent  all  outward  exliibitiim  ;  for 
wiieii  I  at  ieiigtii  perinilted  myself  to  glanee 
toward  lier.  slie  was  (piietly  lying  hack  on  a 
sofa,  and  deeply  engaged  ii()on  a  small  volume 
which  she  had  taken  from  her  reticule — a  huok 
of  J'rayers,  of  course  ! 

I  wiilulrew  my  indignant  eyes,  and  grew 
strong  in  the  very  recklessness  of  my  mortili- 
cation.  My  harp-master  had  lately  hrought  to 
inc  a  piece  of  music  (illed  with  elai)orate  and 
diliicult  passages  ;  and  alihough  I  as  yet  had 
studied  it  hut  imperfectly,  still  I  fell  satisfied 
that  I  had  mastered  its  intricacies  siittieienlly 
to  make  an  advantageous  display  hefore  a  no- 
vice like  my  sister.  1  accordingly  commenced 
my  undertaking  with  some  little  assumption  of 
consequence — placed  myself  in  a  more  studied 
attitude,  and  was  difficult  in  the  arrangement 
of  my  music-stand.  At  last,  slapdash  into  my 
task  I  plunged,  each  moment  in  danger  of  heing 
brought  to  a  decided  stand-still,  and  yet,  thanks 
to  my  presence  of  mind,  constantly  extricating 
myself  hy  some  hold  interpolation  or  omission, 
until  I  ultimately  thundered  through  the  last 
page. 

Faulty  as  my  performance  had  heen,  I  never- 
theless felt  desirous  of  applause,  and  I  accord- 
ingly turned  toward  my  sister^  and,  in  as  mod- 
est a  manner  as  I  could  acconriplish,  injiuired 
her  opinion,  not  of  my  own  science,  but  of  ihe 
rondo  itself. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is  very  fine,"  was  the 
unmoved  reply ;  "  but  I  confess  that  I  have  found 
it  impossible  to  follow  all  its  movements.     To 
me,  possibly  from  my  ignorance  of  the  subtle- 
ties of  harmony,  there  has  seemed  occasionally 
to  be  a  great  incoherency  ;  but,  as  I  before  re- 
marked, the  deficiency  was  most   probably  in 
myself" 
And  she  calmly  resumed  her  reading. 
I  fell  the  blood  rush  over  my  face  !     I  looked 
earnestly    toward   her,    but    I    might  with    as 
much  profit  have  consulted  the  ceiling  for  her 
latent  meaning,  if  she  really  had  one,  as  the 
iuimol)ile  features  that  met  my  view.     Still  I 
by  no  means  satisfied,  for, I  was  conscious 
that  the  incoherencies  alluded  io  had  been  (juile 
Tceplible  to  myself,  and  I  began  to  a|)preiiend 
hat  they  might  have  been  even  more  so  to  a 
istener.     I    was    deeply    mortified.     My   first 
flbn  at  display  had  lieen  a  decided  failure.     I 
ad  neither  courage  nor  temper  to  make  another 
ttenipt ;  so,  thrusting  my  harp  from  me,  1  ap- 
roached  the  sofa  on  which  my  sister  was  seat- 
d,  and  iiKpiired  if  she  were  musicaH 

«•  Not  what  you  woul'l  consider  musical.  I  1 
im  afraid,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile.     "I  I 

no  harpist,  and  know  only  enough  of  the 
nore  humble  piano  to  set  me  above  the  neces- 
ity  of  troubling  others  to  accompany  my  voice.  I 
yline  has  been  rather  the  teaching  of  nature 
han  of  art;  but  still,  such  as  it  is,  it  will  at  I 
ast  enable  me  to  return   your  own  amiable  ' 
sndeavor   to   amuse ;"    and    laying  down    her 
lOok,  without  one  moment's  hesitation,  without  j 
ne  synijitom   of  shyness   or  reluctance,  she 
eated  herself  at  the  instrimumt. 
Her  account  of  herself  had  been  a  thoroughly 
rrect  one.     She  was  by  no  means  either  a  I 
iriiliant  or  a  scientific  musician  ;  but  she  had  i 


not  completed  one  stanza  of  the  ballad  which 
she  ha(.  selected,  before  I  perfecily  undersiood 
that  she  had  a  faultless  ear,  and  an  unusually 
melodious  voice.  I  thonghi  of  my  patchwork 
rondo,  and  could  have  wept  with  annoyance  at 
having  so  needlessly  exposed  myself 

\\'hen  she  ceased  singing,  my  sister  rose  as 
calmly  as  she  had  sat  down,  and  again  moved 
toward  her  sola,  but  I  resolved  not  to  yield 
tamely  to  what  I  cimsidered  as  a  defeat  ;  and 
therefore  ringing  f(!r  a  servant,  I  desired  that 
my  drawing  portfolios  might  be  brougUl  into 
the  room.  They  soon  ap|)eared,  and  I  did  Ihe 
honors  of  what  my  master  had  declared  to  ha 
my  performances,  but  which  bad  derived  no  lit 
tie  advantage  from  his  own  skilful  "  fHiishing 
up,"  as  demurely  as  I  could.  They  were  of  a 
heterogeneous,  or,  as  I  should  at  that  period 
have  said,  of  an  universal  description,  'i'here 
was  no  style  which  I  had  left  untouched;  fig- 
ures, flowers,  landscapes,  interiors,  busts,  and 
portraits. 

Fortunately,  idle  young  ladies  and  gentlemen 
had  not  then  learned  the  art  of  degrading  art, 
save  by  their  imperfect  eflbrts  to  jiorlray  it, 
so  that  my  books  contained  neither  poonah- 
paintings,  nor  transfer-pieces,  nor  japan-woik, 
nor  any  other  of  those  cheap,  and  tiespicable, 
and  worthless  monstrosities  which  in  the  jires- 
ent  day  are  one  of  the  triumphs  of  ignorant 
indolence  over  artist-aspiration. 

My  sister  turned  leaf  after  leaf  with  equal  pa 
tience  and  (dacidity  :  she  made  no  comment — 
she  offered  no  criticism.  She  seemed  to  feel 
that  by  looking  at  each  iti  turn,  and  persevering 
to  the  end,  she  had  done  all  that  could  be  e.v- 
pected  of  her;  or,  more  encouraging  thought! 
that  here  at  least  she  must  not  venture  an 
opinion. 

"  You  paint,  of  course,"  I  said,  carelessly. 

"Not  at  all." 

"Nor  drawV 

"  Not,  probably,  as  you  understand  the  term. 
I  can  do  none  of  these  brilliant  and  showy 
things.  I  merely  sketch  from  nature.  1  am 
an  adopted  child  of  the  mountains,  as  you  know, 
and  needed  little  assistance  to  learn  how  best 
to  make  them  all  my  own." 

My  sister  was  growing  every  moment  more 
inexplicable — 1  had  almost  said,  more  provok- 
ing. She  was  certainly  an  extraoidinary  girl; 
as  womanly  for  her  years  even  as  mysell,  but 
from  totally  diflerent  causes.  We  had  not  lived 
a  week  under  the  same  roof,  ere  I  discovered 
that,  whatever  advantage  I  might  have  over  her 
in  society  by  the  greater  variety  and  brilliancy 
of  my  acquirements,  I  must  be  particularly 
careful  to  avoid  all  rivalry  in  the  higher  and 
more  solid  branches  of  education.  While  I  had 
been  striving  to  attain  to  the  fashionable  jar- 
gon of  my  mother's  set,  she  had  been  biirieil  in 
books.  While  I  had  been  talking,  she  had  been 
thinking;  and  while  I  had  been  cheated  out  of 
my  childhood  by  constant  contact  with  a  crov/d, 
she  had  been  beguiled  of  hers  by  the  companion 
ship  of  two  staid  elderly  women,  and  tlie  sop 
tude  of  a  mountain  home. 

Lady  O'lialloran.  who  drove  to  Rooksley  a 
day  or  two  after  the  arrival  of  its  new  imnalos, 
was  enchanteil  with  her. 

The  cold  which  Lady  Flora  had  taken  on  the 
road  Droved  more  severe  thin  she  had  antici- 


64 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


paled,  and  she  was  still  confined  to  her  mom, 
greatly  to  my  relief.  I,  therefore,  induced  my 
kind  nei<;lihor  to  remain  durini;  the  day,  which, 
believing  that  she  might  benefit  us  by  lier  pres- 
ence, she  leadily  consented  to  do.  It  required 
no  great  penetration  on  her  part  to  discover  the 
restraint  which  existed  between  my  sister  and 
myself;  and  with  the  most  amiable  zeal  she  at 
once  endeavored  to  remove  it ;  but  the  work  of 
years  can  seldom  be  overthrown  in  a  day.  It 
requires  extraordinary  impulse  and  emotion  to 
open  l>earts  which  have  longbeen  closed  against 
each  other;  and  we  were  alike,  upon  this  sub- 
ject, too  indifTereiit  for  either.  Had  it  been 
otherwise.  Lady  OHalloran  might  in  some  de- 
gree have  succeeded ;  for,  by  a  happy  coinci- 
dence, the  post  brought  me  that  day  a  letter 
from  my  father,  announcing  his  intention  of 
running  down  to  llooksley  to  spend  a  week  or 
ten  days  with  his  long-separated  children,  di- 
rectly that  parliament  should  be  prorogued. 
My  delight  knew  no  bounds.  A  letter  from  my 
father— his  first  letter !  Unlike  the  epistles  of 
my  mother,  it  contained  no  lurking  sarcasm — 
no  cold,  dictatorial  commands  ;  no  supercilious 
warnings ; — it  breathed  only  affection,  hope, 
and  coiilidence.  I  turned,  full  of  joy,  towards 
my  sister. 

"  Do  you*know  our  father,  Adela  ]" 

"  I  have  seen  him  twice." 

"In  the  Highlands  1" 

"  Yes." 

I  was  silent  for  a  moment.  During  the  two 
years  that  I  was  left  to  the  ciiarge  of  menials 
at  Rooksley,  he  had  never  sought  me.  A  feel- 
ing of  jealou.sy  crept  coldly  over  my  heart ;  but 
I  was  too  happy  In  the  prospect  of  his  promised 
visit  to  dwell  upon  this  new  mortification,  and 
I  once  more  turned  to  the  letter.  Lady  0"Hal- 
loran,  with  instinctive  watchfulness,  had  ob- 
served the  change  which  came  over  me,  and, 
she  hastened  to  e.xclaim  : — 

"  But  twice,  my  dear  child,  during  your  whole 
life  !  You  have  indeed  been  subjected  to  a  de- 
privation beyond  your  comprehension.  Now, 
however,  we  will  trust  that  greater  happiness 
is  in  store  for  you,  for  you  cannot  yet  under- 
stand all  the  value  of  such  a  father." 

"  And  yet,  madam,"  said  my  sister,  with 
more  feeling  than  she  had  before  betrayed, 
•'  you  will  believe  that  he  is,  nevertheless,  very 
dear  to  me,  when  I  tell  you  that  to  him  I  am, 
as  yet.  indebted  for  the  few  hours  of  hopeful 
■happiness  that  I  have  ever  known.  It  was 
from  his  lips  I  learned  that  I  was  not  altogeth- 
er an  alien  from  the  hearts  and  hearths  of  my 
parents,  and  that  all  the  affection  which  they 
had  to  give  iiad  not  been  utterly  poured  out 
upon  their  first-born." 

"  And  you  have  full  proof  that  such  was  tlie 
fact,"  said  onr  visitor,  with  good-humored 
eagerness.  "  You  came  into  the  world  weak  and 
sickly,  my  dear  Miss  Adela  ;  the  atmosphere  of 
London  was  poison  to  your  tender  lungs  ;  phy- 
sicians recommended  quiet  and  a  bracing  air 
until  you  should  have  grown  to  girlhood.  Their 
injunctions  were  carefully  observed  ;  the  period 
ol  trial  is  happily  overpast ;  and  now,  here  you 
are,  under  the  same  roof  with  your  only  sister, 
where  I  hope  soon  to  see  but  one  heart  and  one 
interest  between  you." 

A  bitter  smile  played  about  the  expressive 


lips  of  Adela.  Like  myself,  she  felt  at  that 
moment  the  utter  impossibility  that  such  should 

-  ever  be  the  case.  Place  the  past  in  as  kind 
and  favorable  a  light  as  she  might.  Lady 
0"Halloran  could  not  remove  the  conviction 
from  my  sister's  mind  that  she  had  been  the 
viciim  of  an  undue  partiality  for  myself  While 
hundreds  had  already  been  lavished  upon  my 
education  ;  while  I  was  even  now  a  woman 
of  fashion  in  dress,  in  manner,  and  in  self- 
possession,  she  had  been  comparatively  left  to 
her  own  moral  resources  for  all  progress.  I 
say  comparatively ;  for  her  next  remark,  still 
addressed  to  our  guest,  explained  much  in  her 
acquirements  and  manners  which  had  hitherto 
appeared  to  me  inexplicable. 

I  "  The  extreme  care  and  anxiety  which  Lady 
Madelaine  Tilden  displayed  to  preserve  my  con 
stitution  from  possible  hazard,  my  dear  madam, 
is  an  obligation  which  I  am  never  likely  to  for- 
get.    Had  she  extended  her  solicitude  to  my 

I  education,  it  would  undoubtedly  have  been  still 
heavier  ;  and  the  fact  that  my  father  did  so, 

I  must  be  my  apology,  if  all  the  filial  affection 

;  which  I  have  been  able  to  call  into  action  un- 
der the  very  peculiar  circumstances  of  my 
position,  are  consequently  centered  upon  him. 

I  To  his  care  I  owe  the  friendship  and  guidance 
of  Mrs.  Davenport,  a  lady  whose  widowhood 

i  reduced  her  income  so  considerably  as  to  de- 
termine her,  at  the  entreaty  of  my  father,  to 
take  up  her  residence  in  a  highland  village,  in 
order  to  superintend  my  education.  She  had 
formerly  moved  in  the  first  circles  of  fashion, 
and  she  felt  the  contempt  for  such  society 
which  must  pervade  every  well-regulated  mind. 
She  taught  me  to  estimate  at  its  just  value  the 

j  emptiness,  liollowness,  and  falsehood  of  what 

j  is  presumptuously  enough  called  The  World ! 

' — to  hold  time  as  too  precious  to  he  frittered 
away  upon  frivolous  acquirements  bereft  of  all 
intrinsic  value ;  and  to  be  sulhcienily  the  mis- 
tress of  myself  to  withhold  my  friendship  and 
my  confidence  from  the  mere  butterllies  of  van- 
ity." 

"  And  I  should  have  decided  that  she  acted 

I  wisely,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  Lady  O'Hal- 

1  loran,  with  admirai)le  calmness,  as  she  marked 
the  red  and  angry  spot  that  was  burning  on  my 
cheek  at  the  covert  sarcasm  of  the  extraordi- 

I  nary  girl  beside  her.  "  I  should  have  decided 
that  she  had  acted  wisely,  had  she  waited  ten 
years  longer  before  she  inculcated  a  lesson  ot 

i  suspicion  and  self-righteousness  upon  a  mere 
child,  totally  unable  to  subsliiute,  for  the  bril- 
liant trilles  which  she  denounced,  better  and 
more  solid  qualities  of  mind  and  heart:  or,  had 
she  shown  sulficieiit  good  taste  to  ascertain 
what  might  be  the  wishes  of  your  immediate 
relatives  upon  so  serious  a  subject.  At  your 
age,  you  should  have  no  misgivings,  no  doubts 
of  others  ;  it  is  only  time  and  experience  which 
can  give  the  right  to  judge  those  aliout  us  ;  and 
who  can  tell  the  secret  springs  of  soul  which 
are  touched  to  produce  certain  results,  even 
then  t  Believe  me — and  I  say  it  with  regret — 
that  upon  so  faulty  a  foundation  as  distrust  and 
contempt  of  your  fellow-creatures,  a  hideous 
superslructuie   of  selfishness,  arrogance,  and 

j  prejudice  may  be  easily  built  up.     You  must  ■ 

I  not  be  angry  or  offended  at  my  frankness.     I 

,  am  your  father's  friend.    I  am  anxious  to  see 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


6f> 


his  children  happy  in  each  otlipr.  You  have 
both  much  to  undo,  my  dear  girls.  You  have 
been  estranged,  as  well  in  heart  as  in  person, 
by  peculiar  circumstances.  You  are  both  suf- 
fering in  feeling  and  in  disposition  from  an 
extreme  system  of  education.  You  have  both 
been  forced  beyond  your  years ;  Eveleen,  my 
dear  Miss  Adela,  who  wdl,  I  believe,  enter  upon 
her  fifteenth  birth-day  next  week,  has  been  for 
years  one  of  the  '  butterflies  of  vanity'  whom 
you  have  just  denounced  :  you,  who  are  barely 
fourteen,  are  putting  forth  dogmas  more  seemly 
for  thirty  or  thirty-five — for  the  lips  of  matured 
woman liood — than  for  those  of  an  inexperi- 
enced girl,  who  knows  nothing  of  the  world 
beyond  the  mountains  which  overhang  the  se- 
cluded home  of  her  infancy,  and  the  sentiments 
ot"  in  all  probability,  an  amiable  but  disappoint- 
ed woman.  Eveleen  has  been  prematurely 
fasl)ional)le — you  have  been  precociously  wise 
— each,  understand  me,  in  your  own  conceit ; 
qnd  you  are  alike  self-deceived.  You  have  still 
much  to  learn.  Now,  take  my  frank  advice, 
and  you  will  both  live  to  feel  that  it  is  worth 
attention.  Endeavor  each  to  profit  by  the  good 
qualities,  whether  natural  or  acquired,  of  your 
companion,  and  the  advantage  will  be  mutual. 
It  is  this  fancied  superiority  on  both  sides 
which  will  prevent  all  perfect  understanding 
and  all  kind  feeling  between  you.  Divest  your- 
selves alike  of  personal  and  mental  assump- 
tion ;  be  what  Heaven  willed  that  you  should 
ne,  gentle,  mild,  and  loving  ;  and,  trust  me,  you 
have  long  years  of  happiness  and  aflection  be- 
'ore  you."' 

As  the  child  of  her  friend,  and  as  the  victim 
of  a  mother's  caprice,  Lady  O'Halloran  was 
evidently  prepared,  even  before  they  met,  to 
encourage  a  partiality  for  my  sister.  Delight- 
ed by  her  intelligence,  by  the  docility  with 
which  she  listened  to  her  admonitions  and  ad- 
vice, and  with  the  extraordinary  development 
of  her  intellect,  so  broadly  contrasted  with  my 
orerweening  vanity  and  violent  deportment, 
she  watclied  her  narrowly,  almost  fondly  ;  and, 
I  verily  believe,  succeeded  in  persuading  her- 
self, before  she  left  us  that  evening,  that  she 
thoroughly  comprehended  her  character. 

The  result  proved  her  mistake.  Circum- 
stances alone  could  develop  so  peculiar  a  na- 
ture. Never,  withaut  being  false,  was  there 
such  a  reserved  (iisjjosition.  Adela  s|)oke  little 
— her  explanatory  speech  to  Lady  O'Halloran, 
which  I  lately  (juoted,  was,  as  far  as  I  can  re- 
member, the  longest  I  ever  heard  her  utter — 
and  when  she  did  converse,  it  was  deliberately 
and  guardedly.  Occa.sionally  vehement,  but 
never  gay ;  gloomy  rather  than  serious  in  her 
general  mood  ;  passionately  fond  of  pleasure, 
while  afTi.'cting  to  despise  its  frivolity ;  her 
wishes  and  her  will  were  like  a  spring,  of 
which  the  power  increases  in  proportion  to  the 
violence  of  the  means  used  to  counteract  it. 
Sufficiently  pretty  to  feel  it  unnecessary  to 
shrink  from  com|)ctition,  endowed  with  a  fair 
portion  other  mother's  haughtiness,  and  gifted 
With  a  happy  appreciation  of  her  own  advan- 
tages. Lady  OHalloran  at  once  decided  that 
she  already  betrayed  tbe  elements  of  a  superior 
nature.  She  was  astonished  to  find  a  girl  of 
fourteen  possessed  of  so  much  presence  of 
mind,  strength  of  character,  and  that  faculty, 


so  rare  among  young  people,  nf  rapid  decision, 
whenever  she  was  called  upon  either  to  act  or 
to  offer  any  opinion.  We  were,  in  truth,  most 
singularly  contrasted.  Gay,  lively,  and  even 
giddy,  where  my  spirits  were  excited,  I  was 
frank  and  open  by  nature,  and  what  dissimula- 
tion I  possessed  was  the  extraneous  produce 
of  education  ;  and  was,  at  all  times,  ill-sustain- 
ed, and  easy  of  detection.  Yielding,  and  weak 
of  purpose,  when  opposed  ;  readily  led  away  by 
my  own  tastes,  by  example,  and  by  novelty,  I 
required  alike  guidance  and  restraint ;  and  I 
should  not,  in  all  probability,  have  found  a  com- 
panion better  suited  tome  than  my  sister,  if  we 
could,  as  Lady  O'Halloran  suggested,  have  di- 
vested ourselves  of  the  false  estimate  which 
we  had  each  made  of  our  peculiar  personal  su- 
periority, and  placed  confidence  in  one  anolhsr. 
But  from  this 

"Consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished," 
we  were  a  thousand  leagues  off  Our  zealous 
friend  pleased  herself,  nevertheless,  by  believ- 
ing that,  despite  all  which  had  gone  before,  we 
were  still  so  young  that  the  mere  force  of  habit, 
when  we  had  resided  for  a  few  months  under 
the  same  roof,  would  produce  affection,  with 
all  its  blessed  attributes  of  trust,  and  confidence, 
and  peace.  She  forgot  that  all  those  by  whom 
we  were  surrounded  were  not  working  in  the 
same  spirit  as  herself. 

Adela,  whose  sickly  infancy  and  weakly  child- 
hood had  deprived  her  of  the  opportunities  of 
physical  exertion  and  healthful  recreation  which 
she  could  otherwise  have  commanded  in  hear 
mountain  solitude,  was  early  thrown  upon  her 
own  mental  resources  for  occupation  and  amuse- 
ment. The  contracted  ideas  of  Lady  Flora, 
and  the  bitter  retaliation  of  Mrs.  Davenport 
upon  a  world  from  which  her  necessities  had 
put  her  forth,  were  the  only  moral  engines  em- 
ployed to  direct  and  develop  the  extraordinary 
powers  and  feelings  of  the  student-girl.  No 
wonder  that  her  mind  and  tastes  were  prema- 
turely aged.  I  have  before  confessed  that,  in 
the  sterner  and  more  severe  branches  of  edu- 
cation, she  was  greatly  my  superior.  I  felt 
and  knew  this  ;  and  the  conviction  should  have 
brought  with  it  a  sense  of  humiliation.  It  had, 
however,  a  totally  dilTerent  eflcct.  Not  one  of 
my  sister's  acquirements — save,  indeed,  that 
which  taught  her  to  give  its  full  value  to  a 
voice  of  wonderful  compass  and  harmony — was 
calculated  to  produce  the  slightest  effect  upon 
the  circle  in  which  she  was  destined  to  move. 
She  had  been  educated  for  the  closet,  not  the 
court. 

I,  on  the  contrary,  was  early  sufl[ered  to  let 
the  higher  and  more  precious  powers  of  my  in- 
tellect run  entirely  to  waste.  As  regarded  that 
species  of  knowledge  which  the  old  moralist 
declared  to  be  "  better  than  houses  or  land,"  1 
was  profoundly  ignorant.  I  had  laid  up  no 
store  for  the  winter  of  life.  But  then  its  sweet 
sprirg,  and  its  blooming  summer!  There,  in- 
deed, I  was  unap[)roachable.  I  was  already 
of  the  world,  worldly.  What  though  I  might 
be  deficient  alike  in  self-knowledge  and  in 
1<nowledge  of  my  fellow  mortals,  I  was  not  the 
less  a  proficient  in  the  argot  of  the  drawing- 
room,  and  the  affectations  of  fashionable  so- 
ciety. 1  was  preeminently  handsome,  perfectly 
self-possessed ;  I  could  lake  my  position,  like 


66 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN- 


finished  woman  of  the  world  ;  and  as  for  all 
that  lay  deeper,  all  that  was  buried  beneath 
Ihe  surlace,  and  which  must  he  dug  for  before 
it  could  he  reached — cui  bono?  Once  satisfied 
of  my  superiority,  I  resolved  to  give  less  way 
to  the  feelings  which  had  surprised  me  on  our 
first  meeting.  ^ly  affection  had  been  flung 
back  upon  me  ;  I  had  not  been  understood. 
Here  again  I  was  conscious  that  I  took  high 
ground,  and  I  determined  to  maintain  it.  I  had 
too  long  been  accustomed  to  admiration  and 
applause  to  quail  before  a  course  of  dry  reading 
and  antiquated  knowledge.  The  result  may  be 
imagmed.  Poor  Lady  O'Halloran  had  taken 
loo  much  for  granted  when  she  asserted  that 
lime  and  propinquity  would  necessarily  produce 
affection.  They  did  quite  the  contrary.  Nei- 
ther Adela  nor  I  would  bend.  We  were  like 
two  young  forest  trees  which  had  each  followed 
a  transverse  direction  ;  and  the  admonitions 
of  the  kind-hearted  matron  produced  only  the 
same  effect  upon  us  as  an  occasional  gust  of 
wind  may  be  supposed  to  have  producea  upon 
the  said  saplings ;  they  ruffled  for  a  moment 
the'  fresh  leaves  of  our  self-love,  even  bowed 
us  toward  each  other  for  an  instant,  as  though 
attracted  by  a  new  instinct ;  and  then  rebound- 
ed the  more  sturdily  to  compel  us  to  reassume 
our  original  position. 

Before  Lady  O'Halloran  left  Rooksley,  she 
reminded  me  of  the  promise  which  I  had  made 
to  spend  another  day  at  the  Hall  before  the  close 
of  the  month,  and  I  joyfully  renewed  the  pledge. 
I  felt  that  I  had  tnuch  to  tell  her  in  private, 
much  to  discuss,  and,  perhaps,  something^  to 
justify.  How  was  my  gratification  blighted, 
however,  when  I  heard  her  extend  the  invi- 
tation  to  my  sister — to  Adela,  of  whom  she 
knew  absolutely  nothing  !  I  felt  wronged,  griev- 
ously wronged.  That  could  no  longer  be  es- 
teemed a  privilege  which  was  so  freely  offered 
to  a  stranger.  My  heart  leapt  with  indigna- 
tion. I  had  passed  months  at  Rooksley,  aban- 
doned, if  not  to  the  sole  fellowship  of  servants 
— for  from  that  degradation  my  own  sense  of 
propriety  and  natural  pride  of  character  had 
preserved  me — at  least  to  their  unbroken  con- 
tact;  and  no  Lady  O'Halloran  had  terminated 
my  enforced  solitude  unid  urged  to  do  so  by  my 
father;  while,  even  before  I  had  been  allowed 
time  and  o[)portunity  to  feel  that  I  had  won  the 
regard  of  my  self-constituted  friend,  the  same 
measure  of  civility  was  unhesitatingly  meted 
out  to  my  stranger  sister  ! 

It  was  a  bitter  moment.  I  felt  as  though  I 
were  deeply  injured  ;  and  the  more  readily  that 
Adela  rather  acquiesced  in  the  arrangement 
than  responded  to  the  courtesy.  To  her  the 
jroposition  and  its  result  were  evidently  mat- 
ters of  equal  indifference.  She  even  made  a 
stipulation  that  she  would  accompany  ine  only 
in  the  event  of  an  improvement  in  Lady  Flora's 
health.  The  reservation  was  met  by  a  smilmg 
rejoinder,  and  thus  the  affair  was  definitely  ar- 
ranged. 

Lady  O'Halloran's  pony-carriage  was  an- 
nounced ;  and  I  entreated  her  to  put  on  her 
bonnet  arid  mantle  in  my  dressing-room.  She 
consented;  and  at  length  we  were  alone.  1 
considered  myself  too  seriously  aggrieved  to 
lose  a  moment  in  telling  her  precisely  what  I 
fell. 


"Thank  you,  my  dear  Eveleen,"  she  said, 
affectionately,  as  she  seated  herself  upon  the 
sofa,  and  drew  me  to  her  side,  "  foi  this  natu- 
ral and  unaflfected  proof  of  your  confidence  and 
regard.  My  most  earnest  wish  is,  that  I  may 
win  your  lovg  ;  yet,  remember  that  I  do  not 
ask  it  all ;  I  shall  be  content  with  just  so  much 
as  you  may  be  able  to  grant  to  me,  without 
wronging  those  who  have  a  ris'ht  to  claim  af- 
fection froiTi  you.  And  now  let  us  quietly  dis- 
cuss the  subject  of  your  compla'iit.  Am  I  to 
understand  that  you  have  an  objection  to  visit- 
ing in  company  with  your  sister!" 

"  No,  my  dear  Lady  O'Halloran :  in  that 
point  of  view,  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indiffer- 
ence whether  I  am  or  am  not  accompanied  by 
Adela  ;  but,  as  regards  yourself,  I  had  hoped 
that  yoii  would  have  made  some  distinction 
between' us,  and  that  I  should  have  been  your 
most  frequent  guest."' 

"And  wherefore  1" 

"  Because  I  have  learnt  to  love  yon.  and  I 
flattered  myself  that  you  woidd  not  overlook 
the  fact." 

"  And  it  is  in  order  to  win  also  the  affection 
of  your  sister  that  I  wish  to  see  as  much  as 
possible  of  her.  She  is  an  extraordinary  girl, 
Eveleen — a  very  extraordinary  girl ;  and  I  fore- 
see that  she  will  never  steer  a  middle  course 
through  life — she  will  either  be  the  victim  of 
society  or  its  tyrant.  Hers  is  no  common  char- 
acter, but  she  is,  as  yet,  far  too  young  for  self- 
guidance.  Would  you  envy  her  the  possession 
of  a  sincere  and  disinterested  friend  !" 

I  turned  away  my  head,  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Consider,"  continued  my  monitress,  "  how 
necessary  such  a  resource  cannot  fail  to  be  at 
her  early  age.  The  responsibility  of  depriving 
her  of  so  essential  a  support  would  be  a  terrible 
one  !  Long  estranged  from  her  family,  sud- 
denly separated  from  the  lady  who  had  hitherto 
acted  toward  her  the  part  of  a  mother  as  well 
as  that  of  an  instructress,  plunged  into  new 
scenes,  surrounded  by  new  faces, — can  you  not 
imagine  somewhat  of  the  desolation  of  her 
young  heart  ■?  Can  you  not  believe  that  it 
yearns  for  companionship  and  kindness  '" 

"  I  am  also  an  alien  from  my  mother's  hearth," 
I  said  moodily. 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  admit  no  parallel  in  the  two  po 
sitions,"  persisted  Lady  O'Halloran.  "Again, 
I  entreat  of  you  to  recall  the  past  to  memory. 
While  Adela  was  an  exile  whose  very  name 
was  never  uttered  in  her  natural  home,  you 
were  the  pelted  child  of  luxury  and  indulgence  ; 
and  yet  she  had  the  same  claim  upon  her  pa 
rents  as  yourself  You  were  a  beauty,  and  as 
such  you  were  cherished;  your  sister  was  de- 
clared to  be  plain  and  unattractive,  and  she 
was,  according  to  the  same  parity  of  reasoning, 
put  forth,  and  when  such  was  possible,  forgotten. 
But  do  you  not  see  and  feel  how  completely  na 
lure  has  revenged  her?  Do  you  not  perceive  I 
under  that  calm  and  undemonstrative  deport- 
ment, a  gracefulness  and  self-possession  as  re- 
markable as  they  are  charming !  Neglected, 
as  I  am  compelled  to  admit,  even  to  you,  that 
she  has  been,  you  ought  to — " 

"  I  am  bound  liv  no  obligation  which  can  re- 
gard Miss  Adela  Tilden,  madam,"  I  said,  warm- 
ly ;  "  it  is  from  no  fault  of  mine  that  she  lias 
suffered  the  evils  which  you  have  enumerated  ' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


67 


"JSor  do  I  blame  you  for  tlie  errors  of  those 
over  whom  you  can  exercise  no  control,"  was 
the  quiet  rejoinder.  "  Had  it  been  otherwise, 
and  that  you  had  even  lent  yourself  to  such  in- 
justice from  motives  of  jealousy  and  selfish- 
ness, I  should  have  despised  you  too  heartily  to 
evince  the  least  interest  or  exertion  in  your 
fate.  But  surely  this  very  negative  and  merit- 
less  fact  of  your  non-interference  does  not  ex- 
onerate you  from  the  duty  of  endeavoring  to 
make  the  present  existence  of  your  sister  a 
bright  and  happy  contrast  from  the  past  1  Sure- 
ly it  does  not  place  you  beyond  the  pale  of  blot- 
ting out  by  your  affection  the  mortifications 
which  have  hitherto  been  heaped  upon  her!" 

"  3/y  affection  !"  I  exclaimed,  with  strong 
emphasis  ;  "  believe  me  when  I  assure  you,  my 
dear  Lady  O'Halloran,  that  such  a  privilege  is 
not  reserved  for  me.  I  have  already  probed  my 
sister's  spirit  to  its  depths  ;  the  only  feeling 
■which  I  have  aroused  in  her  heart  is  avoidance 
— aversion  were,  perhaps,  the  filter  word  :  she 
has  been  taught  to  dislike  me,  and  she  has  been 
an  apt  j)upil." 

"  Eveleen,  beware  !"  said  Lady  O'Halloran 
coldly,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  folded 
her  mantle  about  her ;  "  reflect  ere  it  be  too 
late.  Wide  as  is  the  world,  the  children  of  the 
same  parents  must  inevitably  sometimes  meet 
in  its  paths.  Strive  then  that  neither  of  you 
may  have  cause  to  shrink  from  those  meet- 
ings. Consider  the  old  age  of  your  father, 
when  his  daughters  must  be  his  prop  and  stay. 
Kneel  and  pray  that  you  may  be  delivered  from 
the  prejudices  by  which  you  are  enslaved. 
Let  me  see  you  soon  at  the  Hall,  happy  in  each 
other's  affection.     And  now — good  n)ght !" 


what  she  gained  in  exigence.  Emily  Vernon 
had  disniissci!  Mr.  De  Clifford  ;  she  was  .still 
living,  or  rather  existing,  in  a  fool's  paradise  ; 
she  was  still  struggling  lo  believe  liiat  Otter- 
fiird  loved  her,  for  he  lost  no  opportunity  of 
telling  her  so  whenever  they  chanced  to  meet 
in  private  ;  and  although  his  actions  continued 
to  belie  his  words,  how  could  she  doubt  him, 
when  she  was  only  too  conscious  that  her  ha[)- 
piness  and  her  life  alike  depended  upon  his 
truth  ]  Alas  !  for  the  woman  who  gives  away 
her  heart,  whe.re  she  receives  only  asseveration 
in  return  !  Alas  !  for  the  faith  that  builds  uj 
its  strength  U[)on  the  honor  of  a  roue,  which, 
like  the  pine-tree,  produces  neither  blossaii  nor 
fruit. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

Lest  my  reader  should  tire  of  Rooksley,  and 
above  all,  of  myself,  I  will  at  once  transport 
him,  or  her,  to  Grosvenor  Square,  and  relate 
wliat  had  occurred  in  Lady  Madelaine's  imme- 
diate circle  before  the  arrival  of  my  sister  in 
England.  The  Putney  villa  was  declared  per- 
fect. My  mother,  who  had  carried  out  all  her 
projects  most  triumphantly,  was  in  high  beauty 
and  spirits,  and  at  the  very  acme  of  her  popu- 
larity. Very  few  persons  had  ever  seen  the 
tall  daughter  of  whom  she  had  found  it  expe- 
dient to  rid  herself  for  a  year  or  two,  and  still 
fewer  cared  to  remember  her.  Lady  Made- 
laine,  at  very  infrequent  intervals,  made  some 
vague  allusion  to  "the  children"— always  a 
safe  and  indefinite  species  of  phraseology  as 
to  age,  like  the  gargon  of  France,  and  thepost- 
boy  of  our  own  country— but  she  risked  noth- 
ing beyond  a  bare  mention  fcf  their  existence, 
considering  it  both  impertinent  and  unnecessary 
to  do  more. 

Miss  Alexander  had  eloped  with  a  French 
marquis,  very  poor  and  very  proud  ;  and  (as 
French  marquises  were,  during  my  girlhood, 
most  interestingly  scarce)  she  returned  to 
towr.  after  her  marriage,  quite  satisfied  to  have 
bartered  her  five  hundred  a  year  for  the  title  of 
tnudame  la  tnartjiiise.  Poor  Caroline  was  still 
constant  to  her  truant  admirer ;  who,  when  he 
was  not  worshiping  the  bright  eyes  of  my 
mother,  was  dreaming  beside  Lady  Devereux, 
who,  in  her  turn,  was  daily  losing  in  beauty 


And  what  of  Otterford  himself?  I  may  have 
seemed  to  deal  harshly  toward  him  ;  for, 
hitherto,  my  readers  will  have  discovered  no 
symptom  of  profligacy  in  him  ;  and  those  of  his 
own  sex  will  have  readily  forgiven  the  little 
duplicity  of  which  I  have  shown  him  to  be 
guilty.  Women,  according  to  the  creed  of  the 
said  sex  masculine,  are  infinitely  too  credulous ; 
they  should  be  more  cautious  before  they  yield 
to  feelings  too  powerful  to  be  combated  by 
creatures  so  weak  of  mind  and  so  fragile  of 
frame.  It  is  a  happy  argument,  and  a  safe 
one,  for  they  are  not  likely  themselves  to  test 
its  truth.  Ay,  truly :  women  who  were  cre- 
ated 10  be  chosen,  not  to  choose,  should  be 
born  suspicious,  calculating,,  and  selfish  :  the 
will  which  is  after  marriage  to  be  as  pliant  as 
the  stem  of  the  osier,  should  be  previously  firm 
and  immutable,  until  reason  and  interest  have 
convinced  it  of  the  safety  and  expediency  ol 
abandoning  its  perpendicular,  and  yielding  to 
the  force  of  circumstances. 

There  may  be  some  slight  inconsistency  in 
such  an  argument ;  perhaps,  also,  a  little  want 
of  generosity  ;  but  it  has  long  been  decided  that 
such  ought  to  be  the  case  ;  and  there  is  little 
probability  that  an  opinion  so  acceptable  to  the 
more  lordly  portion  of  the  community  will  ever 
be  rescinded. 

Unfortunately  for  her,  poor  Emily  was 
strangely  deficient  in  this  species  of  world- 
wisdom.  Lord  Otterford  had  told  her  that  he 
loved  her;  he  had  even  sworn  it  upon  hi9 
knees  :  he  was  young,  earnest,  handsome,  and 
attractive.  She  saw  him  welcomed  in  every 
circle,  even  where  he  appeared  the  least  anx- 
ious to  please.  He  had  assured  her  that,  how- 
ever trammeled  by  the  exacting  vanity  olLa.ly 
Madelaine,  beloved  her  only.  Simple-hearted, 
affectionate,  and  grateful,  she  had  believed  him 
— she  had  no  alternative.  Blame  her  not, 
however,  ye  who  have  shared  a  brighter  for- 
tune :  for  she  was  expiating,  fearfully  expiating 
her  error,  by  her  failing  health  and  her  breaking 
heart. 

licvenons  a  noire  Imp.  Otterford  was  be- 
coming weary  of  the  constraint  in  which  he  had 
so  long  lived.  He  was  consistent  even  in  his 
vices.  He  had  not  been  the  slave  of  Lady 
Madelaine's  caprice  s\\np\y  pour  I' amour  tie  scs 
beaux  yeux ;  he  had  no  such  weakness;  the 
triumph  was  inadequate,  and  Otterford  was  a 
utilitarian  in  his  way.  Time  and  op[)ortunity 
were  the  capital  upon  which  he  traflicked,  and 
he  had  already  made  great  sacrifices  to  obiaia 
a  very  inconsequent  return.     And  yet — nothing 


COxXFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAn 


eould  seem  more  promising.  He  was  Vami  de 
la  maison  :  the  favored  cavalier  of  its  lovely  mis- 
tress ;  and  she  was,  in  her  turn,  if  not  a  for- 
6aken,  at  least  a  delaissee  wife  :  whether  hy  her 
own  agency  or  the  will  of  her  husband  signified 
little.  The  fac-t  itself  sufficed.  Otterford  ar- 
gued calmly,  an<]  the  raiher  that  he  was  per- 
fectly aware  of  ihe  ten  thousand  a-year  which 
my  father  had  settled  upon  his  high-born  bride. 
It  is  pleasant  for  a  man  of  fashion  to  win  a  fine 
woman  who  can  neverbecume  dcAarn^e;  indeed, 
H  is  douijtful  that,  had  he  been  ignorant  of  this 
small  chapter  of  Lady  Madelaine"s  private  his- 
tory, he  would  liave  so  long  pursued  his  project. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  he  had  begun  to 
think  that  the  probation  had  endured  long 
enough ;  and  that,  as  iMr.  Tilden  had  ap- 
peared to  be  thoroughly  blind,  and  Lady  Made- 
laine  perfectly  self-centered  and  fearless,  it 
was  quite  time  that  the  catastrophe  of  the 
drama  should  be  played  out. 

That  my  mother  had  never  contemplated 
such  a  finale  to  her  innocent  and  amusing  flir- 
tation, and  was  satistied  that  her  smiles  must 
overpay  all  the  adoration  which  she  so  blandly 
and  quieily  accepted,  I  am  quite  convinced  ;  for 
the  egoiisni  of  her  vanity  would  scarcely  per- 
mit her  to  form  any  other  conclusion  ;  and  she 
was  consequently  not  at  all  likely  to  suspect 
the  abstruse  calculations  of  her  most  devoted 
slave.  She  might  as  well  have  been  expected 
to  nurse  a  presentiment  of  his  declared  passion 
for  Emily ;  Lady  Madelaine,  all  woman  of 
fashion  as  she  was,  could  not  be  considered 
(regarding  the  expression  in  its  just  sense)  as 
a  woman  of  the  world.  True,  she  was  ac- 
quainted with  its  elegances,  its  conventionali- 
ties, its  caprices,  its  shallow  faith,  and  even  its 
hollowness  ;  but  of  its  actual  vices  she  was 
nearly  ignorant.  Of  its  systematic  sentiment, 
commencing  in  mawkish  affectation,  adopted 
as  a  resource  against  ennui,  leading  to  folly  and 
imprudence,  and  terminating  in  dishorsor,  she 
had,  of  course,  heard  more  than  once  ;  but 
always  as  of  something  extraneous  and  anti- 
podean, with  which  she  could,  individually. 
have  no  possible  interest  or  connection.  Such 
matters  were  to  her  the  mere  on-dils  of  the 
day  ;  the  food  which  nourished  the  bitter  -per- 
sjjla^c  of  polished  society  ;  and  happy  indeed 
are  those  whose  rare  and  enviable  fate  it  is  to 
live  and  die  without  further  enlightenment  upon 
so  ungrateful  and  uiigraceful  a  subject.  Such, 
however,  was  not  to  be  my  mother's  destiny. 

It  was  a  mild,  bland  morning — one  of  those 
delicious  intervals,  which,  extraordinary  as  it 
appears  to  those  who  ever  speculate  upon  the 
several  degrees  of  comparison  which  exist  be- 
tween causes  and  efitcts,  sometimes  induce 
even  the  pleasure- worn  and  selfish  votaries  of 
fashi(m  to  believe  that  there  may  exist  some- 
thing for  which  it  is  not  altogether  impossible 
that  it  might  be  really  worth  while  to  live  even 
beyond  the  confines  of  the  metropolis — a  lin- 
gering, sickly,  ill-nurtured  remnant  of  or.ginal 
purity  and  nature,  which  the  hot  and  fetid 
breath  of  dissipation  and  idleness  caimot  al- 
ways contrive  to  destroy,  try  it  as  it  may. 
Every  ime  who  has  run  the  gauntlet  through 
hall  a  dozen  seasons  in  London  is  well  aware 
ef  the  description  of  morning  to  which  I  allude  ; 
just  before  the  close  of  spring ;  I  mean  really 


spring,  when  the  race  of  social  extravagance 
and  folly  is  at  its  lieight  ;  when  the  mignonette 
in  the  balconies,  forced  into  premature  bloom 
in  order  to  "meet  the  demand"  six  weeks  be- 
fore it  was  intended  to  blossom  under  the 
more  genial  sunshine  of  unassisted  nature,  is 
beginning  to  turn  golden  under  its  coal  of  dust 
and  soot ;  when  the  grass  of  the  parks  is  bald 
in  patches,  and  grimy  as  a  wlndc  ;  when  mil- 
liners grow  consequential,  and  fine  lady-cus- 
tomers conciliating,  atlable,  and  persuasive. 
Such  was  the  precise  moment  at  which  oc- 
curred the  morning  in  question  ;  and,  as  my 
mother  was  undergoing  the  subtle  penance  of 
Mademoiselte  Felicie's  taste  in  the  selection 
of  half  a  dozen  new  head-dresses  for  the  cam- 
paign of  the  ensuing  week,  she  chanced,  on  one 
occasion,  most  accidentally  to  glance  towards 
the  garden  of  the  square  instead  of  into  her 
toilet-glass ;  and  although  the  turf  wore  a 
sickly  tint  as  though  the  soil  beneath  ccmld 
afford  but  grudging  nurture,  and  the  trees  bore 
a  great  resemblance  to  the  "  slock  in  trade''  of 
an  umbrella  and  cane  merchant,  which  had 
been  suddenly  induced  to  sprout  by  some  oc- 
cult influence,  they  nevertheless  reminded  her 
of  the  beauty  of  the  season  ;  and  forthwith  she 
remembered  Putney,  and  the  shrub-belted  lawn 
which  stretched  dosvn  to  the  Thames.  The 
moment  was  propitious  ;  she  was  free  until  the 
hour  of  dinner — she  had  neither  made  a  new 
friend  whom  it  was  necessary  to  see  at  least 
once  during  the  twenty-four  hours,  nor  had  she 
discovered  an  old  intimate  whom  it  was  neces- 
sary to  hate ;  and  she  had,  consequently, 
nolliing  of  importance  on  her  hands;  while, 
fortunately,  all  the  half-dozen  coiffures  were  si> 
unbecoming,  that  everything  like  indecision 
was  out  of  the  question,  and  therefore  they 
created  no  delay. 

"Take  away  all  those  horrors,  Felicic,  and 
order  the  open  carriage  for  Putney,"  she  said, 
suddenly;  "giving  strict  charge  that  it  come 
round  instantly.'' 

The  soubretle  disappeared. 

"  I  slept  wretchedly  last  night,"  yawned 
Lady  Madelaine  when  her  waiting- woman  re- 
entered ;  "  I  shall  go  alone ;  the  fresh  air  from 
the  river  will  refresh  me." 

"  But  miladi  will  be  ennuice  en  route,''''  sug- 
gested Felicie  in  some  surprise. 

"No — I  shall  endeavor  to  sleep.  Desire  that 
the  paper  which  contains  Mr.  Tilden's  last 
speech  inay  be  put  into  the  landeau.  Jervis 
will  know  which  I  mean.  It  is  on  impressment, 
or  colonization,  or  the  bread  bill,  or  something  of 
that  sort.  She  will  find  it  in  one  of  the  morn- 
ing rooms." 

The  waiting-woman  rang  for  her  deputy  ;  and 
having,  in  all  probability,  a  project  of  Ikt  own 
which  the  absence  of  her  lady  would  by  no 
means  tend  to  mar,  very  speedily  arranged  the 
new  costume  which  had  so  suddenly  become 
necessary  ;  and  my  mother  then  descended  to 
the  library  to  await  the  appearance  of  her  equi- 
page. 

There  was  something  very  delicate  and 
touching  in  Lady  Madelaine's  idea  of  making 
iV-i  elo(juent  speech  of  her  husband  the  com- 
panicm  of  her  suburban  excursion.  It  was 
wifely  and  womanly.  But,  alas!  we  have  it 
upon  record  that  the  Princess  Talleyrand,  being 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


69 


desirous  on  one  occasion  to  do  homage  to  the 
talent  o(  DtMion,  by  atlecting  an  acquaintance 
witJi  his  \viitint;s,  and  unhappily  confusing  iiis 
name  with  that  ol' Defoe,  whose  Robinson  Cru- 
soe was  one  of  the  few  books  that  she  had  ever 
really  read,  inquired,  during  a  pause  in  the  din- 
ner at  which  he  was  an  honored  guest  wliom 
the  prince  was  anxious  to  conciliate,  "  What 
had  become  ol  his  man  Friday  !"  and  I  am 
greaily  afraid  that,  liad  any  one  been  indiscreet 
enough  lo  ask  Lady  Madelauie,  in  her  opera- 
box  that  evening,  the  actual  subject  of  the  afore- 
said burst  of  ehiquence  with  which  my  father 
had  electrified  the  Commons,  and  which  shared 
her  drive  to  Putney,  they  must  have  contented 
themselves  with  an  equally  lucid  description  as 
that  with  which  Felicie  had  previously  been 
favored. 

The  little  impromptu  excursion  was  delight- 
ful. The  atmosphere,  when  once  the  close 
streets  were  left  behind,  was  redolent  of 
sweetness.  The  breeze  came  lovingly  to  the 
cheek  and  brow  of  my  mother  ;  and  she  sank 
luxuriously  upon  her  padded  silk  damask,  and 
slept  quietly;  while  Psyche,  her  favorite  and 
petted  spaniel,  amused  its  cnnui  by  tearing  to 
pieces  the  printed  record  of  my  father's  parlia- 
mentary prowess.  Suddenly,  however,  both 
were  startled  by  the  rapid  galloping  of  a  horse- 
man wlu)  appeared  to  be  endeavoring  to  over- 
take the  carriage  ;  and  the  noise  of  whose  ap- 
proach rendered  the  high-bred  bays  who  drew  it 
somewhat  unmanageable.  Their  uneasy  move- 
ments dispelled  Lady  Madeline's  slumber ; 
and,  as  she  looked  up  suddenly,  the  first  ob- 
ject upon  which  her  eyes  rested,  was  the 
scrupulously  well-gloved  hand  of  Lord  Otter- 
ford,  resting  upon  the  side  of  the  landeau.  For 
the  only  time,  perhaps,  since  they  had  been 
acquamied,  my  mother  blushed  instead  of^mil-' 
ing  her  welcome  ;  for,  unaccountable  as  it  may 
seem,  she  had  really  wished  to  be  alone  for  two 
or  three  hours ;  and,  as  it  was  a  wholesome 
inclination  which  might  have  produced  a  good 
result,  the  more  beneficial  from  its  novelty,  it 
was  provokmg  enough  that  she  was  fated  to 
disappointment. 

"You  are  doubtlessly  bound  Putneyward,  my 
dear  Lady  Madelaine,  since  I  find  you  here!" 
he  commenced,  as  he  lifted  his  hat.  "Nothing 
was  surely  ever  so  pleasantly  devised.  1 
caught  a  glimpse  of  your  equipage  as  I  turned 
an  angle  of  the  road  ;  and  here  1  am  ready  to 
protect  you  in  your  rural  reveries ;  and  to  pre- 
vent your  running  tlie  chance  of  losing  yourself 
so  far  from  St.  James's,  and  becoming  a  novel 
specimen  of  a  demoiselle  errante,  without  her 
Enight." 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  shall  admit  of 
your  atlenilance,"  was  the  languid  reply  ;  "  the 
day  is  so  lovely,  and  I  am  so  dismuvree  and  ex- 
hausted that  1  really  want  rest — added  lo  which 
I  wished  lo  say  something  civil  to  Mr.  Tilden 
concerning  Ins  Wednesday  night's  speech,  which 
every  one  who  meets  me  is  perpetually  com- 
plimenting mc  upon,  and  of  which  I  have  not 
read  a  word  ;  and  I  intended  to  skim  it  over  in 
one  of  tlie  lawn  chairs  ;  though  that  part  of  my 
plan  is,  I  see,  rendered  abortive.  Psyche  having 
disposed  of  the  paper  in  a  manner  mcjre  con- 
sonant to  her  own  ideas  of  its  value." 

"And  do  you  actually  intend  to  be  so  cruel  as 


to  refuse  me  the  pleasant  cffice  of  rem/j/afan/:  lo 
a  torn  gazette  1" 

"  1  have,  at  all  events,  no  seat  to  offer  yun 
here.  Pysche  must  not  have  her  airing  spoilt 
by  your  presuming  caprices." 

"  I  submit.  Haroun  will  walk  quietly  bc.«Kle 
your  triumphal  car,"  said  Otterford  laugh- 
ingly, as  he  bent  low  over  the  neck  of  bis 
beautiful  Arabian,  which  made  a  mute  reply  to 
his  caresses.  "  Only  promise  that  when  you 
alight,  you  will  not  issue  orders  to  your  senes- 
chal to  shut  the  gates  upon  me  as  1  gain  the 
boundary  of  Eden." 

My  mother,  half-pleased  and  half-annoyed, 
smiled  again  ;  and  then,  throwing  herself  back 
in  the  corner  of  the  carriage,  closed  her  eyes, 
and  afiected  to  renew  her  reverie.  She  had 
nevertheless,  not  only  no  fear,  but  not  even  the 
most  vague  suspicion  of  Otterford's  real  princi- 
ples ;  but  she  was  proud.  She  believed,  in  hei 
heart  of  hearts,  that  she  had  never  been  de 
graded  by  the  most  idle  breath  of  calumny.  She 
felt  satisfied  that  she  was  perfectly  irreproach- 
able. How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  She  was  con- 
stantly in  a  crowd.  She  admitted  no  teu-a-tcte , 
and,  therefore,  if  men  of  fashion  chose  to  ufficher 
themselves  as  her  admirers  under  the  eyes  ol 
the  public,  the  fault  was  wholly  their  own,  and 
she  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  She 
was,  herself,  perpetually  en  evidence  ;  made  no 
mysteries;  encouraged  no  penchants;  main- 
tained her  own  dignity  ;  never  uttered  a  word 
of  which  her  husband  might  not  have  been  an 
auditor;  and — consequently  —  she  defied  the 
world  ! 

It  is  to  be  supposed  that  my  mother  did  not 
probe  her  conscience  too  deeply.  All  opera- 
tions are  irksome  and  painful ;  a  self-inliicted 
smart  is  never  a  favorite  amusement  with  any 
of  us.  How  then  could  it  be  imagined  that 
a  young  and  flattered  beauty  would  submit  to 
writhe  beneath  such  unprohtable  and  uninviting 
penance]  And  yet — as  she  remembered  that 
she  was  on  the  brink  of  a  lengthened  tcie-a-tcie 
with  Otterford  amid  the  solitude  of  her  subur- 
ban villa,  visions  of  a  score  of  Mrs.  Grundys, 
with  mob-caps  and  ruffles,  sliarj)  eyes,  and  shnll 
voices,  rose  upon  her  mental  perception  with 
appalling  distinctness.  But  in  tiie  next  instant 
she  felt  a  contempt  for  her  own  weakness. 
Was  she  to  suffer  tlie  idle  and  ignorant  gos.sipry 
of  a  few  ill-natured  and  (what  was  wor.ie 
still)  ill-bred  women,  to  control  ht-r  move- 
ments, and  to  decide  upon  her  motives.  She 
replied  to  her  own  question  by  a  laU;>h  of 
mockery. 

And  in  five  minutes  more  they  reached  the 
villa. 

"  Never  was  there  a  more  charming  device 
than  this  marble  basin  hlled  with  lilac  lotus, 
Lady  .Madelaine,"  said  Otterford,  when  he  had 
handed  my  mother  from  the  carriag<s  and,  arm 
in  arm,  they  had  reached  the  river-lri>iit  of  the 
house  :  "  to  me.  a  lawn  like  a  green  baize  cloth, 
without  ornament  or  relief  of  any  kind,  is  ae  in- 
sipid as  a  water  sachet,  or  your  dear  friend 
Devereux's  wife." 

"  H-u-m  1"  intonated  my  mother  ;  "  I  cannot 
quite  agree  to  the  position.  A  handsome  lawn 
is  always  an  agreeable  object,  and  perfectly 
harmless,  at  all  events." 

"  I  stand  corrected,"   said  the  gentleman. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A   PRHTTY  WOMAN. 


70 

with  mnck  gravity  ;  "  and  beg  to  rescind  my 
ti:ci>ii '  comparison  ;  Ibr,  according  to  your  more 
oorrrtt  view  of  ilie  case,  it  does  not  by  any 
means  apply." 

"Which  object  did  it  involve'"  asked  my 
mother,  iaugiiingly  ;  "  the  fish  or  ..lo    idy  !" 

"I  am  compelled  to  confess  to  the  bdla  e 
eara." 

"Surely  you  do  not  attempt  to  imply  that 
Lady  Devereux — " 

"  Is  a  woman,  and  a  withering  beauty  1  Yes, 
I  do.  And  did  you,  fair  lady,  ever  know  one 
such  fraction  of  society  who  was  not  a  viper  ] 
If  you  can  conscientiously  lay  your  hand  upon 
your  heart  and  say  'Yes,'  then  will  I  ttll  you. 
what,  i)efore  such  an  avowal,  I  believe  to  be  an 
utter  impossibility,  and — " 
"  And  that  is — 1" 

"  That  you  can  really  be  in  error  as  well  as 
the  rest  of  your  sex." 

The  lady  bluidied,  and  said  "Pshaw!"  but 
she  iieveriheless  accepted  the  compliment  very 
calmly  ;  and  as  she  seated  herself  under  a  wil- 
low, and  motioned  her  companion  to  a  chair 
beside  her,  she  remarked  quietly — "I  cannot 
account  for  the  fact,  but  it  is  certain  that  you 
never  did  like  poor  Lady  Devereux." 

"  Do  you  consider  it  remarkable  that  such 
should  have  been  the  case  T'  asked  the  gentle- 
man, ijathering  up  half  a  dozen  loose  stones 
from  llie  gravel,  and  throwing  them  at  regular 
ani'  slow  intervals  into  the  water. 

'•  Most  assuredly  I  do.  She  is  so  generally  a 
favorite." 

"There  was  a  time  when  that  circumstance 
Blone  would  have  sufficed  to  make  me  detest  a 
woman,"  was  the  incorrigible  reply. 
'•  li.iw  truly  al)surd  1" 

•'  SI  ail  I  tell  you  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for 
having  cured  me  of  the  said  absurdity  1" 

"  You  had  better  not,  if  it  be  a  secret.  You 
know  the  proverb,  'Se  il  segrcLo  e  confideto,  non 
i pill,  sfgrcto.'  " 

"  lla^  indeed  !  is  that  your  creed  1"  demand- 
ed tlie  gentleman,  somewhat  maliciously  ;  "  I 
irtusl  in  tliai  case  answer  you  by  another ;  " '  Chi 
ben  acrra,  ben  aprc.''  " 

"  1  do  not  understand  you." 
"  iNo  !  and  yet  it  is  as  fair  Italian  as  your 
own." 

My  mother  bit  her  lip,  and  turned  aside.  She 
felt  dis|Jeascd,  although  she  scarcely  knew 
wherefore. 

"  Then  you  do  not  care  to  learn  my  myste- 
ry ■:"  pursued  her  companion. 

"  It  can  he  matter  of  interest  only  to  your- 
self," was  the  chilling  reply. 

"True,  very  true,"  said  Olterford,  bitterly; 
"  I  was  to  blame  to  imagine  lliat  it  could  be 
subject  otConcorn  to  any  oiher  pcrs(jn  ;  and  I 
should  also  have  remembered  that  I  am  now  too 
old  to  play  the  coxcomb  gracefully." 

Lady  Madelaine  was  no  whit  appeased.  On 
the  contrary,  she  became  more  irritable  and 
uneasy  than  before. 

"And  yet,  it  is  just  possible,"  continued  Ot- 
Icrford.  "  Do  not  mistake  me.  Lady  Madelaine  ; 
I  simply  say  it  is  just  possible — that,  in  the  pres- 
ent idsiaiKJe,  you  may  mrt  have  altogether  pro- 
nounced an  absolute  verity.  Indeed,  i  venture 
to  affirm  tha't,  in  this  particular  case,  you  have 
assuredly  not  done  so  ;  for  it  is  to  yourself  that 


I  am  indebted  for  emancipation  from  this  unju3t 
and  ungenerous  prejudice." 

"To  me.  my  lord  !     You  surely  jest." 

"  By  no  means.  At  a  moment  like  the  pres- 
ent, when  all  my  words  are  taken  au  grand 
sericiix,  I  want  courage  to  presume  so  far." 

"  You  are  actually  childish,"  said  my  mother, 
forcing  a  smile. 

"  I  trust  that  childhood  is  too  happy  an  age 
to  know  the  miserable  feeling  with  which  I  last 
spoke." 

'  Again  I  repeat,  Otterford."  said  Lady  Mad- 
elaine, hurriedly,  but  less  coldly,  "  that  I  do  not 
understand  you." 

"  I  begin  to  fear  that  you  have  never  done 
so." 

"  You  are  really  inexplicable  to-day — a  per- 
fect sphinx.  You  profess  to  love  the  country, 
while  you  make,  in  truth,  a  miserable  Cela- 
don." 

"Is  that  my  fault  1" 

"  Most  decidedly.  Am  I  to  blame  for  this, 
alsol" 

"  I  adopt  your  own  words — most  decidedly." 

"  You  really  put  me  beyond  my  patience." 

*"  You  have  long  tried  the  same  experiment 
upon  me." 

Lady  Madelaine  gasped  for  breath.  What 
could  this  mean  1  She  felt  that  she  was  crim 
son  ;  something  told  her  that  she  ought  to  be 
displeased;  and  she  was  intuitively  conscious 
that  siie  should  at  once  terminate  so  singular  a 
dialogue.  She  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment. 
She  had,  unfortunately,  ordered  luncheon  as 
she  alighted  ;  and  she  saw  at  once  that  sl»e 
had  no  plausible  pretext  for  leaving  the  house 
without  partaking  of  it;  for  she  shrank  from 
the  idea  that  Otterford  should  suspect  her 
alarm  :  and  accordingly  she  rose  as  he  ceased 
speaking,  and  complaining  that  the  river-breeze 
had  affected  her  head,  proposed  that  they  should 
return  to  take  some  refreshment,  and  order  the 
carriage. 

The  gentleman  obeyed  without  uttcri.ig  a 
syllable;  and,  gravely  offering  his  arm,  they 
passed  through  the  French  doors  into  the  din- 
ing-room, in  utter  silence. 

The  movement  of  my  mother  was  as  natural 
as  it  was  ill-judged.  In  her  anxiety  to  escape 
from  a  continuance  of  so  inauspicious  a  dia- 
logue, she  forgot  that  the  seat  upon  which  she 
had  originally  placed  herself  partially  protected 
her :  she  could  only  be  verbally  annoyed,  over- 
looked as  was  the  lawn  from  the  river  on  one 
side,  and  by  the  windows  of  the  villa  on  the 
other;  whereas,  by  entering  the  house,  she 
rendered  the  solitude  of  her  position  inlinitely 
more  decided.  If  she  were  blinded  to  this  fact 
by  her  increasing  agitation,  it  is  not,  however, 
to  be  supposed  that  her  companion  wa^  so  com- 
pletely a  novice  as  to  be  so  likewise.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  controvert  the  abruptness  of  her 
resolution,  for  which  mark  of  consideration  to- 
ward her  she  felt  grateful;  and  she  almost  be- 
gan to  doubt  if  she  had  ncrt  been  deceived  by 
her  own  fears.  She  accordingly  seated  herself 
at  the  table  wiili  more  calmness  and  self-pos 
session  than  she  had  expected  ;  and  during  the 
attendance  of  the  servants,  sustained  a  desul- 
tory conversation  witli  her  chance-guest  with 
very  commendable  indifference.  This  was, 
however,  fated  lo  be  somewhat  shaken  by  the 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRKTTY  WOMAN. 


71 


intelligence  that  her  coachman  had  discoverr>l 
a  loose  shoe  upon  one  of  the  horses,  which  it 
was  necessary  to  secure  before  her  return  to 
town.  Instinctively,  in  her  hrsl  vexation,  she 
■ilaiiced  toward  Otterford  ;  but  he  did  not  ap- 
pear to  have  even  heard  the  sollo  voce  comtnu- 
nication  of  the  servant.  He  was  busdy  em- 
ployed iti  arranging  a  number  of  bread-crumbs 
which  had  been  scattered  beside  his  plate  into 
a  variety  of  miniature  ramparts,  extremely  in- 
gpninus  and  imaginative. 

This,  at  least,  was  consoling;  and  Lady 
Rl.id.'laine.  havin<r  desired  that  all  possible 
haste  might  be  made,  saw  the  man  depart  with- 
out any  visible  feeling  of  misgiving  She  nev- 
ertheless retained  her  seat  at  the  table,  and  for 
a  moment  remained  silent ;  but,  conscious  of 
the  awkwardness  of  such  a  silence  at  such  a 
tiine,  she  suddenly  affected  great  interest  in 
the  elaborate  invention  of  the  impromptu  pro- 
fessor of  fortification. 

"  I  was  not  aware,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  anx- 
ious only  to  break  the  stillness,  "  thai  you  were 
so  skilful  a  master  of  the  art  of  defem-e." 

"It  has  long  been  necessary  for  me  to  en- 
courage the  study,"  replied  Otterford,  raising 
his  large,  earnest  eyes  to  her  face  ;  "for  during 
the  last — I  was  about  to  say,  fifteen  years,  but 
I  dare  not,  as  it  would  involve  others  beside 
myself— I  have  constantly  been  called  .upon  to 
defend  myself  against  misconstructions,  disap- 
pointments, cold  hearts,  and  malicious  tongues." 

"  You  really  make  me  sinile,"  said  Lady 
Madelaine,  forcing  a  poor  attempt  at  raillery. 
•'You  who  are  so  thoroughly  the  enfant  gate  of 
the  world — that  were  it  not  for  half  a  dozen  in- 
uividudis,  who  have  evinced  sufficient  moral 
courage  to  doubt  your  perfectibility,  you  would 
at  this  moment  be  little  better  than  unbearable." 

"I  am  greatly  indebted  to  their  very  kindly 
exertions,"  was  the  retort ;  "  and  am  possibly 
the  most  so  to  your  ladyship  for  the  formation 
of  so  notable  a  c/iyue  of  critics." 

"  By  no  means.     I  only  joined  their  ranks." 

"From  some  well-reasoned  conviction,  I 
have  no  doubt ;  and  perhaps  with  more  cause 
than  many  who  have  enrolled  themselves." 

"  I  complain  of  nottiing  very  heinous." 

"And  yet,  upon  consideration,  you  might 
have  done  so." 

"  I  wished  to  be  a  generous  opponent,  and 
the  more  so,  that  I  was  conscious  of  being  in  a 
minority." 

"  I  would  much  rather  that  you  had  shown 
resentment  tlian  cowardice." 

"  Ivesentinent  1" 

"  Even  so.  Do  you  remember.  Lady  Made- 
laine, that  I  have  known  you  for  seventeen 
years  1" 

"  Perfectly.  Can  no  modern  philosopher 
discover  a  means  of  staying  the  progress  of 
time !" 

"  Can  you  recall  the  period,"  pursued  the 
gentleman,  regardless  of  the  question,  "when 
you  made  your  first  appearance  in  society  un- 
der the  guardianship  of  that  paragon  of  chape- 
rones.  Lady  Sinclair,  with  a  face  and  form  which 
set  competition  at  defiance,  and  a  heart  as  proud 
as  it  was  piirel  You  may  have  forgotten  it, 
but  I  never  shall." 

"  And  am  I  to  resent  your  having  known  me 
U  that  happy  timel" 


"  yes,  and  no:  in  one  respect  you  dare  not 
hold  me  in  disjjleasure,  for  you  are  well  awaro 
that  I  no  sooner  saw  you  than  1  became  your 
devoted  slave." 

"A  romantic  appellation,  truly,  for  the  part- 
ner of  a  drawing-room  flirtation  !"' 

"  \'ou  are  not  ingenuous.  Lady  Madelaine 
Tilden  ;  did  your  clever  and  careful  aunt  per- 
mit such  '  drawing-room  flirtations,'  save  where 
she  thorougtily  ajjproved  the  possible  results'! 
I  think  not.  Thus  far  I  have,  I  trust,  proved 
that  I  was  worthy  of  your  notice — of  your 
friendship — of  your  companionship — for  1  was 
fully  conscious  of  the  value  of  the  privilege 
which  had  been  accorded  to  me;  but  although 
I  enjoyed  it  long  and  intimately,  and  altliough  I 
had  not  hesitated  to  afficlier  myself  as  the  de- 
voted slave  (for  I  persist  in  maintaining  my  per- 
sonage) of  the  new  idol ;  still,  on  the  death  of 
Lady  Sinclair,  Reginald  Otterford  went  on  the 
Continent — a  bachelor ;  and  the  Marguerite  des 
Marguerites  returned  to  the  Highlands — Lady 
Madelaine  Glenfillan." 

"  My  lord,  you  astonish  me  !"  said  my  mother, 
haugbtily. 

"  Nay,  nay  ;  believe'  me  that  you  mistake  the 
term  ;  I  only  '■emind  you  ,  nor  should  you  take 
offence  at  the  frank  confession  which  I  am 
making  of  my  sins.  Look  you  ;  I  have  leveled 
one  of  my  outworks  in  token  of  a  first  defeat. 
You  had  every  reason  and  every  right  to  expect 
an  explanation  at  my  hands." 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  to  what  climax  such 
a  conversation,  or  almost,  I  might  say,  such  a 
monologue  as  the  present,  is  to  lend  1" 

"Simply  to  my  own  self-justification." 

"  It  is  perfectly  needless,  my  lord.  Nothing 
had  ever  passed  your  lips  by  which  I  was  enti- 
tled to  believe  that  you  considered  yourself 
compromised ;  nor  had  I  ever  given  you  the 
slightest  reason  to  infer  that  you  were  other- 
wise than  perfectly  indifferent  to  myself." 

Her  companion  quietly  shook  his  head,  as  he 
again,  with  great  composure,  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  hers,  which  were  flaming  with  insulted 
pride  ;  and  there  was  a  strangely  withering  in- 
tonation in  his  voice,  as  he  said — "  You  do  not 
do  yourself  justice  by  such  an  assertion.  Cus- 
tom has  placed  a  padlock  upon  tbe  lips  ol 
women,  of  which  society  keeps  the  key  ;  but 
custom  and  convention,  and  even  policy  itself, 
can  do  no  more  than  this,  while  human  beings 
possess  eyes,  and  hearts,  and  preferences. 
Either  I  was  then  beloved,  or  you  were  not  the 
pure  being  before  whom  I  poured  out  my  wor- 
ship ;  and  this  I  will  not  tlunlv.  No,  no — you 
could  not  at  that  early  age  have  been  a  callous, 
cold,  and  calculating  coquet — one  of  tbose  heart- 
less and  selfish  triflers  with  the  happiness  of 
others,  who  have  studied  to  a  nicety  how  far 
they  may  make  a  traffic  of  a  man's  feelings 
with  safety  to  themselves.  I  would  not  over- 
throw the  bright  and  beautiful  visions  of  seven- 
teen years,  to  embrace  so  foul  a  creed  for  all  my 
future  hopes  in  life.  You  loved  me,  then,  or 
there  is  no  truth  in  nature  !" 

My  mother  silently  laid  her  hand  upon  a  silver 
hell  beside  her.  She  could  not  trust  herseii  to 
speak.  I'he  summons  was  instantly  answered, 
and  her  inquiry  for  the  carriage  met  by  the  in- 
formation that  the  hoisc  had  not  yet  icliiined 
Irom  the  village  I'orge.     Poor  Lady  MadelaiiiH 


72 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


n-as  not  aware  that  the  groom  of  Lord  Otter- 
ford  always  obeyed  the  directions  of  his  noble 
master  to  the  leiter,  and  that  he  had  accordingly 
Bubdued  all  symptoms  of  undue  impatience  on 
the  part  ol  litr  ladyship's  coachman  in  a  way 
wliich  did  him  honor. 

They  were  once  more  alone  ;  and  then,  and 
not  till  then,  the  gentleman  resumed  the  thread 
of  his  discourse. 

"This  point  conceded,  then — for,  in  order  to 
cast  the  responsibility  of  tliis  cold  parting  wholly 
upon  me,  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  be  so — 
may  I  not,  in  extenuation  of  my  .self-abnegatory 
offence,  explain  the  cause  which  induced  me 
to  silence,  where  inclination,  tenderness,  and 
honor  appeared  to  exact  an  explanation  1" 

'•  It  were  worse  than  idle  to  impose  so  un- 
gracious a  task  upon  you,"  said  my  mother, 
bitterly.     "  It  was  my  want  of  fortune." 

'•  Say  rather  that  it  was  my  own,"  interposed 
Ottcrford,  "that  it  was  my  poverty — my  debts 
— which  closed  my  lips,  and  only  left  me  the 
more  keenly  susceptible  of  my  own  uncalculat- 
ing  and  egregious  folly  !  Still,  something  whis- 
pered me  tiiat  we  should  meet  again,  and  I  fled 
from  London  in  order  to  retrench,  and  give 
myself  room  for  hope  when  that  meeting  came. 
We  did  meet  again,"  and  a  disdainful  smile 
played  for  an  instant  round  his  proud  lips; 
"  but  how  ?" 

"  Surely,  my  lord,"  gasped  my  mother,  "you 
liave  forgotten  that  I  am  a  wife  !" 

"Forgotten  it!"  exclaimed  Otterford,  as  he 
Btarted  from  his  chair,  and  began  to  pace  the 
room,  with  ha.-ty  and  uneven  steps.  "Can  I 
forget  my  own  vitality]  Can  I  forget  that  I 
have  flung  the  whole  tide  of  my  affections  on 
ihe  thirsty  sandsl  I  pray  you  not  mock  me 
by  such  a  supposition  !" 

"  What  am  I  to  reply  to  rhapsodies  like 
these  1"  faltered  my  mother.  "You  take  an 
ungenerous  advantage  of  our  momentary  se- 
clusion, of  which  I  have  ever  hitherto  believed 
you  incapable.  Once  more  let  me  enjoin  you 
to  remember  that  I  am  a  wife." 

"  Yon  are,"  said  her  companion,  pausing  im- 
mediately beside  her;  "you  are:  the  haughty 
and  high-born  daughter  of  Lord  GlenfiUan — the 
star  of  fashion — the  beloved  of  all — the  fair 
prize  which  so  many  were  eager  to  win  and 
wear — had  woven  out  a  new  and  erratic  des- 
tiny for  herself  before  our  second  meeting  came. 
The  peer's  daughter  had  become  the  wife  of 
an  ob.-jcure  and  nameless  (for  he  was  nameless 
then  at  least) — of  an  obscure  and  nameless 
commoner — the  bright  star  had  shot  downward 
•.hrough  the  heavens — the  iihtl  had  overthrown 
her  own  shrine — the  prize  had  been  awarded, 
none  could  understand  wherefore,  niilil  the 
name  of  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden  was  lo  be  seen 
written  in  diamonds  and  gold-dust  in  every  re 
sort  of  luxury  and  fashion.  And  yet — although 
I  knew  this — alihough  1  was  compelled  to  ad- 
mit it  to  my  own  heart,  still — "  and,  as  he  suf- 
fered the  apparent  mortification  of  his  disap- 
pointment to  carry  him  along  by  its  impetuous 
violence,  he  possessed  himself  of  my  mother's 
hand  ;  "  still  was  1  fated  to  remain  the  victim 
of  my  hlighieil  and  unlucky  passion.  And  now 
— ,„,'\v — when  I  have  suffered  the  long  mariyr- 
doiii  of  years — when  I  have,  if  not  patiently, 
at  least  guardedly,  lived  within   the  spell    of 


y(uir  resistles.s  influence,  with  all  my  old  hopes 
and  as|)irations  still  clinging  ch>sely  about  my 
spirit — even  now,  will  ytiu  not  actjuit  me  of 
either  word,  or  look,  or  action,  calculated  to 
pain  you V 

I  could  have  done  so  this  mornmg." 
And  have  you  not  pronounced  your  own 
condemnation  by  thus  acquitting  me  1  Can 
you  venture  to  assert  that  you  feel  no  self-re- 
proach at  having  permitted  the  perpetual  wor- 
ship of  a  devoted  heart  without  one  quickening 
pulse  1 — without  one  gratclul  fee'ing?  It  can- 
not be — it  shall  not  be  I"  and  still  retaining  the 
captive  hand,  he  flung  himself  on  his  knees 
before  his  quailing  and  speeclile.<s  victim.  "  By 
heaven  I  you  have  long  known  aisd  understood 
the  impulse  upon  which  I  acted  :  you  offered 
no  resistance  to  the  exclusivencss  of  my  atten- 
tions— either  your  heart  or  your  vanity  h.-vs 
spoken  loudly  for  me,  and  I  will  not  believe 
that  it  could  be  so  pitiful  an  influence  as  the 
last,  upon  which  you  coldly  saw  fit  to  hinge  my 
destiny.  Why,  then,  noble  and  high-hearted 
woman,  do  you  thus,  year  alter  year,  persiat 
in  playing  the  tyrant  and  the  prude,  when — " 

"  Enough,  sir,  enough  !"  exclaimed  n)y  moth- 
er, in  a  shrill  whisper,  and  with  quivering  lips, 
as  white  as  the  hand  which  she  proudly  with- 
drew from  his  clasp;  "you  have  said  more 
t-han  enough.  I  am  sufficiently  humbled.  I 
have  mistaken  both  you  and  myseli  I  will 
utter  no  reproach — I  can  find  none  which  would 
suffice  for  so  cruel  and  cowardly  an  attack. 
We  meet  henceforth  as  strangers  ;  and  I  now 
si)urn  you  as  I  would  cast  a  foul  reptile  from 
the  folds  of  my  veil." 

As  she  ceased  speaking,  Lady  Madelaine 
prepared  to  pass  into  the  garden,  a  movement 
which  her  companion  sprang  from  his  knee  to 
prevent ;  and  as  she  was  in  the  act  of  placing 
her  foot  on  the  gravel,  he  seized  her  arm,  ex- 
claiming— "Do  not  hope  it,  madam,  we  part 
not  thus  !" 

"  Fie — for  shame,  my  lord,"  said  tlie  lady, 
as  she  paused,  and  looked  upon  him  with  an 
eye  as  cold  as  stone,  and  a  contemptuous  smile, 
which  made  his  pulses  beat  with  liquid  fire ; 
"  have  you  no  mercy  upon  an  unprotected  wo- 
man 1  Am  I  to  be  subjected  also  to  violem-p 
under  my  Own  roof  1" 

There  was  a  majesty  in  the  magnificent  beau 
ty  and  suppressed  indignation  of  my  mother, 
which  did  not  fail  in  its  effect  even  upon  her 
dissolute  companion.  Without  another  effort  to 
detain  her,  he  removed  his  grasp  ;  and,  bowing 
stiffly,  followed  her  to  the  water's  edge,  where 
they  stood  for  a  few  instants  side  by  sid-'  in 
perfect  silence,  and  it  was,  probably,  no  slight 
relief  to  either  when  Lady  Madelaine's  carriage 
was  announced.  Lord  Otterford  assisted  h  r 
to  enter  it  with  as  much  care  and  courtesy  as 
he  had  shown  on  all  former  occasions ;  and 
then,  haughtily  raising  his. hat,  he  vaulted  into 
the  saddle,  and  galloped  off  in  the  direction  of 
London,  while  my  moilier,  burying  herself  as 
much  as  possible  among  her  cushions,  gave  free 
way  to  her  pent-up  feedings,  and  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
It  is  really  curious,  in  after  life,  to  look  back 
U|)on  the  various  incidents  by  which  our  pa^*^ 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


73 


existence  has  been  diversified,  and  even  gov- 
erned III  iis  great  outline,  or  by  which  its  inter- 
ests have  been  involved  so  inextricably  as  to 
have  (i|jeralcd  even  upon  our  most  sacred  and 
secret  relations  ;  and  then  to  weave  their  ante- 
cedents and  their  results  into  its  checkered  web, 
with  the  aid  of  lime  and  experience.  Episodes, 
incomprehensible  at  the  moment  of  their  intro- 
duction, fall  quite  naturally  into  their  places 
during  these  reminiscent  reveries,  although 
they  appeared  at  the  instant  of  their  occur- 
rence alike  extraneous  and  impertinent  ;  and 
events,  once  considered  as  extraordinary  and 
altogether  gratuitous,  prove  to  have  been  only 
the  natural  result  of  a  certain  line  6t'  conduct, 
and  a  certain  succession  of  ideas,  and  to  form 
no  mort  than  a  regular  link  in  the  great  chain 
of  calculation  and  expediency. 

But  enough  of  such  reflections  as  these, 
which  only  serve  to  sadden  the  writer  and  to 
weary  ths  reader,  without  making  either  the 
one  o'r  the  other  a  jot  the  wiser.  They  might 
be  all  very  well  in  the  time  of  our  great-grand- 
fathers, when  people  had  much  more  leisure — 
when  gentlemen  made  their  wills  before  jour- 
neying from  York  to  London,  and  dispatched 
bulletins  of  health  to  their  anxious  families  at 
the  close  of  every  longer  stage  than  usual — 
when  ladies  made  one  piece  of  tapestry  work 
extend  over  a  whole  life — and  young  men 
served,  like  Jacob,  seven  years  for  their  wives. 
Then,  indeed,  a  grave  thought  or  a  serious  ap- 
othegm might  have  been  welcome,  pour  pas- 
ser tt  temps ;  but  it  is  not  so  with  us ;  we,  who 
are  ineessantly  running  after  him,  to  hold  him 
back,  and  seldom  clutching  even  a  single  feather 
for  our  pains.  Such  being  the  case,  I  will  at 
4»nce  resume  my  narrative. 

By  the  way,  this  allusion  to  the  said  narra- 
tive reminds  me  that  I  ought  to  congratulate 
myself  u[)(in  my  original  resolve  to  declare  my- 
J  self  guiltless  of  all  design  to  perpetrate  a  novel. 
I  I  never  had  any  such  intention.     I  could  not 
I  have   done  it  if  I  would.     I  have  attempted 
j  nothing  beyond  my  own  personal  history — and 
surely,  fair  ladies  and  formidable  critics,  I  have 
\  a  right  to  do  that  as  I  please]     Nevertheless,  I 
will  pledge  my  faith  willingly  to  be  as  veracious 
'  as  a  traveler,  as  conscientious  as   a  money- 
t  2ender,  as  self-denying  as  an  alderman,  and  as 
j  prudent  as  a  newly  emancipated  heir  :  and  hav- 
i  ing  volunteered  thus  much,  let  the  ladies  and  the 
1  critics  quarrel  with  me — if  they  can. 
i       It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  re-.nark  that  I  knew 
!  nothingof  the  adventure  related  in  the  last  chap- 
ter for  years  after  its  occurrence  ;  and  I  was 
comparatively  astonished  by  the  receipt  of  a  let- 
ter from  my  mother,  which  lollowed  closely  upon 
that  of  .\Ir.  Tilden,  to  announce  her  intention  of 
being  his  companion  to  Rooksley  ;  in  order,  as 
;  she  said,  to  welcome   the  new-comers,  and  to 
iii.l'.rc  liy  her  own  observation,  in  how  far  I  had 
iiiyscir  profited  l)y  the  salutary  solitude  to  which 
Bhe  |i;id  (bund  it  necessary  to  subject  me,  with 
a  view  to  the  correction  of  my  unfortunately 
impcriuus  and  overbearing  temper.     Had  I  been 
aware  at  the  time  of  the  a,ctual  cause  of  Lady 
Mailelainc's  sudden  solicitude,  and  her  anxiety 
to  absent  herself  from  town,  it  is  probable  that 
I  should  have  been  very  difTerenlly  affected. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  our  mother,"  I  said 
carelessly,  as  I  laid  it,  open  as  it  was,  beside 


my  sister.  "  Read  it ;  you  will  doubtlessly 
find  it  amusing  ;  and  it  will  also  gratify  you  to 
ascertain  how  perfectly  your  own  quiet  and  re- 
served temperament  will  suit  her.  I  quite 
prophesy  already  an  alliance,  buth  ofTensivo 
and  defensive.  Only,"  I  added,  as  I  turned  to 
leave  the  room,  "  I  have  one  serious  counsel 
to  give  you — be  careful  not  to  grow  any  taller  !" 
And  with  these  words,  uttered  with  a  laugh 
which  expressed  far  more  bitterness  than  pleas- 
a.itry,  I  disappeared. 

Lady  Madelaine  had  adopted  any  other  than 
a  judicious  mode  of  improving  my  natural  dis- 
position. She  had  commenced  upon  a  wrong 
system,  and  she  had  persevered  in  her  error 
year  after  year  with  a  tenacious  fidelity,  as 
little  creditable  to  herself  as  it  was  mortifying 
to  me.  I  was  determined  to  show  her  this ; 
and  I  could  discover  no  method  more  efTectual 
of  so  doing  than  that  of  exhibiting  her  letter  to 
whomsoever  might  be  supposed  to  take  any 
interest  in  its  contents.  It  was  too  late  for 
me  to  be  browbeaten  into  reformation.  She 
had  herself  made  a  woman  of  the  child,  and  the 
work  of  her  own  hands  could  not  now  be  un- 
done. 

In  about  half  an  hour,  Adela  returned  the 
"letter  through  the  hands  of  my  maid,  carefully 
inclosed  in  an  envelope,  which  I  immediately 
redirected  and  dispatched  to  Lady  Flora,  as  a 
solace  to  her  sick-room  :  it  was  a  becoming  at- 
tention on  my  part;  and  as  it  was  the  first 
which  I  had  found  occasion  to  offer  her,  I  had 
no  doubt  whatever  of  its  being  properly  ap- 
preciated. On  her  return  from  her  mission, 
charged  with  the  acknowledgments  of  the  inter- 
esting invalid,  Josephine  made  me  her  compli- 
ment on  the  happy  intelligence  contained  in  the 
letter  of  miladi.  I  inquired  upon  what  premi- 
ses she  presumed  that  its  contents  were  so  hy- 
peragreeable,  when  she  nawcly  replied  that  she 
had  inferred  as  much  from  the  eagerness  with 
which  Lady  Flora  had  possessed  herself  of  the 
packet,  and  the  pleasure  which  beamed  in  the 
eyes  of  Mademoiselle  Adele,  qui  gagnoit  cton- 
nantement  a  cetlc  petite  mine  eveillee. 

For  a  moment  I  had  a  sore  struggle  with  my- 
self. There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  correct- 
ness of  Josephine's  report,  simply  because  she 
could  have  no  motive  in  the  present  instance  to 
suspect  that  my  sister  was  triumphing  in  what 
she  supposed  to  be  my  mortification  ;  and  for  a 
few  instants  I  was  mortified  ;  less  at  the  un- 
generous amusement  of  so  near  a  relative,  than 
at  the  idea  that  Lady  Flora  Glenfillan,  the  object 
of  my  supreme  contempt  and  dislike,  was  the 
partner  of  her  pastime.  I  was  at  first  templed 
to  regret  my  mode  of  proceeding,  and  to  blame 
myself  for  not  having  sim[)ly  announced  the 
approaching  advent  of  my  mother,  without  am- 
pliation or  comment  of  any  kind  ;  but  this  was 
a  mere  transitory  weakness,  which  my  pride 
soon  enabled  me  to  conquer.  I  had  a  higher 
aim  than  that  of  striving  to  shine  in  the  e\es  ol 
a  Lady  Flora.  She  was  to  be  my  companion 
for  months — perhaps  for  years.  The  trial  lor 
mastery  between  us  had  commenced  on  the 
very  evening  of  her  arrival  1  felt,  moreover, 
that  I  must  brave  the  combat  alone  ;  while  she 
had  a  stanch  and  a  subtile  ally  in  my  sister,  and 
might,  for  aught  that  I  could  determine,  soon 
find  a  second  in  my  own  friend,  Lady  O" Hallo 


74 


COxNFESSlONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


ran,  whoso  leaning  toward  Adela  had  already 
lifcome  |jal|)al)le  ;  hut,  alihouyli  il  may  be  liue; 
f  nough,  as  a  jjuneral  principle,  that  il  peace  ! 
groAsa  divura  il  piccolu,  still  1  was  conscious  ol  | 
a  power  wuhin  myself  which  would  in  every  \ 
case  preserve  me  from  the  risk  of  becoming  so 
very  small  a  lisli  as  to  move  among  my  adver- 
bariet;  without  troubling  the  water. 

■Vi;  iliese  thoughts  swept  rapidly  through  my 
brain,  and  my  resolutions  were  instantly  taken. 
I  at  once  felt  that  I  must  he  consistent  or  my 
cause  was  lost ;  and  accordingly  I  again  dis- 
patched my  souhrcttc  to  Lady  Flora's  apartment, 
to  request  the  restoration  of  the  letter,  which  I 
was  aii.xious  to  forward,  without  loss  of  time,  to 
Lady  O  llalloran,  lest  the  expected  visit  of  my 
mollier  should  interfere  with  any  of  her  arrange- 
ments. As  1  had  foreseen,  my  message  created 
what  is,  in  the  present  day,  denominated  a 
"great  sensation."  The  invalid  insisted  that 
Josephine  had  committed  some  grand  mistake. 
"  It  was  no'  tiiat  jjossible,"  she  declared, 
"that  the  lassie  could  purpose  to  do  oiiything 
sae  awfu'  !  Why,  it  was  a  clean  shaming  o' 
her  own  proudfu'  nature— and  she  would  advise 
her—" 

What  the  valuable  counsel  would  have  been, 
and  in  what  degree  it  might  have  operated  upon 
my  deierminaiion,  it  is  impossible  to  decide,  as 
ihe  hand  of  my  sister,  pressed  heavily  upim  the 
irm  of  the  eager  orator,  arrested  her  utterance 
at  the  critical  moment ;  while,  in  a  calm  and 
low  tone,  she  said  quietly,  "  Forgive  me,  my 
dear  aunt ;  but  had  Eveleen  believed  that  she 
required  advi'^o  upon  this  extraordinary  occa- 
sion, she  would,  in  all  probability,  have  asked 
it  of  yourself.  She  has  not  done  so :  and 
believe  me,  that  it  is  far  too  good  to  be  flung 
away,  as  it  most  decidedly  would  be,  in  this 
case." 

"A'  vi-eel,  a'  weel,"  replied  the  aunt;  '"wil- 
fu'  woman  maun  ha'  her  way,'  as  the  poet  says. 
Give  the  lass  the  letter,  and  gude  luck  go  wi' 
it !  It's  a  rampaging  scrawl,  to  say  the  best 
of  it." 

In  live  minutes  it  was  on  its  way  to  the 
Hall. 

The  morrow  was  the  day  appointed  for  my 
own  visit  to  the  kind-hearted  widow,  but  I  had 
ceased  to  look  forward  to  it  with  pleasure.  Like 
the  skeleton  of  the  Egyptian  banquets,  the 
presence  of  my  incomprehensible  sister  would 
sudice,  as  I  well  knew,  to  poison  my  enjoy- 
ment. It  was  to  me  like  the  coupling  of  the 
dead  man  and  the  living  one  in  tho  German 
story  ;  and  the  simile  was  the  more  perfect 
that  Adela  a|)peared  wholly  heedless  or  uncon- 
scious of  tiie  annoyance  of  our  compulsatory 
union  ;  while  to  myself  it  was  hateful.  Had  I 
possessed  one  feeling  or  sentiment  in  common 
with  my  sister,  1  migtit  have  looked  forward  to 
brighter  and  better  times  ;  but,  unhap|)ily,  the 
solitary  sympaihy  which  had  ever  existed  be- 
tween us  had  served  only  to  sunder  us  in  heart 
and  spirit.  We  had  each  been  brought  up  to 
despise  the  other — our  earliest  jealousies  had 
taken  the  same  direction,  and  had  been  quick- 
ened and  nourished  until  they  had  become  as 
bitter  as  the  waters  of  iMarah,  and  as  numer- 
ous as  the  sands  of  the  African  desert.  In  my 
own  cuse,  other  feelings  no  less  hostile  liad 
blended  themselves  with  this  first  principle  of 


future  hate.  My  sister  had  always  been  de- 
scribed to  me  by  the  autocrats  of  the  nursery  and 
the  school-room  in  negatives.  She  was  not 
handsome ;  she  was  not  accomplished  ;  she 
was  ncrt.  fashionable  ;  she  was  a  mere  wild,  sun- 
freckled,  Ignorant  child  of  the  hills,  without 
either  lounmre  or  pretensions. 

'  At  first  1  was  shocked,  and  even  sorry  for  the 
poor  neglected  girl ;  then  1  proceeded  to  hope 
that  she  would  remain  at  Glentillan  all  her  life, 
lest  by  approaching  town,  and  undergoing  the 
inspection  of  my  mother's  "  set,"  she  should 
disgrace  not  only  herself,  but  me.  And  why 
could  she  not  remain  there  !  Glenfillan  might 
also  be  considered  her  birth-place.  At  all 
events,  it  was  her  home,  and  it  would  be  so 
easy  for  her  to  marry  there!  With  her  name, 
and  her  fortune,  she  could  assuredly  captivate 
some  Highland  chief,  with  a  kilt,  and  a  cock's 
feather  in  his  bonnet,  who  would  h)rgive  her 
want  of  beauty  in  consideration  of  the  "  siller  ;" 
and  never  be  aware  of  her  want  of  education. 
Decidedly  she  had  no  business  in  England.  This 
was  the  second  phase  of  my  vision  ;  but  the 
third  was  not  slow  in  its  succession.  Adela 
might  have  no  partiality  for  kilts  and  cock's 
feathers  ;  and,  as  she  grew  older,  might  be  in- 
considerate ehough  to  assert  her  rights ;  and, 
as  in  dear,  righteous  old  England,  there  are  no 
convents  for  the  reception  of  refractory  yoiing 
ladies,  the  claim  could  not  ultimately  he  neglect- 
ed. In  this  case,  she  must  appear  in  the  world — 
she  must  share  at  once  both  my  aristocjatic 
home  and  my  brilliant  destiny — that  is,  in  as 
far  as,  under  all  her  disadvantages,  the  world 
would  permit  her  to  do  so  ;  and  this  reflection 
was  to  me  insufl'erable. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Accustomed  even  from  my  babyhood  to  bo 
the  toy  of  the  saloon  and  the  tyrant  of  the 
sehool-room — to  he  caressed  and  flattered,  in- 
dulged and  petted,  I  was  indebted  only  to  the 
occasional  caprices  of  Lady  Madelaine  for  re- 
membering from  time  to  time  that  I'was  mor- 
tal ;  and  for  the  last  two  years  even  the  whims 
alluded  to  had  considerably  augmented  my  self- 
esteem,  for  I  had  discovered  the  valuable  secret 
of  my  mother's  jealousy  —  of  her  dread  of 
rivalry  from  her  own  daughter  ;  and  this  knowl- 
edge was  not  calculated  to  teach  me  humility. 

That  I  easily  imbibed  the  belief  that  Lady 
Madelaine  was  not  alarmed  altogether  cause- 
lessly, I  have  already  shown.  I  knew  that  she 
had  ])assed  her  thirtieth  year  ;  and  to  a  girl  of 
fifteen,  she  seemed  indeed  to  be  growing  old 
enough  to  abdicate  her  throne.  To  whom,  then, 
could  she  more  fitly  resign  it  than  to  her  own 
daugiiler !  Her  discourtesies,  therefore,  as  I 
readily  decided,  grew  out  of  a  weak  vanity, 
which  il  was  my  duty  to  pity  rather  than  to 
despise ;  and  I  gave  it  my  commiseration  ac- 
cordingly, and  only  appreciated  my.sell  the  more 
highly  fiir  my  generosity.  It  was,  probably, 
very  difficult  for  a  ci-devanl  beauty,  and  an 
acknowledged  leader  of  fashion,  to  grow  old 
gracel'ully.  There //ihs^  be  someihuig  revolting 
in  "the  first  gray  hair"  and  the  first  incipient 
wrinkle  ;  all  this  I  was  quite  capable  of  feel- 
ing ;  and  I  had  not  met  my  mother  for  so  long 
a  period  that  I  actually  felt  nervous  when  I  re- 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


75 


fleeted  on  the  effect  which  might  be  produced 
upon  her  when  we  once  more  stood  face  to  face, 
scanning  the  traces  left  by  time  on  either  side 
during  our  separation.  Poor  Lady  Madeiaine  ! 
I  ivnew  i>eyond  a  doubt  that  I  no  k)nger  wanted 
more  than  a  couple  of  inches  to  be  precisely  the 
same  height  as  herself.  I  had  placed  this  point 
beyond  dispute,  by  making  Josephine,  on  tbe 
firsL  day  of  every  month,  mark  my  exact  meas- 
urement upon  the  wall  of  my  room  with  a  pen- 
ciled lir\e.  I  was  equally  aware  that  I  had 
also  improved  in  beauty,  and  that,  even  if  not 
yet  quite  so  handsome  as  my  mother,  I  was  at 
least  fifteen  years  younger;  while  the  very 
time  which  was  dady  paling  her  roses  would 
only  serve  to  shower  their  leaves  upon  me. 

All  these  were  pleasant  thoughts,  and  pecu- 
liarly characteristic  of  my  nature.  I  was  born 
with  a  hiving  heart;  but  my  affections  had 
either  been  trifled  with,  or  repulsed — and  yet 
not  altogether  so,  for  to  two  persons,  at  least, 
I  had  been  dear— my  father  and  Emily  Vernon  ; 
but  of  the  first  I  bad  seen  far  too  little  to  be 
enabled  to  return  or  to  appreciate  his  tender- 
ness, whde  the  considerate  kindness  of  poor 
Ennly  had  been  circumscribed  by  the  tyranny  of 
my  mother.  Under  these  circumstances,  my  best 
and  holiest  feelmgs  had  been  flung  back  upon  me ; 
and,  profiting  by  the  example  continually  before 
my  eyes,  young  as  I  was,  I  had  taken  refuge  in 
coquetry  ;  and  my  reader  is  already  aware  that  J 
trifled  with  this  new  pastime  until  I  subjected 
my.self  to  s.evere  mortification  ;  and  became, 
moreover,  conscious  that  it  had  left  behind  it  a 
deeper  feehng  of  regret  and  tenderness  in  my 
own  bosom  than  I  could  easily  shake  off,  even 
had  I  endeavored  to  overcome  it,  which  was  far 
from  being  tbe  case.  I  have  said  nothing  for  a 
long  time  of  Devereux  ;  but  it  must  not  be  sup- 
posed that  I  had  forgotten  him.  It  was  the  only 
romantic  page  in  the  little  volume  of  my  life  ; 
;and  I  dwelt  upon  it  unceasingly. 

Poor  commonplace  probability  waged  but  un- 
lequal  war  against  my  girlish  vanity;  I  would 
inot  believe  it  possible  that  he  had  forgotten  me. 
i]  must  some  day  be  released  from  my  present 
'stale  of  exile,  and  produced  in  the  world.  My 
•mother  and  Lady  Devereux  were  still  insepa- 
irable  ;  and  it  was  consequently  evident  that  our 
i renewed  meeting  could  not  be  prevented  for- 
lever.  It  was  a  subject  of  unceasing  regret  to 
'me  that  I  had  no  one  to  whom  I  could  speak  of 
;him,  and  to  whom  I  could  explain  all  the  energy 
!  and  constancy  of  my  feelings.  I  was  too  proud 
to  make  a  confidant  of  Josephine;  I  dared  not 
venture  to  trust  the  sympathy  of  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran,  for  she  \i'ould,  in  all  probability,  have 
made  a  jest  of  my  anxiety,  and  even  considered 
;it  her  duty  to  lay  the  matter  before  my  father. 
il  was  utterly  and  hopelessly  alone  with  my  se- 
!cret ;  and  it  weighed  the  more  heavily  upon  my 
heart  in  consequence. 

•  My  sister?  Ay,  there  indeed  I  might  have 
found  a  friend,  a  counselor,  a  confidant,  had 
she  been  any  other  than  Miss  Adela  Tilden  ; 
but,  under  the  present  circumstances,  there  was 
no  prospect  of  such  a  solace. 
!  Never  was  gray-haired  matron  more  imprac- 
ticable than  my  sister ;  cold,  silent,  and  self- 
centered,  there  was  not  a  grain  of  romance  in 
her  composition.  She  had  never,  since  herar- 
.i«al,  displaced  a  single  novel  on  the  shelves  : 


her  conversation  was  a  string  of  axioms  and 
aphorisms  ;  Pygmalion  might  have  worn  out 
all  his  tools  upon  her,  and  she  never  would 
have  breathed,  though  his  impious  daring  had 
wrapped  the  world  in  flames. 

Still,  despite  these  reflections  and  convictions, 
the  idea  continued  to  haunt  me.  Adela  was  so 
young,  and  a  young  heaK  is  naturally  so  prone 
to  take  an  interest  in  every  history  of  affection. 
Nay,  who  could  say  that  such  a  confidence  as 
this  might  not  lessen  the  distance  between  usT 
Thus  argued  my  eager  inclination  to  ease  my 
overburdened  heart,  by  sharing  its  load  with 
another  ;  and  accordingly  I  began  to  watch  my 
sister  closely,  in  order  to  encourage  every  glim- 
mering manifestation  of  feeling  or  interest  on 
her  part ;  but  I  might  as  soon  have  awaited 
light  and  fire  from  the  piled-up  ashes  of  an  ex- 
tinguished conflagration.  Sometimes  I  became 
angry  with  myself  for  being  so  weak  as  to  an- 
ticipate such  a  result — at  others  I  pitied  her 
impassibility,  and  felt  that  no  lute  could  sound 
until  its  cords  were  struck  ;  and  this,  in  Adela's 
case,  was  clearly  impossible. 

In  this  wavering  mood  of  mind  I  was  pre- 
pared to  sacrifice  my  own  feelings  and  ideas 
during  our  visit  to  the  Hall,  to  which  I  have  al- 
ready alluded;  and  I  so  far  succeeded  in  at 
least  accomplishing  their  concealment,  that  on 
our-  departure  thence,  Lady  O'llalioran  drew 
me  apart,  and  warmly  congratulated  me  upon 
the  victory  which  I  had  obtained  over  myself 
in  my  altered  and  less  authoritative  mannei 
toward  my  sister. 

"Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  dsild,"  she  said, 
warmly,  "you  are  working  out  your  own  hap- 
piness as  well  as  hers.  How  shall  I  rejoice 
the  affectionate  and  anxious  feelings  of  your 
father  by  this  joyful  intelligence  !  Your  heart 
is  good,  Eveleen  ;  it  must  suffer  from  your  er- 
rors, for  I  am  perfectly  convinced  that  you  are 
quite  conscious  of  them,  even  at  the  very  mo- 
ment of  tlieir  committal ;  you  owe  them  rather 
to  your  age,  and  to  your  peculiar  education, 
than  to  your  nature.  In  order  to  be  all  for 
which  you  were  originally  intended,  my  love, 
let  me  now  entreat  you  to  make  a  yet  mightier 
effort  over  yourself  than  you  have  eveiidone 
within  these  last  few  weeks  ;  abjure,  and  not 
only  abjure,  but  repair  them  all.  Open  up  the 
treasures  of  your  really  loving  heart  to  Adela. 
You  will  one  day  learn  how  precious  a  treas- 
[  ure  is  the  affection  of  an  only  sister.  Yours 
has  a  thousand  good  qualities  ;  but,  even  if  she 
had  a  thousand  faults,  so  that  they  were  merely 
involuntary,  and  that  she  regretted  iheuTWhen 
committed,  you  should^onsider  yourself  only 
the  more  compelled  to  s\iain  and  comfort  her. 
Come,  my  dear  Eveleen,  and  promise  me,  here 
in  my  arms,  and  upon  my  heart,  that  you  will 
use  all  your  most  tender  influence  to  make  her 
happy.  From  what  you  tell  me,  and  from  what 
I  had  myself  ascertained,  her  guardian  aunt  is 
ill-calculated  to  be  either  an  appropriate  com- 
panion or  a  judicious  guide.  You  have  it  in 
your  power  to  be  both.  Be  to  her  then  a  fond 
sister  and  a  firm  friend.  You  will  do  this,  will 
you  notT' 

"  Alas  !  you  seek  to  compel  me  to  a  Hercu- 
lean task,"  I  said,  sadly;  "would  she  only 
meet  me  half-way,  I  should  have  courage  to 
make  the  attempt." 


76 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


"In  ll'.at  case  it  would  require  none,"  in- 
Bisteil  my  warm-hearted  moiiiiress;  "but  you 
expect  success  too  soon.  Redouble  your  at- 
tempts to  overcome  her  coldness,  and  your 
merit  will  only  be  the  greater  wlien  it  is  con- 
quered :  that  she  will  resist  it  resolutely  for  a 
time  assure  yourself,  for  you  must  feel  that  the 
poor  child  has  much  to  forgive." 

"  But  not  to  forgive  me,  Lady  O'Halloranl" 
"  You  are  in  error,  Eveleen.  Are  not  all  the 
preferences— all  the  outlay— all  the  cares  which 
have  been  so  profusely  lavished  upon  yourself, 
and  so  grudgingly  bestowed  upon  her — all  the 
superiority  which  you  have  assumed — are  these 
not  wrongs  in  which  you  have,  voluntarily  as 
well  as  involuntarily,  borne  a  part !  and  are  not 
these  likely  to  fester  in  a  young,  fresh  heart, 
unconscious  of  evil !  I  iiave  no  doubt  she  has 
made  you  feel  that  she  has  not  borne  them  all 
without  a  pang.  Such  conduct  would  have 
been  sublime,  and  who  would  dare  to  expect 
subliiniiy  from  a  girl  of  thirteen  years  of  age  ! 
I  am  equally  convinced  that  she  will  be  long, 
very  long,  before  she  can  overcome  their  with- 
ering eliccls,  or  cease  to  show  you  that  they 
still  rankle  in  her  mind  ;  but  this  should  only 
stimulate  you  to  greater  concessions  ;  and  re- 
member that  it  is  tiie  province  of  the  happy  to 
heal  the  wounds  of  those  who  suffer,  and  that 
the  sufferer  should  be  met  by  kindness,  forbear- 
ance, and  the  most  delicate  deaionstrations  of 
affecliun." 

As  she  ceased  speaking.  Lady  O'Halloran 
embraced  me  affectionately,  while  I  wept  from 
a  mingled  feeling  which  I  did  not  seek  to 
analyze.  This  judicious  friend  affected  to  mis- 
take the  motive  of  my  emotion  ;  she  congratu- 
lated me  upon  my  worthy  sympatliy  in  the  past 
sorrows  of  iny  sister,  and  my  evident  intention 
to  terminate  them  ;  and  then  haslily.but  clearly 
explained  to  me  the  line  of  conduct  which  she 
would  advise  me  to  pursue.  I  whispered  out 
my  deteriiunation  to  follow  it  up  to  the  letter 
upon  her  bosom,  making  but  one  reservation. 

"Permit  me  only,  my  friend,"  I  said  hur- 
riedly, "  10  leave  everything  \X\  its  present  state 
and  to  make  no  demonstration,  until  after  the 
visit  ofiiur  parents.  When  we  are  again  alone, 
I  will  apply  myself  resolutely  to  this  formidable, 
and,  1  f'  ar,  hopeless  undertaking." 

"  I  can  admit  of  no  such  moral  cowardice,  my 
Eveleen,"  was  her  calm  reply;  "every  hour 
of  su|)ineness  is  an  hour  lost,  which  you  may, 
hereafter,  biiterly  regret.  I  will  not  give  you 
a  day's  respite — not  an  hour's.  The  ascend- 
ency wliijli  you  will  have  gained  over  yourself 
and  your  own  egotism,  before  the  arrival  of  Lady 
Madelaine  and  Mr.  Tiiden,  will  strengthen  you 
to  recommence  a  trial,  which  will  be  no  longer 
in  its  first  infancy.  Their  visit  may  be  delayed, 
even  deferred ;  m  short,  trust  not  to  circum- 
stances III  so  holy  a  duty,  but  to  yourself" 

Her  firmness,  aided  by  my  own  secret  wish, 
determined  me  at  once.  I  was,  moreover,  great- 
ly agiiaitil  at  the  moment ;  nor  could  I  hear  to 
let  hi'r  feel  that  I  was  less  generous  than  she 
had  believed.  I  accordingly  withdrew  my  op- 
position, and  promised  all  she  wished. 

My  first  attempts  at  conciliation  and  friend- 
ship were  not,  however,  successful.  Adela 
was  too  far-sighted  to  believe  for  an  instant  that 
I  had  so  suddenly  changed  my  nature.     She 


suspected  a  snare,  or  at  least  imagined  a  weak- 
ness and  inconsistency  of  character  which 
irritated  her,  and  put  her  upon  the  defensive. 
Every  look  of  kindness  which  I  turned  upon 
her  she  studiously  avoided  ;  my  most  concil- 
iatory words  were  unanswered,  or  only  induced 
a  reply  so  cold,  and  dry,  and  formal,  that  it 
froze  me  to  the  soul ;  while,  by  a  strange  coin- 
cidence, I  became  in  my  turn  embarrassed  and 
timid  in  her  presence,  and  divested  myself  un- 
consciously of  my  natural  arrogance.  How- 
ever much  I  might  gain  in  the  opinion  of  a  third 
person  by  this  extraordinary  transformation,  it 
never  produced  even  a  momentary  effect  upon 
Adela,  while  it  made  me  absolutely  unhappy. 
I  did  not  know  myself.  I  had  not  even  the 
consolation  of  feeling  that  I  wa.s  doing  right, 
for  I  was  burdened  with  the  everlasting  con- 
sciousness that  my  present  conduct  sprang 
from  no  impulse,  was  actuated  by  no  principle 
of  my  own  ;  but  that  I  was  a  meie  puppet,  and 
that  the  vuires  by  which  I  was  moved  were  in 
tne  hands  of  another.  I  was  nothing  more  than 
an  awkward  and  inexperienced  actress,  saying 
what  was  "set  down  for  me,"  and  constrained 
at  every  instance  to  sacrifice  myself  to  the  part 
which  I  represented. 

Often  did  I  indulge  in  bitter  reveries  on  my 
extraordinary  and  irksome  position.  Often  did 
I  repeat  to  myself  thai  ogni  medaglia  ha  il  suo 
rovescio.  I  was  undergoing  this  moral  misery, 
to  reclaim  the  heart  of  Adela.  But  would  it 
consent  to  be  reclaimed  1  "Would  it  ever  ex- 
change its  haughty  indifference  for  the  thraldom 
of  a  sister's  regard  ]  And,  alas  !  seldom,  very 
seldom,  could  1  compel  myself  to  answer  "  yes." 
Why,  then,  should  I  any  longer  tamely  under- 
go this  martyrdom,  which  made  me  a  stranger 
even  in  my  home  !  I  can  scarcely  anssver  the 
question.  Sutfice  it,  that  I  remembered  my 
promise  to  Lady  O'HaHoran,  and  also  that  I  had 
never  yet  compelled  myself  to  any  measure  in 
which  my  pride  had  suffered  me  to  fail  through 
my  own  weakness. 

This  remark  reminds  me,  that  the  letter  ol 
Lady  Madelaine,  which  I  had  foi  warded  to  the 
Hall,  had  been  received  by  its  inislioss  with  a 
full  appreciation  of  the  feeling  wiiicli  had  in- 
duced me  to  send  it.  She  well  knew  my 
haughty  disposition,  and  that  I  would  rathei 
brave  the  little  world  about  me  than  shun  its 
blame.  She  first  chided  me  jestingly,  but  took 
an  after-opportunity  of  pointing  out  the  danger 
and  impolicy  of  such  a  proceeding,  and  earnestly 
entreated  me  never  to  repeat  it. 

Had  I  only  possessed  such  a  friend  a  few 
years  earlier !  But,  alas !  this  is  an  implied 
excuse  for  my  past  faults,  which  at  the  present 
day.  I  should  be  too  proud  and  too  just  to  make. 
Let  me  rather  remember  in  my  old  age,  that, 
whatever  may  have  been  the  errors  of  those 
around  me,  I  was,  nevertheless,  my  own  worst 
enemy.  It  is  so  easy  to  iimtate  when  both 
egotism  and  vanity  are  gratified  by  the  mimicry. 

But,  to  recur  for  a  moment  to  my  nevy  state 
of  existence,  I  can,  upon  looking  back,  frankly 
xioviatv  my  conviction,  that  either  my  health  or 
my  will  must  have  yielded  before  the  stoicism 
of  my  sister  and  my  own  internal  sttuggle,  had 
it  been  fated  to  endure  much  longer.  It  was 
not— it  was  fearfully  and  fatally  abridged  '  il 

—  -♦ 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


77 


CHAPTER  XX. 

I  i!rtE,  meanwhile,  continued  its  heavy  course. 
Day  alter  day  sariK  into  night.  Lady  Flora  had 
declared  her&tdf,  at  last,  to  be  convalescent ; 
and  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  closely 
enveloped  in  the  Glenfillan  tartan,  to  the  great 
amusement  of  that  portion  of  the  establishment 
whom  she  dignified  by  the  appellation  of  "the 
flunkies."  Nor  had  she  made  her  second  ap- 
pearance without  a  firm  resolution  to  assert  her 
privileges  as  the  temporary  mistress  of  the 
mant^ion.  Her  orders  and  her  lectures,  ere  long, 
became  infinite.  For  a  lime  I  ventured  to  op- 
Dose  her  distasteful  and  ungentlewdmanly  in- 
novations, but  she  met  me  with  the  glance  of  a 
vixen,  and  the  accents  of  a  shrew,  and  against 
these  I  could  not  condescend  to  contend.  I 
then  ventured  upon  expostulation,  but  my  failure 
was  signal ;  and  after  these  efforts  to  save  the 
respectability  of  poorRooksley,  I  abstained  from 
all  cmnment  or  expostulation,  to  the  great 
astonishment  and  manifest  disappointment  of 
Lady  Flora,  who  had  evidently  anticipated  a  long 
and  exciting  course  of  domestic  warfare. 

Before  the  arrival  of  Lady  Madelaine's  Scotch 
connection  I  had  been  constantly  annoyed  by 
intimations  from  the  liousekeeper  that  the  under- 
servants  were,  one  and  all,  threatening  to  leave 
tmy  father's  service,  unless  they  were  allowed 
at  stated  periods  to  replace  those  in  town — the 
iquiet  uniioimity  of  Rooksley  not  suiting  either 
jLheir  volatile  spirits  or  their  social  habits. 
fThcse  terrible  announcements  had,  as  will  be 
believed,  never  disturbed  my  equanimity  for  a 
naornent.  My  universal  reply  was  expressive 
[)f  the  necessity  of  their  communicating  their 
iiscontents  to  Mr.  Tilden  ;  and  for  a  time  I  had 
leard  no  more  of  the  kitchen  rebellions.  Now, 
lowever,  the  case  was  indeed  changed — there 
ivas  no  more  stagnation  in  the  house.  Lady 
j'lora  commenced  by  papering  and  bagging  up 
jvery  remain  of  ornamental  furniture  left,  in 
ilooksley.  She  even  invaded  the  apartments 
)f  my  father;  but  I  no  sooner  discovered  this, 
.han  causing.^very  remnant  of  rag  and  paper 
rvith  which  she  had  desecrated  them  to  be  in- 
ilantly  removed,  I  turned  the  master-key  which 
;ave  admittance  to  the  whole  suite,  and  never 
igain  suffered  it  to  paiss  from  my  own  posses- 
sion. 

So  far,  the  Rooksley  servants  cared  little  for 
he  innovations  of  LadyFora,  who  now  appear- 
ed to  be  really  in  her  element ;  the  only  person 
A'ho  was  annoyed  and  inconvenienced  being 
' myself;  for  .Vtlela  sat  by,  perfectly  unmoved, 
like  oue  accustomed  to  similar  proceedings,  and 
for  whom  they  possessed  neither  interest  nor 
fiindrance.  But  when,  having  made  everything 
kbout  her  wear  as  wretched  an  appearance  as 
jt  was  cajiaiile  of  assuming,  the  thrifty  Scotch 
pdy  condescended  to  descend  to  the  servants' 
iall,  to  connnence  her  reformation  in  that 
j)rivilegcd  department,  matters  at  once  became 
esperate.  She  had  already  once  or  twice  been 
leard  to  mutter  between  her  teeth  at  the  dinner- 
able  something  about  "  awfu'  extravagance  ;" 
nd  coiistquently  the  whole  establishment,  each 
eing  interested  in  the  question,  were  fully  pre- 
ared  for  the  assault.  Lady  Flora  talked  loud, 
nt  the  liousekeeper  talked  still  louder,  and 
Tecisely  at  the  same  moment,  and  consequently 


no  one  heard  a  syllable  of  the  noble  maiden's 
harangue.  When  she  sought  to  enter  the  but- 
ler's sanctum,  he  accidentally  let  a  basket  of 
plate  fall  upon  her  right  foot,  which,  from  some 
cause  or  other,  was  peculiarly  susceptible  to 
contact  with  any  hard  substance  ;  and,  while 
she  was  leaning  against  the  wall,  and  writhing 
with  pain,  he  quickly  locked  the  door  of  the 
room,  and,  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket,  walked 
away. 

When  the  victim  of  his  obstinacy  had  in  some 
degree  recovered  from  the  shock  she  had  re- 
ceived, she  next  attempted  an  inroad  upon  the 
kitchen,  where  she  was  received  by  the  cook 
bearing  a  greasy  spit,  with  which,  as  she  crossed 
the  floor,  she  brushed  violently  against  her  un- 
welcome visitor;  but  the  Glenfillan  tartan  was 
proof  against  all  such  unctuous  contact ;  and 
the  resolute  spinster  stood  her  ground,  until 
men  and  maids  rushed  in  a  phalanx  through 
the  open  door;  and  the  unfortunate  reformer 
was  so  unmercifully  hustled,  jostled,  and  run 
over,  that  she  was  glad  to  make  good  her  re- 
treat to  her  legitimate  sphere  of  action. 

1  shall  never  forget  her  when  she  reentered. 
I  dare  not  venture  to  describe  her  appearance. 
Suffice  it  that  I  burst  into  an  involuntary  flt  of 
laughter,  so  undisguised  and  so  genuine,  that  I 
believe  it  obtained  for  me  her  life-long  hatred. 
My  sister  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  without 
the  movement  of  a  muscle,  and  then  calmly 
continued  her  work. 

Habit  is  assuredly  all-powerful,  or  I  am  con- 
vinced that  Adela,  stoic  as  she  seemed,  must 
have  laughed  as  I  did  at  the  comical  eti'ects  of 
Lady  Flora's  foray. 

Batfled,  but   not  defeated,  the  resolute  lady 
returned  on  the  morrow  to  the  charge ;  but,  as 
she   had,  on    the   first  onslaught,  encountered 
such  bitter  perils,  she  saw  fit,  on  her  second 
j  essay,  to  remember  that  "  discretion  is  the  bet- 
ter part  of  valor  ;"  and  feeling,  no  doubt,  that 
:  the   pantries   and   sculleries   were   hupelessly 
'  closed  against  her,  she  assumed  a  more  digni- 
]  fied    position,  and    summoned   the   delinquent 
housekeeper  to  the  breakfast-room,  where  she 
1  was  duly  apprised  that  Lady  Flora  would,  in 
,  future,  herself  regulate  the  supplies  of  both  the 
j  upper  and  lower  tables  ;  and  that  Mrs.  Locks- 
ley  must  be  responsible  for  all  additional  outlay 
which  might  occur  from  iier  want  of  obedience 
I  to  the  maudale  issued  for  her  observance.    The 
!  worthy  soul  looked    absolutely    petrified   with 
horror  and  mortification  for  a  few  seconds,  but 
she  soon  rallied  sufficiently  to  say  that  she  was 
not  sure  that  she  had  understood  her  ladyship, 
for  she  did  not  speak  Scotch ;  nor,  indeed,  for 
that  matter,  did  any  servant  in  the  house;  but 
she  was  sure,  from  the  orders  she  had  received 
from  her  own  lady,  that  Lady  Madelaine  Tilden 
had  never  entertained  an  idea  that  her  ladyship 
would  demean  herself  by  meddling  with  the 
housekeeping. 

j  This  perfectly  respectful,  but  stinging  rejoin 
der,  told  in  two  ways,  and  I  saw  a  burning  spo' 
,  of  red  mount  t )  the  brow  of  Lady  Flora,  while 
her  lips  turned  blue  with  suppressed  rage.  Shfl 
struggled  resolutely  against  it,  however;  anf 
contented  herself  by  remarking  that  she  expect 
ed  obedience,  and  not  argument. 

"  But,  Miss  Tilden— Miss  Eveleen" — com 
menced  the  excited  guardian  of  the  keys. 


78 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


I  merely  waved  my  hand  to  silence  all  refer- 
ence to  myself.  My  disgust  was  too  great  for 
me  to  venture  any  attempt  at  utterance. 

"  But  pray,  my  dear  young  lady,  for  my  sake, 
for  all  our  sakes,  do  remember  that  when  my 
^-jnored  lady  is  absent,  you  are  the  mistress  of 
liie  house — "  persisted  Mrs.  Locksley. 

I  was  still  silent;  but  not  so  the  thrifty  daugh- 
ter of  Glenlillan.  In  words  infinitely  more 
energetic  than  eloquent,  the  dismayed  and  de- 
posed functionary  was  ordered  to  leave  the 
room  on  the  instant ;  and  she  obeyed  with  most 
undignified  alacrity,  evidently  more  from  be- 
wilderment of  mind  than  from  any  intention  of 
acquiescence  to  the  will  of  her  new  tyrant. 
Throughout  the  whole  scene  I  had  suffered  bit- 
terly. Wounded  pride,  suppressed  indignation, 
and  withering. contempt,  had  each,  in  turn, 
swelled  my  heart  almost  to  bursting.  I  felt 
that  Rooksley  and  its  inhabitants  would  be- 
come the  fable  of  the  neighborhood.  The 
world,  ever  ready  to  seize  the  malicious  side 
of  every  question,  would  reluctantly  adinit  the 
possibility  that  any  guest,  however  closely  con- 
nected with  the  mistress  of  the  house,  could 
permit  herself  to  interfere  with  its  domestic 
economy.  It  would,  therefore,  be  believed  that 
all  the  steps  so  authoritatively  and  unceremo- 
niously taken  by  the  new  inmate,  had  been 
suggested  by  my  mother  herself;  and  the 
haughty  Lady  Madelaine,  who  had  borne  .her- 
self so  proudly,  towards  the  first  families  in  the 
county,  would  be  rni.\ed  up  in  legends  of  fam- 
ished housekeepers,  and  exasperated  under- 
lings. I  was,  in  short,  so  thoroughly  excited  by 
Lady  Flora's  presumption,  exhibited  as  it  was, 
moreover,  with  the  coarsest  vulgarity,  that,  as 
I  chanced  to  glance  toward  the  unmoved  and 
immovable  Adela,  who,  flung  back  in  an  arm- 
chair, was  calmly  amusing  herself  with  a  vol- 
ume of  Florian's  Pastorals,  I  could  have  torn 
the  book  from  her  hand,  and  hurled  it  to  the 
other  extremity  of  the  apartment. 

My  reader  may  possibly  feel  some  surprise 
that,  suffering  so  acutely  as  I  did  from  what 
was  passing  before  my  eyes,  I  did  not  retire  to 
my  own  room,  and  shut  out  so  painful  a  spec- 
tacle. It  would  have  been  contrary  to  my  na- 
ture to  have  made  so  undeniable  a  demonstra- 
tion of  cowardice.  There  was  something  in 
the  self-gratulalory  and  magnificent  deportment 
of  the  lady  wlio  now  ruled  Rooksley,  which 
convinced  me  that  the  despicable  drama  was 
not  yet  played  out ;  and  I  resolved  to  remain, 
in  order  to  ascertain  how  far  the  disgrace  of 
my  parents  was  to  extend.  I  remarked  that 
the  keen  gray  eye  of  Lady  Flora  had  been  sev- 
eral times  turned  earnestly  towards  me  since 
the  exit  of  Mrs.  Locksley,  and  I  felt  convinced 
that  she  was  anxious  to  see  it  succeeded  by 
my  own.  Brave  matters  as  she  might,  «he 
could  not  contfeal  that  I  was  de  trop ;  and  I  was 
glad  of  it.  I  accordingly  seated  myself  more 
commodiously  in  my  chair,  and  took  up  a  daily 
paper  which  was  lying  on  the  table  beside  me. 
She  saw  at  once  that  ihere  was  no  hope  of  my 
disappearance  ;  and  lost  not  a  moment  in  as- 
serting her  supposed  power  over  myself  in  con- 
sequence. 

"  Ring  the  hell,  Eve-leen,"  she  said  abruptly. 

I  neither  moved  nor  looked  up. 

«•  Do  yo  no'  hear  me.  Miss  Tiiden  1" 


Yes,  madam,"  I  answered,  in  a  calm  voice, 
as  I  deposited  the  paper  once  more  upon  the 
table,  and  looked  her  demurely  and  steadily  in 
the  face. 

Then,  why  did  ye  no'  ring  the  bell  when  I  I 
desired  yel" 

"  Because  I  only  obey  the  orders  of  those  ! 
who  have  a  right  to  give  them.     Had  you  made  • 
a  request,  madam,  I  might  possibly  have  com- 
plied with  it." 

"  The  Lord  be  gude  unto  me  I"  exelainied  the 
irate  lady  ;  "things  are  come  to  a  pretty  pass, 
indeed,  when  a  set-up  miss  will  no'  obey  her 
own  aunt !" 

"  You  are  not  my  aunt,  Lady  Flora  Glenfil- 
lan,"  I  replied  haughtily  ;  "  I  have  already,  upon 
a  former  occasion,  explicitly  made  this  known 
to  you.  None  of  the  blood  of  the  Macspleu- 
chans  runs  in  my  veins." 

"  And  ye  obstinately  refuse  to  do  as  I  desire 
ye  1     Ye  will  no'  ring  the  bell  V 

"  I  absolutely  refuse — I  will  «o^" 

Lady  Flora  groaned  aloud  ;  and  then,  abruptly 
reverting  to  my  slighting  remark  on  her  family, 
she  said,  with  a  sneer  which  appeared  to  be  tbo 
most  natural  expression  of  her  coiintoiiance,  so 
instantly  and  easily  did  it  settle  itself  upon  her 
shrewish  features,  "  Ye'll  be  telling  us  soon,  I 
suppose.  Miss  Eve-leen  Tiiden,  that  the  young 
lady  opposite  is  no"  your  sister." 

"  I  never  amuse  myself  by  useless  fallacies, 
and  far  less  by  direct  untruths,  mail.im  ;  and  I 
am  well  aware  that,  by  the  accident  of  birth, 
Adela  and  myself  bear  the  relationship  you 
mention.  I  am  aware  that  wc  are  the  children 
of  the  same  parent^,  and  consequently  as  ] 
have  just  remarked — by  birth  at  least — sisters."; 

I  had  emphasized  my  reply  as  markedly  as  1. 
could  ;  and  I  detected  a  quick  glance  anil  a  ner-' 
vous  movement  in  Adela,  which,  for  an  instant 
led  me  to  hope  that  I  had  provoked  a  rejoinder 
hut  I  deceived  myself  In  the  next  moment 
she  sat  calm  and  still,  with  her  eyes  once  more 
riveted  on  the  Pastorals. 

"  Hech,  sirs  I  here's  wonderfu'  condcscen 
sion,"  ejaculated  the  worsted  enemy,  gnispin; 
the  leathern  arms  of  her  chair  and  littin::  iier 
self  half  out  of  it,  only  to  regain  her  seal  wiih  :[ 
sudden  jerk  might  dy  unpoctical  in  sound.  "  Ai 
earl's  daughter  is  no'  grand  enough  for  the  up' 
start  queans  o'  the  present  day  ;  and  me  lookd 
up  to  at  my  own  place  as  a  leader!  It's  wise 
like  that,  o'  my  conscience." 

Then,  after  a  momentary  silence  which  I  ha 
felt  no  inclination  to  break,  she  exelaimeil,  w;i 
a  startling  vehemence  which  made  me  spun 
in  my  chair — 

"  Ring  the  bell,  Adela." 

"  Yes— aunt,"  said  the  young  lady  thus  genii 
apostrophized  ;  and  having  complied  with  th 
.command,  she  demurely  resumed  her  scat. 

A  servant  instantly  appeared. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  Mr.  Botvlemore — ii 
stantly,"  said  the  prima-donna. 

The  man  bowed,  and  withdrew  ;  but  not  b« 
fore  I  had  delected  a  roguish  smile  playin 
about  his  lips. 

The  precise  and  polite  butler  made  his  ai 
pearance  within  five  minutes,  during  whic 
time  no  word  had  been  spoken  in  the  breakfas 
room. 

Lady  Flora  leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  ar 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


telurned  his  punctilious  salutation  with  an 
elongauiry  motion  o(  her  chin.  She  evidently 
felt  liersel!  at  thai  moment  in  a  very  responsi- 
ble and  di{,niitied  position.  Not  another  mo- 
ment was  lost.  In  the  sam«  masterly  style  in 
which  she  had  discussed  with  poor,  discomfited 
Mrs.  Locksley,  the  peculiarly  agreeable  and 
well-chosen  subject  of  cookery, 

" all  the  way_ 

From  soup  {ofnndu  and  souffii';" 

although,  to  quote  once  more  the  same  witty 
poet,  the  busy  lady  could 

" scarcely  tell 

A  Salmi  from  a  BecAamelle," 

and  bewildered  my  mother's  good  and  clever 
housekeeper  quite  as  much  in  her  turn,  by  talk- 
ing of  "  bannocks,"  and  "  griddlecakes,"  and 
other  delicacies  of  her  highland  table,  not 
omitting  the  popular  "stirabout,"  which  she 
had  been  preeminently  anxious  to  introduce 
into  the  Rooksley  kitchen — even  after  the  same 
fashion  did  she  proceed  to  question,  and  to  di- 
rect staid  Mr.  Bottlemore,  my  father's  especial 
favorite. 

"Nothing  but  port  and  sherry  at  the  upper 
table,  did  I  understand  your  ladyship  to  say  1" 
asked  the  demure  voice ;  "  even  in  the  event 
of  guests." 

"Do  I  no'  speak  plain,  sirl"  was  the  coun- 
ter-question. 

"  Most  assuredly,  my  lady  ;  your  ladyship's 
I     voice  is  very  distinctly  audible  ;  a  trifle  of  difii- 
,     culty  there  may  be,  perhaps,  in  the  expression 
I     of  your  ladyiliip's  meaning  occasionally  ;  but 
I     with  patience  and  attention  on  my  part,  that 
I     may,  wahout  doubt,  be  yvercome." 
I         Lady    Flora    looked    delightfully  mystified. 
I     With  all  his  polite  placidity  of  countenance  and 
)     demeanor,  she  evidently  had  a  suspicion  that 
I     Mr.  Bottlemore  was  laughing  at  her.     As  for 
me,  I  coulil  have  knighted  him  on  the  spot,  had 
i     I  been  a  sovereign,  and  worn  a  sword.     Under 
my  actual  circumstances,  I  was  obliged  to  con- 
tent myself  by  sitting  sitent,  and  playing  with 
Uie  poker. 

Let  her  impression  have  been  what  it  might, 
howevsr,  before  she  next  spoke,  the  great  agi- 
tator had  made  up  her  mind  to  pacific  measures 
for  the  moment;  and  when  the  sly  old  man 
iiKluired,  with  a  profound  inclination,  whether 
her  Iddyship  had  any  further  orders  for  him  be- 
fore ho  withdresv,  she  put  the  finishing  stroke 
to  her  financial  arrangements  by  strictly  forbid- 
ding all  wine,  of  whatever  description,  at  the 
housekeeper's  table. 

Boiileiiiore  smiled  quietly,  as  he  remarked 
that  perhaps  her  ladyship  was  not  aware  that, 
in  all  large  establishments,  this  privilege  was  a 
matter  of  course  at  the  tables  of  the  upper  ser- 
vants. 

"Then  the  sooner  ye're  all  unprivileged  the 
better,"  angrily  exclaimed  my  mother's  repre- 
sentative ;  "  a  pack  o'  lazy  looons  that  are  na' 
worth  your  saul  I  Set  ye  up,  forsooth,  with 
wine  !  It  .shan't  be  done,  I  say,  while  I  am 
misticss  here.  Gude  save  us  a' !  wine,  indeed  ! 
Why.  my  sister  maun  he  distraught.  Ye  have 
my  last  word,  Mr.  Butler — no  more  wine  shall 
ye  have,  to  sit  guzzling  o'er  below  there,  in- 
stead o;  minding  to  do  your  business." 

••I  fear,  my  lady,  that  I  must  disobey  your 
ladyship's  7ommands  on  this  subject,"  said  the 
/ 


placid  individual  she  addressed;  "and  not 
only  disobey  tlicm  myself,  but  also  assist  Mrs. 
Locksley  and  the  ladies'  maids  to  do  the  samf>. 
The  wine,  my  lady,  is  in  our  agreeuKMils." 

Again  the  dark,  red  spot  rose  to  the  forehead 
of  Lady  Flora  ;  Bottlemore's  last  assertion  was 
not  to  be  overruled  ;  yet  still,  with  an  obstinacy 
wtiich  spoke  volumes  for  her  nerve,  she  deter- 
mined not  to  be  entirely  balllcd  ;  and  accord- 
ingly, assuming  an  air  of  majestic  authority, 
which,  the  subject  considered,  made  her  look  at 
the  moment  exceedingly  like  the  superannu- 
ated Siddons  of  a  barn-tragedy,  she  thundered 
out,  in  a  voice  whicli  would  havi;  made  itself 
audible  amid  the  very  "fury  of  the  elements," 

"Then,  sir,  ye  maun  drink  Cape !" 

Poor  Boiilemore  !  I  think  I  see  him  once 
more  belbre  me.  He,  whose  fastidious  master 
declared  him  to  be  the  best  judge  of  wme  with 
whom  he  had  ever  come  into  contact — never 
shall  I  forget  his  look  of  blank  amazement.  '  He 
was  several  minutes  before  he  recovered  the 
shock  ;  but  he  had  no  sooner  done  so  than,  in 
an  accent  of  indignation  which  almost  revenged 
the  injured  dignity  of  Rooksley,  he  exclaimed 
boldly  :— 

"  I  am  proud  to  say,  madam,  that  the  cellars 
of  Mr.  Tilden,  since  I  have  had  control  over 
them,  have  never  been  disgraced  by  the  filthy 
compound  it  has  pleased  your  ladyship  to  men- 
tion. Mr.  Tilden,  madam,  drinks  wine,  not 
drugs;  and  so  do  all  who  have  the  honor  to 
belong  to  him.  I  regret  to  seem  wanting  in 
respect  to  your  ladyship;  but  this  I  solemnly 
declare,  that  I  will  neither  be  art  nor  part  in 
the  purchase  of  any  such  poison,  nor  will  I  be 
held  responsible  for  any  such  proceeding." 

"Hout,  tout,  man,  gie  us  nane  o'  your  dial" 
vehemently  broke  in  Lady  Flora ;  "  I'm  just 
deafened  wi'  it.  Can  I  no'  buy  the  wine  my- 
sel!" 

"  Certainly,  madam,  if  your  ladyship  also 
purposes  to  drink  it  after  it  is  bought,"  said 
the  butler,  sturdily;  "but  tiiis  much,  my  lady, 
I  most  respectfully  inform  you,  that  not  a  single 
cork  shall  be  drawn  in  Mrs.  Locksley's  room; 
nor  shall  a  drop  he  forced  down  the  throat  of 
my  dear  young  lady  here."  Then,  approaching 
me  with  the  greatest  deference,  he  asked,  in  a 
low  and  well-bred  tone — "What  description  of 
wine  shall  I  supply  for  your  use,  madam,  under 
the  new  regulation  of  the  family  T' 

"I  leave  it  entirely  to  yourself,  my  good 
Bottlemore,"  I  said  smilingly ;  "  only,  pray  do 
not  allow  me  to  be  poisoned.  I  am  too  young 
to  bo  envious  of  such  a  fate." 

He  bowe.d,  and  at  once  left  the  room,  without 
any  further  impediment  from  bis  tormenter; 
anil  when  I  had  allowed  him  sufficient  time  to 
traverse  the  gallery,  I  rose  from  my  chair,  and 
pausing  for  a  moment  before  the  chagrined  and 
disappointed  author  of  my  present  mortification, 
I  said,  slowly  and  coldly,  "  I  have  borne  all  the 
hideous  scene  of  this  morning,  madam,  in  si 
lence  ;  but  I  can  bear  no  more  ;  ami  I  now 
leave  you  to  the  pleasant  triumph  which  you 
must  necessarily  feel  after  your  well-bred  con- 
tention with  my  father's  menials.  I  have  bul 
one  remark  to  make,  one  piece  of  ailvice  to 
offer  you,  and  I  do  it  emphatically.  Suffer  the 
disgrace  which  you  have  this  day  v/ilfully 
brought  upon  your  sister   to  suOice  ;   believe 


S9 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


me,  is  already  more  than  sufficient ;  and  do 
i.o'  venture,  tor  your  own  sake,  to  drive  to  the 
(■o:i!ity-to\vii  with  tlie  Tilden  liveries,  to  make 
f-iirchases  wliich  will  render  my  jiiinily  the 
common  laughing-stock  of  the  neighborhood. 
Yon  do  not  understand  my  father,  or  you  would 
not  have  dared  the  impertinences  of  this  morn- 
ing." 

I  had  no  opportunity  of  ascertaining  the  ef- 
fect of  my  words  ;  for,  when  I  ceased  to  utter 
'.hem  I  left  the  room  ;  and,  shutting  myself 
mto  my  own  chamber,  gave  free  vent  to  the 
bitter  feelings  which  I  had  so  long  suppressed. 


CHAPTER  XXr. 

»Jn  the  following  morning,  immediately  that 
I  had  left  tlie  hrcakf;isl-room,  and  was  awaiting 
in  the  saloon — the  wretched-looking,  desolate 
apartment  which,  during  my  mother's  residence 
at  Rooksley,  had  always  been  a  scene  of  light 
and  movement — the  arrival  of  one  of  my  mas- 
ters, I  was  in  my  turn'honored  with  a  deputation 
from  tlie  servants'  hall.  I  sickened  as  I  saw 
them  enter,  hut  there  was  no  remedy  ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, when  I  beheld  Mrs.  Locksley  and 
Mr.  Boitlemore  respectfully  approach  me,  while 
the  remainder  of  the  party  paused  deferentially 
just  within  the  door,  which  they  closed  carefully 
after  them,  I  threw  myself  into  a  seat,  and  aban- 
doned myself  to  my  fate. 

I  was  not  left  long  in  suspense  as  to  their 
purpose.  Complaints,  loud  and  long ;  expostu- 
lations, logical  and  earnest ;  and  entreaties,  anx- 
ious and  emphatic,  were  poured  out  before  me. 
"  Her  Scotch  ladyship"  was  declared  to  be  more 
than  they  could  bear  up  agamst ;  she  had  not 
left  her  room  more  than  three  or  four  hours  be- 
fore their  peculiar  territories  were  invaded,  and 
their  ears  assailed  by  unsavory  epithets,  which 
to  them  a|)peared  even  more  obnoxious  from 
their  not  being  able  to  understand  half  their 
Cleaning  ;  and  now  their  supplies  were  to  be 
cut  off,  and  the  garrison  to  be  starved  out,  un- 
less it  pleased  "  their  young  lady"  to  come  to 
the  rescue. 

"  Only  imagine.  Miss  Tilden,"  sobbed  out  the 
housekeeper,  when  the  general  grievances  had 
been  laid  before  me;  "only  imagine,  ma'am, 
the  disgrace  to  my  situation  and  my  time  of  life, 
to  be  followed  up  and  scolded  at,  like  a  common 
kitchen-maid  !  I  couldn't  live  through  it.  I'm 
sure,  it  would  break  my  heart.  And  then  the 
bill  of  fare  every  day  for  both  tables.  Miss 
Eveleen  ! — we  shall  all  he  starved  before  the 
year's  at  an  end.  Sheep's  heads,  with  the  wool 
on,  ma'am,  and  cakes  made  of  oats.  I'he 
coachman  was  the  (irst  to  declare  that  he  would 
leave  if  they  were  set  before  him  ;  for  he  should 
be;  afraid  his  own  liorscs  would  run  over  him 
out  of  pure  spile,  if  he  was  guilty  even  of  tasting 
them.  And  if  such  a  prospect  frightened  Jones, 
Miss  Evclccn,  who  .is  not  a  man  to  be  easily 
daunted,  only  think  of  tlieir  being  served  up 
to  you." 

"  But,  if  that  were  all,"  broke  in  the  modula- 
ted tones  of  the  butler,  "  it  might  be  got  over, 
madam,  for  it  would  be  a  mere  case  of '  lake  it 
or  leave  it ;'  but  the  wine.  Miss  Eveleen,  is  a  more 
serious  matter.  I  have  already  declared  my 
mind  on  the  subject  to  her  ladyship,  who,  it  seems 
to  uie  «if  i  rany  say  so  without  disrespect  lo  the 


family),  doesn't  appear  to  understand  clearlj 
what  she's  about,  and  has  undertaken  more 
than  she  can  manage  ;  but  I  can't  endure  to  live 
in  this  state  of  ojien  rebellicm  under  tlic!  roof  ol 
so  kind  and  honored  a  master;  and  tliertfore, 
madam — therefore,  Miss  Tilden" — and  heie  he 
paused  a  moment  in  order  to  clear  his  throat, 
and  render  the  utterance  of  what  he  still  had  to 
say  less  difficult — "  therefore,  I  have  consented, 
in  the  name  of  all  the  establishinent  (including 
the  out-door  servants),  to  wait  upon  you  for  the 
purpose  of  entreating  your  interlcreiice  ;  or,  in 
the  event  of  your  relusiiig  it,  to  inform  you  of  our 
intention  to  quit  Mr.  Tilden's  service,  although 
we  are  all  grateful  for  the  past,  and  shall  at  all 
times  be  happy  to  acknovvled;;e  that  we  shall 
never  find  a  better  than  it  uns" 

Here  the  phalanx  of  men  c.'.d  maids  upon  the 
threshold  performed  divers  sha.iiefaced  and  awk- 
ward salutations. 

"As  for  myself,"  continued  the  spokesman, 
at  the  close  of  this  pantomime,  "  I  never  thought 
to  have  had  to  look  for  another  home.  I  Imped 
to  live  and  die  in  the  family.  Bnl  lo  be  lold  to 
lay  in  a  slock  of  Cape  wine  at  the  chief  town  ol 
the  very  county  for  which  my  ma.sier  sits  in 
Parliament,  and  where  he  has  alw<iys  spent  his 
money  like  a  prince,  as  indeed  he  is  in  his  heart, 
it's  more  than  I  can  do!  To  go  and  disgrace 
both  him  and  myself  before  a  parcel  of  b.ickbit- 
ing  people,  that  have  always  looked  up  to  us  ! — 
it  can't  be  done  with  any  consistency  ;  and  so, 
my  dear  young  lady,  as  I  said  before,  I'd  rather 
go  than  be  guilty  of  it." 

Here  the  worthy  man  brushed  his  handker- 
chief  across  his  eyes,  and  shook  his  head  so  por- 
tentously that  he  made  the  powder  fly  in  all  di- 
rections. 

"  My  complaint  is  altogether  the  same, 
ma'am,"  said  the  lachrymose  iiousekecper,  as 
she  thrust  her  hand  into  her  capacious  pocket 
in  search  of  a  similar  piece  of  drapery. 

"  Indeed  I  my  trusty  Locksley,"'  I  said,  with  a 
smile,  "and  were  j/ou  also  commanded  to  drive 
to  the  county  town  for  a  slock  of  Cap*; !" 

"No  ma'am — no.  Miss  Eveleen,"  was  the 
plaintive  reply,  as  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
smooth  and  comely  cheeks;  "mine  was  even 
worse,  far  worse — sheep's  heads,  wilii  the  wool 
on,  twice  a  week.  It  would  ruin  us  all  in  the 
village  ;  and,  like  Mr.  Bottlemore,  I'd  rather 
go." 

"  My  good  people,"  I  said,  as  I  rose  from  the 
sofa,  divided  between  amusement  and  annoy- 
ance, "you  nmst  all  be  well  aware  that  1  am 
still  too  young  for  the  exercise  of  such  an  act 
of  authority  as  that  of  changing  the  whole  es- 
talilishment  of  my  father's  house.  Yon  know, 
also,  that  I  am  now  daily  exuocting  his  arrival; 
and  I  am  quite  sure  thai  your  wrongs  will  only 
reijuire  lo  be  known  to  him,  to  be  at  once  re- 
dressed.    Is  not  this  reasonable  1" 

An  affirmative  salutation  was  the  reply. 

"So  far  well,"  I  continued;  "but  to  thus 
much  I  |)ledge  myself,  that  should  his  visit  be 
by  any  chance  delayed,  I  will  myself  write 
and  inform  him  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
cas(;." 

A  murmur  of  approbation  greeted  this  pro- 
mise. 

"  This  is  not  the  first  time,  you  are  aware, 
Mrs.  Locksley,"  I  pursued,  "  that  I  have  beec 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


SI 


informed  of  similar  intentions,  although  never 
before  of  a  general  intention  of  leaving  Rooks- 
ley,  on  the  p;iri  of  st>me  of  your  subordinates  ; 
and  the  plea  was,  on  those  occasions,  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  the  dull  monotony  and  perpet- 
ual quiet  of  tiie  place,  under  a  mistress  of  fif- 
teen, who  had  not  the  power  to  give  it  greater 
animation.  Do  not  believe  that  I  am  insensi- 
ble to  your  present  annoyance,  when  I  remind 
you  of  a  fable  with  which  you  must  be  familiar; 
and  in  which,  tired  of  the  ease  and  liberty  of  a 
commonwealth,  the  frogs  petitioned  Jupiter  for 
a  king,  who  in  pity  of  their  ignorance  cast  a 
log  of  wood  into  the  lake,  and  bade  them  re- 
ceive their  sovereigi).  For  a  time,  the  sight 
of  the  huge  mass  floating  upon  the  surface  of 
the  water  sufficed  to  amuse  them — they  had 
the  semblance  of  a  monarch,  and  were  content ; 
but,  ere  long,  as  they  experienced  no  interfer- 
ence from  hife  placid  majesty,  and  that  his  pos- 
session had  left  them  in  precisely  the  same 
condition  of  ease  and  freedom  as  formerly,  they 
complained  that  Jove  had  jested  with  them,  and 
renewed  their  supplications.  This  time  they 
nad  their  wish — King  Stork  appeared  upon  the 
borders  of  the  lake,  and  so  assiduously  de- 
voured such  of  his  living  subjects  as  chanced 
o  fall  into  his  way,  that  the  diminished  re- 
mainder were  afraid  to  put  their  noses  above 
water,  and  such  as  did  contrive  to  escape 
during  the  brief  intervals  when  his  majesty 
had  overgorged  himself,  hastened  to  emigrate 
lo  another  sheet  of  water,  where  they  might 
regain  the  quiet  they  had  lost." 

At  th's  moment  some  one  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  a  groom  extended  to  the  footman,  by 
whom  it  was  opened,  a  letter,  which  had  just  ar- 
rived, for  me,  and  which  was  superscribed,  "  Im- 
mediate." 

I  lost  not  a  moment  in  breaking  the  seal,  and 
the  servants  had  not  yet  quilted  the  room, 
when,  with  a  piercing  scream,  I- fell  senseless 
to  the  floor. 

When  I  recov'ered  consciousness  I  found  my- 
self lying  upon  a  sofa,  and  tended  by  the  house- 
keeper and  Josephine.  My  first  movement 
was  to  motion  them  to  close  the  blinds — I 
could  not  bear  the  light ;  and  then  I  again  sank 
bacl<  in  an  agony  of  grief,  and  buried  mjTface 
among  the  cushions. 

"Pour  i'amour  de  la  Saints  Vierge!  made- 
moiselle, tell  us  what  is  the  matter!"  ex- 
claimed tl:e  kneeling  Josephine. 

"For  pity's  sake,  let  us  know  the  worst !" 
entreated  .\irs.  Locksley. 

"Read!"  I  exclaimed,  suddenly  raising  my 
head,  and  pointing  to  the  fatal  letter,  which 
still  remained  where  it  had  fallen  from  my 
hand,  "read,  and  aloud,  thai  my  heart  may 
break  at  once  !  "  I  was  obeyed.  It  was  written 
by  my  father's  body-servant,  and  its  contents 
were  these : — 

"Grosvenot  Square,  Thursday. 
"Madam, — 

"  By  desire  of  her  ladyship,  I  write  to  inform 
you  of  the  dreadfi/l  calamity  which  has  taken 
place  in  the  family  ;  and  1  have  instructions  to 
request  that  you  will  immediately  communi- 
cate the  niouriifiil  tidings  to  .Miss  Adela  Tilden 
and  the  l-ady  Flora  GlunfiHan.  We  are  all  in  a 
Btate  of  the  greati-st  gnef,  and  seem  to  feel  more 
every  hour  lua  value  of  him  that  we  have  lost. 


^My  honored  master  is  no  more."  After  speak- 
ing for  upwards  of  an  hour  in  the  Hous-,  which 
was  very  close  and  crowded,  Mr.  Tilden,  in 
order  to  refresh  himself  afier  his  exertion,  dis- 
missed the  carriage,  and  determined  to  walk 
home.  He  took  cold  ;  but,  as  the  question  in 
which  he  felt  so  much  interest  was  still  before 
the  House,  he  could  not  be  prevailed  n\>o\\  to 
absent  himself;  and  so,  from  bad  he  rapidly 
became  worse,  and  died  on  the  fifth  day  (yes- 
terday) of  pleurisy.  The  deceased  is  to  be  in- 
terred in  ten  days  after  that  of  his  demise  ; 
and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  great  consolation  to 
you,  madam,  to  know  that  the  premier,  and 
nearly  all  his  majesty's  ministers,  will  attend 
the  funeral ;  and  as  regards  the  nobility,  we 
have  already  sixty  carriages  upon  our  list. 
This,  madam,  as  you  may  believe,  is  very  com- 
forting to  her  ladyship,  who  is  as  well  as  can 
be  expected,  but  has  neither  time  nor  spirits  to 
write  herself  as  yet.  My  lady  instructs  me  to 
say,  that  directly  the  last  honors  are  paid  to 
my  poor  master  she  shall  set  off  post  for  Rooks- 
ley,  where  she  desires  that  Mrs.  Locksley  will 
have  Mr.  Tilden's  private  sitting-room  hung 
with  black  before  Sunday  next ;  it  is  to  be 
done  precisely  after  the  plan  of  which  I  have 
the  honor  to  inclose  a  sketch,  and  which  was 
approved  by  her  ladyship  for  the  principal 
drawing-room  in  Grosvenor  Square.  I  have 
no  further  instructions,  and  therefore  subscribe 
myself.  Madam, 

"Your  most  obedient  humble  servant, 

"John  Dale." 

And  this  was  all !  My  father,  my  fond  but 
ill-requited  father,  was  dead — was  in  a  few  brief 
days  to  be  carried  to  his  grave — and  I  knew  nc 
more !  I  cannot  describe  the  agony  of  my 
grief,  the  anguish  of  my  remorse.  Every  de- 
tail of  the  past  rose  up  before  me  ;  and  the 
hopes  which  I  had  almost  unconsciously  formed 
for  the  future,  and  in  which  the  figure  of  my 
father  had  been  ever  prominent,  mingled  with 
the  bitterness  of  my  soul.  I  ceased  to  weep. 
A  deeper  and  sterner  feeling  took  possession 
of  me.  I  should  be  henceforth  alone.  My  moth- 
er had  ceased  to  love  me  —  my  sister  had 
never  done  so  ;  even  my  last-acquired  friend — 
even  Lady  O'Halloran  herself — although  dele- 
gated, by  that  very  father  whom  I  had  now  lost, 
to  cherish  and  protect  me,  and  who  had  taught 
me  to  love  and  to  cling  to  him  as  I  had  never 
before  done — she  had  already  given  symptoms 
of  preferring  a  stranger  to  myself  I  was  be- 
wildered by  the  extent  of  my  misfortune.  I 
thought  with  contemptuous  pity  of  the  poor  and 
futile  distinctions  to  the  dead,  which  had  already 
helped  to  afford  consolation  to  Lady  Madelaine 
— to  his  widow — whom  he  had  surrounded  with 
opulence  and  honor;  and  then  I  remembered, 
as  if  in  contrast  to  these,  the  fresh  flowers  with 
which  I  had  each  morning,  since  his  expected 
arrival,  fondly  decorated  his  room,  in  order  that 
he  might  breathe  their  welcome  upon  his  veiy 
entrance — a  welcome  which  he  was  nevermore 
to  experience  beneath  his  own  roof 

Profound  and  heartfelt  grief  lingers  willingly 
over  details  like  these ;  they  are  the  stones 
which  the  spirit  piles  upon  the  cairns  of  the 
departed.  For  all  other  sorrows  there  is  con- 
solation— in  all  other  trials  there  is  hope;  but 
on  this  earth  there  is  none  for  death.     It  comes 


fi2 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


aoldly.  siid'lenly  before  us,  and  defies  all  reme- 
dy. I  liad  licar-'  iiore,  I  had  spoken  more,  and, 
aliiive  all,  I  had  thouijhl  more  o("  my  lather 
duruii^  ilie  last  few  rnonlhs  than  I  iiad  ever  be- 
fore done.  I  had  striven  to  bring  his  image  be- 
fore me  incessantly.  I  had  treasured  up  every 
evidence  of  his  taste,  every  shade  of  his  char- 
acter, in  order  to  form  my  own  after  that 
model.  I  had  made  his  favorite  apartment 
my  refuge,  whun  vexation  and  annoyance  had 
wounded  my  spirit;  I  had  accustomed  myself 
in  its  genial  solitude  to  review  the  lolly,  the 
coldness  of  my  ungrateful  girlhood  to  the  only 
being -who  really  loved  me  for  myself;  and 
there  had  I  shed  those  regretful  but  soothing 
tears  which,  summoned  by  sorrow  for  the  past, 
inspire  hfiler  resolutions  lor  the  future.  And 
all  liad  been  too  late!  I  had  sougtit  strength 
only  of  myself;  I  had  never  learned  that  with- 
OLt  higtier  and  holier  assistance  I  was  pov^^r- 
less.  Nor  did  I  feel  it  even  now.  >ly  sole 
sensation  was  one  of  grief  and  wrong.  Otheis, 
many  others  were  beloved  by  scores  of  tender 
relatives  and  friends;  I  had  l)ut  one,  and  even 
he  was  taken  from  me — taken,  too,  just  at  the 
moment  wlicn  I  was  prepared  to  pour  out  be- 
fore liiiii  the  hmg-hoarded  treasure  of  my  filial 
affection  ;  I  had  no  consolation — none  ! 

Let  no  one  imagine  this  description  of  my 
first  grief  to  be  exaggerated.  Let  ihem  rather 
sean:li  into  human  nature,  and  admit  its  truth. 
As  I  now  look  back,  I  cannot  contemplate  it 
with  the  same  complacency  as  I  did  even  in  the 
earlier  period  of  my  sorrowing.  I  had  learned 
to  love  my  father  with  a  fervor  which  bordered 
on  romance — to  feel  proud  alike  of  his  talents 
and  of  ins  virtues — to  experience  gratitude  for 
the  neglected  tenderness  which  he  had  lavished 
on  me  in  my  childhood,  and  to  form  hearty 
resolutions  of  returning  it  tenfold  in  the  time  to 
come,  but,  alas!  I  now  see  what  I  did  not 
then  even  suspect  All  the  tears  which  I  so 
passionately  shed  did  not  embalm  the  memory 
of  my  father.  Many,  too  many  of  them  were 
an  offering  to  selp.  My  projects  were  over- 
tlirown — my  future  was  blighted — my  scheme 
of  lite  was  rendered,  by  this  one  blow,  vain  and 
impossible.  The  earth  had  cru!iil)led  away  be- 
neath my  feel;  and  as,  for  weeks  after  that 
blow  was'siruck,  I  wandered,  sad  and  solitary, 
through  the  sdeni  apartments  which  were  once 
his,  I  louiid  a  proud  satisfaction  in  murmuring 
to  myself — "None  mourn  him  as  Idol"  No 
warning  voice  whispered  into  my  ear  the  hu- 
miliating truth. 

Lady  Flora  made  a  decent  endeavor  to  ap- 
pear afflicted  ;  but  it  was  too  shallow  to  de- 
ceive even  for  a  moment.  She  had  never 
divested  herself  of  the  delusion  that  she  had 
been  the  first  oliject  of  Mr.  Tilden's  preference  ; 
and  ilial  Ins  ultimate  selection  of  her  beautiful 
young  sister  was  the  mere  elfect  of  some  un- 
accounlalile  caprice.  She  was  utterly  unable 
to  sympathize  with  the  feelings  of  su(h  a  man, 
and  therefore  she  feared  him  ;  while  it  is  need- 
less to  do  more  than  to  remark,  that  in  weak 
and  i;:norant  natures,  fear  is  always  coupled 
with  dislike.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  under  all 
these  circumstances,  that  Lady  Flora  had  dread- 
ed the  hour  in  which  she  should  he  compelled 
to  present  herself  before  him  as  his  guest;  and 
fro  II  this  lerr-tr  she  was  now  f.itally  reliceJ. 


This  was  her  view  of  an  event  so  tenible  anu 
so  sudden  ;  and  it  is  not  to  he  supposed  thai 
she  suffered  greatly  from  the  shock. 

The  feelijigs  of  Adela  were  nvre  extraordi- 
nary and  inexplicable.  There  were  momenta 
when  her  depression  was  so  great,  that  she 
could  not  endure  any  companionship;  ani 
would  rush  abruptly  from  the  presence  o( 
every  one,  and  shut  herself  into  her  room  for 
hours.  On  her  reappearance,  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  agony  in  which  the  interval  ha! 
been  passed  .  her  eyes  were  swollen  with  vvci  j/- 
ing,  and  her  cheeks  pale  and  sunken  ;  and  yet, 
at  times,  she  rallied  so  wonderfully  as  to  dis- 
play more  bodily  and  mental  energy  than  I  had 
ever  before  believed  her  to  possess.  She  pro- 
duced  upon  me  the  effect  of  a  person  who  had 
suddenly  flung  off  a  heavy  weight,  and  who  ex- 
perienced some  great  and  hidden  relief. 

The  first  occasion  upon  whii-h  we  had  ever 
spoken  together  with  the  conlidence  and  affec- 
tion of  relatives — I  dare  not  say  of  sisters — 
was  on  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  faral 
news  reached  us.  I  had  desired  that  no  one 
should  disturb  me;  and  hour  alter  hour  had 
passed,  as  I  lay  silent  and  almost  motionless 
upon  my  sofa,  sunk  in  those  sad  and  Imier 
thoughts  which  I  have  endeavored  to  describe. 
The  sun  had  set  unheeded  ;  the  twil  ght  had 
faded  into  darkness;  ami,  to  me.  there  had 
seemed  no  change.  I  was  aliso.rhed  in  my  own 
anguish,  when  I  distincily  heard  a  light  stroke 
upon  the  door,  but  I  was  too  listless  in  mj 
misery  to  heed  it.  A  moment  subsequently  it 
opened,  and  Adela  slowly  a()proaclied  me.  She 
was  as  pale  as  death  ;  her  hair  was  in  disorder, 
and  liiiiig  in  ricli  disheveled  masses  upun  her 
shoulders  ;  and  her  eyes  were  encircled  by  a 
dark  ring,  as  though  the  tears  that  vv-oulil  not 
fall  had  congealed  the  blood  ar<iun;l  their  orbs. 
In  one  hand  she  held  the  letter  which  had  been 
the  messenger  of  grief,  and  in  the  otiier  a  small 
lamp,  wiiich  she  deposited  in  silence  iip')n  a 
table.  As  she  approached  me  I  insiiiictiv.'.y 
raised  myself  upon  myelhow,  and  I  saw  a  li:  ii, 
sad  smile  quiver  over  her  lij)s.  Many  si-;  .s 
would  have  sprung  into  each  other's  arm^,  a,i  1 
wepLout  their  anguish  upon  each  olher's-necks: 
Adela  and  I  mutually  extended  our  hands,  and 
held  them  clasped  lor  a  few  seconds,  after 
which  she  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  cushion  o! 
the  sola  upon  which  I  was  lying,  and  sal  down. 
Sull  I  did  not  speak.  I  felt  as  though  the  lir.-.l 
word  which  I  sought  to  utter  must  sulloca.a 
me  ;  but  Adela  did  not  seem  to  interpret  my 
silence  unkindly. 

"  Poor  Eveleen  !"  she  murmured,  in  her  low, 
musical  voice,  which  s<mnded  sweet   and   sad 
in  tlhit   vast  and  half-dismantled  apartment — 
"  this  is  your  first  soriow,  and  It  is,  indeed,  a  , 
bitter  one." 

I  glanced  at  her  in  surprise. 

'•  I  would  not,  even  now,  have  intruded 
upon  your  griel,"  she  conlinued  ;  ••  hut  iheni 
are  certain  duties  delegated  to  us  which  we 
must  perform.     Our  father's  room — " 

"  He  will  never,  never  occupy  it  more !"  1 
exclaimed,  in  a  fresh  paroxysm  of  grief— 
'•  Ailela,  Adela,  we  have  lost  our  best  friend 7" 

"  I  know  it — I  feel  it,"  replied  my  sister,  il 
the  same  low  and  firm  tone  as  she  had  lutherlfl  ' 
spoken  ;  "  peril. :ns  our  only  one.     But  it  is  ikH 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


in  order  to  aggravate  your  regrets  that  I  am 
here.  Ydu  have  the  key  that  is  needeil, 
Eveleeii ;  there  was  tvo  means  of  ingress  with- 
out an  applicatiiiii  to  yourself.  There  are 
strangers  in  liie  house,  who  —  who"  —  slie 
struggled  wiih  her  emolion,  as  a  convulsive 
shtidiiei  made  me  iremhle  in  every  limb  ;  and 
then  added,  hastily,  as  though  she  feared  that 
she  could  not  much  longer  restrain  her  tears — 
]  "  and  Lady  Flora  is  already  with  them,  and 
I  will  superintend  everything,  if  you  will  send 
her  the  key." 

"I  thank  you,  Adela,"  I  said,  with  a  sudden 
calmness  for  which  I  could  not  account  even  to 
myself;  "  ihere  are,  indeed,  duties  delegated 
to  us.  You  know  how  carefully,  how  reve- 
rently, I  have  hitherto  guarded  that,  to  me, 
sacred  spot  from  the  pollution  of  a  stranger's 
curiosiiy.  I  will  do  so  still.  You  have,  in- 
dwdd,  performed  a  sister's  part  toward  me 
to-night — complete  it  now.  Withdraw  Lady 
Flora  from  the  gallery ;  her  services  are  not 
needed,  nor  can  they  be  either  accepted  or  per- 
mitted. I  would  rather  not  meet  her  yet — nor 
there" 

Adela  looked  steadily  at  me  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  taking  up  iier  lamp,  left  the  loom. 
I  requued  a  few  moments  to  compose  myself, 
and  to  prepare  for  the  dismal  and  trying  duty 
which  I  had  refused  to  transfer  to  another; 
and.  ere  1  had  well  succeeded,  Josephine  ap- 
peared with  a  light,  which  sl/e  placed  upon  a 
conside  near  the  door,  and  instantly  withdrew. 
I  walked  slowly  toward  it,  lifted  it,  and  stood 
quietly  until  I  found  that  I  could  carry  it  with 
a  steady  clasp ;  and  then,  having  steeped  my 
hands  and  face  in  Hungary  water,  I  passed  out 
into  the  gallery. 

A  contused  murmur  of  hoarse  whisperings 
fell  on  my  ear  as  I  advanced,  and  1  soon  stood 
opposite  the  iinpaiienl  group  who  were  to  drape 
Ihe  aparimenl  of  my  father  in  its  lugubrious 
trappings.  As  I  stopped  before  them,  all  the 
servants,  whom  curiosity  or  interest  had  at- 
tracted to  the  spot,  silently  retired,  save  the 
butler;  who.  drowned  in  tears,  had  not  yet 
perceived  my  arrival. 

••Botilemore,"  I  said,  firmly,  "  where  is  the 
tndosure  of  Lady  Madelaine's  letter  ?" 

He  tendeied  it  silently,  and  without  raising 
nis  eyes. 

"  Here,  gentlemen,  is  the  task  which  you 
have  to  perform.  Can  it  be  accomplished  to- 
night !" 

'•  I  fear  it's  impossible,  miss,"  said  he,  who 
appeared  to  he  the  leader,  and  who  was  ex- 
hausting himself  in  reverences,  each  lower 
than  the  last,  amid  bales  and  packages  all  rolled 
in  black  wrappers,  and  looking  like  a  group  of 
coffins  wailMig  for  interment,  as  they  lay  huddled 
together  m  the  dusky  light;  "unless,  indeed, 
we  worked  till  morning;  but  then,  nightwork 
!  is  double  pay." 
I  "Let  It  be  done,"  said  I,  as  I  drew  out  the 

I       key  and  opened  the  door ;  "  such  a  scene  would 
I       te  d;thculi  to  bear  twice." 

My  loot  was  already  on  the  threshold,  when 
[  sL!<ltlenly  started  l)ack  with  a  slight  scream, 
dnd  clung  to  Bottlemore,  who  was  following 
tlosely  behind  me. 

••  Madam,  dear  .\Iiss  Eveleen,  what  have  you 
seenV   inquired    the  faithful  old   man.  as  he 


strove  to  look  over  my  shoulder,  while  the 
sable-clad  functionaries  in  his  rear  endeavored, 
in  vain,  to  discover  the  cause  of  my  panic  ;  for 
the  second  battant  of  the  door  was  still  un- 
opened, and  the  butler  and  myself  had  filli.'d  the 
vacant  sj)ace. 

In  an  instant  I  recovered  myself.  I  was 
ashamed  of  my  folly,  although  I  still  trembled 
Irom  its  effects.  At  I  be/ore  slated,  1  had 
taken  no  heed  of  time,  and  was  not  aware  that 
it  had  progressed  so  rapidly.  The  moon,  then 
at  its  full,  was  pouring  a  Hood  of  light  over  the 
room  ;  and,  as  the  door  gave  way  under  my 
hand,  a  stream  of  cold  air  swept  like  an  icy 
breath  across  my  face,  while  the  draperies  of 
the  curtains  flapped  heavily,  with  a  dull  and 
smothered  sound.  In  my  excited  stale  of 
mind,  it  was  not  wonderful  that  I  was  startled; 
but  my  surprise  was  still  further  increased, 
when,  on  entering  the  room,  and  advancing 
towards  the  marble  table  which  occupied  the 
centre  of  the  floor,  I  saw  the  magniticent  exotic 
(lowers,  which  I  had  collected  from  the  conser- 
vatories only  that  morning,  lying  scattered  and 
withering  beside  the  overturned  vase  which  had 
contained  them.  As  I  was  about  to  utter  an 
exclamation,  something  suddenly  rose  from  the 
floor  beside  me,  and,  with  a  rushing  noise,  made 
for  the  moonlighted  window,  and  beat  itself 
heavily  against  the  glass.  All  was  instantly 
explained.  It  was  a  wood-pigeon,  which,  prob- 
ably pursued  by  a  hawk,  had  found  an  entrance, 
by  some  means,  into  the  apartment.  But  how '{ 
That  enigma,  also,  was  soon  solved,  by  one  ot 
the  workmen  discovering  a  broken  pane  of  glass 
in  the  centre  window. 

All  these  trifling  facts,  simple  as  they  seemed 
nevertheless  per()lexed  me  greatly.  That  no 
accident  of  the  sort  had  taken  place  until  long 
past  noon,  I  was  well  aware  ;  for,  after  having 
completed  my  floral  ofl^ering  to  my  father,  I  had 
remained,  for  several  hours,  reading  and  musing 
in  his  apartment.  I  felt  that,  weak  as  it  seemed, 
my  nerves  were  now  too  much  .shaken  to  admit 
of  my  following  up  the  trying  duty  which  I  had 
been  about  to  perforin  ;  and  when  1  saw  the 
cold  and  business-like  proceecLngs  of  the  callous 
men  about  me,  and  beheld  the  floor  and  furni- 
ture heaped  with  sable  masses,  which  ai)peared, 
to  my  excited  senses,  to  have  a  death-scent 
hanging  about  them,  I  could  conlentf  no  longer ; 
but  hurriedly  desiring  Bottlemore  to  take  the 
whole  direction  upon  himself;  not  to  siifler  a 
soul,  save  my  sister  Adela,  no  matter  whom,  to 
enter,  except  the  workmen  ;  and  to  bring  me 
the  key,  which  I  would  await  in  my  dressing- 
room,  the  instant  they  had  departed,  I  Inrriedl) 
retired.  I  felt  the  necessity  of  once  more  be- 
ing alone ;  and,  as  I  closed  the  door  of  my 
chamber  behind  me,  I  again  flung  myself  into 
a  seat,  to  mourn  in  bitterness,  and,  it  possible, 
to  weep. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 
The  workmen  employed  in  mv  father's  apart- 
ment were  so  little  fastidious  in  their  move- 
ments, that  I  distinctly  heard  the  dull  blows  ol 
the  hammer,  and  the  sound  of  many  I'ootsteps  ; 
but  I  scarcely  regretted  that  it  was  so  ;  I  had 
attained  to  that  degree  of  wretchedness  which 
almost  finds  relief  in  every  accession  of  Uia- 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


comfort.  It  eeenied  cnly  filling  and  consistent 
that,  in  a  house  deprived  ot  its  head,  all  should 
be  changed  ;  and  that  the  drep  quiet,  to  which 
its  inniaU's  had  been  so  long  accustomed,  should 
be  dispelled,  like  the  dreams  of  hope  and  afTcc- 
tion  in  which  ihey  might  hitherto  have  enfolded 
the  future.  I  even  listened,  that  I  might  judge 
of  the  progress  which  was  malcing  in  the  lugu- 
brious work;  and  more  than  once  I  lelt  templed 
to  exert  my  en-^rgies  and  to  renew  my  intention 
of  superintending    their    labors.      I  abstained, 

owever  ;  for,  in  the  holiness  of  my  first  grief,  I 
I  shrank  from  all  unnecessary  commuiiicalion 
with  strangers  ;  and  thus  I  sat,  hour  after  hour, 
nursing  my  sad  and  bitter  thoughts  ;  now  weep- 
ing over  my  sudden  and  irreparable  loss,  now 
asking  myself  wliat  would  be  my  future  fale 
under  the  guidance  and  authority  of  such  a 
mother  as  Lady  Madelaine. 

Daylight  came  creeping,  dull  and  cheerless, 
througli  the  windows  of  my  room;  in  the  con- 
fusion consequent  upon  the  fatal  event  which 
had  occurred,  tiie  curtains  had  been  left  un- 
drawn ;  and,  as  I  had  refused  all  attendance, 
the  omission  had  escaped  notice.  I  saw,  there- 
fore, for  tlie  first  time,  the  dreary  contest 
between  light  and  darkness  which  ever  pre- 
cedes a  new  day.  I  involuntarily  rose  and 
looked  out,  for  the  scene  was  consonant  to  my 
then  slate  of  feeling.  Poets  have  sung  brightly 
of  the  birth  of  day,  and  they  are  well  borne  out 
by  the  glories  of  a  rising  sun  ;  but,  before  the 
rosea!*!  and  golden  splendor  of  this  fair  vision 
can  be  enjoyed,  the  watcher  must  first  undergo 
the  saddening  and  dreary  spectacle  of  the  morn- 
ing twilight ;  and  it  was  upon  thia  that  I  stood 
and  gazed  at  that  melancholy  moment.  As  the 
night  broke,  a  cold  shiver  crept  over  my  frame, 
and  I  drew  my  shawl  more  closely  about  me  ; 
everything  upon  which  I  looked  partook  of  the 
same  chilling  character  ;  a  mass  of  wreathing 
misls  overhung  the  surface  of  the  lake,  and  dis- 
persed slowly  and  sullenly,  as  if  reluclant  to 
"disclose  its  limpid  beauties.  The  dew  hung 
heavily  upon  the  trees,  and  at  intervals  fell  in 
lalge  drops  to  the  varlh,  like  tears  wrung  from 
a  sulfering  spirit.  The  flowers  were  still  closed  ; 
the  sky  was  louring  and  leaden  ;  and  even  the 
wind,  as  it  swept  by,  moaned,  as  though  it  be- 
waileu  the. comfortless  aspect  of  the  objects  by 
wluch  it  was  surrounded.  The  light,  in  cold 
and  quivering  streaks,  looking  in  their  dull 
setting  like  lances  of  polished  sleel,  by  slow 
degrees  pierced  through  the  dark  vapors ;  and, 
lengthening  and  broadening  into  warmer  beauty, 
eventually  look  a  glow  and  a  glory  which  lore- 
told  the  coming  of  the  mighty  orb  that  was 
about  to  flood  the  earth  with  warmth  and  ra- 
diance. 

I  instinctively  closed  my  eyes.  My  sympa- 
thies were  no  lonsjer  with  the  scene  before  me. 
The  sun  was  again  rising  to  gladden  the  earth 
— my  hope  was  still  buried.  There  was  no 
longer  anything  in  common  between  us  ;  and  I 
was  in  the  acl  of  letting  fall  the  heavy  curtains, 
in  order  once  more  to  shroud  myself  in  dark- 
nes.s.  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  ap- 
proaching my  room,  and  immediately  afterward 
a  cautious  stroke  upon  the  door.  As  I  replied 
to  the  signal  for  admission,  Boillemore  opened 
it  quietly,  and  moved  toward  me. 
"  Is  all  completed  !"  I  asked. 


"  Not  yet,  madam,"  he  replied,  in  a  suppressed 
voice  :  "  though  everything  is  in  active  pro- 
gress, and  exactly  according  to  the  instructions  ; 
but  this,  my  dear  young  lady,  is  not  my  errand. 
I  have  thought  it  my  duty — "  Here  he  pauseU — 
looked  embarrassed,  and  then  glanced  Irom  me 
to  a  small  parcel  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"  Whatever  it  may  be,  if  you  feel  that  your 
duty  requires  it  of  you,  do  it  I'eailessly,"  1  said, 
loially  indifferent  to  every  subject  save  thai  by 
which  I  was  absorbed. 

"  I  have  discovered  the  cause  of  the  broken 
window,"  resumed  the  butler,  still  evidently 
ill  at  ease  ;  "  I  have  brought  it  to  you,  madam  ; 
it  is  indeed  addressed  to  you." 

"  To  me  !"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  extended  my 
hand  tremblingly  to  receive  it.  "What  can 
this  mean,  Boillemore  V 

The  man  shook  his  head.  He  had  probably 
asked  himself  the  same  question  more  than 
once  since  the  mysterious  missile  came  into 
his  possession. 

The  parcel,  although  small,  was  heavy  ;  and 
as  I  eagerly  carried  it  to  the  window,  where  the 
light  had  become  sufficiently  strong  to  enable 
me  easily  to  trace  the  superscription,  I  found 
that  it  was.  as  he  had  said,  directed  to  myself. 
I  became  much  agitated  ;  and  as  I  lore  it  open, 
the  curtain  which  I  had  hitherto  held  back  with 
my  hand  fell  behind  me,  and  thus  screened 
me  from  the  observation  of  the  attendant.  The 
contents  of  the  parcel  were  a  large  pebble,  and 
a  letter,  addressed,  as  the  envelope  had  been, 
to  me.  A  letter  !  From  whom  could  it  come  ! 
I  had  never  in  my  life  received  any  written 
communication,  save  from  my  parents.  I  be- 
came fevered  from  anxiety,  and  my  legs  shook 
under  me  as  I  stood.  I  was  glad,  I  knew  not 
wherefore,  that  no  one  was  by  to  observe  me.  I 
broke  the  seal,  and  glanced  at  the  signature.  It 
bore  the  name  of  Devereux.  It  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  I  sujjpressed  an  exclamation.  Read 
the  letter  1  could  not,  while  I  was  conscious  of 
the  near  neighborhood  of  the  zealous  servant 
who  was  awaiting  my  orders.  I  felt  that  1 
could  not ;  and  I  instinctively  struggled  for 
composure,  and  emerged  from  my  friendly  con- 
cealment. 

"  'Tis  a  poor  jest,  good  Bottlemore,"  I  said, 
striving  to  force  a  smile,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
giving  into  his  hand  the  pebble  and  the  paper  m 
which  it  w'as  inclosed.  "  From  w'heiever  it 
may  have  come,  let  it  no  longer  intrude  upon 
your  time  and  thoughts,  which  are  both  re- 
quired for  more  solemn  duties  at  present.  Ilere- 
afler,  perhaps — "  and  I  paused,  for  I  knew  not 
how  to  complete  the  sentence. 

"  A  disresjicclful  and  an  unworthy  jest," 
said  the  builer,  turning  over  the  pebble  in  hia 
palm  ;  "  and  at  such  a  moment,  too  !  But  you 
say  rightly,  my  dear  young  lady  ;  we  have  now 
iw  lime  for  fooleries  like  these.  Before  long, 
perhaps — "  and  he  paused  as  I  had  done, mada 
a  low  bow,  and  retired.  If  he  felt  any  sus- 
picion that  he  had  been  mystified,  he,  at  least, 
looked  none. 

And  nt)vv  I  was  again  alone.  The  blood  was 
burning  over  brow  and  bosom.  I  remained 
motionless — undetermined — with  my  gaze  fast- 
ened upon  the  curtain,  behind  which  lay  the 
letter  that  I  had  (lung  down  when  1  emerged  to 
dismiss   Boillemore.     For  the   moment  I  had 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


85 


forgotten  all — my  dead  father,  the  approaching 
arrival  of  my  mollier — ihe  clouds  which  had 
gathered  around  my  future  destiny.  I  remem- 
bered nothing  save  myself  and  Devereu.x — tlie 
Devereux  whom  I  had  loved,  and  hy  whom  I 
had  heen  heloved  in  my  turn.  He  was  here, 
then — hreathing  the  same  air — looiiing  upon  the 
same  light,  here!  hut  at  what  a  moment! 
Deep  shame  came  upon  me.  The  remembrance 
of  my  loss — a  loss  yet  known  to  me  only  a  few 
hours — made  me  recoil  with  disgust  trom  my 
own  selrishness  ;  but  the  feeling  did  not  last 
long — It  could  not.  Tlie  very  memory  that  I 
had  no  longer  a  father — that  I  sliouid  hereafter 
be  the  tool,  and,  perhaps,  the  victim,  of  the 
unloving  rule  of  an  estranged  and  careless 
mother — that  I  was,  morally  at  least,  an  orphan 
— and  that,  without  other  support,  I  was  help- 
less, soon  reconciled  mo  with  myself  More- 
over, there  was  a  tinge  of  romance  in  the  whcde 
aftaiTj  which,  doubtlessly,  although  I  was  at  the 
moment  unconscious  of  its  influence,  served  not 
a  little  to  silence  my  self-accusations. 

The  time  went  by  so  rapidly  during  this  men- 
tal conflict,  that,  before  I  had  decided  on  read- 
ing the  letter,  and  ascertaining  its  purpose, 
Bottlemore  was  once  more  at  my  door  to  inti- 
mate that  Ihe  funeral  furniture  of  my  father's 
apartment  was  completed  ;  and  to  urge  me  re- 
spectfidly  to  visit  it  in  his  presence,  in  order  that 
he  might,  after  gaining  my  sanction,  dismiss  the 
workmen.  I  extended  my  hand  for  the  key, 
but  declined  the  invitation.  "  Dismiss  them  on 
your  own  responsibility,"  I  said  ;  "I  know  that 
I  can  trust  you.  I  dare  not  trust  myself  yc^  I 
have  undergone  much,  too  much  within  the  last 
few  hours.  I  need  rest  before  I  can  venture 
upon  such  a  visit." 

"  But  will  you  really  take  the  rest  that  you 
require,  my  dear  young  ladyl"  asked  the  wor- 
'Ihy  old  man.  "  You  are  indeed  beaten  down 
by  your  grief;  and  no  wonder.  Miss  Eveleen, 
no  wonder !  Ah,  we  shall  all  soon  better  un- 
derstand what  we  have  lost.  We  never  made 
enough  of  him  when  he  was  here,  but  we  shall 
have  time  enough  to  mourn  him — time  enough 
and  cause  enough,  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest." 

Subdued  as  I  previously  was  by  conflicting 
emotions,  this  generous  and  impulsive  burst  of 
sorrow  coin[)leiely  overcame  me.  It  unlocked 
my  tears,  and  once  again  I  found  relief 

"  Leave  me,  my  worthy  friend,"  I  sobbed  with 
ditficulty  ;  and,  all  my  haughtiness  leveled  for 
the  mimienl  by  this  common  demonstration  of  a 
common  grief,  I  extended  my  hand  to  the  laiih- 
ful  favorite  of  my  father,  who  pressed  his  lips 
reverentially  upon  it,  and  then  silently  disap- 
peared. 

No  !  I  had  said  rightly ;  I  could  not  accom- 
pany him  to  the  death-chamber — I  dared  not. 
It  would  have  seemed  to  me  like  sacrilege  to 
have  intruded  there,  when  I  had  so  recently 
loosened  my  grasp  of  Devereux's  letter,  with 
feelings  all  absorbed  in  its  receipt.  No — this  I 
could  not  do.  There  was  a  short  interval  of 
tumult  in  the  gallery.  The  strangers  were 
departing.  I  then  heard  the-crushing  sound  of 
wheels  U[)on  the  gravel ;  this  soon  died  away 
also,  and  ihen  all  was  silence  both  without  and 
within  the  house.  I  flung  open  a  window — it 
was  not  that  beneath  which  the  letter  lay — and 


the  sweet,  soft  air  of  the  early  morning  came 
u|)on  me  like  incense.  All  upon  which  I  looked 
was  glowing  with  freshness  and  beauty.  The 
lake-npple  dancted  with  its  silver  feet  joyously 
in  the  sunshine,  to  the  music  of  the  fresh 
breeze  that  bore  it  company  ;  the  flowers  bad 
all  opened  their  cups,  and  the  bees  and  butter- 
flies were  sipping  their  morning-draughts  from 
the  jeweled  chalices;  while  the  birds,  heaven's 
own  chosen  choir,  were  singing  their  matins  in 
notes  which  seemed  to  invite  all  nature  to  join 
in  their  hallelujahs.  A  change  had  come  over 
the  whole  earth,  yet  I  shrank  from  it  no  longer. 
I  was  still  in  tears — still  sorrowing — but  a  sun 
had  risen  in  my  heart,  which  had  wrought  its 
own  change  also. 

And  still  the  letter  lay  where  I  had  cast  i\ 
down. 

I  do  not  remember  the  course  of  my  thoughts 
during  the  hours  that  I  sat,  silent  and  motion 
less,  beside  that  open  window.  I  believe  that 
at  intervals  I  could  not  strictly  be  said  to 
think  at  all.  My  brain  whirled  Iroin  over-exer- 
tion, and  induced  that  physical  apathy  which 
makes  us  shrink  from  further  efl'orts  ;  and  in  this 
way,  also,  do  I  account  for  the  length  of  time 
which  I  suffered  to  elapse  before  I  determined 
on  the  perusal  of  Devereux's  letter.  I  knew 
that  it  lay  near  me  ;  that  I  could  possess  my 
self  of  it  in  an  instant ;  and  I  was  satisfied  witl 
this  conviStion.  He  had  not  forgotten  me; 
that  was  enough  for  the  present  moment.  Like 
the  crater  of  a  volcano,  which  trembles  for  a 
time  after  the  violence  of  the  explosion  is  past, 
so  did  I  suffer  from  llie  shock  of  the  blow  I  had 
experienced,  and  helplessly  yield  myself  up  to 
its  latent  effects.  Yet,  despite  the  intensity  ol 
my  first  anguish,  a  feeling  of  calm  had  stolen 
over  m«,  which  had  soothed  me  into  quietude; 
and,  lor  awhile,  this  alone  was  almost  hapjii- 
ness.  There  was  no  jarring  mfluence  either 
within  or  about  me.  I  was  dreaming  a  waking 
dream,  in  which,  occasionally,  I  was  so  men- 
tally annihilated  that  I  was  unconscious  even  oi 
my  own  existence. 

But  this  state  of  things  could  not  last  for- 
ever. The  new  day  brings  its  claims  and  its 
duties  to  all  classes  of  society.  I  was  recalled 
to  myself  by  passing  footsteps  and  answering 
voices.  Wiih  some  difhculty  I  overcame  my 
reluctance  to  terminate  my  solitude,  and  to  re- 
turn, as  it  appeared  at  the  moment,  uilo  likv; 
bnt  I  knew  that  I  had  no  alternative  ;  so,  gath- 
ering up  the  long-neglegted  letter,  I  locked  it 
away  carefully  in  my  desk,  without  hazarding 
one  glance  at  its  contents,,  and  rang  lor  Jo- 
sephine. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 
It  was  not  until  I  began  to  exert  injself,  and 
had  gone  tbrougli  the  weariness  of  another  toi- 
let, that  1  discovered  the  extent  of  my  fatigue. 
As  I  glanced  into  the  dressing-glass,  1  scarcely 
knew  myself;  my  eyes  were  (lull  ami  heavy, 
my  cheeks  and  lips  oolorle.-^s,  and  iny  whole 
countenance  swollen  and  olisfigurcd  "And 
tills  is  then  the  work  of  grief,"  1  murmured  in 
myself;  "  this  is  all  the  opposition  which  youin 
and  beauty  can  ofl'er  to  the  sorrows  and  triitla 
of  the  world."  My  vanity  was  humbled  by  tba 
conviction.      I   had   never  understood,  uuiii 


CONFKSSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


became  myself  the  proof,  thai  a  few  tmurs  could 
have  wrought  such  havoc  in  early  life. 

I  swallowed,  wiih  consideral)lf!  efTort,  a  few 
spoonfuU  of  chocolaie  ;  dismissed  Josephine  as 
hastily  as  jjossible  ;  and  resolved  at  once  to 
examine  ihe  letter  of  Devereiix,  which  would, 
in  all  prohahiliiy — ihiis  did  I  argue  as  an  apolo- 
gy to  myself  (or  giving  to  it  the  precedence  of 
nearer  and  higher  dunes — enable  me  to  endure 
with  more  composure  the  trials  of  the  day. 

Hurriedly  1  drew  it  from  its  concealment.  I 
lelt  like  a  guilty  thing,  and  moved  away  from 
the  window,  as  though  to  prevent  the  very  sun- 
shine fr(.::'.  penetrating  my  secret.  .My  breath 
came  ihici;,  my  hands  trembled,  and  the  nxmi 
and  all  the  objects  which  it  contained  appeared 
to  revolve  about  me.  Neverlhekss,  I  persisted  ; 
and  as  I  read  I  became  less  agitated.  These 
were  the  contents  of  the  letter  : — 

My  OWN  EvELEE.N  I 

'•  Yea,  so  I  w  ill  call  you  until  your  own  lips 
forbid  It — I  address  you  in  an  awful  and  melan- 
choly moment.  I  have  just  learnt  your  fatal 
loss.  In  another  hour  I  shall  have  left  town 
for  Rooksiey.  Do  not  misjudge  me  for  urging 
my  own  interests  in  the  very  midst  of  your 
first  great  sorrow :  it  is  because  I  trust  to  miti- 
gate your  grief  by  my  assurances  of  sympathy 
and  teuik  rness  thai  I  feel  urged  to  do  so.  I 
am  aware  that  in  losing  your  admirable  father 
you  have  also  lost  your  b(-st  and  surest  hope  for 
the  future.  I  know  that  the  rule  of  your  mother 
will  be  one  ol  cold-beariedness  and  caprice.  It 
is,  therefure,  at  this  hour  that  you  need  a  friend. 
I  shall  trust  to  tiie  Ibrtune  which  generally 
favors  those  who  love,  for  the  opportunity  of 
seeing,  or,  at  least,  of  hearing  from  you.  I 
dread  everything  from  the  vml-nco  of  your 
grief:  but  lemember,  you  once  assured  me  that 
you  loved  me  ;  you  received  my  .vows  in  re- 
turn ;  you  are  consequently  mine — my  own — 
and  you  must  leain  to  be  comforted  for  my 
sake.  Hitiierio  I  have  been  passive,  because  I 
felt  that  lime  must  do  much  for  us,  and  I  was 
anxious  not  to  mar  its  beneticial  etfects  by  any 
premature  imprudence ;  now,  however,  I  hold 
myself  bound  by  mir  comuKm  allection  to  be 
near  you,  even  aliiiough  I  may  not  be  enabled 
to  see  you  benfaih  your  paternal  roof;  for, 
cruel  as  this  de|<iivation  will  necessarily  prove 
to  both  of  us,  it  IS  one  to  which  I  feel,  my  Eve- 
Icen,  that  we  musi  be  resigned.  VV^e  are  not 
yet  at  an  age  when- we  can  emancipate  our- 
selves fiom  autboniy  ;  but  I  have  been  too  long 
an  utter  stranger  to  all  your  movemenls.  Your 
name  has  been  studiously  avoided  both  by  your 
nioiher  and  my  own.  There  can  he  no  doubt 
that,  at  the  termination  of  her  nu)urnmg,  Lady 
Madelaine  will  introduce  you  inio  the  world  : 
you  are  young,  beautiful,  and  aitrai^tive ;  and 
I  tremble  when  I  remember  how  hide  we  yet 
know  of  each  other;  when  I  rellect  upon  the 
homage  and  adulation  by  which  you  will  be  im- 
niediaiely  surrounded.  It  is  true,  that  I  have 
already  mixed  with  that  same  world,  and  (hat 
1  have  I'ouiid  nottiing  there  which  could  for  a 
momeni  divert  my  heart  from  you  ;  but  bow 
can  I  be  mad  enough  to  hope  that  such  would 
be  yowr  case  ?  Sutler  me,  ihen,  1  implore  yon, 
by  any  means  which  we  can  mutually  adopt,  to 
Secure  a  deeper  and  a  more  tender  interest  in 


your  afTeciions.     Let  me  be  at  once  a  Lrothet 
and  a  lover.  , 

•• I  am  interrupted.     Adieu — till  I  reau) 

Rooksiey.     When   1    have   ascertained  liow  J 
can   best  communicate  with  you,  I  will   add  a 
postscript.     Till  then  — good  angels  guard  you! 
"  Herbert  Deveeelx. 

"  P.  S.  I  am  here,  my  own  Eveleen  ;  here, 
at  the  liUle  inn  near  the  park  gate — how  happy,  I 
need  not  add,  when  1  tell  ynu  that  I  have  seen 
you.  I  could  not  have  sought  a  fairei  vision 
for  my  dreams !  I  have  seen  you,  Eveleen, 
standing  near  a  window,  arranging  flowers  in  a 
porcelain  vase,  and  ihiis  have  I  discovt  red  your 
apartment.  So  far,  destiny  has  been  propitious 
to  me  !  I  have  prowled  like  a  poacher  through, 
the  Rooksiey  woods  since  daylight.  I  am  now 
ahoiii  to  make  a  cold,  senseless  stone  my  en- 
vied messenger.  My  only  terror  is  lest  I  should 
alarm  you  by  the  rude  method  which  lam  com- 
pelled to  adopt  to  insure  the  safe  and  secret 
receipt  of  my  letter — lest  I  should  scare  you 
from  your  soft  rest,  and  awaken  you  from  some 
sleeping  vision  in  which,  perchance,  my  image 
may  have  found  a  place.  But,  no;  your  dreams, 
my  poor  Eveleen,  your  rest  is  too  precious  to 
me ;  and  both  will  be  so  soon  and  sadly  cloud- 
ed, that  I  will  forbear  until  I  feel  convinced  that 
you  have  left  your  chamber.  I  find  that  they 
are  still  ignorant  in  the  village  of  the  fatal 
event  which  has  occurred,  and  ccmsequenlly 
the  tidings  cannot  yet  have  reached  Rooksiey. 
Sleep  on,  then,  my  stricken  love,  sleep  on  in 
peace,  while  such  slumber  may  still  be  yours. 
In  a  few  hours  you  may  welcome  me  as  a  com 
forler.  H.  D." 

"I  do— I  do!"  I  exclaimed,  mentally,  as  I 
pressed  ttie  paper  to  my  lips  and  bosom  ;  "gen- 
erous, confiding  Devereux !   you  have,  indeed, 
spokt  n  peace,  where  all  was  wretchedness  and 
dread."     I  was  for  a  moment  steeped   in  hap- 
piness ;  my  tears  were  stayed,  or,  if  they  con- 
tinued to  fall,  it  was  from  a  feeling  which  ren- 
dered me  unconscious  of  the  fact.     A  rainbow 
had  burst  through  the  storm-clouds  by  which  I 
had  been  so  lately  enveiopt'd.     I  might  not  see 
him  ;  but  all  my  doubis,  all  my  misgivings,  were 
now  over — Devereux  still  loved  me  !   Nor  need 
the  reader  wonder  at  my  temporary  exaltation. 
I  have  already  shown  how  fondly,  yet  how  fear- 
i  fully,  1  had  long  accustomed  myself  lo  dwell  upcn 
j  his  image ;  nor  will  any  one,  who  knows  aught 
]  of  human    nature,  doubt  how  much    my  boy- 
I  lover  had  gained   by  these   retrospective  rev- 
i  eries. 

j  My  first  burst  of  gratified  vanity  and  satisfied 
affection  over,  however,  darkness  once  more 
I  gathered  about  luy  spirit.  My  sorrows  were 
j  not  removed,  although  they  were  mitigated,  by 
I  this  selfish  joy.  Alas  I  they  admitted  of  no 
present  remedy.  I  closed  the  letter  slowly  and 
sadly,  for  I  felt  that  I  could  have  dwelt  upon  it 
for  hours  ;  I  replaced  it  in  my  desk,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  turning  the  key  which  was  to  con- 
ceal my  treasure  from  all  eyes  save  my  own, 
when  Ihe  door  of  my  apartment  softly  openud, 
and  .Adela  stood  belore  me.  I  felt  the  blood 
leap  lo  my  brow.  One  instant  sooner,  and  my 
secret  might  have  been  discovered  !  It  was 
evident  that  she  mistook  the  cause  of  my  eiiio- 
liun  :  fur,  stopping  abruptly  in  the  centre  of  lh« 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A   PRETTY  WOMAN 


87 


floor,  she  said  hastily,  as  a  sli^jht  tlush  rose  to 
her  own  olieeU  : 

"Forgive  me,  Eveleen,  not  only  that  I  have 
intruded  upon  you  unsought,  but  also  lor  the 
uni-ereniouious  manner  in  which  I  entert^d.  I 
forbore  to  make  any  noise,  in  the  hope  that  you 
were  endeavormg  to  obtain  a  little  rest;  and  1 
ventured  liere  to  ascertain  if  it  indeed  were  so, 
having  learnt  from  Josephine  that  you  had 
watched  all  night." 

"  I  thank  you,  Adela,"  I  said  in  surprise,  as  I 
extended  my  hand  ;  "  I  have  sought  sleep  in 
v.iin.  Th.e  evil  has  come  tpo  suddenly — I  had 
so  much  In  regret  — so  much  to  repent." 

"We  hive,  indeed,  learnt  oui  dark  lesson 
early,"  replied  my  sister,  with  a  &igh  ;  "should 
life  continue  to  seem  to  me  what  both  the  pres- 
ent and  the  past  have  liitherto  made  it,  regret 
and  rep>  ntance  must,  I  should  think,  be  the 
inseparable  companions  to  which  we  are  all 
fated." 

"  Yet  the  world  looks  upon  us  both  as  objects 
of  envy,  Adela,"  I  said  bitterly. 

"Upon  us? — say,  rather,  upon  yourself,  Eve- 
leen. Young,  beautiful,  rich,  idolized — well 
might  you  inspire  tlie  feeling.  But  of  me  the 
world  knows  nothing,  and  recks  less;  tlie  ban- 
ished daughter,  the  outcast  alien,  the  discarded 
exile,  the  helpless  girl,  who  for  years— and 
tliose  the  years  when  all  the  purest  affections 
are  ready  to  gush  forth  on  all  around,  and  the 
awakening  intellect  takes  -note  of  every  depri- 
vation, both  of  heart  and  spirit — was  banished 
and  forgotten,  or  else,  I  say,  that  world  of 
which  you  speak,  would  perchance  have  turned 
an  eye  less  misjudging  upon  tne." 

I  was  startled,  almost  affrighted,  by -the  deep 
and  concentrated  passion  with  which  this  young 
girl,  not  yet  fifteen  years  of  age,  gave  utterance, 
in  these  burning  words,  to  the  indignation  of 
her  soul.  In  themselves  they  were. calculated 
only  to  excite  sjn^pathy,  and  to  awaken  ten- 
derness and  pity  ;  but  the  expression  of  her 
flashing  eye,  the  withering  bjilerness  of  her 
quivering  li^,  the  haughty  defiance  which  ap- 
peared to  dilate  Iter  whole  form,  were  beyond 
all  written  description.  Tullia  must  have  worn 
such  a  look  when  she  drove  her  chariot-wheels 
over  the  dead  body  of  her  father.  My  sistercould 
never  again  be  to  me  the  silent  and  su|)ine  be- 
ing to  whom  I  had  become  accustomed,  a'ld 
whom  I  had  despised  in  the  haughty  indepen- 
dence of  my  own  nature.  I  felt  awed  by  the 
excess  of  an  einotion  of  which  I  had  never  be- 
lieved her  capable,  and  before  which  I  involun- 
tarily recoiled.  I  was  at  once  conscious  that, 
in  my  hasty  judgment  of  her  character,  I  had 
made  a  dangerous  mi.stake.  I  now  saw  that 
she  did  not,  like  myself,  fritter  away  her  [lowers 
of  mind  and  body,  or  betray  the  inward  work- 
ings of  her  spirit,  upon  every  petty  provocation  ; 
but  tJiat  she  had  already  learned  the  secret  of 
burying  her  thoughts  too  deeply  to  expose  them 
lo  the  scrutiny  of  every  idle  observer. 

We  were  more  estranged  in  heart  from  th:it 
•moment  than  ever.  1  fell  that  my  sister  was 
an  enemy  to  be  feared  ;  and  a  strange,  shape- 
less, phantom-like  conviction  came  suddenly 
upon  me  that  she  was  destined  to  be  my  enemy. 
Nevertheless,  I  apfiroached  her;  I  even  (>x- 
tended  my  hand,  but  she  affected  not  to  per- 
ceive it. 


"  1  pray  you,  Adela,  do  not  yield  Id  fcrhngs 
so  pnmlul  at  such  a  moment  as  Una,"  I  said 
Willi  ilitiiculty. 

"I  thank  you  for  the  counsel,"  she  leplifil 
coldly  and  placidly,  already  restored  to  per'ect 
calm  ;  "  the  error  was  involuntary — I  blusL  lo 
have  discovered  so  much  weakness.  The  strick- 
en deer  should  hide  itself  to  weep,  not  call  the 
hunters  round  it." 

"  Nay,  speak  less  bitterly,  Adela,"  I  rejoined  ; 
"  you  know  not  how  grateful  I  should  be  for 
your  conhdence  at  another  moment." 

"  I  have  no  secrets  to  confide.  I  have  just 
laid  bare  my  whole  history  before  you  ;  not  that 
this  communication  was  necessary,  but  sim- 
ply that  you  might  not  again  confuse  my  past 
career  and  your  own  in  your  memory.  Enough, 
however,  of  myself;  as  you  have  just  reminded 
me — this  is  not  the  moment." 

"  Do  not  believe  that  I  intended  to  imply  a 
rebuke  by  the  remark." 

"  I  had  no  such  suspicion.  It  vvas  right  that 
you,  who  had  just  spent  so  many  hours  in  one 
deep,  unbroken  chain  of  agonizing  grief-— in  one 
long  Hood  of  ceaseless  and  inconsolable  tears, 
without  indulging  in  a  single  thought  of  self, 
should  shrink  with  almost  loathing  from  any 
less  demonstrative  exhibition  of  filial  regret." 

Adela  had  stabbed  me  to  the  quick.  My  head 
sank  upon  my  breast ;  I  was  crushed.  And 
she  stood  there  before  me,  calm,  and  cold,  and 
placid,  as  though  no  storm  of  passion  had  ever 
swept  across  her  brow,  and  that  she  was  an 
alien  from  all  the  frailties  and  weaknesses  of 
humanity.  After  a  moment's  pause,  my  awa- 
kening pride  lent  me  words. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Adela,"  I  said  steadily  ; 
"  mine  was  no  such  devoted  vigil.  That  1 
wept  and  sorrowed  for  my  dead  father  is  in- 
deed true ;  wept,  as  the  repentant  and  the 
bereaved  alone  can  weep — wept,  as  perchance  I 
never  may  again  in  this  world.  But  there  were 
many,  many  intervals  when  I  sorrowed  alone 
for  myself — for  you." 

"  The  last  was  needless,"  interposed  my 
listener  with  a  bitter  smile  ;  "  tears  are  not  so 
strange  to  my  eyelids  that  another  should  shed 
them  for  me;  nor  am  I,  even  young  as  I  am, 
so  unacquainted  with  sorrow  as  to  be  unable  to 
bear  my  own  burden." 

"Do  you  refuse  my  sympathy  1" 

"  I  do.  It  comes  too  late.  I  have  mastered 
the  lesson  of  self-dependence.  I  ask  symnathy 
Iroin  no  one." 

"  Yet,  from  an  only  sister — " 

"  Rather  say,  only  a  sister — from  a  friend  I 
might  perchance  be  brought  to  endure  it." 

"  Why  should  we  not  be  friends  !" 

"  Have  you  ever  believed  it  possible  1  I  could 
give  you  a  hundred  reasons  to  the  contrary  ;  but 
it  were  idle  to  do  so  when  you  can  read  them 
in  your  own  heart — in  your  own  struggles  to 
atlecl  the  mere  semblance  of  friendship  lor  ihc 
forsaken  daughter  and  the  despised  sister.  Let 
us  abjure  such  mockery,  Eveleen.  I  am  con- 
tent to  await  your  affection,  until,  like  toy  pro- 
totype Cinderella,  I  have  fitted  on  the  slijiper  oi 
high  fortune.  There  is  a  moral  in  that  litile 
tale." 

I  was  sick  at  heart.  Overwhelmed  by  this 
new  and  budden  development  of  my  sister's 
character,  ray  thoughts  once  more  turned  back 


88 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETl'Y  WOMAN. 


to  Devereux.  He  was  the  one  star  in  my 
horizon  of  darkness.  I  felt  that  without  his 
love  and  the  consciousness  of  his  proximity,  I 
should  have  fallen  into  a  stale  of  apathy  and 
despair.  In  my  own  home  I  had  now  nothing 
to  hope.  And  was  this  to  be  the  termination, 
Ihi.s  the  cliuwx  of  rny  brilliant  girlhood  1  Again 
the  image  of  Devercux  rose  upon  my  mental 
vision,  and  rebuked  me  for  the  thought.  My 
Bister  had  left  the  room  as  she  ceased  speaking, 
nor  did  I  make  one  effort  to  detain  her.  I  was 
glad  to  be  for  a  time  alone  with  my  secret.  At 
that  moment  I  felt  no  inclination  to  confide  to 
her  the  anxiety  by  which  I  was  overwhelmed. 
Perhap.s,  had  sjie  evinced  some  evidence  of  sis- 
terly sympathy  and  feeling,  it  might  liave  been 
othervvise  ;  for  noihmg  so  thoroughly  opens  the 
heirt  as  sorrow  ;  but  this  was  not  to  be,  and  we 
parted  even  more  coldly  than  we  had  met. 

Solitude,  nevertheless,  brought  me  little  com- 
fort, for  reflection  had  become  painful,  and  she 
had  added  to  its  bitterness.  J  wrung  my  hands 
in  despair.  Consciuus  as  I  was  that  I  had 
alrsady  lived  through  a  long  life  of  emotion  and 
mental  experience,  I  was  painfully  aware  that 
those  about  me  still  aflected  to  consider  me  as 
a  child,  and  I  revolted  at  the  injustice,  I  felt 
degraded  by  the  position  in  which  I  was  placed. 
The  memory  of  Lady  Madelaine  could  not  have 
been  so  utterly  blunted  but  that  she  must  have 
thoroughly  comprehended  the  nature  and  extent 
of  the  mortification  to  which  the  companionship 
of  a  Lady  Flora  GlenfiUan  must  naturally  subject 
me,  as  w'ell  as  that  of  an  estranged  and  unloving 
sister.  In  my  father  I  might  indeed  have  found 
encouragement  and  support ;  and,  in  a  few  short 
days,  he  would  be  in  his  grave.  Even  in  the 
persevering  atleciion  of  Devereux  there  was 
bitterness  ;  for  he  did  not  dare  to  seek  me 
openly,  as  an  avowed  and  permitted  suitor,  but 
was  condeumed  to  prowl  surreptitiously  about 
the  house  which  I  inhabited,  subject  to  constant 
surprise  and  perpetual  insult  from  my  mother's 
menials. 

This  last  reflection  brought  with  it  another 
which  touched  me  nearly.  He  was  still  mis- 
taken as  to  the  identity  of  my  apamnent ;  and 
might,  by  this  error,-beled  into  a  second  impru- 
dence sunilar  to  that  by  w-hich  I  had  become 
possessed  of  his  letter.  And  how  was  this 
danger  to  he  avoided  ?  I  could  not  condescend 
to  make  a  confidant  of  one  of  my  own  attend- 
ants. I  could  not  invite  their  suspicions  or 
their  sarcasms  by  avowing  my  acquaintance 
with  his  presence  in  the  village;  nor  did  the 
whole  course  of  my  desultory  reading  furnish 
me  with  any  other  alternative.  I  knew  not 
liow  to  proceed. 

I  had  so  long  accustomed  mysetf  to  indulge 
my  melancholy  musings  in  tiie  study  of  my 
father,  that  rather  from  instinct  than  reason,  at 
this  period  ol  my  reverie,  I  rose  Imm  my  seat, 
and,  drawing  the  key  from  my  pocket,  bent  my 
way  slowly  thither,  utterly  thoughtless  or  re- 
gardless of  the  change  which  had  been  wrought 
in  its  appeal ancfc  since  I  last  left  it.  Great  was 
indeed  that  change.  The  walls,  the  floors,  the 
windows,  all  wore  one  solemn  livery.  There 
was  a  mockery  of  magnificence  throughout  the 
elaborate  arrangement  of  the  whole  apartment. 
'I'lie  g.irl)  and  truppuifis  of  death  had  been  dis 


entered,  and  closed  tlie  door  behind  me.  The 
draperies  of  dull  and  heavy  velvet,  with  theij 
lasseled  cords,  shut  out  tlie  beams  of  the  mid 
day  sun,  and  left  within  a  diin,  ghastly  twilight 
The  care  of  a  kindly  hand  had  indeed  replaced 
the  vase  of  flowers  which  1  had  left  ovenhrown 
and  scattered,  and  it  formed  the  only  point  ol- 
life  in  the  solemn  picture,  for  the  hooks  and 
mirrors  were  alike  veiled  from  sight. 

I  felt  as  though  I  were  an  intruder;  and  I 
threw  myself  down  in  agony  upon  a  sofa  draped 
with  a  deeply-fringed  pall,  to  weep  afresh  over 
my  t)ereavement.  After  a  while  I  became  op- 
pressed by  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere,  and 
flung  open  one  of  the  windows,  even  suffering 
the  light  and  warmth  from  without  to  pass  for  a 
inoment  into  the  apartment.  Tlie  effect  of  the 
change  was  cheering  ;  and  I  was  about  once 
more  with  regret  to  let  fall  the  drapery,  when 
my  eye  rested  on  the  figure  of  a  man  stealthily 
emerging  from  the  nearest  shrubbery.  My  heart 
bounded  as  I  watched  hirn.  He  was  tail  and 
slight,  and  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  Sudden 
ly  he  raised  his  head,  and  glanced  hurriedly  over 
the  house.  I  could  not'  be  mistaken.  It  was 
Devereux ! 

In  extreme  agitation  I  withdrew  from  the 
window  ;  and,  in  another  instant,  I  heard  his 
step  beneath  it.  The  black  curtains  had  evi- 
dently startled  him  into  doubt,  for  during  seve- 
ral seconds  no  restilt  fidlowed.  He  was  appa- 
rently communing  with  himself.  At  the  etid  oi 
that  period,  however,  a  similar  missive  to  that 
which  he  had  first  employed  struck  against  the 
curtain,  and  then  fell  heavily  to  the  floor.  Then, 
and  then  only,  I  ventured  for  one  moment  to 
'the  window,  and  looked  down  up<in  him.  As 
he  saw  me,  he  stood  for  an  instant  motionless, 
and  was  about  to  speak,  when,  motioning  him 
to  silence,  I  pointed  to  the  funereal  draperies, 
and  shaking  my  head,  indicated  by  my  out- 
stretched linger,  as  I  leant  for  a  brief  minute 
from  the  casement,  the  window  of  my  own 
apartment.  That  done,  I  drew  back  hurriedly  ; 
and,  letting  fall  the  curtain,  listened  from  behind 
it  to  his  light  and  hasty  steps  as  he  departed  ; 
and  then,  snatching  up  the  new  letter  of  which 
he  had  been  the  bearer,  I  hurried  tremblingly  to 
my  own  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  deed  was  done.  I  had  now  sanctioned 
his  intrusion  ;  had  permitted  his  clandestine 
correspondence;  and  had  virtually  acknowl- 
edged his  claim  ;  yet  I  felt  noreii.oise.  What» 
I  mentally  asked  himself,  could  ilieie  be  biam- 
able  in  my  case,  in  such  a  concession]  He 
alone  remained  on  earth  to  love  me.  Was  it 
not  natural  that  I  should  cling  to  his  aflljciion  1 
I  did  not  allow  myself  the  hesitation  of  a  mo- 
ment. With  eager  hands  I  tore  away  the 
covering  of  the  letter;  and,  having  pressed  it 
to  my  lips,  read  it  throughout  with  all  the  eager- 
ness of  strong  emotion.  It  w'as  replete  with 
tenderness  ;  and  my  heart  beat  joyfully  as  I 
ascertained  that,  fearful  of  discovery  for  my 
sake,  he  had  resolved  never  again  to  repeat  the 
dangerous  experiment  of  approaching  the  house, 
and  had  accordingly  sought  and  discovered  a 
place  of  concealment  for  his  letters  in  the  hol-> 


iiy  ,  and  my 


ickcned  as  I  I  low  trunk  of  a   willow  overhanging; 


lake. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


which  he  indicated  with  a  care  that  rendered 
mistake  on  my  part  iiDpossible,  and  where  he 
besought  me  to  deposit  my  repUes. 

At  a  happier  moment  the  romance  of  such 
an  arrangement  would  have  enchanted  me ; 
and  even  in  that  hour  of  sorrow  ahd  perplexity, 
I  derived  consohition  from  the  promise  whicii 
it  held  out  of  a  lengthened  communion.  I 
wiped  away  my  tears,  pressed  back  the  hair 
that  had  fallen  over  my  face,  and  resolved,  as- 
sisted by  this  new  and  momentdiy  energy,  to 
I  brave  the  meeting  with  Lady  Flora  from  which 
IJiad  hitherto  shrunk.  I  was  evidently  unex- 
pected in  the  drawing-room.  Adela  was  drown- 
ed in  tears,  and  appeared  to  have  resigned  her- 
self to  a  paroxysm  of  silent  grief;  while  Lady 
Flora  sat  behind  her  tapestry  frame,  on  which 
a  white  handkerchief  was  ceremoniously  dis- 
played, "deep  in  the  mysteries  of  her  laborious 
idleness. 

;  My  stay   in   the    apartment   was   cold  and 

I  brief.  I  listened,  with  all  the  patience  I  could 
command,  to  the  maudling  and  lip-deep  con- 
dolements  which  were  poured  forth  before  me  ; 
but  for  the  speculations  which  had  grown  out 
of  the  recent  bereavement,  I  had  no  ear  ;  and 
I  accordingly  broke  in  upon  them  by  a  stately 
courtesy,  and  escaped  from  the  room.  1  had 
not  yet  cast  off  my  shawl,  so,  folding  it  closely 
round  me,  I  passed  through  the  conservatory, 
and  soon  found  myself  beside  the  willow  of  the 
lake.  I  sat  down  beneath  its  pendent  branches. 
I  felt  as  though  I  had  there  found  a  new  home 
and  a  new  luipe.  All  was  bright  and  beautiful 
about  me;  I  was  young.  I  believed  myself  to 
be  beloved.  I  tried  to  remember  that  every 
sorrow,  however  deep  and  heartfelt,  must  have 
its  term ;  and  to  feel  that  I  alone  should  not 
be  excluded  from  this,  the  great  and  blessed 
privilege  of  time.  No  philosophy  can  be  more 
welcome  or  more  easy  to  a  sanguine  spirit  than 
Ihis^how  then  could  I  fail  to  be  comforted  by 
such  a  train  of  thought^  I  did  not.  I  was  still 
sad,  still  remorseful,  but  I  no  longer  despaired. 
I  ceased  to  feel  terror  as  the  image  of  my 
mother  rose  up  before  me — the  tears  which  I 
continued  to  give  to  the  memory  of  my  father 
lost  their  bitterness  ;  I  no  longer  suffered  my- 
self to  be  troubled  by  visions  of  the  hatred  of 
Lady  Flora  and  my  sister ;  in  one  word,  I  was 
reconciled  to  myself;  I  was  no  longer  an  out- 
cast and  an  alien  from  every  heart. — Deveieux 
had  burst  through  the  dark  spell ;  and — I  was 
beloved  ! 

When  I  rose  to  return  to  the  house,  I  was  a 
new  being — my  hope  and  energy  were  alike 
enewed.  I  hastened  to  replace  the  faded 
flowers  in  my  father's  apartment,  and  then 
closed  the  window  which  1  had  opened  some 
hours  previously.  But  I  did  not  linger  in  the 
room  ;  its  solemn  gloom  appalled  me ;  I 
wan»3d  light  and  air.  I  wjinted  action  and 
physical  exertion  ;  and  the  latter  I  could  not 
find  in  the  solitude  of  my  own  apartment.  I 
had,  consequently,  only  one  miserable  resource, 
and,  faiile  de  imeux,  1  sought  it  at  the  dinner- 
table,  over  which,  with  her  white  handkerchief 
still  ostentatiously  displayed,  Lady  Flora  pre- 
■ided.  Tiie  meal  was  gloomy  enough  ;  ihe 
very  servants  moved  mechanically  about  like 
automata,  while  an  almost  unbroken  silence 
prevailed  among  ourselves. 
M 


The  same  cold  and  decent  countenance  was 
maintained  throughout  the  wnole  period  which 
elapsed  until  the  day  of  the  funeral.  Had  an 
unsuspected  spectator  seen  us,  as  we  sal  hour 
after  hour  with  our  work  or  our  books,  we 
should  have  inevitably  been  cited  as  models  ol 
duty  and  propriety;  but  what  was  the  fact  1 
Lady  Flora  was  rejoicing  in  her  heart  of  hearts, 
as  her  needle  passed  slowly  and  monotonously 
through  the  eternal  canvas  upon  which  she 
was  employed,  at  her  unlooked-for  emancipation 
from  a  dreaded  thrall  ;  Adela  preserved  her 
usual  mask  of  sullen  self-command  ;  or,  if  she 
ever  wept,  she  did  so  only  when  my  eye  was 
not  upon  her ;  while  I  myself,  who  but  a  few 
days  before  had  believed  that  my  father's 
death  was  to  me  the  seal  of  wretchedness 
which  I  must  forever  bear  upon  my  brow,  even 
I  found  lime,  at  stated  intervals,  to  visit  the 
border  of  the  lake,  and  to  receive  or  reply  to 
letters  breathing  only  aflection  and  hope. 
There  existed,  moreover,  a  feeling  of  repulsion 
among  our  parly,  as  well  understood  by  each 
of  us  as  though  we  had  pift  it  frankly  and 
boldly  into  words  ;  and  tluis  neither  felt  an 
inclination  to  dispel  the  silence,  nor  to  lessen 
the  estrangement. 

On  the  funeral  morning,  this  social  monotony 
was  painfully  broken  by  the  sight  of  the  deep 
mourning  garments  in  which  we  were  mutually 
attired.  The  effect  produced  upon  myself  I 
shall  never  forget.  The  dream-like  feeling 
which  had  hitherto  possessed  me  was  dispelled 
at  once  ;  and  the  full  conviction  of  all  that  I 
had  lost  forced  itself  glaringly  upon  me.  ,It  is 
so  difficult  at  first  to  comprehend  the  reality  ot 
death  by  your  own  side,  at  your  own  hearth, 
invading  your  very  circle,  and  gliding  closely 
by  you  as  you  wander  beneatlv  your  paternal 
roof.  Seeing  about  you,  on  every  hand,  a 
thousand  trifling  and  apparently  frail  objects, 
the  property  of  the  departed,  it  seems  impos- 
sible that  SUCH  toys,  such  very  nothings,  can 
have  survived  their  owner  ;  but  the  crape,  the 
bombazeen,  the  banded  hair,  and  all  the  con- 
ventionalities of  the  garb  of  grief,  put  to  flight 
at  once  the  flattering  delusion.  You  bear  the 
symbols  of  death  upon  you,  and  you  can  de- 
ceive yourself  no  longer. 

Three  days  afterward.  Lady  Madelaine  ar 
rived  at  Rooksley.  She  looked  surpassingly 
beautiful  in  her  widow's  dress,  which  was  not 
at  that  period  the  slight  and  elegantly-varied 
costume  which  it  has  become  in  these  days. 
Her  splendid  hair  was  entirely  hidden  ;  not  a 
glimpse  of  her  swan-like  throat  was  visible ; 
and  thus  the  triumph  of  her  loveliness  was  com- 
plete. She  appeared  conscious  of  the  fact,  and 
was  evidently  pleased  by  the  look  of  astonished 
admiration  with  which  1  met  her.  I  have  al- 
ready stated  that  she  had  never  loved  my 
father,  even  in  the  first  days  of  their  marriage  ; 
nor  did  she  now  assume  a  demeanor  of  deep 
grief,  or  affect  any  excess  of  sorrow.  She  was 
calm,  composed,  and  courteous  ;  although  it,, 
was  easy  to  perceive  that  she  shrank  painfully 
from  the  denuded  aspect  of  eveiyihing  about 
her,  and  received  the  greeting  of  her  half-sisteJ 
with  a  thrill  of  disgust.  She  examined  Adela 
with  more  curiosity  than  interest;  and  there 
was  indifferenc^e  as  well  as  C(-I(iness  in  ih<» 
solitary  kiss  which  she  imprinted  on  her  fore 


90- 


COXFESSIOXS  OF  ..   PR1::TT\    WOMaN. 


iii-a'J.  Ch  lling  as  it  was.  however,  it  evidently 
suificc'd  1. 1  sairsf'y  her  daughter,  who,  after  tills 
brief  welcome  lo  her  maternal  iiome,  silently 
and  placidly  resumed  her  seat. 

To  me  her  manner,  although  hetraying  no 
vestige  of  aireeiion,  wus  nevertheless  more 
cordial.  Siic  even  smiled,  as  she  scrutinized 
my  appearance;  and  then,  throwing  herself 
back  listlessly  in  her  chair,  she  abandoned 
herself  to  thought.  No  one  presumed  to  in- 
trude upon  her  reverie.  With  all  her  self- 
command  and  mechanism  of  feelinsr,  it  was 
impossible  that  she  could  remain  unmoved  at 
the  siglit  of  the  once  splendid  and  still  noble 
home  which  a  fund  and  hopeful  husband  had 
provided  for  her  in  the  first  blaze  of  her  youth 
and  beauty. 

At  sucJ!  a  momoni,  human  nature  will  assert 
itself  even  i.i  the  coldest  hearts.  It  is  true  that 
this  home  was  still  hers  ;  hut  he  who  had  so 
proudly  made  her  its  mistress  could  welcome 
her  there  no  nioro.  There  might  long  have 
ceased  to  be  even  the  semblance  of  atiection 
between  tiicm,*but  mutual  admiration  and 
esteem  must,  have  continued  to  the  last. 
Moreover,  the  force  of  habit  is  pov/erful  with 
us  all ;  more  powerful  than  we  are  willing  to 
believe  until  we  are  compelled  to  test  its  truth. 
I  felt  glad  to  see  that  my  mother  was  not  aUo- 
gelher  lieyond  its  influence  ;  and  to  me  that 
deep,  and  silent,  and  motionless  reverie  ap- 
peared almost  holy. 

On  the  morrow,  I  was  suddenly  summoned 
to  her  dre.ssing-room,  just  as  I  had  returned 
from  a  hurried  visit  lo  the  lake,  and  was  en- 
gaged in  reading  a  letter  from  Deverciix,  in 
which  he  informed  me  that,  having  learnt  the 
arrival  of  Lidy  .Madelame,  he  could  no  longer 
risk  remaining  in  the  village,  conscious  as  he 
was  that  the  discovery  of  his  presence  there 
would  ineviiably  ruin  our  hopes.  He  said 
much  also  to  console  me  for  his  temporary 
absence,  for  which  he  had  before  prepared  me'; 
and,  filially,  entreated  me  to  believe  that  no 
change  either  of  time  or  place  could  for  one 
moment  operate  upon  his  affection.  I  had 
shed  many  and  bitter  tears  over  this  letter, 
which  terminated  witii  an  entreaty  that  1 
would  depo.>it  my  reply  in  the  course  of  the 
day  at  the  accustomed  spot ;  and  give  him  an 
assurance  of  my  acquiescence  in  his  plans,  and 
my  own  ri'solution  to  bear  with  hope  and  pa- 
tience the  trials  which  might  possibly  await  me 
until  we  again  met. 

I  was  ill  prepared  to  meet  my  mother  at  such 
a  moment;  for,  aware  of  the  indignation  with 
which  she  would  visit  my  clandestine  corre- 
spondence with  a  man  whom  she  had  driven 
from  her  house,  and  treated  with  a  conlempl 
and  contumely  which  he  was  never  likely  to 
forgive;  conscious,  too,  that  some  accident 
might  have  lietrayed  my  secret,  in  which  case 
the  wliole  weight  of  her  displeasure  must 
necessarily  fall  upon  rnyself,  at  a  moment  when 
I  had  no  one  near  to  mitigate  its  bitterness,  or 
to  support  me  iintler  its  infliction,  I  had  scarcely 
pow-er  lo  obey  her  bidding,  'i'here  was,  how- 
ever, no  alternative  ;  so,  hastily  bathing  my 
eyes  in  cold  water,  and  throwing  ofl'my  bonnet, 
I  prov^ei'ded  with  a  slow  and  uncertain  step  to 
her  a|iaiimei!t. 

'•  Why  do  you  approach  me  like  a  criminal, 


'  Eveleen  ?"  she  asked,  hastily,  as  she  extinded 
her  hand  on  my  entrance  ;  "  have  you  forgotten 
that  I  am  now  your  only  parent,  and  that  I 
have  a  right  to  expect  a  frien.l  in  my  daughter! 
You  are  no  longer  a  child  :  in  another  month 
yon  will  be  sixteen  years  of  age;"  and  she 
siijhed  as  she  said  it.  "  Draw  a  chair  to  my 
side.  It  is  now  lime  that  we  should  under- 
stand each  other.  I  shall,  in  all  probability, 
pass  some  months  here,  and  I  can  only  look  to 
you  for  companionship.  But  first,  tell  me,  have 
you  caused  the  orders  which  1  sent  down 
through  Dale  to  be  obeyed  !  I  allude  to  the 
rocm  of — " 

"All  has  been  done  precisely  as  you  direct- 
ed," I  replied,  considerably  relieved  to  find  that 
the  summons  of  Lady  Madelaine  bore  no  rela- 
tion lo  my  treasured  secret ;  "and  as  you  will, 
perhaps,  wish  to  visit  it,"  I  continued,  drawing 
the  key  from  my  pocket,  "you  will  require 
this." 

My  mother  waved  it  back  with  her  hand. 
■'As  you  assure  me  that  all  proper  respect  has 
been  pa:d  to  Mr.  Tilden  in  the  eyes  of  the  es- 
tablishment, I  am  satisfied  with  that  assurance, 
i  ca;inot  volunteer  an  additional  and  useless 
trial  of  my  nerves.  But  why  is  this  key  in  your 
possession  1     Have  you  closed  the  rooai-" 

"  I  have,"  was  my  confused  reply. 

"And  wherefore  I" 

"  I  entreat  you  to  pardon  me  ii  I  have  done 
amiss,"  I  said,  tremblingly  ;  "but  there  is  now 
one  inmate  at  Rooksley,  whose  cold  and  dicta- 
torial comments  1  could  not  brook  in  this  case, 
aliliougli  in  all  others  I  have  submitted  to  them 
with  what  patience  I  could  assume,  out  of  re- 
spect for  yourself" 

"  You  allude  to  Lady  Floral" 

"I  do." 

"  She  is,  then,  obnoxious  to  you"' 

"Detestable  !" 

"  A  strong  term  for  a  lady's  lips,  .iliss  Til- 
den ;  but  I  fear,  from  the  brief  experience  of 
last  evening,  too  easily  lo  be  excused.  It  is 
strange  how  time  sofien.s  down  the  different 
objects  which  make  up  the  picture  of  the  past! 
I  fancied  that  Lady  Flora  was,  at  least,  endur- 
able, and  that,  although  not  a  person  whom  I 
should  be  anxious  to  present  in  public,  I  might 
with  safety  contemplate  her  companionsliip 
during  a  perii>d  of  retirement.  It  would  ap- 
pear, however,  that  I  have  d-cceived  myself, 
and  (hat,  when  1  shuddcretl  at  th(.'  memory  ol 
Miss  Margery  Macsplcuchan,  1  might  have  in- 
cluded her  niece  in  the  emotion." 

"Whatever  cause  of  offence  toward  your- 
self you  had  discovered  in  me  previously  to  our 
last  parting,"  I  said, somewhat  haughtily,  "your 
ladyship  was  amjily  revenged  from  the  ir.oinent 
that  Lilly  Flora  GlenfiUaii  became  an  inmate 
of  Rooksley."  ' 

"  Poor  Eveleen  I"  said  my  mother,  with  a 
low  mocking  laugh,  "ytni  have,  then,  been  pun- 
ished b.iterly  !  It  is  by  no  means  to  bt;  de- 
plored, hovvi;ver :  you  required  a  chetrk-rein, 
and  1  hiid  neither  lime  nor  talent  to  apply  \\ 
But  vvtiHt  of  your  sister  T' 

"  I  know  nothing  of  her." 

"Your  answer  is  singular!  Have  yon  not 
lived  under  the  same  roof  for  moiillis  !  IIi/w, 
then,  can  you  make  so  ab.surd  a  reply  !" 

"Simply,  because  I  speak  the  trufb  ;   ar.<J, 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


yi 


joieovcr,  I  would  decline  to  express  even  tlie 
nCeie.iees  wliicU  I  may  liave  formed  of  her 
character." 

"  I  can  fuliy  understand  that  she  is  both  shy 
and  ignorant.  I  must  get  her  oil"  my  hands  as 
I  best  can,  wliieh,  ihanivs  to  her  fortune,  I  am 
sure  to  do  at  last." 

I  felt  tliat  I  smiled,  for  I  had  a  tirm  convic- 
tion that  Miss  Adela  Tiiden  was  not  a  person 
to  be  '-^ut  olf  the  hands"  even  of  a  Lady  Ma- 
delainc,  should  she  not  Jierseh'so  wiU  it. 

"  She  is  very  plain  and  awkward,"  pursued 
my  mother,  as  she  glanced  at  her  own  lovely 
reflecimn  in  the  cheval  glass  winch  was  placed 
l/»'fore  lier  sofa  ;  "  1  know  not  who  siie  resem- 
bles." 
♦'  She  has  fine  eyes." 

"Indeed!     Well,  that  is  soniet.hing  in  her 
favor :  but  she  is  gauche,  and  ill  at  ease." 
"  As  regards  the  latter  feeling  I  can  say  no- 

1  thing ;  but  I  must  venture  to  differ  from  your 
ladyship  respectmg  llie  ^awcAcric.    At  your  first 

I    meeting  Adela  may  have  been  agitated,  and, 

I  consequently,  liave  appeared  to  disadvantage  ; 
but,  generally  speaking,  her  great  charm  lies 
in  her  uraceliilness." 

"  I  wish  that  you  may,  in  a  year  or  two,  be 
able  to  persuade  the  men  of  all  this,  for  you 
seem  to  be  quite  engouee  of  Lady  Flora's  pupil ; 
but  I  confess  that  I  despair  of  effecting  any 

I  such  resuU.  I  see  nothing  in  your  sister  bui 
a  plain,  gawky,  overgrown  girl,  shy  in  lier  man- 
ner and  sullen  in  her  deportment.  I  detest  such 
still  life." 

For  the  second  time  I  could  have  laughed 
outright,  but  I  restrained  the  impulse  ;  fi)r,  not 
only  was  1  too  proud  to  prejudice  Lady  Made- 
laine  still  more  ayainst  my  hisler  (had  it  been 
possible),  but  also,  however  gr.icious  she  might 
be  at  the  nioment,  my  memory  fell  back  upon 
other  scenes,  which  1  had  not  yet  either  Ibr- 

I  gotten  or  forgiven  ;  and  I  resolved  to  let  her 
purchase  her  experience  of  xVdeJii's  real  nature 
as  I  bad  done.  1  therefore  weighed  every  word 
before  I  uliered  it  ;  nor  did  1  add  to  ih.e  evident 
disgust  of  my  inoiher  toward  the  wayward  but 
unforlunale  girl  by  one  syll.ible  of  comment 
upon  t!ic  hatred  which  slie  nourished  to  all  who 
now  bore  the  name  of  Tilden. 

As  yet  Lady  Madelaine  had  been  unable  to 
observe,  the  great  cliange  which  had  been 
wrought  in  the  domestic  arrangements  of  the 
estal)iishmenl,  for  slie  had  taken  both  her  sup- 
per of  the  previous  evening  and  her  morning 
chocolate  in  her  dressing-room.  Great  as  was 
tlie  resistance  made  by  ilie  houseludd,  they  had 
not  ventured  to  dely  the  authority  (d  Lady  Flora 
Glenfillan  altogether  ;  she  had,  moreover,  pro- 
filed by  the  period  of  conslernati()n  and  depres- 
sion winch  had  elapsed  since  my  father's  death, 
to  enforce  her  auiliority  more  stringenily  ih.in 
before  ;  and  ihe  appointments,  as  well  as  the 
supplies  of  the  first  repast  at  winch  my  mother 
assisted  en/ainilU,  consequently  filled  her  with 
indignation  and  disgust. 

"  Is  this  a  meditated  insult,  sirl"  she  asked, 
as,  after  glancing  over  the  table,  she  rose  from 
her  seat  and  turned  haughtily  toward  poor  Boi- 
tlemore,  who  was  about  to  commence  his  du- 
ties;  "did  you  imagine  thai,  in  becoming  a 
widow,  I  a  so  became  a  pauper!  Was  it  noi 
enough  that  you  have  denuded,  or  enveloped 


with  paltry  coverings  and  contrivances,  every 
room  at  llooksley  ;  but  must  1,  moreover,  be 
expected  to  preside  at  a  repast  to  which  1  would 
not  condemn  my  own  servants  !" 

"  The  orders  of  my  Lady  Flora  have  been 
strictly  olieyed,  my  lady,"  replied  tlie  butler,  io 
a  tone  which  savored  strongly  of  triumph  ; 
"  her  ladyship  has  been  perenipiory  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  bill  of  fare,  and  I  could  do  no  inof-e, 
consistently  with  my  respect  for  your  ladyship's 
sister,  than  remonstrate,  which  I  have  done  in 
vain." 

"  Enough,  Mr.  Bottlemore,"  said  my  mother, 
as  she  turned  with  a  stalely  gesture  to  leave 
the  room.  "  I  will  retire  to  my  own  apartments 
until  M^s.  Locksley  has  caused  the  saloon  to  be 
made  habitable,  which  you  will  instruct  her  to 
do  forthwith  ;  and  let  another  dinner  be  served 
two  hours  hence  for  which  I  shall  not  need  to 
blush  before  my  own  daughters." 

Bottlemore  bowed  low,  and  held  the  door 
open  during  a  few  seconds,  in  order  tliat  his 
lady  might  pass ;  but,  as  she  suddenly  paused 
in  the  centre  of  the  floor  whm  she  ceased 
speaking,  after  satisfying  himself  of  the  fact, 
he  silently  wiilidrew,  followed  by  his  subordin- 
ates. 

"One  word  more  bearing  upon  the  same 
disgraceful  subject,"  pursued  Lady  Madelaine, 
when  the  door  was  again  closed :  "  1  expect, 
also,  that  those  with  whom  I  am  to  sit  down 
to  table  will  appear  as  gentlewomen,  and  never 
presume,  in  my  house,  to  affect  a  cosUime  suit- 
ed only  to  the  servants'  offices,  and  that  my 
entrance-hall  may  not  be  degraded  into  a  de- 
pository lor  filthy  woolen  garments,  as  it  was 
this  morning  when  I  passed  through  from  the 
grounds." 

"  Filthy  woolen  garments,  my  Lady  Made- 
laine!" almost  shrieked  the  crestfailen  Lady 
Flora,  while  the  red  spot  burnt  upon  her  brow  ; 
"sure  it's  uncanny  in  your  lather's  child  to  ca' 
it  by  sic'  a  name.  Why,  woman,  yen's  the 
Glenfillan  tartan  !" 

"  I  would  advise  you,  in  that  case,  to  send  it 
home,"  said  my  mother,  with  coid  and  wither- 
ing contempt ;  "  or,  should  you  prefer  to  do  so, 
wear  It  home,  unless  you  have  also  prv  vided 
yourself  with  a  .Macspleuchan  plaid,  as  a  .wore 
consistent  covering." 

The  dragon  was  fairly  silenced,  for  she  felt 
no  inclination  to  sacrifice  the  luxuries  of  Rooks- 
ley  to  a  sarcasm,  and  five  minutes  afterward 
we  had  all  quitted  the  dining-room.  Lady  Flo- 
ra's reign  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
Onk  only  interruption  broke  in  upon  our  her 
mit-hke  retirement,  and  that  one  was  the  appa- 
rition  of  Lady  O'Halloran,  who  was  so  coldly 
received  that  she  never  repealed  her  visit. 
The  fastidiousness  of  my  mother  was  so  deep- 
ly wounded  by  the  ignorance  and  vulgarity  of 
her  relative,  that  she  could  not  brook  an  ap- 
pearance in  her  society.  This  was  not,  how- 
ever, the  only  cause  of  her  di>courle.'>y  to  her 
husband's  friend.  1  had  mentioned  to  her  the 
interest  and  kindness  whiiti  both  Adela  and 
myself  had  experienced  from  Lady  O  Halloran, 
and  she  had  listened  with  coniplaceiu-y,  if  not 
with  utter.  indiHerence ;    but  I  had  no  s>ooner 


92 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


added  that  a  letter  from  my  father  had  induced 
ii,  than  I  saw  a  cloud  gather  upon  her  brow. 
Mr.  Tildeii  had  thwarted  her  wishes — nay,  he 
had  even  incited  one  who  to  her  was  compara- 
tively a  stranfjer  to  infringe  her  express  com- 
mands, and  thenceforth  she  looked  upon  the 
well-meaning  and  warm-hearted  woman  with  a 
feeling  of  distrust  and  avoidance.  Au  teste, 
half  the  county  families  left  their  cards  at  the 
lodges,  but  contented  themselves  with  that 
ceremonious  demonstration  ;  Lady  Madelaine 
had  never  been  more  to  them  than  the  wife  of 
Mr.  Tilden,  and  with  his  death  terminated  all 
their  interest  in  Rooksley. 

Five  lines  will  suifice  to  assure  the  reader 
that  my  mother  could  not  long  endur^  such  a 
stale  o?  things  as  this  ;  and,  accordingly,  a  very 
few  weeks  had  elapsed  since  her  arrival  iieforc 
she  began  to  exhibit  weariness  of  her  daugh- 
ters, and  of  everything  about  her.  She  had 
paraded  the  dull  luxury  of  her  mourning  equi- 
page and  liveries  through  the  county-town,  al- 
ready astir  with  the  preparations  for  a  new 
election.  She  had  exchanged  visiting-tickets 
with  all  her  acquaintance  ;  she  had,  in  short, 
exhausted  her  own  resources  and  those  of  the 
neighborhood  ;  and  she  no  longer  knew  how  to 
dispose  of  her  existence.  Her  temper  suffered 
greatly  under  these  circumstances  ;  and  I  began 
to  marvel  how  long  I  should  be  enabled  to  en- 
dure its  exactions,  when  one  morning,  unex- 
pectedly lo  all,  s'AXg  Lady  Madelaine  hersell", 
Sir  James  Dornton  was  announced.  No  event 
could  have  been  more  welcome,  for  we  were 
all  literally  wasting  our  lives  in  lethargy  and 
discomfort.  Our  party  was  not  only  ill-assorted, 
but  actually  antipathetical ;  and  we  lived  on,  in 
the  perfect  consciousness  that  time  only  widen- 
ed the  moral  breach  between  us. 

My  motlier's  welcome  to  this  new  guest  was 
cordial,  frank,  and  unaffected  ;  while  she  al- 
luded to  her  expectation  of  seeing  him  with  an 
easy,  unembarrassed  manner  which  was  an 
earnest  of  the  continued  friendship  that  existed 
between  them  ;  it  nevertheless  struck  me  as 
extraordinary,  that  Sir  James  did  not  meet  her 
calm  and  dignified  courtesy  in  the  same  spirit. 
He  appeared  restless,  absent,  and  nervous  ;  nor 
was  his  manner  toward  myself  less  peculiar. 
When,  after  having  exchanged  a  few  sentences 
with  Lady  Madelaine,  he  turned  to  greet  me  in 
my  turn,  he  glanced  rapidly  in  my  face,  and 
then  dropped  his  eyes,  still  retaining  the  hand 
which  I  had  extended  to  him,  lor  a  moment ; 
after  which  he  released  it  suddenly  and  ab- 
ruptly, and  having  received,  to  my  intense  sur- 
prise, the  '•  How  are  ye.  Sir  James  1"  of  Lady 
Flora,  and  a  quiet  courtesy  of  recognition  from 
Adeld,  he  once  more  turned  toward  my  moth- 
er; and,  seating  himself  by  her  side,  they  were 
soon  deeply  engaged  in  conversation.  Once  or 
twice  Lady  Madelaine,  apparently  compelled 
thereto  by  the  subject  discussed,  made  some 
distant  allusion  to  her  recent  loss;  but  it  met 
with  no  res|K)nse  from  her  companion,  who 
seemed  studiously  to  avoid  its  mention. 

At  first  I  felt  indignant  with  boUi  parties  for 
their  evident  avoidance  of  so  natural  a  topic ; 
but  after  a  time,  wearied  by  a  thousand  useless 
conjectures  of  the  how  and  where  Lady  Flora 
and  my  sister  had  previously  met  him,  I  became 
interested  in  spite  of  myself  by  the  dialogue 


which  they  maintained.  T  heard  a?n.n  tne 
names  of  persons  who  had  once  been  known  to 
me  ;  and  of  a  world  with  which  I  bad  long  pant- 
ed to  make  my  acquaintance.  Sir  James  was 
caustic  and  brilliant;  and  his  quiet  sarcasm, 
biting  though  it  was,  lent  a  zest  and  a  raciness 
to  all  I'.e  said.  My  mother  was  once  more  in 
her  proper  element.  She  felt  that  she  was  to 
her  own  eet  as  a  lost  pleiad  of  brilliancy  and 
fashion  ;  and  that  her  return  to  the  great  world 
would  be  hailed  with  gladness.  Dornton  was 
most  assiduous  in  strengthening  this  belief; 
and,  with  a  tact  which  spoke  voUnm^s  for  his 
savoir  vivre,  he  contrived  to  speak  far  more  of 
herself  than  of  any  of  those  whom  he  i)assed 
under  review.  Lady  Flo^a,  meanwhile,  worked 
on  in  silence,  or  occasionally  addressed  a  few 
words  in  an  undertone  to  Adela ;  who,  since 
the  entrance  of  our  new  guest,  had  scarcely 
raised  her  eyes  from  the  floor. 

Despite  my  own  interest  in  the  conversation, 
I  confess  that  I  felt  somewhat  piqued  at  the 
marked  neglect  which  I  experienced  from  this 
prcux  chevalier  of  fashion,  who,  two  years  be- 
fore, had  condescended  to  exert  his  powers  for 
my  sole  amusement ;  and  who  now  had  neithei 
wortl  nor  look  for  any  one  save  my  mother. 

All  the  dignity  of  my  sixteen  years  revolted 
against  this  inconsistency  :  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  possessing  both  grace  and  beauty  added 
bitterness  to  the  mortification.  I  never  thought 
him  less  attractive.-.  I  had,  moreover,  ample 
time  for  all  my  reflections,  for  no  change  took 
place  throughout  the  evening,  nor  did  eitiier 
himself  or  Lady  Madelaine  move  from  their 
seats,  until  he  rose,  announcing  that  he  had 
secured  an  apartment  at  the  Tilden  Arms  in 
the  village  ;  and  would,  with  her  ladyship's  per- 
mission, join  our  breakfast-table  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

I  was  employed  until  I  fell  asleep  that  night, 
in  marveling  at  the  acquaintanceship  wliich  ex- 
isted between  Sir  James  Dornton  and  my  rela- 
tives. Where  they  could  have  met  batlicd  all 
my  conjectures.  That  his  name  had  never 
been  inenlioned  by  either  of  them  was  less  sur- 
prising, for  we  exchanged  little  conversation 
and  less  confidence.  Still,  1  felt  that  the  cir- 
cumstance vv-as  in  itself  singular:  and  the  habits 
and  haunts  of  Dornton  considered,  altogether 
inexplicable.  Then  flashed  across  me  new 
matter  of  marvel.  Since  Lady  Madelaine  sav? 
fit  to  receive  male  guests  at  Rooksley  so  early 
in  her  widowhood,  how  chanced  it  that  Lord 
Olterford  was  not  her  first  visitor  ! 

I  knew  nothing  of  the  scene  at  the  Putney 
villa ;  and  I  could  not  reconcile  the  present 
with  the  past,  otherwise  than  by  presuming 
that  the  extreme  intimacy  which  had  existed 
between  my  tiiother  and  the  latter  rendered  her 
scrupulous  in  receiving  him  during  her  first  pe- 
riod of  mourning. 

Sir  James  remained  at  Rooksley  four  days, 
on  the  last  of  which  he  was  closeted  with  Lady 
Madelaine  for  a  considerable  time.  When  they 
rejoined  the  family,  there  was  a  faint  (lush  on 
the  cheek  of  my  mother,  and  a  bright  light  in 
her  eye,  which  gave  her  a  look  of  umisual  ani 
mation  ;  while  Sir  James  was  comparativelj 
silent  and  depressed.  The  evening  passed 
heavily  enough,  although  Lady  Madelaine  ex- 
erted herself  most  unvvonledly  to  enliven  it 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


03 


To  me  she  was  iiniisually  gracious  ;  indeed,  at 
times  almost  afTectionate ;  yet  I  fancied  that 
all  her  gaiety  was  assumed.  It  was,  at  all 
events,  very  evident  that  sometiiing  extraor- 
dinary liad  "taken  place  between  the  friends, 
but  what  that  something  might  be  I  was  not 
destined  to  discover;  as,  after  tlie  departure 
of  Sir  James,  she  made  no  alhision  whatever 
to  the  circumstance,  contenting  herself  with 
quiet  comments  on  his  fashion  and  high-breed- 
ing, and  his  great  conversational  powers. 

Two  months  subsequently.  Lady  Madelaine 
declared  that  her  health  and  spirits  were  both 
giving  way  under  the  dull  monotony  of  Rooks- 
ley,  where  no  object  of  interest  presented  itself 
to'div  rt  her  mind  from  the  painful  memory  of 
the  past,  but  where,  on  the  contrary,  every- 
thing tended  to  remind  her  of  her  husband. 
Neither,  she  asserted,  could  she  longer  brook 
the  society  of  Lady  Flora  ;  and  therefore,  in 
self-defence,  she  must  make  some  other  ar- 
raMgement. 

The  day  after  this  decision,  she  dispatched 
a  long  letter  to  Lady  Devereux.  My  heart  beat 
quick  as  I  read  the  superscription.  What  had 
I  not  both  to  hope  and  to  fear,  should  she  have 
volunteered  a  visit  to  the  motlier  of  Herbert ! 
And  then  I  asked -myself,  would  she  go  alone  ! 
would  she  forget,  during  how  many  long  months 
I  had  been  subjected  to  the  very  companionship 
from  which  she  was  herself  about  to  escape  ! 
Was  I  still,  at  tbe  age  of  sixteen,  to  be  immured 
in  the  solitude  of  Rooksley,  far  from  tbe  de- 
lightful world  which  I  was  prepared  to  worship  1 
Surely  not — Lady  iMadclaine  could  have  r>o 
such  design  ;  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
I  should  bear  her  company.  The  image  of  my 
young  lover  presided  over  all  these  speculations. 
Under  his  moiiier's  roof  we  could  not  fail  to 
meet ;  and  I  felt  satisfied  that  Lady  Devereux, 
when  she  saw  me  improved  in  beauty,  and  ad- 
niired,  as  I  never  doubtecl  that  I  must  be, 
would  gladly  welcome  such  a  wife  for  her  son. 
Of  my  fortune  I  never  thought,  nor  did  I  even 
suspect  that  others  would  do  so :  I  was  like 
the  heroines  of  romance,  to  be  loved  for  myself 
alone. 

I  cradled  myself  so  readily  and  so  softly  in 
these  pleasant  fancies,  that  my  disappointment 
was  indescribable  when  iny  mother  at  last  an- 
noimced,  after  a  lively  correspondence  with  her 
favorite  friend,  that  on  the  morrow  she  should 
leave  Rooksley  for  a  time,  desiring  that  all  the 
necessary  arrangements  might  be  immediately 
commenced. 

"Does  your  ladyship  go  alone?"  I  inquired, 
I  imprudently. 

I  "Certainly  not.  Miss  Tilden.  I  am  not  in 
the  habit  oftraveiing  without  proper  attendance 
Dale,  who  ascompanied  me  from  town,  will 
also  attend  me  to  Lady  Devereux's.  My  ap- 
pearance in  Grosvenor  Square,  or  at  Putney,  is, 
of  course,  at  this  moment  out  of  the  question  ; 
and  I  shall  consequently  remain  at  her  place  in 
retirement,  until  the  first  year  of  my  mourning 
has  expired,  unless  I  feel  sufficient  courage  to 
venture  once  to  return  here.  At  all  events, 
i  you  will  be  informed  of  my  movements  when 
lit  becomes  necessary;  and  meanwhile,  Eve- 
ileen,  Lhave  to  beg  that  you  will  be  assiduous 
,in  improving  yourself  in  every  way.  You  do 
1  not  do  yourselljuslice  ;  and  remember  that  you 


cannot  live  all  your  life  at  Rooksley,  nor  is  ii 
possible  that  I  should  present  any  child  of  miin; 
in  the  world,  unless  she  is  prepared  to  do  me 
credit.  You  expose  yourself  too  much  to  the 
sun  and  wind,  and  I  have  remarked  that  you 
frequently  take  off  your  gloves,  when  there  is 
no  perceptible  necessity  for  your  doing  so. 
These  are  plebeian  haiiits,  and  must  be  con-, 
quered.  Do  not  let  me  have  to  repeat  my  cau- 
tion." 

This  was  the  moral  lesson  with  which  my 
mother  took  leave  of  me,  at  an  age  when  the 
imagination  is  stronger  than  the  reason,  and 
the  unoccupied  fancy  roves  wildly  through  a 
future  which  is  only  dimly  guessed  at.  I  was 
to  cultivate  my  beauty  ;  to  sacrifice  everything, 
even  my  most  innocent  pleasure,  that  of  enjoy- 
ing nature  in  all  her  various  moods  and  phases, 
to  tbe  one  great  end  of  making  a  figure  in  that 
world  from  which  I  was  so  coldly  shut  out,  at 
an  age  when,  as  I  thoroughly  believed,  I  was 
the  best  able  to  appreciate  its  delights.  My  old 
suspicion  came  back  upon  me  with  renewed 
strength.  Lady  Madelaine  was  jealous  of  my 
attractions!  There  was  triumpb  in  the  con- 
viction, whatever  annoyance  there  might  be  in 
the  result.  Not  one  word  of  admonition  had 
she  uttered  to  Adela.  It  was  plain  that  she 
considered  que  le  jeu  ne  valatt  pas  la  chandclle. 
Only,  indeed,  upon  one  solitary  occasion  had 
she  appeared  to  take  the  sliglitest  interest  in  her 
younger  daughter,  and  it  was  even  {.hen  exhib- 
ited in  a  cold  and  business-like  manner,  which, 
courageou-sly  as  she  struggled  to  conceal  the 
feeling,  evidently  aroused  all  the  harsher  emo- 
tions of  iny  sister. 

"I  suppose  you  are  delighted  with  Rooks- 
ley, Adela ;  it  must  have  appeared  a  charming 
contrast  from  GlenfiUan.  How  do  you  amuse 
yourself!" 

"  I  read  and  work,  madam." 

"  You  are  a  good  musician,  of  course  V 

"By  no  ineans." 

"A  cool  answer  truly,  child  !  How  do  you 
expect  to  pass  through  the  world  without  so 
necessary  an  accomplishment  V 

Adela  only  replied  by  raising  her  head,  with 
one  of  her  peculiar  siniles — a  smile  which  might 
mean  much  or  nothing. 

"  You  draw,  at  least  ]" 

"  Scarcely  ;  but  sufficiently  to  occupy  me 
when  I  am  driven  to  do  so,  as  a  resource 
against  idleness." 

"  Better  and  better,"  exclaimed  Lady  Made-  , 
laine  in  a  tone  of  irritation  ;  "  and  do  you  sup- 
pose that  it  was  to  produce  such  a  result  as 
this  that  I  permitted  you  to  have  a  governess] 
May  I  venture  to  inquire  what  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion did  succeed  in  teaching  you  !" 

"To  read,  and  to  think,  madam,"  answered 
Adela  with  a  cold  emphasis. 

"  The  training  of  a  Sunday-school  girl !"  ex- 
claimed Lady  Madelaine  contempiUdUsly  ;  "  I 
am  glad  that  at  least  we  now  perfectly  under- 
stand eacli  other." 

And  thus  ended  this  catechetical  dialogue 
My  mother  had  unhesitatingly  received  the  evi- 
dence of  Adela  as  conclusive,  and  gave  herself 
no  trouble  to  test  its  truth. 

My  disappointment  and  mortification  on  find- 
ing mysell Once  more  abdiuloned  to  ilie  iimriot 
ony  of  Rooksley,   when  I  had  argued  mysel* 


94 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


into  the  liplipftliat  Lady  Madelaine  would  profit 
by  lier  peculiar  position  lo  accustom  ine  by  de- 
grees t<i  the  vvdrld,  by  that  vie  du  chateau  which 
is  in  itsfir  a  miniaiiire  of  lashionahle  life  •■^ml 
manners,  weie  so  great  thai  I  could  not  en- 
dure them  in  silence.  My  \voman-di;a-niiy  was 
wounded;  and,  still worbe,  my  iieart  wasw  ting. 
All  my  happy  dreams  had  melted  away.  I  was 
like  Apolld  cast  out  of  Olympus.  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran,  iinib.ihjy  uninformed  of  my  mother's  de- 
parture, had  not  made  her  appearance  at  Rooks- 
ley  ;  I  shrank  from  putting  myself  into  the 
power  of  Adeia;  for,  since  our  last  interview 
in  my  cliairdier,  I  had  learnt  to  fear  her.  Such, 
nevertheic.'is,  was  tinally  my  fate  ;  for  I  con- 
liniji  d  .>ilciii  so  long,  that  my  health  gave  way 
under  iIm;  vi(dence  '.>f  my  emotions.  On  the 
second  day  of  my  non-api)earance  in  the  draw- 
ing room,  I-  received  a  cidd  and  ceremonious 
request  (Von  my  sister,  through  Josephine,  that 
I  Would  ailt  V  her  to  visit  me.  I  had  already 
beeome  so  \%  ^ary  of  myself  and  of  my  own 
Ihoughts,  that  %ladly  welcomed  the  proposal ; 
and  m  five  min  u^s,  my  sister  made  her  ap- 
pearance !  She  as.'umed  no  semblance  of  affec- 
lion — she  aflected  no  tone  of  sympathy.  There 
was,  (m  the  contrary,  an  irritation  and  bitter- 
ness alxiut  her  which  it  was  difficult  to  brook. 

"Something  has  disturbed  you,  Adela,"  I 
said,  in  order  to  terminate  the  long  and  uncom- 
fortable silence  which  succeedcv.'  our  tirst  civil 
greetings;  "  is  it  in  my  power  to  remove  the 
annoyance  1" 

"  Vou  are  wrong,  Eveleen,"  was  the  reply ; 
"and  have  not  taken. time  to  reflect,  that  the 
sameness  of  our  existence  here  scarcely  ad- 
mits of  any  annoyance,  to  which  it  would  not 
be  a  weakness  lo  yield;  while  I  cannot,  like 
yoirself,  have  any  external  anxiety  to  trouble 
me." 

"External  anxiety!"  I  repeated  in  alarm. 

"Even  so.  You  have  already  lived  in  the 
world.  You  were  fourteen  years  of  age  when 
you  were  deprived  of  l!ie  pleasures  of  your 
childhood.  You  were  a  genius  and  a  beauty, 
an  enfant  monslrc;  atlractmg  all  eyes,  and 
trained  to  profit  by  your  advantages.  You  can 
scarcely  have  escaped  bringing  some  regret 
with  you  into  retirement." 

I  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  Did  she 
fiUSj)i'ct  my  secret  1  or,  could  it  be  that  this  lit- 
tle mountain  recluse,  this  shy,  unformed  girl, 
already  knew  more  of  human  nature  than  my- 
self! 

"  I  was,  at  least,  young  enough  to  have  es- 
caped all  serious  homage,  I  should  suppose,"' 
I  answt  red. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Adela,  doubtingl'  ;  "yet 
at  such  an  age  all  homage  is  consid  sred  seri- 
ous. •' 

I  became  more  and  more  hcwil  ered. 

"  Uo  you  speak  from  experie  ce  1"  I  asked 
sarcastically. 

'•  Draw  your  own  concliisio  s,  after  you  have 
reasonr.l  the  probabilities,"  was  her  quiet  re- 
ply ;  "but  I  did  not  come  here  to  talk  of  rny- 
ftslf.     1  lodge  merely  by  analogy." 

"  By  auaio^-y  !" 

•'  (k'rlainly.  If  books  be  no  tutors,  why 
sSoiiM  we  waste  our  lives  in  studying  their 
p.igi's  !" 

••  \\m  are  right,  Adela,"  I  exclaimed  abrupt- 


ly ;  "  why  should  I  rel'use  to  acknowledge  thai 
you  are  risrht !  I  have — I  did  bring  lo  my  re- 
tirement a  deep — a  gnawing  regret.  It  is  true, 
that  the  little  I  yet  know  of  life  1  learnt  uiidei 
this  same  roof;  but  Uookslry  is  no  longer  what 
it  was.  To  me  the  transition  was  like  lliai  of 
the  disemimdicd  soul  passing  from  earth  ta 
Hades.  Had  it  been  a  mere  idle,  girlish  ca- 
price, undiscovered  and  unreturned,  my  pride 
would  h:ive  enabled  me  to  concpier  it  at  once, 
for  I  should  have  scorned  myself;  but  with  me 
it  was — it  is— far  otherwise." 

As  I  spoke  I  looked  toward  my  sister  for 
sympathy,  and  I  was  astonished  to  perceive 
that  a  burning  blush  had  risen  to  her  foreiiead. 
She  was  silent,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  ine,  un- 
able to  reply.  I  began  to  reconsider  inv  words, 
but  I  could  discover  noihing  in  them  to  induce 
this  extraordinary  demonstration.  Adela  was 
a  mere  child  when  she  tiist  came  to  llooksley  ; 
Glenlillan  was,  I  well  knew,  a  hermitage  as  re- 
garded the  worlil  ;  for  herself,  therefore,  it  was 
impossible  tiiat  she  should  blush.  I  knew  not 
what  inference  to  draw.  I  became  restless 
and  uneasy  :  and  still  she  sat  silently  beside 
my  bed,  buried  in  thought,  with  the  blood  crim- 
soning her  brow. 

"  You  are  ungrateful  to  repine,  Eveleen," 
she  said  at  lpn<;ih  abruptly,  as  though  no  jiause 
had  taken  place  in  our  conversation  ;  "  for,  if 
you  feel,  not  only  that  you  have  loved,  hut  tiiat 
you  have  been  iieloved  in  your  turn,  with  you 
happiness  is  a  mere  question  of  time;  and  Sir 
James  Dornton  may  well  afford  to  wait  for 
a  whde,  wiien  conscious  of  success  at  last." 

My  share  in  the  dialogue  seemed  fated  to  bo 
merely  ejaciilaiory. 

"Sir  James  Uornton  !"  I  echoed  vehement- 
ly, as  by  a  sudden  movement  I  raised  mysell 
from  my. recumbent  position. 

"  Are  you  not  to  be  his  wifeV 

"  I  would  rather  die  ten  thousand  deaths  !" 

"And  yet  you  joined  in  all  the  laiulatory 
comments  uttered  by  Lady  Madelaine  alter  he 
leil  Rooksley." 

"I  did  so  with  sincerity.  He  has  truly  tho 
good  qualities  for  which  she  gave  him  credit; 
but  I  could  never  love  him." 

'•  Do  not  assume  too  much.  Habit  and  per- 
severance may  induce  you  to  feel  difrerenlly  " 

"  Never !" 

"  And  yet,  he  is  handsome,  fashionable,  ami 
attractive." 

"  It  may  he  so — it  is,"  I  conceded,  ovi  i- 
come  by  the  subtile  tactics  of  a  mere  giil,  ami 
resolved  to  pour  out  my  whole  heart  belort 
her  ;  "  yet  still  I  persist  in  my  declaration,  that 
I  could  never  love  Sir  James  Dornton." 

'■  But  should  the  indomitable  will  of  our 
mother  so  order  it  V\ 

"  It  would  only  lead  to  a  vain  struggle  on  her ' 
part.     I  would  concede  nothing." 

"  Eveleen,  you  deceive  yourself,"  said  mv 
sister  eagerly ;  "  you  do  not  possess  the  strength 
of  character  for  which  you  would  fain  give 
yourself  credit  ;  you  have  not  the  moral  cour- 
age to  stand  alone  in  such  an  unequal  contest." 

"  I  shall  not  stand  alone,"  I  answered  proud- 
ly- 

"  Then,  indeed,  ha^e  I  hopes  of  yon,"  saui 
.Adela,  with  increased  energy  ;  "  for  all  is  ea3.v 
where  jol'  are   convinced   of  being   beloved 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


93 


fcvery  trinl  that  docs  not  touch  the  one  you 
love,  is  liglit,  and  may  be  borne  bravely  ;  ex- 
ternal griefs  cease  to  terrify  and  sulidui',  and 
graze  luit  little  the  surface  of  a  heart  which  is 
filled  by  one  image,  while  they  have  no  power 
to  pierce  it." 

"  How  know  you  this  1"  I  inquired  in  my 
surprise. 

"  I  feel  that  it  must  he  so.  Such  a  fact  re- 
quires no  leaching.  Trust  me,  Eveleen,  I  am 
conscious  from  my  privation  that  it  must  be  so." 

"  Adela,  I  shall  never  understand  you." 

"  I  believe  it." 

"Never  did  I  expect  such  sentiments  from 
your  lips.  Y(tu,  a  mere  girl,  secluded  from 
your  earliest  years — without  knowledge  of  the 
world — without  experience — " 

"What  do  you  understand  by  experience! 
by  knowledj^e  of  the  world  ]  They  may  be 
good  safeguards,  as  I  construe  the  words, 
against  deci'ption,  dissimulation,  and  wrong  ; 
but  the  heart  alone  is  needed  in  the  subject 
which  we  are  now  discussing  ;  and,  cimse- 
quenily,  the  heart  which  has  been  self-formed 
in  solitude  will  be  more  ca[)able  of  a  deep  and 
lasting  alleciion  than  that  which  has  been  fash- 
ioned by  the  qualities  to  which  you  attach  so 
high  a  value.  We  shall,  perhaps,  in  after-life, 
ourselves  alFord  an  illustration  of  what  I  ad- 
vance." ' 

"And  how!" 

"Simi)ly  by  the  disparity  of  our  tastes  and 
habits.  You  will  love  your  husband,  I  di)ui)l 
not ;  but  you  will  also  love  many  other  thiiig.s  ; 
pleasure,  and  dissipation,  and  the  admiralion 
of  the  world  ;  from  all  of  which  1  should  shrink 
with  loatliing,  because  they  would  lend  to  di- 
vert my  ihouglits  Irom  the  one  great  object  of 
my  devDiiiin." 

"  it  is  easy  to  see,  my  poor  Adela,"  I  said 
with  a  smile  of  pity,  "that  your  love  is,  so  tar, 
all  theory.  You  would  soon  descend  from  your 
pedestal,  had  you  once  tasted  the  delights  of 
all  that  yiMi  now  affect  to  desjjise  ;  or  you 
would  become  the  most  miserable  woman  upon 
earth.  With  your  whole  soul  wrapt  up  in  one 
object  (i)ietiily  as  the  phrase  sounds),  his  ab- 
sence would  infallibly  destroy  you.  Had  you 
suffered  whdt  I  have  already  done,  you  would 
ere  now  have  ceased  to  exist." 

"  Nut  if  I  were  assured  that  I  was  really 
loved — and   this  has  brought  us   back  to  the 
cominenceinent  of  our  argument — I  should  then 
i     have  strength  to  meet  any  trial." 
I         "Even  the  opposition  of  our  mother!" 

"Yes;  fur  I  could  wait  until  it  was  over- 
come." 

"  All  your  life  perhaps  !" 

"  Scarcely,  for  I  should  know  that  there  must 
I     come  a  period  when  the  law  would  liberate  me 
from   the   llirall   of  Lady  Madelaine  ;  for   the 
preoonl,  I  would  say,  until  the  proper  time  ar- 
rives, my  best  text  is — patience." 

"Very    prudent    and   proper,"    said    I    dis- 
dainfully; "hut  who  shall  protect  you  in  the 
meauv/hile  from  some  other  marriage  of  Lady 
Mailelaiiie's   own    devising!     While    you   are 
exercising  your  minority  in  this  new  kind  of 
philo.s<)|)liy,  ahe  may  compel  you  to  become  the 
i     Vi/ife  ol  a  man  whose  very  name  you  may  con- 
I     Bider  odious.' 
I         "Couijk;!  me.  did  you  say!     You  do  indeed 


not  understand  me.  1  am  younger  tuan  yourself, 
Eveleen,  in  years  ;  but  my  mind  and  heart  were 
educated  amid  the  grand  and  wild  scenes  of 
nature,  amid  an  almost  unbroken  sulitiide,  and 
underunkindnessand  neglect ;  not  in  a  drawing- 
room,  where  every  toy  distracislhe  ihougbts  and 
disturbs  the  fancy.  Mine  was  a  stem  tutorage, 
but  it  did  its  work.  You  have  been  the  pupil 
of  the  world,  which  has  done  its  work  also. 
You  have  been  warned  to  hide  yourself  from 
both  sun  and  wind — I  have  stood  beneath  a 
shelf  of  rock,  and  braved  the  thunder-storm. 
x\nddoyou  think  that  when  the  whole  happi- 
ness of  my  life  may  be  poised  upon  one  point, 
that  I  shall  hesitate  to  secure  it !.  Believe  me, 
that  there  can  be  little  moral  energy,  little 
delicacy,  and  still  less  good  sense,  in  throwing 
yourself  away,  at  the  will  of  another— nor 
is  it  honest  to  utter  vows  whicii  are  sure  to  be 
broken  by  so  weak  and  unstai)le  a  nature  ;  and 
to  pli'dge  yourself  to  form  the  happiness  of  a 
husband,  when  you  are  not  even  able  to  assure 
your  own." 

I  was  at  onCe  bewildered  and  silent.  Could 
this  indeed  be  Adela!     I  felt  as  if  under  the 

lluence  of  magic.  I  remembered  her  usual 
c(dd,  abstracted  indifference — I  recalled  her 
bitter  energy  during  our  last  tt!c-d-lcle — and  I 
could  not  reconcile  the  discrepancies  of  her 
character.  I  was,  however,  painlully  conscious 
of  her  mental  superiority.  I  felt  the  iiisullicicncy 
of  my  eldership  ;  I  was  iriaslered  i>y  a  stronger 
spirit  than  my  own.  I  could  have  wept  with 
mortification.  I  had  talked  bravely  :  but  iliwas 
because  the  sound  of  my  own  words  lent  me 
.courage  lor  the  moment :  for  I  well  knew  that 
cowardice  was  still  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart  ; 
I  had  never  reduced  my  feelings  to  reason  ;  I 
could  not,  as  she  did,  make  a  priiici|)!e  of  my 
conduct,  and  experience  a  sense  of  self-resinct 
to  sustain  my  actions  ;  when  once  my  pride 
failed,  my  strength  was  exhausted. 

I  was  of  a  weak  and  yielding  disposition,  and 
constantly  required  suj)port,  and  my  si.bier  had 
now  assumed  an  attitude  which  led  me  to  svek 
t  at  her  hands.  That  she  felt  no  atl'eclion  for 
me,  she  had  been  loo  frank  to  conceal  ;  but  I 
treiiiblingly  confessed  to  myself  that  if  I  coukl 

cure  her  friendship,  I  should  aave  myself,  in 
all  probability,  from  a  dangerous  enemy.  Adela 
already  possessed  aghmpse  of  my  secret,  and  I 
easily  convinced  myself  that  its  safety  (;ould  i)e 
hereafter  secured  only  by  an  unlimited  confi- 
dence. Full  of  this  feeling.  I  therefore  gave  free 
course  to  my  communication.  J  told  her  of 
Devereux's  first  ap[)earance  at  Rooksley  ;  of  t!i.(; 
'rritalion  of  Lady  Madelaine,  wlio,  after  having 
for  a  time  made  'a  jest  of  our  growing  inclina- 
tion, ultimately  saw  fit  to  resent  it  with  a  ve- 
hemence which  led  her  to  fori)id  the  entrance 
ol  tlu;  house  to  the  son  of  her  own  frii-nd  ;  and 
then,  but  v/ith  considerably  less  Ihuiicy,  I  ad- 
milted  the  fact  of  our  late  correspondence  ;  and 
avowed  my  firm  faith  in  Devereux's  altachmeii 
and  perseverance. 


CHAPTER  XXVr. 

r  DERIVED  no  assistance  from  my  auditf)r 
throughout  the  nariafive,  either  in  woid  oi  look. 
She  listened  attentively,  absorbedly.  but  she 
uttered  no  comment,  she  made  no  gesture  ol 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


surprise  or  interest  :  it  was  only  when,  with  a 
flushed  brow  and  quickened  breath,  I  had  reach- 
ed the  termination  ofiny  story,  that  she  spoke; 
and  n<it  even  then  until,  after  the  pause  of  a 
moment,  she  had  convinced  herself  that  I  had 
indeed  no  more  to  tell. 

"  P ■    L'veleen  !"'   she   exclaimed  at   last ; 

"you  have  truly  profited  by  an  education  based 
on  flattery,  and  perfected  by  novel-writers,  to 
have  thus  succeeded  in  weaving  out  a  romance 
for  yourself  amid  the  seclusion  of  Rooksley.  I 
cannot  sufficiently  admire  your  skill !  It  was  a 
w^onderful  achievement  to  contemplate  at  four- 
teen. I3ut  are  you  sure  that  Herbert  Devereux 
was,  a:id  is,  the  hero  of  this  history  T' 

"  What  can  you  mean  to  imply,  Adela  ?" 
"    "  Nofhiiig  ;  my  words  convey  no  implication. 
I  asked  a  plain   and   simple  question  ;  and    I 
moreover  request  of  you  to  answer  it  frankly 
and  truthfully." 

"  I  have  told  you  nollung  but  the  truth." 
"  I  am  hound  to  believe  your  assertion  ;  and 
the  rather  that  such  a  confidence  as  you  have 
just  made  unasked  would  be  a  useless  and  idle 
weakness  on  your  part,  if  you  still  sought  to 
deceive  me.  Do  you  now  ask  my  advice  or 
aiy  assistance  1" 

"  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  your  advice  ;  and 
may,  perhaps,  ere  long  be  under  the  necessity 
of  requesting  your  assistance  ;  but  what  I  now 
desire  is  simply  your  opinion." 
"  Upon  what  point  1" 

"  Up(m  every  one  connected  with  the  entan- 
glement." 

"  Entanglement !  You  do  not  then,  yourself, 
consider  the  afl'air  as  serious  1" 

"  You  are  mistaken.  I  am,  on  my  side,  per- 
fectly serious  ;  nor  have  I  any  reason  to  believe 
that  Mr.  Devereux  is  less  so." 

"We  had  better  then,  under  those  circum- 
stances, call  it  an  engagement." 
"  Call  it  what  you  please." 
"  Then  my  opinion  is  that,  so  far  as  it  has 
gone,  it  is  remarkably  romantic." 

"  But  what  think  you,"  I  asked  with  some 
irritation,  "of  the  inconsistency  of  our  mother, 
who,  after  having  jestingly  encouraged  our  mu- 
tual likirg,  should  suddenly  find  in  it  a  cause  of 
wrath  and  resentment  1" 

-  "  I  confess  that  an  accusation  of  inconsisten- 
cy, when  brought  against  Lady  Madelaine, 
.somewhat  startles  me.  I  had  not  hitherto  be- 
.  lieved  that  feminine  failing  to  be  one  of  her  pe- 
culiarities. I  never  made  the  experience  my- 
self, for,  in  my  own  case,  her  conduct  has  ever 
been  uniform  in  all  resj)ects ;  nor  do  I  think 
that,  in  this  occurrence,  she  can  rightly  be  ac- 
cused of  it.  The  miniature  flirtation  of  two 
comparative  children  amused  her  and  diverted 
her  friends.  Dancing  dogs  and  quack  doctors 
are  never,  as  you  are  well  aware,  admitted  be- 
yond the  lodges  of  Rooksley  ;  and  people  of 
taste  and  fashion  must  be  provided  with  enter- 
tainment of  some  description.  But  when  it 
became  rpparent  that  the  boy  and  girl  consid- 
ered themselves  and  each  other  as  man  and 
woman — then,  indeed,  the  affair  assumed  a 
very  dilTercnt  aspect.  Did  you  expect  that 
Laly  Madei.iine  Tilden  had  any  ambition  to  be 
a  g.-3indmother  before  she* was  five  and  thirty  !" 
I  was  stung  to  the  very  quick.  This  was 
not  the  tone  in  which  I  had  exjjected  my  sister 


to  reply  to  the  confidence  I  had  reposed  Ui  ^er. 
I  shrank  before  the  ridicule  which  lurked  in  her 
tone  and  words. 

"  I  care  not  to  speculate  upon  our  mother's 
feelings,"  I  said  pettishly  :  '» I  wished  to  know 
your  opinion  of  my  own  position." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  you  need  to  distuib 
yourself  on  that  head,"  was  the  rejoinder  ; 
"  after  Mr.  Devereux  saw  and  admired  you,  he 
probably  transferred  his  gaze  and  his  admira- 
tion to  the  scarlet  coat  which  succeeded  you. 
Notiiing  could  be  more  natural  at  his  age." 

"  How  then,"  I  asked  with  offended  dignity, 
"do  you  account  for  his  appearance  here,  and 
the  correspondence  which  ensued  1" 

"  A  love  of  the  new  and  the  mysterious,  per- 
haps; or  restlessness,  and  weariness  of  town, 
for  the  season  was  just  aliout  to  close." 

"  You  think  then  that  I  am  to  be  made  a 
dupe!" 

"  You  must  yourselfdecide  that  point.  Your 
fate  is  in  your  own  hands  in  this  case,  at 
least." 

"  But  you  believe  that  he  never  really  loved 
mel" 

"  I  am  merely  inclined  to  imagine  that,  at 
such  an  age,  and  under  such  circumstances,  a 
mutual  inclination  like  yours  would  scarcely 
admit  a  name." 

"  I  am  nevertheless  convinced  of  his  affec- 
tion." 

"  In  that  conviction  you  cannot  do  better 
than  encourage  a  renewal  of  his  intentions. 
You  must  be  sure  of  success  now,  wiien  time 
can  only  have  increased  your  talent  in  winning 
hearts." 

The  bitterness  of  this  epigram  made  me  fu- 
rious ;  but  I  was  too  proud  to  discover  to  my 
sister  the  extent  of  her  triumph  ;  and  I  remain- 
ed perfectly  silent,  until  she  rose  from  her  chair, 
when,  as  she  prepared  to  leave  the  room,  she 
said  calmly  :  "  End  as  it  may,  your  secret  is 
safe  with  me,  Eveleen  ;  and  as  1  before  said, 
do  not  let  it  distress  you.  It  is  a  marriage 
that  Lady  Madelaine  will  never  allow.  She 
has  other  and  more  ambitious  'views  for  you. 
If  I  can  be  of  service  in  the  mean  time,  while 
this  love  still  struggles  and  exists,  make  use  of 
me  ;  you  may  depend  upon  my  sincerity."  And 
before  I  could  utter  a  word  in  reply,  she  was 
gone. 

How  heartily  did  I  then  regret  that  I  had 
placed  myself  so  thoroughly  in  her  power  !  Not 
one  expression  of  sympathy,  not  one  sentence 
of  affection,  had  escaped  her.  I  had  forfeited 
my  independence.  I  had  wilfully  woven  the 
thrall  about  me  :  nor  was  Adela  a  likely  person 
to  allow  me  to  overlook  the  fact.  From  the  day 
on  which  this  conversation  took  place,  our  rela- 
tive position  was  altogether  changed.  I  ceased 
to  contend.  I  adopted  her  ideas,  coincided  in  her 
opinions,  and  deferred  to  her  tastes.  She,  on 
her  skle,  tacitly  accepted  my  concessions,  and 
no  longer  avoided  my  society  ;  talking  to  mo 
continually,  whenever  we  were  tele-a  lelc,  of 
Devereux  ;  and  cleverly  increasing,  by  appa- 
rently unconscious  comments,  the  extent  of^the 
regard  which  she  cowstanlly  affected  to  discour- 
age. As  I  have,  I  belie.ve,  said  more  ihan  once 
already,  she  was  incomprehensible.  Neverthe- 
less, there  was,  from  this  very  line  of  conduct, 
a  fascination  in   her  companionship  which  I 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRE  IT Y  WOMAN. 


tvas  unable  to  resist.  She  novel  spolio  of 
btrself.  She  had  displayed  no  answering 
trust  in  me.  She  seemed  anxious  to  forget 
her  ()\vn  identity.  And  thus,  we  tali<ed  inces- 
Banily  upon  the  one  engrossing  suhject  of  Dev- 
ereux's  attachuieni. 

•'  Where  is  he  now  !"  she  asked  one  morning, 
as  we  were  strolling  in  the  grounds.  "  In  or- 
'ccr  to  secure  a  prize  for  whjch  all  the  world 
are  destined  to  contend,  he  should  be  no  lag- 
gard. He  must  be  well  aware  that  Lady  Mad- 
elaine  is  not  at  Rooksley  ;  he  must  have  seen 
her  at  his  mother's.  How  is  it  then  that  he 
does  not  profit  by  so  favorable  an  opportunity 
of  renewing  his  suit  '" 

As  she  spoke  we  were  approaching  one  of 
Ihe  lodges,  which  was  just  then  under  repair  ; 
but,  as  the  early  dinner-bell  had  rung,  the  work- 
men were  all  absent ;  and  we  consequently 
continued  our  walk  without  hesitation.  The 
building  was  known  as  the  wood-lodge,  from 
the  circumstance  of  its  standing  on  the  edge  of 
an  extensive  plantation  of  ornamental  timber, 
and  was,  in  itself,  an  extremely  pretty  object. 
Adela  iiad  been  silent  more  than  a  minute,  but 
I  attempted  no  reply,  for  just  at  the  instant  my 
eye  cau-iht  the  figure  of  a  tall  man  crouching 
among  the  underwood. — He  wore  a  blue  gabar- 
dine, a  glazed  hat  with  a  wide  border  pulled 
low  upon  liis  forehead,  and  carried  in  his 
hand  a  formidable  bludgeon  ;  but  what  render- 
ed his  appearance  more  singular,  and  less 
alarming  tlian  it  would  otherwise  have  been, 
was  the  fact  that  at  the  precise  moment  in 
whicli  he  caught  my  attention,  he  raised  a  tel- 
escope ti)  his  eye,  and  appeared  to  be  taking  an 
earnest  view  of  the  windows  of  the  house. 
As  he  dropt  it,  his  gaze  was  riveted  upon  me, 
and  I  saw  him  start  with  surprise  and  make  a 
step  towards  me  ;  when  suddenly  becoming 
aware  of  the  presence  of  a  second  person,  he 
stopped  as  abruptly  as  he  had  been  about  to  ap- 
proach. 

A  sudden  tremor  took  possession  of  me.  I 
dared  not  believe  that  my  suspicion  was  cor- 
rect. I  could  only  murmur  out :  "  How  like, 
and  yet  it  cannot  be  !" 

'•  What  cannot  be  V  asked  my  sister. 

"That  man — that  peasant — do  you  see  him, 
Adela  1  Do  my  eyes  cheat  me,  or  is  it  really 
Devereux  I" 

Taught  by  these  words  that  my  companion 
knew  all  our  secret,  the  intruder  hesitated  no 
longer. 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  indeed  Devereux,"  he  answered, 
springing  towards  me,  while  I  stood  transfixed 
with  terror  and  astonishment.  "  It  is  indeed 
mjself.  Have  I  not  earned  tlie  right  to  make 
this  attempt  by  the  weeks  and  months  of 
wretchedness  that  I  have  lately  passed  !  Does 
it  seem  so  strange  to  your  heart,  Eveleen,  that 
it  refuses  to  welcome  mel" 

"  You  wrong  me,  Herbert." 

"I  must  believe  so;  for  I  cannot  afford  to 
fritter  away  one  brief  interval  of  happiness  in 
doubt.  But  why  these  tears?  why  this  violent 
emotion  !  Compose  yourself,  I  beseech  of  you, 
and  listen  to  me  calmly,  fur  a  few  moments 
must  decide  both  my  fate  and  your  own.  In 
an  hour  I  must  be  once  more  on  my  way  to 
town,  where  1  shall  only  arrive  in  time  to  join 
oiy  regiment  before  it  marches  to  Dublin.  I 
N 


do  not  aak  you  to  wri,.-*  io  n>e ;  I  (l.\re  not. 
The  hazard  of  discovery  would  be  tci.  great, 
and  I  am  not  selfish  enough  to  invol  .r  you  ia 
unnecessary  risk  for  my  own  gratifica:>i.  Nor 
will  I  write  myself.  A  letter  intercepted  by 
Lady  Madelaine  must  inevitably  expoiic  you  to 
her  resentment ;  but  I  swear,  by  all  that  I  most 
revere  on  earth,  never  to  become  the  husband 
of  any  other  woman  than  yourself.  i'"ou  have 
already  given  me  the  same  pledge,  but  it  was 
only  in  writing,  Eveleen — I  saw  it,  but  I  did 
not  hear  it ;  and  it  is  to  do  this,  to  hear  the 
same  vow  uttered  by  your  lips,  that  I  am  now 
here.  The  sounds  will  dwell  in  my  ear  forever, 
and  be  the  solace  of  my  absence.  Surely  you 
will  not  refuse  me  this?  Surely  you  will  not 
shrink  at  such  a  moment  from  the  ratification 
of  your  own  generous  and  voluntary  pledger' 
.•\nd  he  looked  earnestly  and  tenuerly  intfl  my 
face,  as  he  raised  my  hand  with  ardor  toJiis 
lips. 

I  was  silent. 

"  Have  you  not  the  courage  to  repeat  your 
promi.se!"  he  asked  somewhat  impatiently. 
"  Was  the  vow  traced  by  your  pen  not  intended 
to  be  irrevocable!  Have  you  hitherto  been 
merely  spurting  with  a  passion  which  you  pro- 
fessed to  share  1  Eveleen,  I  will  not  beheve 
you  so  unworthy !" 

"  I  am  helpless,"  I  at  length  murmured  ouf 
as  I  evaded  his  fixed  and  searching  gaze. 

"  Helpless  !"  echoed  Devereux,  indignantly 
"  show  me  the  being,  either  of  your  sex  or  c 
mine,  who  is  not  helpless,  if  unwilling  to  exc 
that  moral  courage  which  makes  its  owi 
strength  and  creates  its  own  freedom  !  Do  no 
be  self-deceived,  Eveleen  ;  do  not.  willully  o 
weakly  close  your  eyes  before  you  give  me  a 
final  answer,  to  the  trials  to  which,  as  my 
ailianced  wife,  you  will  undoubtedly  be  exposed 
ere  long.  Do  not  conceal  iVom  yourself  the 
dilficuhies  with  which  you  will  have  to  contend 
in  order  to  secure  the  inviolability  of  your 
plighted  word.  I  am  too  unselfish  to  inflict 
upon  you  the  necessity  of  either  falsehood  on 
the  one  hand,  or  repentance  on  the  other.  If 
there  must  be  a  victim,  I  am  prepared  lo  be- 
come the  sacrifice — my  own  misery  will  be 
enough,  without  the  addition  of  yours." 

I  only  wept. 

"  When  my  departure  from  tov/n  has  taken 
place,"  pursued  Herbert,  "  and  your  mother's 
year  of  mourning  has  expired,  she  will,  beyond 
doubt,  desire  your  society,  and  you  will  be 
launched  into  the  ocean  of  a  London  life,  where 
nothing  will  be  left  undone  to  seduce  youi  fan- 
cy, and  to  intimidate  your  will.  Lady  Made- 
lame  will,  probably,  employ  both  menace  and 
authority  ;  she  may  even  condemn  you  once 
more,  for  a  time,  to  the  seclusion  of  Ilook-sley — 
she  may  endeavor  to  pervert  your  truth  by 
flattering  your  vanity  or  your  ambition.  You 
see  how  fully,  how  earnestly  I  have  calculated 
all  these  contingencies — nut  coldly,  Eveleen  ; 
of  that  you  cannot  suspect  me,  but  with  a  burn- 
ing brow  and  a  throbbing  pulse. — All  ihig  may — 
must,  I  fear,  be  the  consequence  of  your  truth 
to  me — but  surely,  my  own  hwe,  I  can  a'  least 
ofl"er  you  the  recompense  of  your  notjle  sacri- 
fice !  No  care,  no  tenderness,  no  dcvdon  shall 
be  spared  when  you  are  indeed  my  wife;  mV 
love  shall  make  you  forget  even  the  price  a 


ftfi 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


which  it  was  purchased.  My  gratitude  shall 
1h!  undying,  like  my  affection.  Your  happiness 
sliail  be  the  one  great  effort  and  ambition  of 
my  whole  life.  Speak — I  have  been  frank  and 
honest,  though  it  has  cost  me  a  bitter  pang.  T 
liave  done  my  duty  ;  and  now  my  fate  is  in 
your  iiands.  Vou  know  that  you  have  been 
the  first  and  only  vision  of  my  soul.  Speak — 
and  make  me  at  once  the  happiest  or  the  most 
wretched  of  my  sex  !" 

Again  his  eyes  were  fastened  eagerly  upon 
me.  I  felt  his  arm  about  my  waist :  I  was 
faint  and  giddy.  My  cowardice  was  upon  me. 
I  hail  no  longer  a  will  nor  a  wish.  I  riveted 
my  gaze  upon  the  earth.  I  gasped  out  I  knew 
not  what  of  the  pain  which  his  want  of  confi- 
dence had  given  me.  He  eagerly  pressed  me 
to  be  frank  ;  to  be  just  alike  to  him  and  to  my- 
self; and  J  felt  inclined  to  promise  all  he  asked, 
but  my  fear  was  greater  than  my  passion. 

"  Speak  for  nie,  MissTildcu  !"  he  exclaimed, 
turning  vehemently  towards  my  sister;  "if  I 
have,  indeed,  so  soon  and  so  utterly  lost  all  my 
influence  over  Eveleen,  perhaps  you,  her  friend, 
her  confidante,  may  still  possess  it.  This 
strange,  cold  indecision  maddens  me.  I  can- 
not endure  it  much  longer.  Let  me,  at  least, 
Ivear  through  your  medium  what  is  to  be  the 
reconipfnse  of  my  deep  and  uncompromising 
affection." 

Adela,  who  had  hitherto  been  standing  a  few 
pac(!S  apart,  on  hearing  this  appeal,  moved  to 
my  side,  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  the 
shrill  voice  of  Lady  Flora,  evidently  approach- 
ing tiie  lodge,  was  distinctly  audible.  I  rushed 
from  the  clasp  of  Devereux.  "  Fly  !"  I  cried  im- 
petuously ;,"  I  am  lost  if  she  discovers  you — " 

'•What  have  you  to  fear,  Eveleen  1"  ho 
asked  sadly,  and  almost  reproachfully  ;  "  none 
here  know  me  save  yourself" 

"  Npvertheless  I  beseech  you  to  be  gone. 
My  agitation  will  betray  me. — Farewell.  Do 
rwt  doubt  my  afl'ection.  The  grave  would  be 
more  welcome  to  me  than  another  engagement. 
Calculate  fi'aricssly  upon  my  constancy — upon 
my  truth.  I  will  be  only  yours — but  fly — leave 
liie — leave  me,  or  I  shall  die  upon  the  spot." 

"  Alas,  Eveleen  ;  this  weakness  gives  but 
poor  earnest  of  the  future  !" 

"  Devereux,  I  implore  you  to  be  gone,  or  you 
will  be  my  ruin."  ' 

"Farewell,  then,  since  such  is  indeed  your 
will.  All  uncertainty  is  now  over  for  me.  I 
am  to  be  the  sacrifice  of  a  childish  terror. 
Heaven  bless  you,  Eveleen !  You  a're  yet 
young.  You  will  soon  love  again.  May  he 
who  wins  you  cherish  you  as  fondly  as  he 
whom  you  discard  !" 

He  was  about  to  turn  away,  when  Adela  held 
him  back. 

"It  is  too  late,"  she  said  calmly;  "you 
have  been  seen,  and  your  retreat  at  this  mo- 
ment would  be  even  more  suspicious  than  your 
presence." 

"  Alas  !  alas  !"  I  gasped  out,  as  I  wrung  my 
hands  in  agony.  "What  is  to  be  donel  We 
are  both  lost." 

My  sister  smiled.  "You  need  not  feign  in- 
disposiiirtii,  Eveleen  ;  you  are  safe,  for  you  have 
nf)  part  to  play  You,  sir.  will  perhaps  have 
ihf  kindness  to  assist  me  in  su|>p(>rluig  jtr. 
Thb  draiua  will  suffice  for  the  audicnc" '' 


Devereux  had  scarcely  extended  his  arms  le 
sustain  my  trembling  frame,  and  began  to  mur- 
mur his  reproachful  tenderness  into  my  ear. 
when  Adela  called  loudly  upon  Lady  Flora  to 
hasten  her  approach  with  Bottlemore,  who  wa> 
following  close  behind  her.  They  had  no  soonei 
joined  the  group  than  my  sister  turned  with  a 
civil  courtesy  to  Devereux,  and,  thanking  bin. 
for  his  timely  aid,  dismissed  him.  I  gave  one 
last  look  in  the  direction  which  he  had  taken, 
and  saw  him  disappear  behind  the  scaflfoiding 
of  the  lodge. 

Once  assured   that   he  was   indeed  gone, 
ceased  to  struggle  with  the  weakness  which 
had    overcome    me.     I   closed  my   eyes   and 
fainted. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

When  I  recovered  from  my  swoon,  1  found 
myself  stretched  upon  my  bed,  and  Josephine 
busily  employed  in  laving  my  temples  with 
Hungary  water.  I  looked  anxiously  for  my 
sister,  but  she  was  not  beside  me. 

"  Mademoiselle  A.le.le  s'est  retiree  ilepuis  nn  mrt- 
menf,"  said  my  attendant,  without  suiyecting 
me  to  the  exertion  of  an  inquiry.  I  was  relieved 
by  her  consideration,  arid  once  more  closing  my 
eyes,  I  fell  into  one  of  those  dreamy  reveries 
which  partake  both  of  v»aking  thought  and  .sleep- 
ing  uncertainty;  where  the  soul  and  the  fancy 
appear  to  have  disenthralled  themselves  in  somo 
degree  from  the  weight  of  reality  and  life  ;  and 
yet  not  to  have  altogether  freed  their  wings 
from  the  clogging  soil  of  mortality.  The  scene 
of  the  wood  lodge  passed  circumstantially  before 
me.  I  verily  believe  that  I  heard  in  my  heart 
theechoof  every  sentence  that  had  been  sfioken, 
as  accurately  as  it  was  originally  uttered  ;  yet, 
nevertheless,  I  doubted  \Vhether  I  dreamt,  oi 
merely  obeyed  the  prompting  of  a  tcnacinus 
memory.  I  had,  moreover,  no  sensation  of  re- 
gret or  of  satisfaction  :  no  emotion  whatevei 
was  excited  within  me.  A  soothing  and  pl.icid 
calm  cradled  me,  as  the  mothers  arm  cradles 
her  slumbering  babe.  It  Avas  a  strange — a!ino.-l 
a  supernatural  species  of  enjoyment,  an  atiiio- 
spiiere  of  etheiealism,  on  which  I  appeareil  la 
float  without  any  volition  of  my  own.  It  was  a 
state  sweeter  than  sleep,  because  I  was  con 
scious  of  existence  ;  more  delicious  than  wak- 
ing, because  no  painful  feeling  troubled  my 
visions.  It  was  a  twilight  of  the  spirit,  wliicli, 
like  that  of  nature,  softened  and  toned  down 
every  salient  and  rugged  object,  and  invested 
all  about  me  in  the  sweet  and  vapory  shadows 
which  lend  a  mysterious  charm  to  all  upon  which 
they  rest. 

But  this  intermedial  state  of  being  (if  such 
an  expression  may  be  permitted  to  me)  could 
not  endure  forever,  arising  as  it  undoubtedly, 
did  from  the  shock  which  had  been  given  t( 
my  nerves,  and  the  long  and  heavy  faint  from 
which  I  was  only  slowly  awakening.  I  became 
gradually  conscious  of  violent  suffering  in  my 
head.  The  pulses  in  my  temples  beat  strong 
and  hard,  and  the  pulsations  of  my  ireart  were 
quick  and  painful.  The  vapors  were  pissinji 
from  my  brain,  and,  as  they  rolled  awiiy,  tlib 
sensation  of  mental  as  well  as  bodily  uneasi-' 
ness  came  back  upon  me.  Again  the  ineetinj 
of  /he  morning  rose  full  upon  my  meiinjry,  bu' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


09 


now  It  brough  bitterness,  regret,  and  self-re- 
proach along  w  -h  it.  I  felt  humbled  in  my  own 
eyes. 

I  was  aware  that  I  had  acted  weak!.-  and 
unworthily.  How  had  I  met  Devereut? — 
how  had  I  parted  from  himi  Like  a  peevish 
child,  incapable  of  acting  from  eitiier  motive 
or  principle.  What  must  he  think  of  me  •  I, 
who  had  unhesitatingly  poured  out  on  paper  all 
the  romantic  feelings  of  devotion  and  constancy 
which  his  anxious  attachment  had  exacted — 
who  had  pledged  myself  to  n)ake  all  tilings 
vield  to  my  love  for  him — who,  in  the  security 
of  my  chamber,  had  defied  fate  and  authority 
for  ■  s  sake  with  passionate  veiiemence  ;  and 
frr  I  whom  he  had  thus  acquired  the  right  to 
'C-  -ect  at  least  e.xertion  and  consistency^  I 
ff  udilered  as  my  reason  taught  me  that  it  could 
'^■i  only  with  contempt !  Once  before  had  we 
^►»en  separated  under  circumstances  which 
.iad  crushed  my  pride  into  the  dust,  but  that 
had  been  through  the  agency  oi  another  ;  and 
even  had  I  shown  weakness  then,  my  age 
would  have  excused  it.  It  was  too  plain  ;  I  had 
no  strength  of  character.  Adela  had  read  me 
rightly.  With  ail  my  haughty  and  despotic 
self-will  in  small  things — with  all  my  self-value 
and  presumption,  I  was  utterly  powerless  at 
every  important  crisis.  Rushing  recklessly  upon 
difficulties,  I  wanted  energy  to  combat  the 
phantoms  which,  through  my  own  imprudence, 
I  had  evoked. 

I  fell  crushed  and  miserable  under  the  burthen 
of  my  own  reflections.  I  wanted  help  even  to 
think  ;  and  I  passed  a  wretched  night,  through- 
out which  I  never  closed  my  eyes,  even  for  an 
instant.  I  no  longer  understood  my  own  posi- 
tion. Had  Devereux  considered  our  separation 
as  a  final  one,  or  did  he  still  look  upon  me  as  his 
affianced  wife  1  This  was  a  question  which  I 
was  utterly  unable  to  answer;  nor  could  I  com- 
prehend how  it  might  be  solved,- for  I  remem- 
bered that  he  had  told  me  not  to  expect  to  hear 
from  him,  and  warned  me  to  desist  from  attempt- 
ing a  correspondence  by  which  we  should  prob- 
ably both  becoiiiproitiised.  Thus  every  avenue 
ol  communication  between  us  was  closed,  and 
tliat  at  a  moment  when  my  peace  of  mind  de- 
pended upon  an  exact  understanding  of  our 
relative  position  toward  each  other.  And  upon 
what  could  I  cast  the  blame  of  this  undignified 
dilemma  1  Solely  and  utterly  upon  my  own 
weakness  and  want  of  self-government.  In 
short,  view  the  matter  as  I  might,  the  whole 
evil  had  originated  in  myself. 

I  soon  convinced  my  fears  that  Devereux"s 
affection  was  irrecoverably  lost  to  me,  while 
his  claim  ujion  my  honor  remained  in  full  force  ; 
and  I  need  scarcely  confe.'^s,  that  I  believed  my 
love  for  him  at  that  moment  to  be  more  power- 
ful than  ever.  I  pined  for  daylight.  I  iiad  now 
no  hope,  save  in  Adela.  Yes — my  spirit  was 
humbled  even  to  this !  Once  my  thoughts 
turned  towards  Lady  O'Halloran  ;'  but  I  felt 
relieved  when  I  remembered  that  she  had  been 
absent  in  town  for  several  weeks;  for  how  could 
I  have  rallied  my  courage  sufficiently  to  tell 
her  such  a  tale  I  No— .\dela  was  my  only  re- 
source ;  and  to  her  I  should  be  spared  the  mor- 
tification of  detailing  the  cause  of  my  embar- 
wssmont. 

I  anticipated  from  my  sister  an  early  visit  in 


my  chamber  on  the  morrow  ;  but  when  thai 
morrow  came,  it  broiighr  only  a  civil  inquiry 
through  her  maid,  to  which  I  rejilied  as  briefly 
as  it  had  been  made.  Nevertheless,  I  contin- 
ued anxiously  awaiting  her  appearance  for  sev- 
eral hours  in  vain  :  when,  satisfied  that  she 
purposely  avoided  me,  I  became  more  rest- 
less and  apprehensive  than  before,  and  could 
endure  this  addition."!  suspense  no  longer. 

Summoning  Josephine.  I  made  a  hasty  toilet; 
and,  near  its  close,  had  the  satisfaction  of  see- 
ing Adela  in  the  grounds,  making  her  way 
towards  the  wood  which  belted  one  side  o', 
the  home-park.  I  threw  on  my  bonnet  and 
shawl  in  an  instant,  and  started  in  pursuit. 
She  had  evidently  not  remarked  my  approach-; 
and  when  I  reached  her,  she  was  sitting  upon 
the  mossy  turf  at  the  foot  of  a  beech-tree,  i  ot 
occupied  with  a  book,  as  was  her  usual  habit, 
but  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  and 
lost  in  a  train  of  deep  thought.  She  started  as 
I  paused,  panting  and  breathless  beside  her; 
and  as  she  raised  her  head,  I  remarked  that 
two  large  tears  were  resting  on  her  cheeks. 

"  I  have  been  anxiously  expecting  you  all 
the  morning  in  my  room,  Adela,"  I  said,  as  I 
cast  myself  down  beside  her;  "but  at  last  I 
began  to  fear  that  you  were  purposely  avoiding 
meV 

"  Your  fears  were  correct,"  she  replied 
coldly. 

"  And  wherefore  1"  I  asked  earnestly;  "sure- 
ly you  have  a  thousand  things  to  say  to  me!" 

"  You  are  wrong — I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  Have  you,  then,  already  forgotten  the  scene 
of  yesterday  V 

"  By  no  means.  You  unexpectedly  had  an 
interview  with  your  noble-hearted  lover,  whose 
attachment  is  worthy  of  any  sacrifice,  however 
great.  You  declined  to  make  any — even  the 
most  trifling.  He  left  you  with  a  bruised 
spirit  and  a  wounded  heart.  Surely  there 
could  be  no  occasion  for  me  to  repeat  to  you 
circumstancei  of  which  you  are  so  well  aware 
as  these." 

"At  least,"  r  said  sadly,  "you  might  pity 
me  for  having  givwi  him  this  pain." 

"  What  obliged  you  to  do  so  V 

"  Reason  and  prudence." 

"Ratlier  confess  that  your  love  for  him  is 
not  sufficiently  great  to  induce  you  to  run  a 
paltry  risk  in  order  to  secure  it.  Your  li|)3 
would  never  have  hesitated  to  utter  the  vow 
which  he  claimed  from  you,  had  it  been  written 
in  your  heart." 

"  Do  you.  I  hen,  blame  me  for  having  refused 
to  ratify  our  engagement  V 

"  Ulame  you  !"  echoed  my  sister,  turning 
her  eyes,  wiiich  were  flashing  with  disdain, 
full  upon  rnc;  "quite  the  contrary.  I  applaud 
you  for  having  been  just  to  yourself  A  feeble 
nature  should  at  once,  as  yours  did,  yield  to 
events  without  a  struggle,  and  not  venture  to 
encounter  trials  to  which  it  is  unequal." 

"Adela,"  I  said  bitterly,  piqued  by  her  un- 
compromising frankness,  "  we  should  all  wait 
until  we  are  tried,  and  prove  our  own  strength 
before  we  scoff  at  the  weakness  of  others.  Op- 
portunities to  do  so,  I  sliould  imagine,  are  never 
wanting  long  to  any  one,  and  even  the  firmest 
will  may  be  damped.  Wait  until  our  nioihor 
interfcics  with  your  own  views,  and  presses 


ICO 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


•pon  you  a  marriage  lor  which  you  have  no  in- 
clination." 

"  If  1  love  elswehere — above  all.  if  I  am  so 
happy  as  uv  Ik;  beloved,"  she  answered  calmly, 
"all  her  interference  and  all  her  efforts  will  be 
▼ain.     I  have  already  told  you  this." 

'•I  fancied  so  myself;  but  I  have  discovered 
my  error.  As  regards  your  own  declaration,  I 
put  no  faith  in  it  at  the  tune  ;   nor  do  I  now." 

"  You  are  wrong.  You  should  not  judge  of 
my  character  by  your  own.  The  difference  ol 
our  education  has  necessarily  influenced  our 
modes  <d  ilnnking  and  feeling.  Brought  up  in 
the  arms  of  those  to  whom  you  owe  your  be- 
ing, the  first  sentiinenls  of  your  heart  must 
have  been  those  of  tenderness  and  submission  ; 
you  instinctively  learned  to  love  and  to  respect 
an  authority  to  which  you  were  indebted  both 
for  security  and  comfort.  Things  have  changed. 
The  yoke  has  become  more  heavy  and  more 
irksome  ;  but  the  fetters  of  habit  are  upon  you, 
and  you  do  not  retain  even  the  will  to  shake 
Ihem  off.  My  case  is  wholly  dissimilar.  The 
outcast  child  of  an  unlovmg  mother,  1  no  sooner 
became  capable  of  appreciating  my  position, 
than  1  wept  over  myself.  Tears  were  the  lux- 
ury of  my  early  girlhood  ;  of  those  hours  when 
I  was  dismissed  to  my  sports.  I  grew  up  on 
tears  ;  until  I  ventured  to  ask  myself  by  what 
right  a'ld  upon  what  pretext  I  was  thus  flung 
off!  Yiui  may  believe  that  I  could  discover  no 
plea  which  sufficed  to  satisfy  my  reason  ;  and  I 
then  made  it  the  one  great  moral  business  of 
my  lile  to  weigh  every  detail  connected  with 
my  misfortune.  Under  this  mental  discipline, 
both  my  heart  and  my  character  have  been  ed- 
ucated. I  trust  to  be  able  some  day  to  prove 
that  I  have  been  just  alike  to  my  mother  and  to 
myself  I  have  now  clearly  defined  the  bounds 
within  which  to  admit  her  authority  as  legiti- 
mate ;  and  beyond  those  I  will  not  yield  even 
a  hair's  breadth.  Judge,  then,  what  prospect 
there  is  of  her  being  able  to  influence  me  in  the 
most  important  decision  of  my  life." 

"And  canyou  really  have  come  to  such  a  reso- 
lution before  you  are  quite  sixteenyears  of  age !" 

AdeJa  shrugged  her  shoifldcrs  with  a  con- 
temptuous smile,  but  made  ao  reply. 

"I  cannot  boa^t  of  the  same  moral  indepen- 
dence," I  pursued,  after  a  moment's  silence; 
"and  I  seriously  require  your  advice." 

"  jMv  advice  ?     A  quoi  Ion  V 

"That  it  may  guide  and  strengthen  me." 

My  sister  laughed.  There  was  a  mockery  in 
her  laughter  at  limes  that  made  my  blood  leap 
in  my  veins  ;  it  did  so  now.  "  You  are  merry," 
I  remarked  with  asperity  ;  "  I  asked  counsel, 
not  Contempt." 

"  I  have  no  advice  to  ofTer.  Counsel  to  you 
would  be  merely  a  verbal  improvidence." 

"Why  sol" 

"  Because  you  would  be,  in  all  probability, 
afraid  to  follow  it." 

"Then,  were  it  your  case,  you  would  risk 
everything  'o  keep  your  faith  '." 

"Never  mind  me.  I  am  in  no  way  connect- 
er •viih  the  business.  But  are  you  so  sure  that 
the  climax  of  the  adventure  is  still  dependent 
upon  yourself?" 

"  Surely  you  do  not  imagine  that  Dcvereux 
%il'  -^op-^iv-er  our  leaning  jf  yesterday  as  a  final 


"  I  imagine  nothing.  It  is  certain  that  he  had 
previously  exhibited  a  rare  degree  of  patience.' 

"  J  should  be  wretched  !"  I  exclaimed,  as  my 
tear.'  fell  hot  and  fast — "  I  should  be  miserable, 
weri  he  now  to  abandon  me.  I  have  never 
loved  him  so  perfectly  as  within  the  last  few 
hours." 

"That  is  unfortunate,"  said  Adela,  perfectly 
unmoved  by  this  sudden  burst  of  feeling  ;  "very 
unfortunate  ;  but  quite  in  rule.  You  were  cer- 
tainly destined  from  your  cradle,  Eveleen,  to  be 
a  heroine  ;  and  no  heroine  can  expect  to  pass 
through  life  without  many  sharp  trials." 

"  And  is  this  all  the  consolation  which  you 
are  able  to  give  me  1" 

"I  consider  that  there  can  be  none  greater. 
You  are  already  on  the  stage,  and  will  ere  long 
have  the  world  as  your  spectator  ;  for  you  may 
remembor  that  Mr.  Devereux  asserted  the  prob- 
ability of  your  soon  being  withdrawn  from 
Rooksley." 

"  What  will  the  world  be  to  mel"  I  asked,  as 
I  wiped  away  another  burst  of  tears.  •'  He  will 
be  absent  whom  alone  I  shall  care  to  please." 

Adela  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  drew  her  shawl 
closer  about  her  :  "  I  will  continue  my  walk," 
she  said  with  a  suppressed  gesture  of  weari 
ness  ;  "  for  you  will,  I  doubt  not,  find  your  own 
thoughts  more  agreeable  society  than  myself" 

I  did  not  seek  to  detain  or  to  accompany  her. 
I  was  more  irresolute,  more  depressed  than 
ever;  the  last  straw  at  which  1  grasped  had 
floated  beyond  my  reach,  and  I  had  no  longer 
any  hope  of  lielp  save  in  my  own  firmness. 
My  own  firmness  I  The  conviction  was  an 
epigram,  and  a  bitter  one,  upon  myself;  and  the 
tears  that  I  shed  for  the  next  half  hour,  and 
which  I  believed  were  given  to  Devereux,  were 
in  a  great  degree  wrung  from  me  by  mortifica- 
tion and  disappointment. 

I  was  aroused  from  my  fit  of  weeping  by  the 
sound  of  the  warning  bell  from  the  ujiper  lodge, 
which  betokened  the  arrival  of  visitors  ;  but  I 
remained  passively  boueath  my  beech-tree.  I 
knew  of  none  that  were  likely  to  interest  me ; 
and  I  therefore  left,  as  I  generally  did,  their 
identity  to  chance.  The  year  of  weeds  had 
expired.  My  seventeenth  birthday  was  over. 
My  mother  had  not  written  to  congratulate 
me ;  nor.  perhaps,  all  circumstances  consider- 
ed, could  s!ie  be  fairly  expected  to  do  so.  Of 
her  arrival  at  Rooksley,  I,  however,  could  not 
dream  for  a  moment,  as  her  last  letter  from 
I.ady  Devereux's,  not  yet  of  quite  six  weeks' 
date,  had  mentioned  no  such  intention  ;  and  I 
was  in  no  mood  at  that  moment  to  be  troubled 
by  the  appearance  of  any  other  person  upon 
earth.  Gradually  1  fell  back  into  the  same  un- 
easy train  of  thouiiht  which  had  before  absorb- 
ed mc,  and  forgot  :he  .r.;crruplion  altogether. 
At  times  a  glow  of  resolution  gave  me  momen- 
tary strength,  and  I  resolved  to  neglect  the 
warning  of  Devereux,  and  to  write  to  Dublin, 
to  entreat  him  to  forgive  the  weakness  which 
must  so  deeply  have  wounded  his  affection; 
and  as  1  sal  there,  full  of  this  courageous  pro- 
ject, I  framed  a  letter  full  of  pathos  and  devo- 
tion, of  which  the  effect  could  not  have  failed 
to  prove  all  I  wished  ;  but  then  rose  be/ore 
me  the  memory  of  my  mother,  and  I  shrank 
afTrighied  from  the  audacity  of  my  dream  ;  and 
if,  during  my  paroxysm  of  valor,  the  blood  had 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


10. 


burned  upon  my  brow,  so,  on  tlic  reaction  ofi 
thought,  I  shivered  wiili  ihe  chill  of  one  wiio 
had  suddenly  been  immersed  in  water. 

The  rccdil-bell,  which  summoned  stragglers 
m  the  grounds  to  the  house,  at  length  rang  ; 
and  very  reluctantly  I  rose  to  receive  the  im- 
portunate guest,  whomsoever  it  might  prove. 
I  saw  nothing  of  Adela  in  my  way,  and  at  once 
proceeded  to  tiie  drawing-room.  A  footman, 
who  was  stationed  at  the  door,  threw  it  back 
ere  I  could  utter  an  inquiry,  and  announced  me  ; 
when,  to  my  astonishment,  I  found  myself  in 
the  presence  of  my  mother  and  Sir  James  Dorn- 
ton.  For  an  instant,  I  doubled  the  evidence  of 
my  senses.  It  seemed  but  a  few  weeks  since 
I  had  parted  from  Lady  Madelaine,  veiled  in 
crape,  and  enveloped  in  close  and  heavy  dra- 
pery ;  and  now  she  stood  before  me,  still  indeed 
in  black,  but  attired  with  an  elegance  and  a  re- 
search which  told  no  tale  of  mourning.  She 
Was  in  high  beaoly,  and  bathed  in  smiles. 
After  having  touched  my  forehead  with  her 
lips,  she  turned  to  her  companion,  and  said 
gaily — "  Will  you  stroll  about  the  park  for  half 
an  liour.  Sir  James,  afteryou  have  sliaken  hands 
with  Eveleen  1  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say 
to  her ;  but  I  will  promise  that  they  shall  all  be 
said  b-o  briefly,  that  your  patience  and  gallantry 
will  not  be  overtaxed." 

The  gentleman  bowed  obediently  ;  took  my 
hand,  which  he  raised  gallantly  to  his  lips,  and 
then,  seizing  his  hat,  passed  out  through  the 
conservatory. 

"  How  earnestly  you  examine  me,  Eveleen  !" 
laughed  Lady  Madelaine.  "Am  I  looking  un- 
usually handsome,  or  unusually  plain,  that  I 
thus  rivet  your  attention  1" 

"  Beautiful !  resplendent  !"  I  replied  instinct- 
ively.    "  I  never  before  saw  you  so  beautiful." 

"Then  you  would  not  feel  much  surprise, 
were  you  to  hear  tliat  I  had  already  been  im- 
portuned to  take  another  name  !" 

"By  no  means,"  I  said  gravely,  recovering 
from  my  first  emotion  of  surprise  and  admira- 
tion, and  falling  back  upon  my  own  hitter  feel- 
ings. "  There  are  doubtlessly  many  who  would 
gladly  induce  you  to  do  so  ;  my  astonishment 
would  be  only  at  their  success." 

"And  may  I  venture  to  ask  wherefore  1" 
demanded  Lady  Madelaine  coldly,  as  a  cloud 
gathered  on  her  brow  ;  "  does  tlie  name  of  Til- 
den  appear  to  you  to  be  so  distinguished  that  it 
could  not  be  worthily  replaced  1  In  that  case, 
thr.  Lady  Madelaine  Glenhllan,  who  never  ought 
to  have  borne  it,  would  indeed,  in  your  eyes, 
commit  a  heinous  offence  by  assuming  another 
which  she  might  herself  consider  to  be  belter 
•iiiiied  to  her  birih  and  rank." 

I  thought  of  my  father ;  my  heart  swelled 
with  indignation  ;  I  could  not  utter  a  syllable. 

"Explain  yourself,  I  entreat,  Miss  Tilden," 
■wntinued  my  mother,  more  and  more  irritated. 
•I  understand  perfectly  from  your  manner  that 
nere  is  an  arnerc  pensee,  and  I  request  that 
you  will  express  it." 

"I  Would  rather  avoid  a  subject  which  ap- 
pears to  anger  your  ladyship." 

"Anger  me!  You  mistake.  This  is  a  matter 
of  feeling,  not  of  temper.  Let  us  understand 
•ach  other." 

"  Then,  madam,  since  you  press  me  to  speak, 
'  conf'^es  I  had  believed  that  free  to  act  as  you 


please,  affluent,  and  with  two  daughters  of  an 
age  to  be  compar  ons  to  yon — ." 

"  I  comprehend  you  perfectly,"  interposed 
Lady  Madelaine  with  impatience.  "  You  have 
some  idea  of  reading  me  a  lecture.  Do  not 
deny  yourself  the  gratification.  Proceed,  and 
tell  me  that  at  the  age  of  thirty-five  I  ought 
to  devote  myself  entirely  to  my  children  ;  and 
renounce,  for  their  sakes,  my  tastes,  my  influ- 
ence, and  all  the  pleasures  in  which  they  can- 
not share." 

"Believe  me,"  I  said  composedly,  "that  I 
never  imagined  such  an  event  possible;  nor 
did  1  ever  feel  sellish  enough  to  wish  it.  It 
was  contrary  to  my  inclination  that  I  was  urged 
to  make  any  comment  upon  your  actions.  I 
am  quite  aware  that  you  are  at  liberty  to  please 
yourself  in  all  things,  and  that  my  sister  and 
myself  have  only  to  respect  your  will." 

"  i  am  of  the  same  opinion,"  was  the  dry  re- 
joinder of  Lady  Madelaine,  "and  consequently 
expect  that  such  will  be  the  spirit  in  which  you 
will  receive  the  tidings  of  my  approaching  mar 
nage  with  Lord  Oiterford." 

"  With  Lord  Otterford  !"  I  echoed  in  violent 
emotion,  as  I  sprang  from  my  chair. 

"  Even  so,  Miss  Tilden."  replied  my  mother 
while  a  flush  passed  over  her  face,  "  iiave  yoa 
anything  to  object  to  such  an  arrangement]" 

I  was  silent.  My  heart  was  wrung.  I  re- 
membered past  scenes — I  remembered  Emily 
Vernon,  and  my  father,  and  the  meeting  in  the 
octagon  room — 1  was  spirit-sick.  I  am  afraid 
that,  at  that  moment,  even  ignorant  as  I  was 
of  the  extent  of  lier  weakness,  I  despised  my 
mother. 

"  As  I  appear  to  have  nothing  to  expect, 
either  from  your  duty  or  your  atlection  at  sc 
critical  a  moment.  Miss  Tilden,"  said  Lady 
Madelaine,  harshly,  as  she  also  rose.  "  I  will 
detain  you  no  longer  than  to  request  that  you 
will  inform  your  sister  of  my  intended  marriage. 
I  shall  dispense  with  her  presence,  as  I  have 
no  wish  to  expose  myself  to  a  second  insult." 

1  required  no  further  bidding ;  but,  with  a 
silent  courtesy,  hastened  to  profit  by  my  dismis- 
sal. I  had  scarcely  reached  my  own  room, 
when  I  heard  the  recall-bell  summon  the  ba- 
ronet from  his  walk,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
afterwards  the  carnagi;  drove  off.  The  whole 
affair  had  been,  to  say  ihe  least,  singularly  con- 
ducted. It  was  evident  that  my  mother  had 
not  even  seen  Lady  Flora;  she  had  specifically 
declined  to  see  Adela;  she  had  traveled  a  long 
distance — scarcely  remained  an  lunir  in  the 
house — and  lelt  without  taking  the  slightest 
refreshment.  And  again  —  why  should  she 
come  accompanied  by  Sir  James  Dornton  '  It 
is  true,  that  he  was  an  old  friend  of  the  family ; 
but  had  she  not  her  still  older  and  female  friend, 
Lady  Devereux,  who  would  have  seemed  to  be 
a  more  filling  companion  for  so  Imig  a  drivel 
Or  even  Lord  Olierford  himself,  so  .-boon  lo  be 
her  husband,  and  who  might  necessarily  be 
supposed  eager  to  conciliate  her  daughters  by 
so'  simple  an  act  of  courtesy  1  The  more  I  re 
fleeted,  the  more  my  astonishment  increased 
Tiie  cool  and  unhesitating  manner  in  wliicli 
Lady  Madelaine  had  given  her  companion  to 
understand  that  his  absence  was  desired  on  iny 
entrance,  and  the  passive  acquiescence  which 
had  followed  on  his  side,  showed  also  a  famil 


102 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


arity  which  I  codd  by  no  means  explain  to 
myself,  particularly  under  my  nioilier  s  |)resenl 
rMcunibtances.  My  own  pale  and  depressed 
appearance,  which,  on  anoUier  occasion,  would 
not  have  escaped  comment,  and  pr(il)al)ly  re- 
proof, had  not  elicited  a  remnrk,  although  it 
was  loo  visible  to  remain  unperceived.  The 
whole  thing  was  an  enigma. 

Nevertheless,  I  so(m  turned  from  this  subject 
of  marvel  to  the  still  greater  one  of  Lady  Ma- 
delaine's  marriage.  The  arts  of  the  "Girce" 
*"id  then  prevailed  !  I  had  not  yet  learned  to 
'emeinher  the  spell  of  wealth.  I  was  now 
eager  to  communicate  the  astounding  news  to 
Adela,  and  I  sought  her  lirst  in  her  own  cham- 
ber;  l)ut,  not  rinding  her  there,  I  descended  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  she  was  sitting,  still 
folded  in  lier  sliawl,  and  so  buried  in  tliought 
thai  she  was  not  conscious  of  my  presence  un- 
til 1  spoke.  The  tears  were  yet  trickling  slowly 
down  my  cheeks,  wiiile  those  of  my  sister  were 
sufiused  with  so  bright  a  bloom  that  she  looked 
positively  handsome. 

"  Not  yet  consoled,  Eveleen  ?"  she  asked, 
with  a  smile  ;  "  what  said  our  lady-mother  to 
your  grief!" 

"  It  is  she  who  is  the  cause  that  I  weep,"  I 
answered,  as  I  flung  myself  down  on  the  sofa 
beside  her.  "Prepare  yuurself  for  strange 
news,  .\(iela.  Her  term  of  mourning  is  over. 
Our  poor  father  is  already  forgotten.  She  is 
about  to  hucome  once  more  a  bride."  . 

"Do  you  consiiler  that  so  strange  1"  she 
asked  coliJly  ;  "  I  have  been  prepared  for  such 
an  event  Ux  months.  You  might  have  guessed 
ilial  this  would  be  the  case  when  our  mother 
leli  Ronksley,  and  that  we  were  not  her  com- 
panions." 

"To  marry  again  !"  I  repeated,  not  having 
yet  con(iueied  my  consler.nalior. ;  "  ".vith  two 
daughters  of  an  age  to  he  established,  who  re 
•piire  to  be  produced  in  the  world,  to  be  suita- 
lilv  jnlroducud.  and  to  be  no  longer  treated  as 
children.  1  Haltered  myself  that  in  thi.s  in- 
stance, at  least,  she  would  not  have  failed." 

"  Vou  are  to  be  pitied  for  having  encouraged 
such  a  delusion,"  interposed  my  sister;  "as 
for  me,  I  am  no  day-dreamer — 1  find  tlio  reali- 
ties of  life  suliice.  Little  care  1  how  Lady  Ma- 
delaine  may  dispose  of  herself — whether  she 
marry  again,  or  remain  a  widow." 

"  But  do  you  not  dread  the  idea  of  a  father- 
in-law]" 

"  I  never  took  fright  at  a  name.  If  he  be 
amiable,  courteous,  and  kind-hearted,  he  may 
be  of  service  to  me  ;  if  the  contrary,  1  have  lit- 
tle to  Hear  from  him." 

Slie  sank  again  into  silence,  aud  soon  be- 
came once  more  absorbed  in  thought.  I  ob- 
served her  narrowly,  but  her  indirierence  was 
evidently  genuine.  I  almost  envied  her  impas- 
sibility. 

"  Have  you  then  no  curiosity  to  learn  the  ac- 
tual name  of  this  new  bridegroom  1"  I  asked. 

••  .So  little,  that  I  should  suller  nothing  by 
waiting  until  it  is  officially  announced." 

"Nevertheless,"  1  persisted,  "you  cannot 
fail  to  be  surpiised  when  1  tell  you  that  it  is 
Lord  Otlcrlord." 

"  Lord  Otterford !  Indeed.  I  congratulate 
von      His  marniige  with  the  mother  will  prol 


The  drama  will  prove  a  coineuy 
You  know  too  well 


the  daughter, 
after  all." 

"  Adela,  this  is  cruel, 
how  we  parted." 

"  You  will  meet  again." 

"  How  ]    Where  !" 

"In  anyway — everywhere — nothing  is  im- 
possible to  a  determined  spirit  and  a  devoted 
heart." 

"  Alas  !  I  have  no  hope.  I  dare  not  antici- 
pate happiness  to  myself  from  this  incompre- 
iiensible  marriage." 

"Anything  but  incomprehensible  in  my  opin- 
ion," said  my  sister  W'lth  her  usual  phlegm; 
"that  Lady  Madelaine  should  so  soon  have 
consented  to  resign  her  liberty  may  astonish 
those  who  do  not  comprehend  her ;  but  there 
the  marvel  ceases.  Jl  is  the  rank  of  her  new 
suitor  which  has  determined  her.  Nothing  can 
be  more  natural,  or  moje  consistent  with  her 
general  character  ;  nor  do  I  impute  it  to  her  as 
a  crime  ;  an  elevated  station  was  her  birth- 
right;  and  it  is  a  prejudice  which  claims  re- 
spect, and  is  by  no  means  without  foundation." 

"  But  tell  me  seriously,  I  beseech  of  you,"  I 
said  after  a  pause  ;  "  do  you  believe  that  Dev 
ereu.x  will  resent  my  indecision  of  yesterday  1" 

"The  last  time  we  spoke  together  upon  thia 
subject  you  appeared  conrident  of  your  power; 
why  do  you  now  suppose  it  to  be  weakened  !" 

"I  cannot  tell,  but  the  more  desirable  our 
union  appears,  the  less  reliance  do  I  feel  on  ray 
inliuence  over  his  heart." 

"And  does  it  now  appear  more  desirable 
than  when,  with  all  the  ardor  of  an  earnest  and 
honest  affection,  he  was,  only  a  few  short  houra 
ago,  urging  you  to  unite  your  fate  with  his  !" 

"  It  does,  because  I  have  since  reflected 
deeply.  I  have  revolved  all  the  circumstancea 
in  niy  mind,  and  I  cannot  perceive  one  which 
should  be  adverse  to  us.  Devereux  is  well- 
bcrri — he  is  the  nephew  of  my  mother's  intend- 
ed husband — independent  in  his  means,  hand- 
some in  his  person,  liigh-bred  in  his  manners. 
Surely  that  mother  can  have  no  ambiiion  be- 
yond such  a  son-in-law." 

"It  is  nevertheless  possible  that  she  may 
have  other  views  for  you.  But  were  you  really 
to  marryiMr.  Devereux,  are  you  quite  assured 
that  you  should  love  him  !'' . 

"  VViiat  a  question  !  He  is  charming  !  I 
should  adore  him — ' 

"  And  if  your  love  were  not  returned  V" 

"  My  love  not  returned  !  1  have  no  fea  that 
such  could  be  the  ca^e.  1  am  now  a  thousand 
times  more  beautiful  than  when  he  saw  me 
first."  • 

"  I  admit  the  fiict ;  but  if,  meanwhile,  he 
should  have  formed  another  attachment '" 

"1  will  win  him  back." 

"  You  may  not  succeed." 
"  I  have  no  fear  of  failure.  This,  moreover, 
is  a  risk  which  I  must  run  in  common  with  a 
thousand  other  women  who  are  envied  by  bait 
the  world.  The  essentials  of  happiness  would 
still  remam  ;  affluence,  a  handsome  establish- 
ment, agreeable  society,  freedom  of  action,  and 
a  good  position  ;  with  all  these  there  can  b? 
little  to  apprehend." 

"I  disagree  with  you  enti-cly."  said  Adela, 
earnestly  ;  "  all  ihese  things  are  desiriil)k',  it  ia 


aiJiy  be  succeeded  by  that  of  his  nephew  with  i  liuc  ;  but  it  would  requii'j  liir  more  to  make  me 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRKTrY  WOMAN. 


103 


napi'V.  I  must  love,  and  be  loved,  fondlv  aii>l 
exclusively;  and  did  the  greatest  and  most 
powerful  noble  of  the  land  offer  me  a  coronet 
vpon  any  other  terms,  I  would  reject  it,  for  it 
Wiiul'.!  only  hurn  into  my  brow." 

"  And  you  talk  of  my  romance,  Adela !  Who 
is  rational  and  reasonable  now!" 

••  Time  will  show,"  said  my  sister  ;  "  and,  in 
ihe  meantime,  I  hear  the  dressing-bell." 


CHAPTER  xxvirr. 

Mv  moihrr  was  married  in  the  eighteenth 
montli  ol  I,  .■  widowiiood.  The  event  was  duly 
announced  iiy  letter  at  llooksley,  and  was  ac- 
companied by  two  costly  ornaments,  as  bridal 
gifts  to  Adela  and  myself;  but  of  any  regret 
that  we  were  not  present  at  the  ceremony,  or 
of  any  wish  to  see  us  in  town,  we  received  not 
a  word.  1  had  so  thoroughly  persuaded  myself 
that  my  mother's  union  with  Lord  Otterford 
must  necessarily  involve  my  own  introduction, 
and  siibseijuent  marriage  with  his  nephew,  that 
my  health  and  spirits  both  failed  beneath  the 
disappointment,  and  the  rather  that  I  had  heard 
nothing  of  Devereux  from  the  morning  on  which 
we  parted  ai  the  lodge. 

From  my  sister  1  received  no  consolation. 
She  affectLMl  rather  to  pity  than  to  blame  my 
weakness,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  affirm  that  I 
was  destined  to  be  a  puppet  worked  by  the 
wires  of  (itliers,  and  certain  to  destroy  my  own 
happiness  without  either  credit  or  comfort  to 
myself.  When  I  asked  her  to  answer  frankly 
and  definitively  the  question,  whether  in  my 
jiosition  she  would  take  some  decisive  step,  and 
make  Devereux  acquainted  with  my  exact  sen- 
timents, s!ie  always  answered  me  by  the  assu- 
rance tliat  her  conduct  could  be  no  rule  for 
mine,  as  we  were  differently  constituted.  "  I 
am  in  the  world,  but  not  for  it,"  she  was  wont 
to  say,  with  one  of  those  peculiar  laughs  which 
always  excoriated  my  nerves ;  "  I  care  little 
for  the  frowns  and  threats  which  can  only 
wound  my  vanity  without  disturbing  my  reason. 
You  have  been  otherwise  brought  up.  Do  not 
try  to  force  nature :  you  have  not  strength  for 
such  unequal  contention.  Had  you  loved  Mr. 
Devereux,  as  you  fancied  you  did,  and  as  you 
are  still  endeavoring  to  believe  that  you  do, 
you  would  have  parted  in  faith  and  certainty. 
The  question  now  is,  whether  he  will  not  hence- 
forth meet  you  as  a  stranger." 

This  was,  from  the  time  in  which  she  first 
uttered  the  doubt,  the  text  of  all  my  future 
reveries.  I  combated  the  idea,  week  after 
week,  and  month  after  month,  for  it  wounded 
my  vanity.  Idleness  has  been  justly  called  the 
mother  of  passion,  and  so  it  proved  in  my  case. 
Having  no  other  pursuit,  I  became  the  heroine 
of  a  romance  of  my  own.  My  reading  supplied 
me  with  an  infinity  of  models,  and  I  pleased 
myself  with  the  belief  that  no  innocent  beauty 
of  seventeen  had  ever  been  injured  like  myself 
by  an  inconstant  lover.  Could  Devereux  have 
seen  me  daily  haunting  the  borders  of  the  lake, 
and  looking,  in  vain,  into  the  hollow  trunk  of 
tije  old  willow  which  had  formerly  served  as 
our  bureau  de  jiosis,  he  must  at  once  have  been 
at  my  feet.  But,  alas  !  I  wandered,  and  wept, 
ami  nursed  myself  into  a  conviction  that  my 
only  hope  of  happiness  was  centered  in  his  af- 


I  fcciioii,  totally  in  vain.  Not  a  sign  of  remem- 
braiK-c  could  I  meet  in  any  direction.  It  was 
too  true — .\dela  was  a  prophet — he  had  forgot- 
ten ine  I 

From  thi.s  morbid  state  of  feeling  I  was 
aroused  by  a  leiier  from  my  mother.  Lord  Ot- 
terford and  herself  had  just  returned  from 
Home,  where  they  had  spent  six  weeks.  It 
sounded  classical  and  correct,  and  they  both  ■ 
piqued  tlicinselves  upon  their  savoir  vivrc ; 
therefore  they  went  to  Rome  to" look  at  each 
other,  and  to  have  their  proceedings  duly  set 
forth  in  the  public  journals.  In  this  letter  I 
was  desired  to  prepare  myself  for  an  early  re 
moval  to  town  ;  but,  save  a  cold  remembrance, 
there  v.us  no  mention  made  of  Adela.  It  was 
evident  that  we  were  to  be  separated.  Lady 
Madelaine  was  too  thoroughly  a  woman  ol 
fashion  to  risk  a  third  petticoat  in  her  opera- 
box,  or  a  second  daughter  in  her  morning-rocmi. 
li  ne  faut  jamais  afficher  ses  malhcurs — at  least, 
all  together;  and,  instead  of  experiencing  sur- 
prise, I  ought  to  have  felt  this  at  once. 

I  hastened  to  announce  to  my  sister  my  ap- 
proaching departure,  but  there  was  no  triumph 
in  my  tone.  I  had  exhausted  myself  in  regret 
and  uncertainty.  I  began  to  dread  a  meeting 
with  Devereux,  whom,  at  last,  I  really  loved, 
and  to  shrink  from  the  idea  of  his  coldness  and 
avoidance. 

"  So  calm,  when  you  have  so  long  looked 
forward  with  impatience  to  this  emancipation, 
Eveleen  !"  said  my  sister,  whose  very  lips  had 
become  pale  as  she  read  the  letter  ;  "  it  is  now 
my  turn  to  say,  '  I  cannot  understand  you.'  " 

"  Listen  to  me,  .A.dela,"  I  replied,  gravely  : 
"if  such  were  your  design  I  know  not,  but  it  i.^ 
certain  that  the  comments  you  have  made  upon 
the  confidence  wiih  which  I  have  entrusted  you 
have  clianged  my  very  nature.  You  have  ap- 
plauded my  wavering,  vacillating,  contempti- 
ble tampering  with  the  happiness  of  Devereux, 
telling  me  that  I  was  incaimble  of  more  stable 
conduct — but  how  \  In  a  manner  to  make  me 
feel,  even  to  my  heart's  core,  that  you  despised 
me  for  the  weakness  to  which  my  fear  of  Laa^ 
Madelaine  caused  me  to  yield.  You  have  as- 
sured ine  that  Devereux  had  received  my  last 
adieu  as  final,  and  reminded  me  that,  with  my 
beauty,  I  could  soon  command  another  and  a 
safer  suitor.  Did  you,  indeed,  purpose  so  to 
induce  me  to  resign  his  affection  !  Oh  I  no, 
no  I  Where  you  have  learned  the  bitter  lesson 
is  your  own  secret;  but  you  assuredly  know 
the  human  heart  too  well  to  have  imagined  that 
such  were  the  opiates  by  which  it  might  be  laid 
.at  rest.  I  do  not  even  ask  you  why  you  have 
so  strangely  responded  to  my  frankness  when 
I  bared  my  whole  spirit  before  you,  and  asked 
for  sisterly  counsel  ;  suffice  it,  that  you  have 
driven  the  arrow  home.  I  can  never  again  love 
a  human  i)eing  as  I  now  love  Devereu.x." 

1  spoke  energetically  and  rapidly  ;  and.  as  I 
paused,  I  looked  towards  my  sister.  Never 
did  I  witness  a  change  so  sudden  and  so  com- 
plete— cheek,  brow,  and  bosom  were  one  blush; 
her  eyes  flashed,  her  bosom  heaved — she  gasp- 
ed for  breath. 

•'What  means  this,  Adela  1"  I  asked,  com- 
pletely awe-struck. 

"  It  is  r.itiier  I  who  should  put  i  he  ipiestion," 
*]\p.    replied,  commanding   her   emotion    by  i 


104 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


powerful  cfTort ;  "  how  can  it  affect  me,  that 
you  should  kjve.  or  not  love,  Mr.  Devereiixr' 

"  We  are  a  mutual  enigma,"  I  remarked, 
greatly  offended. 

"  By  no  moans,"  was  the  ready  retort ;  "  you 
have  long  ceased  to  '.)e  one  to  me  ;  but  I  pray 
you,  act  as  you  may,  not  to  transfer  the  respon- 
sibility of  your  proceedings  to  my  influence. 
Leave  me,  at  least,  at  peace  in  my  solitude." 

"I  have  no  wisii  to  do  so,  Adela — you  mis- 
take my  mea'niiig  ali<igether.  Did  you  know 
my  present  feeling,  you  would  pity  rather  than 
blame  me.  The  removal  from  Rooksley  to  the 
home  of  Lord  Otterford  is  but  exchangmg  one 
prison  for  another.  Here,  at  least,  I  am  physi- 
cally free  ;  there  I  shall  be  the  slave  of  both 
caprice  and  circumstance.  Here  I  might  still 
live  on  in  a  fool's  paradise,  watching  from  day 
to  day  for  his  reappearance  ;  there  I  can  never 
hope  to  see  him,  for  I  know  the  nature  of  my 
mother  too  well  to  believe  that  she  will  ever 
forget  the  past.  Moreover,  how  can  I  be  sure 
that  Lady  Madelaine  has  not  other  views,  and 
that  I  may  not  he  persecuted  to  marry  some 
husband  of  her  own  selection  1" 

"  In  which  case  you  will  yield,"  said  Adela, 
freezingly. 

"  Never !  I  give  you  leave  to  smile  at  my 
precocious  fears,  for  I  am  conviaced  that  they 
are  too  well  founded.  I  shall  not  long  be  an 
inmate  of  my  mother's  house.  She  wants  no 
full-grown  daughter  constantly  beside  her,  to 
make  an  epigram  of  her  bridehood ;  and  I  am 
to  he  the  victim  of  her  vanity.  Were  you  only 
to  be  my  companion,  I  should  not  shrink  so 
much  from  the  trial." 

"  Dismiss  such  a  feeling  at  once,"  said  my 
sister.  "  I  shall  be  left  quietly  at  Rooksley 
until  Lady  Madelaine  flatters  herself  that  she 
has  provided  for  me  elsewhere.  Nor  can  she 
do  me  a  greater  pleasure  than  to  forget  my  ex- 
istence until  I  myself  remind  her  of  it.  You 
and  1  require  different  handling,  Eveleen  ;  she 
may  find  amusement  in  startling  the  leaves  of 
the  sensitive  plant,  but  can  derive  small  eoier- 
tainmeui  in  seeking  to  crush  those  of  the  net- 
tle." 

A  fortnight  after  this  conversation  I  was  in 
London.  The  improvement  which  had  taken 
place  in  my  appearance  made  my  debut  a  tri- 
umph, and  even  elicited  the  congratulations  of 
Lady  Madelaine.  I  was  no  longer  the  preco- 
cious child  of  whom  the  Rooksley. guests  had 
made  a  plaything.  My  person  and  mind  had 
both  become  matured,  and  I  took  my  place  at 
once  in  my  mother's  circle,  with  a  composure 
and  an  h  ploinb  which  removed  all  awkward- 
ness, and  taught  those  around  me  to  forget  that 
I  was  a  novice  in  the  world  and  the  world's 
ways.  Lord  Otterford  was  evidently  delighted 
at  my  success,  and  I  fondly  flattered  mysell  that 
he  was  exultuig  in  the  beauty  and  fashion  of 
his  nephew's  bride.  He  was  the  .most  gallant 
of  husbands  and  fathers-in-law.  Raised  to  af- 
fluence from  comparatively  straightened  means, 
by  the  noble  income  of  his  wife,  he  saw  all  en 
beau,  and  still  played  the  lover  so  admirably 
that  it  was  easf  to  divine  the  gratification  of 
both  heart  and  vanity  enjoyed  by  Lady  Made- 
aine.  Secure  of  the  only  man  whom  she  had 
ever,  in  all  prdbahility,  really  loved,  nv  mother 
WdS  rudi-'.iu  w.ih  happiness,  and,  had  she  still 


been  a  widow,  must  have  proved  a  formidahle 
rival,  even  to  her  own  daughter.  Si  ill  in  the 
lull  glow  of  her  fjiorious  womanhood  ;  attired, 
not  only  by  the  hands  of  the  Graces,  but  with 
all  the  art  of  fashion  ;  popular,  influential,  and 
wealthy,  without  a  cloud  upon  her  brow  or  an 
anxiety  at  her  heart,  her  peculiar  st>le  of  love- 
liness was  perfected  rather  than  diinir.ished  by 
time.  She  no  longer  appeared  desirous  to  turn 
aside  the  incense  which  was  offered  up  at  my 
own  shrine,  but,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  to 
live  over  again  the  days  of  her  own  triumphs, 
when  under  the  guardianship  of  Lady  Sinclair; 
while  her  train  oi  admirers,  instead  of  becoming 
diminished  through  my  means,  appeared  rather 
to  increase.  Our  opera-box  was  ever  the  cen- 
ter of  a  brilliant  throng;  our" morning-rooms 
were  crowded  by  all  that  was  most  distinguish- 
ed both  in  fashionable  and  diplomatic  life;  we 
had  not  a  moment  unoccupied.  But  the  great 
event  of  the  season  was  my  presentation  at 
court.  The  queen  was  pleased  to  welcome  me 
in  a  most  gracious  and  flattering  manner,  and 
to  coinpliinent  my  mother  upon  my  grace  and 
beauty.  The  most  gallant  of  princes  at  once 
christened  us  Spring  and  Summer,  and  declared 
that  were  he  possessed  of  the  apple  of  Paris, 
he  should  scarcely  know  where  to  bestow  it. 
Invitations  poured  in  upon  us  from  the  most 
distinguished  persons  in  the  realm ;  and,  in 
short,  to  so  glorious  a  pinnacle  had  royal  favor 
exalted  us,  that  it  was  ere  long  dccidei]  that 
Lady  Madelaine,  in  marrying  Lord  Otterford, 
had  rather  consulted  the  interests  of  her  beauti- 
ful daughter  than  her-own  inclination,  it  was 
so  necessary  that  Miss  Tilden  should  have  a 
privileged  protector.  It  was  so  considerate  and 
delicate  in  Lady  Madelaine  ! 

Kind  and  ever  charitable  world.  It  is  always 
ready  to  stretch  forth  a  helping  hand  to  those 
who  desire  to  receive  it  empty  ! 

But  where,  amid  the  crowd  who  thronged  my 
path,  was  Herbert  Devereuxl  Of  my  mother 
I  dared  not  make  the  inquiry;  but,  although  I 
had  not  heard  a  word  from  him  since  we  parted, 
I  was  aware  that  he  was  no  longer  in  Ireland, 
many  of  his  brother-officers  being  at  that  mo- 
ment on  our  visiting-list.  Three  months  elaps- 
ed, and  still  I  looked  in  vain  for  his  appearance. 
I  wrote  incessantly  to  Adela,  to  whom  I  poured 
out  the  full  tide  of  my  disappointment  and  per- 
plexity. Need  I  say  that  I  also  imparled  to  her 
my  inflexible  resolution  to  remain  faithful  to 
him  to  the  last  1  I  reminded  her  that  I  was  at 
length  emancipated,  that  I  had  taken  a  definite 
position,  that  my  claim  to  do  so  was  tacitly 
admitted  ;  and  tnat,  consequently,  I  must  and 
would  sustain  in  this,  the  most  interesting  cir- 
cumstance of  my  life,  at  once  my  own  princi- 
ples, and  the  plighted  word  which  I  had  freelj 
given. 

The  replies  which  I  received  to  these  lengthy 
epistles  were  universally  brief,  ambiguous,  and 
unsatisfactory.  They  contained  neither  con- 
gratulation nor  warning.  Adela  still  affected 
to  believe  that  I  was  incapable  of  ^  deep  and 
lasting  affection  ;  and,  passing  slightly  over  the 
passages  which  related  to  Devreux,  appeared 
more  interested  in  ascertaining  tne  names  and 
pretensions  of  my  new  suitors.  The  most 
assiduous  of  these  was  Sir  James  Dornton  i 
but,  as  I  never  looked  upon  him  iu  any  oihef 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


105 


light  than  as  an  old  admirer  of  i_y  mother's,  I 
dui  not  include  him  in  the  catalogue  ;  and  the 
jatlier,  as,  presuming  upon  old  acquaintance- 
ofiip,  I  allached  no  consequence  whatever  to 
the  complaisance  with  whicli  he  resigned  him- 
self  to  ail  my  caprices. 

Oi'casionailj,  wlien  tlie  memory  of  Devereux 
rose  up  vividly  hefore  me,  I  felt  indignant  at  the 
persevering  aiteiUions  of  the  patient  baronet ; 
and  treated  him  with  a  cold  iasd  haughty  for- 
mality which  would  have  acted  as  a  linal  dismis- 
sal to  most  men,  although  it  produced  no  effect 
whatever  upon  Sir  James.  He  wasjiisl  as  gay, 
just  as  witty,  and  just  as  maliciously  at  ease 
when  I  atleL-tcd  a  repugnance  toward  him,  as 
when  I  showed  amusement  at  his  sallies.  To 
oiy  mother  he  had  suddenly  become  absolutely 
essential.  No  project  of  any  description  was 
finally  decided  hefore  it  had  been  disbussed  with 
Dornton.  JNothing  could  exceed  his  intimacy 
with  Lord  Oiierford,  or  his  favor  with  Lady 
Madelaine.  One  complaint  of  my  discourtesy 
toward  him  would  have  involved  me  with  both; 
h  that  word  was  never  uttered.  He  appear- 
ed tacitly  to  admit  my  right  of  acting  as  I  saw 
fit,  and  never  evidenced  the  least  consciousness 
of  my  change  of  tnood  or  manner.  That  he 
was  perfectly  heartless  I  soon  convinced  my- 
self, and  the  natural  result  followed.  My  vanity 
was  flattered  by  the  (]<»^'"tion  of  a  man  of  taste 
and  fashion,  whose  admiration  added  to  my 
consequence  ;  and  whose  feelings  were,  as  I 
firmly  believed,  quite  beyond  the  reach  of  in- 
jury ;  cheerful  and  buoyant  in  disposition,  the 
varied,  ingenious,  and .  witty  sallies  of  the 
baronet  fust  amused  me,  then  attracted  me, 
and  filially  I  began  to  miss  them  during  his 
absence,  and  to  recall  them  for  my  own  gratifi- 
cation. This  fact  had,  neverlheless,  no  effect 
upon  my  heart.  Devereu.Y  was  still  its  hidden 
idol.  1  even  wept  at  times  in  solitude  over  the 
mystery  in  which  he  had  enshrouded  himself 
Not  once  had  his  name  been  uttered  in  my 
presence,  although  Lady  Devereu.\  was  a  fre- 
quent guest  in  Grosvenor  Square  ;  and  never 
failed  to  overwhelm  me  with  attentions  and 
professions  of  regard.  At  length  I  could  endure 
this  state  of  suspense  no  longer  ;  and  chancing 
one  morning  to  find  Lord  Otterford  alone  in  the 
library,  I  resolved  to  compel  him  to  make  some 
communication  on  the  subject.  He  was  en- 
gaged with  a  pamphlet,  and  merely  nodded  a 
salutation  as  I  entered  the  room.  The  oppor- 
tunity was,  however,  too  favorable  to  be  lost ; 
and,  disregarding  his  look  of  surprise,  I  drew 
forward  a  reading-chair  beside  his  own,  and 
entered  abruptly  upon  the  subject. 

"Perhaps,  my  loid,"  I  said,  as  composedly 
as  I  could,  though  I  felt  that  the  warm  blood 
was  riKing  to  my  forehead,  "you  will  be  good 
enough  to  give  me  some  intelligence  of  your 
nephew,  .Mr.  Devereux.  I  apply  to  you,  because 
his  name  appears  to  be  under  a  ban  in  this 
house  ;  and  that  I  do  not  understand  the  social 
excommunication  of  an  old  friend." 

"  Mr.  Devereux  is  at  Paris.  He  has  been  in- 
disposed, but  is  now  almost  convalescent." 

"•So  far  well,"  I  said  steadily  ;  "but  is  this 
ai.  1" 

'•What  more  da  you  require  to  hear.  Miss 
Tilden'" 

"  Need  I  explain  it  to  you  1" 
O 


"  I  guess  your  meaning.  You  would  ascer- 
tain the  present  state  of  his  heart.  I  am  not  his 
confidant,  and  even  if  I  were  I  should  decline  in- 
cluding you  in  the  secret.  Should  he  iimigine 
that  he  still  loves  you,  he  is  to  be  |)ilied  ;  and  tho 
sooner  you  put  an  end  to  the  delusion,  tiie  more 
generous  and  prudent  you  will  be." 

"  Endeavor  myself  to  make  him  forget  me  !" 
I  exclaimed  indignantly  ;  "  that  will  1  never  do. 
Our  attachment  is  reciprocal.  We  have  vowed 
ourselves  to  each  other.  We  have  no  other 
hope  of  happiness." 

"  Charming  conclusion  !"  smiled  my  auditor ; 
"  and  upon  wnat  premises  do  you  base  such  an 
opinion  1  Is  it  upon  the  strength  of  Devercux's 
character  1  upon  his  estimable  qualities  !  upon 
his  constancy,  and  the  fervor  of  his  affection  1 
Do  not  deceive  yourself,  my  dear  girl  ;  you 
know  nothing  about  these.  I  do  not  intend  to 
deny  him  the  possession  of  every  virtue  with 
which  you  have  generously  invested  him.  I 
am  not  Jesuit  enough  to  probe  a  young  man's 
spirit ;  but  let  me  ask  you  if  you  have  discov- 
ered in  him  what  is  much  more  perceptible — an 
uncompromising  delicacy,  an  exacting  upright 
ness,  and  a  susceptibility  of  temperament  very 
ill  calculated  to  insure  the  happiness  of  a  hand- 
some and  fashionable  woman  !  Are  you  aware 
that  he  never  forgets  an  action  or  a  word  by 
which  his  feelings  have  been  wounded! — that 
he  never  condescends  to  reproach,  or  to  com- 
plain 1 — and  that  he  perhaps  suffers  mortally  at 
the  very  moment  when  a  superficial  observer 
would  believe  him  to  be  perfectly  calm  1  Have 
you  made  this  discovery,  and  then  asked  your- 
self how  these  tenacious  qualities  would  act 
upon  so  volatile  a  nature  as  your  own  1" 

"  No,  my  lord,"  I  answered  angrily ;  '  I 
have  entered  into  no  such  speculations  ;  and  I 
cannot  but  express  my  astonishment  that  you 
should  appear  so  predisposed  against  an  alli- 
ance which  I  should  have  thought  might  be 
considered  as  both  honorable  and  eligible  foi 
your  nephew." 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  would  be 
both,"  was  the  calm  reply  ;  "  hut  I  was  dis- 
cussing yowr  prospect  of  happiness,  MissTilden, 
not  the  interests  of  Mr.  Devereux.  I  avow 
frankly  that  a  iinion  between  yourself  and 
Herbert  would  have  been  a  great  gratification 
tome  personally  ;  and  the  rather  that,  although 
not  blind  to  his  faults,  I  believe  him  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  many  high  and  noble  qualities  ;  but, 
having  been  made  aware  that  it  can  never  take 
place,  I  now  consider  it  my  duty  to  discourage 
it  to  the  extent'of  my  power." 

I  rose  proudly  from  my  seat,  saying  as  I  did 
so :  "I  thank  you,  my  lord,  for  your  candor ; 
and  I  now  comprehend  my  position.  Lady 
Madelaine  Otterford  has  a  personal  interest  in 
separating  us,  and  you  are  influenced  by  her 
objection.  Mr.  Devereux  and  myself  have 
therefore  no  help  to  hojie  from  euher.  Be  it 
so.  We  are  now,  at  least,  both  old  enough  to 
be  aware  that  we  are  not  to  be  victimized  by 
the  tyranny  of  our  relations,  aud  disposed  ol 
like  merchandize,  without  the  assent  of  our 
own  free  will.  Surely  we  art  not  to  be  deniec' 
the  control  of  our  future  fate  !" 

"  You  must  excuse  my  terminating  the  cod- 
versation,"  said  Lord  Otterford,  as  he  also  rose ; 
'•  1  am  .a  a  peculiar  and  difficult  position  aa 


106 


CONrESSIONS  OF  A  PRKTTY  WOMAN. 


regards  this  afTair.  I  have  aheady  lioard  too 
iiiiu-li.  1  |>ray  you  spare  me  all  furihur  discus- 
sions. If  I  can  be  ol'  service  on  any  other  suh- 
jcel — and  surely  your  thousand  and  one  adorers 
must  occa!^ion.l^ly  cost  you  some  perplexity  — 
cummiirid  me  wiihout  scruple :''  and  he  ex- 
tended Ins  hand  halflaughinj^ly. 

The  taunt  awoke  me  to  a  desire  of  vengeance. 
"One  moment  more,  my  lord,"  I  said,  as  I 
laid  my  hand  in  Jiis  ;  "there  is  yet  another 
exile,  both  from  sight  and  remembrancf;,  for 
whom  I  would  inquire  — Miss  Vernon —  poor 
Emily — what  of  her  T' 

I  fell  the  fingers  tremble  which  were  clasped 
about  my  own  ;  and  as  I  looked  steadily  at  my 
cumpanion,  1  saw  his  cheek  blanch,  and  his  lip 
quiver  ;  he  rallied,  however,  by  a  strong  eflbrl, 
and  answered  with  afTeeted  iiidifTerence  ; — 

"  Poor  Miss  Vernon  !  You  have  not  forgotten 
her  then  !  She  was  a  sweet  rose,  with  a  can- 
ker at  the  core.  She  has  been  long  sufTering. 
but  her  sorrows  will  soon  be  ov(!r  ;  her  brother 
writes  word  that  she  will  not  live  to  leave  Na- 
ples." 

"  The  faculty  call  it  consumption,  doubtless," 
I  whispered  tlimugh  my  tears. 

"They  do.     Hopeless  consumption." 
"  And  what  name  would  you  yourself  give  to 
her  disease,  were  your  opinion  sought!"  I  in- 
quired emphatically. 

"  From  svhat  I  observed,"  was  the  troubled 
reply,  "  I  should  have  no  hesitation  in  adopting 
the  same  conelusion." 

"  How  fair  she  was  !"  I  murmured,  as  though 
communing  with  my  own  recollections  ;  "  how 
pure,  and  gentle,  and  trusting,  as  she  stood  in 
the  octagon-room  at  Rooksley  on  that  calm 
summer  evening,  drinking  in,  wiihout  one  mis- 
giving, without  one  suspicious  shrinking  of  dis- 
trust, the  honeyed  words  of  love  and  passion  I 
Do  you  remember  that  interview,  my  lord,  when 
you  taught  her  how  greatly  her  own  pure,  and 
placid,  and  modest  charms  outweighed  those  of 
the  brilliant  and  worldly  Circe  1  Alas!  poor 
Emily— may  we  not  believe  that  the  seeds  of 
death,  which  have  since  germed  so  fatally,  were 
oown  beneath  that  summer  evening  sky  V 

"  Eveleen,  what  mean  you  l"  gasfied  out  my 
auditor,  as  he  grasped  my  hand  forcibly  in  his 
own. 

"  Consult  your  memory,  my  lord,"  was  my 
reply;  "and  satisfy  your  vanity,  if  it  be  not 
unappeasable,  with  one  victim;  without  seek- 
ing to  reduce  me  to  the  same  extremity  as  her 
of  whom  I  spoke." 

"Do  >ou  mean  to  infer  that 'I — 1" 
"I  infer  iioihiiig,  I   s|)eak  frankly  and  fear- 
lessly.    What  should  1  fear  !     Do  we  not  read 
each  other's  hearts  !     What  a  cheat  is  human 
life  !     A  pale  brow  droops,  a  bright  eye  grows 
dim,  a  young  heart  breaks  slowly  and  silently, 
and  then  physicians  are  called  in  to  give  the 
disease  a  name  ;  the  learned  men  know  no- 
ing  of  the  antecedents  ;  the  patient  does  not 
n(i(!e  to  them  all  the  detail  of  the  past;  not 
syllable  i=  breathed  of  the  simulated  passion 
which  awoke  happiness  and  hope — not  a  word 
is    n,urmuied   of  the   fal.sehood  which  left  its 
venom    to    fester    in  the   heart, — and  so  they 
throng  around  the  bed  ;  and  while  the  mother 
listens    through    her   tears   for  one  cheering 
proph.'cy,  and    the    biotlier    turns  away  loo 


proud  to  betray  his  agony,  they  mock  the  vie- 
tini,  whose  only  cure  must  be  the  grave,  with 
scientific  subtleties  and  iille  logic.  .And  then 
come  the  hearse,  and  the  bed  of  earth— and  the 
drama  is  playiMl  out,  and  the  curtain  falls.  Is 
it  not  so,  my  lord  \" 

Long  before  I  ceased  speaking  Otterford  had 
sunk  again  into  a  chair,  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands.  I  stood  for  a  moment  looking  upon 
him  in  silence;  but  he  attempted  no  reply; 
and  after  a  while,  I  turned  slowly  away,  and  left 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  FEW  weeks  after  this  interview  Lonaon 
began  to  thin  rapidly.  The  season  was  nearly 
at  an  end,  and  the  court  had  removed  to  Wind- 
sor. To  Lady  Madelaine,  Rooksley  was,  ol 
course,  out  of  the  question  ;  and  we  accord- 
ingly removed  to  Woodville,  a  hunting-seat  on 
I  he  border  of  the  New  Forest,  belonging  to 
Lord  Otterford  ;  and  which  he  had,  since  his 
marriage,  caused  to  be  enlarged  and  beautified. 
To  me  the  place  was  positive  enchantment ; 
and  I  should,  had  I  been  happy,  have  required 
no  oilier  source  of  amusement  than  that  which 
was  afl'orded  by  the  features  of  a  country  so 
novel  and  picturesque  ;  my  mother,  however, 
professed  no  taste  for  country  pleasures  ;  and, 
accordingly,  we  were  speedily  followed  by  a 
score  of  her  kabitucs,  among  the  earliest  of 
whom  was  Sir  James  Dornton.  Assuredly,  his 
social  talents  were  universal.  He  was  as  gay, 
as  thoroujihly  at  home,  and  as  constantly  occu- 
pied at  Woodville,  as  amid  the  busy  crowds  ot 
the  metropolis.  No  ennui  could  successfully 
contend  against  his  unvarying  spirits.  J:.very 
day  he  contrived  to  discover  some  new  object 
of  interest  or  amusement.  He  was  a  perfect 
wizard.  His  influence  gbddened  our  whole 
circle  ;  but  in  all  his  exertions  1  could  not  fail 
to  remark  that  it  was  my  peculiar  ffiaiification 
which  he  the  most  zealously  sought  to  insure. 
In  my  cause  he  was  indefatigable  ;  and,  what 
was  still  more  welcome,  never  intrusive.  Not 
a  word  of  love — not  a  gesture  of  preference 
escaped  him.  His  tact  was  admirable.  My 
mother  was  loud  in  his  praise  when  lie  chanced 
to  be  absent ;  and  never  lost  an  opportunity  ot 
encouraging  his  attention  to  myself ;  apjiearing 
even  to  forget  that  he  had  once  worshiped  al 
her  own  shrine. 

The  idle,  pleasure-seeking  life  which  we  led 
in  the  country  favored  this  species  of  chivalrio 
devotion,  which  aflects  to  expect  no  return 
save  the  enjoyment  of  the  passing  hour.  Lord 
Otterford  had  jilaced  himself  at  the  feet  of  Mrs. 
Trevyllian,  a  faded  beauty,  who  was  too  indo- 
lent to  be  exacting,  and  too  uninteresting  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  Lady  Madelaine  ;  and  she, 
in  her  turn,  had  passively  suflered  herself  tt 
become  the  momentary  idol  of  the  Manpiis  ol 
Chaflinglon,  a  noble  fopling,  with  light  curling 
hair  and  delicately  small  hands,  good-tempered, 
po|)ular,  and  inoflensive.  All  the  young  ladies 
pronounced  him  charming ;  but  this  was  a 
mistake.  He  was  like  a  handsome  piece  ol 
wax-work,  pleasant  enough  to  look  at,  though 
it  required  the  best  will  in  the  world,  al'ter  the 
first  five  minute?  to  enable  you  to  find  patience 
to  listen  tD  him     He  talked,  moreover,  inces 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


107 


Bantly,  and  was  tolerably  happy  in  the  choice 
of  liis  subjects  ;  but  he  overwhelmed  you  with 
a  perfect  cataclysm  of  words,  weak,  watery,  and 
wearisome. 

I  sougiit  in  vain  to  effect  an  intim<icy  with 
Lady  Devereux;  she  had  replaced  her  lord,  who 
spent  the  whole  of  his  time  in  the  forest  among 
game-keepers  and  rangers,  by  a  worthy  old 
general,  whose  undisguised  admiration  of  her 
A'aiiing  aitraclions  made  her  feel  once  more 
ffoung.  In  short,  with  the  exception  of  half-a- 
iozen  insipid  pretenders  to  my  own  hand,  who 
lad  contrived  to  get  themselves  invited  for 
short  periods  to  Woodville,  I  found  only  Sir 
Fames  Dornlon  sufficiently  unoccupied  to  com- 
nand  leisure  to  entertain  me.  When  we  rode 
Jut,  he  was  always  beside  me  ;  and,  as  he  was 
familiar  with  all  the  by-roads  through  the  forest, 
le  was  our  guide,  and  left  no  object  of  interest 
mseen  or  unexplained.  The  small  difficulties 
vhich  occasionally  presented  themselves  in 
hese  expeditions  were  always  converted  into 
natter  of  mirth  by  his  untiring  pleasantry  ;  in 
ihort,  he  appeared  to  have  totally  laid  aside  the 
lyperfastidiousness  by  which  he  was  generally 
listmguished,  in  order  to  make  us  fully  con- 
jcious  that  we  could  scarcely  dispense  with  his 
society. 

Finding  that  he  evinced  no  intention  of  pro- 
iting  by  the  numerous  opportunities  thus  af- 
orded  to  him  of  persecuting  me  with  his  ad- 
Iresscs,  I  became  less  reserved  in  my  turn, 
md  no  longer  feigned  insensibility  to  his  wit 
md  good  humor.  The  change  evidently  grati- 
ied  him  ;  but  I  was  far  from  imagining  to  what 
ixtent.  Unconscious  that  he  was  cognizant  of 
ny  secret,  it  had  never  once  occurred  to  me 
hat  he  was  thus  exerting  all  his  powers  of 
•leasing  in  order  to  supersede  Devereux  in  my 
iffections  ;  and  that,  what  was  the  mere  relent- 
ng  of  my  dislike,  could  be  misconstrued  by  him 
nto  a  symbol  of  success.  Such  was  the  case, 
lowever;  and  so  thoroughly  had  he  contrived 

0  convince  himself  of  the  fact,  that  he  at  length 
'entured  to  approach  the  subject  which  I  so 
nuch  dreaded  ;  yet  even  then,  not  as  I  should 
lave  anticipated  from  a  man  who  could  expend 
:nthusiasm  even  upon  trifles,  and  at  times  dis- 
ilay  a  depth  of  feeling  which  was  evidently  in- 
uitive  and  spontaneous.  Whenever  he  taUed 
eriously,  or  what  some  would  call  passionate- 
y,  to  me,  it  was  evident  that  he  labored  to  do 
;o  gracefully  ;  that  he  rounded  his  periods 
miooihly ;  and  seemed  almost  to  seek  for 
)hrases  which  might  compensate  for  the  chill- 
iig,  monotonous,  and  forced  manner  in  which 
hey  were  uttered.  I  well  remember  that,  in 
me  of  my  letters  to  Adela,  I  told  her  the  pleas- 
int  baronet  would  never  win  a  woman's  heart ; 
or  that,  although  a  gay-spirited  friend,  he  made 

1  most  drowsy  lover,  and  only  helped  the  cause 
ij  the  man  whom  he  affected  to  seek  to  super- 
ede. 

On  a  glorious  evening,  near  the  close  of  July, 
was  alone  in  the  stone  balcony  which  extend- 
d  across  the  windows  of  the  room  in  which 
.11  our  party  were  assembled.  The  curtains 
I'ere  drawn,  and  the  sounds  of  my  mother's 
larp  came  faintly  through  their  heavy  folds. 
L  small  stream  which  had  its  source  in  the 
leighborhood  had  been  diverted  from  its  origi- 
lal  channel,  and  forced  through  the  pleasure- 


grounds,  and,  immediately  under  the  windows, 
it  poured  its  sparkling  waters  into  a  miniature 
lake  bordered  with  flowering  shrubs.  The 
moon  was  rising,  and  the  stars  were  walking 
forth  to  meet  her  from  every  quarter  of  the 
firmament ;  and  as  I  leant  there  in  silence, 
dreaming  of  Devereux,  and  indulging  in  a  thou- 
sand vague  and  fantastic  wishes,  I  almost  un- 
consciously watched  the  dazzling  reflection  of 
each  separate  star,  as  it  seemed  to  spring  i  p- 
ward  from  the  depths  of  the  sleeping  water,  in 
order  to  gem  its  surface  into  a  mimic  semblance 
of  the  blue  sky  above  it.  The  softened  music 
from  the  room,  the  distant  gush  and  fall  of  the 
myriad  notes  of  the  nightingale,  ihe  luxurious 
breathings  of  the  flowers  under  the  languid  im- 
pulse of  the  summer  wind,  the  whisperings, 
mystic  and  wordless,  of  the  leaves,  and  the 
bright  hopes  which  I  was  building  up,  all  com- 
bined to  fill  my  heart  with  a  calm  and  placid 
joy  to  which  I  had  been  long  a  stranger;  nor 
was  I  conscious  that  I  wept  until  a  large  tear 
fell  upon  my  hand. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of  so  deeply  T'  mur- 
mured a  voice  close  to  my  ear. 

I  started,  and  saw  Sir  James  Dornton  at  my 
side. 

"The  question  is  scarcely  discreet,"  I  an- 
swered, with  affected  gaiety.  "  I  have  not  yet 
adopted  a  confessor." 

"  You  need  no  such  functionaiy.  Should 
you  suppose  yourself  to  be  imparting  anything 
secret,  if  you  vvere  to  tell  me  frankly  that  you 
were  thinking  of  Herbert  Devereux  T' 

"Decidedly.  Had  such  been  the  case,  and 
were  1  to  admit  it,  I  should  consider  that  I  had 
transformed  you  from  a  friend  into  a  confldant." 

"Disabuse  yourself  at  once,  fair  dreamer," 
was  the  retort ;  "  the  image  of  Devereux  never 
rises  up  before  you ;  you  never  heave  a  sigh  at 
his  remembrance  ;  nay,  you  never  vaguely  re- 
call his  memory,  that  I  am  not  conscious  of  the 
fact." 

"In  that  case,"  I  said  impatiently,  •'!  am 
very  likely  to  consider  your  presence  insup- 
portable." 

"  I  apprehend  no  such  injustice  on  your  part. 
You  are  too  generous  to  punish  me  for  taking  a 
lively  interest  in  all  that  affects  your  happiness." 

"I  am  sorry.  Sir  James,"  I  replied  coldly, 
"  that  you  should  employ  your  feelings  so  un- 
profitably.  If  you  are  really  as  conversant 
with  my  secret  sentiments  as  you  appear  to 
imply,  you  must  be  well  aware  that  I  desire  no 
such  demonstrations." 

"  Yet  how  can  it  be  otherwise.  Miss  Tildent 
Are  all  the  world  to  be  at  liberty  to  admire,  to 
adore  you,  and  to  tell  you  so,  save  myself 
Say  'Yes,'  if  you  will,  and  I  must  submit  to  the 
decree  ;  but,  at  least,  suffer  me  to  retain  the 
control  of  my  feelings.  Do  not  reduce  me  to 
a  perfect  cipher,  simply  because  I  have  done 
you  more  worthy  justice.  Yoc  are  at  this  mo- 
ment the  victim  of  a  hopeless  attachment ;  it 
overshadows  the  brightness  of  your  spirit,  it 
subdues  the  buoyancy  of  your  nature  :  deny  it 
if  you  can.  And  do  you  suppose  that  I  can  look 
upon  your  sufferings  coldly  1 — that  I  can  ab- 
stain from  the  desire  to  tear  away  tiie  vei' 
from  that  bright  spirit,  to  restore  the  l)Uoyaa 
elasticity  of  that  pure  young  heart?  No,  no 
you  cannot  so  strangely  have  ruistaken  me." 


108 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


"  Piesuniing  your  inference  to  be  coirect,  I 
beg  you  10  believe  that  when  I  seek  to  disen- 
thrall myself,  I  shall  be  quite  equal  to  the  task." 

"  I  rejoice  to  hear  it ;  for,  were  it  not  for  the 
firm  hope  of  that  deliverance,  I  should  become 
desperate." 

"  Sir  James  Dornton  !  Have  yoii  considered 
your  words  !  Do  you  remember  to  whom  they 
are  addressed  1" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Then,  sir,  you  must  concede  that  they  are 
both  ill-judijed  and  iH-timed." 

"I  wdl  do  nothing  of  the  sort;  ere  long  you 
will  be  less  severe. 

"The  future  must  depend  upon  yourself."  I 
said  haughtily  ;  and  lifting  one  of  the  curtains, 
I  passed  into  the  room  without  awaiting  his 
reply. 

From  that  evening  I  avoided  every  occasion 
of  meeting  him  cclc-d-tete.  I  could  not  brook 
that  he  should  force  upon  me  his  advice  and  his 
reproaches.  I  was  no  longer  at  ease  in  his 
presence.  E>ery  word  that  he  uttered,  and 
every  look  that  he  turned  upon  me,  seemed  to 
contain  an  epigram.  I  would  fain  have  com- 
plained of  the  confidential  tone  wliich  he  had 
thus  suddenly  assumed  ;  but  to  whom  could  I 
pour  forth  u)y  indignation  !  Lady  Madelaine, 
I  well  know,  would  not  listen  to  any  blame  of 
her  favorite,  nor  could  I  have  confided  to  her 
my  mortification  and  annoyance,  without  be- 
traying my  continued  interest  in  Devereux. 
Neitiier  could  I  appeal  to  Lord  Otterford  ;  for, 
since  the  conversation  which  I  have  recorded, 
we  had  never  exchanged  a  syllable,  save  in 
public.  There  was,  consequently,  no  method  of 
ridding  myself  of  this  system  of  persecution, 
save  by  my  own  firmness  ;  and  I  resolved  to 
lose  no  opportunity  of  convincing  Sir  James 
not  ;inly  of  my  indifference,  for  of  that  I  flatter- 
ed myself  he  was  already  well  aware,  but  of  the 
positive  dislike  which  he  was  rapidly  entailing 
upon  himself  by  his  inquisitorial  bearing. 

Isolated  as  I  was  amid  a  crowd — disappoint- 
ed day  after  day  in  the  hope  which  I  had  cher- 
ished, that  Devereux  must,  sooner  or  later,  join 
the  circle  of  his  uncle's  guests — angry  with  my- 
self for  having  been  so  unwarily  made  the  dupe 
of  a  man  to  whom  my  secret  was  known,  I 
shunned  him  with  a  feeling  which  soon  grew 
into  positive  hate  ;  nor  was  it  lessened  by  the 
perfect  sang  froid  and  composure  with  which 
ne  bore  every  exhibition  of  my  petulance.  His 
quiet  and  self-satisfied  smile  never  failed  to 
drive  the  blood  to  my  brow,  but  I  dared  not 
venture  upon  any  decided  demonstration  of  my 
annoyance.  The  eye  of  Lady  Madelaine  was 
frequently  upon  me,  and  there  was  a  warning 
in  it  at  those  moments,  before  whicii  I  quailed 
even  in  the  first  burst  of  my  indignation.  What 
was  I  to  do?  What  measures  cotild  I  adopt, 
to  rid  myself  of  the  impassible  and  pertinacious 
baronet,  who  evidently  considered  me  as  his 
own  property,  and  to  whom  my  struggles  were 
mere  matter  of  curiosity  and  pastime  !  I  plead- 
ed sickness,  and  kept  closely  to  my  own  apart- 
ments; but  iliis  proceeding  thwarted  the  projects 
of  my  mother,  and  I  was  not  permitted  to  per- 
sist in  my  seclusion. 

When.'afier  an  absence  of  three  days  from 
the  party,  I  was  compelled  to  reappear,  I  was 
besieged  with  compliments  and  cundolements, 


which  were  even  more  bearable  than  the  light 
and  mocking  laughter  with  which  I  was  greet- 
ed by  Sir  James.  He  declared  that  I  had  been 
engaged  in  the  composition  of  some  new  cos- 
metic, and  that  I  had  made  trial  if  it  upon  my- 
self with  most  undeniable  success,  for  that  he 
had  never  seen  me  look  more  charming.  His 
callous  mockery  cut  me  to  the  heart ;  and  I 
replied  with  bitterness,  as  I  turned  away,  and 
addressed,  lor  the  first  time  in  my  life  willingly, 
the  member  for  the  county  in  which  Woodville 
was  situated,  and  who  was  a  constant  guest  at 
Lord  Otterford's. 

Mr.  Curties  was  tall,  straight,  and  meagre — 
one  long  perpendicular  line  of  humanity  ;  who, 
had  it  nut  been  for  the  peculiar  carriage  of  his 
arms,  might,  at  a  distance,  have  been  mistaken 
for  his  own  walking-stick.  He  was  very  dull 
— very  sententious,  and  very  shallow — well- 
born, and  priding  himself  highly  upon  the  fact. 
He  also  assumed  to  be  well-bred,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  define  why  he  was  not  so;  be  the 
reason  what  it  might,  however,  theie  was  a 
something  wanting,  trifling,  perhaps,  in  itself, 
but  still  felt  to  he  an  omission — a  social  cata- 
lectic,  evident  at  once  to  the  initialed. 

Now 'of  all  the  habitues  of  Woodville,  this 
man  had  always  struck  me  as  being  the  most 
uninteresting  and  itnpracticable.  In  convers 
ing,  he  invariably  looked  over  his  companion  ; 
for  his  giralfe-like  throat,  enveloped  in  a  high, 
rigidly-starched  cravat,  was  never  bent ;  and 
there  can  be  no  great  interest  in  a  dialogue, 
during  which  one  of  the  speakers  lool^s  only  at 
the  crystal  drops  of  the  chandelier.  A  wrinkle, 
even  in  one  of  bis  gloves,  would  have  been  a 
relief;  but  Mr.  Curties  never  wore  ill-fitting 
gloves  ;  and  every  other  article  of  his  dress  ap- 
peared as  if  he  had  been  inducted  into  it  in  his 
youth,  and  that  they  had  since  grown  up  togeth- 
er. His  very  hair  was  like  that  of  no  other 
man.  It  was  long,  and  lank,  and  smooth,  and 
in  surface  and  tint  exactly  resembled  a  piece  of 
fawn-colored  satin.  His  eyes  were  light  blue 
—very  light  blue,  and  almost  round  ;  and  his 
eyebrows,  eyelashes,  and  whiskers,  had  just 
escaped  the  danger  of  being  described  as  red. 

A  sudden  inspiration  restored  my  good  humor 
at  once.  I  resolved  to  make  an  escape-valve  of 
the  iionorable  member  I  Nothing  could  be  bet- 
ter. No  one  would  accuse  me  of  coquetry  with 
so  unsympathizing  and  unsentimental  a  being. 
It  never  occurred  to  me  to  remember  that  some 
people  might  consider  his  princely  fortune  as 
an  equivalent  for  the  absence  of  all  other 
attractions  ;  nor  was  I  aware  that  he  himself 
avowedly  lived  in  terror  of  fortune-hunting 
mammas  and  establishment-seeking  daughters. 
In  short,  I  had  never  cared  to  ascertain  that  he 
was  the  "great  match"  of  the  county. 

•All  this  was  very  unfortunate;  but  I  was 
happily  unconscious  of  my  temerity  ;  and  when 
I  turned  upon  Mr.  Curties  the  light  of  the  most 
sunny  smile  which  I  could  summon  a  I'trnpro- 
viste  from  amid  the  dark  clouds  of  my  displeas- 
ure, I  was  quietly  congratulating  myself  on  the 
acquisition  of  a  dangler,  of  whom  Devereux, 
appear  when  he  might,  must  have  too  much 
self  respect  to  affect  jealou.sy. 

How  little  do  women  generally  suspect  the 
price  at  which  the  plainest  men  estimate  theif 
attractions! 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


it  I  had,  indeed,  committed  an  error,  like  that 
of  Sir  Peter  Teazle,  it  brought  its  ()unishnient 
along  with  it;  tor  never  did  fair  lady  in  a  fit  of 
petulance  entail  upon  herself  such  a  task  as 
that  which  I  had  voluntarily  undertaken.  A 
flirtatio!)  was  my  object — a  decided  flirtation; 
whicli  might  reduce  Sir  James  Dornton  to  his 
proper  level,  and  teach  him  a  salutary  lesson. 
I  was  youn^,  beautilul,  and  accomplished  ;  I 
was  fasliional'le,  and  an  heiress  ;  of  course  I 
could  Inve  Mr.  Curlies  at  my  feet  when  I  chose 
to  beckon  him  to  that  enviable  .station;  and 
equally  of  course,  I  could  rid  myself  of  him 
with  a  word,  whenever  I  became  wearied  of  his 
homage.     I  did  not  know  the  honorable  member 

for .     He  was  no  chieri  barbel,  to  fetch  and 

carry  at  the  caprice  of  a  young  lady.  He  iiad 
no  objection  to  llie  attentions  of  a  married 
woman,  for  they  could  only  commit  herself;  but 
the  preference  of  a  single  one  might  commit 
him,  and  that  was  a  far  more  serious  matter. 
He  was  a  "  great  catch,"  and  as  such,  he  esti- 
mated himself;  and  we  all  know  that  "great 
catches''  are  not  to  be  approached  like  common 
men. 

Thus  I  could  not  have  possibly  made  a  worse 
selection  tlisn  I  had  done,  of  an  instrument  of 
vengeanc-e  ;  and  that  Mr.  Curties  should  lend 
himself  to  my  views,  so  composedly  and  col- 
lectedly as  he  did,  must  be  altogether  attributed 
to  his  regard  for  his  host  and  my  relative,  Lord 
Otterford. 

I  was  amused  by  the  look  of  blank  astonish- 
ment which  spread  over  the  features  of  Lady 
Madelaine,  as  she  heard  me  invite  Mr.  Curties 
to  occupy  the  vacant  seat  on  the  sofa  beside 
I    me,  and  then  saw  me  begin  to  play  off  upon 
I    him  all  the  artillery  of  the  most  finished  co- 
I    quetry.     She  was  not  yet  aware  of  the  extent 
.of  my  accomplishments,  nor  of  the  zeal  with 
[    which  I  had  studied  to  imitate  her  exa.nn.pie. 
[■  My  uniortunate  victim  was  evidently  bewilder- 
I    ed ;  I  had,  until  that  evening,  so  pertinaciously 
I    avoided  him.     I  had  taken  so  little  trov.ble  to 
1    conceal  how  much  he  bored  me  whenev.?r  he 
I    ventured  an  approach,  that  his  pride  was  piqued 
I    as  greatly  as  his  vanity  was  wounded  ;  and  in 
I    order  to  avoid  all  suspicion  of  annoyance,  he 
I    had   constantly  affected  to  speak  of  me  with 
I    marrked  admiration.     He  believed  that  he  had 
(    nothing  to  fear,  and   was  consequently  at  his 
]    ease,  which   was   seldom   the   case  with   him 
when  in  the  society  of  an  unmarried  and  mar- 
riageable woman. 

It  will  be   readily  understood,  under  these 

circumstances,  how  completely  unprepared  he 

I    was  for  the   sudden    demonstrations  which  it 

■    was  my  peculiar  and  uncalculating  pleasure  to 

•  make  on  that  particular  evening.  The  poor 
I  man  fairly  '.!st  his  aplomb,  and  remained  help- 
I  lessly  at  my  mercy.  Conflicting  feelings 
I    heiglitened  my  complexion,  and  deepened  the 

•  fire  in  my  eyes.  I  was  exquisitely  dressed  ;  for, 
be  my  state  of  mind  what  it  might,  I  was  wo- 
man enough  never  to  neglect  that  all-important 
fact.     I  was  resolved  to  exhibit  myself  to  the 

'.  best  advantage,  and  I  well  knew  the  effect  of 
every  jwse  and  of  every  gesture  of  which  I 
availed   myself     I  was  brilliant,  even  witty: 

I  and  to  be  w  itty  beside  Mr.  Curties  betrayed  no 
common  power.     There  was  scarcely  a  subject 

i    upon  which  I  did  not  touch,  under  cover  of  his 


109 

monosyllabic  replies  ;  even  that  vampire  ali- 
ment scandal  hung  upon  my  lips,  and  was  sea- 
soned with  smiles. 

Sir  James  stood  near,  with  a  frown  npun  hia 
brow  which  more  than  repaid  my  efforts.  My 
mother  made  a  false  move  upon  the  board,  and 
was  checkmated  by  Lord  Chaffington,  to  hia 
great  and  somewhat  too  audible  delight.  I  had 
evidently  distracted  her  ideas.  Mr.  Curties, 
meanwhile,  was  sorely  perplexed.  Flattered 
by  my  unconcealed  preference,  and  not  quite 
decided  in  how  far  he  might  desire  to  encour- 
age its  demonstration,  he  did  nothing  but  smile, 
and  bow,  and  utter  "yes"  and  "no,"  sparinglv 
relieved  at  intervals  by  an  ejaculation  of  "in- 
deed !"  He  trembled  lest  he  should  be  prema- 
turely compromised.  Still  he  was  dazzled — 
and  as  that  was  precisely  what  I  intended,  I 
perceived  it  at  once.  Like  all  dull  men,  he 
loved  to  be  amused  when  he  could  do  it  safely  ; 
so  he  did  not  make  an  effort  to  escape,  and 
satisfied  himself  by  giving  no  tangible  encour- 
agement to  my  sudden  engouement. 

The  young  marquis  had  rearranged  the 
chessmen  to  the  music  of  his  own  sell-gratula- 
lions,  but  Lady  Madelaine  declined  to  tempt 
fortune  a  second  time — she  was  bent  upon 
separating  me  from  my  new  companion. 

"Eveleen,"  she  said,  carelessly,  "as  you 
are  sufficiently  recovered  to  exert  yourself, 
pray,  let  ns  have  some  music.  Sir  James 
Dorntcn  will,  I  dare  say,  accompany  you  with 
his  flute." 

I  rose  at  once,  and,  extending  my  hand  to 
Mr.  Curties  with  a  bland  smile,  requested  him 
to  lead  me  to  the  harp.  "You  must  not  for- 
sake me  now,"  I  added,  as  he  drew  forward 
the  music-chair  :  "  I  want  some  one  to  turn 
over  the  leaves,  and  I  am  convinced  that  you 
will  do  it  admirably." 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  the  honorable  member, 
hesitatingly  :  "  I  am  no  musician,  and  may  em- 
barrass you." 

"  By  no  means.  I  will  prompt  you  with  a 
nod,  thus — so  you  have  only  to  watch,  and 
there  can  be  no  mistake.     What  shall  I  play  V 

"  You  are  too  obliging.  I  v.-ould  rather  leave 
the  selection  to  your  better  taste." 

Sir  James  approached  with  his  flute,  upon 
which  he  was  a  proficient,  and  my  resolution 
was  taken  at  once.  I  selected  a  ca[)riccio; 
upon  which  it  was  impossible  for  that  instru- 
ment to  foliow,  and  dashed  at  once  into  its  rapid 
and  intricate  movements.  My  manffiuvre  was 
thoroughly  understood,  but  it  did  not  produce 
the  effect  which  I  had  anticipated.  The  baro- 
net relinquished  his  instrument,  but  he  took  his 
stand  immediately  behind  my  chair,  where  he 
could  command  every  word  and  look  that  passed 
between  Mr.  Curties  and  myself  Conscious 
that  such  was  the  case,  I  had  no  sooner  accom- 
plished my  task  than  I  rose  and  retired  to  a. 
settee  in  the  extreme  corner  of  the  room,  and 
to  my  infinite  satisfaction,  I  was  immediately 
followed  by  Mr.  Curties,  who,  as  if  instinctively, 
once  more  dropped  into  the  vacant  place  at  my 
bide.  In  the  next  instant  Sir  James  Dornton 
had  turned  the  iniisic-chair,  and  was  seated 
opposite  to  us,  with  his  back  to  the  rest  of  the 
party. 

"  You  are  a  happy  man,  Curties,"  he  com 
menccd    as  he  turned  a  mocking  smile  upop 


110 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


me.  •'  Sooner  or  later  all  you  milUmiaircs  are 
sure  to  carry  off  the  favor  of  the  young  and  fair 
from  we  jioor  devils  of  younger  brothers.  Even 
Miss  Tilden,  you  see,  '  the  observed  of  all  ob- 
servers,' cannot  withstand  you  ;  but  beware, 
lest  vou  should  have  a  score  of  duels  upon  your 
hands." 

"Now,  on  my  honor.  Sir  James,"  stammered 
out  the  affrighted  CrcEsus,  looking  down  his 
very  long  nose,  and  contracting  the  muscle.":  of 
his  nioulh  ;  "you  mistake  me  altogetlicr — I 
have  no  pretensions  of  the  kind.  This  is  the 
first  occasion  upon  which  Miss  Tilden  has  done 
me  the  honor  to  converse  with  me." 

The  baronet  laughed  tauntingly. 

"  Nay,  nay,  do  not  let  me  alarm  you,"  he 
said  ;  *'  we  all  know  that  you  are  county  prop- 
erty, and  consequently  not  to  be  trifled  with. 
I3ut  again,  I  say,  beware  !" 

"  I  can  apprehend  no  danger  in  Miss  Tilden's 
society,"  retorted  Mr.  Curlics  with  a  rigid  bow  ; 
"  I  only  regret  that  I  can  profit  by  it  for  so 
short  a  time,  being  compelled  to  leave  Wood- 
ville  lo-niorrow  morning,  with  but  a  very  slight 
hope  of  being  enabled  u,  return  during  the  stay 
•f  your  delightful  party." 

I  fell  the  blood  rush  to  my  brow.  Sir  James 
had  triumphed.  All  the  narrow-hearted  suspi- 
cion and  mean  conceit  of  the  wealthy  bore  had 
been  aroused  by  his  inane  jest,  and  I  had  les- 
sened myself  in  my  own  eyes  most  unavailingly. 
Do  as  1  would,  this  man  apfieared  destined  to 
become  my  evil  genius.  I  hated  myself  for 
having  even  evinced  the  slightest  pleasure  in 
his  society.  Master  of  my  secret,  he  well 
knew  his  power  ;  nor  did  any  feeling  of  delica- 
cy prevent  his  betraying  a  consciousness  that 
he  held  me  in  his  thrall.  To  increase  my  an- 
noyance Mr.  Curties  shortly  afterwards  rose, 
anil  slowly  made  his  way  to  the  other  side  of 
the  saloon  ;  and  he  had  no  sooner  vacated  his 
seat  than  the  baronet  look  possession  of  it, 
with  a  nonchalance  and  ease  which  seemed  to 
imply  that  the  proceeding  was  a  mere  matter  of 
course. 

"  Vou  must  have  spent  a  delightful  hour. 
Miss  Tilden  !"  he  commenced,  as  he  fell  back 
among  the  cushions  ;  "  the  honorable  member 
for  the  county  which  we  have  just  now  the 
honor  to  inhai)it  is  a  delicious  companion — so 
intellectual  and  charming,  especially  in  the  so- 
ciety of  pretty  women.  What  a  formidable 
rfval  for  poor  Devereux  !  On  my  soul,  I  believe 
I  must  write  and  warn  him  of  the  perils  which 
environ  his  Helen.  Do  you  not  think  that  il 
Would  be  a  generous  act  on  my  parti" 

"J  have  no  opinion  to  offer  on  the  subject." 

"  Taut  micux.  You  are  therefore  indifferent 
whether  the  rumor  of  your  flirtation  reach  him 
or  nol  This,  at  least,  is  encouraging  for  nous 
autres.  I  felt  convinced  that  your  late  seclusion 
would  prove  morally  beneficial ;  but  what,  in 
the  name  of  all  that  is  perpeiulicular,  ever  im- 
pelled you  to  turn  tiie  light  of  your  smiles  upon 
thai  luifoitunate  man  yonder,  who  looks  upon 
every  unmarried  woman  as  a  drawing-room 
pickpocket, — a  species  of  matrimonial  c.hcvaUcre 
d'tndiislric  ?" 

"YMir  witticisms,  Sir  James  Dornton,  are 
too  pers(mal  to  be  pleasant." 

"  Nay,  nay — you  are  too  hard  upon  me. 
Were  you  nut  an  hour  ago  anaiomizing  your 


mamma's  pretty  page,  my  little  Ix)rd  Chaffing- 
ton,  rather  freely  !" 

"Am  I  required,  sir,  to  justify  to  you  either 
my  words  or  actions?' 

My  companion  fixed  upon  me  a  look  that  was  : 
untranslatable.  It  seemed  at  once  to  dare  me 
to  defy  him,  and  to  express  an  assent  which  he 
could  not  venture  to  put  into  words.  But  this 
solution  I  at  once  felt  must  be  erroneous  ;  and  i 
I  turned  away  my  eyes  scornfully  as  he  replied  I 
with  perfect  com|)osure — 

"  Friend.'jliip  has  privileges  even  more  strin- 
gent than  that  from  which  you  shrink." 

"  Friendship  !" 

"Even  so." 

"But  that  friendship  must  first  exist,  and  be 
admitted." 

'•  Do  you  deny  me  the  gratification  of  feeling , 
it  for  yourself  1" 

"  It  is  out  of  my  power  to  do  so  ;  its  recipro- 
city is  all  that  I  can  control." 

"And  that  reciprocity  1" 

"  Is  at  least  doubtful." 

"  Indeed  !"  ejaculated  Sir  James,  elevatmg 
his  eyebrows  somewhat  disdainfully  ;  "  1  was 
not  aware  that  the  coquetry  of  Miss  Tilden  was 
quite  so  expansive.  Is  it  permissible,  accord-, 
ing  to  your  peculiar  code,  to  admit  a  mere  ac-i 
quaintance  to  the  bridal  rein  of  your  horse,  to. 
your  solitary  lounge  in  the  grounds,  and  to 
I  your  music-stand  in  the  drawing-room  1  Come, 
j  come  ;  you  are  angry,  you  are  indignant,  that 
just  as  you  were  angling  for  a  new  victim — a 
soiijfrc  dvulcur,  who  might  enable  you  to  escape 
mo  and  my  importunities — I  should  show  the 
hook  to  the  poor  devil,  and  scare  him  from  the' 
bait.  And  why  do  you  endeavor  to  avoid  mel; 
Because  I  speak  to  you  of  Devereux  !  Only 
say  the  word,  and  I  will  never  so  offend  again." 

"  If  I  could  trust  youi'  promise — " 

"  On  my  soul  you  may  !  and  the  rather  that 
I  should  much  prefer  that  he  had  never  ex- 
isted." 

"  Again  !" 

He  affected  to  laugh  as  I  uttered  the  warn- 
ing ;  hut  he  was  evidently  ill  at  ease.  He  was 
to  leave  Woodville  the  following  morning  for  ,ii 
few  (lays.  I'hese  occasional  absences  had  bci'iij 
of  such  freinient  recurrence  J.ittcrly,  that  thi-v 
had  excited  both  remark  and  speculation  ;  li^i 
Sir  James  had  carefully  concealed  their  objt  <  i 
and  turned  off  every  inquiry  with  a  jest.  O; 
his  return,  he  was  invariably  moody  ;■... 
thoughtful  for  a  few  hours.  I  knew  tiiat  li< 
had  been  questioned  upon  the  subject  by  L;i(,'. 
Madclaine,  who,  since  his  visit  to  R()o!;^l■  > 
during  her  widowhood,  appeared  to  have  ;,.- 
sumeu  a  singular  authority  over  him  ;  and  ^U 
was  apparently  satisfied  with  his  explanation 
foi-  £jhe  never  afterward  made  any  couiuk m 
upon  tiie  circumstance.  As  he  now  sat  bc.'-hli , 
me,  he  alluded  to  his  departure  :  and  in  onlei 
to  change  the  conversation,  I  reijuested  hmi  t( 
bring,  on  his  return,  a  particular  piece  of  musit 
which  I  was  anxious  to  possess.  He  lookii 
embarrassed  for  an  instant,  and  then  cxpressei 
his  regret  that  he  could  not  execute  my  com 
mission,  as  he  was  not  going  near  town.  A 
the  moment,  it  did  not  strike  me  that  there  w,i. 
anything  extraordinary  in  this  fact;  and  1  ac- 
cordingly paid  little  attention  to  it.  I  remein. 
bcrcd  it  afterward. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


Ill 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Two  days  subseqiienily  to  this  conversation, 
as  I  was  preparing  for  a  drive,  I  was  summoned 
to  my  inoilier's  apartment.  She  was  still  dress- 
ing ;  hut  when  I  entered  she  at  once  dismissed 
her  women,  and  motioned  me  to  a  seat. 

"  You  are  in  high  beauty  this  morning,  Eve- 
leen,"  she  said,  with  a  gracious  smile;  "and 
one  season  in  town  has  sufficed  to  show  you 
the  full  value  of  your  attractions,  if  I  may 
judge  hy  the  coquetry  which  you  lavished  so 
unsparingly  upon  poor  Mr.  Curties,  on  evening 
or  two  ago.  What  was  the  meaning  of  that 
sudden  cngouemcnt,  I  pray  youl  Had  you  really 
a  design  upon  his  heart  ]" 

"  I  never  even  contemplated  the  possibility 
of  his  boasting  such  a  possession,"  I  answered, 
with  a  shrug. 

"  But  you  laid  yourself  out  to  engrc33  his 
society,"  persisted  Lady  Madelaine.  "  Can  it 
be  that  his  great  wealth  has  excited  your  am- 
bition \  Have  you,  already,  learnt  the  value 
of  money,  and  resolved  to  sacrifice  passion  to 
prudence  •" 

"  I  deserve  to  be  made  a  jest  for  having 
sacrificed  even  an  hour  to  such  an  automaton," 
]  answered,  impatiently.  "One  cannot  always 
account  fur  a  visitation  of  caprice." 

"  Caprice  I"  echoed  Lady  Madelaine,  in- 
credulously. "  However,  I  am  glad  that  you 
wore  merely  indulging  a  whim  (although  I 
wjuld  counsel  you,  in  future,  not  to  make  ytwr 
eccentricities  quite  so  conspicuous),  for  I  con- 
fess, that  Mr.  Curties  is  not  precisely  the  style 
ot  person  whom  I  should  covet  as  a  son-in-law ; 
unless,  indeed,  I  could  secure  him  for  Adela,  of 
which  there  is  little  probability  ;  for  your  dull 
men  are  seldom  an  easy  prey,  especially  when 
they  sleep  with  their  heads  on  a  rent-roll.  He 
is  hy  no  means  the  Thule  of  my  wishes,  as 
regards  yourself  I  have  too  much  affection 
for  you,  to  contemplate  such  a  sacrifice  with 
satisfaction." 

As  she  ceased  speaking,  ."she  looked  toward 
me,  with  a  faint  smile,  as  if  to  demand  my  ac- 
knowledgments. I  made  a  slight  bov/,  and  she 
continued. 

"I  am  aware" — and  she  said  it  with  some 
little  hesitation — "that  circunnstances  may  have 
led  you  to  doubt  the  extent  and  warmth  of  my 
feelings  toward  you.  My  position  has  been  a 
trying  one  ;  and  the  world  had  demands  upon 
roe  which  I  could  not  slight.  I  became  a 
mother  too  early;  and  children  spring  into 
women  before  the  plans  of  their  parents  are 
matured.  You  are  now  of  an  ?igc,  however,  l« 
understand  me  better,  and  to  do  me  justice. 
*Nor  is  this  all.  You  are  also  old  enough  to 
take  a  position  in  the  world  ;  and  to  this  fact  I 
have,  for  some  liine,  given  my  most  serious  at- 
tention. With  your  beauty  and  your  fortune, 
you  will  find  no  difficulty  in  securing  an  estab- 
lishment. The  important  phase  of  the  question 
is  the  perfect  eligibility  of  that  establishment ; 
and,  on  this  point,  you  are  both  too  young  and 
too  inexperienced  to  be  abandoned  to  your  own 
judgment." 

I  was  about  to  speak,  hut  an  imperious  ges- 
ture of  the  hand  silenced  me. 

"Nevertheless,"  pursued  Lady  Madelaine, 
hurriedly,  "  you  will  be  glad  to  learn,  tb.it  I  am 
altogether  satisfied  with  your  deportmerA  duriiig 


the  few  months  that  we  have  spent  together  in 
the  world  (always  excepting,  of  course,  your 
folly  with  Mr.  Curties,  which  has  driven  him 
from  VVoodville,  to  the  great  annoyance  of 
Lord  Oiterford) ;  and  the  rather,  as  you  have 
taken  no  pains  to  conceal  your  real  sentiments, 
which  coincide  with  my  own  views.  I  am  quite 
ivwaie  that  I  might,  had  I  so  willed  it,  have 
told  you  at  once,  and  abruptly,  when  I  sum- 
moned you  to  town,  what  those  views  were  ; 
but  there  would  have  been  a  want  of  delicacy 
in  such  a  proce'eding,  from  which  I  revolted. 
Satisfied  that  your  guardians  would  never  ven 
ture  to  interfere  on  a  subject  exclusively  with 
in  the  province  of  a  mother,  I  might  have  com- 
pelled you,  not  only  to  an  indifferent,  but  even 
to  a  repugnant  marriage.  I  disdained  to  do 
this  ;  and,  far  from  enacting  the  tyrant,  or  the 
duenna,  1  left  you  at  perfect  liberty  to  cultivate, 
or  to  decline  the  friendship  of  those  by  whom 
you  were  habitually  surrounded.  You  must 
have  perceived,  if  you  have,  indeed,  done  ma 
the  favor  to  reflect  upon  the  whole  tenor  of  my 
conduct,  as  regards  yourself,  that  I  have  left 
you  the  complete  mistress  of  your  predilec- 
tions ;  that  I  have  interfered  in  none  of  your 
avocations;  and  that  —  ungraceful  and  un- 
pleasant, as  it  could  not  fail  to  be,  to  Lord 
Oiterford,  to  have  a  womanly  daughter-in-law 
constantly  before  his  eyes,  and  under  his  rool 
— I  have  given  you  time  and  opportunity  enough 
to  decide  on  your  own  fate." 

"  It  is  decided,  madam — it  has  been  long  de- 
cided." 

"I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it  from  your  own 
lips,  even  although  circumstances  have  for  some 
time  assured  me  that  it  must  be  so.  Had  yet 
been  about  to  commit  an  iinprudence,  I  shouk- 
long  sitice  have  interfered  ;  as  it  is,  1  have  hut 
to  congratulate  both  you  and  myself  The  only 
possible  difjiculty  has  been  removed  sviihin  the 
last  few  weeks  ;  and,  to  my  own  approbation,  1 
am  authorized  to  unite  that  of  Lord  Oiterford 
who  takes  the  most  kindly  interest  in  your 
welfare." 

I  was  bewildered — overjoyed.  Still  indulg- 
ing the  fond  hope  of  a  union  with  Devereux, 
it  never  occurred  to  me,  that  my  mother  might 
allude  to  another  person.  I  whs  so  overcome 
with  delight,  thai,  although  I  would  fain  have 
asked  a  thousand  questions,  I  could  not  utter  a 
word.  I  could  only  press  the  hand  of  Lady 
Madelaine  to  my  lips  in  speechless  gratitude. 

"  Enough,  enough,  young  lady,"  she  said, 
jestingly;  "or  I  shall  begin  to  fear  that  you 
are  most  unfashionably  in  love,  and  will  be- 
come a  proverb,  after  marriage,  which  is  by  no 
means  desirable.  We  must  have  no  more 
scenes,  until  I  am  able  to  congratulate  you  as 
Lady  Dornton." 

I  sprang  from  my  chair  as  though  a  thunder- 
boll  had  exploded  at  my  feet.  "  Congratulate 
me  as  Lady  Dornton  !"  I  exclaimed,  passion- 
ately. "  Was  it,  then,  of  Sir  .'ames  Dornton 
that  you  spoke,  madam  1  Of  a  man  who  is 
not  only  indifferent,  but  even  distasteful  to  ine  ! 
Sir  James  Dornton,  whom  I  have  been  accus- 
tomed, from  my  childhood,  to  see  only  as — " 

I  paused.  I  dared  not,  even  excited  as  i 
was,  terminate  the  sentence;  nor  was  it  neces 
sary;  A  blush  rose  to  the  cheek  of  Lady  Made 
iaino,  and  aclo'jcl  gathered  upon  her  brow. 


113 


CONKESSIUNS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


"  Proceed,  Miss  Tilden,"  she  said,  in  a  cold  i 
tune,  rendered  slightly  tremulous  by  the  emo- 
tion which  she  could  not  altogether  control; 
"  let  i>o.  feeling  of  delicacy  toward  your  motlier 
iheck  the  expression  of  your  disgraceful  and 
unmaidenly  conjectures.  I  am  prepared  to  bear 
even  insult  w.Ui  patience." 

"  Oh,  forgive  me  !  forgive  me  !"  I  faltered 
out;  "forgive  and  pity  me,  for  you  know  not 
from  what  a  dream  of  hope  and  happiness  your 
last  words  have  awakened  me  !  You  spoke  of 
my  predilections,  of  my  preference  ;  and  I  was 
misled  by  the  yearnings  of  my  own  heart." 

"  Can  you  deny,  that  you  have,  for  some 
time  past,  given  marked  encouragement  to  Sir 
James  Dorntonl" 

"  If  I  have  done  so,  it  has  been  iinwittingly. 
How  could  I  encourage  him,  when  my  aflcc- 
lions  were  devoted  to.another  1" 

"Better  and  better  I"  exclaimed  LadyMadc- 
laine  ;  "  I  now  begin  to  comprehend  the  hollovv- 
ness  of  your  character.  I  weakly  believed  that 
your  late  exhibition  with  Mr.  Curties  was  a 
mere  girlish  piece  of  inconsistency,  hut  I  now 
find  that  you  act-  upon  a  system  of  deceit,  and 
sacrifice  every  belter  feeling  to  your  vanity. 
How  do  you  pretend.  Miss  Tilden,  to  justify 
your  rides,  and  walks,  and  tctc-a-tetes  by  moon- 
light, upon  balconies,  with  Sir  James  Dornton  1 
Do  you  imagine  that  ynu  will  make  the  world 
believe  you  were  unconscious  that  these  things 
were  marked  and  undeniatde  encouragement  to 
a  suit  which  has  long  ceased  to  be  problematical 
to  every  one  aroiinll  you?  Or  can  you  for  an 
instant  supposi;,  that  I  shall  submit  to  see  a 
daughter  of  mine  made  a  mark  for  the  world's 
scorn  !  Your  own  conduct  has  decided  your 
fate.  On  Sir  James's  return  to  Woodville,  you 
will  receive  limi  as  your  accepted  husband, 
without  the  slightest  symptom  of  repugnance 
or  hesitation — or,  you  must  abide  the  conse- 
quences." 

I  wrung  my  hands  in  agony.  Too  late  did  I 
perceive  tlie  fearful  advantage  which  my  own 
thoughtlessness  had  given  to  the  projects  of 
my  mother. 

"  In  truth,  ynu  are  a  sad  victim  !"  once  more 
resumed  Lady  .Madelaine.  as  she  looked  down 
upon  mo  Willi  withering  contempt;  "you  are 
steeped  in  tears — and,  for  what  ?  Because 
you  are  about  to  become  the  wife  of  an  accom- 
plished, highborn,  and  fashionable  man,  and 
that  you  will  be  an  object  of  envy  to  half  the 
women  m  town  " 

"I  would  jii'ier  die!"  I  exclaimed,  vehe- 
mently. "  r  uo  not,  I  shall  never  love  him. 
We  should  both  lie  wretched." 

"  He  conseets  to  run  the  risk." 

"  He  cannot  be  so  selfish,  or  so  base — he 
knows  that  I  h^ve  another — he  knows  that  I 
am  beloved.  lie  will  have  pity  on  my  tears — 
on  my  de<pnir." 

My  molher  h-vghed  scornfully. 

"  Rise,  Miss  '1  lUlen  ;  rise,  and  recollect  your- 
self," she  said  sternly  ;  "  we  are  not  now  re- 
hearsing a  tragi^dy,  nor  am  I  disposed  to  hear 
you  rhapsodize  on  the  subject  of  your  hoy-lover, 
Mr.  Devereiix,  whom  I  suppose  to  be  the  object 
of  this  tirade.  Leave  the  remedy  for  his  baby- 
passiun  in  the  hands  of  Sir  James  Dornton  ;  he 
is  a  man  of  sense  as  well  as  a  man  of  the 
world,  and   will   soon  make  you  aahauied   of 


your  extravagance.     As   to  Devereux,  he  tiTki 
long  ceased  even  to  remember  your  existence. 

This  taunt  aroused  my  pride  at  once, 
sprang  to  my  feet,  and  even  ventured  to  me*}^ 
the  threatening  eye  of  Lady  .Madelaine  withor'' 
quailing.  "  The  proof  that  he  has  not  done  so, 
I  said  firmly,  "  exists  in  the  fact  that  you  havt 
exiled  him  from  your  house — his  uncle's  house 
— from  the  hour  in  which  I  became  its  inmate 
No,  madam  ;  I  may  be  your  victim — you  ma^ 
profit  by  the  ihoughilessness  which  has  placec 
my  fate  in  your  power,  but  you  cannot  deprive 
me  of  the  certainty  that  I  am  beloved  by  Her 
bert  Uevereux." 

"A  noble  triumph!"  exclaimed  my  mother; 
'*  but  a  sorry  one  for  both  of  you,  if  such  be  in- 
deed the  case;  for  I  cannot  suppose  that  even 
you,  Miss  Tilden,  are  so  utterly  a-  coijuet  at-] 
heart  as  to  derive  any  gratification  from  the 
prospect  of  his  sufferings  ;  while  on  your  own 
side,  the  inconveniences  might  be  greater  than 
you  can  possibly  anticipate.  Be  advised,  while 
there  is  yet  time.  Do  not  attempt  to  oppose 
my  will,  beneath  which  you  must  bend  at  last 
The  wife  of  Herbert  Devereux  you  shiiU  nevei 
be.  Receive  with  becoming  submission  the 
husband  whom  I  have  selected  for  you,  and 
conquer  your  repugnance  by  remembering  that 
you  have  long  treated  him  as  a  favored  suitor, 
and  that  you  are  consequently  in  his  power. 
And  now,  retire  to  your  room,  and  endeavor  to 
make  yourself  presentable  before  you  are  seen 
by  any  of  the  guests.  Not  a  word  !"  For  I 
was  again  about  to  speak.  "I  shall  hold  no 
further  conversation  with  you  upon  this  subject, 
until  you  can  discUss  it  in  a  becoming  spirit  of 
obedience." 

Before  she  ceased  speaking,  she  rang  the  bell 
violently,  and  I  hurried  from  the  roo.m  to  es- 
cape the  observation  of  her  women. 

I  have  no  words  in  which  to  paint  my  wretch- 
edness when  I  again  found  myself  alone.  All 
my  love  for  Devereux  had  been  previously  weak 
and  languid  to  what  I  felt  for  him  at  that  mo- 
ment;  Willie  my  dislike  of  ihe  baronet  became 
comparatively  stronger  and  more  bitter.  I 
hated  myself  also  for  the  weakness  which  had 
induced  me  to  gratify  my  vanity  and  idleness 
by  permitting  his  attentions.  In  short,  I  was 
miserable  ;  and  so  far  from  attempting  to  ef- 
face the  traces  of  my  agitation,  I  gave  free  vent 
to  my  tears  and  sobs,  and  encouraged  the  feel- 
ing of  desolation  and  bitterness  which  had  taken 
possession  of  me. 

Suddenly  I  thought  of  my  sister.  She  was 
in  possession  of  my  secret ;  I  remembered 
the  strength  and  resolution  of  her  ciiaracter. 
There  was  yet  hope  for  me.  I  dete'-mined  to 
confide  to  her  my  present  sufferings,  and  to  be 
guided  by  her  advice.  I  had  neglected  her  too 
much  of  late.  Absorbed  in  pleasure,  there  was 
nothing  around  me  to  recall  her  image,  but' 
now  that  sorrow  had  fallen  upon  me,  it  rose, 
vividly  to  my  remembrance.  I  sat  d(*wn  ea- 
gerly to  my  desk,  wiped  away  my  tears,  and 
commenced  forthwith  the  outpouring  of  my 
grief 

I  accused  iny  mother  of  cold-hearted  selfish-, 
ness,  and  Lord  Otterford  of  unwarrantable  inter- 
ference. I  apostrophized  Sir  James  Dornton  ;■ 
I  declared  my  deteotation  of  him  in  no  meas- 
ured terms  ;   ar»d  1  iipbrai  self  for  having, 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


113 


•olej  j?cl  him  as  I  had  done.  My  letter  was 
full  of  pa^^ionate  ejaculations,  of  incoherent 
vows  and  exclnmations.  Finally,  having  ex- 
iiausied  tlie  vocabulary  of  expletives,  I  asked 
for  counsel — humbly,  earnestly,  as  I  would  have 
implored  the  assistance  of  an  oracle;  and  then 
I  closed  my  lung  and  lamentable  epistle,  and  be- 
gan to  count  the  hours  which  must  elapse  ere  I 
could  hope  for  a  reply. 

Sir  James  Dornlon  was  still  absent,  and  this, 
at  least,  was  a  relief.  I  excused  myself  on  the 
plea  of  a  viflvnt  headache  to  my  mother  and 
her  guests,  and  remained  during  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  my  own* room  ;  but  on  the  morrow  I  did 
not  dare  to  repeat  the  experiment.  I  descended 
therefore  to  the  drawing-room,  and  underwent 
the  condoloments  of  the  party  on  my  relapse 
with  the  best  grace«I  could  assume  ;  while,  as 
regarded  my  mother,  I  was  quitle  pour  lapcur, 
for  I  discoveri-r  not  the  least  change  from  her 
ordinary  manm  r.  She  turned  her  cheek  to- 
ward me  will)  tiie  usual  indifference,  criticised 
some  detail  of  my  dress,  and  then  employed  me 
in  replying  tu  half  a  dozen  uninteresting  notes 
which  she  had  received  by  the  last  post.  No 
one  would  have  suspected  the  scene  of  severity 
and  anguish  which  had  so  lately  passed  between 

Two  days  subsequently,  on  awaking  in  the 
morning,  I  perceived  a  letter  lying  on  the  chair 
beside  my  bed.  I  seized  it  eagerly.  It  was, 
indeed,  the  reply  of  my  sister.  My  fate  would 
now  be  determined.  My  heart  beat  violently. 
Would  she  advise  resistance  1  and,  if  so,  should 
I  have  courage  to  resist  1  Would  she  counsel 
nie  to  yield  1  Would  she  bid  me  fling  away  all 
hope  of  happiness]  For  a  moment  I  dreaded 
to  open  the  letter ;  but  at  length,  unable  longer 
to  control  my  impatience,  I  tore  it  hastily  irom 
its  envelope,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"  Do  not  anticipate,  I  entreat,  any  advice 
from  me.  There  are  circumstances  in  which 
the  heart  alone  should  be  the  counselor,  and 
yours  appears  to  me  to  be  a  case  in  point.  If 
you  are  n(.l  beloved,  your  fate  is  frightful.  If 
you  are — believe  me  w  hen  I  tell  you  that  there 
exist  others  far  more  worthy  of  pity  than  your- 
self" 

I  was  thunderstruck.  The  letter  had  neither 
commenceiuuni  nor  signature.  The  writing  was 
disjointed,  rambling,  and  altogether  unlike  the 
usual  neat  and  caretully-formed  characters  of 
my  sister's  hand.  IJrief,  abrupt,  and  obscure, 
the  matter  of  the  communication  was  as  unex- 
pected as  th<^  manner.  I  read  and  reread  it 
half  a  dozen  Mii.es,  hoping  to  detect  some  hid- 
den meaning,  or  to  convince  myself  that  it  was 
a  counterfeit,  but  I  could  not  succeed  in  doing 
either ;  and  at  last,  worn  out  v%ith  disappoint- 
ment and  moruficaiion,  I  tore  it  into  a  thousand 
fragments 

"  It  is  easy  for  her  to  make  a  mock  of  my 
misery,"  I  murmured  bitterly  to  myself  "  Hyw 
can  she  a|)|>rrciate  the  wretchedness  of  mar- 
ri<ige  Willi  a  man  whom  I  cannot  love,  and  of 
separation  (vun\  one  to  whom  I  am  devoted? 
How  dcluilfd  have  f  been  to  imagine,  because 
Bhe  talked  bvavtly  whf  n  no  trial  was  near,  that 
she  would  bo  as  c<iurageous  or  as  clear-sighted 
when  that  trial  came!  I  have  indeed  leant 
cpon  a  reed  !  '  There  are  othors  more  worthy 
of  pity  than  my.-:elfl'     Perhaps  so.      There  is 


the  leper  on  liis  desolate  pallet,  watching  for 
death  in  solitude  and  suffering — there  is  the 
galley-slave,  chained  to  the  oar,  and  laboring 
away  his  heart  beneath  the  lash  of  his  captors 
— there  is  the  beggar  in  his  rags,  gaunt  with 
famine,  with  his  death-sobs  frozen  in  his  throat. 
I  wanted  no  oracle  to  tell  me  this — I  asked  for 
comfort,  for  solace ;  and  her  w  ords,  scanty  as 
they  are,  have  but  increased  the  evil.  '  If  I  am 
not  beloved,'  sHe  says.  Even  here,  where  I  am 
to  be  victimized,  she  raises  a  frightlul  doubt — 
'  If  I  am  not  beloved,  my  fate  is  frightful' — but  of 
this  love,  little  as  I  prize  it,  I  am  at  least  as- 
sured. Why  should  Sir  James  pursue  itie,  de- 
spite my  repugnance,  unless  he  loved  me? 
And  yet — his  words,  his  looks,  his  very  atten- 
tions, are  scarcely  those  of  a  lover.  When  be- 
side me.  he  is  frequently  absorbed  in  sudden 
thought ;  he  has  the  appearance  of  a  man  whose 
heart  is  elsewhere — or  whose  affections  are 
exhausted.  What  if  his  afl"ected  passion  should 
be  a  mere  fancy — a  mere  caprice  !  What  must 
inevitably  be  the  result  of  such  a  marriage  1 
Or,  worse  still" — and  here  a  new  terror  grew 
upon  me — "  what  if  he  should  be  the  tool  of 
Lddy  Jladelaine's  cold-hearted  policy  —  if  it 
should  be  to  please  her  that  he  has  ofl^ered  him- 
self, to  prevent  my  union  with  Herbert  Dev- 
ereuxl  To  make  me  miserable,  that  he  is 
about  to  sacrifice  himself?  I  have  youth,  beau- 
ty, fashion,  station — all  that  can  flatter  his  am- 
bition ;  he  is  no  longer  young — he  has  long 
been  the  slave  of  my  mother's  will.  Alas ! 
alas  !  I  have  fallen  upon  the  bitter,  the  mortify- 
ing truth  !" 

Again  I  wept;  but,  after  a  time,  I  began  to 
feel  ashamed  of  my  own  cowardice.  "After 
all,"  I  said  mentally,  "  I  cannot  be  compelled  to 
marry  this  man.  My  mother  is  tyrannical  and 
sell-willed,  it  is  true,  but  she  is  not  omnipotent. 
I  have  my  weapons,  even  as  she  has  hers.  I 
have  been  too  easy,  too  familiar,  too  conde- 
scending to  Sir  James.  I  will  show  him,  and 
all  the  world,  that  I  am  aware  of  this.  He 
shall  now  see  that  I  am  not,  like  himself,  a 
mere  tool  in  the  hands  of  others."* 

I  was  faithful  to  the  pledge  thus  tacitly  made. 
Sir  James,  on  his  return,  no  sooner  approached 
me,  than  I  armed  myself  in  all  the  panoply  ol 
my  self-appreciation,  and  became  porcupinish  in 
my  mood.  Not  a  smile  rewarded  his  hveliest 
sallies  ;  not  an  acknowledgment  repaid  his  most 
labored  attention.  I  was  worse  than  icy—  I 
was  hostile.  The  baronet  was  evidently  un- 
prepared for  this  sudden  change ;  and  I  fear 
that  he  was  clever  enough  to  detect  at  onca 
how  great  a  share  temper  held  in  tlie  afl^air.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  however,  it  is  certain  that  he 
was  by  far  too  good  a  tactician  to  be  discoun- 
tenanced for  so  small  a  matter  :  he  only  altered 
his  system. 

He  became  reserved  and  circumspect.  To 
his  habitual  style  of  gallant,  and  occasionally 
caustic  conversation,  succeeded  respect,  senti- 
ment, and  deference.  He  seldom  directly  ad- 
dressed me,  but  he  spoke  to  others  in  my  hear- 
ing in  those  tones  and  tenns  which  interest  and 
flatter  our  sex,  even  despite  our  prejudices, 
This  able  metamorphosis  annoyed  me.  My 
temper  failed  more  and  more  as  I  became  cou- 
ncil is  that  I  was  losing  ground.  Frequerlly 
when  1  had  prepared  myiself  to  utlc  t'^Tjecat 


114 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


{iiig  remark,  a  sudden  cloud  which  gathered 
UiH)n  his  brow — a  melancholy  which  darkened 
ill  his  eyes  —  made  its  utterance  impossible,  i 
Astonished,  perhaps  conciliated,  by  these  evi-  J 
dences  of  feeling,  I  began  to  hesitate  :  I  might , 
probably  have  wronged  him  ;  what  was  I  to  | 
conclude]  Could  it  be  that  what  was  in  the  i 
first  instance  the  mere  wish  to  please  my  mother, 
had  grown  into  a  feeling  toward  myself,  over 
whioii  he  could  no  longer  exercise  a  control 
that  would  have  spared  his  pride  1  The  idea 
was  at  least  a  flattering  one  :  and  I  found  my- 
self well  inclined  to  indulge  in  it.  Not  once 
did  it  occur  to  me  that  my  fortune  might  play 
a  prominent  part  in  the  farce.  At  eighteen,  girls 
never  think  so  meanly  of  themselves  as  to  be- 
lieve thai  the  possession  of  their  afiections  can 
be  put  into  competition  with  that  of  their  purse, 
or  that  a  few  thousands,  more  or  less,  may  have 
power  to  control  their  destiny  ;  at  eight-and- 
twenty,  when  the  world  has  educated  them, 
they  modify  their  creed. 

I  was  not  sorry  when  I  had  argued  myself 
into  the  belief  that  I  had  done  Uornton  injustice. 
I  relaxed  a  little,  in  consequence,  in  manner  as 
well  as  in  feeling ;  but  my  concession  extended 
no  further.  As  a  husband  I  could  not  look 
upon  him  with  anything  save  aversion.  Amid 
all  my  folly  and  frivolity  I  never  forgot  Dev- 
ereux,  and  never  ceased  to  look  forward  with 
hope  to  his  reappearance. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Mv  mother  looked  on  in  silence.  I  attributed 
her  neutrality'  to  weariness  of  the  conflict.  I 
wronged  her;  I  should  have  placed  it  to  the 
credit  of  her  diplomacy.  She  was  sufTering  the 
enemy  to  exhaust  his  strength  in  idle  skirmish- 
ing. Dictatorial  as  she  was,  she  did  not  wish 
my  marriage  with  her  protege  to  appear  one  of 
compulsion.  She  was  too  well-bred  to  volun- 
teer herself  as  a  spectacle  to  all  her  circle  ;  and 
she  had  wit  enough  to  see  that  in  my  then 
frame  of  mind,  opposition  would  only  serve  to 
strengthen  my  determination.  The  contest  be- 
tween us  was  unequal.  Like  her  countrymen, 
the  Campbells,  Lady  Madelaine  was  content  to 
"  bide  her  time  ;"  while  she  well  knew  that  the 
factitious  spirit  of  courage  which  I  had  so  sud- 
denly summoned  would  moulder  away  of  itself, 
if  left  disregarded,  like  a  column  of  sandstone. 
The  material  of  which  it  was  built  up  was  not 
6f  a  nature  to  endure.  She  had  communicated 
her  will,  and  now  preserved  a  dignified  silence, 
leaving  the  rest  to  the  attentions  of  Sir  James, 
who  might  well  be  supposed  to  possess  more 
than  sufficient  experience  of  the  sex,  to  over- 
come the  stubborn  will  and  childish  attachment 
of  a  mere  girl. 

Di)riiton  was,  however,  by  no  means  so  cer- 
tain of  his  ultiiTiate  success  as  my  mother 
issiimed  to  be.  My  conduct  was  too  consist- 
snt  to  have  grown  out  of  a  momentary  whim  ; 
and  he  was,  probably,  less  satisfied  with  my 
p.irtial  return  toward  courtesy,  than  he  would 
have  been  under  a  persistence  in  the  ultra 
measures  which  I  originally  adopted.  He  felt 
LSat  he  made  no  progress,  and,  without  doubt, 
ho  communicated  his  conviction  to  Lady  Mad- 
iJaino ;  fcr  the  avalanche  suddenly  fell  when  I 

&d  y'.citei  i,i»  dread  its  ilcsccnt. 


A  new  summons  to  her  dressing-room  struck 
a  chill  to  my  heart.  Tlie  hour  was  indeed 
come  !  I  sank  trembling  into  a  chair,  and  for 
a  few  minutes  was  unable  'iven  to  ask  mysell 
if  I  had  strength  left  to  cjntend.  Gradually, 
however,  I  recovered  some  degree  of  self-pos- 
session, and  began  to  make  formidable  prom- 
ises to  my  own  heart.  The  happiness  of  Dev- 
ereux  depended  upon  my  firmness — of  this  fact 
I  had  never  permitted  myself  to  entertain  a 
doubt — therefore  I  was  in  honor  bound  not  to 
yield.  I  argued  upon  false  premises.  I  littlo 
anticipated  the  trial  which  awaited  me. 

"Take  a  seat,  Miss  Tilden,"  said  Lady  Mad- 
elaine coldly,  as  I  entered  her  apartnieiit.  "  \ 
shall  not  detain  you  long;  nor  can  I  bestow 
much  time  upon  the  subject  which  I  am  about 
to  discuss  with  you  for  tlie  last  time.  Tn  thr 
first  place,  I  must  express  my  sincere  regret 
that  I  ever  made  any  portion  of  my  p<>r^onal 
happiness  dependent  upon  your  prosperity  in 
after-life.  My  solicitude  has  been  thrown  awny; 
— but  let  that  pass.  No  person  of  dignitied; 
mind  could  have  been  prepared  for  the  system; 
of  heartless  coquetry  which  you  have  so  perti-| 
naciously  pursued  with  Sir  James  Unriiion — a' 
man,  who  in  every  phase  of  his  chaiacttr  mer- 
ited far  different  treatment.  I  was  aWout  tt) 
make  you  feel  your  error,  and  to  exact  from! 
you  not  only  a  prompt  but  also  a  cheerlul  obe-| 
dience  to  that  expediency,  and  I  will  also  sa), 
propriety,  which  you  "fiave  so  grossly  outragec 
— I  offered  to  pledge  myself  to  Sir  James  Dorn-i 
ton  that  you  should  be  his  wife  within  twcj 
months  from  this  time ;  but  he  would  not  re, 
ceive  my  pledge.  Too  delicate  to  owe  you;' 
possession  to  an  act  of  maternal  authority,  ancj 
satisfied,  as  he  asserts,  that  he  has  failed  tx, 
gain  your  affections,  he  renounces  all  prelen! 
sioiis  to  your  hand.  Do  you  understand  thiaj 
Miss  Tilden  1  Sir  James  Dornton  declines  thij 
alliance  !  This  is  your  first  step  in  lite.  Is  ii 
not  a  flattering  debut  1  You  are  silent ;  aiic 
perhaps  you  are  right,  for  it  is  a  ciicuiiisi:iiu- 
by  no  means  agreeable  of  discussion  either  t 
yourself  or  your  family.  We  have  now  don 
with  it  forever." 

I  began  to  breathe  more  freely;  I  even  ros 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  One  word  more  before  we  part,"  pursue 
my  mother  in  the  same  cold  and  caustic  ton 
as  before.  "  Although  the  cause  is  removei 
the  effects  remain.  My  daughter.  Miss  Tilden,  i 
already  a  marked  woman — marked  as  a  hearties 
coquet.  You  are  at  the  mercy  of  Sir  James 
and  men  who  have  been  jilted  as  he  has  bee 
by  you,  possess  little  of  that  foriieaiing  vi 
lue.  Had  I  contemplated  your  appearance  i 
town  for  a  second  season  unmarried,  your  fai 
would  ere  now  have  been  fixed  forever.  .s 
James  Dornton  is  not  an  obscure  individu' 
whose  sarcasm  would  fall  harmless  ;  he  is 
man  of  fashion  and  figure,  popular,  witty,  ar; 
distinguished  ;  whose  first  sneer  would  ha^ 
blighted  your  prospects.  Fort'  inately,  howeve 
you  are  rescued  from  this  poril.  Your  inco 
sisient  and  incautious  conduct  has  deierminc, 
me  no  longer  to  burden  myself  with  the  lespoi 
sibility  of  your  guardianship,  or  to  suffer  yi, 
to  have  any  voice  in  any  measure  in  which  yt 
are  concerned.  It  is,  therefore,  sufficient  , 
inform  you  that  I  have  this  day  had  tiie  grali' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


115 


eution  to  reoQlve  from  Mr.  Curties  a  letter,  in 
which  he  formally  makes  you  an  offer  of  his 
nand  and  fortune." 

••  From  Mr.  Curties!"  I  exclaimed,  in  amaze. 

"Nay,  Miss  Tilden,  why  do  you  affect  such 
violent  surprise  1"  asked  my  mother,  disdainful- 
ly. "  Had  you  indeed  so  very  humble  an  idea  of 
your  personal  attractions,  as  to  believe  that  you 
could  with  impunity  make  so  marked  an  attack 
up.jn  any  unmarried  man,  as  that  which  you  in- 
defatigably  carried  on  against  Mr.  Curties  dur- 
ing the  last  evening  of  his  stay  at  Woodville? 
Jf  so,  pray  undeceive  yourself.  The  result — the 
iriumphant  result — of  your  skill  is  before  you. 
The  gentleman  acknowledges  himself  conquer- 
ed, and  will  present  himself  in  form  three  days 
taence,  to  receive  my  answer.  I  shall  not,  how- 
ever, keep  him  so  long  in  suspense.  That  an- 
ewer  will  be  decisive.  I  acknowledge  both  your 
obligation  and  my  own  to  Mr.  Curties  ;  he  has 
saved  our  honor ;  and  I  have  now  only  to  re- 
mind you  that  you  are  to  prepare  yourself  to 
meet  him  as  a  man  so  soon  to  be  your  husband 
should  be  met." 

"I  cannot  be  awake,"  I  murmured  to  my- 
self as  I  swept  my  hand  across  my  forehead, 
and  endeavored  to  still  the  beating  of  my  tem- 
ples, which  was  almost  audible  ;  "  it  must  be  a 
frightful  dream  ! — a  hideous  nightmare  !  No, 
madam,"  I  exclaimed  suddenly,  shaking  off  the 
panic  terror  which  had  seized  upon  me  ; — "  no, 
madam ;  you  seek  in  vain  to  terrify  me.  You 
cannot  have  such  a  project.  Have  you  never, 
then,  read  the  German  tale  of  the  living  man 
who  was  attached  to  a  corpse  and  so  thrust 
forth  to  exist  as  he  might  1  the  quick  and  the 
dead  brought  together  in  unnatural  contact — 
the  breathing  and  the  breathless  linked  each  to 
the  other  by  a  hateful  and  revcdting  bond  !  Do 
you  talk  of  me  and  Mr.  Curties  as  man  and 
wifel  do  you  think  that  I  could  exist  a  month 
beneath  his  roof  in  such  a  character  1  If  I 
have  acted  weakly,  idly,  I  will  not  shrink  from 
any  just  rebuke;  but  such  a  threat  as  this  is 
refined  cruelty,  which  I  cannot,  faulty  as  I  am, 
have  deserved." 

"  I  know  not  what  you  may  consider  to  be 
your  deserts,  Miss  Tilden,"  replied  Lady  Mad- 
elaine,  perfectly  unmoved  by  my  agony ;  "  I 
am  only  cognizant  of  the  consequences  which 
your  peculiar  system  of  conduct  has  entailed 
upon  you.  Your  baby-love  business  with  Her- 
bert Devereux  made  you  at  once  the  amuse- 
ment and  the  prophetic  theme  of  my  drawing- 
room.  I  doubt  much  whether,  at  the  period  of 
my  leaving  Rooksley  for  town  immediately 
after  my  discovery  of  your  extreme  levity,  you 
believed  that  I  was  at  all  occupied  by  specula- 
lions  for  your  welfare  ;  but  in  that,  as  well  as 
in  many  other  things,  you  were  both  wrong  and 
unjust.  I  looked  round  upon  all  the  eligible 
men  in  my  circle;  but  I  did  not  see  there  one 
whom  I  could  dare  to  hope,  would,  despite  your 
fortune,  assist  you  to  repair  the  past.  It  was 
not  until  after  the  death  of  your  father  that, 
profiling  by  an  accidental  influence  over  Sir 
:  James  Dornton,  I  induced  him  lo  consent  to 
!  offer  himself  as  your  suitor." 

As  my  mother  senlentiously  uttered  this  offen- 
eive  declaration,  I  felt  as  though  my  wounded 
I  Tanily,  and.  still  worse,  my  womanly  pride. 
Prostrated   in  its  holiness  and  purity,   would 


have  sufTocatt'd  me.  Lady  Madelaine  looked 
toward  me,  as  if  she  were  prepared  for  some 
comment  upon  her  words ;  but  my  emotion 
was  so  great  that  I  could  not  articulate  a  sylla- 
.ble. 

"  Yes,"  she  pursued,  following  up  what  she 
evidently  believed  to  be  her  triumph ;  "  for- 
tunately for  you,  misguided  girl,  who  had  already 
called  down  remark  by  your  inconsequent  be- 
havior. Sir  James  Dornton  had  sufficient  regard 
for  my  feelings  to — " 

I  recovered  my  self  government  in  an  instant; 
the  excess  of  my  indignation  and  the  extremity 
of  my  situation  rendered  me  calm  to  an  extent 
which  surprised  myself 

"It  is,  indeed,  matter  of  self-gratulation  to 
me,"  I  said  firmly,  as  I  raised  my  eyes  steadily 
to  hers,  *'  that,  when  it  becomes  necessary  to  re- 
pair the  effects  of  my  misguided  conduct,  your 
ladyship,  who  are,  of  course,  altogether  irre- 
proachable in  your  relations  with  the  other  sex, 
should  have  chanced  to  possess  so  great  an 
'  accidental  influence'  over  a  man  generous 
enough,  when  he  became  convinced  that  he 
could  not  make  himself  master  of  the  fortune 
and  fashion  of  the  mother,  to  condescend  to 
exchange  for  them  the  fortune  and  youth  of  the 
daughter.  But,  madam,  even  as  the  mother 
would  not,  so  also  the  daughter  will  not." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  rage  of  Lady  Made- 
laine— her  quivering  lips  were  as  white  as  her 
forehead ;  her  hands  were  tightly  clenched  ; 
and  for  an  instant  I  believed  that  she  would 
strike  me  ;  but  after  a  brief  struggle,  she  un- 
clasped her  fingers,  and  fell  back  in  her  chair, 
as  she  demanded  the  meaning  of  my  words. 

"It  is  simple,  madam,"  I  answered;  "and 
it  will  suffice  to  tell  you  that  I  remember  the 
visit  of  Sir  James  to  Rooksley  during  your  first 
period  of  widowhood ;  your  long  interview, 
and,  above  all,  your  mutual  reappearance  in 
the  drawing-room  ;  he,  gloomy,  embarrassed, 
and  taciturn  ;  you,  radiant  with  ill-concealed 
triumph." 

"  And  what  more,  Miss -Tilden  1" 

"  Nothing  ;  save  that  I  will  never  marry  the 
rejected  suitor  of  my  mother." 

"Truly,  you  do  well,"  said  Lady  Madelaine 
with  a  smile  of  defiance,  "to  remind  me  that 
we  have  digressed  from  our  original  subject. 
You  perceive  that,  fortunately  for  you,  there 
will  be  no  necessity  for  you  so  to  degrade  your- 
self ;  for  —  to  pursue  my  sketch  of  your  past 
prowess — you  had  no  sooner  made  yourself 
the  theme  of  half  the  county  by  your  encour- 
agement of  the  man  whom  you  now  affect  to 
despise,  and  cast  him  aside  in  his  turn,  thail 
Mr.  Curties  presents  himself,  and  saves,  as  I 
have  already  remarked,  both  your  own  honoi 
and  mine." 

I  was  suddenly  flung  back  to  earth  again  by 
the  mention  of  that  hated  name. 

"  I  would  rather  die  than  marry  Mr.  Curties  '" 
I  exclaimed  vehemently  ;  for  once  more  I  was 
overcome  by  my  agitation. 

"  But  Sir  James  Dornton  has  resigned  his 
pretensions — " 

"  I  will  not  be  the  wife  of  either,''  I  said,  re»- 
olutely. 

"  The  declaration  is  impotent,"  was  her  reply; 
"  I  will  not  even  offer  you  the  alternative  ol 
returning  to  Rooksley,  for  such  a  concessioD 


IIG 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


would  only  expose  me  to  a  probable  renewal  of 
the  same  mollifications.  Indeed,  your  path  is 
al  once  plain  and  imperative.  Sir  James  lias, 
as  I  have  already  inlorined  you,  withdrawn  any 
claims  which  he  had  founded  upon  your  good 
faiih.  More  generous  tlian  yourself,  he  uttered 
no  accus'ilion  which  he  could  nut  prove — gave 
utterance  to  no  suspicions  which  he  could  not 
justify  ;  and  at  my  fust  mention  of  my  intention 
of  compelling  you  to  fultil  the  hopes  which  you 
had  not  scrupled  to  create,  he  did  what  lew 
men  wo;!ld  have  had  sullicient  pride  or  honor 
to  have  done — he  declared  his  resolution  to 
abandon  his  suit  at  once.  I  have  already  hinted 
to  you  whai  may  be  the  after-consequences  of 
his  estrangement ;  and  it  is  now,  moreover,  too 
late  to  calculate  their  probable  effect  in  the  world. 
Vou  are  fortunate  in  having  secured  a  new  sui- 
tor who  is  ignorant  of  your  antecedents  at  so 
eventful  a  moment." 

I  was  so  terrified  by  the  coloring  which  Lady 
Madelaine  had  so  ingeniously  given  to  the  past, 
that  all  my  courage  abandoned  me.  I  forgot  how 
impossible  it  was  for  her  to  compel  me  to  a 
halelul  marriage — I  forgot  the  pledge  whicii  I  had 
given  to  my  own  heart  to  be  worthy  of  the  love 
of  Devereux — I  forgot  Devereux  himself  I 
thought  only  of  the  rigid,  cold,  impracticable 
Mr.  Curlies,  with  his  endless  monosyllables  and 
untiring  self-appreciation.  Was  he  to  be  the 
climax  of  my  dreams  ! — the  partner  of  my  after- 
life \  The  vision  was  too  bitter  to  support. 
Every  other  feeling  gave  way  before  it ;  and, 
fairly  con(iuered.  I  cast  mysell'  at  the  knees  of 
my  obdurate  mother,  and  gasped  out  between  my 
sobs — "  Have  pity  on  me  ! — iiave  pity  on  me  1" 

I  was  too  wretched,  loo  Iboroiigbly  prostrat- 
ed in  s|)irit  at  that  moment  to  remember  what 
a  triumph  this  scene  would  have  been  to  .Adela, 
could  she  have  witnessed  it;  how  complete  a 
justification  it  would  have  proved  of  all  her 
doubts  and  of  all  her  prophec.es.  I  was  wiioUy 
absoibed  in  self;  my  pride  and  my  passion  were 
alike  dormant. 

"  No  tragedy,  I  enueat.  Miss  Tilden,"  said 
Lady  .Mad-laine,  waving  me  away;  "lean  brook 
no  lufiher  contradiction.  I  am  indignant  al  this 
perpetual  disobedience,  and  will  no  longer  en- 
courage it  by  the  weakness  which  1  have  hith- 
erto displayed." 

Overwhelmed  by  ihe  cold  decision  of  her  tone, 
I  attempted  no  reply.  I  buried  my  face  in  the 
cusliion  ui  \iii\-  faulcuil,  and  wept. 

"  Yon  faligue  my  patience  and  outrage  my 
pride,  Kveleeii,"  she  pursued,  after  a  i)ause  ; 
"  yray,  endeavor  to  be  rational.  Retire  to  your 
room  ;  or,  if  you  persist  in  remaining  liere  in 
defiiiiicc  of  my  vvishef,  ceas6  to  make  yourself 
ridiculous,  and  tell  me  upon  what  line  of  conduct 
you  have  decided  V 

There  was  a  slight  softening  in  her  tone  as 
she  concluded  her  address,  which  once  more 
awoke  in  me  something  like  hope.  I  raised 
my  head,  and  with  clasped  hands  I  faltered 
out,  "  Save  me — oh  !  save  me  from  this  hate- 
ful marriage  !" 

"  I  cannot,  consistently  viih  your  future  wel- 
fare." 

"  Send  me  back  to  RooKsley — to  Scotlanil — 
Enywnere — let  me  noi  be  heard  of  again  by  the 
world  which  has  judged  me  so  harshly — I  will 
■ubniit  to  any  exile ;  but  do  not  compel  me  to 


become   the   wife   of  a  man   whom  I   shruld 
infallibly  detest." 

"If  you  have  no  better  arguments  than  these 
to  advance,  they  will  produce  no  eflett  upon 
me,"  replied  my  moiher.  "  You  can  neither 
return  to  Rooksley  nor  to  Scotland  ;  we  are 
not  enaiHing  a  romance.  You  must  many 
.Mr.  Curties,  since  you  did  not  consider  Sii 
James  Dornlon  worthy  of  your  hand  ;  and  if  you 
do  not  submit  with  a  good  grace  to  a  marriage 
which  you  have  brought  upon  yourself  by  youi 
own  levity,  I  shall,  without  further  hesiiaiion, 
exert  my  authoriiy,  and  compel  you  to  pay  a 
proper  regard  to  the  dignity  bolh  of  yourself  and 
your  family." 

"  All  is  then  over  !"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  rose, 
"  and  I  have  nothing  left  but  to  die." 

Lady  Madelaine  laughed  contemptuously.  \ 
"  From  what  novel  did  you  learn  that  phrase,  i 
child  I  It  is  utterly  absurd.  A  woman  does  i 
iiat  die  because  she  sacrirtces  her  inclination  to  , 
her  duty.  I  gave  a  proof  of  that  very  true  truth  j 
when  I  married  your  father."  ' 

I  disdained,  wretched  as  I  was,  to  reply  to  so  ) 
coarse  a  taunt.  i 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed,"  she  pursued,  "to' 
play  so  poor  and  mean  a  part?  I  have  no  taste 
for  mtludrame,  especially  when  it  is  got  up 
under  my  own  roof  You  will  multiply  these  | 
exiravagairces  with(3ut  the  slightest  success  ;i 
and  I  consei|uently  advise  you  to  act  at  once; 
like  a  rational  being,  and  to  accept,  as  becomes 
you,  a  destiny  which  you  cannot  either  control 
or  avert." 

I  still  stood  half-suffocated  with  sobs,  and, 
silent.  .  I 

For  a  few  minutes  my  mother  also  forbore  to, 
speak.  She  had  cast  herself  back  in  her  chair, 
and  appeared  to  be  revolving  some  project  in 
her  iriind.  I  watched  her  narrowly.  Al  length 
she  once  more  turned  towards  me,  and  said 
slowly — 

"  If  I  only  consulted  your  deserts,  Evelecn,  I 
should  not  swerve  from  one  single  rrsolutioD 
which  I  have  declared  to  you  ;  but  I  cannot, 
even  exasperated  and  wounded  as  1  am,  forget 
that  I  am  slill  your  mother.  I  cannot  i-oldlj 
abandon  you  to  what  you  declare  would  be 
certain  wretchedness;  and  I  will  iheiefore 
venture  to  take  upon  myself  to  hold  out  to  yoi 
once  more  the  chance — I  may  indeed  say,  ihi 
certainly — of  happiness.  I  leave  you  I  rue  tt 
choose  between  Mr.  Curties  and  Sir  Jaiiie; 
Uornlon  ;  for  I  am  so  well  assured  of  the  friend 
ship  t)f  the  latter,  that  I  feel  satisfied  of  his  com 
pliance  with  my  wishes,  when  I  represent  ti 
him  thai  you  have  repented  of  your  lolly ;  bu 
you  must  decide  at  once.  I  am  now  going  V 
reply  to  the  letter  of  Mr.  Curties  ;  he  shall  not 
he  cannot,  under  the  circumstances,  be  left  i 
suspense  or  doubt'for  a  moment  longer  than  i' 
absolutely  necessary.  Lord  Otterford  has  intei 
est  in  the  county,  which  may  be  ruined  by  , 
rupture  with  a  person  so  locally  influential, 
foibid  you  to  utter  another  word,  unless  it  bet 
express  your  decision." 

The  alternative  was  a  bitter  one  :  but  the  di 
ference  between  my  two  suitors  was  so  grea 
that,  had  selection  been  the  only  difficulty,  . 
could  not  have  hesitated  for  a  moment;  eve 
as  it  was,  the  idea  of  becoming  the  wife  of  S 
James  was  less  distasteful  to  me  than  it  ha 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


117 


Hitherto  been,  because  the  personal  and  social 
defects  of  his  rival  brought  out  his  own  quali- 
ties in  brjijlil  relief  Oriiirn  I  could  not,  at  least, 
be  ashamed.  He  might  make  me  wretched, 
but  he  woukl  never  make  me  blush  ;  neverlhe- 
Jcss  I  could  not  utter  the  word  which  was  re- 
quired of  me.  I  stdl  expostulated,  still  pleaded 
— the  image  of  Devereux  once  more  rose  up 
before  me,  and  I  regained  a  little  courage  ;  hut 
I  was  no  match  for  the  strong  will  of  l.ady  Mad- 
elaine.  She  drew  her  writing-table  toward 
her ;  selected  a  crow-quill  from  the  desk,  with 
as  mucii  care  as  though  she  had  been  about  to 
transcribe  her  first  billet-doux  ;  and  then  ad- 
dressing me  once  more,  she  asked  with  perfect 
composure — 

"  Have  you  decided  the  fate  of  Mr.  Curties, 
Mi.ss  Tilden  1  I  am  about  to  announce  it  to  him 
before  the  letter-bag  is  closed.  Shall  I  sum- 
mon hiin  to  Woodvdie,  or  give  him  his  conge 
until  our  departure  1" 

"  Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  let  me  never  see  him 
again  !"  I  implored  through  my  tears. 

"  Then  you  are  prepared  to  become  the  wife 
of  Sir  James  Dornton  !" 

"  He  has  withdrawn  his  suit." 

"Do  not  trifle  with  me,  Eveleen  ;  I  have 
already  told  you  that  I  do  not  despair  of  my  in- 
fluence with  Sir  James." 

"  But  would  you  subject  your  own  daughter, 
madau),  to  the  humiliation  of  seeing  her  hand 
accepted  as  a  favor  to  herself]" 

"  .Assuredly  not.  I  am  not  so  ignorant  of  the 
world,  or  of  the  nature  of  men.  I  shall  per- 
suade Sir  James  that  you  only  acted  as  you 
have  done,  because  your  coquetry  would  not 
be  satisfied  without  he  submitted  to  the  slights 
and  trials  wherewith  you  were  pleased  to  visit 
liiin,  and  that  you  now  see  your  error." 

"  But  even  this — " 

"  Enough,  enough  !"  interposed  Lady  Mad- 
elair.e  impatiently  ;  "  have  you  left  yourself  an- 
other choice  ^  Once  more — what  am  I  to  reply 
|o  Mr.  Curties  1"  and  she  dipped  her  pen  into 
the  ink. 

"  That  I  am  about  to  become  Lady  Dorn- 
ton," I  murmured  almost  inaudihly. 

"  What  an  effort  of  courage  !"  exclaimed  my 
mother,  shrugging  her  shoulders:  "and  now 
go  to  your  room,  and  bathe  your  eyes.  I  can 
converse  with  you  no  longer  at  present,  and 
must  he  careful  in  the  wording  of  my  letter. — 
It  is  by  no  means  easy  to  tell  a  gentleman,  with 
proper  courtesy,  that  he  is  rejected." 

I  waited  no  further  bidding,  but  rushpd  from 
the  room,  just  as  Lady  Madelaine  was  preparing 
to  throw  herself  upon  the  sofa,  in  order  to  ob- 
tain a  little  repose  after  her  unwonted  exertion. 
It  never  occurred  to  me,  poor  innocent  !  that  I 
had  heen  duped.  It  never  struck  me  that  the 
letter  of  Mr.  Curties,  of  which  I  had  heard  so 
much,  remained  invisible.  I  little  suspected,  in 
short,  when  I  cast  myself  upon  my  knees,  to 
weep  out  the  bitterness  of  my  sorrow,  and  to 
endeavor  to  collect  my  thoughts,  that  Lady 
Madelaine  and  Lord  Otterford  were  laughing 
together  over  the  mystification  of  which  I  had 
been  made  the  victim. 

lK)rd  Otterford  was  revenged. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

I  Din  not  see  my  mother  again  in  private  fi> 
the  next  lour  days.  When  I  had  succeeded,  i* 
net  in  mastering  my  emotion,  at  least  in  looking 
more  distinctly  upon  my  actual  position,  I  ac- 
cused myself  bitterly  for  I  he  weakness  which 
I  had  betrayed  ;  and  resolved,  without  further 
delay,  to  declare  the  impossibility  of  my  ad- 
hering to  the  promise  which  had  heen  extorted 
trom  me.  Notwithstanding  this  determination, 
however,  it  was  a  considerable  time  before  I 
could  summon  sufficient  resolution  to  encountet 
once  more  the  anger  and  indignation  of  Lady 
Madelaine,  strengthened,  as  I  was  consciou* 
that  they  must  be,  by  what  she  would  not  fenl 
to  denounce  as  a  fresh  exhibitit)n  of  my  levity 
I  did,  nevertheless,  so  far  conquer  my  terroi, 
as  to  send  Josephine  to  her  dressing-room,  with 
a  request  that  she  should  receive  me  fi)r  a  fev* 
instants  ;  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  state  ol 
agitation  in  which  I  awaited  the  permission  I 
had  sought.  I  might,  however,  have  spared  my 
self  the  suffering.  My  mother  had  doubtlessly 
little  trouble  in  convincing  herself  of  the  purpose 
for  which  I  sought  the  interview,  and  her  reply 
simply  announced  that  she  should  see  me  at 
table. 

I  felt,  even  while  I  despised  myself  for  the 
weakness,  like  a  reprieved  criminal.  I  was 
compelled  to  confess  in  my  own  heart  how  much 
I  feared  her,  as  a  sensation  of  intense  relief 
grew  upon  me  with  the  conviction,  that  before 
witnesses  I  had  nothing  to  apprehend  from  her 
violence.  Woodville  was  still  full  of  guesta; 
the  absence  of  Sir  James  and  Mr.  Curties  had 
left  but  a  small  blank ;  and  the  house  was  a 
constant  scene  of  gaiety  and  amusement. 
Still,  although  I  hugged  myself  under  a  sense 
of  present  security,  and  tried  to  believe  that, 
even  as  it  had  chanced  to  many  of  my  favorite 
heroines,  something  would  and  must  occur  to 
prevent  the  fulfilment  of  Lady  Madelaine'a 
project,  I  could  not  altogether  forget  that  by 
my  inertness  I  was  stre^ngthening  her  power 

How  often  did  I  sigh  for  a  portion  of  Adela'8 
firmness — how  often  did  the  tears  spring  into 
my  eyes  as  I  remembered  our  separation,  which 
deprived  me  of  her  advice  and  support  at  .so 
critical  a  moment.  During  itiy  hours  of  triumph 
and  dissipation  I  seldom  thought  of  her;  am' 
her  memory,  even  when  I  did  so,  was  always 
productive  to  me  of  mortification  and  annoy- 
ance. Her  cold  and  constrained  letter  haf* 
closed  my  heart  against  her ;  hut  now,  in  my 
sorrow  and  in  my  uncertainty,  f  fi)rgot  all,  save 
the  decision  of  character  which  had  at  times  ap 
peared  to  lend  me  a  portitm  of  its  own  strength, 
and  as  I  wept  over  myself  I  regretted  her. 

My  motlier,  before  our  guests,  was  all  suavity 
and  kindness  ;  she  created  opportunities  fiir  tho 
display  of  my  accomplishments;  and  even,  al- 
though rarely,  forgot  Lord  ChaHingiiuwfor  a  ft  v 
moments,  to  occupy  herselfvvilh  me.  In  tlrO 
hearing  of  Lord  Otterford  there  was  something 
which  displeased  me.  That  he  was  cognizan 
of  the  siruL'gle  which  had  taken  placo  betweer 
Lady  Madelaine  and  myself,  I  could  not  for  ai. 
instant  doubt;  and  yet  there  was  a  lurking 
smile  playing  about  his  mouth  as  he  looke>'  to 
ward  me,  and  an  afl^ectation  of  exaggerale;i 
respect  in  his  manner,  which  was  anythiti/^ 
rather  than  concil-ating  to  my  temper,  or  agree- 


/18 


CONFESSION'S  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


tblc  to  my  taste.  All  the  rest  of  the  tirole  were 
aa  idle,  as  pleasure-seeking,  and  as  seltish  as 
ever  Not  one  of  ihem  searched  beneath  the 
fcuiface — why  .■•lioiikl  tliey  1  There  is  nothing 
which  worldlings  find  so  much  trouble  in  for- 
giving as  the  sorrow  of  (me  of  their  associates  : 
it  brt-aks  in  upon  their  personal  comtort — it  dis- 
locates ilie  cliain  of  their  ideas — it  brings  them 
back  to  the  realities  of  lile.  In  short,  if  by 
some  unguarded  demonstration  of  sympathy 
they  chance  to  draw  down  upon  themselves  a 
contideuce  of  suflering,  it  sounds  in  their  ears 
like  the  shriek  of  the  mandrake,  which  brought 
ruin  upon  him  who  called  it  forth. 

Thus  I  was  cast  wholly  upon  myself;  and 
once  I  almost  formed  tlie  resolution  of  writing, 
to  claim  the  counsel  and  assistance  of  Lady 
O'Halli.ran  ;  but  this  my  pride  forbade  :  I  coiild 
not  brook  that  she  should  learn  how  utterly  Iter 
kind  and  motherly  advice  had  failed  in  its  ob- 
ject ;  I  could  not  calmly  sit  down  to  tell  her 
that  I  had  lost  all  authority  over  my  fate  by 
Hiy  own  idle  imprudence  ;  and  thus  this  ra- 
tional and  honest  purpose  was  blighted  in  the 
#ud. 

At  noon,  on  the  fifth  day  succeeding  our  in- 
terview, I  was  (mce  more  informed  that  Lady 
Madelaine  desired  to  see  me  in  her  mornmg- 
Toom.  In  spite  of  my  better  reason  I  still 
hoped  ;  and  the  rather,  as  I  had  heard  Lord 
Olterford  inform  one  of  the  guests  on  the  pre- 
vious evening,  that  Sir  Herbert  and  Lady 
Devereux  were  hourly  expected  at  Woodville. 
I  almost  forgot  my  feais  as  I  remembered  this. 
Without  doubt  Captain  Devereux  woQld  be  their 

Kimpanion  ;  and,   perhaps  !     I,  however, 

liad  not  time  to  follow  up  the  inspirations  of  my 
brightening  fancy  ;  and  it  was  with  a  flushed 
cheek  and  a  flashing  eye  that  I  found  myself  in 
the  presence  of  Lady  Madelaine. 

"  Upon  my  word.  Miss  Tilden,"  she  said,  as 
Bhe  looked  attentively  upon  me,  "you  owe  me 
a  greater  obligaiion  than  you  can  ever  repay.  I 
have  made  you  reasmiable  ;  and,  as  my  reward, 
I  now  see  you  by  far  handsomer  than  you  had 
ever  yet  appeared  to  me.  Nothing  could  be 
more  fortunate.  Sir  James  will  pride  himself 
the  less  u|)()n  his  generosity." 

These  words  sulliced  to  degtroy  the  charm. 
I  seated  myself  in  silence,  while  1  felt  the  blood 
chill  and  curdle  at  my  heart.  The  effect  was 
visible  ;  for  my  iiioiher  hastily  added,  as  she 
rose  partially  from  her  chait,  What  is  the 
matter,  Eveleen  !  Are  you  faini  5  Shall  I  ring 
for  my  woman  !" 

I  shook  my  head  in  silence. 

"This  is  immensely  provokinjj !"  murmured 
Lady  Madelaine  pettishly.  "I  never  saw  a 
girl  who  took  so  much  pains  to  disfigure  her 
beauty,  and  to  grow  old  before  her  time.  Pray, 
exert  a  little  more  sell-command.  Miss  Tilden, 
and  remember  that  you  are  no  longer  a  child. 
Rely  upon  it,  that  no  husband  will  accommo- 
date himself  to  the  incessant  vapors  in  which 
you  indi'lge." 

The  tears  fell  silently  upon  my  cheeks. 

"This  is  intolerable  !"  again  murmured  my 
mother ;  "  and  had  better  at  once  be  brought 
to  an  end  "  As  she  spoke,  she  rang  the  table- 
Veil,  which  stood  beside  her ;  and  desired  the 
6ervant,  who  almost  immediately  appeared,  to 
♦fcquest  that  Sir  James  i)ornlon  would  favor 


her  with  his  company  for  a  few  minutes  in  bet 
own  siiting-room. 

I  bounded  from  my  chair. 

"  Yes,  Eveleen,"  she  said,  as  she  marked  my 
action,  "  Sir  James  is  here.  I  have  already 
seen  him  ;  but,  as  I  wished  to  spare  you  both, 
I  thought  it  belter  that  you  should  meet,  for  tiie 
first  tune  as  affianced  lovers,  in  private.  All 
opposition  is  now  too  late.  Let  me  not  have 
to  complain  of  you  in  this  instance,  or  I  vow  t(»  j 
you  that  I  will  recall  Mr.  Curties  by  to-mor-  | 
row's  post,  and  you  shall  become  his  wife  with- 
in six  months." 

I  knew  my  mother's  iron  will  too  well  to 
doubt  her  for  an  instant ;  nor,  even  had  I  ^jds- 
sessed  resolution  at  that  moment  to  contend, 
should  I  have  had  time  to  do  so  ;  for.  as  she 
ceased. speaking,  I  heard  steps  in  the  library, 
whence  Lady  Madelaine's  room  opened  ;  and, 
•"e'lore  I  could  have  uttered  a  word,  the  door 
fell  back,  and  Sir  James  entered,  and  closed  it 
carefully  behind  him. 

I  had  meanwhile  rushed  to  the  window  to 
conceal  my  tears,  and  stood  there,  half-buried 
among  the  curtains. 

"  Eveleen  at  last  renders  you  justice,  my  deai 
Sir  James,"  said  my  mother,  as  he  moved  to- 
ward her;  "and  we  both  hope  that  you  wil 
pardon  all  her  past  coquetry.  It  was,  as  I  tolii 
you,  the  inspiration  of  her  head,  and  not  of  her 
heart,  and  she  is  heartily  ashamed  of  it ;  nay, 
I  am  not  quite  sure  that  it  has  not  cost  her  a 
few  tears  ;  for,  when  she  first  entered  the  room 
she  was  radiant,  while  now  she  is  as  pale  and 
wan  as  Desdemona.  Wdl  you  promise  to  for- 
get the  past  1" 

The  baronet  bowed  profoundly ;  and  then 
approaching  me,  he  took  my  hand  and  raised  it 
to  his  lips,  despite  the  inclination  to  prevent  if 
which  I  dared  not  betray.  "Miss  Tilden  is  too 
handsome,"  he  said  with  grave  courtesy,  "not 
to  be  pardoned  for  the  wish  to  make  so  great  a 
happiness  as  that  which  I  am  now  permuted  to 
anticipate,  the  reward  of  some  sudering.  She 
was  anxious,  perhaps,  to  make  n)e  purchase 
the  triumph  of  her  hand  from  herself,  rather 
than  to  owe  it  to  the  intercession  of  her  family; 
and  her  resolution  is  very  flattering  to  me.  I 
have  neither  right  nor  inclination  to  complain 
At  whatever  price  so  great  a  boon  may  be  ob- 
tained, it  can  never  equal  its  value." 

I  bowed  coldly  and  in  silence ;  my  pride  had 
been  wounded  by  the  apologetic  words  of  my 
mother,  and  I  revolted  at  both  the  tone  and 
manner  of  my  unwished-for  suitor. 

"  I  have  warned  Eveleen  that  we  must  have 
no  more  flirtations  with  Mr.  Curties,"  said  my 
mother  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"I  am  less  exacting,"  was  the  instant  reply 
of  Sir  James.  "I  think  it,  on  the  contrary, 
vastly  amusing;  and  if,  at  the  same  time,  il 
amuses  Miss  Tilden,  I  see  no  reason  why  she 
should  refuse  herself  so  innocent  a  gratification. 
No,  no ;  it  is  by  no  means  of  Mr.  Curties  that 
I  should  feel  inclined  to  be  jealous." 

The  malicious  emphasis  of  his  last  phras€ 
was  not  lost  upon  me.  I  bit  my  lips  with  sup- 
l)ressed  raye,  hut  I  compelled  myself  to  silenca 

"Is  Lady  Devereux  arrived  1"  asked  mj 
mother,  as  if  anxious  to  change  the  conversa- 
tion ;  "  I  thought  1  nearu  the  sound  of  wheels 
upon  the  gravel  before  your  entrance ;  but,  ai 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


119 


had  git  ^r,  orders  not  to  be  disturbed,  no  visitor 
•<is  beer,  announced." 

•'  Yes,  she  is  here — all  animation  and  bril- 
ianey  ;  J..d  will  liiinii  every  minute  an  hour 
jntil  she  has  seen  you." 

"  I  vvi;i  M)t  defer  the  meeting  any  longer ;  my 
•veloomi;  :s  as  ready  as  it  is  sincere."  said  my 
luoiher,  Ksing  from  her  chair,  and  advancing  to 
Ihe  door  of  the  library. 

I  understood  her  intention  at  once ;  I  was  to 
fee  left  litc-d-tele  with  Sir  James,  but  for  this  I 
'lad  neither  strength  nor  temper  ;  and,  accord- 
'ii^iy,  I  vvithiirew  with  a  stately  courtesy  from 
6eside  liii;i  ;  and,  as  she  disappeared  through 
one  door,  I  escaped  by  the  otlier. 

I  hoped  that,  once  alone  again,  I  should  be- 
some  more  calm,  but  I  was  wrong.  I  only  felt 
the  wretchedness  of  my  position  more  acutely  ; 
^nd  the  aiomentary  hope  in  which  I  had  so  idly 
indulged  served  to  render  my  increased  disap- 
poinliner.t  the  more  bitter.  It  was  with  a  feel- 
ing of  puwerlessness  and  despair  that  I  sat  down 
to  review  every  phase  of  my  situation  in  detail. 
I  called  up  the  past — dwelt  upon  words  and 
looks  that  I  had  hitherto  almost  forgotten  ;  and 
lingered  over  them  long,  very  long — but  I  did 
not  shed  a  tear ;  I  examined,  rigorously  and 
resolutely,  my  conduct  toward  both  Sir  James 
and  Mr.  Curties  ;  and,  although  I  was  com- 
pelled to  admit  that  it  had  been  childish  and 
inconsistent,  stiH  I  could  not  bring  myself  to 
believe  that  it  authorized  the  tyranny  with 
which  1  had  since  been  treated.  But  when  I 
at  last  began  to  reflect  that  I  was  now,  and  by 
my  own  tacit  consent,  the  affianced  wife  of  Sir 
James  Dornton,  the  discarded  suitor  of  my 
mother — for  of  that  fact  I  never  for  a  moment 
entertained  a  doubt — then  again  my  tears  burst 
out  afresh,  and  for  a  few  seconds  I  thought  that 
I  should  have  suffocated.  Nor  was  this  all. 
The  scene  of  the  morning  was  still  visibly  be- 
fore me  ;  and  how  had  my  proffered  hand — for 
it  had  indeed  been  proffered,  and  not  asked — 
how  had  it  been  received  ?  With  a  cold  bow 
and  a  few  studied  sentences.  I  felt  that  now 
indeed  I  was  dishonored  :  that  now,  indeed,  my 
dignity  was  humbled.  Had  not  the  man  to 
whom  I  was  to  be  tied  for  life  been  solicited  to 
accept  a^.e  !  Had  he  not  been  asked  to  forgive 
all  thj:l  he  disapproved  ? — and  had  he  not  dis- 
dainfully made  known  to  me  at  once  that  I  was 
free  to  smile  upon  a  rival,  without  one  appre- 
hension of  wounding  either  his  pride  or  his 
6elf-l(.vc  ! 

Let  i:>y  woman,  accustomed  to  the  voice  of 
adulation,  and  more,  to  the  accents  of  passion, 
place  i.-iiself  for  an  instant  in  my  position  ;  and 
then  .e;  her  confess  how  much  more  readily  she 
would  encounter  some  real  sorrow,  which, 
while  .•;  crushed  her  heart,  still  spared  her  self- 
respect. 

Hew  differently  would  Devereux  have  acted 
at  sue  a  moment  !  We  are  all  so  apt  to  ap- 
preciate ourselves  at  the  value  set  upon  us  by 
those  who  love  us  best,  that  I  was  thoroughly 
denorUi.tce  by  the  events  of  the  few  last  weeks  ; 
and  ,-i,y  thoughts  once  more  fastened  upon 
Heibe/t.  "Ah  !''  I  mentally  exclaimed,  "  whai 
frouli,  have  been  his  indignation  if  he  had 
iear_  Lay  mother  soliciting,  in  my  bclialf,  the 
ln.lii.g'->.-.:e  of  Sir  James  Dornton  ?     And  I  have 

ital.lytubmitted  to  this  degradation—I   have, 


coward  as  I  am,  consented  to  leceive  as  a  suit- 
or ilii'  man  who,  atsucli  a  moment,  approaches 
me  with  covert  insult  I" 

These  reflections  almost  maddened  me.  I 
fell  as  though  I  should  become  delirious.  I  was 
frightened  at  myself.  Once  I  rose,  in  a  stale 
ofdesperation,  resolved  to  seek  Lady  Madelairie, 
and  to  declare  to  her,  even  though  she  should 
be  surrounded  by  her  guests,  that  I  would  not 
become  the  passive  tool  of  her  exacting  pleas- 
ure; but  a  fresh  terror  soon  grew  upon  me.  and 
her  threat  of  recalling  Mr.  Curties  once  more 
chained  my  steps. 

I  sent  to  beg  that  I  might  be  excused  from 
appearing  at  dinner;  but  my  request  was  per- 
emptorily refused.  I  consequently  revenged 
myself  in  the  only  way  possible  to  me  ;  and  en- 
raged Josephine  by  a  careless  and  ill-assorted 
costume,  which  rendered  me  odious  in  my  own 
eyes.  I  was,  moreover,  as  pale  as  marble ; 
and  there  was  a  dark  circle  about  my  swollen 
eyes  that  betrayed  the  tears  I  had  so  lately  shed. 
I  had  nerved  myself  for  a  reprimand,  for  I  was 
callous  to  all  minor  annoyances  ;  but  I  ought  to 
have  understood  my  mother  better.  She  had 
reserved  for  me  a  trial  infinitely  greater. 

As  I  had  delayed  my  appearance  until  after 
the  second  dinner-bell  had  rung,  the  party  were 
all  assembled  when  I  reached  the  drawing- 
room ;  and  I  had  scarcely  crossed  the  threshold, 
when  Lady  Madelaine  exclaimed  in  affected 
gaiety — "  Oh  !  here  is  the  bride  elect  at  last. 
Eveleen  is  presuming  upon  her  privileges  al- 
ready. You  must  not  encourage  such  preten- 
sions. Sir  James,  or  she  will  be  spoiled  before 
the  termination  of  the  honey-moon." 

I  stopped  abruptly  where  I  stood  ;  I  could 
not  move  forward  another  step ;  and  I  looked 
helplessly  around  upon  the  groups  before  me, 
as  if  awaiting  some  further  trial  of  my  feelings  ; 
but  for  once  I  wronged  them.  The  sarcastic 
nature  of  the  baronet,  his  welJ-known  admira- 
tion of  my  mother,  his  limited  fortune,  and  the 
disparity  of  our  ages,  joined  to  the  visible  suf- 
fering imprinted  upon  my  countenance,  offered 
no  inducement  to  their  congratulations.  A 
dead  silence  followed  the  sally  of  Lady  Made- 
laine, and  I  felt  grateful  to  those  who  had  so 
spared  me. 

Sir  James,  as  a  matter  of  course,  led  me  to 
table.  Every  one,  indeed,  gave  back  as  he  ap- 
proached, evidently  acknowledging  his  claim. 

"  Poor  Eveleen  !"  he  whispered,  as  he  drew 
my  arm  through  his;  "your  mother  is,  indeed, 
merciless." 

I  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  almost  ex- 
pecting to  detect  a  mockery  in  his  eye  which 
would  belie  his  words  ;  but  I  was  mistaken. 
His  better  feelings  had  evidently  been  revolt- 
ed by  an  indelicacy  in  which  Lady  Madelaine 
had  sacrificed  her  good  breeding  to  her  ruffled 
temper. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  the  time  occupied  by 
dinner,  the  baronet  continued  to  devote  his  en 
tire  attention  to  myself;  but,  despite  all  his  at 
tempts  to  appear  gay  and  unembarrassed,  I 
could  perceive  that  at  intervals  he  was  over- 
taken by  some  painful  thought,  from  which  he 
had  to  exert  considerable  effort  to  rouse  him- 
self. Once  or  twice  I  detected  a  smothered 
sigh,  which  he  immediately  endeavored  te 
drown  under  a   forced  laugh,  frequently  got  u^ 


1 20 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


strangely  n/il-a-propos ;  and  altogether,  I  rose 
from  table  enibiitered  against  itiy  mother,  mys- 
tified by  my  intended  bridegroom,  and  dissatis- 
fied and  wretched  in  myself. 

We  had  no  sooner  reached  the  drawing-room, 
tlian  Lady  Dt-vereux,  who,  during  the  presence 
of  the  gentlemen,  had  only  recognized  me  by  a 
nod,  beckoned  me  to  her  side  upon  a  sofa  ;  and, 
after  touching  my  check  with  her  lips,  began  to 
whisper  out  her  surprise  at  the  news  which  she 
had  jusl  learnt  of  my  engagement. 

"  Who  would  have  expected,  Eveleen,  that 
you.  who  weje  tlietoy  of  your  mother's  circle 
at  Rookslcy  at  the  period  when  Sir  James  was, 
if  not  dangler  c«  chef,  at  least  dangler  en  second, 
would  ever  have  consented  that  matters  should 
be  reconciled  in  this  way  I — Poor  Sir  Jaines ! 
Nothing  can  alter  the  fact  that  he  was  the  first 
favorite,  although  Olterford  proved  the  most  suc- 
cessful. However,  Lady  Madelaine  has  shown 
herself  to  be  an  able  general." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  I  said,  coldly. 

"  Really  •  I  gave  you  credit  for  a  quic^cer 
apprehension  ;  but,  perhaps,  it  is  better  as  it  is. 
At  all  events,  I  cannot  resist  complimenting 
you  upon  a  concession  which  must  have  been 
very  agreeable  lo  your  mother  for  many  rea- 
sons." 

"  That  reflection  is  at  least  consoling,"  I  re- 
marked, with  some  haughtiness. 

"  Consoling,  Eveleen  !"  echoed  the  particular 
friend  of  my  mother,  with  an  eagerness  which 
proved  that  she  had,  at  length,  found  lier  text- 
word.  "  What  can  you  mean  by  consoling  ] 
You  were  no  faded  and  forsaken  beauty,  driven 
to  a  matrimonial  pis  allcr.  You  had  other 
alternatives ;  at  all  events,  another  alterna- 
tive," she  added,  correcting  herself;  "  why, 
then,  do  you  talk  of  needing  consolation  V 

-Xliis  ouii)urst,  on  the  part  of  Lady  Devereux, 
at  once  astonished  and  bewildered  me.  Hither- 
to, she  had  rarely  condescended  to  remark  my 
existence  ;  and  now,  she  suddenly  assumed  a 
confidential  tone  and  position,  which  left  me  at 
a  loss  how  to  proceed.  That  she  was  piqued, 
was  sufficiently  evident.  Could  it  be  because 
the  interests  of  her  son  would  suffer  by  my 
marriage  with  Dornton^  Nothing  would  be  mofe 
natural;  but,  miserable  and  despairing  as  I  was, 
I  nevertheless  remembered' that,  in  the  event 
of  my  being  unable  to  disengage  myself  from 
my  lacit  promise  to  Sir  James,  I  should  never 
forgive  myself,  when  once  his  wife,  if  I  had 
ever  shown  sufficient  weakness  to  bewail  my 
fate  to  an  indifferent  person,  and,  far  more,  to 
the  mother  of  the  man  1  loved.  How  dare  I 
tell  her,  that  my  heart  was  still  full  of  her  son, 
when  she  saw  me  quietly  permit  myself  to  be 
announced  as  the  destined  bride  of  another 
person?  All  these  reflections  passed  hurriedly 
before  me,  and  I  answered,  still  more  coldly 
than  at  first ;  "  Surely,  every  woman  needs 
consolation,  who  is  about  to  stake  her  liberty 
against  a  chance." 

Lady  Devereux  bit  her  lips,  arvd  looked 
keenly  at  me.  She  had  not  anticipated  so 
much  sell- possession  on  my  part,  and  she  was 
evidf  ntly  disappointed.  "In  any  case,"  she 
resu'iied,  as  she  threw  herself  back  upon  the- 
Bofa  and  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  to  intimate  that 
onr  -onference  was  ended,  "you  will  be  (luite 
Kc.jv  I'.giiiM.sL  tlic  censure  of  the  world,  for  it 


cannot  accuse  you  of  having  married  e'thei  foi 
wealth  or  fi)r  youth  ;  or,  in  all  probability,  frcr? 
that  unfashionable  impulse,  love.  You  v/ilJ 
have  contracted,  in  every  point  of  view,  ^ 
marriage  of  reason — and  I  sincerely  wish  th.T. 
it  may  prove  a  happy  one." 

I  accepted  my  tacit  dismissal,  with  the  sanif 
apparent  indifference  which  I  had  sustained 
dining  the  dialogue,  but  my  heart  was  bursting. 
It  was  then  palpable  to  every  one,  tliat  I  was  a 
mere  passive  tool  in  the  hands  of  Lady  Made^ 
laine.  What  did  the  words  of  her  angry  friend 
imply  1 — Simply,  that  I  had  been  sacrificed  to 
Dornton,  as  compensation  for  her  own  prefer- 
ence of  Lord  Olterford !  Every  pulse  of  my 
heart  heat  with  agony  and  Wounded  pride,  but  I 
was  like  a  lion  in  the  toils.  I  had  no  outward, 
strength  :  I  had  only  power  to  suffer,  not  to 
strive. 

I  had  seated  myself  upon  a  settee,  occupying 
a  recess,  which  was  half  concealed  from  view 
by  an  Indian  screen,  and  I  was  thus  able  to  in- 
dulge my  tears  without  restraint.  Was  every 
day,  almost  every  hour,  to  produce  a  new  in- 
sult !  And  was  I  to  bear  them  tamely,  and,  as 
though  I  had  earned  them  by  my  own  miscon- 
duct ?  And  then  I  thought  of  the  mysterious' 
and  contradictory  manner  of  Sir  James,  and  I 
asked  myself,  if  it  were  possible  that  I  should 
ever  love  him.  The  image  of  Devereux  rose 
up  as  I  put  the  question,  and  the  answer  was  a 
fresh  burst  of  tears. 

The  sound  of  voices  in  the  hall  warned  me 
that  I  must  no  longer  indulge  in  such  feelings, 
and  I  hastily  removed  the  traces  of  my  weep- 
ing, and  shrunk  still  closer  behind  my  protect- 
ing screen. 

Lady  Devereux  opened  her  eyes,  and  as- 
sumed a  more  graceful  attitude  ;  my  mother 
desired  Lord  Chaffington  to  seek  fiir  a  bottle  of 
Hungary  water,  among  the  essences  on  a  side 
table  ;  two  or  three  men,  who  had  cominenced 
a  political  discussion  in  the  dining-room,  col- 
lected upon  the  hearth-rug  to  pursue  it  ;  Lord 
Otterford  established  himself  beside  Lady 
Devereux,  and  immediately  commenced  a  very 
animated  conversation  in  an  undertone  ;  and 
Sir  James  Dornton,  after  one  hurried  glance 
round  the  room,  hastily  approached  my  retreat. 

"  I  fear.  Miss  Tilden,  that  you  are  exaspe- 
rated against  me,"  he  commenced,  as  hw 
placed  himself  at  my  side  ;  "and  yet,  I  assuro 
you,  on  my  honor,  that  I  do  not  merit  this  ex- 
treme displeasure.  It  is  true,  that  I  ventured, 
like  others,  to  aspire  to  your  favor;  but  yr:j 
should  do  me  the  justice  to  remember,  a!.«Oi 
that  I  withdrew  when  I  had  ascertained,  ho- 
yond  all  doubt,  that  my  pretensions  were  d.-."* 
pleasing  to  you.  It  was  your  own  voice  whicVi 
recalled  me ;  and  although,  for  a  few  inslar.f.8. 
my  pride  was  at  war  with  my  tenderness,  and 
I  could  not  avoid  reverting  to  the  unnecegsa~» 
mortification  to  which  I  had  been  subjected, 
still,  I  did  not  love  you  the  less,  because  I  be- 
trayed how  much  I  had  sufTered  from  yc»rr 
coldness." 

"  All  this  would  be  well,  Sir  James,"  I  r»v 
plied,  proudly,  "  if  you  had  not  previous'v 
assumed  so  perfect  a  knowledge  of  all  m" 
former  life.  As  it  is,  I  beg  you  to  spare  me 
every  mockery  of  the  kind.  We  understand 
each  other  too  well.     L'"  you  couli  (-.'fimi-'al 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


J21 


we  generous  impulse,  you  would  refuse  a  hand 
which,  as  you  well  know,  has  been  promised  to 
you,  not  fieely  nor  willingly,  hut  by  the  lorce  ol 
ariolhi'.r's  will.  Do  this,  and  my  dislike  and 
avoidance  will  at  once  be  changed  into  grati- 
aide  and  regard." 

Sir  James  looked  at  me,  for  a  moment,  as  if 
in  pity  of  my  simplicity  ;  and  then,  endeavor- 
ing to  take  my  hand,  which,  however,  I  coldly 
withdrew,  as  soon  as  he  had  touched  it,  he 
said,  in  a  low  and  impassioned  accent :  "  It  is 
easy  for  yot:  to  talk  thus,  Eveleen  ;  you,  to 
whom  I  am  only,  as  you  have  yourself  declared, 
an  object  of  dislike  and  of  avoidance  ;  but,  as  it 
is  far  otherwise  with  me,  I  cannot  do  what  you 
ask.  Your  possession  is  necessary  to  my 
happiness.  For  a  long  time  it  appeared  unat- 
tainable, yet  still  I  persisted  to  hope  ;  and  do 
you  imagine,  that  I  now  possess  courage,  wil- 
lingly to  resign  the  boon  for  which  I  have  so 
long  sighed'in  vainl" 

"And  will  the  hand  satisfy  you,  when  the 
heart  is  withheld,  I  ask,  in  my  turn  1"  I  re- 
joined. "  Truly,  your  pride  is  far  from  equal- 
ing your  pertinacity  !" 

»'  I  forgive  your  scorn,  Eveleen,"  said  Dorn- 
tnii,  quietly  ;  "  ere  long  you  will  do  me  greater 
justice." 

"  My  fiat  will  depend  upon  yourself." 

"As  my  wife — " 

"  That  will  I  never  be,  while  one  chance  of 
escape  remains." 

"  Miss  Tilden  !"  exclaimed  my  listener,  in 
astonishment ;  "  what  am  I  to  understand  \ 
Do  you  intend  that  I  should  once  more  be 
made  a  mark  for  your  caprice  and  coquetry  1" 

'■  Sir  1"  I  ejaculated,  in  my  turn,  and  would 
have  risen,  but  he  held  me  to  my  seat. 

"  Listen,  Eveleen,"  he  said,  as  his  eye 
flashed  haughtily  down  upon  me;  "all  these 
recriminations  are  at  once  idle  and  ill-bred. 
Occupied  by  one  vain  and  impracticable  vision, 
you  neither  do  justice  to  yourself  nor  me.  Be 
warned  in  time.  I  am  not  a  man  whom  you 
can  exasperate  with  safety.  You  may  make  of 
me  a  tyrant  or  a  slave ;  I  am  now  in  your 
power  ;  do  not,  I  beseech  you,  let  me  see  you 
place  yourself,  recklessly,  in  mine." 

"  Am  I  not  already  there  1" 

"  Nut  as  I  mean  you  to  understand  my  words. 
You  are  too  handsome  to  be  obdurate — too 
well-bred  to  be  unjust.  Of  what  do  you  accuse 
mel  Of  loving  you  I  Surely,  I  am  not  alone 
in  the  transgression;  although,  according  to 
your  favorite  system, 

'That  in  the  le.^der's  but  a  choleric  word 
Whicli  in  the  soldier  is  ranli  blasphemy ;' 
and,  moreover,  as  you  will  only  have  to  snow 
yourself  in  the  world,  for  another  season,  in 
order  to  increase  a  hundred-fold  the  number  of 
delinquents,  I  do  not  think  it  reasonable,  that  I 
should  be  the  only  one  called  upon  to  suffer  for 
the  sins  of  the  mass." 

I  still  pouted,  but  I  was  woman  enough  to  he 
somewhat  touched  by  the  turn  of  his  argument. 
I  was,  however,  far  from  well-disposed  toward 
him.  He  exhibited  too  perfect  a  feeling  of  se- 
curity ;  and,  in  my  self-tormenting  thoughts,  I 
began  to  decide  that  I  was  destined  to  suffer 
everydisiinct  mortification  of  which  my  situation 
was  susceptible.  Indignant  with  my  mother; 
irritated  against  Sir  James,  whom  I  mentally 


accused  of  tyranny  and  meanness  ;  ter-L''  A  ai 
the  bare  name  of  Mr.  Curties,  whio!;  a'-»-ay 
suthced  to  check  every  deiiumstration  o'  ■ndo 
pendence  on  my  part,  and  utterly  ahar-iimed 
to  those  whose  interests  were  at  war  «•;♦»;  my 
own,  I  became  perfectly  bewildered,  "^ime- 
tirnes  I  began  to  ask  myself  whetlier  Dev-^reux 
had  not  indeed  forgotten  me,  as  Lady  Maf*o,'aine 
had  asserted ;  and  whether  I  could  ),!*  live 
Jiappy  as  the  wife  of  Dornton.  There  was  no 
efficient  rival  at  Woodville  to  throw  a  .shade 
over  either  his  moral  or  physical  advantages  ; 
the  men  envied  and  the  women  feared  him,  and 
I  knew  this. 

After  thebrief  conversation  which  I  have  just 
recorded.  Sir  James  affected  never  again  to  re- 
mark my  coldness.  He  had  evidently  pris  son 
parti.  He  assumed,  with  an  ease  for  which  1 
loathed  him,  all  the  privileges  of  a  declajed 
lover  ;  he  became  tender,  anxious,  and  devoted. 
Once  more  he  put  forth  all  the  causticity  and 
point  of  his  never-failing  wit ;  all  the  research 
and  charm  of  his  well-cultivated  intellect.  Every 
one  was  lo^ud  in  his  praise  ;  and  eager  to  ?,scribe 
to  my  influence  his  increased  powers  of  pleas- 
ing. In  my  favor,  however,  he  made  little  ac- 
tual progress.  Moments  there  were  in  which  I 
was,  like  those  about  me,  dazzled  and  fascinated. 
His  personal  beauty,  his  perfect  self-possession, 
and  the  unhesitating  ease  with  which  he  dis- 
cussed every  subject,  and  decided  upon  the 
merits  of  every  person  ;  the  scintillations  of 
satire,  half-wiity  and  half-malicious,  which  oc- 
casionally placed  his  listeners  in  the  position  ol 
children,  who,  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  the 
wasp,  entail  its  string  upon  themselves,  when 
they  merely  seek  the  amusement  of  grasping  it 
for  a  moment ;  all  these  definite  attributes  sus- 
tained my  attention  and  mastered  my  indif- 
ference. I  had  resolved  to  hate  him;  I  even 
believed  that  I  should  soon  succeed  in  doing  so; 
but  my  belief  was  in  vain.  In  order  to  hate  Sir 
James  Dornton,  you  must  have  been  slighted  by 
limi  ;  and  this  was  not  my  case. 

Day  alter  day  he  increased  in  wit,  in  amia- 
bility, and  in  devotion.  He  created,  as  it  seem- 
ed, a  new  atmosphere  about  me.  Even  Lady 
Madelaine  no  longer  venluied  to  disturb  ray 
gradually  increasing  equanimity.  I  soon  saw 
the  futility  of  endeavoring  to  nourish  my  vehe- 
ment dislike,  so  I  abandoned  the  project,  and 
sheltered  myself  under  a  listless  inditlerence. 
No  idea  of  ever  loving  him  entered  into  my 
imagination.  Had  I  not  another  image  shrined 
in  my  heart  of  hearts  '.  I  felt  convinced  that  I 
could  never  look  upon  him  more  favorably; 
and  I  rather  congratulated  myself  that  I  had 
overcome  my  extreme  aversion.  After  all, 
had  read  more  than  once  that  indifference  was 
the  state  most  antipathetical  to  passion,  anc* 
most  hopeless  for  a  suitor ;  and  I  satisfied  my 
pride  that  precisely  to  that  point  I  had  arrived 
and  that,  come  what  might,  nothing  could  now 
alter  my  feeling.  Dornton,  however,  thoiiifht  oth 
erwise.  With  but  little  moral  esteem  for  women, 
and  a  very  high  opinion  of  himself,  his  confi 
dence  in  his  own  powers  was  unbounded.  H 
had  vowed  that  he  would  overcome  my  coldness' 
and  his  ingenuity,  prompted  by  a  vanity  wtit 
never  slumbered,  was  constantly  exerted  forth 
purpose. 

Time  passed  on,  unheeded  by  me.    I  forgo 


^i3 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


.Rat,  sooner  or  later,  the  day  must  uhimatcly 
cf..:ve  on  wliich  I  should  be  required  to  lulhl 
iii)  promise,  and  to  become  the  wife  of  Sir 
-a:.:es.  Not  a  syllable  had  for  weeks  been  ut- 
crcJ  to  remind  aie  of  this  fact ;  and  I  had  lived 
-iy  after  day  in  a  sort  of  moral  apathy,  avoid- 
.'i;g  alike  all  retrospection  and  all  speculation 
o.;  the  future ;  I  had  existed  only  like  the 
cphemeris,  in  the  moment,  and  for  the  moment. 
»  was  tirst  aroused  to  something  like  a  suspi- 
cion of  the  truth,  by  the  frequent  visits  to  town 
uliich  my  mother  suddenly  found  it  necessary 
to  make;  and  in  which,  while  she  was  only 
occasionally  accompanied  by  her  husband,  she 
was  always  attended  by  the  baronet.  No  re- 
mark was,  however,  made  before  me  upon  the 
purport  of  their  journeys  ;  and,  for  the  moment, 
Uieir  only  effect  as  regarded  myself  was  an  in- 
crease of  demonstration  on  the  part  of  Sir 
James,  to  whom  these  temporary  absences  ap- 
peared to  impart  fresh  passion ;  and  the  pres- 
ence of  a  hundred  pretty  and  expensive  toys 
which  gradually  accumulated  about  me,  and  of 
which  he  was  the  unwearied  donor.  I  was 
never  consulted  upon  any  point ;  And  I  was 
glad  of  it.  I  had  taken  up  my  position  ;  and  I 
considered  myself  already  a  sufficient  victim, 
without  being  required  to  assist  in  heaping  the 
fuel  for  the  funeral-pyre  of  my  own  happi- 
ness. 

The  season  was  about  to  commence,  and  we 
were  preparing  to  leave  Woodville,  when  my 
mother  abruptly  informed  me  that  she  had  made 
every  preparation  for  my  marriage,  which  was 
to  take  place  immediately  after  our  arrival  in 
town. 

"  Sir  James  loves  you  too  ardently,  Eve- 
leen,"  she  said  in  conclusion,  "  to  brook  the 
idea  of  seeing  you  made  a  mark  for  the  idle  at- 
tentions of  a  host  of  empty-hearted  and  empty- 
headed  coxcombs  ;  nor  need  I  remind  you  that 
you  have  yourself  personal  reasons  for  avoiding 
as  much  as  possible  any  notoriety  while  you 
remain  unmarried.  As  Lady  Durnton  you  may 
defy  all  malicious  comment." 

Even  at  such  a  moment  my  mother  could  not 
sliow  me  mercy. 

I  retired  to  my  room.  For  the  last  few  weeks 
I  had  forgotten  everything,  save  that  I  was  about 
once  more  to  enter  the  world  ;  and  that,  in  ail 
probability,  I  should  again  encounter  Devereux. 
I  felt  that  his  presence  might  still  give  me 
strength  to  contend  against  the  fate  which  had 
been  forced  upon  me  ;  and,  cowed  as  I  was, 
while  I  despaired  in  myself,  1  had  still  a  hope  in 
him.  My  last  prop  was  now  torn  away  !  My 
destiny  was  accomplished.  This  new  anguish 
did  not,  as  all  my  previous  trials  had  hitherto 
done,  find  a  relief  in  tears.  My  eyes  were  hot 
and  dry,  my  temples  throbbed,  and  a  suffocating 
sickness  came  over  me.  I  had  just  strength  to 
totter  to  the  bell,  to  pull  it  violently,  and  to 
attempt  to  reach  the  sofi^.  I  failed,  however,  in 
my  p;:rp(ise  ;  bcl'ore  I  could  cross  the  tloor,  I  fell 
a  heavy  weight  pressing  upon  my  brain  ;  and, 
with  one  long  piercing  shriek  of  terror  and  of 
pain,  I  fainted. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
1  HAVE  said  that  the  season  was  about  to 
com.i.»;nce,  and  that  our  guests  were  already 


preparing  to  depart;  no  wonder,  then,  Ihal 
when  it  was  announced  by  the  physicians,  who 
had  been  hastily  summoned  from  the  nearest 
town,  that  1  was  suffering  from  a  violent  aiiacJt 
of  (ever  of  a  malignant  description,  the  house 
soon  became  deserted.  Carriage  after  carriage 
rolled  from  the  door,  laden  with  its  imperial  and 
traveling  trunks ;  guest  after  guest  shook  my 
mother's  hand  in  silence  and  well-acted  sympa- 
thy ;  and  then  hastened  to  escape  from  a  scene 
of  danger,  und  probably  of  death.  At  the  end 
of  the  second  day,  of  all  the  gay  party  which 
had  been  at  Woodville,  buoyant  wiih  light  and 
laughter,  none  remained  beneath  its  roof,  save 
Lord  Otterford,  who  had,  as  I  afterwards  dis- 
covered, a  sorrow  of  his  own  to  nurse  ;  Lady 
Madelaine,  who  dared  not  abandon  me  in  my 
extremity,  and  Sir  James  Dornton,  whose  atv 
sence  must  have  ruined  all  his  hopes. 

For  six  weary  weeks  I  remained  stretched 
upon  a  bed  of  sickness.  Hope  and  indignation 
had  both  failed  at  last,  and  I  had  sunk  without 
their  support.  For  days  I  was  delirious,  and 
called  upon  Devereux  to  deliver  me  from  the 
torments  to  which  1  believed  that  my  mother 
was  wilfully  subjecting  me.  At  these  periods 
my  violence  was  frightful ;  and  the  extreme 
after-weakness  consequent  upon  the  physical 
efforts  which  I  then  made,  reduced  me  to  a 
state  of  helplessness  impossible  to  describe, 
I  could  not  even  think ;  I  only  sought  to  re- 
main undisturbed  and  unquestioned,  and  thus 
to  be  allowed  to  pass  out  of  the  world  uncoo- 
sciously. 

When  for  a  brief  space  my  intellect  return- 
ed, and  that  1  ventured  to  open  my  eyes  to  the 
dim  light  which  was  admitted  into  the  room, 
they  invariably  fell  upon  Dornton,  who  appeared 
never  to  move  from  his  station  near  my  pillow 
For  a  considerable  time  the  impropriety  of  this 
arrangement  did  not  strike  me  ;  indeed,  my 
ideas  still  continued  so  confused,  that  even  when 
I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  him,  I  could  not  determine 
his  identity.  His  extreme  paleness,  his  melan- 
choly expression,  and  the  negligence  of  his 
dress,  were  all  so  unlike  his  former  self,  that  I 
experienced  no  painful  emotion  on  seeing  him. 
His  silence  and  his  sadness  w'ere  soothing  to  my 
depressed  spirits  and  prostrated  strength.  The 
sight  of  him  did  not  disturb  me  from  my  moral 
lethargy  ;  and  I  received  from  his  hands,  with- 
out opposition,  the  cordials  which  were  g.iven  to 
me  from  time  to  time  to  sustain  the  principle  of 
life.  Ttie  fever  had  leli  me  belorc  I  was  con- 
scious of  his  presence;  and  when  I  at  length 
became  convinced  that  it  was  really  Dornton 
who  had  watched  over  me  with  such  unweary- 
ing zeal,  I  no  longer  possessed  either  the  power 
or  the  inclination  to  contend.  The  slightest  ex- 
ertion subjected  me  to  long  and  painful  faintings, 
which  were  always  succeeded  by  un  increased 
degree  of  languor  and  suffering ;  and  I  conse- 
quently shrank  instinctively  from  every  possi- 
bility of  their  recurrence. 

.At  length  I  was  declared  to  be  out  of  danger; 
but  I  was  still  too  weak  to  stand  without  as- 
sistance,  and  my  chest  was  distressed  by  a  hol- 
low and  racking  cough.  It  was,  however,  a 
relief  to  be  able  to  leave  my  room,  and  to  watch 
from  the  window  the  first  timid  approach  of 
spring.  I  had  always  derived  my  best  and 
purest  gratification  frona  the  contemplation  of 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


123 


■>=nure  •  tint  after  my  long  confinement  to  a  sick- 
ed, I  was  more  than  usually  susceptible  to  its  at- 
4-a<-tions.  For  the  first  time  I  saw  a  smile  upon 
..e  lip  of  Sir  James,  as  he  watched  the  tears 
-vhich  I  shed  over  a  twig  of  the  flowering  Judas 
tree  which  Josephine  had  plucked  for  me  in  one 
jf  the  shrubberies.  From  that  day.  I  every 
Tiorning  found  upon  the  little  table  which  stood 
beside  my  sofa,  a  bunch  of  violets,  or  a  cluster 
of  wood-anemones,  and  I  saw  by  the  sparkle 
which  lit  up  the  eye  of  Dornton  as  I  eagerly 
stretched  out  my  hand  toward  them,  to  whom 
I  was  indebted  for  this  simple  but  welcome  act 
of  kindness. 

The  exactions  of  a  long  convalescence  are 
more  stringent  than  those  of  sickness  itself 
In  the  hour  of  physical  sufTering,  resignation 
and  obedience  are  all  that  are  required  of  us, 
and  even  to  these  we  are  not  always  equal ; 
but  as  the  moral  and  mental  powers  regain 
their  tone,  and  become  conscious  of  the  bodily 
thrall  by  which  they  are  held  back,  they  create 
a  thousand  wants  and  wishes,  which  tyrannize, 
by  their  multiplicity,  over  the  invalid ;  and  an 
irritability  which  sets  reason  at  defiance.  Ill- 
ness awakens  the  ftars,  and  calls  into  action 
the  sympathies  of  those  about  us — convales- 
cence only  wearies  their  good-will,  and  ex- 
hausts their  patience.  It  is  the  real  touchstone 
of  affection. 

Judged  by  this  standard.  Sir  James  was  ad- 
mirable. I  could  not  form  a  rational  wish, 
which  was  not  gratified  on  the  instant ;  I  could 
not  express  an  annoyance,  for  which  he  did  not 
discover  a  remedy ;  he  seemed  to  multiply 
himself,  in  order  to  suffice  to  all  my  caprices  ; 
was  constantly  on  the  watch  to  save  me  from 
casual  fatigue  or  agitation,  and  silenced  my 
mother  by  a  look,  when,  by  her  weariness  of 
the  task  imposed  upon  her,  she  was  disposed  to 
impress  upon  me  the  extent  of  the  sacrifice. 

All  this  was  very  attractive — very  hostile  to 
the  undying  afTection  which  I  had  vowed  in  my 
heart  to  Devereux.  I  no  longer  understood  my 
own  feelmgs.  Dornton  had  become  necessary 
to  me.  I  began  to  reflect,  not  certainly  with 
pleasure,  but  assuredly  without  terror,  on  my 
engagement  to  him.  I  even  asked  myself, 
whether  his  continual  assiduity  and  cheerful- 
ness might  not,  perhaps,  produce  more  home- 
happiness  than  the  languid  tenderness  of  Deve- 
reux ;  and  the  scale  of  feeling  wavered  with 
every  new  mark  of  affectionate  attention  which 
I  received  from  him. 

Such  was  the  state  of  my  mind  when  Sir 
James  received  a  letter,  which  rendered  it  im- 
perative that  he  should  immediately  proceed  to 
Ireland.  In  the  present  day,  such  a  journey 
Would  be  too  unimportant,  and  too  speedily 
accomplished,  to  appear  worthy  of  mention  ; 
but  such  was  far  from  being  the  case  at  the 
time  of  which  I  am  writing;  and  it  was  with  a 
i»k  of  consternation  that  he  placed  the  letter 
in  my  hand. 

"Read  it,  Evelcen,"  he.  said,  in  an  un- 
steady voice  •,  "  and,  at  least,  tell  me  that  you 
pity  me." 

I  ran  my  eye  rapidly  over  the  paper,  and 
thFP.,  glancing  towards  my  mother,  I  strove  to 
rr\'£  as  I  replied,  "  I  feel  almost  inclined  to 
reserve  my  pity  for  myself." 

had  uever  anticipat«>d  that  these  few  words 


would  have  produced  so  powerful  an  effect.  I 
forgot,  at  the  moment,  how  rarely  I  had  sutTered 
Dornton  to  perceive  thai  he  was  essential  even 
to  my  comfort ;  I  had  received,  not  welcomed 
his  attentions,  and  this  admission  of  his  impor- 
tance to  my  happiness  overwhelmed  him  with 
trium^jh. 

"Can  you  be  sincere,  Eveleeni"  he  asked 
delightedly,  as  he  seized  my  hand,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  I  am  ungrateful  for  all 
your  carel"   I  asked  in  my  turn. 

"  And  should  you  really  miss  me  in  my  ab- 
sence 1" 

"Really — and  the  rather  that  I  know  no  one 
either  able  or  willing  to  supply  your  place." 

"  Dare  I  then  crave  a  boon  in  return  for  ray 
poor  services  1" 

"  Assuredly,  and  if  it  be  in  my  power  to 
grant  it,  I  will  do  so  cheerfully." 

"  Will  you  pledge  yourself  to  this  ?" 

"Nay,  now  you  are  striving  to  alarm  me,"  I 
said  hurriedly,  as  a  weight  pressed  upon  my 
heart,  and  1  felt  my  lip  tremble  ;  "  name  your 
desired  reward,  and  I  will  tell  you  if  it  is  in  my 
power  to  bestow  it." 

"  It  is  in  your  power,  and  your  power  only," 
answered  Sir  James,  as  he  bent  his  knee  before 
me,  and  again  possessed  himself  of  my  reluct- 
ant hand.  "  Eveleen,  you  can  no  longer  doubt 
either  the  depth  or  the  sincerity  of  my  affection. 
After  living  so  long  constantly  in  your  presence, 
this  threatened  separation  seems  to  me  worse 
than  death.  I  can  imagine  but  one  consolation 
— but  that  one — oh,  Eveleen,  if  you  have  ever 
felt  the  torture  of  doubt,  the  misery  of  absence, 
you  will  at  once  understand  the  fulness  of  the 
consolation  which  I  would  entreat." 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  you,"  I  faltered  out 
almost  inaudibly. 

"  Is  your  heart  indeed  so  mute,  Eveleen  1 
Can  it  not  prompt  you  to  the  truth  1  Were  you 
only  mine  before  I  depart  on  this  hated  journey 
— would  you  only  consent  to  become  indeed 
mine — my  own — my  wedded  wife.  Speak,  Ev 
eleen,  do  I  indeed  deserve  so  great  a  boon  1" 

"  It  is  a  sorry  jest.  Sir  James,"  I  said,  as 
soon  as  I  could  find  breath  for  utterance ;  "  would 
you  lead  me  from  the  death-bed  to  the  altar  with- 
out a  pause  1  Do  I  look  like  a  bride,  with  this 
paleface,  and  this  wasted  form?  No  more  ol 
this.  Sir  James,  if  you  really  wish  to  see  me  one 
day  yours." 

"I  dissent  from  you  entirely,  Eveleen,"  said 
my  mother,  suddenly  looking  up  from  a  book 
upon  which  she  had  aflfected  to  be  engaged? 
"  and  I  at  once  declare  myself  in  Sir  James'  fa- 
vor. His  proposal  has,  I  frankly  admit,  relieV' 
ed  me  from  much  embarrassment  ;  for  I  have 
not  forgotten,  although  it  appears  to  have  escap- 
ed your  own  memory,  the  terms  upon  which 
you  have  now  been  living  together  for  the  last 
three  months.  Do  you  imagine  that  the  world 
has  made  no  comment  upon  the  circumstance] 
Do  not  deceive  yourself.  Your  own  absence 
during  the  season  might  not  perhaps  have  been 
remarked  ;  but  with  Sir  James  Dornton  it  is 
otherwise.  His  project  is  not  only  rational,  but 
in  every  way  expedient." 

I  could  only  bow  my  head,  and  weep. 

"  Let  this  wretched  affair  of  Emily  Vermn'i 
teach  you  more  wisdom,"  pursued  Lady  .Mad 


194 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRF/FTY  WOxMAN. 


el«int»,  ••'"•er  a  moment's  silence,  which  Sir 
JaE^s  d'.'!  not  nttempt  to  hreak  ;  "after  wear- 
ing poor  Mi?.  Vernon  to  a  shadow  by  making 
h:r  drag  lier  anxiety  and  her  trouble  from  place 
t:}  place,  in  order  to  ward  off,  if  possible,  an 
attack  of  what  she  quietly  allowed  her  doctors 
ID  denominate  consumption,  she  leaves  as  a  he- 
qvesl  to  her  victimized  mother  the  confession 
that  she  has  died  of  a  broken  heart." 

"  Died  !  '  I  exclaimed  convulsively.  "  Is  Em- 
fly  Vernon  indeed  dead  1" 

"She  died  at  Nice,  just  as  you  were  taken  ill," 
coldly  replied  Lady  Madeiaine;  "  nor  should  I 
have  mentioned  the  circumstance  to  you  now, 
had  it  not  hoen  to  draw  the  deduction,  that,  had 
she  acted  rationally,  and  not  romantically,  she 
would,  in  all  probability,  be  still  alive  ;  and  to  re- 
mind you  that  there  is  a  warning  in  herhistory." 

"Dead  I"  I  repeated  once  more,  for  my  arous- 
ed memory  had  brought  vividly  before  me  the 
fair,  fresh  imase  of  the  gentle  girl  who  had  loved 
me  in  my  childhood.  "  Can  she  be  dead  ]  She 
was  so  young,  so  fond,  so  loving  !"  Jind,  regard- 
less of  the  frown  of  my  mother,  I  buried  my  face 
in  my  hamls,  and  gave  free  passage  to  my  tears. 

"  This  is  terrible  .'"  said  Dornton,  glancing 
indignantly  at  Lady  Madeiaine;  "at  once  terri- 
ble and  ill-limed." 

"  Has  Lord  Otterford  heard  this  cruel  news  1" 
I  asked  involuntarily,  as  I  once  more  looked  up. 

"  Of  course.  It  is,  long  ere  this,  known 
throughout  London.  The  Vernons  are  all  ex- 
aggerated in  their  notions." 

The  secret  of  my  stepfather's  melancholy 
was  now  revealed  to  me.  It  was  the  working 
of  remorse. 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  that  occasion  rel- 
atively to  my  marriage,  and  as  I  lay  down  to 
rest,  I  trusted  that  the  subject  would  not  be  re- 
sumed until  the  return  of  the  baronet ;  in  this 
hope  I  began  to  reflect  that  perhaps  our  separa- 
tion might  prove  a  blessing  to  me  in  my  prpsent 
frame  of  mind,  as  it  would  enable  me  to  judge, 
from  the  effect  produced  upon  my  feelings  by 
his  absence,  of  the  actual  state  of  my  affections  : 
and  self-consoled  by  this  argument,  I  gave  anoth- 
er sincere  sigh  to  the  fate  of  poor  Emily,  and 
then  resigned  myself  to  sleep. 

I  was,  however,  a  great  deal  too  sanguine  ; 
for  no  later  than  the  ensuing  morning,  it  was 
again  question  of  this  hurried  and  ill-timed 
marriage.  The  subject  was  mooted  by  Sir 
James,  followed  up  by  my  mother,  and  finally 
pressed  upon  me  by  Lord  Otterford. 

I  liave  said  little  of  the  latter  since  his  mar- 
riage, for,  in  truth,  tlieie  hail  been  little  to  say. 
The  hand  of  Lady  Madeiaine  had  satisfied  at 
once  his  passion  and  his  ambition  ;  and  he  had 
become  a  mere  man  of  fashion,  wasting  his 
time  on  trifles  ;  the  best  dresser,  the  best  rider, 
and  the  least  officious  personage  of  his  circle. 
The  fa.'^hion  and  beauty  of  my  mother  flattered 
his  vanity ;  and  as  he  was  too  thoroughly  con- 
versant with  her  inborn  egotism  to  have  any 
fear  that  slie  would  ever  sacrifice  her  principles 
to  a  caprice,  he  left  her  perfectly  free  to  avail 
herself  as  she  pleased  of  both.  Moreover,  he 
was  somewhat  of  a  hon  vivant,  and  an  excellent 
judge  of  wine,  and  consequently  exhibited  a 
few  symptoms  of  incipient  gout,  all  which  low 
ered  l,im  to  the  mere  level  of  a  worthy,  well- 
bred,  but  by  no  means  interesting  personage. 


Lord  Otterford's  salient  quality  had  been  lii.s 
fascination,  and  his  immense  tact  with  "  tl  o 
sex;"  and  as  he  forswore  all  gallantry  after 
he  became  a  husband,  although  he  continued  to 
be  an  agreeable  companion,  he  no  longer  pos- 
sessed any  dislincti/e  social  feature.  It  is  a 
melancholy  fact  thai  the  ball-room  butterflies 
who  commence  life  as  "ladies'  men/'  common- 
ly close  It  as  mere  human  nonentities.  And  it 
was  only  now — now  when  he  had  ceased  all 
effort  to  render  himself  attractive — that  the 
punishment  of  his  former  falsehood  had  come 
upon  him — now,  when  the  charms  of  the  wo- 
man whom  he  ha''  so  long  coveted  had  paled 
beneath  long  custom  and  companionship,  that 
the  vision  of  the  fond  girl  who  had  loved  him — 
who  had  truste''  him — and  who  had  died  when 
that  love  became  a  crime,  was  brought  against 
him  in  all  its  purit*  ;  and  that  conscience,  when 
it  rose  before  him,  pointed  with  a  rigid  finger 
to  her  bier,  and  whispered  that  the  ruin  was 
his  work. 

In  spite  of  the  affection  which  I  had  felt  for 
the  unfortunate  Emily,  of  the  distaste  which  I 
had  nourished  of  himself,  and  of  my  own  better 
reason,  I  pitied  him.  He  was  evidently  stricken 
to  the  soul,  and  wounded  even  in  the  midst  of 
his  self-indulgence.  I  alone  suspected  the  cause 
of  his  depression  ;  and  he  was"  so  well  aware 
that  to  me  it  could  not  long  be  a  mystery,  that 
his  eye  sunk  before  mine  whenever  I  addressed 
him  ;  and  he  scrupulously  avoided  on  his  part 
all  further  intercourse,  than  that  trivial  ex- 
change of  courtesies  exacted  by  good  breeding. 

It  was,  consequently,  with  some  surprise 
that  I  now  heard  him  support  the  arguments  of 
Dornton.  He  represented  to  me  the  useless 
cruelty  of  exposing  the  man  to  whom  I  was  af- 
fianced, to  tl'.e  unceasing  anxieties,  and  doubts, 
and  apprehensions,  by  which  he  must  necessa 
rily  be  tormented,  during  an  absence  so  little 
anticipated  at  such  a  moment ;  but  there  was 
no  violence,  no  bitterness  in  his  reasoning.  He 
admitted  the  rationality  of  my  objections,  -al- 
Ihough  he  would  not  allow  them  to  be  of  suffi- 
cient weight  to  counterbalance  the  arguments 
by  which  they  were  opposed.  He  brought  be- 
fore me  the  debt  of  gratitude  which  I  had  con- 
tracted— the  untiring  devotion  of  which  I  had 
been  the  object — the  fact  that  I  had  received 
Sir  James  as  a  suitor — and,  above  all,  that  the 
period  originally  named  by  my  mother  for  our 
union  had  long  passed  ;  and  all  these  tangible 
circumstances  were  rendered  more  prominent, 
and  more  embarrassing,  by  the  tender  entrea- 
ties of  Sir  James,  who,  on  his  knee  before  me, 
protested  that  he  would  never  rise  from  his 
position  until  I  had  consented  to  his  happiness. 

This  painful  and  fatiguing  scene  endured  so 
long  that  my  strength  gave  way  under  the  ex- 
citement. I  pressed  my  hand  to  my  forehead, 
which  was  throbbing  almost  to  agony.  "  Be 
generous,  Sir  James,"  I  said  at  last;  "you 
know  that  I  am  unequal  to  this  trial.  How  can 
you  ask  me  to  become  your  wife  under  such 
circumstances  ]  The  very  movement  which 
such  an  event  must  create  about  me,  would,  ia 
all  probability,  plunge  me  once  more  into  the 
fearful  state  of  suffering  and  alienation  fioin 
vNhich  I  have  oi*ly  just  escaped." 

"All  this,  and  more,  has  been  alike  antrci- 
paled  and  prevented,  dearest  Eveleen,"  iniar   ■ 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


fiosefl  Sir  James,  as  he  pressed  my  hand  to  his 
lips  and  lo  his  heart;  "three  days  hence  I 
must  commence  my  journey ;  and,  until  the 
moment  of"  my  departure,  I  will  not  ask  you  to 
aiify  my  happiness.  Lady  Madelaine  consents 
ftat  the  ceremony  shall  be  performed  here,  in 
he  saloon  ;  she  has  already  secured  a  promise 
Ihat  a  special  license  shall  be  prepared  against 
he  moment  in  which  I  go  to  claim  it ;  let  me 
jut  call  you  my  wife,  but  have  the  right  once 
.0  clasp  you  to  my  heart  before  I  am  separated 
from  you,  and  I  will  depart  by  the  mail  which 
passes  Woodville  in  the  evening,  full  of  security 
in  the  present,  and  of  trust  and  confidence  in 
the  future.'' 

I  listened  breathles.sly ;  and  I  instantly  un- 
derstood ihat  all  further  opposition  would  be 
worse  than  useless.  Everything  had  been  pre- 
arranged and  predecided.  I  had  only  lo  fulfil 
my  destiny.  What  chance  of  successful  com- 
petiiion  remained  to  me!  How  could  I,  poor, 
timid,  irresolute  being  as  I  was,  oppose  the  in- 
domitable will  of  a  La\ly  Madelaine"!  or  the 
passionate  entreaties  of  a  man  who  had  for 
months  devoted  himself  to  my  caprices  1 

I  feel  that,  even  now,  I  am  endeavoring  to 
excuse  my  weakness ;  as  though  the  reader 
could  not  detect,  in  every  detail  of  my  life,  the 
want  of  moral  courage  wMch  made  me  alike 
the  to(d  and  the  victim  of  every  will  with  which 
my  own  came  into  contact  !  Enough  that,  as 
may  have  been  foreseen,  I  yielded.  Weary  of 
resistance,  bewildered  by  the  arguments  ad- 
vanced, anxious  to  escape  by  any  means  from 
the  persecution  to  v\  hich  I  was  sul)jected  ;  wil- 
fully shutting  my  eyes  to  the  fact,  that,  in  order 
to  spare  myself  present  sufTerin-g,  I  was  sacri- 
ficing by  one  word  all  possibility  of  future  free- 
dom, I  at  length  murmured  out  my  consent,  in 
a  voice  trembling  with  terror  and  agitation. 

"But  remember,"  I  said,  breaking  in  uporv 
the  rapturous  acknowledgment  of  my  trans- 
ported suiior,  whose  exhibition  of  ungoverna- 
ble rapture  was  to  me  as  fatiguing  as  his 
previous  pertinacity  ;  "  remember,  Sir  James, 
that  if  I  fulfil  in  good  faith  the  promise  which 
you  have  extorted  from  me,  I  expect  no  less 
from  yourself" 

"  I  have  no  alternative,  and  am  compelled  to 
verify  it,  kindest  and  most  adored  EveJeen," 
was  his  lover-hke  reply  ;  "and  thus,  and  only 
thus,  I  repeat  my  pledge  unhesitatingly." 

"  And  now  leave  me,  I  entreat  you,"  I  im- 
plored earnestly  ;  "  I  must  have  time  to  think. 
My  brain  whirls  with  the  excitement  which  our 
interview  has  caused.  I  feel  as  though  my 
delirium  would  return.  Have  pity  upon  me, 
and  leave  me  to  myself." 

My  request  was  granted.  My  mother  and 
Lord  Otterford  left  the  room  at  once,  the  latter 
only  pausing  as  he  passed  me  to  raise  my  fin- 
gers to  his  lips.  Sir  James  lingered  for  a  mo- 
ment;  but,  when  he  would  have  approached 
my  sofa,  I  warned  him  away,  and  rang  the  bell 
for  my  woman.  As  she  appeared,  he  looked 
foward  me  reproachfully,  and  disappeared. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
NF.yEB  was  t."    '6  so  melancholy  a  festival  as 
ETV  rrarriag e !    The  icctor  of  the    parish  per- 
forajed  the  ceremon/,  and  nio  daughter  officiat- 


ed as  my  bj-idemaid.  My  simple  morning  ilicbS 
of  white  muslin  was  half  hidden  beneaih  the 
folds  of  a  superb  shawl  of  Indian  "ashinero 
the  gift  of  Sir  James,  and  the  only  article  ol 
any  value  which  I  wore.  Josephine  almost 
scolded  herself  into  a  fever  for  weeks  after- 
ward, whenever  an  allusion  was  made  to  the 
circumstance,  while  to  myself  it  was  a  subject 
of  the  most  utter  indifference.  Pale,  depressed, 
and  reckless,  I  must  have  looked  to  the  worthy 
rector  and  his  daughter,  and  an  ollicial-looking 
personage,  who  was  presented  to  me  as  Mr. 
Thornton,  when  I  entered  the  saloon  leaning 
upon  the  arm  of  Lord  Otterford,  who  had  sta- 
tioned himself  at  the  door  of  my  dressing-room, 
for  the  purpose  of  offering  himself  as  my  escort, 
more  like  a  spectre  than  a  bride.  Sir  James 
and  my  mother  were  already  doing  the  honors 
to  our  reverend  guest,  and  his  pretty,  happy- 
looking  daughter ;  who,  all  blushes,  smiles,  and 
tremor,  did  not  appear  to  the  last  thoroughly 
to  understand  how  her  present  important  office 
had  devolved  upon  her. 

I  had  been  so  painfully  absorbed  by  my  own 
fears  and  reflections,  regrets  and  bewilderment, 
that  I  had  taken  no  part  whatever  in  the  scanty 
preparations  which  were  made  for  the  mar- 
riage ;  and,  consequently,  when  Dornton  ap- 
proached me,  and  placed  a  small  casket  in  my 
liand,  requesting  me,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  to 
present  it  to  Miss  Grenval,  I  did  so  mechanically 
with  as  cheerful  a  smile  as  I  could  summon  to 
my  lips;  nor  did  I  take  the  slightest  interest 
in  the  action  to  which  I  had  been  prompted, 
until  I  was  aroused  from  my  state  of  moral 
lethargy  by  the  delighted  comments  of  the  hap. 
py  gill,  who  Vvas  soon  occupied  in  adorning 
herself  with  the  pearls  which  it  had  contained. 

I  looked  at  her  in  wonder  and  in  envy.  I 
had  never  known  the  joy  which  such  a  gift 
could  produce,  upon  one  unaccuslomcd  to  the 
costly  toys  which  form  a  necessary  portion  ot 
the  existence  of  the  wealthy  and  the  idle  ;  and, 
as  she  stood  before  a  glass,  arranging  her  newly- 
acquired  treasures  upon  her  person,  I  lingered 
over  her  glowing  cheeks,  her  sparkling  eyes, 
and  her  low,  self-gratulatory  expressions  of 
wondering  admiration  ;  while  I  felt  the  tears 
rise  painfully  to  my  own  hot  and  weary  eye- 
balls, and  glanced  at  my  pale  cheeks,  my  bend- 
ing form,  and  my  look  of  hopeless  melancholy. 
Strange  to  say,  I  was  calm,  ptriectly  calm. 
My  pulse  beat  steadily,  and  there  was  not  a 
quiver  on  my  lips.  I  had  exhausted  all  violent 
emotion  within  the  last  two  days.  I  had  wept, 
and  knelt,  and  wrestled  with  my  misery;  and 
I  had  sunk  under  the  fatigue  of  so  unequal  a 
contest.  I  scarcely  knew  myself.  I  had  no 
longer  either  a  hope  or  a  fear ;  I  wasj  simply 
passive. 

Lady  Madelaine  was  magnificently  attired, 
and  both  Lord  Otterford  and  Sir  James  were  in 
full  dress  ;  hut  no  attempt  had  i)een  made  on 
the  part  of  my  mother  to  induce  me  to  ex- 
change my  simple  wrapping-gown  and  close 
cap,  for  a  costume  more  befitting  the  occasion 
Content  to  carry  out  her  great  |)rojoct.  she  af- 
fected to  overlook  all  minor  poinis;  she  had 
cleverly  avoid-ed  subjecting  nn;  to  any  |irelimi- 
nary  fatigue;  and  thus  liusi)an(lcd  my  strength 
and  energies  for  the  eventful  moment  which 
was  lo  make  me  the  wife  of  lier  prolc^e,     He^ 


126 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


languor  by  which  he  was  oppressed  ;  while  Sir 
James  neiiher  looked  at  nor  spoke  to  any  person 
but  myself,  save  in  monosyllables  ;  and  my 
solitary  bridemaid  was  evidently  dying  to  escape, 
in  order  to  pour  forth  her  delight  to  her  family. 
As  everything  must  terminate,  however, 
sooner  or  later,  so  our  weary  breakfast  at  length 
came  to  a  close  ;  and  I  believe  that  every  indi- 
vidual of  the  party,  not  even  excepting  the 
worthy  and  amiable  rector,  felt  glad  of  the  re- 
lease. Although  the  good  clfrgyman  had  put  a 
cheerful  face  upon  the  business,  it  was  never- 
tlieless  evident  thai  he  suspected  some  mystery, 
of  whieh  he  easily  understood  that  I  was  the 
passive  victim  ;  and  there  was  a  fatherly  inter- 
est in  his  look,  and  a  kindness  in  his  accents, 
when  he'took  leave  of  me,  by  which  I  was  much 
more  touched  than  by  the  renewed  congratu- 
lations  which  he  doubtlessly  considered  it  ex- 
pedient and  correct  to  offer. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
We  were  no  sooner  alone  than  I.ady  Madft- 
iaine,  instead  of  retiring  to  her  dressing-room, 
as  I  had  anticipated,  and  thus  affording  me  a 
pretext  to  ntire  also,  caused  her  fauteuil  to  be 
drawn  nearer  to  the  fire,  and  seated  herself  in 
all  the  glory  of  her  brocade  and  iewels.  I  was 
about  to  make  an  effort  to  escape,  nevertheless ; 
but  her  first  words  arrested  me,  and  I  was  com- 
pelled to  resume  my  seat. 

"  Do  not  attempt  to  retire.  Eveleen,"  she 
said  firmly,  although  the  smile  which  she  had 
called  up  was  intended  to  make  the  address 
somewhat  less  dictatorial;  "we  have  an  in> 
mensity  of  business  to  arrange,  and  our  time  is 
sadly  limited.  Although  it  is  very  easy  for  Miss 
1  Tild'en  and  Sir  James  Dornton  to  get  quietly 
my  mother,  and  Lord  Olierford  followed  my  1  married  over  a  drawing-room  fire,  they  cannot 
example.         _  Itrentcr  the  world  with  the  same  absence  of 

This  done,  a  brief  and  desultory  conversation  I  ceremony,  and,  consequently,  certain  arrange- 
ensued  ;  and  at  its  close,  the  whole  party  |  mcnts  must  be  made,  and  certain  plans  judi- 
nioved  toward  the  spot  where  the  rector  had  I  ciously  carried  out,  in  order  that  the  exigencies 
already  laktn  up  his  station.  There  was  a  oer- |  of  society  may  be  properly  complied  with, 
tain  sulenmity  in  the  arrangement.  I  walked  |  Now  these,  Eveleen,  you  cannot,  either  in 
first,  supported  on  the  arm  of  my  father-in-law  ;  j  your  character  of  bride — or.  for  the  moment,  if 
Lady  IMadelaine  followed  with  Sir  James  ;  and  I  you  will,  widow — arrange,  combine,  or  over- 
Miss  Grenvai  closed  the  procession  under  the  I  look  in  your  own  proper  person  ;  and  I  have 
escort  of  Mr.  Thornton.  My  heart  beat  quickly  therefore  proposed  to  Sir  James,  to  take  these 
for  an  instant,  as  I  found  myself  kneeling  beside  I  matters  into  my  own  hands,  and  to  spare  hoik 
my  future  husband  ;  and  a  giddiness  came  upon  ;  you  and  himself  all  anxiety  and  fatigue." 
me,  which  rendered  me  almost  unconscious  of!  I  bowed  my  thanks.  I  felt  no  interest  what- 
what  was  passing  before  me,  and  of  the  scene  I  ever  in  the  arrangements  to  which  my  mother 
in  wliich  I  was  an  actor. 

The  ceremony  was  soon  over.  The  servants, 
who  had  been  admitted  to  the  entrance  of  the 
saloon,  disappeared;  the  folding-doors,  which 
opened  upon  Lord  Otterford's  private  room, 
were  flung  i)ack  ;  and  Mr.  Grcnval  had  the  hap- 
piness of  handing  Lady  Madelaine  to  a  table 
covered  with  a  profusion  of  gastronomical  lu.K- 
uries.  Sir  James,  happy  and  triumphant,  sup- 
ported me  to  tlie  seat  which  had  been  assigned 
to  me  ;  and  the  pretty  daughter  of  the  rector 
followed  on  tlie  arm  of  Lord  Otterford.  It  was 
fortunate  that  the  amiable  divine  possessed  un- 
wearied animal  spirits,  and  a  benevolence  equal- 
ly untiring,  or  our  breakfast  would  have  passed 
et'iirely  m  pantomime.  Lady  Madelaine  was 
toj  full  of  self'cxuliation  to  be  loquacious  ;  and 
I/ord  Otterford  tuade  no  effort  to  throw  off  the 


emile  was  radiant.  Her  triumph  made  her 
carriage  almost  regal.  I  watched  her  also  ;  and 
elt  a  sort  of  vague  astonishment  that  those 
around  me  should  be  so  cheerful  and  so  brilliant, 
when  I  was  sad  and  faded. 

Sir  James  was  all  animation,  all  suavity,  all 
delight.  I  do  not  attempt  to  repeat  his  extra- 
vagant acknowlrdgmentp,  his  ardent  profes- 
sions, or  his  tender  gallantries  to  myself.  I 
scarcely  remarked  them  at  the  time,  and  only 
felt  that  they  distressed  and  overpowered  me. 
The  calm,  gentle,  and  low-voiced  congratula- 
tions of  the  rector  were  far  more  welcome, 
however  ill-placed.  His  suppressed  tones  were 
soothing  to  itiy  over- wrought  nerves;  and  when 
I  saw  a  tear  ;ilistening  in  his  eye,  I  could  have 
flung  my  arms  about  his  neck,  and  wept  out  my 
grief  upon  his  bosom. 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  my  mother 
took  my  hand,  and  led  me  toward  a  table,  he- 
hind  which  the  grave-looking  stranger,  whom 
I  then  discovered  to  be  a  lawyer,  was  seated, 
intently  poring  over  sundry  papers  and  parch- 
ments. I  believe  that  I  have  elsewhere  men- 
tioned the  fact  of  Lady  Madelaine  being  the 
sole  guardian  of  Adela  and  myself;  and  it  ap- 
peared that  on  this  occasion  slie  appeared  in 
her  official  capacity.  Certain  it  is,  that  she  in- 
formed me,  as'Sir  James  drew  forward  a  chair  for 
n.y  accommodation,  that  there  were  some  docu- 
ments for  me  to  sign  before  my  marriage,  which 
were  in  the  keeping  of  Mr.  Thornton.  To  hear 
was  to  obey.  I  was  utterly  ignorant  of  busi- 
ness in  every  shape,  and  equally  careless  of  the 
consequences  on  the  present  occasion.  So 
soon,  therefore,  as  the  parchment  was  spread 
before  me,  and  the  proper  spot  cautiously  indi- 
cated by  the  lawyer,  I  wrote  my  name  without 
comment  or  hesitation  ;  after  which  Sir  James, 


alluded,  nor  did  I  ask  a  question.  I  was  pining 
to  be  alone.  She  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if 
awaiting  iny  reply  ;  but,  finding  that  I  contin- 
ued silent,  she  resumed  :  "  In  order  to  do  this, 
I  must,  of  course,  leave  Woodville,  and  this 
fact  has  occasioned  great  uneasiness  to  Sir 
James.  Obliged  as  he  is  to  absent  himself 
this  evening,  he  has  ventured  to  take  measures 
to  prevent  your  temporary  isolation,  which,  he 
trusts,  will  not  prove  disagreeable  to  you." 

For  the  first  time  I  listened  attentively.  J 
felt  that  the  eyes  of  Dornton  were  riveted  upo:i 
me,  and  that  it  was  necessary  I  should  say 
something. 

"  Whatever  your  ladyship  and  Sir  James  nave 
decided,  I  am  prepared  to  appr'-'-e,"  I  said  coldly. 

"  Spoken  like  the  very  luouei  of  a  wi.e  '.'  e.\- 
claimed  my  mcthei,  with  a  laugh,  wh.c.  .a_s 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


127 


Wrt  altogether  one  of  gaiety.  "  Our  minds  are 
hen  relieved  at  once.  You  are  too  young  and 
loo  pretty,  Eveleen,  to  dispense  with  proper 
protection.  I  would  not  propose  Lady  Flora, 
for  I  knew  that  you  had  already  enjoyed  her 
society  to  satiety  ;  and,  as  my  tasle  does  not 
lead  me  to  cultivate  the  affections  of  elderly 
ladies  in  general,  I  was  fairly  at  fault,  and  could 
not  remove  the  difficulty.  Sir  James  was,  how- 
ever, more  fortunate ;  and,  as  you  have  given 
us  carte  blanche  to  act  as  we  deem  best,  I  am 
delighted  to  think  that,  during  our  compulsory 
absence,  we  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  feel- 
ing that  we  have  left  you  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  so  unexceptionable  a  person  as  your 
husband's  aunt !" 

My  husband !  How  the  words  jarred  upon 
my  nerves ! 

"  Do  you  consent,  my  sweet  Eveleen  !"  mur- 
mured Sir  James. 

"If  it  be  your  wish,"  I  replied  languidly, 
"and  that  your  relative  will  consent  to  become 
the  inmate  of  so  dull  a  house  and  the  compan- 
ion of  so  sad  and — "  I  was  about  to  add — "  des- 
olate a  being ;"  but  I  checked  myself,  and  only 
terminated  the  sentence  by  my  tears. 

Dornton  rose  hurriedly  from  his  chair,  and 
*)egan  to  curse  the  fate  which  compelled  him 
to  his  odious  journey.  I  witnessed  his  emotion 
with  indifference,  for  I  knew  that  go  he  must, 
and  I  only  sighed  for  the  moment  of  his  depart- 
ure. I  was  extenuated  with  fatigue,  exertion, 
and  misery.  All  that  I  wanted  was  solitude — 
absolute,  unbroken  solitude.  I  wanted  to  think, 
U)  breathe,  and  to  suffer  in  freedom. 

The  events  of  the  last  few  days  had  succeed- 
ed each  other  with  a  nidity  that  had  left  me 
no  time  to  reflect  upon  their  overwhelming  ef- 
fect upon  myself,  or  to  look  deliberately  and 
calmly  upon  my  present  position  and  my  future 
prospects.  Alas  1  that  future — what  could  1 
hope  from' it]  I  had  never,  upon  one  point, 
deceived  myself  for  a  moment ;  I  did  not  love 
the  man  to  whom  I  had  given  my  hand  ;  I  did 
not  believe  it  possible  that  I  should  ever  do  so. 
My  vanity  was  flattered  by  his  adoration,  and 
my  gratitude  had  been  excited  by  his  watchful 
tenderness  during  my  convalescence.  I  well 
knew,  however,  that  this  was  all — that  he  had 
no  other  hold  upon  my  heart.  How,  then,  could 
I  look  into  the  future  with  hope,  or  even  with 
tranquillity  1  I  had  seen  enough  of  Sir  James 
Dornton  to  be  convinced  that  in  marrying  him 
I  was  not  about  to  become  the  wife  of  a  man 
who,  like  Lord  Otterford,  would  subside  into  a 
mere  domestic  husband.  The  world — the  great 
world — the  world  of  fashion,  and  dissipation, 
and  luxury,  was  the  only  atmosphere  in  which 
he  could  long  breathe  freely.  This  was,  indeed, 
the  same  world  of  which  I  had  dreamt  so  fondly 
from  my  girlhood— but  not  the  guide  who  was 
to  pilot  me  through  its  mazes.  The  charm 
with  which  I  had  then  invested  it  was  gone, 
ano,  as  I  at  that  moment  believed,  gone  for- 
ever. 

I  will  dwell  no  longer  on  the  memory  of  my 
marriage-day.  The  dinner  was  a  counterpart 
o^  the  breakfast,  save  that  while  it  lasted  Sir 
James  did  not  attempt  to  sustain  anything  like 
s  conversation  even  with  me.  His  eyes  scarce- 
It  ever  wandered  from  my  face  ;  he  did  not 
•»»^n  affect  to  eat,  but  he  drank  wine  in  a  man- 


ner quite  unusual  with  him.  My  mother  talked 
of  town  ;  of  the  fetes  which  she  propostu)  to 
give,  and  the  artistes  whom  she  meant  to  pa- 
tronize ;  affected  occasionally  to  address  me  as 
Lady  Dornton,  and  ultimately  succeeded  in  de- 
priving me  of  the  slight  degree  of  energy  which 
I  had  hitherto  preserved. 

The  consequence  of  this  utter  prostration 
was,  however,  a  fortunate  one ;  for  when  a 
servant  at  length  announced  the  arrival  of  the 
mail  which  was  awaiting  Sir  James  at  the  park 
gate,  and  that  I  saw  him  hastily  spring  from  his 
seat  and  approach  me,  I  gave  one  suffocating 
sob,  and  fainted. 

I  afterward  learnt  that  it  required  all  the 
authority  of  Lady  Madelaine  to  compel  him  to 
quit  my  side  ;  but  the  necessity  for  his  absence 
was  so  stringent,  that  he  had  no  alternative 
save  obedience.  As  for  myself,  when  I  again 
became  conscious  at  once  of  existence  and  ol 
suffering,  I  opened  my  aching  eyes  in  my  own 
quiet  apartment,  where,  by  the  faint  light  of  a 
night-lamp,  I  saw  Josephine  and  my  old  nurse 
watching  beside  my  pillow.  Such  was  the 
realization  of  the  glittering  and  romantic  pic- 
ture which  I  had  been  used  to  draw  of  my  wed- 
ding-day. 

Restored  to  myself  by  the  departure  of  Dorn- 
ton, I  was  still  unable  to  overcome  the  fearfu. 
lethargy  which  had  taken  possession  of  me. 
Feelings  and  events  alike  were  so  confused  and 
untangible,  that  I  could  neither  separate  nor 
retain  them.  I  was  just  in  the  position  of  the 
man  whom  Plato,  in  one  of  his  undying  dia- 
logues, supposes  to  have  been  imprisoned  in  a 
cavern,  with  his  back  toward  the  light,  where 
he  could  distinguish  nothing  save  the  shadows 
of  men  passing  and  repassing  on  the  wall  nelore 
him  My  head  was  perplexed — my  marriage 
seemed  to  be  a  dream ;  but,  nevertheless,  & 
sense  of  restraint  was  strong  upon  me.  I  n*. 
longer  felt  free  even  to  look  into  my  own  heart 
It  was  a  waking  nightmare. 

Had  I  ever  experienced  the  wisli  to  feel  grate 
ful  to  Lady  Madelaine  for  the  gratuitous  olfei 
which  she  had  made  of  sparing  me  the  exertion, 
of  undertaking  any  arrangements  for  the  future 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  do  so,  when, 
during  the  three  days  which  intervened  be- 
tween the  departure  of  Dornton  and  the  arrival 
of  his  aunt,  she  permitted  me,  without  scruple, 
to  see  at  what  an  expense,  both  of  temper  and 
of  patience,  she  compelled  herself  to  remain  at 
Woodville  in  order  to  receive  her,  and  to  pre- 
serve at  least  the  semblance  of  an  interest  in 
my  comfort.  The  season  had  long  cominenced 
she 'was  now  untrammeled  ;  my  sacrifice  had 
purchased  her  freedom,  at  least  until  she  should 
summon  Adela  to  her  side — an  event  which  I 
scarcely  anticipated,  although  I  could  not  ex- 
plain upon  what  plea  she  could  much  longer 
keep  her  in  banishment.  No  wonder  that  Lady 
Madelaine  pined  to  escape  from  a  sick-room 
and  a  deserted  saloon. 

I  scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  the  new  com- 
panion who  had  been  provided  for  me.  So  long 
as  Sir  James  continued  absent,  I  cared  not  who 
filled  his  place — I  was  contefit.  It  was  not, 
however,  with  utter  indifference  that  I  heard 
my  mother,  on  one  of  the  rare  occasions  wlien 
we  were  sea. ed  quietly  together — she  languidly 
employed  at  her  embrodery  frame,  and  I  lying 


128 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


back,  halWreamin^,  upon  my  sofa — commence 
a  cdnversatjon  of  which  the  expected  stranger 
was  the  subject. 

"  I  trust  that  this  Miss  Dornton  will  prove 
endurable.  I  have  such  a  horror  of  old  maids, 
that  I  qiiile  tlrcad  the  tune  which  I  must  spend 
under  the  same  roof  witii  her." 

"Poor  lady!"  I  replied,  without  unclosing 
my  eyes;  "she  has  more  reason  to  shrink 
from  the  prospect  of  becoming  my  inmate. 
Your  ladyship's  torture  will  be  brief;  what 
you  number  by  hours  she  may,  probably,  count 
by  weeks." 

"  The  thing  will  bear  no  comparison,  Eveleen, 
and  is  too  absurd.  Miss  Dornton  is  in  narrow 
circumstances,  and  has  for  many  years  been 
residing  in  a  country  town,  where,  too  proud  of 
lier  ancient  descent  to  associate  with  the  petty 
gentry  about  her,  and  too  poor  to  keep  up  her 
>onnection  with  the  neighborhood,  she  has  lived 
the  life  of  a  recluse." 

I  sighed,  and  the  sigh  was  one  of  envy.  The 
woman  of  whom  my  mother  was  speaking  so 
disdainfully  was  free. 

'•Moreover,"  continued  Lady  Madelaine  in 
the  same  tone  of  easy  superiority,  "  will  it  not 
be  an  event  in  lier  existence  to  become  domes- 
ticated with  Lady  Dornton  1  You  really  know 
so  little  of  the  world,  Eveleen,  that  you  do  not 
make  a  proper  distinction,  even  in  a  case  in 
which  you  are  yourself  interested  ;  and  it  is, 
perhaps,  necessary  that  I  should  hint  to  you,  in 
consequence,  the  propriety  of  asserting  your 
own  dignity  with  Miss  Dornton.  There  is  no 
set  of  persons  on  earth  so  encroaching,  where 
their  advances  are  tolerated,  as  poor  rela- 
tions." 

I  thought  of  Lady  Flora,  but  I  made  no  com- 
ment on  my  mother's  words. 

"  I  wish,  at  all  events,  that  she  would  arrive," 
again  she  resumed,  pettishly  ;  "  she  might  cer- 
tainly have  been  here  before  this.  It  is  ill-bred 
and  presuming  on  her  part  to  make  so  much 
unnecessary  delay." 

"  She  does  not,  in  all  probability,  suspect 
that  your  ladyship  is  in  such  haste  to  leave 
Woodville." 

"Is  that  an  epigram,  Lady  Dornton  1" 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  epigrams  :  I  simply 
gave  utterance  to  my  thought." 
."In  that  case  I  shall  merely  remark,  that  if 
■'■>.  n  question  has  forgotten  herself  so  far 
as  to  speculate  upon  my  movements,  she  is  too 
ready  to  identify  herself  with  the  family  into 
which  her  nephew  has  married." 

"The  fault  is  mine,  madam,"  I  said,  some- 
what im[)aliently,  'or  tlic  insolent  egotism  of 
my  mother  jarred  upon  my  feelings,  bowed 
down  as  I  was  alike  by  the  past  and  i)y  the 
present ;  "  pray  do  not  sufTer  me  involuntarily 
to  prcjuciice  you  against  her.  It  was  an  idle 
suggestion,  and  one  which  I  had,  perhaps,  no 
right  to  express.  You  must  forgive  me,  for  I 
am  ill  and  sick  at  heart,  and  scarcely  am  aware 
of  the  exact  purport  of  the  words  I  utter." 

"Ill  and  sick  at  heart !"  echoed  Lady  Made- 
laine, as  thougti  she  had  not  every  reason  in 
the  world  to  believe  that  such  must  be  the  case  ; 
"  really,  Eveleen,  y()u  talk  strangely  for  a  bride. 
You  involve  yourself  in  the  most  fantastic  an- 
noyances, and  then  you  assume  the  attitude  of 
«  martyr.     If  you  had  listened  to  reason,  and 


become  the  wife  of  Sir  James  when  he  ^rsl 
proposed  for  you,  as  any  rational  young  wonrm.';, 
under  the  circumstances,  would  have  dofiix, 
there  would  have  been  no  necessity  lor  this  illr 
timed  separation,  and  he  could  have  left  you  in 
town,  under  my  protection,  when  he  had  been 
seen  once  or  twice  with  you  in  public." 
"  You  mistake  me,  madam." 
"  How  so  1" 

"  I  am  regretting  neither  the  absence  of  Sir 
James,  nor  the  impossibility  which  exists  of  my 
appearing  in  public." 

"  We  will  pursue  the  subject  no  farther  ia 
that  case." 

"  As  you  please." 

"  One  word  more,  however.     If  you  are,  in 
a  fit  of  unbecoming  romance,  pining  yoursel 
away  in  memory  of  Mr.  Devereux,  it  becomes   i 
my  duly  to  remind  you  that  you  are  now  Lady  i 
Dornton." 

"I  know  it,  madam,"  I  gasped  out,  as  the  I 
blood  rushed  over  my  brow — "  I  feci  it !"  j 

•  "  I  hope  so ;  and  now  we  will  select  some  | 
other  topic."  •  j 

What  that  topic  might  have  been,  I  was  des-  i 
tined  never  to  know  ;  for  at  that  very  moment  ' 
a  carriage  passed  under  the  window,  which  we 
each  felt  must  contain  the  expected  guest.   For 
one  moment  my  heart  beat  quick.     \\"as  I  about  j 
to  meet  a  friend  or  a  jailer] 

The  door  was  thrown  open  by  a  servant,  ; 
Miss  Dornton  was  announced,  and  she  imme- 
diately entered,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Lord 
Olterford,  who  had  assisted  her  to  flight.  My 
mother  courtesied  coldly  and  in  silence,  and 
then  resumed  her  seat ;  while  the  look  of  sur- 
prise which  I  detected  upon  the  countenance 
of  tlie  visitor  hastened  the  movement  which  I 
was  making  to  rise  and  receive  her.  Her  first 
embarrassment  over,  Miss  Dornton  glanced 
from  Lady  Madelaine  to  myself;  and  iiimiedi- 
I  alely  that  she  met  the  smile  and  the  outstretch- 
ed hand  with  which  I  was  slowly  approaching, 
she  turned  rapidly  to  welcome  both  ;  and  then 
gently  seated  me  once  more  among  iny  cusli* 
ions,  and  placed  herself  beside  me. 

"How  shall  I  thank  you,  madam" — I  com- 
menced ;  but  Lady  Madelaine  interposed. 

"  Miss  Dornton  will  be  kind  enougli  to  excuse 
your  exerting  yourself,  Eveleen  ;  she  is  already 
aware  that  you  are  an  invalid,  and  that  you  re- 
main in  the  country  only  because  quiet  has 
been  prescribed  for  you.  You  must  not  ima- 
gine, madam,  that  Lady  Dornton  is  naturally 
either  valetudinarian  or  melancholy — quite  the 
reverse  ;  but  she  has  liad  a  very  severe  illness, 
and  is  still  suffering  considerably  from  weak- 
ness." 

."  Poor  young  creature  !"  was  the  kind-heart- 
ed rejoinder ;  "  her  marriage  at  such  a  monicni 
must  have  been  a  great  trial  to  her,  and  the  ab" 
sence  of  Sir  Jaiues  have  made  it  doubly  pain 
ful." 

My  mother  coughed  a  little  high-bred  cough, 
which  superseded  the  necessity  of  a  reply. 

"  1  trust  that  you  have  not  suffered  from  you 
journey,"  I  said  hastily,  not  well  knowing  hov 
to  frame  an  answer  to  her  remark. 

"  You  rcinind  me,  Eveleen,  that  we  havi. 
been  inhospitably  forgetful,"  again  broke  ii 
Lady  Madelaine  ;  "  Miss  Dornton  will  uecessa 
rily  require  both  refreshment  and  repose.    Loii' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


ISO 


Jtterfcn!,  the  bell,  if  you  please.  Miss  Dorn- 
toii  wnl  tind  ev^rvthing  provided  in  her  dress- 
m^'-rnom." 

Tlie  wrli-hrxt.  old  lady  at  once  understood 
he  motive  of  ny  mother,  and  rose.  Josephine 
vas  summoned  to  conduct  her  to  her  apart- 
nciit,  and  our  first  interview  was  over 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

On  tlie  folldwing  morning  Lord  Otterford  and 
my  motiier  depaited.  I  saw  them  abandon  me 
without  a  sigh  ;  nor  do  I  believe  that  their 
hasty  disappearance  caused  one  regret  to  my 
new  guest. 

Miss  Dornton  was  very  diminutive  in  stat- 
ure, hut  had  evidently  been  a  pretty  woman  in 
her  time.  Her  figure  was  still  smart  and  well 
preserved  ;  and  tliere  was  a  shrewdness  in  the 
expression  of  her  countenance  which  gave  as- 
surance of  the  vivacity  of  her  intellect,  even 
tempered  as  it  was  by  the  benevolence  which 
evidently  formed  the  prominent  feature  of  her 
character.  Site  was  the  very  perfection  of  fas- 
tidious and  somewhat  pedantic  neatness.  Her 
dress  was  rich,  but  somewhat  scrupulously 
plain  ;  and  it  formed  no  bad  type  of  her  moral 
nature.  She  was  Cull  of  good,  strong  sense  and 
womanly  sympathy,  but  she  possessed  neither 
seriliment  nor  imagination.  For  the  tangible 
sufferings  which  she  could  see  and  compre- 
hend, she  had  always  a  tear  or  a  word  of  pity  ; 
but  for  those  which  grew  out  of  either  moral 
Dr  mental  struggles  she  was  impracticable  and 
callous.  She  could  understand  a  headache  or 
a  fainting-fit,  but  she  could  never  attribute 
them  to  anything  deeper  than  a  mere  physical 
cause. 

Like  all  persons  long  accustomed  to  live 
alone,  siie  was  very  taciturn  and  self-centred, 
pious,  and  occupied.  She  could  better  have 
dispensed  with  her  shadow  than  her  work-bas- 
ket ;  and  did  not  appear  to  have  settled  herself 
comfortably  until  she  had  ascertained  the  dis- 
tance of  Woodville  from  the  parish  church,  the 
name  of  the  rector,  and  the  hours  of  the  servi- 
ces. She  was:  evidently  a  worthy,  kind-hearted 
old  lady  ;  but,  as  regarded  companionship.  Sir 
.'imes  might  with  equal  propriety  have  provi- 
ded mii  with  a  portrait  of  one  of  his  female  an- 
".ostors. 

I  did  not,  however,  regret  this  fact ;  Miss 
rVjj-nton  answered  the  purpose  for  which  she 
•vas  intendKd  admirably.  Her  protection  was 
nnexcepiionable  for  myself,  and  liberated  my 
mulher  from  an  ungrateful  duty,  ungraciously 
neiforined.  Well-bred,  unassuming,  and  self- 
centred,  she  was  the  very  antipodes  of  Lady 
^"ora ;  and  I  was  rejoiced  that  her  taciturn 
habits  enabled  me  to  indulge  in  my  own  refiec- 
.ions  without  any  solecisms  in  civility. 

It  was  not  until  I  had  been  for  several  days 
domesticated  with  th  i  meek  old  ladv,  and  be- 
come satisfied  that  I  should  meet  w'ith  no  in- 
terferencc  from  her  in  any  way,  that  I  began 
seriously  to  understand  my  real  position.  The 
undefiued  feeling  with  which  Sir  James  hao  in- 
spired me.  the  blended  gratitude  and  admiration 
which,  in  his  best  mocnents,  he  had  awakened 
in  my  heart,  required  his  perpetual  preseo^e  to 
•asurc  its  duration.  While  he  sooth^a  my 
xoura  of  pain,  and  beguiled  those  of  lae?i  .ude, 


I  leaned  upon  him  for  support  and  companion- 
ship; but,  as  during  his  absence,  tiiese  failed, 
so  his  charm  failed  with  them.  How  difTerent 
was  this  pale  and  borrowed  light  from  the  en- 
during flame  which  Devereux  had  kindled  in 
my  spirit !  Circumstances  had,  indeed,  some- 
what quenched  it,  but  it  still  existed  ;  and 
might,  as  I  was  compelled  to  acknowledge  to 
myself,  be  but  too  easily  reiilumed.  I  dwelt 
upon  all  that  had  passed  between  us ;  I  recall- 
ed his  every  look,  his  every  word,  and  his  every 
gesture,  during  our  short  but  eventful  interview 
near  the  Wood  Lodge ;  I  made  a  few  faint 
struggles  to  resist  these  dangerous  memories, 
but  1  was  too  weak  in  purpose  to  wage  success- 
ful war  against  my  own  heart. 

This  wrestling  of  affection  against  duty  re- 
curred so  constantly,  and  created  so  painful  a 
degree  of  depression,  that  it  was  a  continual 
obstacle  to  the  reestablishment  of  my  health. 
I  was  conscious  at  last  that  a  less  patient  and 
considerate  companion  than  Miss  Dornton 
would  have  been  desirable  for  nie  at  such  a 
crisis.  Slie,  poor  lady,  satisfied  of  the  enviable 
fate  of  the  woman  who  had  secured  so  unex- 
ceptionable a  husband  is  her  nephew,  never 
looked  beneath  the  surl«Joe  for  a  hidden  evil ; 
she  never  dreamed  of  that  sickness  of  the  mind 
by  which  the  body  withers  ,•  and  so  long  as  I 
punctually  and  obediently  swallowed  the  drugs 
prescribed  for  me  by  my  physician,  she  felt  no 
further  responsibility. 

In  my  healthier  moments  I  made  a  resolution 
to  emancipate  myself  from  the  trammels  of  my 
own  emotion,  but  I  was  soon  compelled  to  own 
that  I  was  powerless  without  assistance.  In 
this  dilemina  my  thoughts  once  again  recurred 
to  Adela.  The  hurry  of  my  marriage  had  ren- 
dered it  impossible  that  she  should  be  present ; 
nor,  inoeed,  trusting  to  the  last  that  I  should 
be  able  to  escape  a  union  with  Sir  James,  had 
I  urged  Lady  Madelaine  to  summon  her.  Con- 
sequently, I  felt  myself  to  he  blameless  as  re- 
garded this  apparent  neglect  ;  and  as  I  ima- 
gined that  now  I  had  irrevocably  sacrificed 
myself  to  my  mother's  will,  she  could  have  no 
pretext  for  refusing  to  me  the  society  of  my 
sister,  at  least  while  I  remained  in  the  country, 
I  pondered  over  the  idea  until  I  became  sin- 
cerely and  earnestly  anxious  to  see  it  realized. 
Miss  Dornton,  to  whom  I  communicated  my 
wish,  appeared  to  be  annoyed  at  the  sugges- 
tion ;  but  as  she  gave  no  reason  for  her  objec 
tion,  I  resolved  upon  following  out  my  project 
without  any  further  appeal  to  her  authority 
She  was  probably  jealous  that  I  should  prefei 
the  society  of  my  own  sister  to  that  of  my  hus- 
band's kinswoman,  and  the  comjianionshif)  of 
a  younger  person  than  herself  It  was  a  little 
weakness  for  which  I  readily  forgave  her,  but 
which  it  was  needless  to  indulge. 

The  result  of  my  deliberations  was  the  fol- 
lowing letter  to  Adela.  It  cost  me  some  reso 
lution,  for  I  remembered  the  ill-success  of  my 
last  missive  ;  but  I  rescdved  to  persevere. 

"  I  have  changed  my  name,  my  dear  Adela, 
and  I  hope  that  the  one  which  I  now  bear  will  in- 
sure the  happiness  of  my  life  ;  but  all  is,  as  yet 
mere  speculation.  The  absence  of  Sir  James, 
on  business  connected  with  soiiie  Irish  proper- 
ly, makes  me  dull  enough,  and  renders  my  re- 
covery very  slow.     Come,  and  hcin  me  to  regain 


130 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


alike  my  henlth  and  spirits,  my  dear  sister.  It 
will  be  a  charitaliie  act,  for  which  I  shall  be 
most  grateful.  The  pleasure  of  seeing  you  be- 
side ine  Will  make  me  forget  that  I  ought  to 
wish  for  the  presence  of  another." 

This  letter,  short  as  it  was.  had  cost  me 
»ome  study,  and  I  looked  upon  it  as  a  sublime 
•'ffort  of  courage.  My  heart  had  assuredly  lit- 
,e  to  do  with  the  expressions  which  it  contain- 
ed on  the  subject  of  Sir  James  ;  but  my  pride 
•"as  roused,  and  I  piqued  myself  upon  the  man- 
.festaiion  of  a  little  heroism,  which  might  serve 
M  secure  me  against  the  comments  of  my 
•ister ;  while  I  did  not  doubt  that  Adela,  glad 
at  any  price  to  escape  from  the  tedium  of 
Rooksley,  would  not  hesitate  to  procure  Lady 
Madelamc's  consent  to  so  simple  and  natural 
an  arrangement. 

Several  days  passed  by  before  I  received  any 
reply,  hut,  as  I  had  calculated  that  such  must 
inevitably  be  the  case,  I  wailed  as  patiently  as 
could.  At  length  two  letters  were  delivered 
M  me,  of  which  one  was  from  my  mother,  and 
.he  other  from  Adela.  I  tore  open  the  latter 
with  a  beating  heart.  These  were  its  con- 
tents. 

"  Ue.\r  Eveleen, 

"  I  had  been  informed  of  your  marriage,  but 
was  ignorant  alike  of  your  own  feelings,  ar.d  of 
those  of  Sir  James.  He  doubtlessly  luves  you, 
as  you  talk  of  anticipated  happiness.  Enjoy  so 
agreeable  a  prospect :  I  shall  take  more  inter- 
est in  its  realization  than  you  may,  perhaps, 
feel  inclined  to  believe.  I  can  do  no  more.  I 
should  be  the  worst  person  in  the  w'orld  as 
your  physician,  either  in  mind  or  body.  We  so 
seldom  think  alike,  and  we,  in  all  cases,  act  so 
diflerenlly,  that  I  should  be  more  likely  to  trou- 
ble your  new-made  felicity  than  to  increase  it." 

My  mother  simi)ly  ratified  in  her  note  the  re- 
fusal of  Adela.  She  had,  as  she  declared,  left 
her  free  to  act  as  she  saw  fit  when  my  invita- 
tion was  communicated  to  her  by  my  sister ; 
believing,  after  the  reluctance  which  Adela  had 
expressed  to  becoming  my  guest,  that  she 
should  do  me  no  kindness  by  attempting  to 
uvercome  what  was  evidently  a  rooted  repug- 
nance. 

And  this  was  all ;  and  I  sat  for  a  time  lost 
in  conjectures  before  these  two  cold,  concise, 
and  matter-of-fact  epistles.  To  what  cause 
was  I  to  attribute  so  heartless  an  abandonment 
on  the  part  of  my  only  sister  1  That  we  had 
never  ciilier  felt  or  professed  an  overweening 
affection  the  one  for  the  other  was  undoubtedly 
true,  but  this  was,  under  the  circumstances,  a 
proceeding  on  the  part  of  Adela  which  almost 
betrayed  aversion.  1  feverishly  searched  ir.to 
the  very  recesses  of  my  heart  to  discover,  if 
possible,  its  cause.  I  well  knew  that  iriy 
sister's  feelings  were  extreme  in  all  things  ; 
and,  eventually,  with  a  burning  brow  and  a 
throi'b'.ng  pulse,  I  decided  that  she  had  sought 
to  manifest,  in  this  cutting  letter,  her  contemp- 
tuous r.ensure  of  my  infidelity  to  Devercux,  and 
in  her  refusal  to  visit  me — an  unequivocal 
demonstration  of  her  disdain. 

The  witness  of  their  own  conscience  never 

^nfficis  to  the  weak-minded ;  they  require,  in 

iwder  to  justain  themselves  in  their  own  eyes, 

vd  to  retain  their  eelf-esteem,  the  approbation 


,* 


domiiable  spirits  who  compel  their  respect. 
This  was  precisely  the  position  in  which  I  then 
found  myself  I  acknowledged  the  supremacy 
of  her  moral  strength,  and  I  required  its  sup. 
port  to  pillow  my  own  w^eakness — its  fiat  t» 
justify  my  own  acts. 

Humbled  and  ashamed,  I  never  sought  for  a   i 
moment  to  disco%'er  a  counter-argument  with 
which  to  combat  the  opinion  that  I  believed  hei 
to  have  adopted.     On  the  contrary,  I  once  more   ( 
wept  over  my  cowardice — my  everlasting  cus-   ' 
torn  when,  by  my  own  weakness,  I  had  plunged 
myself   into   difficulty.     The   little   eriitice   of 
virtue  and  duty,  frail  as  it  was,  which  I  had 
occasionally  striven  to  build  up,  wasoverthrown 
at  once.     I  no  longer  sought  to  excuse  myself, 
upon  the  plea  of  either  gratitude  to  Sir  James,   ,■ 
or  filial  obedience  to  Lady  Madelaine.     I  fiung  i 
all  such  arguments  to  the  winds  as  idle  sopliis-  1 
tries;  and  for  a  time  dared  to  think  that  the  ( 
heart  could  not,  and  should  not,  be  controlleil.  I 
I  shuddered,  but  I  clung  to  my  dangerous  the-  I 
ory.     I  saw  the, precipice  at  my  leet ;  but  [  '. 
scorned  to  retreat  a  step  I 

So  unwholesome  a  state  of  mind  could  not,  \ 
however,  endure  long  in  a  nature  as  yet  unde- 
praved.     The  storm  of  passion  swept  over  me. 
and  I  saw  my  future  path  of  life  overstrcwn  by  ■ 
the  fragments  of  past  peace  which  it  had  rent  j 
away  in  its  progress ;  but  I  felt  grateful  that  I  I 
could  l(iok'u[)on  ihem  without  positive  remorse,  ' 
and  I  glorified  myself  on  the  conviction.     Alas  ! 
had  L  in   that  hour  of  returning  reason,  only 
known  wnKRE  to  turn  forreal  comfort,  how  much 
after-sutlbriiig  would  have  been  spared  to  me!  j 
But  I  have  already  confessed  that  of  pure,  hunft*  i 
b!e-minded,  heaven-trusting  religion  I  knew  no-  J 
thing.     I  sought  for  strength  in  myself,  where  I  j 
never  found  it  ;  and  virtue  in  my  own  heart,  i 
which  was  as  unstable  as  water.  i 

The  terror  of  my  sister's  sarcasms  aroused 
my  temper.  I  began  to  ask  myself  why  I 
should  defer  to  the  judgment  of  a  mere  j;irl, 
who  only  reasoned  upon  theory,  and  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  world  which  she  professed  in 
scorn,  or  of  the  feelings  whicli  she  afii-tjJrJ  ii 
analyze  and  to  control  1  I  could  not,  howevci, 
cheat  myself  in  this  way  ;  as  my  anyersulisided. 
my  fears  returned.  My  mind  was  mastered  by 
that  of  Adela. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  if  I  could  only  induct 
her  to  listei.  to  me ;  if  I  could  only  exi)lain  !'• 
her  my  reluctance,  my  opposition  ;  if  I  could 
only  tell  her  of  all  my  tears,  all  my  hcsccchings, 
my  physical  weakness  and  my  mental  fatigue, 
she  would  sympathize  with  my  sacrifice,  rather 
liian  blame  me  ;  but  while  I  enumerated  all  my 
past  struggles,  and  invoked  their  memories,  1 
fi)rgot  tliul  I  was  undermining  my  own  peace, 
and  assuming  the  attitude  of  a  victim,  when  I, 
should  be  endeavoring  to  gather  strength  for 
the  performance  of  thi  new  and  imperativel 
duties  which  had  grown  up  about  me.  In  at 
mental  effort  to  justify  myself  in  the  eyes  Oi 
another,  I  was  rendering  myself  more  faulty  in 
my  own. 

And  while  all  this  tumult  was  warring  within 
me.  Miss  Dornton  sat  by  my  side  as  calm  ami 
passionless  as  an  automaton.    There  was  some- 
thing fearfully  irritating  in  the  ceaseless  inotior 
I  of  the  knitting-needles  which  she  scaic^Jy  c^ci 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  FRETTY  WOMAN. 


131 


,aiJ  aside.  I  have  watched  them  at  times  until 
I  have  with  diifiiuihy  suppressed  a  groan.  We 
weie  together  (or  weeks;  and  had  slie  only 
once  changed  liie  aspect  of  the  lal)or  upon 
whicli  they  were  employed,  I  could  have  siip- 
poricd  even  them  with  something  like  philoso- 
phy ;  hut  this  poor  relief,  trifling  as  it  was, 
never  came  ;  she  was  engaged  upon  a  measure- 
less length  of  what  I  think  she  called  fringe; 
and  with  which  she  had  a  horrid  vision  of  gar- 
nishing some  old-world  piece  of  furniture  which 
had  belonged  to  her  grandmother.  I  never  in- 
quired what  it  was  ;  but  it  appeared  to  me  that 
its  dimensions  must  be  somewhat  on  a  par  with 
A\e  limits  of  Salisbury  Plain. 

„ei  those  laugh  who  will  at  this  digression  ; 
3Ut  let  them  at  the  same  time  be  assured  that 
;ietiy  and  perpetual  annoyances,  such  as  these, 
jre  to  the  suffering  spirit  what  the  rose-leaf 
A'as  to  the  vase  of  water — the  trifle  which 
cause  them  to  overflow  ! 

Thus  time  crept  on.  The  dreary,  cheerless, 
leafless  winter  had  robbed  even  Woodville  of 
its  charms.  The  lake  was  frozen  beneath  the 
windows  ;  the  birds  were  silent  among  the 
boughs  ;  the  rare  shrubs  and  plants  which, 
during  the  months  of  sunshine,  made  the 
grounds  almost  -ival  in  their  gorgeousness  and 
variety  the  rich  profus'on  of  the  tropics,  were 
removed  to  the  cimservatories,  or  huddled  be- 
neath matting.  To  find  beauties  amid  such  a 
scene,  the  inmate  should  possess  a  light  heart. 
To  the  unhai)py,  a  winter  of  solitude  is  a  mere 
season  of  suffering.  To  me  this  withering  of 
nature  was  morally  unwholesome.  It  appeared 
to  sympathize  in  my  hypochondriacism,  and  to 
encourage  my  mental  lethargy.  I  would  have 
given  all  tiie  splendid  and  useless  toys  by 
which  I  was  surrounded,  and  which  seemed  to 
mock  the  abandonment  of  friends  and  relatives, 
for  one  cluster  of  wild  roses,  or  one  bunch  .of 
violets. 

Even  a  winter  with  Miss  Dornton,  however, 
could  not  last  forever.  The  spring  came  at 
leniilh  ;  I  could  again  waniler  unattended 
through  the  shrubberies,  and  indulge  in  dreams 
of  the  future  which  were  never  likely  to  be 
redlized.  Sir  James  had  not  explained  to  me 
the  nulure  of  the  business  which  had  detained 
him  so  long  in  Ireland.  His  long  and  eloquent 
letters  were  filled  by  passionate  regrets  and 
enthusiastic  anticipations.  I  have  hitherto 
made  no  allusion  to  our  correspondence,  simply 
because  it  jarred  upon  the  train  of  feelmg  to 
which  I  had  habituated  myself.  Each  letter 
that  I  received  broke  upon  my  spirit  like  a  dis- 
cordant note  upon  the  ear  ;  and  it  was  well 
that  I  at  once  decided  upon  answering  these 
matrimonial  epistles  at  the  very  moment  of 
ilheir  receipt,  while  the  influence  of  Dornton's 
.harmonious  and  tender  periods  was  still  strong 
upon  rne,  or  I  know  not  how  I  should  ever  have 
accomplished  so  difficult  a  task. 

Thus,  as  1  before  remarked,  I  was  in  perfect 
ignorance  of  tiie  causes  which  compelled  Sir 
James  to  so  prolonged  an  absence  ;  while  1 
Whs  so  well  satisfied  with  their  efl"ects,  that  I 
did  not  care  to  ascertain  their  nature.  I  was 
still  weak,  and  thin,  and  pale ;  and  both  my 
vanity  and  my  indolence  found  their  profit  in 
':he  soltary  existence  which  I  was  leading. 
ilhe  Loiid(m  season  was,  however,  tio  sooner 


at  an  end,  than  Lady  Madelaine  hastened  on 
the  wings  of  maternal  tenderness  to  the  retreat 
of  her  invalid  daugiher;  hut  it  was  to  me  a 
consolation  to  reflect,  in  my  moments  of  bittei- 
ness,  that  the  sacrifice  was  considerably  lessen- 
ed by  the  fact  that  she  brought  in  her  train  a 
score  of  dear  friends,  all  anxious,  like  hersel/, 
to  replace  the  noise  and  smoke  of  town  by  the 
luxurious  vilU-giutura  of  a  well-appointed  coun- 
try-house. 

Had  I  been  weighed  down  by  no  latent  grief, 
it  is  possible  that  nothing  would  have  been 
more  agreeable  for  me  than  the  movement  of 
the  gay  and  reckless  crowd  by  which  1  was 
suddenly  surrounded  ;  but  their  hollow  and 
heartless  trifling  oflt-red  no  remedy  to  my  dis- 
eased and  unsettled  mind.  At  first  I  found  it 
difficult  to  sustain  so  extreme  a  change.  I 
was  compelled  to  restrain  my  tears,  to  stifle  my 
sighs,  and  to  appear  as  free  from  care  and  from 
anxiety  as  themselves.  I  had  not  forgotten  th« 
indifl^erence  with  which  Lady  Madelaine  had 
made  my  love  for  Devereux  the  common  theme 
of  herself  and  her  associates  ;  and,  thanks  to 
the  comments  of  these  same  individuals  upoa 
others  of  their  acquaintance,  I  required  no 
prompting  to  understand  at  once  how  much  my 
peculiar  position  placed  me  in  their  power.  I 
knew  that,  married  while  yet  a  mere  girl,  and 
contrary  to  my  own  inclinations,  I  should  be 
an  object  of  curiosity  and  speculation  to  all 
the  high-born  idlers  among  whom  I  was  thus 
thrown  into  constant  companionship  ;  that  I 
should  be  scrutinized,  and  criticised,  and  not 
always  in  the  kindest  spirit ;  and  that  I  must 
keep  an  incessant  watch,  not  only  over  my 
words  and  actions,  but  over  my  very  thoughts. 

Fortunately  the  constraint  which  I  deprecat- 
ed proved  salutary  to  me  ;  by  dint  of  endeavor- 
ing to  delude  others,  I  ended  by  deceiving  my- 
self; by  doubting  if  I  had  not  exaggerated  my 
trials  ;  and  whether  dissipation  and  self-indul- 
gence might  not  overcome  the  vapors  by  which 
I  had  so  long  suffered  myself  to  be  oppressed. 

I  resolved  to  solve  the  problem,  and  I  sue 
ceeded.  My  melancholy  would  have  expe 
rienced  no  sympathy  ;  my  satisfied  vanity  and 
ready  partnership  in  pleasure  made  me  wel 
come  to  every  one.  I  became  gradually  less 
inclined,  even  when  alone,  to  indulge  in  those 
long  fits  of  weeping  which  dimmed  my  eyes 
and  clouded  my  complexion  ;  I  found  myself 
speculating  upon  my  probable  success  in  such 
or  such  a  dress;  endeavoring  to  recall  certain 
words  and  looks  of  admiration  which  had  l)een 
directed  toward  me  during  the  preceding  day; 
in  short,  although  I  occasionally  sighed,  partly 
from  real  regret,  and  partly  from  long-acciuired 
habit,  my  woman-nature  was  once  more  thor- 
oughly aroused  ;  and  although  I  am  quite  sure 
that  I  never  should  have  been  induced  to  make 
the  acknowldgement,  I  •was  cumparativtly 
happy.  The  image  of  Devereux  was  not  oblit- 
erated, but  it  had  become  much  le.ss  distinct. 
The  letters  of  Sir  James  were  no  longer  a  mere 
matter  of  course,  but  a  necessary  ingredient  of 
my  existence.  They  vere  filled  with  com- 
ments upon  my  own  '^eauty  and  attractions; 
and  they  kept  my  var,ity,  and  consequently  nij 
amiability,  at  the  criminating  point.  On  their 
receipt  I  regularly  communicated  tn.'Ti  tr.  Lady 
Madelaine  ;  not  Irom  any  pi  inciplc  a'"  tlelcieiie« 


133 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


>r  duty — I  do  not  wish  to  affect  a  virtue  which  I 
iid  not  possess — but  in  order  that  siie  uiiglil  ^ee 
and  understand  the  price  at  which  my  personal 
merits  were  held  by  the  husband  upon  whom 
she  had  compelled  me  to  bestow  them. 

My  good-humor  returned  ;  rny  accomplish- 
ments were  once  more  exerted  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  my  mother's  guests ;  I  was  declared 
to  be  more  charming  than  ever,  and  Sir  James 
the  happiest  of  men,  who  could  never  be  suf- 
ficiently grateful  for  the  concession  I  had  made. 
All  this  was  charming.  Lady  Madelaine, 
adopting  the  tone  of  her  company,  was  kind, 
and  even  confidential ;  Lord  Oiterford  gallant 
and  attentive.  I  was  the  lion  of  the  house. 
No  wonder  that  I  rapidly  regained  my  health. 
and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  the  freshness 
and  beauty  of  which  my  previous  languor  had 
deprived  me. 


CHAPTER  XXXVir. 

I  W.43  awakened  one  morning  by  the  unu- 
sually abrupt  entrance  of  Jos6plime. 

"You  have  disturbed  me,"  I  said  somewhat 
impatiently  ;  "  are  there  any  letters  ?" 

"No,  miladi,"  answered  the  soubrette,  un- 
moved by  rny  pettishness  ;  "  but  Sir  James  has 
just  arrived,  and  1  thought  it  my  duty  to  inform 
miladi  at  once." 

I  ought  not  to  have  felt  surprised  ;  he  had  al- 
ready mformed  me  of  the  period  of  his  return, 
but  the  effect  of  her  words  was  painful.  My 
feelings  were  so  contradictory,  so  various,  that 
I  could  not  disentangle  them.  1  tried  to  believe 
that  I  rejoiced  at  iiis  advent;  it  terminated 
my  singular  state  of  bridal  widowhood,  and 
emancipated  me  altogether  from  my  mother's 
authority  ;  but  still  I  could  not  ci)nceal  from 
myself  that  I  had  wilfully  closed  my  eyes  to 
its  occurrence,  and  would  gladly  have  deferred 
it.  Fortunately  for  me,  Lady  Madelaine,  con- 
scious of  the  part  which  she  had  acted,  sus- 
pected something  of  the  truth,  and  contrived 
that  I  should  have  ample  time  to  recover  my 
sell-possession. 

My  first  meeting  with  Dornton  took  place  in 
my  dressing-room.  He  was  all  rapture  and 
affection.  He  had  succeeded  perfectly  in  the 
business  which  took  him  to  Ireland  ;  and  only 
returned,  as  he  declared,  to  find  me  a  thousand 
times  more  lovely  than  when  we  parted.  My 
mother  soon  broke  in  upon  our  interview;  slie 
had  never  been  more  welcome.  She  congrat- 
ulated Sir  James  upon  the  recovery  of  a  prop- 
erty supposed  to  be  lost  to  him  ;  insisted  upon 
his  thanks  for  the  care  which  she  had  taken  of 
his  melancholy  little  wife  ;  and  finally  regretted 
that  'he  influx  of  visitors  at  Woodville  had 
driven  away  Miss  Dornton  ;  who  departed  to 
her  country  lodging,  laden  with  a  costly  dia- 
jiond  ring,  upon  which  she  evidently  set  not 
the  slightest  value,  and  an  embrace  as  cold  as 
the  jewel.  I  parted  from  her,  as  I  had  met 
her,  without  a  sigh. 

I  was  somewhat  startled  to  hear  that  a  large 
"arty  were  to  meet  at  Woodvdie  that  very  day, 
n  honor  of  Dorntou's  return,  when  oui»  mar- 
riage was  to  be  publicly  aunouuced.  The  in- 
telligence was  evidently  wcicomc  to  him  ;  but 
it  was  f'  less  so  to  me.  After  the  agitation 
occa...oned  by  his  return,  I  should  have  prefer- 


red the  comparative  quiet  of  our  home-circ.e. 
There  was,  however,  no  alternative,  and  I  ac- 
cordingly submitted  with  the  best  grace  I  could 
assume  ;  only  stipulatmg  that,  uiitd  the  dinner- 
bell  had  rung,  I  should  he  permitted  to  remain 
undisturbed  in  my  own  apartments.  As  this 
arrangement  aI.<o  excluded  Sir  James,  I  had  to 
combat  for  a  while  his  lover-like  expostula- 
tions ;  but  as  Lady  Madelaine,  anxious  that  I 
should  appear  to  advantage,  which  she  well 
knew  could  not  be  the  case  if  my  tem|H'r  were 
too  sorely  tried,  condescended  to  second  my 
wishes,  I  soon  dismissed  him  to  the  guests, 
and  sat  down  to  ponder  in  solitude  over  the 
trying  position  in  which  I  was  about  to  be 
placed,  before  the  unsympathizing  circle  which 
had  been  gathered  together  at  W'oodville. 

The  first  person  upon  whom  my  eyes  fell,  aa 
I  entered  the  dining-room  on  the  arm  of  Sir 
James,  was  Mr.  Curties ;  and  I  felt  confused 
and  disconcerted  as  he  advanced  to  greet  me. 
.My  delicacy  was,  however,  palpably  mistimed,. 

for  the  wortliy  member  for was  as  calm, 

as  ai.ff,  as  rectangular  as  ever.     He  even  smiled 
as  he  glanced  from  me  to  Dornton,  and  uttered 
a  few  words  of  congratulation.     I  was  lost  in 
amazement!     I  did  not  possess  the  solution  ol 
the  riddle,  and  I  was  deeply  mortified.     This 
man,  according  to  Lady  Madelaine,  had  loved  • 
me,  or  at  least,  had  been  dazzled  by  my  aitrac-  I 
tions,  and  under  the  influence  of  such  feelinga  ( 
had  sought  my  hand  and  been  rejected  ;   yet  ' 
now,  only  a  few  months  later,  as  if  to  con  vine*  i 
me  of  the  transitory  effect  of  my  personal  merits,  j 
he   met  me  as   another's  bride,  with   a  smilt 
about   his   lips,    and   a    compliment   ui)on    hit 
tongue.     What  a  lesson  did  this  appear  to  b* 
to  my  vanity  and  self-love  ! 

The  annoyance  was,  however,  soon  foreottoni 
in  the  flattering  comments  and  congratulations' 
of  the  other  guests,  among  whom  I  was  glad  t«. 
remark  the  good  rector  and  his  pretty  daiiglucr, 
who  was  duly  adorned  with  her  bridal  jH-arls. 
I  could  not  forbear,  even  thus  publicly,  pressing 
my  lips  to  her  bright  cheek,  which  crimsoned 
with  delight ;  while  Sir  James,  who  appeared 
determined  to  discover  a  compliment  to  liiinsell 
in  every  one  of  my  actions,  paid  me  back  my 
courtesy  by  raising  my  ^-  •_•■  to  his  lips.  1 
could  not  forbear,  from  l"r  e  to  time,  during  tht 
dinner,  which  to  me  seemed  painfully  protract- 
ed, glancing  at  Mr.  Curties,  in  order  to  discovei 
if  he  preserved  his  equanimity  I  saw  not  the 
slightest  change.  Ho  ate  and  drank  in  perfect 
composure,  and  occasionally  condesceided  tc 
address  a  remark  to  Miss  Grenval,  who  sat  be 
side  him  evidently  in  awe.  There  was  not  one 
symptom  of  uneasiness  to  console  my  rufflec 
vanity.     It  was  altogether  inexplicable. 

The  devotion  of  Dornton  knew  no  bounds 
!  He  seemed  to  challenge  the  envy  and  congratu, 
lations  of  all  around  him.  He  thanked  me  ii 
the  most  gallant  manner  for  the  magnificen 
toilet  which  1  had  made  upon  what  he  wa' 
pleased  to  call  our  wedding-day,  alfccting  t 
forget  that  a  woman  finds  such  a  duty  at  a 
times  both  easy  and  pleasant ;  and  as  both  m 
mother  and  Lord  Oiterford  were  equally  coa 
plimentary  on  the  subject  of  my  appearance, 
was  glad  to  be  convinced  that  my  dre.-sing-glas' 
had  not  deceived  me. 

For  the  first  time  I  felt  that  I  had  ettaiae; 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


133 


the  object  of  my  earliest  ambition  ;  I  divided 
the  suffrages  of  the  circle  with  Lady  Made- 
laine ;  and  I  had,  moreover,  the  triumph  of 
knowing  that  I  had  even  over  her  the,  advan- 
tages of  greater  youtl)  and  greater  novelty.  I 
was  no  longer  flattered  and  pampered  as  a 
beautiful  child  ;  I  had  taken  my  position  in  so- 
ciety, and  my  success  must  be  henceforth  based 
upon  my  womanly  (jualities.  I  thought  not  once 
of  Devereux  throughout  the  evening.  The  in- 
cense that  was  so  profusely  offered  at  my  shrine 
oppressed  my  brain,  and  centred  all  my  feelings 
in  self  The  past  and  future  were  alike  shroud- 
ed in  vapor,  and  I  lived  only  in  the  present. 

The  whole  of  the  evening,  until  the  departure 
of  such  of  our  guests  as  resided  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, was  occupied  in  music,  and  in  the  ex- 
ainination  of  the  numerous  and  costly  marriage 
presents  which  were  awaiting  me  in  the  saloon. 
In  vain  did  I  volunteer  my  services  at  the  harp 
and  my  voice  in  a  trio :  neither  Sir  James  nor 
Lady  .Madelaine  would  permit  me  to  use  so 
much  exertion  in  my  invalid  state.  I  had  sud- 
denly awakened  in  a  new  world — in  a  sort  of 
gilded  Utopia  !  So  I  remained  throned  upon 
my  sofa,  playing  with  the  jewels  and  toys  scat- 
tered around  me,  content  to  look  and  listen  to 
the  performances  of  those  whose  health  was, 
for  the  moment,  tacitly  understood  to  be  less 
valuable  than  my  own. 

We  remained  the  whole  summer  at  Wood- 
ville  ;  but  I  had  not  been  a  bride  more  than  a 
few  months  when  I  expressed  to  Lady  Made- 
iaine  the  desire  which  I  felt  to  pay  a  visit  to 
my  sister. 

"  What  will  Sir  James  think  of  so  strange  a 
whim  !"  she  asked  drily. 

"  Do  you,  then,  consider  it  extraordinary,"  I 
demanded  in  my  turn,  "  that  I  should  wisii  to 
see  Adela  after  the  change  which  has  taken 
place  in  my  situation  1  You  are  aware,  inadam, 
that  I  endeavored  to  induce  her  to  become  my 
guest,  which,  for  some  reason  of  which  I  am 
ignorant,  she  declined.  I  confess  that  I  felt 
deeply  hurt,  but  still  I  cannot  forget  that  she  is 
my  sister,  and  that,  in  her  present  exile,  she 
may  well  expect  so  simple  a  courtesy  from 
me." 

"  Your  delicacy  is  somewhat  wire-drawn, 
Eveleen,"  retorted  Lady  Madelaine ;  "  how- 
ever, you  are  yet  a  bride,  and  must,  conse- 
quently, I  suppose,  be  indulged  in  your  caprices. 
Fortunately,  the  long  and  fatiguing  journey  to 
llooksley  will  be  spared,  for  Adela  has  been  for 
the  last  few  weeks  the  inhabitant  of  my  villa  at 
Putney." 

"And  why  was  so  simple  a  circumstance 
kept  secret  from  mel" 

"  Because  it  grew  out  of  a  speculation  of  a 
graver  nature.  Because  Adela  had  just  con- 
ceived one  of  those  extraordinary  whims  which 
cannot  be  explained  by  any  rational  argument, 
but  to  which,  young  as  she  is,  she  adheres  with 
a  tenncily  that  my  will  has  entirely  failed  to 
weaken  :  and  as,  I  confess  to  you,  the  fatigue 
of  so  wretched  a  contention  is  greater  than  I 
Bin  willing  to  encounter,  I  have  at  last  consent- 
ed to  yield — under  certain  restrictions." 

How  well  I  recognized  the  iron  nature  of  my 
fc'.sicr  in  this  immutability  of  purpose. 

"And  what,  then,  is  this  strange  fancy  V  I 
t^keU  eagerly. 


i  Lady  Madelaine  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  In  the  first  place,  I  believe  you  are  not  yet 
aware  that  the  relative  who  inherited  ihc  title 
and  estates  of  my  poor  father  has  formed  the 
somewhat  Quixotic  project  of  disencuniberiiig 
the  properly  of  certain  rather  extensive  mori^ 
gages  ;  and,  in  aid  of  this  endeavor,  finding 
that  his  obljijations  both  as  a  peer  and  a  laud- 
lord  were  greater  than  he  wished  to  encounter, 
he  purposes  to  live  abroad  with  all  his  family 
for  the  next  few  years,  and  to  let  the  castle 
during  that  time,  retaining  the  land  under  the 
superintendence  of  a  bailiff.  Now,  Miss  Adela 
Tilden.  having,  as  it  has  since  appeared,  through 
the  medium  of  Lady  Flora,  been  in  correspon- 
dence with  the  earl,  and  ascertained  that  to 
one  of  his  own  connections,  who  will,  of  course, 
appear  only  as  his  guest,  he  will  cede  Glenfillan 
Castle  at  a  very  small  rent,  has.  child  as  she 
is,  been  continually,  from  the  period  of  your 
betrothal,  when  she  found  that  all  chance  of 
your  returning  to  reside  at  llooksley  was  at  an 
end,  importuning  me  to  hire  the  place,  and  to 
allow  her  to  make  it  her  home,  under  the  guar- 
dianship of  Lady  Flora." 

"Her  home!"  I  exclaimed,  aghast;  "can 
she  seriously  ask  you  to  allow  her  to  bury  her- 
self alive  at  her  age  in  so  remote  a  spot  !  Does 
she  forget  that  there  will  be  a  long  future,  and 
that  her  proper  home,  while  she  remains  un- 
married, is  under  the  roof  of  her  mother  T' 

"  I  have  both  said  and  written  all  that  and 
much  more,"  coldly  replied  Lady  Madelaine , 
"  but  I  made  no  impression  upon  her  stubborn 
nature.  She  answered  I  know  not  what — that 
I  had  never  been  a  mother  to  her — that  she 
should  never  have  a  home  while  it  was  called 
inine — that  she  had  lived  for  years  without  the 
affection  of  her  family,  and  that  she  had  now 
ceased  to  wish  for  it.  In  short,  you  can  under- 
stand her  style  of  reasoning." 
I  could,  indeed. 

"Nevertheless,"  pursued  my  mother,  pei- 
ceiving  that  I  continued  silent,  "  I  still  refused 
to  listen  to  her — " 

"  Of  course ;  you  could  not  do  otherwise. 
The  project  was  absurd  and  impracticable — I 
am  almost  tempted  to  say  insane  !" 

"And  yet.  Lady  Dornton,  there  are  circum 
stances — " 

"  Oh,  no,  no  ;  it  is  impossible  that  any  cii 
cumstances,  however  slrin^fent,  could  justify 
so  monstrous  an  arrangement.  Had  she  been 
five  years  younger,  although  such  an  exile  must 
have  condemned  her  to  comparative  ignorance^ 
still  her  bodily  health  might  have  been  pleaded 
as  a  reason  lor  so  extreme  a  step ;  l)iit  iu)W — 
at  the  precise  period  when  she  should  be  intr' 
duced  into  the  world,  in  which  she  will  soon  be 
called  to  [ilay  her  part — " 

"Allow  me  tc  interrupt  you  in  my  turn  at 
this  point  of  your  argument,"  said  i^ady  Made- 
laine. "  You  are  just  touching  upon  the  cir- 
cumstance which  I  was  about  to  explain.  Hnw 
will  you  laugh,  Eveleen — you,  young,  rich, 
courted,  and  beloved,  when  1  tell  you  that  th.-* 
mere  girl  who  calls  you  sister,  and  who  share.*, 
or  might  share,  all  your  advantages,  save,  •r. 
deed,  as  regards  beauty,  firmly  believes  Ihnt 
she  has  taken  the  world  in  abhorrence — '•/ 
rather,  to  follow  her  own  text  mo/e  close")  - 
that  she  holds, it  in  contempt ;  and  when  I  even 


134 


CC/AFIJSSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


went  so  far  as  to  hint  that  I  might  possibly,  in 
a  few  niuiilhs,  when  I  iidcJ  seen  you  fairly  set- 
tled at  the  head  of  your  own  estahlishment, 
eall  her  to  town,  and  give  her  every  advantage 
of  wiiich  she  is  susceptible,  she  peruiopturily 
declared  that  she  wouii  never  be  taken  to  Lon- 
,  don  alive,  to  be  inlroduced  to  the  /rivolous  an.l 
heartless  society  of  wliat  was  called  the  fashion- 
able world — that  it  was  not  made  for  lier,  nor 
8h«  for  It,  and  that,  consequently,  she  put  it  to 
uiyself  wliether  she  slioukl  not  be  less  obnox- 
ious lo  me  and  less  burdensome  to  herself  at 
Gltnfillan  than  at  Rooksley." 

"yiie  must  be  mad  I"  1  murmured,  uncon- 
Bciously. 

"  Perhaps  so.  At  all  events,  she  is  incom- 
prehensible. Nothing  wdl  bend  her  wdl.  Sick 
of  the  struggle,  as  1  have  already  told  you,  I 
have  at  last  yielded,  and  she  is  at  present  at 
Putney  with  Lady  Flora,  making  purchases  of 
spelling-books  and  grammars  for  a  school  which 
she  is  to  found,  and  comnuliing  sundry  other 
"Aios  of  the  same  description.  As  I  have  de- 
ciioed  all  farther  interference  with  so  imprac- 
»'"H'ri.c  a  young  lady,  I  have  offered  neither 
sommcnt  nor  hindrance  to  her  last  request  that 
she  may  be  allowed  to  proceed  to  Scotland  early 
in  the  ensuing  niojiiii." 

"  I  must  lose  no  tune,  then,  in  reaching  Put- 
ney," I  said,  involuntarily  rising  from  my  chair, 
as  thougii  preparing  to  depart  on  the  instant. 

"Resume  your  seat,"  said  Lady  Madelaine, 
calmly  motioning  me  again  to  her  side.  "Are 
you  quite  sure  that  Adela  partakes  your  eager- 
ness for  this  meeting!  Do  you  feel  satisfied 
that  you  wdl  be  a  welcome  visitor  !" 

"  Why  should  I  doubt  it]  I  have  never  in- 
jured my  sister." 

Lady  Aladelaine  bit  her  lip,  and  for  a  moment 

appeared  disconcerted  ;  but  she  soon  conquered 

the  feeling,  from  wliatever  impulse  it  arose,  and 

continued,  svith  an  arch  srade  :  "  You  know  the 

IP^  Italian  proverb — 

'Chi  cerca  quel  die  non  dovrebbe 
Trova  (jiiel  die  non  vorrelibe :' 

however,  I  will  make  no  attempt  to  dissuade 
you  from  your  |nir|)ose.  One  thing,  neverthe- 
less, you  must  remeiiiber,  Eveleen — " 

"  What  can  prevent  my  performance  of  what 
I  now  cor.sider  actually  as  a  duty  ]''  I  exclaim- 
ed ;  "  who  can  t-ay,  even  young  us  we  both  are, 
teat  we  may  ever  meet  again  V 

•'  I  reptat,  Lady  Dornton,  that  in  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  I  advance  no  objection  to  your 
wish  ;  Ixil  you  are  quite  forgetting  that  you 
have  a  hu.sband,  and  that  he  may  not  approve 
of  ygur  repeatng  your  advances  to  a  younger 
sister,  by  whom  they  hiive  already  been  re- 
pulsed." 

"Sir  James  object  !"  I  retorted,  with  all  the 
scum  of  a  spoiled  beauty;  "oh,  no;  that  is, 
indeed,  improbable  :  I  am  by  no  means  prepared 
for  any  such  opposition." 

"Possibly  ;  and  yet  such  things  are." 

"Not  in  a  case  like  mine.  1  assuredly  did 
not  become  the  wife  of  Sir  James  Dtirnton  to 
be  consigned  once  more  to  tiie  nursery.  1  shall 
request  him  to  be  ready  lo  accompany  me  to 
town  the  day  after  to-moriow." 

"  To  town  !"  echoed  the  voice  of  my  hus- 
band, who  at  the  instant  entered  the  room  ; 
"  ilo  I  hear  the  fair  and  iaohionable  Lady  Dorn- 


ton threatening  to  go  up  to  town,  when  n« 
one  is  lo  be  seen  there  but  drapers  and  dust- 
men !" 

"  Why,  not  precisely,  not  completely,  not 
avowedly,"  I  answered  in  the  same  gay  loae  ; 
"  my  fair  and  fashionable  ladyship  coniemplatea 
only  the  negative  enormity  of  Putney,  to  visit 
her  soiiiewliat  moonstruck  sister,  and  to  en- 
deavor, by  a  less  adventurous  journey  than  that  ; 
of  Orlando,  to  win  back  her  wits  again."  | 

I  expected  at  least  a  smile  in  reward  of  my  ' 
banter,  but<  to  my  extreme  surprise,  as  I  raised 
my  eyes  to  meet  it,  I  saw  Sir  James  exchange 
an  alarmed  and  rapid  glance  with  my  iiioiIrt, 
while  for  a  moment  the  blood  forsook  his  ciieek 
and  lips.  Lady  Madelaine,  however,  was  as 
calm  as  ever.  She  had  not  been  taken  by  sur  ■ 
prise.  j 

"  Is  it  not  a  wild  whim  V  she  asked,  with  a  ' 
smile. 

"  But  Eveleen  wiU  nut  persist ;"  and  he  be- 
gan playfully  to  smooth  down  my  ringlets. 

"  Do  not  mistake  mc.  Sir  James,"  I  said,  per- ; 
fectly  restored  to  seriousness  ;  "  I  feel  that  I ' 
ought  to  see  my  sister  before  she  leaves  Eng-  { 
land.     She  is  not  happy — "  I 

"  Not  happy?"  ( 

"  Assuredly  not,  or  she  never  would  have, 
formed  so  extreme  a  resolution.  Slie  does  not  I 
understand  what  she  so  lightly  rejects.  lam' 
resolved  to  use  the  inllueiice  I  [)ossess — "         ' 

"The  influence  you  possess  !''  I 

"  Even  so  ;  not  only  in  dissuading  her  fronii 
a  project  so  extravagant,  but  also  by  induciogi 
her  to  confide  to  me — "  j 

"  Confide  to  you  !"  | 

"  Really,  Sir  James,"  I  exclaimed,  rather' 
pettishly,  "one  would  imagine  that  we  were; 
rehearsing  a  scene  from  Othello  :  you  echo  alll 
my  words."  ' 

"And  no  wonder,"  said  my  mother,  cgming' 
skilfully  to  the  rescue;  "Dornton,  knowing 
what  he  does  of  Adela,  may  well  be  asionisliec 
on  hearing  you  talk  of  possessing  an  inlluencj 
over  her,  and  of  inducing  her  to  make  you  hei 
confidant." 

"  I  am,  indeed,  thoroughly  amazed,"  acqui 
esced  Sir  James  ;  "for  1  believed  her  lo  b( 
utterly  invulnerable  to  either  advice  or  sym 
paihy." 

I  was  not  satisfied  with  this  well-acted  ex 
planation.  It  was  evident  that  there  was  soint 
mystery  connected  with  ihe  removal  of  my  sis 
ler,  which  was  to  remain  a  secret  (roin  me. 
even  suspected  that  it  was  not  viduniary,  bu 
had  grown  out  of  the  scarcely-disguised  am 
invincible  dislike  which  I  had  long  known  Lad. 
iMadclaine  to  entertain  toward  her.  All  iha 
had  passed,  therefore,  only  the  more  firmly  de 
teroiined  me  not  to  yield.  I  could  derive  n_ 
advantage  from  this  concessi(m  to  my  sister'' 
pride,  and  of  this  she  must  be  aware.  1  wafij 
cimsequently,  not  without  hope  that  this  con! 
sideration  on  my  part  might,  indeed,  induce  he 
to  unbend,  and  to  explain  to  me  her  real  inc 
lives  for  so  strange  a  resolution  as  that  whic 
1  had  just  heard  attributed  to  her  own  'rte  wil 
Judging  from  my  own  experience,  I  ki  ew  lli<) 
there  were  moments  in  which  the  lu-ait  wa' 
relieved  by  imparting  its  grief ;  might  this  m 
be  her  case  ikuv,  when  she  was  on  the  eve  i', 
separat'.in  irom  her  family  !    The  mystiticalto 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PIIE'ITY  WO.MAN. 


which  I  had  detected  irritated  and  dibhcaitened 
uie  ;  I  fell  as  though  it  involved  a  return  of  the 
mental  vassalage  thai  I  loathed,  and  I  pledged, 
myself  to  my  own  heart  to  be  on  this  i/ccasiton 
as  linn  as  Adela  herself. 

"You  will  accompany  me,  Sir  James  1"  I 
said,  suddenly,  in  a  tone  completely  devoid  of 
doubt. 

"  I  regret  that  it  will  be  utterly  impossible 
for  me  lo  do  so."  answered  my  husband,  in  an 
accent  as  decided  as  my  own,  "  and  in  that 
fact,  my  sweet  Eveleen,  lies  the  whole  secret 
ol  aiy  anni'>ance  at  your  project." 

"  f  thouj^t.i  Miat  you  were  an  idle  man,  with 
no  more  &(  rioLis  busiaess  on  hand  than  that  of 
obliguig  y.jur  wife." 

"  Would  that  it  were  so  ;  but  that  vile  Irish 
afTair  '  drags  its  slow  length  along,'  and  will 
admit  of  no  neglect  on  my  part  just  at  pres- 
ent." 

"  Fortun.itelv,"  I  said,  considerably  provoked, 
"  I  am  no  coward.  With  my  o.vn  maid,  and  a 
couple  of  inen-.iervants,  I  shall  be  perfectly  and 
correclly  attended." 

"  Eveleen,"  exclaimed  Sir  James,  "  not  for 
ten  thousand  worlds  would  I  consent  to  such  a 
scheme." 

"  You  shall  not  be  asked  to  do  so,"  said  my 
mother ;  '•  I  will  accompany  Lady  Dornton." 

He  thanked  her  somewhat  gravely,  for  he 
evidently  desired  that  the  journey  should  be 
abandiini.'d  altogetlier.  He  complained  of  my 
coldness  in  leaving  him  to  visit  a  sister  who 
had  never  shown  me  the  slightest  affection  ; 
talked  of  the  ungenial  season,  and  my  recent 
illness  ;  in  short,  tried  all  means  of  altering  my 
resolution,  iiut  without  effect.  Had  not  my 
suspicions  been  aroused,  he  would  probably 
have  succeeded  ;  but,  as  it  was,  his  multiplied 
objections  only  strengthened  my  purpose.  My 
pride  revolted  when  it  whispered  that,  in  some 
way  or  other,  I  had  been  made  a  dupe. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

I  DID  not  thoroughly  recover  my  temper  until 
i  found  myself  in  the  carriage  which  was  to  con- 
vey my  ifiotiier  and  myself  to  Putney.  During 
the  brief  interval  which  had  elapsed  between 
making  tlie  arrangement  and  seeing  it  realized. 
Sir  James  had  exhausted  himself  in  affection- 
ate attentions,  which  I  received  coldly  and  with 
suspicion  ;  for  I  at  once  discovered  that  he  still 
entertained  the  hope  of  changing  my  resolution. 
I  felt'  like  a  mariner  about  to  explore  an  un- 
known shoal ;  and  I  looked  to  my  sister  to  sup- 
ply the  sounding-line. 

Once  in  the  carriage,  even  before  we  had  left 
the  grounds,  and  whils  the  touch  of  Dornton's 
lips  was  still  warm  upon  my  cheek,  I  recovered 
my  equanimity,  and  commenced  a  conversation 
With  Lady  Madelaine,  by  sincerely  thanking  her 
for  the  consideration  which  had  induced  her  to 
become  my  companion  ;  a  concession  to  which 
I  was  ilie  more  sensible,  as  my  husband  had 
failed  to  emulate  it. 

"  You  are  unreasonable  to  expect  so  much, 
Eveleen,  '  she  said  in  reply.  "  Men  detest 
the  lachrymosities  of  soi-disanl  broken-hearted 
yijung  ladies;  and  Sir  James,  charming  as  he 
is,  is  nevertheless  only  mortal." 

"But  if  Adela   be,  as  you   imply,  broken- 


hearted, you  must  surely  also  he  awaie  of  ih« 
cause  of  her  sorrow." 

"  A  purely  false  deduction.  I  only  know  thai 
she  has  succeeded  in  making  her  very  iiani.! 
odii  us  to  me  ;  and  that  I  shall  rejoice  when  i 
know  that  she  is  safely  housed  at  Glenfilian." 

"  How  long  ago  was  it,  did  you  say,  since  she 
first  made  the  request!" 

"  Several  months  ;  I  really  forget  the  precise 
period  ;  it  was  about  the  commencement  of  your 
illness." 

"  At  the  time  of  my  betrothal!" 

"  Somewhat  later  ;  and  it  was  to  endeavor  to 
make  her  hear  reayon,  that  I  urged  on  your 
marriage,  and  left  you  so  abruptly  at  Wood- 
ville.  Instead  of  proceeding  at  once  to  town, 
Lord  Otlerford  and  myself  traveled  to  Rooks- 
ley,  ill-affected  as  I  was  toward  such  a  jour 
ney  ;  and  as  I  found  that  nothing  but  coercion 
would  enable  me  to  overcome  her  wishes,  and 
that,  I  did  not  possess  the  slightest  authority 
over  her,  unless  I  condescended  to  have  re- 
course to  forc",  we  decided  that  she  must  be 
treated  like  an  embryo-lunatic  as  she  is,  and 
indulged  in  her  whim  until  she  herself  wearies 
of  it.  Having  come  to  this  determination.  Lord 
Ottenford  consented  to  remain  a  week  at  Rooks- 
ley,  while  Lady  Flora  and  her  amiable  charge 
made  their  parting  arrangements,  in  order  that 
they  might  have  his  protection  upon  the  road ; 
and,  as  their  domestication  in  Grosvenor  Square 
during  the  season  was  of  course  not  to  be 
thought  of,  we  decided  upon  settling  them  at 
Putney  until  their  departure  for  Scotland." 

"  Yoii  think,  then,  that  it  is  a  mere  tempora- 
ry caprice!" 

"I  judge  like  a  rational  being,  and  cannot 
imagine  otherwise." 

"It  is,  at  least,  very  singular,"  I  remarked, 
"  that  such  an  extraordinary  circumstance 
should  never  have  been  mentioned  to  ine. 
Has  no  one,  save  youurself  and  Lord  Oiterford, 
been  made  acquainted  with  it !" 

"  You  must  have  seen  that  it  was  known  to 
Sir  James." 

"  Ah,  true !  it  was  evidently  no  secret  to 
him  ;  and  may  I  ask  if  he  favored  your  compli- 
ance with  the  wishes  of  my  sister!" 

"  He  very  properly  declined  to  offer  any 
opinion  v/hatever  upon  the  subject." 

"And  Lord  Otterfoid!" 

"  Very  naturally  felt  with,  and  for  me  ;  as  did 
all  the  friends  wl.om  I  considered  it  expedient 
to  consult.  It  wouldj  as  a  matter  of  course, 
have  been  namecj  to  you,  had  I  not  been  anx- 
ious, during  your  illness,  to  save  you  from  an- 
noyance of  every  description ;  and  subsequently 
also,  but  that  I  thought  it  likely  to  throw  a 
gloom  over  your  meeting  with  your  husband." 

"How  was  it  calculated  lo  do  this,  and  why 
should  it  produce  such  an  effect !"  I  asked, 
earnestly. 

"  On  my  honor.  Lady  Dornton,  vous  cxcedcz  .'" 
exclaimed  my  mother  pettishly  ;  "  you  catechise 
like  the  teacher  of  a  Sunday-school,  and  seem 
to  forget  that  my  nerves  are  not  made  of  iron. 
Pray  let  me  sleep  off  the  irritating  effects  of  our 
abrupt  and  uninteresting  dialogue.  Believe  me, 
your  sister  will  soon  convince  you  that  she  is 
not  worthy  of  such  a  waste  of  words" 

Of  course  I  was  silenced,  for  1  still  stood  in 
too  much  awe  of  Lady  Madelaine  to  brave  he 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN, 


136 


displeasure  ;  and  although  I  felt  convinced  that 
she  only  sought  to  avoid  an  explanation,  I 
was,  consequently,  compelled  to  content  myself 
throughout  the  remainder  of  the  journey  with 
the  companionship  of  my  own  thoughts ;  for 
while  we  w«re  upon  the  road,  she  perseveringly 
'ept,  or  affected  to  sleep  ;  and  when  we  alight- 
ed, she  flung  herself  into  an  altitude  of  languor 
which  rendered  her  altogether  unapproachable. 

Contrary  to  my  expectations,  Lady  Madelaine 

d  n(tt  drive  at  once  to  Putney,  but  ordered  the 
arriage  on  to  town  ;  and  as  the  dismantled 
Tiansion  in  Grosvenor  Square  was  naturally 
out  of  the  question,  we  alighted  at  a  fashionable, 
out  now  nearly  deserted  liotel,  whence  a  mes- 
senger was  dispatched  to  infoim  my  sister  of 
our  arrival,  and  our  intention  of  visiting  her  on 
the  morrow. 

When  I  awoke  on  the  following  morning,  a 
feeling  of  positive  sickness  crept  over  me  ! 
How  would  Adela,  indeed,  receive  my  visit  1 
and  what  was  I  about  to  learn  1  With  my 
usual  cowardice,  1  even  began  to  regret  that  I 
had  subjected  myself  to  the  trial ;  but,  never- 
theless, I,  after  some  time,  found  strength  in 
my  curiosity,  and  resolved  to  conceal  my  emo- 
tion from  Lady  Madelaine,  lest  she  should  take 
advantage  of  my  folly,  and  compel  me  to  return 
to  Woodville  unsatisfied. 

Having  come  to  this  doughty  resolution,  I 
took  unusual  interest  in  the  adjustment  of  my 
plain  but  costly  morning-dress,  aware  that  there 
is  a  prestige  about  a  labored  toilet,  which  is 
never  without  its  effect  upon  the  young.  When 
this  frivolous  care  was  at  length  over,  1  amused 
inyself  by  arranging  in  a  small  casket  a  few 
fashionable  trinkets  which  I  had  selected  as 
my  marriage  gift  to  my  sister ;  and  I  was  still 
engaged  in  so  doing,  when  Lady  Madelaine  en- 
tered the  room. 

"  For  whom  are  you  preparing  those  pres- 
ents!" she  asked,  as  her  eye  fell  upon  the 
ornaments. 

"For  my  sister." 

"  It  is  useless,"  she  said  gravely  ;  "  Miss  Til- 
den  is  too  high-minded  to  find  pleasure  in  such 
toys  :  do  not  draw  down  an  affront  upon  your- 
self" 

"  Surely  I  need  apprehend  no  insult  where  I 
mean  only  kindness^" 

"  Do  as  you  will — take  them  in  your  hand  ; 
vou  will  be  the  most  proper  judge  of  the  expe- 
ncy  of  suggesting  their  acceptance." 

I  was  already  half  convinced  that  it  would  be 
useless.  I  knew  how  easily  my  sister's  pride 
was  roused  ;  and,  with  a  sigh  of  regret,  I  silently 
consigned  tliem  once  more  to  my  dressing-case, 
and  followed  Lady  Madelaine  down  stairs. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  us,  until  we 
reached  Putney.  1  was  all  dread,  curiosity,  and 
agitation,  and  in  no  uwod  for  cimversation ; 
while  my  mother  had  doubtlessly  her  own 
memories  to  occupy  her  thoughts. 

Despite  all  the  coldness  with  which  she  had 
treated  me  since  we  parted,  my  sister,  when 
she  entered  the  room  on  our  arrival,  was  so 
pale,  so  wasted,  and  so  changed,  that  I  could 
not  control  my  emotion,  and  the  tears  streamed 
from  my  eyes. 

"Are  you  weeping  over  me.  Lady DorntonV 
Bhe  a!>ked  calmly.  "  You  are  luriunate  if  you 
can  urloril  ii»  \.erp  for  others." 


"  Oh,  Adela,  why  have  you  urged  Lady  Mad- 
elaine to  allow  your  banishment !"  1  exclaimed, 
as  I  seized  lier  hand  ;  "  I  have  but  just  learned 
tlie  unwelcome  news  of  this  inieniltd  departure; 
arid  even  now  can  scarcely  credit  that  it  is  in 
compliance  with  your  own  wish." 

"  Why  should  yoa  not  believe  it  V  and  as 
she  spoke,  she  seated  herself  quietly  beside  me  ; 
"you  are  not  ignorant  that  the  human  heart  is 
subject  to  extraordinary  changes." 

I  felt  the  point  of  the  remark,  and  my  cheek 
flushed.  Lady  Madelaine.  who  saw  that  I  was 
hurt,  addressed  some  comiinonplace  observar- 
tion  to  my  sister,  who  made  a  brief  reply,  ant 
a  pause  to  me  more  painful  than  even  the  most 
bitter  sarcasm  ensued.  I  could  not  s|)eak. 
Adela  sat  in  silence,  as  if  awaiting  the  purport 
of  a  visit  which  she  bad  evidently  not  desired  ; 
and  my  mother  threw  herself  back  upon  her 
sofa,  and  closed  her  eyes.  The  spell  was  at 
length,  however,  broken  by  Lady  Madelaine  her- 
self, who,  wearied  by  the  constraint  to  which 
she  had  for  a  moment  submitted,  suddenly  rose, 
declaring  that  she  had  some  directions  to  give 
to  Lady  Flora. 

This  was,  as  I  thought,  the  crisis  of  my  fate. 
I  was  dying  to  interrogate  Adela,  and  trembling 
at  the  idea  of  being  questioned  in  my  turn. 

We  were  no  sooner  alone  than  my  sister 
turned  upon  me  a  long  and  searching  look 
which  seemed  to  penetrate  my  very  heart. 

"  Are  you  happy  ?"  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  have  submitted  to  circumstances,  and  mj 
reason  tells  me  to  deduce  what  profit  I  may 
from  my  submission.' 

"  Answer  me  more  iVanklv — are  you  happy  1" 

"  Yes — almost — at  least  I  am  not  otherwise." 

"  Sir  James  loves  you  then  ! " 

"  Devotedly ;  of  that,  at  least,  I  am  con 
vinced." 

"  And  youl" 

"  Me  !— I— " 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate  1  Does  not  the  hus- 
band whom  you  have  chosen  appear  to  justifj 
your  affection  V 

I  was  perfectly  unprepared  for  such  an  attack 
as  this,  and  knew  not  with  what  arms  to  repel 
it.  The  difficulty  roused  my  temper,  and  angei 
lent  me  courage.  Not  only  did  1  acknowledge 
the  love  which  I  believed  that  I  felt  for  Dorn- 
ton,  but  I  exaggerated  his  good  qualities,  and 
the  devotion  and  self-abnegation  which  he  had 
displayed  in  the  indulgence  of  all  my  tastes  and 
wishes.     I  was  almost  eloquent. 

"Spare  me  the  details  of  his  perfections," 
said  my  sister  impatiently,  when  I  at  length 
paused  lor  breath  ;  "  you  are  excusable.  More- 
over, my  opinion  is  already  formed." 

Again  we  were  silent.  My  eyes  were  rivet- 
ed upon  the  floor,  while  my  sister's  wandered 
over  the  apartment,  evidently  unconscious  of 
every  object  on  which  they  looked.  I  was  in 
agony.  The  opportunity  which  I  had  offered 
to  her  sarcasms  was  so  tempting  that  1  every^ 
instant  anticipated  she  would  overwhelm  me* 
by  some  bitter  allusion  to  Devereux ,  it  was, 
therefore,  necessary  that  I  should  take  advan- 
tage of  her  silence,  in  order  to  prevent  it ;  and 
I  compelled  inyself  to  make  the  effort. 

"  My  dear  Adela,"  I  said,  "  we  are  for  a  mo- 
ment alone  ;  we  may  soon  be  disturbed  ;  do  not, 
then, Hunk   me  ab:upt  ii,  wiihouL  luiiiici  pre' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  ^^OMAN. 


137 


face,  1  beg  of  you  to  relieve  me  from  a  painful  indeed  must  be  its  effect  upon  the  whole  o. 
suspicion.  Explain  to  me,  I  entreat,  the  true  your  future  life.  You  know  nothing  of  iho 
reason  of  this  exile  to  which  you  are  about  to  i  world,  or  of  its  pleasures  ;  you  are  ignorant  oi' 
be  condemned.  Can  it  be  that  our  mother  has  the  happiness  of  loving  and  being  beloved, 
compelled  you  to  it  !"  I  save    in   theory — and   remember  wlial    bright 

"Our  mother !"  she   exclaimed   scornfully.  !  visions  you  used  to  evoke — " 


"Do  you  indeed  so  utterly  misunderstand  me 
as  to  believe  that  I  shall  ever  act  upon  com- 
pulsion !" 

"I  do  not  misunderstand  you,  Adela;  but  I 
know  that  even  the  strongest  resolutions  are 
sometimes  rendered  nugatory  by  a  will  still 
more  absolute." 

"  Ha !  you  imagined  that  such  was  my 
case." 

"  I  did." 

"  You  reasoned  upon  your  own  experience  ; 
nothing  could  be  more  natural.  Nevertheless, 
you  were  wrong,  as  you  will  ever  be  when  you 
try  my  actions  by  the  same  test.  Lady  Mad- 
elaine  has  employed  no  authority  to  induce 
what  you  have  somewhat  romantically  termed 
my  '  exile  ;'  on  the  contrary,  I  decided  on  the 
step  which  I  am  about  to  take  at  the  moment 
when  your  life  was  considered  to  be  in  immi- 
nent danger,  and  when,  consequently,  my  de- 
termined estrangement  from  my  mother  would 
have  rendered  her  morally,  if  not  actually, 
childless  ;  and  her  remonstrances  were  compare 
atively  vehement." 

"  I  am  lost  in  wonder  !"  I  said  dejectedly  ; 
"  how  unjust  have  I  been  in  accusing  Lady 
Madelaine  of  the  sacrifice  to  which  you  have 
wilfully  consigned  yourself" 

"  There  are  sacrifices  of  all  kinds,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "  that  which  I  have  made  is  assuredly 
not  the  conteinplated  sojourn  in  Scotland." 

"  Can  f,  in  any  way,  or  by  any  exertion,  in- 
duce you  to  abandon  your  design  V 


'  No. 


Oh, 


"  I  seem  to  be  surrounded  by  mystery 
Adela.  I  beseech  you — " 

"  To  do  what  1  To  explain  to  you  my  mo- 
tives !  Never.  My  secret  is  my  own,  and 
shall  remain  so,  until — in  short,  in  my  turn,  I 
entreat  you  to  respect  it — Learn  it  when  you 
will,  you  must  repent  the  knowledge." 

"  Be  it  what  it  may,"  I  retorted  vehemently, 
"I  condemn  it.  You  have  overrated  your 
strength.  The  existence  which,  as  a  girl, 
was  tolerable  and  even  pleasant,  will,  at  your 
present  age,  wither  you  by  its  hopeless  mo- 
notony." 

"  1  should  have  judged  so  once  ;  but  I  then 
mistook  my  true  means  of  happiness." 

"  Happitvess  !  Do  you  hope  to  find  it  at  Glen- 
fillanr' 

"  I  shall  find  what  I  seek  ;  the  only  benefit 
which  can  henceforward  avail  me." 

The  words  of  my  sister  were  so  obscure, 
that  they  only  increased  my  curiosity.  I  re- 
doubled my  efforts  to  induce  her  to  confide  in 
me,  but  she  was  impenetrable,  and  at  length 
last  her  temper. 

"You  are  indelicate,  Eveleen,"  she  said, 
haughtily ;  "  why  do  you  harass  me  with  en- 
treaties, when  I  have  declared  that  they  will  be 
anavailingl" 

"  I  will  do  .so  no  longer,  since  you  do  not  con- 
sider me  worthy  of  your  confidence  ;  but  let  me 


Enough!"  she  said  sternly;  "I  want  no 
advice ;  and  even  were  it  otherwise,  you  are 
the  last  person  to  whom  I  should  apply  for 
1  counsel." 

As  all  my  expressions  had  been  affectionate 
as  well  as  earnest,  I  felt  offended  by  the  tone 
which  my  sister  had  assumed  ;  and  had  not 
Lady  Madelaine  at  that  precise  moment  re- 
turned, accompanied  by  the  happy  Lady  Flora, 
who  walked  into  the  room  as  tliough  she  were 
already  treading  upon  heather,  I  fear  this  so 
much  desired  interview  with  my  sister  would 
have  terminated  in  anger  on  both  sides.  Our 
mutual  agitation  did  not  escape  my  mother,  and 
she  appeared  uneasy  and  irresolute,  when  I  rose, 
and  proposed  that  we  should  return  to  town. 
She  offered  no  opposition,  however,  and  with  a 
cold  embrace,  and  hearts  more  estranged  than 
ever,  Adela  and  I  parted. 

We  had  no  sooner  left  the  villa  than  Lady 
Madelaine,  with  an  anxiety  which  she  vainly 
strove  to  conceal,  hastened  to  inquire  what 
could  be  the  nature  of  the  conversation  which 
I  had  held  with  my  sister,  and  by  which  we  had 
both  evidently  been  so  much  moved  ;  I  told  her 
frankly. 

"  Why  did  you  persist  in  so  thankless  an  :ji- 
terference  1"  she  asked,  impatiently;  "pray, 
permit  Miss  Tilden  to  make  herself  ridiculous 
in  her  own  way,  since  she  has  determined  to 
do  so.  Setting  aside  the  consideration  that 
your  fortune  may,  hereafter,  be  greatly  bene- 
fited by  her  obstinacy,  there  are  a  thousand 
other  reasons  which  must  make  her  wro.ng- 
headedness  advantageous  to  you.  Do  you  not 
yet  understand  that  your  sister's  disposition 
tastes,  and  prejudices  are  ah  calculated  to  an- 
noy and  injure  you,  were  you  to  mix  in  the 
same  society!  I  will  even  warn  you,  more- 
over, that  private  conversations,  such  as  this 
for  which  lately  you  were  so  eager,  and  which 
has  only  tended  to  wound  and  exasperate  your 
feelings,  can  conduce  to  no  favorable  result ; 
and  are  only  calculated  to  produce  very  dis- 
agreeable effects.  You  will  be  wise  to  avoid 
them  for  the  future,  whenever  you  are  flung 
together,  and  to  make  the  most  of  the  brilliant 
position  you  have  secured,  without  troubling 
yourself  with  the  sickly  fancies  of  an  ungracious 
girl." 

I  was  quite  in  the  mood  to  believe  that  she 
was  right ;  and  I  accordingly  pledged  myself  to 
follow  her  advice,  and  to  leave  Adela  to  her  dis- 
content. The  alternative  was,  at  least,  an  easy 
oac ;  and  the  rapture  of  Sir  James  on  my  re- 
turn to  Woodville  assisted  me  wonderfully  in 
the  effort. 

It  was  really,  therefore,  from  curiosity  at  the 
moment,  and  not  from  any  lingering  remnant 
of  affection,  that  I  one  day  inquired  what  had 
become  of  Devereux ;  and  as  a  proof  of  the 
perfect  composure  with  which  I  was  able  to 
put  the  question,  I  addressed  it  to  my  husband, 
who,  with  the  tact  and  taste  which  did  him 


at  least  entreat  you  not  to  take  so  serious  a  step  '  honor,  answered  as  cahnly  as  myself     He-  l.ad 
without  earnestly  considerir.g  what  may,  and!  just  obtained  promotion  in  his  regiment,  ano 


138 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


was  oxtremcly  zealous  in  his  niiliiary  duties, 
l<i  Uie  great  edilication  of  Sir  Herliurt,  and  the 
ainuseiiifnt  oC  his  inoiher.  I  received  liie  iii- 
Ullijjenix'  coldly  enough,  for  I  sull  felt  siilfi- 
cicnl  interest  in  iiiin  to  he  piiiued  hy  his  marked 
and  studious  neglect ;  and  to  experience  a  little 
billerness  at  tiie  thought  that  Ins  love  for  i>.e 
had  been  superseded  hy  the  poor  vanity  of 
rising  in  his  profession.  Nevertheless,  1  re- 
joiced to  perceive  that  it  did  not  affect  iny 
feelings  ;  and  my  heart  hounded  as  it  whispered 
that  I  conquered  a  weakness,  for  which  his 
fickleness  now  made  me  blush. 

His  fickleness  !  Haw  amusing  are  the  one- 
sided judgments  of  those  who  will  only  see  one 
phase  of  a  question  1  I  accused  Dever.m.x  of 
fickleness — I  who  had  become  the  wife  of  an- 
other man,  and,  moreover,  o(  the  very  man  whom 
1  had  long  professed  alike  to  dislike  and  to  de- 
spise. 1  knew  that  Lady  Madclaine  had  closed 
her  doors  against  him,  and  1  was  still  her  guest ; 
and  yet  1  accused  Devereux  of  fickleness,  even 
after  I  had  parted  from  him  with  an  injunction  to 
forget  me,  which  my  marriage  had  .since  ren- 
dered imperative. 

A  few  weeks  after  our  return  to  Woodville, 
Lady  MadeJaine  and  Lord  Otterford  proceeded 
to  town,  in  order  to  expedite  the  departure  of 
Lady  l-'lora  and  my  sister ;  but  on  this  oc-ca- 
sion,  I  made  no  proposal  to  bear  them  compa- 
ny. On  the  contrary,  when  my  mother  in- 
quired my  intention  on  the  subject,  I  declared 
my  distaste  to  another  interview  with  Aiiela. 
And  as  Sir  James  had  thoroughly  reasoned  and 
rallied  me  out  of  all  my  suspicions  of  mysiiti- 
calion,  and  declared  his  willingness  to  remain 
at  Woodville  until  I  should  desire  to  follow  my 
mother,  I  saw  her  depart  with  thankfulness 
that  so  ungracious  a  task  was  spared  to  me. 

A  fortnight  flew  rapidly  by.  Sir  James  was 
all  animation  and  amiability,  and  exerted  him- 
self as  strenuously  for  my  amusement  as  though 
he  lived  to  no  other  purpose.  I  began  to  ex- 
onerate my  mother,  and  to  believe  that  she  had 
guided  me  aright  ;  hi<t.,  nevertheless,  I  occa- 
sionally sighed  for  a  wider  field  of  action  ;  nor, 
as  I  had  reason  to  suspect,  was  Dorntun  alio- 
gethi;r  indifferent  to  the  same  advantage.  He 
never  addressed  a  compliment  to  me,  and  he 
was  not  sparing  of  them,  but  it  terminated  hy 
an  assurance  of  the  eflect  which  I  should  pro- 
duce in  town,  or  an  expression  of  curiosity  as 
to  how  the  rivalry  of  my  beauty — and  such 
beauty — jwould  be  borne  hy  the  Uasces  belles  of 
the  last  two  seasons.  At  length  on  one  occa- 
sion, I  ventured  to  say  timidly — 

"  Why  should  we  not  essay  the  experi- 
ment]" 

"  Are  you  serious,  Eveleen  V 

"  I'oitrquoi  jiasl  I  imagine  that  we  cannot 
remain  at  Woodville  forever." 

"  i  am  glad  that  you  have  made  the  observa- 
tion, dearest,"  replied  Dornlon,  eagerly  ;  "  I 
will  confess  to  you  that  it  is  irksome  to  me.  In 
short,  it  is  not  kome.  We  have  not  yet  tasted 
the  delights  of  home,  Eveleen." 

"You  are  right.  We  will  only  remain  in 
Grosveiior  Sijuare  while  we  decide  upon  a 
house  ;  and  then,  Sir  James,  we  will  assert  our 
independence  and  emancipaie  ourselves." 

•' Admirably  decided!  And  when  shall  we 
nut  our  project  into  execution  1" 


•«  Now— this  moment,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  Nay,  nay,  not  so  fast,"  lauuhed  Domton 
"  wf  must  first  acquaint  Lady  Madclaine  with 
our  inientio.i,  and  name  to  her  the  precise  Maj 
on  which  she  may  exjjeet  us." 

"  So  be  it.  Let  me  see — this  is  Saturday. 
Tell  her  that  we  will  be  with  her  on  Thurs- 
day." 

"Suffer  me  to  suggest  an  amendment,  and 
fo  propose  that  we  should  say  Friday  ;  nqt 
that  we  will  leave  Woodville  the  later,  but 
we  may  make  two  days  of  the  journey.  I  can- 
not  bear  that  you  should  arrive  in  town,  pale 
and  worn  with  fatigue.  Will  you  oblige  lue  in 
this!" 

I  could  not  reasonably  object,  and  it  '.v.^.s  con- 
sequently so  arranged.  We  made  our  few 
parting  visits  in  the  neighborhood  ;  and  on  the 
Thursday,  at  noon,  bade  farewell  to  the  scene 
of  our  honeymoon.  I  was  not,  however,  in- 
clined to  be  sentimental  on  that  subject.  Lon 
don  was  before  me,  with  the  admiration  of  the 
men  and  the  envy  of  the  women.  Visions  of 
splendor  and  triumph  rose  brightly  in  the  dis- 
lance  ;  I  was  about  to  commence  a  new  life.  I 
iindoiihiedly  talked  an  infinity  of  luaisense  on 
the  subject  of  the  future  ;  but  Sir  James  was 
too  well-bred  to  allow  me  to  suspect  that  he 
perceived  it.  How  difTerenily  liiil  I  now  per- 
form the  journey,  which,  when  1  had  been  ac- 
companied by  my  mother,  was  full  of  tediousness 
and  cnitui.  I  only  wonder,  when  I  look  back, 
how  my  spirits  sustained  themselves  through- 
out so  many  hours  without  flagging  for  an  in-, 
stant.  Dornton  looked  at  me  in  astonishment. 
He  had  never  before  seen  me  in  such  a  mood; 
and  he  was  evidently  pleased  by  my  animation, 
and  the  effect  which  it  produced  upon  my  ap- 
pearance. Nevertheless,  at  the  conclusion  ol 
the  day's  journey,  I  congratulated  myscll  upon 
the  prudence  and  forethought  of  my  husband, 
for  1  was  fairly  exhausted  by  my  exertions; 
and  while  Sir  James  was  still  deprecating  the  in- 
sutticieiR-y  of  the  arrangements  which  had  been 
made  for  my  accomniodalion,  I  fell  asleep,  only 
to  renew  in  my  dreams  the  bright  fancies  that 
had  sustained  me  throughout  the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
The  period  of  marriage  is  the  one  great  epoch 
of  a  woman's  lil'e.  It  is  a  condensation  ol 
courteous  deceit  and  liatlering  promise,  which 
re(|iiii('  mom  lis,  and  sometimes  even  years,  to 
anniliil.iie  their  elfecls.  Cuslom  has  ordained 
th.it  every  man  should  commence  his  wedded 
career  by'a  tissue  of  self  abnegation  and  devo- 
tedness, 'of  which  the  sex  is  uilerly  incapable 
lor  any  length  of  time;  while  the  world,  never 
slow  1(1  claim  its  share  in  any  glozing  cheat, 
helps  on  the  illusion  of  the  bride  tiy  a  species 
of  general  and  gracious  worship,  which,  just  as 
it  wanes  to  a  close,  has  become  necessary  to 
the  hap|)iuess  of  lis  idol,  who  seldom  fails  to 
discover,  amid  the  intoxication  of  the  incense, 
that  its  fumes  are  directed  elsewhere.  Cuslom 
has  limed  the  duration  of  the  sacrifice;  and 
wh(!n,  at  the  close  of  the  given  period,  the  bride 
has  degenerated  inlo  the  wife,  the  -prestige 
ceases— Ihe  married  dame  is  no  longer  more 
than  a  mere  unit  in  the  great  sum  total  of  the 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


13(* 


wor'd,  and  sho  is  quielly  handed  down  from  her 
poclesiiil  i(»  make  way  lor  a  new  viciini. 

Tliest!  are  trite  truths  ;  but  they,  neverthe- 
less, deserve  more  and  deeper  reflection  tlian 
are  coniinonly  accorded  to  them.  How  many 
women,  during  their  period  of  courtship,  stop 
eii'Mi  in  all  their  anticipations  of  the  future,  at 
the  indulgences,  and  trmmphs,  and  congratula- 
..ons  of  the  lioneymoon  '.  How  many  wilfully 
close  iheir  eyes  to  the  long  years  which  are  to 
succeed  it  \  It  is  the  fashion  to  smile,  and  nod, 
and  feliciiate  the  poor,  inexperienced,  self-de- 
luded girl  who  is  about  to  commit  matrimony, 
however  ill-advised  her  selection  may  appear  to 
her  acquaintance.  Beyond  the  pale  of  her  own 
family,  it  is  rare  indeed  that  she  possesses  one 
friend  gifted  with  sutlicient  moral  courage  to 
bid  her  pause.  She  might  find  a  warning  against 
any  other  imprudence  ;  but  who  would  counsel 
an  acquaintance  not  to  marry  ^  A  marriage  is 
a  f<rast  for  th-e  idle  gossipry  of  the  circle  in 
which  it  takes  place,  and  what  trifler  would 
destroy  its  own  aliment  for  so  puerile  a  reason 
as  tliat  of  urging  prudence  upon  the  party  from 
whom  il  is  to  be  derived  ]  We  have  no  right 
to  expect  so  Utopian  a  sacrifice  from  the  but- 
terflies who,  as  they  cannot  live  without  sun- 
shine, so  they  care  little  whence  it  conies  ;  and 
the  effect  of  all  this  folly  and  false  feeling  is 
fatal  to  its  object,  who  has  neither  opportunity 
nor  inclination  to  recollect  that  the  smjiing  flat- 
terers, who  seek  only  their  own  amusement  in 
an  event  which  .must  affect  the  after-happiness 
of  her  whole  life,  would,  although  they  gladly 
participate  in  the  festivities  of  the  marriage 
feast,  not  waste  one  hour  of  their  own  exist- 
ence in  sharing  her  sorrows  or  her  tears. 

1  have  often  ihought  that  marriage  resembled 
a  sky-rocket.  How  brilliantly  and  aspiringly  it 
coniiuences,  grasping  atwtther  element  in  its 
ascent,  as  though  this  flat,  dull  earth  could  not 
content  its  aspirations,  nor  aflord  space  fi)r  its 
display  ;  then  how  dazzlingly  it  blazes  for  a 
moment ;  and.  that  moment  past,  how,  one  by 
one,  its  starlike  fires  go  out,  until  at  length, 
down-tumbling,  dark,  and  dangerous,  falls  back 
all  that  is  left  of  the  false  meteor,  a  few  float- 
ing ashes  and  a  smoking  stick. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  that  young  people  should 
not  look  so  gravely  upon  realities  as  their  el- 
ders, for  they  naturally  hunger  and  thirst  for 
the  pleasant  things  of  the  world,  and  might  turn 
away  with  disgust  at  its  very  threshold,  were 
they  at  once  to  lift  the  covers  of  the  tempting 
banquet  sjiread  out  before  them,  and  discover 
that,  as  at  the  table  of  the  Barmecide,  they 
were  bidden  to  a  feast  of  empty  dishes.  I  am 
only  quarreling  with  those  who  unnecessarily 
deepen  their  delusion,  and  thus  render  their 
after-experience  more  bitter. 

In  my  case  I  had  certainly  been  spared  all 
idle  and  anticipatory  comments.  I  had  com- 
pleted a  sacrifice,  not  volunteered  a  folly  ;  but 
I  was  not  doomed  to  escape  the  after-delusion 
to  which  I  have  alluded.  Every  bride,  situated 
as  I  was  in  the  world,  must  necessarily  com- 
mence her  married  career  brilliantly;  and, 
moreover,  the  novelty  of  my  position,  the  com- 
parative freedom  of  action,  the  feeling,  or  the 
belief  that  I  was  beloved,  the  natural  clinging- 
ness  of  my  disposition,  the  chimera  of  indepen- 
dence, and  the  consciousness  of  increased  im- 


portance, all  naturally  tende\.  to  impress  me 
favorably  toward  the  individual  to  whom  I  was 
indebted  for  these  advantages.  Dornton,  more- 
over, was  beside  me,  anticipating  every  thought 
and  wish,  and  blcniling  his  own  image  with 
every  picture  of  my  newly-awakened  fancy. 

1  have  said  how  patiently  he  encouraged  my 
wild,  and,  no  doubt,  unreasonable  anticipations, 
and  I  was  grateful  to  him  for  his  show  of  sym- 
pathy in  my  feelings  ;  to  me  such  sympathy 
was  as  now  as  it  was  welcome.  Herein,  at 
least,  he  had  an  advantage  over  Devereux,  who 
had  possessed  no  opportunity  of  displaying  a 
similar  deference  ^o  my  tastes  and  wishes; 
and  this  fact,  coupled  with  the  consciousness 
that  all  farther  struggle  was  useless,  now  that 
I  was  irrevocably  his  wife,  helped  the  cause  ol 
Sir  James  better  than  a  score  of  arguments. 
I  had  been  cowed  and  crossed  so  long,  that  I 
panted  to  be  free  and  to  be  happy ;  and,  as  I 
had  not  yet  heard  the  clanking  of  the  fetters 
which  I  had  so  lately  assisted  to  rivet,  so  I 
willingly  nursed  myself  in  the  belief  that  the 
burden  would  be  light,  and  might  even  prove 
ultimately  rather  a  pleasure  than  a  trammel. 
In  short,  who  cannot  guess  the  Iwipes  and  the 
feelings  of  a  weak  and  vain  young  heart,  pant- 
ing for  admiration  and  for  liberty] 

It  was  dusk  in  the  evening  of  the  second  day 
■after  our  departure  from  Woodville,  when  we 
reached  town  ;  the  lamps  were  already  lighted, 
and  the  tall  dark  avenues  of  houses  appeared 
gigantic  in  the  closing  light.  I  leaned  eagerly 
from  the  window  of  the  carriage,  and  inhaled 
the  murky  atmosphere  with  delight.  This  was 
to  be  the  arena  of  my  conquests,  the  theatre  of 
my  triumphs.  My  heart  bounded  with  delight. 
Suddenly  the  carriage  stopped,  and  Sir  James 
sprang  out  and  lifted  me  with  great  care  into 
the  house,  whose  open  door  seemed  to  invite 
our  entrance  ;  but  in  the  hall  I  paused,  for  I 
did  not  recognize  the  objects  before  me.  Strange 
servants,  in  a  livery  which  was  not  familiar  to 
me,  were  busied  in  receiving  us,  and  the  stair- 
case toward  which  Dornton  led  me  was  equal- 
ly unknown. 

"  Where  are  we  1"  I  asked,  anxiously  ;  "  and 
why  do  we  not  go  at  once  to  my  mother's  1" 

"  We  are  at  home,  sweet  love,  and  Lady  Ma- 
delaine  is  here,  waiting  to  welcome  you." 

Never  was  surprise  more  pleasant.  I  press- 
ed the  hand  of  my  husband  tenderly  in  my  own  ; 
and  although  my  lips  were  silent,  he  could  read 
my  thanks  in  the  look  which  I  turned  upon  him. 
One  cause,  at  least,  of  his  long  absence  from 
Woodville  was  explained,  and  a  portion  of  the 
time  iiad  been  spent  in  my  service. 

When  the  doors  of  the  drawing-room  wero 
flung  back  to  give  us  entrance,  a  flood  ol 
light  inundated  the  staircase,  while,  instantly 
that  we  were  announced.  Lady  Mailelaine  ap- 
peared upon  the  threshold,  superbly  dressed 
and  radiant  with  smiles  ;  and  in  her  suite  ap- 
peared all  such  of  her  friends  as  she  was  anx- 
ious should  extend  their  countenance  to  myself. 
TImj  whole  party  were  in  full  dress,  and,  as  I 
glanced  rapidly  around  me,  a  blush  of  annoy- 
ance rose  to  my  cheek  when  I  remembered  my 
own  traveling  costume.  I  was  not  long  suffer 
ed,  however,  to  experience  this  mortification, 
for  before  Sir  James  had  made  Vhe  tour  of  the 
room,  and  replied  to  the  greeting  o/  the  guests. 


140 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


my  mother  approached  me,  and,  with  a  mean- 
iriil  smile,  offered  to  do  the  iiorT>>rs  of  my  hotise 
while  I  went  to  my  nxim  to  remove  my  bonnet 
and  shawl.  I  obcyi  d  without  comment,  happy 
to  escape  from  a  scene  in  which  I  must  have 
appeared  like  a  dark  spot  in  a  sea  of  light, 
when,  guided  hy  a  comely-looking  housekeeper 
and  attended  by  Josephine,  I  soon  found  myself 
in  a  charming  dressing-room,  which  seemed  to 
have  been  furnished  by  the  hands  of  fairies,  it 
was  so  fresh,  so  gay,  and  so  luxurious  in  its 
arrangements.  Nor  did  I  find  less  pleasure  in 
contemplating  half  a  dozen  exquisite  dresses, 
temptingly  spread  forth  to  await  my  selection, 
and  a  case  of  magnificent  diamonds,  which  the 
housekeeper  reverently  informed  me  were  the 
family  jewels  of  the  Dorntons,  reset  under  the 
superintendence  of  Lady  Madelaine,  and  which 
her  ladyship  particularly  requested  me  to  wear 
on  that  evening. 

I  was  enchanted!  I  think  that  Cinderella 
must  have  had  very  similar  feelings  after  the 
arrival  of  her  beneficent  godmother,  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  ball  given  by  the  prince. 

I  could  have  amused  myself  very  pleasantly 
for  an  hour  in  examining  my  new  possessions, 
but  Josephine  reminded  me  of  the  expectant 
guests,  and  I  forthwith  commenced  my  some- 
what elaborate  toilet.  In  a  short  time  my 
glass  reflected  a  face  and  figure  which  I 
contemplated  with  considerable  complacency. 
Never  had  I  been  so  magnificently  attired. 
Blazing  with  jewels,  clad  in  white  silk  brocade, 
richly  flowered,  and  wearing  rouge  for  the  first 
time,  I  was  enraptured  at  the  effect  which  I  was 
about  to  produce,  and  this  feeling  alone  gave 
me  courage  to  tear  myself  away  from  the 
friendly  mirror.  All  memory,  all  regret,  were 
absorbed  by  vanity  ;  at  that  moment,  the  pres- 
ent suJficed  to  satisfy  my  heart. 

When  I  entered  the  drawing-room,  I  was 
greeted  by  that  low  and  flattering  murmur  which 
outweighs  a  score  of  compliments,  and  never 
fails  to  convince  a  woman  of  the  exact  extent 
of  her  personal  advantages.  Sir  James  ad- 
vanced to  meet  me  with  eyes  beaming  with 
proud  delight;  and  I  was  too  well  [)leased  with 
myself  not  to  be  equally  so  with  him.  It  was 
through  his  agency  that  I  had  achieved  this 
triumph  ;  and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  he  be- 
came to  me  an  object  of  increasing  interest  and 
consideration.  The  dinner  was  recherche  in  the 
extreme  ;  and  as,  for  the  first  time,  I  presided 
at  my  own  tabic,  I  felt  that  I  was  at  length 
independent  of  the  shackles  under  which  I  had 
60  long  writhed.  All  the  conversation  around 
me  turned  on  the  various  engagements  of  the 
different  individuals — on  the  necessity  of  my 
immediate  presentation  at  court  on  my  mar- 
riage— on  the  situation  of  my  opera-box  and 
the  importance  of  securing  a  ticket  for  the  ball 

of  the  beautiful  Duchess  of  D ,  wliich  was 

to  take  place  in  a  fortnight.  I  was  surrouniled 
by  assurances  of  the  admiration  and  envy  which 
I  was  certain  to  excite  in  the  court  circle — to 
all  of  which  Sir  James  listened  with  evident 
gratification 

Our  party  separated  at  an  early  hour,  hr 
several  of  the  guests  had  sacrificea  other  en- 
gagements in  Older  to  assist  Lady  Madelaine  in 
welcoming  me  to  my  new  home  ;  and  aU'wcre 
expected  elsewhere  in  the  course  of  the  night. 


Gratified  as  I  had  been,  I  was,  nevertheless,  not 
sorry  to  see  them  depart ;  for  I  was  fatigued 
from  excitemen-t  and  exertion  ;  and  although 
iny  mother  lingered  to  the  last,  in  order  to 
receive  my  acknowledgments  fiir  the  very 
effective  assistance  which  she  had  rendered  to 
Dornton,  and  the  expression  of  my  satisfaction 
at  the  arrangements  which  had  been  made  for 
my  reception,  both  of  which  I  tendered  freely 
and  earnestly,  she  also  departed  in  her  turn,  and 
1  again  found  myseM  tcte-a-lete  with  my  husband. 

My  heart  was  overflowing  with  happiness, 
and  I  poured  forth  my  thanks  to  Sir  James  with 
an  energy  for  which  he  was  evidently  not  pre- 
pared, and  which  appeared  to  produce  a  great 
effect  upon  him. 

"  You  do  not  then  regret,  Eveleen,"  he  said, 
"that  you  have  been  induced  to  intrust  your 
hap|)iness  to  my  keeping  !" 

"I  were  indeed  ungrateful  to  do  so!"  I  re- 
plied. "  And  so  you  were  really  thinking  of  me, 
and  of  my  gratification,  during  your  abeence 
from  Woodville  ?"  • 

"  Was  it  not  a  duty,  as  well  as  a  delight  1" 

•'  Oh,  not  a  word  of  duty,"  I  exclaimed  laugh-       ; 
ing.     "  It  is  too  chilling  a  consideration  for  such 
a  moment  as  this — a  blight  upon  the  flowers- 
a  shadow  over  the  sun." 

"  .\nd  yet  your  duties  will  he  light,  my  sweet  ! 
wife  ;  all  I  ask  is  to  see  you  happy,  fashionable,  I 
and  idolized  ;  and  all  this  is  in  your  own  ' 
power." 

Nothing  could  be  more  charming.  And  at 
the  close  of  this  little  dialogue,  we  proceeded  • 
matrimonially,  arm  in  arm,  to  explore  our  new 
habitation.  Even  accustomed  as  I  had  been, 
from  my  childhood,  to  taste  and  luxury,  I 
was  compelled  to  admit  that  I  had  seen  nothing 
to  compare  with  the  residence  of  which  I  had 
become  tiie  mistress.  The  golden  wand  of 
wealth  had  been  guided  by  the  hand  of  elegance ; 
and  there  was  repose  as  well  as  splendor  in  all 
around  me. 

Those  were  the  palmy  days  of  boudoirs,  and 
mine  was  perfect.  Lady  Madelaine  had  excel- 
led herself.  Her  egotism  had  placed  me  in  a 
perilous  position  ;  and  it  was  necessary  to  daz- 
zle and  amuse  me,  in  order  to  blind  me  to  the 
fact.  She  could  not  have  succeeded  better. 
Admirable  tactician  as  she  was,  she  was  well 
aware  that  I  could  be  led  through  my  vanity 
alone  to  forget,  or  at  least  to  forgive,  the  past ; 
and  she  acted  upon  that  conviction.  All  as- 
sumption of  authority  was  laid  aside  ;  she  coun- 
seled and  assisted,  but  never  controlled  me. 
I  was  plunged  suddenly  into  a  vortex  of  dissi- 
pation. My  presentation  took  place  under  the 
most  flattering  circumstances;  the  queen  con- 
descended to  congratulate  me  on  my  marriage, 
and  the  princesses  on  my  recovery.     At  the 

ball  of  the  Duchess  of  D ,  I  walked  a  minuet 

with  the  Prince  of  Wales  ;  and  on  the  following 
day  the  journals  teemed  with  descriptions  of 
my  dress,  my  grace,  and  my  fashion.  All  Lon- 
don left  their  names  at  my  door ;  and  no  enter- 
tainment was  considered  perfect  at  which  I 
was  not  present.  My  box  at  the  opera  was  the 
resort  of  all  that  was  great  and  gifted  in  the 
capital ;  even  royally  itself  was  my  frequent 
guest.  Poets  were  elofjuent  in  my  praise  ;  and 
politicians  forbore  to  argue  when  I  smiled.  I 
had  not  a  moment  unoccupied  ;  not  a  moment 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


for  a  calm  and  rational  survey  of  those  serious 
duties,  and  that  awful  responsibility,  which  I 
had  taken  upon  me.  I  was  a  mere  feather  on 
the  sumtner  hrealh  of  tlie  world,  wafled  hitlier 
and  thitiier  o,  tiie  current  of  every  idle  fancy, 
and  every  puerile  ambition.  More  tlian  once  1 
had  listened,  not  only  to  the  accents  of  flattery, 
but  even  to  the  withering  words  of  passion; 
but  they  had  passed  by  me  unheeded,  and  with- 
out quickening  a  single  pulse.  Herein,  at  least, 
I  played  ar>  equal  game  with  the  world,  for  I 
was  simply  living  in  myself,  and  for  myself,  and 
had  no  sentiment  to  bestow  on  others. 

Dorntou,  meanwhile,  was  the  very  model  of 
a  high-bred  husband.  Ever  ready  to  second 
me  in  any  scheme  of  pleasure  or  expense  ;  ever 
willing  to  share  in  my  amusements,  and  equally 
satisfied  to  seek  his  own  when  I  did  not  require 
his  attendance,  he  was  never  either  negligent 
or  intrusive;  while  his  undoubted  fashion  and 
unequivocal  popularity,  flattered  my  vanity,  and 
satisfied  my  self-love. 

So  passed  the  season  ;  and,  on  the  invitation 
of  Lady  Madelaine,  we  proceeded  to  spend  a 
couple  of  months  at  Rooksley,  which,  since  the 
departure  of  my  sister  and  her  guardian,  had 
resumed  all  its  wonted  elegance.     I  have  since 
thought  tliat  my  mother   urged  this  arrange- 
ment in  order  to  convince  herself  that  I  had 
thorougiily  conquered  my  passion  for  Devereux. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  it  is  certain  that  it 
was  not  without  emotion  I  once  more  found 
myself  amid  scenes  so  familiar  to  me,  and  so 
redolent  alike  of  happy  and  painful  recollections. 
Nevertheless,  I  can  truly  assert  that  my  lirst 
memory  was  of  my  sister.     How  utterly  had  the 
giddy  round  of  pleasure  obliterated  her  image 
from  my  mind  !     I  had,  indeed,  been  informed 
casually  by  Lady  Madelaine,  that  she  had  arrived 
safely  at  Glenfillan,  and  expressed  her  perfect 
satisfaction  at  the  realization  of  her  project : 
but  this  was  all  that  I  knew,  or  had  cared  to 
know  ;  and  it  was  only  on  my  arrival  at  Rooks- 
ley, when  I  was  endeavoring,  by  the  repose  of 
,     an  hour,  to  overcome  the  fatigue  of  my  journey 
from  town,  that  I  remembered,  and  dwelt  upon 
I     her  faaed  look,  and  the  hollow  cough  which, 
I     despite  her  efforts  to  suppress  it,  had  escaped 
j     her  several   times  during    our   last   brief  in- 
I     terview.     My  reflections  were,  however,  very 
i     slightly    tinged    with    self-reproach.      Adela's 
I     estrangement  had  been  her  own  work  ;  she  was 
;     self-exiled  from  her  family  ;    she  had  not  ad- 
j     dressed  one  letter  to  me  since  her  arrival  in 
I     Scotland  ;  and  if  I  had  been  equally  silent,  I 
j     felt  that  I  had  only  to  revert  to  my  last  attempt 
1     at  correspondence  with  her,  in  order  at  once  to 
find  my  justification. 

Of  Devereux  I  scarcely  thought  at  all ;  and 
in  the  dignity  of  my  new  character  I  even  tried 
'  to  smile  at  the  folly  of  my  girlish  fancy.  I  was 
I  not  prepared  to  comprehend  that  the  lingering 
;  and  most  happy  etfects  of  that  fancy,  had  been 
to  render  me  insensible  to  the  dangerous 
i  homage  of  less  scrupulous  admirers.  Such  a 
!  suspicion  never  crossed  my  mind.  I  never 
,  dreamed  of  looking  beyond  my  own  will  for  my 
;    strength. 

A  fatal  error,  fatally  expiated  I 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Doubtlessly  Lady  Madelaine  was  satisfied 
with  the  success  of  the  test  to  whicii  she  had 
subjected  me,  when,  at  the  close  of  a  foitnight, 
she  found  me  as  exacting,  as  self-centered,  and 
as  indifferent  as  usual;  for,  on  descending  to 
dinner  on  the  termination  of  that  period,  she 
congratulated  Lord  Otterford,  in  my  presence, 
on  the  promotion  of  his  nephew,  who  had  jus* 
obtained  a  company  in  his  regiment ;  and  as 
she  did  so,  I  felt  that  her  eyes  were  fixed  stead- 
ily upon  my  face.  Sooth  to  say,  this  informa- 
tion interested  me  but  little  :  I  believed  that  the 
world  had  done  its  work  upon  me.  and  that  I 
was  no  longer  the  fond  and  feeble  girl  I  had 
once  been  ;  while  so  loug  a  time  had  elapsed 
since  we  parted,  that  I  was  careless  on  the  sub- 
ject of  meeting  him  again.  I  imagined  the 
wound  in  my  heart  to  be  healed  ;  I  knew  not 
that  it  was  yet  too  freshly  scarred  to  be  safely 
handled. 

Resolved  therefore  to  parade  my  indifference 
— and  was  not  this  affectation  enough  of  itself 
to  teach  me  the  necessity  of  caution  ! — I  raised 
my  head  from  the  beads  which  I  was  string- 
ing, and  said  with  a  polite  smile,  "  Suffer  me, 
my  lord,  to  add  my  congratulations  to  those 
of  my  mother,  on  the  subject  of  Colonel  Dever- 
eux. Sir  Herbert  must  be  enchanted."  Lady 
Madelaine  glanced  triumphantly  at  her  husband  ; 
but  I  suspect  thai  he  was  less  easily  convinced 
than  herself  upon  the  subject  of  my  present  feel- 
ings. From  the  period  of  Emily  Vernon's  mel- 
ancholy death,  he  had  occasionally  given  way 
to  fits  of  depression,  which  I  never  failed  to  at- 
tribute to  his  memory  of  the  past ;  and  it  is  pro- 
bable that  experience  of  the  power  of  a  real  pas- 
sion had  taught  him  more  rightly  to  appreciate 
my  self  delusion.  He  had  sacrificed  hisbetter 
feelings  to  the  wealth  he  wanted  ;  I  had  buried 
mine  under  the  rose-leaves  of  vanity,  and 
the  glittering  pail  of  dissipation  and  frivolity. 
Wretched  alternatives  both ;  the  one  as  ineffect- 
ive as  the  other,  when  divested  of  the  prestige 
of  novelty. 

The  first  dinner-bell  had  rung,  and  I  was  still 
lingering  in  the  drawing-room  in  order  to  finish 
the  bracelet  which  had  been  the  occupation  of 
my  morning  (and  in  which  Lady  Madelaine  had, 
to  my  great  surprise,  evinced  so  extraordinary 
an  interest  that  she  remained  beside  me  to  wit- 
ness its  completion),  when  the  door  suddenly 
opened,  and  Colonel  Devereux  was  announced. 
The  abruptness  of  his  entrance  threw  me  off 
iny  guard,  and  I  uttered  a  faint  scream,  and 
suffered  the  coral  beads  to  scatter  themselves 
over  the  carpet.  My  mother,  by  whom  he  was 
evidently  expected,  skilfully  covered  the  acci- 
dent by  receiving  him  with  flattering  felicita- 
tions, to  which,  howeveF,  he  replied  in  a  brief 
and  agitated  manner.  Compelled,  at  length,  to 
approach  me,  he  faltered  out  a  few  words  of 
which  I  could  not  seize  the  sense,  and  which  he 
did  not,  in  all  probability,  himself  comprehend; 
bowed  low  without  raising  his  eyes,  and  then 
turned  abruptly  to  shake  hands  with  Lord  Otter- 
ford,  who  had  not  risen  from  his  chair;  and  who 
did  not  appear  altogether  satisfied  of  the  expe- 
diency of  my  mother's  present  experiments. 

Gradually,  however,  he  recovered  his  gaiety, 
and  overwhelmed  his  nephew  with  questions, 
t3  which  the  latter  replied  "  yes"  and  "  no"  wiU 


142 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


apparent  unconsciousness  of  his  own  utterance, 
and  occasionally  in  the  wrong  places ;  as  for 
nie,  i  afTticted  to  be  diligently  collecting  the 
beads  which  had  lailen,  glad  to  escape,  on  so 
innocent  a  pietexi,  tlje  searching  glances  of 
Lady  Madelaine.  Noihing  was  wanting  to  ren- 
der the  whdle  scene  insupportable,  but  the 
presence  of  Sir  James  ;  and  five  minutes  after- 
ward he  entered  ibe  room  with  his  gun  in  his 
hand,  to  apologize  for  his  delay,  and  to  give  us 
an  acctiuni  ol  his  prowess. 

*I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  prepared  for  the 
presence  ol  Devereux,  for  he  did  not  even  at- 
tempt to  affect  surprise,  but  met  him  with  an 
extended  hand,  and  a  bland  smile,  as  though  he 
were  the  individual  of  all  others  who  was  most 
welcome  at  this  nioment.  The  feeling  was, 
.  oowever,  not  reciprocal.  Devereux,  indeed, 
took  the  proffered  hand,  out  his  repugnance  was 
almost  visible,  and  his  coldness  beyond  mis- 
take. 

Affecting  not  to  perceive  the  chilliness  of  our 
new  guest,  Sir  James  persisted  in  lavishing 
upon  him  ihe  most  flattering  attentions;  after 
which  he  turned  to  me,  expressed  his  over- 
powering uneasiness  at  my  paleness,  and  im- 
plored me  to  be  more  careful  of  myself,  lest  I 
should  bring  on  a  relapse  of  my  illness.  All 
this  unnecessary  parade  of  anxiety  was  torture 
to  ine,  for  at  that  particular  moment  I  would 
have  given  a  year  of  life  to  have  become  invisi- 
ble upon  his  entrance.  I  felt  at  once  that  my 
imagined  inditference  to  Devereux  had  van- 
ished like  an  icicle  in  the  sunshine,  when  he 
was  again  actually  in  my  presence. 

He  was  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  fond 
and  pleasant  memories.  I  saw  him  the  same,  in- 
deed, whom  I  had  loved,  but  increased  in  inanly 
beauty,  grace,  and  self-possession.  The  world 
had  done  its  work  lovingly  upon  him,  and  llie 
period  of  our  separation  had  been  to  him  one  of 
both  moral  and  physical  gain.  I  bad  reason  to 
believe  that  such  had  also  been  the  case  with 
myself;  and,  even  then,  when  I  ought  to  have 
hoped  that,  like  me,  he  had  found  an  alternative 
for  his  early  passion,  and  would  now  meet  me 
with  indifl'erence,  I  fell  my  heart  beating  proudly 
with  the  conviction  that,  once  more  thrown  into 
contact  with  me,  it  was  at  least  improbable  that 
he  should  do  so. 

I  had  never  before  seriously  remembered  that 
Sir  Jaiiits  Dornlon,  handsome  and  high-bred  as 
he  undoubtedly  was.  had  nevertheless  number- 
ed forty  summers  I  It  was  an  untoward  moment 
to  register  tlie  fact.  Fortunately  for  all  parties. 
Lord  Olterford,  to  whom  tiie  ceremony  of  dinner 
had  become  by  no  means  unimportant,  reminded 
08  that  the  second  bell  would  ring  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  that  we  were  still  unprepared  for  the 
summons. 

I  had  risen  from  my  scat  before  the  words  left 
his  lips,  anxious  to  escape,  and  to  find  myself 
alonoforan  instant.  I  did  not  comprehend  the 
revtihition  which  the  mere  presence  of  Devereux 
had  wrought  in  my  feelings  toward  both  myself 
and  my  husband ;  nor  did  I  understand  the  mean- 
ing of  his  own  manner.  That  he  was  embar- 
rassed was  sufficiently  evident ;  for  not  only  had 
he  not  addressed  to  me  one  intelligible  word — 
•.hat  I  could  readily  have  forgiven  him — bjt  I 
had  not  even  delected  one  look  turned  towaril 
■ine.     What  did  this  fact  imi'iv  !     Did  ho  fea; 


my  power  over  him  1     Or,  Oid  he  seek  to  sno 
me  that  my  influence  was  at  an  end  ! 

I  tried  to  hope  that  ihe  latter  might  be  the 
case.  I  tried  to  hope  so,  but  I  did  not  :  my 
vanity  would  tolerate  no  such  wish — no  such 
credence.  My  principle  and  my  woman-pride 
were  at  war.  The  one  was  built  up  on  expedi- 
ency,and  the  other  wrought  and  throbbed  ilirough 
every  pulse  of  my  being  ;  I  could  not  even  de- 
ceive myself  as  to  the  result  of  my  menial  strug- 
gle. I  did  not :  but  as  Josephine  arranged  my 
hair,  and  expatiated  upon  the  "  supcrbc  bcaute"  of 
Colonel  Devereu.x,  I  vowed  to  myself  to  main- 
tain, not  only  my  dignity  as  a  married  woman, 
but  also  ihe  supremacy  ol  my  attractions,  bytmce 
more  bringing  my  old  suitor  to  my  feet — of  course 
in  all  honesty  and  honor.  As  a  lover,  J  could 
consider  him  no  more  :  but  I  could  not  brook 
that  he  should  vow  to  another  woman  the  alle- 
giance which  had  been  mine.  I  remembered 
Lord  Otierford  before  his  marriage,  and  during 
Ihe  life  of  my  father.  Neither  Lady  Madelaine 
nor  Sir  James  had  seen  cause  for  blame  in  the 
bond  of  admiring  and  dev<itt'd  friendship  which 
liad  united  them.  Neither  Lady  Mailelaine 
nor  Sir  James,  cl  pour  cause,  could  demur  to  the  ' 
existence  of  a  similar  lie  between  myself  and  j 
Devereux.  .| 

The  argument  was  specious — hut,  could  any       j 
one  have  read  my  heart,  and  asked  me  what       j 
indeed  it  was  which  I  proposed  to  myself  in       , 
this   compromise   with    my  conscience,   I   am 
(juite  sure  that  I  could  have  given  no  rational 
reply.     In  short,  I  did  not  teniure  to  look,  into 
Ihe  future.     I  forgot  how  weakly  and  unwor- 
thily I  had  behaved  to  the  man  uhoin   I  waa 
still  plotting  to  enslave  and  to  secure  as   the 
victim  of  my  vanity  ;  and  I  placed  my  mother's 
example  before  me,  as  ihe  screen  which  was  to 
be  my   protection  from  the  animadversions  ol 
the  world,  and  the  reproaches  of  my  own  con- 
science. 

1  profited  by  the  previous  delay  to  remain  in 
my  dressing-room  for  several  minutes  afler  the 
second  bell  had  iiing  ;  and  nearly  exhausted  ihfc 
patience  of  Josephine  by  the  caprice  which  I 
exhibited  with  regard  to  my  toilet.  W'e  hii  i 
lived  so  utterly  en  famillc  since  our  arrival  at. 
Uouksley,  that  I  had  become  snmewhat  iirL'i- 
genl  upon  this  point  ;  and  the  soubrciic  was  imi 
prepared  for  so  sudden  a  demonstration  as  ih.ii 
Willi  which  I  now  lavored  her.  At  lengih,  Ih'M- 
cver,  all  was  arranged  to  my  satisfaction.  'I  m; 
affectation  of  simplicity  which  I  had  judgi'd  il 
expedient  to  exhibit,  was  skilfully  caiculan^l 
and  displayed  the  quiet  cimsciousness  oi  a 
beauty  which  required  no  assistance.  I  wnrt. 
neither  rouije  nor  ornaments.  I  knew  tha' 
Lady  Madelaine  dared  not  risk  so  extreme  a 
step  ;  and  thus  the  diplomacy  of  the  dressiim 
room  was  periect,  and  all  rivalry  rendered  iin 
possible  between  the  beauty  in  her  first  dcvel 
opment,  and  the  beauty  on  the  wane. 

How  often  had  I  promised  myself  this  practi  ' 
cal  triumph  ;  and  how  much  would  it  be  en 
hanced  on  this  occasion,  by  the  fact  that  Dev 
ereux  would  be  present  to  institute  thecoinp.ii- 
ison.  For  a  moment  I  almost  forgot  lbs  em 
harassment  of  iriy  position. 

\\'lien  I  entered  the  drawing-room,  Lady 
Madelaine  alone  was  seated.  The  genihMm'O 
were   collected   in  a  group,  discussing   s.pu.e 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


H3 


question  of  politics,  or  sporting.  No  one  moved 
as  I  appeaioil.  Sir  James  was  gradually  slack- 
ening Ml  llie  extreme  gallantry  of  his  alienlions, 
a.'tluiugh  still  a,lliecliiig  marked  courtesy  and  af- 
fection. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  at  last  arrived,  Lady 
Dornion,"  said  my  mother,  as  her  eye  trav- 
eled rapidly  over  my  person  ;  "  Colonel  Deve- 
reux  must  be  famishing  after  his  long  journey, 
and  Sir  James  alter  his  shooting.  Colonel 
Devereux,  will  you  give  me  your  arm  to  the 
dining-room  !''  and,  as  he  obeyed,  without  once 
glancing  toward  me,  she  swept  by  in  the  proud 
dignity  of  her  mi  ^  ronly  beauty,  crushing,  as  she 
did  so,  the  light  (iiapery  of  my  muslin  robe  be- 
neath the  liea\  •'  folds  of  her  black  \  el  vet  dress. 

At  table,  I  fojnd  myself  seated  nearly  oppo- 
site to  Devereux  ;  bdl  so  far  as  concerned  him- 
self,  he  might  as  well  have  been  established 
at  the  antipodes.  He  did  not  even  appear  con- 
scious of  my  presence  :  or  so,  at  least,  I  inter- 
preted the  resolute  avoidance  which  he  exhibi- 
ted. Attentive  and  gallant  to  Lady  Madelaine, 
he  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for  me  ;  and,  in 
fact,  the  dinner  was  half  over  before  anyihiug 
beyond  a  casual  remark  had  been  addressed  to 
me  by  any  of  the  party.  My  heart  was  swell- 
ing with  inortiticaiion  and  wounded  vanity. 

Was  Devereux  then  always  to  see  me  only 
as  the  chidden  child  !  Was  I  never  to  be  per- 
mitted to  assert  myself  in  his  presence  I  And, 
was  he,  too,  to  adopt  the  tone  of  my  mother — 
that  mother  whom  he  once  professed  to  dislike 
and  to  avoid,  —  in  order  to  wound  my  self- 
respect  1 

I  felt  the  tears  rising  to  my  eyes,  and  scald- 
ing the  lids  upon  which  they  hung  ;  and  I  trem- 
bled lest  they  should  fall  ;  when,  during  a 
sudden  pause,  Lady  Madelaine  remarked  ironi- 
cally : 

"  Lady  Dornton  is  fond  of  surprises,  even  in 
small  matters,  it  would  seem.  By  the  time 
which  she  consumed  at  her  toilet,  I  anticipa- 
ted something  brilliant  in  the  way  of  costume  ; 
and, lo !  she  has  made  her  appearance  in  her 
dressing-gown." 

"  You  are  a  strange  little  girl,  Eveleen,"  fol- 
lowed up  Sir  James.  "How  are  we  to  inter- 
pret your  pastoral  attire  1  Are  we  to  attribute 
it  to  a  modesty  which  disclaims  admiration,  or 
to  a  vanity  which  demands  it,  despite  all  draw- 
backs !" 

"  I  will  not  venture  to  estimate  the  extent  of 
.your  generosity,"  I  said,  forcing  a  smile  ;  "but 
I  believe  that  I  have  seldom  deviated  from  this 
same  simplicity  of  which  you  accuse  me  to-day 
for  the  first  time,  since  we  have  been  a  family 
party."  As  I  ceased  speaking,  I  glanced  at 
Devereux.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me,  nor 
did  he  withdraw  them  until  I  had  met  the  long, 
,  sad  look  with  which  they  were  filled.  Their 
,  expression  was  beyond  mistake.  He  loved  me 
still — he  regretted  my  loss — he  was  unhappy  : 
;  and  unhappy  through  my  means  ! 
;  What  a  singular  problem  is  a  female  heart  !— 
I  Although  at  that  moment  I  felt  as  if  I  could 
'  have  been  happy  in  his  happiness,  I  was  never- 
theless rejoiced  to  feel  that  he  had  suffered  for 
'  niy  sake,  that  he  was  still  m  the  toils — that  wc 
;  Were  not  utterly  separated. 
1  From  that  instant  I  became  gay  even  to 
i  folly  ;    I  jMsted  with  Lord  -Otierford,  and  paid 


back  every  epigram,  which  Lady  Madelaine 
llaunched  against  me,  with  a  point  which,  1)0» 
fore  the  close  of  the  evening,  taught  her  greater 
caution.  I  became  dazzling  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  my  success,  and  exhausted  all  my  pow- 
ers of  pleasing  with  a  lavishiiess  worthy  of  a 
crowd  of  listeners.  As  the  brow  of  mv  mother 
darkened,  my  own  became  more  radiant.  She 
felt  my  triumph  bitterly,  and  I  knew  it.  Little 
did  she  guess  the  source  of  the  wild  spirits  by 
which  I  was  inspired,  or  her  envy  would  have 
ceased  at  once. 

My  secret  saved  me  while  I  could  retain  it. 
I  was  in  the  position  of  one  mortally  wounded 
by  a  dagger ;  while  the  weapon  still  remains  in 
the  Wound  he  can  live  and  pour  forth  his 
thoughts,  and  gaze  around  him  upon  the  beau- 
tiful world  which  he  is  about  to  leave  ;  but  the 
instant  that  the  dagger  is  withdrawn,  death  fills 
the  vacuum  it  has  made,  and  the  destruction  is 
complete. 

As  I  laid  my  head  upon  the  pillow  that  night. 
I  began  to  marvel  what  would  be  the  result  of 
our  second  meeting  on  the  morrow.  There 
must  necessarily  be  some  moirient  during  the 
day  in  which  we  should  find  ourselves  alone  ;« 
when  the  restraint  under  which  we  had  passed 
the  previous  evening  would  be  removed  ;  and 
when  he  would  be  at  liberty  to  pour  out  to  me 
all  his  regrets,  his  sufferings,  and  his  rejiroaches. 
How  should  I  justify  myself !  How  should  I  ex- 
cuse my  weakness,  my  vacillation,  my  infideli- 
ty] Then  came  the  question  of  ought  I  to  do 
so,  even  to  him  1  Ought  I  to  admit  thai  I  be- 
came the  wife  of  Sir  James  by  coercion  ]  That 
I  went  to  the  altar  a  loveless  bride  !  That  I 
carried  his  image  in  my  heart,  while  my  hand 
was  clasped  m  that  of  Dornton  1  How  would 
he  receive  such  an  avovvall  in  what  posiiion 
should  I  myself  stand  after  so  humiliating  a 
revelation  ! 

Ere  lat  length  slept  I  came  to  the  decision, 
vvluc-h  those  who  have  studied  my  chaiacter 
with  attention  will  at  once  have  foreseen.  I  le- 
solved  to  leave  all  to  chance,  and  to  be  decided 
by  circumstances. 

It  was  culling  through  the  Gordian  knot. 
When  Josephine  appeared  w;ih  my  chorolaie 
the  following'  morning,  I  chid  her  for  having 
suff"ered  me  lo  sleep  so  late  ;  and  she  excused 
herself  by  asserting  that,  confident  that  the 
noise  of  moyisicur's  departure  must  have  dis- 
turbed miladi,  she  supposed  that  miladi  had  af- 
terward-desired  to  rest,  as  she  had  not  rung 
her  hell. 

"  Monsieur's  departure  !"  I  exclaimed  in  sur- 
prise ;  "who  has  left  Rooksley  this  morningr' 

'*  Monsieur  Devereux  is  gone,  miladi ;  and 
Sir  James  has  accompanied  him  to  the  post- 
town  on  horseback." 

"  Did  Colonel  Devereux  receive  letters  by  the 
early  post!"  I  asked  anxiously. 

Josephine  could  not  inform  me.  The  letter- 
bag  had,  as  usual,  been  carried  to  Lord  Otter- 
ford  ;  and  having  ascertained  that  it  contained 
nothing  for  me,  she  had  not  waited  to  see  its 
contents  distributed,  I  felt  as  though  I  had 
been  hurled  from  a  height :  I  was  stunned  wiih 
mortification  and  surprise.  No,  no  ;  1  had  (U-.. 
ceived  myself.  Devereux  had  ceased  to  it.ve 
me  ;  and  my  levity  of  the  previous  evening  ha* 
excited  his  contempt.     I  was  miserable 


14^ 


CONFESSIONS  or  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


All  these  may  appear  puerile  details  to  those 
who  care  only  ior  the  broad  outline  of  actions 
and  events  ;  but  such  as  love  to  study  the  in- 
tricate details  of  the  human  heart,  and  to  un- 
wind the  tangled  threads  by  which  its  impulses 
am!  passii'BS  are  directed,  will  not  so  deem  of 
them.     Now,  as  I  sit  at  my  desk,  with  my  hair 


like  the  darkness  of  a  polar  night,  is  gradually 
gathering  around  her.  Then  it  is,  1  assert,  that 
her  peril  comes  ;  then  it  is  that,  grateful  for  the 
interest  which  she  may  inspire,  and  of  which 
she  almost  despaired,  she  wilfully  mistakes  her 
own  feelings.  Her  want  of  self-appreciation 
and  that  yearning  for  support  and  companion- 


gray,  and  my  brow  wrinkled,  I  feel  convinced  ship  inherent  in  woman,  delude  her  into  the 
that  had  Devereux  lent  himself  to  the  romantic  |  belief  that  she  loves  at  last.  Dilferenily,  indeed, 
folly  by  which  my  own  feelings  were  governed,  I  does  the  passion  develop  itself  from  the  expe- 
his  weakness  would  have  worked  my  cure.     I    rience  or  the  imagination   of  past  years  ;  but 


should  have  discovered  among  the  adulating 
crowd  by  which  I  was  generally  surrounded,  a 
score  of  individuals  as  handsome  and  as  attract- 
ive as  himself. 

It  is  astonishing  with  what  false  tints  solitude 
can  invest  a  man.  Had  I  a  score  of  daughters, 
I  would  sooner  trust  their  happiness  to  the 
whirl  of  a  Londim  life,  under  proper  cliaperonage, 
than  to  the  quiet  of  the  country  with  one  inel- 
igible suitor;  just  as,  upon  the  same  principle, 
I  utterly  dissent  from  the  old  and  accepted 
axiom  of  the  danger  of  a  girl  of  fifteen  or  sixteen 
committing  some  foolish  act,  and  requiring  con- 
stant surveillance  to  keep  her  in  the  path  of 
prudence.  Everyday  experience  proves  the 
fallacy  of  this  time-worn  assertion,  which  has 
been  repeated  so  often  that  it  is  taken  for 
granted  without  examination.  As  a  general 
rule,  a  woman  is  never  less  likely  to  mar  her 
own  happiness  than  just  as  she  makes  acqviaml- 
ance  w-ith  the  world.  Idleness  is  the  germ  of 
all  mischief  in  a  woman's  heart ;  and  show  me 
(he  being  more  busy  than  a  young  girl  just 
bursting  into  womanhood. 

The  great  kaleidoscope  of  society  is  newly 
revealed  to  her,  and  she  is  never  weary  of 
watching  its  combinations.  Her  whole  heart, 
her  whole  being,  are  in  full  activity  :  her  nuiral 
vision,  although  not  obscured,  is  confused.  She 
is  full  of  aspirations,  full  of  hopes  ;  but,,  far 
from  centering  upon  one  solitary  object,  they 
aie  distributed  and  intertwined,  and,  as  a  natu- 
ral consequence,  negatived  by  their  own  dis- 
cursiveness. 

It  is  without  a  single  dread  of  contradiction 
from  those  of  my  own  sex  who  have  passed 
through  the  two  phases  of  existence  under  no- 
tice, that  I  declare  my  tirm  belief,  that  at  no 
period  does  a  woman  do  herself  less  justice,  or 
dispose  ol  her  happiness  more  recklessly,  that 
during  the  few  years  while  she  is  what  oar 
Gallic  neighbors  courteously  term  "  on  the  re- 
turn;" wlien  the  bloom  of  early  youth  tarnished, 
the  light  figure  become  less  buoyant,  the  hopes 
which  once  filled  her  heart  crushed  or  evapo- 
rated— still  iceling  within  herself  all  the  facul- 
ties of  happiness  as  ireshly  as  slie  did  ten  years 
belore — she  sees  the  children  whom  she  petted 
in  their  nursery  elbow  her  in  the  world's  crowd 
as  her  successors;  and  feels  that  the  change, 
which  to  herself  has  been  almost  imperceptible, 
must  be  traced  in  indelible  characters  to  those 
by  whom  she  is  surrounded.  Then  it  is,  that, 
as  she  thinks  of  the  future — a  future  which  can 
only  deepen  the  decay,  and  increase  the  moral 
solitude  of  her  own  heart — she  is  unjust  to 
herself.  A  iiioibid  dread  of  utter  abandonment 
by  that  world  to  wiiose  smile  she  had  been  ac- 
'ustomcd,  creeps  upon  her.  She  looks  round 
upon  the  younger  and  the  happier  of  its  present 
bvurii 


she  mistakes  the  calmness  for  depth  of  feeling ; 
and  the  same  system  of  delusion  blinds  her  to 
the  imperfections  of  the  individual  who  is 
rather  the  alternative  of  her  moral  isolation, 
than  the  object  of  her  choice. 

Here  is,  indeed,  the  real  triumph  of  weakness 
over  reason.  Hope  and  ambition  are  alike  ex- 
tinct, and  her  strength  of  purpose  sinks  with 
them.  In  the  girl  of  sixteen,  all  is  hope  and 
ambition,  and  they  are  the  life-buoys  by  which 
she  is  maintained  safely  on  the  surface  of  the 
world's  waves.  Exceptions  may  be  quoted 
against  me.  I  admit  them  without  dispute-;  but, 
as  a  general  rule,  I  maintain  my  position. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 
The  apparition  of  Devereux  had  made  strange 
havoc  in  my  peace  of  mind,  as  well  as  in  my 
self-appreciation.  It  taught  me  at  once  to  re- 
flect and  to  doubt.  Because  I  had  listened 
with  indifference  to  the  flatteries  of  a  score  of 
fashionable  coxcombs,  I  had  quietly  fallen  into 
the  belief  that  marriage  had  rendered  me  im- 
penetrable to  all  attractions  from  without.  I 
iiad  never  taken  the  trouble  to  reflect,  that  if 
the  cowl  could  not  make  the  monk,  so  neither 
could  the  ring  make  the  matron. 

I  was  awakened  with  a  start  to  the  fact 
Whence  had  I  derived  my  safety  1  Not  from 
the  presence  of  Sir  James,  but  by  the  invisible 
potency  of  a  deep,  although  smothered  passion; 
and  at  what  a  mortifying  moment  did  the  truth 
burst  upon  me  I  Just  as  the  novelty  of  our 
union  wore  away,  Dornton  was  beginning  to  find 
it  possible  to  derive  amusement  from  pursuits 
in  which  I  had  no  share  :  to  enjoy  a  bachelor's 
dinner  at  his  club,  and  a  bachelor's  stall  at  the 
opera  ;  a  sporting  party,  or  a  boat-race.  Not, 
be  it  understood,  that  I  repined  at  this  gradual 
and  almost  imperceptible  change.  Had  I  been 
less  self-centered  I  might  possibly  have  been 
wounded,  because  every  handsome  young  wo- 
man imagines,  when  she  marries,  that  she 
must  inevitably  work  a  revolution  in  matrimo- 
nial habits,  and  exhibit  to  the  world  a  model 
husband,  created  by  the  magic  of  her  individual 
charms.  She  forgets,  poor  fool !  that  custom 
and  possession  never  fail  to  rend  the  diadem 
from  the  brow  of  the  divinity  ;  and  that,  not 
unfiequenily,  the  most  romantic  lover  degener- 
ates into  the  most  commonplace  partner. 

In  my  case,  I  was  spared  this  mortification, 
for  1  had  so  lively  an  opinion  of  my  own  merits, 
that  it  was  almost  matter  of  indillerence  to  me; 
although  suddenly  aroused  to  a  perception  of 
the  fact,  the  conviction  became  fatal  in  another 
way.  I  began  to  remember  the  circumstances 
under  which  I  had  become  a  wife  :  to  ask  my- 

i.ui.gv..  o.v.  w.^  ....,., -  ^.^^^....  self  wherein  I  had  profited  by  the  alliance  which 

iiid  sbiiddcrs  at  the  solitude  whicli,  I  bad  been  thrust  upon  me  ;  to  contrast  mv  se» 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PliETTY  WOMAN. 


145 


entcen  summers  with  the  forty  well-told  years 
ofDornton;  to  dwell  upon  the  eclat  which  my 
beauty  and  fashion  had  thrown  around  the  blase 
uian  of  the  world,  and  the  consequence  which 
my  large  fortune— for  even  tins  haneftd  reliec- 
lion  of  money  came  at  last — had  obtained  for 
him  among  his  associates. 

I  looked  at  Lord  Ollerford,  and  thought  how 
widely  the  past  diilered  from  the  present;  and 
Willi  what  chaniung  indifference  Lady  Made- 
jaine  had  supported  the  change.  The  world 
was  with  her,  and  tlie  world's  plaudits  were 
the  one  great  ambition  of  her  life.  She  was 
not  dependent  on  home.  So  long  as  all  wore  a 
surface  of  intact  and  irreproachable  polish,  she 
cared  little  how  cold  and  ungenial  might  be  the 
under-current. 

This  was  at  least  a  convenient,  if  not  an  en- 
couraging temper  of  mind,  and  could  I  have  at- 
tained to  it,  I  should  at  once  have  dismissed 
tlie  subject  from  my  thoughts ;  but  such  was 
far  from  being  the  case.  As  the  image  of  Sir 
James  paled  and  diminished  in  my  mental 
vision,  that  of  Devereux  brightened  and  ex- 
panded to  till  up  the  vacant  space  ;  and  1  flung 
aside  the  hard  penetrating  chisel  of  reality,  to 
assume  the  soli  and  facile  pencil  of  fancy. 

Full  of  youth,  and  h)ve,  and  noble  aspirations, 
still  upon  the  threshold  of  that  life  into  whose 
inner  temples  Sir  James  had  already  penetrat- 
ed ;  vvlial  violent  contrasts  could  I  not  create 
in  my  own  mind,  between  the  lover  of  my 
choice  and  the  husband  of  my  fate  !  These  are 
the  weak  speculations,  the  idle  comparisons, 
by  which  women  lose  their  dignity  of  charac- 
ter; and  I  Sjient  hours  in  creating  and  insti- 
tuting them ;  nor  did  the  circumstances  of 
Devereux's  sudden  departure  make  ine  less  in- 
genious in  this  self-torture.  I  had  come  back 
upon  the  conviction  that  he  still  loved  me,  and 
I  consequently  attributed  his  abrupt  retreat  to 
fear.  Here  I  might  have  paused,  and  asked 
myself  how  I  should  receive  so  equivocal  a 
compliment;  but  I  avoided  the  reference,  and 
only  clung  to  the  fact. 

The  result  of  all  this  moral  weakness  was 
an  increased  indifference  to  Sir  James,  an 
ddded'  appreciation  of  iriy  own  merits,  and  a 
/estiess  anxiety  respecting  the  movements  of 
Devereux. 

Company  crowded  to  Rooksley.  Lady  Made- 
laine  had  weaned  of  the  pastoral  picture  of  the 
family  group,  upmi  which  she  had  expatiated 
so  graceiull\  "amid  the  throngs  of  London ; 
while  L  fully  occupied  by  my  own  visions,  liad 
never  breathed  a  wish  for  change.  The  men, 
when  th'-y  returned  to  the  saloon  after  dinner, 
played  high,  and  discussed  political  questions  ; 
the  women  llirted  and  pa.ssed  in  review  the 
personal  and  moral  merits  of  their  absent 
friends ;  and  I  believe  that  few  of  these  could 
have  complained  with  justice  of  being  forgot- 
ten. 

In  these  evenings  at  Rooksley  I  learnt  one 
fact,  which  I  have  ever  since  retained,  and  of 
winch  the  experience  of  each  succeeding  year 
has  sufficed  more  fully  to  convince  me:  that 
when  a  woman  emancipates  herself  deliberately 
alike  from  chanty  and  from  decency,  it  costs 
her  no  effort  to  be  a  wit;  nor  need  she  open 
her  moiit'i  without  giving  utterance  to  some- 
Ujing  brilliant.     1  leave  it  to  casuists  to  decide  I 


which  of  the  two  sisters  of  the  Tairy  tale  she 
most  resembles— the  one  who  spoke  gold  and 
diamonds,  or  the  other,  who  cast  forth  toads 
and  vipers  :  1  only  know  that  many  a  woman's 
—I  was  about  to  say,  reputation,  but  I  retract 
the  word,  and  substitute — celebrity,  has  de- 
pended, and  does  to  my  knowledgf?  depend,  in 
the  present  day,  upon  what  the  French  have 
wittily  called  ajlux  de  mots — the  one  more  un- 
feminine  than  the  other. 

But,  vogue  la  galerej  I  am  talking  of  others, 
and  forgetting  that  my  legitimate  subject  is 
myself  It  may  be  remembered  that  Sir  James 
had  tranquilized  my  mind,  even  before  our  mar- 
riage, on  the  subject  of  his  utter  want  of  jeal- 
ousy ;  and  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  he  acted 
in  accordance  with  his  professions.  Whether 
he  had  so  truly  read  the  secret  of  my  heart,  or 
so  utterly  despised  the  weakness  of  my  nature, 
that  he  calmly  committed  me  to  the  safeguard 
of  my  vanity,  it  is  needless  now  to  inquire, 
while  it  is  certain  that  he  saw  all  the  idle  guests 
of  Lady  Madelaine  at  my  feet  without  comment 
or  expostulation.  I  laughed  more  than  once  in 
my  secret  thoughts,  as  I  found  myself  playing 
the  same  role  in  the  Roqksley  saloon  which  my 
mother  had  played  during  I'ny  early  girlhood, 
and  which  I  had  looked  upon  with  envy.  I  had, 
as  a  natural  consequence,  brought  with  me  to 
the  country  all  the  prestige  of  iny  success  in 
town  ;  and  I  played  the  bcaute  par  excellence 
without  mercy  or  misgiving.  My  mother's  for- 
bearance was  wonderlul.  She  had  necessarily 
fallen  back  into  a  demi  jour  which  it  must  have 
been  difficult  to  tolerate,  yet  she  did  not  seem 
to  see  it ;  and,  satisfied  with  the  adoration  of 
her  own  immediate  circle,  she  left  to  me  alike 
the  triumph  and  the  trouble  of  forming  a  bright 
centre  to  the  general  group. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  I  suddenly 
remembered  Lady  O'Halloran  ;  and  I  had  no 
sooner  done  so  than  I  directed  Josephine  to 
dispatch  a  messenger  to  the  Hall  without  delay, 
to  ascertain  if  the  family  were  in  the  couniiy. 
I  was  seated  in  my  dressing-room  when  the 
memory  of  the  kind-hearted  old  lady  rose  up 
before  me  like  a  reproach,  and  with  it  were 
linked  a  thousand  associations  and  a  thousand 
regrets.  What  would  the  single-hearted,  hon- 
estly-minded friend  of  my  father  now  think  of 
the  dissipated,  reckless  Lady  Durntoni  Wo^ld 
she  look  on  me  with  pity,  or  with  blame  1  Had 
I  been  wicked  as  well  as  weak,  the  question 
would  have  given  me  no  uneasiness;  for  good 
old  Lady  O'Halloran  existing,  with  the  tithe  ol 
an  establishment,  in  the  empty  and  echoing 
hall  of  her  husband's  ancestors,  in  order  to  pre 
serve  his  memory  from  dishonor,  and  the  for- 
tunes of  her  son  Irom  ruin,  was  an  object  very 
unlikely  to  intersst  that  world  of  which  I  had 
now  become  a  votary.  But  the  spell  of  the 
past  was  over  her;  and,  as  was  habitual  with 
me,  her  good  opinion  was  essential  to  my  com- 
fort and  self-appreciation.  Here  was  anothet 
hope  of  help,  though  I  could  not  have  exniained 
the  manner  in  which  it  was  to  be  lendered 
available. 

That  Lady  O'Halloran  had  not  appeared  at 
Rooksley,  by  no  means  implied  her  absence  fro.n 
the  country.  Lady  Madclaine's  greeting  on  a 
former  occasion  had  been  proliibitoiy  of  A 
i:  ;  ipr  intercourse;  and  the  old  lady  was  to* 


116 


C()M-i:SSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


I.igii-iicarted  to  incur  the  risk  of  a  new  affront. 
I  UiereCore  awaitt'cl  with  consiilerable  interest 
lliH  return  oi  my  aiessens^er  ;  and  had  no  sooner 
ascei  tamed  tliat  Lady  O'HalJoran  was  indeed  in 
tiie  neiglihorhood,  tiian  I  ordered  my  carriage, 
and  hastened  to  assure  lierof  my  continued  re- 
gard and  gratitude.  During  the  drive,  I  lost 
niysellin  a  seaotdoubl  and  irresolution.  Should 
1  pour  out  all  my  feelings  before  her?  Dare  II 
("ould  tiiey  all  be  justified  1  And  wherefore 
shouiil  I  subject  myself  to  the  ordeal  of  her 
shrewd  and  searchnig  judgment ]  Cui  bunol 
And  yet  I  wanted  her  pity.  I  thirsted  for  her  ad- 
vice, for  her  support.  I  did  not  ask  myself  if  her 
advice  would  separate  my  thoughts  from  Dev- 
ereux,  or  support  me  in  my  duties  as  a  wife.  I 
ordy  relleeted  that  I  had  no  resting-place  for  the 
sole  of  my  foot,  and  trusted  that  the  good  plain 
sense  of  my  old  monitor  wo'ild  enable  me  to  es- 
tablish a  rock  atnid  the  sands. 

The  tirst  thing  which  roused  me  from  my 
reverie  was  the  sudden  stoppingof  the  carriage 
at  the  gales  of  the  Hall  Park  ;  and  I  was  imme- 
diately struck  by  the  amended  aspect  of  every 
object  around  me.  The  golhic  lodge,  which  had 
formerly  been  in  a  state  of  partial  ruin,  was 
restored  with  care  and  skill  ;  the  great  avenue, 
which  was  the  lion  of  the  estate,  had  been  cleared 
and  leveled  ;  deer  were  grazing  over  the  glades  ; 
chimps  of  young  timber,  pi-cturesquely  grouped, 
and  protected  by  fences,  were  to  be  seen  on  all 
sides  ;  and,  finally,  as  I  reached  the  house,  the 
finger  of  renovation  had  been  so  busy  that  I 
scarcely  recognized  the  details  which  met  my 
eye. 

Within,  as  without,  the  same  change  had 
taken  [ilace  ;  while  the  bevy  of  powdered  me- 
nials who  received  me,  and  who  replaced  the 
one  grayheaded  domestic  who  had  served  Lady 
O'Halloran  with  all  the  stately  affection  of  long 
habit,  were  clothed  in  neat  but  rich  liveries.  I 
forgot  the  lapse  of  time  which  had  intervened 
since  my  last  visit  to  the  Hall,  and  looked  around 
me  in  astonishment. 

1  was  shown  into  the  library,  which,  like  the 
rest  of  the  establishment,  had  assimied  an  air 
oi  opulence  and  comfort ;  and  where  I  was 
courteously  received  by  a  stranger,  the  veriest 
vision  of  girlish  beauty  upon  which  I  had  ever 
!'.-oked.  Small  and  slight  as  a  sylph,  her  eyes 
weie  of  the  deepest  blue,  and  the  magnificent 
masses  of  hair  that  fell  around  her  face,  and  to 
her  shoulders,  were  of  that  golden  brown  which 
flashes  in  the  sunshine,  and  darkens  in  the 
shade  ;  the  smile  that  played  upon  her  lips  ap- 
peared habitual  to  them  ;  and  as  she  rose  upon 
my  entrance,  and  courteously  motioned  me  to 
the  seat  which  a  servant  had  advanced,  I 
thought  that  I  had  never  beheld  so  perfect  an 
eiid)odiment  of  innocence,  sweetness,  and  pol- 
ished grace.  She  was  evidently  as  young  as 
myself,  and  although  easy  and  graceful  in  her 
manner,  it  still  retained  a  simplicity  which  mine 
had  long  lost.  Her  dress  was  as  girlish  as  her 
person,  and  was  remarkable  at  a  period  when 
the  rich  massiveness  of  the  maleiials  employ- 
ed upon  the  costume  of  all  women  of  a  certain 
rank  «as  almost  oppressive.  A  plain  gown 
of  slight  white  silk,  falling  in  voluminous  folds 
Iriim  her  waist,  where  it  was  confined  by  a 
llii>-k  silken  cord  ;  hanging  sleeves,  which  were 
oiien  to  the  el'-ow,  and  revealed  an  arm  of  con- 


summate beauty  ;  and  a  rich  collar  of  Spanish 
point  which  covered  her  throat,  and  reached  lo 
her  shoulders,  composed  her  whole  costume 
She  wore  neither  paint  nor  [)owder  ;  and  during 
the  few  minutes  which  elapsed  before  the  en- 
trance of  Lady  O'Halloran,  I  endeavored  in  vain 
to  convince  myself  of  the  position  which  she 
occupied  in  the  family.  Her  self-possession  was 
so  perfect  that  it  was  impossible  to  assign  to 
her  the  station  of  a  de])endent ;  while  the 
gentle  unobirusiveness  of  her  bearing  was,  to 
my  judgment,  equally  incompatible  with  the 
assumption  of  her  being  other  than,  at  most,  a 
needy  relative,  adopted  by  the  kind-hearted 
mistress  of  the  mansion. 
•  I  was  still  undecided  on  the  point  when  Lady 
O'Halloran  entered  the  room. 

"  Is  it  Eveleen,  or  Lady  Dornton,  whom  I  am 
to  welcome  to  the  Hull  I"  she  a.sked,  as  she 
extended  her  hand  with  a  gravity  which  was  not 
habitual  to  her. 

"  One  and  both,  my  good  friend  !"  I  exclaimed, 
rising  to  carry  the  offered  ha'nd  to  my  lips. 
"  Eveleen  who  comes  to  thank  you  for  your 
past  friendship,  and  Lady  Dornton  who  ventures 
to  ask  for  its  continuance." 

"  So  far,  so  well,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  and  in 
this  proceeding,  and  the  feeling  by  which  it  is 
dictated,  I  recognize  the  prompting  of  the  well- 
meaning  but  unstable  heart  of  my  poor  (riem! 
Tilden's  daughter.  You  are  welcome,  Eveleen, 
very  welcome  in  both  characters.  I  have  often 
thought  of  you  with  affection  and  anxiety,  my 
dear  child.  And  now  let  me  make  known  to 
you  the  wife  of  my  son  ;  the  beloved  Margaret, 
who  has  become  as  dear  to  me  as  her  huslmnd  ; 
and  who  has  by  her  tenderness  given  an  added 
value  to  the  close  of  my  .struggling  and  stormy 
life." 

I  almost  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  as 
the  beautiful  young  creature  before  me  bowed 
and  smiled  her  greeting.  All  was  now  exj)lain- 
ed.  It  was  evident  that  her  wealth  bad  restored 
the  faded  honors  of  the  ancient  family  of  wliicli 
she  had  become  a  member ;  that  her  extrenn' 
loveliness  had  not  been  her  only  dowry  ;  an^ 
that  beneath  the  sweet  simplicity  by  wlmh  1 
had  been  impressed,  must  nestle  tiie  proud  con- 
sciousness of  having  shed  happiness  and  peace 
upon  the  path  of  him  she  loved. 

What  a  contrast  did  she  not  offer  to  rnyseK' 
We  were  both  young,  both  wealthy,  both  hand- 
some ;  but  hers  was  not  the  commanding  and 
almost  arrogant  beauty  which  distinguished  me , 
it  was  a  loveliness,  so  pure,  so  ethereal,  so  spir- 
itualized, that  all  idea  of  rivalry  was  annihilated 
as  by  the  stroke  of  a  magician's  wand  ;  and  I 
felt  no  reluctance  in  admitting  the  charm  under 
which  I  bowed. 

"And  thus,  Eveleen,"  pursued  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran, when  our  mute  but  cordial  recognition 
was  accomplished  ;  "  I  have  subsided  into  a 
happy,  indolent,  vvorld-shiinning  dowager ;  ami 
have  little  to  tell  you  of  myself ;  but  such  is  f.ir 
from  being  the  case  with  you.  Are  you  still 
sufficiently  unspoiled  by  fashion  to  open  your 
heart  to  me  1  Nay,  do  not  leave  us,  my  child," 
she  said,  as  the  younger  Lady  O'Halloran  rose  lo 
leave  the  room :  '•  you  are  aware  that  there  is  no; 
now  between  us  even  the  affectation  of  a  secret. 
And  you,  my  dear  Lady  Dornton,  f«ar  nothing: 
Margaret  is  discreet;  and  I  will  even  adinii  i" 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


you  that  stie  is  au  courant  of  your  early  history, 
and  has  more  than  once  shed  tears  over  my 
simple  story  of  your  unloved  youth." 

I  instinctively  stretched  out  my  hand  to  the 
fair  girl,  who  pressed  it  gently  in  silence. 

How  easy  was  it  for  me  to  pour  forth  to  the 
sympathizing  listeners  near  me  all  the  history 
of  my  strange,  hurried,  and  compulsatory  mar- 
riage. The  threats  of  my  mother,  my  terror  of 
Mr.  Curlies,  my  gratitude  for  the  attentions  of 
Sir  James.  Nay,  how  comparatively  facile 
was  it  to  admit  the  vacillation  of  my  own  feel- 
ings ;  the  uncertainty  hy  which  I  was  beset  ; 
the  chimerical  fears  under  whfch  I  labored  ; 
and  even  the  deplorable  weakness  which  ac- 
companied me  to  the  altar  I  I  narrated  with  a 
glowing  cheek,  my  triumphs  in  the  world,  and 
the  splendor  with  which  Sir  James  had  sur- 
rounded me  in  my  new  home.  Fevered  and 
breathless,  I  passed  on  frotn  one  phase  of  my 
married  life  to  another ;  until  my  eloquen(?e 
was  suddenly  checked  by  the  memory  of  the 
late  apparition  of  Devereux  at  Rooksley. 

When  the  time  is  come  in  which  we  fear  to 
give  utterance  to  all  the  secrets  of  our  hearts, 
the  very  efTort  that  we  make  to  shroud  them 
reveals  the  mystery ;  and  thus  it  was  with  me. 
[  had  been  talking  hurriedly,  impetuously,  as 
though  the  hours  vvou]d  be  too  short  to  hold  all 
that  I  had  to  tell,  when  suddenly  I  stopped 
short,  with  a  forced  laugh  ;  and  folding  my 
mantle  about  me  as  a  prete.xt  for  withdrawing 
my  eyes  from  those  of  the  dowai^er,  I  said  flip" 
;  pantly : 

"  And  thus,  my  dear  Lady  O'Halloran,  I,  in 
my  turn,  have  subsided  into  a  mere  wife,  with 
la  staid,  middle  aged  husband,  with  nothing 
more  to  hope  or  to  fear;  'content  to  dwell  in 
decencies  forever  ;'  and  patiently  to  watch  the 
refrigeration  of  the  matrimonial  fever  which  is 
gradually  progressing  in  the  feelings  and  affec- 
tion of  Sir  James;  as  I  suppose  that  all  reasona- 
ble wives  must  sooner  or  later  submit  to  do." 
{  "My  dear  Lady  Dornton  !"  exclaimed  the 
young  creature  beside  me,  in  an  accent  of  sad 
e.\postulation  ;  "you  terrify  me — " 
!  "And  wherefore,  Margaret?"  asked  her 
imother-in-law  with  sudden  seriousness.  "  Can 
lyou  not  perceive  that  the  assumed  in.difference 
of  Lady  Dornton  is  only  intended  to  conceal 
■some  feeling  of  which  she  deems  it  expedient 
to  make  a  mystery  ]  Remember  that  she  is  not 
here  m  a  confessional,  and  that  we  cannot  com- 
pel her  confidence.  We  must  be  content  with 
a  partial  trust.  He  is  a  bold  patient  who  ap- 
plies the  probe  to  his  own  wound." 

I  pressed  my  hands  upon  my  eyes,  and  the 
warm  tears  trickled  through  my  fingers. 
,  "  Am  I  not  right,  Eveleen  1  Is  mH  the  wan- 
ting of  Sir  Jarnes  Dornton's  love,  a  subject  of  in- 
difference—even a  relief  to  you?  Have  you 
mot  allowed  yourself  to  look  upon  your  mar- 
•riage  as  a  martyrdom  inflicted  upon  you  by 
oti.ers,  when  you  should  have  remembered  that 
oy  proper  and  prudent  firmness,  and  calm  wo- 
Tianly  dignity,  you  migtit  have  rendered  it  im- 
onssible!  have  you  not  sacrificed  the  peace 
;nid  self-respect  of  the  future  to  the  indolent  en- 
oyment  of  the  present!  I  understand  that  ge*- 
:ure.  You  admit  (he  fact.  But  is  this  all,  Ev- 
pieenj  Is  this  all,  poor  misguided  child  of  my 
tead  friend  !     Throughout   the  whole  of  your 


147 


story,  you  have  told  me  only  of  yourself  and  o. 
those  wlw  were  antagonistical  to  you— I  have 

not  heard  one  word  of  Herbert  Devereu.x of 

the  object  of  your  first,  and  as  you  declared,  of 
your  unalterable  love.  Why  is  this!  Have 
you  in  truth  conquered  your  girlish,  and  now 
sinful  passion  !  Have  you  never  met  Mr.  Dev- 
ereux since  your  marriage !" 

"  But  once,  mada.n ;  but  once,  and  then 
only  for  a  few  hours,  scarcely  a  week  sin(,e,  at 
Rooksley." 

"  And  what  has  bein  the  moral  effect  of  that 
meeting,  Eveleen !" 

"Lady  O'Halloran  !"  I  exclaimed  in  agony; 
"  have  mercy  upon  me  !  I  cannot  answer  that 
question  to  my  own  heart.  I  can  only  promise 
to  wrestle  with  my  weakness,  and,  if  possible, 
to  overcome  it.  You  can  dread  no  dishonor  for 
the  daughter  of  my  father.  To  more  than  this 
I  cannot  pledge  myself.  I  must  bear  my  bur 
then  as  best  I  may.  My  girlhood  and  my  wo 
manhood  are  alike  lonely  and  loveless.  For  a 
time  I  was  deceived  into  a  belief  that  it  was 
otherwise,  but  iny  eyes  are  now  opened.  I  have 
built  up  the  ruined  fortunes  of  my  husband;  I 
have  worked  out  the  mysterious  will  of  my 
mother  ;  and  the  same  chill,  unsympathetic  at- 
mosphere  is  still  about  me." 

"  Dismiss  such  moi  bid  fancies.  Have  you  not 
expatiated  to  me  on  the  patient  care  and  splen- 
did attentions  of  Sir  James!" 

"  I  do  not  deny  it ;  but  the  heart  is  never  long 
the  dupe  of  such  counterfeits.  I  can  understand, 
comparatively  inexperienced  as  I  am,  that  a 
woman  may  tolerate  even  ill-conduct  in  a  man 
who  really  loves  her,  and  may  submit  to  a  thou- 
sand  neglects  and  mortifications  almost  with- 
out a  murmur  ;  while  she  who  is  conscious  of 
the  growing  indifference  of  her  husband,  will  at 
last  glory  in  proving  to  him  that  she  can  recip- 
rocate his  want  of  affection,  even  when  he  seeks 
to  purchase  a  love  of  which  he  is  unworthy,  by 
words  and  actions  as  false  as  his  marriage-vow. 
I  do  not  envy  the  feelings  of  the  individual  who 
experiences  this  retorted  falsehood,  neither  can 
1  pity  him  when  he  is  repaid  in  kind." 
"  Eveleen,  you  make  me  shudder  !" 
"  And  wherefore  !  Of  what  value  can  be  the 
devotion  of  a  wife  when  it  is  not  deeme'^. 
worthy  of  return  !  Rather  desire  for  me,  my 
dear  Lady  O'Halloran,  a  state  of  mind  which 
will  substitute  calm,  for  an  impossible  and  unat- 
tainable happiness.  The  world  need  know  no- 
thing of  the  fact.  How,  indeed,  in  my  case, 
could  it  arrive  at  such  a  conclusion  !  I  feel  that 
Sir  James  will  never  fail  in  his  duty  as  a  well- 
bred  and  perfectly  courteous  husband  ;  that  he 
will  replace  the  passion  which  he  is  tired  of  af- 
fecting, by  the  most  conspicuous  attentions,  the 
most  unlimited  indulgence,  and  the  most  demon- 
strative respect.  The  world  will  not  therefore, 
I  repeat,  suspect  the  shallowness  of  the  vase 
which  contains  my  draught  of  home-happiness  ; 
and  to  that  world  1  confidently  look  to  revenge 
me." 

I  was  abruptly  silenced  by  the  fixed  and 
frightened  gaze  which  the  younger  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran had  turned  upon  me,  and  which  I  acciden- 
tally encountered.  It  was  as  the  look  of  a  good 
genius  rebuking  an  evil  spirit.  I  bowed  my 
head,  huiiitded  and  heart-struck,  before  the 
wondering  purity  which,  wounded  ant   .swi- 


148 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


dered,  seemed  to  ask  itself  if  it  had  heard 
aright. 

"Evcle«n,"  said  the  old  lady,  in  a  choked 
and  sinoilifTcd  voice :  "  come  to  us  often.  Your 
state  of  mind  is  fearful.  Come  to  us,  and  learn 
to  encourage  a  calmer  and  a  better  feeling.  You 
are  now  deluding  yoursell  bitterly.  Beware,  lest 
you  accuse  others  of  imaginary  wrongs,  toward 
you,  in  the  unwilling  consciousness  of  your  own 
ofT-lallmg.  Remember,  my  poor  child,  that  the 
faults  of  others  are  no  justification  of  yourself 
Your  errors  will  stand  out  in  as  strong  relief 
among  those  of  your  fellow  mortals  as  though 
they  stood  alone.  Remember  this,  and  be  warn- 
ed in  time  !  I  do  not,  I  cannot  for  a  moment 
suspect,  that  one  thought  of  evil  has  entered 
into  your  heart ;  but  you  have  talked  of  repri- 
sals, and  of  making  the  world  the  instrument  of 
your  revenge.  Believe  me  that  tiie  woman 
who  imagines  she  can  err  to  a  given  point, 
and  there  pause,  deludes  herself  to  her  ruin. 
The  first  step  she  takes,  is  taken  at  her  own 
discretion,  but  ail  after-progress  is  beyond  her 
personal  control;  the  descent  is  easy,  but  the 
backward  path  is  nard  to  climb  ;  and  few  indeed 
succeed  in  regaining  the  way  that  they  have  lost. 
She  will  find  many  to  lead  her  down  the  preci- 
pice, hut  none  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  draw 
her  hack.     Dear  Eveleen,  reflect !" 

"  I  do  !  I  will !  And  now  let  me  leave  you, 
Lady  O'Halloran,  for  I  am  unequal  to  further 
excitement.  Do  not  judge  harshly  of  me;  my 
fate  has  been  a  cruel  one.  If  I  can  conquer  it  in 
conquering  myself,  I  shall  in  a  great  degree  owe 
my  success  to  your  admonitions.     Farewell." 

"  Farewell,  my  child.  Be  just  to  yourself, 
and  all  will  yet  end  hrippily." 

My  heart  was  full,  as  I  threw  myself  into  the 
3arriage.  It  is  full  now,  as  I  recall  that  never- 
forgotten  visit.  The  aspect  of  the  pure  and 
gentle  girl,  who,  like  a  beam  of  sunshine,  had 
crossed  my  feverish  and  fitful  path  ;  the  moral 
wortli  of  the  friend  in  whom  my  fattier  had 
confided  ;  the  calm  and  peaceful  look  of  every 
thing  by  which  they  were  surrounded,  as  though 
their  own  qualities  were  reflected  by  all  about 
them  ;  these  objects  which,  in  a  difTerent  frame 
of  mind,  would  have  imparted  to  my  own  feel- 
ings a  portion  of  their  blessedness,  now  only 
served,  on  the  contrary,  to  ruffle  and  embitter 
my  pride  and  my  repinlngs.  Such  also  might 
have  been  my  fate.  What  was  it  now  1  And 
what  might  it  become  1 

I  reached  Ilooksley  in  time  to  dress  for  din- 
ner, and  to  learn  from  Josephine  that  Colonel 
Devereux  had  returned 


CHAPTER  XLII. 
Now  commenced  the  eventful  period  of  my 
life.  Hitherto  my  errors  had  been  rather  men- 
tal than  actual ;  I  had  plotted,  planned,  and 
promis>'d  myself  a  sliadowy  vengeance  which  I 
had  possessed  neither  power  nor  courage  to  ex- 
ecute ,  and  even  now,  I  felt  that  there  was  a 
point  beyond  which,  foi  my  own  sake,  I  must 
not  progress.  My  sell-respect  and  the  api)ro- 
bation  of  the  world  were  necessary  to  me,  and 
these  I  resolved  never  to  forego ;  but  still, 
wiihmit  doing  this,  I  had  much  in  my  power. 
I  could  repay  slight  by  slight,  tyranny  by  tyr- 
anny    I   could   assert   myself.     How  many   a 


I  woman  has  mentally  made  the  same  resolve 
while  utterly  unable  to  define  her  ov\  n  meaning 
for  the  words  ! 

Had  Devereux  seconded  me  in  the  advances 
which  I  made  to  attract  his  notice,  and  to  invite 
his  gallantries,  it  is  more  than  possible  that,  in 
the  then  temper  of  my  mind,!  might  have  com- 
mitted some  reckless  act  of  folly  which  would 
have  drawn  down  upon'  me  the  reproaches  of 
Lady  Madelaine,  and  the  remonstrances,  or 
even  displeasure  of  Sir  James  ;  but  f.ir  from 
affecting  to  do  so,  his  ccddness  and  iiidiffeience 
were  unconquerable ;  he  scarcely  appejirea 
conscious  of  my  presence  when  I  was  putting 
fortli  all  the  artillery  of  my  fascinations.  He 
neither  smiled  at  my  sallies,  nor  was  moved  by 
my  complaints  ;  indeed,  I  might  have  believed 
tliat  he  had  altogether  forgotten  the  former  tie 
between  us,  had  not  the  pertinacity  with  which 
he  avoided  every  occasion  of  finding  himself 
alone  with  me,  been  a  convicting,  proof  to  the 
contrary.  This  was,  of  all  positions  in  the 
world,  the  most  trying  to  a  vain  and  fullered 
woaian,  consci(^us  that  lime  had  only  heiyliien- 
ed  her  attractions.  Tlie  obsequious  devotions 
of  the  frivolous  and  fashionable  men  about  me 
became  vapid  and  distasteful.  I  sought  only 
for  the  admiration  and  homage  of  the  one  who 
seemed  resolved  to  deny  me  both;  and  I  be-j 
came  but  the  more  determined  to  lay  the  rebel-, 
lious  spirit.  ; 

To  the  society  of  Dornton,  Colonel  Devereux 
was  obviously  averse  ;  and  it  appeared  to  me 
somewhat  singular  that  Sir  James  should  force 
it  upon  him  with  so  much  pertinacity,  knowing! 
as  he  did  all  the  antecedents   of  his  lii.story;' 
such  was,  however,  the  case  ;  and  from  time  uj 
time  I  saw  ilie  young  guardsman   leave   th«; 
room   in  order  to  escape  the  protestations  ol 
regard  which  he  felt  unable  to  return  in  kind,' 
Living  under  the  same  roof,  and  participating) 
in  the  same  occupations  and  amusements,  ij 
was,  however,  impossible  for  Colonel  Devereu: 
to  avoid  me  altogether  without  a  decided  bread 
of  good  breeding,  and  of  that  hewas  incapable 
but  these  casual  approximations  produced   n' 
doQided  result.     He  treated  me  with  an  exce.> 
of  respect  which  was  oppressive  ;  with  a  cer, 
emony  that  almost  exceeded  my  patience, 
had  prepared   myself  for  complaints,   for  re 
proaches ;    for   all  the   violence   of   a   passio 
which  had  been  unjustly  sacrificed  ;  and  I  ha 
resolved  to  oppose  them  with  arguments  o(  e> 
pedieiicy  ;  but  all  my  plans  were  disconcerted 
the   cold,  and  consistent  bearing  of  Devereu 
mortified  and  slung  me  to  my  heart's  core  . 

Reduced  to  doubting  the  existence  of  an  a 
fcction  which  had  hitherto  appeared  to  me  t 
be  beyond  dispute,  I  began  to  ask  myself  he 
I  could  ever  have  believed  in  its  sincerity, 
looked  back  upon  the  past,  and  strove  to  find  a' 
his  former  professions  of  attachment  equivoca. 
Anything  was  easier,  anything  was  more  endr' 
rahle,  than  to  admit  that  where  I  had  bet; 
loved  I  was  loved  no  longer. 

To  lose  our  conquests  is  a  fate  to  vvhi«h  wi 
must  all,  sooner  or  later,  submit  with  as  got, 
a  grace  as  we  can  assume.  It  is  the  penali 
of  the  one  sex,  enforced  by  the  selfishness  aij 
fickleness  of  the  other;  but  to  confers  to  ot; 
selves  that  we  have  done  so,  is  a  harder  ta, 
than   many  women  can  achieve,  even  in  t' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


149 


;ace  ot  the  clparest  evidence.     Hence  so  many 
siiper.innuatcd  coquets ! 

Sonielhing  more  bitler  than  anger  made  me 
resolve  to  ascertain  the  fact.  I  determined  to 
leave  no  paiiis  untried  to  ascertain  tiie  real 
stale  of  Devereux's  feelings  toward  me.  Had 
I  possessed  as  much  principle  as  pride,  I  sh<nild 
have  shrunk  from  such  an  inquisition  ;  hut  I 
nave  already  frankly  acknowledged  that  mine 
were  only  the  principles  which  are  commonly 
acquired  in  the  great  world,  and  which  seldom 
interfere  with  the  wdl  of  their  possessor.  Tiiey 
are  like  a  rootless  oak,  making  a  noble  show 
imtil  resistance  is  required  of  them  ;  but  once 
lean  upon  them  for  support,  and  they  give  way, 
and  roll  ttieir  leafy  honors  in  the  dust. 

I  pursued  my  resolution.  I  affected  the 
tastes  which  I  knew  to  be  agreeable  to  my  lost 
lover.  I  wore  the  colors  he  preferred,  I  avoid- 
ed the  habits  which  I  chanced  to  hear  him  con- 
demn ;  but  all  was  useless.  He  neither  looked 
nor  comnienied.  My  ill-success  made  me  nerv- 
ous and  irritable.  It  was  a  struggle  which  I 
was  compelled  to  bear  alone,  for  1  dared  not 
confess  to  any  one  the  extent  of  my  vain  and 
guilty  folly.  This  fact  doubled  my  suffering ; 
for,  naturally  expansive,  I  should  have  found  a 
certain  solace  in  pouring  out  all  my  hopes,  and 
fears,  and  weakness,  to  another.  The  ener- 
vating atmosphere  of  an  unbroken  solitude  of 
spirit  is  to  that  spirit  like  constant  tension  to  a 
bow  ;  the  spring  of  each  becomes  injured  by 
the  useless  and  unprofitable  strain  upon  its 
strength.  Thus  it  was  with  me;  constantly 
striving  to  effect  one  object,  and  constantly 
foiled  in  my  attempts,  my  temper  at  last  gave 
way,  and  1  became  sullen  and  imperious. 
'■  Dornton  expostulated  with  me.  My  answer 
'was  haughty  and  impatient.  I  expected  that  I 
ishoiild  compel  a  retort,  but  it  was  not  so.  He 
Duly  smiled  compassionately,  as  he  would  have 
Jone  at  an  exhibition  of  impotent  anger  in  a 
spoiled  child,  and  this  civil  contempt  exasper- 
ited  me.  I  reproached  him  with  his  inditler- 
ence  to  my  hai)piness,  and  even  shed  tears.  I 
Ditied  myself  that  1  had  become  the  wife  of  a 
■nan  too  old  to  enter  into  my  tastes,  or  to  com- 
prehend my  feelings;  I  profited,  in  short,  by 
his  unpremeditated  outburst,  to  pour  forth  the 
"ull  tide  of  my  pent-up  emotions ;  but  Dornton 
remained  placidly  by  my  side,  unmoved  by  all 
■he  extravagance  of  my  accusations. 
\  "  Listen  to  me,  Eveleen,"  he  said  at  last, 
■  '  and  endeavor  to  recover  your  good-humor, 
[Without  which  even  your  pretty  face  loses  its 
iharni.  Look  at  me !  Despite  an  your  re- 
iiroaches — and  you  have  not  spared  them — I 
lave  remained  calm.  I  am,  as  you  have  truly 
said,  too  old  to  enter  into  your  feelings,  though 
1  perhaps  understand  them  even  better  than 
yourself;  and  it  is  precisely  because  I  am  so 
'nuch  your  senior  that  I  cannot  afford  to  hurry 
:)n  the  destructive  progress  of  time,  by  the 
withering  blight  of  temper.  I  am,  as  you  know, 
;i  man  of  the  world,  and  I  owe  it  to  that  world 
lo  he  carelul  of  its  worshiper.  Look  at  me  !" 
rte  repeated,  assuming  an  air  of  playfulness  ; 
1'  why  do  you  turn  away  your  eyes  so  impa- 
•lently  !  What!  a  blush,  which  is  not  timidity 
lut  anger— what  means  all  this?"' 
.  I  disdained  to  answer.  Sir  James  drev/  a 
ihair  forward,  and  seated  himself  beside  me. 


"  We  are  in  a  ridiculous  position,  Eveleen," 
he  continued,  after  a  short  pause ;  "  and  one 
which  I  would  fain  have  treated  more  lightly 
fian  you  now  compel  me  to  do.  As  it  is,  I  will 
he  as  serious,  if  not  as  energetic  as  yourseK 
for  we  have,  in  truth,  a  grave  subject  to  dis 
cuss." 

1  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  threw  mysell 
back  upon  my  cushions.  I  was  resolved  not  to 
yield  ail  inch. 

"  To  be  candid  with  you,  my  dear  girl,"  pur- 
sued my  husband,  as  calmly  as  though  he  had 
been  giving  an  account  of  his  day's  shooting; 
"you  have  acted  very  absurdly  of  late;  and  if 
you  are  not  more  careful  you  will  compromise 
yourself  terribly.  You  should  consider  the  im- 
prudence of  your  system.  If  you  are  com- 
promised at  your  age,  you  will  be  superan- 
nuated at  five-and-twenty ;  and  for  whati 
Nothing,  or  less  than  nothing." 

I  looked  up  aghast. 

"  I  am  quite  aware,"  he  resumed,  in  the  same 
monotonous  and  unexcited  voice,  "that  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  a  man  whom  you 
have  loved,  and  not  yet  quite  forgotten,  must 
necessarily  be  a  trial  to  you ;  but  you  should 
struggle  against  so  unprofitable  a  weakness, 
for  your  own  sake;  you  should  avoid  drawing 
upon  yourself  the  attention  of  those  about  you 
by  exhibitions  of  sullenness  and  absence  of 
mind  ;  you  should  have  more  command  ove*' 
yourself,  and  more  consideration  for  your  hus- 
band." 

"  You  insult  me  !"  I  exclaimed  passionately 

"  Impossible  !"  was  the  reply  ;  "  for  I  do  not 
wrong  you.  Eveleen,  in  all  that  relates  to 
knowledge  of  the  world  you  are  still  a  child 
Devereux  has  piqued  your  pride  ;  he  has  over 
acted  his  part,  and  you  have  emulated  him  in 
his  folly.     There  must  be  an  end  to  this." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  having  once  gratuitous 
ly  informed  me  that  you  were  not  jealous  !" 

"Jealous!"  repealed  Dornton,  in  a  tone  that 
would  have  been  contemptuous,  had  it  not  been 
dashed  with  pain.  "And  I  told  you  the  truih, 
I  Lady  Dornton.  Had  it  been  otherwise — but 
1  that  is  not  what  I  wished  to  say.  You  require 
j  the  counsels  of  a  friend  interested  in  your  res- 
j  pectabiliiy  and  happiness;  and  I  am  ready  to 
offer  them." 

"  The  office  of  a  mentor  is  doubtlessly  more 
agreeable  to  you  than  that  of  a  husband,"  I  said 
bitterly;  "  but  I  will  not  impose  upon  you  so 
onerous  a  task,  as  that  of  teaching  your  wife  lo 
dissuise  her  sentiments  and  play  the  hyptjcr'te, 
in  order  lo  preserve  her  honor  from  the  malice 
of  envenomed  tongues." 

"My  anxiety  to  save  you  simply  proves  that 
I  am  a  rational  being;  that  I  foresee  the  dan- 
gers to  which  your  imprudence  exposes  you  ; 
and  that  I  wish  'o  do  you  a  service  by  preserv 
ing  your  reputation,  which,  once  blighted,  can 
never  be  restored.  Were  you  more  reasonable 
than  you  are,  I  should  speak  more  plainly ; 
but,  as  it  is,  we  should  never  understand  each 
other." 

"  I  have  already  understood  too  mi.ch,"  I  ex- 
claimed indignantly.  "You  have  said  with 
truth,  sir,  that  you  are  a  man  of  the  world ; 
but,  knowing  this,  why  did  you  marry  1  Why 
did  you  [dace  a  helpless  woman  in  a  position  to 
blush  alike  for  you  and  for  herself" 


150 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


"I  will  not  recriminate,"  said  Dornton,  with 
u  taunting  smile  ;  "  and  I  will  add  no  more  than 
this  : — You  are  entering  upon  a  dangerous  ca- 
reer, of  which  the  perils  are  unkn*)wn  lo  you, 
and  of  which  I  possess  the  clue.  I  have  odered 
to  guide  you  safely  through  the  lahyrinih,  and 
you  reproach  ine  fur  the  offer.  Would  you  pre- 
fer that  1  should  watch  your  actions,  and  listen 
to  your  words,  in  order  to  discover  in  Iheiii  sub- 
ject of  suspicion  and  discord! — that  I  should 
embitter  both  your  life  and  my  own  by  a  cease- 
less and  senseless  jealousy  ]" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  angrily,  "yes,  sir,  I  should 
prefer  it  a  thousand  times.  Your  very  injus- 
tice would  be  a  proof  of  afTection  ;  and  anything 
is  preferable  to  indifference." 

"  You  are  a  little  goose  !"  laughed  Sir  James; 
"you  neither  know  what  you  say,  nor  what 
you  wish.  The  day  will  yet  come,  in  which 
you  will  congratulate  yourself  upon  what  you 
now  consider  a  subject  of  complaint.  Appear- 
ances, Eveleen,  appearances  are  the  current 
coin  of  the  world.  Watch  over  them,  as  the 
miser  watches  his  hoarded  gold.  You  have 
wit  enough  to  comprehend  that,  so  long  as 
you  can  tiaunt  them  in  the  face  of  society, 
your  dear  five  hundred  friends  will  care  little 
for  what  lies  beneath.  You  are  warned — be 
wary  !" 

And  at  the  close  of  this  extraordinary  and  re- 
volting harangue.  Sir  James  rose  from  his  seat, 
and  with  an  "  addio  bdlis.iima  V  left  the  room, 
before  I  could  sufljcienlly  recover  myself  to  utter 
a  word  in  reply. 

I  felt  stunned.  My  conviction  of  the  lax  mo- 
rality of  njy  husband  had  come  upon  me  so  sud- 
denly that  1  was  cruslied  ;  but,  after  a  lime, 
there  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  respect  and  grati- 
tude which  I  had  hitherto  entertained  for  him, 
an  emotion  of  the  most  withering  contempt. 
This  is  ths  most  hopeless  of  all  feelings  toward 
a  husband.  Every  other  adverse  sentiment 
may  be  obliterated,  or  at  least  ameliorated  by 
time  ;  but  coiiieuipt  is  like  rust  in  such  a  case  ; 
the  longer  it  grows,  the  deeper  it  eats  into  the 
metal,  and  the  more  impossible  it  becomes  to 
remove  its  trace. 

I  was  no  longer  a  wife  in  heart,  and  Dornton 
was  not  long  in  discovering  my  coldness,  but  he 
made  no  comment  upon  my  conduct.  Mean- 
while, in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  we  were  a  sin- 
gularly vvell-a.ssorted  couple,  and  worthy  of 
envy.  We  never  interfered  with  each  other's 
avocations  or  amusements  ;  we  were  wealthy, 
and  regardless  o(  expense ;  I  was  young,  fashion- 
able, and  admired  ;  Sir  James  popular  and  witty. 
What  more  could  be  desired  \  Who  cared  what 
might  lurk  behind  the  veil,  which,  like  that  upon 
the  altar  of  Vesta,  hid  the  secrets  of  the  oracle! 
As  my  contempt  for  Sir  James  deepened,  so  did 
my  passion  for  Devereux  increase.  I  became 
alarmed  at  last,  and  tried  to  believe  that  I  was 
deluding  myself  with  a  spectre,  and  that  when 
he  left  Rooksley  I  should  once  more  cease  to 
be  occupied  so  entirely  by  one  object ;  but  I 
could  not  maintain  the  cheat.  The  return  of 
his  regard  was  necessary  to  my  happiness  ;  and 
I  eventually  came  lo  a  compromise  with 'my 
conscience,  and  decided  that  it  would  suHice  to 
me  to  secure  him  hereafter  as  a  friend— only  a 
friend — we  could  never  again  be  more  to  each 
••iilier  ihan  friends — but  tUis,  at  least,  we  might, 


and  must  be.  The  more  I  reflected  upon  this 
subject,  the  more  distinctly  I  saw  not  only  the 
propriety,  but  even  the  expediency  of  the  ar- 
rangement. We  were  at  present  in  a  falso 
positioti.  Our  former  attachment  was  no  secret 
and  what  did  our  present  marked  estramremeu 
imply !  The  world  is  censorious.  Might  it 
not  misinterpret  so  extraordinary  a  demonstra- 
tion of  avoidance!  I  eagerly  answered  myself 
in  the  affirmative.  We  accept  so  readily  all 
so[)histries  which  flatter  our  own  wishes. 

My  resolution  was  formed.  Devereux  must 
be  made  to  comprehend  tiiis  truth.  So  far  all 
was  easy ;  but  how  to  effect  my  purpose  was 
still  the  question.  Lady  Madelaine  had  affected 
not  to  perceive  the  c(ddness  which  existed  be- 
tween us;  it  was  consequently  evident  that 
she  was  satisfied  with  the  present  slate  of 
things,  and  that  no  assistance  could  be  expect- 
ed from  her.  The  mediation  of  Sir  James  was 
equally  hopeless,  for  he  would  have  made  the 
first  hint  at  such  an  arrangement  the  subject 
of  a  distasteful  jest.  I  could  come  to  no  de- 
cision. 

An  expedition  to  some  rums  m   the  neigh- 
borhood had  been  suggested  by  Lord  Otterford, 
and  eagerly  seconded  by  the  guests,  when  it 
chanced  that,  on  the  morning  chosen  lor  the 
excursion,  I  awoke   fevered   and    unwell,  and 
found    myself    compelled    to    decline    so    fa 
tiguing  an  attempt  at   amusement.     The  party 
coiisequenily   departed    without    me,    leaving; 
a   few  civil    regrets   to  replace    their  sjiciely. 
As  I  heard  the  carriages  roll  from  the  door,  I 
rejoiced  in  my  temporary  solitude  ;  and  fell  so 
much  relieved  by  the  reflection  that  I  should  be ; 
alone  with  my  own  thoughts  for  a  few  hours,  • 
that,  alter  luxuriatmg  for  a  lime  in  this  convic-j 
lion,  I  resolved  to  rise  and  wander  through  the( 
park.     I  accordingly  made  a  hasty  and  careless 
toilet,  and  folding  my  shawl  about  me,  left  my 
room. 

As  I  descended  the  stairs  it  struck  me  that  I 
should  do  well  to  provide  myself  with  a  book, 
that,  when  weary  of  my  own  society,  I  might' 
be  sure  of  a  resource  ;  and  1  accordingly  turned 
toward  the  library  for  that  purpose.  The  door 
stood  open,  and  I  had  advanced  some  steps 
into  the  room  before  I  became  conscious  that 
it  was  already  tenanted.  The  blood  rushed  tc 
my  heart.  Devereux  was  seated  at  a  sma.i 
reading-table,  placed  in  the  bay  of  the  window 
His  left  hand  supported  his  head,  and  in  his 
right  he  held  a  pen  ;  but  he  was  not  writing; 
he  was  buried  in  thought. 

"  Pray  pardon  me.  Colonel  Devereux,"  1 
said  hurriedly,  "I  was  not  aware  that  yoi 
were  here." 

My  voice  roused  him  from  his  reverie;  h< 
rose  precipitately,  and  advanced  tu  meet  mc 
like  a  person  suddenly  awakened  from  a  dee| 
sleep,  who  had  not  yet  recovered  the  contro 
ol  his  actions. 

"  You  have  not  then  been  tempted  to  join  thi 
exploring  party!"  I  said,  endeavoring  to  con 
ceal  my  agitation. 

"  No,  madam." 

"  And  why !" 

"  What  interest  could  I  have  taken  in  an  ex. 

cursion  whose but  you  doubtlessly  cam 

here  in  search  of  something.     Can  1  be  us* 
ful !" 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A   PRiriTY   WOMAN. 


151 


"Yes,  Colonel  Devereux;  you  can  join  me 
in  a  stroll  through  the  park.  I  was  about  tn 
take  a  hook  as  a  companion.  I  will  accept 
your  society  as  a  substitute." 

He  bowed,  without  making  any  reply  ;  caught 
up  liis  hat,  offered  his  arm,  and  in  the  next  in- 
stant we  iiad  left  the  house.  For  the  first  few 
moments  we  walked  forward  in  silence.  Then 
we  talked  of  the  wind,  the  heat,  the  picturesque 
grouping  of  the  forest  limber,  the  tame  state 
of  the  waterfowl  upon  the  lake, — and  while  we 
held  this  puerile  conversation,  I  felt  his  arm 
liemble  as  ii  supported  mine,  and  my  own  heart 
beat  as  tti.uigh  it  would  fain  have  made  its 
pulsations  audible. 

Once  or  twice  I  almost  met  his  eye  as  it  was 
hastily  averted  from  my  face,  and  I  felt  glad  of 
this,  for  I  was  conscious  that  in  my  simple 
cambric  wrapper,  and  my  close  straw  bonnet,  I 
must  remind  him  more  thoroughly  of  the  Eve- 
leen  of  former  times — the  Eveleen  whom  he 
had  loved — than  in  the  elaborate  toilet  which  I 
had  affected  since  my  marriage.  Still,  how- 
ever, he  continued  silent,  or  only  replied  to  my 
observations  by  a  monosyllable.  At  length  I 
could  endure  this  chilling  constraint  no  longer. 
My  resolution  rose  up  before  me,  and  I  deter- 
mined to  take  the  initiative,  since  it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  had  decided  on  an  opposite  course 
oJ"  action. 

"Colonel  Devereux,"  I  said,  with  all  the 
calinness  which  I  found  it  possible  to  assume ; 
"  WQ  have  sufficiently  discussed  both  the 
weather  and  the  beauties  of  Rooksley ;  and 
now  we  can  surely  find  some  more  interesting 
^ubject  of  conversation.  We  are  not  strangers. 
Let  us  be  frank  toward  each  other.  Why  are 
we  so  thoroughly  estranged  1  You,  without 
doubt,  consider  the  past  more  harshly  than — 
perhaps — " 

"  I  have  never  reproached  you,  Lady  Dorn- 
ton  !" 

"  You  have  not.  But  it  is  possible  that  I 
should  have  preferred  even  your  reproaches  to 
the  cold  and  cutting  displeasure  and  avoidance 
that  you  have  exhibited." 

"  Have  I,  indeed,  made  a  parade  of  such 
feelings  \  If  so,  I  owe  your  ladyship  an  apology 
for  my  presumption,  and  venture  tp  offer  it  at 
once." 

Tears  of  mortification  started  to  my  eyes. 

"Colonel  Devereux,"  I  said,  somewhat  bit- 
terly, "as  this  is  a  subject  to  which  we  most 
never  again  recur,  let  us,  at  least,  understand 
each  other  now.  You  are  strangely  altered, 
and  I  fear  that  I  have  been  in  some  degree  the 
caase  of  a  change  which  all  who  regard  you 
must  deplore.  Believe  me  that,  however  cir- 
cumstances may  appear  to  condemn  me — " 

"  Pray  spare  alike  yourself  and  me,  Lady 
Dornton.  You  did  not  deceive  me,  I  deceived 
myself  I  knew  enough  of  the  pliability  of 
your  nature  to  be  prepared  for  all  that  has  oc- 
curred. Had  it  been  otherwise,  nothing  should 
have  induced  me  to  play  so  supine  a  part  as  I 
have  enacted  since  our  separation.  Had  I  been 
able  to  trust  to  your  firmness,  and  to  calculate 
on  your  cooperation,  I  would  have  sacrificed  my 
whole  life  in  the  struggle  to  obtain  your  hand  ; 
but  this  necessary  faith  was  denied  to  me  ;  and 
I  was  too  proud  to  pursue  the  heiress,  when  I 
«di?  B  ,N'  secure  of  the  affections  of  the  woman." 


'"  1^  this  generous,  Coloiiel  Devereux  '" 

"1  iliuik  so;  I  should  be  sony  were  ii 
otherwise.  Am  I  not  borne  out  in  my  argu 
ment  '." 

"Can  we  not  forget  the  past, and  be  friends!" 

"In  the  eyes  of  the  world!  Undoubtedly: 
although  the  aiiennpt  will  appear  but  a  mockery 
to  ourselves." 

"  In  that  case  let  us  leave  it  untried,"  I  ex- 
claimed, as  the  blood  mounted  to  my  brow  ; 
"  I  know  not  why  I  am  weak  enough  to  hopo 
that  my  forlorn  and  cruel  destiny  can  be 
changed.  I  should  be  grateful  to  you.  Colonel 
Devereux,  for  completing  the  bitter  lesson 
which  I  have  studied  since  my  childhood." 

"  Lady  Dornton  !  Eveleen  !"  cried  Deve- 
reux, suddenly  grasping  my  hand,  "are  you 
the  only  victim  of  the  destiny  which  you  dep- 
recate 1" 

There  was  an  expression  in  his  voice  that 
startled  me.  I  had  weakly  and  wilfully  placed 
myself  in  a  dangerous  position.  I  had  ad- 
vanced to  the  brink  of  the  precipice  knowingly 
and  recklessly  ;  and  now,  when  I  felt  the  ground 
giving  way  under  my  feet,  I  trembled. 

"Listen  to  me,"  I  said  hurriedly,  "before 
you  reject  my  proffered  friendship.  You  are 
unhappy  ;  you  have  fits  of  melancholy,  which 
are  not  natural  either  to  your  age  or  to  your  tem- 
perament. Need  I  tell  you  that  I  also  have  my 
hours  of  bitterness]  The  idle  trifiers  by  whom 
we  are  surrounded  have  no  sympathy  with  sor- 
row ;  they  do  not  guess  how  grief  is  sometimes 
lightened  by  participation.  Like  the  ephemera 
that  sport  in  the  sunbeams,  they  disappear  on 
the  setting  of  the  brightness  to  which  they  owe 
their  being.  But  we  are  not  like  these  ;  let  us 
be  friends :  the  trials  of  the  one  will  be  lessened 
by  sympathy  in  those  of  the  other.  You  look 
surprised — indignant.  What  can  there  be  in 
such  a  proposition  to  induce  either  wonder  or 
annoyance  V 

"All,  Lady  Dornton;  everything!  I  con- 
gratulate you  upon  the  composure  with  which 
you  can  contemplate  the  arrangement :  I,  un- 
fortunately, do  not  possess  an  equal  share  of 
self-government.  I  have,  indeed,  compelled 
myself  to  meet  you  daily,  almost  hourly,  and 
even  to  reside  under  the  same  roof  with  you-r 
but  my  stoicism  will  scarcely  extend  further." 

"  I  am  to  undersiand,  then,  Colonel  Deve 
reux,  that  henceforth,  save  in  the  interchange 
of  the  formalities  of  society,  we  are  to  be  stran- 
gers!" 

"  We  have  no  alternative." 

I  was  confounded.  There  was  a  shade  of 
sorrow  in  his  accent  which  checked  the  words 
that  were  rising  to  my  lips,  and  I  instinctively 
stood  still.  ■  Devereux  paused  also,  but  re- 
mained silent.  I  had  wiilulrawn  my  hand  from 
his  arm  ;  and  in  order  to  disguise  my  agitation 
I  began  to  tear  away  the  leaves  of  a  shrub  tie- 
side  me.  I  might  have  spared  mysell  the  sub- 
terfuge ;  for  when  I  at  length  turned  once  more 
toward  my  companion,  he  was  tracing  figures 
upon  the  gravel  with  his  cane,  as  if  uncon- 
sciously. I  felt  the  necessity  of  extrication 
from  this  self-sought  dilemma. 

"  After  your  last  assertion,"  I  said,  "  I  can 
no  longer  affect  Ignorance  of  your  estimate  of 
my  character.  All  lurther  discussion  is  n»^ed- 
less.     When  I  requested  your  society  1  did  not 


152 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


amicipate  insult;  and,  least  of  all,  that  insult 
ehould  reach  nie  through  you." 

"  Insult,  Lady  Dornlon  !  Insult  ! — Are  you 
making  a  jest  of  rny  struggle  to  act  worthily  T' 

"  Enougii,  Colonel  Devereux,  enough  !"  I  in- 
terposed with  vehemency,  "  there  was  no  pos- 
sibility of  mistaking  your  words.  And  you  are 
right,  sir,  perfectly  right.  I  have  within  the 
last  hour  heedlessly  given  you,  through  a  ro- 
mantic fancy  that  friendship  still  existed  in  the 
woi  d,  an  opportunity  of  misconstruction  from 
which  it  is  your  pleasure  not  to  suffer  me  to 
escape  unscathed.  My  idle  dream  is  now,  how- 
ever, over ;  and  henceforth  I  will  compel  you 
to  respect  me." 

As  I  ceased  speaking,  I  bent  my  head  haugh- 
tily, and  turned  toward  the  house. 

"  Lady  Dornlon — Eveleen  !  You  will  drive 
me  mad  !"  exclaimed  Devereux,  seizing  my 
shawl  to  detain  me  ;  "  do  you  not — can  you  not 
understand,  that  I  dare  not  accept  the  offer  of 
your  friendship — of  your  confidence — dear  and 
precious  as  it  would  be  to  me  1  Will  you  not 
believe  me  incapable  of  indulging  a  thought 
which  W'ould  give  you  pain  1  No — you  cannot ; 
you  do  not  seek  to  do  this,  because  you  can 
reason  calmly  upon  the  past,  and  look  steadily 
upon  the  present.  I  can  do  neither ;  and  of 
this  you  make  a  crime." 

My  heart  heat  quick  ;  my  brow  burned  ;  my 
shawl  was  still  in  his  grasp. 

"  You  are  enigmatical,  Colonel  Devereux," 
I  remarked  coldly,  making  a  second  attempt  to 
escape. 

"  Eveleen — merciless  Eveleen !  do  not  abuse 
your  power.  You  have  already  made  me  sutfi- 
ciently  wretched.     Spare  me  now." 

"  We  are  both  acting  childishly,"  I  said,  af- 
fecting not  to  remark  his  emotion  ;  "  and  have 
each  somtthing  to  forgive  in  this  interview." 

"  Much,  much,"  murmured  Devereux  in  a 
smothered  voice.  Then,  suddenly  turning  to- 
ward nie,  he  added,  "  Let  me  at  least  make  ex- 
piation for  my  errors.  Let  me  assure  you, 
Lady  Dornton,  solemnly  assure  you,  that  in  all 
the  words  uhich  I  have  uttered  tliis  day,  there 
iias  not  been  one  of  which  the  true  meaning 
was  calculated  to  offend  you  ;  and  then  let  me 
add  that  I  now  crave,  humbly  and  earnestly,  the 
proll'ered  friendship,  which  I  was  just  now  mad 
enougli  to  reject.  I  will  learn  of  yourself  to 
exercise  it  with  honor  and  usefulness.  Will 
you  not  give  me  your  hand  !" 

I  fell  that  I  should  have  refused  to  make  so 
sudden  a  concession,  but  I  could  not.  All  my 
anger,  all  iny  alarm,  gave  way  before  the  low 
and  earnest  tones  in  which  he  had  addressed 
me.  I  laid  my  hand  in  his:  he  carried  it  res- 
pectfully to  his  lips  ;  and  then  once  more  drew 
it  through  his  arm,  and  turned  to  pursue  the 
jiath  which  led  toward  the  lake.  It  was  a  mo- 
ment fraught  with  agnation  to  both  of  us.  To 
me  it  was  one  of  mingled  bitterness  and  tri- 
umph ;  I  felt  that  I  was  still  beloved  !  The  con- 
viction should  have  made  me  treilible,  but  I  was 
too  confident  in  myself  to  fear.  I  only  whis- 
pered mentally,  that  all  the  authority  of  my 
mother,  and  ail  the  machinations  of  my  hus- 
band, had  merely  sufficed  to  sever  our  hands — 
over  our  hearts  they  had  possessed  no  power! 
Mcai.u  hie.  ;is  wi'  slowly  walked  forward  in 
Bilt  iicf,  I   kit  ilie  arm  of  Devereux  press  my 


hand  more  closely  to  his  side.  He,  I  thought, 
is,  perhaps,  at  this  moment  exulting  over  the 
same  conviction  ;  and  I  longed  to  ask  him  if  it 
were  not  so ;  but  a  feeling  of  constraint  and 
irresolution  had  come  upon  me,  and  I  dared  not 
trust  myself  with  words,  although  the  silence 
had  coniiriued  so  long,  that  it  had  become  pain- 
ful and  embarrassing.  At  length,  perceiving 
that  my  companion  was  resolved  to  render  me 
no  assistance,  I  was  about  to  attempt  a  re- 
newal of  the  conversation,  when  the  sound  ol 
approaching  wheels  announced  the  return  of 
the  party,  and  we  at  once  hastened  toward  th»> 
house. 


CHAPTER  XLIIl.  , 

Lord   Otterforp,   shortly  after  his   return 
home,  opened  the  letter-bag,  and  among  others, 
handed  a  somewhat  voluminous  packet  to  my- 
self    My  surprise  was  great  to  find  the  super-     I 
scription  in  the  handwriting  of  Lady  O'Halloran,     | 
while  the  post-mark  which  it  bore  wa.s  that  of ' 
Edinburgh.     A  fortnight  had  scarcely  elapsed     ; 
since  my  visit  to  the  Hall,  upon  which  occasion 
she  had  made  no  mention  of  such  a  journey. 
Still   painfully  agitated  by  my  interview  with 
Devereux,  I  was  glad  to  retreat  to  a  distant  sofa     { 
with  my  letter,  marveling,  as  I  crossed  the  room,     ' 
wiiat   it  might  portend.     It  was   dated    from     ' 
GlenfiUan.     My   sister   was  a  confirmed    and 
hopeless  invalid  ;  and  by  one  of  those  caprices 
so  usual  with  the  sick,  she  had  written  to  en- 
treat the  presence  of  Lady  O'Halloran  in  Scot- 
land.    The  warm-hearted  dowager  had  at  once 
complied  with  her  request ;  and  had  obeyed  hei 
wishes  to  the  letter,  by  leaving  the  neighborhood 
without   informing   any  of  the  family  of  her 
movements  ;  but,  on  her  arrival  at  Glenfillan, 
had  found  Adela  so  greatly  changed,  that  she 
considered  it  her  duty  to  apprise  me  of  the  fact ; 
and  also  to  insist  that  Lady  Flora  should  write 
to  my  mother  to  the  Same  effect. 

"  My  poor  sister  is  dangerously  ill  I"'  I  ex- 
claimed, when  I  had  reached  the  close  of  the 
letter,  and  approached  Lady  Madelaine.  "  Have 
you  also  heard  from  Glenfillan,  madam]" 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  letter  from  Lady  Flora ;  she 
appears  to  be  uneasy  about  Adela ;  but  old 
maids  always  exaggerate  evils,  and  consequent- 
ly-" 

"I  assure  you,"  I  interposed  eagerlj.  'that 
there  is  scarcely  room  for  exaggeration  La'*'' 
O'Halloran,  who  is  at  present  with  her,  a*s>  ;e9 
me  that  she  has  wasted  to  a  shadow  ;  that  her 
physician  is  almost  fearful  of  adminisiering 
remedies  lest  they  should  consume  her  slight 
remains  of  strength,  and  that  she  pertina- 
ciously rejects  all  his  advice." 

"  Ha  !  indeed — that  intelligence  is  more  seri- 
ous," replied  my  mother,  looking  more  annoyed 
than  anxious.  "Lady  O'Halloran's  judgment 
is  not,  however,  infallible.  What  on  earth  could 
have  taken  that  extraordinary  person  to  Gleiv 
fillan  !  Some  people  are  inexplicable.  Adela 
is  always  complaining,  and  creating  a  sensa- 
tion in  the  family.  Girls  of  her  age  are  forever 
fancying  themselves  dying,  when  they  are  only 
fostering  their  own  absurd  whims.  However, 
Lady  Flora  will,  of  course,  wriie  agriin  imme- 
diatelv,   and    if  she   does   not   aniiuuiicc  anv   j 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


153 


amendment  in  your  sister's  health,  I  must  con- 
sider wliat  to  do." 

Tiie  idea  of  sickness  and  death  was  so  re- 
pugnant to  me,  that  I  am  afraid,  uniler  other 
circumstances,  I  should  have  endeavored  to 
share  my  mother's  comfortable  self-consolation ; 
but  the  intelligence  had  come  upon  ine  in  a 
moment  of  agitation  and  anxiety,  and  I  felt 
relieved  by  the  tears  which  it  enabled  me  to 
shed.  Bad  news  are  almost  welcome  in  such 
a  case,  for  they  form  a  pretext  for  the  emotion 
which  must  otherwise  provoke  both  curiosity 
and  comment  ;  and  we  consequently  feel  no  in- 
clination to  rob  them  of  their  just  tribute.  I 
wept  bitterly,  and  for  a  time  I  cheated  myself 
into  the  belief  that  all  my  tears  were  shed  for 
my  sister.  I  was  no  sooner  alone,  however, 
than  I  discovered  the  fallacy  of  such  a  credence, 
for  my  thoughts  at  once  reverted  to  Deverenx. 

Our  recent  interview  had  again  plunged  me 
into  a  state  of  uncertainty.  He  had  said  too 
much,  or  not  enough.  In  reviewing  my  own 
conduct  I  was  not  altogether  satisfied,  while  his 
appeared  to  be  capricious  and  enigmatical.  I 
dared  not  examine  too  closely  the  meaning  of 
ail  his  words,  and  I  resolutely  dwelt  only  upon 
such  as  might  imply  either  atTection,  anger,  or 
jealousy,  as  they  were  differently  interpreted  by 
his  listener.  I  forgot  to  ask  myself  what  war- 
rant he  had  for  either  toward  Sir  James  Dorn- 
ton"s  wife. 

A  few  days  brought  us,  as  Lady  Madelaine 
had  anticipated,  fresh  letters  from  GlenfiUan. 

"  You  will  soon  be  sisterless,"  wrote  my  own 
correspondent ;  "  each  day  the  disease,  be  it 
what  it  may,  becomes  more  hopeless.  Adela 
no  longer  looks  like  a  creature  of  this  world. 
Every  tinge  of  blood  has  forsaken  her  cheeks 
and  lips.  She  moves  with  difficulty,  and  can- 
not walk  across  the  room  without  support.  It 
is  a  sore  trial  to  look  upon  her  now,  and  to 
think  what  she  might  have  been  ;  but.  for  your 
worthy  father's  sake,  to  whom  she  will  so  soon 
be  united,  I  will  not  leave-her  till  all  is  over.  As 
for  herself,  she  is  perfectly  calm,  and  declares 
that  she  desires  nothing  so  much  as  the  mo- 
ment which  is  to  free  her  Irom  a  world  of  which 
she  is  weary,  only  on  report." 

Here,  then,  was  frightful  confirmation  of  our 
fears  ;  and,  despite  the  considerate  declaration 
of  Lady  O'Halloran,  that  Adela  looked  forward 
to  her  death  almost  with  impatience,  I  could 
not  overcome  the  horror  of  the  anticipation.  I 
glanced  around  me  upon  the  luxury  to  which  I 
was  so  habituated  that  I  should  have  heeded  it 
only  by  its  absence,  and  then  on  the  gushing 
sunshine  which  folded  all  nature  in  a  robe  of 
glory,  and  lastly  on  the  reflection  of  my  own 
face,  radiant  in  youth,  and  health,  and  beauty, 
and  upon  which  the  tears  that  were  now  trick- 
ling down  left  no  more  trace  than  does  a  sum- 
mer shower  upon  the  bh)ssoms  and  the  leaves. 

"No,  no,"  I  murmured  to  myself;  "she  may 
hear  her  yoke  bravely,  but  she  cannot  wish 
i:  leave  all  these.  Poor  Adela!  so  young — 
scarcely  nineteen— how  terrible  to  be  struck 
down,  just  as  she  might  have  learned  to  cherish 
life.     Surely,  surely,  there  must  yet  be  hope  !" 

In  her  letter  to  my  mother.  Lady  Flora  men- 
tioned that  their  guest  had  suggested  to  the  in- 
vahd  tlie  expediency  of  requesting  her  presence 
aad  my  own  at  GleQfillan>  ^lut  the  .i-esolute  man- 
U 


ner  in  which  she  had  replied  "Not  yet,"  had 
convinced  them  that  we  should  do  well  toi'iefer 
our  journey  for  a  time.  As  this  arrangement 
accorded  with  Lady  iVIadelaine's  wishes,  she 
did  not  hesitate  to  express  her  acquiescence  in 
their  request,  and  all  my  own  expostulations 
were  useless. 

The  season  had  commenced";  and  witiin  a 
week  after  the  receipt  of  this  melancholy  intel- 
ligence, our  party  had  dispersed  only  to  meet 
again  in  town.  One  of  my  earliest  guests  was 
Deverenx ;  but  I  was  surrounded  by  morning 
visitors  wiien  he  entered  the  room,  and  he  did 
not  await  their  departure.  As  he  moved  in 
precisely  my  own  set,  I,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
met  him  everywhere;  and  although  no  oppor- 
tunity of  recurrence  to  our  last  conversation  at 
Kooksiey  off'ered  itself,  and  that  he  was  still 
guarded  in  his  manner,  and  seldom  ventured  to 
show  me  even  those  slight  attentions  which, 
when  there  exists  no  secret  consciousness  be- 
tween the  parties  to  lend  them  a  language,  sig- 
nify little  or  nothing,  still  I  felt  that  there  was 
no  longer  so  wide  a  gulf  between  us.  My  own 
house  was  the  one  in  which  he  was  the  least 
frequently  to  be  found  ;  and  he  was  always 
careful  to  come  at  those  hours  when,  if  I 
chanced  to  be  at  home,  he  was  aware  that  I 
must  be  surrounded  by  guests.  Into  my  opera- 
box  he  never  ventured,  unless  he  saw  that  I 
was  attended  by  Sir  James ;  and  this  soon  be- 
came so  unusual  a  circumstance  that  I  doubt  if 
it  were  remarked  when  he  dropped  the  habit 
altogether. 

Ttie  prestige  of  the  honeymoon  was  over. 
The  Bride  had  become  a  Wife.  Sir  James  was 
a  member  of  three  clubs,  where  he  could  lounge 
all  the  morning  and  play  all  the  evening  ;  and 
it  was  pleasant  to  be  assured  that  he  had  gain- 
ed the  plaudits  of  all  his  club-fellows  by  return- 
ing to  them  unspoiled  by  his  marriage.  It  is 
always  fleering  to  a  wife  to  learn  that  she  has 
worked  no  reform  whatever  in  the  habits  of  a 
dissipated  husband  ! 

Ere  long,  I  saw  little  or  nothing  of  Dornton. 
In  the  country  he  had  merely  fallen  off'  in  gal- 
lantry ;  in  town  he  emancipated  himself  bodily 
from  the  thraldom  of  a  married  home.  He 
liked  to  know  that  his  house  was  frequented  by 
all  that  was  most  desirable  in  London  society, 
and  that  it  was  esteemed  a  favor  to  be  receiTcd 
there  as  an  habitue;  but  he  preferred  to  ascer- 
tain even  this  fact  as  news  to  convincing  him- 
self of  it  personally. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  my  smothered 
affection  for  Deverenx  proved  a  safeguard  to 
me  at  that  period,  and  prevented  the  commis- 
sion of  more  than  one  imprudence,  into  which 
my  idle  vanity  would  otherwise  have  hurried 
me.  The  language  of  adulation  which  met  me 
on  all  sides,  and  at  all  limes — the  impotent 
malice  of  half  a  dozen  fashionable  beauties, 
whom  I  had,  without  one  effort,  bereft  of  their 
admirers' — the  giddy  race  of  pleasurT^  and  fri- 
volity which  I  was  running — all  conspired  to 
intoxicate  my  fancy  and  to  delude  my  heart. 
Constant  letters  from  the  north  had  satisfied  us 
that,  aithouglf  Adela  was  slowly  and  surely 
sinking,  there  was  no  immediate  tlans^er  of  her 
dissolution  ;  and,  as  she  otiU  resolutely  refused 
to  see  either  Lady  Madelaine  or  myself,  I  was 
only  loo  happy  to  be  enabled  to  turn  away  from 


154 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


80  melanclioly  a  iheine  of  thought,  and  to  sun 
myself  in  brigliter  scenes. 

My  mother  triumphed  ;  five  weeks  had  gone 
by  since  we  left  Rooksley,  and  Lady  O'Halioran 
admitted,  that  although  the  decay  of  my  sis- 
ter's strength  was  certain,  she  had  ceased  to 
anticipate  so  early  a  result  as  she  had  at  first 
looked  for,  while  Lady  Flora  even  talked  at 
random  of  her  youth  being  enabled  ultimately 
to  triumph  over  the  languor  under  which  she 
was  suffering  ;  in  short,  my  mother  began  to 
CT)mplain,  as  new  letters  arrived,  of  the  annoy- 
ance of  these  constant  communications  on  a 
subject  so  unimportant  as  a  fitof  giilish  vapors  ; 
they  destroyed  her  comfort  and  distracted  her 
ideas.  Her  cause  for  complaint  did  not,  how- 
ever, endure  much  longer — she  was  not  fated 
to  have  her  nerves  worn  bare  by  the  unneces- 
f  ary  croaking  of  two  querulous  old  women,  for 
thus  did  she  always  describe  the  evil  under 
vhich  she  declared  herself  to  be  martyred. 
The  suspense  was  not  destined  to  be  inleimin- 
able,  nor  the  martyrdom  a  lingering  one. 

While  the  season  was  at  its  height,  their  ma- 
jesties signified  their  intention  to  visit  Drury 
Lane  Tiieatre  in  slate,  and  I,  in  consequence, 
assembled  a  party  on  the  day  fixed,  the  whole 
of  whom  were  to  proceed  with  me  to  witness  I 
Uie  performance.  As  Sir  James  declined  to  | 
participate  in  the  project,  my  mother  and  Lord 
Otterford  were  among  the  guests,  and  our  dm- 
iier  was  unusually  gay.  Lady  Madelaine,  in 
high  beauty,  and  conscious  of  the  fact,  even  ex- 
erted herself  to  fascinate  and  amuse  ;  and,  amid 
laughter,  flattery,  and  coquetry,  we  were  just 
about  to  throw  on  our  cloaks  and  descend  to 
the  carriages,  wiien  a  servant  advanced  toward 
me  with  a  letter.  I  was  about  to  wave  him 
back,  when  I  perceived  upon  the  superscription 
the  word  "  Immediate,"  and  I  saw  at  a  glance 
that  Lady  O'Halioran  was  my  correspondent. 
I  seized  the  l(4te'r,  and  hurriedly  toft  it  open  : 
"  Eveleen,"  thus  it  ran,  "if  you.  indeed,  wish 
once  more  to  see  your  sister  in  this  world,  lose 
not  a  moment.  She  now  entreats  your  pres- 
«ince  and  that  of  her  mother.  Do  not  delay  an 
liour,  or  you  may  arrive  too  late." 

In  my  agitation  and  horror  I  read  these  few 
fatal  lines  aloud,  and  then  I  turned  to  ascertain 
their  effect  upon  Lady  .Madelaine.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  stood  speechless  and  aghast,  the  jew- 
els sparkling  upon  her  pallid  brow  and  the  velvet 
shivering  above  her  trembling  limbs  ;  then,  sud- 
denly throwing  herself  upon  a  sola,  she  buried 
ber  face  in  her  spread  hands,  and  continued 
silent. 

This  silence  alarmed  me.  Even  overcome 
as  I  was  by  the  sudden  shock,  I  had  been  for 
so  many  years  prepared  for  the  most  extraor- 
dinary proceedings  on  the  part  of  my  mother, 
where  her  own  convenience  and  comfort  were 
involved,  that  I  augured  ill  of  the  pause  which 
had  followed  so  immediately  upon  the  reading 
of  this  letter;  and,  fearful  that  she  would  dis- 
obey the  summons  (strong  in  her  horror  of 
death,  and  her  aversion  to  my  dying  sister),  I 
hastened  to  forestall  her  purpose,  shoulil  she 
have  contemplated  such  a  refuel.  I  scarcely 
knew  myself;  I  did  not  shed  a  tear;  but  calm- 
ly and  earnestly  I  issued  al!  the  necessary  or- 
ders for  our  immediate  departure  ;  and  I  was 
about  to  dispat'jU  messengers  to  the  different 


clubs  in  search  of  Sir  James,  in  ordet  that  he 
might  accompany  us  on  our  journey,  when  Lord 
Guerford  interposed  : — 

"It  is  useless,  my  dear  Lady  Dornton,"  he 
said,  in  an  accenlof  perfect  conviction;  "send  to 
inform  Sir  James,  if  you  will,  of  your  proposed  de- 
parture ;  but  make  no  arrangement  for  his  own. 
He  will  not  leave  town  upon  such  an  errand." 

I  was  too  much  agitated  at  the  moment  to 
remaik  ihe'singulariiy  of  this  assertion.  I  only 
felt  the  awkwardness  of  ihe  fact. 

"  Are  we,  then,  to  travel  to  the  north  alone  ?" 
I  asked,  in  some  alarm. 

"  I  will  be  your  escort ;  but  we  must  rouse 
your  mother,  in  order  that  she  may  hasten 
home,  and  put  on  her  traveling  dress.  We 
will  be  ready  for  you  when  you  drive  to  the 
door." 

During  this  short  scene,  which  passed  even 
more  rapidly  than  it  can  be  described,  my  guests 
had  begun  silently  to  depart,  while  Lady  Made- 
lame  siill  sat  supine  upon  the  sofa.  Her  face 
was  so  completely  concealed  that  it  was  ino- 
possible  to  decide  under  what  nature  or  degree 
of  emotion  she  was  laboring.  While  Lord  Ot- 
terford advanced  toward  her,  I  met  the  eyes 
of  Devereux,  who  had  been  one  of  the  last  to 
I  retire.  They  were  full  of  acute  grief  Involun- 
tarily I  extended  my  hand  toward  him,  and  he 
held  it  for  a  moment  as  he  murmured,  "Poor 
Eveleen,  could  not  this,  at  least,  have  been 
spared  to  you  ?" 

These  few  words  unlocked  the  channel  ol 
my  tears.  As  he  left  the  room  I  looked  after 
him  in  anguish.  Would  he  have  a!)andoned  me 
at  such  a  moment  '  Surely,  surely,  if  I  had 
wronged  him,  he  was  now  revenged. 

When  my  mother  rose,  and,  leaning  heavily 
upon  the  arm  of  Lord  Otterford,  prepared  tc 
leave  the  room,  she  was  as  pale  as  marble,  ant. 
trembled  painfully  ;  but  there  was  a  strange  ex- 
pression in  her  eye  which  made  me  shrink.  It 
was  evident  that  she  had  not  shed  a  tear.  She 
was  about  to  pass  me  in  silence,  when  I  ven- 
tured to  request  that  she  would  endeavor  to 
rally  her  energies  for  our  long  and  rapid  jour- 
ney, and  to  assure  her  that  I  v.ould  be  in  Uros- 
veiior  Square  within  the  hour. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,''  she  replied,  in  a  harsh 
voice,  totally  unlike  her  usually  musical  accents 
"  You  are  evidently  too  eager  f(jr  this  ill-iiined 
undertaking  to  throw  any  impediment  in  the 
way  of  its  commencement ;  but  you  have  been 
somewhat  hasty  in  compromising  me  in  so 
marked  a  manner,  without  waiting  to  ascer- 
tain, in  the  first  place,  my  own  pleasure  upon 
the  subject." 

"  1  thought,  madam,  that  you  would  not  re 
fuse  the  dying  summons  of  my  sister." 

"  Perhajjs  so  ;  but  you  should  first  have  sat» 
isfied  yourself  of  this  fact,  or  have  permitted 
me  to  issue  my  own  orders.  I  do  not  believe 
that  Adela  has  expressed  a  wish  to  see  me.  I 
am  satisfied  of  the  contrary.  Old  women  are 
!ond  of  scenes  ;  it  is  their  revenge  upon  the 
habitual  monotony  of  tlieir  dreary  existence. 
It  is  those  about  her  who  have  committed  this 
aut  of  folly.  However,  thanks  to  your  want  ol 
caution,  i  am  now  the  slave  of  circumstances 
and  must  submit.  Be  at  my  door  when  yoo 
will.  Lady  Dornton  ;  you  shall  experience  no  [ 
delay  through  me." 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


15S 


Ailti  tliis  unsatisfactory  dialogue,  she  swept 
from  Uie  room,  autl  I  heard  her  drive  off  as  I 
reaclieii  my  own  apartment.  Tlie  more  I  pon- 
dered on  her  extraordinary  cotuhjct  at  such  a 
crisis,  the  more  inexpUcable  it  appeared.  I 
ev^n  doubled  at  times  if  she  couhl,  indeed,  be 
the  mother  of  Adela.  I  had,  however,  little 
.eisure  tor  mental  speculation  ;  the  grumbling 
Josephine  augmented  most  carefully  all  the  lit- 
tle ditiiculties  of  a  prompt  departure,  and  cre- 
ated a  thousand  unnecessary  delays  ;  but,  de- 
spite all  these,  and  the  fact  that  the  horses  had 
been  at  ihe  door  above  an  hour  before  I  could 
effect  my  departure,  I  saw  nothing  of  Sir  James. 
He  had,  probably,  been  engaged  in  a  rubber  of 
whist,  or  involved  in  a  heavy  stake  at  rouge  ct 
noir. 

As  I  at  last  stepped  into  the  carriage,  I 
thought  of  Devereux,  and  sighed. 


CHAPTER  XLTV 

In  the  midst  of  a  vast  and  lofty  chamber, 
hung  with  faded  tapestry,  and  heavy  wiih  its 
ponderous  cornices,  its  carved  doors,  and  its 
gigantic  mantel  of  dark  oak,  stood  an  antique 
bedstead  of  the  same  material,  curtained  with 
the  voluminous  folds  of  a  crimson  satin  damask 
which  had  once  been  regal  in  its  richness,  but 
upon  which  the  hand  of  time  had  long  impress- 
ed its  touch.  These  gloomy  curtains  were 
drawn  aside  to  admit  a  flood  of  sunshine,  which, 
after  bathing  a  range  of  heathery  hills  in  the 
distance,  and  making  the  surface  of  a  far-off 
loch  shimmer  like  a  myriad  of  golden  stars, 
came,  glorious  in  the  fulness  of  its  power,  to 
peer  into  that  ancient  room,  and  to  invest  it  for 
one  brief  hour  with  all  the  bnglitness  of  which 
it  had  been  bereft  by  the  withering  waste  of  a 
century. 

That  sun-flood  fell  upon  antique  porcelain 
and  grotesque  ornaments  of  another  age,  and 
without  even  a  name  in  ours  ;  while,  strangely 
blent  with  these,  it  threw  out  into  broad  relief 
a  few  plain,  modern  articles  of  usefulness,  evi- 
dently selected  without  any  regard  either  to 
their  beauty  or  their  luxury.  A  reading-chair, 
a  desk,  a  book-case,  whose  pigmy  proportions 
were  aliaost  ludicrous  in  that  spacious  room, 
a  few  fine  engravings  in  frames  of  ebony,  but 
all  expressive  of  some  subject  of  suffering  or 
terror,  were  among  these.  But  not  a  flower, 
not  an  instrument  of  music,  not  a  vestige  of 
female  occupancy  could  be  discovered  there  ; 
and  yet,  upon  the  damask-curtained  bed,  and 
fully  exposed  to  all  the  fervor  of  the  bright  May 
sun.  lay  a  pale  girl,  just  at  that  lovely  age  when 
hope  and  joy  should  be  the  sister-twins  of  life. 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  it  was  easy  to  see 
that  they  were  not  closed  in  sleep  ;  her  long 
hair  was  swept  back  from  her  brow,  and  was 
scattered  like  threads  of  gold  over  the  pillow  ; 
her  hands  were  lightly  clenched  above  her 
head,  and  the  long  livid  fingers  looked  as  though 
they  no  longer  retained  strength  to  free  them- 
selves from  their  self-sought  grasp.  Her  breath- 
ing was  convulsive,  and  her  hot  breath  had 
parched  the  thin  blue  lips  through  which  it 
foiced  its  passage  ;  at  times  her  features  were 
distorted  by  a  spasm  of  pain,  and  her  eyes  open- 
ed instinctively,  but   the   transparent  lids  fell 


once  more  over  them  as  the  convulsion  weak 
ened. 

Beside  the  bed  knelt  two  aged  women,  one 
of  whom  was  frantic  in  her  grief;  and  who, 
had  she  not  been  restrained  by  her  companion 
would  have  disturbed,  by  her  clamorous  wail- 
ings,  the  silence  of  the  death-room  ;  the  other, 
tearless,  but  bowed  by  soriow,  [)assed  from  time 
to  time,  with  a  gentle  hand,  a  handkerchiet 
across  the  brow  of  the  dying  girl,  upon  which 
dank  drops  of  moisture  gathered  after  every 
struggle. 

"Adela,  my  love,"  whispered  this  tender- 
nurse,  as  she  leant  softly  toward  her,  just  as 
she  had  performed  this  careful  office ;  "  have 
you  strength  to  bear  the  exertion  1  Your  wish 
is  granted  ;  Lady  Madelaine  and  your  sister  are 
here." 

The  effect  of  this  announcement  was  elec- 
trical. My  sister — for  it  was  indeed  she — sud- 
denly opened  her  eyes,  which  were  dilated,  and 
full  of  a  strange  brightness  that  was  almost 
scorching.  She  unclasped  her  fleshless  fingers, 
pressed  her  hands  convulsively  upon  her  bosom, 
and  for  a  moment  appeared  to  be  struggling 
with  an  emotion  which  almost  overcame  her 
waning  strength.  But  as  Lady  Madelaine  ap- 
proached the  bed,  and  would  have  taken  her 
hand,  she  waved  her  off  imperiously  ;  and,  in  a 
deep,  harsh,  laboring  voice,  she  said  bitterly: 

"Not  now,  madam,  not  here;  this  is  my 
death-bed  that  you  have  come  to  look  upon; 
and  all  acting  is  over — approach,  nevertheless  : 
come  and  contemplate  your  work — come  and 
gaze  upon  your  victim.  It  was  for  this  I  bade 
you  here — it  was  for  this  that,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  I  have  wished  and  watched  for  you." 

"Adela,  my  dear  Adela — "  expostulated  the 
shuddering  Lady  O'Halloran. 

"  Let  me  speak,"  persisted  the  dying  girl. 
"  Even  you,  my  more  than  mother — if,  indeed, 
the  name  of  mother  can  imply  tenderness,  and 
patience,  and  affection,  and  self-abnegation — as 
I  have  read  in  books  that  it  should  do — even 
you  I  can  no  longer  obey.  Bear  with  me  only 
for  a  few  hours  more,  and  I  shall  have  done 
with  this  world." 

From  the  moment  of  my  entrance  into  the 
death-room  I  had  remained  concealed  from  my 
sister  by  the  curtains  of  her  bed.  I  felt  riveted 
to  the  earth,  and  had  not  courage  to  advance  a 
step.  I  might,  perhaps,  after  a  time,  have 
overcome  this  emotion  ;  but  the  words  to  which 
I  listened,  and  the  unearthly  tones  in  which 
they  were  uttered,  rendered  me  powerless. 

"  You  have  been  at  least  consistent,  madam,' 
resumed  Adela,  so  soon  as  she  had  recovered 
from  a  violent  spasm  which  appeared  to  rend 
her  chest ;  "  you  have  been  no  fickle  spirit,  no 
weak  hater  !  I  will  say  nothing  of  my  childhood 
— but  when  that  was  past,  did  you  not  wring 
my  heart  as  never  heart  was  wrung  1 — did  you 
not  thrust  happiness  upon  me,  and,  when  I 
almost  clutched  it  wrench  it  away  with  a 
withering  smile,  and  bid  me  bear  the  trial  as  I 
might  1  you  left  me  no  alternative  sav(!  an  early 
death,  or  a  life  of  bitterness  and  humiliation.  I 
have  made  my  choice — it  is  that  which  will  the 
best  suit  yr)ur  views  and  wishes — I  am  about  to 
die :  but,  madam,  I  die  fearlessly,  because  I 
know  that  there  is  another  world  for  you  aa 
well  as  for  myself." 


156 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


As  the  panting  girl  paused  to  take  breath, 
Lady  Madelaiiie  sank  into  a  chair  beside  her 
with  a  deep  groan 

"A  world  of  justice,"  pursued  the  failing 
voice,  "  where  the  Lazarus  of  the  earth  w  ill 
have  «he  sores  of  his  spirit  healed — where  the 
great  ones  of  this  life  will  find  their  purple  and 
fine  linen  rent  away,  and  their  hearts,  with  all 
tlieir  miserable,  petty  passions,  laid  bare— that 
world  awaits  even  you.  madam, — you,  the  un- 
loving wife,  and  the  unnatural  mother  ;  you, 
and  the  tool  of  your  selfishness  ;  the  weak  and 
unstable  being  who  has  helped  you  on  in  your 
unholy  work.  May  his  falsehood  be  visited 
upon  himself;  and  may  she  to  whom — " 

Thoroughly  exhausted  by  the  efforts  which 
she  had  made,  the  power  of  the  dying  girl 
abandoned  licr  at  once,  before  she  could  render 
the  remainder  of  her  sentence  audible  ;  the  few 
additional  words  which  fell  from  her  lips  were 
disjointed  and  meaningless  ;  and,  as  she  sank 
back  heavily  upon  the  pillow,  a  frightful  spasm 
convulsed  her  features  and  distorted  her  limbs 
for  a  few  seconds,  during  which  I  firmly  imagin- 
ed that  she  had  ceased  to  exist ;  hut  it  was  not 
so.  When  the  terrible  paroxysm  had  passed 
over,  she  once  more  opened  her  eyes ;  and  as 
they  rested  on  the  form  of  Lady  Madelaine,  who 
still  retained  her  altitude  of  horror-stricken  im- 
mobility, an  expression  of  intense  hatred  pass- 
ed over  her  features. 

"  Let  her  leave  me,"  she  gasped  out,  ad- 
dressing Lady  O'Halloran  ;  "  let  her  leave  me 
— I  would,  at  least,  die  in  peace." 

The  kind-hearted  dowager  approached  my 
mother  with  an  extended  hand  :  •'  Let  us  retire, 
madam,"  she  whispered  ;  "your  child  has  need 
of  rest." 

Passively  and  mutely  Lady  Madelaine  obey- 
ed. She  took  the  profferea  hand  as  if  to  secure 
its  sup|)ort  ;  and,  without  once  looking  toward 
Ihe  death-bed,  sJic  left  the  room,  in  which 
nothing  was  audible  save  the  low  and  labored 
breathing  of  her  last-born  child.  I  followed 
with  a  tottering  and  uncertain  step. 

The  near  neighborhood  of  a  dying  bed  would 
at  any  time  have  shaken  my  nerves — while  this 
was  not  only  that  of  my  sister,  but  what  a 
death-bed  !  The  peace  of  spirit,  the  tears  of 
tenderness,  the  words  of  consolation — all  had 
been  absent.  The  spirit  hovering  between 
earth  and  heaven,  and  which  must,  ere  long, 
appear  before  the  tribunal  whose  dread  fiat  in- 
volves an  eternity,  had  elevated  itself  into  a 
judgi; ;  and  I  had  seen  the  haughty  nature  of 
my  mother  quail  and  shrink  before  it.  The 
words  of  Adela,  which  were  vividly  impressed 
upon  my  memory,  filled  me  with  a  vague  and 
undefined  terror.  My  blood,  frozen  by  the  spec- 
tacle of  decay  and  ruin  which  my  first  gaze  into 
the  death-room  had  revealed  to  me,  and  chilled 
more  and  more  by  the  fearful  tones  of  the  inva- 
lid, suddenly,  as  I  escaped  from  her  presence, 
rushed  to  my  heart,  and  circulated  so  rapidly 
that  it  appeared  to  suffocate  me.  That  voice 
of  bitter  despair — of  unyielding  vengeance — 
was  still  in  my  ears ;  that  pale  and  unearthly 
fhce  was  still  before  my  eyes.  When  I  threw 
myself  upon  a  seat  in  the  room  which  had  been 
hastily  prepared  for  me.  I  felt  as  Ihongh  the 
awful  memories  of  the  last  hour  would  embitter 
all  my  future  life.     My  horror  was  not  lessen- 


ed by  the  fact  that  I  could  not  comprehend  upon 
what  the  reproaches  which  my  sister  had  ad- 
dressed to  Lady  Madelaine  were  based  ;  while 
my  astonishment  at  the  patience  with  which 
they  were  su|)ported  by  her  imperious  nature, 
was  beyond  my  power  to  explain.  I  could  only 
attribute  it  to  the  agitated  powerlessness  ol  sur- 
prise, or  to  that  solemn  respect  which  is  always 
conceded  to  the  dying. 

So  soon  as  I  was  able  in  some  degree  to  con- 
trol my  feelings,  I  desired  to  be  conducted  to 
the  apartment  of  Lady  Madelaine.  I  found  her 
seated,  pale  and  tearless,  in  the  attitude  of  a 
person  more  indignant  than  depressed  At  the 
sound  of  my  approach  she  turned  toward  me, 
and  a  deep  flush  spread  over  her  brow,  whilo 
her  eyes  flashed  with  animation.  She  looked 
at  me  steadily  for  a  moment,  and  then  averted 
her  head,  and  appeared  to  hesitate,  as  though 
she  had  not  altogether  decided  upon  the  line  of 
conduct  which  she  should  pursue. 

"  This  has  been  a  bitter  trial  to  you,"  I  said, 
as  I  placed  myself  beside  her,  and  would  have 
taken  her  hand,  which  was  haughtily  with- 
drawn ;  "  I  fear  there  is  no  longer  any  hope." 

"Hope!  of  what  T' she  asked  bitterly;  "do 
you  mean  a  hope  of  the  recovery  of  Miss  Til- 
den  1  You  are  well  advised  to  wish  it.  But  I 
have  no  inclination  to  waste  time  upon  your 
weak  romance.  Are  you  satisfied  now  that  you 
have  exposed  me  to  the  frightful  scene  through 
which  I  have  just  passed  1 — that  you  have  sub- 
jected me  to  insult  before  a  groveling  relative, 
a  distasteful  acquaintance,  and  my  own  child  1 
A  secret  instinct  forewarned  me — I  would  have 
obeyed  it.  It  was  not  your  pleasure  that  I 
should  be  spared.  You  placed  me  under  the 
necessity  of  condescending  to  this  annoyance, 
or  of  becoming  the  mark  for  a  thousand  en- 
venomed surmises.  It  i-s  you  whom  I  have  to 
thank  for  all — you,  and  your  odious  precipita- 
tion. So  long  as  I  have  life  I  will  never  forgive 
you  this  !" 

I  was  so  accustomed  to  the  violence  of  my 
mother,  that  this  strangely-timed  outburst 
would  scarcely  have  surprised  me,  had  it  taken 
another  tone  ;  but  I  was  altogether  unprepared 
to  be  made  its  object.  Already  weakened,  both 
in  mind  and  body,  by  the  different  emotions 
which  had  agitated  me  so  painfully,  ^1  my  re- 
maining strength  gave  way  before  this  tide  ol 
accusation  ;  and  I  sank  to  my  knees,  crushed 
and  quailing,  as  though  I  had  indeed  been  guilty 
of  some  crime  for  which  I  needed  the  pardon  ol 
a  parent.  I  sobbed  out  I  know  not  what.  I 
talked  of  the  tie  between  us,  of  my  dying  sister, 
of  my  own  bruised  and  blighted  heart ;  1  sought 
to  appease  my  mother  by  promises,  by  caress- 
es, and  by  submission  ;  but  I  humbled  myself 
in  vain  :  for  some  time  she  maintained  a  reso- 
lute silence,  while  her  heaving  bosom,  her  > 
burning  cheek,  and  her  flashing  eye  gave  evi- , 
dence  of  the  tempest  that  was  raging  within' 
her.  At  length  she  rose,  and  flinging  from  her' 
the  hand  in  which  I  had  clasped  her  own,  she 
said,  haughtily,  "Be  silent  and  leave  me  — I 
wish  to  be  alone." 

There  vvas  no  disputing  a  command  uttered 
in  such  a  tone ;  and,  wondering  as  I  did  so  at, 
the  violence  of  the  impulse  which  could  have 
compelled  me  to  such  an  act  of  self-abasement, 
I  rose  from  my  knees,  and  quitted  the  room  ill' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOxMAN. 


li>7 


silence.  I  heard  Lady  Madelaine  ring  her  bell 
before  I  had  crossed  the  antechamber ;  and  as 
her  woman  obeyed  tlie  summons,  she  desired 
that  Lord  Otleriord  shouhi  be  requested  to  join 
ber  in  lier  apartment.  It  was  not,  tlierelore, 
silence  which  slie  coveted. 

It  was  some  time  belore  I  could  recover  my- 
Belf  suificienlly  for  thought;  but,  when  the 
power  of  reflection  did  at  last  return,  I  felt  as 
though  I  were  under  some  strange  and  unholy 
spoil.  All  that  had  taken  place  within  the 
las-t  few  hours  was  so  extraordinary  that  I 
los-t  myself  in  the  wildest  and  most  irrational 
conjectures.  Why  did  Adela  accuse  Lady 
Madelaine  of  her  death,  wiien  the  exile  to 
which  she  had  submitted  herself  was  volunta- 
ry ?  What  meant  this  death,  which  she  assert- 
ed to  lie  her  own  choice  I  This  happiness  of 
which  she  declared  herself  to  have  been  treach- 
erously deprived!  This  perfidious  and  weak 
being  l)y  whom  she  liad  been  abandoned  1 
Who,  finally,  was  that  third  person  whom  want 
of  strength  alone  had  prevented  her  from  in- 
cluding in  her  anathema!  Why  had  Lady 
Madelaine,  even  while  she  was  loaded  with  re- 
proaches, borne  all  in  silence!  Had  terror 
and  compunction  stifled  the  voice  of  resent- 
ment!  Was  it  natural  that  a  child  could  have 
acquired  so  much  power  over  her  impetuous 
nature  if  her  conscience  did  not  whisper  to  her 
the  justification  of  those  rei)roaches  1 

These  were  the  questions  which  rose  rapidly 
to  my  mind;  but  which  remained  successively 
unanswered.  I  was  in  the  inidst  of  doubt ; 
fearing  alike  to  misunderstand  what  I  saw,  or 
to  understand  too  much,  when  a  slight  sound 
caused  me  to  start  and  look  up.  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran  stood  before  me  ;  and  I  was  about  to  fling 
myself  upon  her  bosom,  when  1  was  struck  by 
the  extraordinary  expression  of  her  face. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  me  instantly.  "All 
is  tl>en  over !"  I  murmured,  while  a  cold  shud- 
der ran  through  my  veins. 

"  Yes  !  all  is  over.  Her  sufferings  are  at  an 
end." 

"Alas  !"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  sank  back  power- 
less upon  my  seat ;  "  dare  we  indeed  hope  so'! 
I  am  still  quailing  under  the  impression  of  her 
last  mysterious  words.  Did  you,  dearest  Lady 
O'Halloran,  did  you— see  her  die!" 

"I  did  not.  A  heavy  faintness  came  over 
mc  after  I  had  led  your  mother  from  the  room, 
and  I  was  consequently  absent,  for  she  did  not 
long  survive  the  awful  spirit-struggle  in  which 
she  had  engaged  ;  but  I  already  knew  all  her 
wishes,  and  had  promised  to  perform  them." 

"Can  I  assist  in  the  solemn  duty  !" 

"  You  are,  at  least,  particularly  concerned  in 
it." 

"  What  does  she  desire  me  to  do  !  I  pledge 
myself,  be  it  what  it  may,  and  at  whatever 
sacrifice,  to  obey  her  bidding." 

"  1  expected  no  less  from  you,  Eveleen  ;  and 
feel  convinced  that  you  will  nut  falsify  your 
words.  I  know  not  the  subject  of  her  anxiety, 
but  this  packet  will  inform  you."  And  as  she 
spoke,  she  plc>ced  in  my  hand  a  voluminous 
letter,  which  was  evidently  composed  of  several 
sheets.  I  was  about  to  tear  it  open  upon 
the  instant,  when  by  a  hurried  gesture  she 
prevented  my  breaking  the  seal,  and  pointed  j 
emphatically  to  the  superscription,  upon  which  I 


I  read  :  "  To  be  opened  only  under   her  own 
roof,  as  she  values  my  memory." 

"  She  shall  be  obeyed,"  I  said,  as  I  placed 
the  letter  in  my  dressing-case,  and  then  care- 
fully withdrew  the  key.  "But  have  you  no 
suspicion  of  its  contents!" 

"  None.  Adela  told  me  no  more  than  that  it 
contained  inl'ormation  on  points  of  interest  with 
which  it  was  necessary  you  should  be  acquaint- 
ed immediately  that  she  had  ceased  to  exist. 
I  respected  both  her  secnet  and  yours,  ami 
asked  no  questions." 

I  could  thank  her  only  with  my  tears. 

"  Do  not  weep  for  her,  Eveleen,  weep  for 
yourself,"  said  Lady  O'Halloran,  compassion- 
ately. "It  is  now  too  late  to  grieve  over  her 
trials,  for  they  are  ended.  Yours,  my  child,  I 
fear,  are  but  beginning.  May  she  so  resolutely 
have  expended  her  little  remaining  strength,  ia 
order  to  comfort  you  with  a  sister's  love,  and 
a  sister's  counsel.  That  last  token  of  her  re- 
membrance occupied  many,  many  of  her  latest 
hours  of  comparative  ease  and  health.  She 
appeared  to  forget  alike  her  languor  and  her 
suti'erings  while  sh-e  was  engaged  upon  it.  It 
was  in  vain  that  her  physician.  Lady  Flora,  and 
myself  warned  her  of  the  probable  effect  of 
such  continual  exertion  ;  her  constant  reply  to 
all  our  expostulations  was  an  assurance  that 
she  should  live  to  complete  her  task,  and  that 
she  desired  no  more." 

"  Poor  Adela  1"  I  murmured,  wringing  my 
hands  in  remor.se  of  spirit. 

"Poor  Adela!"  echoed  my  companion; 
"she  is  now  united  to  the  only  parent  wh« 
loved  her." 

"  She  is  happier  than  myself,"  I  sobbed  pain- 
luily.  . 

"  But  she  purchased  her  happiness  dearly,         * 
Eveleen.     A  long  lile  of  bitterness  was  crushed 
into  her  nineteen  years  of  blighted  existence." 

"  1  know  it — I  know  it ;  and  1  did  so  liitle  to 
alleviate  her  sorrows — 1  so  soon  forgot  her  ab- 
sence." 

"The  world's  lessons  are  readily  learned," 
said  the  dowager  ;  "  but  I  must  leave  you  now. 
My  usefulness  is  at  an  end,  and  1  am  sinking 
with  fatigue.  Lady  Madelaine  has  been  al- 
ready inlormed  of  the  melancholy  event,  and 
her  horses  are  ordered  for  to-morrow  at  day- 
break,  as  she  has  declined  attempting  to  obtain 
some  rest.     You  will  accompany  her." 

"And  yourself!" 

"  Adela  exacted  that  1  should  see  her  laid  in 
the  tomb  of  her  ancestors.  I  proiiiis(;d,  and  I 
will  perform.  Lord  Otterford  remains  to  sharo 
in  the  pious  task,  after  which  I  shall  accompany 
him  to  town." 

"Ard  why  should  I  not  also  follow  her  to 
the  grave  1  Let  Lady  Madelaine  depart  alone, 
if  she  is  anxious  to  escape." 

"And  the  packet!" 

"True — true — 1  know  not  what  it  may  >''on 
tain,  nor  the  duties  which  it  may  enforce 
Perhaps  tin;  delay  of  a  day  may  be  lata!  to  her 
wishes.     I  will  be  ready  at  daybreak." 

"  l-'areweli  then,  my  dear  Ev.l  in  ;  I  have 
already  taken  leave  of  your  mother,  and  ana 
unequal  to  another  interview,  even  vvith  your- 
self. Earewell  ;  and  should  you  ever  want  a 
friend,  lemeiiiber  me." 

She  extended  her  arms,  and  I  threw  mysell 


166 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


into  them.  I  could  not  utter  a  syllable;  but 
she  understood  my  emotion ;  and  after  having 
pressed  her  lips  ati'eclionalejy  to  my  forehead, 
she  replaced  me  gently  in  my  chair,  rung  for 
Josepiiiae,  and  lelt  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

My  journey  back,  to  town  was  a  wretched 
one.  Prostrated  by  the  emotions  I  had  so  re- 
cently experienced,  and  haunted  by  the  memory 
of  the  fearful  death-bed  from  which  I  had  only 
just  escaped,  I  could  not  have  been  condemned 
to  a  mme  trying  companionship  than  that  ol 
Lady  Madel.iine.  liy  turns  conciliating  and 
threatening,  at  intervals  slie  fulminated  against 
me  the  mo.-,l  bitter  reproaches  for  the  trial  to 
which  she  had  bten  subjected  by  my  hasty  pre- 
sumption ;  and  at  others  she  reminded  me  that 
Adela  had  never  been  either  a  daughter  or  a  sis- 
ter to  herself  and  me,  and  hinted  at  the  immense 
increase  of  fortune  which  necessarily  accrued  to 
tne  through  her  death.  I'he  last  argument  was 
powerless.  Had  I  no-t  already  experienced  the 
msulficiency  of  wealth  to  secure  happiness  1 

I  thought  incessantly  of  my  hidden  packet. 
It  was  evident  that  my  mother  knew  nothing 
of  this  becjuest ;  for  I  learned  from  Josephine, 
that  immediately  after  the  death  of  Adela,  she 
had  demanded  her  keys  and  her  writing-desk, 
ami  had  read  and  deslioyed  all  the  papers  that 
it  contained.  1  was  doubly  anxious,  therefore, 
to  ascertain  the  contents  of  that  which  I  pos- 
sessed ;  and  exhausted  alike  by  the  inconsist- 
ent humor  of  Lady  Madelaine,  my  own  feelings, 
and  the  thirst  for  opportunity  to  learn  the  last 
wishes  and  sentiments  of  my  sister,  I  fancied 
every  minute  an  hour  until  we  at  length  arrived 
in  London. 

To  my  great  relief  my  mother  suggested  that 
I  should  leave  her  in  Grosvenor  Sijuare,  and  at 
once  proceed  to  my  own  house,  alleging,  as  her 
reason,  the  necessuy  of  forthwith  making  ar- 
rangemenls  lor  our  mourning,  and  adopting  some 
resolut  ion  regarding  our  future  movements,  until 
the  period  when  we  could  again  appear  with 
propriety  in  public.  She  said  something,  also, 
of  the  inconvenience  of  a  death  in  the  family  just 
in  the  height  of  the  season;  but  as  1  did  not 
perfectly  hear  the  remark,  and  was,  moreover, 
anxious  not  to  enlighten  myself  further  upon  the 
subject,  I  made  no  comment  upon  her  words, 
querulously  as  they  wx>re  uttered. 

On  entering  my  home  1  was  by  no  means 
surprised  to  learn  that  ISir  James  was  absent ; 
but  1  was  not  the  less  satislied  with  the  assu- 
rance. 1  hastened  at  once  to  my  diessing-room, 
threw  oil'  my  tiaveling  attire,  ordered  choco- 
late and  lights,  and  then,  having  dismissed 
Josephine  with  strict  injunctions  not  to  sulfer 
any  one  to  intrude  .upon  me,  even  should  Sir 
James  himself  return,  as  J  was  overcome  by 
fatigue,  and  felt  the  necessity  of  being  alone  for 
a  time,  I  threw  myself  back  in  my  chair,  and  was 
for  several  minnies  unable  to  summon  suliicient 
courage  to  open  the  packet  which  for  so  many 
hours,  I  had  been  pining  to  read.  My  dressing- 
case  stool  near  me,  and  in  it  was  contained 
this  mournlul  communication — this  voice  from 
the  grave — this  last  solemn  declaration  which 
my  sister  had  not  deigned  to  make  from  her 
own  lips. 


What  was  I  to  learn  1  Would  she  reproach 
me  with  my  coldness,  my  carelessness  1  Or 
had  she,  chastened  by  her  approach  to  that 
mysterious  world  toward  which  she  had,  during 
the  moments  in  which  it  was  written,  been  so 
surely  tending,  bequeathed  to  me  the  one  out- 
pouring gush  of  tenderness  in  which  she  had 
concentrated  the  sisterly  sympathies  of  her 
whole  life!  I  felt  as  though  1  were  alone  with 
the  dead — with  the  cold,  wasteil,  livid  corse  of 
her  upon  whose  dying  lips  there  had  quivered 
neither  blessing  nor  prayer;  and  I  shuddered 
as  I  glanced  tremblingly  about  me.  But  my 
eyes  rested  upon  no  object  in  unison  with  the 
gloominess  of  such  a  mood  of  mind  ;  all  around 
me  was  luxurious,  costly,  fresh,  and  cheerful ; 
and.  at  length,  I  shook  olfthe  feeling  of  mental 
and  physical  weakness  to  which  I  had  yielded, 
and  withdrew  the  papers  from  their  envelope. 
I  must  transcribe  them  as  they  lay  before  me. 
Any  attempt  at  a  description  of  their  contents 
would  be  still  more  painful  even  now,  though 
long  and  weary  years  have  elapsed  since  they 
were  put  into  my  hands,  than  to  follow  them 
word  by  word,  and  line  by  line,  with  a  faithful 
pen. 

I  •broke  the  seal  with  quivering  fingers.  I 
had  argued  myself  into  a  state  of  doubllul  cour- 
age :  I  had  tried  to  believe  that  they  would  en- 
able me  to  dwell  with  greater  tenderness  upon 
the  memory  of  my  sister,  more  than  ever  dark- 
ened by  that  last  fatal  scene  to  winch  I  had  becR 
a  trembling  wiiness  ;  but,  as  I  felt  the  wax 
give  way  beneath  my  touch,  this  trust  aban- 
doned me. 

It  is  through  the  most  trifling  agencies  that 
deep  sorrow  generally  enters  into  the  heart  of  a 
woman  ;  from  the  most  inconsequent  springs 
that  the  fu-U  consciousness  of  her  unhappiness 
is  lilirated  into  her  entire  being.  An  indistinct 
whisper — a  word  overheard  by  chance — a  gloom 
upon  the  countenance  of  a  friend  whose  usual 
greeting  is  a  smile — all  these  become  prophe- 
cies by  an  intuitive  faculty,  incoiifprehensible 
even  to  herself,  and  which  is  called  into  ex- 
istence on  the  eve  of  a  misfortune  destined  to 
give  Its  color  to  her  future  fate  ;  and  she  mur- 
murs to  herself,  "I  am  about  to  be  wretched," 
with  the  same  innate  conviction  as  that  of 
the  wild  bird,  to. which  the  trembling  of  the 
foliage,  and  the  wail  of  the  wind  as  it  sweeps 
over  the  high  grass  and  along  the  surface  of 
the  water,  reveal  the  approach  of  the  yet  un- 
seen storm. 

No  wonder,  then,  if  trifles  such  as  these  can 
obtrude  their  warning,  that  as  I  unfolded  the 
papers  which  were  to  reveal  to  me  alike  the 
present  and  the  past,  and  to  make  the  future  a 
blank,  no  wonder  that  I  trembled. 

•'  I  am  standing  upon  the  brink  of  that  grave 
in  which  my  youth  and  my  sorrows  will  soon 
be  alike  buried  ;  but  not,  as  I  have  reason  to 
believe,  alike  forgotten.  You  intruded  your 
confidence  on  me,  Lveleen,  to  the  ruin  of  all 
the  happiness  which  this  earth  might  yet  have 
yielded  as  a  requital  for  the  trials  of  my  youtlu 
I  am  now  about  to  pay  the  debt.  I  also  will 
reveal  the  secret  of  my  life  to  you;  and  the 
result  will  in  your  case  be  without  doubt  the 
same ;  if,  jndeed,  tire  world  to  which  yon 
have  vowed  yourself  has  not  quite  done  iu 
work." — 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


159 


My  agitation  increased  with  every  sentence. 
I  could  scarcely  breathe  from  terror  !  What 
was  I  about  to  learn  1  What  meant  this  omin- 
ous threat  to  reveal  a  secret  which  was  to  plunge 
me  mlo  misery  !  I  swept  baqk  the  hair  from 
my  forehead.  The  moisture  which  had  risen 
to  my  eyes  had  disappeared.  I  was  fevered  by 
a  terrible  anticipation.  Again  I  fastened  my 
eyes  upon  the  writing.  It  was  firm  and  flow- 
ing—not a  pulse  of  the  writer  had  quivered.  I 
proceeded. 

"Fear  and  hatred  were  the  first  feelings 
which  were  taught  to  expand  in  my  young 
heart.  When  I  became  old  enough  to  compre- 
hend my  position,  I  found  myself  an  alien  from 
my  family — branded  like  Cain — but,  unlike  him, 
guiltless  of  the  crime,  while  suffering  its  pen- 
ally. I  learnt  to  pronounce  the  name  of  my 
mother  only  to  shrink  before  the  idea  that  it 
called  up — of  my  sister,  only  to  quail  before  a 
humiliatmg  and  bitter  comparison.  The  vic- 
tim of  injustice  and  disregard,  I  soon  began  to 
look  into  my  own  heart,  and  to  pay  back  in  dis- 
trust and  indignation,  the  wrongfe  of  which  I 
was  keenly  susceptible. 

"The  frivolous,  but  dazzling  advantages  which 
you  had  received  from  the  education  bestowed 
upon  you^;  your  luxury,  your  indulgence,  and 
the  insolent  vanity  which  was  their  fruit,  con- 
trasted with  my  own  privations,  continued  to 
do  their  slow  but  certain  work  ;  and  when  we 
met  at  Rooksley  for  the  first  lime,  I  know  not 
which  was  the  most  distasteful  to  me,  yourself, 
or  she  whom,  in  its  wrath,  heaven  gaxe  me  as 
a  mother. 

"  After  a  time  your  advances  toward  friend- 
ship, and  the  consciousness  that  my  own  ac- 
quirements and  character  were  very  superior 
to  those  which  I  had  so  long  held  in  jealous 
dread,  almost  reconciled  me  to  a  trial  of  your 
real  feelings  ;  but  I  was  not  long  in  discovering 
that  you  were  a  mere  puppet,  whose  wires 
were  in  the  hands  of  Lady  O'Halloran  ;  that 
your  lip-deep  courtesiesloyouronly  sister  were 
simply  a  concession  to  the  friend  of  your  father  ; 
and  that  your  heart  was,  as  it  ever  had  been, 
centered  in  self,  and  totally  independent  of  your 
words. 

"  You  know  that  I  never  on  my  side  cheated 
you  with  false  seeming  ;  you  know  how  frankly 
and  truthfully  I  told  you  that  you  were  incapa- 
ble of  real  affection.  Oh,  that  I  had  retained 
that  belief  strongly  to  the  last ;  and  that  your 
idle  word's,  and  still  more  idle  tears,  when  you 
cornpelled-ine  to  become  the  confidant  of  your 
fancied  passion  for  Devereux,  had  not  led  me 
to  believe  that  even  you  could  love  another  than 
yourself.  .Why  are  certain  expressions  made 
only  to  be  profaned  1  Why  are  you,  and  such 
as  you,  who  are  not  formed  for  the  higher  and 
iholier  impulses  of  our  nature,  permitted  to 
jbandy  words  and  tones,  of  which  you  can  neith- 
I3r  estimate  the  force,  nor  comprehend  the 
value  1  But  these  are  questions  beyond  my 
pwn  reach,  and  I  will  not  look  to  you  for  a  re- 
ply. In  my  delusion,  I  began  to  love  becaase  I 
bitied  you  ;  but  the  arrogant  triumph  of  your 
jarewell,  when  vou  were  summoned  from  our 
i^ommon  exile  to  appear  once  more  beside  Lady 
jvladelaine  in  the  gay  world  for  which  you  pant- 
pd,  soon  destroyed  tlie  charm. 
!   "  Do  you  remember  tliat  in  expatiating  upon 


your  love  for  Devereux,  you  scouted  with  con- 
tempt the  suggestion  which  I  made,  that  your 
mother  wished  to  make  you  the  wife  of  another 
— of  one  who — in  short,  of  Sir  James  Dornton  1 
Why  should  I  shrink  from  naming  a  man  whom, 
from  my  inmost  soul,  I  despise  beyond  all  else 
on  eartii  ]  Do  you  remember  with  what  fierce 
and  feverish  indignation  you  repelled  the  idea? 
Should  .you,  indeed,  have  ceased  to  do  so,  call 
back  your  thoughts — the  time  is  still  too  recer.it 
to  require  a  great  effort  of  memory. 

"On  my  part,  your  astonished  look  was  not 
unobserved,  when  Lady  Flora  and  myself  re- 
turned the  greeting  of  Sir  James  on  his  visit  to 
Rooksley  during  Lady  Madelaine's  widowhood, 
as  that  of  one  to  whom  we  were  not  altogether 
strangers.  The  cause  was  simple :  he  was 
grouse-shooting  in  Scotland,  when  Lady  Made- 
laine  saw  fit  to  summon  me  at  last  to  what 
should  have  been  the  home  of  my  infancy  ;  and, 
at  her  request,  he  took  charge  of  us  to  London  ; 
but  I  w'as  at  that  period  so  mere  a  girl,  and, 
moreover:  so  preoccupied  by  the  apptoaclnng 
change  in  my  position,  that  I  should  have  for- 
gotten his  existence,  had  not  your  passionate 
invectives  taught  me  to  believe  tliat  you  did 
him  less  than  justice.  Yes,  Lady  Dornton,  you 
it  was  who  first  awoke  in  my  heart  that  feeling 
of  interest  in  his  fate,  which  those  who  have 
themselves  suffered  from  injustice,  naturally 
extend  to  their  fellow-victims. 

"  I  had  lived  a  life  of  utter  isolation.  My 
studies,  unlike  your  own,  had  been  grave  and 
serious.  Your  experience,  real  and  acquired, 
startled  and' enlightened  me.  I  began  to  under- 
stand that  I  also  might,  at  some  future  time, 
find  beyond  the  circle  of  my  own  family,  that 
tenderness  which  had  been  denied  to  me  within 
it.  I  began  to  listen  with  more  eagerness,  and 
to  reflect  with  more  precision  ;  and  after  a  while 
I  combined  with  my  own  visions  the  image  of  a 
man  who  like  myself  was  despised,  and  proba- 
bly misjudged.  Do  not  imagine,  however,  that 
I  even  tried  to  fancy  that  I  loved  him :  my  fecl- 
ing.s,  unlike  your  own,  were  ncU  the  sport  ol 
impulse  and  romance:  to  me  he  was  only  a  re- 
posing point  for  my  unloved  and  solitary  spirit: 
an  object  from  which  I  did  not  shrink  because 
it  had  never  causelessly  and  wantonly  repelled 
me.  I  am  not  asking  for  your  sympathy  :  to 
me  even  at  that  moment  it  would  have  been 
valueless  :  judge,  therefore,  what  it  must  be 
now. 

"  You  left  Rooksley,  and  I  wept  when  I  log* 
sight  of  you — but  it  was  not  your  departure 
that  I  mourned  :  it  was  this  new  wrong  done  to 
myself.  You  had,  however,  left  your  influence 
behind.  You  had  opened  up  a  new  world  to  my 
solitary  musings,  and  made  me  feel  that  solitude 
tenfiild  more  bitter.  I  longed  to  annihilate  time, 
and  to  attain  the  age  when  Lalso  should  be  in- 
troduced into  the  world  :  not  to  pamper  myseK 
with  its  vanities,  not  to  pollute  myself  with  its 
deceit,  not  to  degrade  myself  by  its  falsehood, 
but  simply  and  solely  to  commence  my  search 
after  that  one  only  being  who  was  to  be  to  me 
— to  the  poor  unloved  and  deserted  Adela — at 
once  a  fond  protector  and  a  tender  friend. 
Surely  I  did  not  ask  loo  much  of  fate  !  I  w^as 
willing  to  receive  this  boon  as  a  compensation 
for  all  else  on  earth.  Others  have  so  many  to 
love  them — I  only  asked  for  one,  and  that  one 


160 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


- — -but  all  this  is  worse  than  idle :  there  is  an-  ( 
other  feeling  in  the  human  breast  fiercer  and 
quite  as  firm  as  love.  I  shall  not  have  died 
before  f  learn  it. 

"  You  are,  perhaps,  not  aware  that  ere  you 
had  been  long  in  town  our  mother  made  a  hur- 
ried journey  to  Rooksley:  the  pretext  was  some 
forgotten  papers,  too  precious  to  be  intrusted 
to  inditfcrent  liands.  Certain  it  is  that  she  was 
accompanied  by  Sir  James  Dornton.  I  was  in 
the  park  when  ihey  arrived,  and  to  my  surprise 
was  summoned  to  receive  them.  Tiiis  was  an 
unexpected,  and  would  have  been  an  equally 
onwelcome  attention  on  the  part  of  Lady  Mad- 
elaiae,  wlio  was  not  apt  so  promptly  to  remem- 
ber my  existence,  had  I  not  been  also  informed 
who  was  her  companion.  Curiosity  at  once 
overcame  every  other  feeling.  I  should,  at 
least,  have  an  opportunity  of  judging  liy  my 
own  observations  in  how  far  he  merited  the  dis- 
dain a. id  dislike  with  which  you  had  overwhelm- 
ed him,  and  I  hastened  to  return  to  the  house. 

''It  is  probable  that  my  hurried  walk  had 
given  a  glow  to  my  complexion,  for — I  remem- 
ber it  well,  as  it  was  the  first  and  only  time  that 
it  occurred — Lady  Madelaine  herself  glanced  at 
me  with  complacency,  and  even  deigned  to  utter 
a  few  words  of  approbation  at  my  altered  ap- 
pearance, as  Sir  James  approached  to  greet  me. 
How  ditrererit  did  be  appear  from  the  picture 
that  you  had  sketched  !  He  looked  steadily, 
almost  searchingly  upon  ine,  with  a  smile  before 
wliich  my  eyes  fell,  while  I  felt  the  rusinng 
blood  crimson  my  cheeks  and  fi)rehead.  His 
voice  was  low  and  soft  as  he  addressed  me ; 
and  whenever  I  subsequently  glanced  toward 
him,  I  still  met  the  almost  ardent  gaze  which 
thrilled  to  my  very  heart.  I  listened  eagerly 
to  his  conversation  with  my  mother,  in  which 
he  betrayed  a  constant  anxiety  to  include  me, 
but  I  was  at  that  moment  less  than  ever  capa- 
ble, of  exertion.  Nevertheless  I  felt  that,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  was  not  altogether 
overlooked.  On  one  occasion,  when  Lady  Mad- 
elaine was  engrossed  for  a  few  instants  by  her 
sister.  Sir  James  addressed  himself  to  me,  and 
exerted  all  his  powers,  and  they  are  great — 
what  is  there  on  earth  more  brilliant  than  the 
scaled  coat  of  the  serpent  whose  bite  is  poison  1 
— all  his  graceful  eloquence,  to  convince  me 
that,  in  his  eyes  at  least,  I  was  worthy  of  re- 
gard and  courtesy  :  and  I  welcomed  the  sooth- 
ing effort  as  the  parched  wilderness  welcomes 
the  refreshing  dew  of  heaven. 

"  The  papers,  as  Lady  Madelaine  asserted, 
were  found  ;  and  once  more  Rooksley  was  re- 
stored to  its  monotony ;  but  its  gloom  was 
gone.  As  I  saw  them  drive  from  the  door,  all 
had  become  more  bright  about  me  :  I  was  a  new 
being.  Something  whispered  me  that  Sir  James 
was  not  gone  forever  :  that  the  papers  had  been 
an  imaginary  want ;  and  that  I  was  the  actual 
object  of  this  visit.  But  howl  the  blood  leapt 
to  my  heart :  I  remembered  with  an  indescrib- 
able thrill  of  delight  that  my  mother  had  re- 
minded me  that  in  another  week  I  sliould  be 
sixteen  years  of  age,  and  that  it  was  time  for 
me  to  be  more  careful  of  my  appearance.  I 
was  full  of  a  mysterious  joy.  I  should  not, 
probably,  so  readily  have  combined  circum- 
stances apparently  so  trifling  :  and  decidedly  I 
•hould  never  have  been  so  powerfully  affected 


by  what  were,  after  all  the  mere  courtesies  Oi 
a  man  of  fashion  and  my  mother's  friend,  had 
not  your  superior  knowledge  taught  me  where 
and  how  to  form  the  combinations.  As  it  was,  , 
however,  the  new  sentiment  by  whicli  I  was 
inspired  exalted  me  in  my  own  eyes.  I  was 
more  than  ever  convinced  oftlie  possibility  that 
I  should  one  day  be  loved  as  oliiers  were  ;  and 
to  the  curiosity  which  I  had  felt  regarding  Sir 
James,  there  succeeded  the  gratitude  due  to 
the  man  who  had  first  afforded  me  a  brighter 
glimpse  of  the  cheering  and  sustaining  pros- 
pect. 

A  week  passed  away— a  week  of  bright  and 
happy  dreams ;  when  once  more  Sir  James 
Dornton  arrived  at  Rooksley.  I  was  agitated 
Willi  joy,  but  that  joy  was  unmixed  wiili  sur- 
prise. I  had  had,  from  the  hour  of  bis  depart 
ure,  an  intuitive  conviction  of  his  prompt  return. 
He  also  had  bis  pretext.  He  came  at  the  re- 
quest of  my  mother,  hut  he  did  not  explain  the 
cause  other  sudden  solicitude,  nor  did  I  waste 
one  word  on  the  in(iuiry.  In  her  absence  I  was 
less  constraitied  :  for  a  few  hours  I  was  his 
hostess,  and  I  exerted  myself  to  do  the  honors 
worthily.  After  dinner  he  proposed  a  saunter 
th»High  the  grounds. 

"  Lady  Flora,  according  to  her  daily  habit, 
was  already  half  asleep  in  her  chair,  and  de- 
clined to  accompany  us  ;  the  eyes  of  Sir  James 
flashed  with  delight  ;  and  in  live  minutes  we 
were  buried  in  the  shrubberies. 

"I  do  not  spare  you  one  detail,  Eveleen.  ti 
You  are  proud  of  your  destiny.  Poor  tool  of  j 
another's  will!  Married  to  a  man  who  never  ! 
loved  you,  at  the  bidding  of  a  mother  who  con-ij 
suited  only  her  own  interest  in  the  disposal  of  i 
your  hand.  ' 

"  What  had  I  to  fear  1  Lady  Flora  slept :  and  i 
for  her,  during  the  next  few  hours,  time  wasi' 
conse(]uenlly  annihilated,  while  I  leant  upon  the! 
arm  of  the  first  being  who  had  given  me  a  value ; 
in  my  own  eyes.  Is  it  then  maivelous  that  an' 
hour  had  not  elapsed  since  we  left  the  house, 
ere  I  ascertained  that  Lady  Madelaine  knew 
nothing  of  this  visit  1  or  wonderful  that  when  I 
expressed  my  fear  of  her  displeasure,  he  shouldi 
find  it  an  easy  task  to  allay  that  fear !  Let  thoafl' 
who  seek  to  blame  me  appreciate  my  jiosition.' 

"Before  we  parted  I  felt  that  I  was  loved 
What  woman  can  be  deceived  when  the  feelint 
is  not  feigned]  I  did  not  wish  to  receive  ar 
assurance  that  it  was  so,  liut  rather  thanked  ii 
my  heart  the  delicacy  which  left  the  decisivt 
words  as  yet  unuttered.  Occasionally,  as  wi 
conversed,  my  companion  looked  earnestly  a 
me,  and  listened  with  an  eagerness  to  vvhicl 
all  flattery  would  have  been  iiiadoqaiite.  By  ■■ 
single  word,  a  single  look,  he  encouraged  m 
to  continue  speaking;  and  I  was  proudly  con 
scions  that  every  hour  I  had  risen  in  his  csteen, 
The  brilliant  man  of  the  world  hung  iiponth 
fresii  and  unfettered  fancies,  upon  the  gravi 
feelings  of  a  mere  girl,  the  pupil  of  the  moun 
tains,  and  of  their  sublime  and  soul-strengthet 
ing  silence.  Yes !  he  may  have  sold  his  sou 
bartered  his  honor,  and  sullied  his  self-esteei 
by  becoming  the  husband  of  another ;  but  I  g 
to  my  grave  with  the  consolatory  convicti( 
that  from  that  eventful  evening  he  has  lovt' 
me  only  ! 

"Again,  and  again  he  came,  and  ere  long' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


161 


was  his  betrothed  wife.  T  knew  nothing  of  the  1 
artcr-maciiiiiationsof  Lady  Madelaine.  He  con- 
fided to  nie  simply  tiiat  she  had  consented  to  our 
marriage,  hut  at  her  own  good  time  ;  and  that, 
in  the  interval,  we  were  only  to  meet  in  her 
presence.  This  declaration  alarmed  me,  for  I 
had  everything  to  dread  from  the  involuntary 
indiscretion  of  Lady  Flora,  who  believed  his 
visits  to  he  not  only  sanctioned,  but  even  sug- 
(jesled  by  her  sister,  and  who  had  never  enter- 
tained the  slightest  suspicion  of  our  mutual 
attachment. 

"  Sir  James  reluctantly  acceded  to  the  justice 
of  my  fears  ;  and  his  declared  visits  to  Rooks- 
ley  gradually  dechned,  and  at  length  were  en- 
tirely suspended.  I  saw  him  still,  however,  at 
frequent  intervals  ;  and  when  he  failed  to  pre- 
sent himself  at  our  appointed  rendezvous,  he 
was  replaced  by  his  letters.  He  was  to  be  my 
husband  !  I  was  content  with  this  assurance  ; 
tlie  when,  never  occupied  my  thoughts.  My 
happiness  was  so  im.mense  that  it  afforded 
space  neither  for  fear  nor  hope.  I  lived  in  the 
present.  Satisfied  of  the  truth  of  his  affection, 
I  had  acknowledged  mine  with  the  usual  frank- 
ness of  my  nature.  Ignorant  of  the  usages  of 
ihe  world  on  such  occasions,  and  still  p-ore  so 
of  the  perfidy  by  which  that  happy  ignorance 
might  be  repaid,  I  laid  my  whole  heart  before 
bun,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  let  him  know  that 
henceforward  my  existence  depended  utterly 
upon  himself.  Had  I  acted  otherwise,  I  should 
have  been  self-despised  for  my  own  vain  and 
empty  heartlessness. 

"  Here,  on  n^.y  death-bed,  when  my  extended 
hand  scarcely  sHitKces  to  veil  the  night-lamp 
from  my  eyes,  but  like  a  transparent  film  only 
softens  what  in  the  days  of  health  it  would  have 
darkened — yes,  even  here,  and  now,  I  can  look 
back  upon  those  hours,  and  feel  that  once  in- 
iJeed  I  lived !" 


;  CHAPTER  XLVL 

j  I  LAID  the  manuscript  upon  the  table  :  my 
'tears  had  blinded  me.  Poor  Adela  !  I  forgave 
iall  her  invectives  against  myself,  bitter  as  they 
;were — I  evea  forgot  for  a  time  the  fearful  nature 
lof  my  own  position — I  only  felt  that  I  pitied 
her,  and  would  have  called  her  for  an  instant 
.from  her  grave  to  tell  her  that  she  was  reveng- 
ed— for  that  in  my  turn  I  did  not  love  tl.is  man. 
Alter  a  time  I  resumed  my  painful  task. 
I  "  Evelecn  !  had  you  really  been  capable  of 
Ithe  attachment  for  which  you  proudly  claimed 
belief — before  you  forfeited  it  forever — you 
would  understand  my  feelings  when  the  visits 
of  Sir  James  suddenly  ceased,  and  his  letters  be- 
icame  changed.  You,  however,  would  not,  per- 
haps, havf  perceived  that  change ;  «r  had  you 
i-.;hanced  to  do  so,  might  probably  have  deemed 
jt  matter  of  self-gratulation,  for  they  were,  if 
not  as  lengthy  as  ever,  tenfold  more  full  of  pro- 
testations and  endearing  epithets.  But  I  had 
studied  him  closely,  and  was  not  to  be  so  de- 
Stived. 

I  "  The  ore  of  true  passion  was  no  longer  there, 
ind  the  base  counterfeit  of  eloquent  adulation 
iAfas  substituted  in  its  place.  All  was  con- 
straint and  effort.  He  wrote  like  a  man  above 
Lvhose  head  was  suspended  the  sword  of  a  mod- 
i^rn   Damocles — who  quailed  before  some  anti- 


cipated danger.  My  pride  revolted  at  the  con- 
viction :  but  alas  !  that  wholesoine  pride  was 
subdued  beneath  a  more  powerful  feeling.  I 
have  told  you — not  now,  nor  here — but  long, 
long  ago,  when  you  first  taught  me  to  reason  op 
such  subjects  ;  I  told  you  then  that  I  could  not 
love  as  you  did,  with  one  hand  clasped  in  that 
of  my  husband,  and  the  other  extended  to  beck- 
on to  the  world  to  come  between  us — but 
wholly  and  exclusively.  Unlike  yours,  my 
practice  does  not  gainsay  my  precepts  ;  and  this 
man  was  to  be  my  husband — could  I  then  see 
without  agony  even  one  vapor  of  doubt  arise  to 
separate  us  1  No — no — the  stake  for  which  I 
played  was  not  merely  my  happiness,  it  was 
my  life,  and  I  could  not  afford  to  lose  it  lightly. 

"  I  answered  his  letters  by  one  line  ;  '  Come,* 
I  said,  '  if  you  would  ever  again  see  me  in  this 
world,'  and  then  I  drew  close  the  curtains  to 
shut  out  the  sunshine,  that,  after  smiling  on  my 
happiness,  now,  with  the  same  hot  glare,  seem- 
ed to  mock  my  anguish  ;  and  in  the  sudden  twi- 
light of  my  darkened  chamber,  1  sat  down  to 
redect  upon  the  misery  which  I  felt  was  about 
to  come  upon  me. 

"  I  once  read  of  a  man  subjected  by  an  awful 
tribunal  to  torture.  He  was  alone,  in  utter 
darkness,  bound  hand  and  foot  upon  a  couch  fur- 
nished with  warm  and  soft  coverings,  and  on  his 
unprotected  head  fell  at  measured  intervals  a 
drop  of  ice-cold  water.  It  did  not  vary  in'its 
descent  a  single  instant ;  the  failure  of  one  drop, 
even  by  a  second,  would  have  been  a  relief 
which  he  might  have  repaid  by  a  sob  of  prayer 
but  there  was  no  intermission,  none  !  He  kner 
it,  for  he  counted  each  by  the  pulsations  of  1? 

heart I  might  have  pitied  even  him  dnr- 

ing  that  fearful  night.  In  my  position  you  woold 
have  wept  yourself  to  sleep  like  a  tired  child  ; 
but  I  had  no  tears  for  the  fate  that  I  foresaw. 
There  was  a  morrow  to  that  night,  and  then 
came  three  mor'^  weary  days  ;  and  my  stubborn 
heart  kept  its  watch  steadily,  for  I  had  calcu- 
Jated  the  time  which  must  elapse  ere  he  could 
obey  my  summons;  but  the  last  few  hours 
were  almost  too  much  for  my  reason.  I  read 
and  reread  the  fatal  letter,  until  the  lines  danced 
before  my  eyes,  and  I  looked  through  a  ch)ud 
of  flickering  atoms,  as  black  and  dense  as  my 
own  fears.  There  was  nothing  to  console  me 
in  this  renewed  perusal  ;  I  could  find  no  new 
interpretation  for  the  honeyed  words  which  had 
failed  to  blind  me  to  the  truth  ;  and  I  had  no 
inclination  to  encourage  a  deceit  of  which  I  must 
ultimately  become  the  victim. 

"At  length  he  came;  we  met  at  the  same 
spot,  at  the  same  hour,  and  he  strove  to  greet 
me  with  the  same  smile,  but,  although  it  wreath 
ed  his  lip,  it  left  his  eye  cold  and  silent.  He 
took  my  hand,  and  would  have  pressed  his  lips 
upon  my  cheek,  but  I  turned  it  from  him.  The 
letter  had  sufficed  ;  and  1  had  respect  enough 
for  the  man  to  wliom  I  had  vowed  rny  life,  to 
spare  hiai  an  acted  as  well  as  a  written  hypocrisy. 

"  I  saw  that  he  was  wounded  to  the  heart  by 
my  coldness,  and  1  rejoiced.  He  was  not  then 
all  evil.  He  inquired  the  cause  of  my  altered 
manners,  and  1  placed  his  letter  in  his  hand. 
A  sudden  flush  mounted  to  his  brow: — 

"  '  Listen,  Sir  James,'  I  said,  gravely  ;  '  I  can- 
not be  deceived  ;  something  has  occurred  since 
we  last  met :  something  which  has   opened  a 


163 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRP:TTY  WOMAN. 


gulf  between  us  I  am  not  to  be  cheated  by 
words.  The  heart  speaks,  or  is  silent ;  the  lips 
cannot  replace  ii  where  it  is  absent.  Be  frank 
— what  has  hapf)ened  T 

"  'Happened  I'  echoed  Dornton,  with  a  look 
of  anguisli,  which  I  have  never  since  forgotten. 
I  calmly  repe.ited  my  question. 

"•  Adela,  you  torture  me  !'  he  exclaimed  ve- 
hemently ;  '  do  you,  can  you  doubt  my  affection  V 

"  *  I  will  not,  I  dare  not,'  was  my  reply  ; 
'  but  it  must  be  assured  beyond  all  possibility  of 
suspicion.  Another  week  like  the  last  would 
destroy  me,  body  and  mind.  I  must  hear  from 
the  lips,  or  read  in  the  writing  of  Lady  Made- 
laine  herself  that  I  am  to  be  your  wife.  I  must 
know  that  my  fate  is  fi.xed  beyond  the  power  of 
caprice  or  tyranny.  With  less  than  this  I  can 
no  longer  rest  satisfied.  Let  her  name  her  own 
time  ;  1  shall  have  the  certainly  of  future  hap- 
piness to  abridge  the  interval.  Let  me  even  be 
denied  all  personal  communication  with  you 
until  that  time  arrives,  and  I  will  submit ;  but  I 
cannot  remain  a  prey  to  uncertainly  and  sus- 
pense. I  cannot  any  longer  subject  myself  to 
be  the  mere  tool  of  another's  pleasure.' 

"Then  it  was,  that  Sir  James,  overcome  by 
the  steady  resolution  of  my  words  and  manner, 
avowed  to  me  that  he  had  reason  to  apprehend 
a  change  in  the  projects  of  Lady  Madelaine. 
The  admission  only  made  me  the  more  steadily 
adliere  to  my  purpose. 

"  '  Until  her  will  is  known,  should  such,  in- 
deed, be  the  case,  we  must  not  meet  again,'  I 
replied,  with  an  appearance  of  calm  which  belied 
the  real  agitation  that  I  felt :  '  of  your  own  truth 
I  can  entertain  no  doubt.  I  felt  at  once  from 
whence  the  blow  must  come.  See  Lady  Mad- 
elaine, remind  her  of  her  voluntary  pledge;  tell 
her  that  you  exact  its  performance,  and  all  will 
yet  be  well  !' 

"  '  You  shall  be  sat'sfied,'  he  said  at  length, 
in  an  accent  which  betrayed  more  fear  than 
hope.  '  I  will  do  as  you  require  :  but  should  I 
meet  with  a  refusal,  all  may  be  lost  through 
this  precipitation.' 

"  '  A  refusal !'  was  my  rejoinder,  '  does  she 
•not  call  you  her  friend  1  Is  not  your  own  hap- 
;.piness  involved  in  the  question  V 

"'Adela!'  he  exclaimed  reproachfully,  'do 
•you  doubt  it  V 

"'Again  I  say  no — but  why  this  fear,  for 
which  you  have  hitherto  chidden  me  1  Has  my 
mother  displayeij  any  new  proofs  of  her  aver- 
sion 1  Does  she  indeed  hate  me  to  an  excess 
which  will  induce  her  to  sacrifice  your  happiness 
<in  order  to  destroy  mine  V 

"  '  No — I  am  bound  to  declare  the  contrary  ; 
and  yet — ' 

'•''Enough,'  I  said  hurriedly;  'we  can  be 
ultimately  separated  only  by  your  own  agency  ; 
for  myself  I  am  pledged  to  you  forever — death 
alone  can  dissolve  the  vows  that  I  have  uttered. 
I  am  aware  that  Lady  Madelaine  can  not  only 
oppose,  but  also  retard  our  union  :  be  it  so:  in 
five  years  I  shall  be  my  own  mistress,  ami  may 
defy  her  authority.  The  lime  is  long,  I  admit,' 
I  added,  us  Dornton  made  an  impatient  gesture  ; 
but  as  you  love  me — ' 

"  '  Better  tiian  my  life,'  he  interrupted  eager- 
ly ;  'hut  if  you  loved  as  I  do,  you  could  not  talk 
thus  coolly  of  a  delay  which  appears  to  me  eter- 
nal.' 


"  'You  misjudge  me  :  heat  me  thfn  :  make 
rne  your  wife,  and  carry  me  aiiroad — anyivhere; 
the  world  is  wide  enough,  and  all  countiies  will 
be  to  me  alike  if  you  are  beside  me.  When  I 
am  of  age  we  will  return  to  England  ;  and,  in 
the  possession  of  our  proper  rank,  revenge  our- 
selves upon  the  past.' 

"A  gloom  like  that  of  midnight  spread  over 
the  face  of  Dornton.  Fool  that  I  was  not  to 
comprehend  how  terrible  a  secret  lay  below 
that  darkness!  Secure  in  his  affection,  I  had 
yet  to  learn  that  the  ruined  gamester  and  the 
debt-covered  man  of  fashion  must  sell  himself 
for  gold  when  it  was  tendered  to  his  grasp. 
What  had  he  to  do  with  affection  or  with  fidel- 
ity ?  He  had  tasted  of  the  world's  stream  ;  and 
he  was  eager  to  bid  the  waters  of  Marah  flow 
over  the  golden  sands  of  Pactolus.  I,  loo,  ten- 
dered him  wealth — but  when  1  I  knew  nothing 
of  all  Uiis  when  I  urged  him  to  a  stej)  he  had 
not  the  means  to  take  ;  and  we  parted,  alter  he 
had  pledged  liimselflo  an  explanation  with  Lady 
Madelaine,  of  which  he  was  himself  to  bring  me 
the  result. 

"  Four  more  weary  days  and  nights  of  impa- 
tient anguish  intervened,  before  the  hour  at 
which  he  could  again  arrive  at  Rooksley.  I 
was  unable  to  take  even  physical  rejio.se :  the 
fate  of  my  whole  existence  was  aboul  to  be  de- 
cided, and  I  was  powerless  to  turn  the  balance. 
On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day  I  was  at  our 
trysting-place  at  an  early  hour;  nor  did  I  long 
await  the  information  which  I  went  to  seek. 
A  stranger  met  me,  and  with  a  respectful  salu- 
tation, tendered  a  letter  upon  whose  sui)erscrip- 
tion  I  instantly  recognized  the  Well-known  char-' 
acters  of  Dornton.  I  had  no  sooner  taken  it; 
from  his  hand,  than  with  a  second  silent  bow,' 
he  turned  and  walked  hastily  away.  i 

"  I  stood  motionless  for  a  moment  with  the.' 
letter  in  my  hand. — Did  something  whisper  to' 
you.  Lady  Dornton,  as  you  looked  on  this  packet, ' 
that  it  would  decide  your  destiny  in  this  life! 
Did  your   blood  curdle,  your  hand   quiver,  ami 
your  eye  grow  dimi     It  may  be  so  :  I  had  al- 
ready undergone  the  same  agony  which  I  have' 
bequeathed  to  you.     Suddenly  a  new   ii!i|uilt.e 
urged  me  to  fly  the  spot,  and  to  learn  all — and' 
I  plunged   into  the   thickest  of  the  wood,  and' 
throwing  myself  down  upon  the  earth,  I  reso- 
lutely tore  asunder  the  folds  of  the  letter  which 
had  been  so  mysteriously   transmiiied  to  nw 
I  read  it  from  one  end  to  the.  other  vviiliout  £ 
pause.     Read  it  in  your  turn.     It  is  a  produc- 
tion of  the  man  to  whom  you  have  given  youi 
hand,  and  can  scarcely  fail  to  excite  your  into 
rest — 

"  '  I  am  about,  my  beloved  Adela,  to  plunge; 
dagger  into  your  heart — fearful  necessity  to  i 
man  by  whom  you  are  adored  !  I  dare  mil 
however,  incur  the  culpability  of  leaving  yot, 
for  one  moment  in  ignorance  of  the  (alal  truth 
beneath  which  my  own  prospects  of  domestit 
happiness  are  forever  crushed.  All  is  over 
We  must  renounce  every  hope  of  being  unitei 
in  this  world.  Neither  prayers  nor  tears  wil 
soften  the  unbending  will  of  your  mother ;  no 
is  there  even  a  chance  that  time  might  operati 
a  change.  I  have  thought  much  of  your  sell 
abnegating  and  generous  proposal ;  but  alas  ' 
you  do  not  guess,  novice  as  yo'u  are  in  th, 
world's  ways,  beneath  how  frightful  a  load  c'< 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A.  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


163 


suspicion  and  contempt  I  should  bury  myself, 
were  I  selfish  enough  to  profit  by  it.  I  should 
be  accused  of  taking  an  unmanly  advantage  of 
your  youth  and  inexperience  ;  and  the  pure 
effect  of  a  passionate  attachment  would  be  attrib- 
uted to  a  sordid  interest  of  which  you  alone 
would  know  me  to  be  incapable.  I  could  not 
live  under  this  stigma,  even  with  you  to  com- 
fort and  console  me  ;  and  1  could  never  again 
raise  my  head  proudly  among  my  fellow-men. 
These  are  fearful  anticipations,  Adela  :  alike 
for  you  and  for  myself :  too  fearful  to  be  real- 
ized. Nor  would  you,  pure  and  perfect  as  you 
are,  escape  the  reverberation  of  the  thunder. 
Your  reputation  would  be  sullied  ;  your  position 
ruined  ;  and  this  shall  never  be  for  my  sake.  Be- 
loved of  my  heart !  your  very  virtues  would  thus 
become  a  scourge.  Weep  then  for  yourself,  and 
weep  for  me  ;  but  bend  in  pity  to  us  both 
before  the  inexorable  destiny  which  parts  us.' 

"  Eveleen— had  a  traveler  passed  near  the 
woods  of  Rooksley  at  the  moment  of  sunshine 
and  silence  in  which  my  burning  eyeballs  fast- 
ened upon  the  signature  of  this  heartless  letter, 
be  would  have  dreamed  that  happy  and  light 
hearts  were  wandering  beneath  their  shadows  ; 
for  I  was  myself  startled  by  the  peal  of  ringing 
laughter  which  escaped  from  between  my  parch- 
ed and  quivering  lips.  Yes,  Lady  Dornton,  yes 
— the  fiends  laugh — they  have  a  mad  mirtb  of 
their  own — a  frantic  merriment  that  must  have 
voice,  or  it  would  choke  the  reveler.  I  knew 
it  then  !  Despair  made  me  resolute  ;  I  answer- 
ed this  withering  letter ;  briefly  but  urgently  ;  I 
insisted  that  he  should  himself  come  to  Rooks- 
ley, and  give  me  all  the  details  of  his  interview 
with  Lady  Madelaine.  He  resisted  resolutely  ; 
again  he  wrote  :  he  urged  that  it  would  destroy 
his  reason  were  he  to  see  me  again  only  to  lose 
me  a  second  time.  Passion  and  anguish  breath- 
ed in  every  line  ;  I  laid  the  letters  side  by  side 
before  me,  and  I  could  not  reconcile  their  tone. 
It  was  evident  that  another  revolution  had  taken 
place  in  the  feelings,  if  not  in  the  intentions  of 
1  Dornton,  and  I  was  resolved  to  solve  the  mys- 
!  tery. 

I  "  Once  more  I  summoned  him,  upon  his  honor 
!as  a  true  man,  to  obey  my  bidding;  and  after 
Ithe  delay  of  another  week  he  reappeared.  He 
told  me  that  he  came  from  Woodville,  that  you 
had  barely  escaped  from  death,  and  that  Lady 
Madelaine  and  her  husband  had  urged  him  to 
continue  their  gOest  during  your  convalescence 
; — and  still,  poor  cheated  fool  !  I  suspected  no- 
'thing.  I  meant  to  tell  you  all  that  passed  after 
his  arrival,  hut  I  cannot — my  strength  is  weak- 
er than  rny  purpose.  Enough  that  day  after  day 
he  lingered  near  me,  evidently  bowed  down  by 
the  weight  of  sorne  mighty  sorrow  which  he 
'would  not  reveal.  As  for  myself,  despair  had 
made  me  frantic,  and  this  fatal  mystery  over- 
threw my  poor  remains  of  composure.  The  ex- 
citement of  the  false  position  in  which  I  stood, 
the  evident  wretchedness  of  the  man  I  loved, 
and  the  tenacity  with  which  he  refused  all 
explanation  of  a  secret  whose  existence  he  did 
not  attempt  to  gainsay,  fevered  my  brain,  and 
|*s  -ve  were  about  to  part,  I  fell  lifeless  into 
lis  arms 

:  "My  hour  ot  bitter  triumph  was  come.  Re- 
jardiess  of  couseqiienees,  he  bore  me  to  the 
iouse,  to  the  con.sicnation  ef  ''e  be-viMered 


Lady  Flora,  and  the  marvel  of  our  slender  house- 
hold ;  and  once  there,  refused  to  quit  me  for  an 
instant.  When  I  recovered  power  to  artieiilatp, 
his  name  rose  instinctively  to  my  lips,  and  it  waa 
his  own  voice  which  answered  the  appijal.  A 
second  syncope,  succeeded  by  delirium,  soon 
informed  Lady  Flora  of  our  secret,  and  thence- 
forward she  allowed  no  one  to  approach  me  save 
herself  and  the  physician.  At  times  she  sum- 
moned Sir  James,  that  he  might  strive  to  recall 
my  scattered  faculties ;  ami  there  were  moments 
in  which  he  partially  succeeded.  My  first  care 
on  a  return  of  reason  was  to  obtain  from  him 
a  solemn  pledge  that  he  would  not  abandon  me 
until  I  was  convalescent.  He  started  in  alarm 
as  I  demanded  this,  and  would  have  urged  a 
thousand  pleas  against  it ;  but  I  denounced  him 
as  my  murderer,  if  he  left  me  thus  to  die  of  the 
despair  which  was  his  own  work,  and  at  length 
he  promised  everything. 

"  Reckless  of  the  future,  careless  of  the  past, 
weak  in  body,  but  calm  in  spirit,  I  was  happy. 
Happy,  amid  my  physical  suffering,  for  he  was 
constantly  beside  me;  happy  in  the  belief  that 
even  yet  all  was  not  lost ;  while  Lady  Flora 
looked  on,  satisfied  by  my  assurance  that  I  must 
become  the  wife  of  Dornton,  or  perish. 

"  Little  did  I  guess,  Eveleen,  that  the  tender 
nurse  who  had  so  lately  left  your  sick  bed  to  lake 
up  his  post  at  mine,  had  become  my  brother. 
But  I  cannot  even  now  dwell  upon  that  time,  for 
once  more  I  feel  my  brain  burn,  and  my  sinking 
frame  quiver  beneath  the  fierce  pulsations  of  a 
heart  too  big  for  its  weak  and  narrow  prison- 
house.  Your  letter  awoke  me  from  my  trance. 
Your  letter,  in  which  you  announced  your  mar- 
riage and  your  isolation  ;  and  asked  me — me  !  to 
become  your  companion.  I  was  alone  with  Lady 
Flora  when  I  received  it ;  and  I  read  it  to  the 
end.  I  can  tell  you  nothing  more  than  that  I 
was  suddenly  startled  by  the  vehement  grief  of 
my  poor  aunt ;  and  that  when  I  strove  to  open 
my  eyes,  and  to  inquire  into  its  cause,  I  fell  as 
though  I  were  crushed  down  upon  my  bed  by  a 
hand  "of  iron.  Slowly,  and  by  imperceptible  de- 
grees, reason  came  back  upon  me,  and,  with  it, 
memory  ;  and  then  I  struggled  fiercely  with  my 
agony  ;  and  for  a  time  I  conquered.  I  demand- 
ed the  letter,  and  it  was  put  into  my  hands. 
Once  more  I  read  it  resolutely  to  the  end  ;  and 
then  I  bade  them  summon  Sir  James.  He  was 
gone.  I  had  lain  twelve  hours  in  my  frightfui 
swoon,  and  the  coward  had  escaped  the  curse 
I  prepared  for  him.  They  would  have  disobeyed 
me  when  1  asked  for  writing  materials  ;  but  I 
was  too  well  aware  that  my  factitious  strength 
was  nearly  spent,  to  listen  to  their  expostula- 
tions, and  I  was  at  length  obeyed.  I  answered 
your  letter  ;  I  uttered  no  reproach  ;  1  gave  vent 
to  no  invective  ;  I  felt  that  I  should  not  long 
survive  the  struggle,  and  I  resolved  to  leave  yoc. 
for  a  while  in  ignorance,  and  to  bequealk  the 
truth  as  my  best  vengeance,  when  remorse 
would  be  too  late. 

"  I  have  no  more  to  tell — no  comment  to  make 
—no  word  of  bitterness  to  utter.  I  leave  you 
to  your  own  thoughts — weak,  unstable,  and  ir- 
resolute, you  had  already  forfeited  all  claim  to 
happiness.  Should  you  still  cling  to  one  hope, 
be  wise  enough  to  fasten  it  upon  the  grave. 

"  Farewell." 


164 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

I  SUFFERED  the  papers  to  fall  from  my  hand. 
I  had  read  even  to  the  last  line,  hurriedly, 
eagerly,  gaspingly  ;  and  now  I  knew  all.  I 
could  not  think — I  could  not  weep — I  had  no 
pity  either  for  my  dead  sister,  or  for  myself — no 
hate  for  Dornton — no  feeling  of  either  the  pres- 
ent or  the  past.  All  was  dead  within  me.  My 
eyes  were  open,  but  I  did  not  distinguish  an 
object ;  rny  apartment  looked  upon  a  great 
thoroughfare,  but  I  did  not  hear  a  sound.  I 
was,  fur  the  moment,  annihilated. 

Gradually,  however,  and  painfully  I  awoke 
from  this  stupor.  My  biain  whirled  ;  my  heart 
labored  with  thick  sobs  ;  those  dry  and  wither- 
ing sobs  which  rend  their  way,  with  each  its 
separate  pang.  I  clenched  my  hands  until  the 
blood  started  beneath  my  nails  ;  I  writhed  like 
one  convulsed ;  and  still  the  frightful  truth 
glared  full  upon  me — I  had  been  the  uncon- 
scious murderer  of  my  sister! 

And  for  what  ?  And  whom  1  And  then  up- 
rose within  me  t^le  boiling  hatred  which  my 
long  lethargy  had  for  a  time  suppressed.  I  had 
to  revenge  not  only  Adela,  but  myself  also. 
How  I  envied  the  grave  into  which  she  had 
gone  down  !  How  J  loathed  myself  that  I  was 
still  condemned  to  live  and  suffer  !  All  was 
dark  and  hopeless  about  me.  What  had  I  now 
to  ask  of  fate  ! 

Such  was  my  state  of  mind  when  the  door  of 
my  dressing-room  suddenly  opened,  and  my 
husband  stood  before  me.  As  my  eye  fell  on 
his  advancing  figure,  I  uttered  a  wild  scream, 
and  covered  my  face  with  my  spread  hands. 

"  What  means  this,  Eveleen  !"  he  asked  in  a 
troubled  voice,  as  he  stopped  before  me  ;  "  how 
am  I  to  interpret  this  reception  V 

I  strove  to  speak,  but  I  could  not.  My  emo- 
tion rendered  me  unable  to  articulate. 

"This  is  worse  than  childish.  Lady  Dorn- 
ton." he  continued  more  firmly ;  "  I  have  al- 
ready seen  your  mother,  and  I  know  all.  Yet 
surely,  the  death  of  your  sister — " 

••Name  her  not !"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  started 
vehemently  to  my  feet,  animated  by  a  new 
feeling  ;  "  name  her  not,  lest  the  words  wither 
the  lips  whicti  utter  them.  Name  her  not  to 
me — to  me  !  at  once  her  victim  and  her  execu- 
tioner." 

Dornton  was  evidently  agitated,  but  he  strove 
to  suppress  his  emotion. 

"  Has  your  grief  indeed  deranged  your  facul- 
ties T'  he  asked,  struggling  to  smile. 

For  all  answer  I  pointed  to  the  papers,  which 
still  lay  where  they  had  fallen.  He  stooped, 
and  gathered  them  together;  but  as  he  did  so, 
his  hand  trembled. 

"  Do  you  recognize  the  writing  1"  I  asked  bit- 
terly, as  I  again  sank  into  my  seat ;  "  it  is  the 
legacy.  Sir  James  Dornton,  which  the  dead- 
Adehi  has  bequeatlied  to  me — and  you." 

While  I  was  speaking  he  had  run  his 'eye 
rapidly  over  the  opening  lines.  "  I  see  it  all." 
he  said;  "I  might  have  expected  this.  She 
knew  the  weakness  of  your  nature,  and  she  has 
revenged  her  wrongs  upon  you.'' 

"Dare  yon  talk  thus  to'meV  I  cried,  irri- 
tated even  amid  my  anguish  ;  "you,  who  have 
destroyed  us  both  1" 

"  You  use  strong  language.  Lady  Dornton," 
he  said,  striving  to  assume  an  accent  of  indig- 


nation, "  and  such  as  you  are  unable  to  justify 
You  now  know  what  it  had  been  better  fo: 
your  peace  to  have  concealed  from  you  forever. 
The  evil  is,  however,  beyond  remedy:  and  I 
owe  it  to  myself  to  place  the  matter  in  ita 
proper  light." 

His  self-possession  startled  me ;  but  the 
damning  evidence  of  his  dishonor  was  beforo 
my  eyes,  and  I  retorted  angrily,  "The  'mat- 
ter' will  admit  no  light  but  one.  I  donot  now 
speak  of  myself — I  have  time  for  my  own 
wrongs — I  address  you  as  the  deceiver  of  my 
sister." 

"And  upon  what  grounds  do  you  accuse  me 
of  deception  !" 

"  Did  you  not  use  every  method  to  induce  her 
to  believe  that  you  loved  her]" 

"  I  do  not  deny  it  ;  the  fact  was  so.' 

"  You  did  love  her  !  You  admit  it,  and  yet 
you  abandoned  her !" 

"I  was  the  slave  of  circumstances." 

"  Did  you  not  persuade  her  that  she  was  to 
become  your  wife !" 

"  1  did,  in  the  firm  belief  that  such  would  be 
the  case." 

I  pressed  my  hand  upon  my  burning  fore- 
head.    I  was  bewildered. 

"  I  used,  as  you  have  stated,  every  effort  to 
gain  the  affections  of  your  sister,"  he  contin- 
ued, hurriedly :  "  I  had  reason  to  believe  that 
she  was  to  share  my  fortunes  ;  her  peculiarity 
of  character  attracted  me,  and  the  romance  ol 
a  young,  fresh  heart  lent  itself  willingly  to  the 
endeavors  which  I  made  to  owe  her  hand  to 
her  own  affections,  no  less  than  to  the  will  ol 
those  who  had  power  over  her  actions.  Rest 
assured  that  the  tragical  termination  of  oui 
attachment  has  proved  as  bitter  to  me  as  to 
herself,  although,  where  I  have  only  striven, 
she  has  sunk." 

"And  why,"  I  interposed,  "why,  if  you  re- 
ally loved  her,  did  you  not  withstand  all  oppo- 
sition 1  Why  destroy  us  both  only  to  thwart 
your  inclination  !" 

"  I  had  no  alternative,"  was  his  reply. 

I  shook  my  head  contemptuously. 

"  You  doubt  my  assertion  ;  and  yet  I  could 
readily  prove  its  truth  ;  but  the  explanation 
would  involve  details  which  might  not  (latter 
your  self-love  ;  and  I  would  rather  you  should 
credit  my  declaration  without-further  proof." 

"Fear  nothing,  sir,"  I  said  haughtily  ;  "my 
self-love  is  beyond  your  reach.  ^Vhat  can  you 
admit  which  will  touch  it  more  nearly  than  the 
words  that  you  have  already  uttered.  Even 
the  vanity,  to  which  you  make  allusion,  has  not 
deprived  me  of  the  power  to  understand  that  I 
am  indebted  for  your  hand  to  the  fortune  with 
which  destiny  had  cursed  me." 

"  Be  it  as  you  will,"  was  his  unmoved  reply. 
"It  then  only  remains  for  me  to  jusuty  my-' 
self."     I  bowed  in  silence. 

"  Reckless  as  you  are,"  he  resumed,  after, 
the  pause  of  a  moment,  "you  have  neverthe- 
less been  long  enough  my  wife,  to  understand 
that  at  the  period  of  our  marriage  my  pecu- 
niary resources  were  exhausted.  1  was,  tUere- 
fore,  under  the  necessity  of  forming  an  alliance 
which  would  enable  me  to  retain  my  accus. 
tomed  position  in  society.  I  looked  round  me 
and  from  the  moment  in  which  I  became  inti 
mately  acquainted  with  your  family,  I  cast  m. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRKTTY  WOMAN. 


\C,b 


dyes  upon  >  yarself.  You  were  very  young, 
but  I  had  gained  the  confidence  and  friendship 
of  your  mother,  and  I  knew  that  she  was  all- 
powerful.  I  therefore  resolved  to  retrench 
suffic  jnily  to  enable  me  to  wait  for  a  few 
years,  and  I,  meanwhile,  continued  to  pay  my 
court  assiduously  to  Lady  Madelaine.  I  see 
your  lip  curl;  but  your  contempt  is  misplaced. 
Do  not.  men  frequently  toil  during  a  lifetime, 
suffer  p'livation  and  contumely,  and  even  barter 
their  good  name  for  gold,  of  which  they  sub- 
sequently made  a  weak  and  unworthy  use, 
when  their  necessities  are  not  more  imper- 
ative than  my  own  l  And  with  what  have  you 
to  reproach  me  since  our  marriage  !" 

"Proceed,  sir,''  I  said,  coldly  ;  "for  the  tale 
promises  to  be  a  long  one." 

"  The  deatii  of  your  father  altered  all  my 
projects.  It  is  true  that  if  Lady  Madelaine  had 
distinguished  me  by  her  regard,  she  had  been 
no  less  condescending  to  Lord  Otterford  ;  while 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  could  boast  of 
one  unguarded  word  or  action  by  which  to  as- 
sume a  claim  upon  her  preference — you  have 
yet  much.  Lady  Dornton,  to  study  in  your 
mother ;  and  much  from  which,  as  a  woman  of 
the  world,  you  might  derive  no  small  advan- 
tage." 

"  You  are  completing  my  education,  Sir 
James,"  I  said  bitterly. 

He  bowed  with  a  sarcastic  smile  ;  turned  his 
chair  more  fully  upon  me,  and  proceeded. 
;       "The  death  of  your  father  left  your  mother 
'   free  :   she  was  still  in  the  full  lustre   of  her 
beauty  and  of  her  fashion,  and   desirable    in 
every  point  of  view.     Her   fortune,  although, 
indeed,  less  considerable  than  your  own,  was 
tangible,  and  within  my  reach  tVom  the  moment 
in  which  she  became  my  wife ;  and  this  cir- 
cumstance was  far  from  indifferent  to  me,  as 
every  year  rendered   my  position  more   diffi- 
i  cult. 

'      "  You  have  doubtlessly  not  forgotten  my  ap- 
pearance  at   Rooksley   during  your   mother's 
widowhood.     I   went    there   to   offer  her  my 
hand,  and  she  was  flattered  by  my  declaration. 
•■  She  admitted  this  fact  frankly  ;  but  I  soon  per- 
I  ceived  the  reason  of  my  failure,  for   of  that 
she  convinced  me  at  once.     She  strove  to  keep 
;  her  secret,  but  I  was  playing  a  desperate  game, 
and  I  at  once  dealared  my  conviction  of  her  at- 
'  lachment  to  Lord  Otterford.     At  that    period 
Otterford  had    not   declared   himself,  and   the 
pride  of  Lady  Madelaine  took  alarm. 

"  '  I  am  neither  young  enough,  nor  wealthv 
I  enough  for  you.  Sir  James,'  she  said  ;  '  Eveleen 
:  is  the  wife  best  suited  alike  to  your  habits  and 
•  your  tastes.  Like  you  she  promises  to  be  a 
world-worshiper;  and  her  beauty  and  fortune 
,  will  enable  you  to  realize  all  the  dreams  of  your 
'  ambition.  You  know  that  my  authority  over 
her  is  unlimited — you  are  no  stranger  to  her 
absurd  and  childish  fancy  for  youn^  L)evt  reux  : 
'  you  ar<!.  in  short,  an  old  and  tried  friend  of  the 
1  family,  and  under  your  protection  her  fate  would 
t  be  assured.  I  have  long  desired  an  opportu- 
)  niiy  (if  suggesting' this  marriage  to  you,  and  I 
;  gladly  enibi ace  that  which  your  declared  jire- 
'  ference  for  myself  has  afforded  to  me.  Does 
!  "ly  proposal  meet  ycjur  views  !' 
j  "I  was  at  a  loss  how  to  reply.  Quite  aware 
I  that  I  was  as  mucb   indebted  to  the  prudent 


I  egotism  of  Lady  Madelaine  on  this  occasion,  aa 
to  her  regard,  I  made  difficulties,  all  ol  which 
I  flattered  her  vanity,  and  increased  iier  friend- 
jship;  but  at  length  I  yielded.  After  a  long  and 
animated  conversation  my  destiny  was  decided  : 
but  I  was  not  altogether  satisfied.  It  i.s  true 
that,  as  though  she  could  have  penetrated  tito 
the  design  which  I  had  formed  several  years 
previously,  she  voluntarily  offered  me  your  own 
hand  ;  still  1  should  have  preferred  a  more  cer- 
tain and  "a  more  immediate  boon,  and  1  was 
mortified  that  she  should  sacrifice  me  to  a  mere 
animal  like  Otterford,  whose  only  charm  lay  in 
a  handsome  face,  and  a  certain  tact  in  flatter- 
ing the  weaknesses  and  follies  of  her  character. 
I  knew  that,  once  her  husband,  he  must  neces- 
sarily degenerate  into  a  domestic  automaton  : 
he  was  formed  for  no  other  purpose,  and  my 
prophecy  has  been  realized." 

I  was  lost  in  astonishment  at  the  audacity 
with  which  Dornton  thus  crowned  himself  with 
his  vices,  and  exacted  worship  for  them ;  but 
I  struggled  resolutely  against  my  indignation, 
and  commanded  myself  sufficiently  to  listen 
with  at  least  an  appearance  of  composure. 

*'  Slie  had  no  sooner  herself  become  a  wife," 
pursued  Dornton,  undauntedly,  "  than  I  re- 
minded her  of  her  promise,  and  she  at  once 
pledged  herself  to  fulfill  it,  although  she  would 
appoint  no  given  period.  The  motives  which 
she  alleged  for  this  delay  were  specious  :  I 
was  not,  however,  at  a  loss  to  define  her  real 
ones  :  she  was  too  recently  a  bride  to  tolerate 
so  unequal  a  rivalry  ;  and,  as  I  felt  how  useless 
all  argument  must  prove  against  such  a  convic- 
tion, I  sui)mitted  in  silence.  Otterford  was 
less  punctilious  ;  from  the  period  of  their  mar- 
riage he  never  ceased  to  represent  to  your 
mother  the  incongruity  and  danger  of  thus 
shutting  you  out  from  a  world  so  well  aware  oJ 
your  existence,  and  so  ready  to  draw  false  de 
ductions  from  your  extraordinary  seclusion  ; 
and  she  at  length  yielded  reluctantly  to  his  en- 
treaties. 

"  You  were  summoned  to  town,  and  I  now 
believed  that  my  difficulties  were  over — it  was 
not  so;  like  Jacob,  1  had  served  seven  years 
for  Rachel ;  and  was  then  coolly  told  to  take 
Leah  as  my  reward.  Vou  look  amazed  ;  hut  I 
am  about  to  explain,  and  by  that  explanation  to 
justify  mystif.  You  had  scarcely  appeared  in 
London,  when  the  Duke  of  Barminster  was  at- 
tracted by  your  lieauiy.  It  is  pnssitile  that  you 
may  scarcely  remember  a  tall,  gaunt,  large- 
limhed  youth,  with  pink  eyes  and  yellow  hair, 
who  had  just  escaped  from  his  tutors,  after 
having  made  atour  in  France  and  Italy;  whence 
he  returned  wnb  pinker  eyes  and  yellower  hair 
than  he  set  out.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  admired 
you,  and  was  what  in  siage-fiailaiKre  is  designa- 
ted •  enamored"  of  your  (air  i.ice  and  high-bred 
self-possessKJii  ;  nor  did  Lady  Mail'daine,  whose 
aiiibilion  was  fl.iviered  by  bis  i)rer(r(nce,  hesi- 
tate covertly  to  encourage  it.  Her  po.siiion  was, 
however,  somewhat  embarrassing  ;  1  was  eon 
stantly  besides  her  like  an  accusing  spirit  whicli 
all  her  sjiells  were  unable  to  lay  ;  and  1  believe 
that  I  shoidii  have  Iriiimphe.l  even  over  the  y.d- 
low-baired  duke,  had  not  a  hint  of  my  pecuniaiV 
(lithculties  been  dropped  into  tiie  eager  (;ar  ol 
your  mother.  Had  this  liiiit  never  been  giverl, 
Eveleen,  it  might  have  beer,  'ajipy  fur  us  both; 


lfi« 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


but  this  one  ircumstar.ce  became  the  key-stone 
ol  all  the  e\.l  which  has  since  been  slowly  built 
up. 

•*  Lady  jMadelaine  at  once  availed  herself  of 
the  information  thus  received.  She  had  her 
own  reasons  for  not  exciting  a  feud  between 
,  us  ;  while,  at  the  same  tune,  she  was  equally 
resolved  upon  your  alliance  with  the  duke.  As 
yet  he  had  said  nothmg  decisive  upon  the  sub- 
ject, but  that  was  evidently  the  elf'ecl  of  shy- 
ness, and  (rom  the  dread  of  a  refusal ;  for  it 
was  a  hoys  love,  fearing  everything  and  risking 
nothing. 

"  Secure  of  my  enforced  acquiescence  in  her 
wishes,  from  my  total  inability  to  gainsay  them, 
your  mother,  with  an  aplomb  which  would  have 
done  honor  to  a  statesman,  took  me  into  her 
Confidence.  She  admitted  that  1  R:;ght  have 
6ome  right  to  consider  myself  aggrieved  until 
Khe  explained  her  purpose — she  abhorred  the 
young  duke  ;  who,  had  he  been  no  duke,  would 
not  have  been  presentable  in  society  :  but  she 
felt  it  her  duty  on  such  an  occasion  .to  sacrifice 
her  own  wishes  to  the  interests  of  her  daughter. 
She  reminded  me  that  you  were  altogether  un- 
aware of  the  promise  which  she  had  uiade  to 
nie — that  you  still  resolutely  clung  to  your  girl- 
ish fancy  for  Deveieux — that,  in  short,  your 
sentiments  toward  myself  were  rather  those  of 
avoidance  and  dislike,  than  such  as  promised 
liappiness  in  married  life.  In  fine — as  a  mat- 
ter of  duiy  to  you,  and  of  prudence  to  me,  she 
had  evidently  resolved  that  you  should  become 
Duchess  of  Barminsler.  '  And  may  I  ask,'  I 
inquired,  with  a  cool  sarcasm  which  forewarned 
her  of  my  probable  vengeance,  should  she  en- 
deavor to  make  me  the  victim  of  her  sudden 
ambition  ;  '  may  I  ask  what  character  I  am  ex- 
pected to  enact  in  this  strange  comedy  !'  She 
looked  at  me  steadily  for  a  moment,  and  then 
replied — '  Sir  James,  this  little  incident  must 
iiut  affect  our  t)ld  and  honest  friendship.  Had  I 
not  been  assured  from  what  occurred  at  Rooks- 
I<'y  that  you  felt  no  overweening  attachment  to 
Eveleen,  I  should  at  once  have  negatived  the 
duke's  pursuit;  hut  under  thd  circumstances, 
and  knowing  also  the  sincerity  of  your  regard 
fur  me,  I  have  acted  accordingly.  You  are 
aware  that  I  have  another  daughter ;  less  beau- 
tiful than  Eveleen,  I  admit,  but  also  without  a 
silly  passion  in  her  bead.' 

"I  had  already  seen  your  sister,  when  I  tra- 
veled with  her  iVom  Scotland.  1  remembered 
only  a  silent  girl,  who  appeared  rather  proud 
than  shy  ;  and  with  whom  I  did  not  throughout 
the  journey  exchange  a  dozen  seniences.  You 
may  imagine  my  suijirise,  my  indignation;  but 
my  embarrassments  had  enslaved  my  will,  and, 
as  Lady  .Madelaine  was  well  aware,  I  could  not 
Contend. 

"  I  accompanied  her  to  Kooksley,  and  I  con- 
fess that  i  was  startled  by  the  chun-gc  which  a 
few  months  had  effected  m  the  appear.ince  of 
your  sister;  still,  the  coiistr-iint  induced  by 
yi)ur  nK.ther's  presvuce  did  ii-ot  enable  me  to 
judge  correctly  of  Adda,  whose  intellectual  e.\- 
pie&sion  prnmised  boili  mind  and  feeling.  Stung 
l)y  ymir  own  liaiiglaiiicss.  and  revulied  by  a 
coijui-try  winch  was  aliuosi  marvelous  lor  your 
a^e.  Lady  M.iiJclaine  had  by  no  means  advanced 
fen  error  wb  n  she  asserted  thai  my  heart  had 
rcmaiiit'd  untouched.     I  was  dazzled  by  your 


beauty,  and  infatuated  by  your  success  ;  hut  K 
required  more  than  this  to  resuscitate  the  long 
dormant  feelings  of  a  man  of  the  world  ;  and 
thus  you  will  not  be  astonished  if  I  submitted 
with  a  tolerable  grace  to  a  decision  against 
which,  under  my  peculiar  circumstances,  I 
d— red  net  —  e— - ,  — r.^  rc^clrc^  vC  usccrtain  z.* 
once  what  I  was  likely  to  gain  or  lose  at  the 
game  of  matrimonial  shuttlecock  which  Lady 
Madelaine  had  instituted  in  her  family." 

"  And  you  discovered  \ "' 

"  I  discovered.  Lady  Dornton,  ere  long,  that 
in  Adela  I  had  found  the  very  being  who  had  it 
in  her  power  to  renew  the  youth  of  my  heart. 
I  lost  no  time  in  returning  to  Rooksley,  and, 
pleading  the  permission  of  your  mother,  I  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  the  affections  of  your  sister, 
before  I  avowed  to  her  that  my  visits  were 
unauthorized.  You  know  the  independence  of 
Adda's  character  ;  and  you  will  therefore  be 
prepared  to  understand  that  this  circuajstance, 
although  it  increased  her  caution,  by  no  means 
affected  her  resolution.  We  met  again  and 
again.  The  extraordinary  resources  of  her  mind, 
and  the  noble  qualities  of  her  nature,  wore  laid 
bare  before  me.  She  cared  nothing  for  my 
fashion,  nothing  for  my  popularity ;  she  loved 
me  for  myself — she  lovtJ  me  as  I  never  hope  to 
be  loved  again." 

He  paused.  His  lips  quivered,  and  his  face 
assumed  an  ashy  paleness  ;  but  he  soon  rallied, 
and  in  a  less  steady  voice,  resumed  :  "  Yow 
will  not  be  surprised  that,  under  these  circuni 
stances,  1  soon  blessed  the  fortunate  chancf 
winch  had  thrown  the  boy-duke  in  your  path 
I  was  not,  however,  long  desiiited  to  enjoy  mj 
dream  of  coming  happiness ;  for  on  returning 
to  Woodville,  after  one  of  my  hurried  visits  to 
your  sister,  feeling  myself  unable  any  longer  to 
control  my  impatience,  I  urged  Lady  Madelaine 
to  withdraw  Adela  from  her  retreat,  and  to  pre- 
pare the  minds  of  her  circle  for  our  approaching 
marriage. 

"  I  had  remarked  that  she  was  less  at  her 
ease  than  usual,  and  that  something  had  oc- 
curred to  ruffle  her;  but  never  suspecting  that 
my  own  happiness  could  be  involved'  in  so 
trivial  a  circumstance,  1  had  paid  little  atten- 
tion to  it.  1  was  soon  bettei  informed.  'Trust 
to  me,'  she  said ;  '  I  feel  that  I  have  dealt  un- 
generously toward  you.  but, it  is  not  yet  too 
late  to  repair  my  error.  You  shall  soon  be 
my  son-in-law ;  circumstances  have  occurred 
which  have  changed  my  views  for  Eveleen,  and 
I  will  redeem  my  word.  She  shall  be  youF 
wife  !'  I  will  spare  you  a  description  of  my 
feelings.  What  I  instantly  suspected,  proved 
to  be  the  fact  ;  the  change  had  not  originated 
with  your  mother,  but  with  the  relatives  of  IbP 
duke,  to  who-m  the  comparatively  obscure 
origin  of  your  father  was  an  objection  eyeo 
uwe  insuperable  than  the  youth  and  inexperi- 
er.-,e  of  the  noble  blockhead  himself 

"Do  me  the  justice  to  believe  that  I  did  nbt 
passively  submit  to  this  insulting  tyranny.  I  re- 
sented it  warmly  and  loudly,  but  all  my  violence 
remained  unavailing.  I  wSs  in  the  toils,  for 
Lady  .Vladdaine,  secured  in  her  position  by  the 
pressing  nature  of  my  pecuniary  necessities,  had 
already  turned  aside  the  triumphant  consola- 
tions of  lur  dear  five  hundred  friends  on  the 
secession  of  the  duke,  by  smiling  at  the  ab- 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRFTTY  WOMAN. 


1G7 


Biirdity  :tC  the  report,  and  asserting  your  long 
eiigiigerncnl  to  myself.  Thus  we  had  both  too 
much  at  stake  to  continue  long  at  feud.  We 
were  necessary  to  each  other — and,  you  know 
the  rest." 

I  was  cruslied.  I  had  struggled  to  be  firm  ;  to 
pay  back  with  cool  contempt  the  perlidy  of  the 
man  to  whom  I  had  been  sacriticed ;  but  I  had 
uot  sufficiently  prepared  myself  for  such  an 
avowal  as  this.  The  consciousness  of  his  utter 
inditierence  ;  the  conviction  that  all  his  affecta- 
tion of  affection  had  been  false  from  the  first 
moment  of  our  marriage;  the  reflection  that  I 
had  been  a  mere  tool  to  conceal  the  weakness  of 
mymotlier.  and  to  build  up  the  ruined  fortunes 
ol"  a  profligate,  cut  me  to  the  heart ;  and  every 
angry  feeling  faded  before  the  deep  humiliation 
which  bowed  me  to  the  earth. 

"And  am  I  then,  indeed,  wholly  and  utterly, 
the  victim  of  my  fortune  !"  I  exclaimed,  wring- 
ing my.  bands  in  despair  ;  "  was  it  not  enough 
to  find  myself  deceived  in  my  every  hope,  with- 
out being' forced  to  feel  that  I  have  been  a  dupe 
from  my  very  cradle." 

"  Be  rational.  Lady  Dornton,"  said  Sir  J  "mes, 
rousing  himself  with  effort  from  a  painful  re- 
verie into  which  he   had  fallen   as  he  ceased 
speaking.     "  Since   you  became   my   wife,   of 
what  have  you  to  co:nplaiu  1     Have   you  not 
profited  as  fully  by  the  illusion  as  you  could  have 
done  by  the  reality]     Have  you  had  one  indul- 
gence  the  less  !     Has  your  vanity  been   the 
•  more  rutiled,  or  your  self-love  the  less  respect- 
i  ed !     Look    back   upon    your  brief  period    of 
,  married   life — what  has   been  wanting   which 
I  \\ouid  have  grown  out  of  even  the  idolatry  of  a 
',  husband  \     Can  you  complain  of  the  manner  in 
which  I  have  played  my  parti     It  is  rather  I 

■  who  should  complain  of  the  life  of  struggle  and 
seeming  to  which  the  caprice  of  your  mother 

■  has  condemned  me.  Let  us  be  honest  with 
each  other.  You  had  assuredly  no  right  to 
calculate  upon   an   undivided  affection  on  my 

'  part,  when  you  gave  yourself  to  me  with  an  old 
'  love  clinging  about  your  heart,  which  you 
'■  scarcely  cared  either  to  conceal  or  to  combat. 
I  I,  feeling  myself  exonerated  by  the  fact,  did  not 
:  persec^jte  you  upon  the  subject,  but  left  time  to 
I  do  its  work,  assisted  by  that  great  ally,  the 
1  world — and  we  are,  consequently,  beyond  re- 
I  crimination  upon  that  point.  Why  then  do  you 
I  arrogate  to  yourself  the  right  to  accuse  me  V 
]  I  could  not  command  myself  sufficiently  to 
I  reply :  the  cohl-blooded  matter-of-fact  reason- 
[  ing  of  Sir  James  at  such  a  moment  maddened 
I  me. 

I  "  I  see  your  agitation,"  he  resumed  ;  "  and 
:  knowing  as  I  do  your  utter  want  of  self-com- 

■  mand,  I  am  by  no  means  surprised  at  its  vio- 
!  lence.  Calm  yourself,  however,  if  possible, 
J  a  d  listen  to  me  for  a  few  moments  longer. 
i  Vy  nat  I  have  to  say  deserves  all  your  attention. 
'  T'nis  day  will  probably  effect  our  actual  separa- 
'  Lion  ;  but  let  us,  at  least,  preserve  appearances  : 
!'*i.  is  needless  for  us  to  offer  ourselves  as  a  spec- 
!ia  le  to  all  London.  You  have  an  attachment 
'uf  which  the  object  is  more  than  disagreeable 
ilo  me  ;  nevertheless,  amuse  yourself  as  you 
I  ave  hitherto  done  ;  I  understand  you  loo  well 
I  to  dread  your  injuring  your  own  position  for 
I  any  created  being.  Nevertheless,  be  careful ; 
I  for,  if  you  are  Gssar's  wife,  remember  that  I 


I  am  Caesar;  and  I  have  no  inclination  tu  be- 
come the  laughing-stock  of  my  set." 

"  How,  sir !"  I  exclaimed,  starling  to  my  li  et, 
"  do  you,  guilty  as  you  are  of  my  sister's  deaib 
— fallen  as  you  are  beneath  ihe  conlempl  of  all 
honest  men — do  i/ou  dare  to  threaten  !"  And 
e.\asperatcd  by  his  calmness,  yet  still  unable  to 
give  utterance  to  my  feelings,  I  rushed  out  of  my 
dressing-iooni,  anxious  only  to  rid  myself  of  his 
presence,  wluch  had  each  moment  become  more 
insuppurtabl(!  to  me. 

Fortunately,  he  retained  all  his  self-posses- 
sion ;  and,  alainied  at  the  idea  of  the  scene  to 
which  I  was  al)out  to  expose  both  myself  and 
him,  he  sprang  after  me,  and  caught  me  as  I 
was  about  to  escape  into  lliu  gallery. 

"Where  are  you  going  !"  he  asked  sternly. 

"Anyuhere,  so  that  I  be  not  subjected  to 
your  presence,"  I  said,  as  I  struggled  to  loose 
myself  from  his  grasp  ;  but  he  held  me  fast. 

'"  Well,  then,  madam,  return  to  your  dress- 
ing-room ;  I  am  about  to  leave  it.  But  I  beg 
that  you  will  not  expose  yourself  to  the  gossip 
of  your  servants  in  your  present  undigiiitieii 
state  of  passion,  for  your  own  sake.  Have  you 
yet  to  learn  ihat,  in  such  cases, your  own  hired 
domestics  are  more  to  be  dreaded  than  all  other 
persons  1  As  for  myself,  I  am  careless  of  their 
comments ;  nay,  they  would  afford  me  an  ad- 
mirable opportunity  of  visiting  this  scene  upon 
Ccdonel  Devereux  —  an  emergency  which.  I 
imagine,  you  would  on  your  side  rather  avoid 
than  provoke.  Give  yourself  the  trouble  to  re- 
flect, and  remember  that  it  is  not  always  upon 
the  husband  that  the  world  is  apt  to  visit  re- 
sults like  these." 

Again  I  was  compelled  to  submit.  I  felt  that 
I  was  indeed,  through  my  idle  folly,  at  the  mercy 
of  a  man  whom  I  alike  loathed  and  despised.  I 
had  no  refuge  in  my  mother,  who  would  neces- 
sarily abandon  my  cause  in  order  to  excuse  her 
own  conduct ;  and,  thus  left  to  myself,  I  was 
altogether  powerless.  Profiting  by  my  evident 
indecision,  Dornton  led  me  back  to  the  door 
of  my  dressing-room,  which  I  had  no  sooner 
reached  than  I  closed  it  violently  behind  me, 
as  though  I  sought  to  evade  the  pursuit  of  an 
assassin. 

As  I  sank  panting  upon  a  sofa,  I  felt  as  though 
my  reason  would  have  given  way  beneath  the 
struggle.  The  horror  of  my  position  rose  bare 
and  hopeless  before  me.  The  ties  which  at- 
tached me  to  my  husband,  and  the  authority 
which  they  gave  him  over  my  very  thoughts, 
distracted  me  as  I  reflected  on  them.  1  had 
determined  on  a  rupture  ;  but  I  had  been  pre- 
pared to  dictate  its  terms,  and  not  to  find  my- 
self thus  bound  hand  and  foot  at  his  mercy. 
The  species  of  menace  which  he  had  uttered, 
and  which  was  merely  conditional,  still  rang 
through  my  brain;  for  I  remembered  that  he 
might,  at  any  moment,  and  under  any  prcie.M, 
avail  himself  of  it  to  complete  my  wretched- 
ness. 

Nevertheless,  by  some  strange  inconsistency, 
it  was  not  fear  that  I  felt ;  blinded  by  my  indig- 
nation, I  should  have  considered  it  a  meanness 
to  tremble  or  to  yield,  or  even  to  control  my  ac- 
ti(rns  in  any. way,  at  the  bidding  ofa  man  whom 
I  had  saved  from  ruin,  and  whom  I  felt  mysell 
authorized  lo  d<-si)i.se.  Never  h:ul  J  i/een  in  so 
1  dangerous  a  stale  of  tnind.     Every  'ieeling  was 


ItiU 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


in  revolt.  I  ceased  to  envy  even  the  quiet 
grave  of  my  sisier.  I  had  vague  visions  of  a 
vengeance  as  mighty  as  the  wrongs  of  which  I 
had  been  made  llie  victim — wild,  unlangible, 
and  aimless  lor  tlie  most  part ;  but  welcome, 
inasmuch  as  lliey  tended  to  restore  me  to  some 
degree  of  composure,  and  to  people  the  void 
into  which  my  first  emotions  had  plunged  me. 

May  those  whose  hair  whitens,  and  whose 
necks  bow  heueath  tlie  hand  of  time,  without 
having  undergone  such  mental  struggles  as 
these,  he  merciful  as  they  pronounce  a  judg- 
ment upon  me  ! 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

A  DEEP  sleep  succeeded  to  this  terrible  agita-. 
tion.  1  was  wearied,  body  and  spirit ;  and  my 
waking  was  only  productive  of  new  projects  of 
sell-avenging.  I  found  from  Josephine,  whose 
expression  of  countenance  betrayed  that  she 
was  aware,  at  least  in  some  degree,  of  the  al- 
tercation which  had  taken  place  between  my 
husband  and  myself,  that  immediately  alter 
leaving  my  chamber,  Sir  James  had  departed 
as  usual  for  his  club,  although  evidently  ruffled  ; 
and  that  he  had  given  ordeis  to  his  valet  not 
to  await  his  return,  as  he  should  be  absent  all 
night.  Thi«  decision  was  a  great  relief  to  me, 
and  I  immeduiely  retired  to  bed,  in  order  to 
have  a  pretext  for  dismissing  my  attendant. 

What  anight  I  passed!  Visions  of  Adela, 
and  of  her  wrongs,  came  blended  with  the 
miserable  conviction  of  my  own  isolated  and 
unhappy  position.  In  the  excited  state  of  my 
feelings,  I  never  dreamt  of  tracing  the  events 
of  my  life  to  any  fault  or  error  of  my  own.  I 
regarded  myself  simply  as  a  victim  to  the 
machinations  of  others  ;  and  as  bound  to  visit 
upon  my  persecutors  all  the  sufferings  to  which 
I  had  myself  been  subjected.  I  had  the  means 
of  vengeance  in  my  hands.  It  was  true,  that 
they  might  recoil  upon  my  own  head  ;  but  that 
reflection  did  not  deter  me.  I  was  already 
ruined  both  in  fact  and  in  hope.  A  life  of  joy- 
less wretchedness  was  before  me.  I  could 
scarcely  render  my  fate  more  bitter ;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  might  enable  myself  to  sup- 
port it  with  less  suffering.  All  that  the  world 
could  offer  of  adulation,  luxury,  and  indulgence 
was  before  me,  and  within  my  grasp.  The 
void  within  my  heart  might  be  hlled  up.  I 
must  think  no  more  of  Lome  enjoyments,  and 
home  ties;  they  were  forever  denied  to  me; 
but  the  alternative  remained  of  creating  new 
interests  and  new  bonds  without  the  jjale  of 
home. 

My  decis  'n  was  irrevocably  taken. 

"When  I  ro3  •  in  the  morning,  my  first  care 
was  to  obliteiate  the  withering  effects  of  the 
last  night's  agitation,  and  to  bestow  unwonted 
care  upon  my  appearance.  1  could  not  be  seen 
in  public  so  immediately  after  the  death  of  my 
sister,  but  I  could  at  least  admit  those  of  my 
friends  who  came  to  ofl'er  me  their  sympathy 
in  my  bereavement ;  and  it  is  probable  that 
Lady  Marielaine  had  decided  upon  the  same 
prudent  and  praiseworthy  line  of  conduct,  for  I 
heard  nothing  of  her  throughout  the  day.  One 
or  two  unimportant  visits  occupied  the  greater 
p.")rlioii  "I  ilii'  iiioi  iim^',  v\  hen  at  Icnyili  Colonel 
U<v   iciix    v\as    aimounccd    in    Ins    turn;    and, 


pleading  fatigue,  I  desired  that   t  might  bn  ie- 
nied  to  every  one  for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

"  1  may  then,  indeed,  hope  thai  1  still  num- 
ber you  among  my  friends,'"  1  said,  as  I  extend* 
■^  m>  hand,  "  since  you  come  to  me  in  the  lioui 
01  grief." 

"  Did  you  do  me  the  injustice  to  admit  a 
doubt  upon  the  subject .'" 

"  I  am  afraid  so.  Many  circumstances  have 
occurred  to  shake  my  faith  in  your  regard — but 
I  will  not  dwell  upon  them  now.  A  friend  is 
too  precious  to  me  at  this  moment,  for  me  to 
encourage  such  misgivings." 

"  Is  it  Lady  Dornton  who  talks  of  needing 
friends  !" 

"  It  is,  indeed,  and  heaven  knows  that  few 
need  them  or  would  prize  thera  more.  You 
are,  of  course,  aware  that  1  have  lost  my  sif- 
ter r' 

"  I  ?.m  ;  and  I  feel  for  you  most  deeply." 

"  You  may  do  so.  It  has  been  a  bitter  blow 
to  me  in  many  ways.  Do  you  also  know  tisB 
cause  of  her  early  and  most  unhappy  death  !" 

"  I  fear,  consumption,"  he  replied  anxiously, 
as  he  looked  attentively  at  me;  "Miss  Tilden 
was  naturally  of  a  weak  and  nervous  constitu- 
tion ;  and  probably  sank  under  her  self-constK 
tuted  isolation  from  society." 

"No,  no;  do  not  be  disingenuous  with  me, 
Colonel  Devereux,"  I  interposed;  "you  have 
been  too  intimately  connected  with  our  family 
not  to  have  learnt  the  truth  ;  or,  if  you  have 
indeed  been  blinded  to  the  fact,  be  so  no  longer: 
my  sister  died  of  a  broken  heart." 

"  A  broken  heart !" 

"  Even  so  ;  and  now  do  more  justice  both  to 
me  and  to  yourself.  Your  look  and  accent  both 
betray  you.  You  have  nothing  to  hear  from 
me  save  what  you  already  know ;  unless,  in- 
deed, that  I  also  am  no  longer  ignorant  of  tlie 
great  secret  which  has  changed  the  whole  cur^ 
rent  of  my  after-life." 

"  Lady  Dornton,  you  alarm  me." 

"  And  yet  you  see  that  I  am  calm.  I  have  a 
great  work  before  me.  Colonel  Devereux.  I 
am  like  a  rudderless  vessel,  which,  after  having 
for  a  long  period  been  borne  among  sunken 
rocks  and  hidden  sands  without  becomiug  quite 
a  wreck,  is  suddenly  driven  far  into  the  open 
sea,  witfcou*  chart  or  compass — into  a  fearful, 
limitless,  and  unknown  waste  of  waters, — to 
plough  its  way  as  it  best  can  to  some  eagerly 
dreamt  of  but  uncertain  port.  I  can  look  back 
upon  the  perils  which  I  have  survived,  but  1 
know  not  how  to  direct  my  course  through  tli9 
vague.  Nevertheless  it  must  be  done  ;  I  may 
perish  in  the  attempt,  but  it  shall  be  made." 

"  Your  position  is  indeed  a  painful  one." 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  do  not  shrink.  I  am  only 
about  to  exchange  one  species  of  suffering  for 
another." 

"  You  may  be  deceiving  yourself  as  to  the 
extent  of  the  evil." 

I  smiled  bitterly,  as  I  put  into  his  hands  the 
papers  which  I  had  brought  from  Glenfillan. 
"  Read  these,"  I  said,  with  the  same  unnatural 
calm;  "read,  and  be  convinced  in  how  far  I 
still  retain  the  power  to  cheat  myself." 

Devereux  shuddered  as  he  ran  his  eye  ovef 
the  opening  sentences. 

♦  Is  Ibis,  indeed,  the  writing  of  Miss  TildenV 
he  asked. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


1G9 


'  It  is. — That  is  tl  e  legacy  of  a  sister  vvtiom 
I  would  fain  have  loveti— that  is  the  dying 
bequest  of  Adela.  Do  you  ask  me  now  to 
doubt!" 

"  This  is  terrible  !" 

"  Is  it  not  1  Is  it  not  frightful  to  have  In- 
curred a  hatred  which  lived  even  beyond  the 
grave!  And  that  too  by  an  action  to  which  I 
was  compelled !  Had  it  pleased  fate  to  grant 
her  wishes,  I  should  have  been  spared  the 
misery  that  has  been  visited  upon  me,  and  we 
might  both  have  been  happy.  The  tyranny  of 
my  motlier,  and  the  mean  cowardice  of  Sir 
James  Dornton  had,  however,  decided  other- 
wise ;  and  it  is  still  I  who  incur  the  penalty  ;  it 
has  been  my  .destiny  through  life  to  be  made  at 
once  the  dupe  and  the  victim  of  those  about. 
me,  and  I  must  be  content  to  drain  the  bitter 
draught  to  the  very  dregs.  Do  as  I  will,  I  can 
secure  neither  affection  nor  friendship.  I  am 
alone  in  my  own  misery." 

My  firmness  began  to  forsake  me,  and,  des- 
pite all  my  efforts,  I  felt  the  scalding  tears  fall 
upon  my  cheeks.  Devereux  was  leaning  upon 
his  arm,  with  his  face  concealed  in  his  spread 
hand  ;  and  for  a  few  minutes  we  both  re- 
mained silent. 

"  It  was  most  cruel,"  he  said  at  length ; 
"  thus  to  destroy  the  illusions  on  which  you 
had  built  up  your  happiness." 

"My  happiness  !"  I  exclaimed  reproachfully. 
"The  only  happiness  that  I  have  ever  known 
has  been  based  on  hope — and  that  hope  has 
never  once  been  realized." 

"  But  who  could  have  been  so  imprudent  as 
to  give  you  this  letter?'  he  asked,  without  ap- 
pearing to  have  heard  my  last  remark. 

"A  person  who  was  unaware  of  its  contents, 
and  who  believed  that  they  were  calculated 
rather  to  comfort  than  to  agonize  me.  Listen 
to  me,  Devereux,"  I  continued,  observing  that 
he  had  again  sunk  into  silence  ;  "you  shall  have 
all  the  details  of  this  painful  tragedy  ;  and  then 
tell  me  what  hope  remains  for  me  in  this  life.  I 
am  very  young — I  have  never  wilfully  caused 
pain  or  suffering  to  any  being  within  the  sphere 
of  my  influence.  Where  I  have  erred  it  has 
been  through  the  prompting  of  others.  Listen 
to  me,  for  I  have  much  to  tell." 

I  then  briefly  recapitulated  all  the  circum- 
stances which  had  taken  place  from  the  mo- 
ment of  our  summons  to  Glenfillan,  to  the  out 
break  of  my  husband  on  the  preceding  evening 
only  concealing  the  fact  that  his  own  name  had 
oeen  introduced  into  the  reproaches  of  Sir 
James.  As  I  told  my  tale,  the  words  had  fre- 
quently been  smothered  by  my  sobs,  and  I  saw 
tlie  tears  of  Devereux  stream  through  his  fin- 
gers. Amid  all  my  misery  I  felt  a  tlirill  of  joy 
as  I  delected  this  proof  of  sympathy.  It  was 
•o  long  since  any  one  had  felt  for  me  !  He  stdl' 
remained  in  the  same  altiUide  with  his  head 
bowed  down  over  the  writing,  but  he  had  ceased 
to  turn  the  leaves. 

"  P(jor  Adela!"  I  murmured,  after  awhile; 
"  even  .she  was  not  so  wretched  as  I  am,  for  she 
had,  at  least,  some  one  to  pity  and  to  advise 
her." 

"Your  positions  in  life  were  different,"  he 

replied  sadly  ;  "  many  felt  that  they  were  free 

,    to   pity  tlie   desolate  and  heart-stricken  Miss 

Tilden,  who  could  not  presume  to  affect  com- 

Y 


passion  for  the  gay,  admired,  and  envied  Lady 
Dornton." 

"  Does  the  world  indeed  envy  sur.h  as  I  ami" 
I  exclaimed  impalieiuly.  "  Do  you  also  con- 
sider me  beyond  the  pale  of  sympathy  and 
help  V 

"  I  did  so  very  lately  ;  but  now  all  is  changed  ,• 
and  from  my  very  heart  I  pity  you." 

As  he  ceased  speaking  he  rose,  and  paced  the 
room  with  hurried  and  agitated  steps. 

"  You  may,  indeed,"  I  said,  wringing  my 
hands;  "I  am  beset  on  every  side.  There  is 
no  escape  for  me — none.  Every  illusion  is  dis- 
sipated ;  the  truth  is  before  me  in  all  its  hideous 
reality — I  am  unloved — abandoned  by  all  who 
should  have  clung  to  me — by  all  that  could 
have  attached  me  to  life — nor  have  I  even  the 
consolation  of  feeling  that  Dornton  was  the 
first  to  blight  my  happiness." 

As  these  imprudent  words  escaped  my  lips, 
Devereux  suddenly  paused,  and  riveted  his 
eyes  upon  me  with  an  expression  which  went 
to  my  very  heart.  There  was  reproach  in  them, 
but  it  was  a  reproach  so  blent  with  happiness, 
that  my  own  fell  before  them.  I  felt  my  indis- 
cretion when  it  was  too  late. 

"  Lady  Dornton — Eveleen,"  he  murmured, 
as  he  approached  me,  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
my  arm;  "I  beseech  y(ni  to  consider  all  the 
import  of  your  words.  Can  it  be  me  whom  you 
would  reproach  1  How,  in  what  manner  have  I 
deserved  thisl" 

"Leave  me — leave  me!"  I  gasped  out;  "I 
am  distracted  by  my  grief,  and  can  no  longer 
distinguish  friends  from  foes." 

"  Not  when  I  am  beside  you  V  he  asked 
deprecatingly  ;  "  and  yet  I  too  have  struggled,  I 
too  have  suffered  ;  and  do  you  believe,  Eveleen, 
that  you  had  no  part  in  those  struggles  and  in 
that  suffering  1" 

I  had  .sunk   upon  the  sofa,  and  buried   my 
face    in    my  handkerchief,  which    he    sought  . 
gently  to  remove. 

"Only  look  at  me,"  he  continued  tenderly; 
"only  whisper  to  me  that  you  do  not  think  so 
harshly  as  you  have  led  me  to  believe." 

I  was  bewildered  by  agitation.  The  tones 
of  his  voice  brought  back  upon  me  the  early 
and  happy  period  of  our  attachment.  It  was 
long  since  I  had  heard  th«se  tones ;  and  now  I 
trembled  beneath  them  as  though  they  had  been 
fraught  with  bitterness. 

"  Leave  me — leave  me — "  I  again  exclaimed  ; 
"  I  said  I  know  not  what — leave  me,  and  for- 
get it." 

"  Do  not  drive  me  away,"  he  persisted  in  the 
same  low  gentle  accents ;  "  we  have  too  long 
misunderstood  each  other,  and  I  have  also  my 
tale  of  care  to  tell.  Nay,  do  not  withdraw  your 
hand  ;  are  you  not  conversing  with  a  friend — a 
brother — to  whom  you  have  just  poured  out  the 
sorrows  of  your  heart  1  Listen  to  me  in  your 
turn.  What  has  passed  within  the  last  few 
moments  has  determmed  me  to  speak.  It  will 
be  a  trial  to  me  to  be  frank,  for  I  fear  that  I 
may  chance  to  wound  you  by  my  sincerity,  but 
you  will  at  least  learn  to  know  me  as  I  ana ; 
and  you  can  then  decide  in  how  far  I  am  worthy 
of  your  confidence. 

"  I  imagine,"  he  resumed  with  evident  effort, 
after  a  pause  which  I  had  made  no  effort  to 
break  ;    "  that  you  cannot  have  forgotten  our 


170 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRF.TTY  WOMAN. 


last  interview  at  Rnoi<sley,  when  I  failed  to  in- 
di>ce  you  to  pledge  youiseif  to  me  definitely. 
Your  terror  and  indecision  betrayed  only  too 
plainly  how  little  I  could  rely  upon  your  firm- 
ness ;  and  I  left  you  with  despair  in  my  heart, 
for  1  felt  that  all  hope  was  lost." 

"  Yet  you  might  have  made  one  more  effort," 
I  murmured  involuntarily.  Devereux  shook  his 
head  sadly. 

"Wherefore  should  I  have  done  sol  It 
would  have  served  only  to  torture  both  yourself 
and  me.  Nor  would  letters  have  availed  me, 
even  had  I  ventured  to  risk  them  ;  for  where 
my  presence  and  my  entreaties  had  alike  failed, 
a  colder  medium  of  intercourse  could  have  ef- 
fected no  favorable  result.  I  learnt  your  depar- 
ture from  Rooksley  and  the  sensation  %vhich 
you  produced  in  town.  Erelong  rumors  reach- 
ed me  of  the  assiduities  of  Sir  James  Dornton, 
of  whose  pecuniary  involvements  I  was  aware, 
as  well  as  of  his  tact  in  Influencing  the  mind  of 
Lady  iMatlelaine  by  his  flatteries.  Next  came 
the  news  of  your  marriage,  which  had  taken 
place  before  either  your  mother  or  your  hus- 
band deemed  it  expedient  to  make  it  public ; 
and  I  shall  not  attempt  to  tell  you  the  feeling 
with  which  I  learnt  it.  I  believed  at  that  mo- 
ment that  I  might  defy  the  future  to  inflict  an- 
other pang  as  poignant  ;  but  I  did  not  know  the 
future.  The  human  heart  has  a  frightful  elas- 
ticity in  suffering — it  expands  to  receive  it, 
whatever  may  be  the  shape  in  which  it  present 
itself:  and  new  faculties  appear  to  be  created 
for  endurance.  I  learned  this  truth  when  1 
heard  that  you  were  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  and 
probably  of  death. 

"  I  believed,  and  I  had  a  ri-ght  to  believe,  that 
the  compulsion  under  which  you  had  acted,  was 
the  sole  cause  of  the  danger  to  which  your  life 
was  exposed ;  nor  can  you  picture  to  yourself 
how  dear  you  were  to  me  while  that  belief  ex- 
isted. How  often  did  I  not  pray  that  you 
might  submit  more  calmly  to  a  fatal  necessity, 
and  so  preserve  an  existence  which  was  to  me 
more  precious  than  it  had  ever  been,  although  I 
could  no  longer  hope  to  ensure  its  happiness. 
And  here,  at  least,  Eveleen,  my  prayers  were 
both  heard  and  answered.  I  have  never  re- 
gretted that  I  uttered  them ;  but  I  have  since 
learnt  to  feel  that  the  falsehood  of  those  whom 
we  have  loved,  is  worse,  far  worse  than 
death." 

"  Devereux  !" 

"  You  were  forewarned  of  my  intended  frank- 
uess,"  he  pursued  ;  "  nor  do  I  fear  but  you  will 
pardon  it.  I  was,  then,  in  this  wretched  frame 
of  mind  wiien  I  received  a  letter  from  Otter- 
ford,  who,  with  the  consent  of  your  mother,  in- 
vited me  to  Rooksley.  Fearing,  and  yet  anx- 
ious to  see  you,  and  thus  judge  by  my  own  ob- 
servation of  the  actual  state  of  your  feelings,  I 
decided  uj)on  obeying  the  summons,  altlioui;h  I 
was  more  than  once  on  the  point  of  declining 
the  trial,  for  which  I  felt  each  hour  less  compe- 
tent. I  went,  however, — I  found  yon  more 
beautiful  than  ever ;  and  for  awhile  I  pleased 
myself  with  the  belief  that  you  had  not  met  me 
without  emotion  ;  but  before  the  close  of  the 
evening  I  despised  myself  for  my  fatuity. 
Never  had  I  seen  you  in  such  brilliant,  such 
overpowering  spirits.  Never  had  I  seen  you  so 
boldly  cliuileuge  the  admiration  which  no  one 


appeared  anxious  to  withhold.  Your  coUines* 
to  Dornton  was  so  extreme  that  it  wore  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  mere  heartless  coquetry,  iinwoi^- 
thy  of  the  woman  whom  I  had  so  long  woi^ 
shipcd  in  my  inmost  heart ;  and  I  resolved  not 
to  spend  a  second  night  under  the  roof  that 
sheltered  you.  The  morning  still  found  me 
firm  in  that  tietermination  ;  for  I  had  not  slepl 
throughout  the  night,  Eveleen,  I  had  not  even 
striven  to  sleep.  The  altar  upon  which  I  had 
enshrined  my  idol  was  overthrown,  and  I 
mourned  over  the  scattered  remnants  of  my 
last  illusion  If  I  returned  on  the  morrow  it 
was  only  because  your  husband,  who  had  deci- 
ded upon  not  leaving  me  for  an  instant,  alarmed 
me  by  his  jests,  and  piqued  my  self-love  by 
some  of  those  trivial  but  comprehensive  witti- 
cisms  before  which  the  firmest  quail  at  times. 

"  I  was  not  long  in  making  the  discovery  that 
the  passion  of  Dornton  was  merely  acted  ;  that 
you  felt  its  hollowness  ;  and  that  wounded  pride 
would  soon  restore  your  heart  to  me  ;  but  the 
same  self-esteem  which  had  prevented  my  utter- 
i:.g  one  reproach  upon  your  infidelity,  also  tauglU 
me  to  reject  so  questionable  a  benefit.  A  wo- 
man  for  whom  I  had  felt  a  mere  passing  passion 
would  not,  perhaps,  have  found  me  proof  against 
such  a  teiTiptation,  but  with  you  I  scorned  so 
poor  a  triumph.  The  renewal  of  your  passion 
for  me  must  be  the  mere  result  of  the  neglect 
of  Dornton,  or  of  your  love  for  change  :  and 
these  were  not  motives  which  could  satisfy  an  ! 
affection  like  that  which  I  had  vowed  to  you.        I 

"  I  have  now  confessed  to  you  the  true  rea-  I 
sons  of  my  estrangement ;  I  will  neither  seek  j 
to  excuse,  nor  to  justify  them  ;  for  however  est-  | 
traordinary  or  unnatural  they  may  appear,  they  I 
have  sprung  entirely  from  the  one  ruling  princi  j 
pleof  my  life." 

Never  had  I  felt  so  utterly  humbled  as  I  was     ! 
during  the  time  that  Devereux  had  been  speak-     ! 
ing.     How  contemptible  a  picture  had  he,  as  il     ! 
involuntarily,  drawn  of  myself!     How  had  he 
turned  back  my  thoughts  upon  all  the  inconsis- 
tencies and  errors  of  the  past !     And,  above  all, 
how  had  he  abstained  from  the  bitterness  and 
reproach  which  I  had  only  too  well   merited. 
Nevertheless,  I  endeavored  to  justify  myself; 
and  forgetting  my  agitation  in  my  anxiety  to  re- 
deem myself  in  his  good  opinion,  1  undertook 
my   exculpation    with   all    the    warmth   which 
usually  accompanies  a  bad  cause  ;  and  attempt- 
ed to  found  it  upon  all  that  I  had  suffered  to  re- 
deem my  promise  to  liimself 

"  Lady  Dornton,"  he  said  gravely,  as  if  pained 
by  the  weakness  of  my  arguments ;  "  I  never 
believed  that  you  had  consented  to  make  me 
miserable,  witliout  an  effort  to  prevent  it ;  but 
tlie  more  energy  you  had  displayed  to  remain 
true  to  your  first  affection,  the  more  inexplica- 
ble was  the  prompt  adhesion  of  your  heart  tt) 
your  new  engagements.  The  little  study  which 
i  had  made  of  your  sex,  the  reproaches  which  I 
had  heard  lavished  upon  it,  and  my  own  experi- 
ence, would,  at  that  moment,  have  led  me  to  be- 
lieve that  Women  were  incapable  of  firmness  or 
fidelity,  had  not  the  unhappy  (ate  of  Miss  Tilden 
convinced  me  that  they  can  exert  both  wheie 
they  really  love." 

Despite  my  freshly-awakened  affection  far 
Devereux,  I  resented  the  contras  which  he  had 
drawn ;    and  somewhat    haughtily   expatiated    ; , 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


171 


upon  tho  enforced  duties  which  rendered  all  in- 
dulgeni-e  of  luy  past  altaehiuent  a  crime,  while  I 
claimed  (or  myself  a  virtue  of  which  I  knew 
little  more  than  the  name. 

"  You  are  not  frank,  Lady  Dornton,"  said 
Devercux  ;  "  fine  phrases  may  pass  with  the 
world,  which  contents  itself  with  seeming,  and 
rarely  looks  beneath  the  surface  ;  but  remem- 
ber that  I  have  loved  you — have  read  your  very 
heart — and  understand  all  the  intricacies  of 
your  character.  Let  us  be  sincere,  at  least  to 
each  other.  Had  duly  prompted  your  actions, 
painful  as  might  have  been  the  experience,  I 
should  have  respected  the  severity  of  your  prin- 
ciptes,  and  submitted  without  a  murmur  to  the 
coldness  which  they  induced  :  but  I  felt  too 
much  interest  in  their  analysis  to  deceive  my- 
self \  ou  loved  Dornton  for  a  time  without 
caring  to  inquire  too  curiously  the  cause  of  your 
sudden  passion.  You  ceased  to  love  him,  when 
he  liad  piqued  your  pride  by  his  neglect  and  eg- 
otisW,  witli  the  same  uncalculating  facdity  ;  and 
once  more  your  feelings  welled  back  again  to- 
ward your  first  afTection  by  the  mere  strength  of 
habit—"' 

"I  will  hear  no  more!"  I  exclaimed  indig- 
nantly ;  ''  again  I  say,  leave  me.  Colonel  Dev- 
ereux  ;  I  wasal  ready  suffioiently  miserable ; 
do  not  continue  to  add  insult  to  my  other 
wrongs.' 

"  I^ady  Dornton,  you  do  me  injustice — " 

"  Be  it  so  ;  suffer  me  then  to  remain  in  my 
error.  It  was  left  for  you  to  convince  me  that 
I  had  no  longer  a  friend  on  earth.  Be  satis- 
fied ;  you  have  performed  your  mission  fully 
and  unsparingly.  And  now,  jet  us  meet  no 
more." 

"  Let  us  meet  no  more  !"  echoed  Devereux 
in  an  accent  of  anguish  ;  "  Eveleen — in  what  a 
tone,  with  what  a  look  do  you  pronounce  the 
sentence." 

"  With  a  look  and  tone  which  best  express 
my  feeling.  Colonel  Devereux  ;  with  the  decis- 
1  ion   that   is   induced   by  the   indignities   with 
I  which  you  have  just  overwhelmed  me." 

"  And  it  is  those  very  indignities  which 
:  should  have  proved  to  you  the  extent,  the  ex- 
acting claims,  the  jealous  scrutiny  of  my  pas- 
sion," he  replied  scornfully  ;  "  I  have  uttered 
harsh  words,  I  know  it ;  but  there  are  still 
harsher  thoughts  within  my  breast  —  for  my 
heart  was  full.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to 
give  vent  to  my  pent-up  feelings  without  per- 
mitting their  bitterness  to  overflow  my  lips ; 
outraged  affection  is  never  gentle  in  its  lan- 
guage— smooth  phrases  were  made  for  hypo- 
crites— truth  cares  not  to  round  its  periods — 
Eveleen  !  I  have  wounded  you — you  whom  I 
would  die  to  shield  from  even  temporary  suffer- 
ing." 

"  Colonel  Devereux,  this  inconsistency — " 
I  "Is  weak  and  contemptible — I  know  it ;  but 
1  mn  I  to  blame  if  my  passion  is  stronger  than 
my  reason  1  Is  it  nothing,  Eveleen,  to  inspire 
a  love  in  which  all  other  feelings  and  interests 
are  eithor  absorbed  or  stifled  ]  Is  it  nothing  to 
see  a  man  who  had  vowed  to  forget — to  detest 
— and  to  despise  you — at  your  feet  and  at  your 
mercy  1  Oh,  Eveleen,  if  indeed  you  ever  loved 
me,  let  me  once  more  hear  you  make  me  the 
acknowledgment,  and  I  shall  almost  cease  to 
remember  my  past  wretchedness." 


"  You  forget  that  such  words  from  my  lipa 
would  now  be  sinful." 

"  And  have  I  not  sinned  for  you  1  Have  I 
not  cursed  during  the  night-watches  the  authors 
of  our  disunion  1  Have  1  not  encouraged  a  tliou- 
sandimpioushopes,  aihousandevilwishes  >  And 
am  I,  even  in  this,  to  be  the  only  victim!" 

Devereux  had  flung  himself  at  my  feet,  he 
grasped  my  hands  :  his  very  existence  seemed 
to  hang  upon  my  reply.  And  he  was  the  only 
man  whom  I  had  ever  really  loved.  Upon  his 
brow,  and  in  his  eyes,  I  read  all  the  memory  of  the 
happy  past,  when  hope  was  bright  befoie  me.  I 
had  believed  him  to  be  estranged  ;  and  there  I 
.saw  him,  more  tender,  more  devoted,  more  en- 
slaved than  ever.  I  thought  only  of  him.  My 
mother,  my  husband,  tiie  whole  world  were  for- 
gotten. 

"  Herbert !"  I  murmnred,  as  my  tears  fell 
upon  the  hands  which  grasped  my  own. 

"Eveleen!"  he  whispered,  as  he  bent  his 
head  yet  lower,  until  his  forehead  rested  upon 
them.  "  My  own  Eveleen,  once  lost,  hut  found 
again!" 

And  then  there  was  a  deep  unbroken  silence; 
yet  strange  to  say,  as  I  sat  there  with  my  hands 
clasped  in  his,  and  his  head  bowed  down  upon 
my  knees,  I  felt  no  sense  of  error  ;  all  was 
peace  and  calm  ;  I  was  like  a  child  which  has 
wept  the  absence  of  a  mother,  and  then  sinks  to 
rest  upon  her  protecting  bosom.  I  was,  however, 
awakened  to  reflection  by  the  first  movement  of 
my  lover  ;  as  he  at  length  raised  his  head,  our 
eyes  met,  and  I  felt  the  scorching  blush  ot 
shame  spread  over  my  brow  and  bosom. 

"  Rise  !"  I  exclaimed  hurriedly,  in  an  accent 
of  dismay  ;  "  rise,  Devereux,  if  you  really  still 
respect  me.  This  is  no  posture  to  assume  b^ 
fore  the  wife  of  Sir  James  Dornton." 

"  It  is  precisely  because  I  do  respect  you, 
Eveleen,  that  I  do  not  obey,"  he  replied  reso- 
lutely ;  "  not  as  the  wife  of  Sir  James  Dornton, 
that  invocation  is  idle — you  are  but  his  victim — 
but  for  your  own  sake.  You  have  borne  much 
from  me  to-day  ;  be  forbearing  still.  What 
can  you  fear  from  me  I  Have  I  not  loved  you 
from  your  very  girlhood  ]  Was  I  not  the  first 
to  read  in  your  young  heart,  and  to  awaken  it  to 
life  I  Were  you  not  morally  mine,  before  you 
were  sacrificed  to  expediency  and  convenience^ 
All  that  has  since  occurred  has  been  the  effect 
of  chance;  and  we  are  no  longer  children  to 
believe  that  the  heart  can  be  trammeled  like  the 
hand,  and  be  bestowed  at  the  bidding  of  another. 
Eveleen  !  only  whisper  once  that  I  am  still  dear 
to  you." 

I  could  not;  but  I  was  equally  unable  to 
withstand  the  appealing  eyes  which  were  earn- 
estly riveted  upon  me  ;  and  gently  withdraw- 
ing my  hands  from  the  clasp  in  which  they  were 
still  held,  I  parted  tlie  hair  upon  his  brow,  and 
bending  down,  I  pressed  my  lips  upon  it  for  an 
instant.  The  elfect  of  that  unguarded  action 
convinced  me  of  the  gravity  of  the  fault  which 
I  had  committed.  Devereux  sprang  from  the 
floor  as  if  electrified.  "  I  have  not  then  lived 
in  vain  I"  he  exclaimed  ardently;  "Eveleen, 
you  are  still  mine  ;  and  no  power  on  earth  shall 
again  part  us." 

Terror  and  remorse  restored  mc  at  once  to 
composure  aiul  to  prudence.  "  Devercux,"  I 
said  beseechingly,  "have  pity  upon  me — upon 


172 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


J  lurself— you  have  tried  me  beyond  my  strength, 
and  you  liad  not  to  learn  to-day  the  weakness 
d{  my  nature.  I  have  no  friend,  no  adviser 
on  earth,  if  you  forsal<e  me — if  you  put  me  be- 
yond the  pale  of  your  own  sympathy.  Consider 
my  posii  ion — remen)ber  my  youth — do  not  teach 
ie  to  hale  myself,  and  to  fear  even  you."  My 
nead  sank  upon  my  bosom  ;  and  when  he  seated 
himself  beside  me,  a-nd  clasped  me  to  his  breast 
in  silence,  I  only  wept,  for  I  had  lost  the  power 
to  resist. 

"  Is  this  generous  V  I  at  length  sobbed  out. 

"  Forgive  me,  Eveleen  ;"  he  said  sadly  : 
"  forgive  me.  I  should,  indeed,  have  remem- 
bered all  this.  Forget  the  madness  of  a  mo- 
ment, aad  restore  me  to  your  confidence— to 
your  friendship — to  your  heart.  I  am  alone  to 
blame — and  yet — Eveleen — Eveleen — why  have 
we  thus  been  fated  to  one  common  misery  1" 

The  hand  upon  which  his  head  had  firooped 
trembled  beneath  its  burthen  ;  his  quivering  lips 
were  whiie,  and  his  whole  frame  shook  with 
emotion. 

"  I  i«o  am  culpable,"  I  murmured  gaspingly  : 
•'  I  should  not  have  forgotten  what  was  due  to 
.nyself,  and  to  the  name  I  bear." 

As  I  spoke  a  fresh  cause  for  anxiety  awoke 
within  me.  Upon  the  arrival  of  Devereux  I 
had  pleaded  fatigue  as  a  pretext  for  shutting  out 
all  other  visitors,  and  I  saw  with  dismay,  on 
Chancing  to  cast  my  eyes  upon  the  lime-piece, 
Uiat  several  hours  had  elapsed  since  his  en- 
trance. A  dread  of  the  effects  of  this  impru- 
dence turned  me  sick  at  heart:  I  directed  his 
attention  to  the  fact,  but  he  treated  my  fears  as 
chimerical,  and  strove  to  persuade  me  that  it 
would  pass  unremarked.  I  was,  however,  so 
conscious  that  this  hope  was  vain,  and  my  agi- 
tation became  in  consequence  so  violent,  that 
he  was  soon  convinced  of  the  inutility  of  his  ef- 
forts :  and  at  length  he  reluctantly  consented  to 
depart,  in  pity  to  my  terror. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Devereux  had  scarcely  left  the  house  when 
Josephine  entered  my  room  unbidden.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  she  had  ventured  upon  such 
an  intrusion,  and  even  agitated  as  I  was,  I 
should  have  rebuked  her  for  the  liberty  which 
she  was  then  taking,  had  she  not  at  once  ad- 
dressed me  in  a  tone  of  half-confidence,  to 
communicate  the  fact  that  Sir  James  had  re- 
turned home  two  hours  previously,  and  had 
been  about  to  proceed  to  my  dressing-room, 
when,  on  seeing  her  in  the  antechamber,  he 
had  inquired  if  I  were  alone,  to  which  she  had 
replied  by  informing  him  that  I  was  in  my 
morning-room  with  Colonel  Devereux. 

"  And  what  prevented  Sir  James  from  seek- 
ing me  there  1"  I  asked,  as  calmly  as  I  was 
able. 

"  I  cannot  inform  miladi ;  Sir  James  looked 
Burpri-sed,  perhaps  a  little  angry ;  then  he 
walked  lowards  miladi's  room  ;  and  then  he 
turned  back  to  his  own,  telling  me  to  let  him 
know  when  Colonel  Devereux  left." 

"And  have  you  done  sol" 

Josephine  shook  her  head  significantly  :  "  I 
take  no  orders  but  from  miladi,  who  might  be 
fatigued  and  wish  to  rest  a  little  after  her  long 
Tisit." 


Alarmed  alike  by  what  I  heard,  and  by  what 
I  saw,  I  desired  that  Sir  James  might  he  im- 
mediately informed  that  I  was  at  my  toilet,  and 
would  join  him  at  the  second  dinner-bell  ;  and 
then  abandoning  myself  to  the  hands  of  Jos^ 
phine,  I  fell  into  a  painful  train  of  thought.  Ak 
my  courage  had  departed  with  Devereux,  and 
I  trembled  as  I  sat ;  the  very  looks  and  motions 
of  my  attendant  inspired  me  with  terror ;  she 
evidently  suspected  a  mystery  ;  and  what  could 
she  suspect  that  was  not  calculated  to  degrade 
me  in  my  own  eyes ! 

Had  I  been  actually,  as  well  as  morally  guit 
ty,  it  is  probable  that  the  very  extremity  of  my 
situation  would  have  inspired  me  with  factitious 
courage,  or  have  rendered  me  sufficiently  caU 
lous  to  brave  its  results ;  but  as  it  was,  I 
shrank  before  every  breath.  I  dreaded  to  meet 
the  looks  of  the  footmen  during  dinner,  for  li«w 
knew  I  of  what  comments  I  had  been  made 
the  subject!  I  shuddered  as  I  thought  of  my 
mother — of  my  coming  tete-a-tele  with  mjWius- 
band — but  beyond  all  other  suffering  was  the 
dread  that  I  had  forfeited  all  claim  to  the  re*, 
pect  of  Devereux. 

There,  indeed,  the  iron  had  entered  into  my 
heart  I  In  the  enthusiasm  and  emotion  of  the 
moment,  alive  only  to  his  passion,  he  had  been 
all  tenderness — all  adoration — but  when  the 
effervescence  of  feeling  had  once  subsided,  how 
would  he  look  back  upon  that  morning's  inter- 
view 1  When  my  beauty  was  no  longer  present 
to  delude  him — my  tears  to  unman  him — would 
he  not  forget  all,  save  my  weak  and  culpable 
neglect  of  my  duties  as  a  woman  and  a  wife! 
Had  I  not  been  sufficiently  forewarned  by  the 
scorn  with  which  I  had  heard  him  speak  of 
those  who  had  forfeited  their  position  in  soci- 
ety 1  and,  although  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  I 
had  lost  nothing  of  my  purity,  I  was  but  too 
well  aware  how  conscious  he  himself  must  be 
that  I  had  sinned  in  heart.  It  is  true  that  he 
had  been  alike  to  blame ;  but  I  had  not  now  to 
learn  the  impunity  of  his  sex  in  all  that  relates 
to  passion.  While  he  could  crush  me  to  the 
earth  with  his  disdain,  he  could  stand  proudly 
erect,  and  defy  my  utmost  efforts  to  bow  his  head 
even  for  an  instant.  How  bitterly  I  felt  at  this 
moment,  when  the  reflection  came  too  late,  the 
utter  madness  of  the  woman  who  thus  voluiv 
teers  her  own  tortures.  How  my  spirit  yearn- 
ed to  recall  the  past — and  alas  I  how  vainly.  I 
fancied  that  when  I  had  once  more  met  him,  I 
should  be  more  calm  ;  yet  the  thought  of  that 
meeting  came  over  me  like  a  death-pang. 
What  had  to  him,  perhaps,  been  the  mere  pass- 
ing adventure  of  an  hour,  might  be  to  me  a  life- 
long memory  of  bitterness.  He  knew  my  weak- 
ness, and  henceforward  I  was  at  his  mercy. 

After  a  time  I  began  to  search  at  least  a  par- 
tial remedy  for  the  fatal  imprudence  of  which  I 
had  been  guilty.  My  heart  still  yearnf^d  toward 
him  with  irrepressible  affection,  but  I  resolved 
to  stifle  its  every  throb,  in  order  to  reinstate 
myself  in  his  opinion.  I  determined  to  be  pru- 
dent, jealous  of  every  word  and  action,  to  avoid 
every  occasion  of  being  alone  with  him,  to  girdi 
myself  about  with  caution  and  reserve;  in 
short,  to  prove  to  him  that  the  error  of  an  in- 
stant would  exert  no  baneful  influence  over  the 
future. 

Full  of  this  resolve,  I  descended  to  dinner 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTiT  WOMAN. 


173 


with  more  composure  than  I  had  hoped  to  ex- 
hibit. Tlie  second  bell  had  rung,  and  there 
was  barely  time  lor  me  to  receive  and  return 
the  gieeting  of  my  husband  before  we  seated 
tnirsflves  at  table. 

Although  the  presence  of  the  servants  pre- 
vented all  conversation,  save  those  common- 
place remarks  and  courtesies  incident  to  the 
meal,  I  was  at  no  loss  to  discover  the  preoccu- 
pation of  Sir  James.  There  was  a  mocking 
emile  upon  his  lips  which  made  me  quiver  ;  and 
his  comnienls  upon  my  loss  of  appetite  added 
to  the  agitation  which  I  struggled  painfully  to 
suppress.  I  had  lost  my  vantage  ground  even 
with  him. 

At  length  the  dinner  ended  ;  and  contrary  to 
his  usual  custom,  Dornton  left  the  table  at  the 
same  time  as  myself.  I  was  not  prepared  for 
this.  The  quiet  hour  upon  which  1  l»d  calcu- 
lated to  restore  me  to  at  least  a  semblance 
of  composure,  was  thus  denied  to  me,  and  I 
felt  that  I  must  at  once  bow  my  head  beneath 
the  coming  avalanche. 

"Are  you  aware.  Lady  Dornton,"  he  abrupt- 
ly asked,  as  the  servants  withdrew  and  closed 
the  door  beliind  them  ;  "  that  I  have  been  at 
home  for  several  hours  1" 

"  Joseiihine  informed  me  that  such  was  the 
case,"  I  replied  in  tones  which  I  strove  to 
render  indifferent. 

"  And  did  she  also  tell  you,  may  I  inquire, 
hat  1  was  about  to  visit  you  on  my  return  to 
the  house  1" 

"  1  think  that  she  did  mention  something  of 
the  kind,  but^  said  that  you  subsequently 
clianged  your  luind." 

"  She  doubtlessly  added  to  her  other  informa- 
tion that  1  incuired  whether  you  were  alone  .'" 
I      "  She  did,  and  I   presumed  that  this  novel 
I  observance  was  consequent  upon  our  last  con- 
,  versation.'' 

j  "  By  no  means.  I  have  sufficient  knowledge 
I  of  the  world  to  be  aware  that  the  sudden  appa- 
j  rition  of  a  husband  may  be  at  times  importu- 
1  nate." 

i  "  1  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  considera- 
i  tion." 

1      "I  accept  your  thanks  willingly,  for  upon 
this  occasion  I  can  have  no  doubt  of  their  sin- 
cerity." 
I  made  no  reply. 

"To-day,  for  instance,"  he  pursued  in  the 
I  same  accent  of  assumed  deference  ;  "  I  should 
i  have  been  extremely  ill-advised  to  intrude  upon 
la  tcLc-a-ietc.  which,  judging  from  its  duration, 
jmust  have  been  eminently  interesting." 

"  You  were  perfectly  free  to  act  as  you  saw 
1  fit.  The  subject  discussed  by  Colonel  Dever- 
eux  and  myself  was  one  to  which  you  are  no 
I  stranger." 

I  "i  understand.  Lady  Dornton;  you  were 
I  confiding  to  your  early  friend  all  the  events 
;  which  have  occurred  in  the  family.  The  ar- 
irangemnit  does  inlinile  credit  to  the  respect 
!  which  you  evince  toward  those  to  whom  you 
lare  bound  by  the  ties  of  relationship  and — 
iduty." 

j     "  Your  susceptibility  is   misplaced,"   I   an- 
IBwered  calmly;  "Colonel  Devereux  was  ac- 
jquainted  with  the  melancholy  affair  in  all  its 
details." 
I     "  Ha.  indeed  !  his  connection  with  the  fam- 


ily is  more  intimate  than  I  had  hitherto  ho- 
lieved.  The  subject  must,  in  that  case,  huvii 
been  skillully  anatomized  during  u  discussion 
of  upwards  of  three  hours,  but  1  readily  enter 
into  Its  several  ramifications.  The  supposed 
wrongs  of  your  sister  naturally  led,  by  an  easy 
transition,  to  your  own  ;  and  1  had  to  be  tried, 
condemned,  and  executed  before  you  parted. 
Fortunately,  Lady  Dornton,  I  hold  such  a  tribu- 
nal lightly;  while  Iain  rather  inclined  to  fear  that 
it  may  be  attended  with  more  serious  results  to 
yourself.  Do  you  consider  the  proceeding  of 
this  morning  calculated  to  insure  you  an  in- 
creased degree  of  respect  1  Be  assured  that  not 
even  a  French  waiting- woman,  mounting  guard 
in  your  antechamber,  can  shut  out  curious 
eyes,  or  quiet  slanderous  tongues.  There  is 
not  a  lackey  in  the  servants'  hall  who  could  not 
tell  you  to  a  second  at  what  time  Colonel  Dev- 
ereux was  admitted,  and  at  what  time  he  left 
the  house ;  and  who  will  not  consider  himself 
at  perfect  liberty  to  draw  his  own  inferences 
from  such  a  visit." 

"Inferences!"  I  exclaimed  angrily;  "and 
pray.  Sir  James,  of  what  Inferences  will  it  ad- 
mit!" 

"  The  question  is  ingenuous  !  Do  you  imag- 
ine that  I  am  myself  the  dupe  of  your  having 
passed  nearly  four  hours  alone  with  Colonel 
Devereux  in  sighing  over  the  moral  suicide  of 
a  wrong-headed  girll  And  I  believe  that  you 
have  advanced  no  other  pretext  for  this  extra- 
ordinary privy  council." 

After  my  indignant  exasperation  of  the  pre- 
vious evening,  nothing  could  be  more  ill-judged 
than  a  tame  concession  at  the  present  moment. 
The  terms  on  which  I  had  parted  from  my 
husband  gave  him,  moreover,  no  right  to  ex- 
pect consideration  at  my  hands  ;  but  I  was  no 
longer  conscience-clear  ;  I  was  accused  by  my 
own  heart,  and  my  own  reason ;  and,  as  a 
natural  consequence,  I  gave  way  to  a  coward- 
ice which  prompted  me  to  temporize.  I  there- 
fore affected  to  be  convinced  by  the  reasoning 
of  Dornton,  and  declared  myself  awakened  to  a 
conviction  of  my  imprudence.  I  admitted  my 
error  without  bitterness  ;  but  excused  it  upon 
the  plea  that  Devereux  was  acquainted  with 
the  whole  of  my  sister's  unhappy  story,  and 
that  I  consequently  felt  I  might,  uilhout  indis- 
cretion, talk  of  her  to  him  without  reserve. 

"  Perhaps,"  I  said  in  conclusion,  '•  I  sliould 
have  acted  more  prudently  had  I  deferred  this 
conversation  for  a  time  ;  but  in  the  freshness 
of  my  grief,  and  confident  in  the  innocence  of 
my  own  motives,  I  have  blindly  subjected  my- 
self to  miscon.-.truction." 

"  Blindly  !"  repeated  Dornton,  as  he  elevated 
his  eyebrows  ironically  ;  "  that  is  the  version 
of  the  affair  which  you  are  pleased  to  offer  to 
my  acceptance ;  but  you  wrong  yourself,  no- 
thing could  be  more  clear-sighted.  There  are 
so  lew  tears,  be  the  sorrow  what  it  may,  which 
a  lover's  hand  cannot  wipe  away."    , 

"  A  lover.  Sir  James  V 

"  Yes,  Lady  Dornton  ;  why  should  you  startle 
at  the  truth  \  Do  you.  by  tins  show  of  virtuous* 
indignation,  wish  me  to  understand  that  Dev- 
ereux listened  lo  J.',  your  lamentations,  with- 
out exacting  any  recompense  loi  ;.:-  naliencel 
That  would  indeed  be  a  new  role  for  a  young 
guardsman  in  tne  first  harvest  of  his  triumphs  . 


174 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


In  short,  I  do  not  attempt  to  demand  an  ex- 
planation of  your  proceedings,  but  I  beg  you  to 
be  assured  that  1  am,  m  no  respect,  your  dupe." 

Tlie  words  of  Dornton  were  like  barbed  ar- 
rows, which,  without  being  mortal,  neverthe- 
less wounded  me  on  every  side  ;  I  could  bear 
no  more  ;   1  hu-st  into  an  agony  of  tears.     ' 

•'  Are  you  not  yet  weary  of  overwhelming 
me  wiih  insult  I"  I  asked  bitterly,  "have  you 
nothing  more  to  add  which  may  prove  equally 
offensive  lo  my  pride,  and  painful  to  my  feel- 
ings !" 

'•  I  have  this  to  add,  Lady  Dornton,  that  I 
request  you  to  call  to  remembrance  the  whole- 
some advice  which  gave  I  you  only  yesterday  ; 
advice  which  you  received  in  no  very  tranquil 
spirit,  but  which  you  have  already  shown  to  be 
by  no  means  unnecessary.  You  have  made  so 
rapid  a  commencement  in  your  career,  that 
you  W'ould  evidently  go  further  than  even  I 
suspected,  were  you  to  remain  unchecked;  but, 
as  I  have  no  inclination  to  hear  you  quoted  as 
one  of  those  witless  women  who  seem  created 
only  to  afford  a  subject  lor  tiie  idle  and  the 
vicious,  I  forewarn  yon  that  I  still  retain  the 
authority  of  a  husband,  and  that  I  shall  be  by 
no  means  slow  to  use  it." 

As  he  ceased  speaking  he  rang,  and  ordered 
his  carriage  ;  and  then  once  more  turning  to- 
ward mc,  he  said  coldly  : — 

"  I  will  now  rid  you  of  my  presence,  Lady 
Dornton.  Two  interviews  of  unmeasured  du- 
ration in  one  day  might  prove  too  trying  lor 
your  nerves.  I  was  merely  anxious  that  you 
should  comprehend  your  true  position  ;  and  we 
will  waste  no  more  words  upon  so  ungracious  a 
subject." 

Then  bowing  sarcastically,  he  rose  and  left 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  L. 

I  WAS  no  sooner  alone,  than  my  thoughts  re- 
verted to  Dcvcreux,  and  as  I  recalled  my  own 
words  and  actions  of  ttie  morning,  all  my  terror 
returned  upon  me.  I  was  already  suffering  the 
bitter  and  humiliating  penalty  of  my  impru- 
dence. The  impertinence  of  Josephine,  which 
I  dared  not  resent,  and  the  taunts  of  my  hus- 
band, which  I  could  not  refute,  were  the  first 
fruits  of  my  fault.  As  regarded  Devereux  him 
self,  I  fell  the  absolute  necessity  of  immediate 
ly  ascertaining  my  exact  position.  The  few 
hours  which  had  already  elapsed  since  our 
meeting  must  have  aflordcd  time  for  re.lection 
even  lo  him  ;  and  I  i)anled  to  be  infurined  of 
its  effect.  The  dilBculiy  was  how  to  accom- 
plish this. 

Even  had  I  possessed  a  friend  upon  whose 
caution  1  could'rely,  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible lo  admit  a  third  person  into  such  a  con- 
fidence. Nothing,  iherelore,  remained  save 
another  interview,  or  a  written  correspondence. 
The  formiJr  aUcrnalive  was  too  hazardous  un- 
der prc^sent  circumstances  ;  and  I  conseciuenlly 
decided  u|)on  a  letter.  Having  come  to  a  de- 
termii  ation  on  this  point,  I  lost  no  lime  in 
pulling  il  into  execution  ;  but,  seating  myself  at 
once  at  my  writing-table,  prepared  to  pen  the 
knter  which  was  lo  decide  my  future  conduct. 
The  task  was  by  no  means  eilher  an  easy  or  a 
vleasant  one  ;   for  here  again  luy  conscience 


rose  up  in  judgment  against  me,  and  held  my 
ideas  in  check.  The  natural  result  ensued  ;  my 
style  and  manner  were  alike  constrained,  and 
the  very  effort  which  I  made  to  disguise  the 
fact,  gave  an  artificial  and  studied  appearance 
to  the  communication.  I  had  alike  to  excuse 
myself,  and  lo  conciliate  Devereux — u  admit 
my  imprudence,  and  to  make  it  appear  a  vinue 
in  his  eyes; — ai)ove  all,  it  was  necessary  to 
convince  him  that  my  first  error  was  lo  be  my 
last ;  and  lo  appeal  to  his  honor  and  generosity 
to  assi.-it  me  in  my  resolve.  I  implored  him 
henceforward  to  consider  himself  only  as  a 
friend  —  an  esteemed  and  dear  friend  —  who 
could  never  be  more  lo  me  in  this  life  ;  and  I 
concluded  by  reminding  him  that  I  should  esti- 
mate his  respect  and  regard  for  me,  in  propor- 
tion lo  his  obedience  upon  this  point. 

I  was  Bol  altogether  satisfied  with  myself  as  I 
closed  the  letter,  but  still  it  was  sufficiently  dig- 
nified to  carry  with  it  the  aspect  of  sincerity 
wliich  I  was  anxious  it  should  bear,  Devereux,  I 
moreover  reflected,  must  be  aware  of  the  agi- 
tated feelings  under  which  it  was  wrillen  ;  and 
would  iherelVire  be  more  inclined  to  approve  than 
lo  criticise  my  lardy  endeavor  to  act  prudently. 

This  done,  I  became  more  calm.  His  reply 
would  necessary  reveal  to  me  the  estimation  in 
wliich  he  held  alike  my  request  and  my  reputa- 
tion ;  and  1  endeavored  to  banish  Ihe  subject 
from  my  mind  until  il  arrived. 

Another  day  had  gone  by  without,  a  word 
from  my  mother;  but  a  hurried  note  from  Lord 
Oiterford  had  informed  me  that,  bis  mournfu 
duly  performed,  he  had  left  Lady  O'Halloran  iri 
safely  under  the  roof  of  herson,  and  had  himsel; 
returned  lo  town.  Adela,  he  said,  had  request; 
ed  that  an  ample  provision  might  be  secured  U 
Lady  Flora  for  her  life,  an  arrangement  to  whicl 
ho  lelt  convinced  I  should  at  once  cheerfull; 
accede ;  and  the  rather  as  from  the  fact  of  m; 
sister  having  died  in  ht-r  minority.  I  had  hecomi 
sole  heiress  lo  my  father's  wealth,  as  well  a 
the  remainder  of  Lady  Madelaine's  jointurf 
He  alluded  also  lo  the  lease  of  Glenfillan,  whic 
was  at  my  disposal ;  and  where,  he  added.  Lad 
Flora  wished  to  reside,  until  I  should  see  fil  t 
give  it  another  tenant. 

All  these  details  interested  me  but  little, 
replied  brieliy  ibatl  left  everything  in  his  hand; 
and  should  be  ready  to  subscribe  to  any  arrange 
nienis  wliich  he  might  deem  advisable.  I  li;i 
already  suffered  so  bitterly  from  the  posscssio 
of  wealth,  thai  its  increase  rather  alarmed  iha 
gratified  me.  There  was,  moreover,  somelhii 
saddening  in  the  conviction  that  all  was,  indet' 
now  over  with  the  unlia|)py  Adela  ;  she  was  i 
longer  upon  earth  ;  they  had  laid  her  at  the  fc 
of  her  maternal  grandfather,  who  little  dreamt 
when  he  bartered  his  favorite  child  for  gol 
how  soon  one  of  his  victims  would  mould' 
within  a  loot  of  his  own  bier ! 

On  the  Ibllowing  da'y  my  mollrcr  made  h 
appearance,  clad  in  deep  sables,  but  with  lilt 
of  the  mourner  in  her  look  and  mannei  H 
husband,  on  the  contrary,  was  visibly  depres 
ed;  the  broken  heart  which  he  had  just  follo> 
ed  to  the  grave  had  probably  reminded  him 
another,  in  which  he  had  more  share.  , 

Her  first  inqikiy  was  for  Sir  James,  ot  who 
movements  I  could  give  her  no  informatii 
Her  next  related  lo  the  contents  of  the  packi' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


17i» 


of  which  Lady  O'Halloran  had  informed  Lord 
Ottcrford.  "  If  it  contained  a  will,"  she  said 
coldly;  "you  are  of  course  aware  thatit  is  a 
mere  mockery,  as  your  sister  died  a  minor,  and 
had  consequently  no  control  over  her  property  ; 
while  any  request  which  she  may  have  made 
is  m  no  way  binding,  as  her  whole  career  has 
proved  her  perfect  inability  to  judge  rightly 
upon  any  subject." 

"  Her  letter  made  no  mention  whatever  of 
money  matters,"  I  answered  ;  "  had  it  done  so, 
I  should  at  least  haTe  had  the  gratification  of 
fulfilling  her  last  wishes." 

Lady  Madelaine  shrugged  her  shoulders,  but 
could  not  entirely  conceal  her  uneasiness.  "  It 
is  at  least  satisfactory,"  she  resumed,  "  that  she 
did  not  leave  tlte  earth  as  thoroughly  estranged 
from  all  her  family  as  she  had  lived,  siace  she 
favored  you  with  so  voluminous  a  confidence  in 
dying." 

"  In  one  respect,"  I  answered,  as  I  struggled 
10  su[)press  the  agitation  which  was  gaining 
upon  me ;  "  it  is,  indeed,  satisfactory,  for  I  at 
.ength  know  my  actual  position,  to  which  I  was 
before  worse  than  blind.  I  am  forewarned  for 
the  future." 

"  That  Adela  had  bequeathed  to  you  some 
sentimental  folly  which  had  not  tended  to  render 
you  more  docile  or  more  rational,  has  already 
been  hinted  to  me  by  your  husband,"  said  Lady 
Madelaine  unguardedly. 

"If  you  allude  to  a  communication  made  by 
Sir  James  Dornton,  madam,"  I  interposed  reso- 
lutely ;  "  it  is  needless  for  me  to  enter  into 
any  further  explanation,  except  that  I  no  lo-nger 
recognize  that  individual  as  my  husband." 
I       Lady  Madelaine  bounded  upon  her  seat. 

"My  dear  Eveleen,"  said  Lord  Otterford,  af- 
i  fectionately  taking  my  hand,  "  do  nothing  rash- 
i  ly.  You  know  not — you  cannot  guess  the  trials 
and  dangers  to  which  so  young  a  person  as 
i  yourself  must  be  exposed,  should  you  be  so 
,  unguarded  as  to  make  the  misjudged  confidence 
I  of  your  sister  the  subject  of  a  rupture  wiih 
.  Dornton.  Should  your  after-life  be  as  pure  as 
j  heaven,  it  would,  nevertheless,  be  embittered 
j  by  a  thousand  pangs." 

"  I  am  so  conscious  of  it,  my  lord,  that  I  have 

already  tacitly  consented  to  the  proposition  of 

Sir  James  that  we  should  mutually  avoid  all 

.  public  scandal ;  more  than  that  he  did  not  see 

;  fit  to  exact ;  and  he  was  wise,  or  I  should  prob- 

,  ably  have  conceded  nothing." 

"  You  have  acted  prudently.  Lady  Dornton," 
,  observed  my  mother,  with  an  expression  which 
1  I  could  not  mistake. 

■  "  Yet  still  it  would  be  advisable,"  persisted 
1  Lord  Otterford,  "  if  this  unfortunate  affair  could 
i  be  forgiven  and  forgotten.  You  are  very  young, 
Eveleen,  and  should  you  maintain  your  present 
i  resolution,  a  long  life  of  disquiet  and  disgust  is 
befv)re  you.  You  can  never  feel  the  happiness 
;of  liume,  the  delight  of  a  full  and  free  com- 
,  panionship  with  the  man  to  whom  you  have 
I  given  yourself" 

,  "  Say,  rather,  my  lord,  to  whom  I  have  been 
j  given." 

j  "  Remember,  too,"  he  pursued,  affecting  not 
'  to  have  heard  my  interpolation,  "  that  Sir  James 
|is  a  man  of  fashion,  courted  and  caressed  wher- 
ever he  appears.  Are  you  wise  thus  to  risk 
sliU  yrcd'er  trials  1" 


"  Your  meaning  is  a  kind  one,  I  am  con* 
vinced,"  I  said,  composedly  ;  "  but  Sir  Jame» 
Dornton  is  in  every  respect  his  own  master, 
and  need  apprehend  no  interference  from  me. 
Whatever  may  tend  to  promote  his  absence 
from  a  home  for  whi(;h  he  is  indebted  to  my 
fortune,  and  for  which  he  has  made  so  manly 
and  honorable  a  return,  I  shall  always  hail  with 
delight.  Your  fears  are,  however,  I  suspect, 
groundless;  my  most  dangerous  rival'will  be 
the  d'ce-box ;  and,  moreover,  I  love  to  believe 
that  no  man  can  at  once  forget  the  victim  whom 
his  own  perfidy  has  destroyed." 

The  words  liad  scarcely  passed  my  lips  ere 
I  upbraided  myself  for  their  utterance.  Their 
effect  was  painful ;  and  the  stab  must  have  been 
the  keener  from  the  consciousness  of  the  suf- 
ferer that  the  hand  which  dealt  it  knew  where 
the  wound  would  be  vital.  Lord  Otterford  was 
silenced.  I  had  rewarded  him  cruelly  for  his 
well-meant  interference  ;  bat,  embittered  as  I 
was  by  my  recent  trials,  I  regarded  him  only  as 
the  tool  of  his  wife,  and  was  anxious  to  rid 
myself  at  once  of  a  new  opponent.  I  was  con- 
firmed in  this  belief  by  the  silence  in  which 
Lady  Madelaine  had  listened  to  our  dialogue. 
She  was  evidently  aware  that  her  own  power 
over  me  was  shaken,  and  wished  to  try  the 
effect  of  her  husband's  more  conciliating  argu- 
ments. 

"  You  are,  then,  resolved  to  assume  the  he- 
roine, Lady  Dornton,"  she  said,  as  she  remark- 
ed that  Lord  Otterford  had,  incomprehensibly 
to  her,  withdrawn  from  the  combat ;  "  in  an- 
other week  you  will  be  the  laughing-stock  of  all 
London." 

I  smiled  sarcastically. 

"And  if  this  prospect  do  not  deter  yoii,"  she 
pursued,  with  rising  anger,  "  understand  at  once 
that  I  will  never  consent  to  a  course  of  such 
egregious  folly." 

"The  same  bequest  which  exonerated  me 
from  all  supposed  duty  to  my  husband  freed  me 
equally  from  all  enforced  obedience  to  your 
ladyship.  The  hand  of  Mis-s  Tilden  was  bar- 
tered at  your  pleasure — bandied  from  duke  to 
commoner — resumed,  and  again  bestowed  as  it 
suited  your  convenience;  but  the  dignity  (K 
Lady  Dornton  is  beyond  your  reach — exempt 
from  your  control.  1  acknowledge  no  right  ol 
mterference  between  myself  and  the  man  to 
whom  you  married  me." 

Lady  Madelaine  rose.  A  red  spot  had  mount- 
ed to  her  cheek,  and  seemed  to  burn  there. 
Her  eyes  flashed  with  anger.  "  Beware,  Lady 
Dornton  I"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  turned  to 
leave  the  room:  "you  are  not  sufficiently  im- 
maculate to  take  so  high  a  stand  without  risk- 
ing a  fall." 

As  Lord  Otterford  prepared  to  follow  her,  I 
extended  my  hand,  but  he  shrank  back.  "  For- 
give me  !"  I  murmured  pleadingly. 

He  glanced  toward  the  door  through  which 
my  mother  had  just  disappeared,  an-d  tjien  seiz- 
ing my  hand,  he  wrung  it  earnestly  as  he  whis- 
pered, "  I  do — I  do  forgive  you,  though  it  wa3 
cruel,  Eveleen,  very  cruel.  Heaven  help  you, 
my  poor  girl ;  your  lot  is  a  bitter  one."  And 
in  another  moment  he,  too,  was  gone. 

I  was  buried  in  a  maze  of  gloomy  thought 
when  Josephine  once  more  suddenly  stood  be- 
fore me,  and  extended  towards  me  a  salvet 


176 


CONCESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


lipon  which  lay  a  letter.  My  heart  beat  vio- 
lently, and  for  an  instant  I  felt  unable  to 
take'it. 

"  I  thought  miladi  would  never  be  alone," 
said  the  soubrette,  as  I  at  lengtii  put  forth  my 
trembling  hand.  "  .More  than  an  hour  I  have 
waited  with  thio  maudite  lettrc ;  and  my  lady  is 
so  abattue  and  Iristc  in  her  mourning  dress  !" 

"Josephine,"  I  asked,  "from  whom  did  you 
receive 'this  letter  T' 

"  Mdadi  must  not  be  angry,"  said  the  French- 
woman, with  affected  humility  ;  "  but  I  watch- 
ed for  the  valet  of  Monsieur  le  Colonel,  to  bring 
it  myself  to  miladi." 

•'  And  how  knew  you,"  T  again  inquired  with 
difficulty,  for  my  heart  throbbed  with  such  vio- 
lence that  it  almost  choked  my  words — "  how 
could  you  know  that  Colonel  Devereux  was 
about  to  write  I" 

•'Miladi  forgets  that  she  did  not  leave  her 
letter  upon  the  table  d  son  ordmaire,  but  com- 
manded me  to  see  that  it  was  delivered  safe. 
I  did  as  miladi  bid  me.  I  took  it  where  it  was 
sent,  and  then  I  waited  for  the  answer,  that  it 
might  come  safely  too." 

I  could  find  no  fitting  reply  to  so  circumstan- 
tial a  rejoinder,  and  therefore  made  a  gesture 
Uiat  my  too  intelligent  attendant  should  leave 
the  room,  which  she  did  with  the  same  affected 
caution  as  she  had  entered. 

The  letter  was,  indeed,  from  Devereux,  and 
I  trembled  with  impatience  as  I  tore  it  open, 
[t  afforded  the  most  perfect  contrast  to  my 
own  :  brief,  simple,  sincere,  and  manly.  He 
acquiesced  alike  in  the  prudence  and  the  pro- 
priety of  my  decision,  without  excusing  his  own 
imprudence  ;  he  reminded  me  of  our  long  friend- 
ship and  mutual  regard,  which  he  declared,  on 
his  side,  to  be  immutable  ;  pitied  us  both  for 
the  sacrifices  to  which  we  were  condemned, 
but  of  .which  he  nevertheless  admitted  tli.e  ne- 
cessity ;  and,  finally,  applauded  and  approved 
my  courageous  resolutions,  pledging  himself 
religiously  to  respect  them. 

This  was  truly  what  I  had  asked  of  him  ;  but 
I  am  bound  to  confess  that  at  that  moment  I 
fcii  that  I  had  not  expected  so  much.  I  was 
dissatisfied  with  his  reply  throughout.  My 
pride  was  hurt  that  he  should  pity  me  as  much 
as  himself;  my  vanity  was  wounded  that  the 
extreme  of  prudence  could  tread  so  closely  upon 
Uie  extreiTie  of  passion  ;  I  was  mortified,  above 
all,  that  my  heroism  had  not  excited  alike  his 
wonder  t«id  his  despair,  and  that  I  had  w>  longer 
the  triumph  of  combating  his  passion. 

I  was  iwt  worthy  of  the  love  of  such  a  heart. 
He  believed  that  he  had  wronged  me,  and  he 
was  now  anxious  to  repair  his  fault,  and  to  do 
ustice  to  my  virtues,  while  I  was  only  lament- 
ing over  an  obedience  which  should  have  made 
one  appear  more  estimable  in  my  own  eyes,  and 
asking  myself  Viliether,  abandoned  as  I  was  by 
those  wtio  should  have  cherished  me,  so  vast 
a  sacrifice  as  I  liad  thus  volunteered  could  in- 
deed bo  requisite. 

Suddenly  a  new  inspiration  dawned  upon  me. 
The  ready  compliance  of  Devereux  removed, 
at  least  for  the  present,  all  danger  of  interfe- 
rence from  either  my  mother  or  Sir  James.  I 
would  await  only  the  close  of  my  mourning  to 
plunge  freely  into  the  world.  I  must  inevitably 
iiieei  him  everywhere,  but  it  would  be  in  a 


crowd  ;  he  would  understand  ana  appreciate  a 
thousand  trifles  vrhich  would  pass  unheeded  by 
those  around  us  ;   I  should  no  longer  feel  deso 
late  and  unloved,  for  he  would  be  near  me- 
and  that  too  without  peril  and  without  blame. 

Meanwhile  I  rarely  saw  Sir  James  ;  and  vvhe& 
we  met  it  was  with  a  cold  and  ceremonious 
politeness,  which  scarcely  amounted  to  cour- 
tesy. I  knew  that  he  played  high,  and  that  his 
losses  were  occasionally  serious  ;  but  for  this  t 
cared  nothing  ;  nor  should  I  have  bestowed  the 
slightest  attention  on  his  altered  habits,  had  he 
not,  on  the  first  occasion  of  my  receiving  cona- 
pany  after  my  sister's  death,  absented  himself 
from  home,  and  thus  given  reason  for  those 
suspicions  against  which  he  had  so  strenuously 
urged  me  to  guard  myself  This  circumstance 
induced  me  to  watch  him  more  narrowly  ;  and 
I  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  his  character 
had  totally  changed.  His  gaiety  was  gone; 
his  sparkling  conversation  had  become  abrupt, 
pointless,  and  constrained  ;  he  no  longer  even 
affected  any  deference  for  my  tastes  or  wishes, 
and  his  whole  manner  was  absent  and  preoc- 
cupied. 

That  some  mystery  was  concealed  beneath 
this  change  was  evident ;  and,  for  the  first  time 
since  I  had  been  his  wife,  he  succeeded  ia 
j  piquing  my  curiosity.  I  was  not  fated  to  en- 
dure it  long. 

I  The  reappearance  of  a  popular  singer,  after 
j  a  long  and  dangerous  indisposition,  had  attract- 
ed all  the  fashion  of  London  to  Drury  Lane  on  a 
particular  night ;  and,  in  accordance  with  the 
resolution  that  I  had  formed,  I  exerted  mysell 
to  obtain  a  box,  in  which  with  considerable  dif- 
ficulty I  succeeded.  To  my  great  delight,  Lady 
j  Devereux  visited  me  early  in  the  day,  in  order 
that  I  might  condole  with  her  upon  the  in 
creased  gout  of  Sir  Herbert,  and  her  inability 
I  to  witness  the  welcome  prepared  for  .Mrs  Bit- 
lington,  every  box  in  the  house  having  been 
taken  for  the  last  eight-and-forty  hours.  I  in- 
I  stantly  volunteered  ray  own  ;  and.  affecting  to 
have  forgotten  the  indisposition  of  the  baronet, 

■  I  promised  to  reserve  two  seats  for  her  use. 

I  The  delighted  pleasure-hunter  left  me,  per- 
fectly relieved  in  mind ;  and  I  remarked  witl' 
\  considerable  satisfaction  that  she  also,  in  the 

■  triumph  of  the  moment,  had  overlooked  the  ail 
ments  of  her  lord,  and  must,  consequently 
confide  herself  to  the  protection  of  her  son 

;  Secure  in  his  mother's  presence,  I  was  safi 
from  all  remark  or  animadversion,  and  I  lookei 
j  forward  to  the  pageant  of  the  evening  with  ai 
I  anxiety  which  might  have  forewarned  me  tha 
I  was  preparing  for  no  common  .spectacle. 


CHAPTER  LL 
L.\DY  Devereux  was  punctual,  and  1  was  re, 
I  ceived  by  herself  and  her  son  upon  arriving  a 
the  theatre.  Of  course  I  was  surprised  an 
\  grieved  to  find  that  Sir  Herbert  was  unable  t 
j  venture  upon  this  slight  dissipation ;  but  I  nev 
I  erthcless  submitted  to  the  substitution  whic 
;  had  been  made  with  very  amiable  philosophy 
;  I  was  in  brilliant  spirits ;  my  temporary  retir< 
j  ment  from  the  world  had  given  pleasure  a  ne'^ 
'  zest,  while  it  rendered  me  an  object  of  intere;' 
I  to  those  wIk)  now  for  the  first  lime  hailed  n 
;  reappearance.     I  felt  that  my  box  was  an  a 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


i77 


uactlnn  to  the  whole  house  ;  nor  was  Lady 
Devereiix  blind  to  the  ("act,  but  put  forth  all 
her  waning  fascinations  to  effect  her  own  share 
in  the  triumph;  while  her  son,  half-hidden  in 
shadow  behind  my  chair,  was  almost  invisible 
to  the  audience. 

I  had  returned  the  greeting  gestures  of  my 
dear  live  hundred  friends,  and  was  quietly  ma- 
king a  circuit  of  the  house  with  my  lorgnette, 
wlicn  the  door  of  the  private  box  which  imme- 
diately faced  my  own  was  flung  back,  and  a 
handsome  woman,  about  fen  years  my  senior, 
showily  and  not  altogelher  correctly  dressed, 
entered,  and  leaneti  for  a  moment  into  the  broad 
light  of  tlie  chandelier,  while  a  pair  of  bold  but 
magnificent  black  eyes  wandered  over  the  au- 
dience. She  wore  no  powder  ;  neither  had  she 
polluted  her  cheeks  by  the  coat  of  rouge  which 
was  at  that  period  considered  alfnost  indispen- 
sable to  female  beauty  ;  but  masses  of  raven 
curls  fell  upon  the  ample  shoulders  which  would 
otherwise  have  been  bare,  and  the  glow  of 
conscious  triumph  lent  a  bloom  to  her  cheek 
and  a  fire  to  her  glance.  A  mantle  of  black 
velvet  edged  wiib  ermine  had  fallen  from  her 
neck  as  slie  entered,  and  was  only  upheld  by 
the  whitest  and  most  finely-modeled  arms  that 
I  ever  remembered  to  have  seen.  There  was, 
in  short,  an  originality  in  her  beauty  which 
enforced  admiral  ion,  even  while  its  audacity 
;  blended  the  homage  with  a  feeling  for  which  it 
,  was  difficult  to  account. 

i  1  was  gazing,  with  this  vague  sensation,  upon 
I  the  proud  wdiiiMu  before  me,  and  was  in.]uiring 
!  her  identity  of  Col(uiel  Devereiix,  when  <i  move- 
ment took  place  in  her  box  ;  and,  as  she  stepped 
ja  pace  back,  a  second  female  appeared  for  an 
jinsiant,  and  then  dropped  quietly  into  a  chair, 
I  with  her  back  to  tiie  stage  ;  and  while  she  was 
jin  the  act  of  douig  this,  a  hand  withdrew  the 
tmanllc  Irom  the  grasp  of  her  companion,  and, 
jraising  my  glass  once  more  to  my  eye,  I  dis- 
;covercd  in  the  atleiitive  cavalier  Sir  James 
iDornton. 

I  "  That."  said  Dcvereux,  replying  to  the  ques- 
tion whicii  1  had  already  put,  "  isM;e  celebrated 
'.Mrs.  Delaiuaine,  ulm,  after  her  divorce,  went 
over  to  Italy,  whence  she  imly  returneil  a  month 
or  two  ago,  havmg  become  as  noted  at  Florence 
(and  Milan  as  siie  iiad  previously  been  in  Lon- 
don." 

i    "And  where  is  her  husband  1"  I  asked,  still 
.gazing  ali(  niively  upon  her  box. 
i    "Not  wiu're  yuurs  is,  my   dear  Eveleen," 
■aughed  L.idy  Deverenx  ;  "for  as  I  live,  il  fait 
l;ts  yeux  iliiiix  to  this  lalien  goddess." 

"So  !  perceive,  and  com|)liment  him  alike 
:pon  his  lasiu  and  Ins  propriety  ;  but  where  is 
aerownr' 

1  "In  his  grave,"  whispered  Devereux ;  "he 
|K)uld  not  brook  the  disgrace  which  she  inces- 
jianlly  brought  upon  lum.  and  found  his  refuge 
\Q  a  pistol." 

I  "The  ..oman  is,  tiien;  a  fiend  V  I  exclaimed 
^■dignanlly. 

j  Devereux  sighod  audibly, 
j  Thenceforth  the  oiage  and  the  audience  lost 
[11  their  inlrresi  lor  me,  I  ftdt  that  the  enigma 
I'hich  had  lately  bew  1  l.-red  me  was  tolved  : 
i)ornton  was  m  ihe  .snare  of  the  syren.  For 
fie  abstract  fact  1  eare.l  noihiug  ;  but  no  mar- 
lied  woman  can  coolly  look  upon  so  public  a 


demonstration  of  neglect  without  mnrtifirntinn. 
That  he  had  not  anticipated  my  prf-senoe  in  the 
house  was  probable  ;  but  it  was  still  more  cer- 
tain that  he  had  taken  no  pains  to  avoid  so  dis- 
agreeable and  disgraceful  an  encounter. 

"  Am  I  not  justified  1"  I  asked,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  I  turned  towards  Devereux. 

He  frowned,  turned  pale,  and  made  no  reply. 

Suddenly  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Delamaine  rested 
upon  me  ;  and,  with  a  smile,  she  addressed 
some  remark  to  the  pale  and  spirit-broken-look- 
ing woman  who  sat  beside  her.  There  was  a 
condescending  expression  of  admiration  in  her 
gaze  which  brought  the  proud  blood  to  my 
cheek  ;  never  had  I  felt  so  indignant.  As  my 
heart  throbbed  beneath  her  glance,  she  turned 
her  head  and  addressed  Uornton,  who  had 
hitherto  remained  in  the  back  of  the  box,  but 
who  bent  forward  evidently  at  her  bidding,  and 
started  as  he  encountered  my  glance.  For  a 
moment  he  appeared  irresolute,  but  only  for  a 
moment ;  and  then  I  saw  the  obedient  eonfidant 
rise  from  her  seat  and  resign  it  to  Sir  James, 
who  had,  apparently,  resolved  to  brave  the  dif- 
ficulty in  which  he  found  himself.  Not  (me  of 
his  movements  escaped  me.  I  could  explain 
them  all.  From  the  expression  of  Mrs.  Dela- 
maine, I  felt  assured  that  he  had  announced  me 
as  his  wife — his  wife  !  And  then  there  were 
more  questions  and  more  rejoinders.  There 
was  a  mocking  smile  upon  the  lip  of  Dornton, 
and  a  glow  of  gratified  vanity  upon  the  cheek 
of  his  companion,  who  occasionally  glanced 
curiously  toward  me,  as  if  to  reconcile  what 
she  heard  with  what  she  saw.  My  position 
was  a  trying  one :  totally  indifferent  as  I  was 
to  Sir  James,  and  careless  of  the  depreciating 
comparisons  which  he  might  see  fit  to  make 
between  an  outraged  wife  and  a  new  mistress, 
still  I  had  heard  enough  to  feel  that  he  had 
placed  himself  in  the  power  of  a  very  danger- 
ous woman.  They  were  evidently  upon  terms 
of  the  closest  intimacy,  and  I  began  to  ask 
myself  how  long  that  intimacy  had  existed. 
Devereux  was,  or  afTected  to  be,  as  ignorant 
upon  the  subject  as  myself;  and  I  was  still 
endeavoring  to  calculate  its  duration  by  circum- 
stances, when  my  attention  was  attracted  by 
voices  in  the  next  box  to  my  own,  which  had 
remained  empty  until  a  few  minutes  previously, 
and  from  which  a  fashionably-dressed  man  was 
now  sweeping  the  boxes  with  his  lorgnette. 

"I  see  the  handsome  Delamaine  is  in  full 
force,"  he  observed,  as  he  seated  himself  upon 
a  chair  which  was  only  divided  from  my  own 
by  the  thin  partition,  and  the  folds  of  the  cur- 
tain, which  he  had  carelessly  pressed  back  with 
his  elbow. 

"  Yes,  and  I  see  also  that  she  has  brought 
down  her  bird,"  answered  a  second  voice,  ecpial- 
ly  careless  of  being  overheard  ;  "  I  thouiriu  that 
Dornlon  was  likely  to  be  the  next  on  the  list, 
when  I  met  them  at  Ranelagh  ;  hut  although 
be  has  almost  lived  in  her  house  for  the  last 
three  weeks,  I  did  not  quite  expect  to  rind  the 
aflair  advertised  so  soon  in  public." 

Devereux  was  about  to  speak,  but  I  motioned 
him  to  silence;  and,  like  myself,  he  became  all 
ear. 

"  It  was  a  mystery  known  to  half  London 
which  was  not  worth  any  farther  affectation," 
retorted  the  first  speaker  ;  '■  moreover,  no  one 


178 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


now  asks  of  the  Dolamaine,  how  is  iti  hut  sim- 
ply, who  is  it  !" 

A  faint  sickness  crept  over  me.  It  was,  then, 
for  such  a  fallen  woman  as  tliis  that  insuli  had 
been  heaped  upon  me.  I  know  not  lo  wiiat 
lengths  my  indignation  would  have  carried  me, 
had  I  not  at  that  very  moment  felt  tiie  hand  of 
Devereux  stealinjr  gently  to  my  waist.  My 
head  drooped,  and  a  painful  feeling  of  humilia- 
tion rendered  me  once  more  passive. 

"  Dornion  is  a  blockhead,"  resumed  the  sec- 
ond siranjier  :  '•  he  no  sooner  cajoles  an  old 
flirt  into  giving  him  her  daughter  and  some 
ninety  tiiousaud  pounds,  than  he  begins  to  play 
the  Lothario.  They  say  that  the  girl  never 
loved  him,  and  that,  handsome  as  she  was,  he 
returned  the  compliment ;  still,  there  was  some 
consideration  due  to  the  woman  who  paid  his 
debts  and  patched  up  his  lost  credit ;  but  it  is 
always  the  case  with  fellows  on  the  wane : 
they  can  never  amuse  themselves  quietly,  but 
must  always  have  a  crowd  to  look  on."' 

The  attention  of  the  strangers  was  now  at- 
tracted to  some  other  group,  and  I  heard  no 
more  of  the  subject  in  whicii  I  was  interested  ; 
but  I  had  heard  enough  ;  and,  coldly  withdraw- 
ing myself  from  the  clasp  of  Devereux,  I  re- 
quested him  to  ascertain  if  my  carriage  were 
in  waiting,  as  I  was  anxious  to  return  home. 
Lady  Devereux,  wlio  had  also  seen,  and  been 
seen,  as  much  as  she  considered  necessary, 
declared  her  intention  of  following  my  example, 
to  the  evident  discomfiture  of  her  son,  who  ac- 
cordingly quilted  the  box  in  quest  of  o-ur  ser- 
vants. 

"  Do  you  know,  Eveleen,"  said  my  compan- 
ion, as  he  left  us  together,  "that  the  conduct 
of  Sir  James  to-night  is  quite  too  bad.  If  Sir 
Herbert  had  ever  affi.che  himself  in  such  a  way 
when  we  were  young  people,  I  sliould  have  been 
furious  ;  and  there  you  sit  as  calmly  as  though 
he  had  never  entered  the  house." 

"You  probably  loved  Sir  Herbert,  my  good 
friend,  and  I  am  totally  indifferent  to  Sir 
James,"  I  said,  forcing  a  smile,  "  and  there  you 
at  once  discover  the  secret  of  my  composure." 

"  But  consider  the  imprudence  into  which 
6uch  a  liaison  may  betray  him.  Women  of  that 
stamp  are  expensive  toys." 

"  Not  more  so  than  the  gaming  table." 

"Oh,  you  are,  then,  aware  of  Dornton's  fail- 
ure in  that  respect.  I  am  sure  I  warned  your 
mother  a  hundred  times  of  the  risk  she  ran  in 
making  you  the  wife  of  such  a  man." 

"  He  Was  her  alternative  for  Mr.  Curties." 

"Mr.  Curties!"  echoed  Lady  Devereux; 
"she  had  no  opportunity  of  choosing  between 
them.  Had  you  been  the  Medicean  Venus  in 
petticoats,  you  would  have  m-ide  no  impression 
upon  that  block  of  living  marble." 

"Yet  I  was  led  to  believe — " 

"  My  dear  Lady  Dornton,"  said  my  compan- 
ion, in  the  same  tone  in  which  she  would  have 
lamented  the  naughtiness  of  a  spoiled  child, 
"all  your  life  you  have  been  so  easily  led  to 
believe  anything." 

Any  reply  was  rendered  impossible  by  the 
reappearance  of  our  cavalier,  who  announced 
that  the  carriages  were  drawn  up.  With  a 
prudence,  partly  suggested  by  the  presence  of 
Sir  James,  and  no  doubt  increased  by  my  own 
coldness,   Devereux   carefully  enveloped    his 


mother  in  her  wraps,  leaving  me  to  adjust  mr 
own  shawl ;  after  which  he  tendered  an  arm  to 
each,  and  we  left  the  house.  As  I  resolutely 
declined  his  escort,  he  put  me  into  my  carriajje, 
and  then  handing  his  mother  into  hers,  he  made 
a  low  and  somewhat  constrained  bow,  and  re- 
turned to  the  theatre. 

I  arrived  at  home  perfectly  satisfied  with 
myself,  but  still  marveling  what  would  bo  the 
eflect  of  my  repelling  manner  upon  Devereux. 
The  sight  of  the  bold  beauty  of  Mrs.  Delamaine, 
and  the  light  tone  in  which  she  had  been  spoken 
of,  had  struck  to  my  heart  like  a  solenm  waru- 
ing;  and  had  the  impression  lasted,  it  is  prob- 
able  that  I  should  have  been  a  wiser  and  a 
better  woman  ;  as  it  was,  this  impression  waa 
weakened  by  the  feeling  of  self-justification  in- 
duced by  the  public  off-falling  of  my  husband. 

I  was  still  in  my  dressing-room  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  when,  to  my  astonishment,  Dorr*- 
ton  made  his  appearance.  He  had  assumed  an 
expression  of  unusual  amiability,  through  which 
I  could,  nevertheless,  detect  a  tinge  ol  embar- 
rassment that  he  struggled  vainly  to  conceal. 

"  You  took  me  by  surprise  last  evening.  Lady 
Dornton,"  he  said,  as  he  threw  himself  into  a 
chair;  "I  did  not  know  that  you  had  deter 
mined  altogether  to  emerge  from  your  seclu- 
sion ;  and,  when  I  discovered  you — acting  upon 
the  principle  which  I  announced  some  time  ago 
— I  forelM)re  all  intrusion.  What  did  you  thmk 
of  the  beautiful  woman  whom  I  had  the  honoi 
to  escort !" 

"  That  you  were  quite  worthy  of  the  honoi 
which  had  devolved  upon  you."  ' 

Sir  James  bit  his  lip,  and  was  visibly  discomj 
certed.  l 

"  She  is,  indeed,  a  charming  person,"  he  sait' 
after  a  moment,  "  and  would  make  a  delightfui 
addition  to  your  circle." 

"  To  mij  "circle.  Sir  James  !  If  you  are  in 
facetious  mood,  I  entreat  that  you  will  select 
more  seemly  subject  for  your  wit." 

"  I  am  perfectly  serious  ;  I  see  no  jest  in  tb 
suggestion  I  have  made." 

"  It  is,  then,  intended  as  an  insult  V 

"  Really,  Lady  Dornton,  you  are  inexplicable 
Can  it  be,  that,  in  your  character  of  a  prett' 
woman,  you  are  jealous  of  her  attractiona." 
Such  a  suspicion  would  be  degrading  to  yot( 
and  utterly  contemptible."  ( 

"  Your  affected  ignorance  does  not  impoj' 
upon  me  for  an  instant,  sir,"  I  said,  haughldj 
"you  must  be  i)erfectly  aware  of  tiie  caui 
whicli  prevents  any  recognition  of  the  perse 
to  whom  you  allude  from  me  ;  or,  should  yo 
indeed,  be  unconscious  of  the  cliaiactcr  ofyo 
new  friend,  permit  me  to  ♦  nligliten  you." 

"  I  have  no  taste  for  women's  gossipry,  and 
defy  you  to  prove  anything  against  Airs.  Del 
maine." 

"The  defiance  is  amusing,"  I  retorted  co 
temptuously:  "a  divorced  wife,  the  widow 
a  suicide,  and  the  mistress  of — "  •    ■ 

"  Proceed,  Lady  Dornion." 

"Of  a  gambler."  , 

The  blood  fiasbed  in  a  crimson  tile  overt 
forehead  of  Sir  James.  I  was  evidently  bet|: 
informed  than  he  anticipated. 

"You  are,  as  usual,  the  dupe  of  some  o' 
who  profits  by  your  weakness,"  he  said,  str 
ing  to  rally;  "Mrs.  Delamaine  is  amiable,*' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


179 


titnable,  and  accomplished.     Shs  would  grace 
any  circle  which  could  secure  her." 

"You  ailude,  doubtless,  to  the  circles  of  the 
lobbies  and  the  gaming-houses." 

This  was  the  sparii  which  ignited  the  fire 
that  was  raging  in  the  bosom  of  Dornton.  He, 
hitherto  the  most  i.nmovable.  the  most  sc1f- 
possessed  of  men,  became  tlie  most  violent 
under  the  influence  of  the  new  and  overwhelm- 
ing passion  of  which  he  was  tlie  victim.  His 
storuwas  passionate  and  bitter.  Noi  a  trait 
of  my  past  life  escaped  him  whic^  couli  be  tor- 
tured into  invective.  I  was  not  tiow  it  paying 
back  the  injury.  I  reproached  him  with  his 
meanness,  his  lalsehood,  his  ignoble  submission 
to  the  will  of  an  imperious  woman  ;  the  ruinous 
efl'ecls  of  his  vices  ;  tlie  waste  which  he  bad 
made  in  a  fortune  which  he  could  not  call  his 
own.  He  staggered  under  my  vehemence,  and 
uttered,  in  a  tone  of  bitterness,  tlie  name  of 
Devcreux.  I  defied  him  to  prove  his  accusa- 
tion. He  forbade  me  to  see  him  again  ;  I  defied 
him  in  the  same  lone  ;  and,  overcome  at  length 
by  the  storm  which  he  bad  himself  provoked, 
he  sprang  from  his  seat  and  left  the  room. 

I  felt  that  once  more  I  had  conquered ;  but 
it  was  a  painful  triumph,  for  I  had  achieved  it 
at  the  expense  of  that  dignity  which  I  had 
hitherto  maintained.  My  whole  spirit  was  up 
in  arms  :  1  felt  degraded,  but  not  disheartened. 
A  resolute  defiance  blinded  me  to  my  own  de- 
fects, and  kept  those  of  Sir  James  constantly 
beiore  me  ;  and  in  this  frame  of  mind  I  descend- 
ed to  the  drawing-room. 

My  first  visitor  was  Devereux.  He  came,  as 
he  alleged,  at  the  desire  of  his  mother,  who  was 
anxious  to  ascertain  that  I  had  reached  home 
in  safety  ;  and  then  he  apologized  for  an  intru- 
sion which,  he  asserted,  from  my  manner  on 
the  preceding  evening,  he  felt  to  be  almost  in- 
excusable. 

"Had  you  not  forgotten  our  co.mpact  1"  I 
I  asked  reproachfully,  as  a  deep  blush  mounted  to 
j    my  brow. 

1  "I  throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  I  was  not 
I  aware  that  your  exaction  was  so  extreme." 
i  "  We  will  talk  no  more  of  it,"  1  said,  hur- 
I  riedly.  "I  hastened  home  as  an  escape  from 
a  new  and  serious  annoyance  ;  but  it  was  not 
I  so  easily  to  be  evaded.  Sir  James  has  declared 
■  himself  the  friend  and  champion,  if  not  some- 
'i  thing  more  than  this,  of  Mrs.  Delamaine— of  the 
I  Cleopatra  of  last  night.  J  have  already  expe- 
I  rienced  the  bitter  fruits  of  this  new  indignity. 
I  He  has  been  with  me  this  morning  to  suggest 
f  that  I  should  receive  her  as  a  friend.  What  is 
t  ?our  opinion  of  this  proposal !" 
i  "Thai,  it  was  disgraceful  on  the  part  of  Lady 
I   Dornton'3  husband.     And  what  did  you   re- 

I  ply?" 

"All  that  was  befitting,  without  attempting 
to  disguise  the  contempt  which  I  felt  ahke  for 
I  him  and  for  his  protegee." 

'•  Your  refusal  was  correct  and  necessary  ; 
your  contempt  would  have  been  better  sup- 
pressed. It  is  dangerous  to  provoke  the  hatred 
j  cf  the  vicious.  I  do  not  believe  that  Dornton 
(  kimself  is  radically  wicke<l  ;  but  he  is  very 
'  Weak,  A'hich  frequently  produces  the  same  re- 
'■  suits." 

I      I  iiad  expected  that  Devereux  would  have 
♦iiaicu  my  exasociation,  and  exhausted  him- 


self in  invective  against  my  tormentors  ;  and  I 
was,  consequently,  quite  unprepared  for  this 
rebuke.  So  much  composure,  contrasted  with 
my  own  violence,  appeared  to  me  to  be  mis- 
placed, and  in  every  point  of  view  a  proof  o 
his  indifference.  I  was  not  without  a  con- 
sciousness that  no  married  woman  can,  with 
safety  to  her  own  peace  and  honor,  make  a 
confident  of  any  youhg  male  friend,  let  the  ex- 
tent of  their  intimacy  be  what  it  may  ;  and  I 
was,  accordingly,  the  more  moved  by  this  ap- 
parent want  of  interest  in  my  anxieties,  that  I 
liad  wilfully  rushed  into  a  peril  which  had  pro- 
duced such  inadequate  results. 

I  reproached  Devereux  for  his  want  of  syio- 
pathy. 

"  You  do  not  act  fairly  with  me.  Lady  Dorn- 
ton," he  said,  in  a  subdued  tone  ;  "  last  night 
you  crushed  me  with  your  displeasure  for  a 
simple  change  of  position,  and  to-day  you  ac- 
cuse me  of  coldness  because  I  restrain  my  feel- 
ings, and  compel  myself  to  assume  a  composure 
which  would  but  too  readily  give  way  before 
very  different  emotions." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,"  I  replied,  as  I  turned 
toward  him  with  a  smile  which  expressed  the' 
conviction  of  my  own  error  more  fully  than  my 
words  ;  "  I  will  even  try  to  believe  so  ;  but  you 
must  at  least  admit,  on  your  side,  that  you  are 
strangely  inconsistent  in  your  friendship.  You 
bring  the  stoical  philosophy  of  Cato  to  the 
hearth-rug  of  the  drawing-room,  and  exhibit  it 
at  all  times  and  seasons.  Nothing  destroys 
your  equanimity — at  least,  nothing  that  one 
would  voluntarily  provoke — and  you  give  ad- 
vice where  you  are  only  asked  for  sympa- 
thy." 

"  You  know  how  deeply,  how  earnestly  I  feel 
for  you." 

"  I  would  not  willingly  doubt  it ;  but  still,  in 
your  present  mood,  I  have  a  suspicion  that  you 
would  subscribe,  without  opposition,  to  the 
command  which  I  have  received  to  close  my 
doors  against  you." 

"  Decidedly,  if  by  so  doing  I  could  secure 
your  happiness.  But  who  has  suggested  such 
a  proceeding  1" 

"  That,  I  should  imagine,  is  a  riddle  by  no 
means  difficult  to  read  ;  but  I  indignantly  re- 
pulsed a  mandate  which  I  should  have  felt  de- 
graded by  admitting." 

"  The  arrangement  would  have  been  as  al>- 
surd  as  it  was  ill-judged,"  replied  Devereux, 
still  in  the  same  quiet  accent ;  "  as,  in  order  to 
prevent  our  meeting,  you  must  have  discoiitin 
ued  to  visit  ycuir  own  mother  and  to  appear  in 
the  world.  Nevertheless,  as  I  would  not  wil- 
lingly compromise  you  even  for  an  instant,  I 
shall,  thus  warned,  confine  my  aiipearanco  in 
your  own  house  to  those  distant  and  necessary 
courtesies  which  are  incumbent  on  me  as  a 
family  connection." 

"  I  was  prepared  for  this  decision,"  I  ex- 
claimed bitterly;  "nothing  costs  you  any  ef- 
fort, and  you  do  not  give  yourself  the  troulde 
to  reflect  upon  the  probable  consequences  of  a 
sudden  neglect,  which  cannot  fail  to  be  remark- 
ed  by  those  about  me.  But  it  will,  perhaps,  be 
belter  so:  totally  abandoned  to  the  violence 
and  ill-will  of  Dornton,  be  will  have  less  trouble 
in  ultimately  ridding  himself  of  In.'*  viciim  ;  for 
I  feel  that,  aiui.e  and  unsupported,  1  shall  u<»» 


.180 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


ong  nave  strength  to  contend  against  the  trials 
to  which  I  am  exposed." 

"Lady  Dorntdn.  do  yovi  accuse  me  of  want 
of  reflection  !  Were  my  feeling  toward  yon 
other  than  it  is,  I  should  not  venluro  to  remind 
you  of  the  danger  of  wilfully  exciting  the  ani- 
mosity of  tho.'jc  hy  whom  you  may  he  seriously 
injured.  Let  the  thunder-cloud  which  you  have 
invoked  pass  hy." 

'•  You  use  strong  expressions  on  a  very  in- 
consequent occasion,"  I  retorted,  peevishly, 
"and  appear  to  look  upon  everything  through 
a  gloomy  medium.  I  was,  perhaps,  myself 
startled  hy  the  tiulhreak  of  Dornton  at  the  ino- 
mcnt ;  hut  the  reflection  of  an  instant,  for  which 
I  am  indebted  to  your  want  of  sympathy  in  my 
trials,  has  sufficed  to  reassure  me.  Sir  James 
is  weak — you  have  yourself  admitted  this  fact  ; 
he  dreads  a  puhlic  rupture,  and  he  is  ruled  by 
my  mother.  His  lofty  words  can  produce  no 
fruit.  He  is  too  exiiuisite  an  egotist  to  drive 
to  extremity  the  woman  to  whom  he  owes  his 
ease." 

"  But  suppose,  fair  casuist,  that  Lady  Made- 
laine  should  not  support  you  in  your  opposi- 
tion, how  could  you  assist  yourself  without  her 
aid!" 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  let  us  amuse  ourselves  hy 
supposing  iniprohahilities.  Act  ns  you  see  fit- 
ting. I  can  make  no  claim  upon  either  your 
sympathy  or  your  assistance  ;  and  you  shall  yet 
learn  that  I  am  possessed  of  sufficient  firmness 
to  resent  the  insult  which  1  have  received  from 
the  man  whose  name  I  bear." 

I  was  disposed  to  quarrel  even  with  Deve- 
reux,  because  he  had  exhibited  more  respect 
for  me  than  I  was  prepared  to  exact.  It  had 
Ijeen  my  misfortune  through  life  to  prearrange 
ail  the  actions  of  others  in  connection  with 
myself,  and  the  consequent  result  was  perpetu- 
al disappointment.  I  was  even  yet  too  ignorant 
of  human  nature — tiianks  to  my  self-conlidence, 
which  admitted  no  lessons  save  those  which 
struck  right  to  the  heart,  and  left  their  scars 
behind  tiiem — too  unsuspicious  of  its  sul)llcty, 
to  suspect  that  the  coldness  of  which  I  had 
condescended  to  comj)lain  was  the  result  of  a 
delicate  tad  on  the  part  of  my  companion,  who, 
believing  iiiinself  sure  of  his  victory,  preferred 
the  smooth  diplomacy  of  a  Talleyrand  to  the 
less  tem|)onzmg  prowess  of  an  Alexander. 
Devereux  was  a  man  of  feeling  and  refinement, 
who  sought  rather  to  win  me  from  myself  than 
to  surprise  me  into  a  weakness  ;  and  ho,  un- 
forlunaKdy,  knew  enough  of  iny  natural  temper 
and  disposition  to  consider  time  and  caution  as 
his  best  allies. 

It  need  .scarcely  be  stated  that,  when  he  left 
the  house,  1  felt  thoroughly  dissatisfied  both 
with  hiin  and  myself  I  had  conceded  too 
much,  and  he  too  lilile.  I  had  wounded  my 
own  pii(l<>,  and  ho  had  trampled  upon  it  as  it 
ay  prostrate  befiuc  hini.  I  h.id  now  only  one 
.esource.  My  home  had  become  a  desert,  my 
mother  a  stranger,  my  hushauil  an  enemy, 
Devereux  a  censor,  and  I  stood  alone.  There 
was,  however,  siretchiug  along  between  the 
dark  and  yawning  gulfs  which  had  swallowed 
up  mv  past  and  my  future  hopes,  one  narrow 
pathway  strewn  with  (lowers  and  radiant  with 
sunshine.  The  world  was  still  before  me!  I 
could  revenge  myself  on  destiny. 


CHAPTER  LH. 
Mv  toilet  on  Ine  evening  of  that  day  was  more 
rerhcrchce  than  ever ;  my  rouge  more  glowing, 
and  my  eyes  more  bright.     I  went  alone  to  the 
Opera-house  ;  and  my  box  was  filled  in  succe*. 
sion  by  uU  the  gay  and  idle  men  of  fashion  who 
had  the  entree.     Never  had  I  been  so  graoiow;, 
to  the  one  sex,  or  so  sarcastic  on  the  subject  ol 
the  other  ;  and  tiefi)re  the  conclusion  of  the  bal- 
let, I  found  that  to  the  reputation  of  a  beauty,  1 
had  added  that  of  a  wit.     My  success  wascom- 
plete.     I  had  divided  the  attention  of  the  house 
with  Grassini  and  Tramezzani.     I  was  intoxi- 
cated alike  hy  the  praises  of  the  men.  and  the 
affected  disdain  of  tlie  women  ;  and  in  this  mood 
of  mind,  I  drove  from  the    Haymarket  to  the 
oiTibre  and  basso  party  of  a  young  and  lively  for« 
eign  ambassadress;  where,  without  having  suf- 
fered myself  to  waste  one  moment  on  reflection, 
I  discovered  as  I  reached  home  that  I  had  emu- 
lated Sir  James  himself  at  the  gaming-table;      | 
made  myself  a  subject  of  general  remark  ;  and 
created  more  than  one  enemy.     But  as  this  did      . 
not,  in  my  present  mood  of  mind,  affect  me  for     I 
a  inoment,  I  entered  the  house  huimning  an  aria     i 
of  Grassini,  to  which  I  ought  to  have  given  my 
attention  while  she  was  singing  it ;  and  on  reach- 
ing my  dressing-room  perceived  for  the  first  time 
the  absence  of  Josephine,  for  whom  I  rang  some-     \ 
what  impatiently.    My  summons  was  answered     j 
by  an  attendant  who  had  been  accustomed  to     i 
assist  her  in  her  duties,  and  who  presented  her-     } 
self  upon  the  threshold  somewhat  timidly.  j 

"What  means   thisV  I  asked  imperiously;     j 
"  where  is  Josephine  1"  i 


Mademoiselle  Josephine  was  dismissed  by 
Sir  James,  my  lady,  soon  after  your  ladyslrip 
left  the  house  ;  and  I  was  ordered  to  await  your 
ladyship's  return,  and  to  perform  her  duties." 

"  In  that  case,"  I  said  coldly  ;  "  you  may  at 
once  retire  to  rest,  as  I  am  not  accustomed  to  ac- 
cept the  services  of  strangers  about  my  person." 

The  woman  wiihdrew;  and,  taking  one  of 
the  lights  from  my  toilet-table,  I  walked  at  once 
to'the  dressing-room  of  Sir  James  ;  resolved  to 
demand  an  explanation  of  the  extraordinary  step 
which  he  had  taken.  So  gratuitous  an  inierle- 
renee  with  my  personal  establishment  was  an 
impertinence  on  his  part  which  to  me  appeared 
the  heaping  of  "  Pelion  on  Ossa"— the  culmi- 
nating point  of  injury.  I  could  not  disguise 
from  myself  that  it  was  intended  as  a  trial  ot 
strength  ;  and  this  conviction  determined  me  to 
resent  the  insult. 

The  suriirise  ofDornton,  on  entering  his  apart- 
ment at  daybreak,  may  be  imagined,  to  see  me, 
still  covered  with  jewels  and  draped  in  satin, 
occupying  a  fauteuii  beside  the  hearth  ;  espe- 
cially when  he  remembered  our  present  es- 
trangement. I  however  left  him  no  time  to 
conunent  upon  the  singularity  of  the  circum- 
stance. 

"  I  am  here,  Sir  James,"  I  said  haughtily, 
"  to  inquire  hy  what  right  you  have  dismissed 
my  waiiing-w'oman  ?" 

"  You  are  easily  answered.  Lady  Dornton ; 
by  the  right  of  a  husband  who  will  not  sufler 
under  ids  roof  the  agent  of  his  wife's  intrigues 
— the  confidant  of  his  wife's  disgrace." 

"  Explain  yourself,  sir." 

"  Josephine  was  your  letter-carrier.  Do  yo» 
require  any  further  detaill" 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


iBi 


"  Sir  James  Dornton,  I  will  no  longer  submit- 
to  tins  tyranny, — to  ilii*  dictation.  I  am  at 
lenglli  df.teriniiied  to  assert  nijself" 

«•  We  have,  in  liiat  case,  t'ormcd  a  mutual 
resoiulion  ;  for,  consi-ious  tiiat  my  supineness 
anJ  indulgence  have  already  produced  an  ill 
etlecl  I). all  upon  your  feelmg  and  your  conduct, 
I  will  hencelorward  compel  you  to  respect  botli 
yourself  and  me  ;  and  to  yield  implicit  obedi- 
ence to  my  will,  be  it  what  ii  may." 

Ti;e  !i..jshness  and  assumpiior.  of  this  reply 
produced  a  very  different  eHeci  upon  me  from 
what  he  had  evidently  anticipated.  I  answered 
in  as  high  a  key,  and  our  dissension  became 
even  more  violent  than  that  of  the  previous  eve- 
ning We  had  no  longer  any  terms  to  keep 
with  each  other.  To  the  name  of  Devereu.x  I 
responded  by  that  of  Mrs.  Delamaine  ;  to  his 
taunts  of  my  general  levity,  I  opposed  his  own 
extraordinary  influence  with  my  mother;  and 
was  even  so  far  misled  hy  my  passion  as  to  hint 
that,  ill  all  probability,  it  was  a  mystery  which 
would  not  safely  3dmit  of  solution. 

"  Vou  are  a  disg.  ice  to  your  sex,"  thundered 
out  Sir  James,  as  he  retreated  a  few  paces  ; 
"  leave  the  room,  madam  ;  and  deliver  me  from 
the  presence  of  a  woman  for  whom  nothing  is 
sacred." 

"  I  go,  because  I  am  anxious  to  retire  to  rest,"  I 
said  witlia  contemptuous  smile;  "and  I  leave  you 
to  your  dreams  of  the  past ;  for  in  your  projects 
fur  ilie  luluie  you  have  sadly  deceived  yourself" 

"'I'line  will  show,"  was  ins  reply, as  he  abrupt- 
ly turneil  his  back  on  me,  and  rang  for  his  valet. 

I  was  now  in  open  rebellion  ;  and,  strange  to 
say,  I  leli  happier  than  I  had  done  for  months. 
I  no  longer  hesitated  to  display  my  preference 
%r  Devereux  wherever  we  met  in  society  ; 
while  at  the  same  time  I  indulged  in  a  general 
«ystem  of  coquetry,  which  at  Itnglh  compelled 
ny  niuiher  lo  interfere.  It  will  easily  be  under- 
wood, however,  in  what  s|)irit  I  received  her 
•pninand.  I  talked  of  the  past ;  and  inquired 
/  I  had  ever  committed  my.-,elf  with  Colonel 
Oevfcreux.  as  she  had,  dur.ng  my  father's  life- 
anic,  compromised  her  own  dignity  with  the 
«an  to  whom  she  had  subsequently  married 
lier  di-iijiiter,  and  afterward  with  her  present 
bushaiii}. 

"  Believe  me,  madam,"  I  concluded  sarcasti- 
cally :  •'  the  veproof  falls  pointless  from  your 
lips ;  for  our  fais  has  been  more  similar  in  life, 
as  well  as  our  uciions,  than  you  appear  willing 
to  comprehend.  Your  noble  father  married  you 
to  a  commoner  in  order  to  secure  his  wealth  : 
my  noble  mother  married  me  to  a  roue,  in  order 
to  secure  his — friendship:  my  husband  rendered 
himself  conspicuous  by  breaking  the  heart  oX 
my  own  sister — while  yonro — " 

'•Speak,  Lady  Dornton,"  almost  shrieked  my 
mother,  wounded  in  her  tenderest  point — her 
vanity ;  "  speak  I  what  is  it  that  you  dare  lo 
insiirjate!" 

"  1  insinuate  nothing,"  I  replied,  triumphant 
at  the  efleci  which  I  had  produced,  and  forget- 
ful of  all,  save  tne  gratification  of  the  moment ; 
and,  most  and  woKt,  of  the  kindly  feeling  which 
Lord  Ol.rrford  hai2  i.ivariahly  exhibited  toward 
me;  "I  insinuate  notiimg ;  but  merely  advise 
joii  10  inquire  of  your  h  JshanJ,  the  exact  nature 
of  the  conoumpiion  which  laid  poor  Emily 
V<f«»yn  in  a  foreign  grave." 


"Eveleen,  you  are  a  fiend  I  gasped  out 
Lady  Madelaine,  with  clasped  hands,  and  quiv- 
ering lips. 

"  1  am  what  you  have  made  me.  One  of 
your  victims  has  already  paid  the  penally  of  I  er 
parentage;  but  the  other  is  before  you,  prepared 
to  contend  rather  than  to  suffer." 

'Only  tell  me  that  you  have  spoken  at  ra" 
dom,  and  that  there  was  no  covert  meaning 
your  w^ords !" 

"  1  have  no  more  to  say  upon  the  subject." 

"  But,  Lady  Dornton,  I  insist — " 

"  Uselessly,  madam  ;  and  as  it  is  now  tmie 
that  I  should  dress  for  court,  you  must  pardon 
me  for  leaving  you,  should  you  desire  lo  prolong 
your  visit,"  and  courtesying  ceremoniously  I  left 
the  room. 

Strangely,  pitiably,  had  my  feelings  become 
perverted.  The  knowledge  that  I  had  reveng- 
ed tny  wrongs  upon  my  mother  gave  me  an 
energy,  which  made  me  dazzling.  I  felt  no 
weariness  during  the  period  of  my  toilet,  te- 
dious as  it  was,  for  my  thoughts  were  fully 
occupied  ;  and  when  I  fell  into  the  rank  to  pro- 
ceed to  St.  James's,  I  had  never  been  more 
satisfied  with  myself,  for  I  had  found  in  my 
dressing-room  a  magnificent  bouquet  of  exotics, 
about  which  my  new  aitendanl  affected  to  know 
nothing,  while  she  was  aware  that  her  silence 
told  me  all. 

As  the  carriages  moved  slowly  onward,  I 
pressed  the  gorgeous  flowers  to  my  lips  more 
than  once  ;  and  when  I  at  length  arrived  at  the 
Palace,  1  found  myself  surrounded  by  adulation 
and  flattery  ;  my  spirits  rose  still  higher,  and  I 
scarcely  heeded  the  shrugs  and  sneers  which  1 
occasionally  detected  in  the  courtly  crowd.  I 
had  accepted  the  arm  of  Colonel  Devereux  upon 
the  staircase,  and  my  first  care  was  lo  thank 
him  for  his  elegant  and  well-timed  present.  He 
merely  smiled  his  reply,  and  pressed  my  arm 
more  closely  against  his  side.  I3ut  in  the  ihrone- 
room  my  triumphs  ceased.  The  queen  looked 
coldly  upon  me  ;  and  the  princesses  affected  to 
be  discoursing,  and  not  lo  be  conscious  of  my 
approach.  From  the  princes  I  received  my 
usual  greeting,  hut  I  felt  that  my  popularity  at 
the  palace  was  at  an  end. 

"  Tu  cs  cihouee,  ma  chcrcV  said  my  friend 
the  ambassadress,  when  we  again  met  in  the 
crowd.  She  might  have  spared  me  the  assur 
ance,  for  I  knew  it. 

I  murmured  my  indignation  to  Devereux,  bu 
he  only  chid  me  lor  my  weakness,  in  regarding' 
as  an  affront  the  caprice  of  a  slraight-laced  old 
lady,  while  he  reminded  me  of  the  admiration 
which  I  had  elicited  from  the  Prince  of  Wales  ; 
and  I  was  obliged  to  accept  this  as  compensa- 
tion, and  affect  to  laugh  at  my  own  sensitive 
folly.  The  blow  had  been  struck,  however; 
but  instead  of  inducing  me  lo  redeem  the  past, 
it  only  fortified  me  in  the  belief  that  1  must  make 
myself  independent  of  the  world,  as  I  had 
already  done  of  all  home  lies  ;  that  1  must,  in 
short,  rely  upon  my  own  strength,  and  demon- 
strate to  the  utmost  how  entirely  I  had  been 
misjudged.  Colonel  Devereux  did  not  put  mc 
into  my  carriage  until  he  had  arranged  to  join 
me  at  the  Opera  :  and  I  arrived  at  home  at  an 
unusually  late  hour,  the  draw:ng-room  having 
been  a  full  one. 

When  I  drove  to  the  door,  I  was  surprised  to 


183 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


see  the  carriage  of  Dornion,  with  four  post- 
horsf'S,  move  a  few  paces  forward  to  allow  of 
my  approacli ;  but  as  I  cared  little  for  his  per- 
sonal arrangements,  I  made  no  inquiry  as  to  the 
cause  of  its  appearance  there,  and  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  my  room.  No  doubt,  he  was,  like 
inysel;',  wearied  of  the  constant  conflicts  which 
now  characterized  our  domestic  icUs-a-ictcs,  and 
was  about  to  vary  the  scene  by  a  visit  to  some 
distant  Iriend,  perhaps  to  escort  Mrs.  Delamaine 
lo  the  coast.  Be  it  as  it  miijht,  I  only  congrat- 
ulated myself  on  his  approaching  absence  ;  and 
heartdy  wished  hiiii  a  long  and  prosperous 
journey. 

Nothing  could  be  either  more  specious  or 
more  probable  than  these  conjectures  ;  and  as- 
suredly, nothing  was  ever  more  opposite  to  the 
truth. 

At  the  door  of  my  anteroom  I  found  the  valet 
of  Sir  James,  who  requested  me  to  pass  in  the 
first  place  into  the  library,  where  his  master 
was  awaiting  my  return.  I  was  annoyed  at 
this,  for  I  was  in  no  humor  lo  encounter  him 
at  that  moment ;  and  as  I  slowly  advanced  in 
the  direction  indicated,  I  sought  for  an  instant 
some  sufficient  pretext  for  refusing  the  inter- 
view. 

"  Tell  Sir  James,"  I  said,  just  as  I  reached 
the  door,  "  that  I  am  overcome  with  fatigue, 
aiMl  will  receive  him  to-morrow  morning  in  my 
dressing-room." 

As  I  ceased  speaking,  I  turned  upon  my  lieel, 
and  was  just  congratulating  myself  upon  my  es- 
cape, when  the  door  opened,  and  Sir  James  ap- 
peared u()on  the  threshold. 

'•  You  have  returned  laie,"  he  said,  as  he  held 
it  open  for  me  to  pass  :  "  the  horses  have  been 
put-to  more  than  an  hour." 

"And  what  can  there  be  in  common,"  I 
asked,  as  I  advanced  rapidly  into  tlie  room,  in 
order  that  his  servant  might  not  be  a  parly  in 
the  di^^cussion  ;  "  between  your  post-horses  and 
uiy  return  V 

"  Do  you  not  guess,  madam  1  You  are  now 
sufficiently  compromised  to  leave  town,  I  should 
imagine,  withoiii  regret ;  but,  be  it  as  it  may, 
you  must  leave  it,  and  that  instantly.  Common 
propriety  exacts  il.  your  mother  insists  upon  it, 
and  I  will  have  it  done." 

"Do  you  mean  to  assert  that  my  mother  is 
cognisant  of  this  tyranny,  and  that  she  ventures 
to  authorize  it  ?  I  will  not  be  so  imposed  upo-n. 
My  sister  is  as  yet  scarcely  cold  in  her  grave, 
and  she  cannot  so  soon  have  forgotten  that 
deathbed." 

"  You  liu  botii  your  mother  and  myself  less 
than  justice.  Lad)  Dornton  ;  while  your  e.vagge- 
rations  are  absurd  and  lU-placed.  Your  life  is 
in  perfect  safety — would  that  your  reputation 
were  equally  secure.  But,  madam,  you  are  in- 
Capable  of  self-government ;  and  must  not  be 
abandoned  to  your  own  imprudent,  not  to  say 
vicious,  tendencies.  Far  from  seeking  to  re- 
venge upon  you  the  insults  to  which  we  have 
fcolh  been  subjected  by  your  intemperate  in- 
ferences, we  are  anxious  to  secure  to  you  an 
eppor; unity  of  redeeming  the  past.  I  shall  ac- 
company you  to  the  country,  where  you  will 
have  leisure  to  reflect,  to  become  rational,  and 
lo  acquire  certain  qualities  and  virtues  m  which 
you  are  at  present  most  unhap|)ily  deficient." 

"  I  will  appeal  to  Lord  Ot'.erford,"  I  exclaim- 


ed with  vehemence  ;  "  he  will  never  sanction 
such  unheard-of  violence." 

'•  Lord  Otterford  !"  echoed  Dornton  in  a  lone 
of  pained  reproach  ;  "  have  you  indeed  the  pre- 
tension to  seek  a  champon  in  the  man  whom 
you  have  so  deeply  injured  1  In  your  viclim  of 
this  morning  T' 

The  blood  curdled  at  my  heart.  Bitterly  did 
I  at  that  moment  repent  my  treachery,  but  it 
was  too  late.  I  felt  that  I  had  indeed  no  longer 
a  riglit  to  claim  his  suppoit  or  kindness. 

"  Make  no  resistance,"  pursued  Sir  James 
coldly  ;  "  for  it  will  be  useless.  Even  the  world 
will  no  longer  uphidd  you,  for  that  world  has 
seen  )ou  slighted  where  all  seek  lo  please  ;  and 
I  will  have  no  more  public  jests  at  my  ex- 
pense."  • 

My  mental  reaction  was  frightful.  I  could 
scarcely  comprehend  my  own  identity.  Ten 
hours  before  I  had  been  occupied  only  by  dreams 
of  triumph  and  of  pleasure  ;  idolized  by  ihe 
world,  by  the  man  I  loved,  by  the  gay  flutter- 
ers  about  me  ;  rich  in  the  world's  gifts  of  wealth, 
and  youth,  and  fashion,  I  could  have  defied  fate 
to  overthrow  the  trophies  of  my  vanity  ;  but  in 
an  instant  all  these  gorgeous  visions  had  dis- 
appeared, and  I  saw  before  me  only  a  compel- 
led and  comfortless  exile  :  cheerless  isolation, 
and  endless  humiliations.  I  shrank  from  the 
hateful  prospect  :  but  all  my  firmness  was  gone. 
I  uttered  one  long  piercing  scream,  and  fainted. 

Dornton  rang  for  my  attendants,  even  assist- 
ed in  removing  my  jewel.'*  and  head-dress,  and 
then,  when  I  had  partially  recovered  from  the 
swoon,  ofl'ered  me  his  arm  to  reach  my  own 
room.  My  first  impulse  was  to  refuse  his  sup- 
port, but  as  I  Ibund  myself  too  weak  lo  dispense 
with  assistance,  I  was  compelled  to  accept  iho 
courtesy.  No  word  was  exchanged  between 
us  until  we  reached  the  door,  when  be  said  as 
calmly  as  though  we  had  been  about  lo  spend 
the  evening  in  the  adjoining  street  : 

"  In  an  hour  precisely.  Lady  Dornton.  I  will 
again  be  here  to  conduct  you  to  the  carriage. 
YtHir  woman  has,  I  believe,  made  all  the  ne- 
cessary arrangements;  and  you  have  only  to 
rest  yourself,  and  endeavor  to  regain  your 
strength." 

I  made  no  reply,  for  I  was  stricken  to  the 
very  earth.  I  found,  as  he  had  stated,  my  draw- 
ers  and  wardrobes  empty  ;  and  was  informed  by 
my  attendant  that  their  contents  were  already 
on  the  way  to  Rooksley.  A  close  traveling 
dress  with  a  bonnet  and  mantle  were  spread 
upon  the  bed  ;  in  short,  "  niy  home  was  made 
unto  me  desolate." 

My  first  care  was  to  tear  off  the  finery  in 
which  I  was  tricked  out,  and  which  seemed  to 
mock  my  wretchedness.  The  composure  o! 
despair  look  possession  of  me,  and  I  [)Ut  on, 
one  after  the  other,  all  the  elaborate  wraps  that 
had  been  provided  for  me  by  the  zealous  care 
of  my  woman  ;  I  remember  that  J  even  drew 
on  my  gloves,  although  I  was  parched  with 
fever,  and  gasped  for  air ;  and  then  I  cast  my- 
self into  a  chair,  and  remained  silent  ami  pas- 
sive. I  neither  wept  nor  thought.  My  brain 
burned  and  throbbed  ;  and  I  was  sick  and  faint 
for  want  of  sustenance  ;  but  no  wish  for  food 
grew  upon  me.  I  bad  a  mere  vague  pe''ceplioa 
of  my  existence,  and  nothing  more. 

At  the  appointed  lime  Dornton  reappeared,         I 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY   WOMAN. 


183 


aiid  I  instinctively  rose  as  he  appmac-lied  nn'. 
Oiii;e  more  my  hand  rested  upon  his  arm,  but  this 
partial  support  no  longer  sufficed,  and  I  stagger- 
ed, and  should  have  (alien,  had  he  not  tlirovvn 
his  other  arm  ahout  my  waist,  and  borne  me  up. 

My  deji^ction  became  complete  when  I  saw 
Dornton  and  the  new  attendant  whom  he  had 
placed  about  me,  follow  me  into  the  carriage, 
and  that  no  friendly  face  had  appeared  to  shed 
one  ray  of  comfort  over  my  departure.  I  had 
from  the  first  disliked  this  woman,  whom  I  con- 
sidered as  tlie  agent  of  his  tyranny,  and  at  such 
a  moment  the  loathing  naturally  increased. 
Why  had  he  forced  her  upon  me,  in  the  very 
carriage?  Bpyond  all  doubt  in  order  to  avoid 
finding  himself  again  alone  in  my  society.  We 
soon  left  the  metropolis  behind  us,  and  as  we 
not  long  afterward  stopped  to  change  horses,  I 
imagine  that  the  light  of  the  lanterns  which 
flashed  into  the  carriage,  had  afforded  a  melan- 
clioly  view  of  my  pale  and  wretched  face,  for  I 
eaw  Dornton  suddenly  start,  and  he  inquired 
anxiously  of  the  attendant  if  I  had  taken  any 
refreshment  since  my  return  from  court.  She 
had  no  sooner  replied  in  the  negative  than  he 
drew  from  a  traveling  case  a  bottle  of  Malaga 
and  some  biscuits,  of  which  coldly  but  reso- 
lutely he  compelled  me  to  partake  ;  and  this  done 
1m>  drew  himself  closely  into  his  corner,  and  either 
slept,  or  affected  to  do  so,  until  the  morning. 

What  a  strange  combination  of  inconsisten- 
cies does  human  nature  present !  I  remained 
widely  awake  throughout  the  whole  of  that 
long  night ;  but  I  neither  mourned  over  the  past, 
nor  speculated  upon  the  future  ;  I  was  buried  in 
marvel  as  to  the  real  feelings  of  the  weary  wo- 
man who  sat  before  me. 

In  prosperity  we  little  heed  those  who  min- 
ister to  our  comforts  in  a  subordinate  capacity. 
All  that  we  care  to  know  of  individuals  who  are 
so  widely  separated  from  ourselves  in  interest, 
in  habit,  in  feeling,  and  in  sympathy,  is  their 
adroitness  in  performing  their  allotted  duties  ; 
and  we  feed  our  own  vanity  with  the  belief  that 
all  their  faculties  are  limited  to  the  proper  per- 
formance of  those  duties.  In  misfortune  we 
begin  to  understand  our  error,  and  to  compre- 
hend our  mutual  dependence  ;  where  we  find  a 
sympathizing  auditor,  we  please. ourselves  by 
believing  that  we  have  found  a  friend  ;  and 
although  I  had  not  yet  brought  myself  to  confide 
in  Josephine,  still  I  was  conscious  that  she  was 
in  my  secret ;  and  this  very  consciousness  had 
already  rendered  her  necessary  to  me.  Never- 
theless, while  absorbed  in  pleasure,  and  meeting 
Devereux  daily,  I  had  been  less  susceptible  of 
her  loss  ;  but  now  I  felt  as  if  I  were  at  the  mercy 
of  a  hired  spy  ;  and,  inconsistent  as  it  may  ap- 
pcir  at  such  a  crisis,  this  fact  weighed  more 
heavily  upon  me  than  all  the  rest. 

We  arrived  at  last,  to  :ny  surprise,  at  Rooks- 
ley  ;  and  I  became  more  calm.  I  even  per- 
suaded myself  that  Sir  James  had  only  endeav- 
ored to  alarm  me,  by  showing  the  extent  of  his 
power  as  a  husband  ;  and,  rocked  by  this  pleas- 
ant delusion,  I  retired  to  bed,  and  fell  into  a 
deep  and  refreshing  sleep. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 
E»EMNo    nad  flung    its    drapery  over    my 
chamber  ere  I  awoke  and  oven  then  it  was  6y  the 


cautious  opening  of  a  door  which  led  to  1113F 
servants'  apartments.  I  raised  myself  u|K>n  iii> 
elbow,  and  to  my  extreme  astonishmeni,  1  saw 
Susan,  my  new  attendant,  stealthily  approach- 
ing the  bed. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  intrusion!"  I 
asked  angrily,  jealous  lest  the  system  which  I 
had  apprehended  should  already  have  com- 
menced. 

"I  have  awoke  your  ladyship,"  she  said, 
humbly  ;  ''but  I  beg  you  to  believe,  my  lady, 
that  I  would  not  have  taken  such  a  liberty,  if  I 
had  not  felt  that  time  might  be  everyihing  in 
such  a  case  ;  and  I  was  aliaid  thai  I  should  not 
find  another  opportunity  so  safe.  Sir  James  is 
writing  m  the  library,  and  every  one  is  busy 
making  the  house  fit  for  your  ladyship  ;  so  I 
thought,  my  lady,  that  if  I  could  speak  to  you 
at  once,  you  would  have  more  leisure  to  con- 
sider what  you  wished  to  do,  when  you  knew 
all." 

There  was  an  accent  of  sincerity  in  the  wo- 
man, but  this,  nevertheless,  did  not  suffice  to 
convince  me,  although  it  served  to  excite  my 
curiosity.  I  felt  at  once  astonished  and  anx- 
ious ;  but  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  ask 
a  single  question,  for  I  had  no  confidence  in  my 
mysterious  visitor.  She  saw  my  mistrust,  and 
was  evidently  wounded. 

"  What  I  am  about  to  tell  you,  madarn,"  she 
said  steadily,  but  with  constraint;  "I  heard  in 
London,  from  the  very  person  to  whom  Sir 
James  himself  told  it  alter  seeing  your  lady- 
ship's mother,  about  two  hours  before  you  re- 
turned from  court.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  re- 
peat it ;  perhaps  even  you,  my  lady,  may  blame 
me;  but  I  cannot  see  you  so  unhappy,  whatever 
you  may  hava  done,  without  feeling  that  it  is 
my  duty  to  do  what  I  can  to  help  you." 

She  paused  for  a  reply,  but  I  continued  reso- 
lutely silent. 

"  You  are  not  to  remain  long  here,  my  lady,** 
she  resumed,  after  having  vainly  awaited  an 
answer  ;  "only  till  the  furniture  of  some  of  the 
family  rooms  in  Portland  Place  has  had  time  to 
reach  Glenfillan  Castle,  where  Sir  James  is  to 
take  you,  and  where  he  is  afterward  to  leave 
you  in  the  care  of  a  sister  of  Lady  Madelaine 
Olterford.  I  have  also,  my  lady — "  and  here 
she  burst  into  tears  ;  "  I  have  also  been  in- 
structed to  watch  you,  and  to  give  an  account 
of  all  your  doings  to  Sir  James  ;  none  of  us  are 
to  be  allowed  to  leave  the  grounds  ;  we  are  all 
to  be  prisoners  together  ;  and  I  know  beforehand 
that  your  ladyship  dislikes  me,  and  has  no  con- 
fidence in  the  duty  which  I  wish  to  show  you." 

As  I  could  discover  no  competent  reason  why 
this  woman,  who  had  but  recently  entered  my 
service,  and  to  whom  my  bciring  had  been  the 
very  reverse  of  conciliatory  throughout,  should 
bury  herself  alive  in  order  to  assist  my  husband 
in  his  extraordinary  proceedings,  or  beiray  her 
trust  in  order  to  gain  my  favor,  I  resolved  to 
be  prudent,  and  not  to  fall  into  a  snare,  which  I 
considered  clumsy  enough  when  I  remembered 
that  so  able  an  artist  in  dissimulation  as  Sir 
James  had  been  its  originator.  The  instinct  of 
self  preservation  for  once  taught  me  prudence, 
and  my  suspicions  continued  in  full  force. 

"Your  ladyship  still  doubts  me,"  said  Susan, 
after  a  second  pause  which  reiriamed  equally  un- 
broken by  any  response  on  my  part ;  "  and  may, 


184 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


perhaps,  neglect  a  useful  warning  because  it  I 
reaches  you  through  my  means.  There  is  only  | 
one  way  of  removing  your  suspicions  of  my  i 
honest  meaning,  my  lady  ;  and  with  your  lady-  ! 
ship's  permission,  1  will  own  to  you  my  reasons  ' 
for  serving  you  in  this  difflculiy  with  more  zeal  \ 
than  I  might,  perhaps,  otherwise  have  done."     | 

"Speak,  Susan,"  I  said,  "tell  rne  the  truth  \ 
frankly  ;  I  shall  be  at  no  loss  to  discover  in  how 
far  I  may  trust  to  the  sincerity  of  your  words." 

"I  have  a  lover,  madam;  a  worthy  young 
man  ;  hut  we  are  too  poor  to  marry  ;  and  I 
have  no  hope  save  in  the  generosity  of  your 
ladyship,  that  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  save 
enough  honestly  to  bring  us  together.  I  ac- 
cepted the  offer' of  Sir  James  without  reflecting 
tha'.  his  gold  had  been  paid  for  deceit  and  treach- 
ery ;  but  when  I  came  to  think  of  this,  I  knew 
that  money  so  dishonestly  gained  would  never 
prosper,  and  might  be  the  ruin  of  us  both.  That 
is  the  real  truth,  my  lady;  and  your  ladyship 
sees  that  I  do  not  pretend  to  feel  an  attachment 
to  your  person  which  cannot  be  expected  to 
have  grown  tip  in  the  few  weeks  that  I  have 
been  about  you." 

"  I  believe  )X)U,  Susan,  1  believe  you  ;  for 
you  have,  indeed,  inade  a  great  moral  efTort  to 
be  honest,"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  extended  ray  hand 
to  the  now  weeping  woman.  Yes,  I,  the 
haughty  daughter  of  Lady  Madekine  Otterford, 
actually,  for  the  first  lime  in  my  life,  extended 
my  hand  to  a  menial. 

Oh!  adversity  is  a  shrewd  task-mistress:  a 
mighty  moral  leveler — how  it  teaches  us  to  ap- 
preciate kindness  and  to  discover  friends  where 
we  had  previously  only  discerned  inferiors  !  It 
is,  indeed,  as  the  great  poet  of  the  world  has 
said,  the  jewel  struck  out  of  the  ugliness  and 
venom  of  the  heart.  Fine  friends  fall  away — 
the  dust  of  the  butterfly's  wings  is  swept  oflJ'by 
the  cold  touch  of  this  same  adversity — and  it  is 
then,  and  only  then,  liiat  we  turn  to  simple, 
pure,  and  honest  human  hearts  for  cornfort. 
Happy  they,  who  even  thus  tardily  find  what 
they  seek. 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  Susan  V*' 

"  Alas  !  madam,  I  can  but  obey  your  wishes. 
Whatever  you  order  shall  be  done.  Only,  I 
entreat  your  ladyship  not  to  mention  that  I 
have  betrayed  tiie  secret ;  or  to  let  any  one 
know  iliat  I  am  in  your  interests." 

I  could  no  longer  entertain  a  doubt  of  the 
honesty  of  my  new  confidant ;  and  the  com- 
parative composure  with  which  I  had  contem- 
plated a  temporary  retirement  at  Rooksley,  gave 
way  at  once  before  the  frightful  anticipation  of 
Glentillan  Castle,  and  the  companionship  of 
Lady  Flora.  1  knew  that  the  spot  was  bleak, 
barren,  and  desolate  ;  and  that  the  house  itself 
was  no  better  than  an  ornamented  prison  ;  while 
I  remembered  with  no  less  repugnance  that 
;ny  mother's  sister  was  tyrannical  and  overbear- 
ing by  nature,  and  that  she  had  a  score  of  real 
and  imaginary  grievances  to  revenge  upon  my- 
self. The  situation  was  an  incongruous  one 
for  both  parties  ;  for  I  should  be  at  once  her " 
host  and  her  prisoner,  while  she  would  be  at ' 
the  same  time  my  guest,  my  jailer,  and  the 
head  spy  of  Sir  James.  The  contemplation  of  I 
my  coming  fate  maddened  me :  I  passed  Irom 
Eolis  and  tears  to  recrimination  and  invective — 
I  .r...,j.e(i  iiiy  imur  and   the  means  which  had 


made  me  the  wife  of  Dornton,  and  thus  blighted 
my  wMu)le  life  ;  and  liien  I  fell  back  upon  my 
pillow  in  a  paroxysm  of  mute  despair. 

I  was  aroused  from  this  dark  lethargy  by  the 
low  voice  of  Susan,  beseeching  me  to  exert  my- 
self, and  to  consider  what  steps  it  would  be 
necessary  to  take  in  order  to  avert  the  evil 
which  was  impending  over  me.  Once  more 
awakened  to  a  full  sense  of  my  situation,  I  era- 
braced  the  anxious  girl,  hesough.t  her  to  be  trtie 
to  me,  and  made  the  most  magniilcent  promises 
in  the  event  of  her  good  faith.  Si'.e  listened  in 
respectful  silence,  and  then  again  besought  me 
to  remember  how  rapidly  the  time  was  passing, 
and  how  soon  I  might  be  compelled  to  resume 
my  hateful  journey. 

Still  I  v.-as  powerless.  I  could  not  come  to 
any  rational  decision. 

"  Consider  too,  my  lady,"  she  pursued,  point- 
ing out  in  the  strength  of  her  plain  g(><)d  sense 
the  duty  which  I  owed  to  my  own  reputation, 
"  how  necessary  it  is  that  your  ladyship  should 
not  lose  a  post  in  writing  to  some  of  your  friends, 
to  explain  your  sudden  departure  Irom  town. 
So  many  wicked  reports  may  go  abroad,  and  no 
one  can  contradict  them  without  your  authority." 

"  But  to  whom  can  I  write  V  I  asked  gloom- 
ily :  "  who  now  cares  to  interfere  in  my  fate  1" 

"  Will  not  your  ladyship  at  least  undeceive  my 
Lord  Otterford  1  He  has  always  appeared  so 
partial  to  my  lady." 

"  That  is  over  for  ever,"  I  answered,  with  a 
pang  so  bitter  that  he  was  almost  revenged  ; 
"  I  have  nothing  to  hope  from  that  quarter.  " 

"Some  of  your  ladyship's  relations " 

"  I  have  none.  I  am  now  alone  in  the 
world." 

"  But  my  lady  has  so  many  friends." 

I  laughed  in  the  irony  of  my  heart.  I 

"Poor  Susan!"  I  said;  "you  little  under-  I 
stand  the  friendship  of  th'e  world — the  give  and 
take  system,  which  always  insists  upon  receiv- 
ing its  equivalent — or  you  would  not  talk  to  me 
of  my  friends.  No,  my  good  girl,  those  who 
prosper  in  life  :  who  raise  themselves  by  wealthy 
marriages,  or  fortunate  chances,  have  alone 
the  right  to  boast  of  their  friends  ;  and  they  are 
the  very  first,  even  while  doing  so,  to  forget  all 
the  fond  and  holy  memories  of  the  past ;  and  to 
spurn  from  their  homes  and  heaits  the  loved 
ones  of  less  prosperous  times  who  have  been 
less  lucky  than  themselves,  although  they  may 
previously  have  vowed  to  them  an  undying  af- 
fection. Last  week  I  was  hemmed  in  with  de- 
voted friends  ;  to-day  you  stand  alone  to  pa.y 
me  back  duty  for  avoidance." 

"  Yet  surely,  my  lady,  among  so  many — " 

"  You  are  right,  Susan,"  I  e.xclaimed  sud- 
denly ;  "  I  am  not  utterly  desolate.  Bring  me 
my  desk  and  a  taper." 

I  was  promptly  obeyed,  and,  seizing  a  pen,  I 
wrote  a  long  and  hurried  letter  to  Devereux.         i 
Imprudent  as  the  step  actually  was,  I  was  nev-. 
ertheless  less  blamable  in  this  instance  than  in        ! 
many  others,  for  I  literally  knew  not  in  what  di-         j 
rection  to  turn  for  help.     I  detailed  to  liim  my         I 
forcible  removal  from  town,  the  threats  held  out 
by  Dornton,  and  the  intelligence  u  hu-ii  1  had  ob- 
tained  of  his   subsequent   designs ;  and  I  im- 
plored him  to  take  steps  to  rescue  me  from  both 
the  public  and  private  injustice  with  which   1 
was  threatened. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


ISj 


When  I  Iiad  sealed  and  directed  my  letter,  I 
placed  it  in  liie  hand  of  Susan,  who  had  aheady 
undertaken  to  secure  its  safe  transmission  to 
the  post ;  but  when  her  eye  fell  upon  the  super- 
scription, I  saw  her  redden  and  appear  irreso- 
iute. 

"  Has  your  courage  failed  you  so  soon  1"  I 
demanikHJ  abruptly. 

"  Your  ladyship  mistakes  me.  It  is  onl)What 
lam  fearful  lest,  in  forwarding  this  letter,  1  may 
do  mischief  instead  of  good.  Oh,  my  lady,  I 
would  humbly  beg  of  you  to  write  to  any  one 
rather  than  to  Colonel  Devereux." 

'•  You  forget  yourself,"  I  said  haughtily  ;  "I 
am  the  best  judge  of  the  eligibility  of  my  corres- 
pondents." 

"  But  should  Sir  Jame?  ever  discover " 

"I  do  noi  acknowledge  the  authority  of  Sir 
James  Dornloii.  The  advantage  which  he  has 
now  obtained  over  me  has  been  the  mere  tri- 
umph of  brute  force." 

"  But  I  was  so  particularly  warned,  my  lady, 
against " 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  Your  employer  was  un- 
able to  appreciate  the  noble  qnaiilies  of  Colonel 
Devereux,  and  therefore  feared  him  ;  but  I,  who 
know  him  belter,  do  him  more  justice." 

"I  will  yet  be  bold  enough  to  venture  one 
word, my  lady,"  persisted  the  anxious  woman  ; 
"let  me  entreat  your  ladyship  not  to  encourage 
the  colonel  ty  come  to  Rooksley  ;  for,  1  am 
sure,  that  in  my  master's  present  humor,  there 
would  be  bloodshed." 

A  cold  thrill  passed  through  my  veins,  and 
made  the  blood  quiver  in  its  passage  to  my 
heart ;  but  I  forced  a  smile,  as  I  declared  that  1 
had  expressed  no  such  wish  to  Colonel  Dever- 
eux ;  when  Susan,  reassured,  concealed  the  let- 
ter in  her  bo.som,  again  declaring  that  I  need 
apprehend  no  inconvenience  in  its  transmission. 

Somewhat  comforted  by  the  certainty  that 
Devereux,  at  least,  would  soon  be  informed  of 
my  misfortunes;  and  full  of  conjectures  as  to 
the  course  which  he  would  pursue,  I  refused  to 
,  leave  my  room  that  evening.  Sir  James  sub- 
mitted heroically  to  my  resolution,  nor  did  he 
strive  to  alter  it ;  and  thus  I  was  left  free  lo 
profit  by  my  own  reflections.     , 

It  was  evident  that  if  I  were  inclined  to  be 
chary  of  my  society,  he,  on  his  side,  desired  it 
quite  as  little  ;  for  each  morning,  long  before  I 
awoke,  lie  was  away  with  his  gun  and  his  dogs, 
and  only  returned  at  a  late  hour  lo  dinner. 

Few  words  were  exchanged  between  us  dur- 
ing the  repast,  and  we  parted  when  I  rose  from 
table.  Not  a  question  had  I  asked  ;  not  a  re- 
proach had  I  uttered  ;  and  at  times  I  fancied 
that  I  discovered  a  restlessness  in  the  manner 
■of  Dornion,  as  though,  touched  by  my  submis- 
sion, he  upbraided  himself  for  the  treachery 
'which  he  was  still  meditating  against  me  ;  but  I 
;never  ascertained  the  correctness  of  my  con- 
Ijectures,  for  his  self-possession  soon  returned, 
land  with  it  all  his  accustomed  coldness. 
i  In  as  short  a  period  as  it  was  possible  for  me 
f.o  receive  an  acknowledgment  of  my  letter  to 
iDevereux,  and  before  my  anxiety  had  yet  at- 
ained  to  its  height,  Susan  one  day  put  into  my 
lands  a  small  piece  of  fcdded  paper,  evidently 
;.orn  from  some  pocket  tablets,  and  upon  which 
vere  written  liiree  words  "  I  am  here,"  without 
late  or  signamie  ,  but  the  characters  were  too 
Aa 
\ 


familiar  to  me  to  need  interpretation.  It  was  tbo 
reply  of  Devereux. 

"  From  whom  got  you  this  V  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  From  the  colonel  himself,  my  lady." 

"  Where  is  he  1" 

"  At  the  Wood  Lodge,  my  lady." 

"  When  did  he  arrive  !" 

"  Last  night,  my  lady." 

My  bonnet  and  shawl  were  on  in  a  moment. 
It  was  the  hrst  time  that  I  had  left  the  house 
since  my  arrival  at  Rooksley;  and  nnemorieso. 
the  past  came  thronging  before  me  as  I  advan- 
ced along  the  well-remembered  path,  under  a 
clear  spring  sun,  and  with  a  sharp  air  playing 
upon  my  face.  What  had  1  not  seen  and  suffer- 
ed since  I  last  met  Devereux  beside  the  same 
spot.  Had  I  been  true  to  myself  and  to  him 
that  day,  what  trials  might  have  been  spared  tc 
us  both  ! 

When  I  reached  the  lodge,  t  hesitated  for  a 
moment  to  raise  the  latch,  lor  I  had  encounter- 
ed no  one  on  my  way  ;  and  while  I  yet  paused 
the  door  solily  opened,  and  Devereux  stood  bi- 
fore  me. 

'•  Fear  nothing.  Lady  Dorntoii,"  he  sair  aa 
he  took  my  hand,  and  led  me  across  the  thresh- 
old, carefully  closing  the  door  behind  us. 
"The  lodge  is  still  uninhabited  during  the  day, 
and  the  gamekeeper,  who  occupies  it  at  night, 
has  ceded  his  right  to  me  for  a  season.  And 
now  tell  me  wiiat  your  melancholy  position  ex- 
acts of  the  most  devoted  ol  your  triends." 

"Alas,  Devereux,"  I  sighed,  as  I  sank  upon 
a  low  bench  beside  the  rude  oaken  table,  "I 
know  not.  Will  you  not  think  for  me,  and 
counsel  me  V 

'•  I  am  so  interested  a  party — "  he  murmured, 
as  he  folded  my  hand  between  his  own. 

"  I  have  been  (nitraged  and  insulted,"  I  said 
with  bitterness;  "the  very  sight  of  Sir  James 
is  odious  to  me  ;  had  he  conveyed  me  here, 
and  liien  returned  to  town  without  any  further 
intrusion  on  my  privacy,,!  should  perhaps  have 
remained  passive,  at  all  events  lor  a  time  ;  but 
such  is  not  his  pleasure  ;  he  is  still  an  inmate 
of  Rooksley,  and  will  remain  here,  until  he  de- 
parts lor  'jlenhllan,  once  more  in  the  character 
of  my  ydii<i.  Then,  indeed,  I  find  that  .'  •?  is  to 
leave  me  to  the  enjoyment  of  my  prisor.  c  nd  the 
guardianship  of  my  mother's  sister.  My  only 
iiope  now  IS,  that  my  despair  may  soon  lay  me 
beside  Adela.' 

"This  journey  must  not  take  place,''  said 
Devereux,  as  he  carried  my  fingers  to  his  lips. 
"  We  can  hope  noihing  from  Lady  Madtlame; 
noihing  from  my  uncle.  They  are  both  exas- 
perat(^d  against  you  ;  and  equally  violent  against 
each  other.  Your  mother  lias  left  town,  and 
retired  to  her  Putney  villa,  whence  she  emerges, 
however,  almost  nighlly,  to  join  the  gay  socie- 
ties of  tli«  season  :  while  Oltcrlord  riiiiaiiis 
perdu  111  the  square,  refusing  to  receive  evfii  his 
most  intimate  friends.  Somelliiiig  leruhle  has 
occurred  between  them  " 

"1  can  understand  the  cause  of  ihe.r  cold- 
ness," I  said  sadly;  "and  now,  uhcii  ii  i.s  mo 
late,  I  regret  thai  it  has  bcfii  in  ?•  gieai  ilcgioh, 
if  not  entirely,  my  own  uork.  Devereux,  when 
we  first  loved  each  other,  your  uncle  bitterly 
ofl'ended  me,  and  I  then,  girl  as  I  was,  vowed 
that  1  would  one  day  be  revenj;ed.  Subs<  qiientiy 
however,  I  forgave,  even  if  I  did  not  quite  lor 


186 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETT\    WOMAN. 


pt't  the  injury  ;  nor  sliduld  1  have  again  sought 
lis  i>'(|Uiial,  had  i  oi  the  insolent  as:9unipti<)ii  of 
i/iy  iiiothtT  instigated  me  to  destroy  her  happi- 
ness, as  she  iiiid  previously  dtstmyed  mine.  In 
my  passion  I  did  not  pause  to  rememher  that  I 
nidde  a  second  victim,  and  one  who  deserved 
morec<)nsideiation  at  my  hands.  I  am,  there- 
fore, the  culprit." 

'•  It  hits  chanced  at  an  unlucky  moment,"  an- 
swered Devereux,  in  an  accent  considerahiy 
ess  desponding  than  his  words;  "for  ndthing 
can  now  be  expected  from  either  party  save  an 
increase  of  hostility.  Ytiur  situation  is  indeed 
de^erate,  Eveleen  ;  and  we  must  be  satisfied 
not  to  look  beyond  ourselves  for  your  deliver- 
ance. How  much  longer  do  you  calculate  on 
remaining  at  Ivooksley  !" 

"  I  ain  as  ignorant  upon  the  subject  as  your- 
self I  believe,"  I  added,  with  a  scornful  smile. 
"  that  my  movements  are  now  dependent  upon 
those  of  some  furniture,  which  even  Sir  James 
Dornlon  has  considered  it  necessary  to  dis- 
patch to  Scotland,  in  order  to  make  my  prison 
habitable." 

"  But  you  will  not,  of  course,  submit  to  this 
abuse  of  authority  1" 

"What  can  I  dol  He  is  my  husband  ;  and 
I  am  loo  weak  to  resist." 

"  And  yet,  Eveleen,  you  affect  to  love  me, 
and  to  hate  this  man  ;  while  his  word  is  still 
your  law,  and  my  afiection  is  met  only  by  cold- 
ness and  repnuil.  Is  this  consistent  !  Is  this 
reasonable  ]  Above  all,  is  this  generous?  Nay, 
listen  to  me,"  he  added,  as  I  strove  faintly  to 
disengage  my  hand  ;  "  the  moment  is  at  length 
come  in  which  it  behoves  me  to  be  frank.  Your 
name  is  blighted  and  your  fair  fame  sullied  ;  you 
are  abandoned  by  your  mother  ;  insulted  by  your 
husband  ;  and  denied  by  your  acciiiainlance. 
Voii  alone  know  your  own  heart,  unless  indeed 
you  will  admit  nie  into  a  participation  of  that 
knowledge.  \'ou  alone  know  that  you  are 
guiltless  of  those  errors  of  which  you  are  ac- 
cused, and  of  which  many  of  your  accusers  are 
themselves  far  Irom  free — and  what  avails  that 
knowledge,  when  you  cannot  obtain  credence  (H" 
the  fact  1  The  w  oman  who  is  merely  suspected 
is  always  lost ;  and  it  is  only  she  who  has  moral 
courage  to  brave  the  world,  and  to  do  justice  to 
herself,  who  escapes  scathless." 

"  Spare  me — spare  me,"  I  faltered  arnid  my 
eobs. 

"  Eveleen,  dear  Eveleen,  hear  me  out," 
whispered  my  companion,  as  he  seated  himself 
beside  me,  and  encircled  my  sinking  (igure 
with  his  arm  ;  "  I  must  show  you  precisely  the 
nature  of  your  iiosiiion,  in  order  that  you  may 
summon  resolution  to  resist  your  fate.  You 
Lave  now  seen  what  you  have  to  expect  from 
that  world  of  which  you  were  so  lately  the 
brightest  oinament,  and  the  tnost  worshiped 
idnl.  Now  turn  your  eyes  upon  your  home. 
V\'hat  aspect,  what  prospect  does  it  present! 
An  unloving  and  unreleinmg  husband  con.-igns 
you  tu  i'  living  grave,  and  to  the  guardiansliip 
of  a  woman  to  whom  you  are  repugnant  ;  there 
to  moulder  away  your  youth,  your  beauty,  and 
your  iKipcs.  while  he  rmts  in  your  wealth — and 
all  this,  not,  believe  me,  to  resent  a  momentary 
(it  ol  Itiviiy,  or  an  instant  of  imprudent  caprice, 
b.ii  bi(;ause  you  were  uiiguirded  enough  to  be- 
iiav  to  iiiiu  (hat  you  knew  too  much  of  himself 


— of  his  past  career — of  his  mercenary  motive* 
— and  of  liis  laie  deliniiuoncy.  Is  this  not  sOt 
sweet  Eveleen  V 

The  solution  thus  offered  of  my  present  8or» 
rows  was  too  soothing  to  be  rejected.  My 
'  tears  flowed  less  bi'.terly  ;  I  was  less  dissatisfied 
with  myself  It  was  clear  that  Sir  James  acted 
from  a  principle  of  self-preservation  totally  dis- 
tinct from  my  personal  coiiducl.  I  was  already 
justified  in  my  own  eyes. 

"  It  is  certain  that  you  cannot  remainr  here, 
alone  and  unprotected,"  puisued  Devereux,  ev- 
idenily  encouraged  by  the  t  ffcct  of  iiis  last  ar- 
gument ;  "  for  even  slmuld  Doi  nton  afl'ecl  to 
yield  his  consent  to  such  a  measure,  you  would 
be  at  every  moment  subject  to  the  ciinsequencea 
of  his  breach  of  faith  ;  while  it  is  still  more  im- 
pcssiblo  that  you  should  be  carried  to  Scotland, 
almost  beyond  the  reach  of  elHcient  help." 

"Alas!  alas!  what  then  is  left  to  ineV  I 
exclaimed,  wringing  my  hands  in  agony  and  in- 
decisi(m. 

"  The  whole  world,"  murmured  Devereux, 
in  my  ear;  "the  whole  world,  fairest  and 
most  beloved  of  women  !  The  sunny  skies,  and 
smiling  groves  of  Italy — the  glorious  mouniain- 
l)aihs  of  Switzerlaiul — the  classic  shores  of 
Greece — and  everywhere,  one  loyal  and  loving 
heart,  on  which  to  pillow  all  your  past  trials 
and  present  happiness." 

I  was  stunned.  I  might  have  expected thi8» 
I  fear  that  I  had  expected  it ;  but  vaguely,  and 
as  a  far-off  vision  seen  dimly  in  perspective.  I 
was  too  feeble  to  contend  with  the  emotion  of 
such  a  moment;  ami  siitrering  my  head  to  fall 
upon  the  shoulder  of  Devereux,  I  closed  ray  eyes 
and  fainted. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

When  I  recovered  consciousness  Tfoimd  my- 
self still  in  the  arms  of  Devereux,  and  I  felt  his 
warm  lips  upon  my  brow.  I  dare  not  look  back 
to  the  intoxication  of  that  moment.  All  my 
sufferings  and  all  my  fears  were  forgotten  as  I 
lay  passively  upon  his  bosom,  and  listened  to 
his  low-breathed  words  of  tenderness  ;  but  ere 
long  I  felt  the  necessity  itf  arousing  myself  from 
this  dangerous  lethargy,  and  sweeping  my  dis- 
heveled hair  from  my  forehead,  I  endeavored  to 
withdraw  myself  from  his  clasp. 

"Not  yet,  Eveleen,"  he  murmured  tenderly; 
"  not  yet.  You  are  still  indisposed  and  weak, 
my  own  love  ;  may  I  not  say  ivy  own,  as  I  onco 
did  some  few  sliort  years  ago,  when  you  prom- 
ised to  love  me  only  !  And  you  will  redeem 
that  pledge  even  yet — you  will  not  be  fore- 
sworn— you  iiave  so  far  sinned  against  me  only 
by  compulsiim,  and  your  heart  has  been  no  party 
to  the  treachery  <il  ynur  acts.  We  shall  be 
happy,  Eveleen  ;  nmst  hajipy.  We  will  blot 
England  from  the  map  of  our  worhl  uf  love; 
and  we  shall  still  have  space  enough  in  which 
to  breathe  out  our  vows  of  neverriianging  ten- 
derness and  fidelity.  I  will  t)e  to  you  a  friend, 
a  brother,  a  lover,  everything — " 

'•  Save  a  husl)and — "  I  interposed,  with  an 
involuntary  shudder. 

Devereux  staried,but  he  almost  instantly  re-  ^ 
covered  his  composine.     ".And  even  that  will 
come,  fair  trembler,"  ho  .'^aid,  as  for  the  first 
lime  he  dared  to  pi  ess  his  lips  to  mine  and  to  : 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


187 


It  so  unchid.lcn  ;  for  his  words  had  awakened 
ill  the  wariiiih  and  confulence  of  my  nature. 
'  Do  you  imagine  thai  Dornton  will  suffer  so 
3laubil)le  an  opportuniiy  to  escape  of  enriching 
:iimself  atyourexi)cnse,  and  of  freeing  you  from 
,he  odious  lies  wliich  now  subject  you  to  his 
^)iitroi  !" 

"  Oil,  speali  not  of  it,"  I  exclaimed  piteously  : 
"Ihink  only  of  the  humiliation  —  of  the  dis- 
jrace." 

"Eveleen,  remember  the  commencement  of 
jur  conversation  ;  and  do  not  distress  yourself 
unnecessarily." 

"  True."  1  muttered  through  my.  clenched 
:ecili  ;  "I  am  already  humbled — already  dis- 
graced." 

•'  If  you  see  fit  to  accept  such  a  destiny," 
said  Devereu.x  soothingly  ;  "  but  if  you  deter- 
mine ollierwise,  your  fate  is  in  your  own  hands. 
few  will  now  be  induced  to  believe  you  inno- 
cent, even  should  you  consent  to  pay  the  pen- 
alty of  error ,  and  believe  me,  sweet  one,  it  is 
at  worst  an  error  to  which  nine-tenths  of  the 
B'orld  are  in  iheir  hearts,  for  reasons  of  their 
i)wn,  disposed  to  be  more  lenient  than  they 
Jeem  it  e.\pedient  to  acknowledge.  You  have 
consequently  only  your  own  heart  to  consult; 
for  the  malice  of  others  has  spared  you  the  sole 
really  tangible  objections  which  you  might  have 
opposed  to  my  entreaties.  And  will  you  en- 
tirely overlook  the  happiness  which  you  would 
thus  confer  upon  one  who  has  loved  you 
Lliroiigli  treachery  and  neglect,  through  good  re- 
port and  evil  report,  as  I  have  done  ;  I  of  whom 
you  are  alike  the  first  love  and  the  last  V 

There  was  a  bitter  warring  at  my  heart,  but 
I  dared  not  yield.  I  have  already  frankly 
stated  more  than  once,  that  I  had  no  fixed  prin- 
ciple of  religion,  and  consequently  no  solid 
foundation  ol  conduct ;  but,  nevertheless,  I 
shrank  from  the  world's  sneer ;  and  despite  all 
he  well-iurned  sophistries  of  Devereux,  I 
could  nut  bring  myself  to  believe  that  I  was  in- 
leed  so  utterly  fallen  in  its  opinion,  as  though 
;[  had  in  truth  merited  its  scorn. 

Be  the  result  of  my  imprudence  what  it 
"night,  I  lelt  tnat  it  was  incumbent  upon  me  at 
once  to  terminate  the  present  interview  ;  and 
I  was  surprised  and  I  lear  somewhat  piqued,  at 
.he  ready  acquiescence  of  Devereux. 

"  It  behoves  us  to  be  prudent,  dearest,"  he 
iaid,  as  he  also  rose  ;  "  and  the  rather  as  I  shall 
■-onslantly  be  near  you,  to  guard  you  from  the 
!iarshness  of  Sir  James.  From  sunrise  to  sun- 
iet  you  will  find  me  here,  until  it  is  your  pleas- 
ire  that  I  should  depart— tlie  happiest  of  men, 
tr  the  most  miserable.  Glance  into  the  next 
ipartmciit,  and  you  will  see  that  my  establish- 
iieni  is  complete." 

I  followed  him  to  a  small  door  which  opened 
n  the  opposite  wall,  and,  to  my  astonishment, 
iscovered  m  the  room  to  which  he  alluded,  a 
tout  horse  ready  saddled  and  bridled,  and  whose 
ein  was  made  fast  to  a  ring  beside  a  second 
oor  which  opened  into  the  high  road. 

"You  s^cb  I  have  been  wary,"  he  remarked 
vith  a  smile  ;  "and  have  secured  a  means  of 
risiant  esca|)e  should  I  run  any  risk  of  detetion 
y  Dornton  or  his  spies.  I  need  not  expatiate, 
trust,  upon  the  siiU  more  happy  use  to  which 
his  fortunate  outlet  may  be  put.  I  leave  it  to 
our  own  old  memories  and   present   attach- 


ments. And  now,  farewell,  dear  Eveleen.  I 
shall  only  weary  in  my  solitude  lor  your  return, 
tor  the  interval  will  be  shortened  by  the  visions 
of  the  last  hour,  and  the  hopes  of  still  brighter 
and  more  blessed  ones  to  come." 

And  so  we  parted,  after  Devereux  had  looked 
cautiously  from  the  narrow  casement  to  ascer- 
tain that  we  were  unobserved,  but  as  I  slowly 
traversed  the  shrubbery  on  my  return,  I  in- 
voluntarily asked  myself  whether  I  had  not 
already  more  than  half-justified  that  world  by 
which  I  had  been  so  recklessly  cond(.'mned  ;  and 
I  dared  not  trust  my  own  heart  with  the  reply. 

On  arriving  at  home  I  ascertained  from  Su- 
san that  Sir  James  had  not  yet  returned  frona 
shooting,  and  that  none  of  the  servants  had  left 
the  house  during  my  absence,  save  the  lad  who 
carried  the  letters  to  the  post  town.  So  far, 
therefore,  all  had  gone  well,  at  least  as  regarded 
the  publicity  of  my  imprudent  proceeding:  but 
my  timid  attendant  was  still  pale  with  terror, 
and  eagerly  besought  me  not  to  repeal  so  dan- 
gerous an  exploit.  I  was,  however,  in  no  mood 
to  listen  to  hei'remonslrances  ;  the  crisis  of  my 
fate  was  at  hand,  and  I  felt  the  necessity  of 
utter  solitude.  I  dismissed  her,  therefore, 
with  an  apparent  composure,  which  evidently 
had  only  the  effect  of  increasing  her  uneasi- 
ness :  and  she  left  the  room,  alter  a  promise  to 
apprise  me  instantly  of  any  intelligence  which 
she  might  obtain  of  the  movements  of  Sir 
James. 

It  would  be  idle  to  attempt  an  analysis  of  my 
feelings  when  I  once  more  found  myself  alone. 
My  head  and  heart  were  alike  in  a  whirl.  I  could 
come  to  no  resolution  either  for  good  or  evil. 
At  one  moment  I  remembered  my  blighted  re- 
putation, so  lightly  whispered  away  in  the  very 
circles  where  I  had  lately  reigned  supreme;  and 
I  consequently  considered  myself  exonerated 
from  all  social  obligations,  and  free  to  secure 
my  own  happiness  as  I  saw  fit ;  in  the  next  1 
felt  almost  proud  of  the  martyrdom  to  which  I 
had  been  subjected,  and  resolved  not  to  forego 
my  innate  sense  of  the  injustice  of  which  I  had 
been  made  the  victim.  But  my  recent  inter- 
view with  Devereux  rose  up  before  me  and  lore 
away  the  laurels  which  I  had  placed  so  proudly 
on  my  brow.  I  was  no  longer  innocent  in  heart, 
and  I  could  not  conceal  the  fact  from  myself, 
disguise  it  as  I  might.  Nor  did  that  evil  end 
here  ;  the  tones  of  tenderness  which  had  fallen 
upon  my  spirit  like  a  dew  after  a  long  day  of 
drought — the  flattering  sophistries  which  had 
invested  vice  with  a  romance  at  once  novel  and 
attractive — the  self-appreciation — I  dared  not 
call  it  self-respect  —  which  the  devotion  oi 
Devereux  had  reawakened  within  me — had  all. 
done  their  dangerous  work  ;  and  left  me  pow 
erless  to  contend  against  their  influence. 

I  saw  nothing  but  wretehtilness  on  every 
side.  That  of  duty,  while  it  promised  a  com- 
paratively approving  conscience,  demanded  as 
the  price  of  that  boon  a  period  of  living  death, 
of  mortification,  and  abandonment;  v\  bile  that 
of  error  threatened  me  with  a  life-long  remorse, 
but  veiled  its  sufl^erings  with  the  roses  of  pas- 
sion, and  the  delusion  of  egotistical  gratifica- 
tion. Thealternative  was  a  desperate  one  ;  and 
I  felt  more  inclined  to  mourn  over  my  buried 
youth  and  blighted  prospects,  than  over  the 
self-blame  which  I  might  incur  by  an  unworthy 


188 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


act.  The  world  had  ever  been  my  idol ;  and  it 
seemed  to  me  more  desirable  to  accept  its  suf- 
frages upon  Its  own  terms,  now  that  I  could  no 
longer  command  them  upon  mine,  than  to  forego 
Ibem  aliogeilier.  The  first  phase  of  my  diffi- 
culty left  me  utterly  without  suppnrt ;  in  the 
second  I  should  be  upheld  and  guarded  by  the 
proved  affection  of  the  man  1  loved  :  and  I  ac- 
cordingly found  a  ttiousand  sophistries  in  its 
favor,  which  inlluenced  even  if  they  did  not  con- 
vince me. 

Had  I  consulted  my  own  real  interest,  I 
should  at  that  moment  have  hurried  to  the 
presence  of  Lady  O'Halloran  ;  havo  confided  to 
her  all  the  details  of  my  position,  have  con- 
fessed to  her,  even  upon  my  knees,  my  moral 
guilt,  and  have  besought  her  to  protect  me 
against  myself;  but  at  the  instant  when  my 
thoughts  turned  to  her  firm  and  healthful  friend- 
ship, at  that  same  moment  my  memory  also 
placed  Kelbre  me  the  pure  and  holy  image  of  her 
son's  Wife ;  and,  although  alone  and  unseen,  I 
bowed  my  head  upon  my  bosom  with  a  burning 
biusli !  No,  no — I  could  not  bend  cay  haughty 
spirit  to  such  a  degradation — I  could  not  my- 
self offer  to  her  the  weapon  which  was  to  drain 
my  life-blood.  Better  the  long  disgrace,  far 
away  from  all  who  had  watched  over  my  youth 
and  foretold  for  me  a  brighter  and  a  more  fitting 
fate,  than  such  an  hoiir  of  wringing  penance  as 
that  interview  must  bring  with  it. 

I  was  too  much  enervated  by  vanity  and 
frivolity,  to  be  capable  of  such  a  triumph  over 
my  own  pride  ;  and  thus  I  voluntarily  thrust 
from  me  the  last  fragment  of  the  floating  raft 
which  might  have  saved  my  honor  from  ship- 
wreck. In  my  agony  of  heart,  as  I  did  this,  I 
Hung  myself  wildly  upon  my  knees,  and  tried  to 
pray.  Vain  and  idle  mockery !  What  right 
had  I  to  hope  for  help  and  strength  when  I,  at 
the  same  moment,  voluntarily  rejected  the  one 
chance  siill  offered  to  my  own  exertions  ?  And 
what  knew  I  of  praying  as  hearts  must  pray 
which,  amid  the  fervorof  their  silence,  would  be 
heard  ?  What  knew  I  of  the  spontaneous  and 
relying  faith  of  the  bruised  spirit,  which  turns 
to  heaven,  as  the  night-mariner  to  the  beacon 
ligtit  which  is  his  only  hope  of  safety  1  No- 
thing— less  than  nothing — and  thus,  in  this 
bitter  hour,  when  my  vices  wrestled  with  a\i 
of  pure  and  precious  that  yet  remained  in  my 
fallen  nature,  I  could  not  frame  one  petition 
in  which  I  was  not  conscious  of  my  own  hy- 
pocrisy. 

I  started  up  self-condemned  ;  the  words  which 
had  sprung  to  my  lips  appeared  to  echo  in  my 
ears  like  sounds  of  mockery  ;  my  supplications 
were  not  pure  enough  to  ascend  to  Heaven,  but 
'  were  beaten  back  in  rebuke  upon  me  ;  and  I  felt 
that  they  were  rejected.  The  tire  upon  the 
altar  of  my  heart  was  an  uniioly  fire,  and  could 
not  ascend  ;  the  sacrifice  of  my  burnt-offering 
had  00  sweet  savor,  and  the  tears  which  fell 
upon  It  turned  its  juices  to  bitterness. 

I  passed  a  fearful  nigiit  ;  it  appeared  inter- 
minable ;  and  yet  I  dreaded  the  dawn,  for  I 
knew  that  with  the  sunrise  Devorcux  would 
6nce  more  be  near  me,  and  my  moral  struggle 
be  renewed.  As  I  at  length  saw  the  cold, 
blank  light,  stealing  ahmg  the  sky,  a  new  vis- 
ion, one  which  had  never  before  risen  clearly 
on  my  inind,  pfesenled  itself  with  terrible  dis- 


tinctness :  it  was  that  of  a  cessation  of  the  lov« 
for  which  I  might  have  bartered  my  best  hopes 
on  earth. 

It  was  a  frightful  fancy  !  and  coming  as  it 
did  at  that  peciiliarly  depressing  moment  wben 
the  earth  has  not  yet  succeeded  in  freeing  her 
bosom  from  the  winding-sheet  of  night,  J  was 
keenly  susceptible  of  its  influence.  All  around 
me  looked  dreary,  desolate,  and  cheerless,  as 
my  own  fate  must  be  at  such  a  crisis — and  I 
remembered  that  although  the  fust  sun-burst 
would  renovate  and  revivify  the  objects  upoo 
which  I  looked,  there  could  be  no  after  spirit- 
dawn  for  me.  In  the  impulse  ol  the  moment  I 
drew  my  night-lamp  from  the  va^e  which  veiled 
its  light  ;  and  seizing  a  pen,  I  poured  forth  the 
anguish  of  my  heart  to  Devereux. 

"  We  must  meet  no  more.  You  should  not 
wish  it — and  I  dare  not.  We  are  t^oth  wretched: 
let  us  accept  our  fate.  We  need  not  therefore 
be  guilty  also.  I  have  tried  to  think,  but  my 
brain  burns  and  my  eyeballs  throb,  and  I  have 
no  power  over  my  intellect — I  have  tried  to 
pray,  but  I  am  ignorant  how  those  pray  who 
are  heard.  I  could  bear  the  world's  rebuke  for 
your  sake — I  have  borne  it — I  could  sin  to  secure 
your  love — 1  have  even  meditated  to  do  so.  Bui 
howl  Would  my  sin  indeed  secure  your  last- 
ing and  unchanging  love  1  A  few  brief  month; 
of  passion  you  would,  no  doubt,  offer  me  in  re- 
quital— probably  you  would  also  suppose  tha 
nothing  could  ever  weaken  or  alienate  it.  Yes 
you  would  believe  this,  for  your  nature  is  loya 
and  honorable,  and  you  are  incapable  of  injurin, 
me  for  the  poor  triumph  of  exhibiting  my  erro 
to  the  world.  But,  Devereux,  would  this  sara 
loyalty  and  honor  enable  you  to  retain  you 
passion  for  me  after  I  had  sinned  1  Oh  I  m 
no;  the  day  would  come,  tar^lily  perhaps,-^ 
bu-t  come  at  last  it  would,  when  you  would  &■ 
timate  the  extent  of  my  fall,  and  abandon  mi 
to  its  fearful  consequences.  You  must  or 
day  see,  if  not  more  beautiful,  at  least  moi 
worthy  objects  than  myself,  who  may  p? 
back  your  affections  with  an  unblushing  bro 
—and  when  that  day  came,  what  must  be  n 
fate  1 

"  I  know  all  that  you  would  urge  in  reply  ■ 
this;  and  therefore — Devereux,  f'<r  the  fir 
time  in  my  life,  perhaps,  I  declare  my  purpo 
without  one  reservation  of  vanity — om:  otain  , 
false  faith — therefore,  I  must  not  meet  y 
again,  until  I  have  schooled  myself  into  a  betl 
and  a  more  fitting  frame  of  mind.  I  will  si 
mit  myself  as  meekly  as  my  imperious  nati 
will  allow,  to  the  destiny  which  awaits  me.  M 
the  bitter  punishment  of  my  past  follies  ma 
me  a  wiser  and  a  better  wortian. 

"  I  would  pray  for  you  if  I  could — I  will  f , 
get  you  if  I  can — go,  and  be  hapjiy " 

Thus  far  had  I  written  without  one  pau ' 
without  one  instant  of  hesitation;  but  her<^ 
laid  down  my  pen,  and  burying  my  face  upon  i, 
folde<l  arms,  I  again  abandoned  myself  to  a  tr  . 
of  struggling  and  miserable  thoughts.  Grai 
ally,  as  I  remained  in  this  position,  my  id" 
became  more  vague,  my  reflections  more  c  • 
jointed;  weariness  alike  of  body  and  of  spJ 
did  its  tardy  work,  and  I  slept. 

My  dreams  were  such  as  might  have  visi  I 
the  pillow  of  an  opium-eater :  I  saw  skulls  v} 
bridal  wreaths  upon  their  beads  ;  and  skelei 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


bands  stretching  toward  me  a  bony  finger  en- 
circled by  a  iiiarriagc-ring.  I  wandered  in  a 
vast  foiest  of  leatiess  trees,  where  tlie  distorted 
branches  seemed  to  writhe  in  mockery  as  I  pass- 
ed along.  I  stood  near  a  bier ;  my  sister  lay 
there  in  her  shroud,  and  when  I  slojjped  beside 
her,  she  stretched  out  her  bony  arm,  and  as  it 
moved  along,  it  traced  upon  the  wall  of  the 
charnel-house  the  name  of  Dornton,  in  charac- 
ters of  blood.  I  saw  the  grave  of  Emily  ;  her 
long  fair  hair  had  burst  through  the  humid  soil, 
and  was  scattered  over  the  turf,  and  playing  in 
the  night-wind  ;  and  suddenly  Mrs.  Delamaine 
was  there  also,  trampling  in  the  i)ride  of  her 
haughty  beauty  upon  those  long  fair  tresses, 
while  her  tyes  darted  flashes  which  withered 
the  grass  and  leaves  upon  which  they  fell. 
More,  nuich  more,  and  all  horrible,  filled  up  the 
measure  of  that  fearful  sleep ;  but  at  last,  all 
passed  away,  and  I  fell  into  a  state  of  deep  and 
unbroken  forgetfulness.  I  was  aroused  by  a  light 
touch  upon  my  shoulder,  and  raising  my  heavy 
eyes,  1  saw  Susan  standing  beside  me,  and 
wiping  away  her  tears. 

♦'  Why  did  you  awaken  mel"  1  asked  sadly  ; 
"  I  was  happj  ;  I  was  unconscious  that  I  lived." 

"My  pooi'  dear  lady!  And  you  have  never 
been  to  bed.  Now,  too,  when  you  require  all 
your  strength." 

"  I  have  still  strength  enough  to  suffer,  my 
good  girl." 

"But  I  bring  your  ladyship  unwelcome  ti- 
dings." 

"  Wiien  do  we  leave  Rooksley  1"  I  asked 
hoarsely. 

"The  day  afier  to-morrow,  my  lady:  Ander- 
son has  received  iiis  orders  to  go  tins  mcrning 
to  the  post-town  lo  bespeak  the  horses  ;  and  I 
have  been  warned  lo  pack  your  ladyship's  ward- 
robe." 

I  passed  my  fingers  through  my  tangled  hair, 
and  looked  helplessly  about  me.  Thick  sobs  rose 
in  my  tliroat,  and  threatened  me  wiiii  suffoca- 
tion ;  at  Icngih,  with  some  difficulty,  I  swal- 
lowed a  drauglit  of  water  at  the  entreaty  of  my 
alarmed  alttnJant,  and  gradually  became  more 
calm.  Suddenly  my  eye  fell  upon  the  letter 
which  still  lay  before  me,  and.once  more  catch- 
ing up  tlie  pen  1  wrote. 

The  bolt  has  fallen.  The  day  after  to-mor- 
row I  depart  for  my  exile  ;  and  now,  Devereux, 
povv  tliat  our  hours  are  numbered,  I  feel  that  I 
must  sec  you  once  more.  Not  to-day — for  to- 
day I  should  betray  both  you  and  myself— but  to- 
morrow— ;o-morrow — Devereux,  and  for  the 
last  lime." 

Having  added  these  hurried  lines,  I  sealed  the 
letter,  and  entrusted  it  lo  Susan,  with  express 
injunctions  to  convey  it  secretly  to  the  Wood 
Lodge  before  sunset;  I  had  for  a  moment  tlie 
intention  of  writing  lo  my  mother,  lo  expostu- 
late with  her  on  the  violence  to  which  1  was 
Bubjected,  and  her  own  utter  abandonment,  but  1 
boon  rejected  the  idea.  1  had  brouglit  grief  and 
raissensiun  lo  her  hearth,  and  I  knew  her  too 
pvell  to  anticipate  that  she  would  ever  forgive  so 
weep  an  injury.  Thus  then,  save  as  regaided 
pevereux,  1  was  already  totally  separated  from 
me  world  ;  I  was  about  to  follow  my  sister  to 
the  retreat  which  she  bad  only  exchanged  tor  a 
krave.  How  knew  I  but  such  might  be  my  own 
pase  1.    At  that  moment  I  hoped  thai  we  might 


ere  long  lie  side  by  side  ;  and  mingle  our  dust  la 
death,  as  in  life  we  had  never  blent  our  hearlo. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  trembling 
with  agitation,  I  Ibrew  on  a  shawl  and  bonnet, 
and  turned  my  steps  toward  the  Wood  Lodge. 
I  had  been  careful  lo  ascertain  that  Sir  James 
had  left  the  house  some  time  previously,  as  he 
was  in  the  constant  habit  of  doing,  vvith  his  gun 
and  his  dogs  ;  and  as  I  proceeded  along  my 
solitary  path,  I  read  myself  a  serious  lesson  ol 
prudence  and  self-government,  whicli  I  believed 
that  I  should  not  fail  to  require.  A  bright  spring 
sun  shimmered  on  the  leaves  of  the  trees,  and 
formed  checkered  mosaics  of  light  and  shadow 
upon  the  earth.  The  sky-lark  was  making  the 
blue  heavens  ring  with  its  matin  song,  as  it 
quivered  above  my  head  ;  all  about  me  was  calm 
and  beautiful  ;  all  within  me  was  dark  and 
troubled.  1  felt  as  though  I  were  rushing  upon 
my  fate,  even  while  I  murmured  that  I  wsuld 
be  true  lo  myself,  and  conquer  the  weakness  to 
which  it  would  be  sin  to  yield.  As  I  left  the 
house  further  behind  me,  I  quickened  my  pace  ; 
and,  at  length,  with  a  beating  bean  and  a  pale 
cheek,  I  stood  before  the  little  building,  but  no 
ready  hand  raised  the  lat.cli  to  give  me  entrance  ; 
no  anxious  eye  had  watched  for  ioy  approach, 
that  my  greeting  might  be  hastened.  All  was 
still. 

After  a  painful  pause,  unbroken  by  any  sign 
or  sound  of  riumaii  neighborhooil.  I  suirimoned 
courage  to  throw  back  the  door,  but  tlie  cottage- 
rooms  were  empty. 

"  He  has  been  detained,"  I  murmured  to  my- 
self, as  I  todk  my  place  upon  the  narrow  bench. 
and  prepared  lo  await  him:  "he  has  been  de- 
tained, but  he  will  be  here  ere  long."  And  I 
felt  a  strange  pleasure  as  I  sat  in  the  narrow 
and  unfurnished  chamber  where  Devereux  had, 
for  my  sake,  passed  so  many  sulilary  hours  ; 
and  sighed  that  the  whitewashed  walls  could 
not  betray  to  me  the  secret  of  his  thoughts  du- 
ring his  weary  watch.  Memories  of  what  had 
already  passed  in  that  hovel  rose  up  before  me  ; 
memories  which,  at  su(;h  a  moment,  I  should 
have  stifled,  and  which  only  served  to  increase 
my  passion,  and  to  deepen  my  regrets  ;  grad- 
ually 1  felt  my  heller  residuimns  giving  way, 
and  my  anxiety  for  the  arrival  of  Devereux  be- 
eoming  greater  and  more  dillicult  lo  su[)pres3. 
If  he  came  not  on  this  occasion,  1  should  .see 
him  no  more  ;  and  I  had  so  miu-h  lo  say,  so 
much  to  ask.  Bnl  1  heard  the  clock  of  the  little 
village  school-house,  which  my  mother  had  built 
in  the  first  year  of  her  marriage  wiih  my  poor 
father,  strike  nine  ;  and  still  1  s'at  there  alone. 
The  sound  had  conjured  up,  however,  more 
healthy  recollections;  and  I  recalled  ibe  image 
of  that  father  loo  litile  loved,  ami  too  early  lost, 
until  1  asked  myself,  what— should  his  shade  be 
hovering  near  me  at  that  moment,  (!isturt)ed  in 
its  repose  by  the  imprudence  id'his  child — what 
nmst  be  its  agony  and  its  despair !  I  could  not 
bear  the  ban  owing  reflection,  and  starting  from 
Miy  seat,  1  rushed  fiom  the  lod-je  and  hurriedly 
returned  home,  iJiuoued  by  the  piteous  howling 
of  a  dog,  which  smote  at  my  he;'.rt  with  its 
dismal  ..od  ill-timed  discord. 

An  was  then  over ;  i  »houW  sec  him  no  more. 


190 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


probably  for  long  years,  possibly  for  life.  My 
fate  was  scaled  ;  and  he — even  he — had  also 
deasrted  nie.  I  paced  my  chamber  in  despair; 
I  wrung  my  hands  in  agony;  I  vowed  myself  to 
an  early  dcah,  and  loathed  the  very  light  that 
glared  upon  my  wretchedness.  Another  hour 
pealed  fro-n  the  low  belfry  :  I  counted  every 
stroke  tenacioiisly,  as  though  my  destiny  hung 
upon  it.s  clrar  and  ringing  voice ;  and  tiien  I 
listened  anxiuiisly  for  other  sounds,  for  I  was 
oppressed  hy  the  deep  stillness  which  succeed- 
ed. It  was  soon  broken  once  more.  From 
afar-otr,  yet,  as  it  seemed,  slowly  approaciiing 
nearer  In  the  house,  I  heard  again  the  long 
howlmg  wails  of  the  dog  which  had  disturbed 
me  as  f  left  the  cottage.  The  melancholy 
cadence  of  those  houis  made  me  shudder.  I 
was  then  to  he  surrounded  to  the  last  with 
fioom  and  misery  !  A  cold  damp  started  to  my 
brow,  and  I  .sank  into  a  seat,  for  my  limbs 
tremhlid.  Suddenly  the  wail  ceased,  and  I 
heard  a  strange  movement  in  the  house  ;  cries 
ol' alarm  and  horror,  confused  voices,  and  steps 
hastily  approaching  my  chamber.  I  grasped  the 
arms  of  the  chair  in  which  I  sat,  and  half  raised 
myself,  as  if  to  meet  with  le.-*s  delay  the  new 
trial  which  was  awaiting  me,  be  it  what  it 
might. 

A  heavy  hand  beat  rudely  upon  my  door.  T 
answered  hoarsely  to  Ihe  summons  ;  and  imme- 
diately the  valet  of  my  luishand  stood  before  me, 
with  a  lilanciied  brow,  and  trembling  lips.  For 
an  instant  he  was  speechless,  but  at  length  he 
gasped  out :  "  All  is  over,  my  lady  ;  there  is  no 
longer  a  hope — they  have  brought  him  home 
but  he  is  dead.  My  poor,  poor,  murdered 
master !" 

"Dead!"  I  repeated,  like  one  who  dreams. 
•♦  Who  IS  (lead  !     Who  has  been  murdered  1" 

"My  inasicr — my  poor  master!"  again  ex- 
claimed the  man. 

I  heard  no  more.  A  heavy  blow  appeared  to 
have  descended  on  my  head,  and  I  fell  senseless 
to  llie  earth. 

busan  was  standing  beside  my  bed  when  I 
again  opened  niy  eyes ;  for  a  time  I  could  not 
surticiently  recover  my  scattered  senses  to  com- 
prehend what  had  occurred  ;  but  gradually  a 
confused  memory  grew  u|)on  me,  although  still 
so  vaguely,  that  I  clung  to  the  hope  that  I  had 
been  visiied  hy  a  slee{)ing  vision  which  liad 
bewildered  my  imaginatiim. 

"1  Iwue  had  a  frightful  dream,"  I  whispered 
ehuddermgly. 

"  M  V  lady  has  not  slept,"  sobbed  out  the  weep- 
ing vvoui.in. 

"Not  sle|)t  !"  I  exclaimed,  lifting  my  heavy 
head  Imin  iIk^  pillow;  "can  it  indeed  be  really 
Bol  Sir  J.iiiies " 

"  Is  no  more,  madam." 

"  Dffad  !"  1  almost  shrieked  ;  "and  where  is 
'v'-olonei  Devereux  !" 

"  1  (!an  understand  my  lady's  suspicion, 
but—" 

"  'J'I.e  word  murder  seems  to  ring  in  my  ears, 
as  thoMjih  ^nllle  (lemon  had  uttered  it.  Tell  me 
how  my  hiislniiui  met  his  death  ;  and  tell  me 
the  tiiiih,"  1  added;  "frightful  as  it  may  be,  I 
must  kiii),v  the  (ruth  :  this  is  no  moment  lor 
false  iclii  }iiieiils,  or  mysteries  which  have  in 
them  more  of  an;,niish  than  of  mercy — tell  me 
U'Uo  niurdeiei;  liim." 


"  Indeed,  my  lady — " 
"  Peace,  girl  !"  I  said  wildly  :  "  I  know  it  a 
He  was  not  there  when  I  went  to  seek  him. 
waited  there  alone — alone,  till  tiie  spirit  of  my 
father  drove  me  forth  ;  and  I  was  pursued  eveo 
to  my  chamber  hy  the  voice  of  the  w  ailing  brute 
who  was  howling  out  his  requiem  over  the  dead. 
Susan,"  and  I  clutched  her  arm  with  my  con- 
vulsed fingers  ;  "  J  am  innocent — you  know  that 
I  am  innocent !" 

"  My  poor  dear  lady,  you  will  break  my 
heart." 

"  You  warned  me  that  there  would  be  blood 
shed,  Susan  ;  but  I  did  not  heed  you.     Mad  with 
(error  and  despair,  I  thought  only  of  myself, — 
and  yet  1  had  been  warned — I  had  been  warn- 
ed—" I 
"  I  do  beseech  you  to  listen  to  me,  my  lady ;     j 
indeed,  and  indeed — "                                                j 
"  Where  did  they  meet  1     Did  the  murderer    i 
escape]     Did  your  master  curse  me  before  he    j 
died  !"                                                                      ] 

"  Unless  your  ladyship  will  calm  yourself,  and 
let  me  speak,"  said  Susan  firmly  ;  "  it  is  in  vam 
for  iTie  to  hope  to  coml(Ut  you.  There  is  a  great 
deal  to  be  done,  and  it  must  be  done  hy  you,  my 
lady—" 

"Alas!  alas!  what  will  become  of  us!"  lex- 
claimed,  writhing  like  one  in  the  agonies  ol 
death. 

"  Reiy  upon  it  that  your  ladyship  does  Colo- 
nel Devereux  injustice,"  persisifd  Susan  ;  ••from 
all  that  1  can  learn,  the  death  of  Sir  James  was 
caused  by  an  accident  for  which  no  one  is  res- 
ponsible." 

"  An  accident  1  can  it  really  be  1  Who  told 
you  that  it  was  an  accident  1  Who  saw  itl 
How  did  it  occur  !"  .  j 

"  I  do  not  yet  know  the  exact  particulars,  my  >!  | 
lady.  Hearing  a  great  noise  in  the  park,  and 
the  howling  of  a  dog  that  I  knew  at  once  by  Ilia 
voice  rhust  be  one  of  my  master's  pointers,  I 
ran  to  a  short  distance  from  the  house,  fearing 
I  did  not  well  know  what,  when  I  saw,  my  lady 

1  saw  the  bleeding  Ix^dy  of  Sir  James,  which 

two  peasants  were  carrying  in  their  arms.  I 
had  my  own  (ears,  I  will  not  deny  it ;  and  in  ttjy 
terror  I  began  to  (lueslion  these  men  ;  but,  full 
of  anxiety  al)out  Sir  James,  they  answered  me 
shortly:  '  He  did  it  himself— he  did  it  himsell 
— he  was  killed  by  his  own  gun.'  I  came  liack 
with  them  to  the  house,  and  walked  close  beside 
my  master's  head,  in  the  hope  that  I  might  see 
some  sign  of  life,  but  I  watched  in  vain  ;  the 
blood  had  stopped — and — and — in  short,  my 
lady,  I  was  assisting  to  remove  Sir  James  to  his 
own  room,  when  his  valet  came  running  to  tell 
me  that  your  ladyship  had  fainted  ;  and  I  know 
no  more." 

I  listened  with  panting  eagerness ;  but  the 
hope  which  had  for  an  instant  pierced  through  ' 
my  agony,  once  more  abandoned  me  as  Susan 
proceeded  with  her  narrative.  I  know  too  well 
the  positiim  in  which  I  stood  b'.-ii  to  my  hus- 
band and  Colonel  Devereu.x,  and  the  feelings 
vhich  they  mutually  entertained  toward  each 
tlier,  to  venture  to  lean  upon  so  sligiit  a  reed 
as  the  one  now  tendered  to  me  ;  and  this  know- 
ledge, combined  with  the  imperfect  information 
of  my  attendant,  rather  served  to  deepen  than 
to  decrease  the  awful  suspicion  which  was 
gnawing  at  my  heart.     Moreover,  I>cvcieux  had 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


191 


not  appeared  at  the  lodge,  although  I  had  ap- 
prised liim  that  I  would  be  tliere  to  see  liim  for 
the  last  t;aie.  Could  I  now  doubt  what  it  was 
that  led  him  to  neglect  that  meeting  1  At  what 
a  moment,  too,  had  tlie  catastrophe  occurred  1 
Just  as  I  was  about  to  be  sulyected  to  the  last 
indignity  with  which  the  autliority  of  a  hus- 
band enabled  Sir  James  to  visit  me.  Was  r>ot 
all  then  fearfully  and  fatally  clear  1 

In  this  emergency  I  fell  all  the  ardor  of  my 
love  for  Devereux  ;  fur  I  forgot  the  dead  man 
who  lay  stark  in  his  stiffening  blood  within  a 
few  chambers  of  my  own  ;  I  forgot  the  horror, 
and  perhaps  it  might  be  also,  the  peril,  of  my 
own  situation,  to  shudder  at  the  danger  which 
impended  over  him.  He,  llie  guilty  one  !  against 
whom  a  cry  had  gone  up  to  heaven.  Would  he 
escape  out  of  the  country  !  And,  if  so,  whither 
would  he  turn  his  wandering  steps  1  Friend- 
less, homeless,  and  an  exile,  with  the  stain  of 
blood  upon  his  heart,  and  the  brand  of  Cain 
upon  his  brow — he,  who  had  been  a  spoiled 
child  of  the  same  world,  which  had  also  aban- 
doned me.  And  he  had  become  its  outcast  for 
my  sake— he  had  paid  this  bitter  price  for  my 
love — and  thai  love  must  r.ow  be  denied  to  him 
for  ever.  The  serpents  of  the  Laocoon  were 
not  more  crushing  or  more  deadly,  than  the  in- 
sidious and  snake-like  sophistries  which  rose 
tumultuonsly  within  me,  and  writhed  and  grap- 
pled at  my  heart ;  but  I  shuddered  as  I  spurned 
them  back,  and  resolutely  bent  my  thoughts  upon 
my  own  probable  destiny. 

Susan  had  left  nie  at  my  desire  to  obtain 
more  full  and  feasible  information  of  the  trage- 
dy wliich  had  been  enacted  almost  under  iny 
very  eyes  ;  and  I  was  still  lost  in  a  sea  of  wild 
conjeciure,  when  she  returned,  with  an  expres- 
jsion  of  countenance  that  almost  reassured  me. 
j  "I  have  not  misled  your  ladyship,"  she  said, 
160  soon  as  she  had  closed  the  door  behind  her  ; 
"every  one  Iclls  the  same  story.  The  peas- 
ants who  brought  my  master  home  were  work- 
ing in  a  field  about  half  a  mile  from  here,  and 
saw  him  leave  the  open  park,  and  beat  the 
Bipall  wood  near  the  road-side  ;  after  which  he 
jumped  out  upon  the  pathway,  and  walked 
slowly  along,  with  his  gun  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  his  head  bent  down,  as  if  he  was  full  of 
thought.  A  groom  had  been  sent  some  days 
ago  to  London  by  Sir  James,  and  just  as  he 
nearly  reached  the  lodge  (which  your  ladyship 
knows  stands  at  a  turn  of  the  littie  wood),  he 
rode  up,  and  gave  Sir  James  a  letter.  The  un- 
derwood and  weeds  are  thick  there  ;  and  my 
master,  having  rested  the  but-end  of  his  gun 
on  the  ground,  leant  upon  the  barrel  while  he 
read  his  letter;  and  he  was  still  doing  this 
when  another  horseman  approached  him,  riding 
very  rapidly.  At  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet, 
Sir  James  looked  up,  and  as  though  he  knew 
him,  made  him  a  sig:n  to  stop ;  folded  his  letter 
and  hastily  lilted  his  gun,  without  remarking 
that  it  was  entangled  among  the  long  weeds 
and  brambles ;  the  jerk  which  he  gave  to  draw 
it  out,  brought  the  trigger  in  contact  with  some 
weed  or  twig;  it  went  off;  and  you  know  the 
rest,  my  lady — my  poor  master  was  killed  on 
the  spot." 

"Is  this  true,  Susan!" 

"They  all  .'^wear  to  it,  groom,  and  peasants, 
ani  all,  my  lady." 


I      "  And  the  horseman  V 

"Fortunately,  your  ladyship,  ;'.  was  Jacofi. 
the  new  stableman,  that  Sir  James  sent  to  Lon- 
don, and  he  had  never  seen  the  colonel.  All 
that  he  could  say,  therefore,  w.is  that  the 
'strange  gentleman  was  muffled  up  about  the 
chin,  wore  a  large  cloak,  and  rodo  a  gray 
horse." 

"Are  you  sure  that  he  said  a  gray  horse  1" 

"  Positive,  my  lady  ;  and  besides,  the  fartning 
men  remembered  seeing  both  the  hcn-se  and  the 
man  pass  by  toward  Rooksley  for  the  last  two 
mornings;  only  they  said  that  to-day  he  was 
later  than  usual." 

"  And  what  did  he  when  he  saw  Sir  James 
fain" 

"  He  jumped  off  his  horse,  my  lady,  and  lift- 
ed up  my  poor  master,  and  felt  his  heart ;  and 
then  he  shook  his  Ihii'I,  and  ('esired  the  men  to 
carry  Sir  James  carefully  up  to  the  bouse,  tell- 
ing them  who  he  was  ;  and  then,  when  he  saw 
them  about  to  obey  him,  he  mounted  again,  and 
galloped  off  toward  London." 

This  intelligence  calmed  me  at  once.  He 
was  not  then  a  murderer — he  was  gudlless  of 
my  husband's  blood — the  very  consciousness  of 
this  fact  removed  its  heaviest  weight  from  my 
heart.  But  why  had  he  not  ridden  on  to  Rooks- 
ley, now  that  there  was  no  impediment  to  hi.s 
appearance,  and  prepared  me  for  the  horrible  tra- 
gedy of  the  morning ! 

I  subsequently  learnt  the  cause.  The  letter 
which  Susan  had  delivered,  and  which  informed 
him  of  my  immediate  departure  for  Scotland, 
coupled  with  the  assurance  of  my  inlention  to 
see  him  on  the  morrow  for  the  last  time,  had 
convinced  him  that  he  had  not  a  moment  to 
lose  if  be  would  secure  a  different  result.  He 
had,  therefore,  ridden  to  the  posi-town  to  pro- 
vide a  carriage,  which  was  to  lake  its  station  a 
hundred  paces  from  the  Wood  Lodge  at  mld~ 
night ;  never  doubting  that  the  woman  who 
could  risk  such  an  interview  at  such  a  moment, 
would  offer  but  a  faint  resistance  to  his  pas- 
sionate entreaties.  Yes,  that  very  night,  on 
which  the  pale  and  disfigured  corpse  of  my  hus- 
band lay  buried  in  its  everlasting  sleep,  he  had 
calculated  that  I  should  become  at  once  a  fugi- 
tive and  an  outcast  from  my  home  and  from  my 
country  !  Even  now,  I  shudder  as  I  remember 
the  precipice  upon  whose  brink  I  stood;  and 
the  avvfulness  of  the  means  which  saved  me. 

Other  arrangemc-nts,  connected  with  our  an- 
ticipated flight,  had  detained  him  until  so  late 
an  hour  that  he  was  compelled  to  remain  at  ihe 
post-town  all  night ;  and  he  was  on  the  way  to 
our  appointed  interview,  when  he  came 'upon 
Sir  James;  whom,  from  the  fact  that  his  lace 
.vas  concealed  by  the  letter  upon  which  he  was 
nlent,  he  had  not  recognized  until  he  passed 
close  beside  him. 

Struck  by  the  fatal  inferences  which  might 
be  drawn,  should  it  be  discovered  that  he  was 
an  eye-witness  to  the  horrible  death  of  the  man 
he  hated,  he  liad  no  sooner  ascertained  thai  all 

was  indeed  over,  than  he  galloped  hack  to , 

declared  that  he  found  it  necessary  lo  hast(!n 
his  journey,  and  throwing  himself  into  the  car- 
riage which  he  had  already  secured,  he  hurried 
to  town  with  all  the  speed  which  lour  stoul 
horses  could  insure. 

Earnest  to  prevent  the  possibility  ot  my  being 


193 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


.Tnplicated  in  the  melancholy  affair,  as  he  was 
conscious  that  I  mi^sl  he  if  he  remained  absent 
from  Lnnd(m,  he  lost  not  a  moment  on  his  arri- 
val in  throwing  off  liis  traveling  dress,  and  call- 
ing upon  rny  mother ;  after  wiiich  he  made  a 
circuit  of  the  clul)S.  and  tiien  returned  to  his  fa- 
ther's house  ;  where,  pleading  fatigue,  he  shut 
himself  into  !iis  own  apartments,  in  order  that 
he  might  be  alone,  when  the  fatal  news,  which 
he  was  aware  must  follow  him  in  a  few  hours, 
should  be  promulgated. 

This  proceeding  was  too  well-judged  and  too 
generous  to  be  either  guessed  at  or  appreciated 
by  me  at  such  a  moment;  and  my  indignation 
and  wretchedness  at  his  neglect  and  a|)parcnt 
indifference  to  my  misery,  helped  me  to  over- 
come the  horror  of  my  position,  where  sympa- 
thy and  kindness,  however  active  and  insidious, 
would  probably  have  failed. 

Amid  all  this  conflict  of  distempered  feeling, 
I  suddenly  remembered  the  necessity  of  dis- 
patching a  messenger  in  all  haste  to  Lady  Mad- 
elaine,  to  inform  her  of  the  tragic  event  which 
had  just  occurred  ;  and  I  had  actually  sealed 
myself  at  my  writing-table  before  I  became  con- 
scious of  the  extreme  difficulty  of  the  task.  In 
what  spirit  could  I  address  herl  If  I  assumed 
a  tone  of  grief,  she  would  be  well  aware  of  the 
hypocrisy  to  which  I  had  condescended  ;  and  if  I 
wrote  coldly,  she  would  at  once  accuse  me  of 
even  more  unlioly  vices.  Moreover,  I  knew  not 
what  had  become  of  Devereu.x.  Should  he  be 
still  in  the  neiglil)orliood,  and  that  the  fact  became 
known,  every  sentence  that  I  wrote  might,  per- 
haps, be  tortured  into  an  accusation  which  I  did 
not  possess  the  means  of  rebutting.  What  was 
to  be  donel 

Once  more  Susan  came  zealously  to  my  aid. 
"Indeed,  my  lady,"  she  said,  beseechingly; 
"you  are  not  yet  able  to  undertake  such  a 
melancholy  letter.  Only  give  me  your  orders, 
and  I  will  do  my  best  to  inturm  my  Lady  Made- 
laine  of  the  sad  event." 

I  gladly  acquiesced  in  this  proposal ;  and  de- 
siring her  to  say  what  she  considered  necessary, 
and  to  excuse  me  on  the  plea  of  my  agitated 
condition,  I  abandoned  the  project  of  being  my- 
self the  herald  of  my  widowhood,  to  my  prudent 
and  sympathizing  attendant.  Nothing  could 
have  been  belter  judged  than  the  plain,  true,  and 
simple  manner  m  which  she  told  her  tale ;  one 
only  portion  of  her  letter  displeased  me,  but  to 
that,  I  could  not,  without  extreme  imprudence, 
make  an  exception.  It  concluded  with  an  en- 
treaty on  my  part  that  my  mother  would  come 
to  me,  and  support  me  in  my  trial  by  her  pre- 
sence and  adviee. 

Conscious  as  I  was  that  I  required  both  coun- 
sel and  assistance,  I  loathed  the  idea  of  owing 
either  to  my  moiher ;  that  mother  who  iiad 
never  been  io>me  other  than  an  object  of  jeal- 
ousy and  fear  ;  and  1  shuddered  as  I  thouglit  of 
a  meeting  which  was,  however,  inevitable,  for 
I  knew  that,  sooner  or  later,  I  must  claim  her 
protection.  My  youth,  and  the  death  of  my 
husband  ;  a  death  sulhciently  equivocal  in  ap- 
pearance to  excite  the  comments  of  those  who 
had  watched  the  recklessness  of  my  conduct 
during  the  last  few  months  of  my  residence  in 
town,  would  alike  oblige  me  to  submit  in  a 
certain  degree  to  her  authority.  I  could  there- 
fore only  sigh  over  the  necessity,  and  submit. 


This  letter  was  at  once  confided  to  the  groom 
who  had  witnessed  the  catastrophe  of  the  morn- 
ing, with  strict  injunctions  to  travel  with  all  speed 
to  town  :  and  to  answer  the  questions  which 
might  be  put  to  him  without  eiiher  reserve  or 
exaggeration  ;  and  I  made  this  selection,  be- 
cause I  believed  that  the  account  given  by  a 
person  who  was  on  the  spot,  would  suffer  less 
from  the  cross-questionings  of  suspicion  or  ill- 
will,  than  that  of  one  who  merely  repeated  what 
he  had  heard  from  others. 

This  arrangement  was  scarcely  completed 
when  to  my  surprise  I  heard  the  wiiecis  of  a 
carriage  pass  over  the  gravel  under  my  win- 
dow at  a  rapid  pace  ;  and  in' five  minutes  after 
ward  I  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of  Lady  0'*Hal 
loran. 

No,  never,  never,  shall  I  forget  the  almost 
painful  happiness  of  that  moment.  I  had  still 
a  friend  !  There  was  no  room  lor  doubt,  for  1 
felt  the  warm  tears  falling  upon  my  neck. 

"Eveleen,"  she  at  length  .said  in  an  accent 
of  real  feeling  ;  "  how,  in  such  an  awful  trial  aa 
this,  could  you  forget  that  I  was  near  you  1 
Were  you  not  sure  of  my  sympathy  and  assist- 
ance under  any  circumstances?" 

I  could  only  strain  her  closer  to  my  heart. 

"  I  would  not  idly  inflict  another  i)ang  upon 
you,  my  poor  child,"  she  jiursued  while  she  re-  j 
turned  the  pressure  ;  "  but  1  have  a  siern  duty 
to  perform,"  and  as  she  spoke,  she  drew  me  , 
toward  a  sofa,  and  seated  herself  beside  me. 
"One  question  you  mu-^^t  answer,  and  with  truth, 
as  you  hope  for  consolation  in  this  world.  Eve- 
leen ;  strange,  terrible  rumors  have  reached 
me  ;  but  I  will  trust  to  your  word — are  you  in- 
nocent ]" 

"  I  am — I  am" — I  exclaimed  eagerly,  as  I 
cast  myself  on  my  knees  bcioro  her,  with 
clasped  hands  and  streaming  eyes  :  "  innocent 
most  innocent  in  act ;  but  guilty,  I  fear,  if 
heart." 

"After  this  admission  I  cannot  doubt  you; 
guilty  or  not,  my  age  lel't  me  fi(  e  to  offer  con- 
solation to  your  father's  child  ;  but  hoping  that 
you  had  been  misjudged,  I  have  brought  you 
also  another  comforter,  for  you  have  need  of  all 
our  tenderness."  And  replacing  me  gently  upon 
the  sofa,  she  rang  and  desired  ih;,',  her  daugh- 
ter-in-law, who  still  remained  in  the  carriage, 
might  be  requested  to  join  her  in  my  dressing- 
room. 

"And   now,  calm  yourself,   Evcleon,"  she 
said,    "and  find  consolation    in   learning  the 
happiness  which  your  assurance  has  given  me. 
You  know  not  how  my  heart  has  bled  for  you, 
since  those  horrid  doubts  were  awakened  in  my 
mind.     Imprudent  though  you  may  have  been,  ^ 
let  your  past  errors  be  subject  indeed  of  deep  i. 
regret,  but  not  of  despair.     You  are  still  very 
young ;  but  you  have  already  had  opportunity  ' 
to  appreciate  the  hollow ness  and  falsehood  of, 
that  world  which  you  loved  too  wdl  fur  your  own  ,' 
peace  ;  let  your  past  experience  bo  to  you  as  ; 
the  fire  to  the  gold  in  the  crucible,  and  you  may 
yet  have  occasion  to  be  grateful  for  the  trials 
which   awakened   you    to    higher   and   better 
hopes." 

She  had  hardly  ceased  speaking  when  the. 
door  again  opened,  and  the  pine  and  heavenly 
eyes  of  the  younger  Lady  O'Halloran  met  mj 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


193 


"The  world  has  done  her  injustice,  Mar- 
garet," said  my  kind  comforter ;  "  take  her  to 
your  heart,  for  the  bruised  reed  must  be  bound 
up." 

Long  and  earnest  was  the  embrace  which  we 
oxcl^anged ;  but  even  amid  all  my  emotion  I 
felt  humbled  by  the  striking  contrast  wliich  we 
presented.  Calm  and  serene  in  her  almost 
BaiEt-like  beauty,  no  cloud  had  gathered  upon 
i  the  radiant  brow  of  that  young  girl ;  no  trace 
I  of  passion  had  marred  ilie  purity  of  her  beauty; 
;  while  I  was  crushed  and  withered  by  the  spirit- 
i  war  which  had  so  long  been  scorching  up  ray 
I  /outh. 

I  I  was  not,  however,  suffered  to  dwell  long 
lapon  so  bitter  a  contemplation,  for  the  watch- 
ifiil  old  lady,  as  if  conscious  that  a  new  source 
of  suffering  had  been  opened  within  me,  sud- 
|Jenly  exclaimed:  "You  must  allow  me,  my 
I  dear  Lady  Dornton,  to  assume  at  once  the  au- 
ilhority  of  an  old  and  sincere  friend.  You  can- 
oot  remain  under  this  roof  at  present ;  nor  are 
jrou  competent  to  control  the  mournful  arrange- 
ments which  must  necessarily  be  made,  before 
either  your  mother  or  Lord  Otterlbrd  can  arrive 
from  town  ;  go  then  at  once  to  the  Hall  with 
Margaret ;  my  son  is  from  home,  and  no  one  can 
Intrude  upon  your  privacy  ;  I  will  remain  here 
for  a  short  time,  during  which  your  woman  can 
abey  any  orders  which  you  may  wish  to  give,  and 
then  follow  you.  Meanwhile,  Margaret  will  her- 
self bear  you  company,  and,  I  trust,  afford  you 
jnmfort." 

I  could  only  bless  her  for  the  suggestion  ;  and 
;re  long  I  left  the  house  of  death  calmer,  and 
jnore  full  of  hope  than  I  had  expected  again  to 
tte  in  this  world. 

I  A  faint  sickness  crept  over  me  as  I  passed 
Qie  chamber  of  my  husband  ;  but  I  nevertheless 
Approached  the  door,  and  would  have  entered 
p  look  upon  him  lor  the  last  time,  as  though 
mis  tariy  duty  could  compensate  for  my  past 
|iTors.  My  intention  was,  however,  instantly 
kegatived  by  Lady  O'Halloran,  who  was  al- 
eady  aware  of  the  frightful  spectacle  which 
Vould  have  awaited  me  ;  nor  did  I  attempt  to 
ispute  her  will. 

And  thus  I  once  more  quitted  the  home  of  my 
ihildhood,  amid  silence,  and  gloom,  and  terror  ; 
paving  behind  no  one  to  regret  me,  or  to  sym- 
athize  in  my  early  sorrows.  All  was  darkness 
lere ;  but  still  before  me  rose  one  distant  ray 
« light.  The  torch  had  been  ignited  by  the  fair 
joung  creature  who  bore  me  company,  and  who 
'ad  already  whispered,  amid  her  tears,  words 
divine  consolation  which  I  now  heard  for  the 
rat  time,  and  which  seemed  to  bring  peace  upon 
leir  breath. 


CHAPTER  LVL 

I  WAS  transported  to  a  new  world.    I  was  like 

e  tempe.si-tossed   and  shipwrecked  mariner, 

!-'      ,ho  is  suddenly  cast  ashore  upon  one  of  those 

ii  -    ieasure-teeming  islands,  where  a((l  is.fresh,  and 

II*      leen,  and  young,  as  Ihougli  it  had  just  sprung 

[^  •    'to  existence;  one  of  those  dreamy  anddelicious 

llitudes  of  which  distant  voyagers  bring  back 

3'      iles  which  are  so  glowing  as  to  seem  almost 

3ulous.     No  ill-judged  and  officious  sympathy 

13  forced  upon  me  at  moments  when  I  was 

lable  to  bear  the  words  of  consolatioa  ;  no  ret- 


rospect was  intruded  upon  me  which  could  jar 
one  chord  of  my  weary  spirits ;  but  in  those 
hours  the  beautiful  young  wife,  her  eyes  teem- 
ing with  a  quiet  joy  which  to  me  was  as  novel 
as  it  was  soothing,  would  come  and  seat  herself 
beside  me,  with  her  infant  in  her  arms,  and  grad- 
ually win  me  back  to  composure. 

It  was  a  holy  picture  ;  and  it  awoke  my  heart 
to  thoughts  and  feelings  hitherto  unknown  to 
me.  Even  such  as  she  was  might  I  have  been, 
had  I  known  how  to  regulate  my  passions,  and 
to  control  my  vanity.  How  fatal  had  been  my 
mistake  ! 

Day  succeeded  day  in  the  same  unbroken  and 
spirit-healing  calm.  I  knew  that  Lord  Otterford 
had  arrived  at  Rooksley,  and  that  an  official  in- 
vestigation had  taken  place  which  had  ratified 
the  fact  of  Sir  James's  involuntary  self-destruc- 
tion. In  announcing  to  me  the  refusal  of  my 
mother  to  comply  with  my  request  that  she 
should  come  to  me  in  my  grief,  the  kind-hearted 
Lady  O'Halloran  was  careful  to  mitigate  the 
pang  which  she  imagined  that  her  information 
must  necessarily  inflict,  by  also  acquainting  me 
with  the  satisfaction  expressed  by  Lord  Otter- 
ford  at  my  removal  from  the  house  to  her  gene- 
rous guardianship,  and  the  request  he  had  ven- 
tured that  she  would  continue  to  afford  me  her 
protection  until  some  definite  arrangement  could 
be  made. 

"  When  all  is  over,"  she  concluded,  "  he  will 
visit  you  here,  before  he  again  departs  for  town, 
and  I  would  counsel  you,  my  dear  Eveleen,  to 
entreat  his  influence  with  your  mother  to  receive 
you  under  her  own  roof,  at  least  until  the  ex- 
piration of  your  mourning.  I  am  aware  that 
you  will  have  much  to  suffer,  much  to  endure 
without  resentment,  should  she  accede  to  this 
arrangement ;  but  remember,  my  dear  child, 
that  if  you  are  called  on  greatly  to  forbear,  so 
you  have  also  greatly  erred,  and  must  pay  the 
penalty  of  .those  errors,  in  patience  and  expia 
tion." 

"  I  feel — I  know  it  all,  my  dear  Lady  O'Hal- 
loran ;  and  I  will  strive,  indeed  I  will,  to  become 
less  ufWorthy  of  the  affection  which  you  have 
lavished  upon  me  ;  but,  oh  !  you  cannot  guess 
what  it  will  cost  me  to  lose  your  fostering  care, 
and  to  be  cast  once  more,  solitary  and  unloved, 
upon  the  world.  I  have  told  you  all  my  wretch- 
ed story  ;  you  are  aware  that  there  is  still  a  far- 
off  hope  to  which  I  cling  ;  and  how  earnestly  I 
desire,  before  that  hope  is  realized,  to  have  ren- 
dered myself  more  deserving  of  the  happiness 
which  it  will  insure.  You  know,  too,  that  I 
cannot  look  back  upon  my  married  life,  short  as 
it  has  been,  with  one  feeling  of  comfort  or  con- 
solation ;  and  that  its  fearful  termination  is  a 
source  of  terror  rather  than  regret.  Judge,  then, 
of  what  Ihave  still  to  undergo,  when  I  shall  no 
longer  have  either  precept  or  example  to  guide 
me — nothing  but  bitterness,  and  taunt,  and 
scorn  !" 

"  Have  I  not  taught  you  where  to  look  foi 
support  1" 

"  You  have,  indeed  ;  and  in  that  support  alone 
can  I  trust  during  the  many  weary  months 
which  await  me." 

And  she  had  done  so ;  gently,  but  in  surprise 

at  my  insensibility,  she  had  led  me  on  to  ea 

tertain   a    less  exalted   idea   of  mere   human 

d  human    perfectibility  ;  she  had 


194 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN 


taught  me  to  look  into  my  own  heart,  and  to 
discover  its  hollowness;  she  had,  in  short 
waiiened  a  new  nature  within  me,  unstable  and 
weak  as  yet,  it  is  true,  but  which  might  per- 
chance prove  to  be  the  germ  of  better  things  ; 
and  this,  too,  in  the  space  of  one  short  week 
without  dogmatism,  without  dictation,  without 
rebuke  ;  but  simply,  earnestly,  and  fondly  ;  as  a 
mo'.her  might  have  recalled  lier  wandering  child 
to  tlio  yearning  heart  which  panted  to  receive 
her  back. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  I  deprecated  any 
change  in  my  position ;  that  I  shrank  at  the 
idea  of  the  visit  which  awaited  me  ;  the  meet- 
ing which,  in  every  point  of  view,  presented  a 
bitter  trial.  My  own  mother  had  spurned  my 
prayer  for  help ;  and  it  was  he  whom  I  had 
8til'  more  deeply  injured,  who  was  about  to 
stand  before  me ;  perhaps  to  rebuke  me  with 
my  treachery  ;  perhaps  to  reproach  me  with  my 
past  errors  ;  perhaps,  too — and  this  was  the  most 
horrible  thought  of  all — perhaps,  too,  to  hurl  at 
me  suspicions  too  frightful  to  be  reduced  to 
words  ! 

Nor  will  any  who  have  followed  nve  through 
this  confession  of  a  wasted  life,  be  surprised 
to  learn  that  even  with  the  images  of  this  antici- 
pated trial,  now  at  the  very  threshold,  mingled 
the  dread  of  leaving  the  roof  of  Lady  Ollallo- 
ran,  from  a  nearer  and  dearer  consideration  than 
even  those  which  I  had  educed  to  herself  I 
felt  thai  this  sojourn  in  a  home  where  ali 
breathed  of  purity  and  peace,  must  tend  to  exalt 
me  in  the  eyes  of  Devereux.  He  would  see  that 
I  was  not  in  truth  the  outcast  he  tiad  believed  ; 
that  tlie  good  and  the  virtuous  had  not  abandon- 
ed me  utterly — and  this  consideration  was  my 
nest  consoler. 

I  dared  not  repine  that  I  had  heard  nothing 
of  hi'ii  since  that  fateful  morning.  Ten  days 
'had  barely  elapsed,  and  the  body  of  Sir  James 
was  not  yet  committed  to  the  grave.  How 
then  could  he  have  ventured  to  intrude  upon 
my  solitude,  without  a  breach  of  that  respect 
which  I  was  now  more  tlian  ever  anxious  to 
exact  from  him  ]  It  was  true,  that,  3fe  well 
aware  as  myself  of  tli«  actual  state  of  my  feel- 
ing toward  my  husband,  he  knew  that  my  grief 
demanded  no  such  concession  on  his  part ;  but 
still  the  exigences  of  society  must  be  observed  ; 
and  in  my  case,  more  stringently  than  ever,  com- 
promised as  I  was  by  the  past. 

For  the  first  time  I  began — ay,  even  now, 
when  I  had  not  as  yet  disguised  mystdf  in  the 
mourning  garments  which  were  prepared  for 
me — to  dwell  upon  that  future  from  which  I  had 
hitherto  shrunk.  What  did  I  not  promise  niy- 
Bclf  ]  For  the  first  time  I  had  begun  also  to  at- 
tach a  value  to  the  wealth  which  would  enable 
Devereux  to  abandon  his  profession,  and  to  give 
'himself  up  entirely  to  the  life  of  happiness  and 
peace  whicii  he  had  so  often  painted  to  me  in 
glowing  colors,  too  brilliant,  alas  !  for  the  pen- 
cil 01  reality. 

From  these  sweet  dreams  I  was  startled  on 
the  following  morning  by  the  aspect  of  the  fune- 
real dress  which  was  spread  out  in  my  dress- 
ing-room. I  had  been  prepared  to  expect  it  on 
the  day  upon  which  the  obsequies  of  Sir  James 
were  to  be  performed  :  but  when  I  was  actually 
in  presence  of  this  dismal  mockery  of  woe,  and 
tooked  into  my  owe  heart,  it  seemed  to  aflbrd 


the  most  bitter  epigram,  alike  upon  the  presenl 
and  the  past ;  and  my  blood  curdled  as  I  sub- 
mitted to  its  adjustment.  My  long  and  luxuri- 
ant hair  was  strained  back,  and  concealed  be- 
neath the  close  borders  of  a  muslin  cap,  whicli 
formed  a  dense  and  jealous  frame-work  to  mj 
pale  features  ;  the  long,  hanging  sleeves,  the 
clinging  crape,  and  the  inconvenient  texture  oi 
my  mourning  dress,  were  all  novtl,  and  all  re- 
pelling ;  but  I  made  no  comment  upon  either; 
and  shortly  afterward,  plunged  once  more  intc 
a  train  of  thought  which  diverted  me  from  tht 
present. 

I  was  recalled,  however,  to  the  fact  of  the 
change  which  had  been  effected  in  my  whole 
appearance,  by  the  involuntary  start  of  both 
my  hostesses  when  I  descended  to  the  breakfast- 
room. 

"How  beautiful!"  murmured  the  young 
mother,  while  she  strained  her  baby  to  her 
heart,  as  though  she  sought  to  avert  from  its  in- 
nocent head  so  bitter  a  fate  as  that  on  which 
she  looked. 

"  How  melancholy  !"  sighed  the  more  chast- 
ened old  lady,  as  she  pressed  her  lips  to  my 
forehead.  "  Eveleen,  my  dear  Eveleen,  let  me 
hope,  let  me  trust  that  you  are  now  clad  in  the 
weeds  of  your  past  follies  ;  and  that  when  you 
throw  off  these  mourning  garments,  you  wiL' 
also  cast  away  with  them  all  the  evil  influencej 
of  your  former  life.  You  wdl  then,  indeed 
have  reason  to  bless  the  day  when  you  wer( 
stricken;  and  to  rejoice  in  llie  chastisement b' 
which  you  are  now  visited." 

Little  more  passed  during  the  meal.     I  wa-i 
asking  myself,  if  I  should,  indeed,  fulfifl  the  hopn 
which  had  just  been  uttered  for  me ;  and  m' 
companions  were  too   considerate- to   intrad; 
upon  a   silence    and   a   preoccupation,  whic; 
they  felt  to  be  only  too  consistent  with  my  p(! 
sition.     InditTerent,  and  worse  than  indiffereni' 
as  I  had  been  to  Sir  James  as  a  wife,  I  con) 
not,  nevertheless,  contcmplaie  his  untimely  fai 
without  a  pang,  the  more  biUer  because  I  w; 
conscious  that  I  had  probably  been  its  involu 
tary  cause.     Had  not  Devereux  appeared  befo 
him  at  that  eventful  moment,  he  would,  witho 
doubt,  have  been  more  guarded  in  his  mov 
ments  ;  and  wa.9  not  Devereux  even  then  • 
his  way  to  the  meeting  which  I  had  myself  a 
pointed] 

These  were  bitter  convictions ;  arid  as  t| 
unconscious  tears  streamed  over  my  w 
cheeks,  I  ceased  to  believe  myself  so  guiltle' 
as  I  had  hitherto  striven  to  appear ;  but  th«: 
once  more  uprose  the  memory  of  the  cruel  ch< 
which  was  practiced  upon  nie — the  falsehc 
and  tyranny  of  which  I  had  been  made  the  y 
tim — and  I  passed  from  the  contemplation'- 
my  wrongs,  to  the  prospect  of  brighter  days/ 
come.  These  were  again  banished  in  tb- 
turn,  by  gloomy  visions  of  the  house  of  deal. 
the  shrouded  corse,  and  the  funereal  train,  wb^» 
had  replaced  the  dazzling  crowds  colled 
there  during  *y  earlier  years.  Adela  had  q  • 
ted  that  roof  only  to  die  ;  Sir  James  had  sou  t 
ts  shelter  only  to  follow  her  to  the  grave.  A 
hideous  phantasmagoria  flitted  before  me!  - 
tred,  and  falsehoou,  and  treachery,  and  bio  i 
and  I  stood  alone  amid  all  these,  povverles;  o 
avert  their  consequences,  even  as  I  had  L  o 
incaoable  of  anticipating  their  advent. 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


195 


Never  had  I  felt  less  sure  of  myself  Under 
the  gUH'dianship  of  Lady  O'Halloran,  and 
strengthened  by  her  afToctiimate  and  judicious 
counsels,  I  found  it  easy  to  form  the  most  praise- 
worthy resolutions  ;  but  I  had  learnt  enough  of 
human  nature  to  be  painfully  conscious  that 
resolutions,  however  exemplary,  are  by  no 
means  infallible  ;  and  that  neither  my  tenden- 
cies, nor  my  education,  had  given  me  a  right  to 
expect  that  I  should  ever  acquire  that  perfect 
self-government,  or  be  enabled  to  exert  that 
utter  self-abnegation,  which  were  necessary  to 
render  me  morally  the  equal  of  those  whom  I 
aspired  to  emulate. 

Meanwhile,  the  spirit-struggle  had,  at  least, 
taught  me  to  look  upon  my  own  advantages 
with  a  less  partial  eye,  and  to  feel  how  truly 
dependent  I  in  truth  was  upon  the  generosity 
of  others.  What  now  availed  my  wealth,  my 
pride,  or  my  beauty  !  That  world  which  I  had 
resolved  to  subdue  to  my  will,  or  to  despise, 
had,  like  a  trodden  serpent,  turned  upon  me,  aad 
stung  me  in  the  heel.  I  had  not  even  a  home, 
no  shelter  to  which  calumny  could  not  pursue 
me  :  and  my  one  vision  of  future  happiness  was 
still,  certain  as  it  seemed,  faint,  and  afar  off; 
and  to  be  realized  only  after  an  interval  on 
which  I  dared  not  dwell. 

Such  were  the  meditations  of  my  first  morn- 
ing of  visible  widowhood  ;  and  when,  on  the 
conclusion  of  the  repast  of  which  I  had  been 
merely  a  spectator,  I  again  retired  to  the  soli- 
tude of  my  own  apartment,  the  same  reflections 
followed  me. 

The  windows  were  flung  open,  and  I  leant 
♦agerly  out  to  catch  the  cool  wind  upon  my 
throbbing  brow,  as  it  swept  over  the  leafy 
stretch  of  forest-timber  before  me  Its  influ- 
ence was  wholesome.  As  I  gazed  out,  I 
clasped  my  hands  in  prayer  ;  when,  as  if  in  an- 
swer to  the  appeal,  I  heard  booming  upon  the 
wind,  slow,  measured,  and  rendered  even  more 
solemn  by  distance,  the  deep  pealingof  a  death- 
bell.  It  needed  no  interpreter  ;  it  was  the  toll 
of  ihe  village  church  bell  of  Rooksley,  inviting 
to  the  shelter  of  its  vaults  the  dead  for  whom  I 
wore  those  clinging  weeds. 

Instinctively  I  fell  upon  my  knees,  and  still  I 
heard  the  solemn  cadence  rolling  over  hill  and 
valley,  and  proclaiming  to  never-dying  nature 
the  departure  of  another  of  her  children. 

At  length  it  ceased,  and  I  knew  that  the 
mourning  train  had  entered  the  sacred  house. 
All  would  soon  be  over ;  and  I  shuddered  as  I 
remembered  with  how  little  waste  of  time  and 
ceremony  that  body  was  in  death  committed  to 
the  eartb,  which  m  lil'e  had  been  tended  with 
so  much  care  and  gentleness.  This  must  be 
one  day  my  fate  also.  The  ghastly  shroud,  the 
choking^coffin,  the  writhing  worm— oh,  it  was, 
indeed,  most  horrible,  for  I  had  not  yet  learnt 
lO  look  beyond  these  antecedents  of  another  and 
a  more  glorious  life. 

It  will  easily  be  foreseen  that  emotions  of 
this  description  had  humbled  my  pride,  and 
cLastened  my  spirit,  sufllcicntly  to  enable  me 
to  regard  even  the  tardy  and  brief  visit  ol  Lord 
Olterford  with  gratitude,  if  not  with  hope. 

He  was  to  visit  me  shortly  alter  his  return 
from  the  funeral,  and  to  set  off  the  same  night 
for  town.  There  was,  indeed,  little  to  detain 
him  within  the  gloomy  and  abandoned  walls  of 


Rooksley  ;  and  in  the  near  neighboihuod  o. 
what  had  once  been  the  happy  home  ol  Kmily 
Vernon. 


CHAPTER  LVn. 

I  WAS  yet  upon  my  knees,  with  my  face  lean- 
ing on  my  folded  arms,  when  the  door  of  my 
dressing-room  was  so  softly  opened  that  I  was 
not  aware  of  being  seen  ;  until  1  heard  the  low 
voice  of  my  hostess  whisper  gently  : 

"  Here  is  the  mourner.  Judge  if  she  has 
need  of  your  pity  and  protection." 

I  raised  my  weary  head,  and  with  an  emotion 
more  acute  than  I  had  ever  before  experienced, 
I  saw  Lord  Otterford  with  a  pale  cheek,  hut  a 
stern  eye,  standing  before  me.  Lady  O'Hallo- 
ran had  already  retired,  and  was  closing  tiie 
door  behind  her.  As  I  slowly  rose  from  my 
knees,  I  detected  that  the  expression  of  Lord 
Otterford's  countenance  softened,  as  if  involun- 
tarily. The  deep  and  evidently  sincere  dfjec- 
tion  in  which  he  found  me  had  touched  him, 
despite  his  sense  of  wrong ;  and  as  he  threw 
himself  into  a  seat,  he  covered  his  face  with 
his  spread  hand. 

I  could  neither  speak,  nor  approach  him. 

«»  Lady  Dornton — "  he  at  length  commenced. 

"Oh,  call  me  Eveleen  !" — I  exclaimed  im- 
ploringly ;  "  if  you  would  not  crush  me  to  the 
very  earth.  Tell  me  that  you  forgive  me,  or  I 
shall  sink  under  my  shame  and  my  remorse." 

"  Of  what  avail  would  now  be  my  forgive- 
ness 1"  he  asked  with  sad  seriousness  ;  "you 
have  yourself  forever  destroyed  my  power  to 
serve  you.  You  best  know  how  I  had  earned 
so  deep  and  cruel  a  hatred  ;  but  the  evil  is  now 
as  total  as  it  is  irrevocable.  Your  mother  and 
myself  have  met  but  once  since  the  fital 
day  on  which  you  betrayed  my  bitter  secret — 
a  secret  which  I  had  expiated  in  remorse  and 
tears — and  then  it  was  only  that  we  might  con- 
sult upon  the  duties  necessary  to  be  performed 
alike  toward  the  living  and  the  dead.  The 
latter  I  have  accomplished,  with  the  privacy 
and  absence  of  ostentation  suited  to  the  melan- 
choly circumstances  ;  the  former,  which  I  am 
now  to  fulfill,  is,  however,  the  most  painful. 
Had  I  found  you  reckless,  and  unimpressed  by  the 
late  catastrophe,  as  I  own  that  I  feared  1  should 
do,  one  portion  of  my  task  might  have  been  re- 
mitted, while  the  other  would  have  affected  me 
far  less,  for  I  could  then  have  told  my  tidings 
without  emotion.  As  it  is,  Eveleen, — as  it  is,  I 
feel  compelled  both  to  pardon  and  to  pity  you." 

I  rushed  forward,  and  cast  myself  at  his  feet. 

"Yes — you  do  well,"  he  pursued;  "that  is 
the  most  fitting  posture  you  can  assume  while 
listening  to  what  I  have  to  tell.  The  pride  ot 
self-dependence  and  self-appreciation  have  no- 
thing in  common  with  such  an  hour  as  this,  when 
the  scent  of  the  death-soil  is  still  clinging  to  my 
own  garments,  and  the  solemn  words  of  the 
burial-service  sounding  in  m.y  ears  ;  and  when 
the  weeds  in  which  you  are  yourself  clad  are 
new  and  strange  to  you.  I  will  spare  you  any 
unnecessary  details  for  both  oursak(!S  ;  but  with 
certain  circumstances  it  is  alike  expedient  and 
proper  that  you  should  be  made  acquainted.  I 
need  scarcely  inform  you  that  Sir  Jame.s  lias  lift 
no  testamentary  d' :;ument  of  any  desciipiioii, 
either  here  or  in      ^vn.     No  foreshadowing  of 


I9r, 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


his  approaching  and  fearful  end  had  warned  him 
to  accomphsh  this  duty  ;  and  I  was,  consequent- 
ly, from  your  own  silence  upon  the  subject,  left 
free  to  comply  with  the  mjunclions  of  your 
mother  as  to  the  mode  of  his  interment.  And 
"here,  Eveleen,  I  should  have  bounded  my  rela- 
tion with  regard  to  your  unfortunate'  husband, 
had  I  found  you  in  a  less  becoming  frame  of 
mind  ;  but,  under  existing  circumstances,  I  feel 
compelled  to  cuntide  to  you  one  fact,  which,  after 
you  have  recovered  the  first  shock  of  the  in- 
telligence, may  tend  to  lessen  the  compunction 
which  you  must  naturally  experience  when  you 
look  back  upon  your  conduct  as  a  wife." 

I  pressed  my  lips  upon  his  hand,  and  listened 
eagerly. 

"  You  may  have  heard  that  Sir  James  had 
Tested  the  fatal  fowling-piece  upon  the  ground  in 
order  to  read  a  letter,  which  he  had  just  receiv- 
ed from  town  by  his  own  messenger  ;  and  that 
he  was  still  engaged  in  its  perusal  when  the 
:^udde^  appearance  of  an  individual — Eveleen, 
I  detect  your  shudder,  but  I  will  not,  I  dare  not 
ask  you  if  you  can  determine  the  identity  of 
that  individual ;  for  despite  all  the  facts  which 
would  seem  to  negative  my  suspicion,  I  am  but 
too  painfully  convinced  of  a  /Yightful  truth — that 
letter  is  now  in  my  possession."  He  paused. 
He  evidently  dreaded  the  effect  of  his  next 
words  ;  while  I  gazed  at  him  with  dry  and  dila- 
ted eyes,  and  parched  and  parted  lips. 

"That  letter,"  he  resumed,  after  an  instant, 
"was  in  reply  to  one  which  he  had  himself  writ- 
ten ;  and  it  came  irom — Mrs.  Delamaine." 

I  made  no  gesture  of  indignation  ;  I  felt  none. 
I  only  bowed  my  head  once  more  upon  his  knees 
overwhelmed  by  a  feeling  which  was  half  horror 
and  I  alf  relief.  Lord  Otterford  bent  over  me  in 
wonder,  as  he  whispered,  "Do  you  understand 
me,  Eveleen  V 

I  made  a  gesture  of  assent. 

"  Do  you  desire  to  see  that  letter  1" 

"Kever  !" 

"  And  you  are  right,  poor  child  !  Suffice  it 
then  that,  although  its  contents  by  no  means 
justify  your  past  errors,  they  nevertheless  afford 
painful  evidence  that  the  indignities  to  which  you 
have  been  lately  subjected,  arose  less  from  a 
desire  on  the  part  of  your  husband  to  punish 
your  levity  and  to  reform  your  conduct,  than  to 
disembarrass  himself  of  your  presence  ;  and  this 
fact,  mortifying  as  it  must  appear  to  you,  I  have 
considered  it  my  duty  not  to  withhold  injustice 
to  both  parties.  I  must  also  state,  although  I 
am  aware  that  upon  this  point  you  are  careless, 
that  the  affairs  of  Sir  James  are  not  considerably 
involved,  despite  his  apparently  profuse  expendi- 
ture ;  but  as  nearly  all  his  engagements  appear 
to  have  been  debts  contracted  at  the  gaming- 
tahle.which  may  be  legally  evaded,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  I  should  understand  if  you  intend  to 
recognize  them." 

"To  the  last  penny,  my  lord." 

"I  anticipated  no  less  from  your  sense  of 
right.  And  iiovv,  Eveleen,"  he  added  sadly  ; 
"  we  have  at  length  only  to  speak  of  yourself 
What  are  your  own  views  and  wishes  !" 

"  You  are  aware,  iny  lord, "  I  said  with  a 
shrinking  heart,  but  struggling  to  obey  the  advice 
■)(  I>ady  O'Halloran,  "that  I  have  already  en- 
treated the  countenance  and  protection  of  my 
mother." 


"  I  was,  indeed,  so  informed.  But  surely, 
Eveleen,  you  must  have  understood  too  well  the 
nature  of  your  mother  to  anticipate  her  concur 
rence  in  such  an  arrangement,  and  I  consequent- 
ly regarded  the  proposal  as  merely  the  efl'ect  of 
sudden  isolation  ;  or,  perhaps,  of  a  desire  to  ex- 
culpate yourself  from  any  future  reproach  of  reck- 
less emancipation  from  her  authority  and  guid- 
ance. You  could  not  have  forgotten  that  you 
had  so  recently  inflicted  upon  her  an  injury  which 
her  haughty  nature  never  can  forgive.  I  have 
myself  found  it  difficult,  most  diflicult  to  do  so, 
for  it  will  embitter  all  my  future  life — ^judge, 
therefore,  of  the  effect  which  it  was  calculated 
to  produce  on  her." 

"  Oh,  had  you  known,  could  you  guess  the 
insulting  taunts,  the  bitter  insults  which  wrung 
from  me  that  unrighteous  retaliation,"  I  ex- 
claimed with  clasped  hands,  "  you  would  be  mer 
ciful." 

"  Yet  you  should  have  remembered,"  he  saii 
hoarsely,  and  evidently  struggling  against  some 
powerful  emotion,  "  that  your  mother  was  not 
the  only  victim  of  your  treachery — that  your 
words  carried  with  them  a  venom  which  distil 
led  a  double  poison." 

Self-convicted  and  repentant,  I  dared  not  seek 
to  justify  myself.  -  • 

"  The  effect  of  this  fatal  error  has  extended 
still  further,"  pursued  Lord  Otterford,  who  was 
at  no  loss  to  interpret  the  humiliation  of  my 
silence ;  "  for  it  has  tended  to  close  your 
mother's  heart  against  you,  I  fear  forever.  My 
entreaties — for,  wounded  as  I  was,  Eveleen,  I 
could  still  feel  for  you — produced  no  change  in 
her  determination  ;  she  has  refused  not  only  to. 
receive,  but  even  to  see  you.  Her  utmost  con- 
descension was  the  expression  of  her  desire  that 
you  should,  at  least  during  the  year  of  your 
widowhood,  fultill  the  intention  of  Sir  James, 
and  reside  at  GlenfiUan,  under  the  protection  ol 
her  sister." 

I  gasped  for  breath.  The  vision  of  Adela'a 
death-bed  rose  before  me,  with  all  its  appalling 
accessories;  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  I 
could  support  myself 

"  Everything  has  been  already  prepared  at 
the  castle  for  your  reception,"  he  continued ; 
"  you  will  be,  in  every  respect,  your  own  mis- 
tress,  and  secure  from  all  the  comments  of  a 
censorious  world,  which  must  have  time  to  for 
get  the  |)ast." 

"And  do  you  also  advise  this,  my  lordl"  1 
asked  faintly. 

•'  I  can  suggest  no  other  measure  of  equal 
prudence.  I  am  aware  that  the  trial  will  b« 
heavy ;  but  you  will  have  it  in  your  power, 
Eveleen,  to  render  it  profitable."        *" 

"iVly  mother  shall  be  obeyed,"  I  said  in  a 
whisper. 

Lord  Otterford  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head' 
Willi  parental  tenderness  ;  and  then,  clasping  one, 
of  mine  within  it,  he  said  firmly  ; 

"  One  thing  more,  my  poor  child,  and  ther 
our  conference  is  ended.  You  have  woundet 
me  deeply  ;  and  I  claim,  in  extenuation  of  tha 
injury,  your  solemn  promise  that,  during  you 
retirement  at  GlenfiUan,  you  will  hold  no  corre: 
spoiidence,  either  personally  or  by  letter,  wit), 
Colonel  Deveieux,  without  my  express  pej 
mission.  Give  me  this  pledge  for  your  OW; 
sake,  and  I  will  not  only  endeavor  to  forget  th' 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


197 


past,  but  I  will  watch  over  you  as  a  fond  father 
watches  over  a  cherished  child." 

For  such  a  condition  as  this  I  had  been 
wholly  unprepared.  I  was  then  to  be  utterly 
alone ;  unsolaced  by  the  aspect  of  one  friendly 
face  ;  unsupported  by  the  sound  of  one  fanciiliar 
voice  ;  left  in  ignorance  of  the  feelings  and  the 
sympathy  of  him  whose  affection  had  now  be- 
come the  only  hope  of  my  existence  !  Yet  the 
accent  of  Lord  Otterford  was  su  full  of  convic- 
tion, so  earnest,  and  so  persuasive,  that  I  could 
not  resist  its  influence.  I  promised  what  he  ex- 
acted. 

"  Be  true  to  your  pledge,  Eveleen,"  he  said 
as  he  bent  down,  ?nd  kissed  my  forehead  ;  "  and, 
should  you  wisb  it,  I  will  frequently  be  your 
guest.  I  must  at  once  return  to  town  :  your 
own  affairs  exact  it ;  and  it  frill  be  with  a  heart 
relieved  from  a  weight  of  anxiety  on  your  ac- 
count, that  I  shall  report  your  obedience  to  your 
mother.  I  would  entreat  you,  meanwhile,  to 
regulate  with  Lady  O'Halloran  (to  whom  you 
owe  a  heavy  debt  of  gratitude),  the  period  of 
your  own  departure ;  that  done,  acquaint  me 
with  your  determination,  and  I  will  hasten  to 
protect  you  to  your  new  home.  And  now,  fare- 
well ;  give  me  your  hand  once  more ;  let  not 
the  promise  of  this  hour,  in  which  I  feel  a  faith 
which  it  would  indeed  pain  me  to  find  misplaced, 
prove  fallacious  ;  and  I  trust  that  brighter  pros- 
pects may  open  upon  us  all." 

Need  I  say  with  what  emotion  I  responded  to 
this  unhoped-for  kindness  1  I  forgot  for  the 
moment  all  save  rny  happiness  in  being  thus  res- 
tored to  the  good  opinion  of  my  mother's  hus- 
band. I  scarcely  cared  to  remember  that  that 
mother  herself  had  not  vouchsafed  to  me  one 
word  of  sympathy  or  pity  ;  I  forgot  the  exile  to 
which  I  had  pledged  myself;  my  enforced 
separation  from  Devereux:  the  yet  unclosed 
tomb  of  my  husband ;  I  felt  only  that  I  might 
yet  regain  the  esteem  of  the  world,  and  become 
an  object  of  afTection  to  those  from  whom  my 
former  faults  had,  as  I  once  believed,  separated 
me  forever. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

Mt  leave-taking  with  Lady  O'Halloran  and 
her  daughter  was  a  most  trying  one  ;  when,  at 
the  close  of  a  month,  I  summoned  Lord  Otter- 
ford  to  perform  his  promise.  I  had  lately  lived 
in  such  an  atmosphere  of  affection  and  peace 
that  I  had  almost  ceased  to  regret  the  world 
and  its  gaieties  ;  but  my  old  yearning  grew  upon 
me  when  I  contemplated  the  change  to  which  1 
was  about  to  be  subjected.  I  repressed  the 
feeling,  however ;  and  strengthened  by  the  ap- 
probation of  my  estimable  hostess,  I  uttered  no 
repining  ;  aad  the  rather  as  she  pledged  herself 
that  she  would  spend  some  months  with  me  at 
GlenfiUan,  accompanied  by  the  gentle  Margaret 
and  her  infant  daughter. 

The  gratification  of  Lord  Otterford  was  lively 
and  sincere  when  lie  was  apprised  of  this  ar- 
rangement. He  at  once  felt,  as  a  man  of  the 
world,  the  importance  of  such  a  concession  to 
my  present  reputation,  and  future  respectability. 
He  wrung  the  hand  of  the  old  lady  with  a 
fervor,  and  offered  his  thanks  with  an  energy, 
which  convinced  me  of  his  own  interest  in  my 
fate,  and  helped  to  sustain  my  sinking  courage  ; 


and  thus,  amid  tears,  and  blessings,  at  d  regrets, 
I  left  the  house  which  to  me  had  been  indeed 
"  a  refuge  in  the  time  of  trouble." 

We  traveled  slowly,  for  my  considerate  com- 
panion appeared  as  little  anxious  as  myself  tO 
hasten  my  arrival  at  my  desolate  home  ;  nor  did 
he  spare  a  care  or  an  exertion  to  lessen  the 
fatigue  and  tedium  of  the  journey.  With  a 
delicacy  which  I  deeply  felt,  he  cautiously  avoid- 
ed all  reference,  to  such  portions  of  the  past  as 
must  tend  to  humble  me  in  my  own  eyes  ;  while 
he  explained  the  new  duties  which  had  devolv 
ed  upon  me,  and  the  necessity  of  my  applying 
my  mind  and  my  energies  to  the  proper  applica- 
tion of  the  wealth  which  was  now  at  my  exclu- 
sive disposition. 

"Hitherto,  Eveleen,"  he  said,  "that  wealth 
has  merely  been  the  source  of  misery  and  folly ; 
redeem  it  from  this  reproach,  and  you  will  then 
learn  its  real  value." 

I  readily  pledged  myself  to  the  task,  though  I 
had  only  a  vague  idea  of  the  means  by  which 
so  desirable  arf  end  was  to  be  accomplished : 
and  having  given  Lord  Otterford  full  powers  to 
act  for  me  upon  every  point  according  to  his 
own  discretion,  I  at  length  reached  th-e  gloomy 
termination  of  my  journey.  As  we  drove  into 
the  vast  and  desolate  court,  I  flung  myself  upon 
the  breast  of  my  companion  ;  and  for  the  first 
time  since  our  departure  from  England,  gave 
free  loose  to  my  long  pent-up  emotions;  but  I 
soon  rallied  when  he  represented  to  me  the 
inevitable  effects  of  so  ill-timed  a  weakness  ;  and 
before  my  meeting  with  Lady  Flora,  I  had  suc- 
ceeded in  suppressing  all  external  demonstra- 
tions of  the  misery  that  lay  heavy  at  my  heart. 

I  shall  not  weary  the  reader  by  a  detail  of 
the  loneliness  and  monotony  of  my  existence  at 
Glenfillan,  after  the  departure  of  my  affection- 
ate and  anxious  traveling  companion.  Suffice 
it  that  at  the  close  of  a  month  or  two  of  uiiei 
despondency,  I  began  to  accuse  myself  of  cow- 
ardice and  egotism  in  thus  wasting  life  in  weak 
and  useless  indolence.  The  thought  of  Deve- 
reux returned  upon  me,  too,  brighter  and  dearer 
than  ever  I  must  not  fail  now,  for  his  sake  ! 
I  looked  aiound  me,  and  each  succeeding  day 
discovered  now  much  I  was  indebted  to  tlie 
consideration  oi  Lord  Otterford.'  My  personal 
servants  had  been  bribed  by  an  increase  of  sal- 
ary to  bury  themselves,  at  least  for  a  few 
months,  in  the  country,  in  order  to  afford  me 
their  services  ;  the  appliances  of  convenience 
and  even  luxury  which  had  been  dedicated  to 
my  especial  use  in  town,  had  preceded  me  to 
Scotland  :  and  Lady  Flora,  the  tyrannical  jailer 
who  had  lent  herself  unhesitatingly  to  the  pro- 
jects of  Sir  James,  forewarned  in  time,  was  all 
humility  and  obsequiousness.  The  one  great 
ambition  of  her  life  was  realized ;  she  was 
again  an  iiidweller  of  her  father's  castle  ;  and  as 
she  had  been  made  aware  that  her  contifluance 
under  that  coveted  roof  depended  solely  on  my 
pleasure,  she  bent  herself,  with  admirable  duc- 
tility, to  the  new  exigences  of  her  position. 

My  faithful  Susan  was  a  treasure  to  me  amid 
this  natural  and  moral  wilderness.  I  had  re- 
quested Lord  Otterford,  while  arranging  my  pe- 
cuniary affairs,  to  insure  such  a  provi,sion  for 
life  to  the  faithful  girl  as  might  enable  her  to 
realize  the  fond  visions  of  her  heart ;  hut  she 
refused  to  abandon  me  during  my  sojourn  a- 


l'J8 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


Glentillan  :  and  to  her  I  turned  for  comfort  and 
encouragement  in  every  moment  of  desponden- 
cy. .She  it  M'as  who  drew  my  attention  to  the 
school  founded  by  my  sister,  and  to  the  poor 
whom  she  had  fed  ;  and  I  eagerly  embraced  the 
prospect  of  occupation  and  interest  afforded  by 
an  emulation  of  her  exertions. 

I  soon  became  popular  in  the  neighborhood, 
for  I  was  rich  in  means,  and  subdued  in  spirit ; 
and  where  the  evd  was  beyo.id  the  reach  of 
gold,  I  was  blessed  for  my  words  of  sympathy 
and  comfort.  My  home-hours  were  the  most 
ditiicult  to  support  with  resignation  ;  for  when 
I  found  myself  alone  in  the  keen  mountain  air,  or 
seated  in  the  humble  dwelhngs  of  my  pensioners, 
my  thougtits  were  not  wholly  absorbed  by  self, 
and  for  a  time  I  forgot  to  dwell  upon  my  trials, 
and  learned  to  trust  in  a  future  which  was  to 


consideration,  had  deferred  her  visit  until  near 
the  close  of  my  year  of  mourning.  She  wished 
to  judge  of  the  effect  which  this  long  seclusion 
had  produced  upon  my  character ,  and  she  had 
also  another  reason,  which  she  did  not  state,  bui 
which  I  was  subsequently  enabled  to  appreciate. 

Our  meelifig  wao  even  more  sad  Irian  we  an- 
ticipated. Shocked  and  alarmed  at  the  change 
which  was  visible  in  my  whole  appearance ;  at 
my  attenuated  form,  the  red  spot  in  my  cheek, 
and  the  bright  light  in  my  eye,  the  warm-heart- 
ed old  lady  could  not  conceal  her  uneasiness; 
and  our  first  greetings  were  scarcely  over  when 
she  drew  me  apart,  and  pillowing  my  pale  brow 
on  her  shoulder,  began  to  question  me  as  to  the 
cause  of  my  evidently  altered  health. 

"  Be  frank  with  me,  Eveleen,"  she  said ; 
you   have   some    new    and   pungent    sorrow 


compensate  for  all.     It  was  during  my  periods  j  gnawing  at  your  heart,  which  is  independent  of 
o.'  enforced   companionship   with   Lady  Flora  j  the  past.     What  is  it,  my  poor  child  !" 


that  I  felt  the  whole  weigtit  and  tedium  of  my 
position.  No  longer  able,  from  weakened  sight, 
to  weave  the  knights  and  shepherdesses  in 
which  she  formerly  delighted,  she  had  taken  ref- 


The  flood-gates  of  my  grief  opened  at  once. 
I  had  hitherto  borne  my  burden  in  silence; 
not  even  to  Susan  had  I  confided  the  apprehen- 
sion which  was  sapping  my  existence  ;  but  now 


uge  in  the  knitting-needles  bequeathed  to  her  i  I  poured  forth  on  the  bosom  of  this  inestimable 
by  her  maternal  aunt  ;  and  wholly  ab,sorbed  in    friend  all  the  anguish   and   humiliation  of  my 
her  monotonous  and  interminable  occupation, 
passed  hours  beside  me  without  the  utterance 
of  a  syllable. 

Such  was  the  broad  outline  of  roy  existence, 


spirit. 

Lady  O'Halloran  listened  dejectedl«,  and  in 
silence.  "  I  might  have  foreseen,"  she  said 
bitterly,  "  that  you  still  loved   this  man  ;  but, 


until  the  arrival  of  my  promised  guests;  only  |  Eveleen,  you  must  no  longer  yield  to  a  weak- 
relieved  at  long  intervals  by  the  brief  visits  of;  ness  which  has  be<'ome  unworthy.  I  have  de- 
Lord  Otterford,  who  encouraged  me  in  my  faint  !  ferred  my  arrival  here  until  this  late  period,  iQ 
efforts  in  well-doing,  and  chid  me  gently  for  the  order  to  await  with  you  the  close  of  your  period 
neglect  which  I  had  evidently  shown  toward  of  exile,  and  to  reclaim  you  as  a  guest.  You 
my  own  health.  I  was  in  truth  sadly  changed,  have  yet  much  to  endure,  but  you  will  not  dia- 
The  interest  which  I  took  in  all  that  passed  appoint  my  hopes;  you  will  struggle  to  be  just 
around  me  was  forced  and  wearisome;  and  to  yourself ;  and  to  avenge  your  blighted  name. 
even  while  I  conscientiously  adhered  to  the  I  will  not  abandon  you  to  yourself  until  yoa 
proinise  which  I  had  myself  given,  I  bitterly  felt  i  have  convinced  me  that  you  are  worthy  of  the 
the  utter  silence  and  estrangement  of  Devereux.  :  trust." 

For  a  time  I  consoled  myself  with  the  belief  |  I  looked  up  at  her  in  silence;  but  with  be» 
that  the  same  pledge  had  been  extorted  from    seeching  in  my  eyes. 

hire;  but  gradually  this  idea  ceased  to  satisfy  I  "Yes — perhaps  it  will  be  better  so — "she 
me.  It  was  easy  to  wring  such  a  promise  from  murmured  as  if  unconsciously  ;  "  sooner  or  later 
me,  for  I  had  no  power  to  withhold  it  under  my  the  blow  must  fall,  and  why  not  now,  when  her 
peculiar  circumstances  ;  but  who  could  compel  own  fears  have  partially  prepared  her  for  the 
him  to  so  extreme  a  measure!  Was  he  not  the  i  truth  1  You  must  forget  this  man,  poor  su& 
master  of  his  own  actions,  and  accountable  to  no  I  ferer,"  she  continued,  as  she  folded  me  ia 
one  for  his  movements  1  And  yet  he  came  not ;  her  arms  ;  "  there  is  a  gulf  between  you  which 
although   long  months   had  elapsed  since  our 


separation,  anil  that  my  year  of  widowhood  was 
drawing  lo  a  close. 

A   strange,    vdgue   fear  grew   upon   me.     I 


can  never  be  overpassed.  This  is  your  last 
trial,  and  you  must  receive  it  in  patience  and 
humility." 

He  will   not  obey  their  bidding,"  I  gasped 


strove  resolutely  to  shake  it  off,  but  I  could  only  j  out  ;  "  be  the  difficulties  what  they  may,  his  af- 

partially  succeed  ;    and   throughout  the   long,  I  fection  will  overcome  them." 

long,  weary  winter,  during  the  dreary  hours  of  |      "  Eveleen,  remember  how  long  he  has  aban- 

iny  inhahiiaiion  with  Lady  Flora,  this  undefined  \  doned  you  to  sorrow  and  to  doubt." 

teiror,  to  which  I  did  not  dare  to  give  a  name,  j      "He  was  forbidden,  like  myself,  to  seek  a 

grew   and  strengthened    upon    me.     Not  once  j  meeting — he  hoped  for  brighter  days — he  trust-' 

had  Lord  Otterford  alluded  to  the  existence  of  ed  in  patience,  as  I  have  done,  to  the  future." 

his  nephew,  during  his  short  and  hurried  visits  ;        "Deceive  yourself  no  longer,  my  poor  child.' 

nor  had   I  ventured  to  utter  one  inquiry.     Of   In  the  cruel  pride  of  his  heart  he  has  forsaken 

my  mother  he  said  little,  and    that  little  was    you — to  preserve  what  he  sees  fit  to  call  his 


discouraging.  Satisfied  that  1  had  obeyed  her 
will,  she  had  ceased  even  to  mention  me ;  and 
when  the  subject  was  forced  upon  her.  the  cold- 
ness and  inditierence  of  her  replies  forbade  all 
hopp  of  any  concession  on  her  part. 

At  length  came  the  spring;  and  with  the  spring, 
the  beloved  guests  whom  I  had  so  long  awaited. 
Lady    CH-illoran,  with   her  usual   far-sighted 


honor,  he  has  left  you  to  the  desolation  of  youi 
own  spirit.  The  passion  of  which  he  boastet 
could  not  resist  the  influence  of  envenomec 
tongues  ;  he  had  not  the  moral  courage  requi. 
site  to  enforce  either  your  justification,  or  hii 
own — and,  in  short,  Eveleen,  you  must  think  o 
him  no  n)ore." 

I  made  no  eflbn  to  interrupt  these  crushin; 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


199 


wonlS.  r  listened  eagerly,  breathlessly,  as 
though  my  life  hung  upon  their  import ;  and  yet 
I  did  not  clearly  comprehend  their  force ;  and 
Lady  O'Halloran  had  long  ceased  to  speak,  while 
I  still  listened  as  though  I  had  more  to  learn, 
and  that  all  I  had  already  heard  were  subject  of 
comparative  insignificance. 

"Speak,  Eveleen,"  at  length  exclaimed  my 
companion,  terrified  at  the  silence  by  which 
her  communication  had  been  succeeded;  "tell 
me  that  you  will  forget  this  weak  and  worthless 
man." 

"  We  forget  all  in  the  grave,"  I  said,  as  I 
rose  calmly  from  beside  her.  "All!  even  the 
one  hope  of  a  whole  existence.  And  now  let 
me  leave  you  for  a  time  ;  I  must  be  alone— to 
jink." 

"I  will  accompany  you  to  your  room,  Eve- 
leen ;  do  not  restrain  your  tears,  they  will  relieve 
you." 

"I  have  no  tears  to  shed,"  I  whispered 
hoarsely,  as  I  tottered  from  the  apartment  upon 
her  supporting  arm  ;  "  I  have  no  time  for  tears  ; 
I  must  be  alone — to  think." 

I  was  conveyed  to  my  chamber,  and  laid  in 
my  bed.  A  brain-fever  supervened.  The  same 
physician  who  witnessed  the  agonies  of  Adela 
now  watched  over  mine  ;  the  same  dreary  still- 
ness reigned  throughout  the  house.  Lord  O'Hal- 
loran hastened  to  remove  his  wife  and  child  to 
their  more  happy  home ;  but  his  mother  lin- 
gered beside  what  she  believed  to  be  my  death- 
couch,  in  order  to  fulfill  her  last  pledge  to  her 
old  friend. 

I  was  not,  however,  destined  to  sink  under 
my  trial.  Life  was  yet  too  strong  within  me  ; 
and  after  many  weeks  of  danger  and  delirium, 
mv  faculties  recovered  their  balance.  To  what 
a  dreary  waking  was  I  condemned  !  Even  the 
wild  and  fitful  visions  of  my  fever  had  been  less 
bitter  and  exhausting  than  the  crushing  memo- 
ries which  hovered,  like  foul  spectres  of  the  past, 
about  my  restless  pillow  during  my  convales- 
cence. How  often  did  I  close  my  languid  and 
stiffened  eyelids,  and  pray  to  die — to  die  as 
Adela  had  done,  and  to  be  at  rest.  But  even 
as  that  impious  wish  rose  within  me,  the  low- 
voiced  breath  of  prayer  murmured  beside  my 
bed ;  and  the  ministering  angel  who  knew  the 
struggle  that  was  .going  on  within  me,  recalled 
me  to  calmer  and  more  holy  thoughts. 

Slowly  and  painfully  I  was  restored  to  health, 
but  I  was  no  longer  what  I  had  been.  The 
chastening  hand  which  had  been  laid  heavily 
upon  me  in  mercy,  had  sobered  down  the  effer- 
vescence of  my  nature,  and  made  me  a  new 
being.  Humble,  obedient,  and  submissive,  I 
offered  no  opposition  to  the  will  of  those  about 
me  ;  and  when  my  strength  was  sufliciently  re- 
stored to  admit  of  the  arrangement,  I  passively 
suffered  myself  to  be  removed  from  Glenfillan, 
and  conducted  by  easy  stages  to  the  home  of 
my  unwearying  friend,  under  her  protection  and 
that  of  Lord  Oiterford. 

I  remained  for  months  beneath  her  hospitable 
roof;  and,  could  I  have  blotted  out  the  memory 
of  the  past',  nothing  would  have  been  wanting  to 
my  happiness  ;  but  the  arrow  had  been  driven 
home  ;  and  I  had  not  strength  to  wrench  it  out. 
I  I  knew  that  my  fair  fame  was  blighted— that 
I  my  mother  had  abandoned  me— and  that  the 
;  dream  of  my  life  was  over.    Devereux  had  be- 


come a  husband.  His  bride  was  young,  and 
beautiful,  and  wealthy  as  I  had  been  ;  t)ul  upon 
her  the  breath  of  calumny  had  never  rested — 
his  honor  was  secure  from  taint !  This  was  in- 
deed a  bitter  pang,  but  it  was  the  last.  Thence- 
forward I  acquired  courage  to  look  steadfastly  at 
my  position,  and  my  resolve  was  taken. 

"  I  will  purchase  Rooksley  from  Lady  Made- 
laine,"  I  said,  in  reply  to  an  inquiry  from  my 
hostess.  "  She  will  cede  it  to  me  without  diffi- 
culty, for  she  has  no  associations  with  the  place 
which  she  can  desire  to  retain.  There  I  shall 
not  be  quite  desolate  ;  for  your  society  and  that 
of  the  good  rector  will  reconcile  me  to  myself, 
and  teach  me  to  forget  the  height  from  which  I 
have  fallen.  I  have  no  longer  anything  in  com- 
mon with  the  happy  and  the  prosperous  ;  but  I 
may  still  solace  the  suffering  and  the  needy.  You 
alone  will  not  misjudge  me  ;  and  I  shall  require 
all  your  support  to  enable  me  to  endure  the  long 
years  of  life  which  are  spread  out  before  me." 

"  Speak  not  so  despondingly,  my  dear  Eve- 
leen," replied  my  listener ;  "  time  will  do  much ; 
you  are  still  in  the  first  bloom  of  womanhood  ; 
and  may  yet  have  long  years  of  happiness  before 
you,  both  as  a  wife  and  a  mother." 

"Never!"  I  said  emphatically.  "  No  man 
shall  take  scorn  and  reproach  to  his  bosom 
through  my  means  ;  nor,  after  my  past  experi- 
ence, do  I  anticipate  that,  even  had  I  formed  a 
different  resolution,  an  individual  could  be  found 
so  generous  to  me,  and  so  unjust  to  himself 
No,  my  kind  friend.  I  have  forever  done  with 
vague  and  dreamy  visions.  Society  has  reject- 
ed me,  and  I  bow  beneath  its  fiat,  however  I 
may  question  its  equity.  There  is  much  to  do 
at  Rooksley ;  much  misery  to  alleviate  ;  much 
ignorance  to  instruct.  May  I,  in  my  character 
of  a  monitress,  learn  to  practice  the  lessons 
which  I  shall  endeavor  to  enforce." 

Convinced  of  my  sincerity.  Lady  O'Halloran 
encouraged  me  by  her  approbation ;  and  soon 
my  return  to  Rooksley  was  arranged  and  accom 
plished  ;  nor  was  it  long  ere  the  voice  of  glad- 
ness and  revel  was  once  more  heard  within  its 
walls  ;  for  shortly  after  my  establishment,  Susan 
was  united  to  the  husband  of  her  choice ;  and 
the  event  was  productive  of  no  regret  to  myself, 
as  I  retained  her  bridegroom  in  my  service. 

I  had  judged  correctly  in  believing  that  my 
mother  would  offer  no  obstacle  to  my  purchase 
of  the  property.  Aware  that  it  must  revert  to 
me  at  her  death,  and  satisfied  that  so  long  as  I 
remained  in  that  retirement,  I  should  not  cross 
her  own  path,  she  exerted  her  energies  to  ex- 
pedite the  transfer  ;  and  in  a  shorter  time  than 
I  had  dared  to  hope,  I  found  myself  mistress  of 
the  coveted  domain. 

And  now,  what  more  have  I  to  addl  Who 
cannot  appreciate  the  tedium,  the  regrets,  and 
the  despair  of  such  a  waste  of  life  1  Ten,  twen- 
ty weary  years  passed  over  me ;  and  those  w  he 
looked  upon  me  would  have  declared  me  happy 
— but  I  was  not  so.  Feverishly  impatient  to 
create  new  interests  and  new  ties,  I  entered  upon 
the  duties  and  privileges  of  my  new  position 
with  an  uncalculating  and  reckless  profusion 
both  of  energy  and  outlay,  which  called  forth 
the  expostulations  of  Lady  O'Halloran,  and  ex- 
cited the  astonishment  of  Dr.  James.  The  pau- 
pers in  the  almshouses  built  by  my  mollier  had 
increased  pensions;  and   the   children   in   hei 


200 


CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PRETTY  WOMAN. 


school  were  newly  clothed  the  old  church 
was  cleaned  anu  beautified  ;  cottages  were  level- 
ed and  rebuiL'  •  '.he  idle  W3re  employed  ;  the 
sick  tended,  and  tlie  aged  placed  beyond  the 
reach  of  want.  Many,  in  the  gratitude  of  their 
hearts,  spt/Ke  of  me  as  a  saint,  but  they  could 
not  look  beneath  the  surface.  There  were  times 
when  I  was  impatient  and  irritable  under  my 
misfortunes  ;  and  asked  myself  why  1  was  th^s 
called  upon  to  suffer,  when  the  errors  of  so 
many  others  were  tolerated,  without  either  ex- 
piation or  reproach.  In  those  hours  the  tears 
which  I  shed  beside  the  bed  of  pain,  or  with 
which  I  listened  to  the  tale  of  sorrow,  did  not 
flow  unreservedly  for  the  sufferer  whom  I  was 
there  to  sootlie  ;  they  were  wept  also  for  my- 
self; nor  did  the  words  of  heavenly  consolation 
which  I  had  learned  to  utter  always  reach  my 
heart.  That  rebellious  heart  was  yet  an  alien 
to  its  own  peace. 

I  struggled,  however,  in 'my  better  moments, 
to  attain  to  a  more  wholesome  and  a  more  fitting 
frame  of  mind  ;  but  I  had  much,  indeed,  to 
learn,  and  siill  more  to  unlearn.  No  one  could 
with  impunity  pass  through  the  ordeal  to  which 
I  had  been  subjected  by  my  ill-regulated  pas- 
sions ;  and  thus,  even  when  I  endeavored  to 
press  forward,  I  frt,'quently  fainted  by  the  way. 

In  the  midst  of  these  conflicting  feelings,  I 
was  summoned  to  the  sick-bed  of  my  more  than 
mother ;  and  with  my  heart  torn  by  fear  and 
misgiving  I  hastened  to  her  side.  How  unlike 
was  her  period  of  suffering  to  that  through 
wliich  I  had  so  lately  passed  !  There  was  no 
remorse  here  to  strew  the  pillow  with  thorns — 
no  disgrace  to  cast  a  gloom  over  the  atmosphere 
— no  abandonment  to  make  the  sinking  spirit 
shriek  out  in  its  desolation.  All  was  calm,  peace- 
ful and  full  of  hope  ;  and  the  blessing  which 
she  Dieathed,  with  her  dying  hand  pressed  hea- 
vily upon  my  head,  rose  as  a  sweet  incense  to 
heaven,  and  hallowed  what  it  offered. 

Still  I  lived  on  ;  and  1  did  good  ;  for  it  is  a 
merciful  as  well  as  a  marvelous  dispensation 
that  the  laults  of  the  erring  are  sometimes  made 
to  minister  to  the  happiness  of  those  who  suf- 
fer ;  and  so  it  was  with  me.     I  imparted  the  joy 


which  I  could  no  longer  feel ;  I  carried  whh  ma 
the  consolation  of  which  I  myself  despaired; 
and  it  was  not  until  time  had  touched  me  with 
a  gentle  but  a  certain  hand,  that  I  began  to  con- 
sider the  rast  in  its  true  colors. 

More  man  once  my  faded  beauty  or  my  knowo 
wealth  wculd  have  enabled  me  to  risk  a  new 
ventu.e  on  the  stormy  waves  of  that  world  bj 
which  my  veiy  existence  had  been  forgotten; 
but  I  no  longer  aspired  to  its  suffrages  ;  nor  did 
I  care  to  peril  my  present  peace  for  the  uncer- 
tain tenure  of  any  ea'/hly  affection. 


The  commencement  of  mv  narrative  will  suf 
fice  to  prove,  that  I  have  long  been  reconciled 
to  my  lot.  Childless,  widowed,  and  an  orphan 
I  am  not,  nevertheless,  left  desolate  in  my  olC 
age.  On  the  death  of  my  mother,  which  was 
occasioned  by  a  cold  taken  on  quitting  a  heated 
room  in  a  costume  ill-suited  to  any  violent  tran- 
sition of  atmosphere,  and  which  was  too  sud» 
den  to  enable  me  to  offer  her  my  last  duty  as  a 
child.  Lord  Otterford  hastened  at  my  request  to 
pass  his  period  of  mourning  at  Ilooksley.  He 
was  rapidly  becoming  an  old  man ;  he  had 
ceased  to  value  society  ;  and  had  few  wants 
save  those  which  are  rftecessary  to  a  well-fur- 
nished table  ;  and  thus,  as  we  had  no  vow  of 
abstinence  at  my  hermitage,  it  will  be  readily 
understood  that  I  prevailed  upon  him,  without 
much  difliculty,  to  become  my  permanent  com- 
panion. His  games  at  chess  with  Dr.  James 
are  interminable  ;  and  I  might,  perhaps,  some- 
times find  them  tedious,  were  my  solitude  not 
enlivened  by  tiie  frequent  presence  of  Mary 
O'Halloran,  who  was  in  infancy  the  solace  ol 
my  sorrow,  and  who  is  in  her  beautiful  and 
blooming  girlhood  the  charm  ofYny  old  age.  My 
worthy  neighbors  at  the  Hall  insist  that  she' 
bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  what  I  must 
once  have  been  ;  and  my  father-in-law,  whose 
eyes  are  dimmed  by  time,  and  whose  percep- 
tions are  somewhat  blunted  by  his  habits  ol 
self-indulgence,  eagerly  ratifies  their  verdict. 

May  she  have  a  better  fate !  She  is  mj 
adopted  heiress,  and  the  hope  of  mj  wanini 
life. 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE 


CHAPTER  I. 


A    FAMILY    GROUP. 


j  "Op  course,  Miss  Trevanion — of  course  it 
llnust  be  as  you  see  fit  to  decide  ;"  said  a  stately 
iold  .gentleman,  with  snow-white  hair,  heavy 
•black  eyebrows,  and  a  countenance  which,  al- 
Ithough' decidedly  handsome,   betokened  alike 

Eiuglitiness  and  obstinacy ;  "  I  am  naturally  as 
ell  aware  as  yourself,  that  you  have  long  passed 
e  age  when  I  possessed  a  legal  right  to  con- 
jtrol  yoa;  and  I  can  easily  comprehend  that 
[you  presume  upon  your  position,  as  an  only 
fchild,  to  brave  my  wishea  Beware,  however, 
before  it  is  too  late ;  for  none — mark  me  well 
I — noiie  have  ever  done  so  with  impiinity  since 
[the  commencement  of  my  career.  If  you  doubt 
jthis  fact,  you  have  only  to  inquire  of  your 
pothor." 

"  Oh  1  pray,  Mr.  Trevanion ;"  expostulated  a 
pervous  voice,  issuing  from  amid  a  mass  of 
bostly  shawls,  and  from  the  depths  of  a  loung- 
ing chair ;  "  let  no  appeal  be  made  to  me.  It  is 
pad  enough  to  have  my  quiet  disturbed  by  this 
altercation  between  you  and  Ida,  without  being 
required  to  interfere  in  it." 
I  "  Altercation,  madam !  "WTiat  do  you  under- 
stand by  the  word  altercation?  You  surely 
pan  not  comprehend  its  significance.  There  can 
e  no  altercation  between  a  father  and  his  child, 
he  bare  idea  of  such  a  thing  Is  preposterous  I" 
"  Well,  perhaps  it  is.  Substitute  any  other 
term  you  pleasa  It  is  quite  indifferent  to  me." 
A.nd  the  compUcated  mass  of  drapery  quivered 
lor  an  instant,  and  then  became  once  more  mo- 
ionless. 

I  "Idiot!  woman r'  muttered  the  head  of  the 
ramily,  aa  he  paced  slowly  across  the  floor;  then 
pnce  more  pausing  before  his  daughter,  who 
btood  partially  supported  by  a  table  on  whicli 
her  hand  rested,  he  continued  more  audibly : — 
r  You  see,  Miss  Trevanion,  that  you  must  not 
fealculate  upon  the  powerful  protection  of  your 
pother,  she  disclaims  all  interference,  and  .she 
3  right;  it  co'xld  have  done  no  good,  and  it 
jnu/W  have  done  much  eviL"  There  was  an 
igly  sneer  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  as  he 
poke,  •  it  it  was  unperccived  by  the  young 
ady,  WHO  liad.  from  the  commencement  of  tlic 
iscussion,  kept  her  eyes  riveted  upon  a  bools; 
f  engravings  which  lay  open  near  her. 

"  I  trust  that  I  require  no  protection,  when  I 
enture  to  urge  the  happiness  of  my  future  life 
n  my  own  father  ;"  wa.s  the  calm  rejoinder  of 
be  lofly  beauty,  who  seemed  as  resolute  of 
rill  as  her  parent;  and,  as  she  six>ke,  her 
teady  gaze,  for  tlie  first  lime,  rested  upon  lus 
uahed  and  angry  countenance. 


Very  beautiful,  in  truth,  was  the  face  thus 
lifted  to  his,  although  the  freshness  of  girlhood 
had  evidently  passed  away  to  give  place  to  the 
rich  loveliness  of  that  next  phase  of  female  at- 
traction, when  every  charm  is  ripened  into  full 
perfection  ;  and  the  mind  impresses  a  new  pow- 
er, unknown  to  mere  thoughtless,  unreflecting 
j-outh.  Miss  Trevanion  had  attained  her  twen- 
ty-sixth year;  her  intellect  was  fully  developed ; 
and  a  shade  of  her  father's  firmness  gave  ad- 
ditional expression  to  the  large  dark  eyes  and 
lofty  brow,  from  which  the  raven  hair  was 
:  swept  back  in  rich  and  massy  folds.  "While 
j  Mrs.  Trevanion  crouched  and  cowered  before 
the  displeasure  of  her  lord,  his  daughter  stood 
j  erect.  As  she  had  said,  the  happiness  of  her 
\  whole  life  (according  to  her  own  view  of  the 
I  case)  was  at  stake  ;  and  she  was  evidently  pre- 
pared to  maintain  her  legitimate  position  to  the 
utmost 

"  You  know,  Ida,  that  I  can  not  brook  oppo- 
sition"— was  the  next  evasive  remark  of  the 
old  gentleman. 

"  Xor  do  I  ever  seek  to  offer  any,  as  you  are 
well  aware,  sir,  when  the  point  to  be  contest- 
ed is  of  slight  importance ;  but  on  this  occa- 
sion— " 

"Well,  Miss  Trevanion,  on  this  occasion? 
"Where  are  your  rational  reasons  for  such  ill- 
timed  rebellion  ?  You  are  ambitious,  indeed, 
if  a  peer  of  the  realm  will  not  satisfy  your 
vanity. " 

The  beauty  shnigged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  should  not  ask  so  much." 

"Ilal  I  understand;"  thundered  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion, hurriedly  resuming  his  walk ;  "  3^ou  are 
iu  love — Touf  A  rare  jest,  fjuly,  but  a  dan- 
gerous one.  Have  I  not  warned  you  from  your 
girlhood  to  avoid  all  follies  of  that  nature  until 
the}'  had  received  my  sanction  ?" 

"  You  have." 

"And  bow  havo  you  obeyed  my  com- 
mands ?" 

"As  a  woman  ever  does,  until  her  heart 
teaches  her  that  she  is  a  free  agent.  I  scorn 
all  subterfuge.  Had  you  addressed  me  in  an- 
other tone,  I  might  havo  regretted  that  it  was 
not  in  my  power  to  fulfill  your  wishes.  As  it 
is  — " 

"  Pray,  proceed.  Miss  Trevanion — pray,  pro- 
ceed." 

"  You  havo  spared  me  that  regret,  sir." 

"Hal  Indeed!  Well,  tlien,  listen  to  me. 
You  are  our  only  child — my  only  child — but 
tliat  fact  shall  avail  you  little,  if  you  thus  reso- 
lutely thwart  my  views.  My  uncle  has  a  son. 
I  hate  them  both,  as  you  well  know,  and  I  havo 
cause  to  do  so ;  but,  sooner  than  that  my  wealth 
should  go  to  enrich  the  pauper  whom  you  have 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


.    chosen  to  accept  aa  a  suitor,  that  boy,  detested 
as  he  is,  shall  bo  ray  heir." 

A  deep  flush  mantled  on  tlie  check  of  his 
listener  for  a  moment,  but  it  faded  as  suddenh- 
ns  i  t  had  risen,  and  she  stood  calm  and  unmoved 
aa  before. 

"Yes;"  pursued  Mr.  Trevanion  passionately: 
'■you  do  not  require  to  bo  told  to-day  how  bit- 
terly I  have,  through  life,  resented  the  arrogance 
of  my  more  fortunate  relatives.  How,  the  son 
of  a  j-ounger  son,  I  was  insulted  by  the  grudg- 
ing oflcrs  of  assistance  which  wore  to  be  doled 
out  to  mo,  in  order  to  secure,  at  least,  the  means 
of  existence  to  a  poor  relation — a  birth  on  board 
an  Indiaman,  or  the  honor  of  carrying  the  colors 
in  a  regiment  of  foot — v.'itli  full  powers  to  make 
my  own  way  when  I  was  thus  generously  start- 
ed in  life.  Law,  Physic,  or  Divinity,  were  too 
costly  to  be  thought  of;  they  required  previous 
training ;  and  education  involved  expense.  You 
know,  also,  how  I  disdained  such  pitiful  assist- 
ance, and  threw  mj'self  into  commerce,  in 
1  order  to  attain  independence  by  my  own  unas- 
sisted efforts." 

"And  you  acted  nobly  I"  was  the  murmured 
rejoinder. 

"Thank  you;  it  is  at  least  consolatory  that 
I  have  earned  the  approval  of  my  own  child ;  of 
the  daughter, who,  as  I  once  hoped  and  believed, 
would  have  been  enriched  by  my  degradation 
— for  that,  as  I  have  never  forgotten,  was  the 
term  applied  by  my  aristocratic  kinsman  to  my 
resolve  to  suffice  to  myself— but  as  you,  Miss 
Trevanion,  have  willed  it  otherwise,  I  here 
solemnly  declare,  that  should  you  obstinately 
arlhere  to  your  present  insane  project,  I  will 
'  leave  all  that  I  possess  to  Sir  Jasper's  son,  and 
heir." 

"In  that  case,  sir;"  said  the  lady  steadily ; 
"  I  must  follow  your  example,  and  endeavor  to 
suffice  to  myself" 

'■  Be  it  so.  Then  you  resolutely  .  efuse  to  ac- 
cept the  hand  of  Lord  Downmere  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  You  had  better  take  time  to  reflect." 

"  The  question  requires  no  reflection.  I  can 
not  sacrifice  myself  to  the  mere  empty  vanity 
of  rank." 

"You  prefer  beggary?"' 

"  Decidedly — with  a  husband,  wliora  I  could 
respect." 

"You  have  more  taste  for  the  cotton  gown 
of  a  pauper  than  the  coronet  of  a  countess  ?'' 

"  Beyond  all  doubt — if  I  can  wear  it  with 
more  honor  to  myself" 

"llal"  groaned  the  irritated  father;  "this 
comes  of  an  ill-assorted  union — The  mother's 
blood  I     The  mother's  blood  1" 

"Xow  really,  Mr.  Trevanion;"  exclaimed 
the  nervous  voice  of  the  dosely-onveloped 
figure  in  the  lounging  chair;  "}-ou  have  no 
right  to  blamo  mo  for  Ida's  obstinacy;  lam 
sure  that  I  am  as  angiy  with  her  as  you  can 
bo,  for  her  folly  in  refusing  the  poor  dear  Earl ; 
,  and,  therefore,  it  is  not  generous  in  you  to  re- 
mind mo  that  my  Either  w:i.s  only  a  merchant; 
for  3'ou  well  know  that  without  his  gold  — " 

"Silence,  madam  I"  shouted  tho  exasperated 
man  ;  "are  you,  too,  about  to  lecture  mo?  Is 
it  not  enough  that  Miss  Trevanion  presumes  to 
oj)i)o.so  her  will  to  mine,  without  your  forcing 
upon  mo  tho  unpalatable  fact  that  I  found  it ' 


expedient  to  further  my  fortunes  by  marrying 
your  father's  daughter?" 

"  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Trevanion — " 

"  You  are  sure  of  nothing,  m.adam ;  how  can 
you  be  so,  when  even  /am  thwarted  and  baffled 
at  every  turn  ?  Be  satisfied.  I  have  bestowed 
on  you  one  of  the  oldest,  if  not  i)recisely  one> 
of  the  noblest,  names  in  England :  but  still  I 
can  not  expect  that  you  should  feel  as  I  do,  the 
disgrace  which  this  disobedient  girl  desires  to 
bring  upon  a  proud  and  ancient  family." 

"You  might  allow  mo  to  speak,"  whimpered 
the  weak  and  trembling  woman. 

"  You  might  speak  till  doomsday,  were  yon 
likely  to  do  so  to  any  purpose;"  was  the  con- 
ciliating reply ;  "  but  I  am  now  talking  seriously 
to  }-our  daughter,  and  your  idle  interference  is 
mistimed." 

"  Permit  me  to  replace  your  cushion,  mam- 
ma ;"  said  Miss  Trevanion,  as  she  observed  that, 
in  her  agitation,  her  mother  had  sunk  helplessly 
back  in  an  uncomfortable  position  ;  but  her  at- 
tention was  declined.  The  querulous  woman 
waved  her  away  with  a  repulsive  gesture,  as 
she  impatiently  murmured :  "  It  is  all  your  own 
fault.  Why  do  you  not  marry  Lord  'Down- 
mere,  and  put  an  end  to  this  disagreeable  dis- 
pute f  I  am  suro  I  only  wish  that  I  had  been 
so  luL..y  as  to — .  Well,  well,  it  is  no  use  to 
talk  of  that  now;  but  pray  let  there  be  an  end 
of  all  this." 

Miss  Trevanion  turned  away;  there  was  a 
strange  expression  of  blended  contempt  and 
pit}'  on  her  proud  lip ;  but  she  made  no  reply. 

The  persons  whom  we  have  thus  unceremo- 
niously introduced  to  the  reader,  were,  although 
so  closely  connected,  as  ill-suited  to  each  other  • 
as  it  was  well  possible  for  three  human  beingsto , 
be.     Mr.  Trevanion,  the  only  son  of  a  younger 
brother — who  had  in  early  life  and  before  ho 
had   adopted  any  settled  profession,  been  so 
imprudent    as    to   elope  with    the    penniless 
daughter  of  an  Irish  peer,  and  to  dr.ng  on  a 
dependent   and   aimless   existence   under  tho 
roof  of  his  more  fortunate  brother,  the  four- 
teenth baronet — was  early  left  an  orphan,  his 
mother  having  died  in  giving  him  birtli;  whiles 
her  husband  only  lived  to  see  liim  reach  his' 
twelfth  year.     Accustomed,  from  his  earliest 
iufmcy,  to  know  himself  rather  tolerated  than 
loved,  by  his  austere  uncle,  tho  unfortunate  boy- 
young  as  ho  Wi^s,  felt  all  tho  importance  of  hit, 
io.ss.     In  his  cares  and  sorrows,  that  weak  bu 
affectionate  father  had  been  his  refuge — in  his 
pastimes,  his  tutor  and  his  playmate — and  as  hi 
followed  him  to  tho  family  vault,  where  he  wa. 
laid    to   rest  with  the   pomp   and   pageantr' 
deemed  necessary  by  Sir  Jasper  to  the  dignit; 
of  tho  name  he  bore,  the  desolate  orphan  was  a' 
once  aware  that  all  tho  love  of  which  ho  hai, 
hitherto  been  the  object  throughout  tho  whol 
of  his  brief  existence,  was  buried  in  the  gt&\', 
of  his  last  parent. 

It  was  a  frightful  moment,  and  a  painfi 
conviction  for  the  boy;  it  robbed  his  mind  o 
its  freshness,  and  his  heart  of  his  youth.  One 
he  glanced  up  into  tho  face  of  his  dreade 
uncle,  but  his  ej'O  suddenly  fell,  as  in  the  ster 
countenance  which  was  half  averted  from  hin' 
he  read  neither  sympathy  nor  grief  Sir  Jaspi 
looked,  indeed,  like  a  man  carved  in  stone 
and  tho  impcrturbablo  composure  of  his  fi' 


TEE    JEALOUS     WIFE, 


tares  appeared  to  mock  tho  mournino;  cloak  in 
which  ho  was  enveloped.  There  was  no  on- 
oouragreinent  in  that  marble  lace;  and  the 
glance  of  the  orphan  returned  to  fasten,  with 
even  more  avidity  than  before,  upon  the  cofiQn 
beside  him. 

On  his  way  to  the  church,  even  tho  presence  of 
his  stern  relative  had  tailed  to  moderate  his  grief, 
and  he  had  wept  as  the  3-oung  ever  weep,  with 
all  the  violence  of  despair ;  but,  as  tho  remains 
of  his  fond  lather  were  lowered  out  of  his  sight, 
a  change  came  over  his  spirit  which  was  des- 
tined to  inHuenco  his  character  through  life. 
When  he  turned  to  leave  tho  spot  where  all  his 
aCfections  lay  buried,  and  resumed  his  place 
beside  Sir  Jasper  in  the  mourning  coach — his 
eyes  were  as  dry  as  though  they  had  never 
known  a  tear,  and  a  deep  color  was  burning  on 
his  cheeks.  A  word  of  kindness,  tho  merest 
approach  to  a  caress,  might  have  melted  the 
rising  bitterness,  and  crushed  the  demon  that 
•was  tugging  at  his  heart;  but  these  were  not 
Touchsabd.  The  baronet  sat  coldly  and  mag- 
nificently silent ;  and  the  homeward  drive  was 
performed  without  tho  interchange  of  a  single 
sentence. 

When  they  reached  tho  Hall,  its  master 
alighted,  and'  immediately  shut  himself  into  his 
study;  while  the  bereaved  boy,  totally  over- 
looked even  by  the  menials  about  him,  in  his 
turn  retreated  to  his  solitary  room,  there  to 
brood  alike  over  the  past,  the  present,  and, 
it  may  even  be,  the  future.  He  had  heard  his 
uncle,  by  the  death-bed  of  his  last  parent, 
pledge  himself  not  to  desert  the  orphan  about  to 
be  confided  to  his  compassion ;  but  he  remem- 
bered with  a  burning  and  indignant  heart,  how 
tardily  and  grudgingly  that  promise  had  been 
extorted  by  the  supplications  of  the  dying  man. 
He  strove  to  recall  one  demonstration  of  interest 
or  regard  toward  himself,  displayed  by  his  en- 
forced guardian  from  his  childhood  to  that  very 
hour ;  but  he  strove  in  vain.  The  motherless 
infant,  the  child  of  tears,  who  drew  his  first 
sustenance  from  the  breast  of  a  stranger,  had 
failed  to  awaken  one  feeling  of  comraisseration 
or  sympathy  in  tho  heart  of  Sir  Jasper  Tre- 
vanion.  The  baronet  had  tolerated  his  brother, 
not  only  because  his  own  credit  in  the  eyes  of 
his  fellow-men  forbade  that  he  should  suffer 
that  brother  to  starve;  but  also  because  his 
■•ery  imprudence  had  never  tempted  him  to 
tarnish  tho  dignity  of  his  family,  llis  marriage 
had  been  an  act  of  reckless  folly,  almost 
amounting  to  siadnesa,  in  tho  eyes  of  tho  for- 
tunate possessor  of  twelve  thousand  a  year, 
but  still  it  had  entailed  no  disgrace  upon  his 
name;  and  it  was  at  least  satisfactory  to  be 
able  to  present  a  Lady  Catherine  Trevanion,  to 
the  neighboring  squirearchy ;  a  circumstance  to 
which  may  probably  be  attributed  tho  fact 
that,  instead  of  settling  a  sufficient  income  upon 
his  less  woll-portioned  brother,  which  might 
have  enabled  him  to  chooso  his  own  place  of 
residence,  and  to  enjoy  tho  modest  comforts  of 
his  own  home.  Sir  Jasper  insisted  that  the 
helpless  couple  should  reside  under  his  roof; 
and  accompanied  tho  expression  of  his  will  by 
a  declaration  that,  should  they  decline  to  do  so, 
no  further  asaistanco  need  bo  anticipated  from 
himsein 

Such  were  the  circumstances  under  which  I 


Mr.  Trevanion  and  his  pretty,  silly  bride,  hcP 
came  the  inmates  of  tho  paternal  mansion;  f 
where,  as  already  stated,  Sir  Jusiier  had,  even 
after  the  death  of  the  Lady  Kathe'rinc,  tolerated 
his  brother,  partly  from  duty,  a..il  still  more, 
perhaps,  from  habit;  but  the  boy  had  been 
from  the  first  moment  of  his  existence,  odious 
to  the  selfish  and  cold-hearted  baronet.  In  tho  ( 
first  place  his  birth  had  caused  the  death  of  his 
mother,  whose  lively  absurdities,  aud  buoyant 
spirits,  had  served  to  enliven  tho  previous 
stately  dulncss  of  tho  old  Hall ;  while,  super- 
added to  this  privation  (for  tho  presence  and 
companionship  of  the  lively  lady  had  become 
necessary  to  tho  com.^ort  of  tho  saturnine  man), 
a  lurking  jealousy  nestled  at  his  heart.  He — 
the  representative  of  his  family — was  childless ;  , 
while  his  brother — his  penniless  and  dependent 
brother,  to  whom  his  will  was  law,  and  his 
protection  existence — had  given  an  heir  to  the 
house  of  which  he  was  himself  tho  head ;  while 
ho  had  not  even  yet  encountered  a  woman 
worthy,  in  his  opinion,  to  share  his  fortunes. 

And  thus  the  boy  had  grown  up  beside  him, 
unloved ;  an  object  of  aversion  and  avoidance. 
And  the  lad  knew  and  fplt  this,  although  he 
was  unable  to  fathom  its  cause.  Ho  remem- 
bered that  he  had  never  been  addressed  by  his 
uncle,  save  in  reproof;  that  his  childish  ca- 
resses had  been  repulsed,  and  his  boyisli  errors 
visited  with  merciless  chastisement;  and  bit- 
terly did  he  writhe  beneath  tho  consciousness 
that  ho  was  now  hopelessly  dependent  upon 
one  whom  he  both  disliked  and  feared. 

"What  will  become  of  mo!"  groaned  the  un- 
happy orphan,  as  he  paced,  alone  and  unheed- 
ed, the  floor  of  his  little  chamber;  "Why  coul  I 
I  not  have  died  with  my  father?  Who,  in  this 
wide  desolate  world,  cares  for  me  now  ?" 

Well  might  he  ask  himself  the  dreary  ques- 
tion. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  boforo  any  one  ap- 
peared to  have  remembered  his  existence ;  and 
then  he  was  summoned  by  a  servant  to  the 
housekeeper's  room,  in  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  take  his  repasts ;  but  his  heart  was 
too  full;  he  required  no  food ;  and  he  said  so 
quietly  and  briefly. 

"Nonsense,  Master  Hubert;"  was  the  retort     ( 
of  tho  messenger :   "be  a  man  and  make  up 
your  mind  to  what  can't  bo  mended.     Fasting 
won't  bring  back  tho  dead." 

"  I  know  it;"  said  the  boy;  "nor  tears;  and 
therefore  I  have  ceased  to  shod  tliem." 

"That  is  reasonable  at  all  events,"  rcphed 
the  man  ;  "so  come  down  at  once,  if  you  don't 
wish  to  catch  a  scolding  from  Mrs.  Pearson,  for 
making  her  wait." 

"She  need  not  wait;"  said  Hubert;  "I  re- 
quire nothing  moro  to-night." 

And  ho  no  sooner  found  himself  once  moro 
alone,  than  ho  flung  himself  upon  his  bed,  and 
resumed  his  musings. 

For  an  entire  month  tho  orphan  never  once 
met  his  uncle  ;  nor,  in  so  far  as  ho  could  ascer- 
tain from  tho  attendants,  had  Sir  Jasper  even 
pronounced  his  name,  or  alluded  to  liis  exist- 
ence. ^  Ho  was  no  longer  directed  to  moot  tho 
curate,  who  had  hitherto  officiated  aa  his  tutor, 
in  tho  broakfiist-rooin,  when  it  w;is  vacated  by 
his  uncle;  no  longer  occupied  by  daily  task- 
work ;  but  was  loft  at  perfect  liberty  to  spend 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE, 


day  after  clay  according  to  his  own  caprice. 
And  that  caprice  was  a  straupe  one  in  so  j'oung 
a  boy;  for,  shunning  the  briglit  sunshine,  and 
the  wholesome  avocations  of  his  age,  his  hours 
were  jiassed  either  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the 
dense  wood  which  formed  the  western  bound- 
ary of  the  Trovanion  property,  or  in  the  gothic 
picture-gallery,  among  the  grim  portraits  of  his 
ancestors. 

One  b\'  one  ho  paused  before  them,  and  gazed 
upon  eai!i,  as  intently  as  though  the  happiness 
of  his  future  life  depended  upon  his  accurate 
knowledge  of  every  separate  feature ;  but,  more 
than  all,  ho  studied  the  female  portraits — from 
the  stifl'  and  stately  dame  of  f  ir-off  centuries 
to  tiie  courtly  and  sylpliic  figure  of  his  own 
mother.  While  thus  engaged,  the  brow  of  the 
sOent  boy  would  occasionally  flush,  and  his  eye 
kindle,  as  ho  remembered  that  he,  too,  was  a 
Trevanion;  but  tlio  paroxysm  of  excitement 
never  lasted  long,  and  ho  soon  sank  back  into 
his  habitual  gloom. 

Thus  had  tho  month  gonSby;  and,  in  that 
brief  interval,  tlio  orphan,  abandoned  thus  abso- 
lutely to  himself,  had  ceased  to  pine  either  for 
sj^mpathy  or  companionship.  He  came  and 
went  liko  one  obeying  tho  impulse  of  a  dream  ; 
joyless,  tearless,  and  alone.  But  ho  was  to  -be 
no  longer  permitted  to  indulge  in  this  negative 
happiness ;  for  at  tho  termination  of  the  period 
named,  ho  was  suddenly  summoned  to  tho  pres- 
ence of  his  uncle,  and  he  obeyed  the  command 
without  tlie  quickening  of  a  single  2)ulse.  What 
had  he  to  fear,  or  to  lose  ? 

"  Come  in,  sir,  and  close  the  door  behind 
you  ;"  was  the  greeting  ho  received  ;  and  he  had 
no  sooner  obeyed  the  order,  than  the  baronet 
pursued  in  a  stern  tone:  "You  are  now  of  an 
age  to  understand  that  you  can  not  spend  your 
lifo  in  idleness,  wandering  like  a  poacher  about 
the  woods;  or  dawdling,  liko  a  gaping  girl, 
through  tlio  g.'illeries  of  tho  Hall.  Moreover, 
your  presence  hero  must  ere  long  be  importu- 
nate, as  you  will  one  day  comprehend.  1  sup- 
ported your  flilher  in  his  usolessness,  because 
he  was  my  brother;  but  you  have  no  such  claim 
on  my  forbearance.  Nevertheless,  as  I  made 
to  liim-a  promise  that  I  would  not  abandon  you, 
I  have  no  intention  to  ftdsify  my  word ;  and  I 
have  accordingly  sent  for  you  to  state  that  you 
will,  three  days  hence,  bo  accompanied  by  one 
of  my  servants  to  tlio  North,  whore  you  will 
ren)aiu  four  years  in  a  scliool  which  I  have  se- 
lected, in  order  to  complete  your  education. 
At  tho  termination  of  that  period,  you  will  be 
— or  ouglit  to  be — competent  to  uphold  with 
credit  to  yourself  the  honor  of  tho  name  you 
bear — an  honor,  young  sir,  wliich  saved  your 
father  from  beggary — either  in  the  army  or 
navy ;  and  I  give  you  your  choice  of  either 
profession." 

"  I  object  to  both,"  was  the  sturdy  reply. 

"  You  object  I"  echoed  tlie  baronet,  startled 
into  .'something  liko  emotion  by  so  unlooked-for 
a  rejoinder ;  "you — a  boy  of  barely  twelve  yoarg 
of  age — tell  nio  tliat  you  sliall  oppu.<e  my  pleas- 
ure. I  say,  Hubert  Trevanion,  tluit  1  will  bo 
obeyed." 

The  lad  remained  silent. 

"  You  do  well,  sir ;"  pursued  the  angry 
voice;  "not  to  repeat  your  reVjcllion.  But 
-enough  of  this.     You  Lave  heard  my  decision, 


I  and  it  is  immutable.  Go  and  make  your  pre- 
parations, whatever  they  may  bo ;  our  inter- 
view is  at  an  end." 

The  orphan  needed  no  second  bidding ;  with 
a  silent  bow  he  left  the  room  ;  but  as  he  .slowly 
traversed  the  gallery  which  led  from  liis  uncle's 
apartments,  his  clinched  hands  and  heaving 
chest  proclaimed  the  vmpest  within;  His  boy- 
hood was  now  wholly  swept  away ;  the  elas- 
ticity of  his  spirit  was  crashed  ;  he  had  begun 
his  wrestle  with  the  realities  of  the  world ;  and 
a  dark,  hard  feeling,  to  which  his  tender  age 
should  have  been  a  stranger,  was  working  with- 
in him. 


CHAPTER  n. 

UNCLK   AXD   NEPHEW. 

The  sehoo'  to  which  Hubert  Trevanion  was 
conducted  by  his  uncle's  serving^man,  was  by 
no  means  calculated  to  inspire  any  regret  on 
the  boy's  part,  at  his  abrupt  exodus  from  his/ 
inhospitable  homo ;   nor  had  Sir  Jasper  neg-'  i 
lected  to  provide  him  with  a  wardrobe  suitable  ' 
to  his  station  in  life.    There  had  been  no  leave- 
taking,  it  is  trae,  between  him  and  his  nephew, 
but  this  omission  was  grateful  to  the  orphan,  ' 
who  had  few  thanks,  and  less  affection  to  offer 
to  his  repelling  kinsman  ;  and  yet,  nevertheless,  ■ 
as  he  saw  his  conductor  on  his  return  to  tho  : 
Hall,  disappear  at  the  end  of  the  poplar  ave- 
nue which  formed  the  approach  to  the  house,  ; 
his  heart  sank  within  him,  at  the  conviction  ■ 
that  he  stood  alone  among  strangers,  with  whom  . 
ho  had  neither  feeling  nor  sympathy  in  com-  i 
mon.    He  was,  howeyer,  soon  aroused  from  the  ; 
somber  reverie  into  which  ho  had  fallen  by  the  , 
voico  of  Dr.  Birchmore,  tho  principal  of  tho  es- : 
tabli.^hment,  by  whom  he  was  led  into  the  re-  ' 
fectory  where  his  future  companions  were  as- 
sembled at  supper,  and  where  his  own  place 
was  assigned  to  him. 

The  personal  beauty  of  the  boy  had  inter- ' 
ested  the  feelings  of  tho  worthy  Doctor  who 
was,   moreover,    not   insensible  "to    the   credit . 
which  his  academy  would  derive  from  thecir-' 
cumstanco  of  his  numbering  among  his  pupils 
tho  nephew  and  ward  of  one  of  the  oldest  baron- 
ets in  England;  and  it  was  accordingly  with.' 
the  greatest  gentleness  and  indulgence,  that  he, 
commenced  his  investigation  of  the  progress  of 
his  previous  studies.     That  the. result  was  fill' 
from  satisfactory,  will  readily  be  surmised,  8C 
long  a  time  having  elapsed  since  the  lad  had 
opened  a  book,  or  even  bestowed  a  thoughi- 
upon  tho  lessons  of  the  reverend  divine  who  hac 
formerly  been  his  preceptor  at  the  Hall ;  but ' 
despite  the  disappointment  which  this  circum^ 
stance  induced  in  the  breast  of  the  astonishec 
pedagogue,  ho  was  encouraged  by  tho  eviden; 
intelhgence  of  his  young  pupil,  and  his  volun!' 
tary  assurance  that  no  application  should  b 
wanting  on  his  own  part,  to  retrieve  tho  log 
time. 

Nor  was  it ;  for  Hubert  Trevanion  had  a 
least  arrived  at  the  valuable  knowledge  thai 
without  education,  he  could  never  achieve  th' 
independence  for  which  he  yearned ;  and  er 
long  his  assiduity  and  talent  became  tho  pro-* 
erb  of  tho  schooL    Still  ho  was  not  popula' 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


fi3  his  silent  and  somewhat  sullen  habits  dia- 
e\isted  his  playmates ;  nor  was  it  until  ho  hud 
excited  a  host  of  enemies,  and  fouf,'ht  his  way 
manfully  through  the  school,  reckless  alike  of 
the  age  or  strength  of  his  opponents,  that  he 
p-icceeded  in  enforcing  the  respect  of  tlioso  to 
whom  he  had  refused  ahke  companionship  and 
rciiard.  This  accomplished,  ho  was  allowed  to 
indulge  his  own  tastes  and  pursuits  in  peace; 
'•the  baronet,''  as  he  was  snceringly  designated 
hv  the  httlo  community,  ceasing  by  degrees  to 
excite  either  curiosity  or  anger;  and  while 
peals  of  laughter  and  shouts  of  merriment  re- 
sounded froni  the  playground,  he  strolled  alone 
and  unheeded  under  the  trees  by  which  it  was 
bounded,  or  flung  himself  down  in  some  shady 
nook  to  study  and  reflect  at  ease. 

Thus  ho  made  no  friends,  nor  did  ho  need 
them;  and  for  all  companionship  he  souglit  only 
the  society  of  the  ushers,  three  of  whom  being 
foreigners,  he  rapidly  acquired  the  modern  lan- 
guages, and  a  certain  acquaintance  with  the 
habits  and  feelings  of  other  countries.  And 
so  the  four  years  wore  on.  As,  during  the  va- 
cations, he  was  the  only  pupil  left  at  the  estab- 
lishment, the  portly  doctor  and  his  precise  but 
kind-hearted  wife,  in  their  turn  abandoned  the 
classic  shade  of  their  academic  home,  in  order 
to  visit  their  respective  families;  and  Hubert 
Trevanion  was,  to  his  infinite  gratification,  con- 
signed to  tlie  sole  guardianship  of  the  German 
master,  who,  being  as  friendless  as  himself,  had 
known  no  other  home  than  that  of  Dr.  Birch- 
more  for  many  long  and  laborious  years. 

Simple  and  sincere,  Ilerr  HaufTman  was  as 
very  a  child  in  heart  as  the  youngest  of  his 
class;  but  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  man  of  deep 
and  varied  information,  and  possessed  of  con- 
siderable skill  in  imparting  the  knowledge  he 
had  acquired.  No  companion  could,  there- 
fore, have  been  more  acceptable  to  the  self- 
contered  and  eager  Hubert,  who,  while  his 
more  fortunate  comrades  were  reveling  in 
the  delights  of  family  ties  and  paternal  indulg- 
ence, was  storing  his  mind  hour  by  hour,  and 
feeling  his  intellect  expand  without  almost  an 
efTort. 

How  brief  appeared  to  him  those  weeks  of 
tranquil  and  undisturbed  existence  1  and  how 
heartily  did  he  sympathize  in  the  regrets  ex- 
pressed by  his  fellow  pupils  on  their  return  to 
their  old  toils,  and  their  old  duties ;  for  then, 
once  more,  he  too  was  compelled  to  resume  the 
monotonous  routine  of  the  classes,  and  to  spend 
hours  poring  over  the  more  abstruse  branches 
of  education  for  which  he  had  no  taste,  and  in 
wliich  he  felt  no  interest.  The  dead  languages, 
the  Latin  verses,  and  the  dull  lore  of  buried 
•ges,  so  dear  to  the  scholar,  and  so  soon  to  be 
forgotten  by  the  busy,  active,  arribitious  citizen 
of  the  day,  were  alike  wearisome  to  him ;  the 
mind  of  the  boy  had  already  foreshadowed  the 
future  career  of  tho  man ;  and,  while  he  grasp- 
ed at  every  .species  of  knowledge  .vhich  might 
tend  to  his  advancement  in  society,  he  gave 
but  reluctant  attention  to  that  which  could  only 
be  profitable  in  tho  closet. 

Thus,  when  ho  at  length  terminated  his 
scliolastic  career,  Hubert  Trevanion  was  de- 
clared to  be  the  mo5;t  accomplished  linguist  and 
the  best  mathematician  who  had  ever  qiiitted 
tlia  establishment ;  while  it  was  with  regret 


that  tho  principal  found  himself  compelled  to 
temper  his  approbation  by  tho  admission  th.it 
ho  wa.s,  on  tho  other  hand,  very  delieicnt  in 
that  classic  lore,  so  essential,  as  tiie  Doctor  sen-  . 
tontiously  observed,  to  tlio  elevated  station  in 
liib  which  he  would  soon  bo  called  upon  to  fill. 
On  tho  whole,  however,  tho  indulgent  peda- 
gogue confessed  himself  proud  of  his  pupil ; 
while  the  gcntlo  a'nd  kind-hearted  Herr  Uaufl- 
man  parted  from  him  with  tears  of  unfeigned 
regret. 

On  his  arrival  at  tho  Hall,  the  orphan  at  once 
discovered  tlie  motive  wliich  had  impelled  his 
uncle  to  declare  that  his  residence  there  had 
ceased  to  bo  desirable ;  when,  as  ho  crossed 
the  threshold  of  tho  drawing-room,  he  saw  a 
lady  seated  in  the  deep  bay  of  the  western 
window,  busily  engaged  at  a  tapestry  frame, 
while  three  spaniels  were  lying  ujjon  their 
several  cushions  near  her  chair ;  who  no  soon- 
er, however,  became  aware  of  his  presence  than 
they  rushed  upon  him  open-mouthed,  as  if  to 
resent  his  intrusion. 

"  For  shame.  Flora ;  be  quiet.  Dash ;  come 
here  instantly,  Fido ;"  expostulated  their  mis- 
tress, as  the  tall,  handsome  lad  calmlj^  made 
his  way  toward  her,  regardless  of  the  uproar; 
"  I  am  really  ashamed  of  you  I  Do  not  bo 
afraid,  Mr.  Hubert ;  the  dear  pets  never  bite, 
it  is  merely  noise." 

"  I  am  by  no  means  alarmed,  madam,"  was 
tho  quiet  reply;  "and  am  sorry  that  I  have 
been  the  innocent  cause  of  creating  such  a  dis- 
turbance, by  intruding  myself  upon  you  so 
abruptly;  but  I  am  informed  that  I  should 
find  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion  in  this  apartment." 

"Sir  Jasper,"  rejoined  the  lady,  without  ris- 
ing from  her  seat,  "is,  I  believe,  in  the  library 
— Flora,  leave  those  wools  alone ;  you  wiU 
choke  yourself,  darling.  Do  you  particu- 
larly wish  to  see  Sir  Jasper,  Mr,  Hubert  ? — 
or  can  I  communicate  to  him  what  you  desire 
to  say  ?" 

"As  you  please,  madam,"  said  the  orphan, 
bitterly;  "I  merely  intended  to  "inform  him 
that,  according  to  his  orders,  I  have  returned 
to  Trevanion  Hall." 

"In  that  case,  he  need  not  bo  disturbed,  as 
that  is  a  matter  of  course.  You  will,  I  believe, 
find  your  old  room  prepared  for  you  ;  at  least, 
I  gave  orders  to  that  efiect  to  my  house- 
keeper." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,  madam,  and  shall  at 
once  avail  myself  of  your  attention." 

"  But,  before  you  leave  mo,  Mr.  Hubert,  it 
will  be  as  well  to  mention  that  henceforth, 
whatever  you  may  require,  you  must  apply  to  I 
mysclfl  I  have  undertaken  to  relieve  Sir  Jas- 
per from  all  unnecessary  trouble  and  exertion ; 
and  it  will  therefore  be  quite  useless  to  maka 
any  appeal  to  him." 

"  I  have  no  inclination  to  do  so,  madam." 

"  You  are  right,  for  it  would  be  of  no  avail ; 
and  now  that  wo  understand  each  other,  I  will 
not  detain  you  longer."  A  cold  bend  of  tho 
head,  and  a  glance  toward  tho  door  of  the 
apartment,  followed  her  words ;  and  amid 
another  storm  of  yelping  and  barking,  Hu- 
bert withdrew  from  tho  presence  of  his  now 
aunt. 

A  marvelous  change  had  indeed  come  over 
tho  old  HalL     The  man  of  marble  had  bocoma 


8 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


plastic  as  "wax  beneath  the  firm  and  determined 
■will  of  a  stronger  mind  than  his  own.  The 
arrogant  head  was  bowed ;  the  haughty  spirit 
lowered. 

"Within  six  months  of  his  brother's  death, 
Sir  Jasper  Trevanion  had  married  the  wealthy 
widow  of  an  Indian  Nabob,  who  had  returned 
to  England,  witli  a  colossal  fortune,  and  an  ex- 
hausted constitution,  only  to  die  and  make 
way  for  his  successor.  Lady  Trevanion  had 
been  a  beauty,  and  was  still  a  fine  woman ; 
but  the  long  habit  of  command  had  rendered 
her  imperious,  self-willed,  and  despotic ;  .while 
the  consciousness  of  her  enormous  wealth  had 
indued  her  with  an  arrogance  which  would 
have  Bat  ungracefully  even  upon  a  duchess, 
and  which  the  remembrance  of  her  obscure 
origin  (for  the  well-dowered  bride  of  the  high- 
born Sir  Japper  could  not  trace  back  her  lineage 
beyond  the  last  generation),  had  altogether 
fiiiled  to  diminish.  The  cold  and  haughty  rep- 
resentative of  the  Trcvanions  had  been  dazzled 
by  her  magnificence,  juid  captivated  by  her 
person;  while  the  lady  herself,  with  that  yearn- 
i»g  fir  a  title  which  is  one  of  the  most  potent 
weaknesses  of  a  vulgar  mind,  after  some  hesi- 
tation, had  consented  to  bestow  herself  and 
rupees  upon  the  man  whose  greatest  pride 
had  hitherto  centered  upon  the  antiquity  of  his 
race. 

Pompous  was  the  display  made  at  the  mar- 
riage. The  coimtry  journals  had  appropriated 
whole  columns  to  the  display  of  the  magnifi- 
cent rejoicings  consequent  upon  the  event.  All 
the  county  had  left  cards  at  the  Hall ;  and  all 
the  gossips  had  been  busy  with  the  diamonds 
and  cashmeres  of  the  bride ;  but  it  was  not  long 
ere  the  baronet  himself  discovered  that  the  rod 
by  which  he  was  henceforth  to  be  ruled,  how- 
ever thickly  gilded,  was  not  the  less  a  rod  of 
iron.  The  man  t)f  maible  had  found  a  mate  of 
steel ;  the  contest  was  an  miequal  one ;  for 
while  the  nature  of  the  husband  was  too  haugh- 
ty for  contention,  that  of  the  wife  was  too  over- 
bearing for  concession  ;  and  thus,  by  the  time 
that  the  happy  couple  were  thoroughly  estab- 
lished imdcr  their  own  roof,  tlie  question  of 
Bupremacy  was  decided  ;  and  Lady  Trevanion, 
•whose  accumulated  thousands  remained  under 
her  exclusive  control,  reigned  undisputed  mis- 
tress of  the  establishment  ' 

All  these  circumstances  were  soon  made 
Imown  to  Hubert  by  the  indignant  Mrs.  Pear- 
eon ;  who,  accustomed  for  ludf  a  life-time  to 
tlie  lofty  carelessness  of  her  aristocratic  mas- 
ter, and  the  negative  rule  of  the  trifling  Lady 
Kathcrine  (whom,  in  imitation  of  Sir  Jasper, 
she  reverenced  for  her  high  birth),  could  ill 
brook  the  uncompromising  sway  of  the  new 
mistress  of  the  mansion ;  "  A  nolx)dy ;"  as  she 
emphatically  declared ;  "  whoso  name  would 
never  have  been  seen  in  print  had  she  not  cast 
her  spell  over  the  proudest  race  in  the  land. 
However,  Miister  Hubert,"  she  contiiuied  ex- 
nltiugly,  "it  is  oi&y  for  a  time,  and  you  must 
Lave  patience;  you  will  be  Sir  Hubert  Treva- 
nion yet,  as  all  the  old  servants  hope  and  de- 
sire. You  Iiavc  good  l>lood  in  you  on  both 
•mides ;  and  what  should  be,  will  be.  Your  un- 
cle, poor  dear  man!  nmrried  for  an  heir — he 
bad  better  have  contented  himself  with  the  one 
that  Providence  had  already  provided  for  him 


— and  vou  see  what  has  come  of  it.  Here  is 
my  lady,  three  years  a  wife,  and  not  yet  a 
mother;  nor  ever  likely  to  be,  it's  my  notioa 
There 's  no  end  to  her  money,  they  say  ;'  but  it's 
little  good  it  is  to  us  while  Sir  Jasper  has  not 
the  handling  of  it.  However,  as  I  have  heard 
that  she  has  no  relations  that  she  cares  to  own, 
because  she  does  n't  dare  to  introduce  them  to 
her  new  connections,  it  may  one  day  be  yours, 
and  you  may  be  a  great  man  yet." 

"Without  her  help,  I  trust,  my  good  Pear- 
son," replied  the  boy,  as  the  blood  mantled 
over  his  brow. 

"  With  all  my  heart :  without  her  help,  till 
she  sees  and  feels  that  you  do  not  need  it,  and 
then  it  will  be  given  less  grudgingly  ;  but  xmtil 
that  day  comes,  it  is  weary  work  here,  Master 
Hubert.  The  only  comfort  we  have  now,  Tom- 
kins  the  butler,  and  I,  and  Sir  Jasper's  man,  is 
to  talk  over  old  times  ;  and  often  and  often  do 
■we  remember  the  days  when  we  let  you  wan- 
der about,  sad  and  lonely,  and  wished  you 
away,  that  the  sight  of  \o\i  might  n't  anger  and  ' 
worry  our  poor  master,  little  thinking  what 
was  to  come  next!  But  that's  all  over  now; , 
and  it 's  you  we  look  to  when  we  hope  for  bet- 
ter times.  You  have  n't  been  to  the  picture- 
gallery  yet  ?  Well,  don't  go ;  for  there  you'll 
find  my  lady,  full  length,  covered  with  precious  ] 
stones,  and  with  all  her  horrid  dogs  about  her, 
hanging  side  by  side  with  your  own  deaf; 
mother,  who  was  a  lady,  and  had  always  a  kind' 
word  and  a  merry  snule  for  every  one  abouti 
her.  Don't  go.  Master  Hi^bert ;  it  will  makft' 
your  very  heart  ache." 

"  I  will  not,"  said  the  lad,  bitterly. 

"You're  not  here  for  long,  I  take  it,"  pur! 
sued  the  garrulous  old  woman;  "for  my  lady, 
can't  abide  your  name,  and  wanted  Sir  Jasper' 
to  send  you  straight  off  to  sea  from  school." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  eea,"  said  the  }Outh,  reso- 
lutely. 

"  Not  going  to  sea  1  Why  there  's  a  vesse 
boimd  for  the  Indies  all  ready  to  take  you  oi 
board ;  my  lady  has  made  up  her  mind." 

"And  so  have  I,"  was  the  calm  rejoinder. 

"  Tlien  mercy  deliver  us!"  exclaimed  hi, 
companion;  "for  we  shall  have  such  a  storm  ii. 
the  old  Hall  as  it  has  not  seen  for  many  a  daj 
But  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  all  that 
I  hate  such  kidnapping  work.  Sending  you  t; 
sea,  in  the  hope  that  you'll  be  drowned,  or  6hi{ 
wrecked,  or  cast  ashore,  or  something  of  tlin 
sort,  and  never  heard  of  again  ;  and  all  bt 
cause  she  's  jealous  of  you." 

"  She  has  little  cause  to  be  so,"  said  the  o 
phan,  sadly. 

"  I  don't  know  that,  Mr.  Hubert,"  replied  tl 
housekeeper  significantly.     "  It  ain't  so  plea? 
ant,  after  all,  for  a  woman  of  that  stamp,  wl 
has  nothing  to  be  proud  of  but  her  gold,  to  8<' 
a  fine  yoimg  fellow  like  you  ready  to  tear  tb 
lining  out  of  her  money-bags  ;  and  she  withoi, 
cliick  or  child  of  her  own  to  stop  you.     N 
no  ;  it  can  't  be  pleasant,  and  that 'S  the  tru 
of  it;    for,  as  sure  as   my  name's   Margan 
miuiy  and  many 's  the  prayer  that  her  proi 
ladyship  has  put  up  to  have  a  young  baron 
of  her  own;  but  no  one  prayed  with  her,  I'' 1 
a  notion ;    not  even  Sir  Jasper  himself,  wl  ' 
poor,  dear  man,  has  had  enough  of  her  race  i 
ready,  if  I  di)n't  mistake.     Once  on  a  time,  fi 


THE     JEALOUS     WIFE 


two  years  back,  she  had  a  notion  of  some  sucli 
thin<^,  niul  a  pretty  fuss  there  was  at  the  Hall, 
I  can  tell  you  ;  but  it  came  to  uothiuij,  as  niii^ht 
Lave  bceu'expeetcd.  A  youno:  baronet,  indeed  ! 
Just  as  if  baronets  were  made  of  such  stuff  as 
that !" 

And  Mrs.  Pearson  curled  her  lip,  as  though 
the  very  idea  of  such  a  catastrophe  was  too 
ridiculous  to  be  entertained  for  a  moment. 

'•And  my  uncle — Sir  Jasper?" — said  the 
boy ;  "how  comes  it  that  his  proud  spirit  sub- 
mits so  tamely  to  her  despotism  ?" 

"Ay,  there  it  is,"  responded  the  old  lady; 
"  that's  what  puzzles  us  all — man,  woman,  and 
child.  You  know,  Master  Hubert,  that  there 
was  n't  a  prouder  nor  a  sterner  man  than  Sir 
Jasper  for  miles  around.  At  home  or  abroad, 
he  was  always  the  same;  earing  neither  for 
lords  nor  squires,  but  bearing  himself,  as  he  had 
«very  right  to  do,  as  the  head  of  one  of  the 
ancientest  families  in  England — and  now  look 
at  liim!  Never  does  he  venture  to  say  'ay,' 
when  my  lady  sees  fit  to  say  '  nay  ;'  and  there 
he  sits  for  hours  shut  up  alone  in  his  library, 
doing  of  nothing — she  takes  good  care  of  that 
— but  porbg  over  a  parcel  of  moldy  old 
books  that  had  been  quiet  enough  upon  the 
shelves  for  years,  while  she  overlooks  the 
steward's  accounts,  and  arranges  the  house  ex- 
penses, and  receives  the  rents — ay,  anl  raises 
them  too  whenever  she  is  so  minded,  as  though 
she  had  been  a  born  Trevanion,  a  lady  in  her 
own  right,  and  had  married  a  beggar  who 
had  n't  a  word  to  say  in  any  thing." 

"  My  undo  must  bo  strangely  changed" — 
observed  Hubert  moodily. 

"  Right  enough,  my  dear  boy  ;  he  is  strangely 
changed — body  and  mind  too.  And  oh,  Master 
Hubert;"  continued  the  faithful  old  servant,  as 
large  tears  swelled  in  her  eyes ;  "  we  sometimes 
fear — Mr.  Tomkins  and  I — that  the  poor  dear 
gentleman  may  not  be  able  to  hold  out  against 
it ;  and  should  he  go,  what  would  become  of 
the  old  Hall,  and  of  all  of  us?" 

"You  would  have  mo  for  a  master,"  said  the 
lad,  with  a  kindling  eye. 

"  Ay,  but  the  widow — the  widow  would  be 
left,  you  know ;  and  she  would  keep  you  out 
of  3'our  own  while  she  could." 

The  boy  smiled  scornfully. 

"  At  all  events  she  would  take  care  of  her 
money ;"  persisted  tho  housekeeper ;  "  you 
would  see  none  of  that.  There  are  other  hus- 
bands to  be  bought  besides  Sir  Jasper — and 
then  he  will  have  suffered  all  this  for  nothing." 

"  He  has,  in  any  case,  no  one  to  blame  but 
himself,"  was  tho  sententious  reply. 

"That's  true  enough,  too,  Master  Hubert;" 
Baid  his  companion;  "but  our  mistakes  arc  none 
the  more  ca-sy  to  bear  because  we  find  them  out 
too  late.  What  'a  done,  can't  be  undone  ;  and 
hero  we  are,  tho  laughing-Ftock  of  all  the  coun- 
try, for  what  I  know  to  the  contrarj- — my  hon- 
ored master  and  all." 

"  la  it  intended,  do  you  know,  Mrs.  Pearson, 
that  I  ahould  see  Sir  Jasper  during  my  stay  ?" 

"Perhapa  yea,  perhaps  no;"  rephcd  the  old 
dame,  oracularly  ;  '■  all  will  depend  upon  how 
my  lady  takes  to  you ;  and  you  will  have  hard 
cards  to  play,  I  can  tell  you." 

"I  shall  play  none." 

"Well,  Master  Hubert,  we  shall  see.    Them 


that  live  longest,  see  most ;  but  you  must  not 
forget  that  all  will  depend  upon  her  ladyship." 

"  /  never  shall." 

"Why  bless  tho  lad,  what  can  you  do  of 
yourself?  You  aro  but  a  yormg  thing  j-ct,  and 
have  no  ono  to  look  to  but  her." 

"  I  am  at  least  old  enough,"  said  Hubert  with 
a  touch  of  his  uncle's  haughtiness,  "  to  revolt 
against  tyranny.  I  would  not  submit  to  it  from 
my  father's  brother ;  I  shall  assuredly  defy  it  in 
tho  person  of  my  uncle's  wife." 

"It  will  bo  of  no  use,"  sighed  Mrs.  Pearson; 
"  Sir  Jasper  tried  it,  you  may  bo  sure,  and  you 
SCO  how  the  struggle  ended.  Take  an  old 
woman's  advice.  Master  Hubert ;  keep  well 
with  my  lady ;  don't  contradict  her,  but  let  her 
have  every  thing  her  owu  way ;  it  will  only  bo 
for  a  time." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  good-will,  my  old 
friend,"  said  the  orphan,  "but  I  will  make  no 
such  promise,  dia !  there  goes  the  dressing-bell ; 
and  now  I  shall  soon  bo  made  aware  whether  I 
am  to  bo  honored  with  a  seat  at  my  uncle's 
table,  or  consigned  onco  more  to  your  kind- 
ness." 


CHAPTER  III 

A   DEPARTURE. 

Straxoe,  and  even  affecting,  was  the  meeting 
between  the  undo  and  nephew  in  tho  s})aciou3  , 
and  lordly  dining-room  of  tho  old  Hall,  as,  hav-  \ 
ing  received  no  warning  to  the  contrary,  Hubert 
Trevanion  calmly  passed  tho  threshold,  and 
advanced  to  greet  its  master.  Cold  indeed  was 
Sir  Ja.sper  still,  but  ho  was  no  longer  stern; 
and  the  stripling  detected  in  his  eye  a  yearning 
which  ho  had  never  before  seen  there,  as,  for 
tho  first  time,  their  hands  met;  but  neverthe- 
less no  word  of  tenderness  accompanied  tho 
look  which  lingered  on  his  countenance  for  a 
moment,  and  then  melted  away ;  ho  asked  no 
question — he  betrayed  no  interest  in  his  )'oung 
relative;  but  languidly  resumed  his  seat,  as 
though  he  had  done  all  that  could  be  required 
of  him.  and  eschewed  further  responsibility. 

Lady  Trevanion,  in  all  the  splendor  of  a  par- 
venue,  had  already  taken  the  head  of  her  table, 
whenco  she  glanced  at  her  unwelcome  guest 
with  a  haughty  eye  and  a  lowering  brow,  aa 
though  she  already  recognized  in  tho  calm,  self- 
dejKiiideut  youth,  a  formidable  antagonist ;  and 
thus  the  meal  conmienced  in  comfortless  and 
threatening  silence.  The  servants  moved  noise- 
lessly over  the  costly  carpet,  and  performed 
their  duties  with  the  quiet  vigilance  of  well- 
tutored  automatons;  the  successive  courses 
wore  served  and  disappeared — and  Hubert  re- 
marked that,  while  his  uncle  ate  sparingly  and 
in  silence,  tho  lady  of  the  mansion  partook 
largely  of  the  luxuries  before  her,  although 
constantly  evincing  displeasure,  and  affecting 
to  cavil  at  their  quality.  At  length  the  cheer- 
less repast  came  to  a  close ;  the  dessert  waa 
placed  upon  tho  table,  and  tho  servants  with- 
drew, evidently  to  tho  discomfort  of  Sir  Jasper, 
who,  although  still  silent,  betrayed  a  fidgetiueft 
wholly  at  variance  with  tho  calm  self-centered 
manner  for  which  he  had  formerly  been  so  con- 
spicuous ;  whilo  Hubert,  who  had  nerved  liun- 


10 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


self  for  every  contingency,  remained  impassive, 
coldly  aw^ting  the  pleasure  of  bis  companions. 

Aa  ho  had  anticipated,  it  was  the  lady  who 
took  the  initiative.  "  I  prcsvmie,  Mr.  Hubert 
Trcvanion,"  she  said,  superciliously,  as  she  care- 
fully arranged  an  emerald  bracelet  by  which 
her  left  arm  was  encircled,  "  that  you  do  not 
anticipate  a  long  sojourn  under  the  roof  of  your 
uncle  ?" 

"  I  leave  its  term  in  my  uncle's  hands, 
madam." 

Lady  Trcvanion  smUed,  but  it  waa  not  a 
pleasant  smile;  it  said,  as  plainly  as  any  words 
could  have  done,  that  Sir  Jasper  was  no  longer 
omnipotent  in  his  own  liouso ;  "  Down,  Fido  ; 
Have  I  not  yet  taught  you  that  I  will  bo  obey- 
ed? For  shame,  to  set  so  bad  aa  example. 
Tou  do  riglit,  young  sir" — she  was  now  speak- 
iug  to  her  husband's  nephew — "  to  disclaim  any 
will  of  your  own  in  such  a  case,  as  it  saves 
trouble  to  all  ])arties,  Sir  Jasper  having  made 
up  his  mind  upon  the  subject.  You  have  al- 
ready been  a  great  expense  to  him;  a  very 
great  expense ;  and  although,  so  long  as  he 
remained  a  bachelor,  ho  was,  of  course,  at  lib- 
erty to  dispose  of  his  property  as  he  saw  fit,  he 
has  now  other  duties  to  perform,  and  he  is  pre- 
pared to  act  accordingly.  Kot,"  pursued  her 
ladyship,  with  ill-bred  eagerness,  "that  his 
marriage  with  me  has  impoverished  him — far 
from  it — very  far  from  it — but  he,  liko  myself, 
is  weary  of  dependents.  Ho  bore  with  your 
father  as  a  duty,  and  with  your  mother  as  your 
father's  wife;  and  with  you,  while  you  were 
stiU  a  child ;  all  very  right  and  commendable, 
no  doubt — I  do  not  mean  to'rcproach  him.  I 
would  have  done  as  much  for  my  own  relations, 
had  tliey  required  it." 

"It  was  fortunate  alike  for  them  and  for 
yourself,  that  you  had  none,  madam,"  was  the 
composed  reply  of  the  lad,  as  he  remembered 
the  tale  so  lately  told  to  him  by  his  humble 
friend  in  the  housekecjxr's  room. 

The  lady  flu.shed  crimson.  The  first  stone 
had  been  flung,  and  had  hit  its  mark  ;  but,  like 
an  able  general,  she  scorned  to  acknowledge, 
or  even  to  recognize  the  check,  and,  with  a 
still  more  bitter  smile,  she  continued : 

"  Your  fother,  Mr.  Hubert  Trcvanion,  was,  as 
I  have  heard,  a  mere  inane  and  indolent  man 
of  fashion,  and  your  mother  the  penniless 
daughter  of  a  peer — poverty  wedded  to  help- 
lessness ;  but  that  was  not  your  fault,  my  poor 
boy ;  and  bo  assured  that  neither  Sir  Jasper  nor 
I  mean  to  upbraid  you  with  it." 

"I  can  believe  so,  madam,"  said  the  orphan, 
calmly  meeting  the  hard  eye  which  was  fasten- 
ed upon  him,  "and  even  had  it  been  otherwise, 
I  should  have  felt  no  shame  in  hearing  mj'self 
rebuked  on  such  a  subject.  Dependent  as  I 
may  be,  for  tho  moment,  I  can  proudly  trace 
my  descent  for  centuries  on  both  sides;  and 
feel  richer  in  my  apparent  poverty  with  such  a 
consciousness,  than  had  I  been  born  to  inherit 
thousands,  bequeathed  to  mo  by  accident,  and 
of  which  I  should  feel  ashamed  to  trace  tho 
source." 

"  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion,  am  I  to  be  insulted 
it  my  own  houso  by  a  stripling?"  demanded 
the  lady,  vehemently. 

"Hubert,  you  forget  yourself,"  gasped  out 
the  baronet, 


"In  what  way,  sir?"  asked  the  lad,  coldly; 
"I  have  but  given  utterance  to  feelings  which 
you  can  not  do  otherwise  than  respect.  You, 
the  descendent  of  a  long  line  of  ancestors,  will 
surely  understand  my  reverence  for  high  birth, 
and  sympathize  in  my  contempt  for  wealth 
which  has  no  illustration  less  plebeian  than  its 
own  vileness." 

"Sir  Jasper,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  passionate- 
ly, "this  boy  shall  not  remain  another  hour 
under  my  roof  Hark  ye,  young  sir,  I  nurse 
no  vipers  in  my  bosom.  You  know  best  by 
whom  you  have  been  tutored  ;  and  were  it  not 
that  you  bear  your  uncle's  name,  I  would  cast 
you  off,  to  learn  the  worship  which  the  world 
will  pay  to  your  high  birth  and  proud  descent 
without  a  penny  to  enforce  your  claim.  As  it 
is  — " 

"  I  ask  nothing  of  you,  madam,"  said  Hi>- 
bert,  as  be  rose  from  his  seat ;  "  I  do  not  re- 
cognize either  your  poAver  or  your  authority. 
I  am  the  sou  of  your  husband's  brother — the 
last  of  the  race  of  Trcvanion ;  and  should  its 
present  representative  see  fit  to  deny  me  his 
protection  and  support,  I  must  abide  by  his 
decision — but  I  acknowledge  no  will  save  his — 
I  will  abide  by  no  desertion  save  bis  own." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  brave  me,  Hubert  Tre- 
vanion ?" 

"  I  have  no  such  desire,  madam.  I  simply 
question  your  right  to  decide  my  destiny." 

"  You  are  wrong,  Hubert—very  wrong," 
interposed  the  baronet,  evidently  quailing  be- 
neath the  anger  of  bis  wife  ;  "  you  owe  alike 
obedience  and  respect  to  Lady  Trevanion." 

"  I  am  ever  ready  to  render  both,  sir,  where 
they  are  due ;"  said  the  orphan,  with  deep 
emotion ;  "  but  I  appeal  to  yourself  whether 
I  have  been  met  by  her  ladyshi]!  in  a  manner 
to  induce  either?  She,  probably,  thinks  merely 
of  my  age,  and  regards  nie  as  a  child  bound 
only  to  do  her  bidding  ;  but  she  can  know  lit- 
tle of  my  boyhood  when  she  so  argues ;  and 
you.  Sir  Jasper — you  who  received  me  from 
the  hands  of  an  indulgent  aud  dying  father — 
you,  at  least,  may  convince  her  of  her  mistake. 
From  the  hour  in  which  I  lost  my  last  parent 
I  ceased  to  be  a  child,  and  grew,  n(  ^t  so  much 
by  time  as  by  trial.  I  had  no  youth,  but 
sprang  at  once  fron^  the  boy  into  the  man. 
There  were  no  home  affections,  no  heart  yearn- 
ings, to  fling  back  my  feelings  tipon  others; 
I  was  alone — coldly,  cheerlessly,  frightfully 
alone — left  to  combat  with  my  own  passions, 
and  failings,  and  necessities — given  over  to 
tho  purchased  care  of*  strangers — abandoned 
to  the  narrow  sympathies  of  hired  teachers, 
aud  uncongenial  associates.  You,  at  least,  can 
utter  no  reproach,  for  I  am  but  what  you  your- 
self have  made  me." 

"And  this,  then  ,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  with  a 
reproachful  glance  at  her  husband;  "this  is 
the  boy  of  sixteen  who  was  to  bow  to  my  will, 
and  to  know  no  pleasure  but  my  own.  Upon 
my  word.  Sir  Jasjier,  I  must  compliment  you 
upon  your  discrimination,  aud  upon  the  admir- 
able method  in  which  you  have  reared  youi 
brother's  son." 

"  We  have  been  separated  for  four  years," 
said  the  baronet,  dcprccatingly. 

"And  will  do  well  to  separate  once  more  for 
a  longer  period;"  observed  Lady  Trevanioflr 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


as  she  rose  in  her  turn;  "at  all  events,  Sir 
Jasper,  you  have  only  to  choose  between  your 
nephew  and  your  wife  ;  for  this  young  gentle- 
man shall  assuredly  not  remain  under  the  same 
roof  as  m;  self." 

"You  know,  my  dear,  that  the  vessel  will 
Fail  within  a  fortnight,"  ui-ged  the  master  of 
the  house. 

"Until  which  period  Mr.  Hubert  must  be 
accommodated  with  a  home  elsewhere,"  was 
the  haughty  rejoinder. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir ;"  interposed  the  youth 
firmly ;  "  but,  if  I  just  now  understood  your 
meaning  you  have  it  in  contemplation  to  send 
me  out  of  the  country  ?" 

"  You  are  provided  for,"  said  the  baronet 
nervously  ;  "  Lady  Trevanion  has  procured  for 
you  a  midshipman's  berth  on  board  an  India- 
man  which  is  shortly  to  sail ;  and  has  also  had 
the  kindness  to  interest  in  your  favor  some 
of  her  very  influential  connections  in  that  coun- 
try." 

"  Her  ladyship  does  me  honor,"  replied  Hu- 
bert, bowing  profoundly ;  "  but  I  have  no  in- 
tention to  embrace  such  a  career,  and  no  incli- 
nation to  enter  life  under  such  auspices." 

"Better  and  better!"  sneered  the  irate  lady; 
"  and  you  will,  perhaps,  be  so  obliging  as  to 
inform  Sir  Jasper  and  myself  of  the  precise 
nature  of  your  future  projects." 

"  Willingly,  madam ;  I  had  already  expressed 
my  utter  aversion  to  both  services,  and  stated 
this  distinctly  to  Sir  Jasper,  years  ago — nor 
have  I  seen  any  cause  to  alter  my  decision. 
That  I  should  not  have  the  alternative  of  the 
■  learned  professions,  the  nature  of  my  education 
sufficiently  evinced ;  and  I  have  consequently 
left  no  effort  uutried  to  fit  myself  for  the  only 
honorable  career,  which  was  loft  open  to  me." 

"  And  pray  what  may  that  be  T 

"Commerce,  madam.  I  aspire  to  the  re- 
spected name  of  an  upright  English  merchant." 

"Trade,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  thor- 
oughly aroused  from  his  apathy  ;  "  am  I  to  un- 
derstand that  you  would  degrade  the  presump- 
tive heir  of  the  Trevanions  into  a  trader?" 

"  Such  is,  in  fact,  my  purpose." 

"  You  are  a  disgrace  to  your  name,  young 
man,"  said  the  lady,  loftily. 

"  I  regret,  madam,  that  you  should  be  in- 
volved in  that  disgrace,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  a  shilling  if  you  per- 
sist in  such  degradation,"  gasped  the  baronet. 

"  I  ask  nothing,"  said  the  lad,  although  his 
heart  quailed  for  a  moment ;  "  I  am  informed 
by  a  letter  which  was  placed  in  my  hands  by 
my  father  on  his  death-bed,  that  I  inherit  cer- 
tain jewels  once  belonging  to,  my  mother ;  and 
I  will  owe  my  existence  to  her  bequest.  I 
know  not  that  I  could  apply  it  to  a  more  pious 
purpose." 

"They  shall  be  delivered  to  you,"  said  Sir 
Jasper,  coldly. 

"  A  diamond  mine,  no  doubt  1"  sneered  Lady 
Trevanion,  as  she  glanced  at  herself  in  a  mir- 
ror ;  "  one,  iiowever,  which  will  be  little  ndssed, 
and  may  well  he  spared.  I  presume.  Sir  Jas- 
per, that  the  young  gentleman  may  at  once 
take  possession  of  his  inheritance,  and  leave 
the  Hall?" 

"  One  moment" — faltered  the  baronet ;  "  only 
one  moment.     Y'ou  are  mad,  Hubert,  thus  to 


brave  your  family.     Remember  that  you  have 
no  other  homt\" 

"  Home,  sir !"  echoed  the  stripling.  "  I  have 
never  known  a  home — I  can  never  hope  for 
one,  until  I  have  earned  it ;  and  until  I  have 
done  so,  I  must  be  content  to  find  a  resting- 
place  among  strangers." 

"  You  talk  like  a  child.  Without  means 
you  can  not  make  your  way — and  though  re- 
volted by  your  disobedience,  I  will  not  turn 
you  adrift  upon  the  world  to  starve.  You  do 
not  even  know  in  what  direction  to  bend 
your  steps." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir ;  I  shall  proceed  imme- 
diately to  London,  where  1  shall  dispose  of 
my  poor  mother's  jewels  ;  and  thence  I  shall 
at  once  make  my  way  to  Germany." 

"And  why  to  Germany  ?" 

"  Because  I  am  assured  of  a  welcome  in  the 
family  of  a  firm,  though  humble  fricjad,  to 
whom  I  owe  much  more  than  I  can  ev^r  re-  \ 
pay;  and,  even  should  I  fail  to  realize  the  ' 
hope  which  has  been  held  out  to  me  of  a  suc- 
cessful career  in  that  country,  the  blessing  of 
a  welcome  imder  any  roof  will  amply  repay 
me  for  subsequent  disappointment." 

"  May  I  venture  to  inquire  the  name  of 
this  valuable  friend  ?"  again  demanded  the 
baronet. 

"  Certainly.      It    is   Herr   Hauffman,    the     ] 
German  professor  at  Dr.  Birchmore's." 

"An  usher!"  interposed  Lady  Trevanion, 
with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"  Even  so,  madam,  if  you  prefer  the  term. 
An  humble  ushei*,  who  has  long  been  to  me  a 
brother  and  a  friend.  A  man  who  has  coined 
his  mind  into  wages,  and  nerved  his  heart  to 
receive  thankfully  the  salary  won  by  his . 
talents.  I  am  proud  of  the  regard  which  he 
has  bestowed  on  me." 

"  You  are  lost,  Hubert  Trevanion !"  groaned 
Sir  Jasper.  "  It  should  have  sufficed,  J'oung 
man,  that  you  were  born  under  this  roof,  to 
have  preserved  you  from  such  groveling  com- 
panionships as  those." 

"  Groveling  indeed !"  echoed  the  lady,  sar- 
castically ;  "and  now.  Sir  Jasper,  have  you 
heard  enough  ?  or  are  we  to  pass  the  evening 
in  listening  to  the  revelations  of  your  hopeful 
nephew  ?  Surely  there  need  be  no  more  waste 
of  words  upon  the  subject.  The  young  man 
has  formed  connections  for  himself  more  de- 
sirable in  his  eyes  than  those  which  he  rejects; 
and  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  leave 
him  at  liberty  to  cultivate  them." 

"  You  forget,  Lady  Trevanion,  that  ho  is   \ 
the  last  of  his  race." 

"  I  forget  nothing,  sir ;"  was  the  sharp  re- 
ply ;  "except  that  1  have  been  insulted  in 
your  presence  by  one  of  your  own  blood,  and 
that  you  have  not  deigned  to  chastise  the 
offender." 

"His  only  fitting  punishment  will  be  im- 
mediate exile  from  the  home  of  his  ancestors;" 
said  Sir  Jasjjer ;  but  his  lip  quivered  as  the 
childless  man  suddenly  remembered  that  lie 
was,  in  order  to  conciliate  his  offended  wife, 
about  to  banish,  probably  forever,  not  on^ly 
his  brother's  son,  but  what  to  his  selfisli  nature 
was  infinitely  more  sacred,  his  own  i)resump-  j- 
five  heir  and  successor.  What  might  be  the 
fate  of  the  lad,  thus  cast  forth  into  a  cold  and 


12 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE 


heartless  -world  by  his  natural  protectors? 
Ptniirgle  and  hardship,  contumely,  and — it 
might  even  be — shame  and  death  ! 

A  clammy  dew  started  to  the  brow  of  the 
baronet,  and  his  head  sank  upon  Ids  breast, 
as  his  glance  passed  rapidly  from  the  placid 
and  proud  countenance  of  the  silent  stripling, 
"wliose  sense  of  wrong  was  too  powerful  to 
relieve  itself  by  any  outward  emotion,  to  the 
exulting  face  of  his'inexorable  w!f(^,  who  with 
her  tall  fisure  rigidly  erect,  and  her  dark 
cheek  flushed  with  passion,  seemed  to  await 
the  termination  of  the  scene  without  one 
misgiving  of  its  result. 

No  further  opposition,  as  she  at  once  felt, 
need  be  dreaded  from  Sir  Jasper  upon  any 
point,  when  she  had  secured  this  victory  over 
his  young  kinsman ;  and  thenceforward  the 
desolate  man  would  be  totallj^  dependent  up- 
on herself  for  sympathy  and  companionship. 
Th^same  idea  had,  "however,  flashed  dark 
and  threatening  on  the  mind  of  the  baronet. 
Should  Hubert,  indignant  at  his  desertion, 
refuse  all  further  communication  with  his 
family,  the  ancient  race  would  become  ex- 
tinct, and  the  name  of  Trcvanion  fiill  into 
oblivion.  Sir  Jasper  felt  that  he  must  tem- 
porise with  the  J'outh,  even  at  the  risk  of 
exciting  the  wrath  of  his  wife ;  and,  acting 
upon  this  conviction,  he  turned  resolutelj 
toward  him,  and  crushing  down  alike  his 
haughtiness  and  the  vague  terror  which  had 
grown  upon  him,  he  said  sternly:  "You  have 
heard  my  decision,  sir  ?" 
"  I  have." 

"  Henceforth,  then,  you  will  possess  the 
control  over  your  own  career  which  you  ap- 
pear to  covet.  The  world  is  before  you,  and 
you  must  struggle  with  it  as  you  can.  Do 
not,  however,  imagine  that  I  have  so  utterly 
lost  sight  of  my  own  dignity  as  to  permit 
you  to  go  hence  without  the  means  of  support 
necessary  to  uphold,  in  some  degree,  the 
honor  of  the  name  you  bear — or,  better  still, 
if  you  will  favor  me  by  relinquishing  that 
name  until  you  have  ceased  to  disgrace  it — 
to  enable  you  to  give  some  show  of  respect- 
ability to  the  one  which  you  may  see  fit  to 
assume." 

"  I  have  no  intention  to  resign  the  name  of 
my  father.  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion." 

"  Perhaps  if  I  propose  to  you,  in  the  event 
of  this  concession,  to  increase  the  provision  I 
have  offered,  j-ou  may  bo  induced  to  change 
your  mind." 

"  By  no  means ;  for  while  conscious  that  I 
am  not  in  a. position  to  reject  your  offer,  I  beg 
3'ou  distinctly  to  understand  that  I  accept  it 
as  the  son  of  Aubrey  Trevanion,  and  not  as 
3'our  nephew." 

"Then,  sir,  you  shall  be  authorized  to  draw 
upon  my  banker  for  two  hundred  j)ound3  an- 
nually, on  condition  that  you  inform  hiiu  of 
your  [AarQ  of  residence." 
"I  admit  no  conditions." 
"Do  not  insist,  Sir  Jasper;"  interposed 
Lady  Trevanion  ;  "  if  you  are  indeed  pre- 
pared to  commit  so  great  a  weakness  as  to 
reward  this  estimable  j'oung  man  for  his  dis- 
obedience, be  it  so  ;  but  pray. do  not  descend 
to  ask  as  a  favor  what  you  have  every  autho- 
rity to  enforce  as  a  right." 


" Then  our  conference  is  endel,"  murmured 
the  baronet.  "My  steward  shall  eommu- 
nicate  to  you  the  address  of  my  banker  ia 
town,  Mr.  Trevanion  ;  and  you  are  at  liberty 
to  leave  my  house  at  any  moment  when  you 
may  find  it  convenient." 

"  I  would  beg  to  suggest  an  early  one," 
said  the  lady,  as  with  a  lofty  bow  she  swept 
from  the  apartment. 

The  uncle  and  the  nephew  were  alone ;  only 
a  few  paces  separated  them ;  and  for  an  in- 
stant they  stood  gazing  earnestly  at  each 
other.  The  heavy  breathing  of  the  agitated 
baronet  was  audible  amid  the  silence,  and 
Hubert  alnmst  pitied  him,  as  he  witnessed  the 
violence  of  thestrugixle  which  shook  his  frame. 
For  the  first  time  his  heart  yearned  toward 
the  weak  and  spirit-bowed  man,  whom  hero- 
membered  so  stern  of  plirpose,  and  so  haughty 
of  demeanor,  but  it  was  only  for  an  instant, 
for,  ere  long,  resentment  swallowed  up  com- 
passion, and  contempt  usurped  the  place  of 
pity. 

"  Have  you  any  further  commands  for  me. 
Sir  Jasper?"  he  asked,  as  ho  prepared  to  leave 
the  room. 

"  None,  sir,  none.  All  is  over  between 
us." 

And  with  a  cold  and  distant  salutation,  tlie 
uncle  and  nephew  parted  forever  as  both  be- 
lieved in  this  world. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HUSBAND   AND    FATHER. 

All  was  indeed  over  I  And  Hubert  Tre- 
vanion, in  his  sixteenth  year,  stood  alone  in 
a  world  where  the  battle  is  too  often  to  the 
strong,  and  the  race  to  the  swift.  It  is 
scarcely  wonderful  that  after  his  uncle  had 
left  him,  he  should  gaze  around  upon  the 
once  familiar  features  of  his  childhood's  home 
with  a  strange  sinking  of  the  heart.  The 
last  hour  had  decided  his  destiny  ;  he  had  re- 
turned to  the  halls  of  his  ancestors  only  for 
orto  brief  day,  and  he  was  once  more  about 
to  abandon  them  for  ever.  But  he  soon  sub- 
dued the  emotion  which  this  consciousness 
had  callc'I  up  ;  for,  from  what  was  he,  in  fact, 
about  to  separate  himself?  From  mere  inan- 
imate objects  which  could  be  dear  only  from 
association,  and  which  would  remain  un- 
changed, whatever  might  be  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  own  fortune.  No  tear  would  fall  for 
him^no  heart  regret  him — no  wholesome  hu- 
man sympathy  bo  awakened  eitlier  by  his 
struggles  or  his  success;  he  was  an  alien  fro© 
the  lu)mc  of  his  fathers,  and  he  must  go  forth 
to  seek  another,  and  forget  what  might  have 
been,  in  what  was. 

And  thus   he  did  go  fortK,   after  a  warm  k 
leave-taking  with  tho  old  servants,  who  wept 
when  they  wrung   his   hand,   and  could  not 
control  their  sorrow  as  they  saw  that  his  own 
e^-es  were  tearless. 

"  It  is  not  because  yon  do  not  feel,  I  know 
that ;"  sobbed  the  soft-hearted  Mrs.  Pearson  ; 
"  I  don't  like  the  wild  strange  light  in  your 
eyes,  and  I  would  sooner  a  thousand  times. 


\ 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


IS 


see  von  cry  like  a  chiltl,  than  seem  so  cold  and 
pliu'id.     It  is  n't  natural,  Master  Hubert." 

"Notliinij  is  natural  under  this  roof,  my 
cood  old  fi-iend,"  replied  the  youth  with  a 
pliastly  smile;  "neitlier  my  uncle's  supine- 
ness,  nor  his  wife's  tyranny,  nor  my  own  exile 
— nothini:^  is  natural,  save,  indeed,  the  kind 
hearts  wliich  are  now  throbbing  about  me. 
But  I  see  tliat  the  chaise  is  ready,  and  I  shall 
scarcely  reach  the  post-town  in  time  for  the 
mail,  so  now,  and  perhaps  forever,  farewell ! 
I  need  not  ask  you  to  remember  me,  for  I  feel 
sure  that  you  will  do  so."  And  once  more 
grasping  the  hands  of  the  excited  domestics, 
Hubert  turned  aw.ny;  after  liaA-intr,  with  a 
mockery  of  courteousness  born  of  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  spirit,  deposited  his  leave-taking 
cards  upon  tlie  hall-table  ;  and  springing  into 
the  hired  vehicle  which  awaited  him,  he 
drove  rapidly  from  the  splendid  mansion 
which  was  no  longer  to  bo  his  home. 

In  accordance  with  the  resolution  that  he 
had  expressed  to  his  uncle,  the  J'oung  adven- 
turer at  once  proceeded  to  Germany,  where 
he  ultimately  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  situa- 
tion in  a  substantial  house  of  business,  through 
the  good  oiSces  of  the  family  of  Herr  ITaufF- 
man.  Years  passed  on  ;  and  the  knowledge 
which  he  had  acquired  of  the  different  Euro- 
pean languages  served  him  well  with  his 
employers,  by  whom  he  was  gradually  in- 
trusted with  the  whole  of  their  foreign  corre- 
spondence, and  to  whom  his  services  ultimately 
became  so  indispensable,  that  he  was  received 
into  the  firm,  and  became  the  head  of  their 
London  establishment.  Here,  as  may  have 
been  already  gathered  from  the  conversation 
with  which  our  tale  commences,  he  had  con- 
tracted a  marriage  with  the  daughter  and 
heiress  of  a  wealtiiy  merchant ;  not  without 
a  certain  repugnance  consequent  upon  that 
pride  of  birth  which  he  had  never  ceased 
to  feel,  but  without  hesitation,  as  the  most 
rapid  means  of  securing  the  independence 
which  he  had  sworh  to  achieve. 

Mrs.  Trevanion  was  a  weak,  half-educated, 
^Mast-fine  lady,  who  had  passed  her  life  be- 
tween the  fashionable  establishment  where 
Bhe  had  received  her  education,  and  her  fa- 
ther's villa  at  Richmond.  She  had  early  lost 
her  mother,  and  was  petted  and  indulged  ac- 
cordingly. Before  she  had  attained  her  eight- 
eenth year,  she  had  exhausted  every  circulat- 
ing library  within  her  reach,  could  paiat 
flowers,  work  crochet,  and  "  perform"  on  the 
piano.  Small  in  stature,  and  slight  in  figure, 
there  was  nevertlieless  a  grace  and  pretti- 
ness  about  her,  wliich  easily  induced  a  casual 
observer  to  forgive  tiio  exj)res3ionle33  charac- 
ter of  her  face,  with  its  abundant  screen  of 
Eale,  yellow  hair,  and  its  light  and  prominent 
lue  eyes,  in  favor  of  an  exquisite  complexion, 
and  a  peculiarly  pleasing  smile.  Hers  was, 
in  short,  a  style  of  beauty  which  resembled 
a  clever,  but  Incomplete  sketch,  without  suf- 
ficient coloring  to  give  it  character,  and 
which,  place  it  in  whatever  light  you  would, 
never  satisfied  the  eve,  or  thorouffhlv  defined 
itself.  ■'  ^    ^ 

The  morale  of  Miss  Rotheringbury  was  in 
perfect  accordance  with  \\qt  physique.  She  had 
paasionate  impulses;    what  spoiled  child   has 


not  ?  but  she  did  not  possess  sufficient  strength 
of  purpose  to  carry  out  her  will.  Timid  by 
nature,  she  was  easily  overawed ;  and  whilo 
she  indulged  herself  freely  in  tyrannizing  over 
those  who  readily  yielded  to  her  pleasure,  slio 
was  cowed  by  a  look  from  any  individual  who 
was  bold  enough  to  oppose  her. 

Such  was  the  bride  whom  Hubert  Trevanion, 
without  much  difficulty,  wooed  and  won.  His 
worldly  position  and  commercial  ability  were 
satisfactory  to  the  lady's  ftither ;  while  the  lady 
herself,  fascinated  by  his  handsome  person 
(which  recalled  at  once  her  ideal  of  half-a-dozen 
of  her  favorite  novel-heros),  and  dazzled  by  the 
liopo  of  a  some-day  reconciliation  with  tho 
stately  baronet  and  his  jewel-laden  wife,  and 
a  possible  sojourn  in  the  ancestral  home  of  her 
high-born  lover,  with  the  self-mystiflcation 
common  to  young  and  unreflecting  girls,  who 
mistake  the  captivation  of  their  fancy  for  a  no- 
bler and  better  feeling,  saw  only  a  proper  sense 
of  dignity  in  the  unbending  coldness  of  her  be- 
trothed husband ;  and  had  learned,  long  ere  he 
led  her  radiant  in  Brussels-lace  and  orange- 
blossom  to  the  altar,  to  defer  to  all  his  wishes, 
and  to  bend  before  his  will,  as  entirely  as  if 
thenceforward  she  was  to  be  a  mere  puppet  in 
his  hands.  , 

And  such  in  truth  she  proved,  after  one  or 
two  abortive  struggles  at  supremacy,  which 
only  tended  to  rivet  her  chains  still  closer,  by 
affording  to  her  impassive  husband  an  addi- 
tional opportunity  of  enforcing  upon  her  con- 
viction her  utter  incapacity  of  self-government. 
To  every  appeal  he  replied  by  reminding  her 
of  her  past  violence,  expatiating  upon  its  ex- 
treme ill-breeding,  and  pointing  out  to  her  the 
necessity,  now  that  she  had  become  the  wife 
of  a  man  of  family  and  station,  of  some  effort 
on  her  part  to  prove  herself  equal  to  the  posi- 
tion she  had  attained.  For  a  time  the  poor 
girl  pouted  and  grew  sullen  as  she  listened  to 
these  inferences  of  her  inferiority,  and  received 
perpetual  warnings  to  abstain  from  certain 
habits  and  expressions,  whicli,  as  Mr.  Treva- 
nion coolly  informed  her,  were  totally  incompat- 
ible with  high  breeding,  and  could  not  be  tol- 
erated in  his  wife  ;  and  at  others  she  wept  over 
herself  as  she  remembered  that,  until  the  hour 
in  which  she  became  such,  no  words  of  blame 
had  ever  reached  her  ear.  She  was  so  miser- 
ably alone  too :  for  with  the  exception  of  her 
father  and  the  maiden  sister  who  presided  over 
his  establishment,  her  fastidious  lord  would 
admit  none  of  her  former  associates  beneath 
his  roof. 

"You  are  now  in  a  responsible  position, 
Mrs.  Trevanion,"  was  his  reply,  as  she  endeav- 
ored to  expostulate  against  the  exclusion  of 
her  two  favorite  cousins ;  "  and  must  learn  to 
suffice  to  yourself." 

Tho  struggle  was  soon  over.  Tho  total 
want  of  moral  courage  evinced  by  his  wife, 
whilo  it  exjited  the  contempt  of  Mr.  Trevor- 
nion,  admirably  seconded  his  views;  and  when 
the  violent  grief  of  his  victim  at  the  sudden 
death  of  her  father  occasioned  the  premature 
birth  of  her  expected  infant,  and  stretched  her 
for  months  upon  a  bed  of  sickness,  ho  at  once 
felt  that  ho  had  no  further  opposition  to  appre- 
hend. Enchanted  with  the  lovely  little  girl, 
which  throve  upon  tho  bosom  of  a  stranger 


14 


TEE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


while  its  childish  mother  was  still  a  helpless 
invalid,  Mrs.  Trevanion  neither  sought  nor 
wished  for  other  companionship.  She  watched 
with  pleased  and  puerile  curiosity  all  the  details 
of  the  nursery  ;  and  was  never  weary  of  won- 
dering at  the  astounding  fact  that  she  was  her- 
self the  mother  of  the  rosy  smiling  little  crea- 
ture before  her — that  it  was  her  own — that  it 
already  knew  her,  almost  as  much  as  her  nurse ; 
and  would  stretch  forth  its  httle  hands  toward 
her,  and  crow  with  delight  as  it  looked  into 
her  face. 

It  is  true  that  there  had  been  one  drawback 
even  to  this  innocent  and  natural  felicity ;  and 
that  one,  a.s  wo  need  scarcely  say,  came  from 
her  husband,  wlio,  while  occupied  with  tlie 
men  of  law  in  the  settlement  of  Mr.  Rother- 
ingbury's  affairs,  had  been  summoned  to  the 
bedside  of  his  suffering  wife,  whence,  with 
childish  eagerness,  she  directed  his  attention  to 
her  new  treasure. 

"Ila!"  was  the  cold  remark  of  the  gentle- 
man ;  "  so  you  have  given  me  a  daughter, 
Clara.  I  anticipated  as  much.  And  now,  take 
care  of  yourself,  and  j'ou  may  yet  one  day 
make  mo  the  father  of  a  boy." 

He  did,  it  is  true,  stoop  down  and  kiss  her 
pale  cheek,  but  ho  turned  no  second  glance 
upon  the  infant ;  and,  in  compliance  with  a 
hint  from  the  nurse,  he  immediately  affcrward 
left  the  sick  room. 

Ere  the  recovery  of  Mrs.  Trevanion  was  com- 
plete, her  noble  fortune  had  almost  wholly 
passed  into  the  hands  of  her  husband;  the 
villa  at  Richmond  had  become  her  ovm  prop-" 
erty ;  and  the  weak  but  well-meaning  old  aunt 
by  wlioin  she  had  been  brought  up  had  return- 
ed to  Cun^berland,  anxious  to  end  her  days 
under  the  same  roof  which  had  witnessed  her 
birth.  Her  other  relations  had,  as  we  have  al- 
ready stated,  long  ceased  to  find  a  welcome  in 
the-  house  of  Mr.  Trevanion,  and,  in  conse- 
quence, gradually  forbore  their  visits;  and 
thus  the  young  wife  was  thrown  entirely  upon 
her  husband  for  society. 

Under  these  circumstances,  nothing  could  be 
more  natural  than  that  as  her  grief  for  the  loss 
of  her  father  insensibly  wore  away,  her  whole 
Lapjiincss  centered  in  her  child,  whose  extreme 
loveliness  soon  won  for  it  a  deep  affection,  even 
in  the  heart  of  its  greatly  disappointed  father ; 
while,  as  years  went  by  without  any  addition 
to  his  family,  Mr.  Trevanion  at  length  brought 
himself  to  believe  that  the  one-despised  little 
girl  might  one  day  even  better  servo  his  am- 
bition tlmn  the  son  for  which  he  had  so  fondly 
Loped. 

At  the  period  of  the  infant's  birth  he  Imd 
been  sanguine  in  his  belief  that  it  would  some 
day  bear  the  title,  and  sustain  the  honors  of 
his  house,  and  his  mortification  at  its  sex  was 
consequently  deep  and  bitter  ;  Viut  when,  a  year 
or  two  subsequently,  he  ascertained  that  Lady 
Trevanion  had,  contrary  to  all  expectation,  be- 
come the  mother  of  a  son,  his  dream  vanished  ; 
and  he  forthwith  resolved  to  rear  his  daughter 
in  such  refinement  as  should,  combined  with 
her  extraordinary  beauty  and  noble  fortune, 
render  her  a  fitting  bride  for  the  proudest  no- 
ble in  the  land. 

Thus,  as  the  child  emerged  from  infancy  into 
girlhood,  ehe  was  placed  under  the  immediate 


charge  of  a  decayed  lady  of  rank,  to  whom 
the  luxurious  home  of  the  wealthy  and  high-  i 
bred  merchant  offered  a  welcome  refuge  from  ' 
the  cares  and  privations  to  which  she  must 
otherwise  have  been  exposed  ;  and  surrounded 
by  the  most  eminent  masters,  whose  services 
were  requited  with  unbounded  liberalitv,  and 
rendered  with  equal  zeal.  No  interference  was 
permitted  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Trevanion,  wl.o 
had  long  before  this  period  become  so  passive 
under  the  authority  of  her  husband,  that  she 
uttered  no  remonstrance  ;  and,  finally,  satisfied 
by  the  affection  of  the  loving  girl,  whose  ten- 
derness suffered  no  abatement  even  under  these 
unpromising cireumgtanees,  she  ceased  tonsseit 
the  slightest  wish  to  control  or  guide  her  ac- 
tions. 

Lady  Mary  Brooldand  was  the  ruling  spirit  i 
of    the    house;    and    while    Mrs.    Trevanion   | 
lounged  on  her  sofa  engaged  upon  a  novel,  or 
took  her  solitary  drive,  the  young  hen-ess,  ac- 
companied by  her  high-born  monitress,  was  in- 
troduced to  the  gayeties  of  Lf)ndon  life ;    fre- 
quented the  opera,  the  parks,  and  the  public  ] 
gardens ;  and,  thanks  to  the  able  chaperoqage 
of  the   accomplished   woman  of  fashion,  soon 
became  a  marked  object  of  attraction  in  that 
sphere  in  which  her  father  was  anxious  that 
she  should  move. 

In  due  course  of  time  the  lovely  Miss  Treva- 
nion was  presented  at  court   by  her  obliging  , 
friend  Lady  Mary,  and  welcomed  to  the  inti-  \ 
macy   of   her   aristocratic   connections.      Her 
great  beauty  and  splendid  expectations  were 
sedulously  whispered  abroad;   her  extraordi- 
nary accomplishments  and  refinement  of  man- 
ner were  the  theme   of  general   admiration ; 
and,  before    she   had   attained   her  twentieth 
year,  more  than  one  highly-descended  suitor  )     ' 
had  become  a  candidate  for  her  hand. 

The  exultation  of  Mr.  Trevanion  was  great, 
although  perfectly  undemonstrative ;  he  felt  as 
if,  through  his  daughter,  he  was  resuming  his 
legitimate  place  in  society  ;  and  already  looked 
forward  to  the  coronet  which  was  to  adorn  her 
brow  as  the  reward  of  his  own  humiliation  and 
struggle.  As  his  thoughts  occasionally  glanced 
to  Sir  Jasper  and  his  heir,  his  lip  curled  rather  ', 
with  pride  than  resentment.  He  should  yet 
teach  them  that  he  could  win  an  illustration 
for  which  he  was  indebted  solely  to  himself,  ■ 
and  which  was  independent  of  their  influence. 

Under  such  circumstances  as  these,  it  docs        ' 
not   require  to  be  explained  that  Lady  Mary  , 
Brookland   gradually  became   all-powerful  in  1 
the   merchant's   house.     He   had,  as  we  have 
already   shown,  from  the   very  period  of  hia 
marriage,    discountenanced    the    associates,  as 
well    as    the    family  of  his  wife  ;    and   as  his 
daughter  grew  to  womanhood  they  were  slow- 
ly and  almost  imperceptibly  replaced  by  those       ' 
of  his  aristocratic  inmate,  who  was  by  no  means 
averse  to  indulge  her  high-born  but  far  from 
affluent  nieces  and  cousins  by  a  participation  in       ! 
the  luxuries  of  her  new  home.     First,  it  was  /    j 
the  Honorable  Miss  Stapleton,  who,  at  the  en-  I    j 
treaty  of  her  aunt,  consented  to  pass  a  month 
with  her  interesting  charge,  and  to  accompany 
her  to  exhibitions,  and  picture  galleries ;  to  ap- 
pear in  her  opera-bo.x,  and  to  share  in  her  rid- 
mg    excursions;    then    it   was   the    charming  |    : 
widow  of  Sir  Jolin   Saowdon,  whose  son  and      ' 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


15 


heir  being  at  Eton,  rendered  it  peculiarly  de- 
sirable that  liis  fond  and  anxious  mother  should 
dceasionally  reside  in  town  for  a  few  weeks,  in 
(i-.'der  to  assure  herself  more  satisfactorily  of 
his  health  and  progress  than  she  could  possibly 
do  in  her  Highland  castle ;  and  on  the  occasion 
of  these  gratifying  visits,  flocks  of  noble  la- 
dies availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to 
welcome  them  to  the  metropolis,  and  to  make 
t'le  acquaintance  of  the  charming  Miss  Treva- 
niou.  who  formed  so  attractive  a  feature  in  the 
fasluouablc /'/<■'  of  the  season. 

The  beautiful  Richmond  villa  soon  became 
immeusely  popular  with  the  beau  monde,  who 
were  euchauted  with  the  dejeuners  danaants 
and  matincs  mudcales  provided  for  their 
amusement ;  and  who,  as  they  strolled  over 
the  velvet  lawns  and  flower-studded  conserva- 
tories, many  of  them  proud  of  their  own  con- 
descension, and  others  careless  of  all  beyond 
the  passing  amusement  of  the  hour — little  sus- 

Seeted  that  they  were  mere  pawns  upon  the 
iplomatic  chess-board  of  their  host,  and  were 
unconsciously  working  out  the  one  great  pur- 
pose of  his  existence. 

Th^  unexceptionable  breeding  of  Mr.  Treva- 
nion,  his  ancient  descent,  and  the  uncalculated 
munificence  of  liis  establishment,  insured  the 
respect  and  deference  of  all  by  whom  he  was 
approached ;  while  his  sterlmg  good  sense  and 
general  information  were  alike  appreciated  by 
the  more  reflecting  portion  of  his  guests. 
Dowager  dames  and  middle-aged  nobles  soon 
learned  to  prefer  his  society  to  that  of  the 
pleasure-hunters  who  fluttered  through  his 
saloons ;  and  his  dinner-table  in  Westbourne 
Terrace  was  in  due  course  of  time  as  much  and 
as  satisfactorily  filled  as  his  Richmond  shrub- 
beries. 

Early  accustomed  to  submission  and  supine- 
ness,  Mrs.  Trevanion  evinced  no  mortification 
at  the  fact  that  Lady  Mary  did  the  honors  of 
I  her  house,  seemingly  satisfied  that  by  such  an 
j  arrangement  she  was  relieved  alike  from  exer- 
tion and  responsibility  ;  and,  as  she  was  always 
I  courteous   to   her  guests,   amiable,   and  well- 
j  dressed,  she  was  generally  considered  as  a  lady- 
I  like,  quiet  little  person,  somewhat  uninterost- 
i  ing,  but  perfectly  presentable,  whose  destiny 
I  was  a  most  enviable  one,  and  for  whom  the 
I  world  must  evidently  be  couleur  de  rose. 
i      Nor  was  the  existence  of  Mrs.  Trevanion,  in 
I  point  of  fact,  by  any  means  an  unhappy  one  ; 
I  Bhe  was  proud  of  her  husband  even  while  she 
I  feared  him ;  and  stOl  more  proud  of  her  daugh- 
!  ter,  whose  unfailing  affection  had  been  proof 
against  all  the  temptations  to  arrogance  and 
j  heartlessness  by  which  she  was  surrounded ; 
!  while  she  was  at  the  same  time  dazzled  and' 
delighted  by  the  perpetual  stream  of  gayety  and 
splendor  upon  which  she  was  borne  unresisting- 
ly along.    She  was  amused  by  the  eager  pursuit 
of  pleasure  in  which  she  was  too  indolent  to 
j  share,  even  had  she  been  permitted  to  do  so ; 
Sand  flattered  when  her  comfortable  sofa  was 
I  shared  by  a  titled  dowager  or  a  withered  man 
j  of  fashion. 

[  For  years  the  courtly  Lady  Mary,  wlio  had 
j  become  strongly  attached  to  her  young  charge, 
jhad  earnestly  encouraged  the  ambitious  dreams 
j  of  her  host,  and  watched  the  patrician  admirers 
by  whom  the  fair  girl  was  approached  with  a 


jealousy  equal  to  his  own  ;  but,  a  few  montlis 
previous  to  tho  opening  of  our  tale,  slio  had  re- 
laxed wonderfully  in  her  vigilance.  Whether 
it  were  that  she  considered  Mi.ss  Trevanion  at 
six-and-twenty,  and,  in  other  respects,  her  own 
mistress,  equally  competent  to  judge  and  act 
for  herself  in  tho  most  important  circumstance 
of  her  life,  or  that  some  other  undivulged  rea- 
son existed  for  her  sudden  quiescence,  it  is  at 
least  certain  that  her  lectures  upon  tho  subject 
of  eligible  marriages,  and  the  expediency  of 
forming  desirable  connections,  altogether  ceased; 
while  it  was  equally  apparent  that  the  beauti- 
ful heiress,  although  courteous  and  affable  to  all 
her  suitors,  evinced  no  preference  toward  either. 
And  as  the  popularity  of  his  daughter  increased, 
so  did  tho  worldly  dreams  of  Mr.  Trevanion 
grow  more  and  more  brilliant.  It  was  a  matter 
perfectly  settled  in  his  mind  that  she  was  des- 
tined to  accomplish  a  splendid  alliance — a  con- 
viction which  was  strengthened  by  tho  peculiar 
disposition  and  habits  of  tho  young  lady  her- 
self, who,  reared  in  indulgence  and  luxury, 
was  at  once  self-relying  and  refined,  and  en- 
tirely unsuited  for  an  existence  of  obscurity  or 
struggle. 

How  many  visionary  coronets  danced  before 
the  mental  sight  of  the  proud  father,  poised 
only  by  a  silken  thread  above  the  polished  brow 
of  his  child,  which  it  required  but  her  touch  to 
snap.  With  what  silent  delight  did  he  antici- 
pate the  moment  when  as  a  peeress  she  might 
look  down  in  disdain  upon  the  haughty  rela- 
tives by  whom  she  had  hitherto  been  over- 
looked and  neglected.  The  otherwise  high- 
minded  and  right-judging  man,  whose  sense  of 
honor  was  acute  upon  all  other  subjects,  was 
alike  blind  and  weak  on  this.  He  did  not  give 
a  thought  to  the  happiness  of  tho  bright  being 
who  made  the  sunshine  of  his  home ;  but,  his 
better  feelings  warped  by  ambition  and  resent- 
ment, he  looked  only  to  her  worldly  greatness, 
and  to  his  own  revenge.  Every  luxury  of  at- 
tire which  could  enhance  her  beauty  was  lavish- 
ly bestowed  upon  her ;  and  even  ho  himself, 
unbending  as  he  was  to  all  around  him,  treated 
her  with  a  deference  which  to  his  jaundiced 
mind  was  already  a  triumph. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   FKTE   CHAMPKTRE. 

There  was  a  brilliant  fete  at  the  far-famed 
villa  of  ilrs.  St.  Maur  Fulke  at  Putney ;  and 
as  Mrs.  St.  Maur  Fulko  was  the  fashion,  "all 
the  world"  had  been  intriguing  for  tho  last 
month  to  procure  tickets.  Various  were  the 
rumors  which  had  been  circulated  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  approaching  festivity ;  and  tho  in- 
vited were  meanwhile  busied  in  preparing  their 
fancy  dresses  for  the  occasion,  and  congratulat- 
ing themselves  upon  tho  charming  idea  of  their 
hostess,  who  had  positively  refused  to  sanction 
the  admittance  of  such  guefets  as  should  present 
themselves  otherwise  than  en  costume.  The  ex- 
tensive grounds  of  tho  villa  swept  down  to  tho 
river^  where  gayly-caparisoncd  boats  with  silk- 
en awnings  lay  moored  beneath  the  over-hang- 
ing willows ;  gipsy-tents,  dancing-booths,   and 


16 


THE    JEALOUS    ^^IFE. 


marquees  fitted  with  counters,  and  crowded 
with  glittering  trifles,  which  were  to  be  dis- 
tributed by  lottery,  dotted  the  lawns  and  shrub- 
beries ;  hidden  orchestras  made  the  summer  air 
vocal ;  and  on  every  side  groups  of  fair  women 
and  gallant  cavaliers  in  many-colored  raiment, 
rendered  the  whole  scono  one  parterre  of  mov- 
ing flowers. 

We  are  not  about  to  describe  these  more  mi- 
nutely ;  a  fancy-f>l'te  of  this  description  may  be 
readily  imagined ;  peeresses  were  content  to 
play  peasant  girls  for  the  hour,  while  private 
gentlemen  strutted  as  kings  among  the  brilhaut 
crowd 

And  a  crowd  in  truth  it  was  ;  for,  although 
Mrs.  St.  Maur  Fulke  had  resolutely  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  many  an  earnest  entreaty,  declaring 
that  she  merely  sought  to  assemble  her  more 
immediate  friends,  she  was  so  popular  an  indi- 
vidual, and  so  singularly  favored  in  that  respect 
that  upward  of  seven  hundred  intimates  graced 
her  entertainment.  The  lively  and  wealthy 
little  widow  herself  made  a  charming  gri.^ette. 
Nothing  could  be  more  perfect  than  the  arrange- 
ment of  her  magnificent  hair,  nothing  more  be- 
coming than  the  tightly-fitting  boddice,  and  noth- 
ing more  captivating  than  the  fairy-like  foot  and 
ankle  which  were  revealed  by  the  short  jupon. 
No  wqnder  that  many  of  the  women  and  all 
the  men  were  enraptured  with  Mrs.  St.  Maur 
Fulke  I 

Nevertheless,  however,  there  was  one  more 
brilliant  and  stately  beauty  who  fairly  divided 
with  her  hostess  tlie  admiration  of  the  courtly 
revelers,  and  that  one  was  Miss  Trevaniou, 
whose  dark  loveliness  was  rendered  striking 
by  her  gypsy  garb.  Many  was  the  palm  ex- 
tended to  invite  her  predictions  and  many  the 
low-breathed  and  anxious  question  to  which 
she  replied  with  a  dignified  composure  well 
calculated  to  extinguish  the  hope  that  her 
bright  eyes  had  inspired.  For  a  time  her  at- 
tentive chaperone,  Lady  Mary,  moved  majes- 
tically beside  her,  habited  as  a  sybil;  but 
gradually,  as  the  human  kaleidoscope  varied 
its  figures,  the  two  ladies  became  separated  by 
the  crowd ;  other  gypsies  with  dark  eyes  and 
hair  bewildered  the  titled  duenna  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  and  finally  she  relinquished  all  idea  of 
pursuing  her  lost  charge. 

It  was  a  glorious  summer  day  ;  one  of  those 
rare  days  all  balm  and  sunshine,  which  make 
the  very  sense  of  existence  doubly  enjoyable  ; 
the  flexile  branches  of  the  trees  danced  iu  the 
light  and  perfumed  air;  the  flowers  lifted  their 
glowing  blossoms  to  the  sky  ;  the  ripples  of 
Qie  river  were  brilliant  as  diamond  dust ;  and 
every  sun-touehed  leaf  glittered  like  a  living 
emerald  ;  while  the  long  dark  avenues  of  flow- 
ering shrubs,  over-arehed  by  forest  timber, 
offered  their  welcome  shade  to  those  who 
sought  escape  for  a  season  from  the  heat  and 
hurry  of  the  open  lawns. 

Through  one  of  these  bowery  arcades,  a  few 
hours  after  the  commencement  of  the  fete, 
slowly  wandered  two  figures  engaged  in  a  low 
and  evidently  engrdfesing  conversatiou ;  who, 
ever  as  they  approached  the  termination  of  the 
allce,  retraced  their  steps,  as  if  anxious  to  se- 
cure themselves  against  intrusion.  One  of 
these  was  Miss  Trcvauion ;  but  all  the  digni- 
fied playfulness  which  had  won  for  her  the  ad- 


miration of  the  groups  by  which  she  had  been 
previously  surrounded,  had  totally  disappeared. 
Although  her  movements  were  steady  and 
measured,  her  head  was  bowed,  and  the  hand 
which  grasped  her  cloak  was  so  tightly  clinched 
that  her  small  fingers  were  rigid  and'^bloodlcss,  \ 
Her  companion,  who  was  dressed  as  a  minstrel, 
and  carried  a  guitar  slung  across  his  shoulder, 
was  evidently  several  years  hei'  junior  in  age; 
his  fair  hair  clustered  niassivoly  about  his  cheeks 
and  brow,  and  his  large  eyes,  of  a  deep  and 
intense  blue,  were  fringed  by  long  dark  lashes 
upon  both  the  upper  and  the  under  lids;  in 
person  he  was  tall  and  slight,  symmetrically 
and  vigorously  formed ;  and  there  was  a  di»- 
tinetiou  in  his  finely  eliiselcd  featm'cs  and 
lofty  carriage  peculiarly  attractive. 

"  It  is  worse  than  vain  to  indulge  in  such  a 
hope,  Sydney  ;"  said  the  lady  despondingly,  as  \ 
they  turned  once  more  into  the  deepest  shade 
of  the  shrubbery ;  "  even  Lady  Mary  herself 
would  not  dare  to  broach  the  subject  to  my 
father,  great  as  her  influence  undoubtedly  is ; 
and  now,  as  if  to  render  our  difficulty  still 
more  insurmountable,  I  am  persecuted  by  the 
insane  pursuit  of  that  superannuated  old  peer." 

"  But  surely,  Ida — " 

"  Nay,  nay — "  mterposed  Miss  Trevanion, 
striving  to  smile  ;  "  you  need  waste  no  words 
on  him.  I  have  no  inclination  to  purcliase  a 
coronet,  and  as  little  desire  to  wear  one." 

"  And  can  not  you  convince  your  father  of 
that  fact  ?     You  are  all-powerful  with  him." 

"Perhaps  I  might,  but  our  position  would 
still  remain  unaltered.  For  that  purpose,  as 
I  have  already  explained  to  you,  1  have  been 
reared  and  educated.  My  own  inclinations 
have  never  been  consulted  ;  nor  will  I  hesitate 
to  confess,  tliat  until  I  knew  you,  1  never  cared 
to  speculate  upon  the  future ;  and  my  father 
has  consequently  lived  on  in  the  firm  convic- 
tion that  his  Avishes  would  not  be  thwarted. 
From  this  fatal  mistake  I  can  anticipate  noth- 
ing but  unhappiness  ;  for,  whatever  may  be  my 
final  decision  as  regards  yourself,  I  can  fore- 
see only  displeasure  and  (hsappoiutment  on  his 
part." 

"  And  can  there  be  any  doubt  as  to  that  deci- 
sion?" asked  the  young  man,  earnestly. 

"  I  fear  not ;"  was  the  subdued  reply  ;  "  but 
still  I  shrink  from  the  contest  like  a  coward. 
It  is  not  your  want  of  fortune  which  will  oper- 
ate against  you,  for  as  an  only  child  I  have 
more  than  enough  ;  but  it  is — " 

"  My  obscurity  ;"  said  her  companion,  bit- 
terly. 

"  Sydney !"  exclaimed  Miss  Trevanion  with 
haughty  indignation ;  "  You  are  a  gentleman,  , 
both  by  birth  and  breeding,  or  I  never  could  I 
have  loved  j'ou  ;  but  you  have  no  title  to  offer  ij 
to  me — and,  then — ,"  she  paused,  and  blushed  ( 
deeply.  t 

"Say  on,  Ida.  What  more?  I  will  endeavor  j 
to  bear  all  which  it  may  be  your  pleasure  to  j 
inflict."  I 

"  Your  youth" — murmured  the  lady. 

"  Now  you  are  iu  truth  figiiting  against  shad- 
ows!" was  the  impatient  retort ;  "a  marvelous 
disparity  of  six  years  if  I  mistake  not.  Can 
Mr.  Trevanion  possibly  infer  from  that  circun> 
stance  that  I  am  unable  to  protect  you?" 

"  I  Avas  not  thinking  of  my  father  when  I 


r 


THE     JEALOUS    WIFE. 


ir 


urged  the  objection ;"  said  his  companion ;  "  No, 
Sydney ;  it  ■was  born  of  my  own  foni's.  You 
Lave  assured  me,  and  I  believe  you,  that  I  am 
the  first  woman  wliom  you  have  ever  loved  ; 
but  where  can  I  find  the  assuranee  that  I  shall 
bo  the  last?" 

'tin  yourself.  "Who  that  has  won  the  affee- 
t'on  of  Ida  Trevanion  can  ever  turn  a  thought 
pf  love  upon  another  of  her  sex?  Yon  do 
yourself  injustice  by  such  an  aj^prehension." 

"At  this  moment  you  feel  all  that  you  de- 
clare: of  that,  I  have  no  doubt ;"  was  the  low 
reply;  "nor  will  I  be  guilty  of  the  pitiful 
nffeetation  of  seeming  to  think  otherwise; 
l>ut  time,  Sj'dney,  time  is  a  sad  magician  ; 
ind  the  day  may  come  when  even  you  may 
Feel  the  imprudence  of  having  bound  your- 
self to  a  wife  even  those  six  years  your 
lenior." 

Never !"  exclaimed  the  young  man  ener- 
getically. 

"And  mark  me,  Sydney;"  pursued  Miss 
rrevanion,  laying  her  hand  heavily  on  his 
irm,  and   raising   her  eyes  steadily  to  his ; 

mark  me — for  this  moment  may  be  the 
urninc-point  of  both  our  lives — I  could  bear 
11  but  that.  "Were  such  a  contingency  pos- 
ible,  I  could  share  poverty,  hardship,  and 
ven  exile  with  you ;  but  one  symptom  of 
hange,  one  suspicion  of  coldness,  one  dream 

mark  me,  I  say  once  more — one  dream  that 
ou  had  bestowed  upon  another  the  love 
rhich  you  had  vowed  to  me,  would  kill  me. 
Reflect,  therefore,  before  it  is  too  late.  I  fear 
lat  you  have  not  yet  learned  to  understand 
ly  character ;  to  see  that  under  an  habitual 
uietude  of  manner  I  conceal  a  strength  of 
iirpose  and  a  depth  of  feeling  which  must 
lake  me  either  supremely  happy  or  su- 
remely  miserable.  I  must  be  all  or  nothing 
>  the  man  into  whose  hands  I  resign  my 
jstiny." 

"  Ida,"  said  her  companion,  "  I  have  not 
iserved  this  doubt.  Did  I  not  feel  that  from 
le  moment  in  which  you  become  my  wife 
7  whole  being  will  be  centered  in  yourself 
rever,  I  would  not  expose  you  to  the  trial 
hich  awaits  you." 

"Again  I  say,  reflect;"  continued  Miss  Tre- 

.nion  solemnly ;  "  it  !8  my  perfect  conscious- 
^83  of  my  own  nature  which  causes  me  to 

sitate.     Little  did  I  dream  wlien  we  first 

5t,  that  in  you  I  saw  the  arbiter  of  my  des- 

'iy;_nor  can  I  yet  understand  that  tlie  or- 

'  narily  keen-siglited  Lady  Mary  should,  up 

1  this  hour,  have  failed  to  remark  the  progress 

<  our  intimacy." 

I    "My  aunt  is  by  no  means  so  blind  as  you 

tppose,"  said  the  young  man  with  a  quiet 

lile;  "nor  would  it  appear  that  she  consi- 

#  <jr3    Sydney    Elphinstone    so    ineligible    a 

'   iiteh,  even  for  Miss  Trevanion,  as  that  young 

lly  herself     Tier  own  sister  married  a  com- 

iiner,  and  was  a  far  happier  woman  than 

%Mary." 

'Do  you  really  mean  to  infer  that  she  is 

are  of  our  attachment?" 
Has  she  not  lost 


she  despises,  and  with  whoso  modes  of  think- 
ing she  has  no  sympathy  ?" 

Miss  Trevanion  became  suddenly  thought- 
ful, but  only  for  an  instant.  "  No,  no  ;  it  is 
not  possible;"  she  said  firmly;  "my  father 
trusts  her  so  implicitly;  and  it  would  bo  too 
cruel  were  he  to  be  deceived  in  us  botli." 

"My  assurance  that  she  is  our  friend  gives 
you  no  pleasure  then,  Ida  f"  said  her  lover 
reproaclifully. 

"  Donot  mistake  me.  I  only  fear  that  Lady 
Mary,  in  her  affection  for  her  nephew  and  her 
friend,  is_  unconsciously  incurring  a  frightful 
responsibility,  and  may  hereafter  have  cause  to 
regret  Jier  indulgence." 

"Listen  to  me,"  broke  in  the  young  man 
impetuously.  "My  position  is  a  pamful  one. 
Loving  you — and  you  can  not  doubt  how  well ! 
and  how  entirely  for  yourself — I  may,  and 
must,  to  the  world  appear  sordid  and  inter- 
ested. This  consideration  was  bitter  enou.'^h, 
but  it  has  hitherto  been  my  pride  to  feel  that 
you  at  least  acquitted  me  of  so  base  a  motive. 
Would  that  you  were  a  beggar,  Ida ;  for  then, 

at  least " 

"Shame  on  you!"  exclaimed  Miss  Trevan- 
ion ;  "  Do  not  suffer  your  mind  to  be  sullied  for 
an  instant  by  such  a  thought.  M^ney!" — and 
her  proud  lip  curled  with  all  the  scorn  of  one 
who  had  never  been  taught  to  feel  the  value 
of  the  riches  for  which  she  evinced  so  unequiv- 
ocal a  contempt;  "surely  you  have  already 
betrayed  annoyance  enough  upon  that  odious 
subject,  and  it  is  quite  superfluous  to  renew  it." 
"  Forgive  me ;  and  you  will  do  so,  when  I 
explain  that,  conscious  of  my  own  suffering 
upon  that  point,  I  was  anxious  to  exonerate  my 
aunt  from  a  similar  suspicion.  She  loves  me ; 
I  have  acknowledged  to  her  that  my  every 
hope  of  happiness  depends  upon  an  union  with 
yourself;  and  thus,  if  indeed  she  has  betrayed 
her  trust,  I  can  but  bless  her  for  the  weak- 
ness." 

"  But  did  she  not  endeavor  to  impress  upon 
you  the  imprudence  of  such  an  attachment?" 

_ "  I  suppose  I  must  acknowledge  that  she 
did.     She  told  me,  I  remember,  that  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion was  ambitious,  and  that  she  could  hold 
out  no  hope  ;  that  my  suit  would  be  considered 
by  him,  and  probably  by  yourself  also,  as  pre- 
sumptuous and  absurd." 
"  Absurd  r 
"  Even  so." 
"And  wherefore?" 

"  Because  it  was  so  evidently  hopeless." 
"Did   not   the   word   imply   another   mean- 
ing ?" 

"  None  that  I  could  discover." 
"And  yet   it  might  be  that    she   meant  to 
show  you  tlie  absurdity  of  asking  the  hand  of 
a  woman  older  than  yourself." 
"Again,  Ida!" 

"  I  can  not  help  it.  The  conviction  haunts 
me  pertinaciously,  that,  in  overlooking  so  se- 
rious a  fact,  I  am  wilfully  risking  our  mutual 
happiness.  Women  are  so  frail,  Sydney  ;  they 
fade  so  soon ;  they  are  at  the  mercy  of  a  thou-  ' 
sand    casualties,    from    which    men    are    free. 


,  you  in  the  crowd,  Ida  ?  ,   _ „_ 

Ijesshe  not  occasionally  doze  at  the  opera?  !  They  are,  moreover,  so  susoeptVbie   of  wr'on 

I  have  faded  to  remark  the  long,  prosy  j  that,   although  they  mav  appear  to  f.rget  {.„ 

versations    in    which    she    indulges    from    well  as  to  forgive,  it  is  stran-e   but  true  that 


tiie  to  time,  with  persons  whose 


intellect 
2 


every  new  sorrow  recalls  tliu  memory  of  past 


18 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


suffcrian^.  .Griefs  and  trials  wliich  bad  seemed 
for  a.  tim?,  even  to  themselves,  to  have  been 
outlived  and  obliterated,  add  their  mental  pang 
to  the  new  wound ;  and  sears,  ■whieh  had  ap- 
parently elosed,  bleed  a<};ain;  for  the  heart  is 
more  difficult  to  heal  than  the  body,  and  more 
tenacious  of  the  hurts  by  'which  it  has  been  in- 
jured. If  then,  such  be  the  fate  of  the  most 
forbearing  of  the  sex,  judge  Avhat  must  be  the 
destiny  of  those  whose  nature  forbids  thein 
either  to  forget  or  to  forgive — for  whom  the 
first  insult  is  final — who  can  hate  as  fiercely  as 
they  can  love.  Should  they  not  be  wary? 
Should  they  not  shrink  from  rushing  upon  their 
own  destruction  ?" 

"  Ida.  you  torture  both  yourself  and  me." 

"And  it  is  because  I  love  you,  Sydney,  that 
I  do  so.  Because  my  love  is  so  selfish  and  so 
engrossing,  that  I  seek  to  forge  arms  against 
myself.  Because  I  would  not  that  hereafter 
you  should  look  back  with  pity  or  with  scorn 
upon  my  weakness." 

"  And  do  you  in  reality  believe  that  I  could 
ever  prove  so  vile  an  ingrate?" 

"  I  think  less  of  you  individually,  Sydney, 
while  thus  listening  to  the  voice  of  reason  and 
common  sense,  tlian  of  human  nature  in  the 
mass.  TTho  can  answer  for  tho  effect  which 
may  bo  produced  upon  his  nature  by  time  and 
circumstances '?" 

"It  is  in  the  power  of  every  man  of  honor 
to  do  so." 

"  But  I  would  owe  nothing  to  the  honor  of 
my  husband  upon  a  point  like  tliis.  Such  a 
safeguard  to  my  pride  would  but  revolt  my 
affection." 

"You  distort  my  meaning,  Ida.  Is  this 
generous?" 

"I  know  not!"  said  Miss  Trevanion  sadly; 
"I  only  feci  that  in  becoming  your  wife,  I 
should  so  utterly  resign  my  every  chanco  of 
hnnpiness  into  your  hands,  that,  were  I  to  de- 
ceive myself^  tlie  wreck  would  be  a  fatal  one." 

"  Tou  do  not,  then,  consider  me  worthy  of 
the  trust  ?" 

"  As  you  are,  Sydney  ?  Oh,  yes !  "Wortliy — 
most  worthy.  I  only  tremble  when  I  reflect 
upon  what  j-ou  may  one  day  become." 

"This  discussion  is  idle  and  most  painful, 
"Ida,"  said  Elphinstono  in  an  unsteady  voice,  "  I 
have  but  assurances  to  ofler,  to  which  you  ap- 
parently assign  no  credit.  I  was  not  prepared 
for  such  mistrust  on  your  part." 

"  Do  not  wrong  mc,"  was  the  eager  rejoin- 
der. "  I  do  not  mistrust  you — this  interview  is  a 
sufficient  evidence  to  tlio  contrary;  but — " 

"  But  you  daro  not  confide  your  happiness  to 
my  keeping  ?" 

Tlicre  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  nothing 
could  bo  heard  in  that  quiet  and  secluded  ave- 
nue, .save  tho  sounds  of  far-off  music,  tlio  ring- 
ing of  distant  laughter,  and  tho  wiiisporings  of 
the  wind  tlirough  the  dense  foliage  of  the  over- 
arching trees ;  and  then  camo  a  low  murmur 
of  '■  I  do — I  will;"  and  tho  extended  hand  of 
Miss  Trevanion  was  passionately  clasped  in  that 
of  her  companion. 

"  Ida — my  own." 

"  Now,  and  forever." 

"  Witliout  doubt  or  misgiving  ?" 

"  In  all  faith  and  trust." 

"I  will  merit  both." 


"  I  believe  it,  Sydney ;  and  on  my  Ado  I  wBl 
endeavor  to  prove  to  you  that  I  deserve  your 
full  and  entire  affection;  and  I  will  strive  to 
forget — " 

"  Forget  nothing,  save  that  you  have  been 
unjust  to  yourself;  and  if  a  life-long  devotion 
can  repay  you  for  the  blessedness  Avhich»you 
have  conferred  on  me,  it  is,  and  must  be  yours. 
Do  not  imagine  for  an  instant  tliat  I  am  uncon- 
scious of  tho  sacrifice  which  you  are  willing  to 
make  in  order  to  secure  my  hapjiiticss ;  do  not 
suppose  tliat  I  am  blind  to  the  worldly  advan- 
tages which  you  so  generously  resign  for  my 
sake  ;  I  am  but  too  keenly  alive  to  their  ex- 
tent. I  know  that  you  will  be  blamed,  and 
even  pitied,  for  bestowing  yourself  upon  a  poor 
and  nameless  suitor,  in  the  fullness  of  your 
beauty,  and  the  zenith  of  your  foshion,  when 
tho  noblest  and  the  proudest  are  contending 
for  your  fovor ;  but  you  shall  have  no  cause  to 
regret  such  a  concession." 

"I  accept  the  assurance,"  said  Miss  Trevanion 
tenderly  ;  "  I  will  henceforward  throw  all  mis- 
giving to  the  winds,  and  trust  inplicitly  in  your 
affection.  "We  have,  however,  still  to  struggle 
against  very  formidable  difficulties,  Sydney; 
and  I  confess,  that  when  I  tliink  of  my  father's 
anger  I  feel  terrified." 

"  Surely,  with  such  an  auxiliary  as  my  aunt,' 
you  will  be  able  to  overcome  the  objections  of 
Mr.  Trevanion." 

"I  repeat  that  I  believe  them  to  bo  insupfr. 
rablo;  but,  as  it  has  now  become  my  duty  to 
make  the  attempt,  I  will  not  shrink  from  tL(; 
task,  onerous  as  it  is." 

"  Would  that  I  could  spare  you  the  trial !" 

"Impossible!  I  must  meet  the  displeasun 
which  I  shall  have  incurred,  alone;  and  this' 
Sydney,  will  be  asuCQcicnt  proof  of  the  sincerity 
of  my  affection;  for,  peculiar  as  lie  may  be  oi 
this  one  poiut,  my  father  has  hitherto  been  ti, 
mo  all  kindness  and  indulgence;  and  I  can  no 
involve  him  in  mortification  and  disappointmen 
witliout  suffering  severely  on  my  side.  M; 
only  consolation  will  exist  in  the  coiivictio;. 
that  he  desires  my  happiness,  and  tliat  I  sha) 
have  secured  it  by  uniting  myself  to  the  onl; 
man  who  has  ever  won  iny  love.  And  now' 
let  us  part,  or  our  absence  will  bo  remarked." 

"So  soon,  Ida?" 

"  Believe  me,  it  is  bettor  so." 

But  still  they  lingered  awhile,  her  liand  i ' 
his,  and  conversing  in  those  low  tones  whici 
aro  audible  rather  to  tho  heart  than  to  the  ea . 
but  which  are  nevertheless  truinpct-tongued  t; 
those  who  love.     And  then  their  hands  wci 
more  firmly  clasped  together;  their  eyes  m 
in  a  long  and  eloquent  look ;  the  lady  emerge 
into  the  sunshine,  and  the  gentleman  plunge, 
yet  deeper  into  the  shadows  of  tlic  shrubber 
The  cheek  of  Miss  Trevanion  was  pale,  but  si- 
betrayed  no  other  sj-mptom  of  eniotion;  ai 
if  slio" played  her  adopted  part  less  gnyly  tin' 
before  slio  indulged  in  that  sylvan  VU-il-U 
there  was  a  graceful  languor  iu  her  whole  c 
portment  which  rendered  her  oidy  the  mc, 
fascinating    and    attractive   to   her  assiduo 
admirers.  •  ,' 

Nothing  could  go  off  better  than  the  ft 
of  Mrs.  St.  Maur  Fulke ;  and  numerous  wc 
the  compliments  which  she  received  from  1 
reluctantly-departing  guests,   warned  bj 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


19 


risint!;  moon,  nnd  a,  rising  mist  from  the  river, 
I   that  even  the  most  refined  j^h'asnres  must  at 
I  last  ter  hi  in  ate,     Nymi>hs  and  t^xldesses  folded 
i   their  shawls  and  mantles  about  tiiem  ;  knights 
1  and  courtiers  resolved  themselves  into  mere 
I  mortals;   carriages   thundered   to  the   gates; 
1  thS  voices  of  servants  and  policemen  were 
loud  in  every  direction,  and  Miss  Trevanion 
'  handed  to  her  chariot  by  a  minstrel,  whose 
plumed    hat   completely   overshadowed    his 
I  countenance,  wa^oon  rolling  along  the  road 
[  to  London,  seateffbeside  the  silent  and  some- 
what conscienee-striekea  Sybil,  to  whose  care 
I  she  had  beea  confided 


CHAPTER  VL 

A    REVELATION. 

"  And  so,"  said  Mr.  Trevanion  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  as  he  rose  from   the  breakfast 
able,  and  transferred  the  "  Jlorning  Post"  to 
lis  wife ;  "  the  ft'te  of  Mrs.  St.    ■Maur  Fulke 
as  the  most  brilliant  affair  of  the  season. 
o  you  concur  in  this  opinion.  Lady  Mary  ?" 
"There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  ad- 
irahlv  arranged,  and  veiy  successful;"  was 
he  quiet  replit     "  In  fact  I  never  saw  a  col- 

iection  of  more  effective  ■costumes,  or  listened 
o  more  agreeable  music  What  say  you, 
da?" 
"That  if  the  gxiests  were  not  amused,  it 
■(vas  assuredly  not  the  fault  of  the  hostess," 
ai  1  the  3'oung  lady. 

"  Vou,  <it  least.,  have  «very  reason  to  Lc 
a'isfied,"  observed  her  father;  "as  I  find  it 
ecorded  in  'The  Post,'  that  '  the  lovely  and 
iccomplished  Miss  Trevanion  was  one  of  its 
)rightest  ornaments;' although  I  still  main- 
.ain  t!iat  the  cost-fime  which  you  selected, 
ya?  by  no  means  that  in  which *I  should,  had 
been  consulted  on  the  subject,  have  eoun- 
eled  mif  daughter  to  appear." 
"'  I  think  tliat  you  would  have  altered  your 
pmion,  had  you  seen  how  admirably  Ida 
nacteJ  her  assumed  character,"  said  the  in- 
ulgent  and  politic  Lady  Mary;  "I  can  as- 
ure  you  that  it  excited  general  remark." 
Mr.  Trevanion  acknowledged  the  courtesy 
y  a  gracious  bo\7. 

And  it  was,  moreover,  excessively  bo- 
oming," pursued  the  fiiinily  friend  ;  "  I  never 
.w  the  dear  girl  appear  to  more  advantage. 
was  quite  proud  of  my  charge." 
"I  hope,  madam,  that  you  will  never  have 
luse  to  be  otherwise,"  observed  Mr.  Trevan- 
,  haughtily ;  "  but  that  ere  long — " 
'  No  doul)t,  no  doubt,  my  dear  sir,"  inter- 
ssed  the  lady  somewhat  nervously ;  "  there 
-  not  bo  a  question  that  the  social  success 
:  3'our  daughter  will  augment,  while  that 
:  so  many  less  higldy-gifted  girls  is  terribly 
pt  to  diininisli.  Ida's  fashion  is  now  so  per- 
jctly  establislied,  and  the  set  into  which  I 
hve  had  the  privilege  of  introducing  her  is 
'  thoroughly  unexceptionable,  that  her  fu- 
ire  station  depends  entirely  upon  herself." 
,"I  am  convinced,"  said  Mr.  Trevanion, 
(ith  a  second  lofty  bow  of  acknowledgment, 
[that  she  will  not  lose  sight,  either  of  her 


I  obligation  to  you,  or  of  the  immense  respon- 
sibility which  now  rests  upon  herself." 

"  I  am  sure,"  w  iiinod  the  thin  voice  of  Mrs. 
Trevanion,  from  behind  the  broad  pages  of 
the  newspaper,  bj-  wliich  she  was  entirely 
jconceaiel;  "that  if  Ida  is  not  hap|iy  and 
j  satisfied,  I  can  not  tell  what  could  make  her 
so." 

"My  3-oung  friend  has  certainly  drawn  a 
prize  in  the  great  lottery  of  life  ;"  said  the 
bland  Lady  Mary  in  her  smootliest  accent. 

"A  fact  of  which  I  trust  that  she  is  fully 
aware ;"  was  the  sententious  rejoinder  of  the 
gentleman,  as  he  strode  loftily  across  the 
floor;  "for,  truth  to  say,  lean  scarcely  im- 
agine a  want  or  a  wish  on  her  part  which 
she  is  unable  to  gratify — young,  handsome, 
and  fashionable,  with  the  prospect  of  a  fine 
fortune,  and  the  offer  of  a  peerage — " 

"  Can  I  speak  a  few  words  with  you  in 
private,  papa?"  asked  Miss  Trevanion  in  a 
firm  voice,  but  with  a  heightened  color, 

"In  private,  Ida'  Are  we  not  now  suffi- 
ciently private  for  any  communication  which 
you  maj-  find  it  necess.ary  to  make?  Is  not 
Lady  Mary  one  of  the  family?  While  your 
mother — " 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Trevanion  ;"  said  the  no- 
ble widow  with  alacrity,  at  the  same  time 
rising  from  her  seat;  "I  have  letters  of  some 
importance  to  write,-  and  shall  be  glad  to 
commence  them  as  early  in  the  day  as  pos- 
sible ;  you  must  therefore  allow  mc  to  retire 
to  my  own  room," 

"As  you  will,  madam,  as  you  will;"  re- 
plied the  host,  holding  back  the  door  with 
the  ceremonious  courtesy  which  he  always 
observed  to  the  other  sex;  "  if  such  be  the 
case  I  can  of  course  offer  no  objection,  but 
were  it  otherwise — " 

"Not  a  word  more,  my  dear  sir;  believe 
me  that  no  apology  is  necessary ;  I  was  about 
to  withdraw  as  Ida  spoke  ;"  and  gathering 
the  rich  folds  of  her  gray  damask  dress  about 
her,  the  portly  lady  disappeared, 

"And  you,  Mrs.  Trevanion?"  said  her  hus- 
band interrogatively. 

"  I  would  rather  that  mamma  should  re- 
main ;"  was  the  calm  remark  of  his  daughter. 
"  Ilcr  opinion  on  the  subject  to  be  discussed, 
of  whatever  nature  it  may  be,  can  not  but 
prove  valuable ;"  observed  Mr,  Trevanion, 
contemptuously, 

"That  is  precisely  my  own  sentiment;" 
said  the  young  lady,  "  for  I  have  firm  faith 
in  her  affection  for  her  only  child,  and  as  I 
am  about  to  speak  frankly  and  seriously 
upon  a  matter  involving  my  future  happiness 
in  life,  it  will  be  a  sincere  gratification  to 
me  sliould  she  see  and  feel  as  I  do." 

"  You  have  then  some  doubt  as  to  my  sym- 
pathy— "  said  her  father  tartly. 

"  I  confess  it ;  but  I  do  not  despair  of  con- 
vincing alike  your  heart  and  your  reason,  for  I 
have  also  an  unshaken  trust  in  your  paternal 
tenderness." 

"Enough  of  this  verbal  skirmishing,  Id.a. 
What  have  you  to  say?  I  have  busines.r  iu 
town  to-day,  and  expect  tho  carriage  round 
every  instant." 

"  I  shall  not  detain  you  long,  sir.  You  Iiavo 
for  tho  last  four  years  expressed  a  great  desiro 


20 


THE    JEALOUS    TVIFE. 


to  SCO  me  settled  in  life,  and  I  consider  it  my 
duty  to  tell  you  without  procrastination  or 
concealment  that  my  election  is  made." 

"  You  accept  Lord  Downmere  ?'' 

Miss  Trevauion  smiled  disdainfully.  "  Deci- 
dedly not.  I  have  no  ambition  to  become  the 
T\-ife  of  a  man  old  enough  to  be  my  grand- 
father." 

"  A  peer  of  the  realm — '* 

"  A  selfish  sensualist." 

"  Pshaw  t  The  only  chance  of  married  hap- 
piness to  a  woman  is  to  unite  herself  to  a  man 
of  twice  her  own  age,  wlio  knows  how  to  ap- 
preciate her  youth  and  beauty  at  their  proper 
value.  A  sensualist!  And  why  not?  How 
can  that  affect  your  comfort?  An  egotist? 
Trash  1  Let  him  indulge  liimself  as  he  may, 
you  are  not  likely  to  suffer  from  liia  selfislmess. 
Upon  this  subject  I  shall  admit  of  no  argument, 
as  I  havo  already  promised  your  hand  to  Lord 
Downmere." 

"Sir!'*  exclaimed  the  young  lady  indignant- 
ly ;  "I  can  not  surely  have  understood  you 
rightly  ;  did  you  say  that  you  had  promised  my 
hand  ?" 

"  I  did." 

"  And  without  my  sanction  ?" 

"  Even  so." 

"  Then  you  must  excuse  me,  if  I  at  once  de- 
clare that  I  am  as  little  disposed  to  defer  to 
the  tyranny  of  a  fatlier  as  to  that  of  a  husband. 
We  are  not,  happil}',  in  Circassia,  where  pa- 
rents make  a  trade  of  their  children,  and 
dispose  of  ihem  to  the  best  bidder;  and  thus 
I  do  not  acknowledge  the  right  even  of  my 
own  parent  to  transfer  me  like  a  bale  of  mer- 
chandize." 

"  You  might  at  least  have  spared  mo  that 
taunt.  Miss  Trevanionl"  exclaimed  the  mer- 
chant with  vehemence ;  "  it  comes  badly  from 
you,  who  are  indebted  to  my  self-sacrifice  for 
all  tlio  advantages  upon  which  you  pride  your- 
self." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir ;  I  intended  no  sarcasm," 
said  his  daugliter  dcprocatingly ;  "nor  can  I 
comprehend  how  you  should  for  an  instant 
attach  such  a  meaning  to  my  words.  My  very 
rejection  of  the  suitor  whom  you  have  proposed 
to  mo  is  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  my  utter  in- 
difference to  tlie  empty  distinctions  of  rank  and 
name.  Xo  one  can  havo  a  more  profound  re- 
spect for  high  blood  and  ancient  lineage  than 
myself)  but  I  have  no  incUjiation  to  immo- 
late my  happuaesa  at  the  shrine  of  mere 
rank." 

"  I  shall  not  bandy  phrases  with  you,  Miss 
Trcvanion,"  was  the  tart  reply  ;  "  my  straight- 
forward mode  of  speech  is  no  match  for  your 
sentimental  eloquence;  and  it  would  appear 
that  my  paternal  autliority  is  no  curb  to  your 
will.  Be  good  enough,  tlierefore,  to  inform  mo 
of  your  pleasure,  in  order  that  I  may  not 
waste  time  which  can  be  more  profitably  cm- 
ployed." 

Tears  rose  to  the  eyes  of  the  young  lady, 
but  they  did  not  falL  She  remained  silent  for 
an  instant ;  and  tlien,  grasping  the  hand  of  her 
father,  as  it  rested  \i\nm  the  back  of  the  chair 
from  which  he  had  risen,  she  said  beseeching- 
ly, "Do  not  be  harsh  with  mo  I  If  you  only 
knew  how  much  it  costs  me  to  thwart  your 
wishes  upon  so  important  a  point  aa  this,  1  am 


sure  that  you  would  rather  pity  than  condemn 
me ;  but  believe  me  when  I  assure  you  that  it 
is  its  very  importance  which  gives  me  strength 
to  do  sa  You  have  been  so  invariably  kind 
and  indulgent ;  you  have  so  long  made  my 
happiness  your  chief  care,  that  I  dare  not 
bring  myself  to  suspect  your  affection  when  I 
am  about  to  put  it  to  the  test." 

"  What  more  ?"  was  the  cold  inquiry,  as 
Mr.  Trevaniou  withdrew  his  hand  from  her 
clasp. 

"  I  have  already  declared,"  said  his  daughter, 
retreating  a  step  or  two,  as  if  stung  by  his 
tone  and  gesture ,  "  that  my  election  is  made — 
my  promise  is  given — my  hand  is  pledged. 
That  promise  and  that  hand  were  mine  to  be- 
stow or  to  withhold ;  and  I  have  acted  upon  the 
firm  conviction  that  I  possessed  an  undoubted 
right  to  decide  my  own  destiny." 

"And  this  conviction  has  induced  you  to 
counteract  my  wishes,  and  to  disappoint  my 
views.  What  compensation  have  you  to  offer? 
What  brilliant  establishment  have  you  secured 
for  yourself  which  may  tend  to  reconcile  me  to 
your  disobedience  ?"' 

"Will  not  my  future  happiness — " 

"No  romance,  if  you  please,  Miss  Trevanion. 
Mine  has  been  a  life  made  up  altogether  of  re- 
alities, and  I  havo  little  taste  for  supplying  in- 
cidents for  a  novel  in  my  own  j^mily.  Happi- 
ness in  this  world,  yoimg  lady,  as  you  ought 
by  this  time  to  be  aware,  implies  wealth,  sta- 
tion, and  influence ;  and  once  more  I  ask  you 
if  you  have  secured  these  ?" 

"  And  on  my  part,  sir,  I  frankly  answer — 
Xo." 

"  Better  and  better !"  was  the  sarcastic 
,  reply  of  the  merchant,  as  his  cheek  becamo 
[  livid  with  suppressed  passion ;  "  but  pray  pro- ; 
coed."  ' 

"  I  will ;  my  hand  is  pledged,  and  pledged ' 
irrevocably,  to  Mr.  Sydne_^  Elphinstonc." 

"To  Mr.  Sydney  Elphin.stone — Indeed!" 
sneered  Mr.  Trevanion;  while  a  "Good  gra- 
cious me"  came  from  the  lounging  chair  in 
which  his  wife  had  hitherto  sat  silent  and  dis- 
regarded. I 

"A  beardless  boy,  and  a  penny  less  pauper!"' 
pursued  the  gentleman  after  drawing  a  lon^ 
breath  "  yon  do  honor  to  your  birth  and 
breeding  even  by  such  an  inclination,  Miss^ 
Trevanion.  Rest  assured,  however,  that  no, 
folly  of  the  kind  shall  ever  be  perpetrated 
in  my  family;  I  positively  forbid  all  further' 
mention  of  the  young  man's  name  beneath  my 
roof." 

"  I  much  regret,  sir  — " 

"And  so  do  I,  madam;  so  do  I;  deeply, 
bitterly  regret  the  degeneracy  of  a  child  from' 
I  whose  sense  of  personal  dignity  and  filial  affcc-, 
tion  I  had  looked  for  obedience,  and  a  read)' 
co-operation  in  my  own  views.  Do  you  ima-: 
gine,  Miss  Trcvanion,  that  I  have  bestowed  £■ 
fortune  upon  your  education,  and  petted  ant 
pampered  you  like  a  peeress,  in  order  that  yo< 
may  make  me  the  laughing-stock  of  my  haugbt) 
relatives  ?" 

"  I  had  flattered  myself;  sir,  that  I  was  in 
debted  for  all  the  advantages  and  indulpencci' 
which  I  have  enjoyed,  to  your  fatherly  affectioi 
alone." 

"  Listen  to  me ;"  said  Mr.  Trevanion,  sternly 


TEE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


21 


"  Let  my  motives  be  what  they  might,  you  owe 
me  tenfold  the  c:ratitiuie  which  a  parent  could 
claim  from  an  ordinary  cliild.  Your  very  birth, 
madam,  was  a  bitter  disappointment.  I  had 
married  j'our  mother  iu  the  hope  that  she 
would  make  mo  the  father  of  a  son ;  that  I 
might  meet  Sir  Jasper  upon  equal  terms ;  and 
that  the  heir  to  my  wealth  miglit  illustrate  tlio 
familv  name  as  proudly  as  ho  who  was  its  re- 
\  presentative.  You  know  me,  and  the  one 
ambition  of  my  life,  well  onouLrli  to  feel  that  I 
;  became  a  husband  from  no  sellish  seeking  after 
j  personal  gratification ;  I  could  and  should  have 
i  sufiELced  to  myself  had  I  not  had  an  ulterior 
I  aim — but  enough  on  that  subject.  You  were 
Iborn;  a  girl — a  woman — and  my  first  hope 
\  was  frustrated.  Your  mother  bore  mo  no  other 
I  child,  and  new  prospects  opened  before  me. 
I  You  were  handsome,  and  I  was  careful  that 
[your  beauty  should  be  enhanced  by  every  ex- 
traneous aicL  I  have  reared  you  rather  like 
I  the  daughter  of  a  duke  than  the  heiress  of  a 
[commoner.  I  have  spared  neither  gold  nor 
I  care;  and,  I  believe  I  maybe  permitted  to  hope 
[that  neitlier  has  been  expended  injudiciously. 
j  I  have  done  more.  I  have  secured  to  you  the 
services  of  a  woman  of  rank — do  j'ou  mark  me, 
iMiss  Trevanion  ?  I  say — and  I  say  it  advised- 
ily, — the  services  of  a  woman  of  rank;  for, 
whatever  you  may  feel  inclined  to  think  upon 
(the  subject,  you  may  trust  mo  when  I  assure 
jou  that  there  is  no  leveller  like  wealth ;  and 
ihowever  respectfully  we  may  see  fit  to  treat 
Lady  Mary  Brookiand,  it  is  not  the  less  certain 
;that  her  poverty  has  compelled  her  to  bow  her 
[pride;  and  that  she  is  as  completely  my  hired 
[dependent  as  the  butler  who  ofiBciates  at  my 
sideboard.  And  now,  allow  me  to  inquire  what 
return  you  are  anxious  to  make  for  all  my 
solicitude  ?  I  believed,  and  I  had  every  right 
to  believe,  that  the  false  position  in  which  I 
Ihad  so  long  lived,  must  necessarily  end  when 
jyou  attained  to  womanhood,  and  were  compe- 
jtent  to  secure  such  a  marriage  as  7ny  birth,  and 
your  own  personal  and  acquired  advantages, 
Tendered  expedient.  I  secured  for  you  the 
jhomage  of  a  nobleman,  and  I  was  satisfied.  I 
jfelt  that  my  task  was  ended,  and  my  object 
Accomplished.  I  had  toiled  and  waited  for 
jyears,  but  I  had  ultimately  effected  my  pur- 
jpose ;  and  I  turned  back  no  regret  upon  the 
past." 

i  "Yet  surely,  sir,  my  future  happiness  may 
he  considered  as  worthy  of  some  considera- 
pon." 

"  I  have  already  requested  that  you  would 
|have  the  courtesy  to  spare  mo  all  phrase- 
making;"  was  the  impatient  retort:  "we  are 
wasting  words.  "Will  you,  or  will  you  not, 
Miss  Trevanion — I  must  now  insist  on  your 
lefinitive  reply — accept  the  hand  of  Lord 
'^ownmere  ?" 

_  I  can  not ;"  said  the  young  lady  with  a 
luivering  lip,  but  with  unabated  firnmess;  "I 
lo  not  even  respect  him  ;  and  I  will  never  give 
nysclf  to  a  man  whom  I  despise." 

"  Thi.?  is,  if  I  rightly  understand,  your  final 
letermiaation.  Good  Listen,  in  5-our  turn, 
0  mine.  Become  the  wife  of  your  pauper- 
over,  and  share  his  poverty ;  marry  your  boy- 
uitor,  and  expose  yourself  to  the  ridicule  of 
he  world ;  but  do  not  expect  me  to  take  any 


1€ 


part  either  in  the  privation.'^  or  the  sarcnsms  to 
which  you  are  willing  to  expose  yourself.  Do 
not,  moreover,  expect  that  I  shall  render  my- 
self responsible  for  your  obstinacy,  or  yoiir 
error, — for  I  am  willing  to  give  it  whicli*ver 
name  j-ou  please.  Whatever  may  be  my  di.s- 
appointment  or  my  mortification,  I  have  still 
moral  courage  enough  left  to  assert  myself; 
and  no  hardly-earned  gains  of  mine  shall  go 
to  enrich  a  son-in-law  whom  I  will  never  re- 
cognize." 

"  My  dear  fiithcr — " 

"  You  have  hoard  my  decision.  Miss  Tre- 
vanion. It  now  remains  for  you  to  make 
yours." 

"  It  is  made,  sir.  My  word  is  pledged ;  and 
I  should  not  be  your  daughter  if  I  failed  to  re- 
deem it." 

"  The  flattery  is  delicate,  but  useless  and  ill- 
timed.  "We  then  thoroughly  understand  each 
other?" 

"  I  fear  so." 

It  is  a  fatal  error  to  compel,  by  unreasoning 
severity,  a  feeling  which  was  perhaps  not  yet 
sufficiently  strong  to  withstand  tenderness  and 
entreaty,  into  direct  and  deliberate  opposition, 
i  and  to  assail  it  too  roughly  by  giving  to  it  tho 
stimulus  of  anger ;  while  it  is  a  common  mis- 
take, and  a  fatal  one,  to  suppose  that  by 
harshness  and  intemperance  we  can  succeed 
in  crushing  it,  as  though  it  were  a  mere  brute 
j  antagonist  to  be  overcome  by  physical  force. 
There  is  a  recoil  against  oppression  in  every 
heart ;  and  many  may  bo  persuaded  and  con- 
vinced by  gentleness,  who  become  only  the 
more  resolute  when  opposed  by  violence. 

Whether  such  would  have  been  tho  case  in 
the  present  instance  it  is  impossible  to  decide, 
as  the  trial  was  not  made;  while  the  look  of 
calm  defiance  which  passed  between  the  mor- 
tified father  and  his  indignant  child  at  this 
period  of  the  conversation  gave  ample  evidence 
that  neither  was  disposed  to  yield. 

"Xow,  don't  bo  obstinate,  Ida;"  whined 
out  the  thin  voice  from  the  arm-chair ;  "  your 
father  does  not  like  you  to  marry  Mr.  Elphin- 
j  stone — I  do  not  like  it — and  I  am  quite  sure 
I  that  Lady  Mary  will  be  furious." 
I  "  Your  opinion  is,  no  doubt,  a  valuable  One, 
Mrs.  Trevanion;"  said  her  husband  sarcasti- 
cally; "but,  nevertheless,  I  take  the  liberty 
of  dissenting  from  it;  as  I  am  quite  prepared 
I  to  believe  that  we  are  indebted  to  that  very 
lady  for  tlie  pleasant  position  in  which  we  now 
find  ourselves." 

"  I  can  assure  you — "  commenced  his  daugh- 
ter, as  a  flush  of  generous  indignation  burnt 
upon  her  check  and  brow;  "that  you  wrong 
Lady  Mary  Brookiand,  sir,  by  such  a  supposi- 
tioiL  It  is  true  that  she  originally  presented 
Mr.  Elphinstono  to  me;  and  surely  nothing 
could  bo  more  simple  than  that  she  should  in- 
troduce so  near  a  relative  to  tho  members  of  a 
family  in  which  she  resided;  but,  beyond  tho 
fact  of  this  introduction,  Lady  Mary  has  never 
made  tho  slightest  effort  to  force  Mr.  Eli)hin- 
stone  upon  my  acquaintance." 

"  Probably  not ;"  was  the  cold  reply ;  "  Lady 
Mary  is  a  woman  of  taste  and  tact,  and  not 
likely  to  commit  herself  by  any  overt  exertions 
to  that  effect;  but  there  are  such  tilings,  Miss 
1  Trevanion,  as  negative  helps — assistance  rca- 


22 


THE    JEALOUS    T7IFE. 


dered  rather  bj  omissions  than  by  actual  ser- 1 
vicefi." 

"  Is  not  this  wnj^enorous,  sir?''  | 

"  It  may  be  so;  but  I  apprehend  that  it  is  not  I 
unjust.    I  can  not  be  deceived  in  beheving  that 
the  admirable  'understanding' — Is  not  that  the  | 
;  conventional  term  applied  to  such  diirnified  and  [ 
'  womanly  arrauErements  as  that  to  which  it  would 
appear  that  you  have  lent  yourself? — must  have 
taken  place  at  the  fie  of  Mrs.  St.  Maur  Fulke.  | 
Now,  will  you  permit  me  to  inquire  how  your 
chaporone   had  disposed  of  herself  when  this 
very  romantic  scene  was  taking  place?     Was 
slic  present  ?" 

"  She  was  not.  TTe  had  been  accidentally 
separated  by  the  crowd." 

'•Xo  doubt.  1  suspected  as  much ;  and  the 
great  extent  of  the  pleasure  grounds  naturally 
rendered  it  quite  impossible  that  you  should 
meet  again  until  the  gentleman  had  carried  his 
point.  It  is  precisely  as  I  thought ;  and  con- 
firms me  more  steadfastly  than  ever  in  the  con- 
viction, that  in  every  aflair  of  life  there  is  noth- 
ing so  desirable  as  to  secure  the  co-operation 
of  persons  of  sense,  who  appreciate  so  admir- 
ably the  extent  of  what  is  required  of  them ; 
while  simpletons  on  the  contrary,  are  like  grey 
hairs — they  are  always  obtrusive,  and  never 
can  bo  kept  in  their  right  places.  I  was  quite 
sure  that  poor  Lady  Mary  had,  in  some  wa}', 
lost  sight  of  you  altoL'ether." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir.  if  in  my  turn,  I  remark  that 
we  are  losing  sight  of  our  subject;"  said  Miss 
Trevanion  with  dignity;  "I  have  already  ex- 
onerated Lady  Mary  from  all  blame,  and  am 
quite  willing  to  take  upon  myself  the  responsi- 
bility of  my  own  actions.  I  am  no  child  to 
obey  the  leading-strings  of  a  nurse — no  puppet 
to  (iance  obedience  to  the  wires  of  an  exhibitor 
— but  a  reflecting  and  anxious  woman,  con- 
scious that  I  hold  in  my  own  hands  the  control 
of  my  future  destiny." 

"So  be  it;"  contemptuously  retorted  her 
fatN-'r ;  "  and  I  congratulate  you  that  they  are 
so  full,  as  you  are  likely  to  have  little  else  to 
grasp  in  them." 

'•The  jest  is  a  bitter  one,  but  1  will  not  re- 
sent it;"  said  the  young  lady.  "'I  see  and 
feel,  painfully  feel,  that  on  the  one  most  im- 
portant action  of  my  life  there  exists  no  hope 
of  our  sympathizing.  But  still,  oh,  my  dear 
father,  still  have  mercy  on  me;  and  do  not  re- 
fuse to  me  at  least  your  blessing  and  your  for- 
givenc.os.  Reflect  that,  in  taking  so  decided  a  | 
step  in  opposition  to  3-our  wishes  I  am  already 
sufiiciently  to  pity ;  and  do  not  let  mo  have  in 
addition  to  apprehend  the  misery  of  your  per- 
manent displeasure." 

For  an  in.stant  the  lip  of  Mr.  Trevanion  quiv- 
ered, but  only  for  an  instant.  The  proud  spirit 
of  the  disa{)poiiited  man  was  stronger  even  than 
his  paternal  love,  and  he  rallied  ere  his  daugh- 
ter had  time  to  remark  the  passing  emotion. 
"My  blessing  I"  he  exclaimed  vehemently: 
"my  b!e.ssingl  on  what?  On  3-our  deliberate 
disobedience?  My  forgiveness?  Of  what  ? 
Of  your  premeditated  overthrow  of  all  my 
hopes  ?  Look  for  neither,  madam ;  look  for 
neither.  Avail  yourself  of  your  boasted  privi- 
lege of  free-will — give  3-ourself  to  a  beggar — 
the  law  will  bo  your  sanction,  and  I  your  vic- 
tim.    Let  that  consciouanesa  suffice  you.    All 


further  words  are  needless.  I  withdraw  all  o-,- 
position — I  will  offer  no  impediments  to  vour 
folly ;  go,  and  like  other  lunatics,  rush  upon 
your  fate." 

"Father!" — 

"Enough,  Miss  Trevanion;"  was  the  stc— 
rejoinder;  "I  still  feel  sufficient  pity  for  yo  ■ 
madness  to  accord  you  four-and-twentv  houit 
to  reflect;  but.  if  at  the  termination  "of  th;:{ 
time,  you  adhere  to  your  present  insane  pur. 
pose,  you  will  no  longer  have  a  father,  and  will 
be  at  perfect  liberty  to  replace  his  protection 
by  that  of  any  husband  you  may  see  fit  to  se- 
lect." 

As  these  words  were  uttered,  Mr.  Trevanion 
hastily  lefl  the  room,  while  his  daughter  sank 
back  upon  the  sofa,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

For  a  moment  only  there  was  silence,  ns  the 
weak  and  timid  wife  had  no  sooner  ascertained 
the  disappearance  of  her  husband  than  sho 
roused  herself  from  her  habitual  apathy,  and 
querulously  upbraided  her  agitated  daughter, 
with  what  she  characteristically  designated  as 
her  silly  and  nonsensical  obstinacy'.  The  re- 
proaches of  Mrs.  Trevanion,  however,  fell  upon 
the  car  of  Ida  with  no  greater  force  tliantho 
whistling  of  the  subsiding  wind  amid  the.eor- 
dage  of  a  tempest-tossed  vessel,  when  the  deep 
booming  of  the  death-dealing  waves  has  pas.scd 
away ;  and  as  they  concluded  by  an  instruction 
to  her  daughter  to  ring  for  her  maid,  and  to 
reach  her  eau-de-cologne,  the  poor  girl  having 
obeyed,  hastened  to  escape  from  the  room,  in 
order  to  reflect  in  solitude  upon  the  exigeneea 
of  her  painful  position. 


CHAPTER  YIL 

A    NOBLK   SUITOR. 

It  is  marvelous  that  although  daily  expe-  \ 
rionce  should  suffice  to  prove  that  we  are  at  [ 
best  the  poor  creatures  of  circumstance,  the  \ 
mere  puppets  of  accident,  we  are  all  prone  to    , 
believe  that  nothing  can  go  on  satisfactorily    ■ 
unless,    even   while    professing   to   trust    in 
Providence,  we  undertake  to  guide  the  wholo 
action  of  the  machinery  ourselves;  and  thus,    ; 
too  often,  instead  of  being,  as  we  fondly  and   ^ 
blindly  imagine,  the  spiders  that  weave  tha 
web,  we  find  ourselves  in  the  end,  merely  the   ' 
flics  that  have  been  caught  in  it. 

Snch  was,  in  a  great  de:rree,  the  case  \rith 
ilr.  Trevanion,  who  having  for  years  fondly 
hugged  the  belief  that  lie  had  taught  al' 
arOuud  him  to  bend  to  his  indomitable  will, 
suddenly  found  himself  opposed  b\-  the  very 
being  upon  whose  obedience  and  submission 
he  had  calculated  the  most  securely  ;  and  as 
lie  rolled  toward  London,  in  his  web-hungand 
luxurious  chariot,  he  felt  like  a  person  stunned 
by  some  sudden  blow.  Calm  and  concentered 
was  his  rage;  and  none  who  looked  on  hira 
would  have  suspected  the  bitterness  of  the 
feelings  which  were  masked  by  the  stern  and 
cold  demeanor  that  he  successfully  main- 
tained. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  proud  and 
seK-reliant  man   was  compelled  to  acknowl- 


i  ii  i:    J  i;  A  L  u  u  s    w  1  i<  ii: , 


2S 


C(3ge  to  liimsclf  that  the  obstacle  flung  \ipon 
tlie  path  of  his  ambition  mic/ht  prove  beyond 
oven  his  strentjtli  to  remove.  There  was  that 
in  tlie  eye  of  liis  daughter  during  tlieir  late 
conversation,  wliicli  convinced  him  that  she 
had  inherited  no  small  portion  of  his  own 
resolute  spirit;  and  while  lie  dwelt  in  moody 
and  wordless  anger  upon  her  ingratitude,  and 
recapitulated  .to  himself  all  tlie  advantages 
and  indulgences  by  which  he  had  surrounded 
her  from  her  very  cradle,  he  never  once  suf- 
fered himself  to  remeuiber  that  these  had  been 
conferred  for  his  own  sake  rather  than  I'ur 
lier's ;  and  that  he  had  built  up  a  dazzling  edi- 
fice of  ffieatness  upon  her  loveliness,  grace, 
and  talent,  of  which  he  would  not  have  laid 
a  single  stone,  had  she  been  less  eminently 
gifted  by  nature  to  work  out  the  cherished 
jnirpose  of  his  existence. 

He  thought  of  his  ancestral  home,  and  his 
haughty  relatives  with  a  pang  at  his  heart — 
his  eloud-dream  of  crushing  the  arrogance, 
nnd  revenging  the  neglect  of  Sir  Jasper  and 
his  wife  by  presenting  to  them  his  daughter 
as  Countessof  Downmere,  had  vanished;  and 
how  was  it  replaced  ? 

As  the  question  shaped  itself  in  his  mind, 
Mr.  Trevanion  crushed'  the  arms  which  were 
folded  across  his  breast  almost  into  the  flesh, 
and  set  his  teeth  closely,  while  his  lips  grew 
ashy  white.  He  could  better  have  borne  any 
thing  tlian  this.  Then  his  thoughts  reverted 
to  Lady  Mary  Brookland,  whom,  despite  his 
daughter's  disclaimer,  he  was  far  from  exon- 
erating from  at  least  a  tacit  connivance  with 
her  nephew ;  but  on  her,  he  bitterly  felt  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  wreak  his  displeas- 
ure. A  rupture  witli  the  person  whom  in 
his  heart  he  silently  designated  as  a  titled 
viper,  would  effectually  disorganize  his  whole 
household,  and  overthrow  the  work  of  years. 
Thanks  to  the  persevering  system  of  contempt 
which  he  had  pursued  toward  his  wife,  she 
had  ended  by  becoming  a  mere  cypher  under 
her  own  rootj  whose  authority  was  not  recog- 
nized beyond  the  circle  of  her  dress'ug-room ; 
while  tlie  free-masonry  of  rank  would,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  induce  half  his  aristocratic 
acquaintance  to  adopt  the  cause  of  the  peer's 
daughter,  and  to  find  food  for  satire  rather 
than  sympathy  in  his  own  mortification.  No ; 
happen  what  might,  he  felt  that  he  must  at 
least  keep  up  appearances  with  Mr.  Eiphin- 
fitoue's  aunt,  althougli  it  by  no  means  fullov/od 
that  he  should  for  the  future  place  the  same 
implicit  reliance  on  lier  prudeuce  and  loyalty 
as  he  liad  hitlierto  done. 
_  lu  any,  and  every  point  of  view,  his  posi- 
tion was  accordingly  a  perplexing  one;  and 
had  he  not  been  made  of  sterner  stulf  tiian  the 
generality  of  iiis  se.x,  who,  however,  scU-suf- 
iiciug  so  long  as  the  wheels  of  life's  chariot 
run  smootlily  along   tlie    broad  highway  of 

Erosperity  and  comfort,  are  prone  to  turn  for 
eip  and  solace  to  others  when  those  same 
Wheels  become  clogged  by  the  mire,  and  ar- 
rested by  tlie  uiasses,  of  doubt  and  difiiculty, 
he  would  liave  been  sorely  conscious  on  that 
unlucky  morning  of  tlie  height  and  breadth 
of  the  barrier  which  he  had  himself  built  up 
between  his  own  Avill  and  the  free  agency  of 
those  about  him.     A3  it  was,  however,  he 


merely  sought  to  discover  the  most  effectual 
means  of  meeting  and  combating  tlie  exigences 
of  the  emergency  in  which  ho  was  placed, 
single-handedly,  and  resolutely. 

As  we  have  already  shown  by  the  history 
of  his  past  life,  the  nature  of  Mr.  Trevanion 
Avas  eminently  energetic  ;  with  him  to  will 
had  hitherto  been  to  accomplish  ;  and  even 
now  he  would  not  suffer  himself  to  believe 
t'.iat  he  sliould  finally  be  defeated;  Ida's  ex- 
hibition of  spirit  had  rather  startled  than 
convinced  him.  Women  were  impulsive,  ho 
knew  ;  but  he  clung  to  the  belief  that  they 
were  by  no  means  equally  consistent.  It  was 
the  fiist  occasion  upon  which  the  wishes  of 
his  daughter  had  been  seriously  opposed,  and 
she  had,  almost  as  a  natural  consequence,  in- 
dignantly and  determinedly  resented  that  op- 
position; but  when  she  had  taken  time  to 
reflect,  she  must  and  would  see  her  folly  in 
its  true  light."  It  was  absurd  to  supposethat, 
reared  in  luxury  as  she  had  been,  and  habitu- 
ated to  have  her  every  desire  gratified  as  soon 
as  expressed,  she  could  be  mad  enough  to 
cast  from  her  all  these  advantages  to  share 
the  comparative  penury  of  a  younger  brother. 
iNo — no — he  had  only  to  give  her  time.  Her 
woman-vanity  would  do  the  rest. 

The  mental  argument  was  a  comfortable  one  ; 
and  before  Mr.  Trevanion  reached  town  the 
pressure  of  his  folded  arms  relaxed,  his  eye 
lost  some  portion  .of  its  dark  fire,  and  he 
breathed  more  freely. 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him  •;  he  pulled 
the  check-string,  and  the  carriage,  turning  down 
a  lateral  street,  rolled  rapidly  toward  Picca- 
dilly. 

The  Earl  of  Downmere  Avas  at  home ;  and  / 
as  Mr.  Trevanion  had  long  been  a  privileged 
visitor,  he  was  instantly  admitted  to  the  break- 
fast-room, Avjicre  his  mature  lordship  sat  dis- 
cussing in  solitary  state  a  most  recherche  re- 
past. 

Henry  Ferdinand,  Earl  of  Downmere,  and  I 
Baron  Woodlyn,  was  a  portly  personage  of  tall 
stature  and  stern  couuteuance.  who  bore  his  / 
sixty  years  of  life  with  cousidcrablci  dignity  ; 
smoothly  and  composedly  too,  without  any  at- 
tempt to  disguise  their  amount  by  hair-dye  or 
cosmetic,  like  cue  who  scorned  such  puerilities 
as  at  once  utterly  beneath  his  owu  notice,  and 
beyond  that  of  others.  An  equal  independence 
of  feeling  was  also  visible  in  lus  costume, 
which,  although  unexceptionable  in  material, 
was  Avorn  Avith  a  careless  disregard  to  every 
couoi deration  save  that  of  ease,  which  betrayed 
the  innate  selfishness  of  thcv  individual;  one 
slijjperless  foot  rested  upon  the  scat  of  a  chai^ 
iu.f-out  of  him,  and  looked  suspicious  of  incip- 
ient gout ;  Avhilc  the  knee  of  the  other  leg  was 
Covered  with  a  napkin  Avhich  had  become  con- 
siderably sullied  during  the  process  of  the  meal 
to  which  his  attention  Avas  directed.  The 
Times  lay  on  the  table,  luxuriously  bathing  one 
extremity  of  its  colossal  sheet  in  the  savory 
jelly  of  a  dindon  aux  iruffes;  Avhile  his  valet, 
Lifiiiitely  better  dressed  than  himself,  stood  be- 
hind his  chair,  readuig  aloud  fiom  the  MorniiKj 
Post  the  fashionable  ucavs  of  the  day.  The 
room  in  Avhich  the  peer  was  seated  Avas  gor- 
geous Avith  gilding,  and  paneled  Avith  family 
portraits,  the  most  recent  iu  date  bcin^  a  like- 


34- 


TUE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


ncss  of  himself  taken  in  the  year  of  his  major- 1  men  were  to  the  full  as  conscious  of  the  value 
itv,  au<l  f  n-miog  a  woeful  and  saddenirif^  con-  of  their  advautjvges  as  Lord  Downniere  of  his 
trast  with  liis  present  appearauee.  A  heavy  I  own,  and  uoliesitatiugly  declined  to  tsirter  them 
Bofli,  and  a  Avell  cushioned  fautru'd  stood  near  I  for  an  empty  title ;  and  thus  he  had  been  half 
the  fire-place,  and  a  lai'ge  folding  screen  par-    a   dozen  times   civilly   rejected   by 


tially  vailed  the  door;  it  was  indeed  evident  in 
all  the  details  of  the  apartment  tliat  the  "crea- 
ture comforts"  of  tliis  life  were  by  no  means 
disregarded  by  its  owner;  and  a  feeUng  of  sur- 
prise was  elicited  involuntarily  that  so  thor- 
ough a  self-seeker  as  my  Lord  Downmere, 
should  for  a  moment  contemplate  the  possibil- 
ity of  so  great  a  risk  as  marriage,  tending,  as 


many 
reigning  beauties,  when  he  aecideiitally  niado 
the  acquaintance  of  Ida  Trevauiou.  The  re- 
pulses to  Avhich  his  lordship  had  by  this  time 
been  subjected  had,  however,  taught  liim  cau- 
tion ;  he  began  to  understand  that  people  as 
frequently  overdo  things  in  tliis  world  by  a 
want  of  judgment,  as  they  neglect  what  is  neces- 
sary to  be  done  by  a  Avant  of  energy ;  and  he  con- 


it  could  not  fail  to  do,  to  tlie  distui-bance  of  Lis  j  sequently  resolved  on  the  present  occasion  to 
long  elierishcd  habits  of  ]iersaual  indulgence.  certain  how  far  the  preKfige  of  his  rauk  would 
The  secret  lay,  however,  in  the  fact  that  influence  the  father  of  the  lady  in  his  favor, 
Henry  Ferdinand,  Earl  of  Downmere,  was  the  1  and  to  what  extent  he  might  trust  to  Mr.  Tre- 
last  direct  scion  of  his  noble  house;  his  nearest  vauion's  authority  over  his  daughter,  before  he 
relative  and  presumptive  heir  being  a  second  committed  himself  by  a  direct  offer  of  Lia 
cousin,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  but  whom  he    hand, 


had  nevertheless  honored  with  his  unqualified 
dislike.  Earlier  in  life  lie  liad  resisted  all  the 
entreaties  of  his  widowed  mother  to  give  anew 
mistress  to  Woodlyn  Castle — "Time  enough 
yet !" — was  his  constant  reply  to  her  represen- 
tations ;  "  I  will  marry  when  to  do  so  becomes 
a  duty  to  my  family,  but  I  will  not  sacrifice 
myself  imtil  I  am  convinced  that  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  nip  the  hopes  of  Mr.  Augustus  Mor- 
dauut  in  the  bud.  Time  enough  for  that,  my 
dear  lady -mother." 

And  so  time  went  on,- until  the  venerable 
Countess  was  laid  in  the  family  vault ;  and  the 
dashing  young  noble  grew  into  a  staid,  middle- 
aged  gentleman,  who  began  to  weary  of 
hunting,  and  to  sit  longer  at  the  dinner  table ; 
to  forswear  waltzing,  and  to  patronize  whist. 
Nor  did  time  even  Ihen  stand  still,  but  most 
pertinaciously  did  it  persevere  in  its  progress 
until  tlio  dark  hair,  Avhich  had  once  been 
abundant,  grew  scanty  on  the  summit  of  his 
head,  and  became  thickly  streaked  with  threads 
of  a  dull  grey;  while  crows'  feet  began  to 
gather  beneath  his  eyes,  and  to  pucker  the  cor- 
ners of  his  mouth.  In  short,  as  Ave  have  al- 
ready slioAvn,  his  lordship  had  attained  to  the 
ripe  age  of  sixty ;  Avhen  even  ho  was  reluc- 
tantly compelled  to  admit  that  if  Mr.  Augustus 
Morclaunt  Avere  indeed  to  be  baulked  of  the 
coveted  peerage,  it  might  be  as  avcU  no  longer 
to  delay  tlie  bestowal  of  his  name  and  rank" 
upon  a  Avife. 

Tlien  came  the  difficulty  of  selection;  for, 
aware  of  the  greatness  of  the  honor  to  be  con- 
ferred, the  broken-down  roue  was  by  no  means 
iaeliaed  to  bestow  such  advantages  upon  any 
woman  Avho  could  not  securo  to  him  a  very 
ample  e(iuivalent.  Young  she  must  l)e, — that 
Avas  a  sine  qitri  nan — handsome,  that  was 
equally  indisjKjnsablc — and  weaUliy,  for  he 
was  resolved  to  exact  the  price  of  his  coronet 
— beyond  these  requisites,  however,  he  asked 
nothing  more:  he  couhl  dispense  with  higli 
birth,  provided  that  the  respcctaljility  of  her 
family  was  unquestionable;  and  to  her  disjio- 
sition  and  temiier  ho  Avaa  ])ortVctly  indiirereiit, 
being  most  agreeably  satisfied  that  no  Avife,  bo 
she  who  she  might,  Avould  loug  venture  to  op- 
pose his  AvilL 

Even  Avhen  he  had  conceded  thus  much, 
howcvci",  the  difiiculty  Avas  no  slight  one,  as 
many  young,  beautiful,  and  Avell-dowried  wo- 1 


No  proceeding  could  have  T)een  more  judi- 
cious under  the  ciucumstances ;  and  according- 
ly but  a  few  weeks  elai>scd  ere  the  peer,  Avho 
had  most  graciously  extended  the  right  hand 
of  friendship  to  the  princely  merchant,  became 
satisfied  that  Mr.  TrcA'anion  aa-ouUI  consider  no 
sacrifice  too  great  by  which  he  could  place  a 
coronet  on  the  broAv  of  his  beautiful  liencss. 
Lord  Downmere  easily  detected  his  weakness, 
but  he  was  far  from  euspectiug  the  motive; 
and  while  he  haughtily,  and  somewhat  con- 
temptuously, assui'cd  himself  that  the  man  of 
commerce  estimated  his  rank  and  birtli  nt  their 
full  value,  he  was  little  aware  that  in  tliis  in- 
stance the  commoner  Avas  by  far  tlie  prouder 
individual  of  the  tAvo — the  true  nobleman  ia 
heart  and  feeling — and  that  the  ancient  blood 
which  throbbed  and  leaped  in  his  jiulses  when 
the  earl  at  length  confided  to  him  tlie  passioa 
which  he  professed  to  feel  for  the  fair  Ida,  wa» 
quickened,  not  by  the  prospect  of  a  titled  sou- 
in-law,  but  by  that  held  out  to  him  of  social 
self-assertion. 

The  character  and  temperament  of  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion  had,  moreover,  satisfied  Lord  Down- 
mere  that  he  was  not  a  man  likely  to  yield  hia 
own  judgment  or  wislies  to  those  of  his  child 
upon  so  serious  a  poiut  as  marriage,  Avhen  ho 
saw  him  steadily  enforce  them  on  all  around 
him,  upon  occasions  of  comparatively  minor 
importance ;  and  thus,  having  secured  the  con- 
sent of  her  father,  he  took  little  pains  to  ingra- 
tiate himself  with  the  young  lady  in  any  other 
way  than  by  making  the  most  liberal  settle- 
ments; a  generosity  greatly  iiiercased  by  his 
consciousness  that  the  magnificent  fortune  of 
his  intended  bride  rendered  it  altogether  su- 
pererogatory ;  and  while  Mr.  Sydney  Eljihin- 
stono  Avas  breathing  his  talo  of  love  into  the 
ears  of  the  listening  beauty,  his  self-eompla- 
cent  rival  was  trottmg  his  hack  in  the  ring,  and 
dozing  over  croAvu  points  at  the  whist-table  of 
liis  club. 

"When  the  pretensions  of  Lord  Downmere 
were  made  knoAvu  to  Miss  Trevauion  by  her 
father  she  smiled  incredulously,  and  merely 
asked  if  the  poor  old  gentleman  Avere  insane; 
ijiit  when  she  found  his  suit  urged  upon  her 
firmly  and  imperatively,  she  coldly  declaimed 
tliat  she  Avould  never  consent  to  listen  to  its 
repetition.  The  rage  of  Mr.  Trevauion  atjis 
unbounded  at  this  open  opposition  to  hia  will. 


THE     JEALOUS     WIFE, 


25 


Init  be  succoprled  hj  a  strono^  ofTort  in  con- 
ti-olliug  it;  and  abruptly  iuforniing  her  that 
lie  slunilrl  ore  long  insist  on  bcr  obedience,  he 
stonily  loft  the  room ;  -vrhile  his  -woak-iniiidcd 
M-ifo  wlio  "  loved  a  lord,"  not,  like  her  haughty 
liolpniate,  as  a  glittering  tool  -wherewith  to 
work  out  lii3  own  purpusos,  but  purely  and 
wholly  for  the  pleasure  of  feeling  that  she  was 
of  suffioiout  importance  to  be  the  associate  of 
noble*,  poured  forth  a  rapid  flood  of  wonder- 
ing r.proaches  upon  the  devoted  head  of  her 
(lauu'htor;  could  not  conceive  what  she  could 
expect  if  she  could  afford  to  refuse  an  earl — 
to  wear  a  countess's  coronet — and  perhaps,  for 
any  thing  she  knew  to  the  contrary,  to  become 
a  member  of  Her  Majesty's  household.  It  was 
really  too  bad — it  was  cruel  to  her,  for  she 
should  have  liked  so  much  to  have  been  the 
mother-iu-law  of  a  peer.  However,  she  had 
one  consolation,  and  that  was,  that  she  knew 
;Mr.  Trevauiou  well  enough  to  be  quite  sure 
that  Ida  must  yield  in  the  end,  for  it  was  of 
no  use  to  attempt  to  oppose  bis  will. 

"And  is  it  possible,  mamma;"  asked  the 
proud  girl  with  an  indignant  blush  ;  "  that  you 
can  wish  to  see  the  happiness  of  your  only  child 
eacrifieed  to  such  puerilities  as  those  you  have 
mentioned?" 

"  Xousense,  Ida ;"  was  the  peevish  retort ; 
"  surely,  with  my  experience,  I  must  know  best 
■what  constitutes  happiness ;  I  tell  you  that  if  I 
had  mariied  a  peer,  I  should  have  been  the 
happiest  woman  alive." 

Miss  Trevanion  sighed.  She  had  too  much 
respect  for  her  spirit-crushed  mother  to  express 
the  contempt  with  which  she  listened  to  her 
childish  waitings ;  and  from  that  day  neither  of 
her  parents  bad  reverted  to  the  subject  of 
Lord  Downmere's  proposal  until  the  morning 
upon  which  we  first  mtroduced  them  to  our 
readers. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

SOCIAL     TACTICS. 

Eve:j  at  the  close  of  the  unpromising  con- 
Tersation  recorded  in  the  last  cliapter,  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion had  not,  as  we  have  already  stated, 
abandoned  all  hope  of  ultimate  success;  but, 
misiudging  the  lofty  nature  of  bis  daughter, 
had  so  far  deluded  liimself  before  be  reached 
town,  as  to  believe  that  the  vanity  of  the 
young  beauty  was  piqued  by  the  carelessness 
of  Lord  Downmere's  courtship. 

"Natural  enough!  natural  enough!"  be 
murmured  to  liimself  with  a  grim  smile.  "  He 
has  played  bis  cards  badly,  and  deserves  to 
lose  her  ;  nor  would  I  move  a  finger  to  assist 
him,  were  it  not  for  my  own  sake.  But  he  is 
necessary  to  my  scheme  of  vengeance,  and  I 
must  give  him  a  bint  to  be  more  cautious  for 
the  future." 

And,  full  of  his  newly  bom-hope,  the  stately 
meroliant  entered  the  breakfast  room  of  bis 
noble  friend. 

"  Hah !  Trevanion,  my  good  fellow  ;"  was 
the  greeting  of  the  peer,  as,  with  a  portion  of 
pdie  de  foie  gras  provided  upon  his  fork,  he 
extended  two  fingers  of  bis  left  band  to  his 


visitor ;  "  You  are  early  to-day.  Have  you 
breakfasted  ?  or  will  you  join  me  ? — Xo — well, 
then,  take  a  seat,  and  excuse  me  if  I  finish  my 
breakfast.     How  are  the  ladies  ?" 

"  Perfectly  well,  my  lord,  I  am  obliged  to 
you;  and  my  somewhat  untimely  visit — " 

'•lN''ever  ill-timed,  Trevanion,  never  ill-timed ;" 
interposed  the  host ;  "  always  delighted  to  see 
you,  as  a  matter  of  course.  I  was  about  to 
drive  to  Richmond  to-day  to  pay  my  respects 
to  my  fair  enslaver,  and  to  inquire  after  her 
health." 

"I  am  glad  to  hoar  it,"  said  the  merchant, 
"and  trust  that  you  will  still  persist  in  your 
intention,  for  I  will  frankly  toll  you  that  it  was 
to  suggest  a  little  more  devotion  on  your  part 
to  Ida  that  I  drove  to  Piocadilly  this  morning. 
Young  ladies,  as  j-our  lordship  must  bo  aware, 
like  to  be  wooed  as  well  as  won,  and  I  begin 
to  fear  that  the  paucity  of  your  visits  has  [ 
already  produced  a  bad  eflecL  upon  the  mind  of  ' 
my  daughter." 

"Pooh  I  pooh !"  chuckled  the  old  earl,  "you 
deceive  yourself.  Girls  are  fond  enough,  no 
doubt,  of  being  dangled  after  by  a  bevy  of  smart 
young  fellows,  who,  like  French  poodles,  are 
skilled  in  tho  art  to  fetch  and  carry ;  but  when 
a  man  reaches  my  age,  ho  is  only  in  the  way  in 
a  lady's  drawing-room  ;  and  I  am  much  mista- 
ken if  Miss  Trevanion  docs  not  see  tho  matter 
with  the  same  eyes  as  myself  She  is  a  fine 
creature,  a  very  fine  creature,  and  will  adorn 
her  coronet,  but  I  have  no  intention  to  make 
her  purchase  it  too  dearly.  I  am  a  man  of  the 
world,  Trevanion,  and  have  a  most  particular 
aversion  to  degenerating  into  a  bore." 

"  My  dear  lord — " 

"Nay,  nay,  jio  disclaimers.  We  are  both 
rational  beings ;  I  have  a  sincere  regard  for 
your  daughter — I  admire  her  exceedingly — she 
is  a  superb  woman — and  as  Countess  of  Down- 
mere,  will,  I  am  convmced,  do  honor  both  to 
her  fotlier  and  her  husband ;  but  I  do  not  ex- 
pect impossibilities ;  and  I  am  as  little  inclined 
to  intcrt'ere  with  her  comfort,  as  I  am  to  sacri- 
fice my  own.  I  have,  moreover,  already  seen 
enough  of  Miss  Trevanion  to  feel  certain  that  I 
am  pursuing  tho  best  method  of  securilig  her 
favor." 

"  You  must  pardon  mo  if  I  persist  in  doubt- 
ing it,"  replied  tho  visitor;  "Ida  has  been  so 
long  accustomed  to  adulation  and  homage,  that 
her  vanity  can  not  fill  to  bo  piqued  by  your 
apparent  indifference,  contrasting  as  it  does  so 
forcibly  with  the  devoted  attentions  of  the  other 
candidates  for  her  preference.  I  can  quite  un- 
derstand that  your  lordship  conceives  (and  very 
properly),  that  tho  honor  which  3-ou  have  con- 
ferred on  her  by  the  offer  of  your  hand  must 
necessarily  more  than  counterbalance  all  such 
puerile  considerations;  but  women,  especially 
handsome  ones,  are  capricious  and  exacting; 
nor  can  we,  while  our  mighty  world  itself  works 
on  such  pigmy  binges,  aflbrd  to  bo  too  severe 
upon  them." 

"Well,  well,"  eaid  Lord  Downmere  Borneo 
what  impatiently,  "  I  shall  decidedly  drive  to  | 
Iliclunond  to-day,  and  come  to  a  more  explicit 
understanding  with  tho  young  lady  herself  I 
should,  no  doubt,  have  done  so  befbre,  liad  you 
not  assured  mo  that  I  might  safely  leave  the 
affair  in  your  bands;  an  arrangement  which 


2G 


THE     JEALOUS     WIFE. 


struck  me  as  being,  under  all  circumstances, 
an  excellent  one.  I  never,  even  in  my  young 
days,  w;t3  a  lady's  man ;  nor  should  I  have  so 
far  disorL'anized  all  my  habits  at  my  present 
time  of  life  as  to  take  a  wife,  were  it  not  that 
the  duty  which  I  owe  to  my  name  demands  it. 
I  ask  of  the  Countess  of  Downmere  to  give  mo 
an  heir  in  return  for  the  coronet  which  I  place 
upon  her  brow,  and  I  exact  no  more.  As  for 
love,  my  good  sir,  it  is  a  mere  myth  in  the 
fashionable  world  at  the  present  day  ;  an  ignis 
fatuus,  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  just  as  unattainable 
as  the  rainl)0w ;  and  I  am  too  reasonable  a  man 
to  clutch  at  the  vapor." 

"  But  surely,  my  lord,  you  will  not  bo  rash 
enough  to  explain  yourself  thus  to  my  daugh- 
ter?" 

"No,  no,  Trevanion;  I  have  not  walked 
through  the  by-ways  of  society  for  so  many 
years  not  to  understand  the  sex  at  least  better 
than  that.  I  have,  as  you  may  perceive,  no 
remnant  of  romance  left  in  me,  alway.s  suppos- 
ing that  I  ever  possessed  any ;  and  I  have  no 
faith  in  'mutual  affection,'  and  'disinterested 
sacrifice,'  and  '  scll'-immolation,'  and  all  this 
fiddle-faddle  which  supplies  the  raw-material 
of  the  novel-writers.  When  I  officially  offer 
myself  to  Miss  Trevanion,  I  shall  do  so  by  urg- 
ing upon  her  acceptance  my  rank  and  the  fam- 
ily diamonds ;  I  shall  talk  to  her,  not  of  my 
own  feelinprs,  but  of  Woodlvn  Castle  and  Down- 
mere  Abbey ;  not  of  the  color  of  her  eyes,  but 
'of  the  .stylo  of  her  equipage;  I  shall  appeal  to 
her  ambition,  not  to  her  heart ;  excite  her  self- 
value,  not  her  sensibilities ;  and,  rely  on  it  that 
my  method  is  the  only  rational  one  with  any 
woman  who  has  passed  her  teens,  and  learned 
to  look  at  life  in  its  true  aspect.  Taxes  upon 
vanity  do  not  require  to  bo  voted  by  parlia- 
ment ;  they  can  always  be  levied  without  diffi- 
culty ;  and  I  am  greatly  deceived  in  you,  my 
good  friend,  if  you  have  reared  your  daughter 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  her  settle  herself  in  a 
cottage  over-grown  with  honeysuckles,  and 
over-run  with  earw'igs  " 

"  Far  from  it,  my  lord ;  far  from  it,"  replied 
Mr.  Trevanion;  "nor  ia  Ida  Trevanion  at  all 
calculated  for  a  life  of  privation  and  struggle ; 
a  conviction  which  tends  to  increase  my  satis- 
faction when  your  lordship  did  me  the  favor  to 
demand  her  hand.  Indeed,  so  thoroughly  re- 
solved have  I  ever  been  that  she  should  only 
marry  into  that  sphere  in  which  she  is  so  well 
calculated  to  shine,  and  thus  to  re-integrate  not 
only  herself,  but  mo  also,  in  the  po.sition  which 
I  lost  through  the  injustice  of  my  relatives, 
that  I  a.ssured  her — and  with  truth — that  in 
the  event  of  her  disappointing  my  wishes,  not 
one  shilling  of  my  property  should  ever  devolve 
to  her." 

"A  forcible  argument,"  smiled  the  carl  com- 
placently, stroking  down  th.o  leg  which  rested 
on  tlie  chair  before  him,  "and  one  which  will, 
jio  doubt,  prove  more  efficacious  than  a  whole 
volume  o**  sentiment.  You  are  a  sensible  man, 
Mr.  Trevanion,  a  very  sensible  man  ;  and  the 
conviction  that  you  were  sujicrior  even  to  your 
present  position — liighly  honorable  as  that  is  in 
itself,  I  admit — was,  to  mo  one  great  indiicc- 
ment  to  overlook  what  some  of  my  friends  were 
inclined  to  consider  as  an  inequality  of  rank, 
whea  I  offered  my  hand  to  your  daughter." 


The  blood  rose  to  the  cheek  of  the  merchant 
"  Your  lordship  does  me  honor,"  he  said  coldly, 
'  but  I  trust  that  even  elevated  as  your  posi- 
ion  undoubtedly  is,  the  contemplated  marriage 
can  scarcely  be  regarded  a  mesaUiance,  My 
own  family  — " 

"  I  know  it,  my  good  sir,  I  know  it;"  hastily 
interposed  the  peer ;  "  on  hev  father'' s  side  Miss 
Trevanion  had  every  right  to  pretend  to  the 
rank  which  I  am  happy  enough  to  ofler  to  her 
— while,  as  regards  her  mateinal  descent,  why, 
we  must  accept  her  youth,  beauty,  and  accom- 
plishments as  a  substitute  for  blood.  I  have 
already  carefully  considered  all  the  bearings  of 
the  question,  and  am  satisfied  with  the  result. 
It  is,  however,,  unfortunate  that  you  are  not  oa 
terms  with  your  uncle,  as  his  pre.-jcnce'  at  the 
ceremony  would  have  given  a  jwestlge  to  the 
affair  which  would  have  told  well  in  the  world. 
Not  that  the  thing  is  material,  certainly  not; 
my  position  is  one  which,  as  a  natural  conse- 
quence, renders  me  independent  of  such  con- 
siderations ;  and  I  confess  that  I  shall  regard 
myself  as  a  very  happy  man  when  T  hecomo 
the  possessor  of  so  nmch  youth  and  beauty ; 
and  feel,  as  I  shall  have  every  right  to  do,  tlint 
I  have  fulfilled  to  the  letter  the  duty  which  I 
owed  to  my  family." 

'I  am  obliged  by  so  flattering  an  assur- 
ance;" said  Mr.  Trevanion,  though  he  looked 
infuiitely  less  gratified  than  he  sought  to  ap- 
pear; "nor  do  J  apprehend  that  your  lordship 
need  fear  any  very  severe  animadversion  on 
the  part  of  your  friends  when  the  dowry  of  my 
daughter  is  taken  into  consideration  in  addition 
to  her  personal  merits." 

"  True,  true ;"  replied  the  earl,  somewhat 
impatiently ;  "  but,  after  all,  are  we  not  rather 
premature  in  our  self-gratulation,  if,  as  you 
hinted  a  while  back,  I  have  failed  to  find  favor 
in  the  eyes  of  the  young  lady  herself?" 

"Nay,  nay;  I  can  admit  no  such  con.struc- 
tion  of  my  remark;"  objected  the  merchant; 
"  I  merely  sought  to  impress  upon  your  lord- 
ship the  policy  of  a  little  more  attention  on 
your  part." 

"  "While  I  on  the  contrary  give  myself  no 
small  credit  for  my  diplomacy,  my  good  friend ;" 
said  Lord  Downmere;  "charming  as  she  is, 
my  fair  bride-elect  is  still  a  woman,  and  she 
may  have  no  especial  taste  for  a  husband  wliose 
years  outnumber  those  of  her  father;  thus, 
rely  on  it,  tiie  less  I  absorb  her  time  and  at- 
tention the  more  likely  she  will  be  to  overlook 
the  disparity,  which  is,  I  flatter  myself,  the 
only  valid  objection  which  she  can  offer  tb  our 
union." 

"I  think,  my  lord;"  said  Mr.  Trevanion, 
"  that  you  do  Ida  injustice  as  well  as  yourself; 
Time — when  we  bring  ourseWes  to  look  the 
truth  steadily  in  the  f  ice — is  to  the  full  as  much 
our  friend  as  our  enemy.  lie  plants  wrinkles 
in  our  foreheads,  I  admit,  but  even  while  doing 
so,  lie  engrafts  wisdom  in  our  hearts ;  lie  strews 
threads  of  silver  among  our  hair,  but  he  con- 
denses experience  and  warning  in  our  niind.s, 
and  thus  more  than  compensates  for  his  petty 
larcenies  by  a  full-handed  liberality  v/hich  wo 
are  too  slow  to  acknowledge  until  its  actual 
value  is  forced  upon  us." 

"  A  very  happy  view  of  the  ca.se,  my  pood 
sir,  and  one  which  deserves  to  become  popu- 


THE    JEALOUS     VTIFE. 


27 


lar;"  replied  the  peer,  pettina:  his  gouty  log 
with  incroaaed  tenderness;  "thougli,  unfortu- 
nately, it  is  never  likely  to  do  so.  It  is  a  trite 
saying  that  gray  hairs  are  honorable,  and  tlicre 
can  bo  no  doubt  of  the  foct ;  but  it  is  equally 
certain  that  it  is  an  honor  with  which  every 
one  is  satistied  to  dispense  as  long  as  possible. 
However,  as  you  advise  me  to  venture  upon  a 
more  assiduous  course  of  homage,  I  shall  follow 
your  counsel,  only  hoping  that  you  may  have 
been  able  to  inspire  your  briHiunt  daughter 
with  a  purtiou  of  your  own  wisdom." 

''  I  am  glad  that  you  have  arrived  at  such  a 
resolution,  my  lord,  for  trust  mo  when  I  assure 
you  that  no  woman's  heart  is  to  be  won  by 
proxy."  t 

"  Heart  ?  pshaw  I  do  not  let  us  travel  back 
into  Utopia,  Trevanion ;  I  have  already  been 
sufficiently  explicit  as  to  my  aticipations  on 
that  score.  Hearts  are  merely  heavy  luggage 
■with  which  to  be  hampered  on  the  journey  of 
life,  and  it  is  far  bettor  to  travel  untrammeled. 
It  is  Miss  Trevanion's  /i«ttc?  which  I  have  asked 
of  you.  and  which  I  shall  ask  of  herself;  she  is  a 
gentlewoman  and  a  woman  of  the  world;  she 
■will,  therefore,  understand  what  is  due  to  both 
of  us,  and  I  require  no  more.  I  wish  I  could 
induce  you  to  try  one  of  these  cotelettes  auj'ns — 
my  cook  is  famous  for  them." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,  my  lord,  but  I  have 
already  breakfasted." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  I  can  ^conscientiously 
recommend  them.  However,  you  know  best. 
"Well  then,  I  will  decidedly  drive  to  llichmond 
this  morning,  and  settle  the  business.  I  am  no 
friend  to  delay,  when  once  a  thing  is  settled  in 
my  own  mind;  and,  under  all  circumstances, 
I  think  that  the  sooner  matters  are  concludeil 
on  this  occasion  the  better.  The  season  is 
nearly  over,  town  is  beginning  to  thin,  and 
Miss  Trevanion  will  not,  in  all  probability,  be 
averse  to  spending  her  summer  at  Woodlyn 
Castle." 

We  have  said  that  Mr.  Trevanion  was  a 
proud  man,  and  so  in  truth  he  was ;  and  yet, 
80  resolutely  did  he  cling  to  his  one  darling 
project,  that  he  ben  this  haughty  spirit  to  tole- 
rate the  insolent  egotism  of  the  cold-hearted 
noble,  who  was,  should  ho  succeed  in  over- 
coming the  repugnance  of  his  daughter,  to  ren- 
der tliat  daugiiter  the  instrument  of  his  revenge 
upon  his  relations.  Had  he  witnessed  a  similar 
exliibition  of  self-abasement  in  another,  his 
contempt  would  have  known  no  bounds,  but 
he  was  blinded  to  his  own  degradation  by  the 
■wretched  idiosyncrasy  which  ho  had  nourished 
for  years,  and  which  had  been  the  hidden 
spring  of  his  every  thought  and  action. 

_  That  Ida,  the  proud,  tho  beautiful,  and  the 
gifted,  should  bo  wooed  after  such  a  fashion 
might  well  have  revolted  him,  but  he  would 
not  look  beyond  tho  fact  that  the  wooer  was 
one  whoso  rank  and  station  must  compel  the 
haughty  ,spirit  of  Sir  Jasper  to  bend  before 
him ;  while  they  would,  in  all  probability,  in- 
duce him  to  sue  for  a  renewal  of  that  inter- 
course whicli  ho  had  been  so  eager  to  termi- 
nate for  over.  The  only  doubt  by  which  he 
■was  tormented  was  caused  by  Ida  herself;  ho 
did  not  forget  throughout  tho  interview  which 
ho  had  courted,  and  during  which  he  had  suf- 
fered aa  amount  of  mortification  greater  than 


any  to  which  ho  had  ever  been  subjected  sinco 
tho  day  on  which  ho  became  an  alien  and  an 
outcast  from  the  home  of  his  ancestors — ho  did 
not  for  one  moment  forget  that  when  ho  had 
parted  from  his  daughter,  ho  had  left  her  in  no 
mood  to  tolerate  the  addresses  of  her  titled 
suitor;  she  might  persist  in  tlio  in.sano  rcsolvo 
which  she  had  announced  to  him — she  might 
peremptorily  decline  the  hand  of  tho  Earl,  and 
thus  thwart  the  hope  of  his  whole  life — sho 
might — but  no  I  Lord  Downmero  had  truly 
said  that,  after  all,  beautiful  as  slic  was,  gifted 
as  sho  was,  she  was  a  woman,  and 

'Therefore  to  be  won,' 

as  slio  no  doubt  would  be,  by  thb  glitter  of  a 
coronet,  with  its  concomitant  attractions.  And 
so  Mr.  Trevanion  sagely  resolved  to  think  no 
more  of  tho  matter  until  he  returned  home  to 
ascertain  tho  result  of  tho  peer's  visit;  and  he 
accordingly  proceeded  to  the  city,  transacted 
business  as  usual,  authorized  the  transfer  of 
thousands,  dictated  letters,  and  occupied  him- 
self as  he  was  wont  to  do,  haunted  thrniin-bout 
every  detail  by  the  flashing  eye  and  firm  de- 
meanor of  his  rebel  child,  and  wincing  from 
time  to  time  as  the  suspicion  would  force  itself 
upon  him,  that  her  will  might  after  all  prove 
as  unbending  as  his  own. 


CHAPTER  IX.  ' 

A  LOVEK  AND  HIS  MISTRESS. 

The  life  of  Miss  Trevanion  had  hitherto 
flowed  on  with  all  the  smoothness  of  a  rivulet, 
shadowed  perhaps  at  times  by  some  slight  sor- 
row, as  tho  stream  is  darkened  by  an  overhang- 
ing bough,  but  soon  recovering  its  brilliancy, 
and  once  more  gliding  gladly  onward  under 
the  broad  light  of  a  sunny  heaven.  Happy  in 
the  present  and  confident  in  tho  future,  tho 
petted  heiress  had  known  no  real  care  ;  nor 
liad  she  even  guessed  how  fatally  her  own  na- 
ture was  constituted  to  rudlo  tho  current  of  its 
existence  when  its  tide  should  bo  impeded  by 
adverse  circumstances,  until  she  became  con- 
scious of  a  growing  partiality  for  Sydney  El-  a 
phinstono.  "When  tho  suspicion  of  this  prefer-  ( 
once  first  arose  in  her  mind,  she  .struggled  reso- 
lutely against  it,  for  not  only  did  she  at  once 
perceive  that  such  an  attachment  must  inevita- 
bly prove  distastefiil  to  her  father,  to  whose 
ambition  sho  was  no  stranger,  but  it  also  re- 
volted her  own  good  sense  when  sJio  remem- 
bered that  she  was  several  years  his  senior; 
while  it  must  at  the  same  time  bo  confessed 
that  her  vanity  took  the  alarm,  as  such  was  by 
no  means  tho  reafization  of  her  prcvioua 
dreams. 

Accustomed  from  her  earliest  youth  to  regard 
high  rank  as  tho  foundation  of  all  eartlily  lion-jh 
or  and  oven  happiness,  sho  had  ever  associated 
the  idea  of  marriage  with  luxury  and  station. 
Sho  had,  in  fact,  dreamed  as  girls  ever  dream 
before  that  inner  life,  which  is  the  most  j)o\ver- 
ful  position  of  existence,  is  aroused;  and  whilo 
fancy  supplies  tho  place  of  feeling,  such  base- 
less visions  suffice  to  employ  tho  imagination  ; 
and  whcrojdho  nature  is  finely  organized  they 


T  u  Jt:    J  ±:  A  L  u  u  s    \v  1  ±  ±: . 


eeldom  endnre  lonp ;  the  heart  makes  its  low 
■whispers  heard,  faintly  indeed,  it  may  be,  for  a 
time,  but  so  perseveringly  that  they  can  not 
long  remain  unheeded ;  and  then  commences 
the  stern  conflict  between  the  real  and  the 
ideal,  the  sharp  warfare  between  the  outer 
world  of  action,  and  the  inner  world  of  pas- 
sion, which  may  indeed  be  hidden  from  the 
crowd,  but  never  wholly  deadened,  save  in  de- 
spair or  in  the  grave. 

Miss  Trevanion  was  startled  by  the  vehe- 
mence of  her  own  feelings.  Accustomed  as 
she  iiad  been  to  see  herself  the  first  object  with 
all  around  her,  the  idol  and  the  pride  of  her 
fiimily,  to  whom  her  every  wish  was  a  law,  she 
had  never  suspected  the  "depth  and  strength  of 
her  own  nature  ;  but  when,  ere  Mr.  Elphinstone 
had  ventured  to  hint  at  his  admiration  for  her- 
self, she  on  one  occasion  saw  him  apparently 
engrossed  by  a  fair  girl  for  whom  she  had  pre- 
viously felt  a  warm  regard,  she  became  pain- 
fully aware  that  she  could  hate  as  intensely  as 
she  could  love ;  and  that  her  life  was  destined 
to  be  one  of  perfect  happiness  or  misery.  The 
discovery  startled  her,  and  she  strove  earnestly 
to  liberate  herself  from  the  growing  thraldom 
of  a  passion  which  both  her  reason  and  her 
pride  condemned;  but  she  found  both  pride 
and  reason  powerless  before  it ;  high-sounding 
titles  became  mere  empty  words ;  wealth  and 
station  worthless  units  in  the  heart's  reckon- 
ing ;  and  when,  after  a  brief  and  ineffectual 
struggle  against  a  weakness  for  which  none 
could  blame  her  more  bitterly  than  she  accused 
herself,  she  consented  to  pledge  her  faith  to  the 
nephew  of  Lady  Mary  Brooklands,  fehe  yielded 
up  her  whole  soul  to  the  new  and  delicious 
feeling  wliich  the  assurance  of  his  affection 
rendered  legitimate  and  sacred. 

Still,  however,  there  were  moments  when 
she  shrank  appalled  from  the  strange  knowledge 
which  she  had  so  suddenly  acquired  of  herself 
— when  she  became  aware  of  the  smothered 
fire  within,  which,  should  it  ever  burst  forth, 
must  involve  not  only  her  own  wretchedness, 
but  that  of  those  who  were  most  dear  to  her ; 
her  pride,  her  vanity,  and  her  ambition  were 
but  as  straws  borne  before  the  lava-stream  of 
her  passion,  and  buried  beneath  its  burning 
tide.  She  learned — and  it  was  a  fearful  les- 
son— that  while  she  could  give  away  her  whole 
heart  without  one  reservation,  so  could  sl>e,  in 
like  manner,  revenge  the  perfidy  by  which  the 
full  and  perfect  gift  might  be  cast  back  upon 
her. 

As  this  conviction  grew  upon  her  mind,  she 
thrust  the  massy  braids  from  her  burning  brow, 
and  literally  gasped  for  breath.  "It  is  un- 
womanlv — it  is  fiendish" — slio  murmured  to 
herself;  "  and  yet  I  feel  that  even  so  it  is.  I 
love  him  with  all  the  impetuous  fen-or  of  my 
nature ;  but  should  he  fail — should  I  be  de- 
ceived in  him — that  love  will  burn  into  a  flame 
jsof  hate  that  must  destroy  us  both.  Why  did 
ho  ever  cross  my  path  ?  Why  was  he  thrust 
upon  me  ?  Tutored  as  I  have  been  for  a  far 
different  fate,  why  should  he  have  been  gifted 
witli  the  power  of  teaching  me  that  I  had  a 
heart  ?  I  might  have  gone  through  life  as  I 
had  commenced  it,  toying  with  trifles,  and 
emulous  only  of  admiration ;  but  now  I  have 
cast  all  my  chance  of  happiness  upon  one  stake, 


and  should  I  lose  it,  I  sHall  bo  worse  than  beg- 
gared]" 

It  was  from  such  a  train  of  thought  as  this 
that  Miss  Trevanion  was  aroused  by  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  earl's  visit.  A  more  timid  ^ 
spirit  than  her  own  might  have  been  occupied  ' 
by  her  late  misunderstanding  with  her  father — 
the  first,  be  it  remembered,  which  had  ever  oc- 
curred between  them — and  by  his  threat  of 
making  her  want  of  obedience  to  his  wishes 
the  signal  of  their  total  estrangement ;  but  not 
even  for  an  instant  had  her  thoughts  been  en- 
grossed by  that  circumstance,  important  as  it 
was  to  her  future  fate.  The  intensity  of  her 
passion,  and  the  wild  jealousy  of  an  exacting 
nature,  rendered  all  other  considerations  insigni- 
ficant in  her  eyes.  She  remembered,  she  felt, 
only  the  possihUity  of  change  in  her  heart's  idol ; 
she  cared  not  for  the  stniggle,  the  sacrifices,  by 
which  she  must  win  him  to  herself;  she  dwelt 
only  on  the  dread  that  when  won,  he  might  be 

found    wanting And   then? — what   would 

remain  to  her  then?  The  suffocating  throbs 
of  her  tortured  heart,  the  fire  which  shot  from 
her  flashing  eyes,  and  the  fierce  chncliing  of 
her  slender  fingers,  afi'orded  a  mute  but  eloquent 
reply. 

As  Lord  Downmere  entered  the  apartment, 
Miss  Trevanion  rose  calmly  from  her  seat.  It 
is  often  in  moments  of  the  most  intense  emo- 
tion that  strong  natures  exhibit  the  greatest 
power  of  self-control.  She  did  not  dislike  the 
titled  egotist  who  sought  her  hand,  she  simply 
despised  him ;  and  although  she  intuitively  sus- 
pected the  purport  of  his  visit,  she  received  him 
with  as  much  indifference  as  though  it  had 
merely  been  dictated  by  common  courtesy. 

The  storm  of  passion  which  had  just  swept 
over  herspirits  had  meanwhile  tended  to  height-  ■ 
en  her  peculiar  style  of  beauty  ;  a  warm  flush 
burnt  upon  her  cheek ;  a  brilliant  light  danced  . 
in  her  eye,  and  tliere  was  a  proud  statehness  in 
her  whole  appearance  which  for  a  moment 
startled  even  the  unimpressionable  peer. 

"I  will  ring  and  inform  my  mother  of  your 
lordship's  visit,  with  your  permission,"'  she  said 
coldly,  as  she  advanced  to  the  bell ;  but  ere  she 
had  reached  it,  she  was  arrested  by  the  voice 
of  the  earl,  who  exclaimed  eagerly: 

"By  no  moans,  Miss  Trevanion.  I  beg  that 
Mrs.  Trevanion  may  not  be  disturbed  on  my  ac- 
count.    My  visit  was  to  yourself" 

The  lady  withdrew  her  hand,  and  resumed 
her  seat. 

"  You  wiU  no  doubt  divine  its  purport;"  con- 
tinued  Lord  Downmere  with  more  embarass- 
ment  than  he  had  ever  before  felt  in  the  pres- 
ence of  any  individual  upon  whom  he  believed 
himself  about  to  confer  a  favor  ;  "  your  father 
was  with  mo  this  morning,  and  he  lias  led  me 
to  anticipate — to  hope — that  my  presence  here  ■ 
to-day  will  not  be  unwelcome  to  you." 

"By  no  means,  my  lord;"  was  the  reply; 
"  this  is  the  hour  at  which  we  are  accustomed 
to  receive  our  friends." 

"  But  it  is  not  simply  as  a  friend  that  I  am 
here ;"  resumed  the  earl ;  "  you  must  be  quite 
aware.  Miss  Trevanion,  of  tlie  admiration — the 
regard — which  I  have  long  felt  for  you ;  and  you  , 
will  not  therefore  be  surprised  to  learn  that  my 
errand  is  to  lay  myself  and  my  coronet  at  your 
feet,  and  to  declare  to  you  that  I  shall  be  th« 


THE    JEALOUS 

liappicst  of  men  shoulu  I  prevail  on  you  to  ac- 
cept tlio  offering;." 

"I  am  not  surprised,  my  lord;"  said  Miss 
Trevanion,  retaining  all  her  previous  compos- 
ure ;  "  I  will  not  bo  guilty  of  tlio  pitiful  affce- 
tatiou  of  assuming  an  astonishment  which  I  do 
not  feel ;  but  while  I  beg  of  you  to  receive  my 
acknowledgments  for  the  honor  which  you  desire 
to  confer  on  me,  I  am  compelled  to  decline  it." 

"  Very  prettily  expressed  ;"  smiled  the  peer 
emphatically;  "I  am  aware  thai,  such  is  al- 
ways the  first  reply  of  every  lady  under  similar 
circumstances ;  but  after  what  has  passed  be- 
tween your  excellent  father  and  myself;  I  feel 
confident  that  before  we  part  wo  shall  come  to 
a  better  understanding.  In  short,  my  dear  Miss 
Trevanion,  after  mature  reflection,  I  have  ar- 
rived at  the  conviction  that  you  aro  tho  only 
woman  upon  whom  I  could  confer,  without 
one  misgiving,  tho  title  of  Countess  of  Down- 
mere.  I  am  not  a  young  man,  but  I  can  still 
appreciate  all  the  perfections  of  your  sex  ;  and 
in  yourself — " 

■•I  entreat  of  you,  my  l^d,  not  to  deceive 
yourself;"  interposed  his  listener;  "my  words 
■were  so  far  from  being  words  of  course,  that  I 
must  request  you  to  receive  them  in  all  the 
strength  and  fullness  of  their  meaning.  I  am 
preatly  flattered  by  your  good  opinion,  and  shall 
be  proud  to  retain  j-ou  as  a  friend,  but  that  can 
be  the  only  bond  between  us." 

"You  can  not  be  serious.  Miss  Trevanion — " 

"  Perfectly  so.  In  seeking  ray  hand  your 
lordship  has  been  guilty  of  a  grave  mistake. 
T7o  are  by  no  means  suited  to  each  other." 

"Is  it  the  incompatibility  of  ago?"  demand- 
ed the  carl. 

"  By  no  means  ;"  was  the  reply,  as  a  slight 
flush  rose  to  the  cheek  of  the  lady  ;  "  I  do  not 
deem  tho  question  of  ago  of  the  slightest  con- 
sideration in  aflairs  like  tho  present." 

"  \\;hat  then  can  be  your  objection  ?  I  can 
ofFer  you  rank,  wealth,  and  station." 

"  I  am  quite  aware  of  the  fact,  and  must 
be  exeujed  if  I  confess  that  I  attach  little 
value  to  mere  worldly  advantages." 

"Tiie  finest  diamonds  in  England,  not  ex- 
cepting Her  Majesty's;"  followed  up  the  per- 
Eeveriiig  peer. 

Ida  smiled  a  smile  of  scorn;  as  she  said, 
disdainfully:  "Affection  and  regard  arc  not 
marketable  commodities  even  in  this  commer- 
cial country;  and,  as  to  the  diamonds,  your 
lordship  will,  no  doubt  find  little  diflicurty  in 
inducing  some  far  more  worthy  person  than 
myself  to  wear  them." 

"  I  confess,"  said  the  discomfited  suitor ; 
"that  I  do  not  understand  your  meaning, 
Miss  Trevanion,  when  you  so  unhesitatingly 
declare  that  we  are  not  suited  to  each  other ; 
I  am  by  no  means  of  an  exacting  nature ;  you 
"will  have  no  interference  to  appreiiend  from 
me,  an  1  I  can  not  help  thinking  that  when 
once  united  we  sliould  find  many  points  of 
resemblance;  or,  at  all  events,  constant  com- 
munion would  soon  induce  it." 

"Your  lordsliip  must  pardon  me  if  I  de- 
clare that  I  should  consider  the  experiment  to 
be  highly  dangerous,"  was  the  reply;  "souls 
of  mere  ordinary  caliber  may  lose  their  dis- 
tinctive qualities,  and,  blending  into  one  com- 
mon mass,  neutralize  each  other;  but  when 


WIFE. 


29 


individuals  are  possessed  of  refined  and  elastic 
minds,  they  do  well  to  remember  that  there  is 
a  point  at  which  attraction  may  chanire  into 
repulsion,  and  not  rashly  incur  so  great  and 
fatal  a  rist." 

"In  the  present  case  there  can  at  least  be 
no  danger  of  such  a  result,"  said  Lord  Down- 
mere;  "and  t  confess  that  after  my  late  in- 
terview with  her  father,  I  was  altogether  un- 
prepared for  such  determined  coldness  on  tho 
part  of  Miss  Trevanion  ;  nor  is  it  quite  fair  to 
augment  my  regret  at  her  obduracy  by  forc- 
ing upon  mc  tlie  conviction  that  she  is  a  wit 
as  well  as  a  beaut}'." 

"Do  not  say  so,  my  lord  ;  do  not  say  so;" 
exclaimed  his  companion,  earnestly;  "I  am 
the  last  of  my  sex,  to  strive  after  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  wit.  It  is  like  laying  down  the  cestus 
of  Venus  to  brandish  the  club  of  Hercules, 
and  a  woman's  strength  is,  or  ought  to  be,  un- 
equal to  the  task.  But  your  lordship  has 
twice  alluded  to  a  recent  interview  with  my 
father.  You  surely  can  not  seek  to  infer  that 
he  led  you  to  believe — to  anticipate — " 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Trevanion;  I  received 
every  encouragement  from  your  father  to 
prosecute  my  suit — every  promise  of  his  own 
influence — and,  such  being  the  case,  you  will 
readily  understand  that  I  am  not  to  be  lightly 
discouraged.  Despite  your  disclaimer,  I  suss- 
pcct  that  I  have  in  reality  taken  you  by  sur- 
prise, and  that  j'ou  require  time  for  consider- 
ation. You  shall  have  it.  I  can  afford  to 
wait  for  a  few  days  in  order  to  secure  so  rich 
a  prize.  I  will  not  intrude  upon  you  further 
upon  this  occasion.  I  have  faith  in  the  future ; 
and  shall  leave  Mr.  Trevanion  to  explain  to 
you  certain  points — worldly  points — which 
in  the  enthusiasm  of  j'our  age,  you  have  in 
all  probability  overlooked." 

"  I  am  obliged  by  your  intention,  my  lord, 
but  I  miist  request  that  you  will  not  leave  me 
with  so  mistaken  a  view  of  my  character  and 
sentiments,"  said  tlie  young  lady.  "  I  grieve, 
deeply  grieve,  that  my  father  should  have 
misled  you,  and  trust  that  you  will  at  least 
exonerate  me  from  the  imputation  of  a  similar 
error." 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Trevanion ;"  said  the 
Earl,  blandly  stretching  forth  his  hand;  "I 
leave  my  case  to  the  advocacy  of  your  father, 
for,  as  1  before  remarked,  he  can,  with  more 
Itropriety  than  myself,  place  before  you  in 
their  fitting  light  the  advantages  which  you- 
ajipear  so  willing  to  forego.  Bo  good  enough 
to  offer  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Trevanion.  I  shall 
wait  your  final  decision  with  impatience." 

And  as  he  ceased  speaking.  Lord  Dowumere 
bowed  himself  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A  TRIAL  OF  STEENGTU. 


The  dressing-bell  had  rung  before  Mi:  Tre- 
vanion had  reached  home,  and  he  was  conse- 
quently compelled  to  wait  with  such  patience 
as  he  could  command  for  tiie  information 
which  he  was  anxious  to  obtain  of  tho  result 
of  Lord  Downmere'a  appeal  to  Lis  daughter, 


so 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


a  circnmstnnce  ■wliifli  liy  no  means  tendcf]  to 
tr.'inqiiilize  his  nerves,  ns  tlie  more  he  sufFered 
his  tlioncrlits  to  dwell  upon  the  previous  con- 
versation Let\rcen  Iiimse'.f  and  Ida,  the  less 
confidence  ho  felt  in  his  power  to  shake  her 
resolntion.  Like  a  cliild  who  has  sticceedcd 
in  hnildincf  up  a  card-house  story  by  story 
until  it  Ims  reached  a  lieiirht  almost  unho|ied- 
for,  he  dreaded  lest  his  next  movement  misrht 
bring  tlie  whole  unstable  edifice  in  ruin  about 
him;  and  yet  the  move  must  be  made;  tlio 
•work  mtist  be  terminated;  and  every  moment 
of  s'is;->er!Sf  became  int<dcrablo  to  him.  lie 
hastened  his  toilet,  and  descended  to  the 
drawinir-room,  althouirh  aware  that  even 
phould  his  daughter  be  already  there,  a  sub- 
ject of  such  intense  importance  to  both  of 
them  could  not  be  liroached  with  any  pros- 
pect of  a  final  nrrnncrement  in  the  brief  inter- 
val lictwecn  that  time  and  the  announcement 
of  dinner;  but  as  the  moment  approached 
■wliich  wai  1o  decide  the  fruition  or  the  over- 
throw of  his  cherished  hope,  he  became  rest- 
less and  irritable,  and  the  self-control  which 
he  had  exercised  throughout  the  previous  por- 
tion of  the  day  altotretlier  abandoned  him. 
lie  threw  himself  heavily  into  his  well-cush- 
ioned eliair,  caught  up  the  daily  paper  which 
lay  upon  his  reading-table,  "pished"  and 
"pshawed"  over  its  columns  as  if  each  had 
contained  some  intelligence  peculiarly  dis- 
tasteful to  him,  and  finally  suffered  it  "to  fall 
from  his  hand,  and  sank  into  a  deep  fit  of 
musing.  That  his  reflections  were  any  thing 
but  pleasant  ones  might  be  detected  at  once, 
for  his  brow  darkened,  and  he  beat  nervously 
upon  Ihe  floor  with  his  foot,  as  he  sat  with 
his  head  bent  upon  his  breast,  and  his  gaze 
riveted  upon  the  carpet.  Throughout  the 
•whole  of  his  career,  with  Mr.  Trevanion  to 
•will  had  been  to  accomplish.  Even  as  a  boj'- 
he  had  never,  as  wc  have  shown,  sufrcrcd 
himself  to  be  discouraged  even  under .  the 
most  trying  circumstances,  but  having  fixed 
his  eye  steadily  upon  one  point,  he  had  ex- 
erted all  the  energies  of  his  mind  to  reach  it. 
Forthis  purpose  he  had  compelled  his  liaughty 
spirit  to  commerce — for  this  purpose  he  had 
united  himself  to  a  woman  for  wliose  intellect 
he  entertained  the  most  sovereign  contempt, 
and  to  whose  person  he  "was  utterly  indiffer- 
ent; forthis  purpose  he  had  tolerated  and  even 
courted  a  man  whose  only  recommendation 
■v\'as  his  exalted  position  in  society;  and  now, 
v,'\)en  the  goal  was  almost  reached,  he  suddenly 
found  himself  thwarted  by  liis  own  child; 
found  an  apparently  impassable  barrier  raised 
upon  his  own  liearth  ;  and  after  having  com- 
pelled 6UCCCSS  on  the  broad  higliAvay  of  the 
■world,  discovered  that  utter  defeat  might 
await  liim  in  his  homo,  where  he  liad  hitherto 
believed  himself  (o  be  all-powerful. 

To  his  stern  and  unbending  luiture  this 
first  check,  end  as  it  might,  was  gali  and 
■wormwood  ;  he  felt  humbled,  when  he  found 
liimself  compelled  to  measure  his  strength 
•with  tluit  of  a  mere  girl,  for  as  such  he  still 
regarded  his  daughter  ;  it  was  monstrous  to 
feel  tJiat  she  could  venture  to  oppose  his 
■wishes,  be  they  wliat  they  might,  and  still 
more  monstrous  to  know  that  she  hold  his 
destiny  in  her  bauds.     Uo  was  impatient  for 


her  appearance ;  he  befieved  that  he  could 
instantly  divine  from  her  manner  the  deter- 
mination at  which  she  had  arrived;  but  first 
Mrs.  Trevanion  entered  the  room  with  her 
faint  greeting,  to  which  he  replied  only  bv  a 
slight  movement  of  the  head,  as  she  slid  into 
her  accustomed  seat,  and  drew  her  shawl 
about  her  without  hazarding  a  second  re- 
mark ;  and  next,  Ladj'  Mary  Brooklanda 
sailed  maiestically  in,  heralded  by  the  shnrp 
rustlinc:  of  her  rich  dress,  and  smiling  blandly 
upon  her  host,  who,  had  lie  dared  to  betray 
the  real  feeling  with  which  he  once  more  met 
her,  ■would  not  assuredly  have  ■welcomed  her 
appearance  by  the  words  of  studied  couitesy 
which  he  compelled  himself  to  utter;  and 
then,  just  ■when  the  last  bell  rang,  the  butler 
as  he  threw  open  the  door,  at  once  admitted 
Miss  Trevanion,  and  announced  dinner. 

The  merchant  turned  one  glance — and  but 
one — upon  his  daughter,  ore,  according  to  his 
usual  custom,  he  offered  his  arm  to  Lady 
Mary,  and  the  result  of  that  glance  was  un- 
satisfactory, afforlfing  as  it  did  no  solutioa 
of  the  mystery  which  he  sought  to  penetrate. 
f>he  was  as  oalm^  as  graceful,  and  as  self-pos- 
sessed, as  though  her  fair  brow  had  never 
been  ruffled  by  an  anxiety  or  a  care  ;  and  as 
he  proceeded  to  the  dining-room,  the  stern 
expression  of  Mr.  Trevanion's  features  became 
sterner  still.  Had  she  betrayed  emotion  of 
any  kind,  had  he  detected  the  faintest  flush 
of  anger  upon  her  cheek,  the  slightest  flash 
of  defiance  in  her  eye,  the  least  tremor  in 
her  voice,  as  she  moved  across  the  floor  to 
assist  her  mother  from  the  room,  ho  would 
have  been  satisfied,  for  he  might  have  read 
irresolution,  fear,  or  temper,  in  such  indica- 
tions of  feeling,  but  he  had  not  studied  human 
nature  so  closely  for  years,  without  learning 
that  a  settled  purpose  never  betrays  itself 
by  petty  weaknesses.  ^ 

At  table.  Miss  Trevanion  ■was  neither  more 
silent  nor  more  voluble  than  usual ;  her 
well-modulated  voice  retained  its  accustomed 
tone  as  she  addressed  himself;  she  listened 
to  her  mother's  captious  coiii()laints,  and  to 
Lady  Mary's  brilliant  small-talk,  as  patiently 
and  as  courteously  as  was  her  Iiabit,  and 
vainly  did  her  father  watch  for  one  symptom 
of  discomposure  or  uneasiness. 

"The  struggle  will  be  a  sharp  one,"  mur- 
mured the  merchant  to  himself,  as  on  the 
termination  of  the  meal  the  ladies  retired, 
and  he  rose  and  i)aced  tlio  floor  like  a  caged 
lion;  "well,  be  it  so,  it  will  not  be  the  first 
from  ■which  I  have  come  out  the  victor.  Slio 
conceives  my  threat  to  have  been  an  idle 
one,  and  does  not  believe  that  I  shall  meet 
her  determination  with  one  as  firm.  She 
presumes  upon  my  affection  while  she  makes 
no  effort  to  retain  it.  She  does  not  know 
that,  like  a  child  playing  with  the  fire,  she 
will  be  the  victim  of  her  own  folly.  But  it 
it  shall  be  so  ;  I  will  not  be  the  only  sacri- 
fice. Tlie  labor  of  a  ■whole  existence  shall 
not  be  lost  through  the  headstrong  obstinacy 
of  a  woman,  ■without  her  bearing  her  own 
share  of  the  suffering.  Let  her  refuse  Lord 
Downmere  at  her  peril.  She  shall  become  ^ 
his  wife — she  shall  work  out  the  one  great 
purpose  of  my  existence,  or  I  ■will  disown 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


81 


]ier  fiirpver — cast  her  off  to  the  poverty 
which  she  iifFeets  to  treat  80  lightly — leave 
lier  free  to  beggar  herself  with  her  iienniless 
husb.iiul,  and  to  feel  how  widely  the  fact  of 
such  a  sicrifiee  differs  from  its  theory.  But 
I  must  learii  what  passed  between  her  and 
the  earl.  I  was  a  fool  to  urge  his  coming 
here  to-day,  while  the  spirit  of  resistance 
was  still  strong  ii]>on  her  ;  no  doubt  tlie  self- 
ish dotard  piqued  her  pride  by  his  assump- 
tion of  superioj-ity.  I  should  have  been 
)>resent  at  the  interview;  but  all  is  not  yet 
lost ;  the  hour  of  weakness  is  over ;  she  owes 
me  the  obedience  of  a  child.aud  I  will  exact  it." 

Full  of  this  resolution,  Mr.  Trevanion 
passed  into  the  library,  and  ringing  the  bell 
with  violciioe,  directed  that  his  daughter 
miglit  bo  informed  that  he  desired  her  pres- 
ence. His  summons  was  promptly  obeyed, 
and  he  had  scarcely  seated  himself,  when 
with  a  calm  step  and  a  steady  eye,  Ida  en- 
terel  the  apartment. 

"I  have  sent  for  yon,  Miss  Trevanion," 
he  commenced,  as  she  advanced  toward  him, 
"in  order  to  learn  the  result  of  Lord  Down- 
mere's  visit ;  with  his  motive  I  am  already 
acquainted ;  and  I  now  wish  to  hear  what 
reply  was  made  to  his  propos  d 

"it  Wiis  declined,  su-,  definitively,  but  I  trust 
courteously." 

"  And  did  his  lordship  bow  to  such  a  decision, 
may  I  ask  ?  Was  ho  satisfied  to  receive  as  a 
final  answer  the  rejection  with  which  you  saw 
fit  to  requite  the  honor  that  ho  had  done  you  ?" 

"  I  hope,  sir,  that  I  left  no  doubt  upon  his 
mind  of  the  sincerity  of  my  meaning.  I  should 
scorn  to  trifle  with  the  feelings  of  an  individual 
who  had  evinced  toward  me  tho  preference 
expressed  by  Lord  Downmere." 

"Tliat  is  no  answer  to  my  question,  Mi.ss 
Trevanion,"  said  her  father  harshly ;  "  I  desire 
to  know  whether  his  lordship  parted  from  you, 
convinced  that  his  suit  was  unsuccessful  ?" 

"As  far  as  regarded  my  own  feelings  and 
determination,  most  certainly." 

"But  he  did  not,  nevertheless,  consent  to 
resign  his  pretensions — is  that  what  I  am  to 
aaderstand?" 

"  Precisely.  "Ho  professed  to  leave  his  cause 
in  your  hands,  sir,  believing,  or  affecting  to  be- 
lieve, that  his  rank,  his  wealth,  and  his  family 
diamonds,  would  plead  in  his  favor  more  forci- 
bly with  yourself  than  with  mc." 

"  Be  careful,  young  lady,  you  assume  a  tone 
strangely  unbecoming  in  our  relative  positions. 
Do  not  add  disrespect  to  your  disobedience." 

."You  mistako  me  painfully  if  you  su' _,oso 
mo  capable  of  sarcasm,"  said  Miss  Trevanion, 
and  for  a  moment  her  lip  quivered ;  "  no,  sir ; 
the  contempt  which  my  tone  perhaps  involun- 
tarily betrayed,  was  called  forth  by  tho  scorn  I 
f 'It  for  tho  man  who  could  suspect  7ny  father  to 
ba  guilty  of  so  much  meanness." 

'•S-?at  yourself,  Ida,  and  listen  to  me,"  said 
Mr.  Trevanion  more  mildly  than  he  had  yet 
spoken  ;  "  it  is  essential  that  wo  should  per- 
fectly understand  each  other,  for  this  is  an  im- 
portant crisis  in  both  out  lives.  Henceforth  we 
must  bo  every  thing  or  notliing  to  each  other. 
Reflect  seriously  on  what  I  am  about  to  say. 
My  life  has  been,  as  you  know,  one  long  period 
of  mortification,  brightened  only  by  tho  vision 


of  one  day  paying  back  into  tho  bosom."?  of  thoso 
wlio  injured  me,  the  bitterness  with  which  they 
filled  my  own.  This  I  could  not  do  simply  by 
am.assing  wealth — had  it  been  otherwise  I 
should  have  required  no  co-adjutor  in  tho 
struggle — but  by  placing  myself  on  an  equality 
with  the  noblest  and  tho  proudest  in  the  land. 
My  hope  rested  on  you,  Ida — on  you,  so  riehly 
gifted  by  nature,  to  overcome  tho  last  obstaclo 
with  which  I  had  to  contend.  It  may  now  bo 
realized — j'ou  have  a  peer  of  tho  n^alm  at  your 
feet — tho  coronet  of  a  countess  awaiting  your 
acceptance — will  you  disappoint  my  hopes? 
will  you  compel  mc  to  curso  the  hour  in  which 
I  trusted  to  the  strength  and  devotion  of  a 
daughter's  love  ?" 

The  beautiful  head  of  Ida  drooped  as  sho 
li.stcnod.  She  had  nerved  herself  to  contend 
against  violence  and  opposition ;  sho  had  felt 
strong  in  the  conviction  of  her  right  of  free 
action,  and  of  her  privilege  to  bestow  her  hand 
where  she  had  already  bestowed  her  affections ; 
but  although  her  resolution  did  not  waver  for 
an  instant,  the  altered  manner  of  her  father 
sent  a  pang  to  her  heart,  and  for  a  moiiient 
rendered  her  unable  to  reply.  Mr.  Trevanion 
instantly  perceived  his  advantage,  -and  hasten- 
ed to  profit  by  the  impression  which  ho  had 
made. 

"  You  will  not  do  this,"  he  pursued  earnest- 
ly;  "I  feel  that  you  will  not  by  one  mad  act 
negative  the  anticipations  of  years.  Remem- 
ber, Ida,  all  that  I  have  b^-^n  t)  you.  Look 
around  you,  and  ask  yourseir'  if  you  have  hith- 
erto found  cause  to  envy,  not  merely  the  fato 
of  those  of  3-our  own  rank  in  societ}',  but  that 
of  ntliors  fir  more  highly  born.  You  have  been 
the  child  of  luxury  and  indulgence;  you  havo 
never  formed  a  wish  which  1  have  not  sought 
to  gratify ;  I  have  spared  nothing — neither  gold 
nor  exertion — to  fit  j-ou  for  tlie  station  which  I 
was  resolved  that  you  should  attain ;  and,  up 
to  this  day,  you  have  seconded  me  nobly ;  nor 
can  I  believe  that  you  will  fail  mo  now." 

"  I  am  grateful — most  grateful" — faltered  out 
his  listener. 

"  And  you  have  cause  to  bo  so,"  continued 
Mr.  Trevanion,  overlooking  in  his  eagerness  to 
compel  his  daughter's  submission  to  his  will, 
that  an  open  avowal  of  his  motives  for  tho  in- 
dulgence upon  which  ho  dilated  must  necessa- 
rily weaken  his  hold  upon  her  feelings,  "for,  I 
need  scarcely  explain  to  you,  who  so  well  un- 
derstand my  nature,  that  I  should  never  have 
made  such  sacrifices  had  I  not  had  an  ulterior 
object  in  view.  I  acted  in  regard  to  yourself 
upon  the  same  principle  wdiloh  has  regulated 
every  action  of  my  life.  Once  more  I  tell  you, 
frankly,  that  you  havo  been  reared  ai)d  edu- 
cated to  assist  in  tho  prosecution  of  my  one 
darling  scheme;  I  havo  watched  and  waited 
patiently  for  the  moment  in  which  it  should  be 
realized — that  moment  has  conic  at  hiFt,  and  I 
look  to  you  to  Rocuro  mc  against  a  failure  which 
would  blight  my  whole  aficr-lile." 

And  you  a,sk  mo  to  f  irtlier  the  gratification 
of  a  vindictive  feeling  by  the  sacrifice  of  fty 
own  hopes  of  hap[)iiies.s,  if  indeed  I  unJcrstaud 
3'ou  riglitlv,"  said  the  daughter,  with  a  heigh- 
tened color;  "and  you  seek  to  impress j^pon 
mo  th.at  I  owe  tho  tenderness  and  c:iro  which 
have  been  lavished  upon  me  to  no  aflcctioa  oa 


32 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


your  part — to  compel  mo  to  feci  that  I  have 
been  regarded  less  as  a  child  than  as  a  tool 
"vvhifli  has  been  gradually  tempered  to  its  des- 
tined use  I  Surely,  sir,  3-ou  employ  strange 
arguments  to  enforce  your  purpose.  Have  the 
talents  which  you  pride  yourself  on  having 
nurtured ;  tho  beauty  which  you  confess  has 
reconciled  you  to  my  sex  ;  no  Iiigher  value  in 
your  eyes — in  tho  eyes  of  a  parent,  and  he  tho 
parent  of  an  only  child — than  any  mere  base 
and  sordid  agent  by  which  you  may  hope  to 
accomplish  your  wishes  ?  You  have  said  that 
it  is  essential  wo  should  understand  each  other; 
do  wo  do  so  now?  In  i)ity  tell  me,  no!  I 
have  so  long  paid  you  back  every  kindness  in 
love  and  reverence,  that  I  daro  not  trust  my- 
self to  think  that  my  affection  has  been  ixnre- 
quited." 

'•  I  pliall  believe  in  that  affection  when  I  see 
its  fi'uits  ;"  said  Mr.  Trevanion  coldly ;  "  it  is 
easy  to  profess  a  feeling  which  involves  neither 
sacrifice  nor  trial ;  it  is  only  to  be  trusted 
when  it  stands  the  ordeal  of  both." 

"Thus  then  suffer  nie  to  test  the  depth  of 
yours,  my  father  !"  exclaimed  his  daughter  im- 
ploringly ;  "am  I  not  your  cliild — your  only 
one  ? — and  will  you  seek,  for  the  vain  gratifica- 
tion of  a  vengeance  which  may  after  all  fjiil  in 
the  attainment  of  its  object,  to  condemn  me 
to  a  blighted  and  loveless  existence  ?  Can  an 
allianoe  with  a  Lord  Downmere,  a  man  whom, 
were  it  not  for  the  mere  accident  of  rank,  you 
would  despise,  ennoLle  you  in  iho.  eyes  of  your 
estranged  and  haughty  relatives  ?  Will  they 
not  rather  scorn  you  for  a  weakness  which 
must  shame  your  noble  nature  ?" 

"  Permit  me  to  be  the  best  judge  of  the  re- 
sult of  my  own  actions,  Miss  Trevanion ;"  was 
the  curt  rejoinder;  "  you,  in  your  ignorance  of 
the  world,  are  quite  unable  to  form  a  rational 
opinion  on  such  a  subject.  Perhaps,  when  you 
find  the  door  of  your  father  closed  against  you, 
and  are  put  forth  to  strive  and  struggle  with 
the  world,  as  it  was  once  my  fate  to  be,  you 
will  be  better  able  to  appreciate  my  feelings. 
p  At  present  your  ideas  of  such  a  destiny  are 
'  doubtless  vague  enough — your  romantic  notions 
.  ■would  probably  drape  beggary  in  a  tinsel  pet-' 
ticoat  and  nourish  it  uf>on  chickens'  wings  ;  but 
I  beg  to  assure  you  that  it  is  fed  and  clad  far 
otherwise;  and  that  I  owe  the  privilege  of 
having  exchanged  its  rags  and  black  bread  for 
the  comforts  of  existence,  to  a  resolute  will 
and  an  indomitable  energy.  Do  not  imagine, 
however,  that  I  have  forgotten  to  whom  I  was 
indebted  for  the  chance  of  failure ;  or  that  I 
will  not  repay  the  wrong.  If  I  liave  been  con- 
tent to  wait,  it  has  been  because  mine  was  no 
weak  and  timid  spirit  likely,  to  be  seared  by 
diflScultiea  ;  I  know  with  whom  I  have  to  deal ; 
I  know  that  there  is  one  method,  and  but  one, 
of  revenging  the  cruel  injuries  wliich  have  been 
heaped  upon  me.  Could  I  have  bowed  the 
pride  of  my  puling  uncle  or  his  arrogiuit  wife 
by  gold,  I  slhudd  have  needed  no  o-adjutor, 
and  your  marriage  with  a  pauper  would  liavc 
b^n  a  matter  of  indifference ;  but  it  is  not  so ; 
and  your  alliance  with  this  peer,  scorn  him  as 
you  may,  is  consequently  an  imperative  neces- 
sitvj^ 

'Tlear  me  in  my  turn,  sir ;"  said  his  daugKter 
with  cahn   dignity;  "bad  you  been  poor,  or 


even  dishonored,  and  tliat  my  self-abnegation, 
the  sacrifice  of  my  whole  life,  could  have  re- 
stored you  to  afiluence  or  to  honor,  I  would 
have  placed  my  fate  in  your  hands  without  a 
murmur,  too  happy  to  have  been  thus  enabled 
to  repay  the  debt  I  owe  you ;  but  I  will  not 
consent  to  be  made  the  victim  of  a  chimera — 
the  tool  of  a  capi  ice.  From  the  moment  when 
you  first  acquainted  me  with  the  intentions  of 
Lord  Dowiunere,  I  frankly  told  you  that  ho 
was  not  merely  indifferent,  but  positively  dis- 
agreeable to  me — " 

"  But  you  did  not  in  your  boasted  frankness, 
add  that  such  was  the  case  because  you  liad 
seen  fit  to  form  another  attachment,"  inter- 
posed Mr.  Trevanion. 

"  I  did  not,  because  at  that  time  I  had  come 
to  no  resolution  on  the  subject ;  but  even  had 
I  decided  against  Mr.  Elphinstone,  I  should 
not  assuredly  have  accepted  the  earl  as  a  sub- 
stitute; I  declare,  however,  that  I  was  then 
free,  in  so  far  as  regarded  any  pledge  or  prom- 
ise to  another ;  for  I  was  well  aware,  that  tho 
suit  of  Sydney  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
unwe]c':'me  t^  yourself  while  I  was  at  the  same 
time  keenly  alive  to  the  apparent  risk  wliieh  I 
should  incur  by  an  imion  with  a  man  my  junior 
in  age  ;  nor  was  it  until  I  had  become  conscious 
that  my  happiness  depended  upon  this  mar- 
riage that  I  could  bring  myself  to  incur  your 
dis[)leasure ;  and  I  entreat  of  you  to  believe 
that  I  did  so  ultimately  with  a  reluctance  and 
regret  which  have  cost  me  many  bitter  tears." 

"  You  will  have  many  still  more  bitter  yet 
to  shed,  should  you  persist  in  your  present  in- 
sane purpose.  Miss  Trevanion;"  said  her  father; 
'  for  although  you  have  been  pleased  to  desig- 
nate my  legitimate  desire  to  re-integiate  my- 
self in  society  as  a  '  chimera'  and  a  '  caprice,' 
I  beg  to  assure  you,  that  I  will  not  be  thwarted 
by  a  whim.     Lord    Downmere   has,  you  say, 
left  his  cause  in  my  hands   and   he  has  done 
well,  for  as  your  parent  I  have  a  right  to  eo- 
force  your  obedience.     I  am  aware  that  you 
calculate   u])on   your  legal   power  to  set  my ) 
wishes  at  defiance:  I  do  not   dispute  it;  but- 
you  have  forgotten  to  calculate  upon  tlie  opin- 
ion of  the  world.     Are    you  prepared  to  en-  ' 
counter  its  ridicule  and  its  blame?     Are  you 
strong  enough  to  spurn  its  avoidance  and  ita 
contempt  ?  you  are  no  longer  an  ignorant  and  ; 
willful  gill,  Avhoso  folly  might  be  poetized  into 
romance ;  you  have  seen  enough  of  society  to  • 
know  that  its  sympathies  will  not  be  enlisted 
on  the  side  of  a  woman  who  lias  reached  hor 
six-and-twentieth  year,  and  who    deliberately 
thi'ows  herself  away  upon  a  penniless  boy." 

'•  I  care  little  for  the  opinion  of  the  world, 
sir;"  said  Ida,  firmly ;  "  I  have,  as  you  say,  seen  , 
and  judged  it;  and  I  know,  and  can  fully  ap- 
preciate, its  hollowness.     Were  that  the  only  ' 
difficulty  with  which  I  sliould  be  called  upon 
to  contend,  I  should  not  waste   one   thought  ' 
ujion  the  subject." 

"  But,  as  I  need  scarcely  again  inform  yon, 
it  is  by  no  means  the  only  one ;"  coldly  ob- 
served the  merchant ;  "  although  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  remark  that  even  were  it  so,  it  is  not 
to  be  dismissed  so  lightly.  Hitherto  you  have.  . 
surrounded  by  afiluence  and  adulation,  found 
the  world  a  warm  and  willing  friend ;  you  will, 
in  a  reverse  of  fortune,  find  it  a  keen  and  bit- 


THE    JEALOUS    Y.'IFE. 


S3 


ter  enemy ;  and  one  wliich  no  woman  can  defy 
■with  impunity  ;  and  mark  me  -when  I  tell  you 

for  I  do  so  advisedly — that  you  -will  Lave  to 

make  the  trial." 

"  So  be  it  then ;"  said  Ida,  sadly  ;  "  I  can  no 
linger  hesitate.  Had  you  sought  to  detach 
me  from  Mr.  Elphinstoiic  by  entreaty  and 
alTectiou,  I  misjfht  perohauce  have  yielded — I 
know  not — but  it  mi^cht  have  been  so;  now, 
lh.>wevcr.  the  die  is  cast,  for  I -were  unworthy 
tlie  love  of  any  honorable  man  if  I  eould  aban- 
don him  from  mercenary  motives.  I  under- 
stjind  the  threat  which  you  have  held  out — 
' — I  am  to  be  \lisinhei  ited.  If  such  be  indeed 
.your  will,  I  must  submit ;  I  may  feel  the  in- 
justice of  the  sentence,  but  I  can  not  question 
•.your  right  of  action," 

i     "That  is  at  least  fortunate,"  observed  her 
;father,  ironieallj-. 

i     "  Nor  shall  I  suffer  myself  to  be  dismayed 
;by  the  prospect,"  pursued  Ida.     "  It  is  hard,  no 
,d">ubt,  to  wrestle  single-handed  with  the  world, 
but  in  such  a  strife  even  defeat  is  not  altogether 
[without  honor ;    our  hands,  heads,  and  hearts 
iwere  bestowed  upon  us  in  order  that  we  might 
he  enabled  to  help  ourselves ;    and  the  honest 
pruggle  for  independence  has  ever  an  enno- 
bling effect,  wliile  the  poor  tame  spirit  that  is 
p  ateut  to  remain  a  burden  upon  olliers  at  the 
pense   of    its   best  and  wortliiest   feelings, 
ather  than  boldly  to  launch  out  into  the  ocean 
f  life,   and   resolutely  to   buffet  its   billows, 
lust  necessarily,  with  its  own  loss  of  dignity, 
eur  the  contempt  of  all  around  it." 
"  Very  eloquently  put,"  said  Mr.  Trevanion, 
till  in  the  same  accent  of  sarcasm  ;  "  but  you 
lust  excuse  me  if  I  say  that  your  well-round- 
J  periods  on  this  occasion  i-emind  me  of  a 
oarse  daub  set  in  a  costly  frame ;  it  may  be 
urrouuded  by  glitter,  but  it  i-emaius  as  worth- 
;ss  as  ever.'   However,   you  have  explained 
our  determination,  and  fully  understand  mine; 
"e  shall  shortly  see  wliich  is  of  the  most  avail, 
either  marry  Lord    Do^\'nmere,  or   you 
L-ase  to  be  my  daughter." 
"  Father — dear  father  1"  exclaimed  Ida   im- 
oringly. 

"  Do  not  exhaust  your  talents  at  the  com- 
lencement  of  the  tragedy,  Miss  Trevanion ;" 
lid  the  merchant ;  "  I  ask  for  deeds,  not 
ords ;  and  if  you  decline  to  prove  your  affee- 
on,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  express  it.  As  Couut- 
ss  of  Downxnere,  you  are  my  heiress — as  Mrs. 
Iphiostooe,  you.  are  without  a  home  in   my 

)US€." 

Ida  rose;  her  cheek  was  very  pale,  and 
lere  was  a  convulsive  movement  about  her 
outh,  which  betrayed  the  depth  of  her  agony. 
le  leant  for  an  instant  upon  the  taljle  before 
r,  as  if  unable  to  support  herself,  as  she 
med  a  long  and  appealing  look  upon  her 
ther ;  but  the  eyes  that  met  liers  were  cold 
id  stony  ;  and  after  the  lapse  of  a  second,  Mr. 
[•evanion  with  ceremonious  politeness  threw 
en  the  door  of  the  liljrary,  and  so  soon  as 
J  dan^'hter  liad  crossed  the  threshold  quietly 
>sed  it  behind  her. 


CIIArXER  XI. 

MISS   TREVANION    TO    MR.    ELI'niXSTONI!:. 

"  I  PLEDGKD  myself  to  wTitc  to  you,  Sydney, 
and  I  redeem  my  promise.  I  assured  you  that 
I  could  be  firm  when  our  mutual  hap]iiiios,i 
was  at  stake,  and  I  almost  begin  to  fear  tliat  1 
have  been  firm  even  to  sin.  Nor  is  this  all — 
for  while  incurring  the  displeasure  of  my  fatlicr, 
I  have,  I  fear,  rendered  our  union  impossible. 
Be  honest  with  me,  Sydney,  and  above  all  bo 
just  to  yourself;  when  I  tell  you  that  in  be- 
coming your  wife  I  cease  to  bo  the  daughter 
of  Mr.  Trevanion.  I  shall  no  longer  be  the 
petted  and  pampered  heiress,  but  a  disoAvncd 
and  disinherited  child,  whose  poverty  can  only 
tend  to  aggravate  your  own.  I  know  my 
father  well — such  has  been  his  declared  decis- 
ion; and  I  am  well  aware  that  even  altliough 
in  secret  he  may  weep  tears  of  blood,  he  will 
never  rescind  it.  For  myself  I  care  not ;  for 
beggary  as  your  wife  would  be  a  happier  fate 
for  me  than  the  most  fabulous  affluence  with 
another.  Let  not  that  consideration,  however, 
have  any  weight  with  you  ;  a  woman's  world 
is  her  home — her  ambition  does  not  travel  be- 
yond her  own  hearth;  but  with  your  sex  it  is 
far  otherwise ;  and  you  Sydney,  are  still  very 
young,  too  young  to  sacrifice  all  your  hopes  and 
prospects  in  life  to  an  affection  which — bear 
with  me  when  I  remind  you  of  such  a  possi- 
bility— may  one  day  fail.  And  even  were  it 
to  endure  through  every  trial  and  hardship, 
yet  remember  that  home-cares  and  home-anxie- 
ties must  cripple  your  exertions  and  weaken 
your  energies.  You  were  born  for  a  brilliant 
destiny,  and  you  deserve  it.  Renounce  your 
claim  to  my  hand;  assert  yourself,  and  do 
justice  to  the  noble  talents  that  you  possess. 
Do  not  suppose  that  I  say  this  lightly.  In 
liberating  you,  I  desire  no  freedom  for  myself. 
If  I  never  bear  your  name,  neither  will  I  ac- 
cept that  of  any  man  on  eartli.  Jly  future 
happiness  and  pride  shall  consist  in  watching 
your  career,  in  exulting  over  your  success,  in 
praying  for  your  prosperity.  Reflect  seriously 
— for  the  crisis  is  an  awful  one  to  both  of  us — 
whether  indeed  the  affection  which  you  have 
vowed  to  me  has  not  been  unconsciously  to 
yourself,  deepened  by  the  circumstances  under 
which  we  have  hitherto  met.  You  saw  mo 
the  spoiled  child  of  fortune,  whatever  beauty 
I  possess,  heightened  by  dress,  and  perfected 
by  art ;  whatever  aecomplisliments  I  may  have 
acquired,  exerted  amid  scenes  which  lent  them 
a  prcatic/e  not  their  own.  You  may  have  de- 
ceived yourself,  and  how  fatal  must  such  an 
eri'or  prove  alike  to  yourself  and  me.  Look 
beyond  the  present,  Sydney ;  endeavor  to 
realize  that  yeai's  have  passed  over  us  both — 
years  of  Btrugglo.  -You  will  still  l)e  in  the 
full  pride  of  manhood  and  of  hope,  comjjetcnt  to 
struggle  with  the  world,  still  an  object  of 
admiration — a  mark  for  that  world's  liomage. 
But  I,  Sydney,  wliat  will  those  years  liave 
done  for  me  ?  Already  far  before  you  in  the 
race  of  life,  I  sliall  have  reached  the  turning- 
point;  and  withered,  changed — I  can  not  j>ro- 
ceed,  Sydney — but  I  can  feel  the  rest  I  No,  • 
no;  it   must   not  be — look  on  the  past   as  a 


34 


TEE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


dream;  have  the  courage  to  a-n-aken;  and  in 
after  yearB  I  shall  hear  you  thank  me  for  your 
release.  Ida." 

Calmly,  .ind  "with  a  steady  hand,  Miss  Tre- 
Tanion  scaled  and  closed  her  letter,  but  her  fin- 
gers were  as  cold  and  bloodless  as  marblo  ;  and 
although  her  eyes  were  tearless  they  were  di- 
lated, and  the  transparent  lids  hot  and  discol- 
ored, as  thonph  the  drops  which  should  havo 
fallen  had  burnt  and  blistered  there.  For  a  time 
she  sat  thrown  back  upon  her  chair,  with  her 
gaze  fastened  upon  the  fateful  missive.  It  con- 
tained indeed  the  destiny  of  her  future  life,  and 
she  dared  not  a.sk  herself  how  it  would  be  an- 
swered. 

After  a  while  she  raised  her  head,  and  looked 
languidly  about  her;  luxury  surrounded  her 
on  every  side ;  her  glance  traveled  from  silk- 
en hanging's  to  gorgeous  mirrors — from  costly 
toys  to  jeweled  cabinets  and  flowers,  and  birds, 
and  books,  and  all  the  otlier  appliances  of 
wealth  and  taste  with  which  her  hitherto  in- 
dulgent father  had  deliglited  to  environ  her ; 
and  as  she  noted  each  in  its  turn,  an  expression 
of  loatliing  passed  over  her  countenance.  It 
was  for  vanities  such  as  these  that  she  had  been 
urged  to  barter  away  her  self-respect — to  sell 
her  liberty — to  perj'iro  her  faith — to  crush  her 
heart ;  and  it  was  from  the  fear  of  losing  these 
that  she  had  voluntarily  offered  to  resign  Syd- 
ney Elphinstone.  But  no,  no;  not  from  this 
fear  for  herself,  but  for  him — and  could  it  bo 
that  he  would  prize  them  so  dearly^s  to  accept 
her  self-abnegation  in  order  to  secure  them  ? 
Did  she  not  wrong  him  by  suspicion  ?  And  yet 
who  should  say  ?  And  then  once  more  arose 
the  fatal  thought — "  He  is  so  young — the  world 
and  all  its  gauds  are  still  so  bright  for  him. 
Let  him  but  look  into  the  future,  as  I  havo 
urged,  and  then — "  she  did  not  pursue  the  an- 
ticipation further,  but  with  a  convulsive  shud- 
der that  shook  her  whole  frame,  she  cla.sped 
her  spread  hands  on  the  table,  near  which  she 
Bat,  and  juried  her  throbbing  brow  in  their  open 
palms. 

How  long  she  had  continued  thus  motionless 
in  her  misery  she  knew  not,  when  she  was 
aroused  by  a  gentle  knocking  at  the  door  of  her 
room,  which  slowly  opened,  and  Lady  Mary 
Brooklands  entered,  and  closed  it  behind  her. 

"  My  dear  Ida;"  said  her  visitor  as  she  ten- 
derly approached  her,  and  took  a  scat  by  her 
side ;  "  what  is  tho  meaning  of  this  terrible 
emotion?     AYhat  has  happened?" 

"Oh,  my  kind  friend,  I  am  very,  very,  wretch- 
ed;^' was  the  faint  reply,  as  one  largo  scalding 
tear  rolled  down  the  fever-crimsoned  cheek  of 
the  unhappy  girl ;  "  I  havo  just  gone  through 
a  scene  with  my  father  which  has  nearly  de- 
Btroyed  me." 

"  JiLst  gone  through  Aich  a  scene,  my  sweet 
child ;"  exclaimed  tho  noble  widow ;  "you  have 
surely  h.ad  time  to  compose  yourself  since  the 
interview  took  place,  for  I  have  myself  been 
closeted  with  Mr.  Trevauion  in  tho  library  for 
tho  last  two  hours." 

"  But  he  has  surely  not  expressed  any  dis- 
pleasure toward  you  ?"  said  Ida  anxiously ; 
"  whatever  cause  of  complaint  ho  may  have 
against  myself,  you,  at  least,  arc  guiltless  in  this 


"No,  no;  apprehend  nothing  on  my  ac 
count ;"  rephed  her  friend  with  proud  co'mpoj 
ure ;  "  Mr.  Trevanion  is  a  man  of  the  world 
and  has  sufiQcient  regard  for  my  rank,  wliatcve 
may  bo  his  feelings  toward  myself  personally 
to  avoid  any  undue  exhibition  of  temper  in  oil^ 
intercourse.  On  the  contrary,  throughout  the 
whole  of  the  interview  to  which  I  have  alluded 
nothing  could  exceed  his  suavity :  and  altiiough 
I  detected  a  certain  coldness  in  his  inannci 
:  which  betraved  a  suspicion  that  I  felt  to  be  to 
tally  undeserved  on  my  part,  I  refrained  fromIT 
j  jny  observation  which  might  tend  to  show  liii: 
;  tliat  I  was  conscious  of  the  change,  feeling  tli^ 
j  situated  as  I  am  in  this  family,  my  n'k  shotiL 
I  universally  be  that  of  a  mediator ;  and  as  sucl 
you  are  aware  that  I  have  universally  strivei 
I  to  act." 

I  "I  am  indeed  well  aware  of  it,  dear  Lad; 

j  Mary ;"  eaid  Miss  Trevanion  aflcctinnateiy ' 
i  "but  as  my  father  appeared  to  think  that  yi> 
J  had  favored  the  addresses  of  Sydney,  andn 
i  fused  to  receive  my  assurances  to  tlie  contrary 

I I  feared  that  he  might  have  expressed  the  saui 
suspicion  to  yourself." 

"That  he  does  so  believe,  I  am  convinced  ;' 
was  tho  quiet  rejoinder;  "but  as  I  felt  tiiS' 
such  was  not  tho  case,  I  would  not  afford  hi; 
the  triumph  of  perceiving  that  I  considered  ll  • 
suspicion  to  bo  possible  ;  for  had  I  done  so  ' 
j  could  not  of  course  have  remained  under  h' 
j  roof;  and  the  rather,  as  you  know  how  utter' 
I  unjust  it  would  have  bcen,*since  I  had  nevi 
been  admitted  to  your  confidence — that  my  a 
vice  had  never  been  sought,  and  that  I  was  c 
course  completely  ignorant  of  the  engageme ' 
between  yourself  and  my  nephew."  ' 

"  It  is  true  that  I  did  not  solicit  your  advice' 
said  Jliss  Trevanion  ;   "  because  I  felt  that  h.J 
I  done  so  I  should  have  rendered  your  pbsiti'i 
one  of  difficulty  and  delicacy  from  your  re  ■  i 
tionship  to  Mr.  Elphinstone,  although  I  ^^^A 
not  doubt  that  you  must  have  perceived  c  /I 
mutual  attachment."  ;' 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  girl,  by  no  meanf, 
was  the  ready  disi;  laimer  of  the  lady  ;  "  I  li8| 
now  for  many  3-ears  been  so  accustomed  to  i 
you  an  object  of  admiration  to  all  by  whom  j' 
iiave  been  approached,  that  I  considered  S; 
ney  only  as  an  additional  mote  sporting  in  "i 
sunsliine  of  your  smiles,  or  you  may  rest  , 
sured  that  I  should  have  warned  you  of  the  J- 
policy  of  such  an  attaehmcnt.  It  is  true  1 1. 
tho  poor  boy  is  handsome  nnd  intcUcctunl  ^l 
well  as  high-born;  and,  I  really  believe,  fr/ 
amiable  and  honorable;  but  still  lie  t«  p< , 
and  I  therefore  imagined  it  impos.sible  that  v  i 
all  your  advantages  you  would  ever  dreaui 
making  such  a  sacrifice."  , 

"Surely,  dear  Lady  Mary,  you  at  least sh(i 
have  known  mo  better  than  to  suppose  Ih  '1 
could  marry  for  mere  wealth  or  rank." 

"Forgive  me,  Ida,  if  I  havo  so  far  done  |Q 
injustice,"  was  the  fond  reply  of  her  visitoi  s 
she  passed  her  arm  round  tho  waist  of  l'^ 
Trevanion,  and  drew  her  gently  to  her  bo.'ii, 
"but  you  must  rerrjember  that  I  was  17 
aware  of  j-our  father's  views  and  wishes;  :'• 
I  knew  him  to  be  absolute  in  his  family;  j'j 
that  from  the  nature  of  your  education.  " 
your  great  success  in  the  world,  I  1 
reason  to  anticipate  that  you  would  become 


ation,  a   i 
liad  c  y 

"■■1 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


wife  of  a  man  of  decided  rank.  How,  then,  do 
vou  conceive  it  probable  that  I  should  even  lor 
a  moment  dream  of  your  bestowing  yourself 
upon  poor  Sydney.  "Why,  my  sweet  child, 
much  as  I  am  compelled  to  admire  your  beau- 
tiful disinterestedness,  I  can  even  now  scarcely 
bring  myself  to  credit  the  tact." 

Buttell  me,  my  dear  friend,"  said  her  list- 
3ner,  involuntarily  soothed  by  the  placid  kiiid- 
3ess  of  her  manner,  "  had  I  ventured  to  confide 
he  truth  to  you,  should  you  have  blamed  me 
or  my  love  of  Sydney?" 

Blamed  you,    darling?     No,  I  should  not 

lertaialy  have ,  had  the  heart    to   blame  your 

mselfish  generosity;  but  still  I  should  have 

elt  it  my  duty  to  discourage  the  attachment  as 

which  could  not  foil  to  excite  the  displeas- 

ire  of  your  father,  who  had,  as  you  must  your- 

elf  admit,  every  right  to  bo  ambitious  for  such 

I  daughter;  and  even  now  my  errand  is  to  dis- 

iuade  you  from  persisting  in  this  unpropitious 

ngE^ement.'- 

"  At  my  father's  request  ?"  asked  Ida. 

"Yes,  love,  at  Mr.  Trevanion's  request,  who 

ppears  to  place  gi:eat  foith  in  my  influence,  far 

reater  than  I  L^ar  it  deserves.     He  has  stren- 

ously  urged  me  to  exert  all  my  eloquence  in 

omting  out  what  he  considers  as  the  madness 

ad  folly  of  such  a  marriage,  and  you  see  that 

am  conscientiously  doing  so.     He  moreover 

(quested  me  to  represent  the  policy  and  pro- 

•iety  of  your  union  with  Lord  Downmere ;  and 

must  be   confessed,  Ida,  that,  in  a  worldly 

)int  of  view,  there  can  Tdo  no  comparison  be- 

reen  the  two." 

"  Is  Lord  Downmere  the  husband  you  would 
ive  selected  for  me,  Lady  Mary?" 
'  "  Perhaps  not,  dearest,  perhaps  not  precisely ; 
:ie  is,  you  know,  as  a  peer  of  the  realm  and 
!  in  of  enormous  wealth,  a  very  desirable 
•!i.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  you  can 
I'lch  worse." 

r  scarcely  think  it  possible,"  said  Miss  Tre- 
inion,  with  a  shade  of  haughtiness,  "that  is, 
wever,  a  point  which  we  need  not  discuss, 
it  is  one  upon  which  my  mind  is  unalterably 
cided.  Happen  what  may,  I  will  never  he- 
me Countess  of  Downmere ;  I  should  despise 
1  rself,  could  I  be  mercenary  enough  to  barter 
1  r  happiness  for  such  considerations  to  such  a 
1  in." 

"  "Well,  my  love,  you  know  best,  of  course ; 
"  lile  it  is  quite  certain,  that  if  you  have  really 
1  olved  to  give  your  hand  to  my  nephew — if 
]  a  really  feel  that  he  possesses  your  aflections 
-  wo  can  only  hope  that  Mr.  Trevanion  will, 
1 3r  a  time,  become  reconciled  to  the  marriage. 
J  U  I  must,  as  I  have  promised,  caution  you, 
I  t  ,t  all  your  friends  will  regard  it  as  an  impru-; 
I  cice.  But  if  j-ou  feel  that  your  happiness 
dienda  on  him,  I  actually  have  not  the  cour- 
aj  to  distress  j-ou  by  any  further  arguments. 
Heed,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances,  I 
a^ost  feel  it  a  treason  against  Sydney  to  say 
a»ther  word  upon  the  subject;  fjr  I  can  not 
figet  that  ho  is  my  sister's  son,  and  that  he  is, 
n  reover,  a  man  of  whose  alliance  any  father 
n:htbo  proud.  However,  I  must  not  suffer 
tl  affections  of  a  relative  to  seduce  me  into  a 
fj  are  against  friendship,  and  I  am  anxious  to 
b  able  to  assure  Mr.  Trevanion  that  I  have 
pjformed  my  ondtoua  missioa  faithfolly." 


"Of  any  aftor-roconciliation  with  my  father, 
when  I  have  once  become  the  v.-Ifo  of  Sydney, 
I  am  utterly  hopeless,"  said  Ida  p:idly  :  "  I  know 
that  once  to  have  incurred  his  anger  and 
thwarted  his  will,  is  to  have  f  >rfoitcd  his  affec- 
tion for  ever.     No,  he  will  never  forgive  me." 

"Nonsense,  silly  child,"  exclaimed  Lady 
Mary  Brooklands,  iaughin-jrly ;  "do  you  forget 
that  your  father  is  a  wealthy  man,  and  that  j-ou 
arc  his  only  child,  and  must,  consequently,  one 
day  inherit  that  wealth  ?  Do  you  suppose  that 
after  having  throughout  life  exerted  all  his 
energies  to  make  his  daughter  a  mark  for  the 
admiration  and  envy  of  tho  world,  he  will  long 
permit  his  affections  to  be  alienated  from  tho 
idol  Avhich  he  has  himself  set  up  ?  No,  no ; 
trust  me,  he  will  desire  to  see  his  ample  fortune 
produce  its  legitimate  effect,  and  for  that  pur- 
pose, if  for  no  other,  you  are  certain  of  forgive- 
ness." 

"  I  can  not  entertain  any  such  hope,  my  good 
friend,"  sighed  Miss  Trevanion;  "I  do  not 
seek  to  do  so  for  a  moment,  as  I  feel  convinced 
that  ultimate  disappointment  must  ensue.  My 
father,  with  all  his  noble  qualities,  never  for- 
gives— ho  is  t-uth  itself — and  he  has  assured 
mo  that  in  the  event  of  my  disobedience,  he  will 
bequeath  every  shilling  of  which  he  is  possessed 
to  the  son  of  Sir  Jasper." 

Her  companion  visibly  started.  "  You  know 
him  well,  my  dear  Lady  Mary,"  she  pursued, 
"and  therefore  you  will  readily  understand 
that  he  will  fullill  his  word ;  while  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  confess  that  bitterly  as  I  feel,  and 
ever  shall  feel,  his  displeasure  and  his  estrange- 
ment, the  thought  that  instead,  as  I  had  fondly 
hoped,  of  enriching  Sydney,  and  of  affording 
him  the  opportunity  of  displaying  his  brilliant 
talents  with  the  effect  that  they  deserve,  I  shall 
go  to  him  helpless  and  almost  penniless,  and 
thus  increase  his  struggle  with  the  world,  is 
yet  more  painful." 

Lady  Mary  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  in  a  constrained  tone,  very  different 
fiom  that  in  which  she  had  hitherto  carried  on 
tho  conversation :  "I  can  well  believe  it,  my 
dear,  for  in  tlie  present  factitious  state  of  soci- 
ety, it  is  impossible  for  any  individual  to  do 
justice  to  himself,  however  highly  gifted  ho 
may  be  by  nature,  unless  he  has  the  means  of 
improving  his  advantages.  I  do  not  for  a 
moment  suspect  Sydney  of  any  mercenary 
views;  indeed  I  believe  him  to  bo  incapable  of 
such  considerations,  particularly  when  you  aro 
the  object  of  his  affections,  but  still  tho  impru- 
dence of  undertaking  the  responsibility  of  a 
family  under  such  circumstances,  will,  undoubt- 
edly be  very  great ;  nor,  my  love,  must  you  bo 
hurt  if  I  venture  to  remind  you  that  this  im- 
prudence will  bo  considerably  increased  by  the 
disparity  of  age  which  exists  between  j'ou. 
You  will,  as  I  before  urged  upon  you,  really  do 
well  to  reflect  before  you  decide;  as  these 
particulars  may  not  havo  struck  you  before,  I 
considered  it  my  imperative  duty  to  point  them 
out." 

"  Pardon  mo,  madam,"  said  Miss  Trevanion, 
haughtily,  as  she  roso  with  a  flushed  clieek  and 
a  flashing  eye;  "I  am  nf.t  the  heartless  egotist 
you  think  me.  I  have  considered  all  and  moro 
of  the  difficulties  which  a  marriage  with  mo 
might  entail  upon  Mr,  Elphiustonc,  than  cvea 


86 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


you  have  enumerated.  Xor  have  I  simply 
grieved  over  them  in  selfish  sorrow ;  there — " 
and  as  she  spoke  she  pointed  toward  the  letter 
which  still  lay  upon  her  desk  ;  "  there,  I  have 
forced  them  upon  the  attention  of  your  nephew 
himself— tliere.  I  have  urged  him  to  consider 
them  as  insurmountable,  and  to  resign  his 
claim  upon  my  hand.  If  I  am  fated  to  a  life  of 
suncring,  I  am  at  least  willing  to  suffer  alone." 

"Yon  are  warm,  Ida!" 

"Perhaps  so."  said  Miss  Trevanion,  and  she 
sank  back  into  her  seat,  "  but  you  must  pardon 
me — it  is  hard,  very  hard,  to  be  abandoned  by 
all  in  whom  you  have  trusted;  but  I  thank 
you,  Lady  Mary,  for  havin?  kept  mo  no  longer 
in  suspense  as  to  the  support  I  might  expect 
from  your  affection.  You  have  indeed  com- 
plied even  to  the  very  letter  with  the  request 
of  my  father — your  mission  has  been  fulfilled 
as  conscientiously  as  you  could  desire;  and 
now  I  have  but  one  request  to  make  of  you, 
and  I  make  it  unhesitatingly,  as  it  can  not  by 
any  possibility  involve  your  interests.  Should 
Mr.  Elphinstone,  your  nephew,  after  having  re- 
ceived that  letter,  persevere  in  seeking  the 
disinherited  daughter  of  Mr.  Trevanion  as  his 
wife,  it  is  more  than  possible  that  Lady  Mary 
Brooklands,  may  bo  solicited  still  to  remain  his 
guest,  and  to  do  the  honors  of  his  house — and 
oh !  if  indeed  it  should  be  so,"  she  added,  as 
her  voice  sank  and  her  lip  quivered,  "  be  kind 
to  my  poor  mother,  I  shall  not  be  there  to  sup- 
port her  weakness,  and  to  conceal  from  her  the 
isolation  of  her  neglected  and  wasted  existence 
— and  believe  me,  that,  careless  as  ho  may  ap- 
pear of  her  happines.s,  my  father  will  in  his 
heart,  thank  you  for  the  care  of  her." 

"  Miss  Trevanion,  I  do  not  understand  you," 
faltered  Lady  Mary. 

"  No — you  are  right,  you  do  not  understand 
me;"  was  the  reply;  "but  you  may  one  day 
do  so:  meanwhile,  this  interview  has  ceased 
to  be  pleasant  to  either  party,  and  I  will  not 
detain  you  longer." 

"  Ida,  yovir  impetuous  feelings  will  be  your 
ruin."  said  her  companion  harshly. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  murmured  the  unhappy 
girl,  despondently ;  "  it  may  bo  so :  at  pre- 
sent I  am  only  the  victim  of  the  passions  of 
others." 

"What  am  I  to  say  to  your  father,  Miss 
Trevanion  ?"  asked  Lady  Mary,  as  she  rose  to 
depart. 

"Tell  him  all  thai  has  passed  between  us;" 
was  the  indignant  rejoinder;  "  I  have  no  cause 
to  shrink  from  one  word  that  I  have  uttered,  I 
have  no  intention  to  retract  it." 

And  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 
DOUBTS   AXD   FEARS. 

Miss  Trevanion  was  now,  indeed,  as  she  had 
said,  alone.  To  her  mother  she  knew  that  it 
was  in  vain  to  cling  for  council  or  support,  for 
the  poor  lady  had  been  so  long  self-centered, 
and  crushed  beneath  the  iron  hand  of  her  hus- 
band, that  her  heart  was  dead  to  sympathy, 
and  ©ngroBeed  by  its  own  petty  feelings  of  dis- 


content    The  marriage  from  which  she  hn 
anticipated  alike  honor  and  happiness  had  bee 
a  mere  gilded  slavery,  and  ."^he  had  worn  h( 
chains  with  a  passivenes.s  which  had  gradual! 
but   surely  benumbed  all  the   most  gcnerov 
qualities  of  her   nature,   and   so   broken   h( 
spirits  that  the  only  enjoyment  of  which  si 
was  still  susceptible  was  that  of  perfect  quiet 
every  event  that  tended  to  intcrrujit  it  bein 
regarded    as  a    personal   and    willful   injur 
Weak,  as  wo  have  already  shown,  both  intc 
lectuaUy  and  morally,  a  neglected  if  not  vicioi 
education  had  caused  her  greatly  to  overra' 
I  mere  worldly  advantages;  a  meanness  of  mir 
which  had  been  fostered  in  after-life  by  tl 
1  puerile  course  of  novel-reading  in  which  si 
'  delighted ;  and  although  it  is  probable  that  h) 
j  she  been  permitted  to  perform  the  part  of 
I  mother  to  her  child,  and  to  exercise  the  pri^ 
I  leges  of  tho  maternal  character,  that  sacred  t 
I  might  have  awakened  her  to  holier  and  high 
feelings,  the  fact  of  her  having  seen  her  legi 
mate  duties  delegated  to  another,  had  caus 
I  her    to  regard    her   daughter    rather  as  t 
i  heiress  of  Mr.  Trevanion,   than  as  one  up 
I  whose  love  she  had  a  claim,  and  whose  hap- 
ness  she  was  bound  to  promote.     Awed  by  t 
;  rank  of  Lady  Mary  Brooklands,   it  never  (. 
j  curred  to  her  on  the  first  domestication  of  t 
I  titled   stranger   beneath  her   roof,    to   cont 
I  her  own  right,  or  to  assert  her  own  dignit 
j  while  as  Ida  passed  from  infancy  to  girlhc 
she  had  looked  with  bewildered  surpri.«e  Uf 
the  bright  and  beautiful  being  whose  tale 
were  the  theme  of  every  tongue. 

Even  the  affection  which  was  lavished  i 
on  her  by  the  brilliant  girl,  who  never  '■ 
an  instant  suffered  the  indulgence  of  wh 
she  was  the  object,  to  induce  her  to  fail  . 
respect  or  assiduitj'  to  her  neglected  mot! . 
could  not  lessen  the  estrangement.  Mrs.  1  • 
vanion  was  vaguely  conscious  of  their  ul ' 
incompatibility  of  mind  and  feeling;  il 
thus  by  slow  but  inevitable  degrees,  a  bar'  • 
had  grown  up  between  them  which  neit  r 
could  ultimately  overpass.  In  her  8e<  t 
heart  the  childish  and  vai)id  woman  felt  I'- 
self  wronged  by  the  superior  qualities  of  r 
own  child,  and  consequently  met  all  ber  - 
vances  with  querulous  discontent,  if  not  vi 
actual  distaste ;  yet  still  her  daughter,  with  e 
persistence  of  a  generous  nature,  even  w  e 
she  was  compelled  to  admit  to  herself  ^ 
she  had  little  respect  for  her  mother's  j«  ^ 
ment  or  understanding,  continued  to  ac  .8 
though  she  possessed  the  firmest  faith  in  b  '• 
In  such  a  crisis  as  tho  present,  hoW(  T, 
Miss  Trevanion  at  once  felt  that  it  wouh  >« 
idle  to  make  any  appeal  to  her,  for  eve  u 
she  had  herself  become  the  wife  of  Mr.  ,e- 
vanion,  in  the  weak  hope  of  attaining  • 
rank  in  society  superior  to  tiiat  in  wbici  le 
was  born,  so  was  she  comparatively  anu  'd 
and  annoyed  by  the  refusal  of  her  dauj.  <-'^ 
to  accomplish  a  marriage  which  would  *'* 
made  her  the  mother-indaw  of  an  ri. 
Like  her  husband  himself,  but  from  a  fa  ''• 
ferent  motive,  she  cared  little  what  mig! '»« 
the  qualifications  of  the  individual  thr  en 
whose  agency  this  desirable  object  was  he 
effected;  she  merely  fastened  upon  th- »ct 
of  its  possibility,  nor  could  she  oontro  m 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


37 


irritation  i\t  -what  she  donounced  ns  the  oh- 
tinacy  of  Ida,  when,  to  her  extremo  amazo- 
fnent,  she  learned  that  not  even  the  commands 
her  fatlier  could  induce  her  to  accept  the 
and  of  a  peer  of  the  realm. 
'"It  is  really  too  bad,  Lady  Mary,"  she 
inid,  peevishly ;  "  a  great  deal  too  bad,  and 
isiiig  me  extremely  ill,  when  she  knows  how 
iiuch  I  wish  it,    What  can  she  possibly  want, 

f''.  wonder !  I  'm  sure  if  Mr.  Trevanion  is  sat- 
sfied,  she  has  no  richt  to  look  higher." 
"I  quite  agree  with  you  in  that  opinion, 
tnadani,"  replied  the  titled  dowager  with  a 
[uiet  sneer;  "there  can  bo  no  doubt  that 
;ven  Miss  Trevanion  should  be  satisfied  with 
.he  rank  of  the  Earl  of  Downmere ;  that  is 
lot,  of  course,  her  objection." 

"  Then  what  can  it  possibly  be  ?"  asked  the 
ady,  vacantly. 

"  I  should  presume  that  it  is  to  Lord  Down- 
aere  himself." 

"  Nonsense  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trevanion, 
irith  more  energy  than  she  had  exhibited  for 
■ears;  "I  see  nothing  objectionable  in  him, 
^nd  even  if  there  were,  what  can  it  signify?" 

Her  companion  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
nd  remained  silent. 

-""  I  am  sure,"  pursued  the  mortified  mother 
rith  unusual  garrulity,  "  that  I  was  not  at 
11  in  love  with  ifr.  Trevanion  when  I  mar- 
led him,  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  healw.ays 
•ightened  me,  he  was  so  cold  and  proud,  but 
rhen  he  told  me  of  his  uncle,  Sir  Jasper,  and 
"revanion  Hall,  and  his  poor  dear  motlier, 
'^ho  was,  like  yourself,  an  earl's  daughter,  I 
ilt  at  once  that  I  was  never  likely  to  do  better, 
ad  so,  j'ou  see,  I  consented  to  be  his  wife." 

"A  resolution,  madam,  which  I  trust  that 
ou  have  never  had  reason  to  repent,"  was  the 
ircastic  rejoinder. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  exactly,  I  am  not 
uite  certain,"  said  the  poor  lady,  musingly; 
I  sometimes  fancy,  and  particularly  since  I 
ave  become  convinced  tliat  ^.'r.  Trevanion's 
reat  relations  are  never  likely  to  be  recon- 
led  to  him,  that  we  were  not  altogether 
lited  to  each  other,  and  that  I  might  per- 
ips  have  been  happier,  had  I  married  John  | 
eorge  Harris,  my  father's  head-clerk,  who 
early  went  out  of  his  mind  when  he  found 
lat  I  had  cngatred  myself  to  'the  Don,'  as 
ley  called  my  present  husband  in  the  oflice." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  Lady  Mary,  "that 
>me  similar  idea  may  have  struck  your 
mghter,  and  that  sho  may  have  acted  upon  it." 

"If  I  thouglit  so—"  commenced  Mrs.  Trc- 
inion;  then  suddenly  checking  herself,  jnd 
iming  toward  her  companion,  sho  added,  with 
hat. she  evidently  intended  to  be  an  accent 
'severity;  "at  all  events,  Lady  Mary,  I 
eUeve  she  has  more  good  sense  than  to  think 
.  earnest  of  throwing  herself  away  upon  your 
ephew." 

No;  Miss  Trevanion  was  right;  she  could 
3ticipato  neither  counsel  nor  comfort  in  her 
ial  from  such  a  mother. 

Thu.s  then  there  was  but  one  individual  to 

horn  she  had  looked  for  sympathy  and  sup- 
ort,  and  that  one  was  Lady  Marj'  BrfX)klands; 
le  near  relative  of  the  man  on  whom  sho  had 
Jnsented  to  bestow  her  hand;  tlie  attached 
lend  who  had  ■been  the  guardian  of  her  girl- 


hood and  tho  companion  of  hor  ripor  years; 
by  whom  her  attachment  had  been,  "if  not 
openly  applauded,  at  least  covertly  encou- 
raged, and  even  this  last  stay  had  failed  her 
at  tho  very  moment  when  she  had  placed  tlio 
firmest  faith  in  its  stability — failed  her  because 
what  her  haughty  and  calculating  ladyship  had 
coveted  for  her  ncpliew  was,  not  tho  heart  of 
tho  loving  girl,  who  had  for  years  clung  to  her 
as  to  a  second  mother,  but  the  hand  of  Mr. 
Trevanion's  heiress. 

This  was  a  bitter  conviction,  and  as  it  grew 
upon  her,  a  stronger  feeling  of  desolation  crept 
over  tho  affrighted  Ida ;  "  He  too,"  sho  mur- 
mered  to  herself,  "ho  too,  will  now  perhaps 
become  suddenly  aware  of  tho  imprudence 
which  ho  was  lately  so  anxious  to  commit — 
ho  may  discover  in  our  disparity  of  age,  which 
ho  has  hitherto  treated  so  lightly,  an  obstacle 
and  a  ridicule.  I  am  prepared  for  every 
thing ;  deserted  on  all  sides,  I  must  learn  to 
suffice  to  myself,  and  I  will  do  so.  They  may 
destroy  my  happiness,  but  they  shall  not  bow 
my  pride.  My  heart  may  break — it  must — but 
I  will  ask  no  pity ;  I  w.ill  submit  to  none.  I 
am  no  weak  girl  to  be  a  mark  for  the  whispers 
of  tho  idle ;  my  father's  spirit  of  endurance  is 
strong  within  me ;  and  like  the  Spartan  boy  I 
shall  know  how  to  hug  my  agony  without  a 
groan.  And  yet  how  I  had  garnered  up  my 
heart  in  him — how  madly  I  had  loved  him,  and 
love  him  still ;  the  better,  perhaps,  that  I 
thought  he  would  owe  all  to  me.  It  can  not 
be  that  Sydney  will  prove  hollow  and  heartless 
like  his  worldly  aunt ;  but  should  it  indeed  be 
so,  better  now  than  after  I  had  become  his 
wife,  for  now  I  would  struggle  to  forgive; 
while  then — "  and  she  paused  and  grasped  her 
burning  brow  so  tightly  that  it  grew  pale  be- 
neath the  pressure ;  "  then  I  should  have 
scorned  to  make  the  effort;  never  would  I 
have  forgiven  him  had  he  pleaded  to  mo  upon 
his  knees.  And  it  might  have  been  so — yes, 
yes,  it  might  have  been  so ;  in  some  ton  short 
years,  and  how  quietly  would  those  ten  years 
pass,  my  boasted  bc-auty  will  be  on  the  wane, 
and  the  world  will  be  full  of  young  and  bloom- 
ing faces,  fair  and  fresh,  with  the  first  light  of 
life  bright  upon  them — and  how  then?  Would 
he — ho,  still  in  the  unfaded  glory  of  his  man- 
hood, remain  true  to  me  ?  true  to  herself?  I 
dare  not  doubt  it — for  his  sake — I  dare  not  for 
my  own.  Now  I  am  wretched,  but  not  guilty 
— but  then — then  what  would  not  his  folsehood 
make  me !  Lady  Mary  is  right.  I  have  for- 
gotten my  own  sense  of  dignity — I  have  been 
the  victim  of  my  own  vanity — he  will  do  well 
to  rebuke  my  folly  by  submitting  to  her  judg- 
ment, by  following  her  counsels.  I  shall  at 
least  be  spared  the  pang  of  his  neglect,  and 
tho  bitterness  of  his  contcmi)tl" 

Worn  with  excitement,  and  crushed  by  mor- 
tification and  anxiety,  tlio  painful  picture  which 
the  jealous  imagination  of  tho  excited  girl  had 
conjured  up,  overcame  her  little  remaining 
strength ;  and  when  her  French  maid  entered 
her  room  an  hour  subsequently,  sho  found  lirr 
stretclted  upon  a  sofa,  cold  and  insensible  ;  nor 
was  it  until  after  a  considerable  time,  and 
the  application  of  all  tho  restoratives  within 
reach,  that  sho  slowly  recovered  her  conscious- 
ness. 


THE    JEALOrS    WIFE. 


As  she  di'l  so,  the  first  oLject  upon  -which 
her  eyes  fastened -was  a  letter,  and  the  femmf- 
de-chambrf  no  sooner  perceived  that  it  had 
attracted  her  attention  than  she  placed  it  in 
her  hand.  JIadcmoiselle  Seraphine  Tvas  en- 
chanted. In  one  instant  she  had  composed  a 
most  touching  romance.  Her  haughty  mis- 
tress must  now  confide  in  her  ;  and  her  little 
black  eyes  would  twinkle  in  spite  of  herself 
as  she  decided  that  her  assistance  must  at  last 
be  needed,  and  her  talents  recognized.  Ea- 
gerly did  she  watch  the  effect  of  her  ready 
zeal ;  but  her  hopes  were  destined  to  be  dis- 
appointed: the  letter  w:is  no  sooner  in  the 
possession  of  Miss  Trevanion  than  one  glance 
sufficed — it  was  the  handwriting  of  Sydney  ; 
and  faintly  murmuring  "Leave  me,'*^tlie  agi- 
tated girl  closed  her  eyes  and  fell  back  upon 
the  cushions,  with  the  fateful  packet  tightly 
grasped  within  her  rigid  fingers.  For  awhile 
she  remained  motionless,  not  a  sob,  not  a  sigh 
escaped  her,  but  her  heart  labored  painfully, 
and  her  pulses  throbbed  with  an  excitement 
strangely  comjiounded  of  hope  and  dread. 
Her  destiny  lay  hidden  within  the  narrow 
folds  of  the  paper  that  she  held,  and  she  had 
not  courage  to  learn  its  secret.  But  suddenly 
she  started  from  her  recumbent  position, 
shook  back  the  masses  of  her  dark  hair,  and 
with  febrile  energy,  tore  open  the  seal. 

Thus  ran  the  letter : — 

"I  know  not,  Ida,  whether  to  be  pained  or 
rejoiced  at  the  tone  of  the  note  which  I  have 
just  received  from  you ;  for  while  much  of  its 
contents  is  calculat'ed  to  cut  me  to  the  heart, 
it  also  contains  much  wliich  has  made  me  su- 
premely happy.     That  you  should  have  been 
subjected  to  so  severe  a  trial  of  your  feelings  j 
is  to  me  a  source  of  wretchedness  greater  than  I 
even  you  can  comprehend  ;  but  you  must  not  j 
blame  me  if  I  confess  that  the  conviction, 
that  you  willingly  endured  it  for  my  sake,  ! 
has  almost  made  me  selfish  enough  to  for- 1 
get   at   times  how  dearly  my   own  triumph 
has  been  purchased.     Mine   is   no  common  | 
love,  Ida;  it  has  become  part  and  parcel  of 
my  existence.     I  feel  tliat  I  can  not  live  with- 
out you,  and  that  with  you  I  could  brave 
every  trial  which   the  tyranny  of  the  world 
coulS  heap  upon  me.     You  say  that  should 
you  persist  in  fulfilling  your  promise  to  be- 
come my  wife  you  lose  all  claim  to  the  af-  i 
fection    and    inheritance    of    your    fatlier —  j 
proudly,  then,  shall  I  feel  that  j-ou  w^ill  owe  i 
all  to  me — that  we  shall  be  every  thing  to  | 
each  other.     This,  dearest,  is  my  idea  of  hap- 
piness ;  I  am  young  alike  in  years  and  hope: 
my  energies  are  strong,  and  with  you  beside 
me  to  cheer  me  in  my  labor,  and  to  rejoice  in 
my  success,  I  can  not  fail.     I  will  vot  resign 
my  claim  to  possess  you;  you  have  promised, 
and  you  must  perform.     And  yet,  may  I  not, 
in  my  miserable  egotism,  be  condemning  you 
to  sacrifices  so  great  that  even  mj'  tenderness 
can  not  re<[uite  tlieni  ?   Oh,  if  it  indeed  be  so, 
let  me  not  dran  you  down  from  tlie, proud 
eminence  oti  which  j'ou  stand,  oidy  to  ensure 
my  own  happiness.     Like  }-ou,  1  will  strive 
to  be  generous — to  exult  in  your  prosperity, 
in  your  success — I  know  not  if  I  shall  have 
strength  to  do  so,  but  I  will  try,  even  though 


my  heart  burst  in  the  effort.  Care  not  for 
me,  however,  if,  on  mature  reflection,  you 
find  that  you  shrink  from  the  contrast'be- 
tween  what  is  and  what  must  be,  when  tou 
can  no  longer  command  the  luxuries  by  whick 
you  are  now  surrounded.  If  you  donbt  that 
my  love  and  devotion — a  love  and  a  devotion 
which  can  end  only  in  the  grave — will  not 
sufUce  to  replace  them.  I  can  not  now  offer 
you  afiluence — I  may  not  be  enabled  to  do  so 
for  years  to  come.  Can  you  forego  it  for  my 
sake?  If  so,  trust  me  that  it  will  come  at 
last.  Laboring  witlfyou,  and  for  you,  I  shall 
compel  success — you  will  be  my  life,  my 
my  light,  and  my  reward.  I  make  no  coni- 
ment  upon  the  fears  which  you  express,  that 
time  can  weaken  my  affections ;  it  is  true  that 
when  we  first  met,  it  was  your  wondrous 
beauty  by  which  I  was  thralled,  and  that 
beauty  will  live  unchanged  in  my  lieart  foiv 
ever  ;  while  all  your  nobler  and  better  quali- 
ties will  only  tend,  as  years  pass  on,  to  rendei 
you  still  dearer. 

"Should  we  part,  therefore,  Ida,  the  rnir 
of  our  hopes  will  be  your  work;  for  never 
never  will  I  willingly  resign  the  claim  whicl 
you  have  given  me  upon  your  hand.  I  maj 
be  unworthy  of  such  a  boon  in  the  eves  of' 
those  around  you,  but  am  I  so  in  yours?  I 
is  for  you,  and  you  alone,  to  decide  my  des 
tiny.  I  urge  you  now  as  I  should  nothavi, 
dared  to  do,  had  you  still  been  enabled  to  be 
come  mine,  rich  in  the  world's  gifts;  for  tlici 
indeed  my  earnestness  might  have  been  mis 
interpreted ;  but  noAv,  when  you  assure  nn 
tliat  it  is  not  so,  I  may  freely  own  that  lif 
itself  will  be  a  burden  when  you  are  lost  t' 
me.  I  have  never  loved  another;  and  no\" 
my  heart  is  so  filled  with  your  image  that  i 
can  never  admit  a  new  one.  Let  yonr  be8nt_> 
wane;  to  me  you  will  be  ever  beautiful  be 
yond  all  on  this  earth;  let  sickness  withe 
you,  I  will  render  that  suffering  light  by  ni; 
tenderness  and  devotion;  and  if  sorrow  shouli 
reach  you  even  in  my  arms,  I  will  only  clas) 
you  the  closer  that  its  bitter  pressure  ma; 
not  be  felt.  Ida,  noblest,  best  of  women,  tot' 
turc  me  no  longer,  tell  me  only  that  _vou  ar 
still  mine — mine  for  time — mine  for  eterni'j 
"Std.net."  . 

"  Yes,  my  brave-hearted  Sydney,  yes,''cj' 
claimed  Miss  Trevanion,  vehemently  throwiii:, 
herself   upon   her  knees;    yonrs,    and  onl 
yours — yours   for  time — yours   for  eternity 
i  can  not,  and  I  will  not'doul)t  you.     Tear 
will  not  change  you,  poverty-  will  not  chi. 
j'ou.     You  will  love  me  to  the  end.    Wh.i, 
are  the  gaud  and  glitter  of  the  world  besid, 
the  possession  of  such  a  heart  as  yours?    An . 
I  have  dared  to  wrong  your  noble  nature — t 
believe  that  the  cold  reasonings  of  the  selfis' 
and  false  could   shake  your  steadfast  faitl' 
Shame  on  my  sordid  spirit  ?     But  I  can  nevt 
doubt  you  more.     I  will  be  worthy  of  you 
affeotiou    by  the  trustfulness   with  which 
will  repose  upon  its  truth  and  strength.    01 
I  am  happy— happy — even  as  the  marine 
who  in  his  storm-tossed  vessel  sees  a  safe  ha 
bor  near,  and  knows  that  after  one  more  fien 
strutrule,  he  shall  gain  the  wished-for  havr 
of  peace  and  rest." 


llliU     JJlIALUUO      WlJtJli. 


'd'J 


\7hc-ri  Miss  Trevanion  rose  from  her  knees, 
,ie  was  no  longer  pale  from  exhaustion,  and 
ubdneil  by  the  lonir-sustaineti  anxiety  wliieh 
ad  so  lately  crushed  hor,  there  was"a  proud 
i^ht  in  her  eye,  and  a  firmness  in  her  tread, 
hich  hetrayed  her  inward  exultation.  Tlie 
nserof  lier  "father,  the  treachery  of  hor  friend, 
U  "was  forijotteu  in  that  moment  of  trium- 
hant  happiness.  Sydney  was  true — Sydney 
as  all,  and  more  than  she  had  dared  to  hope 
and  she  had  no  room  for  any  other  mem- 
ry  A^j^ain  and  acrain  she  read  the  letter 
?luch  she  still  held  tightly  clasped,  and  again 
nd  ntrain  the  smile  of  the  heart's  gladness 
laved  upon  her  lip.  She  drew  aside  the 
indow-drapery,  and  threw  back  the  eash, 
if  to  breathe  more  freely,  to  have  more 
cope  for  her  joy,  more  space  for  her  intense 
md  thrilling  rapture,  and  never  had  she 
hought  the  sky  so  glorious  in  its  blue  and 
ranquil  beauty,  the  trees  so  graceful  in  their 
yaving  greenery,  the  flowers  so  rich  in  color 
tnd  ill  perfume.  "  Of  these,  at  least,  even 
wverty  can  not  deprive  us,"  slie  murmured 
,0  herself,  "we  shall  need  no  gold  to  purchase 
hese.  Nature  is  no  niggard  of  her  gifts,  and 
ihe  will  not  withhold  her  treasures  from  the 
learts  by  which  she  is  worshiped.  The  future 
;aa  not  extort  a  sigh  from  me  now,  nor  will 
[  even  shrink  from  the  present." 

True  to  this  resolution.  Miss  Trevanion 
lummoned  her  maid,  and  calmly  devoted 
lerself  to  the  duties  of  her  toilet:  every  ves- 
,ige  of  emotion  had  faded  from  her  features, 
ind  a  soft  serenity  had  succeeded  the  storm 
)f  passion  to  which  she  had  so  lately  j'ielded ; 
jxtreme  in  all  her  feelings,  slie  now  dwelt 
jnly  upon  the  happiness  which  was,  as  slie 
"ondly  believed,  so  soon  to  repay  her  for  all 
;be  suffering  of  the  past;  and  as  she  rejected 
)ne  after  the  other  the  ornaments  with  which 
ler  zea\o\i3  fenune-de-chainbre  was  anxious  to 
idorn  her  according  to  her  usual  custom,  and 
placed  in  her  luxuriant  hair,  and  in  the  girdle 
3f  her  simple  dress  of  snowy  muslin,  a  few 
natural  flowers  from  a  vase  which  stood  upon 
lier  dressing-table,  she  smiled  exultiiigly  as 
she  became  aware  that  Sydney  could  scarcely 
consider  her  less  lovely  thus,  than  when  cov- 
jred  with  tlie  costly  gems  with  which  she 
must  henceforth  dispense. 

The  astoniihed  I'reuch  woman  looked  on  in 
silence.  That  her  beautiful  yoimg  mistress, 
who,  she  had  every  reason  to  believe,  was 
betrothed  to  an  Earl,  should  suddenly  so  far 
forget  her  dignity  as  to  throw  aside  her  jewels 
[for  a  handful  of  paltry  flowers,  was  to  her 
^mysterious  and  annoying  ia  the  extreme. 
fWhat  could  it  mean?  And  the  pale  face, 
which  had  so  terrilied  her  only  a  few  hours 
previously,  and  which  was  now  beaming  with 
B  quiet  joy — that  was  another  problem.  Ma- 
jdemoisclle  Seraphbe  was  cmviuced  that  there 
was  a  secret  somewhere  ;  and  never  before  had 
she  felt  so  indignant  at  the  proud  reserve 
which  led  Miss  Trevanion  habitually  to  avoid 
all  unnecessary  intercourse  with  her  attendants. 
The  smart  soubrette  would  have  willingly  given 
a  year's  wages,  which  would  have  been  no 
Blight  saci-ifice,  could  she  have  dived  into  the 
deptlis  of  the  heart  which  was  beating  so  tran- 
quilly beside   her,  but  eho   dared  not  ask  a 


question ;  and,  consequently,  she  flitted  and 
fluttered  about  the  aj)artmCTit  with  the  in- 
dignant air  of  a  grievously-offended  person, 
occasionally  murmuring  beneath  her  breath 
eertam  doubts  as  to  how  far  "  Mihrd"  might 
apjirove  of  the  sudden  "  caprice"  of  his  incom- 
prehensible "Jiancce" — wondering  how  long  this 
fit  of  "  coquetlcrie  malndwlte  ct  vial  cnf endue" 
was  to  last ;  and  inquiring  of  herself  whether 
she  ought  to  condescend  to  live  with  a  mistress 
who  appeared  to  be  steeped  in  grief  one  hour, 
and  as  happy  as  a  child  the  next — who  pre- 
ferred rose-buds  to  rubies,  and,  worse  than  all, 
kept  her  own  secrets. 

Upon  the  object  of  her  speculations,  how- 
ever, all  this  display  of  irritation  was  wholly 
wasted ;  Ida  was  living  that  inner  life  which 
deadens  the  perceptions  to  outward  things,  and 
she  finally  dismissed  Mademoiselle  without  the 
least  regard  for  her  injured  feelings,  in  order 
that  she  might  enjoy  in  solitude  the  thick- 
coniing  thoughts  wliich  crowded  upon  her 
heart  and  brain,  and  without  one  suspicion 
that  had  not  the  ill-used  woman  anticipated  a 
nuce,  and  tlie  glory  of  arranging  the  bridal 
coronal  of  Madame  la  Comtcsse,  she  would,  in 
the  exasperation  of  the  moment,  have  given 
her  warning  on  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A      FAMILY      FRIEND. 

"WuiLE  IMiss  Trevanion  was  occupied  with 
her  new  and  pleasant  visions,  her  father  was 
moodily  pacing  tlie  library  Avherc  he  was 
closeted  with  the  family  friend ;  who,  although 
she  had  told  the  tale  of  Ida's  resolute  rejection 
of  the  earl,  and  her  equally  determined  adher- 
ence to  Mr.  Elphinstone,  in  her  smoothest 
and  blandest  manner,  had  nevertheless  raised 
a  storm  in  the  breast  of  her  host  which  it  re- 
quired a'.l  his  self-control  to  combat.  The 
jilaeid  sniilc  and  studied  phrases  of  Lady  Mary 
jarred  upon  his  nerves,  contrasting  as  they  did 
with  the  irritation  of  his  o-wii  feelings ;  and  as 
she  sat  playing  with  a  paper-cutter  as  calmly 
as  though  no  subject  of  importance  occupied 
her  thoughts,  he  inwardly  cursed  the  high- 
breeding  which  had  hitherto  been  the  theme  of 
his  admiration. 

"  I  believe  that  nothing  would  ruffle  her," 
he  murmured  to  himself;  "  notliing,  so  long  as 
she  was  secure  of  a  home  under  my  roof;  and 
I  believe,  too,  that  this  affair  has  been  her 
own  work ;  and  that,  in  sjiite  of  Ida's  denial, 
she  forced  her  beggarly  nephew  upon  the  girl 
for  the  very  purpose  that  she  has  accomplished. 
Xo,  no,  my  Lady  Mary,  I  am  not  your  dupe, 
as  you  imagine ;  I  see  through  the  whole  plot ; 
but  I  will  circumvent  you  yet.  I  will  not  be 
fooled  Avith  impunity.  I  will  compel  you  to 
act  for  me,  and  with  me,  although  as  yet  you 
have  declined  to  express  your  own  tenlimcnts 
upon  the  subject,  liut  I  must  be  cabn  ;  and  I 
will." 

And  in  pursuance  of  this  ^solution  Mr. 
Trevanion  re-seated  hinasclf,  and  smoothed  hia 
ruffled  brow. 

"Ida    assures    me,   Lady    Mary,"   ho   com- 


40 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


mencc'd  abruptly,  "  that  you  wore  altogether 
i;rnoraut  of  the  iinpi-uileiit  engaj^emont  into 
■whieli  she  has  entered  with  Mr.  Elphmstoue. 
Is  this  really  the  case  '." 

"  It  is." 

"But  may  I  ask  if  it  vras  quite  unexpected 
on  your  part  ?" 

"  Perfectly  so .  tlie  age  of  my  nephew,  and 
the  narrowness  of  his  means,  alike  rendered  it 
impossibla  that  I  could  indulge  in  any  idea  of 
the  sort." 

"  And  no  wonder,  madam,  coupled  as  these 
circumstances  were,  moreover,  by  your  knowl- 
edge of  my  views  and  intentions  for  Miss  Tre- 
vauion — whom — I  now  tell  you,  as  I  have  done 
frequently  before — I  would  rather  follow  to  her 
grave  than  permit  to  throw  herself  away  upon 
a  nobody  " 

"  I  must  be  permitted  to  remark,"  observed 
the  lady  with  a  stateliness  of  manner  intended 
to  reprove  the  arrogance  of  her  companion, 
"  that  Mr.  Elphiustone  is  at  once  highly-born 
and  well-connected.  The  equal  at  least  in  that 
respect,  even  of  Miss  Trevanion." 

A  dark  cloud  gathered  on  the  countenance 
of  the  merchant. 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,  madam,"  he  said  coldly  ; 
"  as  your  relative  the  gentleman  has  assuredly 
that  qualification,  but  still  I  must  be  pardoned 
if  I  persist  in  considering  him  as  a  nobody. 
He  has  no  stake  in  the  country.  He  has  even 
a  reputation  to  make  ;  he  is  known  only  by  a 
certain  set  as  '  a  man  about  town,'  well-looking 
and  well-dressed  ;  and  so  obscure  an  individual 
can  never  be  the  husband  of  my  daughter." 

Lady  Mary  replied  only  by  a  listless  bow, 
and  having  been  engaged  for  the  last  few  min- 
utes in  cutting  some  colored  paper  into  narrow 
strips,  she  now  began  to  amuse  herself  by 
twisting  them  into  spills. 

Nothing  could  be  more  aggravating  to  a 
proud  and  impetuous  nature  like  that  of  Mr. 
Trevanion,  than  this  assumption  of  perfect  com- 
posure. His  blood  rose  to  fever-heat,  and  his 
temples  throbbed  almost  to  pain. 

"  I  trust,  madam,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "  that  you  did  me  the  favor  to  explain 
to  my  rebellious  child  that  I  peremptorily  in- 
sisted upon  her  aeccptmg  the  hand  of  Lord 
Downmere  ?" 

"  I  did,  with  the  same  frankness  that  I  com- 
municated to  yourself,  her  equally  peremptory 
refusal." 

"  And  do  you  not  yourself — now,  Lady  Mary, 
I  put  the  question  to  you  in  the  full  conviction 
tliat  you  will  answer  it  frankly  and  undis- 
guisedly,  even  although  you  chance  to  be  the 
kinswoman  of  Mr.  Elphinstone — do  you  not, 
as  a  woman  of  the  Avorld,  consider  that  her 
marriage  with  that  gentleman  would  be  to  the 
last  degree  imprudent  V 

"  Since  you  compel  me  to  declare  my  opin- 
ion, Mr.  Trevanion,"  said  the  noble  matron ; 
"I  most  assuredly  do." 

"  I  p.m  happy  to  hear  it,  very  happy,"  ex- 
cLaimed  the  merchant ;  "  and  may  I  hope  that 
you  expressed  as  much  to  my  daughter?" 

"  I  did." 

"  My  dear  *madam ;"  said  Mr.  Trevanion, 
earnestly  ;  "  I  regret  to  say  that  I  have  wronged 
you  by  supposing  that  you  had  at  least  encour- 
aged Ida's  infatuation  by  your  silence ;  I  should 


have  known  you  better  than  to  suspect,  eveo 
for  a  moment,  that  you  could  be  guilty  of  such 
monstrous  disingenuousness  ;  but  if  you  now, 
with  your  usual  admirable  judgment,  disap- 
prove of  my  daughter's  folly,  what  will  bo 
your  opinion  when  I  confide  to  you  that  I  have 
positively  assured  her,  that,  in  the  event  of  her 
persistence,  not  one  shilling  of  my  property 
shall  ever  be  hers." 

"  What  can  1  think,  my  dear  sir,"  smiled  the 
lady ;  "  but  that  you  held  forth  a  threat,  which 
you  would  never  have  the  courage  to  realize." 

"  You  mistake  me,"  was  the  stern  rejoinder; 
"  I  sliall  fulfill  it  without  an  effort." 

The  strip  of  pink  paper  upon  which  Lady 
Mary  Brooklands  was  at  that  instant  engaged, 
visibly  quivered  in  her  fingers  ;  "  Remember;" 
she  said,  in  a  somewhat  imsteady  tone ;  *•  that 
Ida  is  your  only  child." 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  merchant ;  "  but  I  remem- 
ber also  that  I  have  a  nephew ;  one  moreover 
who  bears  my  name,  and  will  be  no  obscure 
recipient  of  my  bounty.  If  I  can  not  humble 
Sir  Jasper  in  the  way  which  I  had  every  right 
to  hope  that  I  should  have  done,  I  can  still,  at 
least,  effect  my  purpose  by  crushing  him  be- 
neath the  weight  of  an  obhgation  which  he  can 
never  cancel." 

"Still,  my  good  friend;"  urged  the  lady,  dis- 
continuing her  employment,  and  evincing  infi- 
nitely more  interest  in  the  conversation  than 
she  had  hitherto  d(jne ;  "still  I  would  plead  for 
Ida.  Recollect  the  nature  of  her  education, 
and  how  little  it  has  fitted  her  for  a  life  of  pri- 
vation and  struggle.  Do  not  overlook  the  fact 
that  she  has  done  more  than  justice  to  your  ex- 
pectations ;  that  her  beauty,  her  grace,  and  her 
attainments  have  made  her  universally  popu- 
lar, and  caused  her  society  to  be  courted  by 
persons  of  exalted  rank  and  acknowledged 
judgment.  In  short,  do  not  suffer  your  own 
— I  confess,  very  legitimate — disappoiutmcLt, 
to  render  you  ungenerous  or  unjust." 

"Miss  Trevanion  has  seen  fit  to  emancipate 
herself  from  my  authority,  madam;"  was  tlic 
dogged  reply;  "and  I  most  sincerely  congrr  ' 
ulate  her  on  the  fact  that  her  godmother  be- 
queathed to  her  the  magnificent  sum  of  three  , 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  as  she  will,  should  she 
become  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  have  an  admirable 
opportunity  of  testing  the  capabilities  of  such 
an  income  ;  while  I  eijually  congratulate  my- 
self ui)on  the  circumstance,  as  I  could  not  con- 
sci'-ntiously  have  left  her  to  starve." 

"Mr.  Trevanion,"  persisted  the  lady;  "do 
nothing  rashly,  lest  you  incur  the  misery  of 
your  own  reproaches." 

"  I  will  run  the  risk  of  any  remorse  likely 
to  be  awakened  by  my  assertion  of  self-respect, 
madam." 

"  But  the  world,  sir — ^you  would  surely  not  ' 
desire  to  brave  the  comments  of  the  world ;  ^ 
and  believe  me  when  I  assure  you,  that  public  f 
opinion  will  condemn  so  unprecedented  an  act 
of  severity." 

"  I  will  venture  even  that,"  said  the  mer- 
chant ;  "  when  once  the  dream  of  my  hfe  is 
past,  the  world  and  myself  will  have  little  in 
common.  I  ask  nothing  of  it ,  I  owe  nothing  . 
to  it ;  I  have  been  the  architect  of  my  own 
fortimes,  and  the  edifice  that  I  have  raised  is  sub* 
stantial  enough  for  me  to  trust  to  its  stability.' 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


41 


"  Consider,  nevorthclcss,"  resumed  his  com- 
pauiou,  as  she  laid  hor  jeweled  hand  lightly 
upon  his  arm,  and  loi.ked  pleadingly  into  his 
face;  "do  not,  I  entreat,  suffer  it  to  escape 
you,  that  by  renouncing  the  interests,  and — 
if  I  understand  you  rightly — the  society  of 
your  daughter,  you  also  tear  asunder  the  holy 
bonds  which  knit  together  a  mother  and  her 
child.  No,  no ;  you  cau  not  have  the  heart  to 
do  this." 

"  You  are  aa  able   advocate.  Lady  Mary," 
•was   the    rejoinder,  as    a    questionable    smile 
I      played   about   the   mouth   of   Mr.  Trevanion ; 
'but  unfortunately  fur  the  success  of  your  ar- 
I      gument,  we   are   both   sufficiently   conversant 
with  the   dessous  dcs  cartes  to  be  quite  aware 
Uiat  the  bonds  to  which  you  allude  hang  some- 
what loosely  iu  this  instance.     The  mother  will 
j      easily  console  herself  with  a  new  shawl  and  a 
I      new  novel ;  while  the  daughter,  whose  temper- 
\     ament  and  training  must  years  ago  have  taught 
I      her  that  the  lady  in  question  is  merely  a  harm- 
I      less  simpleton,  to  whom  she  is  indebted   for 
I      nothing  beyond  the  single  fact  of  her  existence, 
i     will  find  little  difficulty  in  reconciling  herself 
I     to  the  privation  of  a  very  negative  advantage. 
These  are,  however,  idle  speculations,  as  I  still 
hope — and  moreover,  expect — to  see  Miss  Tre- 
vanion Countess  of  Downmere." 

"  I  sincerely  trust,  should  the  resolution 
I  which  you  have  declared  be  really  unalterable, 
that  your  expectations  may  be  realized,"  said 
Lady  Mary,  as  she  once  more  busied  herself 
with  the  shreds  of  pink  paper ;  "  for  I  shall  be 
truly  gratified  on  vacating  my  place  at  your 
hospitable  hearth,  to  feel  that  you  have  not 
been  disappointed  in  your  hopes." 

'•  I  do  not  understand  you,  my  dear  madam," 
eaid  the  merchant. 

"  And  yet  nothing  can  be  more  simple  than 
my  meaning,"  replied  his  companion,  with  a 
sigh  that  was  only  just  audible  enough  to  im- 
ply that  she  had  failed  in  her  effort  to  suppress 
It.  "Let  my  sweet  friend  bestow  her  hand 
upon  whom  she  may,  my  mission  in  your  fam- 
ily is  necessarily  at  an  end;  and  although  I 
shall,  as  you  must  be  well  aware,  deeply  and 
keenly  feel  my  separation  from  a  circle  endeared 
to  me  alike  by  sympathy  and  haVjit,  still — " 

"  And  do  you  really  mean  me  to  infer,  my 
dear  Lady  Mary,"  asked  the  merchant  earn- 
estly; "that  you  contemplate  such  a  separa- 
tion? and  that  because  my  daughter,  in  the 
natural  course  of  events,  leaves  her  home,  you 
will  also  abandon  the  roof  which  you  have  so 
kindly  regarded  as  your  own  ?" 
'  "  In  my  turn  I  ask,  can  you  bo  serious,  Mr. 
Trevanion  ?" 

"  Perfectly  so,"  was  the  calm  reply;  "you 
know  precisely,  my  dear  madam,  how  I  am 
situated ;  and  that  after  the  departure  of  Ida, 
bo  it  to  Woodlyn  Castle  or  to  a  suburban 
lodging,  there  will  bo  no  longer  a  mistress  of 
my  house,  should  you  indeed  fail  mo  ?  Nay, 
don't  talk  to  me  of  Mrs.  Trevanion :  sho  exists, 
and  notiiing  more.  To  you  alono  can  I  look 
for  companion.ship  and  help;  and  I  trust  that 
our  long  friendship  gives  mo  some  claim  upon 
your  consideration." 

"  My   position,    under  such    circum-stances, 

would  be  an  onerous  one ;"  remarked  the  lad,v. 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  can  not  see  it  in  that  light. 


You  have  now  been  my  guest,  my  honored 
guest,  for  years ;  tho  tie  between  us  has  bo- 
como  stronger  than  that  of  kindred  ;  I  must 
induce  you  to  rescind  your  resolution." 

Lady  Mary  was  an  excellent  actress,  and  on 
this  occasion  sho  put  forth  all  her  talent.  Al- 
though tho  idea  of  leaving  tho  luxurious  homo 
of  which  sho  had  for  so  long  a  period  been  the 
actual  if  not  tho  nominal  mistress,  had  caused 
her  many  an  unquiet  moment,  sho  was  by  no 
means  inclined  to  avow  tho  truth,  when  by 
gratifying  tho  secret  wish  of  hor  own  heart  sho 
might  seem  to  concede  a  favor ;  and  she  con- 
sequently adduced  a  multitude  of  arguments 
against  tho  proposed  arrangement,  although 
none  of  them  were  powerful  enough  to  defy  refu- 
tation ;  and  even  while  she  was  eager  to  yield, 
and  thus  to  secure  to  herself  tho  advantages 
she  had  so  long  enjoyed,  she  refused  to  pledge 
herself  to  any  thing ;  there  was  so  much  to 
consider ;  circumstances  might  arise  to  render 
her  determination  imperative;  S?io  was,  of 
course,  both  gratified  and  flattered  by  so  un- 
equivocal a  proof  of  regard  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Trevanion,  but  tho  point  was  a  delicate  one,  a 
very  delicate  one.  Sho  would  not,  however, 
positively  refuse,  because  there  was  nothing  on 
earth  which  sho  should  regret  so  much  as  to 
wound  the  feelings  of  so  old  and  esteemed  a 
friend ;  but  at  tho  same  time  she  must  request 
to  be  allowed  tho  opportunity  of  turning  the 
matter  over  in  her  mind.  Nothing  could  be 
more  reasonable  ;  and  as  her  companion  enter- 
tained a  shrewd  doubt  of  her  ultimately  prov- 
ing inexorable,  ho  instantly  complied  with  the 
very  natural  suggestion.  Ho  did  not  seek  to 
be  importunate,  although  he  should  await  her 
decision  with  anxiety ;  and  thus  tho  question 
was  left  in  abeyance  for  the  time.  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion readily  perceived,  however,  that  it  had 
been  mooted  at  an  auspicious  moment,  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  had  not  elapsed  before  he 
discovered  that  tho  certainty  of  lier  own  impu- 
nity in  any  and  every  case  had  singularly 
tended  to  modifj'  tlio  noble  matron's  sentiments 
on  the  subject  of  his  contemplated  severity  to 
his  daughter.  Sho  reluctantly  agreed,  but  sho 
did  agree,  that  ho  had  a  right  to  bo  disap- 
pointed by  the  pertinacity  of  Ida — that  ho  was 
entitled  to  comjiel  her  obedience — that  the 
Earl  of  Downmere  was  in  every  respect  the 
most  eligible  husband  that  he  could  have 
selected  for  her — and  that  the  '  love-affair'  was 
a  mere  folly,  which  ought  to  be  discontenanced 
on  every  account. 

"  And  now  that  you  have  compelled  me  to 
spenk  plainly,  my  good  sir,"  sho  resumed ; 
"  although  I  assure  you  that  I  had  resolved  to 
do  nothing  of  the  kind,  you  may  appreciate  the 
difficulty  of  the  position  in  which  I  was  placed. 
Sydney  Elphinstono  is  my  nephew,  and  at  first 
I  feared  (as  you  are  aware,  witli  some  ju.<!tice) 
that  3-ou  might  possibly  so  far  mistake  mo  as 
to  believe  that  I  should  countenance  his  suit 
from  interested  motives,  wliile,  after  you  had 
informed  me  of  your  intention  of  adopting  and 
enriching  your  nephew,  should  j-our  wi.siies  bo 
disregarded,  I  became  equally  apprehensive 
that  I  might  appear  to  abandon  the  cause  of 
of  my  own,  because  Ida  could  no  longer  enrich 
him  with  tho  noble  fortune  to  which  ehe  had 
expected  to  succeed.     Now,  however,  that  we 


42 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


thorouplily  undorstand  each  otlicr,  tlicro  is  no 
loncrer  any  reason  why  I  should  shrink  from 
acknowicilg-ine  that  I  have,  from  the  moment 
in  which  it  was  confided  to  me.  considered  the 
wliole  affair  as  cl:ildi.«h  and  absurd  in  the  ex- 
treme. Sydney  is  a  fine  young  fellow,  but  he 
is  still  a  mere  boy,  who  can  scarcely  be  sup- 
posed to  know  his  own  mind ;  while  Miss  Tre- 
vanion — " 

'•  Is  n  woman  of  six-and-twenty,  who  is  as 
ready  to  make  a  fool  of  herself  as  anj- boarding- 
school  Miss  of  fifteen,"  broke  in  the  merchant, 
with  a  portentous  frown;  "and  who  must 
consequently  bo  treated  as  sucli.  I  will  see 
Lord  Downmere  to-morrow.  Fortunately  lie  has 
no  false  delicacy  on  the  subject,  and,  moreover, 
inows  nothing  about  the  Elphinstone  affair; 
so  that  in  so  far  as  he  is  concerned,  there  is  no 
harm  done;  and  a/ter  I  shall  have  seen  his 
lordship  I  will  lose  no  more  time  in  making 
my  final  arrangements,  in  which,  my  dear 
La  iy  Mary,  I  shall  rely  on  your  assistance  and 
advice." 

"  You  know  how  sincerely  both  will  bo 
afforded,  my  good  sir ;"  said  his  companion 
with  dignified  suavity;  "  while  I,  on  my  part, 
am  convinced  that  you  will  ask  nothing  from 
me  inconsistent  with  the  tender  affection  which 
I  feel  for  my  sweet  young  friend." 

"  Of  that  you  need  have  no  apprehension ;" 
was  the  rejoinder  of  the  merchant;  "for  that 
very  affection  must,  as  a  natural  consequence, 
lead  you  to  desire  her  prosperity  and  happiness. 
The  path  is  therefore  plain  before  us,  and  we 
have  only  to  follow  it  steadily  and  resolutely. 
And  nov>-,  sans  adieu,  my  dear  Lady  Mary  ;  I 
fear  that,  in  my  inconsiderate  egotism,  I  may 
already  have  detained  you  too  long." 

The  lady  rose  with  a  polite  disclaimer  on  her 
lips;  and  then,  having  carefully  collected  her 
scattered  treasures,  and  playfully  enriched  the 
silver  standish  of  the  master  of  the  house  with 
a  portion  of  her  rose-colored  labors,  she  smil- 
ingly took  her  departure.  Come  what  might, 
she  had  carried  her  own  point 


CmVPTER    XIY. 

Ay  INTERVIEW. 

ITExnT  Feudix.vntd,  Earl  of  Downmere,  and 
Baron  "U'oodlyn,  had,  as  we  have  already  shown, 
no  vcr}-  overpowering  passion  for  the  beautiful 
Miss  Trevanion ;  although  he  was  by  no  means 
insensible  to  the  fact  that  with  her  many  graces 
and  attractions,  sho  could  not  but  do  honor  to 
his  name  and  rank.  His  pertinacity  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  lady  was  prompted  by  other,  and 
to  him  more  serious  consideratiors.  His  lord- 
ship had  throughout  life  restricted  his  worship 
to  one  idol,  and  that  idol  had  been  self;  while 
so  zealous  had  been  his  devotion,  that  his  largo 
income  liad  gradually  failed  to  meet  the  de- 
mands made  upon  it  by  one,  who  wa.s  at  once 
a  profligate  and  a  sybarite.  More  than  one  of 
his  estates  was  dfcply  mortgaged,  and  this  fact 
not  only  crippled  his  resources,  but  jarred  with 
his  prido ;  and  he  ac-cordmgly  looked  to  the 
money-bags  of  the  wealthy  iir.  Trevanion  for 
release ;  nor  did  the  unpleasant  and  mortifying 


!  circumstance  of  his  rejection  by  .cr.ndry  welV 
dowered  beauties  to  whom  he  had  previously 
offered  the  jirivilcge  of  relieving  him  from  his 
embarrassments,  tend  to  weaken  his  anxiety 
for  success  in  the  present  instance.  He  was 
deterred  by  no  ftlse  delicacy  in  his  pursuit  of  a 
woman  tc  whom  his  addresses  were  unwelcome, 
for  liis  past  associations  with  the  sex  had  not 
initiated  him  into  the  shrinking  .sensitiveness  of 
its  purer  and  better  portion.  Recognizing  no 
dignity  save  that  of  title,  he  looked  upon  the 
marriage  which  he  now  contemplated,  as  a  fair 
and  equitable  barter.  lie  needed  the  princely 
fortune  of  the  heiress  to  enable  him  to  termi- 
nate his  life  as  he  had  comjnenced  it,  in  self-in- 
dulgence and  display  ;  while  he  was  content  to 
give  in  exchange  a  name  which  he  had  don© 
nothing  to  illustrate,  and  a  rank  which  ho  had 
done  nothing  to  adorn. 

Nevertheless  there  were  moments  in  which 
the  haughty  and  Fclf-centcred  man  brought 
himself  to  believe  that  in  bestowing  his  hand 
upon  the  high-bred  and  fascinating  daughter  of 
Mr.  Trevanion,  he  was  about  to  make  a  heavy 
sacrifice  ;  nor  were  his  private  reflections  more 
flattering  to  Mr.  Trevanion  personally.  That 
the  courtly  and  dignified  merchant  desired  the 
aUiance  for  his  own  sake,  the  peer  could  not, 
and  did  not  believe,  for  he  had  wit  enough  to 
perceive  at  once  that  their  several  natures  were 
not  merely  incompatible,  but  even  antagonistic 
both  in  principle  and  feeling.  "  Xo,  no ;"  would 
the  earl  murmur  to  himself  with  a  s.itumine 
smile,  as  he  shook  his  gouty  leg,  and  swallowed 
an  olive  to  relish  tho  more  keenly  his  penulti- 
mate gla!5s  of  claret ;  "  no,  no ;  the  old  fellow 
can  not  deceive  me,  bland  and  smooth  as  he  is; 
he  wants  a  lift  upon  the  social  ladder,  and  is 
wiUing  to  pay  handsomely,  provided  the  stride 
be  a  long  one,  but  perhaps  it  is  better  so ;  I  am 
not  anxious  to  marry  tlie  whole  famih-." 

And  Lord  Downmere  was  right;  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion had  never  for  a  moment  cheated  him- 
self into  a  belief  that  ho  was  working  for  tho 
happiness  of  his  daueliter  in  forcing  forward 
her  union  with  the  selfish  egotist  who  was  to 
raise  her  to  the  peerage ;  his  motive  stood 
bare  and  unconcealed  before  him  ;  nor  had  ho 
ever  striven  to  vail  it  from  tho  chikl  whom  ho 
desired  to  sacrifice  to  his  own  personal  views 
and  ambition ;  and  although  under  such  cir-  i 
cumstances,  policy  induced  him  to  affect  to-  , 
ward  tho  peer  tho  respect  and  deference  which 
appeared  to  be  a  legitimate  homage  yielded  to  ' 
his  rank,  the  haughty  merchant  despised  him 
in  his  secret  heart,  and  looked  upon  him 
merely  as  a  necessary  tool  to  further  his  own 
views.  ; 

Thus,  each  thoroughly  understood  the  other; 
each  had  a  point  to  carry,  and  each  was  equally  , 
resolved  to  carry  that  point,  if  success  could  bo 
ensured  by  his  own  exertions 

As  he  had  intimated  to  Lady  Mary,  Mr.  • 
Trevanion  on  the  morrow  had  another  iiitei^ 
view  with  the  earl,  whom  he  encouraged  to 
persevere,  laughingly  reminding  him  that 
no  woman  of  spirit  would  willingly  he  won 
iinsousht,  and  dropping  at  tlie  same  time,  ns 
if  aeeidentallv,  certain  hints  regarding  the' 
brilliant  expectations  of  his  daughter,  which 
wonderfully  tended  to  increase  the  enthusi- 
asm  of  the  noble  suitor 


T  IT  t:   J  !•:  A  L  o  r  s   wife. 


43 


This  fact,  ]io\rovcr,  Lord  rtownmcro  diJ 
not  desire  to  render  too  ft]ipareiit,  and  lie 
consequently  considered  it  expedient  to  evince 
sometliinii  like  sentiment,  althouiih  an  at- 
tempt to  play  the  lover  sat  but  loosely  upon 
him. 

"  She  is  certainly  a  monstrous  fine  woman, 
mv  dear  sir,"  he  said  complacently,  "a  very 
fine  woman  indeed,  and  has  no  doubt  every 
risrht  to  play  the  coquette  a  li^tle  before  she 
yields,  provided  always  that  she  yields  at 
last,  and  as  you  assure  me  that  she  will  do 
so—" 

"Your  lordship  may  rest  assured  of  it." 
"  AVell  then,  I  see  no  objection  to  the  course 
which  you  propose,  and  1  will  afford  her  an- 
other opportunity  of  recanting  her  declared 
determination.  I  will  call  at  your  house 
again,  but  you  must  promise  me  the  support 
of  your  intluenee  and  authority.  I  am  so 
una'eeustomed  to  this  sort  of  thing,  that  I  am 
quite  unable  to  do  justice  to  myself." 

"Had  not  your  lordship  better  see  her 
alone  ?''  asked  the  merchant. 

"Xo,  sir,  no;"  was  the  eager  rejoinder,  "I 
consider  your  presence  to  be  most  desirable." 
"As  you  will,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Trevan- 
ion,  somewhat  impatiently  ;  "  but,  perhaps, 
after  all,  we  had  better  be  guided  by  circum- 
stances. All  that  I  will  venture  to  urge  is, 
that  no  time  should  be  lost,  as  the  present 
state  of  things  must  necessarily  be  unsatis- 
factory to  all  parties.  My  carnage  is  at  the 
door ;  will  your  lordship  accompany  me  at 
once  to  Richmond  ?" 

"  If  you  really  consider  it  expedient  for 
me  to  do  so,  certainly;"  was  the  reluctant 
reply ;  "  although  I  have  an  important  en- 
gagement at  my  club,  but  '  when  a  lady  's  in 
the  case,'  you  know,  there  is  no  alternative  ; 
and  as  you  justly  remark,  there  will  be  many 
arrangements  to  make  on  both  sides  after  the 
affair  is  decided,  which  will  occupy  a  very 
considerable  time,  so  let  it  be  as  you  propose ; 
in  ten  minutes  I  will  be  ready." 

L(jrd  Dowumere  was  almost  as  good  as  his 
word,  and  in  less  than  half-an-hour,  the  two 
gentlemen  were  on  {heir  way  to  the  splendid 
villa  of  the  merchant. 

AVhen  their  arrival  was  announced  to  Miss 
Trevanion,  she  excused  herself  on  the  plea 
of  indisposition,  but  a  second  and  peremptory 
summons  from  her  father,  compelled  her  ajj- 
pearance  in  the  drawing-room,  which  she  ca- 
tered, to  his  intense  mortification  and  dis- 
pleasure, in  a  loose  white  muslin  wrapper, 
with  her  fine  hair  hidden  beneath  a  close  and 
simple  Ifice  cap. 

"Miss  Trevanion!"  ho  exclaimed,  angrily, 
*'  Is  that  a  fitting  costume  at  such  ;in  hour, 
and  for  the  reception  of  such  a  guest?" 

"  Not  a  word,  my  dear  sir,  nut  a  word," 
said  the  earl,  as  with  a  courteous  inclination 
lie  rose  from  liis  seat,  and  extended  his  hand 
to  the  pale  and  shrinking  girl;  "  have  you 
yet  to  learn  that  ladies  understand  all  these 
little  matters  to  perfection,  and  do  j-ou  imagine 
that  your  fair  daughter  is  not  well  aware  j 
tliat  she  is  ten  times  more  bewitching  in  her 
present  costume  as  when  avowed;/  adorned  ■ 
for  conquest  r' 

"  I    truslcd  that  my  indisposition  would  I 


have  suflieod  to  excuse  my  non-.ipponranco," 
said  Ida,  addres-iing  her  fa'ther,  as  witli  a  cold 
and  haughty  inclination  of  the  head,  sho 
withdrew  her  hand  from  that  of  her  unwel- 
come visitor. 

"■\Vell,  well,  since  his  lordship  is  kind 
enough  to  overlook  so  great  a  broach  of  de- 
corum and  good-breeding,  we  will  say  no 
worse  upon  the  subject,"  said  Mr.  Trevanion, 
who  could  not  conceal  from  himself,  that  had 
his  daughter  been  influenced  by  the  most 
refined  coquetry,  she  could  not  have  succeed- 
ed in  apjtearing  more  lovely  than  in  her 
present  plain  and  simple  attire ;  "  and  wo 
have  moreover,  a  more  serious  subject  to  dis- 
cuss. Lord  Downmerc,  is  here,  Ida,  to  re- 
ceive your  final  answer  to  the  proposal  with 
with  which  he  has  honored  you.  Mark  me, 
your  final  answer." 

"I  regret,"  was  the  firm  rejoinder,  "that 
his  lordship  should  have  considered  such  a 
visit  necessary  after  our  late  interview.  I 
had  hoped — " 

"Pshaw!"  interposed  the  merchant,  im- 
petuously ;  "  all  recurrence  to  the  past  is  idle  ; 
and  you  know  my  determination,  and  you 
have  now  only  to  express  your  compliance 
with  my  will." 

"  And  is  it  thus,  that  the  Earl  of  Down- 
mere  would  woo  his  bride  ?"  asked  Ida,  con- 
temptuously. 

"  I  am  content  to  woo  her  after  any  fashion," 
said  the  peer,  with  a  courteous  bow;  "so 
that  I  am  happy  enough  to  win  her." 

"  Be  generous,  my  lord ;"  said  Miss  Tre- 
vanion, "  and  abandon  a  suit  which  can  bring 
you  neither  honor  nor  happiness.  I  should 
be  false,  alike  to  you  and  myself,  did  I  not  at 
once  avow  that  I  have  no  longer  a  heart  to 
bestow.  I  feel,  as  I  have  already  declared, 
flattered  by  3-our  preference,  but  I  can  never 
become  your  wife." 

"  h?o  you  assured  me  at  our  last  interview, 
my  dear  young  lady,"  replied  the  earl,  per- 
fectly unmoved  ;  "  Init  I  am  quite  aware  that 
it  is  one  of  the  many  privileges  of  your  sex' 
to  torture  the  hearts  of  your  admirers,  and 
I  accordingly  trusted  to  time  and  reflection 
to  operate  a  change  in  your  decision." 

"  And  your  lordship  did  wisely,"  broke  in 
the  merchant,  who  with  difficulty  coutrolcd 
his  anger,  as  he  listened  to  the  decided  worda 
of  his  daughter;  "  for  women  seldom  know 
their  Ojjvn  minds  from  one  hour  to  another, 
and  Miss  Trevanion  is  at  this  moment  an  il- 
lustration of  the  fact.  But  wo  have  already 
had  somewhat  too  much  of  this  folh',  and  sho 
will  do  well  to  act  more  rationally,  and  to 
avow  at  onco  that  she  is  both  honored  and 
happy  in  the  brilliant  prospect  which  your 
flattering  preference  holds  out  to  her. 

"A  devoted  heart,  and  a  splendid  posi- 
tion;" said  tho  peer,  pompously;  "what, 
my  dear  madam,  can  you  require  more  than 
this?" 

"  Loss,  much  loss,  would  sufli<!0  to  my  ambi- 
tion, my  lord;"  replied  Ida;  "all  I  ask  \s  the 
first,  and  you  must  pardon  mo  if  I  frankly  do- 
claro  that  it  is  a  gift  which  you  havo  not  to  be- 
stow. Let  us  deal  honestly  with  each  other, 
Lord  Downmere  :  I  am  not  deceived  as  to  my 
own  poaitioa  in  life  •  and  am  quite  aware  that^ 


44 


THE*  JEALOUS    WIFE. 


despite  all  the  indulgences  which  have  been 
lavislied  upon  me,  I  am  still  only  the  daughter 
of  a  merchant,  who,  however  wealthy  and 
however  honored  he  may  bo,  is  still  merely  a 
merchant;  and  that  thus  I  am  no  fitting  wife 
for  the  Earl  of  Downmere.  Pardon  me,  fa- 
ther," slie  added,  as  she  marked  the  displeasure 
of  Mr.  Trevaniou;  "but  this  is  no  moment  for 
idle  pretense  or  frivolous  vanity ;  wo  must  all 
look  the  truth  steadily  in  the  face,  and  not  seek 
to  deceive  ourselves  or  each  other  by  flimsy 
fallacies.  I  would  not  that  Lord  Downmere 
Should  suspect  that  the  merchant,  whose  repu- 
tation is  as  untarnished,  and  whose  blood  is  as 
ancient  as  his  own,  is  now  courting  his  alliance 
Erom  any  mean  pandering  to  his  rank  and  to 
the  ennobling  of  his  cliild,  from  a  mere  paltry 
love  of  title  and  aggrandizement,  for  I  well 
know  that  it  is  not  bo — nor  would  I  that  my 
!ather,  when  urging  me  to  plight  my  flxith  to  a 
nan  whom  I  do  not  love,  should  so  far  delude 
.limself  as  to  imagine  that  the  proud  peer  who 
iondescends  to  sue  for  an  affection  which  he 
ian  never  gain,  is  influenced  by  any  affection 
or  myself.  I  see  and  bitterly  feel  tlio  truth  of 
ny  position.  On  one  hand,  I  am  to  be  made  a 
nedium  of  vengeance,  and  on  the  other — " 

"Enough,  Miss  Trevanion,  enough  I"  ex- 
claimed the  merchant,  vehemently;  "this  inso- 
onco  is  intolerable  and  imprecedented.  So 
ar  I  have  listened  patiently,  but  my  forbear- 
mce,  great  as  it  has  been,  has  nevertheless  a 
imit." 

"  I  can  not,  of  course,  presume  to  decide  the 
notive  which  you  were  about  to  attribute  to 
ny  addresses,  my  dear  madam,"  said  the  earl, 
vaving  his  hand  deprecatingly  toward  his  ex- 
ited host;  "but  of  this  lean  conscientiously 
.ssure  you,  that  if  you  believe  them  to  have 
)cen  prompted  by  any  other  than  my  profound 
,nd  ardent  admiration  of  your  many  perfections, 
'ou  not  only  do  me  a  grievous  wrong,  but  are 
mjust  to  yourself  As  to  the  disparity  of  rank 
0  which  you  have  alluded,  it  is  a  mere  chi- 
tiera,  when  you  do  not  re(iuire  to  bo  reminded 
liat  j'our  grace  and  loveliness  would  do*honor 
0  a  throne.  And  remember,  madam,  remem- 
icr;"  he  pursued  emphatically;  "that  as  my 
iride — as  my  wife — as  Countess  of  Downmere 
—you  will  stand  near  the  steps  of  one  among 
lie  noblest  and  proudest  of  the  realm.  A  ru- 
lor  has  reached  me  tliat  I  have  a  rival,  young- 
r  no  doubt,  and  more  likely  to  captivate  the 
ye  of  one  so  lovely  as  yourself,  than  I  can 
ope  to  do;  and  although  I  had  been  assured 
lie  report  was  false,  your  own  declaration  tliat 
ou  have  no  longer  a  heart  to  bestow  leads  mo 
D  believe  that  such  may  nevertheless  bo  the 
aso ;  but  let  mo  entreat  you  to  reflect,  my  dear 
oung  lady,  before  you  consign  attractions  so 
rilliant  as  your  own  to  comparative  obscurity, 
"ou  can  bo  little  aware  of  the  extent  of  the 
icrifico  which  you  contemplate.  You  were 
lado  for  the  world,  and  you  owe  it  to  the 
'■orld  to  fullill  your  destiny.  As  my  wife — as 
ountess  of  Downmere — it  would  bo  brilliant, 
or  your  own  sake — for  mine — " 
"  A  thousand  thanks,  my  good  lord,  a  thou- 
md  thanks,"  said  the  merchant;  "for  a  con- 
Dscension  of  wliieh  my  willful  child  is  appa- 
intly  so  unworthy ;  but  I  entreat  of  you  to 
rgo  her  no  further.    She  can  not  be  insensible 


to  the  generosity  of  your  arguments,  and  she 
ivill  not — to  this  I  pledge  myself  She  has 
now  exhausted  her  romance,  and  must  bo  pre- 
pared to  listen  to  reason.  Once  more  I  must 
request  of  you  to  leave  the  affair  in  my 
hands." 

"  Another  word  and  I  have  done,"  said  the 
earl,  who  gathered  courage  from  the  fear  that 
the  coveted  wealth  of  the  merchant  might  yet 
escape  him,  and  who  was  anxious  to  compel 
the  lady  to  something  at  least  bordering  upon 
concession ;  "  I  have  endeavored,  my  dear 
Miss  Trevanion,  to  place  before  you  the  mere 
worldly  advantages  of  an  union  which  would 
make  me  supremely  blessed  ;  but  1  would  also 
press  upon  you  the  sincerity  and  ardor  of  my 
attachment,  of  which  I  am  deeply  grieved  to 
be  compelled  to  admit  that  j-ou  have  expressed 
a  doubt ,  do  me  more  justice ;  and  forgive  mo 
if  I  add  that  I  was  wholly  unprepared  for  such 
mistrust  and  repugnance  on  your  part,  after  the 
encouragement  which  I  received  from  your 
estimable  father,  upon  whose  good  faith  I 
placed  the  firmest  and  most  complete  reli- 
ance." 

"i  know  not,  my  lord,"  said  the  wearied 
and  persecuted  girl,  sadly,  "  what  assurance 
my  father  may  have  given  )'0U — it  is  not  for 
me  to  comment  on  his  actions,  or  to  criticize 
his  motives.  Ho  has  doubtlessly  acted  accord- 
ing to  his  own  idea  of  propriety  and  right ; 
but  I  at  least  am  guiltless  of  having  misled 
you  for  a  moment ;  and  harassing  and  painful 
as  this  subject  can  not  fliil  to  have  been  to  all 
parties,  I  trust  that  you  will  do  me  the  justice 
to  exonerate  me  from  having  willfully  prolong- 
ed it." 

"  I  can  indeed  most  conscientiously  acquit 
you  of  any  attempt  to  do  so,  Miss  Trevanion ;" 
was  the  ironical  rejoinder  of  the  earl ;  "  but  I 
have  nevertheless  an  undoubted  right  to  com- 
plain of  the  careless  and  uncompromising  man- 
ner in  which  you  have  rejected  my  addresses, 
conceiving,  as  I  do,  that  they  might  have  met 
with  more  consideration." 

"  Tliis  persistence,  my  lord,"  said  Ida, 
haughtily,  "  is  rapidly  degenerating  into  per-  < 
secution;  and  is  wholly  deficient  in  both  dig- 
nity and  generosity.  I  can  not  for  a  moment  ' 
bring  myself  to  believe  that  our  very  slight  ac- 
quaintance can  have  inspired  with  an  attach- 
ment to  myself  personally  which  could  alone 
afford  an  excuse  for  your  extraordinary-  perti- 
nacity; and  I  have  consequently  endeavored  to 
discover  its  true  and  adequate  motive.  On 
mature  reflection,  I  have  only  been  able  to  im- 
agine one,  and  that  one  so  utterly  incompatible 
with  the  exalted  rank  to  which  you  evidently 
attach  no  mean  value,  that  for  the  sake  of  your 
own  dignity,  I  can  only  trust  that  I  do  you  an 
injustice.  I  have  already  so  far  overstepped 
the  reserve  of  my  sex  as  to  admit  to  your  lord- 
ship that  my  affections  arc  bestowed  elsewhere; 
and  bestowed,  I  am  proud  to  say,  where  my 
heart  was  the  treasure  sought,  and  not  my 
wealth.  What,  then,  my  lord,  do  you  seek  in, 
thus  urging  mo  to  become  your  wife  ?  I  feel 
humbled  by  the  reply  forced  upon  mo  by  my 
reason." 

"  lleally,  my  dear  madam,  you  arc  inoom- 
prchonsible,"  said  the  peer,  uneasily. 

"  Kather  say,  my  lord,  that  she  is  unworthy 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


45 


of  the  honor  wliich  you  propose  to  do  her," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Treva'nion,  as  ho  rose  angrily 
from  his  seat;  "but  I  am  myself  to  blame  for 
her  wrong-headednoss  ;  she  has  beeu  so  long 
lier  own  niistress  tliat  she  appears  to  have 
forgotten  her  duty  as  a  daughter,  and  her 
courtesy  as  a  woinan.  Trust  mo,  this  sliall 
be  remedied.  And  now,  Miss  Trevanion, 
hear  me.  You  do  not  leave  this  room,  or 
liis  lordship's  presence,  save  as  bis  affianced 
wife." 

"  Should  Lord  Downraere  have  no  other 
engagement,  sir,"  said  Ida,  firmly,  as  the  deep 
blush  of  outraged  pride  spread  over  her  cheek 
and  brow,  "  my  morning  is  also  disengaged  ; 
and  since  such  is  your  will,  I  can  pass  it  here 
as  patiently,  althougli  perhaps  not  so  pleas- 
antly, as  in  my  own  apartment." 

"My  lord,"  said  the  merchant,  struggling 
t«  subdue  his  irritation  ;  "I  am  mortified  be- 
yond all  expression  that  a  child  of  mine 
should  expose  herself  as  Miss  Trevanion  lias 
done ;  mortified  and  pained  to  find  that  my 
authority  is  thus  set  at  naught ;  but  I  entreat 
you  to  believe  that  my  plighted  word  shall 
not  be  forfeited.  Prouder  spirits  than  that 
of  the  young  lady  before  you  have  been  bent, 
and  she  shall  learn  ere  long  that  a  father's 
will  is  not  to  be  braved  with  impunity.  She 
may,  as  she  insanely  afi"ects  to  believe,  have, 
given  her  heart  to  a  beggar,  but  her  hand 
must  be  my  gift,  and  shall  not  follow  it." 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  good  sir,  compose 
yourself,"  said  the  peer,  with  an  indulgent 
smile  ;  "  I  am  aware  that  young  ladies  are  apt 
to  be  romantic,  and  to  form  magnificent 
ideas  of  'love  in  a  cottage  ;'  but  it  is  equally 
certain  that  on  mature  consideration  they 
bring  themselves  to  prefer  a  diamond  tiara  to 
a  wreath  of  daisies,  and  to  estimate  the  re- 
spectful attachment  of  a  rational  suitor  be- 
yond the  wild  and  ephemeral  passion  of  a 
mere  boj-ish  love." 

Miss  Trevanion  started,  and  the  blood  burnt 
still  more  painfully  upon  her  already  crim- 
soned cheek. 

"I  can  not,"  pursued  the  earl;  "I  really 
have  not  moral  courage  enough  to  say  to 
your  lovely  and  fascinating  daughter,  tlut  I 
consent  to  resign  her  to  a  rival,  for  by  so 
doing  I  should  resign  my  own  liopes  of  hap- 
piness ;  and  the  pertinacity  of  which  she 
complains  nuist  sufficiently  prove  to  her  the 
value  which  I  attach  to  her  possession.  You, 
at  least,  will  not  blame  me  for  clinging  to  the 
last  to  the  briglitest  dream  of  happiness  in 
"which  I  have  ever  indulged.  The  '  slight  ac- 
quaintance,' upon  which  Miss  Trevanion  lays 
such  stress  as  regards  her  own  feelings,  has 
been  a  period  so  full  of  hope  and  anxiety  to 
myself,  that  it  appears  to  have  absorbed  the 
best  portion  of  my  existence ;  and  rather 
than  forego  an  anticipation  which  has  made 
that  existence  doubly  dear  to  me,  I  am  con- 
tent still  to  wait,  if  such  be  her  pleasure,  un- 
til she  does  me  more  justice." 

"1  thank  you,  my  lord,  deeply  and  earn- 
estly thank  you  for  your  forbearance,"  said 
Mr.  Trevanion  ;  and  in  reply  to  so  much  gen- 
erosity, can  only  assure  you  that  your  pa- 
tience shall  not  be  too  severely  taxed." 

"  I  rely  upon  your  promiae,"  said  the  earl, 


as  ho  rose  from  tho  sofa  upon  which  ho  had 
been  seated,  and  bowed  low  to  the  lady,  who 
acknowledged  his  parting  courtesy  in  silence, 
"  and  the  devotion  of  a  life  shall  prove  to 
your  charming  daughter  that  I  am  worthy 
of  the  prize  for  which  I  have  so  resolutely 
striven.'' 

In  r.nothcr  moment  Ida  was  alone. 


CnAPTLR  XY. 

A    DINNER   TAKTY. 

Ida  was  alone  with  her  own  tlioughts,  and 
for  awhile  they  were  full  of  angry  bitterness. 
Toward  the  earl  they  were  compounded  of 
contempt  and  disgust.  "No,  no,  it  is  not  to 
me  that  he  has  bowed  his  paltry  pride,"  she 
murmured  to  herself;  "  it  is  not  for  me  that 
he  has  condescended  to  submit  to  insult,  and 
to  smile  upon  inferences  which  he  could  not 
have  mistaken.  He  seeks  me  for  my  wealth ; 
he  would  enrich  himself,  and  make  me  the  , 
victim  of  his  selfish  cupidity.  And  I  am  I 
without  a  friend — flattered  and  fooled  by  the 
world,  there  does  not  beat  one  heart  upon 
which  I  can  lay  down  my  weary  head,  and 
ask  for  rest. 

"  And  yet  I  have  dreamed  such  dreams  of 
happiness — indulged  such  hopes  of  peace  and 
of  affection — peace! — affection  1 — what  has  a 
persecuted  woman  to  do  with  blessings  such  as 
those.  My  estimate  of  life  has  been  a  false  one^ 
and  now  I  begin  to  appreciate  tho  frightful 
truth ;  perhaps  I  am  wrong  to  struggle  against 
my  destiny — perhaps  I  should  do  well  to  give 
myself  to  "this  titled  coward,  who  is  just  brave 
enough  to  make  war  upon  the  sacred  feeling? 
of  a  woman's  heart — I  should  find  my  reward 
in  the  world,  my  recompense  in  its  smooth 
wisdom.  I  should  make  a  brOliant  marriage 
— be  fooled  and  flattered  stUl — wear  the  shame 
of  a  perjured  spirit  proudly,  and  find  in  the 
crowded  saloons  of  fashion,  tho  home  which  I 
should  have  forfeited  forever  elsewhere.  It 
may  be  that  such  a  fate  might  preserve  me 
from  deeper  and  more  ilital  suflering — it  may 
be ;  for  in  tliis  case,  I  could  live  on  without  a 
fear  or  a  hope ;  the  one  would  be  annihilated 
by  the  other ;  giving  no  love,  I  could  never  bo 
subject  to  tho  pang  of  feehng  it  thrown  back 
upon  me,  and  tho  lire-flood  of  my  passion  indu- 
rated into  lava,  and  crushing  out  my  existence. 
And  what  if  I  become  the  wife  of  Sydney  ?  Who 
shall  tell  me  what  may  bo  my  fate?  What 
maybe  his?  Poverty  and  Time — those  are 
tlie  gaunt  and  fearful  adversaries  with  which  I 
shall  have  to  contend ;  and  what  will  bo  tlifiir 
effect  on  him  ?  It  is  easy  to  talk  of  tempests 
under  a  summer  sky,  and  of  wrecks  besitlo  a 
summer  sea,  but  beneath  tho  lightning  flash, 
and  on  the  roaring  billows,  we  can  alono  esti!^ 
mate  tho  extent  of  tho  oviL  Should!  marry 
Sydney,  and  become  the  bano  of  his  existence, 
where,  then,  could  I  turn  for  help  or  comfort? 
and  that  I  should  do  this  wore  ho  to  arouse  tho 
slumbering  demon  within  me,  I  have  a  firm  and 
fatal  conviction.  I  can  not  deceive  myself;  to 
Iiim  in  whom  I  trust,  to  whom  I  give  myself;  I 
must  either  bo  a  blessing  or  a  curao — every 


46 


THE    JEALOUS     VIFE. 


tiling,  or  -^oxse,  far  worse  than  nothing.  A 
firm  and  faitliful  friend,  or  a  bitter  and  unre- 
lenting enemy.  And  knowing  thi.*!,  sliould  I 
not  do  well  and  bravely  to  sacrifice  my  own 
happiness  at  once — to  resist  the  pleadings  of 
my  own  heart — and  to  refuse  to  become  his 
wife  ?  Could  I  not  drown  my  own  wretched- 
ness and  isolation  in  what  the  world  calls 
pleasure — silence  the  importunities  of  my  own 
rebellious  spirit  in  the  turmoil  of  dissipation, 
and  console  myself  with  the  reflection  that  I 
was  the  only  sufferer?  Surely  there  would  be 
heroism  in  this!  But  have  I  strength  for  such 
a  sacrifice?  Can  I  consent  to  mako  it,  while 
one  ho]«o  is  left  that  Sydney's  love  might  prove 
as  lasting  as  my  own?  Xo;-it  is  vain  to  strive 
against  myself:  and  if  I  can  not  read  the  future 
I  must  be  content  to  risk  its  fruits.  This 
womanish  weakness  is  unworthy  of  mo  ;  I  must 
trust,  and  abide  by  the  issue  of  my  faith.  I 
can  not  live  loveless  and  alone,  devouring  my 
ovrn  heart,  and  feeling  that  I  have  been  the 
passive  tool  of  avarice  and  ambition.  My  path 
is  plain  before  me,  and  rugged  as  it  now  is,  it 
may  lead  to  happiness  at  last." 

It  is  a  trite  but  true  remark,  that  when  sor- 
row or  even  death  is  in  a  house,  still  the  routine 
of  domestic  duties  must  be  pursued,  and  in  the 
former  case,  society  still  maintains  its  claim. 
Thus  it  was  on  the  present  occasion  ;  with  one 
absorbing  subject  of  interest  pressing  heavily 
upon  her  heart  and  mind,  MissTrevanion  found 
herself  compelled  to  obey  the  suggestion  of  her 
maid,  by  whom  she  was  reminded  that  it  was 
time  to  prepare  herself  to  receive  the  guests 
who  were,  as  she  had  in  her  excitement  totally 
forgotten,  expected  that  day  at  dinner.  Every 
one  has  experienced  at  some  moment  of  his  or 
her  life,  the  weariness  of  such  an  appeal  to  the 
patience  ;  and  this  simple  circumstauce  tended 
still  further  to  reconcile  our  heroine  to  the 
prospect  of  tho  '  mere  competence'  which  must, 
at  least,  have  a  tendency  to  relieve  her  from 
sacrifices  so  irksome  during  her  married  life. 

"Now,"  she  mused,  "I  do  not  even  belong 
to  myself;  tho  chains  of  the  world  are  round 
me ;  and  though  they  may  have  hitherto  ap- 
peared to  bo  wreathed  with  flowers,  the  illu- 
sion is  past,  and  I  feel  tho  galling  of  their  iron 
links." 

Alas  I  wreathe  them  as  we  may,  none  of  us 
escape  the  pressure  to  our  dying  hour ;  the 
careless  may  wear  them  loosely,  but  even  they 
can  never  throw  them  off.  We  have  visions 
of  moral  freedom  in  the  future — we  delude  our- 
selves day  by  day  with  tho  hope  that  some 
change  of  scene  or  circumstance  may  emanci- 
pate us — but  is  it  ever  realized? 

Several  of  tho  guests  had  already  arrived 
when  Miss  Trevanion  descended  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. There  were  three  or  four  steady  men 
of  demure  age — the  personal  friends,  or  ratiier 
associates  of  her  father,  for  the  self-sufficient 
merchant  made  no  friends  in  the  strict  accept- 
ance of  tho  term ;  a  titled  dowager  or  two 
belonging  to  tlie  clique  of  Lady  Mary  Brook- 
lands;  middle-aged  women,  who  fully  appreci- 
ate tho  merits  of  whist  and  East  India  Madeira, 
and  who  were  not  yet  totally  insensible  to  tho 
hope  of  repairing  their  widowhood  by  a  second 
marriage,  where  their  rank  might  prove  an  equiv- 
alent to  tho  wealth  of  some  ambitious  commoner. 


And  perhaps  it  was  a  relief  to  Ida  Ihnt  tho 
party  was  tlius  constituted — although  in  ti.o 
lightness  of  her  heart  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  regard  such  assemblages  as  a  wearisome  in- 
fliction— for  thus  there  was  "little  demand  upon 
her  own  exertions ;  she  had  but  to  listen  and 
to  endure  ;  and  as  she  looked  very  lovely  whilo 
doing  so,  her  silence  was  unnoticed  amid  the 
animated  chatter  of  the  dowagers,  the  senten- 
tious declamation  of  the  politicians,  and  tho 
languid  ejaculations  of  her  mother. 

One  circumstance  only  tended  to  annoy  and 
discompose  her,  and  that  one  was  the  extraor- 
dinarily-significant glances  which  were  turaed 
on  her  from  time  to  time,  the  little  smiling  nods, 
and  patronizing  smiles  of  the  ladies,  and  the 
less  demonstrative  but  still  equally  peculiar 
looks  of  the  gentlemen.  She  appeared  to  her- 
self to  have  suddenly  become  the  object  of  some 
occult  interest  to  every  one  about  her ;  nor  did 
she  fail  to  remark  that  tho  usually  expression-  ^ 
less  face  of  her  mother  exhibited  a  self-gratu-  I 
lating  complacency  which  it  had  never  before 
worn.  Lad}-  Mary  alone  was  calm  and  stately 
as  usual,  and  appeared  totally  unconscious  of 
any  extraneous  cause  of  excitement. 

Suddenly,  however,  the  thoughts  of  Ida  were 
diverted  into  a  fi-esh  channel  by  the  luention  of 
a  namo  which  she  was  aware  could  never  be 
uttered  in  the  presence  of  her  father  without 
exciting  an  unpleasant  emotion. 

"By  the  by,  Trevanion,"  said  Mr.  Plumb- 
tree,  a  county  member  who  was  engaged  with 
his  host  in  some  important  commercial  specula- 
tions ;  "  are  you  aware  that  your  uncle  is  in 
town?  I  met  him  yesterday;  and  I  need 
scarcely  tell  you  that  his  first  subject  was  that 
unlucky  farm  that  forms  so  ugly  an  angle  into 
his  estate,  and  which  ho  is  so  constantly  urg- 
ing mo  to  sell,  although  I  have  decidedly  re- 
fused to  part  with  it  for  tho  last  ten  years.  It 
seems  that  Lady  Trevanion  has  set  her  heart 
upon  converting  it  into  a  dress-dairy,  where 
she  may  skim  her  cream  out  of  glass  and  por- 
celain, and  play  Marie  Antoinette  at  Trianon 
on  a  small  scale." 

"I  was  not  awaro  that  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion 
was  in  town ;"  was  the  cold  reply  ;  "  for,  as  wo 
hold  no  communication  whatever,  I  am  neces- 
sarily ignorant  of  his  movements." 

"  i  wish  that  your  difference,  be  it  what  it 
maj%    could   be   adju,sted;"   said    the    guest; 
"and  I  have  reason  to  suspect  that  the  baronet 
would  gladly  meet  you  half-way.     "What  say  \ 
you  ?     Will  you  allow  me  to  negotiate  between  / 
you  ?" 

"  I  beHeve  that  both  parties  are  well  satisfied 
with  things  as  they  are;"  was  tho  discouraging 
rejoinder. 

'•  I  must  be  allowed  to  differ  from  you  ;"  pci^ 
sisted  Mr,  Plumbtree ;  "  for,  to  my  surprise, 
j-our  stateh'  kinsman  made  many  inquiries  con- 
cerning yourself  and  your  family,  which  con-/ 
vuiccd  me  that  ho  considered  the  feuds  to  havo[ 
endured  long  enough  ;  while,  to  be  candid  with 
you,  the  present  moment  seems  a  very  jinpit- 
ious  one  for  you  to  tender  or  receive  the  olive 
branch — the  'coming event'  being  calculated  to 
ensure  you  high  ground." 

As  Miss  Trevanion  raised  her  eyes  to  her 
father  in  some  anxiety  to  learn  the  spirit  in 
which  ho  would  receive  the  suggestion,  slie  saw 


I  li  ill     J  i:.  ^v  ij  u  u  o      »  i  i' 


4V 


his  ovm  fixed  upon  herself  Avitli  an  uneasy  ex- 
|iresston  wliieh  startled  her ;  nor  wcro  his  next 
words  more  iiitelli,i,'iblo  than  liis  look. 

"It  is  extremely  probable;"  ho  said,  dryly; 
"that  tlio  baronet*  and  his  son  may  be  more 
deeply  interested  in  t'.io  event  to  which  you 
ftlludo  than  they  antioipato.  I  must  decline, 
however,  until  it  has  actually  taketi  place,  all 
overtures  to  a  reconciliation,  which,  had  Sir 
Jasper  been  enabled  _vear3  apro  to  foresee  the 
fituro,  would  never  have  been  necessary.  I 
fully  appreciate  the  kindness  of  your  motive, 
my  dear  sir,  hut  wo  wi.l,  if  3'ou  please,  dismiss 
a  subject  whic'a  can  not  prove  othorwiso  than 
uninterestin;^  to  the  friends  by  whom  we  are 
surrounded." 

"  Is  Lady  Trcvanion  also  in  town  ?"  eagerly 
inquired  his  wife,  heedless  of  the  desire  which 
ho  had  expressed  that  so  ungracious  a  theme 
should  not  bo  thus  publicly  pursued. 

'•  Yes,  madam,  both  Lady  Trcvanion  and  her 
son ;  and  a  very  fine  and  promising  young  man 
ho  is.  "Wo  are  quite  proud  of  him  in  the  coun- 
I  ty,  I  assure  you,  where  he  is,  as  you  may  be- 
lieve, the  object  of  more  than  one  long-sighted 
speculation." 

"  How  delightful  for  his  mother ;"  whined 
oat  the  weak  hostess  with  a  very  audible  sigh  ; 
"  I  have  often  regretted  that  I  never  had  a 
eon." 

"  Tour  regrets  are  uncalled  for,  my  dear 
madam ;"  said  Sir  Giles  Euston  who  sat  near 
her;  "when  we  look  across  the  table — you 
could  not  have  anticipated  perfection  in  both 
instances." 

"Besides  which,"  followed  up  a  jeweled 
matron  with  an  encouraging  smile  to  Ida,  who 
became  more  and  more  perplexed  as  tho  con- 
versation proceeded ;  "  even  ^[rs.  Trcvanion, 
with  her  usual  good  sense  and  judgment,  must 
perceive  at  once  that  this  is  no  moment  to  en- 
courage such  a  feeling.  Few  mothers,  I  sliould 
Imagine,-  have  greater  reason  to  be  both  proud 
and  gratified  than  herself." 

^  A  fact  of  which  my  friend  Mrs.  Trcvanion 
is  fully  aware,  I  can  assure  you,  my  dear  Lady 
Bomers;"  said  tho  stately  Lady  Mary  with  a 
deprecatory  smile ;  "  but  I  must  really  entreat 
your  forbearance  for  Ida,  who  is,  I  can  see,  un- 
easy under  this  avalanche  of  flattery." 

"  It  is  its  tone  rather  than  its  tenor,  by  which 
I  am  disco.mposed ;"  said  tho  young  lady  smil- 
ing in  her  turn,  but  with  a  very  different  ex- 
pression ;  "  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
mysterious  import  of  the  covert  congratulations 
of  which  I  am  evidently  the  object  to-day ;  al- 
though I  can  not  but  feel  deeply  touched  that 
Buch  should  be  lavished  on  me  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  they  were  least  anticipated." 

"  How  prettily  she  keeps  her  secret;"  whis- 
■pered  Sir  Giles  to  bis  supine  neighbor,  who  was 
about  to  utter  one  of  her  inane  and  inopportune 
replies,  when  her  voice  was  drowned  beneath 
that  of  Lady  Mary,  who  hastened  to  inquire 
■with  well  simulated  curiosity  of  Mr.  Plumbtreo, 
"  if  Lady  Trcvanion  had  come  to  town  for  the 
birthday." 

"  I  do  not  protend  to  say  that  such  was  the 
preci.se  errand ;"  wa.s  his  reply ;  "  but  I  under- 
stand that  it  is  at  all  events  her  intention. 
Ladies,  as  you  must  be  aware,  madam,  who 
possess  a  Golconda  in  their  jewel-cases  are  not 


sorry  to  hrvvo  so  brilliant  an  opportunity  of  dis- 
])Iaying  their  trea™res  ;  and  Sir  Jasper  certainly 
mentioned  that  both  ho  and  his  wife  had  deter- 
mined to  attend  tho  drawing-room." 

"That  will  bo  charmnig!"  exclaimed  tho 
hostess,  thorougldy  roused  out  of  her  apathy; 
"  Do  you  hear,  Ida  ?  You  will  at  last  see  your 
grand-aunt — for  Ida  is  also  to  be  at  the  Draw- 
iug-room.  Sir  Giles;  and — " 

"  Vlts.  Trcvanion,  will  you  bo  poo  1  enoup-h 
to  send  Lady  Somers  some  pine  ?" — broke  in 
tho  merchant  iu  a  tono  by  which  she  was  at 
onco  silenced,  and  which  rendered  her  hand  so 
unsteady  that  she  gratefully  accepted  the  prof- 
fered aid  of  tlie  officious  Sir  Giles,  who  hastened 
to  relieve  her  from  tho  duty  which  thus  sudden- 
ly devolved  upon  her;  while,  as  if  warned  that 
she  had  in  some  way  or  other,  for  which  she 
could  not  account,  excited  tho  displeasure  of 
her  husband,  tho  cowed  and  cowering  woman, 
after  casting  one  timid  glance  of  inquiry  toward 
the  flimily  ■  friend,  who  replied  by  a  gracious 
gesture  of  assent,  bowed  silently  to  Lady  Som- 
ers, and  rose  to  leave  the  table. 

Her  example  was  immediately  followed ; 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  ladies  of  the  party 
were  assembled  in  the  drawing-room,  cosily 
established  upon  sofas  and  lounges,  to  spend 
over  coffee  and  gossip  the  hour  which  must  in- 
tervene before  the  re-appearanee  of  their  lords. 
This  was  an  interval  which  Mrs.  Trcvanion 
habitually  passed,  if  not  quite  in  sleep,  at  least 
in  silence  ;  so  little  was  expected  from  her  that 
she  had  no  motive  for  exertion ;  and  aocord- 
ingly,  she  had  no  sooner  plunged  into  the 
depths  of  her  cushions,  leaving  her  daughter 
and  Lady  Mary  to  do  the  honors  of  the  house, 
than  she  sank  into  total  eclipse,  to  the  great 
relief  of  the  latter,  who  tolerated  with  diifi- 
culty  the  harmless  but  wearisome  vanities  of 
the  woman,  whom  she  had  supplanted  in  all 
her  privileges  alike  of  hostess,  wife,  and  mother. 

"You  will,  no  doubt,  chaperon  Miss  Tre-. 
vanion  to  court  as  usual,  Lady  Mary;"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Darlington  with  a  sarcastic  smile, 
as  she  poised  the  gold  spoon  upon  the  surface 
of  her  coffee-cup ;  "  it  must  really  be  a  great 
fatigue  to  you  to  be  so  persevering  in  your 
attendance !  Once  a  year  the  thing  is  bearable 
enough  at  our  age  ;  essential  in  fact  to  our  po- 
sition in  society;  but,  like  all  other  duties,  it 
degenerates  into  a  bore  from  frequent  recui*- 
rcnec;  and  cn(re  wom.s,  unless  one  has  a  place 
in  the  household,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that — " 

"  It  is  a  heavy  expense ;  and  so  it  is,  no 
doubt ;"  interposed  iady  Somers,  as  she  scat- 
teicd  the  chips  of  a  wafer  which  she  had  been 
steeping  in  her  Mocha  over  the  rich  carpet; 
"  but,  fortunately  for  Miss  Trcvanion,  expense 
is  no  consideration  with  her;  and  it  is  only 
women  situated  as  I  was,  and  as  you  are,  tho 
wives  of  younger  sons,  whoso  bills  are  incon- 
veniently mcreased  by  these  court-ceremonies ; 
but  even  were  it  otherwise,  our  fair  fiicnd 
could  scarcely  remain  absent  from  the  birthr 
day,  situated  as  she  is  at  this  moment." 

"  May  I  venture  to  inquire  why  my  attend- 
ance is  so  essential  on  this  particular  occasion. 
Lady  Somers?"  inquired  the  young  lady  ;  "and 
what  peculiarity  there  is  in  my  jireseut  j)osi- 
tion  which  appears  to  onfore  it  ?" 

"  Upon  my  honor,  my  dear  Miss  Trevauioii, 


4S 


ilLlL,     J  ii  ALU  Lb     WITE. 


you  do  indeed  bear  your  faculties  meekly," 
said  her  Interlocutor  gayly ;  "  it  is  not  every 
young  lady  on  the  eve  of  niarriai^e  -with  a 
peer  of  the  realm  who  would  ask  such  a  ques- 
tion." 

"  I  do  not  Tinderstand  you,  madam,"  was  the 
cold  rejoinder. 

"  Come,  come,  you  may  trust  us,  my  dear," 
persisted  the  lady,  significantly;  "we  are  in 
the  secret ;  and  I  can  assure  you  that  both  Mrs. 
Darlington  and  myself  sincerely  rejoice  in  your 
good  fortune,  and  congratulate  both  Lady  Mary 
and  your  father  upon  the  successful  issue  of  all 
their  cai-e ;  you  will  do  them  honor,  my  dear 
Miss  Trevanion,  and  make  a  charming  addition 
to  the  peerage.  It  is,  indeed,  quite  a  triumph, 
both  for  yourself  and  your  family,  and  will  be 
a  sad  blow  to  poor  dear  Lady  Wallscourt,  who, 
after  all  her  scheming,  has  just  been  compelled, 
to  her  extreme  mortification,  to  marry  her 
three  daughters  to  commoners,  and  yet  they 
were  really  nice  girls,  very  nice  girls,  and  even 
tolerably  good-looking ;  but  then  they  had  no 
money,  and  really  society  is  now  in  such  a 
factitious  state  that  men  of  all  stations  look  for 
fortune  with  thei^  wives,  especially  men  of 
rank,  who  are  quite  aware  of  tlie  value  of  what 
they  have  to  bestow." 

♦*  You  labor  under  some  strange  mistake  as 
regards  myself,  madam,"  said  Ida,  quietly;  "as 
I  do  not  anticipate  becoming  the  recipient  of 
the  honor  to  wliich  you  allude." 

"Now  don't  be  obstinate,  Ida;"  drawled  her 
mother,  suddenly  leaning  forward  in  her  chair; 
"  Lady  Somers  knows  that  you  are  to  marry 
Lord  Downmere.  Your  father  mentioned  that 
it  was  all  settled,  before  you  came  into  the 
drawing-room,  to-night." 

"  Impossible  1"  exclaimed  Miss  Trevanion,  in- 
dignantly. 

"  Quite  the  contrary,  my  love,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Darlington;  "we  have  been  assured  that  it  is 
an  affaire  fini.e,  and  very  well  finished  too, 
take  my  word  for  it.  You  see  papas  will  be- 
tray secrets ;  it  is  their  privilege ;  so  do  not 
look  so  terribly  aggrieved,  but  receive  our  eon- 
gratulations  with  a  good  grace." 

"  Did  my  fiither — did  Mr.  Trevanion,  really 
state  this  to  be  the  case?"  asked  the  agitated 
girl,  as  her  proud  eye  flashed,  and  her  cheek 
crimsoned. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  you  are  fairly  committed ;"  said 
Lady  Sotncrs;  "  and  will  make  your  courtesy 
to  her  majesty  as  a  bride-elect." 

^  I  think  that  she  ought  to  wear  white  and 
pearls ;  that  is  my  opinion,"  droned  Mrs.  Tre- 
vanion; "  if  they  wish  to  know  it." 

No  answer  was  vouchsafed  by  any  of  the 
party,  but  every  eye  was  riveted  u])on  Ida, 
who  stood  with  parted  lips  and  heaving  bosom, 
alternately  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  ,She 
was  stung  to  the  very  heart,  smitten  to  the 
dej)ths  of  her  spirit;  she  could  not  misunder- 
stand the  ungenerous  advantage  which  had 
been  tak"n  of  her;  she  felt  that  ehe  was  in  the 
toils  ;  bnt  her  tvhole  nature  ri>je  in  rebellion 
against  the  moral  wrong  of  which  her  father 
had  been  guilty;  tlie  sjicredness  of  her  affec- 
tions had  been  violated,  and  a  feeling  of  pesent- 
ment  arose  witliin  her  which  at  ouce  restored 
her  to  composure. 

From  that  moment  sb«  lifitcncd  like  one  who 


I  had  no  interest  in  the  subject  imder  discussion. 

I  She  scorned  to  utter  a  disclaimer — what  to 
her,  with  her  bruised  and  wounded  pride,  was 
the  trifling  gossipry  of  a  couple  of  idle  women 
— straws  floating  upon  the  current ;  while  the 
wound  inflicted  by  her  father  sank  down  into 
the  deep  waters  of  her  soul,  and  rested  there. 

"  The  last  tie  is  dissolved  which  bound  us ;" 
she  murmured  to  herself  as  she  retired  for  the 
night ;  "  every  human  being,  breathing  the  air 
of  heaven,  is  gifted  with  the  privilege  of  free 
^vill  where  the  happiness  of  a  whole  existence 
is  at  stake.  Mine  has  been  denied  to  me ,  I 
have  been  degraded  into  a  subject  of  idle 
twaddle  and  sarcastic  gossip.  Be  it  so.  Hence- 
forward it  must  be  ruse  for  ruse."  j 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
"an  event  in  high  life,  etc." 

"When  the  father  and  daughter  met  on  the 
morrow,  their  meeting  was  cold  and  constrain- 
ed, and  neither  alluded  to  the  subject  by  wliich 
they  were  severally  engrossed ;  Mrs.  Trevanion, 
as  was  her  habit  after  receiving  company, 
breakfasted  in  her  dressing-room,  considering 
it  incumbent  upon  her  to  l)e  overcome  by  fa- 
tigue; the  merchant  buried  himself  in  tho 
columns  of  the  I'imcs,  imd  Lady  Mary  Ekin>- 
med  the  pages  of  the  Morning  Pod.  The 
meal  was  a  dreary  one ;  and  at  its  close  Mr. 
Trevanion  ceremoniously  ])resented  to  his 
daughter  a  folded  paper  which  was  lying  be- 
side him,  with  the  intimation  that  he  desired 
to  give  a  ball  on  the  evening  of  the  birthday, 
and  that  she  would  find  in  that  list  the  names 
of  the  guests  whom  he  personally  desired  to  i 
invite,  leaving  the  necessary  additions  to  the  ' 
discretion  of  Lady  Mary  Brooklauds  and  her- 
self. 

"  You  will  see,  Miss  Trevanion,"  he  eaiJ, 
coldly;  "that  the  one  who  heads  the  list  is 
that  of  the  Earl  of  Downmere;  you  will  knoTT 
who  should,  and  who  should  not  be  invited  to 
meet  his  lordsliip;  and  I  need  scarcely  tell  you 
for  your  guidance  that  you  are  committed." 

"  To  what,  sir  ?"  inquired  Ida,  with  a  kind- 
ling cheek. 

"  To  the  world,  and  to  your  own  dignity  and 
propriety  of  feeling.  By  sunset  this  evening, 
thanks  to  a  knot  of  marvel-loving  and  marvel- 
disseminating  women,  all  London  will  be  aware 
that  you  are  pledged  to  the  carl,  and  that  this 
bull  IS  given  in  honor  of  your  betrothal  You 
will  therefore  act  accordingly.  Not  a  word,  if 
you  please ;  tlie  subject  has  been  already  suft> 
eiently  discussed  between  us,  and  I  beg  to  bo 
spared  all  further  verbiage  upon  a  topic  wliich 
has  become  distasteful  to  me.  Will  you  dp 
me  the  favor  to  send  out  the  cards  by  to-morrow 
night  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  was  tho  calm  reply. 

"  Do  not.  Lady  Mary,  if  you  please,  e»ced 
three  hundred,"  pursued  the  merchant;  "I 
need  not  say  that,'  with  one  solitary  excep- 
tion, all  your  friends  will  be  as  ever,  both  wcV 
come  and  acceptable.  I  will  make  the  neces- 
sary arrangements  with  Guuter ;  and  perhaps 
you  will  oblige  mo  by  issuing  your  own  order* 


1 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE, 


49 


0  TaploTT.  I  am  sorry  to  tax  your  Idmliicss 
.()  heavilv.  l>ut  I  nin  solfisli  onoiiirh  to  1)C  uu- 
villiiiLr  to  f  iroiro  the  advautago  uf  your  taste 
jiucl  expoiieiico." 

'  "I  should  like  at  least  to  understand  the 
'xtcnt  of  your  intentions,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Ihe  lady. 

"  Your  judgment  will  be  their  best  limit, 
ladnm;"  was  the  courteous  reply,  I  would 
jequest  of  you  to  bear  in  mind  the  intention 
if  the  festival,  and  to  render  it  worthy  of  its 
iiotive." 

j  I  will  endeavor  to  fulfill  your  wishes  to  the 
jitter;"  smiled  the  family  friend,  careless  that 

3r  nearest  relative  was  officially  excluded 
|om  the  contemplated  fete ;  as  with  a  stately 

i)W,  Mr.  Trevauiou  bade  her  'good  morning,' 

id  stepped  into  his  carriage. 

"  Surely,  my  dear  Ida,  you  are  not  about  to 

landon  me  with  this  herculean  task  upon  my 

inds!"  exclaimed  Lady  Mary,  as  her  young 


mpamon 


was  about  to  leave  the  room. 


I  must  beg  to  be  excused  all  participation 
{  your  labor;"  said  Miss  Trevauion,  with  a 
itter  smile;  "Simmonds  shall  furnish  you 
•;  tb  the  visiting-book,  from  which  I  will  direct 
In  to  erase  the  name  of  Mr.  Sydney  Elphin- 
iline,  and  you  will  then  have  no  difficulty  save 
1;it  of  selection." 

i"  Do  you  wish  to  visit  upon  me  the  annoy- 
ipe  caused  by  your  father  V  asked  the  lady, 
tprecatingly. 

I '  By  no  means ;  but  I  disclaim  all  further 
liht  of  interference  under  tliis  roof." 
''Nay,  nay;  is  not  such  a  disclaimer  either 
fi!mature  or  childish  ?" 
I'  I  think  not." 

i'  Upon  what  then  do  you  base  it?" 
f  Upon  the  very  simple  fact  that  the  exclu- 
b|i  of  the  individual  who  would  have  been 
11  most  welcome  to  myself,  renders  the  whole 
a;.ir  indifferent  to  me." 

'■  Remember,  Ida,  that  I  might  equally  have 
djlined  the  task  on  the  pretext  that  my  own 
n|hewwas  put  hors-de-cmnbat." 
I  You  might,  madam ;  but  you  did  not." 
j  As  a  matter  of  course !  I  can  have  no  right 
tcilietate  to  jlr.  Trevaniou  what  guests  he 
b1  1  receive  under  his  own  roof." 

1  Certainly  not;  nor  have  I  on  my  part  at- 
tepted  to  do  so ;  but  I  may  at  least  exert  my 
ui:iubted  privilege  of  resenting  the  insult 
ofj-ed  to  one  who  is  excluded." 

I  do  really  wish,  my  dear  girl,  that  I  could 
in  ice  you  to  listen  to  reason.  Much  as  you 
rent  your  father's  opposition  to  your  wishes," 
Ba  Lady  Mary;  "I  can  assure  you  that  he 
is  2tuated  only  by  a  desire  to  insure  your 
ha'iiness." 

jlJid  you  always  think  so,  madam  ?"  asked 
helcompanion,  coldly. 

JYes,  certainly — that  is,  after  I  found — " 
That  your  nephew  in  becoming  the  lius- 
I  bn|l  of  Ida  Trevanion  would  not  secure  the 
hail  of  Mr.  Trevanion's  heiress.  Oh,  trust 
mtlmadam,  we  do  not  deceive  each  other. 
Biwe  need  not  waste  words  upon  this  sub- 
jec— my  father  is  right;  it  has  indeed  been 
BuViently  discussed;  let  us  dismiss  it,  and 
ea(j  perform  our  promise.  Invite  your  own 
gu  ts — I  will  take  care  that  the  cards  shall 
beuly  delivered ;  and,  if  it  should  chance  by 


accident  that  my  poor  mother  shouLl  possess 
some  unsuspected  friend  Avhom  it  might  jileas- 
ure  lier  to  see  at  her  side  among  the  crowd 
by  which  she  will  bo  overlooked,  perhaps  you 
will  do  me  tlie  favor  to  insi'rt  that  name 
where,  in  my  selfisliness,  I  might  have  sought 
to  inscribe  another." 

Before  Latlj'  Mary  could  reply,  Miss  Tre- 
vanion had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

THE   LETTEK. 

Ida  did  not,  as  on  former  occasions,  retreat 
to  her  room  to  give  way  to  feelings  of  doubt 
and  wretchedness.  The  first,  after  the  dect- 
laration  made  by  her  father,  was  at  an  end; 
and  from  the  last  she  steadily  resolved  to  es- 
cape through  her  own  agency.  An  emotion 
of  indignant  resentment  swelled  at  her  heart ; 
she  saw  her  affections  and  free-will  set  at 
naught,  and  her  name  compromised  without 
hesitation  or  apology;  and  a  proud  conscious- 
ness of  her  power  over  her  future  destiny  in- 
vited her  with  a  strength  to  whicli,  despite 
her  bold  seeming,  she  had  not  previously  at- 
tained. She  walked  composed!}^  to  the  hall- 
table,  effaced  the  name  of  Mr.  Elphinstone 
from  the  visiting-book,  and  desired  a  servant 
to  carry  it  without  delay  to  the  breakfast- 
room,  after  which  she  proceeded  to  her  own 
apartment  to  meditate  upon  her  future  line 
of  conduct.  Convinced  as  she  was  of  the  sin- 
cerity of  Elphinstone's  afTeetioii,  it  irked  her 
proud  nature  to  condescend,  after  her  resolute 
refusal  to  quit  her  father's  roof  with  him  as  a 
fugitive,  to  volunteer  even  under  the  present 
circumstances  a  retractation  of  her  denial. 
She  painfully  felt  that  so  extreme  a  step  could 
be  rendered  endurable  to  her  own  sense  of 
delicacy  and  self-respect  only  by  the  earnest 
pleadings  of  the  man  for  whom  she  was  about 
to  sacrifice  all  her  long-cherished  dreams  of 
prosperity  and  filial  duty;  and  although  while 
smarting  under  the  first  sting  of  wounded 
pride,  she  had  resolved  to  emancipate  herself 
at  once  by  uniting  her  fate  with  tliat  of  Mr. 
Elpliinstone,  she  had  no  sooner  seated  herself 
at  her  desk  tlian  the  difficulty  of  declaring 
her  determination  rushed  upon  Iier  in  its  full  ^ 
force,  and  dj'cd  her  cheek  and  brow  with  ^ 
crimson.  A  thousand  possibilities  swept  across 
lier  imagination,  and  almost  maddened  her. 
What  if  his  jirudence,  and  the  representations 
of  his  calculating  relatives,  should  have  pro- 
duced a  change  in  his  sentiments — what  would 
then  be  her  position  ?  Would  she  not  be  an 
object  of  scorn  to  the  world,  and  degraded 
forever  in  her  own  eyes  ?  The  thought  was  a 
bitter  one;  she  flung  down  her  pen:  she  felt 
as  though  she  had  not  courage  to  brave  sucli 
a  contingency ;  and  she  was  still  wavering 
between  love  and  pri<le,  when  Mademoiselle 
Seraphine  entered  the  room,  and  with  a  sig- 
nificant smile  laid  a  note  beside  her,  saying, 
as  she  did  so: 

"  I  trust  that  niadame  will  not  be  displeased, 
but  I  have  promised  to  convey  an  answer  to 
monsieur." 


50 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE, 


"From  whom  did  you  receive  this?"  in- 
qiiired  !Miss  Trevanion,  who  had  instantly 
recoirnized  the  handwriting  of  her  lover. 

"From  a  gentleman  who  is  now  waiting  in 
his  boat  upon  the  river;"  was  the  reply  of 
the  soubrette;  "I  had  gone  down  to  the  her- 
mitage for  some  clematis  for  the  jardiniere  of 
madame;  of  course  I  asked  no  questions— _/e 
suis  irop  diKcrlf'',  althougli  I  comprehended  at 
once  that  he  was  a  messenger  from  milord." 

"  I  will  return  an  answer  an  hour  hence, 
mademoiselle,"  said  lier  mistress;  "I  presume 
that  the  gentleman,  be  he  who  he  may,  is  not 
in  haste." 

"He  said  that  he  would  wait  madame's 
pleasure." 

"  Such  being  the  case,  yoti  had  better  com- 
plete the  task  upon  which  you  are  engaged ; 
1  will  summon  you  when  my  letter  is  written, 
should  it  be  necessary  to  send  a  reply,"  said 
Ida,  controliiig  her  agitation;  "although  it 
appears  to  me  a  very  extraordinary  method 
of  communication,  for  which  I  can  only  ac- 
count by  su[>posing,  that  the  circumstance  of 
seeing  you  upon  the  spot  must  have  induced 
the  bearer  of  the  note  before  me  to  spare 
himself  the  trouble  of  landing,  and  coming 
up  to  the  house."  ^ 

"  Peid-ltrc ;"  said  the  soubrette  with  a  pecu- 
liar accent. 

"  What  can  you  possibly  mean  by  that  very 
significant '  perhaps,'  mademoiselle?"  demanded 
Miss  Trevanion,  haughtily.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
iufer  that  you  suspect  mo  of  being  engaged  in 
a  claudc'stiue  correspondence  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  displeased  madame," 
replied  the  wily  French  woman  with  well-acted 
humility;  "but  as  I  learned  from  'Cd^  maitrc- 
d' hotel  that  monsieur  had  desired  that  all  let- 
ters addressed  to  madame  should  be  delivered 
only  to  himself,  and  that  two  had  already  been 
received  which  had  not  been  given  to  me  to  cany 
to  madame,  I  thought  that  pei-haps  milord — " 

"  Enough,  enough,  mademoiselle,"  said  her 
mistress,  with  difficulty  repressing  her  indigna- 
tion at  this  new  outrage.  "  Be  good  enough 
to  f  )rm  no  conjectures  which  may,  and  in  all 
probability  must,  turn  out  to  be  erroneous. 
Do  as  I  have  directed,  and  when  I  again  re- 
quire your  presence  I  will  summon  you." 

As  the  soubrette  disappeared,  Ida  tore  open 
the  letter. 

"Wlmt  am  I  to  understand?"  wrote  Mr. 
Eipliinstone  ;  "  why  have  you  so  suddenly  and 
BO  cruelly  discarded  me  ?  Oh,  Ida,  beloved  of 
my  soul,  you  little  know  tlic  heart  wl)ich  you 
are  torturing.  Not  one  word  in  reply  to  my 
letters — no  token  of  your  continued  affection 
to  sustain  me  during  the  bitter  interval  of 
Buspcnse  and  trial  to  which  you  have  yourself 
•ondenmed  me.  How  have  I  deserved  this? 
Is  not  your  love  the  very  priueijile  of  my 
existence  ?  and  v>'ill  you  not,  by  assuring  me 
of  its  continuance,  enable  me  to  bear  our  jiain- 
ful  separation?  Oh,  did  you  only  know — 
•could  you  only  suspect — all  that  I  endure, 
Burely  you  would  not  sacrifice  me  to  the  vain 
prejudices  of  the  world  which  you  have  been 
taught  to  worship,  but  which  can  never  render 
eveu  to  you  the  homagi;  of  a  true  and  loyal 
heart  like  that  which  you  are  so  coldly  casting 


from  you.  Once  more  I  ask — can  yon,  and 
will  you  resign  it  for  my  sake  ?  Have  you 
sufficient  faith  in  my  honor  and  in  my  aftection 
to  trust  your  destiny  in  my  hands?  Forgive 
me  for  thus  urging  you,  but  I  am  maddened  by 
doubts  and  fears,  which  not  even  the  conscious- 
ness of  your  pure  and  truthful  nature  sufBces 

to   dispel.      Banished   from   your    presence 

deprived  of  the  eolaco  of  feasting  my  eves 
upon  the  characters  traced  by  your  hand,  life 
itself  has  become  odious  to  me.  It  will  cost 
me  a  severe  effort  to  approach  your  fathers 
house  like  a  criminal  dreading  detection;  to 
skulk  about  his  premises,  and  to  bribe  one  of 
liis  menials — but  I  have  resolved  to  do  even 
this,  much  as  it  revolts  my  sense  of  right,  in  ' 
order  to  assure  myself  that  this  appeal  at  least 
will  reach  you.  Do  not  refuse  me  a  reply — 
let  me  know  my  fate,  whatever  you  have 
decreed.  It  is  for  you  to  decide  whether  we 
are  to  be  separated  forever,  with  that  bitter 
gulf,  the  world,  between  us;  or  if,  despising 
the  vain  gauds  of  that  same  hollow  world,  you  ■ 
will  make  a  home  of  jteace  and  love  in 'my 
affection.  Sydney." 

There   was   no   hesitation   now  in  the   de- 
meanor of  Miss  Trevanion;    with  a  firm  and 
rapid  hand  she  traced  line  after  line,  until  she 
had   revealed    to   her   expectant    lover  every 
circumstance  which   had   occurred  since  their 
last  meeting,  and  assured  him  of  the  full  and. 
perfect  coufidcuco  with  which  she  should  unite 
her  destiny  to  his.     Slic  told  him,  too,  lier  pro 
jeets  for  the  future,  and  hade  him  trust  to  hei 
firmness  for  their  accomplishment.     "  Fear  no' 
that  I  shall  hesitate  or  quail  before  the  diffi- 
culties which   may   present    themselves,"  sh-' 
said,  in  conclusion  ;   "  the  bad  faith  and  treacb' 
ery  of  those  by  whom  I  am  surrounded  exon 
erate  me  in  my  own  eyes.     I  shall  go  to  yoij 
poor  alike  in  wealth  and  friends,  but  the  ricbe, 
of  your  loA-e  will  more  than  compensate  for  al; 
other  privations.     But  remember,  Sydney,  lio\' 
solenmly  you  have  sworn  that  the  love,  whicl, 
when  once  I  shall  have  become  your  wife,  w'i 
absorb  my  whole  being,  sliidl  never  fail  mo-,- 
remember  how  solemnly  I  have  on  my  paij 
assured  ymi  that  misery  and  ruin  beyond  yoi 
wildest  feai's  would,  aiul  must  be,  the  result  > 
your  falsehood  ;  and  if  you  feel  the  faith  in  ti. 
stal)ility  of  your  aftection  which  I  am  willii 
to  jilaoe  in  it,  wait  undou})tingly  until  the  ni 
meut  I  shall  have  appointed  for  our  final  met 
ing,  and  I  will  become  yours  forever." 

••  Deliver  this  letter  to  the  person  w' 
awaits  it,  mademoiselle,"  she  said,  as  t 
Frenchwoman  appeared  in  obedience  to  li 
sununons.  "  I  have  taken  care  that  you  slii, 
not  be  subjected  to  the  same  trouble  for  t 
future  ;  and  am  sorry  to  hare  detained  t. 
messenger  so  long  on  this  occasion." 


CITAPTER  XYIII. 

THE     JEWEL      CASKET. 

ALTHOtTGii  Mr.  Trevanicm  had,  as  we  bi  ^ 
shown,   eoldlv   discouraged  all   allusion 
estranged  relatives  when  the 


I  all  allusion  to  ,•     I 

""•"■■■■J 


THE    JEALOUS    TVIFE. 


61 


oneilintion  vas  tnootod  by  tho  warm-hearted 
ilr.  Plumbtree,  yet  the  knuwledirc  that  his 
i  uncle  vras  iii>t  only  in  ti^wii,  but  that  he  had 
j  acknowledf^ed  himself  interested  iu  tho  "welfare 
i  of  those  of  whom  he  had  <hiriii^  so  many  years 
I  a-Tected  to  have  forgotten  the  existence,  flat- 
t  lered  his  selfdove,  and  occupied  his  thoughts. 
'  He  -was  well  aware  that  had  he  been  -(^-orsted 
'in  his  struggle  with  tlie  world,  neither  Sir 
'jasper,  nor  his  liaughty  wife,  would  have 
■deigned  to  have  made  a  single  inquiry  into  his 
If.ite;  and  it  was  consequently  with  a  feeling 
of  uatu-al  and  pardonable  exultation  that  he 
dwelt  upon  the  social  ndvantages  by  which  he 
was  surrovinded,  and  remembered  that  he  owed 
them  all  to  his  own  indomitable  energy  and 


iperscverancc. 

[    "Ay,"  he  murmnred  to  himself,    with    a 

Iprond' smile;  "he  has  learned,  at  last,  that 

Ithe  boy  whom  he  thrust  forth,  and  to  whom 

Ihe  would  fain  have  denied  even  the  name 

which  was  his  birthright,  no  longer  needs  the 

upport  that  he  so  ruthlessly  withheld:  he 

las  heard  too,  as  it  would  seem,  that  I  have 

a  daughter,  whose  hand  is  sought  by  some  of 

;he  proudest  of  the  land;  and,  who  knows? 

le  may  perhaps  covet  it  for  his  son — for  the 

ioy  who   stands  between  me  and  the  fond 

'.opes  which  I  •once  indulged ;  but  he  has  still 

f  learrt  that  I  have  a  new  triumph  in  store, 

:rid  it  is  now  his  turn  to  feel  the  pang  of 

lisappointraent ;  <or  it  may  be  that  long  ere 

I  his,  the  gossip  of  the  town  has  tauglit  him 
hat  the  child  of  the  neglected  Hubert  Tre- 
anion  is  about  to  become  a  peeress!  Well 
nay  he  Beck  f^-r  his  pm-vmiie  vtIlq  the  honor 
f  such  an  alliance;  but  let  him  not  imagine 
lat  I  have  either  forgotten  or  forgiven  the 
rrong  which  I  experienced  at  lier  iiands.  It 
ankles  yet,  and  it  shall  be  avenged.  It  is 
ell  that  they  are  here;  just  so  woidd  I  that 
should  be.  As  the  betrothed  bride  of  an 
iri,  Ida  will  excitaeven  more  than  her  usual 
leed  of  admiration  at  eourt^  and  it  is  there 
lat  they  will  meet  for  the  first  time.  Acei- 
ent  has  favored  me  in  this,  at  least;  and  the 
pscnre  country  dame  will  be  taught  to  feel 
ter  insignificance  beside  thefashion  and  favor 
■  my  high-bred  <laugliter," 
Carried  away  by  his  soaring  fancies,  Mr. 
revanion  lost  "sight  for  a  time  of  the  diffi- 
ilties  which  yet  presented  themselves  to  his 
irling  project  in  the  resolute  attitude  as- 
imed  by  the  young  lady  herself;  satisfied 
at  by  giving  a  premature  publicity  to  Lord 
ownmere's  addresses,  he  should  compel  his 
lughter  to  obedience,  and  cause  her  to  sac- 
Bee  her  affections  to  her  regard  for  the 
inion  of  the  world,  he  almost  succeeded  in 
vesting  Jiimselfof  all  anxiety  upon  the  sub- 
ct.  H<;  had  carefully  intercepted  the  letters 
j  Elpliinstone,  and  he  trusted  that  the  mere 
■fspicion  of  his  neglect  would  excite  her  in- 
^nation,  and  mold  her  to  his  own  will.  Of 
y  further  interference  on  the  part  of  Lady 
irv  Brooklands  he  had  no  fear,  as'he  had 
t  been  for  so  many  years  domesticated  with 
^at  very  self-.seeking  individual  without  ap- 
|eciatiug  at  their  just  value  the  qualities  of 
Y  heart  and  mind.  That  she  would  have 
•jcouraged  by  every  means  in  her  power  a 
ilxrriage  between  her  needy  nephew  and  his 


heiress,  he  well  knew;  but  he  was  also  quite 
aware  that  the  threat  which  he  had  hol.l  out 
of  discarding  Ida  forever  in  the  event  of 
disobedience,  had  worked  a  decided  change 
in  her  ladyshiiVs  sentiments  and  views. 
Thus,  then,  he  believed  himself  secure;  and, 
disregarding  the  undisguise<l  repugnance  of 
Ida,  he  insisted  that  her  preparations  for  the 
birthday  presentation  should  bo  of  the  most 
costly  and  expensive  kind. 

Hitherto,  guided  by  her  own  judicious  and 
unerring  taste.  Miss  Trevanion  had  on  such 
occasions  studiously  avoided  all  affectation  of 
display  ;  nor  had  her  father  sought  to  change 
her  resolution,  although  his  pride  would  not 
permit  him  to  acquiesce  in  her  reasons  for  a 
simplicity  of  attire,  which  he  considered  mis- 
placed ;  on  this  occasion,  however,  he  forbade 
all  opposition;  and,  heedless  of  her  entreaties, 
he  sternly  commanded  that  his  will  should  be 
obeyed. 

Sick  at  heart,  and  burdened  by  a  painful 
consciousness  of  the  bitter  disappointment 
which  she  was  about  to  inflict  upon  his  pride, 
Ida  was  dragged  by  her  officious  chaperonc 
from  one  emporium  of  vanity  to  another,  and 
dp.ily  compelled  to  listen  for  hours  to  discus- 
sions in  wliich,  although  she  was  herself  their 
object,  she  could  not  even  affect  an  interest; 
and  thus  the  time  wore  wearily  on  until  the 
day  drew  near  which  was  to  be  the  turning- 
point  of  her  whole  after-existence. 

The  house  was  full  of  upholsterers  and  flor- 
ists preparing  for  the  fete,  and  scarcely  an  , 
apartment  remained  uninvaded;  even  in  her 
own  room  the  wretched  girl  could  with  dila- 
cuUy  succeed  in  securing  herself  froifl  intru- 
sion ;  and  yet  what  fearful  need  she  had  of 
solitude  ?  As  she  gazed  wildly  about  her,  her 
breath  came  quick  and  short,  and  the  hot 
blood  throbbed  like  a  lava-tide  in  her  aching 
temples.  Scattered  over  the  chairs  and  sofas 
lay  the  rich  satins  and  tissues  which  seemed 
to  mock  at  her  misery,  and  to  deepen  the  sin- 
fulness of  the  act  to  which  she  had  pledged 
herself.  At  times  she  clinched  her  hands 
fiercely  together,  as  though  she  would  have 
clutched  and  rent  them ;  and  at  others  the 
large  tears  coursed  slow  and  cold  down  her 
pallid  cheeks,  and  a  faintncss  as  of  death  ap- 
peared to  paralyze  her  spirit,  as  she  sat  with 
her  gaze  riveted  upon  the  ground,  buried  in 
her  own  miserable  thoughts.  Yet  still  she 
did  not  waver;  her  lieart  was  firm  even  while 
s!ie  acknowledged  to  herself  that  the  pang 
was  a  more  bitter  one  than  she  had  feared; 
"My  mother — my  poor  mother!"  was  the 
voiceless  cry  of  that  smitten  heart;  "who 
will  she  have  to  love  her  when  I  am  gone?" 
Could  she  have  detected  one  look  of  affection, 
one  symptom  of  sympathy  on  the  stern  coun- 
tenance of  her  father,  as  pale  and  sad  she  met 
him  day  by  day  when  the  family  assembled 
at  their  hurried  meals,  she  felt  that  she  could 
have  flung  herself  on  her  knees  before  him, 
and  once  more  urge  him  not  to  drive  lier  to 
an  act  of  desperation  unworthy  of  herself; 
but  Mr.  Trevanion  continued  calm  and  cold, 
and  vouciisafed  no  comment  on  her  altered 
appearance. 

The  conversation  at  table  turned  wliolly  on 
the  arrangements  for  the  ball,  and  was  iiiter- 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE, 


Bpersed  ■with  the  querulous  complaints  of  her 
mother,  whose  comfort  had  been  iiivade<l,  and 
whose  sugsjestions  had  been  treated  witli  dis- 
regard. Like  all  weak  people,  31  rs.  Trevanion 
visited  her  annoyance  upon  those  whom  she 
could  blame  without  fear  of  reprisal ;  and 
thus,  not  daring  to  reproach  either  her  hus- 
band or  Lady  ^lary,  she  poured  forth  the 
diluted  vials  of  her  wrath  upon  her  daughter, 
to  whom  she  found  it  expedient  to  attribute 
her  privations  and  mortification.  Ida,  who 
had  every  thing  her  own  way,  might  have 
contrived  to  leave  her  morning-room  undis- 
turbed, but  Ida  had  been  spoiled  by  over- 
indulgence, and  thought  only  of  her  own 
convenience.  Ida  had  no  consideration  for 
her,  and  was  so  engrossed  by  her  anticipated 
pleasures  tiiat  she  (juitc  overlooked  the  fact 
that  her  motlicr  had  some  right  to  considera- 
tion and  respect ;  but  perhaps  she  was  wrong 
to  expect  it  under  the  circumstances,  when 
the  liead  of  Ida  was  half-turned  by  the  pros- 
pect before  her. 

Those  only  who  have  been  subjected  to  such 
an  ordeal  as  this,  when  their  hearts  were  burst- 
ing with  a  hidden  griefj  can  appreciate  the  feel- 
ings with  wliich  her  victim  listened  to  her  sense- 
less upbraidings,  and  sought  to  appease  her 
anger;  how  truly  could  she  have  ai3sured  her 
that  her  petty  sorrows,  irksome  nsjlhey  might 
bo  to  bear,  were  but  as  atoms  beside  the  one 
great  misery  by  which  she  was  herself  borne 
down  ;  but  "her  lips  were  scaled,  and  when  she 
could  have  cried  aloud  for  mercy,  even  from  the 
very  depths  of  her  spirit,  she  bowed  her  head, 
and  suftered  in  silence. 

At  length  the  eventful  day  arrived,  and  great 
was  the  exultation  of  Mademoiselle  Seraphine 
)  when,  on  presenting  herself  to  dress  her  j'oung 
lady  for  court,  she  placed  upon  the  toilet  a 
casket  which  had  just  arrived  as  an  offering 
from  the  Earlo  of  Downmero,  and  which  con- 
tained a  magnificent  parure  of  opals  and  pearls. 

"  ifaJ^  c'est  vraiment  superhe .'"  sho  exclaim- 
ed, holding  the  costly  gems  against  the  light, 
^^Jfadayne  sera  ravi.ssante !  En  voilil  potir  au 
onoins  mille  livres — d  d'un  gout! — d'un  goai!" 

Ida  sliuddered,  and  turned  away.  "  Arrange 
my  hair  as  simply  as  circumstances  will  permit," 
she  said,  languidly ;  "  I  shall  bo  weighed  down 
by  finery,  which  3-our  good  taste  must  subdue 
as  far  as  may  be  possible.  That  tinsel  trum- 
perj-  upon  my  dress  annoys  me ;  remove  it, 
mademoiselle,  and  replace  it  by  something  less 
obtrusive." 

"  Mail,  madame — " 

"You  will  oblige  mo  by  obeying  my  direc- 
tion!?," interposed  Miss  Trevanion,  in  a  tone  of 
decision  which  her  attendant  well  knew  that  it 
was  vain  to  dispute. 

"  Madame  must  then  choose  between  white 
roses  and  pomegranate  blossoms,"  was  tiie 
sullen  reply ;  '•  it  will  bo  impossible  to  loop  this 
silver  blonde  with  any  other  color." 

"You  are  rlglit,"  said  Ida  with  a  faint  smile, 
"the  white  rosea  are  precisely  suited  to  the 
occasion." 

"  But  madame  will  of  course  permit  me  to 
arrange  iWisguidande  in  Iier  liair."  persisted  the 
femme-de-chamhre,  as  she  pointed  to  a  diadem 
contained  in  the  jewel-case  of  tiio  earl,  "  to 
match  the  ornameuta  upon  her  robe  ?" 


"I  shall  not  wear  them,"  was  the  indifferent 
reply,  as  Miss  Trevanion  closed  the  casket  and 
thrust  it  from  her ;  "  my  mother  has  been  kind 
enough  to  offer  me  the  loan  of  her  diamonds, 
and  I  could  not  pay  her  so  poor  a  compliment 
as  to  appear  in  any.  others." 

"A  lahonne  henre  T  ejaculated  the  French- 
woman* whoso  peisonal  vanity  was  involved 'in 
the  appearance  of  her  mistress ;  and  without 
further  opposition,  the  toilet  of  tho  young  lady 
was  completed. 

vVnd  very  lovely  were  tho  face  and  figure  re- 
flected in  the  chcval  glass,  when  the  task  of 
the  accomplished  Mademoiselle  Seraphine  was 
brought  to  a  close.  It  is  true  that  the  cheek 
of  Ida  was  very  pale,  and  her  whole  appearance 
languid  and  subdued,  but  this  circumstance 
rather  tended  to  enhance  than  to  diminish  tho 
peculiar  stylo  of  her  beauty.  AVith  her  dark 
hair  parted  smoothly  across  her  brow,  cinctur- 
ed by  a  bandeau  of  brilliants,  from  which  the 
white  phmics  fell  back  like  a  shower  of  mist; 
the  girdle  of  her  costly  robe  fastened  by  a  single 
diamond  of  great  size  and  price,  and  her  snowy 
train  looped  by  hedge-roses,  she  was  indeed  the 
I  very  perfection  of  queen-like  loveliness ;  and 
for  a  moment  even  her  voluble  attendant  gazed 
upon  her  in  silent  admiration. 

'■  Sont-elles  Idles,  ccs  Anglaises  ?"  was  her 
mental  ejaculation,  as  she  handed  to  her  mis- 
tress her  gloves  and  bouquet  on  the  announce- 
ment of  the  carriage ;  when  Miss  Trevanion 
proceeded  to  the  apartment  of  her  mother,  as 
was  her  usual  custom,  to  give  and  receive  a  : 
parting  kiss.  ', 

"Well,  Ida,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Trevanion  with 
unusual  animation,  as  sho  saw  her  approach ;  ' 
"  You  are  come  at  last  to  show  me  Lord  Down- 
mere's  present.  How  do  the  opals  suit  your  ' 
dress  ?  I3ut,  bless  me,  child,  j-ou  have  not  put  j 
them  on  \  And  j'ou  have  ruined  both  your  ; 
skirt  and  train  hj  removing  the  silver  ribbonp.  , 
What  can  yow  mean  b}'  wasting  so  much  money?  ' 
And  why  did  you  not  wear  your  opals  ?"  ' 

"  Because,  mother,"  replied  tho  young  lady, 
with  a  snd  smile,  "  I  felt  happier  in  these  jewels  , 
which  belong  to  you."  j 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Trevanion,  querulous- ; 
ly,  "  I  wanted  to  see  what  his  lordship  had  sent 
to  you,  and  you  seem  to  take  a  pleasure  in  dis- ' 
appointing  me."  j 

"  So  fnr  from  it,"  was  the  rejoinder  of  Ida,  as. 
sha  pressed  her  lips  upon  the  brow  of  iior  moth-' 
er,  "that  you  have  oidy  to  desire  Seraphine  to, 
bring  them  to  you,  when  you  can  inspect  them : 
at  your  leisure.  Indeed,  you  will  do  me  a' 
favor  if  you  will  aUow  me  to  leave  them  in  yojir; 
custody." 

■  "  Well,  then,  ring  the  bell,  and  give  youi. 
orders,  only  let  me  see  them  at  once,"  was  tin 
impatient  reply,  "  and  now  go,  for  you  must  bi' 
keeping  Lady  Mary  waiting."  .. 

With  a  weary  sigh.  Miss  Trevanion  obeyed. 
No  kind  wish,  no  exulting  assurance  from  i' 
mother's  lips  went  with  her;  no  comment  ha< 
been  elicited  by  her  heavy  eye  and  pallid  chock, 
no  return  of  lier  endearment  had  been  oflercd 
and  ;is  sho  descended  tho  staircase  wliich  w:i 
already  garlanded  with  flowers,  and  storrc, 
with  minute  lampions  in  preparation  for  tli 
festival  of  tho  night,  her  heart  swelled  ulmw 
to  bursting,  and  it  was  only  by  a  violent  effoi 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


tint  slio  drove  back  the  tears  which  fahi  would 
have  forced  a  passage. 

"  Not  one  memory  of  affection  to  bear  away 
with  me;"  she  murmured  to  lierself;  "not 
onel  But  perhaps  it  is  better  so;  I  shall  not 
break  one  loving  heart ;  I  shall  uot  betray  one 
trusting  spirit  A  few  glittering  baubles  will 
sufi&ceto  supply  my  place — I  shall  bo  soon 
discarded  and  forgotten!" 

And  the  radiant  being  who  felt  and  reflected 
thus,  w;is  decked  in  diamonds  and  wreathed 
with  roses ! 

la  the  hall,  Miss  Trevanion  encountered  her 
chaperone,  stately  in  purple  velvet  and  antique 
point.  As  her  beautiful  charge  approached 
her,  Ladv  Mary  gave  one  rapid  glance  over  her 
(person,  by  which  she  instantly  detected  the 
I  failure  of  all  her  laborious  arrangements,  but 
jehe  voueluafed  no  remark  upon  the  subject; 
land  ero  long  the  well-appointed  equipage  with 
[its  occupants  whirled  through  the  gates  upon 
its  courtly  errand. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   BIRTHDAY. 

Mr.  Trevaniox  had  calculated  correctly. 
The  intelligence  of  his  daughter's  betrothal  to 
Lord  Dowumere  had  circulated  throughout  all 
the  circles  likely  to  take  an  interest  in  the 
event;  and  great,  consequently,  was  the  curi- 
osity excited  by  her  appearance.  As  is  usual 
La  cases  of  the  kind  there  were  many  who 
pitied  her,  or  affected  to  do  so,  for  her  folly  in 
obviously  sacrificing  her  happiness  to  rank: 
while  there  were  not  wanting  others  who 
laughed  at  the  short-sightedness  of  the  old 
eari,  and  propliesied  for  him  a  future  little 
Battering  to  either  party, 

"  A  wretched  mesalliance,  to  say  the  least  of 
t ;"  sneered  a  dowager  duchess  with  three  un- 
married daughters ;  "  the  girl  was  well  enough 

an  acquaintance,  although  it  can  not  be  de- 
lied  that  Lady  Mary  Brooklands  has  overacted 
aer  part  by  thrusting  her  into  the  society 
tvhere  one  has  met  her;  but  for  a  man  of  Lord 
Downmere's  station  to  marry  her  is  really  too 
3ad.  This  leveling  system  is  hateful,  and  I 
luite  expect  that  if  it  is  not  soon  put  a  stop'to, 
Te  shall  have  our  sons  looking  for  wives  among 
)ur  dairy-maids." 

My  "dear  duchess  ;"  said  a  gaunt  and  titled 
ipinster,  with  the  blood  of  the  Bruce  in  her 
iwoUea  veins-  "I  am  glad  to  hear  you  so 
lotlj  denounce  these  frightful  innovations.  I 
lave  always  discountenanced  them,  and  I 
iways  shall.'" 

"But  you  will  at  least  admit,  Lady  Mar- 
:aret,"  interposed  a  young  guardsman,  upon 
vhose  arm  she  leant;  "  that  the  bride  elect  is 
ery  beautiful" 

"  I  will  admit  nothing  of  the  kind,  Captain 
Jlavering;  said  his  companion,  tartly ;  "  she  is 
s  pale  as  a  corpse." 

"  And  her  diamonds !"  exclaimed  the  duches.'s 
1  an  accent  of  affected  disgust;  "can  you  in> 
gine  such  presumption  !    She  plays  the  peeress 

little  prematurely  but  I  suppose  they  are  in- 
jnded,  like  the  sign  before  a  way-side  inn,  to 
ive  notice  of  her  quality." 


"  Do  not  quarrel  with  her  diamonds ;"  lauehcd 
Sir  Marmaduke  Pennefather,  who  was  supposed 
to  be  paying  his  court  to  one  of  the  threo 
rather  mature  Ladies  Oglandor,  and  who  was, 
consequently,  a  privileged  ()creon;  "let  her  air 
them  while  she  can,  for  before  long,  if  I  aui  not 
greatly  mistaken,  tliey  will  help  to  cancel  ono 
of  the  long  standing  and  inconvenient  '  obliga- 
tions' of  her  noblo  spouse." 

"  Oh,  is  it  so  ?"  said  her  grace,  evidently  re-    , 
lieved  by  the  inference,     "I  was  not  aware    '■ 
that  tho  poor  old  earl  was  so  deeply  involved, 
I   see — I  see;  well,    perhaps   ho  might   Iiavo 
done  worse  under  the  circumstances.      Time 
will  show." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Lady  Margaret  Bruce,  "if 
her  Majesty  has  heard  of  tho  intended  mar-  : 
riage,  and  if  so,  whetlier  she  will  condescend 
to  congratulate  her.  I  sincerely  hope  not,  for 
such  a  demonstration  on  the  part  of  royalty 
would  bo  a  dangerous  sanction  to  these  un- 
equal, and  I  must  say,  unnatural  marriages." 

"  Her  father  is  well  connected,  you  must  re- 
member ;"  again  broke  in  Sir  Marmaduke ; 
"  the  Trevanions  are  cf  a  good  old  familj-,  and 
Mr.  Trevanion's  mother  was  the  daughter  of  an. 
Irish  earl" 

"The  man  himself  is  in  trade,"  said  the 
duchess,  disdainfully,  as  she  drew  her  train 
closer  over  her  arm;  "  and  I  shall  always  be 
cf  opinion  that  such  people  have  no  business 
here." 

"  Tour  grace  must  remember  that  a  very  high 
authority  declared  us  to  be  '■  a  nation  of  shop- 
keepers,' "  gayly  remarked  the  baronet. 

"You  don't  say  sol"  exclaimed  tho  Scotch 
spinster,  shrugging  her  thin  shoulders;  "does 
her  father  really  keep  a  shop  ?" 

Sir  Marmaduke  laughed,  and  brushed  away  a 
grain  of  snutf  from  his  embroidered  waistcoat, 
as  he  replied:  "//  y  a  boutique  et  loutiijue, 
my  dear  madam,  and  I  really  must  -beg  that 
I  may  not  be  quoted  as  your  authority  for  so 
uncomfortable  a  blunder.  I  know  nothing 
of  Mr.  Trevanion  save  by  report,  and  I  confesa 
that  no  rumor  has  yet  reached  me  of  the 
shop." 

'•  All  this  is  very  ridiculous,"  said  the  duch- 
ess, impatiently ;  "  and  I  do  not  know  why  we 
should  waste  so  many  words  upon  so  insignifi- 
cant a  subject ;  all  that  I  regret  in  tiie  business 
is  tho  fact  that  as  Lord  Downmere  is  an  old  ac- 
quaintance of  the  duke's,  and  that  their  estates 
lie  in  tho  same  county,  I  shall  be  in  some  sort 
conij)clled  to  bo  civil  to  this  parvenue  peeress, 
which  will,  I  fear,  bo  a  very  up-hill  and  ungra- 
cious task." 

AV'hilo  this  conversation,  of  which  she  was 
the  unconscious  subject,  was  progressing  in  tho 
great  saloon.  Miss  Trevanion  had  passed  into 
the  royal  presence,  and  made  her  courtesy  to 
tho  sovereign,  by  whom  her  reverence  was  ac-  1  / 
knowledged  by  a  silent  but  gracious  smile,  ;rid  / ' 
where  her  extraordinary  beauty  and  graccCul 
self-possession  had  compelled  the  admiriition 
even  of  those  to  whom  slio  was  an  object  of 
covert  envy  or  of  assumed  contempt. 

As  she  re-appeared  in  tho  other  drawing- 
room,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Lady  Mary  Brook- 
lands,  tho  first  person  by  whom  eiio  w.is  ap- 
proached was  Mr.  Plumbtreo,  at  who-c  Hide 
Stood  a  tall,  and  stern,  but  nohlc-lookiw^  man, 


54: 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


somewhat  advanced  in  years,  who  bore,  as  she  ! 
instantly  remarked,  a  strong  likeness  to  her 
father.  There  was  the  same  cold  and  keen  ex- 1 
pression  in  tiie  eye,  the  same  rigidity  about  the 
lips,  and  above  all,  the  same  lowering  expres-  j 
sion  of  the  brow;  and  her  heart  beat  quicker  as 
a  suspicion  crossed  her  mind  that  she  now 
looked  lor  the  lirst  time  upon  the  long- 
ootranged  relative  of  whom  she  had  heard  so 
much. 

"My  dear  young  friend,"  said  Mr.  Plumb- 
tree,  still  holding  her  hand  after  the  first  greet- 
ings were  over,  "  this  is  a  pleasant  moment  for 
Die,  a  very  pleasant  moment,  as  I  have  now  tho 
opportunity  of  making  you  known  to  your 
uncle — or  great-uncle,  I  should  rather  say — Sir  j 
Jasper  Trevanion,  who  is  anxious,  like  the  rest 
of  us,  to  offer  to  you  our  greetings  and  congrat- 
ulations. I  may  transfer  this  little  hand  to  j 
him,  may  I  not?" 

"  As  freely  as  I  gladly  yield  it ;"  smiled  Ida,  | 
with  a  bright  blush  of  genuine  pleasure,  as 
she  placed  her  slender  fingers  upon  the  palm 
whicli  was  open  to  receive  them  ;  "  I  feel  hon- 
ored and  happy  that  Sir  Jasper  should  desire 
my  acquaintance." 

"  "Who  could  do  otherwise ;"  was  the  cordial 
rejoinder  of  the  baronet ;  "who  could  be  oth- 
erwise tlian  proud  of  so  fair  and  beautiful  a 
kinswoman?  and  I  trust,  moreover,  Miss  Tre- 
vanion, that  you  may  prove  in  deed  as  well  as 
look,  tlie  dove  which  is  to  bear  the  olive- 
branch  between  mo  and  your  worthy  father. 
You  can  not  be  ignorant  that  circumstances, 
whieli  it  would  avail  little  to  recapitulate,  have 
rendered  us  for  years  strangers  to  each  other ; 
there  may  have  been,  and  doubtlessly  there 
was,  blame  on  both  sides ;  he  was  young,  im- 
petuous, and  reckless,  while  I  was  uncompro- 
mising and  exacting  ;  but  long  years  have 
passed  over  us  since  we  last  met ;  I  am  an  old 
man  now,  and  anxious  to  be  at  peace  with  all 
tho  world ,  doubly  desirous,  therefore,  to  live 
in  amity  and  friendship  with  those  of  my  own 
name  and  blood.  Surely,  then,  Hubert  Treva- 
nion will  not  be  more  obdurate  than  myself — 
but  I  can  not  apprehend  that  such  can  be  the 
case  with  so  cliarming  a  mediator  as  the  one 
before  me  to  speak  peace  between  us." 

"  Believe  me,  Sir  Jasper" — commenced  his 
niece,  but  she  was  interrupted  in  her  intended  j 
rejoinder  by  tlie  voice  of  Mr.  Plumbtree,  who 
had  been  engaged  in  a  conversation  with  her  | 
companion,  and  who  at  that  moment  exclaimed 
impc-tuously ;  "You  will  excuse  me,  madam, 
but  I  am  reluctant  to  believe  such  a  thing  pos- 
sible— so  nearly  related — the  last  members  of  a 
fine  old  funily,  who  should  hang  together  like 
ivy-tendrils,  and  nnitually  support  tho  proud 
edifice  which  it  ha.s  taken  centuries  to  rear — 
no,  no ;  I  have  a  better  opinion  of  the  good 
feeling  and  judgment  of  my  friend  Trevanion  ; 
and,  by  tho  by,  madam,  allow  ine  the  honor 
of  jiresenting  you  to  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion,  the 
uncio  of  your  iipst," 

The  baronet  bowed  coldly,  and  his  salutation 
■was  as  coldly  returned  ;  when  a  group  of  ladies 
near  tliem  having  vacated  their  scats,  the  little 
party  took  possession  of  them.  Sir  Jasper  still 
retaining  his  place  beside  his  niece,  and  pursu- 
ing a  conversation  which  was  only  interrupted 
at  intervals  by  the  greetings  exchanged  be- 


tween Miss  Trevanion  and  her  numerous  ac- 
quaintance. 

"  I  have  but  one  regret  at  the  present  mo- 
ment;" said  tho  gentleman,  courteously;  "and 
that  is  that  I  am  deprived  of  the  gratification 
of  making  you  known  to  Lady  Trevanion,  who 
was  prevented  by  indisposition  from  payin*^ 
her  respects  to  her  Majesty  to-day ;  mysoiv 
however,  is  here,  and  I  trust  1  sliall  be  fortu- 
nate enough  to  present  him  to  his  Ciir  cousin, 
whose  favor  he  is  most  anxious  to  propitiate,; 
and  whose  friendship  he  would  be  proud  to  ac- ' 
quire ;  not,  believe  me,  my  dear  Miss  Treva- 
nion, because  the  busy  tongue  of  rumor  has.in- 
formed  him  that  she  will  be  cro  long  enrolled 
among  the' noblest  ladies  of  the  land,  bnt  be-' 
cau.'e  he  has,  like  myseli^  for  years  deplored 
the  feud  in  our  family  which  has  deprived  him 
of  the  society  and  regard  of  so  charming  a 
relative." 

"I  am  delighted  beyond  measure,  Sir  Jas- 
per," replied  Ida,  with  a  glowing  cheek,  ''that, 
the  rumor  to  which  you  allude  had  no  influencoi 
over  his  wish  for  a  reconciliation,  which  1 
should  most  warmly  welcome,  as  I  assure  you,^ 
and  I  rejoice  that  you  have  afforded  to  me  thei 
opportunity  of  so  doing,  that  the  report  in' 
question — for  you  refer,  no  doubt,  to  my  sup 
posed  engagement  to  Lord  Downmcre — has  nc 
foundation  whatever  in  truth.  The  carl  la  j! 
mere  acquaintance,  of  whom  I  have  hithertc' 
seen  but  little,  and  who  it  is  extremely  prob, 
able  that,  after  to-day,  I  shall  never  sc(' 
again."  "  ; 

"  You  astonish  me.  Miss  Trevanion,  as  I  ha(| 
been  positively  as.sured  in  several  quarters  tha  i 
your  father  gave  an  entertainment  this  eveninj' 
in  honor  of  your  betrothal." 

"  There  will,  indeed,  be  a  ball  at  our  hous'' 
to-night ;"  replied  Ida  with  a  quivering  lip,  a; 
her  eyes  sank  and  her  breast  heaved;  "bu; 
excuse  me,  Sir  Jasper — ^the  subject  is  a  painfu: 
one." 

"  Not  another  word,  my  fair  reice,  not  anoth 
er  word ;"  hastily  interposed  the  baronet ;  " 
sincerely  grieve  that  I  should  have  distreqse 
you  by  any  allusion  to  the  subject,  nor  shoul  ■ 
I  have  ventured  to  do  so,  had  I  not  heard  thj 
marriage  publicly  mentioned  as  a  thing  abs( 
lutely  and  avowedly  arranged.  But  nowyo 
will  perhaps  permit  me  to  seek  my  son,  whi 
would  scarcely  pardon  mo  were  I  to  depriv 
him  of  so  favorable  an  opportunity  of  be  comin' 
known  to  you.  May  I  ask  you  to  do  me  tl , 
favor  to  retain  your  sent  while  I  thread  th' 
lalnTirith  of  plumes  and  trains?  I  will  eudeav' 
not  to  detain  you  long." 

Miss  Trevanion  bowed  her  assent  in  sileno 
for  happy  as  she  felt  in  the  hope  (hat  tl . 
meeting  with  her  relatives  might  lead  to  a  r 
newal  of  friendly  intercourse  between  the  loii' 
estranged  members  of  the  family,  she  exj, 
rienced  a  sensation  of  relief  at  tIiedi.scontinuan! 
of  a  conversation  which  agitated  and  oppres.s 
her. 

As  the  stately  baronet  rose  and  moved  aw; 
Lady  Mary  Brooklands,  whoso  attention  li 
been  so  systematically  engaged  by  the  pertii 
cious  Mr.  Plumbtree,  that  she  had  failed 
catch  the  purport  of  the  dialogue  which  \^ 
going  on  beside  her,  and  who  was  consequr 
ly  unaware  of  the  important  disclaimer  wh 


Tiiis    jji:al,uu»    ^vli'^K. 


55 


her  fair  clmrgo  had  just  uttered,  turned  toward 
her  with  a  supercilious  smile,  and  said  ironieal- 
ly :  "  You  see,  Ida,  the  magic  of  a  eoronet. 
Who  may  rou  not  hope  to  have  at  your  feet, 
wheu  the  unbending  master  of  Trevanion  Hall, 
can  not  resist  its  spelL" 

"  You  are  mistaken,  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Plumbtree,  emphatically ;  "  and  you  do  Sir 
Jasper  wrong.  Ho  is  influenced  by  no  con- 
sideration of  the  kind,  I  can  most  positively 
assure  you.  My  friend,  the  bare  net  is  a  greater 
personage  in  liis  own  county,  than  any  mere 
titled  individual  can  ever  bo  in  this  huge  me- 
tropolis ;  and  whatever  may  have  been  tlie  faults 
or  errors  of  his  earlier  life,  there  does  not  at  the 
present  moment  exist  on  earth  a  kinder  or  a 
warmer-hearted  man."' 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  Lady  Trevanion  ?" 
demanded  Ida. 

"  As  intimately  as  plain  Mr.  Plumbtree  can 
he,"  said  the  country  gentleman  good-humored- 
]y ;  "  and  more  so,  in  all  probability,  than  I 
should  have  been,  had  I  not  fortunately  written 
M.P.  after  my  name.  In  short,  for  I  may  as 
well  confess  to  you  at  once  what  with  your  dis- 
crimination you  will  be  at  no  loss  to  discover 
■when  you  see  husband  and  wife  together,  my 
fdend  Sir  Jasper  is  not  a  happy  man  at  his  own 
Preside.  Luckily  his  son  is  a  fine  fellow  who 
does  justice  to  his  worth ;  but  a  cold  hearth, 
&  I  trust  you  will  never  know  by  experience, 
my  dear  young  lady,  docs  not  make  a  cheerful 
Lome." 

^'  And  this  said  home-chill  has  caused  an  out- 
ward expansion  of  the  gentleman's  sympathies. 
Is  not  that  what  you  would  infer?"'  asked  Lady 
Mary  in  the  same  accent  as  she  had  previously 
spoken. 

"  I  infer  nothing,  madam ;"  said  Mr.  Plumb- 
tree,  perfectly  unmoved  by  the  oft'ensive  manner 
of  her  supercilious  ladyship;  "I  simply  state 
■what  is  the  truth,  that  my  friend,  probably  feel- 
ing that  as  he  had  committed  a  mistake  him- 
self, it  was  quite  possible  that  others  might  ha\-o 
been  equally  misled,  and  that  although  his  own 
■was  irremediable,  a  remedy  might  be  found  for 
that  which  was  not  so,  is  sincerely  desirous  to 
repair  the  evil  in  so  far  as  it  depends  on  him  to 
do  it ;  and  that  it  is  with  perfect  good  faith  ho 
now  seeks  a  reconciliation  with  his  nephew.  It 
u  probable  enough  that  had  he  been  a  happier 
man,  his  affections  might  have  ceutercd  in  his 
home,  and  made  him  less  depencjent  upon  the 
regard  and  good  will  of  those  Ueyond  it ;  but 
remember,  madam,  that  disappointment  too 
often  tends  to  sour  and  embitter  its  victim  ;  and 
that  he  who  seeks  to  exercise  his  better  feel- 
ings beyond  the  pale  within  which  they  have 
been  chilled  and  blighted,  deserves  some  credit 
for  not  degenerating  into  an  egotist  or  a  ty- 
rant" 

"  Here  comes  my  uncle,"  said  Ida,  glad  of  a 
pretext  to  terminate  the  dialogue. 

"  Ay,  and  his  son  with  him,  I  am  happy  to 
say,"  replied  hu  kind-hearted  advocate. 

"  It  is  time  that  we  prepared  to  depart  " 
exclaimed  La^ly  Mary,  rising;  "our  carriage 
must  be  up,  and  if  we  are  not  on  the  spot  when 
it  is  cried,  we  shall  be  detained  for  another 
hoar." 

"One  moment,  madam;"  said  Ida,  firmly; 
*  Sir  Jasper  has  been  kind  enough  to  seek  my 


cousin  in  order  to  present  him,  and  I  can  not 
bo  guilty  of  such  an  impropriety  as  to  render 
his  trouble  unavailing." 

"As  you  plea.se.  Miss  Trevanion;"  was  tho 
ungracious  reply;   "but   you   must   have  tho 
goodness  to  remember  that  iC,  by  volunteering 
to  form  a  score  of  new  acquaintance  without  j 
my  sanction,  you  incur  the  displeasure  of  your  / 
father,  you  do  it  deliberately." 

.  "I  have  110  apprehension  of  the  kind,  madam;" 
said  tho  young  lady,  indignantly:  '-and  shall 
certainly  not  leave  the  room  until  I  have  been 
introduced  to  my  cousin." 

The  noble  matron  tossed  her  plumed  and 
turbancJ  head  with  the  air  of  one  deeply  ag- 
grieved, and  resumed  her  seat  in  silence,  as 
the  baronet,  follovvod  by  his  son,  succeeded  in 
approaehing  the  party.  Ida  half  rose  as  they 
drew  near,  and  extended  her  h.and  witli  grace- 
ful cordiality  to  her  young  kinsman,  who  bent  J 
low  as  he  received  it ;  while  even  Lady  Mary, 
angry  as  she  was,  could  not  restrain  a  feeling 
of  admiration  at  his  superb  beauty.  Seldom, 
indeed  had  a  more  faultless  form  or  figure 
met  her  aristocratic  and  fastidious  eye.  Of 
more  than  average  height,  nobly  proportioned, 
and  gifted  with  an  ease  and  grace  of  manner 
rarely  equaled.  Sir  Jasper's  heir  had  scarcely 
a  rival  even  in  that  courtly  circle.  In  face 
he  resembled  his  father,  but  his  brow  was 
more  lofty,  and  his  eye  more  open  and  cloud- 
less ;  while  the  smile  which  played  about  his 
lip  was  at  once  frank  and  winning.  There 
was  a  charm,  too,  in  his  low  and  manly  voice 
which  accorded  well  with  the  jieculiar  char- 
acter of  his  whole  appearance ;  and  as  Ida 
met  liis  bright  and  earnest  gaze,  her  heart 
swelled  with  exultation  in  the  iirni  conviction 
that  her  father  must  gladly  and  proudly  ac- 
knowledge lus  relationship  to  one  so  richly 
gifted  by  nature  as  her  peerless  cousin. 

That  he  had  long  been  the  object  of  Mr. 
Trevanion's  espea/il  aversion,  she  well  knew, 
but  as  yet  they  bad  never  met^  nor  did  she 
for  a  moment  permit  hei-self  to  doubt  that 
when  their  meeting  should  take  place,  all 
feeling  of  animosity  would  end  at  once. 

fche  did  not  pauee  to  consider  that  the  noble 
young  man  before  her  stood  between  her 
fatlicr  and  the  baronetcy  to  which  he  had  for 
years  aspired. 

"I  presume,  Miss  Trevanion,"  said  Lady 
Mar}',  at  the  expiration  of  a  few  moments, 
"that  we  may  now  endeavor  to  leave  the 
palace.  Tlie  company  are  rapidly  dispersing, 
and  we  liave  already  remained  too  long.  We 
are  becoming  conspicuous,  which  is  what 
every  high-bred  young  lady  should  be  care- 
ful to  avoid." 

"I  am  at  your  orders,  madam,"  replied 
Ida,  as  she  passed  her  arm  under  the  offered 
arm  of  her  cousin,  while  her  ohaperone,  still 
only  half-appeased,  affected  not  to  remark 
the  courteous  gesture  of  the  baronet,  and 
possessed  lierself  of  that  of  Mr.  Plumbtree; 
"  I  am  really  grieved  that  1  should  have  de- 
tained you  so  long." 

The  patience  of  the  noble  matron,  was, 
however,  destined  to  be  still  further  tested, 
as  on  arriving  in  the  stone  hail,  they  dis- 
covered that  their  carriage  was  not  3'et  up, 
and  she  was  consequently  couii'ullcd  to  while 


55 


THE    JEALOUS    -WIFE, 


away  the  time  in  conversation  -witli  a  score  [  purpose  to  expel  me  from  his  house 

of  other  titled  and  fashionable  de/enucs,  who  I  the  home  of  my  ancestors — ^when  I  was  v    ... 

were  in  the  same  dilemma  as  herself;  while  I  and  f.  ieiidless/anJ  requiredhis  aid  ;  now  that 

Ida,  to  whom  this  meeting  with  her  relations    I  need  it  no  lonLter,  but  am  in   a   position  to 


from 
oung 


offered  a  resource  from  licr  own  painful 
thoughts,  devote<l  her  whole  attention  to  lier 
pratified  companions,  on  whom  her  grace  and 
beauty  had  produced  a  strong  and  lasting 
im]>ression. 

That  his  son  was  the  idol  of  Pir  Jasper's 
lieart,  she  soon  discovered,  and  a  sigh  escaped 
her  as  she  remarked  the  perfect  confiilence 
and  affection  which  existed  between  them. 
Had  she  been  so  loved,  so  trusted,  how  differ- 
ent ft  fate  might  hers  have  been !  Scarcely 
could  she  realize  the  description  which  hati 
been  given  to  her  of  the  stern,  unbending, 
domestic  tyrant  of  Trevanion  Hall,  in  the 
urbane  and  courtly  old  gentleman,  whose 
eyes  rested  upon  the  face  of  his  child  with  a 
dejith  of  love  that  could  not  be  mistaken, 
an<l  as  they  stood  together,  amid  that  brilliant 
and  bu^y  crowd,  she  forgot  the  past  in  bright 
and  hopeful  visions  of  the  future — that  future 
which  Avas  even  then  yawning  dark  and 
threatening  before  her.  It  Avas  a  radiant 
dream,  from  which  she  was  only  awakened 
by  the  hoarse  and  strained  voice  of  the  call- 
man,  who  announced  the  carriage,  but  she 
had  no  sooner  parted  from  her  newly-found 
relatives,  and  passed  the  palace  gates,  than 
the  vision  faded,  and  she  was  once  more 
f-ung  back  upon  the  sad  reality  of  her  po- 
sition. 

By  the  desire  of  Lady  Mary  they  were 
driven  home  with  great  rapidity,  and  on 
their  arrival,  her  ladyship  merely  removing 
her  train,  proceeded  to  inspect  the  apart- 
ments which  had  been  decorated  for  the  fete> 
In  the  principal  saloon,  which  had  been  con- 
verted into  a  ball-room,  she  encountered  Mr. 
Trevanion,  with  whom  she  at  once  retired  to 
the  deep  bay  of  the  centerj^vindow. 

"  Were  they  there?"  was  the  first  question 
of  the  host. 

"Yes  and  no,"  replied  his  companion; 
"the  gentleman,  father  and  son  were  present, 
but  the  lady  was  absent  from  indisposition — 
at  least,  such  was  the  pretext  for  her  non-ap- 
pearance." 

"  And  Avcre  they  presented  to  Ida,  madam." 
"They  were,  and  the  meeting  appeared  to 
afford  ecpial  gratification  to  all  jjarties." 
"What  is  tlie  boy  like,  may  I  ask  <" 
"Magnitie-ently  handsome.     I  have  seldom 
seen  a  finer  young  man,  and  had  you  not, 
my  good   sir^  conducted  matters  so   ably,   I 
should  have  advised  you  to    discourage   all 
overtun^s  to  a  reconciliation,  unless  you  desire 
to  render  the  family  relationship  closer  than 
it  is  at  present." 

"I  r»'<|uiic  no  such  inducement  to  decline  it, 
madam,"  Avas  the  cold  rejoinder  of  the  mer- 
chant ;  "  but  did  Sir  Jasper  hint  at  any  thing 
of  the  kind." 

"lie  did  more  than  liint,  Mr.  Trevanion,  he 
plainly  and  unhesitatingly  expressed  his  desire 
to  bury  the  i)ast  in  oblivion,  and  to  extend 
the  olivc-brancli,  as  he  practieally  expressed 
it,  whenever  you  were  prepared  to  accept  it." 
"Doubtless;  but  it  is  likely  to  wither  by 
the  way.     In  former  years  it  answered  his 


pay  back  a  hundred-fold  the  mdignities  to 
which  I  was  theu  subjected,  it  equally  meets 
his  views  to  court  my  friendship,  lie  will 
find,  however,  that  I  am  a  trueTrevaniou,  and 
made  of  sterner  stuff'  than  he  yot  seems  to 
comprehend.  We  have  lived  more  than  half 
a  life,  strangers  to  each  other,  and  I,  at  least, 
can  well  afford  to  make  the  estrangement 
permanent." 

"That  declaration  on  yourpart,"  said  Lady 
Mary;  "reminds  me  of  Mr.  Plumbtree — who, 
par  parcnfhise,  fastened  himself  upon  us  like 
a  burr — admitted  that  Sir  Jasper  was  Jiaying 
the  penalty  of  an  ill-judged  marriage,  and 
that  the  discomfort  of  a  cheerless  home  had* 
rendered  him  anxious  to  terminate  the  feud 
between  yon." 

Mr.  Trevanion  smiled  an  ambiguous,  joyless 
smile,  and  remained  for  a  moment  silent;  after 
which  he   asked :   "  Were  you  satisfied  with 
Ida's  ajipearance  V 
"  Pel  fectly." 

"And  her  engagement !" 
"  Was  the  theme  of  every  tongue." 
"  Did  she  wear  the  jewels  sent  to  her  by 
Lord  Downnierc  I" 

"  She  did  not."  ^ 

"  Upon  Avhat  pretext  I" 
"  I  asked   no   questions,  as  I  was   not  sup- 
posed to  be  aware  of  their  arrival,  and  she 
made  no  remark  upon  the  subject." 

"  Rebellious  still,"  said  the  merohant,  harshly ; 
"but  it  will  avail  her  nothing.  I  have  Ler'iu 
the  toils." 

Lady  Mary  smiled  significantly  in  her  turn,  , 
but  she  made  no  reply. 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,"*  said  her  companion^  ' 
after  a  pause ;  "  you  have,  by  your  frankness^ 
and   friendly  sympathy  in  my  iutci'ests,  ren- 
dered me  a  service   for  Avlxieh  I  shall  never 
cease  to  be  grateful.     All  things  are,  I  trust 
and  believe,  progressing  successfully  as  regards 
my  vicAvs  for  my  daughter ;  Avhile  I  am  at  ease 
on  the   subject   of  Sir   Jasper.     lily  triumph  ' 
there  is  complete,  for  I  eini  grasp  the  Avhole  ' 
tendency  and  8i)irit  of  liis  sucldcu  change  of 
feeling.     Hen-peeked  by  his  wife,  and  check- , 
mated  by  his  nephew,  he  will  do  Avell  to  return  ' 
to  his  county  before  he  makes  his  discomfiture  i 
a  theme  of  ^ssipry  for  the  clubs,  and  has  hia 
insignificance  foi-ced  upon  him  by  the  former 
victim  of  his  brutality.     Once  more,  my  deeup 
Lady  Mary,  I  offer  you  my  best  thauks." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


AN    ELOrEMENI. 


Seldom  had  uiilmlstcrers  and  deooratora  donei 
their  si)iriting  more  t'liVctuaUy  than  in  the  villa 
of  Mr.  Tievauion  ;  and  it  Avas  Avith  a  feeling 
of  irrepressible  exultation  that  Ludy  Wary,  at 
the  close  of  her  conference  with  the  master  of  ^ 
the  house,  traversed  the  noble  apartmeuts 
which  Avere  already  prepared  for  the  reception 
of  the  e-xpected  guests.    The  vast  hail  of  ea- ' 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


trance  was  liiicd  vritb  orann;c  and  lemou-trecs, 
interspersed  with  niiuutc  lamps  whieli,  when 
lighted,  gleamed  like  tire-flies  among  their  rich 
foliage ;  while  behind  and  above  them  rose  a 
thiek  tangle  of  vines  and  other  parasitical 
plants,  whose  pendant  branches  were  drawn 
aside  at  intervals,  and  formed  mto  a  fi-ame- 
work  for  the  large  mirrors  wiiich  reflected  on 
evcr\'  side  the  fairy  scene  around  them.  In 
the  center  of  the  tesselated  floor,  a  fountain  of 
perfumed  water  threw  a  sjmrkling  column  of 
liquid  light  high  in  the  air,  Avhich  fell  back 
like  a  shower  of  silver  stars  into  its  porphyry 
basin,  with  a  soft  and  sootliing  sound ;  and  half- 
a-dozen  fine  marble  statues,  partially  vailed  by 
flowering  shrubs,  gleamed  out  in  their  pure 
and  classic  beauty  beneath  the  overhanging 
chandeliers,  like  the  guardian  spirits  of  the 
place.  In  the  ball-room  every  niche  and  recess 
was  filled  -with  the  most  rare  and  fragrant  ex- 
otics, whose  parti-eolored  blossoms  looked  like 
living  gem^  as  they  glowed  beneath  the  efful- 
gence of  the  myriad  wax-lights  which  were 
scattered  among  them;  and  the  walls  were 
paneled  with  plate-glass  draperied  by  pale 
green  silk.  The  conservatory,  which  opened 
from  this  apartment  was  richly  carpeted,  and 
Bupplied  with  divans  and  couches  of  crimson 
velvet ;  while  on  pedestals  of  scagliola  and 
Egyptian  marble  stood  vases  of  gold  fish,  and 
fhe'  gilt  cages  of  innumerable  foreign  birds 
of  bright  plumage  and  graceful  form,  over 
which  the  shaded  lamps  threw  a  soft  moon- 
lighted gleam. 

The  whole  scene  was  an  enchantment.  The 
magic  power  of  wealth,  and  the  wonder-weav- 
ing finger  of  taste  were  visible  on  every  side ; 
the  eye  ached  with  brightness  ;  and  it  was 
almost  a  relief  to  pass  into  the  dim  and  spa- 
cious library,  with  its  carved  bookcases  of  dark 
oak,  its  precious  specimens  of  the  old  masters, 
its  cabinets  of  gems,  and  its  magnificent 
bronzes.  The  moruiag-room  of  Mrs.  Trevan- 
ion,  from  which  she  had  been  so  reluctantly 
expelled,  and  in  which  she  received  her  guests, 
was,  however,  the  triumph  of  the  artiste ; 
draperied  throughout  with  amber  satin,  the 
angles  were  occupied  by  pyramids  of  white 
lilies,  with  which  the  chandelier  was  also 
wreathed ;  but  no  other  ornament  was  suffered 
to  mtrude  itself,  and  the  effect  was  at  once 
aunple  and  striking. 

It  was  with  an  aching  heart  that,  before  she 
commenced  her  evening  toilet,  Miss  Trevan- 
ion,  in  compliance  with  her  father's  expressed 
desire,  traversed  these  treasure-laden  rooms. 
She  would  fain  have  delayed  her  entrance 
there,  until  the  brilliant  crowd  by  which  they 
•would  in  a  few  hours  be  filled  could  distract 
her  attention  from  the  strangeness  of  their  as- 
pect ;  she  would  fain  have  remembered  them 
in  after  years  in  their  accustomed  and  familiar 
Beemiug ;  but  this  happmess  was  denied  to  her, 
and  she  passed  on,  amid  strange  workmen,  and 
hurrj'ing  servants,  with  a  languid  step  and  a 
joyless  spirit.  Coarse  voices  sounded  in  her 
ears,  ungainly  forms  crossed  her  path,  coat- 
less  men  were  busy  on  every  side,  removing 
ladders,  steps,  and  stools,  while  others  were 
engaged  in  lighting  lamps,  and  re-arranging 
groups  of  flowers.  She  gave  one  long,  sad  look 
around  her  as  she  stood  in  her  mother's  favor- 


ite room — that  room  in  wliich  she  had  first 
wept,  and  then  dozcfl  away  so  many  hours  of 
her  cheerless  life.  Should  she  ever  again  sco 
it  as  it  was  ?  Should  she  ever  again  h)ok  upon 
it  as  it  had  been  wlien  she  sat  upon  her  low 
stool  beside  her  mother's  laiee,  and  learned  to 
lisp  out  her  first  prnvcr?  As  she  asked  her- 
self the  question,  a  flood  of  fond  and  childish 
memories  burst  upon  her;  in  her  eyes,  tho 
8])ot  which  had  so  long  been  sacred  appeared 
desecrated,  and  the  gulf,  which  was  soon  to 
scimrate  her  from  all  that  she  had  once  loved 
with  the  whole  fervor  of  her  girlish  affection, 
seemed  to  have  been  widened  and  deepened  by 
this  last  mockery  of  her  anguish. 

After  awhile  she  turned  and  left  tho  apart- 
ment; nor  was  it  until  she  had  heard  the 
wheels  of  more  than  one  carriage  grate  over 
the  gravel  beneath  her  window  that  she  was 
prepared  to  quit  her  dressing-room.  As  she 
paused  for  an  instant  before  the  glass,  she  was 
startled  at  her  own  appearance  ;  she  had  been 
weeping  iinconsciously,  and  her  eyes  were 
swollen  and  heavy,  and  her  face  ghastly  pale. 
"And  is  it  indeed  thus  that  I  am  to  leave 
my  home,  perhaps  forever?"  she  murmured 
sadly;  "I  would,  have  gone  forth  rich  in  a 
father's  blessing,  in  a  mother's  love — I  would 
have  received  their  parting  kiss  in  the  silence 
and  sacredness  of  home ;  but  even  that  luxury 
is  denied  to  me.  The  very  roof  that  was 
familiar  to  my  infancy,  and  dear  to  my  youth, 
even  that  seems  to  mock  at  my  misery,  and 
to  welcome  in  my  stead  the  idle  votaries  of 
pleasure,  many  of  whom  pass  beneath  it  only 
to  fill  its  echoes  with  the  false  words  of  flat- 
tery, and  others  perchance  to  scoff.  Oh,  I  am 
very,  very  wretched!" 

And  once  more  the  large  unbidden  tears  fell 
cold  and  slow,  and  she  cast  herself  into  a  seat, 
with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands.  How  long 
she  remained  thus  motionless,  and  weighed 
down  by  the  bitter  grief  to  which  she  had  in- 
voluntarily yielded,  she  knew  not,  when  a 
burst  of  music  caused  her  to  start  suddenly 
from  her  chair. 

"One  more  effort,"  she  exclaimed  wildly; 
"  and  I  shall  have  done  with  this  false,  hollow 
world  forever." 

As  she  spoke  her  eye  fell  upon  the  caskets 
which  were  strewn  over  her  toilet,  and  which, 
in  accordance  with  her  instructions,  Made- 
moiselle Seraphine  had  placed  there  before 
she  dismissed  her.  With  a  stern  and  un- 
natural composure  she  opened  each  in  turn, 
to  assure  herself  that  every  gem  was  in  its 
place,  and  then  she  added  to  the  he.ap  every 
ring  which  she  had  hitherto  worn  save  one 
which  contained  her  father's  haii',  and  every 
ornament  of  daily  use  save  a  small  locket  con- 
taining a  miniature  of  her  mother,  attached  to 
a  slight  chain  of  gold,  which  she  clasped 
about  her  neck  and  concealed  beneath  the 
trimming  of  her  dress. 

"1  can  not  part  with  these,"  she  whispered 
ho.irsely;  "not  with  these,  for  none  could 
value  them  as  I  have  done." 

She  swallowed  a  draught  of  water,  and 
leaned  for  a  moment  from  the  window  to  t^ulia 
her  throbbing  brow;  and  then  slowly  but 
firmly,  she  descended  the  flower-wrcathod 
stair-case,  and  prepared  to  join  the  fjuesta. 


C8 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


In  tliehall  she  enconnterod  Lady  Mary  Brook-  '  were  -vratcbing  her  closely,  never  forgot  that 
lands,  wlio  was  about  to  send  a  servant  to  j  smile. 

summon  her,  and   who  exclaimed  in  anjrrv  i      Her  recognition  of  the  earl  was   cold  and 

was  evidently  disooiv 


amnzement:  "Are  you  luad,  Ida?  Can  you 
really  intend  to  present  yourself  in  such  a 
state  as  that?  Have  you  no  respect  for  j-our 
father's  taste  and  wishes  that  you  make  your 
appearance  like  a  school-girl,  in  a  dress  un- 
ornamented  even  hy  a  few  paltry  flowers  ? 
You  can  not  be  serious!" 

"Do  I  look  like  one  who  is  inclined  to  jest, 
madam?"  was  the  bitter  rejoinder;  "or  do 
you  consider  that  I  have  cause  for  mirth, 
when  I  see  my  happiness  disregarded,  and 
myself  valued  only  as  a  puppet  to  afford  sport 
for  others  ?  If  you  can  indeed  do  so,  I  envy 
you  alike  your  philosophy  and  your  strength 
of  mind." 

"This  is  no  moment,  Miss  Trevanion,  for  so 
nncalled-for  a  burst  of  temper,  nor  have  I  time 
either  to  analyze  or  to  resent  it;  while  you 
have  already  absented  yourself  too  long  from 

Jour  father's  guests.  Your  extraordinary  con- 
uct  has  excited  remarks  and  comments  which 
you  would  have  done  well  to  avoid,  but  which 
your  new  and  strange  caprice  of  simplicity 
can  not  fail  to  increase.  However,  I  have 
done,  since  I  perceive  that  my  influence  over 
your  actions  has  ceased." 

_  "Lady  Mary,"  said  Ida,  with  sudden  agita- 
tion, as  she  extended  her  hand  to  her  com- 
panion ;  "let  no  angry  feeling  come  between 
us  to-night.  I  believe  that  we  should  both 
regret  it." 

"  Be  it  so,"  replied  the  lady,  coldly,  as  she 
led  the  way  to  the  reception-room. 

Ida  nerved  herself  for  the  trial  which 
awaited  her,  but  her  courage  had  nearly  failed 
wlien  she  observed  Lord  Downmere  in  close 
and  confidential  discourse  with  her  mother, 
whose  smiles  and  diamonds  appeared  to  have  1 
as  completely  metamorphosed  her  as  tlie  hands 
of  hirelings  had  done  her  house.  Sirs.  Tre- 
vanion was  indeed  radiant  with  triumphant 
vanity.  The  congratulations  which  had  been 
poured  in  upon  her  on  the  brilliant  prospects 
of  her  daughter,  the  compliments  which  had 
been  lavished  upon  the  splendor  of  her  fete, 
the  movement  about  her,  tiie  lights,  the  music, 
tlie  glitter  of  jewels,  the  rustling  of  silks  and 
velvets,  and  the  high-sounding  titles  which 
echoed  in  her  ears,  had  thrown  her  into  a  state 
of  excitement  which  gave  a  glow  to  her  usu- 
ally pale  cheek,  and  lent  an  unnatural  sparkle 
to  her  eye. 

Striking  was  the  contrast  presented  by  the 
daughter  to  wiiom  she  owed  that  brief  and 
passing  enjoyment ;  and  even  the  earl,  who 
stood  in  a  stately  attitude  beside  his  hostess, 
his  jeweled  star'flnshing  in  the  light,  started 
as  she  approached.  The  appeara'iu-o  of  Miss 
Trevanion  was  ratiier  indeed  that  of  a  victim 
prepared  for  sacrifice  than  the  lieroine  of  a 
festival.  The  rich  masses  of  her  dark  and 
lustrous  hair  rendered  the  brow  beneath  them 
of  a  death-like  pallor,  and  were  unrelieved 
by  a  single  ornament,  while  her  dress  of 
snowy  muslin  was  equally  unadorned;  her 
firmly-set  lips  were  white  and  rigid,  and  she 
moved  rather  like  an  automaton  than  a  being 
gifted   with  sense  and   life,     As  she  reached 


even   haughty,  and    he 

eerted  by  so  jiublic  a  denionstiation  of  her  in- 
difference ;   but  Avith  considerable    self-posses- 


sion he  endeavored  to  render  it  less 


consjucu- 


ous  by  addressing  to  her  a  murmured  compli- 
ment, coupled  with  a  reproach  that  she  had 
not  honored  him  by  wearing  the  jewels  which 
he  had  been  permitted  by  her  father  to  offer 
to  her  acceptance.  Then  the  statue  woke  into 
life,  and  the  modern  Pygmalion  shrank  before 
the  effect  of  his  own  presumption.  The  eves 
of  Ida  flamed,  and  the  hot  blood  rushed  over 
her  brow  and  bosom, 

"  Have  you  yet  to  learn,  my  lord ,"  she 
asked ;  "  that  no  slave  willingly  assumes  his 
fetters?  What  has  been  forced  upon  me  I 
have  borne ;  do  not  compel  me  to  any  other 
declaration.  Is  not  this  enouffh?"  and  she 
glanced  around  her  hurriedly  as  she  spoke ;  "  do 
not  try  me  beyond  my  strength,  or  it  must  fail." 
"  Madam" — stammered  the  earl.  Ida  waved 
her  hand  with  an  impatient  gesture,  and  moved 
away,  leaving  her  bewildered  auditors  breath- 
less with  consternation. 

Gayly  sped  the  moments  with  the  reckless 
votaries  of  pleasure  who  were  assembled  ia 
honor  of  Miss  Trevaniou's  betrothal,  while  the  I 
wretched  girl  herself  flitted  from  one  apart- 1 
meut  to  another  like  a  wandering  spirit ;  a  cold 
and  constrained  smile  upon  her  lips,  and  anguish 
in  her  heart ;  she  heard  not  the  witching  strains 
of  Strauss,  she  scarcely  saw  the  whirlbg, 
figures,  that  enveloped  her  in  light  clouds  of 
gauze  or  gleaming  volumes  of  satin  as  she 
made  her  way  among  them;  to  those  who 
sought  her  hand  she  pleaded  fatigue  and  in- 
disposition ;  and  while  by  some  the  plea,  sup- 
ported by  her  pale  cheeks  and  drooping  eye- 
lids, was  readily  admitted,  there  were  not 
wanting  many  who  attributed  the  singularity 
of  her  manner  and  the  simplicity  of  her  attire, 
to  an  affectation  of  importance  at  which  they 
sneered,  as  premature  and  imbccomiug  in  a 
more  niereliant's  daughter. 

Very  different,  however,  was  the  effect  which 
they  produced  ujion  Mr.  Trevanion  when  his 
eye  first  fell  upon  her.  For  a  moment  he  douhtcd 
the  evidence  of  his  senses  ;  but  ui>,  there  could 
be  no  mistake ;  the  noble  head,  adorned  only  by 
its  redundant  masses  of  rieli  dark  hair ;  the  ex- 
quisite form  plainly  draped  iu  simple  muslin, 
were  indeed  those  of  his  daughter,  upon  whoso 
attire  liis  vanity  had  lavished  uiit,nudginu'ly  -^iinis 
that  would  have  sutlicod  to  ehithe  her  like  an  em- 
press; and,  worse  than  all,  ividently  shi inking 
from  the  observation  and  homage  which  on  such 
an  txicasiou  she  should  liavc  courted.  The  brow 
of  the  merchant  lowered  with  mortification  and  ' 
disappointment  as  he  made  his  way  toward  her, 
and  there  was  a  concentrated  bitterness  iu  th«  ij 
tone  with  which  he  said  in  a  subdued  voice  ' 
when  he  reached  her  side :  "  This  is  the  crown- 
ing insult.  Miss  Trevanion,  and  one  which  I  am 
never  likely  to  forget.  Do  you  owe  n«itliin;< 
to  the  father  who  has  made  you  tlic  first  and 
highest  object  of  liis  ambition?  Do  you  h<'I'« 
that  I  am  to  be  disgraced  with  imijunity  by 
my  own  child  in  the  eyes  of  lialf  London  ?    Ar« 


her  mother's  side,  she  smiled,  and  many  who  I  you  imsaue !  or  can  you  really  be  \uiawarc  that 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


50 


^'  OU  require  but  a  few  blades  of  straw  and 
alf  a  di)zen  Avitbered  posies  added  to  your 
costume,  to  be  a  fitting  represeutative  of 
Ophelia?' 

"  Father,"  faltered  Ida ;  "  I  have  done  you 
no  •wrong :  I  could  not  add  deceit  to  my  other 
errors.  Have  you  dealt  foirly  with  me  ?  All 
about  me  is  brilliant  falsehood,  but  I  at  least 
■will  take  no  part  in  it.  You  c:xn  not  ask  me  to 
trample  upou  my  own  lieait." 

"  Beware,  Miss  Trevauiou ;"  was  the  threat- 
ening rejoinder,  as  the  merchant  turned  angrily 
away;  "  it  may  now  be  too  late  to  change  your 
dress,  but  I  advise  you  to  change  your  counte- 
nance, if  you  would  wish  me  to  remember 
when  we  next  meet  that  I  am  still  your  father." 

"  When  we  next  meet ;"  murmured  Ida,  to 
herself,  as  he  left  her  side.  "  How  and  where 
6h;dl  wo  indeed  meet  again!" 

Escaping  from  the  heat  and  hurry  of  the 
ball-room,  she  passed  mto  the  dim  and  deserted 
library,  and  threw  herself  into  a  seat.  The 
glad  sounds  of  revelry,  and  silvery  voices  of 
music  came  mingled  upon  her  ear ;  the  odors 
of  a  thousand  flowers  floated  upon  the  air ; 
and  still  she  sat  there,  motionless  as  if  hewn 
in  stone. 

After  a  time,  moreover,  the  distant  tumult 
contrasted  with  the  deep  silence  immediately 
about  her  produced  a  bewildering  effect  upon 
her  over-straiued  nerves,  and  suddenly  the 
vast  and  somber  apartment  rang  with  a  peal 
of  wild  unnatural  laughter ;  she  pressed  her 
hands  upon  her  brow  until  it  ached  beneath 
their  tension;  and  then  hurriedly  starting  to 
her  feet,  she  exclaimed  in  a  voice  which  sound- 
ed strange  and  unfamiliar  even  to  her  own  ear. 

"  My  father  is  right ;  this  is  my  bridal  fute, 
and  I  should  do  it  honor.  I  wrong  Sydney — 
and  wrong  myself — by  this  ill-timed  and  ill- 
omened  sadness.  I  will  be  gay.  There  will 
be  many  a  heart  besides  my  own  in  the  crowd 
■whose  mirth  will  be  rendered  only  the  more 
audible  from  the  hoUowness  within." 

Touched  by  deep  passion  as  by  the  wand  of 
a  magician.  Miss  Trevanion  stood  for  one  mo- 
ment trembling  with  fierce  and  overwhelming 
excitement;  her  cheek  burned,  and  her  eye 
flashed  with  fever;  never  had  she  looked  so 
imperial  in  her  proud  beauty.  Frenzied  alike 
by  what  she  had  already  undergone,  and  by 
■what  she  still  contemplated,  her  pulses  throb- 
bed, ani  her  bosom  heaved  tumultuously.  At 
that  moment  she  could  have  braved  the  tor- 
tures of  the  inquisition,  for  she  was  reckless. 

As  if  fearing  to  trust  herself  with  further 
thought,  she  left  the  library;  and  when  ere 
long  she  again  entered  the  great  saloon,  lean- 
mg  upon  the  arm  of  a  casual  acquaintance 
whom  she  had  encountered  on  her  way ;  the 
change  in  her  appearance  was  very  striking. 
Every  shade  of  despondency,  every  sym])tom  of 
languor  had  disappeared ;  and  so  brilliant  was 
her  whole  expression  that  a  murmur  of  aston- 
ished admiration  met  her  on  every  side.  Her 
low  graceful  laughter,  her  perfect  self-posses- 
sion, and  her  eager,  animated  look  excited  the 
astonishment  of  all  arotmd  her;  and  there 
■were  not  wanting  many  in  that  brilliant  throng 
who  envied  her  for  the  matchless  beauty  wViieh 
made  her  independent  of  the  adventitious  aids  , 
of   omameut,   and  who   were   compelled    to  1 


acknowledge  their  own  attractions  eclipsed 
and  overborne  by  the  unassisted  loveliness  of 
the  woman  whoso  pale  cheek  and  subdued 
deportment  had  been  the  theme  of  malicious 
conmieut  and  imgenerous  criticism  only  an 
hour  previously. 

"  The  quasi-countess  has  wearied  of  her  sen- 
timental fancy,"  said  a  paxsce  beauty  to  her 
partner,  as  Ida,  radiant  with  false  excitement, 
took  her  place  in  the  dance. 

"  She  is  right,"  was  the  reply ;  "  for  she  is 
gloriously  lovely  now.  She  scarcely  looks  like 
the  same  person  who  appeared  so  languid  and 
listless  only  an  hour  since." 

"  Terribly  like  temper,"  retorted  the  lady, 
arranging  a  bouquet  upon  her  dress ;  "  his 
lordship  vAW  find  matrimony  no  sinecure,  I  fear." 

And  meanwhile  the  dance  went  on,  and  the 
grace  and  elegance  of  the  heroine  of  the  feto 
were  the  universal  theme  of  admiration.  Lord 
Downmere,  by  no  means  satisfied  in  his  own 
mind  that  matters  were  progressing  so  satisfac 
torilyas  his  host  had  represented,  received  the 
compliments  which  were  addressed  to  him  with 
a  eonstramt  that  he  vainly  endeavored  to 
overcome ;  and  Mr.  Trevanion  on  his  side,  felt 
perplexed  by  an  inconsistency  of  conduct  on 
the  part  of  his  daughter  of  which  he  had  never 
previously  thought  her  capable.  Could  his 
warning  have  indeed  operated  thus  powerfully 
upon  her  ?  He  scarcely  ventured  to  indulge 
the  hope ;  but  it  was  at  all  events  gratifying 
to  his  pride  to  find  how  fiir,  even  in  her  pres- 
ent simple  attire,  she  eclipsed  the  brightest 
and  noblest  beauties  about  her.  His  brow 
grew  smooth,  and  his  manner  bland,  as  he 
moved  among  his  guests,  drinking  in  with 
satisfied  vanity  the  murmurs  of  pleasure  and 
delight  which  met  his  ear  on  all  sides.  Nor 
was  Lady  Mary  less  enchanted  than  himself 
as  she  witnessed  the  effect  produced  ujwn  her 
own  five  hundred  friends,  with  whom  she  had, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  peopled  the  brilliant 
saloons  of  her  host,  by  the  splendor  of  the  en- 
tertainment. 

"No,  no;  believe  nje,  when  I  assure  you, 
my  dear  marchioness,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
ready  tact,  to  a  rouged  and  ringleted  dowager 
who  had  indulged  in  a  bitter  sarcasm  on  the 
appearance  of  the  young  hostess  ;  "  that  even 
your  perspicuity  is  at  fault  in  this  instance  as 
regards  my  little  friend.  It  is  from  no  feeline 
of  covert  presumjttion  that  she  has  eschewed 
the  advantages  of  dress  on  this  occasion,  but 
from  a  widely  different  impulse.  As  Countess 
of  Downmere,  she  will  ere  long  avail  herself, 
as  you  will  see,  of  all  the  si)leudor  of  her 
rank,  but  to-night  she  is  aware  that  she  is  still 
only  Ida  Trevanion,  and  she  has  acted  accord- 
ingly." 

Did  the  family  friend  believe,  as  she  smil- 
ingly gave  this  ex])lanation,  that  she  had  dis- 
covered the  real  solution  of  the  enigma  ?  Far 
from  it ;  but  she  felt  that  her  own  credit  was 
at  stake,  and  she  had  too  much  worldly  wisdom 
to  confess  herself  mystified. 

It  was  far  otherwise,  however,  with  Mrs. 
Trevanion,  who  was,  and  did  not  scruple  to 
confess  herself,  both  angry  and  astonished  at 
the  apparent  caprice  of  her  daughter.  Liko 
all  weak  people  she  attached  an  undue  weiglit 
to  the  opiuiou  and  customs  of  fashionable  so- 


CO 


TUE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


cicty,  nn',1  her  mortification  "was  consequently  I 
intense  when  she  discovered  how  absolutely 
both  had  been  set  at  defiance  by  Ida.  ! 

"  Who  would  believe,  my  lord,"  she  said  i 
pettishly  to  the  earl,  who,  on  this  occasion,  con- 
sidered it  expedient  to  attach  himself  to  his 
future  m<ither-in-law  ;  "  that  she  was  tlie  same 
pcrsfin  who  looked  so  queen-like  at  the  draw- 
inf^-rooai  this  morning  ?  It  is  really  too 
bad." 

"  Miss  Trevanion  knows  the  power  of  her 
charms,  madam,"  said  the  antiquated  lover, 
with  an  uneasy  smile;  "and  you  see  that  her 
triumph  is  complete." 

"I  wish,"  pursued" the  lady,  who  had  an  un- 
fortunate talent  for  saying  awkward  things  at 
the  wrong  moment ;  "  I  do  so  wish,  my  lord, 
she  had  danced  with  you  instead  of  Captain 
Tillicrs  ;  I  am  sure  that  it  ought  to  have  been 

60." 

Her  noble  companion  winced,  and  glanced 
involuntarily  at  liis  gouty  foot,  which,  impris- 
oned in  a  shoe  that  had  already  more  than  once 
reminrled  him  of  liis  infirmity,  gave  to  the  ab- 
surd lamentation  of  his  hostess  all  the  point  of 
an  e]ii;^ram  ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  murmured  a 
reply  which  was  unintelligible. 

On  sped  the  hours  garlanded  with  flowers, 
loud  with  revelry,  and  wmged  by  pleasure. 
The  day  dawned ;  the  birds  twittered  among 
the  branches,  the  lark  burst  into  song  as  it 
darted  toward  heaven  with  its  morning  thanks- 
giving ;  the  gray  light  streaked  the  liver- 
ripple  ;  and  honest  labor  once  more  girded 
itself  to  battle  with  the  toils  of  the  coming 
day ;  and  as  the  world  of  the  artizan  and  the 
mechanic  woke  into  life,  the  ro«ms  of  ilr. 
Trevanion  began  to  thin ;  and  the  last  languid 
efforts  of  the  weary  musicians  were  overpow- 
ered by  the  rolling  of  carriages,  the  loud  voiees 
of  servants,  and  the  turmoil  of  the  departing 
guests  ;  but  even  these  ceased  at  last,  and  Mr. 
Trevanion  stood  for  a  moment  alone,  in  the 
midst  of  expiring  tapers,  drooping  garlands, 
and  disordered  draperies. 

"  Tell  Miss  Trevanion,"  he  said,  suddenly,  to 
a  servant  who  was  hurrying  past  him,  "that 

!  I  wish  to  see  her  in  the  library  before  she  re- 
tires." 

The  man  hastened  to  obey  his  commands, 
but  they  were  not  destined  to  be  fulfilled ;  in 
vain  did   he   appeal  to  her  mother,  to    Lady 

I      Mary,  and   to   Mademoiselle   Sera]>hine ;    not 

'  one  of  tliem  had  seen  Miss  Trevanion  for  the 
last  hour ;  in  vain  did  lie  traverse  the  conserv- 
atory, and  the  saloo' .s ;  wander  out  into  the 
grounds,  and  urge  others  of  the  domestics  to 
assist  him  in  the  search  ;  the  result  was  disap- 
pointment ;  and  he  was  at  length  compelled  to 
return  to  his  imjiatient  master  with  the  un- 

'  looked-for  tidinrjs  that  Miss  Trevaiiiou  was  no- 
where to  be  found. 


CnAPTER  XXL 

M.VKniED   LOVERS. 

C)N'  tlic  southern  banks  of  the  Thames,  not 
many  miles  from  London,  m.ny  be  seen  from  the 
river,  a  pretty  and  retu'ed  village,  backed  by  a 


well  wooded  hill,  at  whoso  summit,  as  the  boat 
glides  on,  glimpses  may  be  caught  among  tho 
dense  foliage,  of  a  noble  mansion,  at  one  ex- 
tremity of  the  park — for  such  is  the  purj^ose  to 
which  the  height  has  been  applied — and  at  the 
other  that  of  an  observatory  which  overtops  the 
[  forest  timber.    Thence  tlic  land  descends  gently 
to  the  river,  the  low-lying  grass  fields  being 
,  dotted  over  their  whole  surface  with  browsing 
I  cattle ;  while  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
!  shore,  stands  a  picturesque  little  church,  half 
embowered  in  ivv',  and  surrounded  by  its  quiet 
burial-ground.    This  modest  edifice,  upon  which 
j  an  artist-eyo  can  not  foil  to  linger  with  delight, 
j  is  also  an  object  of  interest  to  the  antiquary 
from  the  historical  tradition  which  is  attached 
to  it;  and  which,  from  its   regal   associations, 
contrasts   strangely   and    startingly   with    the 
simple  and   unpretending    appearance  of  the 
i  building.     At  the  distance  of  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  church,  commences  the  village  street, 
I  which  stretches  along  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
in  a  long  line  of  fishermen's  cottages,  where 
their  home-keeping  wives  drive  a  small  trade  in 
the  cheaper  produce  of  their  husband's  nets, 
I  and  where  many  a  window  arrests  the  steps  of 
the  school-going  urchin,  by   its  rich   stores  of 
sugar-stick,  gingerbread  and  marbles.    Further 
i  inland,    however,    partially,   and    in    some  in- 
stances, totally  hidden  from  the  passer-by  upon 
the  river,  are  to  be  found  in  the  neighborliood  of 
1  which  we  vrr'ite,  some  of  these  small  put  pretty 
i  residences  which  are  peculiar  to  '  merrie  Eng- 
land;' those  sunn}' pleasant  homes  where  cle- 
:  gance  and  comfort  compensate  for  space  and 
splendor,  and  where  the  refined  and  gently- 
,  nurtured,   who  are  debarred  the  luxuries  of 
wealth,  may,  nevertheless,  nurse  their  graceful 
fancies,  undisturbed  by  these  squalid  and  de- 
pressing associations  which  genteel  poverty  haa 
;  to  endure  in  other  lands. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening  in  autunm  :  and  the 
glass  doors  of  a  small  but  exquisitely  furnished 
drawing-room,  facing  the  river,  were  fhmg  bade 
to  admit  tlio  various  odors  of  the  blossoms  with 
I  which  tlie  flower-pots  dotted  over  the  lawn 
were  plentifully  filled.  The  sun  was  westering, 
I  and  the  sky  was  rich  with  fleecy  clouds  that 
had  caught  a  roseate  hue  from  the  glow  of 
crimson  by  which  he  was  environed,  and  which 
was  also  reflected  upon  the  calm  ripple  of  the 
noble  stream.  From  the  wooded  height,  the 
song  of  the  nightingale  had  already  commenced, 
while  yet  more  distant,  might  be  heard  the 
lowing  of  cattle  from  their  pastures,  mingled 
with  the  far-off  hum  which  rose  from  the  peo- 
pled river.  The  scene  from  that  open  window 
was  one  of  constantly  recurring  interest;  at  one 
moment  the  tall  spars  of  a  stately  shij),  her  sails 
furled,  and  her  crew  idly  clustering  together  st 
the  prow,  might  bo  seen,  gliding  along  like  ft 
spirit,  the  tiny  steamer  by  wliich  ihe  huge  fabric 
was  impello'd  lookinu:  like  a  mere  dark  speck 
upon  the  water,  totally  unconnected  with  the 
mighty  m.ass  by  which  it  was  apparently  pur- 
sued;'at  another,  the  dark  volume  of  smoke 
emitted  by  the  funnel  of  some  arrowy  steam- 
ship, rose  into  the  air  like  a  pilLnr  of  metnl,  then 
wreathed  itself  into  a  thousand  fantastic  shapes, 
and  finally  became  scattered  into  a  thin  pray 
mist,  and  lost  in  the  surrounding  atmosphere. 
Flag  and  pennant,  the  national  insignia  of  every 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


CI 


nation  upon  earth,  and  those  less  conspicuous 
but  equally  honorable  banners  borne  at  the 
mast-head  of  the  lordly  merchant  ships,  whoso 
owners  are  the  sovereigns  of  European  com- 
merce, each  passed  by  in  its  turn,  freisrhtcd 
I  with  the  wealth  of  every  land,  and  destined  to 
I    plow  the  waves  of  every  sea. 

Within  the  apartment,  and  half  shaded  by 
the  muslin  drapery  which  had  been  drawn  back 
to  permit  her  e}-o  to  wander  unimpeded  over 
I  the  scene  which  we  have  endeavored  to  de- 
\  Bcribe,"lialf-silting  and  ]iall--reclining  upon  a  Sf>fa, 
i  a  chanco  passer-by  might  have  discovered  a 
1  lady  of  surpassing  beauty,  and  at  her  lect  a 
I  faii"-haired  and  handsome  man,  who  was  gazing 
1  up  to  her  witli  a  look  of  passionate  and  almost 

reverential  fondness. 
I       The  little  group  consisted  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone 
<  and  her  husband.     One  happy  month  had  al- 
I  ready  flitted  by  since  she  had  given  her  hand 
1  to  the  man  for  whom  she  had  abandoned  home, 
j  and  wealth,  and  parents ;  and  if  she  sometimes 
heaved  a  sigh  at  tlie  remembrance  of  the  past, 
it  arose  from  no  feeling  of  regret  at  the  step 
which  she  had  taken,  but  was  induced  only  by 
the  resolute  estrangement  of  her  father.     Safe 
in  their  own  happiness,   Sydney  Elphinstone 
and  his  bride  had  made  merry  over  the  marvel- 
ous comments  of  the  public  prints,  which,  with 
I  that  total  want  of  respect  for  the  sacredncss  of 
private  life  that  occasionally  characterizes  them, 
had  detailed,  more  or  less  faithfully,  according 
to  their  means  of  information,  the  particulars 
of  her  elopement.     It  was,  as  they  well  knew, 
a  mere  nine  days'  wonder,  whicli  would  soon  be 
superseded  in  the  pubUc  mind  by  some  other 
marvel ;  but  the  relentless  silence  of  those  to 
whom  she  had  been  for  long  years  an  object  of 
affection,  weighed  heavily  upon  her  spirit. 

"My  poor  mother,"  she  murmured  to  her- 
self; "dare  not,  even  if  she  would,  assure  me 
that  I  am  not  forgotten  and  lamented ;  but  my 
father — can  it  be  that  he  does  indeed  find  it 
80  easy  to  abandon  me  ?  And  Lady  Mary — 
she  is,  at  least,  a  free  agent,  and  might  well 
[have  remembefed  how  assiduously  she  once 
strove  to  nurse  the  passion  which  she  subse- 
quently affected  to  disavow — and  yet  all — all 
ibavo  failed  me." 

"You  are  sad,  dearest;"  said  the  young 
husband  after  a  silence  of  several  minutes; 
"  speak  to  me,  my  love,  and  assure  me  that 
ou  do  not  already  regret  the  sacrifice  that  you 
ve  made  for  my  sake." 
"  Regret,  Sydney ;"  whispered  Ida  as  she 
nt  forward  with  a  smile,  and  buried  ono  of 
er  small  white  hands  in  the  clustering  masses 
f  his  fldr  hair :  "  Do  I  look  like  one  who  re- 
ts the  past  ?  Have  I  cause  to  do  so  ?  Fie 
ion  you  for  tlie  question!  But  even  were  it 
ptherwise — even  were  I  less  entirely  happy 
than  I  am, — know  me  better.  I  never  act 
without  reflection,  dearest ;  and  having  acted, 
y[  never  repent." 

Elphinstone  laughed  gayly.    "  That  is  a  bold 

rtion,  my  sweet  wife ;"  ho  said,  as  ho  made 

ptive  the  slender  Angers  that  were  toying 

'th  his  curls  ;   "  and  one  that  will  render  me 

ess  anxious  when  I  detect  a  shadow  upon  your 

"row ;  for  I  confess  that  there  have  been  mo- 

onts  when  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  that 

had  asked,  and  you  had  granted,  too  much." 


"  So  soon  I"  murmured  Ida,  bcneatli  hor  breatli, 

"But  what  could  1  do?"  ])ursucd  her  liglit- 
heartcd  companion,  unconscious  of  her  inter- 
ruption ;  "  1  loved  j-ou  to  adoration — I  could 
not  live  without  you — and  so,  like  all  men 
under  similar  circumstances  I  supjiose,  I  con- 
sulted only  my  own  selfishness,  and  draggi^l 
you  down  from  your  '  high  estate  '  to  share  my 
poverty." 

"  Do  you  ever  repent,  Sydney  ?"  asked  his 
wife  with  a  forced  smile. 

"I  may  have  done  so  once  or  twice  in  fho 
course  of  mj-lifo;"  was  the  cheerful  joinder; 
"  but  henceforth  I  shall  have  nothing  to  repent, 
for  you  will  be  my  guiding  star ;  and  led  by 
such  a  light  I  can  scarcely  fail  to  walk  in  tlio 
right  path." 

'■  Dear  Sydney" — murmured  his  wife,  as 
the  cloud  passed  from  her  spirit ;  "  you  need 
no  other  monitor  than  your  own  noble  nar 
ture." 

"After  all,  dear  one;"  pursued  the  young 
husband;  "you  must  confess  that  this  'love 
in  a  cottage'  is  very  charming;  and  that  a 
garland  of  jasmin  is  lighter  to  wear  than  a 
gilded  coronet." 

"And  the  song  of  that  unseen  nightingale, 
Sydney — is  it  not  flir  sweeter  than  the  warbling 
of  the  most  gifted  prima  donna  who  ever  threw 
an  audience  into  raptures?  Hark  !  ^There 
was  a  glorious  gush  of  melody ;  how  the  air 
seems  to  throb  beneath  its  weight." 

"  I  would  rather  hear  your  voice  tlian  that 
of  the  finest  nightingale  that  ever  fiew." 

"  Vandal !" 

And  once  more  there  was  silence. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  the  moon  which  had 
nearly  reached  its  full,  was  slowly  sailing  up 
the  heavons ;  the  breeze  had  fallen,  and  a  long 
line  of  light  lay  upon  the  water,  while  countr 
less  stars  flickered  and  quivered  in  the  deep 
blue  of  the  cloudless  sky. 

It  was  a  glorious  evening,  redolent  of  har- 
mony and  peace;  and  very  full  of  intense  and 
absorbing  happiness  were  tho  two  married 
lovers,  who  sat  with  their  hands  locked  in  each 
otiier  gazing  aliliost  unconsciously  on  tho  sceno 
before  them.  They  had  entered  their  earthly 
Eden,  into  which  as  yet  no  serpent  had  glided 
to  blight  the  flowers  upon  their  path  with  its 
venom.  Deep  and  earnest  was  tho  affection 
which  filled  the  breast  of  each,  but  far  opposed 
was  the  nature  of  that  affection ;  witli  Sydney, 
it  was  full  and  perfect,  without  a  doubt  or  a  / 
misgiving;  ho  had  won  the  idol  of  his  heart,  ! 
and  he  was  proud  at  once  of  her,  and  of  his 
own  triumph.  Content  to  dwell  among  tho 
blessedness  of  tho  present,  he  cared  not  to  look 
beyond ;  and  when  occasionally  his  thoughts 
would  stray  into  the  future,  they  were  tilled 
with  bold  and  manly  determination  to  wrestle 
with  the  world,  and  to  win  fame  and  aflluenco 
for  the  wife  who  was  lienccforth  to  share  hi.s 
fortunes.  Ho  never  doubted  her,  he  never 
doubted  himself;  he  possessed,  as  ho  had  said, 
youth,  talent,  and  energy,  and  secure  of  tlieso 
he  felt  strong  enough  to  struggle  and  to  conr 
quer.  Tho  radiant  being  whom  he  liad  made 
his  own,  must  not  bo  deceived  in  him  ;  ere  long 
he  would  commence  the  battle  of  life  with  a 
stout  heart  and  an  imflinching  resolution :  and 


f.2 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


thus  his  dreams  -Were  all  bright  and  glowing, 
without  one  cloud  to  ovcrsliadow  them.  It 
was,  however,  fur  different  with  Ida;  the  very 
excess  of  her  happiness  awoke  a  feeling  of 
terror  in  her  bosom  ;  she  thought  not  of  Sydney 
toiling  to  secure  for  her  an  nllluence  of  which 
be  would  have  been  careless  for  himself;  she 
thought  only  of  Sj'dney  estranged  by  time, 
and  by  closer  contact  v.-ith  that  world  in  which 
he  would  soon  be  called  to  play  a  more  active 
part;  of  S^-dney,  young,  gay,  and  flattered, 
who  might  learn  to  feel  that  ho  had  sacrificed 
the  brightest  portion  of  his  life  to  a  fancy  of 
which  he  might  one  day  weary ;  and  as  tliese 
painful  misgivings  forced  themselves  upon  her, 
the  tears  which  she  would  not  suffer  to  fall. 
flooded  her  heart,  and  swelled  it  almost  to 
bursting.  The  very  quality  of  her  love  difl'crcd 
essentially  from  his;  there  was  not  tlie  same 
calm  even  flow  of  tenderness,  of  almost  woman- 
ly trust  and  clinging,  which  was  engendered  by 
his  frank  and  open  nature ;  she  could  not,  as 
ho  did,  live  in  the  present,  and  yield  herself  up 
unresistingly  to  its  charm;  deeper  and  more 
passionate  were  the  feelings  which  were  hidden 
within  her  breast,  and  by  which  her  whole 
being  was  imbued.  There  were  indeed  mo- 
ments when,  terrified  by  the  impetuosity  of  her 
emotions,  siie  resolutely  combated  their  vio- 
lence, ^ut  the  languor  which  supervened  was 
not  repose ;  and  she  shrank  appalled  by  the 
visions  of  her  own  imagination  as  she  pictured 
to  herself  the  possibility  that  a  change  might 
come  over  her  destiny,  and  the  eflbet  which 
that  chanL,3  might  produce  upon  herself. 

On  the  evening  we  have  described,  however, 
the  calm  and  soothing  aspect  of  all  around  and 
about  her,  the  cloudless  sky,  the  rippling  river, 
the  silent  stars,  the  mysterious  whispering  of 
the  le.'ivcs,  the  clear  soft  moonlight,  and,  more 
than  all,  the  fair  and  placid  brow  of  her  young 
husband,  had  hushed  her  spirit  into  profound 
and  gentle  ]icaee  ;  and  as  he  sat  at  her  feet 
with  the  silvery  light  gleaming  upon  his  noble 
countenance,  she  gazed  upou  him  with  a  still 
ra])ture  that  laid  every  other  feeling  to  rest. 
Like  him  she  was  for  a  time  lost  in  the  present ; 
and  the  very  silence  around  her  was  eloquent 
of  happiness. 

And  other  days  as  bright  and  as  beautiful 
succeeded  that  soft  autumnal  night :  days 
throughout  which  Sydney  Elphinstonc  lived 
on  his  unbroken  existence  of  devotion  and  de- 
light, and  in  which  Ida  was  also  supr-cmcly 
blessed,  altiiough  a  thousand  vapors  drifted 
across  the  haven  of  her  enjoyment  which  it 
required  all  the  sunlight  of  his  lovo  to  scatter 
and  disperse  ;  but  the  young  husband  never 
di-eanu'd  that  any  cloud  had  darkened  the 
calm  and  glorious  brow  of  her  he  Avorshiped ; 
neither  tone  nor  look  betrayed  the  inner  work- 
ings of  the  troubled  spirit  which  marred  its 
own  brightness,  and  l)lighted  its  own  peace. 

The  favorite  walk  of  Ida  was  a  bowery  lane, 
which,  gently  ascending  the  hill,  formed  one  of 
the  private  roads  to  the  extensive  park  that 
occupied  its  height;  wiierc.  the  owner  being 
absent,  Eljihinstone  had  without  difficulty  ob- 
tained permission  for  his  wife  and  himself  to 
wander  at  will,  a  privilege  of  which  they 
largely  availed  themselves.  The  road  tei'iui- 
nated  in  a  gothic  lodge  of  unusual  size,  and 


considerable  architectural  beauty,  whicli  had  at 
one  period  been  inhabited  by  a  relative  of  the 
noble  family  to  whom  the  estate  belonged,  and 
which  was,  during  the  residence  of  the  Elphiu- 
stones  in  the  neighborhood  tenanted  by  a  ven- 
erable couple,  ancient  retainers  of  the  lords  of 
the  soil,  whose  old  age  was  made  happy  bv  a 
residence  upon  the  spot  endeared  to  tliemby 
long  Imbit  and  cheerful  memories.  The  worthy 
dame  whose  quaint  attire  and  old-world  eomt- 
csy  were  a  constant  source  of  interest  and 
anuiscment  to  Ida,  was  on  her  side  delighted 
with  the  graceful  and  elegant  young  couj)le  for 
whom  she  was  so  frequently  summoned  to 
open  the  jealously-guarded  gate ;  while  the 
reckless  generosity  of  Sydney  had  made  an 
equally  fiivorable  impression  upon  her  iufirni 
and  somewhat  morose  husband. 

It  was  on  a  fair  fresh  morning,  a  week  oj 
ten  days  subsequent  to  the  period  at  which  wa 
have  introduced  the  newly-married  pair  to  out 
readers,  that  they  strolled  forth,  and  after  a 
moment  of  iiTcsolutiou,  finally  took  once  more 
the  way  to  the  gothic  lodge.  The  woods  were 
beginning  to  betray  symptoms  of  the  changing 
season.  A  golden  gleam  had  settled  upon  the 
beech-trees,  which  glittered  in  the  sunshine  lite 
flakes  cf  gold ;  the  weeping  willows,  those 
spendthrifts  of  the  shrubbery,  were  already 
scattering  their  leaves  to  every  idle  breeze 
that  wandered  near  them ;  while  the  elms,  ag 
though  they  knew  that  the  time  for  smnnier 
tints  had  gone  by,  had  assumed  a  russet  hue, 
as  they  swayed  their  branches  sobeily  in  the 
wind.  Many  of  the  trees  were,  however,  still 
gay  in  their  vivid  greenery,  the  short  crisp 
turf  was  as  fresh  and  bright  as  ever;  and  the 
birds  as  full  of  song.  Gayly  the  married  lovers 
pursued  their  Avay,  Sydney  at  times  laughing 
delightedly  as  the  breeze  caught  the  long  ring- 
lets which  fell  low  upou  the  cheeks  of  Ida.  and 
spread  them  forth  beyond  the  edge  of  her 
small  bonnet  like  silken  banners ;  startled  oc- 
casionally as  a  rabbit  or  a  hare,  which  their 
light  footsteps  had  disturbed,  darted  i>ast  theiu, 
or  a  plieasant  rose  Avith  a  loud  whirring  Sdund, 
and  escaped  into  the  depth  of  the  wootls  ;  they 
at  length  reached  the  lodge,  where  they  were 
smilingly  welcomed  by  the  venerable  gate- 
keeper. 

"  I  said  that  you  would  come  to-day,  my 
lady;"  exclaimed  the  old  Avoman,  exult uigly ; 
"  I  told  my  Jonathan  that  you  Avouhl  be  here 
this  blessed  morning;  and  sure  enough  here 
you  are;  but  keep  to  the  ojien  lurf,  for  the 
Avood-paths  are  damp  after  last  night's  rain; 
and  such  shoes  as  yours,  ma'am,  wont  keep  out 
the  Avet,  I  take  it." 

,  "  You  arc  right,  good  Mrs.  Dorcas,"  said 
Elphinstonc;  "my  wife — "  hoAV  he  loved  the 
sound  of  those  words,  and  how  proud  ho 
looked  as  he  uttered  them — "  my  wife's  shoes 
are  not  indeed  quite  adapted  for  miry  paths ; 
but  as  she  is  only  just  learning  to  walk,  avc  ciin 
scarcely  expect  her  to  be  very  profound  oa 
such  subjects." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  the  old  woman  with  a 
significant  nod:  "I  understand  all  about  it,  I 
believe,  sir.  Well,  well ;  avc  can't  put  old 
heads  upon  young  .shoulders,  as  the  saying  goes; 
and  if  she  is  only  half  as  good  as  she  is  handc 
some — and  I  for  one  don't  doubt  it — " 


l\.  ^\.  Ij  \J  u   o 


"Y'lU  are  ritjht,  Mrs.  Dorea?,  y<ni  nro  quite 
ri2;ht."  sai  I  Sydney,  seizing  her  hand,  and  siiak- 
iiit^  it  he:irtily;  "quite  as  fjood  as  she  is  haud- 
sotne.  and  that  ought  to  satisfy  any  man." 

"  To  he  sure  it  ought,  sir  ;  and  at  all  events 
it  satisfies  you ;  there  can  be  no  mistake  about 
tJiat;  and  your  bidy  may  own  the  same  on  her 
side ;  for  as  my  old  man  and  I  often  say,  that 
you  are  the  handsomest  couple  we  ever  set  our 
eves  on,  and  we  've  seen  a  many  of  the  quality 
t)0,  in  our  time." 

"  Better  and  better!"  laughed  Elphinstone; 
"  whv,  Mistress  Dorcas,  you  are  a  perfect 
courtier,  and  ought  not  to  be  buried  alive  here." 

"  Well,  it  has  been  dull  enough  all  this 
summer,  I  do  confess,  sir  ;"  said  the  garrulous 
old  gate-beeper ;  "  but  just  now  I  am  in  luck, 
and  may  hope  for  a  better  time." 

"  Ha,'  indeed  ;  then  I  suppose  your  lord  is 
coming  back  to  England  ?" 

"  Oil,  dear  no,   sir  ;  my  lord  and  my  lady 

intend  to  winter  in  Rome,  and  even  if  they 

were  to  change  their  minds,  they  'd  stay  in 

l.ondon  I  take  it;  or  go  down   to  their  other 

place  westward,  for  they  never  fancy  this  in 

;     tiie  cold   weather,  being  so  near  the  river. 

i  I  iso,  but  I  have  let  all   tlie  best  rooms  in  the 

I  lodge  for   the  next  six  months,   so  that  we 

ehan't  be  so  lonesome-like  as  we  were  last  year." 

"  A  strange  season,  I  should  say,"  observed 
Sydnej',  "for  a  family  to  select  so  secluded  a 
residence." 

"  Why,  it  ain't  altogether  a  family,"  said 
the  old  woman,  gravely.  "It's  only  a  widow- 
lady  and  her  daughter :  a  grand  lady,  too,  I 
r.ather  think,  sir,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  but  I 
fancy  they  are  not  over  rich,  for  all  that." 

"Few  people  are,  my  good  friend;"  re- 
marked Ida  with  a  smile,  as  she  prepared  to 
walk  on,  fearful  of  intruding  upon  the  secrets 
of  a  stranger. 

"True,  ma'am,  true,"  acquiesced  the  perti- 
nacious old  woman  ;  "but  some's  richer  th.in 
others ;  and  I  've  a  notion  that  this  lady  that 's 
coming  to  lodge  with  me  is  poorer  than  she 
has  been." 

"  In  that  case.  Mistress  Dorcns,  you  had  bet- 
ter take  care  of  yourself,"  said  Sydney,  archly. 

"  Oh,  I  've  no  fear  for  myself,  sir,'"  replied 
the  gate-keeper,  eagerh^,  "no  fear  for  myself; 
for  the  lady  behaved  like  a  lady  as  she  is,  and. 
offered  to  pay  me  three  months  in  advance." 

"But  surely,"  objected  Ida,  interested  in 
spite  of  herself  by  the  animation  of  her  hum- 
ble acquaintance,  "you  can  scarcely  have 
such  accommodations  as  would  be  required 
by  so  superior  a  person  as  you  describe,  in 
your  present  residence." 

"  I  don't  wonder  that  you  should  think  so, 
ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Dorcas ;  "  because,  of 
course,  j-ou  can't  be  aware  that  a  maiden 
aunt  of  my  lord's  lodged  and  died  here,  and 
tlie  rooms  have  never  been  touched  since, 
except  to  be  dusted.  Jty  lord  would  have  it 
so;  and  handsome  enough  they  are,  I  can  as- 
sure you,  ma'am,  for  any  lady  in  the  land." 

"  Well,  at  all  events  I  congratulate  you, 
my  gooil  Mrs.  Dorcas,"  said  Elphinstone,  as  ho 
drew  the  arm  of  his  wife  within  his  own  ; 
"  and  now  we  will  continue  our  rambles. 
Bat,  by  the  by,  when  do  you  expect  these  new 
inmates  of  yours  ?" 


"  Oh,  thoj'  have  already  been  hero  these 
three  daj^s,  sir,"  was  the  re{)ly,  "  or  I  would 
have  asked  your  \a.dy  to  look  at  Lady  Marga- 
ret's rooms.  They  are  out  somewhere  in  the 
park  ;  they  are  very  little  in  the  house  this 
tine  weather." 

"Tiiey  are  right,"  was  the  gay  rejoinder; 
"and  now  we  will  go  into  the  park  in  our 
turn.  Wo  are  not  likely  to  interfere  with 
each  other,  as  in  all  probability  we  shall  not 
even  meet." 

"Likely  enough,  sir;  but  if  you  should, 
there  will  be  no  harm  done." 

"  I  trust  not,  my  wortiiy  dame  ;  so  wo  will 
wish  you  good  morning  for  the  present." 

"  Good  morning,  sir,  and  a  pleasant  walk  to 
you,"  was  the  reply  of  the  old  woman  as  she 
turned  the  key  in  the  gate,  and  re-entered  the 
lodge,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elphinstone  resumed 
their  walk. 


CHAPTER    XXIL 

A   RENCONTER. 

For  awhile  the  two  pedestrians  followed 
the  advice  of  Mrs.  Dorcas,  and  kept  in  the 
open  ground  ;  but  after  a  time  they  began  to 
wish  for  the  calm  seclusion  of  the  woods,  and 
plunged  into  their  welcome  |hade.  Fond  and 
happy  hearts  make  society  .-iiid  fellowship 
with  all  around  them;  11. o  sunshine  M'ithin 
gives  warmth  and  gladness  to  every  external 
object ;  and  thus  the  moments  flew  by  with 
lightning  speed,  until  Ida,  who  was  not  yet 
sufficiently  inured  to  this  species  of  exercise 
to  set  fatigue  at  defiance,  began  to  betray 
evident  symj^toms  of  over-exertion. 

"  We  have  walked  too  far  and  too  fast  for 
you,  my  love,"  said  Sydney,  as  he  felt  her 
weight  grow  heavy  on  his  arm ;  "  and  we 
must  make  our  way  back  in  the  open  park 
where  you  may  rest  for  a  timb  without  dan- 
ger of  damp,  which  you  can  not  unfortunately 
do  under  this  dense  foliage;  and  see,  most 
opportunely,  here  is  a  path  cleared  through 
the  trees  which  evidently  loads  to  the  Observ- 
atory. What  say  you  ?  Can  you  make  the 
effort '(" 

Ida  willingly  assented,  and  in  a  few  momenta 
they  discovere^d  by  the  bright  gleam  of  light 
which  appeared  at  some  distance  before  them 
that  they  should  ore  long  be  in  the  open 
grounds  once  more.  Cheered  by  the  prospect 
of  repose,  Ida  moved  moi'c  rajjidly  forward, 
and  they  soon  etood  at  the  edge  of  the  belt 
through  whic'i  they  had  ascended  the  height. 
The  prospect  before  them  was  enchanting,  and 
weary  as  she  was,  Mrs.  Elphinstone  remained 
for  a  few  instants  looking  far  out  over  the 
busy  river  and  the  opposite  shore  ere  she  had 
taken  possession  of  the  grassy  knoll  upon 
which  her  anxious  husband  hadhastily  thrown 
the  shawl  which  she  had  cast  off  during  their 
ramble.  She  had  Bcarcely  seated  herself, 
however,  ere  she  became  awaro  that  the  scene 
had  fascinated  other  eyes  beside  her  own,  for 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  tower  where  she 
was  protected  from  the  glare  of  the  sun,  sat 
a  young  girl,  so  assiduously  engaged  upon  ft 


64 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


sketch  wliich  she  -was  making,  that  she  was 
evidently  unconscious  of  the  vicinity  of  the 
Btransrers. 

"Look,  Sydney,"  whispered  his  wife;  "you 
were  a  false  ])roi)het,  for  most  assuredly  we 
have  stumbled  upon  the  young  lady  of  the 
lodge." 

Elphinstone's  eyes  followed  the  direction 
of  her  finger,  for' hitherto  he  had  heen  so 
absorbed  in  his  care  for  her,  that  he  had  not 
once  glanced  around  him,  and  he  immed 
ately  acquiesced  in  the  probability  of  her 
inference. 

"  Judging  from  her  figure  at  this  distance," 
he  whispered  in  reply;  "she  must  indeed  be 
very  youn?,  scarcely,  I  should  say,  escaped 
from  childhood,  with  all  its  glorious  associa- 
tions of  back-boards  and  milk  and  water. 
Who  can  they  he  ?" 

"  Xay,  love :"  said  Ida,  with  the  uneasy 
feeling  whicli  the  subject  of  age  never  failed 
to  produce  upon  her,  and  who  was  morbidly 
anxious  to  conceal  it;  "you  must,  at  least, 
acknowlcdire,  whoever  they  may  be,  that  the 
figure  before  us  is  extremely  graceful — re- 
mark tlie  pliant  bend  of  her  neck,  and  the 
firm  but  easy  attitude  of  her  small  head. 
She  is  really  a  very  picturesque  object  as  she 
sits  there  enveloped  in  those  profuse  folds  of 
wliite  drapery,  with  her  long  golden  ringlets 
heaving  in  the  wind." 

"I  v.ill  acknowledge  any  thing  you  please, 
dearest,"  said  '^vdney,  as  he  wound  his  arm 
affectionately  about  her  waist;  "if  3"ouwill 
only  lean  on  me,  and  endeavor  to  overcome 
the  fatigue  to  which  I  have  subjected  you 
through  my  selfish  want  of  thought,  and 
reallj'  now  you  mention  it,  the  fair  damsel 
before  us  here,  does  make  a  very  pretty  ob- 
ject in  the  landscape.  It  is  a  pity  that  she 
can  not  put  herself  into  her  sketch'." 

"  IIoM'  strange  that  she  should  be  alone  at 
such  a  distance  from  the  lodge,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Elphiustone. 

"You  fo'.-get,"  said  her  husband  "  that  this 
is  charmed   ground,    upon    which    only   the 

!)rivilegod  can  enter;  and  that  she  doubtless- 
y  imagined  herself  as  free  from  our  intru- 
sion, as  we  believed  ourselves  secure  from 
meeting  her." 

And  still  the  subject  of  their  conversation 
pursued  her  task  without  once  suffering  her- 
self to  be  diverted  from  her  occupation,  while 
at  intervals,  a  few  snatches  of  song  burst 
from  her  lips,  in  a  clear,  wild,  thrilling  voice 
of  exquisite  volume  and  sweetness. 

"  Another  nit;htingalc,  Ida,"  smiled  Sydney; 
"  upon  my  word,  the  neighborhood  improves  ; 
who  would  have  thought  of  encountering 
such  a  little  prodigy  as  this,  in  a  country 
villat^'e?" 

"Hush,"  murmured  lus  wife;  "she  is  not 
alone,  for  I  see  another  figure  advancing 
toward  iicr  from  behind  the  Observatory." 

As  Mrs.  ^'^Iphinstone  spoke,  a  lady  habited 
inniourning,  moved  forward  into  the  sun- 
shine for  u  moment,  and  then  closing  a  book 
which  siie  held  in  her  hand,  slowly  approached 
the  young  artist. 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Ida,  springing  to  her  feet, 
"  let  us  go  at  once,  Sydney,  for  we  can  not 
fail  to  be  observed  ere  long,  and  I  would  not 


for  the  world  that  we  should  be  suspected  of 
the  indelicacy  of  listening  to  their  conver- 
sation." 

"But  can  you  indeed  venture  on  further 
exertion  so  soon,  my  beloved  I"  asked  her 
husband,  anxiously  ;  "  you  have  scarcely  hail 
time  to  overcome  3'our  previous  fatigue?" 

"Fear  nothing  for  me,"  smiled  Ida;  "I 
really  feel  quite  strong  again,  and  I  know 
not  why,  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  escape  unseen 
by  these  strangers." 

"Unfortunately,  that  is  impossible,"  said 
Sydney;  "unless  we  return  through  the 
wood,  whicli  would  lengthen  our  walk  very 
considerably,  and  you  are  unequal  to  any 
gratuitous  exertion' of  that  kind.  Pass  them 
we  must,  and  therefore,  if  you  are  really  de- 
sirous to  reach  home  without  delay,  let  us 
lose  no  more  time." 

With  a  reluctance  for  which  she  could  not 
account  to  herself,  and  which  she  was  conse- 
quently unwilling  to  confess,  Mrs.  Eljihin- 
stone  took  the  arm  of  her  husband,  and  pre- 
2>ared  to  retrace  her  steps  to  the  village. 

Had  she  entertained  a  hope  of  being  enabled 
to  sustain  the  fiitigue  of  the  more  circuitous 
woodland  path,  she  would  assuredly  have 
found  courage  to  make  tiie  attempt,  but  she 
felt  her  utter  inability  to  accomplisli  such  an 
undertaking,  and  she  shrank  from  the  possi- 
bility of  failure,  should  she  persist  in  a  ca- 
price which  could  not  but  appear  childish  and 
undignified  to  Sydney. 

Slowly,  therefore,  they  advanced  toward 
the  two  strangers,  who  were  so  thoroughly 
engrossed  in  discussing  the  merits  of  the 
drawing  upon  which  the  younger  had  been 
engaged,  that  the  muftled  sound  of  the  intru- 
sive footsteps  upon  tlie  grass  were  unlieard, 
nor  was  it  until  Elphiustone,  in  order  to  an- 
nounce their  approach,  addressed  a  few  words 
to  his  companion,  that  they  became  aware 
of  this  invasion  of  their  solitude,  when  the 
effect  which  it  produced  was  electrical. 

The  j'oung  lady  started  like  a  frightened 
fawn,  and  suffered  her  sketch-book  to  fall  to 
tlie  ground,  while  the  elder  lady  hastily  drew 
down  her  vail. 

The  first  impulse  of  Sydney  was  to  drop 
the  arm  of  his  wife,  to  raise  his  hat  witli  a 
murmured  apology,  and  to  restore  the  sketel)- 
book  to  its  fair  owner,  after  which  he  turned 
away,  and,  holding  the  hand  of  Ida,  was 
about  to  pursue  his  homeward  path,  when 
he  was  arrested  by  the  exclamation : 

"  I  can  not  be  'deceived — that  must  be  Mt.  ) 
Elphiustone." 

"  It  is  indeed  Mr.  Elphiustone,"  was  his 
astonished  reph%  as  he  once  more  advanced 
toward  tiie  tower  accompanied  by  Ida;  "and 
the  voice  of  tlie  person  by  whom  1  am  recog- 
nized is  perfectly  familiar  to  me,  although  I 
am  unable  so  identify  it." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  lady,  throwing  back 
her  vail,  and  revealing  a  careworn  but  still 
handsome  face  ;  "this  is  indeed  an  unexpected 
meeting;"  and  she  extended  her  hand  cordially 
as  she  spoke. 

"  My  dear  Lady  Malcolm,"  exclaimed  Sydney  1 
in  his  turn,  "what  an  unlooked-for  pleasure  t  I 
What  happy  chance  has  brought  you  to  tbi» 
uUima  Thukr 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


C5 


Lady   Malcolm   pointed    in    silcnco    to    her 

in mriung  dress,  and    then,   for  tlio  first  time, 

tiie  eye  of  Elphinstonc  fell  on  her  widow's  cap. 

■•  Forgive  me,"  ho  said  in  a  tone  of  deep  fecl- 

ii,',  "I  did  not  know — I  was  not  aware — " 

■'  Yes,  Sydney,"  replied  the  lady  after  a 
]'inse,  "ho  is  gone,  and  the  world  wonld  have 
li  III  to  mo  a  desert,  had  I  not  still  possessed 
i.iV  cliild.  Come  hither,  Edith,"  sho  pursued, 
1  beckoning  t!ie  timid  girl  to  her  side,  "  give 
lyour  hand  to  Mr.  P^lphinstone,  whoso  mother 
|waa,  as  you  have  often  heard  me  say,  my  best 
land  dearest  friend." 


"  Can  it  be  possible  ?"  asked  Sydney,  as  he 
took  the  offered  hand,  and  retained  it  within 
ihi3  own,  "  can  this  really  bo  my  little  Edith  ? 
'my  little  golden-haired  pet  and  plaything? 
iTimo  does  indeed  work  wonders — and  very 
iCharming  ones  at  times,"  ho  added,  glancing 
toward  her  mother. 

'■  But — this  lady — "  said  Lady  Malcolm  with 
^   courteous   bow   to   Ida,  who   had   hitherto 

niained  a  mute  spectator  of  the  scene  before 

'■  That  lady,"  said  Sydney  with  a  proud  and 
•aming  smile,  "is  my  wife,  my  dear  Lady 
I  ilcolm,  for  whom  I  would  ask  a  portion  of 
1  ^  regard  with  which  you  honored  my  poor 
...jther." 
I  "  Your  wife  1"    exclaimed    the  widow,     in 

tlTepressible    amazement,     "are    you    serious, 
ydney  ?" 

"  Perfectly  so,"  replied  the  young  husband 
:th  sudden  gravity,  "you  may  well  wonder 
c  my  happiness.  Lady  Malcolm,  for  it  is  indeed 
i.r  beyond  my  deserts;  but,  nevertheless,  this 
,.dy  is  indeed  my  wife." 
!  t  "Yours   is   in   truth   an   enviable    destiny, 
,  jrdney,"  s.aid  his  friend,  subiluing  with  ready 
'  let  the  feeling  of  surprise  wliieh  had  for  a  mo- 
lent  betrayed  her  into  a  want  of  caution  pecu- 
irly  ill-timed,  "but  you  were  ever  a  creature 

the  sunshine.     Remember,  that  not  a  word 

this  had  reached  me;  and  you  are  still  so 
lung  that  you  needed  the  all-sufficient  excuse 
'  such  a  face  as  that  before  me  to  reconcile  me 
■i  the  fact  of  3'our  marriage.  Pardon  me,  Mrs. 
.'phinstone,"  she  continued  with  a  winning 
ijiile,  "  I  have  for  so  many  years  been  accus- 
llned  to  look  upon  your  husband  in  the  light 
<ja  son,  that  I  was  weak  enough  for  an  instant 
-tjfeel  aggrieved  that  ho  had  taken  such  a  step 
Allhout  honoring  me  with  his  confidence." 

|[da  replied  only  by  a  cold  and  haughty  in- 
cjiation  of  the  head.  She  was  stung  to  the 
■^ry  heart. 

I'  Had  I  only  been  aware  that  you  were  in 
'Ijgland,  my  kind  friend,"  exclaimed  Sydney, 
■*jDW  many  painful  moments  would  have  h)een 
•Wired  to  Ida  ;  but  the  tale  which  I  have  to  tell 
l.=So  long  to  be  commenced  here,  and  now ;  and 
n  wife  is  already  exhausted  by  her  walk." 

Let  us  then  return  to  tho  lodge  together," 
rl  Lady  Malcolm,  "  for  you  will  be  surprised, 

S'^'ney,  to  hear  tliat  the  two  stray  birds  you 
,6  discovered  on  the  wing,  have  made  tlieir 
h'bble  nest  for  a  time  ou  tho  confines  of  a 
glut  man's  park.  Such  is,  however,  tho  case ; 
bi  I  must  not  forgot  that  my  sorrows  and 
■tgglcs  can  affortl  but  sorry  entertainment  to 
U.  Elphinstonc,  and  I  will,  therefore,  defer 
alj'urther  allusion  to  them  until  we  are  alone 


together;  and  in  tho  interval,  endeavor  to  make 
her  husband's  friend  her  own.  May  I  not  hoiio 
to  do  so,  my  dear  madam  ?  Such  a  face  a? 
yours  gives  promise  of  a  heart  in  which  I  sliould 
be  proud  indeed  to  occupy  a  place.  I  am  no 
longer  young,  but  I  can  still  feel  with  thoso 
who  are  so." 

The  voice  and  manner  of  Lady  Malcolm,  were 
so  resistless,  that  Ida  turned  toward  her  with  a 
smile,  and  ere  long  sho  found  herself  convershig 
unrestrainedly,  and  with  a  sensation  of  positive 
pleasure,  with  the  stranger  from  whom  she  had 
only  an  hour  before  so  unaccountably  shrunk. 
She  even  ceased  to  remember  her  first  ill- 
omened  expression  of  surprise  on  discovering 
that  sho  was  tho  wife  of  Sydney ;  or  rather  slio 
brought  herself  to  interpret  it  according  to  tho 
explanation  which  Lady  Jlalcolra  volunteered. 

Elphinstone  was,  meanwhile,  radiant  with 
delight,  and  was  astonished  to  discover  that, 
although  in  tho  sociely  of  his  idolized  wife,  ho 
had  never  for  a  moment  experienced  tho  want 
of  other  companionship,  his  happiness  was  sen- 
sibly enhanced  by  this  unexpected  meeting 
with  an  old  and  valued  friend. 

Tho  shy  and  beautiful  Edith,  also  interested 
him  greatly.  It  seemed  to  him  so  marvelous, 
that  t'lo  laughing  cliild  in  whose  sports  he  had 
shared,  sliould,  in  tho  four  brief  years  which 
had  elapsed  since  they  last  met,  have  grown 
into  a  graceful  and  lovely  girl,  full  of  the  blush- 
ing beauty  of  her  sixteen  summers;  but,  above 
all,  he  felt  exalted  in  his  own  esteem  as  ho 
remembered,  that  it  was  his  proud  privilege  to 
introduce  to  one  whom  his  mother  had  loved  as 
a  sister,  so  radiant  a  being  as  Ida  in  the  char- 
acter of  his  wife. 

"  And  when  she  knows  all,"  ho  resumed, 
"when  she  learns  all  that  sho  has  sacrificed 
for  my  sake,  how  will  she  honor  her  for  her 
noblo  self-abnegation :  how  perfect  a  faith  will 
she  feel  in  her  deep  and  pure  affection  for  tho 
man,  to  secure  whoso  happiness  she  has  aban- 
doned all  besides." 

On  the  arrival  of  the  party  at  the  lodge,  the 
astonishment  of  Mrs.  Dorcas  exceeded  all 
bounds,  and  it  was  with  an  unsteady  hand  that 
she  applied  tho  key,  which  was  to  give  egress 
to  Elphinstone  and  his  bride  ;  she  became  more 
tranquU,  however,  as  the  parting  salutations 
fell  upon  her  ear. 

"Farewell,  then,  Lady  Malcolm,  until  to- 
morrow ;  good-by,  Edith ;  remember  that  you 
have  promised  that  I  shall  see  the  sketch,  and 
that  we  shall  between  us  introduce  Ida  into 
the  foreground." 

"  Good  morning,  my  dear  boy ; — good  morn- 
ing, Mrs,  Elphinstone.  We  shall  meet  again 
to-morrow." 

The  gate  closed  upon  Sydney  and  his  bride ; 
but  Lady  Malcolm  paused  for  a  moment  ere 
she  entered  the  lodge,  and  watched  them  as 
they  slowly  made  their  way  along  the  bowery 
road. 

"Married!"  she  mentally  ejaculated  ;  "mar- 
ried at  twenty  years  of  age;  poor  boy! — and 
to  a  woman  evidently  older  than  himself. 
Who  was  she,  I  wonder.  She  is  beautiful — 
very  be-autiful — high-bred,  and  highly  educa- 
ted— but  what  brings  them  here*  This  may 
indeed  be  a  refuge  for  the  struggling  and  the 
sorrowful,  but  it  is  no  fit  resting-place  for  th« 


CG 


THE     JEALOUS     WIFE. 


prosperous  and  the'  happy.  There  is  a  mys- 
tery wliich  I  must  strive  to  fathom  for  both 
their  sakes.  And  so  the  hope  of  loncj  years 
has  failed !  I  loved  his  mother  so  tenderly 
that  I  could  not  but  believe  tliat  ho,  in  his 
turn,  must  love  wy  child  when  he  again  met 
her — beautiful  and  ^'ifted  as  she  now  is. 
However,  I  ■will  think  no  more  of  this,  but 
endeavor  to  convince  mj-self  that  the  more 
brilliant  destiny  which  is  offered  to  her  may 
equally  insure  her  happiness;  and,  mean- 
while, for  the  sake  of  the  friend  who  was  eo 
dear  to  me,  I  will  strive  to  feel  the  affection 
of  a  mother  for  the  woman  who  now  bears 
her  name." 

At  this  point  of  her  reverie,  Lady  Malcolm 
was  interrupted  by  the  sweetest  sound  to  her 
car  of  any  which  could  be  heard  on  earth — 
the  voice  of  her  child  caroling  forth  a  simple 
Bontr  with  all  the  gushing  careless  freedom  of 
a  wild-bird;  and  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile 
strongly  blended  together  she  retired  into 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

rXPLANATlOXS. 

"And  now,  pray  tell  me,  Sydney,"  said  his 
wife,  as  they  slowly  proceeded  homeward, 
•'  who  is  this'Lady  Malcolm  '<" 

"In  the  first  place,  dearest,  as  you  must 
have  gathered  from  our  conversation,  she 
was  the  most  intimate  and  best  loved  friend 
of  my  mother,  by  whom  she  was  at  once  es- 
teemed for  her  many  noble  qualities,  and 
ndmired  for  her  extraordinary  attainments. 
Slie  is  in  truth  an  excellent  and  large-hearted 
woman,  of  strong  purposes  and  feelings,  and 
singularly  accomplished;  one  of  tlie  last  per- 
sons in  the  world,  I  should  have  thought,  to 
bury  herself  alive  as  she  is  about  to  do  here, 
under  any  circumstances,  even  the  melan- 
choly one  which  must  have  induced  the  sac- 
rifice " 

"But  she  must  have  been  a  widow  for 
some  time,"  remarked  Ida;  "for  you  saw 
that,  with  the  exception  of  a  black  ribbon 
about  her  waist.  Miss  Malcolm  wore  no 
mourning," 

"True,"  said  Sydney  ;  "and  that  fact  ren- 
ders her  present  absolute  seclusion  still  more 
unaccountable.  However,  in  reply  to  your 
inquiry,  I  must  further  tell  you,  that  Lady 
Malcolm  was  the  only  daughter  and  heiress 
of  Mr.  Mark  Conyngham,  a  man  of  veiry  con- 
siderable fortune  and  large  landed  prop- 
erty." 

"  It  can  not  then  be  that  straitened  means 
have  decided  her  to  take  so  singular  a  step," 
interposed  Mrs.  Eljdiinstonc. 

"C>!rtuinly  not,  I  siiould  imagine  ;  or  if  eo, 
something  very  peculiar  must  have  occurred. 
Bo  this  as  it  may,  however,  Miss  Conyngham, 
the  beauty  and  the  heiress,  bestowed  her 
hand  upon  the  colonel  of  a  dragoon  regiment 
which  chanced  to  be  quartered  in  the  county- 
town  adjacent  to  her  father's  estate;  who,  m 
process  of  time,  became  Sir  Archibald  Mal- 
colm ;  a  maa  of  high  family  connections  and 


considcrale  military  reputation.  It  was  whr.t 
is  called  a  'love  match'  on  both  sides;  but  I 
have  heard  my  poor  mother  say  that  the 
gallant  colonel  won  new  laurels  by  this  fresh 
conquest  in  the  county,  where  there  had  been 
many  pretenders  to  the  hand  of  his  fair  and 
well-dowried  bride,  who  could  not  conceal 
tlieir  discomfiture  at  her  being  carried  off 
by  a  stranger,  even  although  that  stranger 
was  the  brilliant  and  gallant  Colonel  Mal- 
colm " 

"And  were  they  happy?"  demanded  Ida, 
earnestly. 

"So  I  have  heard;  in  fact,  they  had  every 
reason  to  anticij)ate  happiness,  they  were  bo 
well-matched  in  every  respect — both  wealthy, 
both  highly  endowed  by  nature,  and  both 
young  and  full  of  hope." 

"  You  arc  right,"  said  Ida,  with  an  ill-sup- 
pressed sigh;  "in  that  case,  indeed,  they 
might  well  anticipate  happiness,  for  in  that 
instance,  there  could  be  notiiing  to  reproach 
on  the  one  hand,  nor  to  regret  on  the  other, 
in  after  j'ears." 

"And  I  would  pledge  myself  that  neither 
regret  nor  reproach  ever  came  between  them," 
replied  Sydney,  emphatically  ;  "why  should 
it?  Had  they  not  chosen  each  other  from  the 
whole  world,  even  as  we  have  done,  my  best 
beloved?  Ko,  no;  from  all  that  1  have  heard. 
Sir  Archibald  and  Lady  Malcolm  were  just 
such  a  model  coujile  as  we  shall  be;  realizing 
the  sweetest  words  ever  written  by  one  of  the 
sweetest  poets  who  ever  wrote;  and  I  will 
be  bound  that  more  than  once  he  has  said 
and  sung  to  her  what  I  will  say  and  sing  to 
you ;"  and  as  he  bent  down  and  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  his  wife,  Elphinstone  breathed  out 
in  a  subdued  but  exquisitely  melodious  Yoice; 

"Thou  wilt  still  be  adored  as  this  inoincnt  thou  art, 
Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  il  will ; 
"While  around  the  dear  ruin  eaeh  wi«h  of  my  heart 
fchall  entwine  itself  verdantly  still " 

"  Are  you  already  looking  forward  to  that 
period,  Sydney,  and  prcjjaiiu^j  yourself  to  meel 
it  with  philosophy  ?"  asked  Ida,  with  a  shade  , 
of  impatient  bitterness 

"  What  a  question  !"  exclaimed  Elphinstoofl^ 
gayly ;  "am  I  looking  for  a  gouty  shoe,  and 
a  bowl  of  water-gruel  ?  No.  no  ;  my  philoso- 
phy is  of  quite  another  dcsc;  ij)tion.  and  coiv 
sists  of  enjoying  the  present  to  the  fullest  er- 
tent  of  which  it  is  suscei>tiblc,  and  of  looking 
into  the  future  only  to  foretaste  ail  the  happi- 
ness that  I  have  reason  to  expect  from  it  So 
now  that  we  have  settled  that  important  point, 
wliich  you  must  luive  mooted  in  the  mere  in»  , 
solence  of  a  beauty  that  will  remain  for  a  cep-. 
tury  to  come  unchanged  and  unchangeable  in, 
my  eyes,  let  us  return  to  our  te.xt.  ' 

"  Lady  Malcolm  accompanied  her  husband, 
abroad,  and  did  not  return  to  England  until 
she  had  become  a  mother.  Edith  was  at  thf 
period  of  their  arrival  a  mere  infant,  and  I,  s 
l>oy  of  four  years  of  age,  became  her  first  ploy- 
fellow  ;  after  a  time  we  both  grew  a  fe«. 
inches,  she  found  the  use  of  her  feet,  and  wi 
drew  carts  and  made  coVslip  necklaces  to, 
gether,  until  I  was  banished  to  school,  an< 
thence  to  college,  and  entirely  lost  sight  of  m.' 
little  companion,  who  was,  in  the  mean  whil« 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


C7 


nndergoing  the  same  process  with  some  sli;j;ht 
variations.  You  may,  therefore,  imdersUiiid 
II IV  astoaishmeat  to-day  oa  discovering  in  the 
lovely  girl  who  had  exeitod  eo  much  interest 
ill  us  both,  the  fairy  thing  that  I  only  re- 
membered as  a  -wee  toddling,  laughter-loviug 
child." 

"  Yes,  time  works  strange  changes,"  said 
Ida,  gravely  ;  "  and  she  is  certainly  very  beau- 
tiful." 

"And  what  a  voice!"  pursued  Sydney; 
"  those  recreant  rooks  ouglit  to  have  been 
ashamed  to  caw  in  Iier  hearing ;  and  did  you 
remark  the  sketch,  dearest  ?  As  an  artist,  j-ou 
must  have  considered  it  masterly  for  so  young 
a  girl." 

"  It  was  very  creditable,  indeed,"  said  Mrs. 
Elphinstone,  who  began  to  weary  of  the  praise 
bestowed  by  her  husband  upon  another,  but 
who  was  too  right-minded  to  utter  one  word  of 
depreciation.  "  Miss  Malcolm  will  make  a 
charming  wife  for  the  man  who  is  fortunate 
t  enough  to  win  her." 

I  "  A  wife  !"  echoed  Sydney,  with  a  laugh ; 
I  '*  what !  that  shy  child  !  Jly  dear  Ida,  what 
an  absurd  idea !" 

!  "  I  do  not  see  its  absurdity,  I  confess,"  per- 
I  sisted  his  companion  ;  '•  if  I  do  not  err  in  my 
'  calculation,  iliss  Malcolm  must  be  sixteen  years 
of  age." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  she  is,"  was  the  calm  re- 
joinder ;  "  but  it  really  soimds  so  strangely  to 
;hear  you  call  her  Miss  Malcolm,  though  I  sup- 
pose it  will  be  proper  to  do  so  myself  iu  fu- 
:ture.  In  order  to  show  all  fitting  honor  to  the 
;*  little  Deethy'  of  old  times,  who,  as  you  say, 
:has  now  reached  the  ripe  and  respect-eompell- 
jing  age  of  sixteen." 

i  "  After  all,"  murmured  Ida ;  "  I  must  con- 
Ifess  that,  charming  and  accomplished  as  these 
strangers  are,  I  would  much  rather  that  our 
solitude  had  continued  uninvaded." 

"/,  at  least,  have  never  felt  it  to  be  soli- 
tude," said  Sydney,  fondly;  "nvj  world  is 
always  amply  peopled  when  you  are  by  my 
side  ;  but,  nevertheless,  a  thousand  pleasant 
•memories  have  rendered  their  presence  wel- 
come to  me ;  green,  fresh  memories,  which 
(bring  back  the  happy  years  of  my  boyhood, 
[and  make  me  feel  as  though  I  had  still  a  mother 
^d  a  home." 

'  Mrs.  Elphinstonc  was  silent ;  and  for  a  time 
^er  husband  remained  buried  in  thought ; 
iwhile  at  intervals  a  smile  played  about  his 
[ips,  and  at  others  a  deep  shade  of  sadness 
[settled  upon  his  brow.  Suddenly,  however,  he 
ktarted  from  his  reverie. 

!    "  But  why  should  I  look  into  the  past,"  he 
■^'id ;  "  when  I  have  only  cause  to  exult  over 
present." 

Yet,  a  mother — a  home — "  faltered  the 
lelf-tormenting  Ida,  who  was  jealous  even  of 
'  back-glancing  thoughts. 
"  True,  they  are  both  very  dear  to  me,"  was 
reply  ;  "  but  have  I  not  a  loved  and  lovely 
'e  to  replace  the  first,  and  the  wide  worhl 
fore  me  in  which  to  renew  the  last  ?  Where 
(he  heart  Imgers,  there  is  our  true  home;  it  is 
Wy  separation  from  the  beloved  one  which 
nakes  man  an  exile  and  a  wanderer." 

"  And  would  it  not  be  prudent  to  make  that 
lome  ere  long,  dear  Sydney  i"  asked  his  wife, 


once  more  appeased.  "  Wo  must  not  forget 
that  we  are  j)oor  ;  the  Midsumimr-day's  dream 
iu  which  we  have  hitherto  iudul'^-d  can  not  last 
forever ;  and  we  should  do  well  to  prepare  for 
the  iuevitable  awakening." 

"  My  t/crtr  girl !"  exclaimed  Elphinstonc,  de- 
precatingly  ;  "  Avho  is  looking  gloomily  into  the 
future  now  ?  I  am  actually  iuclined  to  scold 
you.  Are  you  already  weary  of  our  miniature 
paradise  in  this  quiet  little  nook?  I  shall,  in- 
deed, begin  to  fear  that  you  have  truly  discov- 
ereil  it  to  be  a  solitude." 

"  Then  you  will  do  me  an  injustice,  Sydney  ; 
my  only  dread  is,  that  you  may  yourself  soon 
learn  to  feel  it  one.  It  is  necessary,  even 
amid  such  happiness  as  our  own  that,  like  the 
mother  of  Aladdin  in  the  Eastern  story,  we 
should  rub  up  the  old  lamps  of  our  fancies,  at 
times,  in  order  to  exchange  them  for  new  ones. 
Toujottrs  pcrdrix,  however  savory  the  diet  may 
at  first  prove,  runs  a  sad  risk  of  becoming 
wearisome  at  last,  particularly  to  one  so  young 
as  you  are." 

"  That  is  scarcely  fair,  Ida,  either  to  yourself 
or  me." 

"  And  wherefore  ?  The  fact  may  be  unpal- 
atable, but  can  you  deny  its  truth  ? ' 

"  Gastrouomieally,  no  ;  but  morally,  ycf — 
certainly,  in  so  far  as  I  am  personally  involved 
in  the  question." 

"  Well,  then,"  persisted  Mrs.  Elphinstonc  ; 
"we  will,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  suppose 
that  you  really  could  be  content  to  dream  away 
your  life  with  no  companion  but  your  wife,  and 
no  pursuit  but  that  of  making  the  days  suc- 
ceed each  other  in  a  species  of  listless  enjoy- 
ment— " 

"  Ida,*I  can  not  understand  you." 

"And  yet,  love,  I  speak  plainly;  even  could 
you,  I  repeat,  bo  satisfied  with  such  an  exist- 
ence as  that  which  I  have  attempted  to  describe, 
I  must  not  suffer  you  to  forget  that  I  came  to 
you  almost  penniless,  and — " 

"Ida,"  interposed  her  husband  vehemently; 
"  that  you  became  mine  under  any  circum- 
stances was  an  amount  of  happiness  of  which 
I  feel  myself  to  have  been  unworthy ;  too  well 
do  I  comprehend  the  extent  of  the  sacrifice  to 
which  your  aflection  prompted  you ;  but  only 
give  me  time,  and  you  shall  see  how  jealously 
and  perseveringly  1  will  struggle  to  repay  tho 
debt.  Surely,  however,  you  are  premature  in 
seeking  thus  early  to  commence  our  combat 
with  tho  world.  Wo  are  so  happy  here,  shut 
out  from  all  the  cark  and  care  by  which  wo 
shall  bo  surrounded  when  we  have  once  made 
the  plunge." 

Elphinstone  was  another  proof,  had  any  such 
been  needed,  that  men  have  infinitely  less  prac- 
tical philosopliy  than  women.  The  sudden 
necessity  for  exertion,  after  years  of  ease  and 
self-indulgence,  shakes  a  man  to  the  verji  center 
of  his  soul ;  he  has  to  break  through  all  his 
old  and  cherished  habits,  to  immolate  his  fas- 
tidious refinement  at  the  shrine  of  mammon, 
and  to  jostle  his  way  to  tho  feet  of  the  idol 
among  the  coarser  worshipers  in  whom  tho 
crowd  excites  emulation  rather  than  disgust; 
his  sensitive  nature  revolts  at  tho  trird  heforo 
him,  and  he  becomes  helpless  under  tlio  failure 
of  his  moral  courage;  while  a  woman,  however 
dehcately  nurtured  and  constitutionally  tLmid, 


68 


TUE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


no  sooner  becomes  aware  that  the  stnip-glo 
must  be  made  than  she  Ls  aroused  intostrcii^nli 
and  action;  she  may  -n-ccp  and  rcf>ine  under 
slight  sorrows,  but  she  contends  resolutely  with 
a  great  trial. 

Man  looks  gloomily  npon  the  storm-cloud, 
but  woman  gazes  out  into  sjiace  to  discover 
the  rainbow  beyond  it.  Man  is  cowed  by  the 
]>ositive,  woman  sustained  by  tlio  possible,  lie 
cowers  beneath  the  actual  infliction,  while  she, 
even  though  it  bo  amid  tears  and  travail,  per- 
sists in  struggling  for  its  remedy. 

The  sudden  energy  displayed  by  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone  had,  however,  as  wo  are  compelled  to 
confess,  bucn  elicited  by  a  mixed  motive  of 
which  slio  herself  was  scarcely  conscious.  It 
is  true  that  the  rcllcctions  to  which  sho  had 
given  utterance  during  that  homeward  walk 
had  frequently  arisen  in  her  mind  in  her  hap- 
piest hours,  but  it  is  equally  certain  that  not 
even  on  the  previous  day  had  s'.io  entertained 
the  most  remote  intention  of  forcing  thom  so 
abrujitly  on  her  husband  ;  one  short  hour  had, 
however,  sufficed  to  create  a  revolution  in  her 
whole  being ;  the  apparition  of  Lady  Malcolm 
and  her  daughter ;  the  expressed  admiration  of 
Mr.  Elphinstone  for  the  graceful  girl  who  had 
been  the  playmate  of  his  childhood,  the  un- 
guarded expression  used  by  the  elder  lady,  and 
her  evident  influence  over  the  feelings  of  Syd- 
ney, all  conspired  to  render  his  wife  anxious  to 
avoid  any  further  intercourse  with  the  intrud- 
ers. 

A  new  interest  had  been  awakened  in  the 
lieart  over  which  she  sought  to  reign  supreme ; 
mutual  confidences  must  be  exchanged  upon 
Eubjccts  with  which  sho  was  wholly  uncon- 
nected;  her  privacy  was  invaded;  tllte  sensa- 
tion of  blissful  security  in  which  she  had  in- 
dulged was  gone ;  the  besetting  sin  of  her 
nature  was  once  more  aroused;  and  the  fatal 
jealous}-  to  which  sho  yielded  herself  up  a  pass- 
ive victim,  was  busy  with  its  prey  Ida  was 
very  wretched,  but  she  did  not  ask  for  rest,  she 
only  pined  for  change. 

And  who  among  us  can  ever  foresee  what 
the  next  change  may  bring  ? 


CHAPTER    XX lY. 


Ox  the  following  morning  while  Mv.  Elphin 
stone  was  occupied,  according  to  his  usual  cus- 
tom, in  euleoting  a  bouquet  for  his  bride  on  her 
appearance  in  the  breakfast-room,  Ida  lingered 
over  her  einiplc  hut  elegant  toilet.  The  ex- 
pression of  lier  features  was  calm  but  sad,  and 
it  was  evident  tliat  her  thought  were  far  from 
the  seine  and  objects  by  which  she  was  sui*- 
rounded. 

iSbe  had  dismissed  her  maid,  and  sat  oppo- 
site the  large  mirror,  wrai)ped  in  a  loose  dress 
of  pale  blue  cachemere,  over  which  her  mag- 
nificf-nt  hair  fell  in  luxuriant  profusion  almost 
to  the  floor.  Her  head  rested  upon  her  hand, 
and  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  grountL 

"  Yes — I  see,  I  feel,  that  my  trial  is  now 
about  to  commence,"  she  murmured  to  hcr- 
6clf ;  "  and  yet,  of  what  have  I  a  rijht  to  com- 


plain ?  I  was  not  forced  to  the  biink  of  tie 
precipice  uix)n  which  I  stanil ;  I  chose  my  owu 
path,  and  nuist  endure  tlie  consequences  of  my 
own  rashness.  There  will  be  no  pity  for  me, 
none,  should  I  become  the  victim  of  my  vain 
and  selfish  imprudence ;  and  it  is  better  so,  for 
I  do  not  seek  for  pity,  and  could  not  brook  it. 
And  yet  I  love  him  so  deeply — I  do  love  him 
so  entirely  and  so  intensely,  that  surely  I  de- 
serve to  be  loved  in  my  turn  with  more  than 
mere  evanescent  passion.  For  the  moment  I 
am  his  world,  for  mouths  I  have  been  the  one 
dream  of  his  existence ;  but  is  not  hfe  one  per- 
petual series  of  change  and  chance  3" 

How  many  women  have  been  worshiped 
witii  equal  devotion  for  a  brief  period ;  then 
slighted,  and  ultimately  forgotten!  There  are 
a  hiuulred  deaths  comprised  in  those  two  fear- 
fid  words.  And  he  is  so  young,  so  very  young  1 
Who  shall  say  that  the  fancy  of  his  youth  will 
continue  to  be  the  passion  of  liis  manhood? 
Who  shall  saj'  that  the  poverty  and  the  stern  ; 
contact  of  the  wofld  may  not  do  their  hideous 
work,  and  wrench  from  me  the  heart  wliose 
every  struggle  for  freedom  will  cost  me  tears 
of  blood  ?  And  he  is  so  beautiful  in  liis  boyish 
strength  and  grace ;  must  not  others  look  upon 
him  with  vhe  same  tenderness  and  admiration 
that  I  have  done?  Others  younger,  and  before 
many  years  shall  have  gone  by,  fairer  and 
brighter  than  myself.  Oh,  Sydney,  should  tbij 
ever  come  to  pass — " 

Her  bosom  heaved  convulsively,  and  her 
lips  trembled,  as  for  an  instant  she  dwelt  upon 
the  image  evoked  by  her  jealous  fears ;  butshe^ 
was  suddenly  awakened  to  the  realities  of  hei, 
present  existence  by  the  full  rich  voice  of  hci, 
husband  which  came  to  her  through  the  opoi 
easement,  as  he  accompanied  his  graceful  tasl 
by  singing  beneath  her  window — 

"  Oh  '  there  's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  Love's  young  dream." 

She  raised  her  head,  a  smile  stole  over  her  fea 
tures,  and  concealing  herself  behind  the  win 
(low-draperies,  she  watched  him  as  he  war 
dered  from  flower-bed  to  flower-bed,  selectin,, 
with  a  fastidiousness  which  sent  a  glow  eve. 
to  her  heart,  the  fairest  and  richest  blosson; 
that  they  could  boast.  > 

After  mdulging  for  a  time  in  this  contempli; 
tion,  she  hastily  rang  for  her  woman,  betraye^ 
an  unusual  interest  in  the  arrangement  of  h» 
dress,  gazed  long  and  anxiously  into  the  mirro 
and  finally  joined  her  husband  radiant  wit 
beauty  and  happiness. 

"At  last!"  exclaimed  Sydney,  springing  in 
petuously  to  meet  her ;  "  but,  laggard  as  yc 
have  been,  my  best  beloved,  I  have  not  tl 
heart  to  chide  you;  the  time  has  been  well  b 
stowed,  for  never  did  I  see  you  look  mo' 
lovely.  What  will  Edith  say  to-day,  when  si 
whispered  to  me  yesterday  that  vou  were  tl, 
most  beautiful  creature  she  Irnci  ever  seei 
What  will  Lady  Malcolm  think  of  my  pi 
sumption  if  she  could  scarcely  credit  it  ■*') 
she  saw  you  warm  and  weary  with  a  fatigiJt 
walk,  and  could  scarcely,  even  then,  bebe 
that  j-ou  were  really  mine !" 

And  as  he  spoke  Elpliinstone  woimd  his  ai 
tenderly  about  the  waist  of  his  wife.  T 
question  waa,  however,  au  unhappy  onei  ^ 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


as  we  have  scon,  Ida  hnd  at  once  attributed 
the  incredulity  of  Lady  Malcohn  to  a  far  dif- 
ferent cause ;  and  a  shadow  passed  across  her 
face  which  even  the  constrained  smile  upon 
her  lips  could  nut  conceal,  and  she  asked  with 
an  attempt  at  playfulness — 

"And  why  should  you  attach  any  import- 
ance to  the  effect  which  I  may,  or  may  not  pro- 
duce upon  your  friend  and  her  daughter?" 

••Why!"  echoed  Sydney.  "Oin  you  ask  me 
whv,  when  y<iu  know  the  exultiition  that  I  feel 
when  I  know  you  to  be  admired  and  appreci- 
ated by  all  who  approach  you,  and  remember 
that  you  are  mine,  that  I  have  won  you  to  my 
beart,  and  may  hold  you  there  forever  ?" 

"Foolish  boy!"  murmured  his  wife,  tenderly; 
•but  I  suppose  that  I  must  not  quarrel  with 
such  a  feclinj;:,  although  it  is  one  in  which  I 
ti\n  not  sympathize." 

"  Ida.  niy  love,  what  mean  you  ?" 

"  Simply,  dear  Sydney,  that  my  love  for  you 
is  so  utterly  independent  of  all  e.\:traneous  ex- 
citement, nay,  I  will  even  suy,  so  self-engrossed, 
that  I  would  rather  that  no  one  should  look 
upon  you  with  the  same  eyes  that  I  do." 

Elphinstono  answered  with  a  peal  of  his 
own  joyous  laughter. 

"Believe  me  when  I  assure  you  that  I  do 
not  jest,"  s:ud  Ida,  gravely. 

"  And  believe  me,  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  when 
I  assure  you  that  you  need  be  under  no  appre- 
i  hension  of  the  kind,"  replied  her  husband,  as 
'  j  he  wreafthed  a  white  camellia  in  the  braids  of 
1  her  hair;  "depend  upon  it  that  your  sun  is 
I  scarcely  a  star  to  any  other  eye  than  your  own. 
I  There,  now  you  are  perfection;  and  you  will 
I  leave  that  flower  where  I  have  placed  it ;  will 

iyou  not,  dearest  ?" 
"Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  Sydney;  but  re- 
member that  your  friends  proposed  to  pay  us 
i  an  early  visit,  and  that  we  have  not  yet  break- 
I  fested." 
I      "  Ah,  true ;  so  -we  will  only  indulge  in  one 

I  more  stroll  through  the  flowers,  and  then  aban- 
don them  for  a  time.  I  do  so  hope  that  you 
will  like  Lady  Malcolm,  Ida." 

"You  know  that  I  am  slow  in  attaching 
myseli;  Sydney." 

"You  are  right;"  said  her  husband,  bend- 
ing down  to  look  into  her  face;  "I  know  it 
well;  hours  and  hours  of  torture  did  I  suffer, 
before  you  allowed  mo  to  believe  that  you  cared 
more  for  me  than  for  the  most  indifferent  of 
jour  acquaintance." 

■*  .\.nd  do  you  blame  me,  Sydney?" 

"Blume  youl  I  cannot  accomplish  impossi- 
bilities. I  should  not  know  how  to  blame  you 
if  I  desired  to  do  so." 

"  In  that  case  at  least  you  would  have  done 
wrong;"  said  Ida,  with  a  faint  smile;  "I  saw 
and  felt — "  she  paused. 

"  Wliat?"  asked  Sydney,  eagerly. 

"Nay,  do  not  urge  mo;"  was  her  reply; 
"suffice  it  that  you  learned  the  truth  at  last. 
And  now  let  us  return  to  the  house." 

Charming !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Elphinstone, 
as  she  po3ses.sed  herself  of  the  bouquet  which  lay 
beside  her  plate,  and  presented  her  check  to 
receive  the  kiss  of  her  husband  ;  "  I  really*be- 
pin  to  imagine,  Sydney,  that  the  flowers  repro- 
duce themselves  every  night,  in  order  to  be 
|<«thered  and  blended  so  gracefully  every  morn- 


ing. Why,  this  is  a  fit  offering  for  an  eastern 
queen." 

"  It  is  far  better  bestowed ;"  said  her  grati- 
fied husband,  as  he  seated  himself  near  her ; 
"  for  now  it  adorns  my  wife  ;  and  I  repeat,  Ida, 
that  I  never  saw  you  look  so  radiantly  beauti- 
ful." 

"Flatterer I"  said  Mrs.  Elphinstono;  "you 
will  almost  make  mo  vain ;  but  in  truth,  dear 
Sydney,  I  would  not  exchange  these  glorious 
blossoms,  which  you  have  so  skillfully  arranged, 
for  the  most  costly  gems  that  you  could  offer 
me."  ^ 

The  sun  was  shining  brilliantly,  and  all  na- 
ture was  redolent  of  beauty  and  brightness. 
Ida  was  perfectly,  supremely  happy;  she  had 
even  forgotten  for  the  time  the  gnawing  doubts 
and  bitter  anticipations  in  which  she  was  so 
prone  to  indulge. 

With  her  eyes  fondly  and  tenderly  fixed  on 
the  glowing  and  manly  face  of  her  young  bride- 
groom, whose  luxuriant  curls  were  raised  at 
intervals  from  his  brow  by  the  breeze  thac 
came  through  the  open  gl^ss  doors  by  which 
they  had  entered  from  the  garden — while  his 
largo  luminous  eyes  danced  in  the  light  of  the 
heart's  happiness,  her  whole  being  was  flooded 
with  a  quiet  and  absorbing  joy — when  suddenly 
steps  were  heard  on  the  graveled  sweep  that 
led  up  to  the  house,  and  Lady  Malcolm  and 
her  daughter  emerged  from  behind  the  belt  of 
flowering  shrubs,  which  had  hitherto  concealed 
their  approach. 

"  So  soon  I"  murmured  Ida,  roused  from  her 
happy  reverie. 

''  Welcome !  a  thousand  times  welcome  !" 
exclaimed  Sydney,  as  he  bounded  acro.ss  the 
veranda  to  receive  the  coming  guests ;  and  as 
his  wife  rose  slowly  from  her  scat,  she  saw  him 
grasp  in  his  extended  hands  those  of  the  mother 
and  daughter  with  a,  warmth  which  to  her  ap- 
peared exaggerated  and  uncalled  for. 

No  trace  of  this  feeling  was  however  percep- 
tible as  she  greeted  with  calm  and  high-bred 
grace  the  friends  of  lier  husband  ;  and  the  heart 
of  Elphinstone  beat  high  as  he  detected  the  gaze 
of  unequivocal  admiration  which  Lady  Malcolm 
fastened  upon  the  lovely  woman  who  stood 
before  her. 

"  We  are  sad  intruders,  I  fear,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Elphinstone:"  she  said,  courteously;  "and  visit 
you  at  a  most  untimely  hour,  but  my  affection 
for  your  husliand  would  not  permit  me  to  use 
any  thing  like  ceremony  toward  his  wife,  whose 
regard  and  friendsliip  I  am  sincerely  eager  to 
secure.  You  will  therefore  pardon,  will  you 
not  ?  and  accept  this  breach  of  conventionality 
as  a  proof  of  the  feeling  which  I  am  anxious  to 
establish  between  us." 

"I  can  but  feel  flattered,  madam — " 

"  Nay,  nay ;  do  me  the  credit  to  believe  that 
T  am  a  mere  egotist,  unwilling  to  forego,  even 
for  an  hour,  the  enjoyment  of  your  society; 
and  yet  not  finite  so,  as  I  coveted  it  even  more 
for  little  Edith  than  for  myself;  and  I  feel 
quite  sure  that  the  selfishness  of  a  mother  will 
readily  find  its  excuse  in  your  eyes." 

"  You  do  Ida  no  more  than  justice,  my  denr 
Lady  Malcolm,  when  you  believe  that  you  will 
be  welcome  to  her  at  all  hours;"  said  Sydney; 
"  indeed  she  was  reproaching  me  for  my  idle- 
ness this  morning,  fearful  lost  wo  ehould  not 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


have  terminated  our  breakfast  before  your  ar- 
rival." 

"  In  that  case  I  will  not  further  apologize, 
and  I  fully  appreciate  her  kindness ;  and  now, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Kl{)hin.stone,  you  must  allow  me 
to  congratulate  you  on  the  little  paradise  that 
you  have  discovered  hero — I  have  rarely  seen 
BO  lovely  a  spot." 

"  Is  it  not  a  pretty  nest  ?"  asked  Elphin- 
stone ;  "  and  yet,  would  you  believe  it  ? 
although  we  have  only  resided  here  for  a  few 
weeks,  that  naughty  girl  is  urging  mo  to  ex- 
change it  for  tho^dirt  and  din  of  London." 

"  Doubtlessly,  Mrs.  Elpliinstonc  has  some 
good  and  sufficient  reason  for  so  doing ;"  was 
the  reply. 

"You  are  right,  madam,  quite  right;"  said 
Ida,  calmly  ;  "  we  are  poor,  and  consequently 
not  privileged  to  pass  our  lives  in  a  dream, 
however  pleasant  it  niiglit  bo  to  do  so." 

The  brow  of  Sydney  flushed,  and  he  looked 
mortified  and  ill  at  ease.  There  was  a  mo- 
mentary silence,  which  Ida  was  too  proud  to 
break,  but  which  was  soon  terminated  by  the 
good  taste  and  feeling  of  Lady  ilalcolm,  who, 
taking  the  hand  of  the  young  hostess,  said  in 
a  tone  of  deep  affection — 

"  I  admired  you  at  the  moment  we  first  met, 
Mrs.  Elphinstono,  as  every  one  must  do  who 
looks  upon  you,  but  I  have  now  forgotten  my 
admiration  in  my  respect.  You  possess  one  of 
woman's  noblest  attributes — moral  courage, 
and  you  are  indeed  worthy  to  bo  the  wife  of 
my  friend's  son.  And  do  you  know ;"  she  con- 
tinued in  a  lighter  strain ;  "  you  have  relieved 
my  mind  of  a  certain  sort  of  dread.  I  havo  a 
horror  of  fine  ladies  who  can  not  aflbrd  to  divest 
themselves  of  'the  purple  and  fine  linen'  of  the 
world — I  value  the  picture ;  I  care  httlo  for  the 
gilding  of  the  frame.  Thus  you  see  that,  after 
after  the  avowal  which  you  havo  so  frankly  and 
gracefully  made,  I  shall  be  relieved  of  a  thou- 
sand apprehensions,  and  be  enabled  to  meet 
you  upon  equal  terms ;  for  despite  tho  wonder 
which  I  read  in  the  eyes  of  that  dear  boy,  I  can 
truly  plead  poverty,  as  well  as  yourself^  and 
after  a  3-outh  and  womanhood  of  luxury  am 
compelled  to  look  the  stern  realities  of  my  des- 
tiny steadily  in  the  face." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Malcolm,  you  astonish  me  I" 
exclaimed  Elpliinstone.  • 

"I  can  believe  it;"  was  tho  calm  reply; 
"and  yet  such  indeed  is  tho  case.  However, 
as  I  before  remarked,  I  do  not  feel  privileged 
to  inflict  the  details  of  mj'  trials  and  disappoint- 
ments upon  Mrs.  Elpliinstone." 

"  You  have  at  least  excited  alike  my  surprise 
and  my  curiosity  ;"  persisted  Sydney. 

"They  shall  bo  gratified;"  said  Lady  Mal- 
colm ;  "  when  they  will  not  entail  weariness 
on  your  wife." 

"  I  bog,  madam"— commenced  Ida — 

"Look  yonder,  beneath  tliat  weeping  ash  ;" 
interposed  Sydney;  "tliere  is  a  rustic  seat 
wlvere  wo  may  be  sheltered  from  both  sun  and 
wind.  ShiUl  wo  adjourn  thither,  and  leave 
Ida  to  improve  lier  acquaintance  with  Miss 
Malcolm  '(" 

"  With  ^fiss  Malcolm .'"  echoed  tlie  mother, 
with  a  smile.  "  Can  you  really  have  forgotten, 
Sydney,  that  your  little  play-fellow  was 
christened  Edith  I" 


''  Ko,  indeed,  my  dear  friend,  but  — " 

"Nay,  nay,  tliis  is  folly;"  persisted  Lady 
Malcolm ;  "  Edith  is  still  a  child,  and  as  such 
I  should  wish  her  to  bo  considered.  Youth 
passes  only  with  too  much  rapidity  ;  we  need 
not  seek  to  hasten  its  departure.  Am  1  not 
right,  Mrs.  Elphinstone?" 

Ida  shrank  involuntarily;  but  fortunately, 
her  visitor  unconscious  of  the  new  pang  which 
she  had  inflicted,  turned,  without  pausing, 
toward  Elphinstone,  and  said  sadly: 

"  "Well,  as  I  shall  rejoice  to  have  terminated 
my  self-imposed  task,  and  once  more  to  forget 
my  sorrows  in  tho  society  of  your  amiable 
wife,  I  will,  with  her  permission,  avail  myself 
of  your  suggestion ;  and  the  rather  as  Edith 
will  be  so  great  a  gainer  by  my  absence." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

TRESH  MISGIVINGS. 

Sydnet  rose  and  offered  his  arm  to  his 
mother's  friend;  and  when  they  had  quitted 
the  apartment,  Ida  found  herself  alone  with 
tho  fair  girl  who  had  already  become  to  her 
an  object  of  distrust. 

Edith,  after  raising  one  timid  glance  to  the 
face  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  whose  eyes  wero 
riveted  on  tho  retreating  figure  of  her  hn.'^- 
band,  fixed  her  own  upon  the  floor,  as  if 
wholly  engrossed  by  tho  arabesques  of  tho 
carpet,  and  thus  Ida,  as  she  wakened  to  her 
duties  as  a  hostess,  was  enabled  to  gaze  her 
fill  for  an  instant  upon  the  pure  and  fresh 
young  creature  before  her. 

It  was  true,  as  Lady  Malcolm  had  said,  that 
with  her  eyes  thus  vailed  by  their  long  lashe.^ 
Edith  did  indeed  look  like  a  mere  girl ;  but  Mrs. 
Elphinstono  soon  became  aware  that  when 
those  glorious  eyes  were  raised,  and  beamed 
with  intellect  and  emotion,  tho  girl  was  sud. 
denly  transformed  into  tho  woman,  and  tlvat  hci 
beauty  was  of  no  common  order. 

"  How  shall  I  preser\'o  you  from  ennui,  Miss 
Malcolm,  during  the  absence  of  your  mother, 
and — " 

She  paused,  for  Edith  who  had  hitherto  re- 
mained motionless,  suddcidy  lifted  her  liead 
with  a  smile  of  grateful  i)leasure  so  bright  and  , 
ingenuous,  that  she  felt  unable  to  complete  tho 
sentence  she  had  framed,  or  to  utter  the  name 
of  her  husband. 

"  And" — she  pursued ;  "  maj- 1  hope  that  I 
shall  succeed  ?" 

"How  kind  you  are,  madam;  how  very 
kind;"  faltered  the  blushing  Edith;  "in  your' 
society  I  should  think  it  impossible  to  feel  ermuL, 
It  is  I,  on  tho  contrary — " 

"I  must  echo  the  words  of  Lady  Malcolm, i 
and  forbid  all  verbal  ceremonies:"  said  Ida' 
forcing  a  smile ;  "  you  are  so  admirable  an  artiM 
I  that  perhaps  my  portfolio  may  aflbrd  you  som( 
I  amusement,  or — "  she  continued,  anxious  ti 
}  assure  herself  of  the  extent  of  her  companion': 
I  acquirements,  and  consequently  of  her  owi 
imaginary  peril;  "you  are  probably  also  : 
musician,  in  which  case  I  will  request  of  yoi 
to  favor  me  by  trying  my  piano,  which  is,  I  bf 
liove,  u  tolerably  good  one." 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


71 


EiUih  roso  unaffectedly,  and  approached  the 
iustrumont. 

"If  it  be  really  your  vish,  madam;"  slio 
eaid,  modestly ;  "  I  am  ready  to  obey  you ;  but 
If  you  it'ould  do  mo  tho  kindness  to  permit  mQ 
in  tho  first  instance  to  be  a  listener,  I  should 
indeed  feel  grateful  to  you." 

Mrs.  Elphinstono  complied  with  ready  prace, 
and  executed  one  of  the  most  complicated  of 
Thalberg's  compositions  with  a  brilliancy  and 
taste  which  caused  the  cheeks  of  Jvlith  to  plow 
and  her  eyes  to  sparklo  with  delight  and  ani- 
mation. 

"What  a  glorious  finger!"  she  exclaimed  in- 
voluntarily, as  Ida  resigned  her  seat.  "  Ah, 
madam,  you  can  never  foci  alone  with  sach  a 
talent  as  yours,  and  such  an  instrument  to  give 
It  voice." 

"You  are  an  enthusiast.  I  see;"  said  her 
companion;  ''but  now  I  claim  your  promise  to 
afford  mo  the  gratification  of  becoming  a  lis- 
tener in  my  turn." 

"I  do  love  music,  I  confess;"  was  tho  earnest 
rejoinder  of  Miss  Malcolm,  as  in  obedience  to 
the  bidding  of  her  hostess  sho  swept  tho  keys 
with  a  mastery  and  purity  of  expression  won- 
derful in  one  so  young;  and  then  glided  into 
those  exquisite  '  Songs  without  Words'  of  Men- 
delssohn, which  are  the  very  triumph  of  instru- 
mental melody. 

Ida  listened  entranced,  less  by  tho  talent 
displayed  by  this  j'oung  girl  than  by  the  pas- 
sionate feehng  which  marked  her  performance. 
Her  very  soul  appeared  to  be  poured  forth  as 
she  played :  self  was  forgotten  for  the  moment ; 
and  she  evidently  existed  only  in  tho  wondrous 
harmony  which  she  awakened. 

As  the  sounds  ceased,  there  was  silence,  for 
Mrs.  Elphinstone,  herself  deeply  susceptible  to 
the  charm  of  music,  was  too  much  excited  to 
indulge  in  the  common  venality  of  praise,  while 
Edith  restored  to  self-consciousness,  was  too 
timid  to  move  or  speak. 

"Pardon  me;"  said  Ida  at  length,  struggling 
against  the  conflicting  feelings  by  whicli  she 
had  been  momentarily  overcome:  "  but  I  have 
really  been  taken  by  surprise.  You  must  have 
been  a  musician.  Miss  Malcolm,  to  compre- 
hend all  tho  powers  and  resources  of  the  sci- 
ence so  thoroughly  at  your  age." 

"  I  am  wholly  indebted  to  my  mother  for 
whatever  efficiency  I  may  have  acquired;"  re- 
plied Edith,  simply;  "she  has  spared  no  pains 
to  perfect  me  in  her  favorite  accomplishment ; 
but  I  can  never  liope  to  rival  her,  although  she 
had  tho  marvelous  self-denial  to  endure  my  dis- ! 
cordant  attempts  when  I  wa.s  a  mere  urchin  of 
four  years  old,  and  Jias  persevered  in  her  weari-  j 
Bome  task  ever  since." 

"  It  must  long  have  ceased  to  weary  her ;" 
said  Mrs.  Elpliinstone ;  "  but  it  is  not  so  much 
your  execution  which  surprises  me,  as  the  ex-  | 
preasion  with  which  you  render  passages  that 
I  should  liave  conceived  could  only  have  been 
comprehended  in  their  actual  depth  and  signi- 
ficance by  a  wnmg  heart  and  a  l)rui8ed  spirit." 

The  eyes  of  Miss  Malfolm  fell,  and  a  cloud 
of  sorrow  passed  across  her  fair  young  brow. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Elphinstone  ;" 
she  faltered;  "'perhaps  I  never  should  indeed 
have  understood  the  true  language  of  muaic  if 
I  never  had  known  suffering." 


"You!  Miss  Malcolm,  you!"  exclaimed  Ida; 
•'  at  your  age — in  your  shelterod  position,  con- 
stantly under  tlie  watchful  eye  of  a  mother — 
what  suffering  can  you  have  known  V 

"You  forget,  dear  madam,"  replied  the  fair 
girl  as  large  tears  fell  upon  her  cheeks ;  "  that 
even  the  fond  and  untiring  eye  of  a  mother 
can  not  always  ward  off  grief,  and  that  I  am 
already  fatherless." 

"  Forgive  me — forgive  me — "  said  Ida,  dis- 
tressed at  the  effect  of  her  remark ;  "  but  that 
was  not  the  sorrow,  that  was  not  the  struggle, 
to  which  I  alluded." 

"  I  have  known  no  other,"  said  Edith  in- 
genuously. 

Mrs.  Elphinstone  sighed.  She  had  never 
known  a  youth  like  this.  Her  struggles  and 
sorrows  had  commenced  even  from  her  girl- 
hood. Luxury  and  indulgences  had  been 
powerless  against  the  influence  of  passions 
early  awakened  and  prematurely  developed; 
and  it  was  consequently  with  a  sad  curiosity 
that  she  contemplated  the  calm  and  holy  expres- 
sion of  Edith. 

Not  a  storm  had  passed  over  tliat  tranquil 
spirit  whose  pages  angels  might  have  perused 
— not  a  germ  of  evil  could  be  detected  in  that 
calm  and  placid  heart  which  filial  love  suflBced 
to  fill  and  satisfy. 

Unlike  Ida  herself  who  had  been  reared  in 
the  hot-bed  of  fashion  and  ambition,  forced 
into  unhealthy  mental  growth,  and  weakened 
by  those  fatal  influences  by  which  the  votaries 
of  the  world  arc  predestined  to  become  its 
victims,  Edith  Malcolm  had  been  permitted  to 
live  out  her  childhood  and  her  youth  amid  the 
joys  and  sorrows  proper  to  her  years:  no  idle 
and  ill-timed  flatteries,  no  vain  prophecies  of 
future  triumphs,  had  polluted  her  young  cars, 
and  profaned  her  guileless  heart ;  she  had  never 
been  taught  to  regard  love  as  a  speculation,  and 
marriage  as  an  investment;  her  leisure  had 
never  been  amused  by  the  perusal  of  puerile 
romances,  or  her  energies  exercised  in  the 
attempt  to  become  a  heroine. 

Mrs.  Elphinstone  had,  as  we  have  shown, 
been  isolated  from  all  companions  of  her  own 
age,  educated  for  display,  and  taught  that  the 
one  great  duty  of  her  existence  was  self- 
aggraudizcment. 

Chiklhood  is  much  more  morally  impressible 
than  the  generality  of  persons  are  willing  to 
believe.  Because  a  child  rebels  against  the 
authority  of  a  parent  or  a  preceptor  in  the 
mere  wantonness  of  an  undisciplined  will,  it  is 
often  supposed  that  neither  example  nor  pre- 
cept has  produced  its  intended  effect;  this, 
however,  is  a  vital  error ;  the  bending  of  the 
twig  is  not  more  certain  to  decide  the  inclina- 
tion of  the  tree  than  arc  early  impressions  to 
influence  and  pre-determiue  the  after  char- 
actor. 

In  infancy  and  youth  tho  human  clay  is 
plastic,  and  may  consequently  be  molded  at 
will;  but  when  once  it  has  become  indurated 
by  time,  it  is  vain  to  attempt  the  removal  of 
the  false  Hues  of  the  image ;  its  beauties  and 
defects  will  endure  through  life,  modified  in- 
deed by  circumstances,  but  still  visible  and 
distinct. 

Strange,  and  almost  incredible  diil  it  there- 
fore appear  to  Ida  that  the  daughter  of  Lady 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


JIalcolm  f  hoiild  have  attained  the  acre  at  which 
she  had  herself  already"  listened  more  than 
onee  to  the  voice  of  passion,  discarded  suitors, 
ail  1  rcijrirded  herself  as  fully  competent  to 
decide  her  own  destiny,  without  one  dream  of 
the  heart-struirirles  which  must  inevitably 
await  her;  but  there  was  something  so  earnest 
yet  so  calm  in  the  tone  in  which  Edith  had 
said,  in  reply  to  licr  own  observation  "  I  have 
known  no  other."  that  she  could  not  refuse  to 
place  faith  in  the  assurance. 

"  So  mucli  the  worse — so  much  the  worse" 
— murmured  the  demon  within  her;  when  the 
stream  gushes  forth,  it  will  burst  its  bounds  ; 
when  her  heart  tide  swells  forth,  it  will  swell 
and  boQ  into  a  lava-flood  ;  the  passionate  out- 
gushing  of  her  spirit  to  which  I  have  just 
Ustened  was  never  due  to  the  inspiration  of  a 
mother's  teaching.  A  touch,  a  tone,  will 
sutlice  to  awaken  her  from  her  dream  of  calm 
— and  then — " 

"  And  you,  dear  madam,  you,  beautiful, 
gifted,  and  beloved  as  you  are,  surely  you  can 
not  have  known  the  sorrows  which  you  depre- 
cate for  me  ;"  murmured  a  low  sweet  voice 
beside  her,  and  Ida  started  as  she  felt  the 
hand  of  Miss  Malcolm  laid  softly  on  her  arm ; 
"  and  yet  the  sad  train  of  thought  into  which 
you  have  fallen  would  almost  lead  me  to 
fear — " 

"  You  are  right — quite  right ;"  said  Mrs. 
Elphinstone  in  an  accent  which  she  in  vain 
attempted  to  render  firm:  "I  have  known 
many  and  bitter  sorrows,  but  that  is  nothing — 
nothing — the  past  has  been  endured  and  may 
be  forgotten — it  is  the  future  which  makes  the 
heart  swell,  and  the  brain  giddy." 

Edith  drew  back  alarmed. 

"  Poor  child !"  said  Ida,  who  remarked  the 
gesture ;  "  do  yoti  then  never  look  into  the 
future  ?  never  shrink  from  its  probable  conse- 
quences ?" 

"Xever,  madam,  I  am  so  happy  in  the 
present." 

"  But  that  very  happiness  tends  to  heighten 
the  ttfrrors  of  the  future.  It  is  soothing  to 
look  back  upon  the  sufferings  from  which  we 
have  escaped — but  to  look  back  on  happiness 
which  wc  have  lost  would  be  too  horrible! 
The  burden  of  Atlas  would  be  but  a  feather 
weight  beside  such  a  crushing,  such  an  over- 
whelming agony." 

Edith  sank  almost  breathless  into  a  chair ; 
she  could  not  utter  a  syllabic. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Mrs.  Elphinstone  sud- 
denly, with  one  of  her  most  winning  smiles, 
"I  have  done  wrong  to  give  way  to  such 
gloomy  ideas,  above  all,  when  I  may  say 
with  you  that  I  am  go  happy  in  the  present. 
I  suppose  that  it  is  the  jealousy  of  that  very 
happiness  which  makes  me  fear  to  lose  it. 
And  yet  it  is  very  weak,  is  it  not  ?  We  must 
not  let  my  husb.i'nd  suspect  that  I  indulge  in 
Buch  nervous  folly. — And  now  for  the  "port- 
folio, Miss  Malcolm,"  she  continued  with 
forced  gayety  ;  "  you  will  recognize  some  of 
the  scenes  of  my  sketches,  for  Mr.  Elphinstone 
was  anxious  that  on  our  departure  from  the 
neighborhood  we  should  carry  away  with  us 
6ome  memorials  of  our  sojourn ;  and,  terrible 
to  avow!  a  wife's  first  duty  is  obedience, 
ijee!  here  is  the  cottage,  with  Sydney,  still 


more  terrible  to  admit,  smoking  his  cigar 
under  the  veranda.  And  here — here  is  the 
park  lodge,  your  present  home,  with  the  glo- 
rious old  beeches  in  the  background ;  does  it 
not  make  a  pretty  picture  ?" 

With  all  the  light-heartedness  of  her  age, 
Edith  had  already  conquered  her  agitation, 
and,  as  she  recognized  the  subjects  of  the 
several  sketches,  she  uttered  repeated  exclam- 
ations of  delight. 

"Is  not  Mr.  Elphinstone  enchanted  with 
these  lovely  drawings  ?"  she  asked,  artlessly; 
and  then,  without  awaiting  a  reply,  she  con- 
tinued :  "  How  very,  very  happy  you  must 
make  him ;  and  how  thankful  mamma  will 
be  to  know  how  kind,  and  amiable,  and  gifted 
a  wife  he  has,  for  she  loves  him,  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone, as  if  he  were  her  own  son ;  and  you 
can  not  conceive  how  anxious  she  has  been 
to  discover  if  you  were  as  good  as  you  are 
beautiful." 

As  Edith  uttered  these  words,  and  ere  Mrs. 
Elphinstone  had  time  to  reply,  Lady  Malcolm 
and  her  husband  entered  from  the  garden. 
There  was  a  slight  shade  of  sadness  on  the 
I  fine  features  of  the  widow,  and  even  Sydney 
himself  had  for  the  moment  lost  his  joyous 
smile.  The  animation  of  her  daughter,  how- 
ever, soon  sufficed  to  restore  Lady  Malcolm 
to  cheerfulness  ;  while  the  anxious  look  of  his 
wife  cleared  away  at  once  the  mists  which 
obscured  the  spirit  of  the  bridegroom. 

"  I  have  a  thousand  thanks  to  offer  you  for 
your  indulgence,  Mrs.  Elphinstone,"  said  her 
Tisitor  ;"  and,  if  I  can  judge  by  the  counten- 
ance of  Edith,  she  owes  me  quite  as  many  for 
the  delightful  hour  which  my  absence  has 
enabled  her  to  pass  with  you." 

"  Indeed  I  do,  dear  mamma,"  exclaimed  the 
young  girl,  enthusiastically ;  "  for  while  I 
have  had  Mrs.  Elphinstone  all  to  myself,  the 
time  has  flown  with  such  rapidity,  that  yoa 
seem  scarcely  to  have  been  away  'ten 
minutes." 

"  Miss  Malcolm  has  been  delighting  me, 
madam,  bv  her  exquisite  performance  on  th« 
piano,"  said  Ida,  courteously ;  '•  she  is,  indeed, 
'  an  accomplished  musician." 

"  I  am  truly  gratified  by  your  opinion," 
£aid  Lady  Malcolm  ;  "  and  the  rather  as  I 
understand  from  Sydney  that  your  own  pro- 
ficiency in  music  is  something  marvelous. 
Indeed,"  she  added  with  a  smile  which  was 
full  of  warmth  and  affection,  "  if  I  am  to  be- 
lieve even  the  half  of  what  he  has  told  rae,  I 
can  not  have  one  wish  ungratified  for  the  son 
of  my  dearest  friend." 

Ida  blushed  deeply. 

"S^-dney,"  she  replied,  "is  naturally  anx- 
ious to  justify  Ids  choice  in  your  eyes,  but 
you  must  accept  his  testimony  with  consider- 
able reservation." 

Elphinstone  retorted  by  passing  his  hand 
caressingly  over  the  dark  and  glossy  braids 
that  lay  upon  her  forehead. 

"  Ha"!  you  have  been  looking  at  Ida's 
drawings,"  he  said,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
contents  of  the  portfolio  which  were  scattered 
over  the  table  ;  "  are  they  not  well  executed? 
And  this  sketch  of  the  cottage  is  perfect 
Did  you  recognize  it,  Edith  ?  That  is  my 
property,  and  so  jealous  am  I  of  my  rights. 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


that  I  ventured  to  have  it  framed  for  my 
dressing-room." 

"  It  is  indeed  beautiful,  and  most  faithful," 
paid  Miss  Malcolm  ;  "  and  the  spot  from  which 

;    It  \ras  taken  must  have  been  most  judiciously 

i    chosen." 

!        "Qh,  Ida's  eye  never  deceives  her,"  said 

[   Sydney,  proudly  ;  "  but  in  order  that  you  ma}^ 

j  do  it  full  justice,  will  you  come  as  far  as  the 
spot  where  she  was  seated  ?" 

'  "  Willingly,"  was  the  reply  of  Edith,  as  she 
rose  with  the  drawing  in  her  hand;  "the 
pleasure  will  be  twofold,  as  I  shall  by  so  doing 
be  enabled  not  only  to  appreciate  at  its  full 
value  the  sketch  of  Mrs.  Elpliinstone,  but  also 
to  have  a  nearer  view  of  your  lovely  garden, 

,  which  is  indeed  a  wilderness  of  sweets.  Will 
you   permit   me   this   indulgence,    my   dear 

]  madam  {"  she  asked  with  an  appealing  look 
toward  her  hostess. 

The  assent  of  Ida  was  instantly  but  some- 
what coldly  given,  and  in  the  next  moment 
Sydney  and  his  beautiful  companion  disap- 
peared. 

"  How  happy  you  have  made  that  amiable 
young  man,  my  dear  Mrs.  Elpliinstone,"  said 
the  elder  lad3%  as  soon  as  they  were  alone ; 
"it  is  impossible  to  express  the  delight  with 

I  which  I  listened  to  his  animated  description 
of  your  many  excellences.  Upon  me,  who 
have  latterly  been  familiar  only  with  the 
ehady  side  of  existence,  his  glowing  and 
beautiful  joy  produced  the  effect  of  sudden 
sunshine.  Indeed,  our  meeting,  his  marriage, 
and  all  by  which  I  am  so  suddenly  surround- 
ed, appears  like  a  bright  dream.  Grateful 
am  I,  nevertheless,  to  feel  that  it  is  real  and 
tangible;  I  loved  his  mother  so  deeply." 

"Sydney  also  adores  her  memory,"  said 
Ida ;  "  by  his  description  she  must  haVe  been 
beautiful." 

"  She  was,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  that  her 
beauty  is  reflected  in  her  son ;  but  she  was 
more  than  beautiful,  and  those  who  knew  her 
best  forgot  the  charms  of  her  person  in  the 
perfection  of  her  heart  and  mind.  Poor 
Elinor!  she  deserved  a  better  fate." 

I  "Was  she  not  happy,  then?"  asked  her 
companion. 

"  Far  from  it,  my  young  friend ;  hers  was 
the  mere  fleeting  happiness  of  a  few  brief  I 
months.  Dazzled  by  her  beauty  and  fascinated 
by  her  many  admirable  qualities,  which  made 
her  the  idol  of  her  circle,  Mr.  Elpliinstone,  at 
that  period  a  man  of  considerable  wealth,  as 
well  as  eminently  handsome,  won  her  affec- 
tions, and  for  a  time  appeared  worthy  of  his 
good  fortune,  but  unhappily  his  tastes  and  I 
habits  were  ill-calculated  for  domestic  lifa  i 
He  soon  wearied  of  the  monotony  of  home, 
and  sought  for  excitement  in  a  world  which  I 
waa  but  too  ready  to  welcome  him  back  into  j 
its  vortex.  But  Elinor  never  complained;! 
she  idolized  her  husband,  and  she  bore  her  i 
trials  with  tlie  fortitude  and  resignation  of  an  ] 
angel  To  her  he  was  ever  the  first  and  only 
love  of  her  young  heart,  and  the  father  of 
her  child." 

"And  did  she  long  endure  such  an  exist- 
ence?" inquired  Ida,  whose  cheeks  had  as- 
sumed the  hue  of  Parian  marble. 

"For  years,"  replied  Lady  Malcolm,  who, 


in  her  own  emotion  overlooked  that  of  her 
listener ;  "  ay,  even  when  to  neglect  was 
added  ruin,  she  was  true  to  herself,  and  to  the 
faith  which  she  had  plighted  to  one  of  the 
most  ungrateful  and  ungenerous  of  men." 

"And  yet,"  murmured  Ida,  in  an  unsteady 
voice  ;  "you  think  that  he  did  love  her  once." 

"  Of  that  fact  there  can  be  no  doubt,"  pur- 
sued the  speaker;  "  he  loved  her  madly,  but 
tliere  was  no  principle,  no  stability  in  his 
love.  Essentially  selfish,  lie  gradually  learned 
to  look  upon  her  as  an  obstacle  in  his  path 
of  pleasure  and  dissipation,  and  he  thrust  her 
from  it  as  he  would  have  done  any  other 
impediment  which  might  have  presented  it- 
self." 

"  Strange !"  said  Ida,  moodily ;  "  that  Syd- 
ney should  never  have  told  me  one  word  of 
this." 

"  By  no  means,"  observed  Lady  Malcolm ; 
"  for  even  Sydney  himself  has  but  a  vague 
idea  of  the  extent  of  his  mother's  sufferings. 
No,  Elinor  would  rather  have  endured  a  thou- 
sand deaths  than  have  breathed  into  the  ear 
of  her  boy  one  word  of  blame  connected  with 
her  erring  husband.  Almost  a  stranger  in 
his  own  house,  it  was  only  at  rare  intervals 
that  Mr.  Elpliinstone  saw  his  son,  and,  fortu- 
nately, just  as  the  boy  had  attained  an  age 
when  the  true  position  of  his  mother  must 
have  necessarily  become  evident  to  him,  his 
wretched  father  died,  and  thus,  the  tears  which 
he  mingled  with  those  of  his  surviving  parent, 
were  free  from  the  bitterness  which  must  other- 
wise have  rendered  his  grief  tenfold  more 
poignant.  To  this  moment,  therefore,  Sydney 
IS  able  to  name  his  father  without  a  blush, 
and  to  regret  him  without  a  misgiving,  and 
this  is  the  pious  work  of  his  angel  mother, 
whose  heart  was  eootlied  to  the  last  by  the 
respect  which  her  son  bore  to  the  memory  of 
his  dead  father." 

"  And  j-et  he  slighted  her — " 

"And  ruined  her — "  added  Lady  Malcolm. 

"  Oh,  that  was  nothing,  nothing,"  exclaimed 
Ida,  her  eyes  flashing  with  passionate  emo- 
tion ;  "  when  once  he  had  torn  down  the 
idol  from  the  shrine  at  which  he  had  once 
worshiped,  it  mattered  little  that  he  should 
send  away  the  jewels  in  which  it  had  been 
decked  ;  the  trampled  fragments  of  a  broken 
heart  could  ill  have  brooked  the  tinseled 
mockeries  which  are  suited  only  to  a  happy 
one." 

"  But  you  forget  that  she  was  a  mother." 

"  I  should  have  forgotten  all  save  my  own 
wrongs,"  replied  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  in  the 
same  excited  tone  in  which  she  had  jjist 
spoken  ;  "  all — even  my  child." 

"My  dear  young  friend,"  said  Lady  Mal- 
colm, with  a  sad  smile,  as  she  pressed  the 
hand  of  her  companion  in  her  own ;  "  you 
know  not  the  deptii  and  fervor  of  a  mother's 
love,  and  see  how  she  has  been  rewarded  for 
her  self-abnegation.  See  how  all  her  hopes 
for  her  idolized  boy  have  been  fulfilled. 
Could  she  look  up  from  the  grave,  fondly  and 
proudly  as  she  loved  him,  she  could  not  wish 
Sydney  other  than  he  is." 

At  this  moment,  a  peal  of  clear,  ringing, 
graceful  laughter  sounded  from  the  garden, 
and  Ida,  who  had  hitherto  been  so  absorbed 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE, 


in  the  recital  of  Lady  Malcolm,  that  she  had 
ceased  to  dwell  upon  the  prolont^ed  absence 
of  her  husband,  siidddenly  raised  her  head, 
and  t'azed  earnestly  tlirough  the  open  window. 
Sydney  was  in  hot  pursuit  of  a  late  butter- 
fly, and  hare-lieaded,  witli  his  chestnut  curls 
dancinij  in  the  wind,  and  his  choeks  flushed 
Avith  eagerness,  was  bounding  over  the  flower 
beds  with  all  tlie  elasticity  of  an  antelope, 
in  his  attempt  to  capture  the  parti-colored 
fugitive. 

As  her  glance  rested  on  him,  the  lips  of 
hi.s  wife  ]>arted  witli  a  proud  and  happy 
smile,  but  in  the  next  moment,  an  expression 
of  pain  passed  over  her  head,  and  she  hastily 
averted  her  eye?. 

"  Those  young  hearts  are  lighter  than  ours 
at  this  moment,  my  dear  Mrs.  Elphinstone," 
observed  Lady  Malcolm,  as  she  wiped  away 
a  lingering  tear;  "I  am  grieved  to  see  that! 
have  infected  j-ou  witli  my  own  melancholy; 
we  will  talk  no  more  ui)on  this  unhappy  sub- 
ject. It  might  indeed  have  been  more  ju- 
dicious had  I  not  touched  on  it  at  all,  but  my 
enduring  affection  for  my  poor  Elinor  renders 
me  selfish;  it  is  such  a  relief  to  me  to  be  en- 
abled to  dwell  upon  her  memory,  and  to  re- 
member that  the  death  of  the  pure  in  heart 
is  less  an  agony  than  an  ovation  ;  that  the 
chime  of  each  succeeding  hour  is  a  call  of 
harmony,  a  summons  of  peace  and  love; 
that  life  ebbs  awaj'  like  the  sunset  billows 
of  a  summer  evening — like  the  gradual  clos- 
ing of  the  perfumed  chalice  of  a  flower — or 
tlie  severe  and  solemn  folding  together  of  the 
spirit  wings,  which  are  so  soon  to  expand 
into  their  full  and  perfect  proportions  on 
another  and  a  brighter  sliore,  where  they 
will  never  agaim  bo  furled." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  confidence  which  you 
have  reposed  in  me.  Lady  Malcolm,"  said  Ida, 
as  she  threw  herself  back  in  her  seat,  and 
strewed  the  carpet  around  it  with  the  scat- 
tered leaves  of  the  blossoms  which  Sydney 
liad  so  carefully  arranged  for  her,  only  a  few 
hours  previously.  "  It  is,  at  times,  desirable 
to  dwell  upon  the  experiences  of  otliers; 
the  past  reads  a  wholesome  lesson  to  the 
present,  and  I  confess  that  I,  for  one,  despise 
the  cowardice  which  shrinks  from  the  effort 
of  looking  steadily  forward,  even  upon  a  for- 
bidding prospect,  or  backward,  upon  the 
struggle  of  human  endurance." 

"lia]>pily,"  said  her  ei>rnpaiiion;  "trials  like 
those  of  my  dear  lost  friend  are  rare  indeed. 
Hers  was  u  life  wliich  always  appeared  to  me 
to  convey  a  great  and  touchiug  moral,  but  it 
wq^  nut  the  less,  on  that  account,  an  existence 
of  wretcliedness." 

"  Wretchedness,  indeed!"  echoed  Ida,  as  she 
swept  her  hands  across  her  brows ;  "  to  be 
decked  by  the  fingers  of  love,  only  for  the 
sacrifice ;"  and  as  the  hand  was  withdrawn,  the 
camcl'.ia  which  had  hitherto  been  nestled  amid 
the  folds  of  her  hair  was  crushed  within  it. 

"  I  have  been  wrong,  very  wrong,"  said 
Lady  Malcolm  ;  "  I  have  quite  unstrung  your 
uerve.s.  Only  look,  you  have  actually  destroyed 
the  magnificent  bou<juet  which  I  admired  so 
much  on  my  arrival." 

"Oh,  pray  do  not  grieve  over  it,"  said  Ida, 
with   a   bitter   smile ;  "  it   was   beautiful,  yes, 


very  beautiful;  I  am  obliged  to  admit  thai 
fact,  but  it  has  pleased  and  amused  me  for  5 
time,  and  consequently  has  done  all  that  I  had 
a  right  to  demand  from  it— and  it  is  beautiful 
even  in  its  ruins,  is  it  not  ?  though  it  can  never 
again  be  restored  to  its  first  glorious  splendor. 
That,  however,  matters  little,  as  its  charnj.  must 
sooner  or  later  have  decayed  with  its  freshness; 
so  that  you  see,  my  dear  madam,  its  destruc- 
tion was  a  mere  question  of  time." 

"  Oh,  Ida,  such  a  butterfly  wc  have  cap- 
tured !"  exclaimed  Sydney,  as  he  sprang  into 
the  room  ;  "  only  look  at  the  brilliancy  of  its 
coloring." 

But  Ida's  eyes  were  not  upon  the  insect, 
they  were  riveted  upon  a  bouquet  in  the  hiuid 
of  Miss  Malcolm,  the  counterpart  of  that  which 
lay  scattered  at  her  feet. 


CHAPTER    XXVL 

THE    BOUQUET. 

How  little  can  men  appreciate  the  trifles  out 
of  which  a  woman's  love  is  ingenious  in  creatr 
ing  auguries  of  good  or  evil.  It  was  a  mere 
common-place  courtesy  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Elphinstone  to  offer  to  Miss  Malcolm  some  of 
the  flowers  of  which  she  expressed  her  admira- 
tion ;  and  it  is  probable  that  had  he  done  so 
with  less  attention  to  their  arrangement,  even 
Ida  herself  might  have  been  careless  of  the 
fact ;  but,  unfortunately,  Sydney  had  not  yet 
forgotten  the  delight  evinced  by  his  wife  at 
the  graceful  grouping  of  the  bouquet  which 
he  had  combined  for  her  that  morning;  and, 
accordingly,  as  he  prepared  a  second  for  Edith, 
he  said  gayly : 

"  You  have  an  artist's  eye  as  well  as  Mri 
Elphinstone,  and  I  dare  not.  "therefore,  do  other- 
wise than  exert  my  best  skill  in  order  to  render 
my  offering  aecej)table." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  I"  was  the  artless  re- 
ply ;  "  nothing  could  be  more  perfect  than  that 
which  you  arranged  for  Mrs.  Elj)hinstone,  so  ' 
do  not  attempt  any  variation,  but  let  me  have 
it,  flower  by  flower,  and  even  leaf  by  leaf,  a 
fac-simile  of  hers." 

"  Now  for  an  effiu-t  of  memory,"  laughed  the  ■ 
light-hearted   young   man;    "your    imperious 
mandate   shall  be  obeyed,  and  we   will   tlicu 
compare  the  two,  in  order  to  judge  of  my  sue- 

The  flowers  were,  therefore,  gathered,  and 
grouped  with  the  same  fastidious  care  as  ho 


had  evinced  on  the 


previous  occasion. 


when 


they  were  a  heart-offering  to  his  idolized  wife; 
and  they  had  scarcely  been  transferred  to, 
Edith,  and  received  their  due  meed  of  admir- 
ing approval,  than  the  quick  eye  of  Sydney  I 
detected  the  butterfly  which  subsequently  be-' 
came  the  object  of  Ins  pursuit. 

Little,  indeed,  did  he  imagine  the  pang  that 
he  had  inflicted  on  her  whoin  he  would  gladlj 
have  shielded  from  every  shade  of  suffering 
To  him  Ida  was  the  type  alike  of  physical  and 
moral  perfection  ;  and  he  could  as  soon  havi 
doubted    the    beauty   of    her    person    as  tbi 


strength    and    purity    of  her   mind.      Whol 
engrossed  by  In      ' 


image,  he  was  utterly  ic 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


rs 


tho  clnssifioil  skeletons  of  moths  and  beetles 
when  I  could  see  in  them  all  their  beauty  and 
variety,  uninutilated  ami  unharmed." 

"Why,  Edith,"  said  Lady  Malcolm,  with  a 
fond  glance  at  her  daughter,  whoso  cliecks  were 
flushed  with  animation,  "you  have  suddenly 
become  quite  eloquent." 

'"  And  I  have  not  done  yet,  mamma,"  was  tho 
reply,  "for  when  Mr.  Elphinstone's  butterfly 
has  been  properly  applauded,  and  that  ho  has 
he  never  looked  into  the  j  once  more  restored  it  to  liberty,  as  I  trust  he 
will  do,  I  am  going  to  claim  Mrs.  Elphinstone's 
admiration  for  my  beautiful  bouquet.  It  is  not 
gorgeous,  my  dear  madam  ?" 

"  Extremely  so." 

"  But  do  you  not  remark  any  thing  peculiar 
in  its  arrangement  ?" 

"  I  think  it  very  gracefully  arranged." 

"  Does  it  resemble  any  other  you  have  over 
seen  ?" 

"  There  is  a  family  likeness  in  all  bouquets, 
Miss  Malcolm." 

"  Oh,  but,  my  dear  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  this  wafl 
intended  by  Mr.  Elphinstone  to  be  precisely 


different  to  the  attractions  of  all  the  rest  of  the 
6ex.  beyond  the  natural  gratification  of  look- 
ing on  a  lovely  face,  as  he  would  have  looked 
ou  a  tiuo  landscape,  or  a  gorgeous  sunset ; 
and  tli:it  she  should  entertain  one  doubt  of  his 
atfectiou,  one  mistrust  of  his  devotion,  was  an 
ilea  which  bad  never  for  an  instant  crossed 
Jiis  mind. 

Unlike   Ida  hei-self,  their  disparity  of  age 
was   a   fact  to   which  his  thouijhts  never 
verted;  unlike   her 

future  ;  with  the  natural  buoyancy  and  con- 
liJence  of  a  young  fresh  spirit,  he  lived  iu  the 
engrossing  happiness  of  the  present ;  and  if, 
by  chance,  he  glanced  forward  beyond  the 
passing  hour,  it  was  with  a  sanguine  conviction 
that  his  after-life  must  be  as  bright  as  it  had 
hitherto  proved. 

There  was  always  a  golden  thread  woven 
into  every  web  of  tho  heart-loom  of  Sydney 
Elphinstone,  for  his  was  not  a  nature  to  dwell 
upon  tho  dark  side  of  existence;  with  all  his 
good  and  endearing  qualities  he  possessed  much 
of  his  father's   reckless  temperament ;  and,  as 


yet,  no  sorrow  had  come  to  chill,  no  cloud  to  |  like  your  own ;  and  do  you  not  think  that 


overcast  it.  Even  the  immediate  question  of 
his  coming  struggle  with  the  world  in  which 
he  must  so  soon  force  his  way  by  his  own  en- 
ergy and  talent,  he  put  from  him,  as  we  have 
shown,  as  a  vague  future  far  and  dim  in  tho 
distance,  instead  of  a  stern  reality  with  which 
Le  would  ere  long  bo  called  upon  to  grapple. 

He  was  resolved  to  accomplish  great  things  : 
he  admitted  to  himself  that  he  must  do  so  for 
Ida's  sake,  and  he  believed  that  he  was  ready 
for  the  combat,  while  in  fact  he  had  neglected 
to  gird  on  his  weapon.  Any  relenting  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Trevanion,  he  neither  anticipated 
nor  de.^.ired ;  he  felt  proud  to  think  that  ho 
should  need  no  extraneous  aid  in  surrounding 
the  idol  of  his  love  with  tho  luxuries  to  which 
she  had  been  accustomed  from  her  girlhood ; 
but,  meanwhile,  he  satisfied  himself  with  reso- 
lutions, and  remained  inactive. 

How  many  Sydney  Elphinstones  there  are  in 
the  world  1 

After  one  long  searching  look,  first  at  the 
unlucky  flowers,  and  next  at  tho  fair  owner, 
Ida  turned  toward  Lady  Malcolm,  and  said  with 
a  sarcastic  smile: 

"  Your  daughter  is,  I  presume,  an  entomolo- 
gist, my  dear  madam,  and  consequently  will  be 
gratified  by  this  addition  to  her  cabinet." 

"I^-oh,  no,"  exclaimed  Edith,  shuddering, 
"I  could  never  endure  to  impale  insects  on 
pina,  and  poison  them  with  camphor.  What 
would  this  poor  butterfly  be,  sacrificed  to 
science — for  I  believe  that  is  the  admitted,  or 
rather  I  should  say,  presumed  apology  for  des- 
troying so  much  tiiat  is  bright  and  beautiful — 
■what  would  it  be  beside  what  it  was,  as  it 
nestled  in  tho  heart  of  the  flower,  or  floated  on 
the  sunshiny  air,  instinct  with  Ufo  and  enjoy- 
ment? 

"No,  no;  give  me  birds  upon  tho  wing,  bees 
among  the  blo-ssoms,  fish  sporting  in  tho  clear 
waters — any  thing  and  every  thing  that  is  ful- 
filling tho  purposes  and  profiting  by  the  privi- 
leges for  which  it  was  created ;  but  I  should  as 
soon  dream  of  hving  among  mummies  when  I 
could  secure  the  society  of  my  sentient  fellow- 
creatures,  as  I  should  of  contenting  myself  with 


has  succeeded  perfectly  ^ 

"It  is  more  essential  that  you  should  think 
so,  Miss  Malcolm." 

"Well,  then,  in  that  case,  the  success  is 
complete,  for  I  do  not  beheve  that  we  could, 
were  they  once  out  of  our  sight,  recognize  our 
own  property." 

"I  scarcely  agree  with  you,"  said  Ida,  with 
an  ambiguous  smile,  as  she  pointed  to  the  flow- 
ery ruin  at  her  feet;  " yours  has  as  yet  all  the 
charm  of  novelty,  and  is,  consequently,  fault- 
less; mine,  on  tho  contrary,  had  ceased  to 
please  my  eye,  so  I  amused  myself,  as  you  per- 
ceive, by  destroying  what  little  value  it  had 
left." 

Edith  made  no  reply;  there  was  something 
in  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone's  voice  which 
reminded  her  of  a  portion  of  their  interview  of 
tho  morning,  and  it  was  consequently  a  relief 
to  her  when  she  was  summoned  to  tho  veranda 
by  Sydnej'  to  seo  him  give  hberty  to  his  painted 
captive.  She  was  still  watching  the  languid 
flight  of  the  benumbed  insect,  when  Lady  Mal- 
colm rose  to  take  her  leave. 

"  Farewell,  Mrs.  Elphinstone,"  sho  said  affec- 
tionately, as  sho  extended  her  hand:  "I  see, 
with  great  compunction,  that  I  have  thoroughly 
saddened  you;  but  only  promise  soon  to  visit 
tho  Lodge  and  I  will  strive  to  be  a  more  cheer- 
ful companion.  You  aro  too  susceptible,  my 
dear  3'oung  friend,  and  must  struggle  against  % 
depth  of  feeling  which  can  not  fail,  should  you 
encourage  it,  to  cast  many  a  shadow  over  your 
path.  Dwell  rather  on  tho  happiness  of' the 
present  than  on  tho  sorrows  of  the  past.  You 
are  now  commencing  life  in  earnest,  and  must 
not  exhaust  your  sensibilities  on  ideal  or 
irremediable  evils.  Doubtlessly  wo  have  nil 
suffered  more  or  less,  but  let  us  now  at  least 
bo  happy. 

"Look  upon  me  as  a  mother,  and  on  Edith  . 
as  a  sister,  if  you  will  indeed  permit  mo  to 
make  such  a  request ;  I  already  feel  that  I  sliall 
love  you,  and  I  am  anxious,  in  my  turn,  to  gain 
your  affection." 

"I  thamk  you,  Lady  Malcolm,  for  your  good 
opinion,  and  I  am  grateful  for  your  kiudnoaa," 


f6 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE, 


eaid  Ida,  with  constraint,  "  nor  shall  it  be  m v 
fault  if  I  do  not  profit  by  your  advice;  unfor- 
tunately, however,  we  can  not  always  control 
our  feelings,  nor  can  we  compel  happiness  at 
will." 

'■  You  are  right,  no  doubt,  but  wo  can  at 
least  accept  it  when  it  is  placed  within  our 
reach  ;  so  clear  that  fair  brow,  and  forget  the 
Borrows  of  others  in  yourown  brighter  fortune." 

Ida  forced  a  smile  as  she  echoed  the  parting 
compliments  of  her  guest,  and  together  they 
passed  into  the  garden,  where  Sydney  and  his 
young  companion  were  still  engaged  in  watch- 
ing the  crij)pled  insect  which  had  evidently  suf- 
fered from  its  temporary  imprisonment. 

•'  I  will  escort  you  to  the  entrance  of  the  lane, 
my  dear  Lady  Malcolm,  while  Ida  puts  on  her 
bonnet  for  our  morning  ramble,"  said  Sydney, 
as  he  offered  an  arm  to  each  of  the  departing 
guests,  "  I  give  you  five  minutes,  love,"  he  ad- 
ded, as  he  turned  and  nodded  gayly  to  his  wife, 
and  then  the  party  was  lost  to  sight  behind  the 
leafy  screen  of  the  flower-shrubs. 

Ida  stood  for  an  instant  motionless,  and  then 
she  turned  back  into  the  house  and  cast  herself 
into  a  seat ;  she  was  exhausted  by  her  efforts 
at  self-control.  She  felt  dispirited  and  almost 
reckless. 

"lie  could  not  even  suffer  her  to  depart 
without  him — "  slio  murmured ;  "  fool  that  I  was 
to  exult  over  those  worthless  flowers  because 
he  gathered  them !  Did  he  not  do  the  same 
for  her  ?  I  might  have  foreseen  this — I  might 
have  known  that  it  must  have  come  to  this  I 
But  so  soon — so  very  soon — shall  I  be  able  to 
endure  tlie  existence  which  I  foresee  must 
henceforth  be  mine  ?  But  may  I  not  deceive 
myself?  lie  is  so  frank,  so  guileless — surely 
love  can  not  die  out  like  an  exhausted  taper, 
while  it  is  yet  so  young — and  she,  too,  she  is 
still  a  mere  child — no,  no,  the  time  is  not,  can 
not  yet  be  come — Sydney  is  the  slave  of  beau- 
ty, and  my  beauty  is  unfaded.  I  have  sacri- 
ficed all  for  him,  and  the  sacrifice  is  as  yet  unre- 
quited— Lady  Malcolm  is  right,  I  must  strive 
to  be  happ}-  while  I  may,  and  wlv?n  the  struggle 
proves  fruitless,  then  indeed — ay,  then !  but 
the  future  shall  bo  left  to  work  out  its  own  pur- 
poses. I  am  no  puling  girl  to  tremble  at  the 
task  which  is  allotted  to  me,  it  shall  be  done, 
done  even  to  the  death." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Elphinstonc  remained 
motionless,  her  head  buried  in  her  hand,  and 
her  eyes  closed ;  but  suddenly  she  rose,  walked 
steadily  to  the  mirror,  examined  herself  earn- 
estly, smoothed  the  disordered  bands  of  her 
hair,  took  a  book  from  the  table,  and  then  re- 
turned calmly  to  her  chair.  It  is  probable  that 
she  neither  knew  the  nature  of  the  volume  of 
which  she  thus  quietly  possessed  herself,  nor 
the  page  at  which  she  had  opened  it,  although 
for  a  time  she  appeared  absorbed  in  its  con- 
tents; for,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  moments, 
she  relinquished  her  occupation,  and  ciircfull_v  ! 
collecting  the  scattered  leaves  and  blossoms  i 
wnth  which  the  floor  was  strewn,  walked  with 
tliem  into  tiio  veranda,  and  flung  them,  hand- 
ful by  handful,  to  the  wind,  until  they  had 
totally  disappeared,  afler  which  she  resumed 
her  book  and  her  seat,  and  awaited  with  a  calm 
brow  and  a  steady  pulse,  the  return  of  her 
husband. 


The  five  minutes  had  grown  into  ten;  she 
glanced  once  toward  the  French  timepiece  on 
the  console :  Sydney  had  been  gone  more  than 
half  an  hour,  and  still  the  proud  brow  remained 
unruffled,  and  the  clear  eye  unclouded.  Sud- 
denly his  quick  step  was  heard  upon  the  gravel- 
walk,  his  elastic  bound  from  the  yielding  turlj ; 
and  her  husband  stood  before  her. 

"What,  not  ready  yet,  my  love?"  he  ex-: 
claimed  in  surprise.  \ 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Sydney,"  said  J 
Ida,  with  one  of  her  sweetest  smiles;  "this 
terrible  book  has  so  engrossed  me,  and — "  she 
added,  glancing  at  the  clock,  but  still  retaining 
the  sunnincss  of  her  exprts.sion,  "you  have  re- , 
turned  so  soon." 

"  Soon!"  echoed  Elphinstonc.  looking  in  the  , 
same  direction.  "Why,  I  have  a  thousand i 
apologies  to  make  to  you ;  I  had  no  idea  that  I . 
had  been  away  so  long."  ' 

"  Oh,  not  a  word  of  excuse,  dear  Sydney,  not 
a  word,  I  entreat  you,"  was  the  ready  rejoinder, . 
"in  the  society  of  those  we  love,  time  passes 
like  a  dream." 

"  Few  are  so  well  aware  of  that  fact  as  my-  i 
self,"  said  Elphinstonc,  "  and,  above  all,  when ! 
We  are  talking  of  those  we  love;  and  we  have 
not  spared  you,  Ida.  on  our  way  to  the  lodge." , 

"  ilal  you  walked  to  the  lodge?" 

"  I  did  indeed,  though  I  had  no  such  inten- 
tion when  I  left  home,  but  it  was  so  delightful 
to  me  to  hear  Lady  Malcolm  and  Edith  describe . 
the  impression  which  you  had  made  upon  them, , 
that  I  quite  forgot  how  the  minutes  were  going: 
by." 

"  I  am  much  indebted  to  them." 

"  Not  a  whit.  They  are  sensible  women,  and' 
estimate  you  at  your  proper  value.  So,  what, 
with  the  memories  of  the  past,  and  the  impres- 
sions of  the  present,  I  thoroughly  enjoyed  my 
walk." 

"I  am  dehghted  to  hear  it." 

"  Do  you  know,"  exclaimed  Sydney,  throw- 
ing himself  down  upon  the  ottoman  on  which 
the  foot  of  his  wife  rested,  ''  I  esteem  myself 
the  happiest  man  on  the  whole  earth.  I  can 
scarcely  understand,  even  to  this  moment,  how 
I  ever  won  the  love  of  such  a  woman  as  your-' 
self;  and  now  there  comes  to  me  an  accession 
of  happiness  in  the  society  of  my  mother'f 
dearest  friend,  and  her  gentle  unsophisticated' 
daughter."  , 

"Poor  Sydney!"  said  his  wife, -as  she  passet 
her  slender  fingers  carelessly  over  his  clustering' 
curls. 

"  Poor  Sydney !  The  adjective  is  misplaced.' 
was  the  fond  retort,  as  he  drew  the  small  hant 
to  his  lips;  "I  am  rich,  rich  beyond  my  wildest 
dreams.  Are  you  not  my  own  ?  Do  you  nol 
love  me  ?"  , 

"  Tenderly." 

"I  know  it — I  have  had  proof  of  it — and  1 
can  feel  that  you  can  sympathize  in  roy  new  • 
found  gratification.  My  poor  mother  alwayi. 
coveted  for  me  the  regard  of  Lady  Malcolmi 
for  whom  she  herself  felt  the  aflectioii  of  j' 
sister." 

"I  am  delighted  that  you  should  have  so 
cured  it." 

"  And  you,  Id.i,  you  also ;  she  admires  yoi 
beyond  measure." 

"  I  am  honored  by  her  good  opinion." 


THE    JEALOUS     TVIFE. 


T7 


"And  that  sweet,  artless  girl — is  sho  not 
dianning?" 

'•  Very  charminc: — and  very  lionntiful." 

"  Yes,  said  Sydney,  somewhat  less  impetu- 
ously tlian  he  had  yet  spoken ;  "  she  certainly 
is  beautiful  in  a  eertain  style." 

'•Oh,  my  love,"  exelaimed  Mrs.  Elphinstone, 
depreeatuii^ly ;  "  let  us  have  no  reservations,  no 
oritieisms,  as  ren:ards  Miss  Malodm's  beauty. 
There  ean  be  but  one  oj)iniou;  Oreuze  could 
not  have  desired  a  more  perfect  subject  for  one 
of  his  exquisite  pictures." 

"Well — perhajis — but,  after  all,  that  fair 
l>eauty  is  somewhat  fade ;  it  is  but  the  mere 
twilisjht  of  actual  loveliness." 

"  We  sometimes  weary  of  glare,"  said  Mrs. 
Elpinstone,  still  in  the  same  low,  endearing  tone. 

"Of  glare,  yes — but  that  implies  something 
meretricious  and  heartless ;  I  was  not  desecrat- 
ing beauty  by  such  associations." 

"And  then,  Jliss  Malcolm  is  so  accomplished 
— so  fascinating." 

"So  she  is;  she  is  full  of  natural  talent,  and 
lias  thoroughly  profited  by  her  opportunities. 
You  say  that  she  is  an  admirable  musician, 
and  she  is  certainly  a  wonderful  artist  for  her 
age." 

"  And  we  have  only  seen  her  twice  ! — she 
may  yet  astonish  us  by  her  proficiency  in  other 
accomplishments." 

"  I  hope  not,  for  I  confess  that  I  should  have 
no  sympathy  -with  a  female  Crichton ;  and 
■would  rather  look  upon  her  as  a  good,  amiable 
little  girl,  remarkable  only  for  her  extraordi- 
miry  talents  for  drawing  and  music." 

"So  be  it,  my  dear  Sydney;  and  therefore, 
until  our  aetjuaintance  becomes  more  intimate. 
Miss  Edith  Malcolm  shall  be  to  us  only  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  the  most  talented  girls 
wo  have  ever  met,  or  are  likely  to  meet." 

"An  arrangement  with  which  she  has  every 
reason  to  be  well  satisfied,  I  think,"  said  El- 

1)hJnstone,  gayly ;  "but  one  ■which  is  ncverthe- 
ess  no  more  than  is  her  due.  And  now,  what 
of  our  walk,  Ida  ?" 

"  It  is  too  late,  dear." 

"  Too  late  ?  Why  I  have  but  exceeded  my 
i  time  by  twenty  minutes." 

"But  those  twenty  minutes  have  rendered 
it  impossible  for  me  to  accompany  you.  I 
have  letters  to  write,  and  the  ])ost  leaves 
!  early." 

"Can  you  not  postpone  them  until  to-mor- 
row f" 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  they  must  be  dis- 
patched to-<lay." 

"How  confoundedly  provoking!"  exclaimed 
Sydney,  rising  to  his  feet ;  "  and  wjjat  am  I 
to  do  with  myself  wliile  you  are  engaged  in 
writing?" 

"  Can  you  not  walk  to  the  Lodge,  and  assist 
Mias  Malcolm  with  the  foreground  of  her  sketch, 
08  you  proposed  to  do  ?" 

"  By  Jove  !  not  a  bad  idea ;  but  then,  we 
can  not  dispense  with  you,  Ida,  for  you  were  to 
be  the  prominent  figure." 

"Oh,  said  Mrs.  ?21phinstone,  forcing  a  laugh  ; 
"you  have  an  excellent  memory,  and  do  not 
need  my  presence.  You  will  not  find  it  more 
diflScult  to  sketch  a  figure  with  whiih  you  are 
familiar  than  to  combine  a  bouipet  after  a  given 
model" 


"  But  I  can  not  bear  to  be  parted  from  you 
so  long." 

"  A  mere  sentimental  sopliism,  my  dear  Syd- 
ney ;  half  an  hour  soon  ])asses  away  when  "we 
are  in  the  society  of  those  we  love." 

"Then  why  strive  to  make  my  morning  wca- 
risotne  to  me  V 

"Svilney!" 

"Is'ay,  Ida  dear,  do  not  look  d:si>loasod;  but 
after  having  hurried  back  as  I  did  in  the  hope 
of  a  long  ramliU^  with  you  before  dinner,  I  con- 
fess that  I  am  terribly  disaiijxiiuted." 

"  And  did  you  then  hurry  back  so  much,  my 
poor  Sydney?"  said  his  wife,  with  another 
glance  at  the  timepiece  ;  "  I  luul  no  idea  of  it." 

"  It  is  nevertheless  the  fact,"  replied  her  hu&- 
band,  somewhat  impatiently ;  "  for,  as  we  went, 
Lady  Malcolm  lingered  talking  over  old  times, 
and  I  was  anxious  not  to  make  you  wait." 

"  Nor  did  you,  as  you  must  have  seen,  my 
love.  A  book  is  always  so  pleasant  a  compan- 
ion when  one  is  alone ;  and  then,  when  I  dis- 
continued reading  for  a  moment,  it  was  so  do 
lightfid  to  feel  that  you  were  haj)pily  engaged 
with  friends  who  could  thoroughly  appreciate 
you,  that,  beheve  me,  you  have  nothing  to 
regret.  I  am  not  a  child,  Sydney,  I  know  that 
I  can  not  expect  to  engross  either  your  time  or 
your  alTectious ;  and  therefore  I  cau  not  begin 
too  early  to  accustom  myself  to  a  privation  to 
which  I  must  submit,  sooner  or  later." 

"  My  dear  Ida,  you  freeze  me." 

"  I  have  neither  the  wish  nor  the  intention  to 
do  so.     J^xn  I  not  arguing  rationally  ?" 

"  The  heart  docs  not  reason,  and  consequently 
I  have  no  reply  to  make." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  be  unreasonable,  and 
you  shall  be  rewarded  for  your  kind  intentions. 
In  five  minutes  I  will  return  equipped  for  our 
walk,  and  the  unlucky  letters  shall  be  post- 
poned till  to-morrow." 

"  There 's  a  good  girl ;  I  have  tuch  a  view  to 
show  you." 

"  But  you  must  also  promise  me  a  dry  path," 
said  Ida,  as  she  coquettishly  extended  toward 
him  her  small  and  symmetrical  foot,  delicately 
confined  in  a  boot  of  black  silk. 

"I  will  promise  you  any  thing,  and  everj 
thing." 

And  the  bride  and  bridegroom  started  for 
their  stroll 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A    NEW   nOME. 

A  FORTNionT  after  the  occurrences  detailed 
in  our  last  chapter,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elphinstone 
were  installed  in  a  small  but  sheltered  and 
detached  cottage  near  Brompton,  face  to  face 
with  the  realities  of  their  worldly  position. 

The  velvet  and  satin  draperies  to  which  Ida 
had  been  accustomed  from  her  infancy,  were 
exchanged  for  modest  chintz  ;  showy  lu.vuriea 
for  unobtrusive  comforts,  and  a  train  of  po\»>. 
dere<l  and  liveried  domestics  for  three  fcmnle 
serviints.  Even  with  one  of  these,  her  own 
{)er8onal  attendant,  she  had  been  anxious  Xo 
dispense,  but  the  j)roposul  had  proved  so  un- 
palatable to  her  husband,  that  sho  had  for- 


THE    JEALOUS     TVIFE 


borne  to  urpe  the  point;  although,  ignorant 
as  she  was  of  tlie  actual  value  of  money,  she 
could  not  help  suspecting  that  the  three  hun- 
dred a  year,  which  while  under  her  father's 
roof  had  barely  sufficed  for  the  expenses  of  lier 
toilet,  must  be  very  inadequate  for  the  sup- 
port of  five  individuals,  two  of  whom  were 
unaccustomed  to  practice  economy  in  any 
shape. 

Svilney,  however,  assured  her  so  confidently, 
that  when  lie  had  once  establislied  himself  in 
chambers,  lie  should  not  be  long  before  he  ob- 
tained a  l>rief,  that  she  willingly  lent  herself 
to  the  illusion  ;  and  declared  that  she  had 
nothing  to  regret  save  the  prospect  of  his  ab- 
sence. 

"And  even  at  that  I  will  not  repine,"  she 
said;  "I  should  indeed  be  selfish,  did  I  per- 
mit myself  to  do  so,  while  you  are  toiling  to 
secure  my  comfort.  Have  I  not  my  music, 
my  painting,  and  m}'  books  to  occupy  me? 
and,  more  than  all,  shall  I  not  be  occupied  for 
hours  in  listening  for  your  tread  and  antici- 
pating your  return  ?     How  wise  it  was  of 

your  excellent  mother,  my  dear  Sydney,  to  j  of  thing  can't  last.     Is  M 
educate  you  for  a  profession,  and  thus  render    handsome  as  ever  ? 
you  independent  of  the  world ;  and  how  little 
did  I  suspect,  who  regarded  you  as  a  mere  idle 
young  man  of  fashion,  that  you  were  indeed 
'one  learned  in  law.'  " 

"Ida,"  exclaimed  her  delighted  husband; 
"you  are  an  admirable  creature  to  content 
yourself  with  such  a  home  as  this.    Could  vou 


"Ila!  what,  yon  have  come  b.Tck  to  rs 
once  more,  truant,"  was  his  greeting  from  a 
fashionable  countess,  in  whose  morning-iooin 
he  lounged  away  a  spare  half  hour  before  his 
return  to  Brompton,  as  she  placed  two  of  her 
jeweled  fingers  in  his  hand;  "but  do  yon 
know  that  you  have  been  a  very  nauglity 
boy!  And  now  I  see  you  distinctly,  do'you 
know  that  j-ou  have  a  verj-  married  look! 
IIow  is  Mrs.Elphinstone?  IJy  the  by,  I  shall 
want  you  at  my  concert  on  Tuesday  next. 
No  disclaimers!  You  can  surcl}-  be  spared 
for  an  hour  or  two  bj-  this  time.  We  must 
have  no  monopolies,  and,  besides,  at  your 
age  it  would  really  be  too  absurd  were  you 
to  degenerate  into  a  mere  married  man.  Vou 
must  keep  up  your  connections;  you  must, 
indeed,  for  remember  that  if  you  n'eglect  the 
world,  the  world  will  soon  return  the  compli- 
ment." 

"  My  world  is  home,"  said  Sydney,  courage- 
ously. 

"  Ila,   yes ;    no  doubt ;    very  proper ;   yon 

have  not  long  been  a  husband,  but  that  tind 

Elphinstone  as 


only  guess  the  misgiving  with  which  Ibrought 
you  here !  I  will  not  say  that  I  apprehended 
reproaches,  or  even  remonstrances;  I  never 
for  a  moment  did  you  so  much  injustice ;  but 
had  you  looked  sad  or  disappointed,  it  would 
have  made  me  wretched." 

"Sad!  disappohited!"  echoed  Mrs.  Elphin- 
Etone,  as  she  looked  round  the  simple  apart- 
ment with  a  glance  of  exultation;  "I  declare 
to  j-ou,  Sydney,  that  for  weeks  past  I  have 
not  felt  so  happy  or  so  light  of  heart." 

And  she  told  the  truth,  for  she  was  alone 
with  her  husband  :  Lady  Malcolm  and  her 
daughter  being  still  resident  at  the  Lodge. 
Mr.  Elphinstone  expected  shortly  to  be  e.ilied 
to  the  bar;  his  connections  were  powerful, 
liis  person  attractive,  and  his  address  emi- 
nently prepossessing;  he  was,  therefore,  in 
every  respect  calculated  to  shine  in  the  pro- 
fession to  which  he  was  about  to  devote  him- 
8elf ;  and  not  one  dread  of  failure  oppressed 


"  Even  more  so — in  my  eyes. ' 

"That  is  ver}'  nice.  I  am  glad  of  it — sin- 
cerely glad  of  it.  1  hope  that  she  will  wear 
well,  although  j^our  dark  beauties  seldom  do; 
but  in  her  case  I  hope  it  will  be  otherwise; 
it  would  be  unpleasant  for  you,  and  mortify- 
inj;  for  her,  should  she  fall  off  while  you  are 


in  the  very  prime  of  life." 

"  I  see  no  prospect  of  such  a  catastrophe ;" 
said  Sydney,  with  an  uneasy  smile. 

"Nevertheless,  it  is  certain,"  persisted  the  ! 
lady,  as  she  swept  back  a  ringlet  of  a  very 
doubtful  shade  of  auburn  ;  "that  fair  womea 
retain  their  youth  and  freshness  much  longer 
than  brunettes." 

Elphinstone   bit  his  lips  to  control  his  in- 
dignation. 

"Poor  Lord  Downmerel"  resumed  the 
countess,  suddenly  breaking  into  a  laugh; 
'■  what  a  ridiculous  figure  j^ou  caused  him  to 
make  at  that  memorable  fete  at  Richmond , 
where  you  enacted  the  role  of  Lochinvar,  and  • 
ran  off  with  his  bride.  I  shall  never  forget  it 
It  was  decidedly  the  best  thing  of  the  season ; 
not  to  mention  that  the  poor  man  was  a  mart3T  | 
to  the  gout  for  the  whole  period  of  your  honey- 
moon. He  will  never  forgive  j-ou,  Mr.  Elphin- 
one,  never,  never.     Do  you  know  I  am  quite  ■ 


his  spirit.     He  had  been  welcomed  back  with    delighted  that  you  happened  to  call  when  I  v 
enthusiasm  at  his  club,  and  warmly  congratu- 
lated on  his  good  fortune  in  securing  the  hand 
of  the  beautiful  Miss  Trevanion. 

"Nevermind,  Syd.,  though  the  old  fellow 
should  sulk  for  a  time,"  had  one  of  his  inti- 
mate friends  said  confidentially:  "he  must 
come  round  at  last,  for  he  has  no  other  child, 
and  he  hates  his  family  with  a  good  honest 
hatred  that  will  prove  substantial  enough  to 
last  liis  life;  so  you  need  have  no  fears  for 
the  future.  I  only  wish  that  I  had  as  fair  a 
chance  of  coming  in  for  a  princely  fortune." 

"Let  him  keep  his  money,"  was  the  proud 
reply;  "I  ask  nothing  of  him.  My  career  is 
plain  before  me,  and  I  am  ready  to  hew  out 
my  own  path  to  affluence.  What  has  been 
done,  may  bo  done  again." 


alone,  for  you  were  always  a  favorite  of  mine, 
and  I  quite  enjoy  our  little  confidential  conver- 
sation. Of  course  Mr.  Trevanion  has  forgiven 
you,  and  all  has  ended  like  a  French  Vaude-' 
villc.  By  the  by,  will  you  como  to  my  box^ 
to-morrow  night,  and  sec  Dojazct?  She  is  in- 
imitable this  season  ;  a  perfect  evergreen." 

At  this  moment  the  groom  of  the  chambers, 
announced  some  other  guests,  and  Elphinstone 
bowed  himself  out.  As  he  slowly  made  his 
way  through  the  square,  however  his  face  had 
lost  its  usual  sunny  expression  ;  he  had  winced 
more  than  once  under  the  sting  of  the  Count' 
ess's  ill-judged  remarks,  and  the  smart  Btill  re- 
mained. 

That  his  idolized  Ida  should  bo  made  th( 
theme  of  aflfected  condolence— she  whose  graa 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


and  beauty  had  tlirOTm  a  lio«t  of  titled  triflers 
iuto  tlie  shade — \vas  a  mortification  wliieh  ho 
could  ill  brook.  The  world  had  always  treated 
him  so  gently  that  he  was  unprepared  for  cojn- 
nient.sliko  tlioso  to  which  he  had  been  compelled 
to  listen.  "What  right  had  others  to  speculate 
upon  contingencies  on  which  he  himself  had 
never  bestowed  a  thought  I  » 

Poor  Sydney  I  He  had  yet  to  learn  that  no 
individual  who  ventures  to  disregard  the  con- 
ventionalities of  society  ever  escapes  its  censure 
or  its  ridicule,  and  that  it  is  far  easier  to  resent 
than  to  despise  them. 

[       "  Why,  Elphltistono,  can  that  be  you  ?"  ex- 

I  claimed  a  familiar  voice,  as  ho  turned  into 
Grosvcnor  Plae':".  and  an  exquisitely  gloved 
hand  was  passed  through  his  arm ;  "  tired  of 
'love's  delights'    and    the    'turtle-nest'   in  the 

j  country,  hey?    I'm  rejoiced  to  know  it.    We've 

I   missed"  you  sadly,  you  adventurous  Benedict. 

i  What  an  escapade!  On  my  honor  it  was  too 
bad  stealing  a  march  upon  your  friends  in  that 

,   way,  and  leaving  jirctty  Mary  Maitland  to  wear 

I  tlie  willow." 

i       "  Nonsense,  Lord  Charles,  Lady  Mary  wa?  no 

1   more   to  me  than  a  very  agreeable   acquaint- 

I  ance." 

j       "  Be  that  as  it  may,  my  dear  fellow,  I  tell  you 

j  that  she  has  worn  the  Avillow,  and  worn  it  very 

I  gracefully  too.     That  idiot  Banfield  of  the  Blues 

I  having,  I  suppose,  heard  that  it  is  easy  to  catch 
a  heart  on  the  rebourxl,  was  imbecile  enough 
to  offer  himself  before  j-ou  h'ad  evaporated  a 
fortnight,  and  was  dismissed  for  his  pains.    Sus- 

j  picious,  hey  ?" 

i       "  Of  what  ?"  asked  Sydney,  pettishly. 

j  "  Of  what  ?  why  of  your  influence  over  the 
affections  of  your  'very  agreeable  acquaint- 
ance.' Young  ladies  of  seventeen  do  not  usu- 
ally dismiss  the  heir-presumptive  to  a  peerage 

I  quite  so  cavalierly,  unless  they  have  either  a 

I  hope  or  a  regret  to  indulge." 

!       "  You  are  really  not  justified  in  making  so  free 

i  a  use  of  a  lady's  name;"  said  Elphinstone  with 
indignation  ;  "  I  must  beg — " 
"  Pho,  pho ;"  laughed  his  companion;  "  I  may 
I  surely  canvass  the  caprices  of  my  own  cousin, 
•without  your  looking  pistols  and  broad-swords 
at  me.  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  you  could  do 
no  more  if  I  had  been  whispering  pretty  things 
to  your  wife.  There!  there  !  keep  your  temper 
— first  you  want  to  quarrel  with  me  because  I 
talk  of  a  possibility,  and  now  j'ou  are  chafBng 
like  a  caged  panther  because  I  hint  at  an  im- 
possibility." 

"  Understand,  Lord  Charles — " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  know.  No  one  admired  Miss 
Trevanion  more  than  I  did,  and  no  one  is  more 
flisposed  to  admire  Mrs.  Sydney  Elphinstone — 
'soberly,'  as  Lady  Betty  says ;  but  you  arc  well 
aware  that  I  am  the  most  harmless  fellow  in  the 
world;  besides  I  quite  co-;iprehend  that  your 
position  is  a  peculiar  one,  a  very  peculiar  one ; 
a  fact  which  I  shall  bo  careful  never  to  lose  sight 
of.  Still  the  disparity  is  not  bo  very  great,  and 
will  appear  even  less  for  the  next  eight  or  ten 
years,  after  which  you  may,  without  exercising 
any  very  great  amount  of  philosophy,  say  with 
the  French  king,  '  Aprh  moi,  le  deluge.'  " 

"Loni  Charles  Glcnhurst,  I  wish  you  good 
morning;"  said  Sydney,  suddenly  stopping,  and 
Paaolutely  shaking  off  tho  arm  of  his  companion. 


"There  again  1"  exclaimed  his  obtuse  l.ird- 
ship ;  "  what  a  tetchy  fellow  you  are.  But  j 
am  determined  not  to  quarrel  with  you.  Come 
I  am  on  my  way  to  the  club." 

"  And  I  have  business  in  tho  opposite  direc- 
tion," was  tho  curt  rejoinder. 

'•  Well,  good-morning  then,  since  you  will 
have  it  so.  We  shall  soon  meet  again  ;  and 
meanwhile,  do  me  the  favor  to  offer  my  best 
respects  to  Jlrs.  Elphinstone." 

"  Poor  Syd  I"  was  the  mental  apostrophe  of 
tho  young  tiobleman  as  ho  pursued  his  walk; 
"judging  from  tho  change  in  his  temper,  I  sus- 
pect that  ho  has  caught  a  tartar.  lie  would 
have  done  better  to  marry  little  Mary." 

"  Driveling  idiot !"  was  the  muttered  comment 
of  Elphinstone  ;  "  he  to  talk  of  whispering  pretty 
nothings  to  Ida! — Ho  who  is  not  warthv  to  pro- 
nounce her  name!— and  that  is  a  man  who  calls 
himself  my  friend — my  friend ! — what  a  bitter 
mockery  of  the  term.  And  then  I,  fool  that  I 
was!  suffered  him  to  see' that  he  had  ruflled 
mo.     A  pleasant  morning  I  have  passed,  truly." 

Sydney  was  enlarging  his  experience  of  man- 
kind. Often,  in  the  intoxication  of  his  happi- 
ness and  triumph,  had  ho  felt  himself  to  be  tho 
object  of  universal  envy ;  he  had  yet  to  learn 
that  for  one  subtle  perfume  which  is  burnt  upon 
tho  altar  of  the  world  by  its  votaries,  for  a  fel- 
low-man, a  thousand  fetid  odors  are  cast  into 
the  flame  to  poison  the  surrounding  atmos- 
phere. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 


The  Elphinstones  had  not  taken  possession 
of  their  suburban  retreat  above  a  month  before 
it  became  quite  the  fashion  with  a  "certain 
set,"  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  cottage  which    / 
was  now  their  home.  / 

A  few  were  prompted  by  good-will,  or  at 
least  by  kindness  of  heart;  but  the  principal 
number  were  led  there  by  idleness  and  curi- 
osity, which  they  excused  to  themselves  during 
their  drive  by  sundry  pithy  apothegms,  such 
as,  '•  Well,  willful  woman  must  have  her  wav," 
"  As  tlie  tree  falls,  it  lies,"  etc.,  relieved  by  ex- 
pressions of  wonder  as  to  how  the  pampcrcil 
heiress  would  contrive  to  '^xist  with  her  penni- 
less husband ;  on  the  ridiculous  nature  of  her 
position,  tied  for  life  to  a  mere  boy;  and  on 
rather  lax  speculations  as  to  the  probable  re- 
sult of  so  unnatural  a  match. 

"  But,  my  dear  marchioness,"  said  a  rouged 
and  ringleted  dowager  to  her  equally  faded 
companion,  as  they  rolled  in  a  well-padded 
chariot  toward  Brompton ;  "  if  she  should 
really  repent  and  leave  him,  it  is  easy  to  judge 
tliat  she  will  not  inflict  upon  herself  the  tedium 
of  the  Arches  Court;  and  she  is  handsome 
enough  to  avoid  that  infliction  whenever  si  o 
pleases;  would  it  not  be  disagreeable  to  be  in- 
volved in  an  affair  of  the  kind  V 

"  Why  should  it  ?"  asked  her  companion, 
without  unclosing  her  eyes,  as  she  lay  back 
behind  the  rose-colored  blind  of  the  carriage- 
window  ;  "  we  are  not  the  keepers  <>f  her  con- 
science ;  and,  nfieanwhile,  until  tho  catafltropho 


TEE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


takes  place,  -we  must  not  forget  that  she  vrill 
be  quite  an  acquisition.  The  men  ■will  be  all 
curiosity — I  need  say  nothing  of  the  women ; 
and  what  with  her  beauty  and  her  musical 
talents,  she  will  amply  reward  the  risk ;  be- 
sides, poor  thing!  she  will  feel  grateful,  no 
doubt,  that  she  is  not  overlooked  in  her  pov- 
erty." 

"  You  are  right,  quite  right,"  was  the  equally 
careless  rejoinder;  "and  Sydney  Elphinstone, 
although  he  1ms  made  such  a  fool  of  himself, 
may  also  prove  a  very  accommodating  re- 
source ;  and  will  be. glad  enough,  I  dare  say,  to 
accept  an  ivory  for  the  opera,  or  a  stray  con- 
cert ticket,  which  he  can  no  longer  afford  to 
purchase,  when  his  escort  may  be  desirable ;  so 
that,  after  all,  we  are  perhaps  acting  judiciously 
in  lending  our  countenance  to  this  very  absurd 
couple." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  Marchioness  of 
Crichdale  ;  "  I  confess  that  I  shall  be  curious 
to  see  the  haughty  beauty  who  dismissed  my 
cousin.  Sir  Mark  Merivalc,  with  a  smile  and  a 
courtesy,  doing  the  honors  of  a  cottage  in 
the  purlieus  of  London;  it  must  be  quite  a 
comedy." 

"  Comedie  larmoyante,  I  should  think," 
sneered  Lady  Martha  Swaincote,  as  the  equi- 
page drew  up  at  the  door  of  a  leaf-embowered 
and  verandaed  dwelling,  overgrown  by  honey- 
suckle and  creeping  roses.  "  Bless  me !  why 
surely  we  have  made  a  mistake,  and  have 
intruded  on  the  back-scene  of  an  opera 
ballet." 

But  no ;  their  tagged  and  powdered  footman 
was  duly  informed  by  the  neat  waiting-woman 
who  answered  the  gate-bell  that  this  was,  in- 
deed, the  residence  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  and 
moreover  that  her  mistress  was  at  home. 

After  a  rapid  glance  over  the  exterior  of 
the  cottage,  and  a  hope,  expressed  considerably 
above  a  whisper,  that  they  shnuld  not  suffer 
from  damp  feet,  as  they  measured  with  their 
eyes  the  length  of  the  gravel-walk  over  whieh 
tliey  were  compelled  to  advance  in  order  to 
reach  the  house,  the  two  great  ladies  at  length 
made  up  their  minds  to  alight ;  and,  preceded 
by  the  female  servant,  and  followed  by  their 
own  parti-colored  attendant,  they  overcame 
the  difficulty,  and  found  themselves  in  the 
small  entrance-hall,  whence  a  door,  carefully 
sheltered  by  a  hattant  of  crimson  baize,  gave 
ingress  to  the  drawing-room. 

As  they  were  announced,  Mrs.  Elphinstone 
rose  quietly  from  the  dormcune  in  whicli  she 
had  been  reclining,  cnsjaged  upon  a  new  work 
wliich  Sydney  had  l)rought  from  town  on  the 
previous  day,  and  advanced  a  step  or  two  to 
meet  them. 

Nothing  could  bo  more  simple,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  more  elegant,  than  her  morning 
o<istumi! ;  for,  free  for  a  time  from  all  doubt 
and  ail  mistrust,  Ida  took  a  secret  pride  in 
adorning  licrself,  and  thus  eliciting  the  admira- 
tion of  her  husband. 

Nor  had  she  neglected  to  extend  the  fascina- 
tion of  good  taste  and  refinement  to  all  about 
her.  Even  Sydney  liimself  could  scarcely 
recognize  his  homo  after  she  had  become  its 
inmate. 

A  few  pounds,  judiciously  expended,  liad 
dono   woudcra.      Snowy  draperies   twmporiug 


the  bright  colors  of  the  chintz  hangmgs ; 
graceful  toys  scattered  over  the  tables,  jar* 
diniires  filled  with  exotics,  whose  perfume 
filled  the  apartment,  gave  a  summer  aspect  to 
the  small  but  pretty  room,  which  rendered  the 
absence  of  more  costly  ornaments  overlooked, 
or  at  least  disregarded. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Eljihinstone,"  said  the  map- 
chioness,  as  she  extended  her  hand,  and  then 
languidly  threw  herself  upon  a  sofa;  "you 
have  not  forgotten  me,  I  trust ;  and  see,  I  have 
brought  Lady  Martha  Swaincote,  who  was  as 
anxious  as  myself  to  renew  her  acquaintance 
with  you ;  what  an  age  it  is  since  we  have 
met!  Never,  you  know,  since  the  eventful 
evening  when  you  concluded  one  of  the  most 
cliarming  fetes  of  the  season  by  a  coi'ip  de  the- 
dtrc —  But  we  will  not  revert  to  a  subject 
which  may  be  painful  to  you." 

"By  no  means,"  said  Ida, with  a  calm  smile; 
"  why  should  it  be  so,  when  1  am  one  of  the 
happiest  women  u])on  earth  ?" 

"  In  that  case  I  have  committed  no  indiscre- 
tion," replied  her  noble  friend  ;  "  and  am  do> 
lighted  to  be  able  to  congratulate  you;  for 
really  marriage  is  such  a  lottery  at  the  best, 
that  when  persons  really  run  a  risk  as  j-ou  did, 
it  is  quite  comforting  to  know  that  they  have 
no  reason  to  repent." 

"I  am  not  aware  that  I  ran  any  risk, 
madam ;"  retorted  Ida,  haughtily ;  "  I  knew  Mr, 
Elphinstone  to  bo  a  man  of  honor." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,  of  course  ;"  interposed 
Lady  Martha  with  affected  gravity ;  "  our 
friend  was  not  intending  to  infer  any  doubt  of 
your  husband's  honor,  but  of  his  stability.  lie 
was  so  very  young,  that  she  dreaded  lest  ho 
should  have  mistaken  a  mere  transitory  fancy 
for  a  solid  attachment." 

"  Just  so ;"  acquiesced  tho  marchioness,  rais- 
ing her  glass  to  her  eye,  and  glancing  leisurely 
about  her;  "Lady  Martha  ha.s  expressed  my 
true  meaning;  and  I  really  was  appprehensivo 
that  things  might  not  turn  out  well ;  for,  setting 
aside  the  extreme  youth  of  Mr.  Elphinstone, 
you  must  bo  aware  that  yoti  could  both  of  you 
have  dono  much  better.  That,  however,  is  of 
course  your  own  affair." 

"  I  am  rejoiced  that  your  ladyship  concedes 
so  much,"  said  her  hostess  with  the  air  of  an 
empress. 

"  I  am,  I  assure  you,  quite  delighted  ;"  pur- 
sued tlio  lady;  "and  really  you  have  a  very 
pretty  little  house  ;  is  it  not.  Lady  Martha?  I 
am  actually  glad  to  have  seen  it,  for  tho  mar- 
quis has  a  widowed  aunt  who  wius  silly  enough 
to  make  an  imprudent  marriage,  and  who  being 
now  compelled  to  live  upon  a  very  limited 
jointure,  is  looking  out  for  a  residence  suited  to 
lior  means.  I  will  mention  this  cottage  to  her, 
as  slio  may  perhaps  find  a  similar  one  in  tlw  ' 
neighborhood,  and  ;he  would  bo  a  charming  , 
comi)anion  for  Mrs.  Llphinstonc."  _       i 

"  Are  we  not  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  '. 
your  husband  ?"  inquired  Lady  Martha,  who, 
less  self-engrossed    tlian   her   friend,   had  le- 
marked  the  indignation  of  tlieir  hostess. 

"  Mr.  Elphinstone  is  in  town ;"  replied  Idiv; 
"  ho  has  just  been  called  to  tho  bar,  and  is  con-  , 
soquently  compelled  to  pass  tho  greater  portiim 
of  tho  day  at  his  chambers." 

"Called  to   the  bar!"  exclaimed  the  ma> 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


81 


phionesg;  "  are  you  rcnllj  serious  ?  whv,  what 
■\  dreary  ILfe  you  must  leadl  It  must  be  quite 
h  relief  to  you  to  receive  your  friends ;  aud  you 
[uust  also  be  iu  a  constaut  state  of  anxiety ; 
Condon  is  such  a  horrid  place  for  young  men, 
iind  those  odious  clubs  render  them  so  terribly 
udepeudent  of  their  homes." 
■  "  Mr.  Klphiustone  has  not,  I  am  happy  to  say, 
■•vinced  any  disposition  to  avail  himself  of  his 
ludopeudence  ;"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

L"Ue  would  bo  very  unjirateful  had  ho  done 
;"  remarked  Lady  Martha,  in  a  conciliating 
bne;  "  with  such  a  home,  and  such  a  wife,  ho 
oed  scarcel}""  seek  for  enjoyment  elsewhere." 

"  Still,"  said  the  marchioness,  seutcutiously ; 
I  can  not  understand  his  volunteering  the 
rudgery  of  a  profession.  "W'e  all  know  that 
|o  was  poor,  but  you  Mrs.  Elphiustone, 
ire  aa  only  child,  and  your  father  is  very 
Nalthy." 

I  "  Quite  true,  madam." 

1  "  So  you  see,  my  dear — ^you  will  excuse  the 
joerty  which  I  am  taking,  and  remember  that 
I  am  older  than  3-ou.  and  have  had  more  ex- 
brience  of  the  world — I  consider  that  you- 
live  been  ill-advised  to  indulge  him  in  so  silly 
joaprice — for  of  course  he  must  look  to  you 
|r  advice ;  at  his  age  and  with  his  habits,  he 

n  know  nothing  of  business;  and  had  you 
dueed  him  to  abandon  this  extraordinary 
sa,  you  might  have  Lad  him  constantly  un- 
I  r  your  own  eye,  which  would  have  been  very 
'  sirable. 

"  I  tell  you  this  advisedly,  and  I  have  some 
!;ht  to  do  so,  for  although  the  marquis  was  ten 
;ars  ray  senior  when  I  became  his  wife,  I  can 
smre  you  that  I  had  many  a  heartache.  It  is 
<  ite  ridiculous  to  suppose  that  because  a  man 
i  married  he  undergoes  a  moral  apotheosis; 
K  no ;  the  French  proverb  is  a  true  one : 
'pe  cowl  does  not  make  the  monk ;'  and,  until 
if  cau  reform  human  nature,  men  will  be 
rin." 

Witli  this  sublime  climax  her  ladyship 
Hwly  rose,  selected  a  magnificent  magnolia 
fm  the  bouquet  on  the  center  table,  which 
Bt  transferred  to  her  girdle,  shook  out  the 
fjls  of  her  violet-colored  satin,  and  prepared 
tjdeparL 

■  I  shall  see  you  soon  and  often,  I  hope,  Mrs. 
lohinstono;"'  she  said ;  "  I  retain  a  delightful 
njmory  of  your  musical  talont.s.  In  short, 
yk  must  always  be  an  acquisition;  and,  as 
yi  know,  the  marquis  is  one  of  your  most  de- 
Vted  admirers." 

rYour  ladyship's  kindness  is  very  flatter- 
li ;"  Baid  Ida,  with  dignity;  "but  I  regret  I 
cJ  not  avail  myself  of  it,  as  we  have  no  car- 
ripe.  I  am,  however,  much  gratified  that 
yj.  have  honored  me  with  a  visit,  since  you 
\^Q  so  good  as  to  feel  an  interest  in  my  hap- 
pj:'3S,  as  you  must  have  convinced  yourself 
tit  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  destiny, 
tit  I  have  no  ambition  beyond  that  which  my 
ntriage  has  fulfilled,  and  that  I  can,  without 
ai  misgiving,  trust  Mr.  Elphinstone  even  at 
li  club." 

Ha,  my  dear;"  sighed  her  ladyship,  as  she 
8^pt  out  of  the  room;  "no  dnubt  you  feel 
al  you  say :  we  women  are  such  confiding 
cutures,  and  you  are  still  certainly  very  beau- 


Lady  Martha  followed  her  friend;  and  as 
the  door  closed  behind  them,  Ida  buried  her 
fu'O  in  the  sofa-pillows,  and  fell  into  a  painful 
train  of  thought.  The  iron  hand  had,  indeed, 
been  gloved-  in  velvet,  but  the  grasp  was  not 
the  less  deadly. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


Elphinstone  had,  as  stated  by  his  wife,  been 
called  to  the  Bar ;  his  chambers  were,  if  not    ■ 
sumptuously,  at  least  comfortably  and  suffi-    | 
ciently  furnished  ;    he  had   provided  himself    / 
with  a  confidential  clerk;  laid  in  a  magnifi- 
cent stock  of  stationery  ;  fitted  up  liis  book- 
case with  the  most  valuable  works  of  reference 
to  be  obtained  for  money ;  secured  a  gown 
and  wig  of  unexceptionable  cut  and  quality, 
in    which,    as   Ida   laughingly   declared,    lie 
looked  like  a  quasi  lonl-chancellor ;  made  up 
his  mind  to  study  for  at  least  six  hours  in  the 
day  ;   and,  in  short,  required  nothing  beyond 
the  opportunity  of  putting  his  legal  talents  to 
the  test. 

Nothing,  therefore,  remained  to  be  done ; 
save,  indeed,  that  he  considered  it  necessary 
to  curtail  the  hours  of  study,  in  order  to 
secure  clients ;  but  he  had  so"  many  friends, 
that  he  entertained  little  doubt  of  his  success 
in  that  respect.  Day  by  day,  too,  he  had 
reason  to  believe  that  all  apprehension  on  the 
subject  would  be  superfluous  ;  but  somehow 
or  other  it  constantly  happened  that  the  very 
individuals  who  assured  him  of  their  support,  , 
as  a  matter  of  course,  should  they  be  acci-  \ 
dently  involved  in  litigation,  were  sure  to  be 
intimate  with  Sir  Frederick  Thesiger,  or  Sir 
Fitzroy  Kelly,  and,  consequently,  felt  them- 
selves compelled  to  place  the  business  in  the 
hands  of  an  old  professional  friend,  while  they 
could  not,  equally  as  a  matter  of  course,  take 
the  liberty  of  suggesting  to  men  of  sueh  emi- 
nence the  choice  of  junior  counsel. 

For  a  time  Elphinstone  listened  and  be- 
lieved ;  and  even  amid  liis  disai>pointnient 
and  mortlfica'.ion,  endeavored  by  hard  study 
to  re:ider  himself  worthy  of  the  confidence 
which  would,  as  he  fondly  hoj)ed,  ere  long  be 
placed  in  him. 

But  as  month  after  month  went  by,  and 
winter  succeeded  to  autumn ;  as,  after  a 
Christmas  of  isolation  from  all  his  former 
friends,  lie  saw  himself  passing  the  threshold 
of  a  new  year,  and  still  found  himself  without 
a  brief,  the  cx'-ilement  of  hope  wore  off;  and, 
abandoning  his  chambers  to  the  care  of  his 
cleik,  who  contrived  by  the  aid  of  the  morn- 
ing paper  and  a  new  novel  to  get  through 
the  tedious  hours  of  his  monotonous  existence, 
he  sauntered  down  to  hi;;  club,  and  even  as 
time  wore  on,  accidentally  joined  a  water-  1 
party  to  Hampton  Court  or  Richmond. 

A  feeling  of  false  shame  preveule  1  him, 
however,  from  communicating  to  his  wife 
these  lapses  from  professional  dut}- ;  he  could 
not  bear  to  damp  hcrBanguine  anticij'ations; 
and  since  the  tide  of  fashionable  visitors  had 
ebbed,  she  lived  so  retired  a  life,  that  she  was 


82 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


never  likely  to  hear  of  his  movements  from 
any  other  lips  than  his  own. 

The  spring  was  a  glorious  one ;  the  London 
season  had  just  commenced  ;  and  one  engage- 
ment grew  out  of  another  so  naturally,  that 
Sydney  soon  ceased  to  reflect  upon  the  whirl 
of  dissipation  in  which  he  had  involved  him- 
self. Careful  never  to  overstay  the  hour  at 
which  he  was  aware  that  his  wife  would  be 
anticipating  his  return,  he  looked  upon  the 
deception  which  ho  was  practicing  as  a  pious 
fraud. 

Ida  was  happy  in  the  belief  that  in  the 
absence  of  active  and  practical  improvement, 
he  was  spending  his  time  in  a  course  of  study 
which  could  not  fail  ultimately  to  secure  his 
professional  success;  while  he,  on  his  part, 
ill-constituted,  as  we  have  shown  him  to  be, 
for  either  mental  or  moral  exertion,  easily 
convinced  himself  that  he  had  already  done 
all  that  was  requisite,  until  the  moment 
should  arrive  when  his  powers  would  be  called 
into  action. 

And  it  was  wonderful  how  well  the  world 
seconded  his  opinion  ;  and  how  many  sweet 
smiles  and  hearty  plaudits  contributed  to  con- 
vince him  that  he  was  walking  in  the  broad 
path  of  social  duty. 

Mr.  Elphinstoue  waltzed  so  well,  and  acted 
charades  so  beautifully : — Sydney  was  such 
an  excellent  oarsman,  and  got  up  a  pic-nic  so 
admirably — he  was  married,  to  be  sure,  but 
then,  he  had  married  a  woman  older  tlian 
himself,  and  was  consequently  more  to  be 
pitied  llian  blamed,  for  it  was  so  easy  to  under- 
stand how  matches  of  that  description  were 
arranged ;  so  that,  after  all,  it  was  perfectly 
natural  that  he  should  resume  his  position  in 
society,  and  that  his  wife  should  reconcile 
herself  to  what,  under  the  circumstances,  was 
inevitable. 

The  world,  however,  in  its  short-sighted 
egoti?m,  argued  too  rapidly.  With  nil  the 
heedlessness  of  his  age,  Elphinstone  was, 
indeed,  led  into  a  career  of  folly  and  selfish 
indulgence,  but  he  nevertheless  fondly  loved 
his  wife ;  and  it  was  not  without  much  re- 
morseful feeling  that  he  occasionally  reflected 
■on  his  abuse  of  her  confidence. 

Wiiile  he  was  engaged  in  archery  or  boat- 
ing, billiards  or  dancing,  the  woman  who  had 
intrusted  to  him  alike  her  happiness  and  her 
•  existence,  was  s[>ending  her  liours  in  solitude 
and  cnmii,  anxiously  awaiting  his  return  to  a 
lni!no  far  more  humble  than  that  of  which 
she  should  have  been  the  mistress:  but,  alas! 
Pleasure  is  a  syren  whose  voice  is  seldom  un- 
liecdcd  by  the  young — good  intentions,  as  wo 
all  know,  arc  tlie  ill-impressed  mosaics  which 
.serve  to  floor  a  region  that  must  be  illimit- 
able, if  we  consider  the  amount  of  paving 
which  it  absorbs — and  thus,  day  after  daj', 
Sydney  yielded  to  the  spell ;  and  evening  after 
evening  he  repented  of  his  weakness  only  to 
siu  again. 

He  was  not  happy  ;  on  that  point  he  never 
deceived  himself;  fur  while  he  fluttered  and 
flirted  through  the  throng  of  fashion,  he  saw 
and  felt  that  Ida,  his  own  loved  and  loving 
Avife,  was  fairer  and  dearer  tlian  any  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact ;  and  when  he  con- 
trasted  the   lax  and   frivolous  discourse  to 


which  he  listened  at  his  club  with  her  puri 
and  fascinating  conversation,  he  despisf, 
himself  for  a  weakness  to  which  on  the  nior 
row  he  nevertheless  again  yielded  without  ai 
eff"ort. 

Not  even  the  flushing  cheek  and  averted  ev 
of  Lady  Mary  Maitland  when  they  oecasionall 
met,  disturbed  his  equanimity  ;  with  all  hi 
faults,  and  they  were  rather  the  follies  of  vout 
than  actual  defects  of  character,  Sydney  Elpliii 
stone  was  no  coxcomb :  and  he  consequent! 
attributed  these  evidences  of  emotion  to  au 
cause  rather  than  the  true  one. 

In  becoming  the  husband  of  Ida  Trevanio 
he  had  given  himself  to  her  wholly,  and  1 , 
was  fully  conscious  of  her  claim  upon  his  ui' 
divided  affection. 

Still,  he  could  not  but  know  and  feel  th. 
his  position  was  a  false  one :  and  that,  sliou  , 
Ida  one  day  discover  how  she  had  been  mis!(' 
by  his  silence,  all  confidence  must  he  forev 
at  an  end  between  tliem.     He  was,  liowcv(; 
aware  that  their  income  could  by  no  men' 
suffice  to  their  present  style  of  living;  forwli 
he   frittered   away   the    very   limited   amou,/ 
which  wag  exclusive!}'  his  own,  his  wife  unrl 
customed  to  economy  in  any  shape,  and  tota 
ignorant  of  the  real  value  of  money,  was  equa 
expensive  in  her  own  habits,  while,  witli  proj 
satisfaction,   she   believed   tliat  by  dispensij 
with  a  carriage  and  even  a  male  domestic,  aj 
living  in  a  mere  cottage,  all  further  retrent' 
tnent  was  unnecesarv.  ■ 

Never  indeed,  perhaps,  were  two  individu  j 
more  thoroughly  self-deluded  than  were  2; 
and  Mrs.  Elphinstone  at  tliis  precise  peri' 
Slie,  calmly,  and  patiently  hapjjy  in  thefi| 
confidence  that  she  was  more  than  ever  nec^ 
sary  to  her  husband,  who,  after  long  and  wc;' 
hours  of  monotonous  occupation,  could  l(i 
only  to  her  for  companionship  in  her  bij 
periods  of  leisure;  and  he  in  the  equally  b;.'- 
less  conviction  that  his  friends  cnnld  not  1( ': 
fail  him  as  they  had  hitlicrto  done ;  and  t '; 
his  first  brief  would  at  once  induct  him  i » 
all  the  duties  and  habits  of  a  man  of  businc; 

And  meanwliile  all  things  went  on  .enioolli^" 
and  even,  if  Ida  did  occasionally  feel  that,  ft-, 
paint,  and  practice  as  slic  might,  tlie  time  wc'l 
hang  heavily  upon  her  hands.  s!ie  slrugfil 
against  tlic  weakness,  resolved  that  Syd}' 
sliould  never  suspect  her  of  so  j  uerile  I 
solfisii  a  folly;  and  thus  it  was,  that  she  (!* 
stantly  welcomed  him  to  his  home  with  a  brill 
smile  and  a  cheerful  voice.  ' 

As  her  husband's  day,  according  to  o 
world's  notion  of  diurnal  existence,  ended,  J 
own  began ;  for  S^-dney's  society  was  now  ,o 
only  dissipation  and  excitement  to  which  ]0 
could  look  forward;  while  he,  on  tlio  contr/, 
anticipated  the  matrimonial  t'te-ii-Ule  \i\  a 
sense  of  actual  enjoyment  and  repose  that  a|a 
like  a  precious  balm  upon  his  conscious  jd 
worn  spirit. 

Not  even  the  necessity  of  concealing  }J 
unusul  fatigue  under  which  he  might  o 
casionally  bo  laboring  was  entailed  upon  l:i; 
ho  was  not  compelled  either  to  avow  or  tt  *" 
plain  it,  for  Ida  was  so  convinced,  whcn'ia 
saw  him  return  to  her  witli  a  pale  cheek 'O 
an  exliausted  frame,  that  slio  possesseii  ,'^8 
true  word  of  the  enigma,  that  while  aa  u* 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


83 


inot  to  crush  his  moral  energies  by  a  word  of 
pitr,  or  a  look  of  earo  which  would  inevitubly 
have  brought  him  to  lier  feet,  with  a  full 
avowal  upon  his  lips,  she  only  redoubled  her 
[efforts  to  restore  his  cheerfulness  and  become 
pay  herself,  as  she  remarked  tlio  unfailing 
effect  of  hor  endeavor. 

i  There  was  much  that  "was  great  in  the 
character  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  too  much,  in- 
deed, for  her  own  peace,  wliea  the  powers  of 
her  mind  and  will  were  called  into  action  by 
imagined  wrong — but  which  was  eminently 
admirable  when  exerted  for  the  happiness  of 
another. 

In  those  she  loved,  self  was  forgotten ;  there 
was  no  trial  too  bitter  to  bo  borne,  no  sacrifice 
too  painful  to  bo  made,  for  him  in  whom  she 
had  garnered  up  her  heart,  while  she  felt  that 
per  affection  was  returned,  freely  and  fully,  as 
k  had  been  bestowed,  and  without  stint  or 
limit  Thus,  even  her  intervals  of  mental 
tveariness  never  degenerated  into  moral  sutt'cr- 
ng — she  was  happy  because  S^vduey  loved 
ler:  because  he  was  toiling  for  her;  because 
hey  were  all  in  all  to  each  other;  and  when 
she  sometimes  reflected  how  any  invasion  on 
ler  present  soHtude  might  inyolvo  her  in  doubts 
md  suspicions,  which  to  her -jealous  nature 
iraounted  to  actual  torture,  she  reproached 
lerself  for  every  regretful  thought. 

Thus  wore  away  an  entire  year:  and  then 
[gain  came  spring,  sweet,  blossom-scented 
pring;  and  already  the  young  leaves  might 
»e  seen  swelling  and  brightening  amid  the 
elicate  tracery  of  the  trees ;  once  more  a  re- 
urrcction  of  life  and  gladness  had  come  upon 
he  earth ;  and  even  the  most  worldly-hearted 
xperienced  a  sensation  of  glad  relief  as  they 
scaped  from  the  gross  vapors  of  the  over- 
copied  city,  where  man,  and  the  works  of 
lan,  seemed  to  be  all  in  all,  and  emerged  into 
fie  broad,  pure  and  sun-lighted  landscaiie, 
rhere  the  songs  of  the  birds,  the  lowing  of  the 
attle  upon  the  hills,  and  tho  soft  murmuring 
f  tho  streams  through  the  pleasant  valleys, 
:\l  of  a  nobler  origin,  and  a  wider  purpose. 
This  was  a  season  of  dehglit  to  Ida,  for  once 
lore  she  could  surround  her.selfwith  flowers, 
ad  scarcely  a  week  elapsed  that  she  did  not 
nd  upon  her  work-table,  .some  brilliant  exotic, 
^aced  there  to  await  her  waking  by  tho  hand 
!"  her  idolized  husband;  while,  day  by  day, 
le  found  occupation  for  her  pencil  in  tho  less 
)stly  blossoms  of  her  own  well-tendered 
jwer-beds. 

For  some  months,  however,  she  had  enjoyed 
loro  of  Sydney's  society;  there  was,  as  he  very 
uthfully  declared  "  nothing  doing,"  although 
was  probable  that  they  did  not  both  attach 
le  same  meaning  to  the  phrase;  then,  liis 
lambers  were  dark,  gloomy,  and  deserted, 
id  he  felt  that  ho  could  read  and  study  alike 
itli  more  profit  and  with  more  pleasure  under 
Le  same  roof;  and  in  the  presence  of  his  wife; 
h  argument  of  wliieh  he  reqired  no  logic  to 
hvince  his  delighted  listener, 
S  I  the  confidential  clerk  was,  officially  as 
1  as  actually,  invested  in  his  government  at 
•  Temple,  with  the  full  privilege  of  luxu- 
litiiig  peacefully  in  })oth  news  and  novel.*. 
Id  a  portion  of  Mr.  Elphinstone's  professional 
brary  was  transported  to  the  cottage,  where 


he  actually  did  spend  an  hour  or  two  each  day 
in  turning  over  their  pages.  That  he  was  not 
more  assiduous  in  his  learned  labors  did  not, 
however,  excite  one  regret  in  his  exulting  wife, 
who  occupied  every  other  instant  of  his  time. 

When  the  sunshine  tempted  her  to  walk — 
and,  be  it  known  to  those  who  know  it  not, 
there  are  some  charming  walks  in  that  pleas- 
ant neighborhood — he  was  her  constant  com- 
panion; and  as  she  hung  upon  his  arm,  the  fl;st 
bright  days  of  her  married  life,  ere  the  neces- 
sities of  the  world  had  torn  him  frotu  her  side, 
seemed  to  have  conic  V)aek  upon  her.  When 
she  was  occupied  at  her  embroidery-frame,  ho 
watched  the  movement  of  her  slight  and  skill- 
ful fingers,  and  enlivened  her  task  with  a  mul- 
titude of  ludicrous  masculine  suggestions,  over 
which  they  laughed  together  as  she  convinced 
him  of  their  utter  impracticability;  when  she 
sang,  his  voice  was  blended  with  lier  own  ;  and 
when  too  happy  or  too  mJolent  to  provide  her 
own  amusement^  he  read  to  her  from  the  works 
of  some  favorite  author;  or,  seated  on  a  cush- 
ion at  her  feet,  he  accompanied  on  his  guitar 
some  of  the  wild  romances  which  he  had 
learned  in  Grenada  or  Seville. 

Such  was  the  life  they  led;  and  if  indeed 
there  were  an  adder  among  the  roses  which 
strewed  the  i)ath  of  Ida,  it  was,  for  a  time  at 
least,  coiled  and  hidden  beneath  the  j>erfuiued 
leaves. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE     LETTER. 

"  I  REALLY  think,  love,"  said  Sydney,  on  one 
occasion,  as  they  returned  home  from  a  saunter 
through  some  of  the  quiet  lanes  in  which  they 
both  delighted ;  and  he  spoke  so  gravely,  and 
so  much  with  the  air  and  manner  of  one  who 
has  arrived  at  a  veiy  serious  decision,  that  Ida 
involuntarily  glanced  up  at  him,  marveling 
what  was  to  follow  ;  "  I  really  think  I  shall  not 
renew  my  subscription  at  my  club." 

"My  dear  Sydney!"  exclaimed  his  wife; 
"what  an  extraordinary  resolution.  What  can 
be  your  reason  ?" 

"  I  am  so  much  more  happy  in  your  society 
than  elsewhere." 

"  But  consider,  dearest-^' 

"  I  have  considered,  and  I  tliink  that  I  am 
right." 

"  But  the  world  will  not  think  so,  Sydney," 
persisted  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  almost  aghast ;  "  a 
man  without  a  club  would  be  such  a  solecism 
in  society — it  would  never  do  for  you  to  lose 
caste  just  as  you  are  endeavoring  to  follow 
your  profession." 

"  I  am  quite  aware  of  that,  my  dear  girl ; 
and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  club  has  its 
advantages,  but  it  is  so  deuecilly  cxjx'iisive." 

•"  Well  then,"  said  Ida,  as  though  she  were 
suggesting  something  so  e.asily  accomplished 
that  it  required  no  second  thought;  "we  will 
curtail  our  expenses  in  sonic  hss  objectionalile 
way;  for  I  could  not  endure  that  you  should 
be  subject  to  Buch  .-i  privation.  No,  no;  it  is 
not  to  be  thought  of.  HemeiMber,  too,  tliat  you 
may  occasionally  have  correspoudent3  to  whom 


84 


THE    JEALOUS    VIFE 


you  may  not  consider  it  desirable  to  give  your 
private  aildress." 

"  That  is  probable  enough,"  acquiesced  her 
husband ;  "  in  which  case  I  ehall  refer  them  to 
my  chambers." 

"De])end  on  it,  the  scheme  is  a  bad  one," 
insisted  Ida,  -who,  habituated  to  the  prejudices 
of  the  particular  set  to  Tvhieh  she  belonged, 
could  not  comprehend  that  a  man  could  pass 
respectably  through  the  Avorld  unless  he  con- 
formed to  all  its  conventionalities.  "  If  you 
love  nie,  Sythiey,  say  no  more  about  it.  I  am 
half  angry  with  you  for  having  conceived  so 
■wild  an  idea.  Our  (Jiscussion,  however,  re- 
minds nie  that  you  have  not  been  near  this  said 
club,  which  has  suddenly  become  so  odious  to 
you,  for  the  last  four  days;  and,  who  knows? 
there  may  at  this  moment  be  letters  await- 
ing you  there — grave  business  letters — giving 
])romise  of  a  brief!  Suppose  my  prophecy 
should  prove  to  be  n  correct  one,  would  you 
quarrel  with  the  poor  club  again!" 

"  Probal)ly  not,  fair  tyrant." 

"  Then  I  will  phiy  the  sy'jil,  and  predict  that 
if,  in  obedience  to  my  behest,  you  hasten  there 
within  this  very  hour  to  claim  the  prize,  it 
shall  be  yours;  and  until  you  return  I  will 
closet  myself  awhile  with  Gliick  and  Beeth- 
oven ;  and  then  wliile  away  the  remainder  of 
the  time  in  devising  some  expedient  which  shall 
render  your  late  mighty  project  both  unneces- 
sary and  impossible." 

"  If  you  are  quite  determined,  dear  Ida — " 

"My  will  is  immutable,  Mr.  Sydney  Elphin- 
stonc ;  a  thorough  woman's  will,  so  that  you 
have  no  altei-native  save  obedience." 

"Au  rcL'oir,  then,  love." 

"  Aa  revoir  ei  sans  adieu.  I  shall  be  quite 
anxious  to  Imow  if  I  am  indeed  the  sybil  that 
I  feel." 

"  — And  look  1"  smiled  her  husband,  admir- 
ingly. 

Ida  laughed,  waved  her  hand,  and  disap- 
peared into  the  house. 

By  what  strange  fitality  is  it  that,  not  con- 
tent with  awaiting  our  destiny,  we  are  always 
80  prone  to  a:'sist  its  progress,  even  in  our 
brightest  and  holiest  hours,  when  we  know 
that  any  change  m:;y  diminisli,  or  even  de- 
stroy, our  present  happiness  ? 

Mr.  Elphin.stono  went  to  liis  club,  and  there, 
as  his  wife  had  predicted,  he  found  a  leitcr 
awaiting  him.  It  contained,  however,  no  legal 
•matter — no  claim  on  his  forensic  eloquence — 
but  that  it  was  none  the  less  welcome,  was 
evideut  from  the  well-pleased  smilo  with  which 
ho  perused  it. 

As  usual,  ho  was  cordially  greeted  by  his 
numerous  friends  ;  for  even  at  that  unfashion- 
able time  of  year,  when  London  was  still  a 
desert,  and  the  season  only  i.i  [lerspcctivo,  there 
are  always  men  cither  too  iudolL-nt  to  abandon 
the  ordinary  routine  of  their  habits,  or  too  sa- 
gacious to  rclinqui.sh  their  club  enjoyments, 
when  they  have  not  secured  an  equivalent  in 
the  wcU-apiJointed  country  seat  of  some  more 
wealthy  friend. 

Few  lieir.s-apparent  to  an  extensive  estate,  or 
a  title,  indeed ;  for  they  are  always  secure  of 
change,  bo  they  as  fickle  or  fastidious  as  tliey 
may;  tlio  very  knights  and  castles  of  the  social 
chess-board,   without  which  tho  game  of  life 


must  lose  its  interest ;  but  shoals  of  younger 
brothers,  tho  pawns  of  the  play,  wiio  are  at 
times  indispensable,  it  is  true,  but  who  can 
be  withdrawn  from  the  board  when  their 
services  cease  to  be  available ;  travelers  newly 
arrived  in  England,  who  indulge  themselves 
with  a  week's  run  in  town  before  they  settle 
dawn  in  a  hum-drum  family-party  in  the  couii- 
try  ;  and  oCBcers  of  the  household  troops,  whoso 
tour  of  duty  detains  them  in  tho  dull  and. 
dingy  city.  ! 

Sydney's  heart  was  very  light  that  day;  Ida 
had  appeared  to  him  to  be  more  lovely  and 
more  fascinating  tli:;n  ever;  he  was  very  par- 
tial to  his  club,  and  he  had  really,  as  he  stated.' 
began  to  feci  that  it  Avas  a  luxury  too  great  for 
liis  means;  but  tho  arguments  of  his  wife  had 
been  forcible  enough  to  silence  all  his  com- 
punctious feelings ;  she  had  convinced  him  that 
in  justice  to  himself,  he  must  maintain  hii 
proper  position  in  society;  and,  long  before  h( 
reached  St.  James's  street,  he  had  become  quit*; 
of  the  same  opinion. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  a  feeling  of  the  mos 
complete  and  quiet  gratification,  that  he  loung| 
ed  away  an  hour  among  his  gay  and  idle  assoi 
elates,  skimmed  ^over  a  couple  of  the  dai!; 
papers,  played  half  a  dozen  games  at  billiard?, 
read  tho  names  of  tho  new  novels  that  wen' 
strewn  over  the  library  tables,  and,  finally^ 
turned  his  face  homeward.  ' 

But  although  it  was  stiil  early  when  he  Id' 
tho  club,  his  arrival  at  his  own  house  was  lesi 
punctual  than  was  his  ordinary  custom;  ami 
during  the  half  hour  which  preceded  it,  Ida  ha' 
built  up  a  very  charming  httlo  romance  upo; 
tho  corner-stone  of  her  own  prophecy,  founde' 
entirely  on  his  prolonged  absence.  i 

Yes — tho  letter — singular  as  such  a  coinc ' 
denco  would  unquestionably  be — tho  lettcj 
vrhich  she  had  foretold,  was  in  truth  awsutin 
him,  ami  ho  would  at  last  have  the  opportunit;: 
so  long  and  so  earnestly  desired,  of  doing  justic 
to  his  own  high  intellectual  powers,  and  c 
juslifying  her  choice  in  tho  eyes  of  all  wl 
might  now  sock  to  blame  it. 

Sydney,  once  fimous,  would  no  longer  di' 
suado  her,  as  ho  now  did,  fiom  seeking  a  reco 
ciliation  with  her  father,  for  fame  in  his  profcj 
sion  was  tho  sure  guarantee  of  wealth ;  an, 
consequ.':'ntly.  he  could  then  have  no  apprehcj 
sion  that  ho  should  bo  accused  of  mercenary  m| 
tives,  when  sanctioning  the  overtures  of  his  wif 

Perhaps  Mr.  Trcvanion,  softened  by  a  rene\ 
ed  intercourse  with  his  child,  might  eT«j 
consent  to  a  general  amnesty,  and  include  Ij 
uncle  in  his  forgiveness  ;  and  then,  indeed,  h' 
felt  as  though  no  shadow  could  again  cross  hi 
spirit.  ' 

Tho  past  was  forgotten  in  this  brilliant  dm] 
dream ;  wliilo  even  the  present — that  prescr 
which  to  her  was  fraught  with  love  and  pcaij 
seemed  a  mero  period  of  probation,  tending  t 
a  still  brighter  and  a  happier  pluvso  of  existent-, 

Mrs.  Elphinstonc  lay  buried  among  the  CUS; 
ions  of  her  dormeit.se,  her  eyes  closed,  and 
smile  upon  her  lips,  wandering  in  fmey  throu; 
her  old  haunts,  inhabiting  her  old  home,  a^ 
surrounded  by  her  old  as.sociates,  when 
length  the  well-known  and  welcome  stop  I 
upon  her  ear,  and  she  started  up  to  receive  ! 
hu^sband. 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


85 


^Forgive  me,  Ida — "  ho  commonced. 

"  Fergive  you,  lovo  J     For  what  ?"  wag  the 

ugUing  rejoinder — "for  your   brief  delay? 
low  could  it  be  otherwise,  when  my  promised 
[etter  suddenly  involved  you  in  such  a  whirl  of 
bleasaiit  occupation  ?" 
I    "  Were  you  thea  really  aware — " 
j    "Of  course  I  was.  rebellious  unbeliever!  or 
iiow  could  I  have  put  wines  to  your  lieelsa  few 
jiours  back  by  my  potent  spell  ?" 
!    "Still   the"  letjter  does    not    mention   your 
Knowledge  of  the  arrangement,"  said  Sydney, 
.horoughly  mystifiecL 

:  Tho  low  sweet  laugh  of  his  wife  was  her  only 
,t?ply. 

1  "However,*^  he  pursued,  gayly,  "you  are 
ight;  tho  said  letter  did  give  me  considerable 
iiccupation,  although,  with  all  deference  to  your 
j>pinion,  be  it  said,  fair  lady,  that  I  found  it  more 
tssential  than  agreeable." 
I  "My  poor  Sydney!"  said  his  wife  as  she 
lOUcUed  his.  up-turned  brow  with  her  lips,  "it 
k  weary  work,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  still — " 
I  "  You  are  right,  dear  Ida,  as  5'ou  ever  aro  ; 
itiU  it  was  my  duty  to  undertake  the  task 
nthout  a  moment's  delay,  and  right  glad  am  I 
hat  I  did  sg,  as  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have 
uceoeded  to  admiration," 

"Succeeded,  Sydney!"  exclaimed  his  wife, 
lystified  in  her  turn,  "what,  already?" 

"  Yes,  dear  love,  so  you  see  that  I  was  wor- 
hy  of  the  ^  winged  heels.'  I  have  secured 
he  snuggest  little  box  for  them  5  and  only 
Link — " 

I  "  We  must  be  playing  a  game  of  cross-pur- 
iiosea,"  interposed  Ida,  becoming  suddenly 
rrave;  •"  what  were  the  contents  of  the  letter  ?" 
["What!  Is  the  sybil  at  fault?"  demanded 
pphinstone;  ■"  I  was  actually  deluded  by  your 
paaner  into  the  belief  that  you  knew  all  about 
;.  However,  here  it  is;  read  it;  and  then  I 
s-ill  tell  you  how  I  have  fulfilled  my  appointed 
diasion,^ 

Ida  took  the  paper  from  his  hand,  and 
ler  fii'st  glance  at  the  superscription  sufficed 
,0  drive  the  blood  from  her  cheek  -  the  haud- 
yritiag  was  that  of  a  woman;  she  hastily 
jlrew  the  note  from  its  envelop,  and  as 
lastily  ran  her  «ye  over  its  contents,  which 
rere  these : — 

"As  I  am  sure  that  I  may  trust  to  your 
inclness  in  all  things,  my  dear  Sydney,  I  do 
lot  hesitate  for  a  moment  to  request  that  you 
rill  render  me  an  essential  service.  I  find 
hat  the  utter  seclusion  of  our  otherwise  com- 
jirtable  retreat  has  produced  a  very  depress- 
pg  effect  upon  my  dear  .eliild's  spirits,  which 
,efleeted  itself  in  some  degree  ou  her  health. 
j  had  not  calculated  <>a  the  dreariness  of  a  long 
rinter  during  the  previous  season  of  leaves 
nd  suosliiae,  and  while  the  near  neigliborhood 
f  your  accomplLshed  wife  and  yourself 
endered  us  independent  of  all  other  society ; 
ut  I  am  c  mipelled  to  confess  that<:ven  at  my 
ge,  when  rain,  wind,  and  snow  confined  us 
3  the  Louse,  I  felt  that  I  had  relied  too  much 
_poa  our  home-resources,  and  exposed  my  pr.or 
^dith  to  a  trial  which  was  both  eevere  and 
nneeessary. 
"  What  I  would  ask  of  you  is,  therefore,  that, 
practicable,  you  will  secure  for  me  a  small 


^t 


but  ladylike  rcsidonoc,  consistent  at  once  with 
my  present  means  and  |)ositioii  in  life. 

"  I  have  unfortunately  inislaid  your  address, 
of  wliich  I  only  retain  the  word  '  Brompton.' 
I  shall,  consequently,  direct  my  letters  to  your 
club;  and  leave  you  to  oft'er, In  my  name,  my 
very  sincere  apologies  to  Mrs.  Elphinstonc  for 
this  demand  upon  your  time  and  energies, 
which  I  feci  sure  Uiat  she  will  pardon. 

"My  essentials  are  pure  air  for  my  dear 
gii-1,  and  a  small  garden,  in  which  slie  may 
amuse  herself  with  her  flowers,  a  sight  of 
green  boughs  from  our  windows,  and  a  situa- 
tion which  will  not  involve  us  in  the  neces- 
sity of  making  acquaintance  with  our  neigh- 
bors. 

"Now  it  strikes  me  that  upon  all  these 
points  Mrs.  Elphinstone  must  have  been  as 
imperative  as  myself;  therefore,  I  may  sum  up 
all  my  requirements  by  requesting  you  to  do 
for  me  precisely  what  you  have  done  for  her ; 
and  I  need  scarcely  add  that  if,  in  your  own 
immediate  neighborhood,  these  requisites  can 
be  -secured,  I  shall  be  doubly  gratified,  as  we 
shall  then  have  the  opportunity  which  we  both 
covet,  of  forming,  as  I  trust,  a  close  and  en- 
dearing friendship  with  your  amiable  and  gifted 
wife. 

"Lose  no  time,  my  dear  boy,  in  complying 
with  my  request,  as  I  am  becoming  anxious 
about  Edith ;  and,  to  own  the  truth,  shall  not 
be  sorry  myself  to  be  brought  into  more  im- 
mediate contact  with  the  '  human  face  divine' 
than  I  have  been  for  the  last  few  mouths. 
Say  for  us  all  and  every  thing  that  you  know 
will  be  acceptably  to  Jilrs.  Elphinstone,  and  re- 
ceive assurance  of  the  sincere  affection  of  your 
own  and  your  mother's  friend, 

Clarissa  Malcolm." 

Poor  Ida !  Her  air-built  castle  was  prostrate, 
and    in  the  void    created  by   its   destruction     I 
uprose   a  host   of    bitter   anticijiations.      She 
had  been  so  happy  even  in  the  house  of  her 
enforced  solitude :  and  now — 

She  still  sat  silent  with  the  fateful  letter  ia 
her  hand,  when  she  was  recalled  to  a  more 
vivid  sense  of  her  self-inflicted  suffering  by  tho 
voice  of  her  husband,  who,  surprised  that  she 
made  no  comment  on  its  contents,  suddenly 
discontinued  his  occupation  of  removing  the 
decayed  leaves  from  the  plants  in  her  jardiniere, 
and  exclaimed  joyously: 

"  Is  it  not  charming,  Ida?  We  only  required 
the  society  of  Lady  Malcolm  and  Edith  to 
make  our  home  a  li'.tle  Paradise  ;  I  may  con- 
fess to  you,  now,  that  I  reproached  myself  with 
every  hour  which,  during  my  absence,  con- 
demLied  you  to  solitude;  while,  afcer  their 
arrival  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  you  with  a 
lighter  heart,  well  assured  that  they  will 
do  all  in  their  power  to  make  the  time  pass 
pleasantly." 

"Have  I  ever  complained,  Sydney?"  asked 
his  wife,  tremulously. 

"  Never,  dearest ;  and  there  were  even  mo- 
ments ;"  he  replied,  with  a  shade  of  compunc- 
tion in  his  voice,  "when  I  almost  wished  ih.at 
you  had  done  so;  that  you  had  told  mo  you 
could  not  support  so  wearisome  an  cxi.-tcru-c; 
and  tliat  I  must  be  less  apparently  regiirdlee 
of  your  happiness." 


86 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


"I  should  have  seomed  myself  for  such 
egotism;"'  said  Mrs.  Elphiiistone  ;  "how  could 
I  complain,  when  I  knew  and  felt  that  you 
•were  compelliuir  yourself  to  a  life  unsjenial  to 
your  tastes,  in  order  to  secure  an  existence  of 
comfort  and  ti'anqiiillity  to  me  ? 

'•No.  Sydney;  you  do  not  understand  me 
yet.  There  can  be  no  solitude,  no  weariness 
for  me  in  a  home,  which  I  know  will  a  few 
liours  hence  be  pladdened  by  your  presence. 
The  proud  conviction  tliat  you  are  laborinsj  to 
do  justice  to  yourself,  and  to  fulfill  my  fondest 
dreams  suffices,  and  ever  must  suflice,  to  my 
happiness.  Do  not  rejoice  for  me,  therefore, 
for  I  have  nothing  to  desire — nothing  to  wish, 
I  liave  made  you  my  world,  and  am  well  con- 
tent to  abide  in  it." 

There  was  much  in  the  words  of  Ida  cal- 
culated to  inflict  a  pang  upon  the  heart  of  her 
husband,  but  of  that  fact  she  was  unconscious  ; 
for  a  moment  only  he  replied  by  a  silent  caress, 
Ijut  soon  ralljnng,  he  thanked  her  tenderly  for 
her  patience  and  forbearance;  and  ever  san- 
guine, declared  his  conviction  tliat  the  day  was 
not  far  distant  when  he  would  be  enabled  to 
repay  her  all. 

"Only  love  me,  Sydney;"  she  said;  "love 
me,  and  me  only,  and  I  can  ask  no  more." 

"Are  you  not  my  existence?"  was  his  re- 
joinder ;  "  does  the  world  contain  a  second  Ida  ?" 

"  ilay  it  never  do  so  in  your  eyes  •"  mur- 
mured his  wife. 

"And  now  let  me  talk  to  you  of  the  ilal- 
colms,"  said  Sydney,  as  he  repossessed  him- 
self of  the  letter,  wliich  his  wife  still  held, 
and  replaced  it  in  the  envelop ;  "  for  despite 
all  your  generous  self-abnegation,  I  can  not 
help  feeling  delighted  that  since  you  have 
resolved  to  shut  yourself  out  altogether  from 
tlie  world,  you  will  at  least  secure  the  society 
of  two  individuals  who  can  understand  ami 
appreciate  you.  I  need  scarcely  s.iy  that 
after  spending  an  liour  at  the  club,  I  hastened 
to  commence  my  undertaking. 

"ily  first  impulse  was  to  hurry  home,  and 
consult  3'ou  on  the  subject,  but  og  second 
thoughts,  I  resolved  not  to  do  so,  lest  you 
should  volunteer  to  accompany  nie  in  the 
search,  a  fatigue  to  which  I  was  unwilling 
that  you  sliould  be  exposed,  so  like  a  sober 
and  experienced  Benedict,  I  entered  upon 
my  task  unaided,  feeling,  that  as  I  had,  on  a 
former  occasion,  been  successful,  where  my 
heart  was  even  more  interested,  I  should 
scarcely  fail  to  daj-." 

"And  you  again  succeeded,  if  I  understand 
you  rightly  i"  said  Ida,  forcing  a  smile. 

"Beyond  my  hopes!  Only  imagine,  dear- 
est, tliat  after  having  walked  through  a  score 
of  'villas,'  'cottages,'  'lodges,'  'elms,'  and 
•oaks,'  and  ' roserys,'  I  liad  abandoned  all 
thoughts  of  accomplishing  my  i)urpose  to- 
d.iy,  when  I  w^is  directed  to  the  adjoining 
grounds,  where  j-ou  may  remember  ni}-  liav- 
ing  drawn  your  attention  to  an  avenue  of 
acacia.'j  just  bursting  into  leaf,  and  where  I 
found,  in  fuet,'at  tiie  termination  of  the  said 
acacias  one  of  the  very  prettiest  of  all  prett}' 
cottages. 

"iSollung  could  be  better,  nothing  more 
convenient;  I  liked  it  both  inside  and  out, 
and  iu  less  than  teu  minutes  all  was  arranged. 


The  house  will  be  ready  in  a  fortnight^  an 
we  have  only  to   break   a   door  through  tli 
wall  wliieh  separates  the  two  ganlens,  to  bi 
come  like  one  family,  and  to  defy  the  prviii  | 
curiosity  of  all  the  gossips  of  the  Bejgh'bo  ' 
hood." 

Ida  almost  gasped  for  breath ;  the  realit 
was  even  worse  than  she  hail  anticipate-  | 
She  was  to  make  a  common  home  with  tl  I 
being  whom  she  dreaded  most  on  earth,  an, 
that,  too,  without  being  able  to  advance  or! 
valid  objection  to  the  aiTangement. 

The  vision  of  Edith  in  her  pure,  fresh  lov. 
liness,  swam  before  her  eyes;  she  felt  fait 
and  sick  at  heart ;  her  first  impression  hn. 
not  deceived  her  ;  this  young,  and  apparen 
ly  guileless  girl,  was  the  rock  upon  whic 
her  married  happiness  was  to  be  ultimate) 
wrecked;  doubtless,  there  ^ere  scores  t; 
women  even  more  attractive  in  the  worl' 
than  Edith  Slalcolm,  beautiful  as  she  was,  bi 
Mrs.  Elplunstone,  with  bitter  incenuit ; 
easily  convinced  herself  that  in  the  haudso 
Edith  Malcolm  lay  her  fate. 

Why,  were  it  otherwise,  when  they  bfi 
parted  with  every  prospect  of  a  prolangt| 
separation — for  Lady  ^lalcolm  had  expres8< 
some  vague  intention  of  residing  for  a  ye, 
or  two  on  the  continent — why  had  she  bed 
pursued  to  her  very  threshold  by  the  objci 
of  her  distrust  ?  : 

Again  and  again  did  she  ask  herself  t\: 
question,  and  carefully  did  she  note  eve  [ 
word  uttered  by  her  husband,  on  the  ev«; 
recurring  subject  of  the  speedy  arrival  <) 
their. new  neighbors;  note  his  undisgnisj 
exultation  at  the  pleasure  expressed  by  La<l 
Malcolm  at  the  prospect  of  so  soon  rejoinri; 
her  friends,  for  -whom  she  felt  so  warm  a : 
sincere  a  regard,  and  watch  liis  perpeti; 
visits  to  the  house,  and  his  eagerness  to  co ! 
plete  the  arrangements  necessary  to  secuj 
their  comfort.  .  .  . 

Nothing  could  be  more  simple,  nothi 
more  natural,  than  tliat  Elphinstone  shoi 
both  feel  and  act  as  he  did,  but  Ida  saw  a 
judged  ever}- thing  through  a  di.^torted  ni 
diuin  ;  encouraged  the  morbid  feelings  agair 
which,  for  the  sake  of  her  own  peace,  s 
should  have  struggled,  and  theiieeforwa 
looked  with  a  jaundiced  eye  upon  all  tb  i 
related  to  Lady  Malcolm  and  her  daugbtei^  / 


CIIAPTER  XXXL 

NEW  nOPES. 

On  the  day  fixed  for  her  arrival,  EIpI,- 
stone  was  at  the  station,  ready  to  escort  » 
mother's  friend  to  her  new  home.  Ida  W 
raised  no  objection  to  this  arrangement,  .1'^ 
did  she,  as  hegayly  bade  her  adieu,  after  li- 
ing  assured  iiims'elf  that  all  was  in  due  or  t 
at  the  cottage  to  receive  the  in-coniing  t- 
ants,  sadden  his  pleasant  anticipations  bi 
look  or  a  word  of  discouragement,  althoi  J 
she  was  conscious,  as  she  watclied  his  dep|'- 
uie,  of  a  strange  feeling  of  restlessness  i 
indisposition,  for  which  she  could  only  r 
couut  by  supposing  that  th*)  near  appro  h 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


97 


of  \]\o  trii'.l  to  wliirli  she  liaJ  l)oen  lookinsi; 
forward  witli  dnad  for  tlie  last  fortniglit, 
had  produced  a  itaiiiful  ttrcctupoii  her  nerves. 
Anxious  therefore,  to  conquer  what  she 
considered  as  u  weakness  unworthy  of  her, 
and  peouliarly  ill-timed  at  a  moment  -when 
she  required  tiie  exertion  of  all  her  energies, 
she  resolutely  abandoned  licr  sofa,  shook  off 
the  oppression  which  was  stealing  over  her, 
and  endeavored  to  divert  her  tlioughts  by 
personally  superintending  the  pioparations 
which  were  making  in  lier  little  household 
to  welcome  the  expected  guests,  who  were  to 
spend  their  first  evening  under  her  roof. 

With  her  own  hands  she  arranged  fresh 
flowers  in  the  vases,  gave  a  more  graceful 
fall  to  the  soft  drai)cries  of  the  windows, 
aad  selected  from  a  pile  of  music,  such  com- 
positions as  she  knew  to  be  peculiar  favorites 
with  Miss  Malcolm. 

It  was  a  species  of  voluntary  martyrdom 
which  she  thus  inflicted  upon  herself;  but 
true  to  her  dignity  as  a  ■wife,  and  anxious 
that  the  home  of  her  husband  should  be 
worthy,  even  in  its  simplicity,  both  of  him 
and  of  herself  she  resolutely  pursued  her 
task,  until  her  sense  of  physical  suffering  be- 
came so  great,  that  unable  longer  to  struggle 
against  it,  she  was  compelled  to  ring  for  as- 
sistance. 

A  succession  of  fainting-fits,  alarming  from 
their  duration,  at  length  so  terrified  her  two 
attendants  that  one  of  Iheni  hastened  to  pro- 
cure professional  advice;  and  ere  she  was 
sufficiently  restored  to  consciousness  to  forbid 
it,  she  found  the  solitude  of  lier  cottage  in- 
vaded by  the  presence  of  a  stranger. 

"It  will  be  nothing,  positively  nothing," 
said  a  low,  pleasant  voice,  as  the  application 
of  a  powerful  stimulant  aroused  her  once 
more  from  the  torpor  into  which  she  had 
fallen;  "come,  my  dear  madam,  do  me  the 
favor  to  swallow  a  few  droj)3  of  this  essence; 
aiid  believe  me  when  I  assure  j-ou  that  in  an 
Lour  or  two  you  will  be  perfectly  restored." 

Ida  languidly  opened  her  eyes,  and  raised 
herself  into  a  sitting  j)0sture;  she  was  still 
too  weak  to  give  utterance  to  a  syllable,  but 
she  felt  soothed,  and  as  the  large  tears  fell 
slowly  on  her  cheeks,  she  slyly  averted  her 
head  to  escape  the  look  of  involuntary  admi- 
ration which  was  fixed  upon  her. 

"Over-excitement,  no  doubt,"  pursued  her 
visitor;  "but  you  miist  control  your  feelings, 
my  dear  young  lady,  you  mu;t,  indeed;  it  is 
absolutely  essential  that  you  should  do  so. 
Gentle  exercise,  cheerful  society,  and  the  new 
interest  which  existence  now  olie.s  to  you, 
will  be  your  best  physicians." 

Mrs.  Elphinstone  glanced  at  him  inquir- 
inply. 

The  physician  smiled.  "Leave  me  for  a 
moment  ulone  with  your  lady,"  he  said  to  tiie 
maid  wiio  still  lingered  bes'ide  her  mistress, 
and  who  instantly  withdrew. 

"I  can  not  b.i  deceived,  my  dear  madam," 
pursued  the  old  gentleman,  as  he  seated  him- 
self near  her,  "in  believing  that  I  am  the  har- 
binger of  gooil  tidings.  You  are  about  to 
become  a  mother." 

Ida  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  pressed  her 
Lands  tightly  together,  while  a  smile  of  tri- 


■  umphant  hapi)inesslilui>her  eountenanoe  into 
j  almost  uneartldy  beauty.  In  the  excess  of 
j  her  joy  she  almost  gnsj>cd  for  breath;  tlien, 
'  after  one  long  gaze  into  the  venerable  face  of 
'  her  companion,  she  sank  upon  her  kneer*,  and 
■■l)uried  her  burning  brow  among  the  cushions 
[  of  the  sofa. 

Br.  Darnell  neither  spoked  nor  moved,  un- 
til the  vehement  sobs  by  which  her  whole 
frame  was  convulsed  had  graduall}"^  subsided, 
and  then,  after  having  strictly  enjoined  an 
hour  or  two  of  perfect  repose,  he  rose,  and 
took  his  leave. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Ida  sprang 
from  the  floor  and  hurried  to  her  own  room, 
where,  having  carefully  locked  the  door,  she 
felt  secure  from  all  intrusion. 

She  needed  to  be  alone  Avith  her  new-born 
ha])piness — to  dream  of  it — to  dwell  on  it — 
Edith  Malcolm  was  forgotten  ;  she  could  think 
only  of  her  child — of  Sydney's  child — of  the 
sacred  tie  Avhich  was  about  to  bind  them  a 
thousandfold"  more  closely  together. 

There  was  #o  faintness  at  her  heart  now  ; 
her  pulses  throbbed  with  an  emotion  which 
defied  alike  sickness  and  sorrow;  life  was 
.all  brightness,  the  futui-e  all  sunshine;  rest! 
how  could  she  rest?  with  a  fevered  cheek  and 
a  kindling  eye,  she  paced  up  and  down  her 
chamber,  until  at  length  exhausted  nature 
gave  way  beneath  the  violence  of  her  excite- 
ment, and,  casting  herself  upon  the  bed,  she 
fell  into  a  deep  and  dreamless  sleed. 

She  was  still  buried  in  tiiis  death-like  slum- 
ber when  Mr.  Elphinstone  and  his  guests  ar- 
rived, and  great  was  the  alarm  excited  in  the 
whole  party  by  the  tidings  which  awaited 
them — an  alarm  which  was  increased  almost 
to  an  agon^'  in  the  breast  of  Sydney,  when, 
on  rushing  up  stairs,  he  found  the  door  of  his 
wife's  chamber  shut  against  him. 

His  voice,  however,  soon  aroused  Ida,  who 
hastened  to  admit  him,  with  a  cheek  so  bright 
and  an  eye  so  radiant  that  he  started  back  in 
suriJi-ise. 

"  They  told  me  that  you  were  ill,  my  own 
love,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  drew  her  f  ow^ard 
j  him,  "ill,  very  ill,  my  Ida.  Why  did  they 
torture  me  by  such  a  fable?  You  are  not, 
you  can  not  be  ill.     Only  tell  me  that — " 

"^o,  no,  Sydnej%  I  am  not  ill;  I  am  quite 
well,  and,  oh!  so  Ivappyj" 

"But  what  mystery  is  this,  dearest?  You 
can  not  imagine  the  torture  which  I  endured 
'  until  I  oijce  more  saw  you  beside  me." 

"  Mystery !"  echoed  Ida,  witii  a  bright  blush, 
as  she  pillowed  her  cheek  upon  his  shoulder; 
"oh,  there  is  no  mystery;  I  have  been  weak, 
very  weak,  since  you  left  me,  and  played  the 
Avoinan,  I  believe,  sufficiently  to  faint  and  ter- 
rify our  ignorant  Abigail;  "but  1  have  slept 
since  then,  and,  as  j-ou  see,  am  perfectly  re- 
covered. IJut  we  must  not  forget  our  guests; 
return  to  them  at  once,  dear  Sydney,  while  I 
gather  up  my  disheveled  hair,  and  make  my- 
self presentable." 

"Ida,  you  can  not  deeeive»me,'' said  Syd- 
ney, uneasily;  "you  are  feverish  and  ex- 
cited." 

"It  is  nothing,"  was  the  laughing  rcjdy  ; 
"  I  have  had  a  dream,  which  1  may  perhu|id 
confide  to  you  hereafter  if  you  obey  mc  now." 


ss 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE, 


*"A  dream — "  murmured  her  husband,  still 
only  half-convinco<l ;  "and  you  will  not  tell 
me  the  true  meaning  of  your  evident  emo- 
tion?"' 

"Not  now,  not  now;  remember  that  you 
are  about,  for  tiio  first  time  since  our  mar- 
riage, to  play  the  host  in  your  own  house: 
you  owe  yourself  to  your  friends;  po,  and  ac- 
quaint yourself  witli  your  new  duties,  and  I 
will  join  j-ou  within  an  instant." 

Elphinstone  reluctantly  obeyed,  and  his 
agitated  account  of  his  brief  interview  with 
his  wife  by  no  means  prepared  Lady  Malcolm, 
who  during  his  absence  had  questioned  the 
attendant  on  the  subject  of  her  mistress's  in- 
disposition, for  the  bright  and  radiant  ap- 
pearance of  Ida,  who  shortly  afterward  en- 
tered the  room  with  a  glad  smile  and  an 
elastic  step,  to  oflFer  at  once  her  apology  and 
her  welcome. 

If  Lady  Malcolm  had  occasionally  thought 
the  manner  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone  uncertain  and 
capricious,  she  ccrtaiuly  found  no  cause  to  do 
so  on  the  present  occasion.  TNothijig  could 
exceed  the  courteous  urbauity  of  the  young 
hostess,  who  did  the  honors  of  her  house  with 
a  frauk  and  cordial  kindness  which  at  once  dif- 
fused its  charm  over  the  whole  party ;  and  ere 
long  the  conversation  became  as  gay  and  ani- 
mated as  though  no  heart  ia  that  little  circle 
had  ever  known  care  or  doubt. 

From  that  time  the  health  of  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone became  so  delicate  that  she  was  seldom 
able  to  leave  the  house ;  but  it  is  nevertheless 
certain  that,  had  she  been  less  ingenious  in  self- 
tormenting,  this  would  have  been  one  of  the 
happiest  periods  of  her  life. 

The  devotion  of  her  exulting  husband,  who 
watched  every  look  and  anticipated  every 
wi.Mi;  the  gentle  and  unwearied  kindness  of 
Lady  Malcolm,  who  was  her  constant  com- 
panion ;  and  the  pretty  playfulness  of  Edith, 
who  came  and  went  in  the  sick-room  like  a 
sunbeam,  brightening  and  gladdening  all  around 
her,  were  well  calculated  to  divest  even  indis- 
position of  its  dreariness. 

But  the  very  charm  shed  over  the  party  by 
the  presence  of  the  fair  girl,  who  was  never 
w^eary  of  ministering  to  her  comfort,  was  a  per- 
petual souice  of  wretchedness  to  Ida,  as  with 
closed  eyes  she  lay  upon  the  sofa,  contrasting 
in  her  own  mind  the  buoyant  graces  of  Edith, 
her  unimpaired  health,  and  elastic  spirits,  with 
her  own  faded  beauty,  and  depressed  energies. 

The  two  small  households  had,  indeed,  as 
Sydney  liad  anticipated,  become  like  one 
f;unily ;  and  while  his  wife  was  too  languid 
for  any  exertion  beyond  skimming  over  a  few 
pages  of  some  favorite  book,  or  listening,  while 
Lady  Malcolm  relieved  her  of  even  that  slight 
fatigue,  Edith  assisted  Elphinstone  to  tend  her 
flowers,  feed  her  birds,  ajid  perform  all  those 
graceful  little  duties  in  which  she  had  herse'.f 
hitherto  taken  delight 

Every  hour  in  the  day  they  were  together, 
generally  engaged  ii»  the  same  pursuit,  and 
evidently  iutelested  in  the  same  objects. 
They  played,  saug,  and  drew  together ;  and 
although  Ida  was  present,  still  it  was  with  a 
bitter  jiang  that  she  saw  themtlms  engaged, 
and  felt  that  tlieir  mutual  enjoyment  was  in- 
dependent of  hersclil 


Occasionally,  Elphinstone  would  stroll  down 
to  his  club;  and  at  long  intervals,  he  even 
extended  his  walk  to  the  Temple,  in  the  vaniie 
hope  of  hearing  from  his  clerk  that  some 
sti-ange  foot  had  passed  the  threshold  of  his 
chambers  ;  but  no  ;  ever}'  new  visit  was  onlv  a 
new  disappointment ;  and  even  sanguine  as'he 
I  was,  there  were  moments  Avheu  he  felt  sick  at 
heart,  and  began  to  ask  himself  how  all  this 
must  end  [ 

Town  was  filling  rapidly,  and  whenever  he 
made  his  appear.-ince  iu  his  old  haunts,  he  was 
overwhelmed  with  invitations,  but  he  no 
longer  suffered  himself  to  be  seduced  into  dis^ 
sipati<in 

Since  the  arrival  of  Lady  JIalcolm  and  her 
daughter,  he  had  never  passed  a  weary  hour, 
and  he  consequently  resisted  the  importunities 
of  his  friends  with<mt  an  eifort,  quite  satisfied 
in  his  own  mind  that  it  was  the  present  situa- 
tion of  Ida  which  had  invested  his  home  with 
a  new  eharm. 

As  time  passed,  a  fresh  trial  awaited  Mrs. 
Elphinstone,  to  which  she  submitted  iu  silence, 
anxious  to  conceal  from  the  observant  eyes  of 
Lady  ilalcolm  the  weakness  which,  painful  as , 
it  was  to  endure,  would,  as  she  was  well  aware, 
appear  not  only  ridiculous  but  even  offensive . 
in  the  eyes  of  others.  i 

During  one  of  his  daily  visits,  Dr.  Darnell — 
for  Sydney  had  at  once  declared  constant  atr-- 
tendance  upon  his  wife  to  be  essentijil — was 
struck  by  an  appearance  of  languor  in  the  voico . 
and  movements  of  Edith  which  -w-as  foreign  U>. 
her  usual  habit ;  and  after  having  watched  her: 
attentively  for  a  few  seconds,  he  said,  in  a  tODOi 
of  gentle  decision:  ' 

"  I  can  not  afford,  young^  lady,  to  have  two; 
patients  in  one  house,  and,  therefore,  1  have  to 
request  that  you  will  take  more  exercise.  You' 
are  young  and  active,  but  iu  order  to  benefit' 
by  your  energies,  you  must  develop  them. 
You  are  here  in  excellent  air,  I  adiuit;  but 
you  must  not  always  breathe  the  same  atmos- 
phere. You  must  walk,  change  the  sevue.  ami 
hiy  in  a  stock  of  new  ideas,  for  the  mind  re- 
quires employment  as  well  as  the  body.  Havei 
you  been  to  the  Exhibition  yet  ?  No!  well.' 
then,  go  to-morrow  ;  it  is  avcU  worth  a  visit ; 
.•xnd  as  you  are  an  artist  yourself,  you  Ciin  not 
fail  to  pass  an  hour  or  two  delighttnlly.  ' 

"  Here  is  Mr.  Elphinstone,  an  idle  man,  of, 
whom  liis  wife  will  be  glad  to  be  rid  now  and 
then;  you  could  not  have  abetter  escort.  Fo!-' 
low  my  prescription,  and  I  shall  find  your 
cheeks  a  little  brighter  when  we  next  meet" 

Sydney  was  enchanted  by  the  proposition, 
and  eagerly  offered  his  services,  wludi  were  a? 
frankly  accepted  by  Ladv  Malcolm,  who  looked' 
u|)on  the  son  of  her  frieud  as  her  own;  anc, 
while  Ida  drove  back  the  tears  of  jealous  mor 
tifioation  and  annoyauco  whieh  sprang  to  hcii 
eyes,  as  she  witnessed  the  pleasure  evinced  bji 
the  rest  of  the  party,  it  was  finally  decide< 
that  should  Mrs.  E^ph^us^.ne  be  sufficientlj 
well  on  the  following  day,  for  her  husliand  t* 
leave  her  without  uneasiness,  and  the  wcatbej- 
prove  propitious,  the  plan  of  the  worthy  pby^ 
sician  should  bo  carried  out  j 

As  may  be  anticipated,  this  first  absence  c, 
Sydney  and  Edith  was  succeeded  hv  man;' 
others ;  the  benefit  deiivcd  by  her  child  fror 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE, 


89 


moderate  cxereise  and  montal  occupation,  led 
I>ady  Malcolm  to  overlook  the  jiossibility  tluit 
Mr8.'  Eli>liiustono  nii-rht  bo  loss  ]Lri-atiiied  by 
tlie  arraiii;^^''"*^"*  *'""^  herself;  and  as  Ida  care- 
fully abstained  from  all  expostulation,  no  sus- 
Eicion  of  the  truth  ever  intruded  itself  upon 
er  mind. 

At  length  the  event  so  anxiously  anticipated 
by  all  took  place,  and  Elphinstone,  to  his  un- 
measured delight,  found  himself  the  father  of 
a  noble  boy  ;  while  even  Ida  herself,  victim  as 
she  was  of  a  diseased  imagination,  felt  for  a 
time  alike  proud  and  happy. 

"  Would,"  she  nnu-inured  to  Lady  Malcolm, 
•who  sat  beside  her  bed;  "would  that  my 
Cither  could  see  this  precious  babe.  He  would 
take  me  to  his  heart  again ;  and  I  am  sure  he 
would ;  for  I  now  feel  what  it  is  to  be  a  pa- 
rent" 

"  Do  not  despair,"  was  the  wliispered  reply  ; 
"rely  ou  it  that,  estranged  as  Mr.  Trevanion 
may  seem  to  be.  he  is  not  ignorant  of  any 
thing  which  affects  your  welfare  or  hapjiiness  : 
and,  therefore,  like  yourself,  I  look  forward 
with  a  hope  that  this  dear  boy  will  jjrove  a 
new  and  lasting  bond  between  you." 

As  Mrs.  Elphinstone  shortly  afterward  sank 
into  a  deep  and  refreshing  sleep.  Lady  Mal- 
colm sat  for  a  time  in  earnest  thought;  and 
then,  reluiquishing  her  post  to  the  sick-nurse, 
hastened  home,  and  rapidly  wrote  and  scaled  a 
letter,  wlrch  she  at  once  dispatched  to  the 
post-oftice  by  a  servant. 

Admitted  as  she  had  now  been  for  a  Consid- 
erable time  into  the  intimacy  of  Mr.  Elphin- 
Btone's  family,  and  fully  acquainted  as  she  was 
with  the  extent  of  his  resources.  Lady  Mal- 
colm had  felt  many  misgivings  as  she  noted  the 
slight  value  which  was  attached  to  money  by 
either  himself  or  his  wife,  and  their  total  ignor- 
ance of  its  real  capabilities. 

More  than  once  she  had  been  on  the  point 
of  hinting  her  apprehensions  to  Sydney,  but 
the  subject  was  oue  of  so  de'.ic.ito  a  nature,  that 
despite  her  better  judgment,  she  had  shrunk 
from  the  task.  Now,  however,  she  believed 
that  she  had  discovered  a  metliod  of  assisting 
the  young  couple  without  wounding  their  pride  ; 
for  she  felt  that,  let  Mr.  Trevanion  resent  his 
daughter's  marriage  as  relentlessly  as  he  might, 
still  he  could  not  be  insensible  to  the  gratifica- 
tion of  learning  that  he  had  a  grandson,  or 
Buffieiently  regardless  of  his  own  dignity  to 
suffer  the  child  to  be  reared  in  obscurity  and 
indigence. 

Nor  did  she  deceive  herself;  for  although  he 
in  duo  time  acknowledged  her  communication 
coldly  and  briefly,  without  comment  of  any 
kind,  many  days  did  not  elapse  before  a  packet 
was  delivered  to  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  directed 
in  a  business-like  hand  with  which  she  was 
totally  unac(iuaiuted,  and  containing  a  bank- 
post  bill  for  a  thousand  ])ounds.  Great  was 
the  astonishment,  Ixith  of  Sydney  and  his  wife. 
and  numerous  were  their  conjectures;  while  a 
shade  of  mortification  lessened  the  happiness 
■which  such  a  gift  at  such  a  moment  could  not 
fail  to  afford  ;  for  a  sense  of  obligation,  he  it 
to  whom  it  may,  is  always  galling  to  a  pro\ul 
Bpirit ;  but  still  they  could  not  but  acknowledge 
to  themselves  that  never  had  so  generous  an 
oflfering  been  made  more  opportunely. 


Nevertheless,  however,  the  mystery  was  a 
painful  one;  and  when  Lady  Malcolni.  anxious 
to  soothe  their  irritated  feelings,  ventured  to 
sni'gest  tliat  it  was  in  all  probability  a  present 
fiom  Mr,  Trevanion  to  his  future  heir,  Ida 
eagerly  embiaced  the  idea,  and  began  onco 
more  to  dream  of  pardon  and  recoticiliation. 

Her  recovery  was  rapid.  Never  weary  of 
watching  over  her  infant,  she  sat  with  him  for 
hours  upon  her  knees ;  while  Sydney,  as  much 
engrossed  as  herself  by  his  new  hap])iness, 
appeared  to  have  lost  all  interest  in  existence, 
save  that  which  centered  in  his  wife  and  child. 
Sometimes,  although  reluctantly,  the  young 
mother  would  resign  her  precious  charge  for 
a  time  to  Lady  Malcolm ;  but  when  Edith 
would  occasionally  plead  for  the  same  jjrivi- 
lege,  Ida,  gently,  but  firmly,  declined  to  placo 
him  in  her  arms,  alleging  as  her  excuse  that 
she  was  too  timid  to  trust  him  to  any  one  who 
was  not  accustomed  to  children. 

It  was  her  first  revenge,  and  she  had  not 
strength  of  mind  to  forego  it. 

Sydney  was,  as  we  liave  said,  wholly  en- 
grossed for  a  time  by  his  little  son,  but  it  is 
not  in  the  nature  of  any  man.  however  kind 
and  affectionate,  to  emulate  the  persevering 
love  and  devotion  of  a  mother.  As  time  wore 
on,  therefore  his  old  tastes  and  habits  resumed 
their  sway,  and  he  no  longer  spent  hours  be- 
side the  little  cot,  in  which,  nestled  amid  lace 
and  cambric,  lay  the  tiny  object  of  so  many 
cares  and  hopes. 

While  Ida  was  still  fidly  occupied  in  regis- 
tering every  look  and  movement  of  the  babe, 
Sydney  had  resumed  his  walks,  his  music,  and 
his  gardening ;  and  in  all  tlieso  purstiits  Edith 
was,  as  formerly,  his  companion;  noy  was  it 
long  ere  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  even  amid  her  pre- 
occupation, had  fully  succeeded  in  convincing 
herself  that  her  co-operation  in  their  several 
employments,  was  requested  rather  as  a  matter 
of  courtesy  than  of  choice ;  never  suspecting, 
how  often  her  husband  felt  jealous  of  the  ab- 
sorbing affection  for  her  child,  which  appeared 
to  have  weaned  her  heart  from  him. 

Poor  Edith !  she  was  so  childlike  and  so  in- 
nocent that  no  thought  of  evil  ever  paled  the 
roses  on  her  cheek,  or  palsied  her  young  heart. 
She  loved  Mrs.  Elphinstone  sincerely,  and  ad- 
mired her  with  the  fervor  which  only  youth 
can  feel.  Little  did  she  imagine  that  to  the 
object  of  her  regard  she  was  herself  a  source 
of  bitter  and  perpetual  suspicion ;  little  did 
she  imagine  that  the  mind  which  sho  believed 
to  be  so  lofty  had  degraded  itself  by  the  ad- 
nnssion  of  one  impure  idea,  and  that  her  imago 
was  interwoven  with  it. 

So  true  it  is  that  even  those  with  whom  wo 
are  most  intimately  connected  never  know  us 
as  we  really  are :  to  them  we  are  what  we  de- 
sire to  seem;  into  our  iiuicp  life  they  can  not 
penetrate,  and  thus  society  is,  in  point  of  fact, 
a  clever  masquerade,  in  which  the  ablest  actors 
play  the  highest  parts,  and  wear  their  motley 
the  most  gracefully. 

Now  and  then  the  pressure  of  eircumstanco 
may  renrl  away  a  portion  of  the  drajiery  from 
eacli  and  all.  but  still  much  remains  concealed, 
until  the  game  of  life  is  played  out,  and  goes  f, 
down  even  to  the  grave  at  once  imdctectcd  and 
unsuspected. 


I  ilL.      J  L.A.L.KJ  \u  a       »  1 1*  JL  . 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 


A   KEW   ACQCMXTAXCE. 


The  grrace  and  beauty  of  ifrs.  Elphinstotie, 
the  manly  bearing  of  her  husband,  and  the  re- 
finement of  every  thing  about  them,  had  sineru- 
larly  excited  the  interest  of  Dr.  Darnell,  who 
Tras  ■well  able  to  appreciate  such  qualities  in 
those  with  whom  he  came  into  contact. 

That  their  pecuniary  resources  were  by  no 
means  equivalent  to  their  pretension  she  at  once 
discovered,  althouprh  no  inference  to  tliat  efTcct 
had  ever  escaped  from  cither;  and  that  some 
mystery  was  connected  with  the  little  house- 
hold he  felt  satisfied,  while,  at  the  same  time 
the  intimacy  which  existed  between  the  Elpliln- 
stones  and  the  somewhat  stately  Lady  Malcolm, 
tojretlier  with  the  presence  of  her  younsr 
daughter,  sufficed  to  convince  him  that  it  could 
not  be  one  of  a  discreditable  nature. 

Thus,  there  was  a  certain  romance  flung  over 
his  new  friends  which  tended  to  heighten 
rather  than  to  diminish  the  feeling  of  affection- 
ate regard  that  he  soon  experienced  for  them, 
and  which  led  him  ultimately  to  express  an 
anxious  hope  that  their  accidental  acquaintance 
might  be  suflered  to  grow  into  friendship. 

"I  am  no  longer  a  young  man,  my  dear 
madam,"  he  said,  affectionately,  taking  the  hand 
of  Ida ;  '•  but  my  heart  has  not  run  so  rapid  a 
race  as  time ;  it  can  still  sympathize  in  the  hap- 
piness of  others,  and  exult  in  sharing  it.  As  I 
can  no  longer  keep  you  as  a  patient,  I  am 
anxious  to  retain  you  as  a  friend;  I  will,  indeed, 
be  frank  enough  to  confess  to  you  without  dis- 
guise that  I  can  not  coldly  look  forward  to  the 
loss  of  your  society  just  as  I  have  learned  to 
value  it." 

"  You  have  only  anticipated  my  own  inten- 
tion, mv  good  friend,"  was  the  cordial  reply  of 
Mrs.  Elphinstone;  "for,  believe  me,  when  I  as- 
sure you  that  I  am  far  from  insensible  to  the 
charm  of  your  conversation,  or  to  the  peculiar 
benefit  which  constant  intimacy  with  a  person 
of  your  character  and  principles  can  not  fail  to 
confer  on  so  young  and  inexperienced  an  indi- 
vidual as  my  husband,  who,  with  the  warmest 
heart,  and  the  noblest  nature  upon  earth,  is 
ill  calculated  to  wrestle  with  the  world  single- 
handed." 

"  So  bo  it,  then,  my  dear  lady ;  from  this  hour 
wo  sink  the  ]ihysician  in  the  friend,"  said  the 
doctor,  heartily ;  "  and  I  trust  tliat  neither  party 
will  ever  have  cause  to  repent  the  compact." 

And  Ida  judged  rightly,  when  she  declared 
that  the  friendship  of  Dr.  Darnell  must  prove 
valuable  to  Sydney,  for  Dr.  Darnell  was  no 
common  character.  Possessed  of  admirable 
taste,  and  goo'l  practical  common  sense,  he  had 
seen  enough  of  the  folly  and  frippery  of  fa.shion- 
able  life  to  estimate  it  at  its  true  value,  and 
had  sufficient  moral  courage  to  avow  that  he 
could  and  did  relish  the  charm  of  unaffected 
Bimplicity,  alike  in  speech  and  principle. 

Talking  for  effect,  was  his  aversion,  nor  did 
he  even  endeavor  to  conceal  his  contempt  of 
the  talker ;  while  ho  joined  cordially,  and 
genially  in  the  pleasant,  unstudied,  home- 
breathing  gossipry  which  is,  after  all,  the  great 
charm  of  the    social    fireside.      The  puerile 


vanity,  which  sought  to  cheat  itself  by  a 
soiihism,  and  to  make  words  stand  proxy"  for 
ideas,  was  to  him  as  hateful  as  a  vice ;  and  it 
M-as  precisely  this  absence  of  all  stage-eflect  in 
the  language  and  bearing  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Elphinstone,  which  had  attracted  him. 

Unfortunately,  however,  the  proffered  friend- 
ship of  the  estimable  and  somewhat  eccentric 
physician,  involved,  as  a  natural  consequence, 
the  acquaintanceship  of  his  wife,  who,  although  \ 
a  well-meaning  woman,  was  extremely  weak, 
and  like  all  weak  people,  fancied  herself  more 
clear-sighted  and  judicious  than  every  ono 
about  her. 

Her  pretty  person,  and  still  more,  pcrhap?, 
her  modest  fortime,  had  proved  irresi.-^tible  to 
the  young  doctor,  at  a  period  when  he  was 
striving  to  establish  himself  in  his  profession  ; 
and  thus  two  persons,  as  widely  sundered  as 
the  poles,  both  in  taste  and  intellect,  had  been 
united  in  a  life-long  tie  which  it  was  idle  to 
lament  when,  in  after-years,  both  discovered 
their  mistake. 

Dr.  Darnell,  frequent  as  his  visits  had  beeiv 
to  the  cottage  of  the  Elphinstonos,  had  dis- 
covered nothing  there  but  what,  to  a  mind 
constituted  like  his  own,  was  genial  and  charm- 
ing ;  but  it  was  far  otherwise  with  his  lady, 
who  was  never  happv  save  when  she  was  peer- 
ing below  the  surfece  of  things,  and  detecting 
some  hidden  rock  beneath  the  apparently  placid 
waves. 

lle^usband  had  forwarned  her  that  although 
evidently  persons  of  high-breeding  and  elegant 
habits,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  were  appar- 
ently far  from  affluent,  and  strictly  cautioned 
her  "to  avoid  all  reference  to  the  fact;  nor  did 
she  fail  to  give  a  promise  to  that  effect,  even 
while  she  exalted  in  the  consciousness  that,  ou 
this  one  point,  at  least,  there  could  be  no  rivahy 
between  them. 

A  greater  contrast  to  the  calm  and  gentlo 
Lady  Malcolm  could  scarcely  have  ])resciited 
itself  in  the  drawing-room  of  Ida,  than  the 
little,  fussy,  gayly-attired  wife  of  the  siaid  mid- 
dle-aged doctor.  If  there  were  one  fact,  whicli 
more  than  every  other,  ilrs.  Darnell  had  been 
unable  to  comprehend,  it  was  the  ravages  pro- 
duced by  time,  upon  her  once  blooming  face 
and  graceful  figure;  and  thus,  in  her  fiftieth 
year,  she  assumed  the  dress,  and  aped  the 
manner  of  fifteen. 

Too  thoroughly  self  possessed  to  be  absolutely 
vulgar,  her  little  affectations  were  simply  ridicu- 
lous; and  Ida  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be 
amu.sed  or  annoyed  by  the  absurdities  of  her 
new  acquaintance. 

ileanwhile,  Mrs.  Darnell  was  perfectly  in  her 
clement,  as  she  watched  with  a  keen  eye  every 
member  of  the  little  part 3- ;  caressed  the  baby 
with  voluble  comments  on  his  extraordinary 
loveliness,  congratulated  Lady  Malcolm  on  the 
acquisition  of  Acacia  Lodge,  and  examined 
with  all  the  asswned  gusto  of  an  artist,  tlio 
sketch  upon  which  Edith  was  engaged,  and 
which  chanced  to  bo  the  one  with  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone's  figure  in  the  foreground. 

"Well!  this  is  really  very  nice,"  she  o* 
claimed,  patronizingly  ;  "  very  nice,  indeecL 
You  have  a  charming  talent.  I  absohitcly 
do  not  think  that  I  ever  saw  a  more  graceful 
figure." 


TILE     JEALUUb      Wli'E. 


"Tt  is,  imlcecl,  admiraMy  oxoeutetl,"  said 
Editli ;  "  Lut  I  regret  to  be  coiiij)elled  to  con- 
fess," she  added,  ingenuously,  "that  my  little 
sketch  is  indebted  to  Mr.  Elphinstone  for  its 
greatest  ornament.  The  scene  is  one  dear  to 
113  all,  and  the  portrait  is,  as  you  have  prob- 
ably discovered,  that  of  his  wife." 

"Of  course,  it  is;  no  one  could  mistake  it 
for  a  moment,"  acquiesced  the  visitor  ;  "and 
how  very  delightful  it  iinist  be  for  you,  J\lis3 
Malcolm,  to  have  so  skillful  an  assistant  in 
your  studies." 

The  remark  was  common-place  enough,  but 
the  glance  turned  upon  Ida  as  the  words  were 
littered  was  infinitely  more  significant ;  an 
expression  of  blendid  pity  and  surprise  could 
be  read  for  an  instant  in  the  keen  eyes  which 
-were  riveted  upon  her,  and  beneath  which 
her  own  fell,  while  she  felt  the  warm  blood 
rush  to  her  cheek  and  brow. 

By  th:it  one  look,  Mrs.  Darnell  had  justified 
Ida  to  her  own  conscience.  She  did  not 
pause  to  reflect  upon  the  impertinence,  should 
she  indeed  have  read  the  glance  aright,  of 
Buch  an  inference  on  the  part  of  a  perfect 
stranger;  she  did  not  dwell  on  the  ill-breed- 
ing, or,  still  worse,  on  the  ill-feeling,  which 
could  have  prompted  a  suspicion  of  evil  where 
all  was  apparently  frank  and  simple ;  she 
forgot,  as  by  magic,  the  wonder  and  almost 
disgust  with  which  she  had  regarded  the  lady 
half  an  hour  previously ;  she  only  felt  that 
her  secret  had  been  read,  and  that  one  in- 
dividual, at  least,  could  sympathize  in  her 
suffering. 

From  that  moment  Mrs.  Darnell  became  in 
her  eyes  invested  with  an  interest  which  pro- 
duced an  immediate  effect  upon  her  whole 
manner;  her  flippant  nothings  were  rewarded 
by  a  smile  ;  her  offers  of  friendship  were  gra- 
ciously acknowledged ;  and  when  she  at 
length  rose  to  take  her  leave,  she  was  warmly 
pressed  to  repeat  her  visit. 

As  Sydney  conducted  the  lady  to  her  car- 
riage. Lady  Malcolm  looked  up  quietly  from 
her  knitting,  and  asked,  demurely  : 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  do  you  think  of 
your  new  acquaintance?" 

As  her  mother  spoke,  Edith  also  glanced 
toward  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  while  a  smile,  re- 
quiring only  one  word  of  encouragement, 
twinkled  in  her  eye  and  quivered  about  her 
lips,  but  it  faded  beneath  a  look  of  astonish- 
ment, as  Ida  calmly  answered: 

"  I  think  her  both  pretty  and  pleasant." 

The  surprise  of  Lady  Malcolm  equaled  that 
of  her  daughter.  That  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  who 
she  well  knew  to  be  even  hyper-fastidious  in 
her  tastes,  should  not  only  tolerate,  but  ac- 
tually profess  to  admire  a  woman  so  conspicu- 
ously deficient  in  all  the  attributes  of  high 
breeding,  was  an  enigma  which  she  felt  her- 
self unable  to  solve. 

"Pretty,  perhaps,"  she  said;  "yes,  un- 
doubtedly she  must  have  been  pretty — oncf ; 
but  pleasant,  my  dear  !  Can  you  really  think 
herpleasimt?" 

"Very  pleasant,"  persisted  Ida;  "and  I 
am,  moreover,  convinced  that  she  is  sincere 
and  warm-hearted." 

"  Upon  that  point  I  must  defer  my  judg- 
ment," said  Lady  Malcolm;  "and,  as  she  has 


promised  me  the  honor  of  a  visit  in  my  turn, 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  the  opportunity 
of  doing  her  justice." 

"I  am  so  sick  of  the  empty  conventional- 
ities of  the  world,"  was  the  rejoinder  of  }t\.i, 
"  that  it  is  really  refreshing  to  me  to  meet 
with  a  person  so  thoroughly  unsophisticated 
as  Mrs.  Darnell.  In  the  artificial  state  of 
society  in  the  present  day  it  isdifilcult  to  dis- 
tinguish friends  from  foes,  or  a  seeming  kind- 
ness from  a  secret  wrong." 

"  Come,  come,  you  must  not  encourage  such 
gloomy  ideas,"  said  Lady  Malcolm  ;  "take  a 
fancy  to  this  fussy  little  dame  if  you  will,  for      ^ 
it  will  serve  to  amuse  you,  but  do  not  on  that 
account  misjudge  the  rest  of  the  world." 

Ida  smiled  somewhat  bitterly,  and  rang  for 
her  baby. 

Meanwhile,  the  unsophisticated  wife  of  the 
worthy  physician  was  rolling  toward  home  in 
her  well-appointed  chariot,  a  self-gratulatory 
light  gleaming  in  her  restless  eyes. 

"So,  so,"  she  mentally  exclaimed,  "the 
poor  doctor  has  then,  with  all  his  boasted 
penetration,  frequented  these  people  for 
months,  and  never  suspected  the  truth.  Good, 
easy  man  !  So  this,  then,  is  the  earthly  para- 
dise that  he  taught  me  to  expect.  Paradise, 
indeed — a  new  Eden  with  a  new  serpent; 
but  its  fangs  shall  be  drawn,  if  it  depends  on 
me.  Infa:nous!  So  beautiful  as  she  is,  that 
her  worthless  husband  should  be  flirting — 
and,  for  what  I  know  to  the  contrary,  perhaps  ] 
even  intriguing — with  that  demure-looking  j 
girl,  before  her  face  ;  and  the  mother  sitting 
by,  too,  looking  as  calm  and  as  stately  as  if  . 
she  were  not  giving  her  countenance  to  such 
an  enormity ! 

"  And  they  flatter  themselves  that  the  poor 
injured  wife  does  not  suspect  the  truth — does 
not  see  the  looks  which  pass  between  them, 
nor  how  |)erfectly  they  understand  each  other. 
But  they  are  deceived ;  she  does  more  than 
suspect;  she  knows  it,  or  why  should  she 
have  shrunk  when  our  eyes  met,  and  then 
suddenly  become  so  friendly  in  her  manner  ? 

"  There  is  no  mystery  there,  at  least ;  she 
saw  that  I  had^iiscovered  the  truth,  and  that 
I  felt  for  her,  which  no  oriie  else  docs. 

"Poor  thing!  Poor  thing!  well,  my  duty 
is  plain  ;  I  will  not  leave  a  stone  unturned  to 
serve  her;  and  I  know  that  it  will  ease  her 
poor  breaking  heart  to  pour  out  all  her  grief 
to  me.  I  will  call  on  her  again  in  a  day  or 
two.  I  shall  be  so  delighted  to  give  her  com- 
fort." 

And  fully  satisfied  with  herself  and  her  own 
good  intentions,  Mrs.  Darcell  proceeded  to  pay 
another  visit. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

HOPES   AND   FEARS. 

"  I  HATE  brought  you  some  visitors,  Mrs. 
Elphinstone;"  said  Lady  Malcolm  one  morn- 
ing, as  she  entered  the  drawing-room  of  Ida  un- 
announced ;  "and  most  welcome  ones,  I  feel 
convinced." 

The  young  mother,  who  had  been  bending 


ij-lj:i     j  £j^l,kj  u  o     nijcjti. 


Dver  tlio  couch  upon  which  her  boy  lay  asleep, 
looked  up  in  surprise ;  but  before  she  could  re- 
ply, her  eye  met  tliat  of  Sir  Jasper  Trcvanion, 
Vho  at  that  instant  passed  the  threshold  of  the 
apartment 

"  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion  I"  she  exclaimed,  as 
B'le  Pjiran '4  forward  to  meet  him;  "this  is  in- 
daed  an  unexpected  pleasure — and  my  cousin 
tool"  she  added,  as  she  extended  her  disen- 
gaged hand  to  his  son,  by  whom  he  was  closely 
followed- 

"  You  will  forgive  us  this  intrusion,  I  know ;" 
said  the  baronet,  as  he  led  his  niece  back  to 
her  seat-,  "  when  I  tell  you  that  since  our  first 
and  only  Tneetinp:,  I  have  vainly  endeavored  to 
ascertain  your  place  of  residence;  which  we  at 
last  learned  to-day  from  Lady  Malcolm." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  known  to 
each  otlier;"  eaid  Ida. 

"  Oil,  we  are  old  and  tried  friends ;"  was  the 
reply  ;  "  but  wo  will  talk  of  that  another  time. 
And  now  tell  me,  my  dear  niece,  are  you  well  ? 
are  you  happy?" 

Ida  pointed  with  an  exulting  smile  to  her 
sleeping  child. 

'■[  am  answered  ;"  said  Sir  Jasper;  "he  is 
indeed  all  tliat  a  mother's  heart  can  wish.  Look 
at  him,  Hubert,  is  he  not  worthy  of  the  Tre- 
vanion blood?" 

"  Hubert !"  exclaimed  Ida,  with  a  kindling 
eye;  "  is  it  possible,  my  dear  sir,  that  your  son 
bears  the  name  of  my  father  ?" 

"  It  is  an  old  family  name ;"  said  the  baronet, 
more  coldly  than  he  had  yet  spoken;  "we 
have  been  Huberts  and  Jaspers  from  time 
immemorial,  and  I  was  too  thorough  a  Tre- 
vanion not  to  respect  the  prejudices  of  my  an- 
cestors." 

There  was  a  painful  pause,  for  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone  too  readily  understood  the  full  meaning 
of  the  words  to  which  she  had  just  listened ; 
but  eager  to  diminish  their  effect,  Ifie  turned 
with  forced  gayety  toward  her  cousin,  saying  ro- 
proaclifully,  "  and  you  Mr.  Trevanion,  have  you 
not,  also,  a  word  of  praise  for  my  little  nurs- 
hng?" 

As  she  asked  the  question,  she  for  the  first 
time  looked  steadily  into  the  face  of  the  young 
■man,  and  was  startled  by  the  change  which  she 
perceived  in  his  appearance. 

He  was  still  superbly  handsome,  but  a 
Bettled  (lusli,  too  deep  and  too  brilliant  for 
health,  gave  a  fevered  expression  to  his  coun- 
tenance, which  was  heightened  by  the  unna- 
tural brightness  of  his  eyes. 

A  pang  smote  upon  the  heart  of  Ida  as  she 
met  the  radiant  smile  with  which  he  replied  to 
her  inquiry ;  and  she  involuntarily  glanced 
from  him  to  his  father.  No  symptom  of  alarm 
or  imeasincss  could,  however,  bo  detected  in 
the  look  or  manner  of  the  baronet.  It  was  evi- 
dent thut  if  her  terrible  surmise  were  a  correct 
one,  it  had  as  yet  never  awakened  one  sus- 
picion in  his  mind, 

"  You  must  forgive  me,  my  dear  niece ;"  said 
Sir  Jasper,  after  having  suffered  liis  eye  to 
wander  over  the  well  arranged  but  still  modest 
apartment;  "if  I  appear  more  unreasonable 
than  my  relationship  may  seem  to  warrant. 
Y'ou  have  a  pretty  Iiome,  and  the  hand  of  taste 
is  visible  in  all  its  arrangements;  but  still  T 
can  not  help  thinking  that  it  is  not  precisely 


the  home  suited  to  my  niece.  Tell  mo  truly; 
have  you  no  wish  which  it  may  be  in  my  power 
to  gratify?" 

"  None ;"  replied  Ida,  in  a  tone  which  she 
strove  to  render  calm,  but  which  still  betrayed 
a  shade  of  bitterness  ;  "  I  am  already,  perhaps, 
more  fortunate  than  a  discarded  daughter  had 
any  right  to  expect.  I  am  quite  satisfied  with 
iny  destiny." 

"  Yet  you  had  every  reason  to  antici- 
pate— " 

"  Pardon  mo  if  I  request  of  you  not  to 
speculate  on  the  past :  I  made  my  own  future, 
and  I  look  forward  to  it  without  one  misgiv- 
ing." 

"You  are  right,  quite  right;  I  am  rebuked     • 
for    my   worldliness — the    philosophy  of   the 
heart  is  the  only  true  one.     And  who  are  to  bo 
sponsors   of  this    noble    boy  ?"    pursued    the 
baronet,  as  the  child  awoke,  and  laughed  in     I 
the  face  of  his  mother.      "If  not   too   late,  I     j 
should  be  delighted  to  offer  my  own  services." 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  ifrs.  KIphinstone,  but  ; 
they  were  tears  of  joy,  as  she  replied  ;  "  Then,  , 
indeed,  will  one  of  my  most  earnest  desires  be  I  • 
fulfilled :  of  the  other  I  have,  unfortunately,  no  1  { 
hopes."  I 

"Well,    well;"   said    Sir  Jasper,   cheerfully 
"  thus  much  at  least  is  arranged,  and  I  assure    ■ 
you  that  I  shall  be  sincerely  proud  of  my  god-    i 
son." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  I"  exclaimed  Ida ;  "  oh ! 
you  know  not  of  what  a  heavy  load  you  have 
relieved  my  heart." 

"  And  I  ?" — asked  Mr.  Trevanion,  one  of 
who.se  fingers  was  clasped  in  the  phmip  little 
palm  of  the  infant;  "  may  I  venture  to  present 
myself  as  the  substitute  of  the  favored  indivi» 
dual  who  has  excited  the  implied  regrets  of 
my  fair  cousin?" 

Ida  extended  her  hand  to  him  in  silence; 
her  heart  was  too  full  for  words. 

"  An  excellent  arrangement ;"  said  Sir  Jas- 
per ;  "  and  one  wliich  induces  mo  to  waive 
one  of  m}'  rights  in  favor  of  ray  son,  my  dear 
niece.  I  was  about  to  make  it  a  point  that  you 
should  give  my  name  to  your  boy ;  but  we  will 
call  him  Hubert — for  many  reasons  it  may,  per-  ' 
heaps,  be  desirable." 

"Nothing  could  bo  better;"  observed  Lady 
Malcolm  ;   "  and  as  this  little  chervib  is  to  be    ; 
my  godson  also,  wo  can  at  once  decide  that    ' 
henceforth    he   is    to    bo   known    as   Sydney  |  • 
Hubert  KIphinstone." 

"  Hubert  Sydney ;"  said  his  mother,  in  a  low 
but  decided  voice. 

"  Right,  right ;"  smiled  the  baronet,  evi. 
dontly  much  gratified ;  "  and  the  next  time, 
wo  will  have  Sydney  Jasper,  will  wo  not, 
Master  Hubert  ?  See  the  young  rogue,  how 
heartily  he  enters  into  the  conspiracy  against  ' 
his  younger  brother.  By  Jove,  madam,  he  is 
already  a  Trevanion  from  head  to  heel." 

It  had  been  long,  very  long,  since  Ida  had 
felt  so  intensely  happy.  The  consciousness  of 
isolation  which  had  pressed  so  jiainfully  upon  , 
her  since  she  had  become  a  voluntary  exile 
from  her  father's  liouso  seemed  suddenly  re- 
moved, and  she  forgot  that  her  uncle  and  his  , 
son  were  in  reality  strangers,  while  remember- 
ing that  they  were  the  only  relatives  who  still 
acknowledged  her  claim. 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


93 


In  that  lionr  slie  had  only  one  regret,  and  ] 
that  was  induced  by  the  absence  of  her  hus- 
band, who  had  unfortunately  yielded  to  the  re- 
quest of  Dr.  Darnell  that  ho  would  accompany 
him  several  miles  into  the  country,  where  he  ' 
had  been  called  to  a  patient ;  and  who  thus  \ 
missed  a  meeting  which  his  wife  ardently  de- 
sired should  have  taken  place. 

As  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion  was  anxious  to 
leave  town  within  a  few  hours,  the  visit  was 
necessarily  a  brief  one,  but  it  left  a  cheering 
'  im])ression  on  the  mind  and  spirits  of  Ida ; 
who,  after  the  departure  of  the  gentlemen,  in- 
quired with  natural  curiosity  of  Lady  Malcolm, 
f  why  she  had  hitherto  made  a  mystery  of  her 
friendship  with  her  uncle's  family. 

"I  will  tell  you;"  was  the  frank  reply: 
"  the  General  and  Sir  Jasper  were  coUege-com- 
I  panions,  and,  in  after-life,  firm  friends.  Such 
friends,  indeed,  that  it  was  proposed  between 
them,  in  the  event  of  the  arrangement  becom- 
ing possible,  that  an  union  should  take  place 
between  their  children.  Sir  Archibald  had 
more  than  once  mentioned  the  subject  to  me, 
but  it  was  one  which  I  did  not  encourage,  as, 
in  my  secret  heart,  I  had  at  that  period,  dif- 
ferent views  for  Edith  ;  and  as  it  was  a  point 
upon  which  he  did  not  insist,  I  considered  my- 
self, after  his  death,  exonerated  from  the  ful- 
fillment of  a  promise  which  I  confess  that  I 
regarded  merely  as  the  caprice  of  two  young 
men  who  lyid  expressed  an  idle  wish,  rather 
than  entered  into  a  serious  compact. 

"  Some  time  ago,  however,  my  own  reasons 
against  the  proposed  marriage  were  removed 
by  circumstances,  and  consequently,  when  Sir 
Jasper,  disregarding  the  decline  of  our  fortunes, 
recently  wrote  with  a  generosity  wliich  I  could 
not  fail  to  appreciate,  to  suggest  that  our  chil- 
dren should  meet,  and  tliat  we  should  thus 
enable  ourselves  to  judge  whether  the  proposed 
I  union  would  tend  to  their  mutual  happiness, 
I  assented  at  once." 

•     "  And  what  has  been  the  result  ?"  asked  Ida, 
thoughtfully. 

"  It  is,  as  yet,  impossible  to  say.  They  have 
met  but  three  times ;  still  I  can  not  but  think 
(  that  a  young  and  disengaged  heart  must  do 
justice  to  the  attractive  qualities  of  Hubert 
Trevanion ;  while,  with  the  partial  affection  of 
a  mother,  I  am  equally  inclined  to  believe  that 
Edith,  on  her  side,  is  well  calculated  to  inspire 
a  sincere  and  lasting  attachment." 

"This  is  all  very  strange;"  said  Mrs.  El- 
phinstone,  moodily ;  "  nor,  I  confess,  can  I  yet 
comprehend  why,  when  aware  of  my  connec- 
tion with  the  Trevanions,  you  should  have 
maintained  so  extraordinary  a  silence  regard- 
ing this  contemplated  marriage." 

"  And  yet  I  do  not  think  that  on  reflection 
you  will  consider  my  reserve  as  singular.  A 
thousand  circumstances  might  have  occurred  to 
render  the  union  undesirable,  or  even  impossi- 
ble ;  in  which  case,  delicacy  demanded  silence 
on  both  sides;  a  feeling  in  which  Sir  Jasper 
and  I  alike  concurred." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  admit  the  truth  of  your 
reasoinng;"  said  Ida;  "but  may  I,  without 
impertinence,  inquire  how  Lady  Trevanion, 
who  has  been  represented  to  me  as  a  purse- 
proud  and  overbearing  person,  has  been  induced 
to  consent   to  the  marriage  of  her  only  sou 


with  a  young  lady,  who,  liowevcr  beautiful  and 
fascinating,  is,  as  you  yourself  have  assured  mo, 
almost  without  fortune?" 

"  Lady  Trevanion,  my  dear;"  said  her  com- 
panion; "has  now  been  dead  upward  of  a 
year.  She  was  indisposed  at  the  period  of 
your  marriage ;  and  from  that  illness  she  never 
rallied.  The  retirement  in  which  you  have . 
subsequently  lived  could  alono  have  kept  you 
in  ignorance  of  tho  event." 

"This  is  indeed  a  day  of  revelations  I"  ex- 
claimed Ida;  "and  now  that  you  are  kind 
enough  to  enlighten  mo  upon  so  many  points 
Qonnected  with  my  own  family,  I  may  pophaps 
be  forgiven  if  I  inquire  the  reason  of  your 
original  reluctance  to  bestow  the  hand  of  your 
daughter  upon  my  cousin." 

"I  had  wished  her  to  marry  elsewhere:" 
repeated  Lady  Malcolm,  gravely,  -but  without 
hesitation. 

"Did  you  then  alter  your  opinion  of  tho  per- 
son for  whom  you  designed  her  ?" 

"  By  no  means." 

"  This  is  more  enigmatical  than  all  the  rest." 

"  The  resolution  of  the  enigma  is  simple,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  the  gentleman  in  ques- 
tion selected  another  wife." 

"Ila!" 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  a  gloom  had 
gathered  upon  the  brow  of  Lady  Malcolm,  who 
was  evidently  buried  in  deep  and  painful 
thought ;  while  the  life-blood  of  Ida  had  sprung 
from  her  heart  to  her  cheek,  and  burned  there 
live  a  lava-tiood. 

Sydney,  then,  was  tho  husband  that  she  had 
coveted  for  her  daughter  I  Sydney  was  tho 
idol  at  whose  shrine  Edith  was  to  have  wor- 
shiped ! 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped,"  she  said  at  length,  with 
an  ambiguous  smile,  "  that  the  hapjjy  individual 
to  whom  you  allude  will  have  no  reason  to  re- 
pent his  precipitation." 

"I  fervently  trust  that  ho  never  may!"  was 
tho  half-unconscious  reply. 

"Perhaps  had  he  known  your  flattering  in- 
tentions in  his  favor — " 

"He  never  even  guessed — ho  never  will  guess 
— the  visions  of  a  mother's  heart,"  interposed 
Lady  Malcolm ;  "  I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
he  is  happy — very  happy — and  in  that  convic- 
tion I  forgot  my  own  disappointment." 

"And  Edith?" 

"  Edith  knows  nothing  whatever  of  tho  cir- 
cumstance." 

"Tliat,  at  least,  is  fortunate ;  but  tho  gentle- 
man himself?" 

"Is  in  equal  ignorance." 

"And  the  unfortunate  woman  who  has  so 
unconsciously  traversed  your  projects  ?" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Elphinstone  I"  exclaimed  her 
companion;  "how do  you  imagine  that  she,  of 
all  persons  upon  earth,  could  ever  have  fathom- 
ed the  secrets  of  my  heart  ?  A  perfect  stranger, 
whose  very  name  was  unknown  to  me  before 
her  marriage." 

"  There  is  more  romance  in  tho  world  than 
wo  are  willing  to  believe,"  said  Ida,  "and  I 
confess  tliat  I  am  woman  enough  to  rejoico 
that  poor  Sydney  was  not  thus  predestined  to 
another  and  a  brighter  fate  when  he  made  mo 
his  wife.  It  would  scarcely  be  a  comfurtablo 
reflection." 


04 


TEE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


"  I  respect  von  too  much  to  reply  bj  one 
word  of  flattery  to  sucli  a  remark,'  observed 
Lady  ilalcolm,  courteously,  but  with  a  sudden 
suspicion  that  slic  ha  1  been  somewhat  unguard- 
ed in  her  communications,  "yet  I  may  never* 
t!ieless  admit  that  it  is  not  the  fate  of  every 
man  to  become  tho  husband  of  such  a  woman 
as  yonrsel£  You  can  iiavo  nothing  to  regret — 
nothing  to  apprehend." 

Tho  eyes  of  Mrs.  Klphinstone  were  riveted 
upon  her  as  she  spoke,  but  she  remained'  calm 
and  self-possessed  under  the  scrutiny. 

"I  am  grateful  for  your  good  opinion,"  was 
the  cold  rejoinder,  "  and  although  we  were 
talking  of  the  romance  of  real  life,  believe  me, 
I  have  no  ambition  to  become  a  heroine;  regret 
is  a  weakness  which  I  should  scorn,  and  appre- 
hension a  folly  for  which  I  should  despise  niy- 
BclC  And  so  Edith  is  to  be  my  cousin  1  How 
delighted  Sydney  will  be  when  I  tell  him  of 
our  meditated  relationship." 

Althn;ig-h  t!io  voice  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone  had 
suddenly  assumed  a  gayety  little  in  unison  with 
its  previous  tone,  Lady  Malcolm  felt  uneasy 
and  embarrassed  ;  nor  was  the  feeling  dimin- 
ished by  a  consciousness  that  she  could  not  in 
any  way  account  for  the  impression  which  it 
produced  upon  her. 

Perfecth'  true  and  right-minded,  she  never 
for  a  moment  suspected  that  her  motives  were 
misjudged,  and  her  meaning  distorted  by  one 
to  whom  she  had  shown  nothing  save  affection 
and  consequently  she  could  only  explain  the 
manner  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone  by  the  painful 
apprehension  that  there  lay  hidden  beneath  tho 
grace  and  beauty  for  which  Ida  was  so  cmi- 
■  ncntly  distinguished,  a  defect  of  temper  which 
must  sooner  or  later  prove  the  destruction  of 
Sydney's  peace. 

She  admitted  this  fear  with  reluctance,  but 
Btill  it  grew  upon  her,  as  day  by  day  she 
watched  the  clouded  brow  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone. 
and  detected  the  shade  of  sarcasm  which  aave 
point  to  words  otherwise  trivi.Tl  in  themselves. 

"Poor  boy!"  she  mentally  exclaimed,  "se- 
cure as  he  now  is  in  his  unconscious  happiness, 
a  bitter  day  of  trial  awaits  him  yet." 


CHAPTER  XXXTV. 


THE  FIRST  QCAEEEL. 

"  And  I  have  still  more  news  for  you, 
Sydney,"  said  his  wife  on  his  return  home;V.nd 
she  informed  liim  of  the  unexpected  visit  of 
her  relatives,  and  their  proposals  to  become 
sponsors  to  her  l>oy ;  and  while  speaking  she 
narrowly  watched' tho  elTect  of  her  words; 
"our  little  friend,  Edith,  is  to  be  the  wife  of 
Hubert  Trcvauion." 

"By  Jovol  lie  is  a  lucky  fellow  I"  was  the 
reply  of  Elphinstone,  as  his  cheek  became 
flushed  with  genuine  pleasure. 

"  Very ;"  ]>ursucd  Ida ;  "  that  is,  of  course, 
should  tiie  marriage  ever  take  place,  which  I 
confess  appears  improbable." 

"  Why  so  ?"  was  the  easier  inquiry. 

"  Because,"  she  continued  ;  "  if  I  am  not 
groat  !y  mistaken,  my  poor  cousm's  days  arc 
uumb»;rcd,"' 


I      "  My  dear  Ida,  what  can  have  induced  ;■ 
fearful  an  apprehension  f" 

"The  unnatural  and  settled  flush  upon  his 
cheek,  and  the  extraordiuarv  brightness  of  his 
eyes.      I    am    familar    with    the   symptoms,  ^ 
Sydney.     Hubert  Trevanion  is  consumptive.'     ' 

"  Poor  dear  Edith !"  murmured  Elphin- 
stone. 

"  You  should  rather,  I  think,  say,  poor  dear 
Hubert!"  exclaimed  his  wife,  impatiently. 

"And  so  I  do,  my  love,  I  pity  them  both 
from  my  soul;  but  my  instant  sympathy  for 
Edith  grew  out  of  tiie  conviction  of  what  my 
own  feelings,  would  have  been  had  I  lost  you 
under  such  circumstances,  when  my  whole 
heart  was  full  of  joy  and  hope."  And  as  he 
spoke,  Elphinstone  fondly  drew  his  wife  to 
his  bosom,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her  cheek. 

"Xonsense,  Sydney;"  slie  exclaimed,  only 
half  appeased ;  "  you  can  not  for  one  moment 
suppose  that  child  to  be  capable  of  so  engross- 
ing an  affection  as  you  desi-ribe." 

"  You  are  greatly  m.istakea  I  have,  a3 
you  know,  seen  Edith  alike  in  her  grave  and 
in  her  gny  moments — I  remember  her  as  a 
mere  girl,  before  there  existed  any  necessity 
to  conceal  her  real  feelings,  and  then  she  was 
warm-hearted  to  impetuosity ;  I  Lave  studied 
her  since,  and  even  amid  the  trammels  of  what 
are  considered,  and  perhaps  justly  so,  the  pro- 
prieties of  society,  I  am  convinced  that  tbcve 
is  a  depth  and  intensity  in  her  eharaetc  r.  whi-li 
no  one  who  knew  her  less  intimatfly  than  our- 
selves would  even  suspect,  vailed  as  it  is, 
beneath  her  mild  and  gentle  manner." 

"  You  are  a  profound  student,  Sydney." 

Elphinstone  laughed. 

"In  her  case,  perhaps  I  am,"  he  sail: 
"for  it  has  been  to  me  a  very  intercstin.' 
study." 

"  And  a  profitable  one,  no  doubt." 

"  I  hope  BO ;  for  the  contemplation  of  excel- 
lence can  not  fail  to  be  piofitable ;  and  depend     i 
upon    it,   tliat   the   more   insight    ycu   obtain 
into  that  girl's  heart,  the  more  you  will  love 
her." 

"  One  love  satisfies  me." 

"Traitor!"'    said  Sydney  playfully;  "wheu    ■ 
not  a  day  passes  that  you  do  not  compel  me  to 
feel  jealous  of  our  boy." 

"Jealous!"  echoed  Ida;  "oh!  Sydney,  teU  j 
me  the  truth — are  you,  could  you  ever  be  jeal»  ' 
ous  ?"  I 

"  Xot  of  you,  dearest ;"  replied  her  husband,     , 
in  a  voice  of  the  deejiest  tenderness :  "  not  of 
you — I  should  hate  myself  were  I  capable  of 
such  a  lieresy ;  but  still  I  confess  to  the  egotism     < 
of    murmuring  against    all    and   every  tiling 
which   distracts   your  attention    from  niyselt 
Come  now,  confess — have  I  not  some  reason  to 
complain    of    that    liotous    urchin   who    baa     i 
usurped  all  my  rights  i     Docs  he  not  occupy 
almost  every  hour  of  your  time  ?" 

"But  you  have  found  other  occupation, 
Sydney." 

"  You  compelled  me  to  it.  I  love  the  boy 
dearly — of  that  you  need  no  assurance — but, 
were  it  not  that  he  has  your  eyes  and  your 
smile,  there  are  moments  when  I  could  almost 
wish  that  wc  were  once  more  all  in  all  to  each 
other." 

"  And  are  we  not  so  ?"  asked  Ida,  hastily. 


THE     JLAi.ULb     W  IF E. 


95 


"  Yo3  ami  no :  In  lioart  no  doubt  we  arc  :  hut, 
I  repeat  it,  that  boj  has  sadly  encroached  upon 
my  privileges." 

"Perhaps  I  have  been  to  blame,  Sydney; 
but  still  you  will  admit  that  while  I  have  been 
ciigai^ed  with  our  ehild.  ymi  have  found,  or 
created  other  pursuits  in  which  you  have,  to 
nil  appearance,  at  least,  taken  very  consider- 
able interest." 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  You  abandoned  me  to 
my  own  resources." 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,  love ;"  said  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone ;  "  I  am  not  speaking  to  blame  you,  I  am 
only  anxious  to  exonerate  myself;  and  most 
cortuiuly  I  should  have  been  less  independent 
in  my  own  movements,  had  you  not  secured  so 
charming  a  companion  as  Edith  Malcolm." 

"  She  is  a  sweet  girl,  that  I  am  quite  willing 
to  admit ;"  conceded  Sytlney ;  "  but  still  she 
is  not  my  wife." 

Ida  bit  her  lip. 

"Surely,"  she  said;  "that  circumstance,  at 
least,  can  be  no  drawback  to  your  pleasure  in 
hor  society." 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  you  do  not  appear  to 
unlerstaud  me." 

"Be  under  no  apprehension  of  the  sort;" 
replied  Ida,  with  a  forced  laugh ;  "  I  am  not 
60  obtuse  as  you  imagine.  I  think  that  I  un- 
derstand you  perfectly.  But  really,  Sydney, 
it  has  just  occurred  to  me  that,  under  existing 
circumstances,  it  might  perhaps  be  as  well  if 
you  were  not  for  the  future  to  engross 
quite  so  much  of  Edith's  time  and  atten- 
tion." 

"  What  can  you  mean,  Ida  V 

"  My  meaning  nmst  be  sufficiently  obvious. 
As  an  engaged  woman — " 

"  Nonsense  !  Is  sho*  not  engaged  to  your 
own  cousin  V 

"  So  it  would  appear." 

"  Then  it  seems  to  me  that  '  existing  eircum- 
.=tanees'  should  rather  tend  to  heighten  than  to 
decrease  our  intimacy." 

"That  may  not,  however,  be  the  light  in 
which  Mr.  Trevanion  may  regard  it." 

Elphinstone  suddenly  looked  away  from  the 
glass  before  which  heAvas  somewhat  fast'dious- 
ly  arranging  his  hair,  and  gazed  steadfastly 
into  the  face  of  his  wife  : 

"  In  that  case,"  he  said,  with  a  gravity  un- 
usual to  him,  "  it  must  have  been  unpleasant  to 
yourself,  or  so  strange  an  idea  could  never  have 
entered  your  mind." 

"J/y  mind!"  echoed  Ida,  with  a  constrained 
attempt  at  playfulness.  "Oh,  that  is  quite  a 
ditfereut  affair  ;  it  is  only  before  marriage  that 
people  are  supposed  to  resent  the  intrusion  of 
a  third  person  between  them ;  and  I  am  now 
an  old  married  woman,  who  must  be  swayed 
by  facts  rather  than  feelings." 

Sydney  was  silent ;  there  was  something  in 
the  tone  of  his  wife's  voice  which,  for  the  fi:st 
|tline,  jarred  upon  his  ear. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  at  last ;  "  you  can  not 
imagine — " 

"  Imagine  nothing,"  interposed  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone ;  "  I  have  not  a  particle  of  romance  in 
my  composition." 

"  If  (  supposed  that  you  could  for  a  moment 
think  me  capable — "' 

"  My  dear  Sydney,  you  are  really  figliting 


against  a  shadow!  You  quite  terrify  me  by 
your  dark  looks.  What  have  I  said  or  done  to 
anger  you  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Ida,  nothing  ;  I  am  woimded,  but 
not  angry — I  could  not  be  angry  with  you ;  but 
I  confess — •" 

"  Confess  nothing  ;  it  would  appear  that  wo 
have  been  exchanging  words  and  not  ideas  ;  a 
mental  gladiatorship  is  by  no  mean's  desirable. 
What  are  your  plans  for  the  day?" 

"  I  have  formed  none." 

"  Edith  is  anxious  to  go  to  the  National 
Gallery  ;  there  is  still  time  enough  before  din- 
ner ;  will  you  accompany  her  ?" 

"  No." 

"  No !  are  you  serious  ?" 

"  Perfectly  so." 

"And  what  can  be  your  reason?" 

"  I  shall  remain  at  home  with  you." 

"  5i^  poor  Sydney,  you  will  be  ennuye  d, 
mort. 

"  Ida,"  said  her  husband,  as  ho  seated  him- 
self beside  her,  and  took  her  hand  in  liis, 
while  large  tears  were  swelling  in  his  eyes. 
"  There  is  something  alike  in  your  voice  and 
manner  which  I  endeavor  in  vain  to  compre- 
hend. Since  the  hour  in  which  you  became 
my  Avife,  the  sole  study  of  my  life  has  been  to 
seeure  your  happiness.  If  I  have  failed,  tell 
me  at  once  the  cause  of  that  failure,  that  I 
may  at  least  strive  to  repair  it.  Be  frank  ;  be 
sincere  ;  I  can  support  blame  when  I  am  con- 
scious that  it  is  merited;  but  let  mo  at  least 
understand  the  ground  on  a\  Lich  I  stand." 

"  Have  I  uttared  one  Avord  of  blame  ?" 

"  You  have  not ;  but  you  have  done  worse  ; 
you  have  implied  it.  Have  I  deserved  that 
you  slviuld  treat  me  with  this  cold  and  bitter 
sarcasm  ?  Hoav  am  I  to  interpret  either  your 
manner  or  your  Avords  ?  Tell  me  plainly  and 
at  once  in  Avhat  I  have  offended  you." 

"  Why  should  you  suppose  that  I  am 
offended  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Elphinstone  ;  "  are 
you  conscious  of  having  given  me  cause  of 
offense  ?" 

"  On  my  soul,  I  am  not." 

"  Then  the  question  is  a  strange  one." 

"  Ida !  Ida !  you  Avill  drive  me  mad,"  he 
exclaimed,  starting  from  the  sofa  ;  "  I  have  not 
deserved  this." 

"  Will  you  explain  your  meaning,  Sydney  ?" 
asked  his  Avife,  calmly. 

"  [  will — would  that  I  were  unable  to  do 
so,  but  I  can  not  deceive  myself — oh,  Ida,  that 
you,  whom  I  have  until  this  hour  regarded  as 
the  mostf.j3erfoct  of  your  sex — that  you  should 
indeed  bfc  guilty  of  such  a  weakness.  But 
no,  no ;  I  wrong  you — it  can  not  be — ^you  are 
too  high-minded,  too  pure  in  heart,  to  Avrong 
either  that  innocent  girl  or  myself  by  so  foul  a 
suspicion;  only  tell  mo  that 'it  is  I  who  ought 
to  blush  for  even  venturing  to  glance  at  such 
a  thought — reproach  me,  upbiaid  me,  Ida,  for 
so  vile  a  distrust  of  your  generous  nature — 
f  >r  so  frightful  a  belief,  transient  as  it  was — ■ 
only  say  that  you  foi-give  me,  though  I  can  not 
promise  to  forgive  myself." 

"  Calm  yourself,  Sydney,"  said  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone, to  whom  the  A-ery  intensity  of  her  feel- 
ings gave  an  umiatural  composure,  Avhich  add- 
ed to  the  emotion  of  her  husband;  "I  have 
no  reproach  to  utter — what  I  foresaw  has  come 


96 


THE    JEALOUfe    WIFE. 


to  pass ;  you  placed  too  great  a  reliance  on  a ' 
mere  transitory  passion,  and  you  are  bei^innin;^ 
to  discover  your  error.  I  have  long  seen  i 
this — long  felt  it — but  I  was  strong  enough  to 
Buffer  in  silence;  I  am  so  still ;  I  shall  remain  | 
BO  until  I  foci  that  my  suffering  can  avail  me  j 
nothing,  and  that  it  has  become  my  duty  to  as- 
sert myself. 

"  You  have  forced  this  avowal  from  me  ; 
or  rather,  perhaps.  I  have  been  led  to  make  it 
from  a  sense  of  delicacy  toward  my  cousin,  who  i 
will  probably  be  susceptible  on  the  subject  of 
Lis  future  wife." 

"  And  who  would  dare  to  malign  that  pure 
young  srirl,  who  is  as  innocent  as  an  angel?" 
asked  Elphinstone,  passionately. 

"  Her  purity  and  innocence  may  be  eon- 
Bidered  questionable,  when  it  is  known  that  she 
has  alienated  the  aflfeetions  of  a  husband  from 
his  wife."  was  the  cold  reply. 

"Listen  to  me,  Ida,"  exclaimed  Sydney, 
with  a  vehemence  that  even  startled  his  ap- 

f>areiitly  impassive  companion  ;  "  I  could 
lave  borne  ail  but  this;  wi?/  honor  is  at  your 
mercy,  trample  on  it  if  such  is  indeed  your 
pleasure,  but  I  will  brook  no  slur  on  Jicrs — 
she  is  the  child  of  my  mother's  chosen  friend, 
tiie  playmate  of  my  boyhood,  the  hope  and 
pride  of  a  widowed  parent's  heart;  earth 
contains  not  a  more  blameless,  a  more  guile- 
less spirit.  If  you  liave  decided  on  the  ruin 
of  our  domestic  peace,  I  must  submit,  but 
your  insane  suspicions  must  extend  no  fur- 
ther, touch  not  a  li;ur  of  her  liead  by  calum- 
ny, but  if  Tou  have  indeed  ceased  to  respect 
j-our  own  <iignity,  at  least  respect  her  inno- 
cence." 

"Mr.  Elphinstone,"  said  his  wife,  .indig- 
nantly ;  "you  appear  to  forget  that  I  am  at 
your  mercy." 

"  Ko,  Ida,  no;  I  forget  nothing,  and  you 
may  believe  me  when  I  declare  that  now  you 
have  learned  to  look  upon  me  as  the  base  and 
unmanly  rufllan  that  your  words  imply,  I 
rejoice  from  my  inmost  lieai-t  that  you  have 
60  opportunely  secured  partial  and  powerful 
friends,  who  are  able  to  offer  you  a  more  fit- 
ting home  than  that  which  you  accuse  me 
of  having  dishonored." 

"Sydney,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  "you  are 
cruel  even  to  cowardice ;  you  do  not  even 
shrink  fi'oni  threatening  me  with  a  second 
desertion.  Forgetting  that  for  j'ou  I  became 
an  alien  from  my  home,  you  presume  upon 
my  lielplesstiess  to  insult  me.  Did  I  not  tell 
you  when  you  combated  my  reason  with  j-our 
specious  sophistries,  that  you  would  one  day 
remember  that  you  had  sacrificed  yourself 
to  a  woman  oldeV  than  yourself?  Did  I  not 
warn  yoti  against  the  folly  of  believing  that 
you  would  not  one  day  feel  this,  and  visit  the 
penalty  of  your  mistake  upon  my  weakness  i 
Do  me  justice  in  this  at  least." 

"  Ida,  do  not  urge  me  too  far ;  you  have 
no  right,  you  have  no  reason  to  talk  to  me  in 
such  a  strain  as  this." 

"Enoutrh!  enough!"  gasped  out  Ids  wife  ; 
"you  justify  yourself  by  casting  the  blame  I 
on  me,  and  I  must  submit.  Be  it  so;  there 
must  be  a  victim — sacrifice  ?«'' — as  I  before 
admitted,  I  am  at  your  mercy.  The  world 
will  be  ready  enough  to  exonerate  you ;  there  ' 


will  be  little  sympathy,  and  less  pity  for  the 
woman  of  six-and-twenty,  who  entrapped 
the  affections  of  a  boy." 

"  This  is  too  much !"  exclaimed  Elphinstone, 
as  he  started  from  his  seat,  and  rapidly  paced 
the  room  ;  "all  is  indeed  over  between  us — 
we  must  part.  How  I  have  loved  you.  none 
have  known,  none  can  ever  know  ;'  I  would 
have  clung  to  you  through  life  and  death. 
You  were  every'thing  to  me  ;  the  very  air  I 
breathed  was  not  less  essential  to  my'happi- 
ness;  but  now — well,  it  is  idle  to  repine;  I 
am  ready  to  pay  the  penalty  of  my  mistake. 
You  have  withdrawn  from  me  alike  your 
confidence  and  your  affection,  ami  for  both 
our  sakes.  it  is  better  that  we  should  jiart." 

Ida  suddenly  clasped  her  forehead  with  her 
spread  hands,  and  fastened  a  gaze  of  agony 
upon  her  husband. 

"  Is  it  so  ?"  she  asked  in  a  whisper  which 
fell  upon  the  car  with  all  the  shrillness  of  a 
suppressed  scream  ;  "  is  it  really  so  ?  And 
could  you  indeed  part  from  me  so  willingly? 
Sydney,  Sydney,  how  have  I  deserved  this  <.'' 

For'a  moment  the  whole  frame  of  Elphin- 
stone quivered,  and  he  resolutely  averted  hi^ 
eyes,  but  gradually  the  flush  faded  from  his 
cheek,  and  the  frown  which  had  darkened  his 
forehead  passed  away. 

"  Ino,"'  he  murmured,  tremulously;  "no; 
you  are  right;  it  would  be  tlie  rending 
asunder  of  body  and  soul ;  and  yet  even 
that  were  better  than  we  should  live  on  under 
t!ie  same  roof,  the  one  suspected  and  despised, 
and  the  other — " 

"What  of  the  other,  Sydney?  What  of 
the  other?"  passionatel}'^  demanded  his  wife, 
springing  from  the  sofa,  and  throwing  herself 
iiponhis  bosom;  "Ot,  Sydney,  what  of  the 
other  ?" 

"  I  can  not,  and  must  not  dwell  upon  th« 
subject,"  Avas  tlie  agitated  reply;  "I  have 
fallen  from  such  a  height  into  an  abyss  so 
frightful  that  I  want  moral  courage  to  probe 
my  wretchedness  to  its  actual  dej)lh." 

"Yet  you  did  love  me,  Sydney." 

"Love  you!"  echoed  her  husl)and ;  "do 
you  ask  njo  if  I  loved  you?  look  into  your 
own  heart,  and  read  there  if  I  have  merited 
that  such  a  question  should  be  put  to  me  I 
It  is  because  I  loved  you  so  entirely,  so 
devotedly,  that  I  am  at  this  niomont  inca-. 
pable  not  only  of  deciding  how  1  ougiit  to 
act,  but  even  of  so  acting,  if  my  reason 
pointed  out  the  proper  and  becoming  course." 

"And  do  you  not  love  me  still  ?" 

"Ma,  you  have  made  me  very,  very 
wretched. ' 

"  And  I  ?  am  I  not  also  most  miserable  ? 
Did  I  not  for  your  .sake  abandon  father,  mollv 
er,  home — and  brave  the  comments  of  an  un- 
sparing world  1  And  now  you  threaten  to  | 
desert  me — me,  and  my  v.orse  than  orphaned  . 
boy.  Oh,  Sydney,  Sydney,  can  you  indeed 
do  this?" 

"Tell  me,  Ida,  only  tell  me  that  this  is  ft 
frightful  dream,"  said  Elphinstone,  as  he  stood 
encircled  bj'- her  clinging  arms;  "1  can  not, 
dare  not  think  that  I  "have  really  lost  mv 
every  hope  of  happiness.  Tell  me  that  all 
about  me  is  a  delusion,  a  cheat  of  my  disor- 
dered fancy." 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE, 


.97 


•'Kothinfif  IS  real  my  o^jcn  Sydney,  nothing 
but-  niv  repentance.  Do  you  not  see  my 
tears? "do  yon  not  feel  l!ie  throbbinsrs  of  my 
{  iicart  ?  Shall  I  kneel  to  you  for  jiardoii  ?" 
"  Hush,  Ida,  hush !''  said  Elphiiistone,  hoarse 
■with  emotio'n  ;  "  I  can  bear  no  more.  Let 
t:3  strive  to  forget  all  that  lias  just  past;  let 
U3  remember  only  our  days  of  happiness, 
lliose  days  when  there  was  trust  and  confi- 
dence between  us ;  let  us  think  only  of  our 
cliiM,  and  for  liis  sake  endeavor  to  bear  with 
each  other's  faults,  and  to  repair  our  own.  I 
liave  erred — unconsciously,  indeed,  but  still 
I  liave  erred,  or  the  woman  in  whom  I  had 
centered  all  my  earthly  hopes,  would  not 
liave  accused  me — the  faults  shall  bo  repaired. 
I  will  state  frankly  to  Lady  JIaleoim,  that 
Hie  constant  intercourse  between  her  daugh- 
ter and  myself  has  been  a  source  of  uneasi- 
ness to  my  wife,  and  that  I  conseqixently  feel 
it  to  be  my  duty—" 

"Sydney,"  exclaimed   Ida,  "do   you  wish 

I  .  to  see  me  expire  at  your  feet?    would  you 

make  me  a  mark  for  the  scorn  and  ridicule 

of  an  irritated  mother?     Oh,  this  is  too — too 

much." 

"In  what  other  way  can  I  convince  you  of 

nv  willinirneso  to  fuliill  my  share  of  the  com- 

p  ict   I  have  suggested?"   demanded  Elpliin- 

,     Etone,  with  a  dignity  of  manner  whieli  av/ed 

i    Lis   excited   and   exhausted   wife,    who   was 

,    sinking  "beneath   the   violence   of    lonr-sup- 

l>ressed   and  unconqiierable  emotion;   "only 

name  your  wishes,  and  they  shall  be  obeyed." 

"Pity  me — pardon  me,'*  broke   in   a  low 

murmur  from  the  lips  of  the  wretched  and 

Self-tortured  wife. 

"I  do  both ;  and  now  listen,  Ida."     But  he 
spoke  to  car^  which  were  no  longer  conscious 
,    of  his  voice — her  over-taxed  energies  would 
I    endure  no  more — and  she  had  f.iinted. 
1       To  raise  her  nerveless  form,  fold  lier  fran'.i- 
j   cally  to  his  bosom,  and  implore  her  to  fo.give 
1  liira  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  the  uu- 
'  li'ippy  Sydney;  who,  as  he  gazed  u[on  lier 
,  faultless  face,  now  pale  and  cold  as  marble, 
and  contemplated  that  "life  in  death"  w!iieh 
is  so  fearful  a  counterfeit  of  actual  dissolutio!', 
felt  as  though  he  were  in  verj*^  fact  the  mur- 
derer that  he  called  himself. 

Vainly  did  he  press  his  fevered  lips  upon 
her  cheek   and    brow,    his   caress   remained 
without  response ;  equally  vain  were  his  wild 
entreaties  that  she  would  look  at  him — speak 
to  him.     ihe  closed  eye  and  rigid  mouth  re- 
mained still — the  very  pulses  of  her  heart 
liad   ceased   to   beat — and,   at  length,  fairly 
maddened  by  his  fear  and  Ids  reniorse,  the 
;  poop  young  man  sank  down  beside  her,  and 
:  buried  his  face  amid  tlie  folds  of  her  dress,  as 
.  Btill  and  motionless  as  the  slight  form  against 
'■'*  leaned. 


CEAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  REC0NCrLL\TIOX. 

Ay  hour   passed    away,    yet    Elphinstone 
neither  spoke  nor  mov^d  ;  but  unlike  that  of 
Uia  wife,  who  lay  iu  a  state  of  utter  uncou- 
7 


soiousness,  his  period  of  inaction  was  far  from 
being  one  of  rest. 

An  agony  of  spirit  too  intense  for  physical 
demonstration,  crushed  him  to  the  vei-y  earth. 
His  bodily  energies  were  dormant,  but  his 
mental  powers  were  painfully,  bitterly  act- 
ive. 

Like  one  in  a  hideous  dream,  lie  looked 
back  upon  the  illusions  of  the  past  only  to  be 
scourged  once  more  into  sufTering  by  the 
realities  of  the  present;  and  what  did  that 
present  now  offer  to  liis  contemjdation  ? 

In  the  severity  of  his  great  and  absorbing 
happiness,  iu  the  joy  of  loving,  and  feeling 
that  lie  was  beloved,  he  had  "willfully  put 
from  him  all  the  uncertainties  of  the  future ; 
like  the  unwary  traveler  v.dio,  engrossed  by 
the  glorious  landscape  around  liim,  forgets 
the  sure  progress  of  time,  and  finds  himself 
suddenly  benighted  without  refu're  or  shelter, 
he  had  sauntered  on  in  the  plciisant  path 
which  spread  itself  before  him,  Avithout  taking 
one  precaution  against  the  hour  when  it 
might  become  tangled  and  hard  to  tread; 
and  thjis  he  found  himself  unable  to  cope 
with  the  diiSeulties  by  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded. 

Ila'd  he  been  less  devoted  to  his  wife,  all 
would  have  been  comparatively  easy,  as,  in 
the  event  of  a  reconciliation,  lie  might  have 
consoled  himself  under  the  miserable  convic- 
tion of  her  weakness  by  once  more  courting 
the  smiles  of  a  world  ever  ready  to  bestow 
them  upon  the  young  and  gifted  who  can 
bring  appropriate  incense  to  its  shrine;  or 
even — were  this  reconciliation  impossible,  it 
would  still  have  been  in  his  power  to  com- 
mence a  new  career,  trammeled  indeed  by 
bitter  memories,  but  still  open  to  a  saaguiiie 
and  energetic  nature.  JS'ow,  however,  it  was 
far  otlierv>-ise,  for,  young  as  he  was,  Sydney 
Elfjhiustone  had  staked  his  all  of  happiness 
on  his  love  for  Ida,  and  he  loved  her  still, 
even  in  tliis  hour  of  agony  when  he  could 
not  conceal  from  himself  that  she  had  for- 
feited, a  ptortion  of  his  respect,  lie  probed 
liis  heart  unshrinkingly,  but  no  accusing 
voice  came  from  its  dei)ths — not  a  thought, 
not  a  wish.  Lad  wandered  from  her;  and  the 
blow  fell  Avith  corresponding  Aveight.  * 

What  was  to  be  tlie  end?  what  hope,  what 
trust,  could  he  ever  again  rest  upon  her  affec- 
tion after  she  had  thus  so  cruelly  misjudged 
him?  He  felt  that  henceforward  he  should 
be  perpetually  standing  on  the  brink  of  a 
precipice  down  which  he  might  be  hurled  at 
any  moment,  without  having  himself  made 
one  onward  step.  It  was  a  harrowing  reflec- 
tion ;  he  was  as  yet  only  on  the  threshold 
of  manhood;  he  had  barely  entered  bia 
twenty -second  year;  and  already  he  had  ex- 
perienced one  of  the  most  bitter  trials  of 
life. 

Hot  tears  flooded  his  heart,  and  stagnated 
tlijere — his  burning  eyeballs  were  dry.  He  had 
become  au  object  of  suspicion  to  tho  woman 
whom  lie  would  himself  have  trusted  even  to 
tho  death.  True,  she  had  evidently  repented 
her  ungenerous  want  of  confidence,  whilo  it 
was  equally  certain  that  she  still  loved  him — 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  cry  of  anguinh  with 
which  she  had  tlirown  herself  upon  his  bosom ; 


98 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


but  -n-hat,  to  such  a  nature  as  his,  was  love 
without  faith  ?  Xotliincr;  less  than  nothing:  a 
perpetual  mockery  which  must  wear  away  not 
only  licr  existence,  but  his  own  also. 

There  could  bo  no  return  of  the  halcyon 
days  when  heart  met  heart  without  misgiving; 
henceforward,  every  word  and  action  must  be 
weighed,  and  a  never-ceasing  restraint,  like  a 
mortal  coat  of  mail,  never  to  be  put  off,  must 
exist  between  them. 

Not  once,  during  his  long  and  painful  vigil, 
had  it  occurred  to  Elphinstone  to  summon  as- 
sistance. The  dead  silence  which  had  succeed- 
ed to  the  storm  of  passion  appeared  so  natural 
a  conscfiuenco  of  the  previous  excitement,  that 
ho  continued  helplessly  engrossed  by  his  own 
miserable  thouglits,  until  a  deep  sigli  from  Ida 
recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  her  situation.  Slowly, 
then,  and  with  a  sigh  whose  intensity  formed  a 
fitting  eclio  to  her  own,  he  rose  from  his  knees, 
and  pillowing  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
deluged  her  ])alo  face  with  an  essence  which  he 
found  upon  her  table. 

His  ^aiid  shook,  and  his  lip  quivered,  as  he 
looked  upon  her,  so  lovely  and  so  helj)less  in 
her  unconsciousness ;  and  when,  as  he  almost 
franticaUy  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead, 
she  at  length  opened  her  eyes  with  a  wild  and 
inquiring  expression,  a  convulsive  sob  which  he 
could  not  repress,  replied  to  tlie  apjieal. 

"  Ila !"'  murmured  Ida,  as  slio  swept  her  hand 
across  her  brow,  "now  I  remember  all — all — but 
3-ou  will  not  abandon  me,  Sydney  ?  you  will  not 
make  our  cliild  fatherless  ?" 

"  Be  calm,  Ida,  be  calm,"  he  answered  in  a 
voice  so  changed  that  it  sounded  strange  even 
to  his  own  ears;  "  have  wo  not  already  decided 
that  we  must  endeavor  to  forget  the  past  ?  Let 
us  fulfill  tlie  pledge.  I  have  lived  too  long  for 
in3'self ;  for  the  i)ast  I  will  substitute  the  future. 
There  are  duties  hitherto  neglected,  which 
henceforth  shall  be  performed :  indulgences 
which  -henceforth  shall  be  abandoned ;  you 
shall  have  no  further  cause  of  complaint  against 
me." 

"  Sydney,  what  mean  you  ?" 

"  I  will  no  longer  bo  a  mere  man  of  pleasure, 
forgetting  all  my  homc-happines.s,  tlio  respon- 
sibilities which  have  devolved  upon  me.  I  will 
at  last  be  strong  and  earnest ;  I  have  work  be- 
fore me — it  shall  be  accomplished  ;  hitherto,  in 
tho  egotism  of  a  false  and  unworthy  pride,  I 
have  shrank  from  suing  for  the  help  of  otliers 
to  aid  mo  on  my  onward  path ;  now  I  will 
shrink  no  longer ;  but  boldly  put  from  mo  tho 
weak  shame  of  soliciting  what  I  can  not  com- 
mand. My  day  of  slotli  is  at  an  end,  and  tliat 
of  labor  shall  commence  in  earnest.  When  you 
kzow  that  I  am  toiling  for  j-ou  and  for  our  boy, 
you  will  learn  to  trust  me." 

"  Oh,  speak  less  coldl.y — I  can  not  bear  it." 

"  Poor  girl !"  said  Klphinstone,  "  wo  must 
both  strive  to  bear  our  burden.  I  am  not  cold, 
but  I  have  aged  two  years  within  tho  last  two 
hours,  and  I  must  seek  to  profit  by  the  experi- 
ence so  dearly  bought.  Rouse  yourself,  Ida ; 
the  realities  of  life  have  come  upon  us — sud- 
I  denly  and  harshly,  it  is  true — but  they  have 
come,  and  we  must  face  fhera  bravely.  We 
have  dreamed  a  glorious  dream,  but  let  us  not 
embitter  the  awakening  by  usolesa  repinings 
for  the  pafit." 


"And  is  this  all?  Have  you,  indeed,  cast 
me  from  j-our  heart  forever?" 

"  No,  Ida,  no ;  while  it  beats,  it  must  beat  for 
you.  But  we  can  no  longer  deceive  ourselves ; 
a  gulf  lias  yawned  between  us  in  which  tho 
dearest  of  our  mutual  illusions  have  gone  down 
—your  faith  in  me — my  trust  in  your  confiding 
an'cction.  It  is  a  sad  truth,  but  we  can  not 
conceal  it  from  ourselves;  let  us,  therefore, 
rather  mourn  over  it  together:  it  will  be  anoth- 
er bond  of  sympathy  between  us." 

"  Sydney,  my  heart  is  breaking!"  gasped  his 
wife. 

"  Rest  it  upon  mine,"  was  the  reply,  as  he 
drew  her  closer  to  him,  and  folded  her  in  his 
arms.  "  We  can  still  love  each  other,  Ida — let 
that  be  our  consolation." 

"But  if  I  solemnly  vow  never  again  to  doubt 
you — " 

"Strive,  for  both  our  sakes,  to.  place  what 
trust  in  me  3'ou  can,  but  make  no  vow — it 
would  be  at  once  idle  and  impotent." 

ilrs.  IClphinstone  sank  back  upon  the  sofa 
convulsed  with  agony.  She  no  longer  recog- 
nized her  husband:  tho  idolizing  lover  had 
been  transformed,  as  if  by  some  occult  magic, 
into  the  stern  and  moralizing  mentor :  his  heart  ' 
was  still  hers,  but  his  reason  had  condemned 
her. 

All  around  her  was  a  blank  waste — she  felt 
as  if  she  could  have  shrieked  out  in  her  anguish, 
while  she  had  not  even  power  to  staj'  the  large  . 
cold  tears  which  were  chasing  each  other  down 
her  cheeks. 

Sydney,  meanwhile,  sat  with  his  head  buried  , 
in  his  hands — he  was  still  dizzy  from  the  effects  i 
of  his  sudden  wretcliedness,  and  thus  they  both  ! 
remained  for  a  time,  silent  and  motionless. 

Suddenly  Ida  arose  from  her  recumbent  posi- ' 
tion,  and  sprang  to  the  bell. 

"Biiug  me  my  child,"  she  said  to  the  scrv-  j 
ant  who  obeyed  the  summons  ;  and  in  an  in- 
stant lie  was  in  her  arms. 

"Sydney,"  she  murmured,  as  ghe  sank  on  bor 
knees  before  him,  and  held  toward  him  the  un- 
conscious infant,  laughing,  and  struggling  to 
reach  its  father ;  "  pardon  me,  and  trust  mc  for 
his  sake."  _     ,' 

Elphinstone  looked  up;  a  wild  burst  of  grief 
shook  him  as  with  an  ague  fit;  lie  strove  to 
speak,  Init  his  words  were  inaudible ;  yet  Idaj 
was  satisfied;  the  infant  was  clinging  to  hia 
bosom  ;  her  own  head  rested  upon  his  knee ;' 
and  she  felt  his  hot  tears  rain  down  upon  her; 
hair,  lie  did  not  attempt  to  raise  her  from; 
the  ground;  lie  was  evidently  unconscious  of 
the  lowly  posture  in  which  she  had  sued  foi| 
forgiveness ;  his  moral  strength  was  spent 
that  last  agonizing  cry  came  from  the  mothci, 
of  his  child,  and  his  heart  had  melted  withii 
him.  ' 

How  could  lie  doubt  her  at  that  moment, 
when  the  soft  little  hand  of  liis  firstborn  wa, 
pressed  against  his  cheek?  He  did  not;  h, 
was  incapaWo  of  following  up  the  train  ol 
thought  by  which  he  had  just  been  oppressed, 
his  sense  of  wrong  had  spent  itself ;  he  coul., 
only  yearn  for  peace,  and  rest. 

"My  own  best  love!"  he  at  length  falterc, 
out ;  '•  come  to  my  heart,  Ida  ;  let  me  hold  yo 
there  together." 

With  a  -wild  gasp  bis  wif«  flung  herself  upc 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


99 


his  ncek;  and  both  believed  ns  thoy  ching 
together  ia  that  close  embrace  that  they  ■wore 
oace  more  happy  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 
Alas!  that  those  clinginn:  arms  sliould  ever 
relax — that  the  blessed  oblivion  of  that  mo- 
ment should  ever  yield  to  the  memories  of  the 
past,  and  t!ic  threatenings  of  the  future !  The 
eastern  traveler,  after  thirsting  and  panting 
in  the  desert,  indulges  in  the  same  fallacy,  as 
he  reaches  the  green  oasis,  easts  himself  doTva 
under  the  sheltering  trees,  and  laves  his 
parched  throat  with  the  sparkling  -water:  he 
f  jrgets  the  weary  waste  of  sand  behind  him  ; 
he  casts  no  anxious  glance  over  the  arid  ■wil- 
derness before  hi:n  ;  the  present  is  for  the  mo- 
ment all  in  all ;  but  still  the  foct  remains  un- 
changed, that  on  the  tract  which  he  had  passed 
he  has  left  time,  and  strength,  and  energy ;  and 
on  that  which  he  has  still  to  pursue,  the  same, 
and  perhaps  greater  perils,  await  him. 

Yet  both  body  and  mind  may  well  seek  rest 
in  these  halting-places  of  life  and  travel,  for 
-without  them,  few  could  survive  the  journey. 

And  there  were  peace  and  love  once  more 
in  that  modest  cottage  ;  fon  I  endearments,  and 
gentle  words,  and  looks  more  eloquent  than 
■words ;  the  leafy  bo-jghs  still  afforded  their 
grateful  shade  ;  the  limpid  water  still  touched 
their  lips  refi'eshingly,  the  grass  was  green  be- 
neath their  feet,  the  heavens  blue  above  their 
lieads — and  the  desert  lay  afar  off  iu  the  dis- 
tx-wice. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

THE     TEMPTER. 

Ox  the  following  morning,  true  to  the  resolve 
which  he  had  made  to  himself,  Elphiustone  pro- 
ceeded early  to  the  Temple  ;  where,  ia  default 
of  any  more  active  professional  occupation,  he 
passed  several  hours  ia  close  and  earnest  study, 
and  resolutely  flung  fiom  him  the  languor  con- 
sequent upon  the  excitement  which  he  had  im- 
dergone  on  the  previous  day. 

Occasionally,  sad  thoughts,  and  even  forebod- 
ings, f  >rccd  themselves  upon  him,  but  suffer- 
ing had  made  him  strong,  and  he  would  not 
yield  to  that  yearning  for  mental  repose  whicli 
■would  have  rendered  him  unable  to  pursue  his 
task. 

With  Ida,  however,  it  was  far  otherwise. 
Her  husband  had  for  months  past  been  con- 
stantly at  home,  and  she  had  become  so  habit- 
"uated  to  his  presence,  that,  had  she  even  been 
"ree  from  every  other  cause  of  suffering,  her 
olitude  would  of  itself  have  been  irksome  to 
As  it  was,  therefore,  it  became  after  a 
me,  almost  unendurable. 

She  had  wliiled  away  the  early  hours  of  the 
loming  with  her  infant,  but  at  length  he  slept, 
nd  she  had  no  resource  save  her  own  thoughts, 
"hen,  after  having  seated  herself  at  the  instru- 
eat,  and  discovered  that  her  irritated  nerves 
^-ould  not  support  the  sound  of  music ;  turned 
her  easel,  and  found  that  her  unsteady  lin- 
ers fiiiled   in    their   accustomed    skill;    and 
rown  aside  a  book  over  which  her  eves  wan- 
jlered  mechanically,  without  taking  in  i'ts  sense ; 
'he   at  last  threw  herself  hopelessly  into  a 


chair,  and  abandoned  all   further  attempt  at 
occupation. 

For  awhile  she  could  not  collect  her  ideas  ; 
all  seemed  vague  and  drcani-lik;! :  her  hus- 
band's sudden  assumption  of  authority;  her 
own  submission  ;  all  appeared  unnatural  and 
impossible  ;  but  gradually  the  mental  mist  was 
swept  away,  and  she  recalled  with  a  distinct- 
ness that  made  her  pulses  throb,  and  her  brow 
burn  with  emotion,  every  look  and  word  which 
had  passed  between  them. 

Silently  she  sat,  with  clasped  hands  so 
tightly  clinched  together,  that  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  were  bloodless  from  the  pressure.  The 
fi:st  question  that  she  had  put  to  her  o-wn 
heart  had  been — How  could  I  doubt  him?  . 
How  had  he  deserved  that  I  should  so  -wrong  | 
his  frank  and  nolile  nature  ?  And,  under  this 
first  impulse,  bitterly  did  she  condemn  herself; 
but  as  time  wore  on,  the  busy  fiend  for  whom 
she  had  so  long  made  a  home  within  her  bosom, 
began  once  more  to  straggle  into  life  ;  her  jcal- 
ou-y  had  been  crushed  by  fear,  not  annihilated 
by  conviction. 

She  remembered  that  Sydney  had  upbraided 
her  for  a  suspicion  which  he  had  denounced  as 
impure  and  unv,-oinanh%  and  that  ho  had  even 
volunteered  to  foresro  the  society  of  Lady  Mal- 
colm and  her  daughter ;  but  slio  also  rccallod 
the  fact  to  mind  that,  while  blaming  her,  ho 
iiad  been  enthusiastic  in  his  praise  of  Edith ; 
and  that  he  had  not  once  striven  to  exculpate 
himself:  that  he  had  boon  indignant,  but  not 
explanatory ;  loud  in  deprecation  of  her  ov.-u 
conduct,  but  silent  with  regard  to  his  own  per- 
sonal feelings. 

Was  this  fair?  was  this  manly?  were  her 
next  mental  queries;  and  the  inward  demon 
murmured — no — you  were  borne  down  by 
words ;  you  were  overwhelmed  but  not  con- 
vinced; and  yet  you  were  weak  enough  to 
yield  to  mere  idle  declamation — the  declama- 
tion of  a  boy,  proud  in  his  sense  of  power,  and 
-ivielding  his  pigmy  bow  with  as  nutch  import- 
ance as  though  he  were,  like  Sagittarius,  about 
to  bring  down  a  constellation  at  every  shot, 
when,  in  point  of  fact,  he  was  only  firing  into 
the  void.  Were  you  required  to  make  your  own 
heart,  which  he  had  already  wounded,  a  target 
for  his  weapon  ?  It  would  have  been  time  * 
enough  to  liavo  played  the  submissive  wife 
when  he  had  justified  himself  in  your  eyes — but 
what  proof  had  you  ? — what  proof  did  he  ofl'er 
to  you  that  you  had  wronged  him  ?  Xone — ho 
reproached  and  threatened,  while  you  wept  and 
sued  ;  and  what  have  you  gained?  Conviction? 
Peace  of  mind  ? — And  with  a  shuddering  sigh, 
Ida  answered — "  neither — I  am  not  convinced — 
I  am  not  at  peace." 

And  still  her  child  slept  on! 

"Delightful!"  exclaimed  a  cheerful  voice,  as 
the  drawing-room  door  opened,  and  the  full- 
plumed  bonnet  and  searching  eyes  of  Mrs.  Dar- 
nell appeared,  glancing  and  fluttering  their  way 
toward  Ida ;  "  ilrs.  Elphinstone  not  only  at 
home,  but  also  alone  !  How  pleased  I  am  that 
I  made  my  first  visit  here.  The  Doctor  told 
me  that  I  should  weary  you  witli  my  company 
if  I  called  too  often ;  but  men  understand 
these  matters  so  badly  that  I  was  determined 
to  persist.     Only  say  that  you  are  glad  to  see 


100 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


"  I  am  very  plad  to  seo  you  ;"  said  licr  host- 
ess extendinn:  lier  hand,  and,  bra  violent  effort, 
arousing  herself  from  her  abstraction  ;  "  and 
duly  appreciate  your  kindness  in  Avastinp  your 
time  ujion  a  recluse,  when  you  must  have 
many  more  aprecable  enpracements." 

"  Recluse,  indeed,  my  dear  younp:  l.idy ;  but 
why  sJ.ould  it  be  so?  \r\ih  your  beauty  and 
your  talents,  you  could  ahvaj-s  command  soci 
ety." 

'•I  care  little  now  for  what  is  called  the 
world;"  was  the  reply:  "I  have  tried  it,  and 
found  it  alike  hollow  and  heartless." 

""Weliave  all  done  that  in  our  turn;"  said 
the  visitor,  vrith  as  much  sententiousness  as 
she  could  contrive  to  throw  into  her  tone  and 
manner;  "but  we  can  at  least  pay  it  back  in 
its  own  currency.  The  world  amuses  mo ;  it 
has  anuised  mo  all  my  life ;  and  I  am  contented 
to  make  use  of  it  in  its  own  way." 

"  Tou  are  a  practical  philosopher,"  said  Ida, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Now,  that  is  so  like  one  of  th.o  Doctor's  re- 
marks!" exclaimed  the  voluble  little  lady,  set- 
tling herself  upon  the  chair.  ''  He  is  always 
telling  me  that  I  am  this,  that,  or  the  other, 
of  which  I  have  not  the  most  remote  idea  my- 
self" 

"  In  your  modesty ;"  said  Ida,  with  a  gleam 
of  her  old  humor;  "you  are  then,  probably, 
like  Moliurc's  gentleman,  who  had  talked  jjrose 
all  liis  life  witliout  being  aware  of  it." 

"  Very  likely;  at  all  events,  I  know  that  it  is 
Very  plea.sant  to  talk  with  you — particularly 
when  you  are  alone — for  I  have  taken  an  im- 
mense fancy  to  you,  and  am  glad  to  have  you 
for  once  all  to  myself." 

"  1  can  not  but  feel  greatly  flattered,"  re- 
plied her  hostess ;  "  and  only  regret  tliat  I 
shall  prove  a  sorry  companion  to-day,  as  I 
am  suffering  severely  from  nervous  head- 
ache." 

"A  nasty  complaint,"  said  Mrs.  Darnell ; 
"  a  very  nasty  complaint.  Do  let  me  be  pro- 
fessional, and  recommend  camphor  julep,  or, 
better  still,  fresh  air  and  exercise.  You  arc 
too  much  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Elphinstone." 

"  I'erhai^s  I  am  ;  but  I  am  ashamed  to  con- 
fess that  I  have  not  courage  to  walk  alone." 

"  Of  course  not ;  it  Avould  be  highly  incor- 
rect for  you  to  do  so  ;  but  there  is  your  hus- 
band, who  must  only  be  too  delighted  to 
show  himself  with  a  beautiful  woman  upon 
his  arm.  All  men  like  it;  it  flatters  their 
vanity." 

".^i^.  Eljdiinstone  is  engaged  at  the  Tem- 
ple." 

"  Not  always  :  I  liave  frequently  seen  him 
walking  with  iliss  Jlalcolm." 

Ida's  cheek  flu^<lled  slightly,  but  she  con- 
troled  herself  "He  was  an  idle  man  at  that 
time,"  she  said,  quietly,  "but  now  he  is  about 
to  devote  himself  to  liis  profession." 

"All  very  jjroper,  no  doubt;  I  have  not  a 
word  to  say  on  the  suliject;  it  is  onlj'  a  pity 

?'ou  did  not  profit  by  liis  period  of  idleness  to 
ay  in  a  stock  of  ho.iltli." 

"  I  was  a  nurse  all  that  time,  and  could  not 
leave  my  boy." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Elphinstone,"  said  the  little 
woman,  demurely,  "  let  me  hope  tliatyou  will 
Hot  fall  into  tho  same  error  as  many  young 


mothers,  and  by  devoting  yourself  too  much 
to  3'our  infant,  allow  your  husband  to  per- 
ceive that  he  can  do  witiiout  you;  jt  is  a 
lesson  that  men  soon  learn,  and  jicver  forget. 
At  this  very  moment  I  could  really  find  it  in 
my  lieart  to  be  seriously  angrj*  with  j-ou,  for 
not  going  at  least  a  short  di'stance  'to  meet 
Mr.  Elphinstone,  instead  of  allowing  Miss 
Maloolni  to  do  so." 

""What  can  you  mean,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Darnell  ?" 

"Mean!"  echoed  the  lady;  "what  can  I 
mean,  but  that  I  passed  them  on  the  road  as  I 
came  licre ;  and  tliat  I  consider  that  I  am  only 
doing  my  duty  by  proving  to  you  that  you 
should  be  more  cautious." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  very  kind" — gasped  Ida. 

"I  am  sure  that  I  wish  to  be  so,"  was  tho 
ready  repl}' ;  and  you  young  creatures  all 
require  the  assistance  of  older  and  wiser  heads 
than  your  own.  'Experience  makes  fools 
wise,'  says  the  proverb  ;  and  you  must  have 
time  before  you  can  gain  experience." 

"  It  appears  to  me,  nevertheless,  that  some 
experience  is  forced  upon  us  very  rapidly." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  but  is  it  worth  much  f 
Does  it  make  yoii  happier  or  better  *" 

"Neither,  I  fear." 

"Of  course  not;  that  is  quite  a  difTer- 
cnt  sort  of  thing.  The  experience  that  I 
mean — " 

Mrs.  Darnell  paused  ;  if  she  really  did  not  | 
know  what  she  meant,  .=he  was  certainly  un-  ■ 
able  to  express  it;  and  after  an  instant's; 
silence,  she  resumed  abruptly:  • 

"  Now,  as  an  example  of  what  I  want  rou  . 
to  understand — sujipose,  for  instance,  you  had  i 
occasionally  waived  your  duties  as  a  mother  : 
to  fulfill  those  of  a  wife,  do  you  not  see  at ; 
once  that  you  would  have  been  more  neces- : 
sary  to  your  hu.«band,  and  not  have  thrown  i 
him  so  constantly  into  the  society  of  that' 
pretty  girl,  Miss  Malcolm?  Very  dangerous,, 
very  dangerous,  indeed,  my  dear  lady;  for' 
men  will  be  men ;  and  althougli  j-ou  are  so' 
much  handsomer  than  your  young  friend,' 
you  ought  to  remember  that  she  is  not  his,' 
wife,  and  that  there  is  always  a  charm  in^ 
novelty." 

"She  is  not  m;/  friend,"  said  Ida,  bitterly; 
"Lady  Malcolm  and  Mr.  Elphinstone's mother; 
were  greatly  attached ;  and  as  a  natural  con- 
sequence— "  , 

"  Yes,.yes ;  I  perfectly  comprehend — "  saidj 
the  visitor,  with  a  sagacious  nod  ;  "  the  old' 
family  affection  has  created  a  sort  of  cousin- 
ship,  which  is  all  very  well  when  not  carriec; 
too  far ;  but  really  I  have  seen  so  much  troubh 
brought  about  by  sentiiucntal  attachments  of' 
that  kind,  that  1  feci  it  more  than  ever  m^ 
duty   to  warn  you  to  be  upon  your  guard' 
Mr.  Elphinstone  is  a  charming  j-oung  man, 
but  still  he  is  vrr)/  j-oung,  and  can  not  be  ex, 
pected  to  calculate  the  consequences  of  an; 
little  indiscretion  into  which  he  may  be  le 
by  a  warm  heart  and  high  spirits.     I  hav< 
as  I  said  before,  taken  a  great  fancj'  to  yoi 
and  therefore  I  venture  to  be  frank ;  they  saV 
you  know,  that  '  lool^crs  on  see  most  of  th 
game' " 

'And  what  have   you  seen?"  asked  Id- 
struggling  to  retain  her  composure.  [ 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE, 


101 


"  Little  as  yet,  very  little,  I  confess,"  was 
the  unsatisfaetory  reply;  "  but  then  j-oii  must 
remember  tliat  I  have  only  recently  made 
your  acquaintance." 

"  But  souietliing  you  must  have  seen,"  per- 
severed Mrs,  Elphinstone,  "  or  j-ou  would  not 
have  considered  it  necessary  to  urge  me  to 
greater  prudence." 

"These  affairs  require  delicate  handling," 
said  Mrs.  Darnell,  with  a  complacency  which 
betrayed  her  perfect  confidence  in  her  own 
skill  and  tact;  "  a  look  or  a  word  may  mean 
BO  much  or  so  little ;  and  as  my  only  aim  is 
to  trauquilize  your  mind,  and  to  impress  up- 
on }-ou  your  responsibilities  as  a  wife,  I  can 
not,  of  course,  wisli  to  make  you  see  with  my 
eyes,  or  understand  with  my  understanding. 
All  that  I  shall  venture  to  sa}%  therefore,  is 
this — do  not  encourage  the  intimacy  between 
your  husband  and  Miss  Malcolm  too  far." 

How,  had  her  visitor  exhibited  an  equal 
amount  of  low  breeding  and  want  of  charity 
upon  any  other  subject,  would  the  high- 
minded  Ida  have  loathed  and  despised  her. 
How  soon  would  she  have  silenced  the  busy 
tongue  which  sported  so  gUbly  with  the 
holiest  and  most  sacred  feelings  of  others. 
How  indignantly  would  she  have  rejected  the 
companionship  of  a  vulgar  gossip,  whose  pry- 
ing eyes  saw  deep  into  the  darkest  corners 
of  a  quiet  home,  and  peopled  the  void  with 
phantoms  I 

Now,  however,  it  was  far  otherwise;  and 
Mrs.  Darnell  was  not  more  convinced  of  the 
kindness  and  sagacity  of  her  own  proceedings 
than  was  her  unhappy  listener. 

"  You  may  be  right,"  she  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence ;  "  it  may  have  been  imprudent 
on  my  part  to  permit  so  close  an  intimacy  be- 
tween the  two  families,  but  it  is  only  just  to 
Mr.  Elphinstone  to  tell  you,  that  he  voluntarily 
offered  to  put  an  end  to  it,  should  sucB  bo  my 
wish." 

■  "Poor  thing  1"  almost  whispered  her  com- 
panion, as  an  expression  of  very  sincere  regret 
settled  upon  her  usually  joyous  face.  "  Has  it 
already  come  to  that  ?  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it — 
very  sorry — for  that  was  precisely  what  I  was 
anxious  to  prevent  I  did  hope  to  open  your 
eyes  before  your  husband  could  suspect  that  he 
had  given  you  one  uneasy  thought.  All  might 
have  been  so  easily  arranged  in  some  way  or 
other ;  it  is  a  sad  disappointment  to  me  to  find 
that  the  subject  has  been  broached  between 
you." 

"Tou  can  not  regret  it  more  than  I  do,"  said 
Ida,  gloomily;  "I  am  sorry  to  have  been  so 
rash,  but  in  an  unguarded  moment — " 

"I  can  quite  understand  you,  quite;  but  it  is 
to  be  deplored  that  you  were  so  for  excited  as 
to  lose  your  self-command;  for  I  know  well  by 
oxperience  how  these  things  end:  let  the  wife 
be  as  perfect  as  she  may,  she  must  give  way  at 
last,  go  that,  by  attempting  to  protect  and 
justifv  herself,  she  only  loses  ground." 

"Which  she  may,  perhaps,  never  regain," 
murmured  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  rather  speaking  to 
herself  than  addressing  lier  companion. 

"A  very  rational  remark,  my  dear  young 
lady,"  said  Mrs.  Darnell,  approvingly;  "and 
one  which  gives  me  a  great  respect  for  your 
""aderstanding:  my  lute  grandmother,  who  was 


a  very  superior  woman,  never  took  leave  of  a 
Uride  without  saying  to  her:  '  You  will  be  the 
idol  of  a  month,  but  only  a  wifo  for  the  rest  of 
your  days ;  remember  this ;  and,  above  all  else, 
bcwaro  of  the  first  quarrel — quarrel  as  much 
as  you  please  afterward,  but  beware  of  the  first 
time,  for  rest  assured,  that  although  both  may 
forgive,  neither  will  forget  I'  She  gave  the  same 
warning  to  scores  of  young  women  in  her  time; 
and  I  am  really  very,  very  sorry  that  I  was  not 
able  to  do  the  same  kind  office  for  you  before  it 
was  too  late."  . 

Ida  made  no  reply;  a  weight  had  fallen 
upon  her  heart,  and  rested  there  like  an  in- 
cubus. 

"  However,"  resumed  the  pertinacious  visitor 
who  had  not  ponetration  to  discover  that  she 
had  stretched  her  listener  upon  a  moral  rack 
which  strained  and  tore  every  fiber  of  her  spirit: 
"we  will  hope  better  things  for  you.  Mr. 
Elphinstone  is,  as  I  before  remarked,  so  very 
young,  and  you  are  so  very  beautiful,  that  no 
doubt  all  will  come  right  in  time.  Only,  I 
entreat  of  you,  take  my  advice ;  profit  by  his 
offer,  and  get  rid  of  that  very  dangerous  young 
lady. 

"  I  have  had  an  unpleasant  task  to  perform, 
but  the  extraordinary  interest  which  I  feel  for 
you  rendered  it  a  duty,  according  to  my  ideas 
of  Christian  charity  and  sisterly  love.  It  would 
have  been  better,  certainly,  if  Lady  Malcolm  had 
spared  me  so  ungracious  an  office,  as  she  most 
decidedly  would  have  done  had  she  displayed 
proper  prudence ;  but  I  care  little  for  my  own 
feelings  when  I  can  relieve  those  of  others. 

"  Look  upou  me,  therefore,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Elphinstone,  as  a  warm  and  sincere  friend,  con- 
fide in  me,  and  make  use  of  me  without  cere- 
mony or  scruple,  whenever  I  can  be  of  service 
to  you;  for,  as  the  doctor  truly  says,  I  am  never 

happy  as  when  I  am  mixed  up  with  the 
troubles  and  trials  of  otliers.  And  now,  that  I 
flatter  myself  I  have  comforted  and  soothed 
you,  I  will  leave  you  to  reflect  upon  our  con- 
versation. I  need  not  say  that  I  will  soon  see 
you  again." 

There  was  a  flutter  of  gauze  and  feathers,  a 
rustling  of  silk  and  velvet,  a  clasping  of  hands, 
an  exchange  of  courteous  words,  and  Mrs.  Dar- 
nell disappeared.  She  paused  for  a  moment 
in  the  hall  to  desire  the  maid,  who  attended 
her  to  the  door,  to  be  very,  very  careful  of  her 
poor  mistress;  and  then  the  sound  of  her  car- 
riage-wheels died  away  in  the  distance;  and 
still  Ida  stood  erect  and  rigid  on  the  spot 
where  they  had  parted. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 

A   STORM    CLOUD. 

Despite  the  fond  embrace  with  which ,  he 
had  parted  from  his  wife,  Elphinstone  could 
not  conceal  from  himselij  as  he  at  length  closed 
his  books  and  left  the  Temple,  that  his  homo 
had  ceased  to  be  to  him  the  haven  of  jieace 
and  love  which  it  had  once  been. 

All  his  most  clierished  associations  had  sud- 
denly been  shivered  about  him,  and  it  was  in 
vain  that  ho  strove  to  restore  the  fragments 


102 


THE    JEALOUS     "WIFE. 


into  a  perfect  wholo :  the  shock  was  still  top 
recent :  the  blow  had  been  at  once  too  heavy 
and  too  abrupt. 

His  sense  of  delicacy  revolted  at  the  recol- 
lection that  Ida,  who  had  even  until  tho 
previous  day  been  to  him  an  object  of  worship, 
should  suddenly  have  booomo  a  suppliant  for 
pity  and  for  pardon ;  and  that  the  confidence 
which  he  had  placed  in  her  affection  should 
have  been  so  cruelly  requited ;  his  love  for  her 
continued  unimpaired,  but  with  it  came  a  new 
and  unwelcome  feeling,  that  robbed  it  of  half 
its  charm 

Unconsciously  his  step  grew  languid,  and 
ho  hngered  on  his  way  as  he  had  never  hitherto 
done  after  an  absence  of  so  many  hours  from 
his  beautiful  and  gifted  wJTe.  What  security 
had  he  that  even  in  that  comparatively  short 
space  of  time,  she  might  not  have  encouraged 
new  doubts,  as  wild  and  baseless  as  those 
which  had  already  caused  him  so  much  misery  ? 

The  Malcolms,  too — how  could  he  ever 
again  meet  them  as  he  had  hitherto  done, 
conscious  that  every  look  and  word  must  be 
weighed  and  measured,  and  even  then,  per- 
haps, adduced  as  evidence  ag;iinst  him  ? 

Poor  Sydney,  with  his  impulsive  tempera- 
ment ahd  frank-heartedneps,  he  keenly  felt  how 
difficult  a  task  lay  before  him  ;  and,  had  ho  not 
been  restrained  by  his  promise  to  Ida,  he  would 
at  once  have  confided  to  Lady  ilalcolm  the 
embarrassing  nature  of  his  position,  and  left  it 
to  her  more  matured  judguient  to  discover 
some  mode  of  escape  for  both  parties ;  but  Ida 
had  shrunk  from  exposing  her  weakness  to  the 
mother  of  Edith,  and  ho  resolved  to  respect  her 
dignity  with  as  much  jcalou?y  as  herself.  Thus 
he  had  no  resource  save  in  his  own  moral  cour- 
age, and  bitter  was  the  reflection  that  it  should 
be  first  called  into  action  to  secure  the  tranquil- 
lity of  his  own  hearth. 

Such  were  the  musings  of  the  young  hus- 
band as  he  slowly  proceeded  on  his  homev.'ard 
path,  a  path  which,  for  the  first  time,  he  felt  to 
be  irksome ;  nor  could  he  conceal  from  himself 
that  it  was  actually  a  relief  to  him  when  he  en- 
countered Lady  Malcolm  and  her  daughter,  who 
were  taking  their  accustomed  walk,  and  to 
whom  ho  felt  compelled  to  offer  his  protection. 
The  meeting,  even  trammeled  as  it  was  by  a 
consciousness  of  the  annoyance  which  Ida 
would  feel  could  she  be  aware  of  the  accident, 
was  of  service  to  him,  as  it  served  to  direct  his 
thoughts  from  liis  own  trials,  and  to  givo  them 
another  direction. 

Soothed  by  tho  calm  good  sense  of  liis 
mother's  friend,  and  enlivened  by  the  gentle 
gayety  of  her  daughter,  the  moments  passed 
swiftly  and  pleasantly;  nor  was  it  until  lie 
parted  witli  the  ladies  at  tl'fcir  own  gate,  that 
he  was  startled  by  tho  recollection  that  there  no 
longer  remained  tho  time  necessary  for  the 
walk  whicli  he  had  proposed  to  his  wife  as  ho 
left  her.  and  for  wliich,slio  had  promised  to  jire- 
pare  herself  against  his  return.  Never  before 
liad  lie  failed  in  any  appointment  involving  lier 
gratification,  and  at  what  a  moment  and  in 
what  a  manner  had  he  done  so  now  !  He  ac-  | 
tually  trembled  with  eagerness  as  he  reaehi>d  i 
his  own  door,  and  anticipated  the  merited  re- 
proach with  which  she  would  probably  receive  i 
him  on  his  return.  ' 


neroi'n,  however,  he  instantly  discovered  that 
he  had  deceived  himself  As  he  entered  tbo 
room,  Mrs.  Elphinstone  was  seated  at  the  piano, 
from  which  she  instantly  rose  with  a  smile  to 
greet  him. 

""U'ill  you  forgive  me,  my  love,"  he  asked; 
"  for  not  having  fulfilled  my  promise  to  return 
at  an  earlier  hour  than  this?  I  am  really  quito 
distressed  to  be  so  late,  but  I  have  been  de- 
tained " 

"Are  you  late?"  asked  Ida  in  her  turn,  af- 
fecting to  consult  the  little  French  timepiece ; 
"  oh,  no ;  we  shall  not  dine  for  an  hour  yet,  so 
that  you  have  more  tune  than  you  wiU  requiro 
for  your  toilet. 

"  But  the  walk  upon  which  we  had  de- 
cided ?" 

"  Ah,  true  ;"  she  replied  in  the  same  accent 
of  calm  indifference  in  whicli  she  had  first 
spoken  ;  "I  remember  now,  that  we  did  talk  of 
a  country  ramble;  but,  as  you  see,  I  had  for- 
gotten it,  and  had  consequently  made  no  prepa- 
ration." 

Sydneywas  deeply  hurt,  and  his  countenance 
betrayed"  it ;  but  Mrs.  Elphinstone  was  carefully     , 
collecting  her  music,  and  did  not,  or  would  uo^     ' 
seem  to  remark  his  anno_vanee. 

"  Tour  forgetfulness  can  c-ot,  however,  exone* 
rate  me — "  he  commenced,  struggling  to  assume    I 
as  much  composure  as  hersclL 

"  Oh,  not  a  word  more,  my  dear  Sydney,'^  j 
she  interposed,  "upon  so  unimportant  a  sub"  • 
ject.  I  feel  convinced  that  you  were  mor/ 
usefully  occupied ;  and  altliough  I  can  not 
boast  of  having  passed  my  time  as  profitablj 
as  yourself  I  have  at  least  spent  it  very  pleas* 
ant!y."  j 

"Are  3'ou,  then,  becoming  so  much  enamored  , 
of  solitude,  Ida?"  I 

"By  no  means,"  was  the  quick  rejoinder,    ! 
"nor  have  I  been  solitary;  on  the  contrary,    ' 
Mrs.  Darnell  paid  me  a  very  long,  and  a  very 
kind  visit,  for  which  I  feci  greatly  indebted  to 
her."  , 

"Mrs.  DamelM"  echoed  Elphinstone,  em-  1* 
phatically.  "  It  is  impossible  that  you  could  '" 
derive  any  pleasure  from  the  society  of  that  ,' 
trifling,  mindless  woman." 

"  You  are  quite  in  error,  I  assure  you,  Syd- 
ney, I   have   a   decided   engouement   for   Mrs. 
Darnell ;  and,  more  than  that,  I  have  also  a   | 
great  respect  for  licr.     She  is  so  frank  and 
warm-hearted,  and,  moreover,  possessed  of  such 
admirable  judgment,  that  I  consider  her  friend-   < 
ship  to  be  a  valuable  acquisition  to  one  so  inex-   ' 
perienced  in  tho  duties  and  privileges  of  a  wife 
as  myself"  ! 

"  Ida !  I  had  no  idea  tha|  yon  could  be  so  ^ 
sarcastic."  ' 

"  1  intended  no  sarcasm.     I  have  simply  ex- 
pressed ray  conviction  of  her  character,"  said  bis 
wife,  firmly,  "  and  surely  you  must  be  happy  to  , 
find  that  such  a  friend  is  willing  to  enliven  tho  . 
hours  rendered  dreary  by  your  absence." 

"I  should,  indeed,  be  so,''  rejoined  Elphin- 
stone, "could  I  enter  into  your  feelings  toward 
her;    but  the  expression  of  .such  an  opinion  .     i 
from  yon,  has,  I  confess,  astonished  me  not  a  ■[     : 
little."  ' 

"  You  perhaps  think  her  too  old  to  bo  agree- 
able." replied  Ida,  dryly. 

"Too  old?"   echoed  Sydney;    "you  do  no 


. 


iiii^    j±:ALUUb    wij<±:. 


103 


injustice.  It  depends  on  -n-omen  themselves  to 
be  a'Tecablo  at  an}"-  age.  They  have  it  in  their 
power  to  be  charming  at  every  season,  hko  the 
roses  of  tlie  PhiHppiue  Islands,  which  are  wliito 
at  sunrise,  pink  at  noon,  and  crimson  at  twi- 
lisrht;  changeful  it  may  be,  but  charming  in 
every  charge." 

"Who  is  sarcastic  now?"  asked  Mrs.  Elpliin- 
atone. 

"Certainly  not  I,"  laughed  her  husband, 
"  and  I  think  you  must  at  least  bo  compelled  to 
admit  that  I  have  treated  your  no\7  friend  very 
poetically." 

"  But  you  dislike  her  ?" 

"I  confess  that  I  do  not  admire  her  general 
deportment,  and  that  I  have  rather  a  mean 
opinion  of  her  understanding." 

"  You  do  her  injustice,"  said  Ida,  with  a  flash- 
ing eye;  "she  is  a  shrewd  and  clear-sighted 
woman,  who  only  requires  to  be  known  in  order 
to  be  ajipreciated." 

"Now,  how  on  earth,  my  dear  girl,"  asked 
Sydney,  "  have  you  been  able  to  m-xko  so  ex- 
traordinary a  discovery  ?  what  can  llrs.  Darnell 
have  said  or  done  to  establish  her  fassy  little 
self  so  firmly  in  your  affections?" 

"  She  has  taken  a  sincere  interest  in  me,  and 
is  anxious  to  contribute  to  my  happiness." 

"She  is  too  kind,"  replied  Elnhinstono,  in  a 
grieved  accent,  "but  I  trust  that  your  happi- 
ness does  not  depend  on  her  very  supereroga- 
tory aid  and  support.  You  already  possessed 
a  friend  equally  anxious  to  render  you  every 
service  in  her  power,  and  one  who  v.'ould,  I 
should  have  thought,  have  been  infinitely  more 
congenial  to  so  refined  a  nature  as  your  own,  in 
Lady  Malcolm." 

"  Comparisons  are  invidious,  my  dear  Sydney.'' 

"  Neither  do  I  seek  to  institute  a  comparison 
between  two  women  who  are  the  antipodes  of 
each  other,"  was  the  impatient  rejoinder,  "  and 
you  must  forgive  me  if  I  frankly  confess  -at  once 
that  to  me  the  vulgar-minded  wifo  of  Dr.  Dar- 
nell is  positively  insufferable." 

"What  can  you  have  to  fear  from  my  friend- 
ship with  the  poor  lady,  who  has  so  uncon- 
sciously inspired  your  dislike  ?" 

"Fearl  nothing  assuredly  for  myself ;  but  I 
feel  disappointed  that  j-ou  should  find  pleasure 
ia  the  society  of  a  woman  to  whom  I  am  satis- 
fied that  you  would  not  have  accorded  a  second 
glance  before  you  became  my  wife." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Ida,  with  an  ambiguous 
smile,  "for,  at  that  period,  although  I  lived  in 
what  is  emphatically  called  'tiie  world,'  I  had 
never  looked  below  its  surface,  and  was  conse- 
quently only  one  of  tlie  bubbles  that  floated 
down  the  tide,  without  comprehending  wliat  lay 
beneath  ;  now,  however, when  I  have  to  struggle 
against  the  current,  I  must  learn  to  turn  my 
gazo^  from  the  sunshine  that  gleams  above  to 
the  impediments  which  may  possibly  impede 
my  progress—the  rocks  and  shoals  that  are  hid- 
den in  the  depths  of  the  stream." 

"  And  has  such  a  struggle  really  commenced 
for  you  Ida  V 

"Certainly,  my  dear  Sydney;  am  I  not  a 
wife  and  a  mother?  Are  not  our  prospects 
uncertain?  Our  resources  rapidly  diniinisliing?" 

"True,"  said  Elphinstone,  gloomily,  "true; 
your  trials  have  indeed  commenced,  and  if  you 
conceive  that  they  can  be  lessened  by  other 


sympathy  than  my  own,  you  havo  every  right 
to  try  the  experiment." 

Ida  made  no  reply,  but  after  having,  with 
great  apparent  care,  smoothed  the  dark  bands 
of  hair  which  fell  low  upon  her  cheeks,  before 
the  mirror,  she  turned  toward  the  book-case, 
and  with  tlie  same  affectation  of  fastidiousness, 
selected  a  volume,  with  which  sho  established 
herself  upon  the  sofa,  apparently  forgetful  of 
her  husband's  presence. 

Elphinstone  was  bewildered,  and  as  ho  paced 
slowly  to  and  fro,  he  asked  himself  in  vain 
what  could  bo  the  meaning  of  his  wife's  extra- 
ordinary manner.  Suddenly  he  stopped  imme- 
diately in  front  of  her,  and  gazed  inquiringly 
into  her  face,  but  she  read  on  calmly,  with  a 
smile  playing  about  her  lips,  as  though  pleas- 
antly engrossed  by  the  book  in  which  she  was 
occupied. 

At  this  moment  the  servant  announced 
dinner. 

" Already  1"  exclaimed  Sydney;  "and  I 
have  not  even  changed  my  dress.  Will  you 
excuse  mo  for  five  minutes,  Ida?" 

"  For  any  time  j'ou  please ;  there  is  no  hurry 
in  the  world ;"  replied  his  wife,  without  raising 
her  eyes  from  the  volume. 

After  another  long  look,  which  remained  un- 
noticed like  the  last,  Elphinstone,  hurriedly  left 
the  room.  As  he  did  so,  the  book  fell  from 
his  wife's  hand  to  the  floor,  her  eyes  were 
strained  in  the  direction  where  he  had  disap- 
peared, and  her  trembling  lips  became  livid. 
It  was  evident  that  she  struggled  fiercely  to 
control  the  violence  of  the  emotion  which  shook 
her  whole  frame  to  agony ;  but  she  did  control 
it ;  not  a  tear  moistened  the  quivering  eyelids, 
not  a  sigh  escaped  the  overcharged  breast ;  all 
was  still,  strong  endurance;  the  shaft  hurled 
by  the  idle  hand  of  Mrs.  Darnell,  h?A  struck  i 
home,  and  the  iron  which  rankled  in  tlie  wound  \ 
was  crushed  back  as  resolutely  as  the  Spartan 
boy  crushed  back  the  living  death  that  he 
carried  in  his  bosom. 

Aleady?  while  the  kiss  of  reconciliation  was 
yet  warm  upon  her  lips — while  the  words  of 
promise  and  of  hope  were  still  sounding  in  her, 
cars. — Already  had  Sydney  again  sought  tho 
society  of  the  woman  wliom  sho  feared  and  | 
hated ;  and  forgotten  his  pledge  to  her.  A  low 
bitter  laugh  escaped  her  once,  and  once  only ; 
nor  did  sho  stir  a  limb  until  aroused  by  the 
hasty  step  of  her  husband  as  he  crossed  the 
hall.  Then  sho  stooped,  picked  up  the  volume 
that  lay  at  her  feet,  and,  resuming  the  attitude 
in  which  ho  had  left  her,  was  once  more,  to  all 
appearance,  absorbed  as  before. 

"Are  you  ready,  Ida?"  asked  Elphinstone, 
as  ho  paused  at. the  door. 

"  Quite  ;"  she  replied,  rising  with  alacrity  and 
moving  toward  him. 

The  young  man's  heart  throbbed  painfully. 
Could  lie  havo  mistaken  her?  Had  tlio  book 
which  she  had  persisted  so  pertinaciously  in 
reading,  really  so  much  interested  her  that  it 
had  caused  her  to  overlook  his  want  of  punc- 
tuality, and  even  rendered  her  for  tho  moment  i 
independent  of  his  society?  It  must  bo  so;  * 
and  he  had  been  doing  battle  with  a  shadow. 

Strong  in  this  conviction,  sho  had  no  sooner 
reached  his  side  than  he  took  her  hand,  but  it 
was  instantly  withdrawn. 


J.1IXJ        f)    IL,  1\.  Ll  \J   \J  (D 


^1  xi:  £j. 


"  "^hat  can  this  mean ';"  ho  asked  ;  "  have  I 
again  offended  3-ou,  Ida  1" 

"Oh,  no;"  was  the  reply,  as  by  a  violent 
efTort  slio  recovered  her  sell-possession ;  "  why 
should  you  suppose  so  ?" 

"  Because  you  would  not  suffer  me  to  take 
you  hand." 

"  It  is  unnecessary ;"  slio  said,  quietly  ;  "  the 
distance  is  not  great." 

"True;"  acquiesced  Elphinstone  as  he  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  dining-room,  thankful  that 
the  presence  of  tlio  servant  must  for  a  time  at 
least  avert  (ho  storm  which  ho  saw  was  once 
more  gathering  around  him. 

The  dinner  passed  almost  in  silence,  and  as 
the  wondering  attendant  quietly  performed  her 
duties,  Sydney  felt  the  very  air  oppressive,  vSO 
heavily  did  the  singular  demoanor  of  his  wife 
weigh  upon  his  spirit ;  nor  was  it  until  they 
were  again  alone  that  he  could  rally  sufficiently 
to  make  any  attempt  at  conversation ;  while  even 
then  the  calm  pale  face  of  Ida  actually  awed  him. 

"  You  appear  to  have  been  singularly  in- 
terested in  your  book  to-day,"  he  said  at 
length.     "  May  I  inquire  what  it  was  ?" 

"I  really  do  not  recollect:"  was  the  reply; 
"  it  lies  yonder ;  perhaps  you  may  like  to  read  it. " 

"  Xot  at  present,  I  would  rather  converse 
with  you." 

"  I  sliall  be  but  a  poor  companion.  My  head 
aches  horribly." 

"  I  feared  as  much ;"  said  Elphinstone, 
eagerlv,  endeavoring  to  delude  himself  into  the 
belicf'^that  he  had  now  found  the  true  solution 
of  the  enigma;  "I  felt  sure  that  something 
was  wrong.  You  are  very  pale,  love ;  shall  I 
send  for  Dr.  Darnell?" 

•'  Oh  no,  no  ;"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Elphinstone ; 
"  I  will  apply  a  better  remedy,"  and  laying  her 
hand  on  the  bell,  she  desired  the  servant  by 
whom  it  was  answered,  to  beg  Lady  Malcolm 
and  her  daughter  to  do  her  the  favor  to  take 
their  coffee  with  herself  and  Mr.  Elphinstone. 

"My  dear  Ida;"  said  her  husband,  as  the 
attendant  withdrew;  "would  not  a  perfectly 
quiet  evening  have  been  more  beneficial  in 
jour  present  state  than  even  the  society  of 
your  friends '?" 

"Perhapg  bo,  as  regards  myself;"  was  the 
cold  reply ;  "  but  I  am  not  selfish  enough  to 
sacrifice  your  gratification  to  my  own — and  it 
will,  I  should  imagine,  be  pleasant  to  both 
Mi.ss  Malcolm  and  yourself  to  talk  over  your 
morning's  walk.  They  will  no  doubt  be  liere 
in  a  few  minutes,  and  meanwhile,  I  wiU  go 
and  ascertain  if  Hubert  is  asleep." 

As  she  ceased  speaking,  she  rose  and  left  the 
room,  while  her  husband,  who  instantly  com- 
prehended the  whole  extent  of  the  new  diffi- 
culty in  which  ho  had  so  innoc^ently  involved 
himself,  remained  motionless  with  surprise  and 
mortification. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

ESTKANGEMENT. 

Feom  the  evening  recorded  in  the  last  chaj)- 
ter,  no  allusion  was  ever  again  made  by  Mrs. 
Elphinstone  to  her  husband's  implied  admira- 


tion of  Miss  Malcolm,  but  he  too  well  compre- 
hended the  nature  of  his  wife  to  imagine  for  an 
instant  that  she  any  longer  placed  the  slightest 
confidence  in  his  affection ;  and  while  he  could 
have  taken  her  to  his  heart,  and  wept  over  her 
pale  cheek,  and  the  rapid  attenuation  of  her 
still  graceful,  but  now  foaifully  fragile  form, 
and  poured  forth  all  the  agony  of  his  soul  at 
her  mistrust,  he  shrank  from  th-e  slightest 
demonstration,  lest  the  appeal  which  he  would 
fain  have  made  to  her  reason  should  only  lead 
to  a  renewal  of  the  bitter  scenes  through 
which  they  had  already  passed. 

And  thus  they  lived  on ;  Sydney  smother- 
ing his  better  feelings,  and  sacrificing  his  in- 
nate sense  of  dignity,  to  that  morbid  love  of 
ease  which  formed  so  prominent  a  feature  in 
his  generous  but  weak  nature ;  and  Ida  gnaw- 
ing away  her  own  heart  in  silence,  conscious 
that  when  the  moment  of  conviction  came,  the 
lava-flood  of  her  indignation  must  carry  ruin 
with  it. 

Elphinstone  chafed  under  an  injustice  as 
baseless  as  it  was  unworthy ;  while  his  wife, 
misled  by  her  own  wretched  suspicions,  and 
confirmed  in  her  error  by  the  inane  consola- 
tion and  advice  of  a  mindless  and  ill-judging 
acquaintance,  never  for  an  instant  suffered  her- 
self to  doubt  that  she  had  become  the  victim 
of  his  inconstancy. 

Thus,  in  order  to  escape  from  a  thralldom 
which  was  hateful  to  him,  the  young  husband, 
who,  at  the  commencement  of  his  married  life, 
had  look'ed  upon  his  chambers  in  the  Temple 
as  exile,  because  they  involved  an  occasional 
and  brief  separation  from  the  object  of  his  idol- 
atry, soon  learned  to  feel  that  liis  most  genial 
home  was  there — there,  where  no  cold  but  ever- 
watchful  eye  noted  his  every  movement ;  where 
no  quick  but  apparently  careless  ear  drank  ia 
his  every  word ;  and  where  no  diseased  and 
distorted  imagination  converted  even  his  most 
inconsequent  actions  into  matters  of  moment, 
pregnant  with  inquiry  and  meaning. 

The  ready  smile  and  unquestionable  docility 
of  his  wife  wounded  him  to  the  quick,  for  they 
were  no  longer  the  assurauees  of  aft'ectiou  and 
devotedness  ;  the  smile  was  hollow,  and  the 
docility  overacted  and  unnatural ;  there  was  no 
longer  any  communion  of  spirit  between  them; 
Ida  wa-s  a  mere  human  automaton,  answeriug 
to  every  spring  at  his  pleasure,  but  originating 
no  movement  of  her  owa 

To  his  anxious  inquiries  regarding  her  health, 
he  always  received  the  same  stereotvjHnl  re- 
ply— she  was  quite  well — quite — could  not 
desire  to  be  better ;  to  his  attentions  she  re- 
signed herself  passively,  as  though  tliis  resig- 
nation were  a  part  of  her  wifely  duty.  Nor 
did  she,  on  her  side,  neglect  to  exhibit  toward 
Sydney  all  those  minor  courtesies  which  are  so 
dear  and  grateful  to  the  heart  when  they  are 
the  spontaneous  growth  of  mutual  affection; 
but  this  was  rather  from  an  impulse  of  hi^li 
breeding  tlian  from  a  genuine  desire  to  increase 
his  happiness  ;  and  Elphinstone  was  not  slow 
to  see  and  feel  the  painful  truth. 

There  was  no  pleading  now  for  another  hour 
when  her  husband,  innnediately  after  break- 
fast, day  by  day,  lingered  for  a  moment  in  the 
hall  to  caress  his  boy  ere  he  caught  up  his  hat 
and  gloves,  and  with  a  hasty  kiss  upon  her 


TEE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


105 


T)row,  liurric  J  off  to  tovm ;  no  inquiry  as  to  the 
probable  hour  of  his  return ;  nothing  but  a 
cahu  and  uuquestiouiug  submission  to  his  will, 
au  apparent  indifference  to  his  movements, 
•which  had  gi-adually  built  np  a  wall  of  ice  be- 
tween the  in,  that  sent  its  bitter  chill  to  the 
hearts  of  both. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  Sydney  disappeared, 
and  her  child  been  placed  in  her  arms,  than 
Ida  passionately  pressed  her  lips  upon  the  rosy 
little  cheek  still  flushed  from  the  pressure  of 
ler  husband's  kiss ;  while  hot  tears,  long  and 
painfully  suppressed,  streamed  down  her  face, 
and  fell  into  her  bosom.  She  had  ceased  to 
trust,  but  she  still  loved  him  with  the  whole 
vehemence  of  her  ungoverned  nature. 

Poor  Ida!  with  all  the  elements  of  happi- 
ness withiu  her  reach,  she  was  hopelessly, 
irremediably  wretched.  Her  capricious  incon- 
sistencies, her  wayward  fits  of  temper,  had 
seriously  alienated  the  affection  of  Lady  Mal- 
colm, who  had,  moreover,  resolutely  refused  to 
expose  her  daughter  to  a  constant  companion- 
ship with  Mrs.  Darnell,  to  whose  mind  and 
manners  she  alike  objected ;  nor  had  she  failed 
to  impress  upon  Ida  the  inexpediency  of  en- 
couraging her  visits.  The  advice  w^s,  how- 
ever, at  once  rejected,  as  the  ill-fated  woman 
instantly  attributed  to  her  right-minded  and 
■well-judging  friend  a  motive  totally  foreign  to 
the  real  one,  aud  felt  a  bitter  pleasure  in  disre- 
garding her  advice. 

Still  for  Sydney's  sake.  Lady  Malcolm  reso- 
lutely supported  the  occasional  annoyances  to 
which  she  was  exposed  through  the  wayward- 
ness of  liis  wife ;  nor  was  it  long  ere  she  dis- 
covered that  Mrs.  Elphinstone  had  some  liidden 
sorrow,  and  then  the  warm  stream  of  her 
woman-heart  welled  up,  and-  she  forgot  her 
own  feelings  in  her  anxious  endeavor  to  soothe 
those  of  Ida. 

Vain,  however,  was  the  attempt ;  her  infer- 
ences were  disdainfully  denied ;  how,  she  was 
asked,  could  the  wife  of  Sydney  Elphinstone — 
the  wife  who  had  abandoned  every  thing  for 
Lis  sake,  and  to  whom  his  affection  was  all  in 
all — be  otherwise   than   happy,  most   happy? 

"  Were  you  indeed  aware  that  he  had  ceased 
to  love  me,"  she  pursued  with  a  kindling  eye ; 
"jou  might  suspect  that  I  was  the  victim  of  a 
hidden  grief;  but  now — " 

"  You  misconceive  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Elphm 
stone,"  replied  her  companion,  mildly ;  "  I  have 
had  so  sad  an  experience  of  the  world,  that  I 
too  well  know  how  possible  it  is  to  have  a  sor- 
row totally  unconnected  with  home  and  home- 
affections.  Did  I  dare  to  do  so,  I  believe  that 
I  could  point  to  the  cause  of  your  evident 
depression." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  Ida,  scornfully. 

"Yes,  bdeed,"  pursued  Lady  Malcolm;  "can 
you  imagine  tliat  I  have  never  reflected  upon 
the  suffeiing  with  which  you  must  dwell  upon 
the  estraugemeut  from  your  parents?  Surely 
not;  and  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  pity 
you.  Have  courage,  my  dear  young  friend: 
remember  that  tlicie  is  a  silver  lining  to  every 
cloud;  your  father  must  have  loved  you  deep- 
ly; have  regarded  you  with  pride  as  well  as 
affection ;  aud  rest  assured  that  when  once  the 
wound  which  you  have  mflioted  upon  his  am- 
bition has    had   tune  to  heal,  his   heart  will 


yearn  toward  you  with  a  tenderness  which  he 
will  not  seek  to  control." 

"  I  can  only  pi-ay  that  your  prophecy  may 
be  fulfilled  before  I  have  ceased  to  feel  an  in- 
terest in  any  tiling,"  said  Mrs.  Elphinstone, 
moodily,  "for  Hubert's  sake  I  will  hope,  even 
when  I  cease  to  do  so  for  myself" 

"  In  that  ease  judge  of  your  father's  heart 
by  your  own,"  replied  her  persevering  com- 
forter; "and  do  I  entreat  of  you,  struggle 
against  a  depression  which  is  evidently  under- 
mining your  health.  I  can  see  that  Sydney  is 
wretched  about  you." 

"  Sychiey  wretched  about  me  !"  echoed  Ida, 
with  a  forced  laugh;  "I  do  not  think  that 
Sydney  was  ever  more  happy  in  his  life.  Dur- 
ing the  first  few  , months  of  our  marriage  he 
was  my  devoted  slave,  poor  fellow!  obedient 
to  all  my  caprices:  subject  to  all  my  whims; 
and  it  was  then,  or  never,  that  I  might  have 
supposed  him  to  be  wretched  about  me,  as  I 
must  necessarily  have  involved  him  in  every 
dangerous  or  disagreeable  fancy  in  which  I  saw 
fit  to  indulge ;  but  he  is  now  altogether  released 
from  this  peril ;  I  have  grown  weary  of  prac- 
ticing upon  his  patience  ;  he  is  perfectly  inde- 
pencAnt  in  all  his  actions  ;  h-e  comes  and  goes 
unquestioned ;  I  make  no  demand  upon  either 
his. time  or  his  tenderness;  but  receive  with 
proper  wifely  gratitude  the  portion  of  each, 
which  he  finds  it  expedient  and  proper  to  be- 
stow upon  me." 

"My  dear  young  friend,  you  terrify  me!" 
said  Lady  Malcolm,  uneasily ;  "  you  are  in  a 
frightfully  morbid  state  of  mind ;  and  I  sadly 
fear  that,  from  some  misconception  or  another, 
you  are  domg  serious  injustice  to  your  hus- 
band." 

"Oh  no,  no;  do  not  alarm  yourself  about 
him  ;"  was  the  quick  retort ;  "  I  can  assure  you 
that  he  makes  no  complaint ;  and  I  have  not  a 
doubt,  from  his  regular  aud  unwearied  attend- 
ance at  the  Temple,  that  his  affairs  are  pros- 
pering there  also.  It  is  really  admirable,  is  it 
not.  Lady  Malcolm,  to  see  how  pertinaciously 
he  pursues  his  profession?  for,  as  I  never  hear 
of  his  spendmg  the  hours  that  he  is  absent 
from  me  elsewhere,  I  naturally  conclude  that 
he  is  at  his  chambers." 

Her  companion  started ;  had  Ida  laid  bare 
her  heart  before  her,  she  could  not  more  thor- 
oughly have  read  its  secret  than  she  did  at 
that  moment.  Mrs.  Elphinstone  was  the  vic- 
tim of  jealousy,  biit  who  could  be  the  object 
of  her  suspicion?  Vainly  did  Lady  Malcolm 
ask  herself  the  question ;  Sydney  had,  at  the 
request  of  his  wife,  so  utterly  abandoned  -the 
world,  that  the  only  conclusion  at  which  she 
could  arrive  was  that  Ida  might  possibly  have 
been  informed  of  some  previous  attachment  ou 
the  part  of  her  husband,  which,  now  that  the 
first  effervescence  of  married  happiness  has 
subsidec^,  was  pressing  upon  her  mind ;  and 
even  while  she  condemned  such  a  weakness, 
the  gentle-liearted  matron  could  not  witlihold 
her  sympathy  for  the  seif-tormcnting  sufferer. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone," she  asked ;  "  I  hazard  another  guess  ? — 
I  can  not  mistake  your  meaning — you  doubt 
Sydney." 

"  Have  I  any  cause  to  do  so  ?" 

"  Certainly  none  of  which  1  am  aware." 


lOG 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


"In  thnt  case,"  observed  Ida,  haughtily; 
"you  mi.rl:t  have  spared  me  the  suspicion." 

Lady  ^ilalcolm  rose. 

"  I  a:n  truly  glad  to  find  that  I  am  in  error," 
ehc  said,  -whh  dignity;  "rejoiced  alike  for  your 
own  sake,  and  Sydney's,  for  believe  me,  Mrs. 
Elpbinstonc,  wlien  I  a'ssure  you  that  no  ^-cak- 
ne.*s  on  the  part  of  a  wife  is  so  calculated  to 
estrange  a  hu.sband*s  heart  as  jealousy ;  where 
the  suspicion  is  just  he  becomes  irritated  under 
his  own  sense  of  error,  and  where  he  is  con- 
scious of  Lis  own  rectitude,  he  revolts  from  an 
accuiirition  wliich  robs  the  woman  he  has  chosen 
of  that  charm  of  mental  purity  which  had 
hitherto  compelled  his  admiration  and  respect. 

"  I  am,  therefore,  I  repeat,  most  happy  that 
I  had  wronged  you,  and  you  must  pardon  my 
ofTense,  arising  as  it  did  out  of  my  maternal 
enxiety  fur  your  mutual  welfare." 

"  All  apology  is  unnecessary  ;"  was  the  cold 
reply;  "and  I  am  really  happy,  in  my  turn, 
to  have  set  your  heart  at  rest.  Question 
Sydney  yourself,  and  I  am  convinced  he  will 
tell  you  that,  however  exacting  I  may  have 
been  for  a  time,  I  am  now  the  very  model  of 
a  wife.  Oh,  depend  upon  it,  my  dear  Lady 
Malcolm,  that  should  we  again  emerge  from 
our  he.'mitage,  we  shall  be  quoted  as  a  marvel 
of  connubial  devotion;  a  species  of  show 
couple  to  be  gazed  upon  with  awe  and  admira- 
tion ;  a  fitting  example  in  fact,  for  my  cousin 
Hubert  and  your  fair  daughter;  and  more 
than  this  I  am  sure  you  can  not  be  vmreason- 
able  enough  to  wish." 

Ida  had  overacted  her  part,  but  her  com- 
panion was  too  judicious  to  suffer  her  to  per- 
ceive this,  although  her  heart  ached  as  she 
slowly  walked  along  the  garden-path  which 
led  to  her  o\vn  house. 

"Poor  Sydney!  Poor  fated  boy!"  she  mur- 
mured to  herself;  "  this  is  even  worse  than  I 
had  feared.  I  have  indeed  lived  to  rejoice  that 
she  is  in  her  grave,  whose  heart  his  misery 
would  have  broken.  Yes — it  is  better  so  ;  this 
crowning  sorrow  she  at  least  is  spared." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    FIRST    BRIEF. 

As  a  natural  consequence  of  the  state  of 
things  which  we  have  described,  Sydney  Elphin- 
stone  gradually  estranged  himself  more  and 
more  from  lus  ungenial  home ;  and,  with  the 
impetuosity  which  formed  so  strong  an  element 
of  his  character,  plunged  into  study  with  an 
ardor  and  perseverance  that  enabled  him  for 
many  hou:s  in  the  day  to  banish  from  his  mind 
all  memory  of  the  blight  which  had  withered 
the  best  fielings  of  his  heart. 

Shut  iuto  }iis  chambers,  half-buried  with 
books,  and  grappling  with  diflleulties  from 
which  he  had  hitherto  sliruiik  with  disgust, 
the  gay  young  man  of  fashion  had  subsided 
into  a  plodding  student;  lines  of  thought 
/  began  to  trace  themselves  upon  his  lofty  brow ; 
his  step  became  less  buoyant,  and  his  words 
more  measured. 

The  youth  was  rapidly  ripening  into  the 
sober  maturity  of  manhood;  and  if  he  rarely 


smiled,  and  the  music  of  his  rinLTiiig  Iraighter 
was  no  longer  heard,  at  least  neither  had  been 
succeeded  by  the  querulousness  of  discontent, 
or  the  gloom  of  asceticism. 

Toward  his  wife  he  still  exhibited  the  same 
watchful  attention  and  courteous  kindness  as 
ever,  but  it  T>a3  no  longer  with  the  lover-like 
devotion  of  old;  care  had  aged  him  in  more 
than  looks ;  and  while  Ida  wept  in  secret  over 
a  change  which  wrung  the  chords  of  her  heart 
to  agon}',  and  remembered  that  it  had  been 
her  own  work,  she  bore  it  in  silence  rather 
than  by  one  concession  make  an  effort  to  repair 
the  evil. 

'•  How  know  I,"  she  would  murmur  to  her- 
self "  that  the  hours  of  his  absence  are,  indeed, 
spent  in  study?  How  dare  I  even  hope  it, 
when  I  am  so  well  aware  that  all  mental 
exertion  is  antagonistic  to  his  careless  and 
impulsive  nature?  Could  I  only  be  sure  that 
such  were  the  case,  how  different  would  be 
our  relative  position ! 

"  But  no,  no  ;  I  must  not  yield ;  it  is  clear 
from  his  continual  and  consistent  coldness  that 
his  heart  is  no  longer  in  his  home,  and  that  it 
has  found  another  resting-place.  Be  it  so;  I 
will  endure  the  suspicion  until  it  has  growa 
into  certainty,  and  then — then — " 

A  month  or  two  passed  on  thus:  and  at 
their  close  the  earnest  prayer  of  Elphinstone 
was  granted — he  held  a  brief:  nor  was  it  the 
least  agreeable  or  welcome  feature  of  this 
long-wished-for  event,  that  it  had  been  offered 
to  him  at  the  desire  of  Lady  JIalcolm,  who 
had  at  length  decided  on  endeavoring  to  rescue 
at  least  a  portion  of  her  property  from  the 
unworthy  hands  into  which  it  had  fallen. 

Information  recently  acquired  had  convinced 
her  that  her  ease  was  far  from  a  hojielcss  one, 
if  skillfully  conducted;  and,  much  as  she 
shrank  from  the  excitement  and  uncertainty  of 
a  lawsuit,  she  still  felt  that  she  owed  a  tluty  to 
her  child  which  must  be  performed  even  at  the 
expense  of  her  ovm  feelings ;  while  the  con- 
sciousness that  she  had  it  in  her  power  at  the 
same  time  to  serve  the  son  of  her  still-lamented 
friend  greatly  tended  to  reconcile  her  to  the 
anxiety  of  the  trial. 

Thus  then,  when  he  had  almost  despaired  of 
such  a  result  to  his  labors,  and  had  pursued 
them  rather  as  a  resource  from  more  painful 
thought  than  as  the  necessary  means  to  accom» 
plish  a  career,  Sydney  found  liim.-^elf  suddenly 
summoned  to  exert  all  his  energies  in  a  cause 
in  which  the  best  powers  of  his  heart  and 
intellect  must  be  alike  called  forth. 

His   check  glowed,  and  his  breast  heaved 
with    excitement;    he    was    now    to  try  his 
strength — he  was  now  to  prove  to  Ida  that  her 
faith   in   his  intellect  at  least   had   not  been 
misplaced ;  she  had  ceased  to   love  him,  but  ' 
ho  might  still  compel  her  respect;  and  then  a  ■ 
shadow    fell    over    his    joy:    how    differently  ; 
might  ho   have   gone    forth  to  meet  his  first 
struggle,  strengthened  by  her  encouragement, 
elated    by   her  conviction  of    his    coming  tri-  • 
umph.     The  blood  faded  from  his  brow,  and 
fell  back  cold  upon  his  heart ;  he  still  grasped" 
the  important  document,  but  half  its  spell  was  • 
broken. 

Then  he  roused  himself;  he  remembered  | 
that  ho  was  to  be  associated  in  his  task  with 


i  ■, 


THE     JEALOUS     WIFE. 


107 


one  of  the  most  eminent  counsel  in  England; 
and  that  lie  must  endeavor  by  his  industry 
and  care  to  render  himself  wortliy  of  such  an 
associntion ;  that  he  must  not  suffer  the  suc- 
cess of  a  cause  which  involved  the  future  in- 
dependence of  Edith  Malcolm  to  be  secured 

solely  by  the  eloquence  of  Sir  F T , 

but  that  he  must  labor  assiduously  to  con- 
Tinee  his  eo-adjutor  that,  inexperienced  as  he 
■was,  he  was  nevertheless  "worthy  of  the  trust 
•which  had  been  reposed  in  him. 

His  facilities  for  obtaining  every  informa- 
tion relative  to  the  case  were  necessarily 
great;  and  many  an  hour  was  spent  at  the 
villa  of  Lady  Malcolm  over  papers  -ind  docu- 
ments, or  in  confidenti.al  conversntion  con- 
nected witli  the  one  important  subject ;  hours 
I  -which  Ida  might  have  known  to  be  so  spent, 
had  she  ever  stooped  to  ask  one  question  as 
to  the  manner  in  which  he  passed  his  time; 
but  this  she  never  did:  and  when  Sydney,  in 
the  exuberance  of  his  exultation,  informed 
her  of  the  fact  of  his  having  received  his 
first  brief  from  Lady  Malcolm,  she  congratu- 
lated him  so  coldly  on  the  event  that,  stung 
to  the  very  heart,  he  never  again  alluded  to 
the  subject,  save  to  apologize  for  the  length- 
ened absences  to  which  he  was  compelled  by 
the  exiirences  of  his  occupation. 

Tlius  it  was  from  her  kind  and  sympathiz- 
ing aequniutance  Mrs.  Darnell  alone,  that  she 
learned  the  fact  of  her  husband's  long  and 
frequent  visits  to  the  mother  of  Edith;  visits 
which  were  considered  by  both  ladies  as 
Elphinstone's  chosen  relaxation  in  his  inter- 
vals of  leisure. 

"Was  I  not  right  to  warn  you?"  was  the 
triumphant  inquiry  of  the  visitor  on  such 
occasions;  and  what  will  you  do  now?" 

"I  will  wait,"  was  the  unvarying  reply. 

And  Ida  did  wait;  and  meanwhile,  brood- 
ing over  her  imagined  wrongs,  her  gloom  and 
coldness  increased ;  and  had  not  the  mind  of 
her  husband  been  absorbed  by  the  one  great 
interest  of  the  moment — tlie  pivot  upon  which 
he  felt  that  all  his  future  fortunes  must  neces- 
sarily turn — it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
have  longer  delayed  an  explanation  which 
must  have  proved  fatal  to  every  hope  of  do- 
mestic happiness  forever. 

As  it  was,  however,  Sydney  porseveringly 
pursued  his  system  of  conciliation  and  kind- 
ness; spoke  cheerfully  and  fondly  to  his  wife ; 
caressed  his  child  with  a  tenderness  and  pride 
■which  even  trial  and  diiaj^pointmcnt  had 
failed  to  diminish;  and  endeavored  by  every 
means  in  his  power  to  recall,  were  it  only  for 
a  moment,  the  smiles  of  happier  days. 

Every  comfort  and  every  luxui-y  permitted 
by  their  slender  means  he  lavished  upon  Ida 
unsparingly ;  but  accustomed  to  other  and  far 
inore  costly  indulgences,  she  had  begun  to 
disregard  those  which  she  still  enjoyed,  and 
to  regret  others  which  were  beyond  her 
reach. 

Suffering  had  made  her  selfish;  had  she 
not,  by  her  one  fatal  fault,  thrown  happiness 
■  fur  from  her  i  had  she  still  trusted  as  deeply 
as  she  loved,  she  would  have  jested  at  every 
privation,  and  been  careless  of  every  sacri- 
tiee ;  but  now  it  was  far  otherwise ;  i*ne  con- 
stant companionship  of  a  coarse  mind  had 


produced  its  effect ;  and  she  even  felt  a  weak 
pride  in  iipliolding  without  murmur  or  re- 
proach the  character  of  a  victim. 

"Poor  dear  Mrs.  Elphinstonel  you  really 
excite  my  wonder,"  was  the  frequent  ex- 
clamation of  her  confidential  friend;  "I  can 
not  understand  such  fortitude  and  patience." 

But  Ida  was  not  strong;  she  was  not  pa- 
tient; she  was  simply  ungenerous  and  unjust. 
Was  there  no  tacit  murmur  in  the  averted  ej'o 
and  the  rigid  lip?  no  reproach  in  the  moodi- 
ness of  manner,  and  ungenial  coldness  of  de- 
portment, which  checked  the  warm  and  hon- 
est impulses  of  her  husband's  heart,  and  left 
him  to  fight  his  battle  Awith  the  world,  desti- 
tute alike  of  home  sympathy  and  support. 

Had  she  been  made  to  comprehend  the  bit- 
terness of  his  feelings  in  this  utter  isolation, 
she  would  have  smiled,  and  gloried  in  the 
miserable  triumph ;  and  gloried  the  more,  be- 
cause, even  while  she  was  thus  torturing  his 
noble  and  forbearing  nature,  she  felt  that  he 
was  necessary  to  her  existence;  that  she  still 
loved  him  beyond  all  else  on  earth — even  be- 
yond her  child — none  knew  or  guessed  how, 
in  the  solitary  hours,  she  dwelt  Avith  intense 
and  agitating  anxiety  upon  his  coming  trial — 
how  she  prayed  for  his  success — how  she 
yearned  to  throw  herself  upon  his  neck,  and 
send  him  forth  strong  in  the  armor  of  a  wife's 
and  a  woman's  love. 

But  no:  in  these  moments  of  spiritual 
healthfulness,  ever  uprose  the  vision  of  Edith 
Malcolm,  while  the  insidious  venom  of  Mrs. 
Darnell's  inferences  fell  like  molten  metal 
upon  her  mind's  ear,  scorching  and  withering 
all  her  better  and  purer  impulses. 

"  He  will  be  armed  with  her  affection — he 
will  be  strong  in  fur  cause — "  was  ever  tho 
climax  of  her  reverie.  "  It  would  bo  idle  in- 
deed for  me  to  stand  forth  as  his  champion : 
one  word  of  encouragement  from  her  Avill  suf- 
fice to  arouse  his  best  energies  to  action:  and 
so  let  it  be.  For  my  boy's  sake  I  will  bear 
tho  burden,  heavy  as  it  is,  until  its  weight 
threatens  to  crush  me  to  the  earth:  and  then  he 
shall  be  made  to  feel  that  I  will  not  fall  alone." 


CnAPTER  XL. 

THE    EARLY    LOST. 

While  tho  cloud  thus  darkened  over  tho 
modest  cottage  at  Brompton,  suffering  in  a 
more  tangible  shape  had  made  its  abode 
under  the  stately  roof  of  Trevanion  Hall,  i 
The  heir  of  that  ancient  house,  tlie  idol  of  | 
his  father's  heart,  the  object  of  many  a  hope, 
and  many  a  sigh,  was  rapidly  sinking  into  a 
premature  grave. 

Hubert  Trevanion,  whose  manly  beauty  i 
and  moral  worth  had  endeared  hira  to  every 
heart,  had  ceased  to  struggle  against  tlio 
conviction  that  he  was  the  destined  victim 
of  the  insidious  di^ase  which  had  long  been 
sapping  the  principle  of  existence,  and  wliilo 
tho  preternaturally  bright  eye  and  blooming 
cheek  deceived  the  fond  father  into  a  belief 
that  a  life  of  happiness  and  honor  awaited 
his  darling  son,  that  son  himself  felt  with  a 


108 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


resignation  rare  and  beantiful  under  such 
circumstances,  that  for  him  there  existed  no 
future  upon  earth. 

Day  by  day,  and  almost  hour  by  hour,  he 
tecame  aware  that  the  silver  cord  was  loos- 
ened, gently  and  gradually,  but  not  the  less 
rarely. 

Often  did  he  yearn  to  thro-w  one  gleam  of 
light  upon  his  father's  mind;  to  awaken  him 
to  at  least  a  possibilily  of  their  early  separa- 
tion, but  his  strength  of  purpose  was  insuf- 
ficient for  the  effort.  He  felt  that  he  dared 
not  turn  the  proud  and  exulting  happiness 
of  his  last  parent  into  bitterness  and  mourn- 
ing. « 

"  The  blow  will  come  soon  enough,  come 
when  it  may,"  he  would  murmur  to  liimself, 
as  he  lister. ed  with  a  brow  steeped  in  the 
chilly  moisture  of  exhaustion,  and  "witk 
closed  ej-es,  to  the  projects  of  tlie  unconscious 
baronet,  in  all  of  which  he  was  necessarily 
involved,  and  while  Sir  Jasper  talked  with 
enthusiasm  of  the  fair  young  creature  who 
would,  as  he  trusted,  ere  long  become  the 
mistress  of  the  Hall,  Hubert,  instead  of  a 
■wedding-garm-ent,  saw  only  a  shroud;  in- 
stead of  wedded  bliss,  reveling  in  light  and 
life,  only  inanition  and  a  grave. 

With  mistaken  and  persevering  affection 
he  continued,  however,  to  rally  his  failing 
energies,  and  Utile  did  those  who  saw  him 
the  companion  of  hiu  father's  rides  and  walks, 
the  indefatigable  sharer  in  all  his  pursuits, 
and  the  anxious  promoter  of  all  his  enjoy- 
ments, imagine  at  wliat  a  price  the  devoted 
son  at  length  purchased  the  privilege  of 
brightening  and  gladdening  the  declining 
of  his  self-deeeived  parent. 

Often,  after  a  long  attendance  in  a  heated 
justice-room,  or  a  rapid  gallop  over  the  down?, 
when  the  baronet  returned  home  excited  and 
refreshed  by  a  sense  of  n  duty  performed,  or 
a  healthful  sensation  of  augmented  vigor, 
his  son,  after  a  painful  effort  of  simulated 
strength,  no  sooner  found  himself  alone  in  his 
chamber,  than  ho  tottered  to  a  couch,  -where, 
bathed  in  the  cold  and  clammy  dews  of  con- 
sumption, and  laboring  for  breath,  he  lay  shiv- 
ering and  helpless,  until  by  the  aid  of  some 
Eowerful  stimulant,  he  once  more  recovered  suf- 
cient  energy  to  resume  t!ie  wasting  struggle. 

At  the  close  of  a  few  montlis,  however, 
this  fearful  exertion  became  no  longer  pos- 
sible. II is  physical  powers  were  exhausted, 
the  flush  upon  Ids  cheek  deepened  and  con- 
centrated itself  into  a  burning  spot,  tho  fire 
of  the  large  dark  ej'e  gleamed  keen  and  cold, 
and  this  noble  form  became  attenuated  and 
feeble.  ^V'  hispers  circulated  among  the  house- 
hold, and  many  and  earnest  were  the  anxious 
looks  turned  on  him  by  the  gray -haired  re- 
tainers of  the  family. 

"It  was  thus,"  said  the  most  aged  among 
them,  "that  his  grandfather  had  died — it  w.as 


thus  that  he  would  die  ;  the  child  of 


prayers 


end  hopes,  in  wliom  liis  father  had  garnered 
up  all  his  affections,  for  whom  his  mother  had 
hoarded  all  lier  wealth." 

It  was  strange,  very  strange,  that  Sir  Jas- 

Eer  did  not  see  that  lie  was  perishing  before 
is  eyes ;  but  at  length  came  tho  low   and 
hollow  cough,   that  sound  of  doom  which 


can  never  be  mistaken,  the  slight  but  painful 
spasm  by  which  it  was  succeeded;  the  quiv- 
ering of  the  wasted  hand ;  the  uncertain  ae- 
centp,  which  at  intervals  rendered  the  once 
melodious  voice  hoarse  and  discordant,  and 
then  indeed,  even  the  doting  father,  whose 
pride  in  his  only  son  had  hitherto  cast  out 
fear,  could  no  longer  dehnle  himself  with  the 
belief  that  all  was  well  with  the  object  of  hia 
idolatrv. 

The  "bloTv-  smote  the  stately  old  man  to  tlio 
earth,  and  in  the  first  agony  of  his  grief  ho 
gave  way  to  a  vehemence  of  feeling  which 
had  nearly  proved  fatal  to  the  invalid.  Med- 
ical assistance  was  summoned  from  far  and 
near — there  i/iiist  yet  be  hope. 

Alas!  there  v.'ns  none.  Tlie  fi:it  had  gono 
forth,  and  Hubert  Trevanion,  tlie  last  repre- 
sentative of  his  noble  family,  gifted  with  all 
that  the  world  can  offer  to  its  favorites — 
youth,  wealtli,  and  intellect — a  noble  person, 
and  a  heart  rich  in  the  best  and  holiest  im- 
pulses of  human  nature,  was  about  to  share 
tiie  common  fate  of  all  created  beings. 

No  mortal  skill,  even  altliough  j)urchased 
with  the  ransom  of  a  kingdom,  could  avail 
him  now,  and  he  learned  his  fate  from  the 
friendly  physician — who  had  been  induced, 
at  his  own  entreaty,  to  name  the  probable 
period  of  his  release  from  suffering — without 
the  quivering  of  a  pulse.  ' 

"My  poor  father !"  was  all  he  said  as  he  ! 
ascertained  that  his  very  hours  were  num-  • 
bered ;  "  how  will  he  bear  this  blow  ?'  • 

"Sir  Jasper  is  a  man  and  a  Christian,  ' 
my  dear  sir,"  observed  his  companion,  sooth-  ' 
iugly. 

"  But  he  is  also  a  father,"  murmured  Hu- 
bert, as  he  swept  back  the  masses  of  dark  hair     | 
which  clung   dankl}-  about  his  brow ;   "  and      j 
so  strong  a  link  can  not  be  wrenched  asunder     ; 
without  a  struggle  too  powerful  for  his  age. 
I  must  not,  however,  dwell  upon  tins  painful 
thought,  or  it  may  unnerve  me  when  he  most 
requires  my  supj'ort." 

"  Right,  right,"  said  the  physician;  "you 
must  strive  to  keep  up  both  his  si)irit3  and 
your  own,  difficult  as  it  may  be  to  do  so ;     [ 
tut  you  are  equal  to  the  effort,   as  I  well 
know." 

Hubert  smiled  sadly ;  for  himself  he  was 
resigned ;  he  had  long  felt  that  his  doom  was 
sealed,  -and  that  he  was  predestined  to  an 
earl}'-  death  ;  but  he  could  not  so  certainly 
contemplate  the  sufferings  of  a  father  to  whom 
ho  knew  tliat  he  was  all  in  all ;  and  while, 
had  he  been  alone  in  the  world,  he  could  have 
yielded  his  last  sigh  almost  Avitliont  regret, 
he  felt  a  yearning  to  live  for  his  father's  sake^  . 
which  shook  him  to  the  very  depths  of  his 
spirit.  ' 

"Thank  you  for  your  frankness,"  ho  said, 
as,  at  tho  close  of  a  violent  paroxysm  of 
coughing,  he  withdrew  the  iiaudkerchief  from 
his  lip,  and  held  it  toward  his  medical  frienii, 
deeply  stained  with  blood;  "although,  as  you 
see,  all  further  attemj)t  at  self-delusion  would 
bo  UHicless  on  my  part,  even  were  I  weak  ' 
enou:h  to  encourage  it;  and  now  I  have  a  ,* 
last  favor  to  ask  of  you — " 

"  Name  it." 

"  Will  3^ou  imdertake  to  break  the  truth  to 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


109 


my  poor  father  ?  tho  -whole  truth,  I  mean. 
For  the  ahstraet  fact  of  m^  early  death  he  is 
already  jn-epared  ;  but  I  would  fain  sec  him 
reconciled  to  the  ]irobal)ility,  nay,  tlie  cer- 
tainty, of  its  almost  immediate  occurrence. 
Wllyou  oblige  me  in  this?" 

"I  can  not." 

"  And  ■wherefore  ?'' 

"Because  I  have  been  acquainted  ■witli  Sir 
Jasper  for  the  last  forty  years,"  said  Dr.  Fern- 
lev  ;  "  and  am  well  aware  that  although,  like 
all  ids  fellow-men,  he  has  had  many  annoy- 
ances to  combat,  he  has  never  yet  been  sub- 
jected to  the  searching  trial  of  a  great  sorrow. 
!-'onie  one  Avho  has  kxjs  regard  for  him  than 
myself  must  undertake  the  task." 
""  Yet  who  could  perform  it  so  tenderly?" 

"  You  mistake,  my  young  friend,  you  mis- 
take," said  the  worthy  doctor  with  an  emo- 
tion which  sufficiently  attested  his  sincerity. 
"It  must  be  done  by  one  who  will  not  feel 
with  him  as  well  as  for  him.  It  is  the  only 
request  of  yours  with  which  I  can  not  com- 

ply."       . 

"  I  regret  it  deeply,"  replied  Hubert ;  "  for 
in  that  case,  painful  as  the  effort  will  be,  I 
must  communicate  the  fact  myself.  I  eould 
not  bear  that  his  first  and  bitter  grief  should 
be  exposed  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger,  or  a 
hireling." 

"  It  will  destroy  you !" 

"Xo,"said  the  dying  man,  firmly;  "my 
last  act  will  have  been  one  of  duty,  even  of 
mere}-,  and  tliat  consciousness  will  give  me 
strength;  but  it  must  be  done  at  once,  for  I 
dare  not  dwell  on  the  trial  that  is  before  me; 
I  should  only  multiply  my  own  moments  of 
suffering." 

"Let  me  entreat  of  you,  Mr.  Trevanion — " 

"  -vay,  nay,  do  not  imman  me  unnecessarily 
beforehand;  my  purpose  is  fixed,  and  I  am 
too  physically  weak  to  contend,  although 
morally  strong  enough  to  persist  in  my  pur- 
pose. Only  do  me  the  favor  to  be  present  at 
oi:r  interview  ;  he  may  need  j'our  assistance, 
— perhaps  I  may  even  need  it  myself." 

"  Only  wait  until  to-morrow." 

"  That  were  worse  than  useless.  My  poor 
father !  He  has  now  but  little  time  for  prep- 
aration ;  why  should  I,  by  my  cowardice, 
seek  to  abridge  it  ?  Surely  it  is  wiser  and 
better  that  his  grief  should  have  time  to  sub- 
side into  resignation  before — " 

'■  Vv''el!,  well ;  be  it  as  you  will,"  said  his 
companion,  reluctantly;  "but  I  own  that  I 
could  have  wislied — " 

"  You  will  comply  with  my  request,"  in- 
terposed Hubert,  with  a  sad  smile;  "and  I 
thank  you.  Saunders  shall  summon  his  mas- 
ter at  once,  and  my  first  and  most  bitter  pang 
win  then  be  over." 

The  physician  was  silent;  for,  even  while 
he  admired  the  courage  and  self-abnegation 
of  his  patient,  he  shrank  from  its  probable 
result. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  the  baronet,  with 
bowed  head  and  unsteady  step,  entered  the 
iick-rooin. 

An  hour  passed  away.  There  are  periods, 
or,  at  least,  there  is  ever  one  period  in  the 
lives  of  even  the  most  favored  of  human 
beings,  when  an  ago  of  suffering  may  be  com- 


pressed into  one  brief  hour  of  existence  ;  but 
although  tho  anxious  watchers  in  Sir  Jasper's 
household,  dreading  they  knew  not  what,  and 
fearing  to  question  their  own  he.nrfs,  lingered 
near  the  door  of  the  death-chaml)cr,  no  sound 
eseajicd  tlicnco  from  which  they  niit-ht  infer 
what  was  passing  witJiin  ;  tlie  arrow  which 
enters  the  heart  does  its  work  noiselessly; 
nor  was  it  until  tlicy  saw  tlieir  master  como 
forth,  leaning  on  tlie  arm  of  Dr.  Fernley,  bent 
as  though  the  weiglit  of  twenty  additional 
j-ears  had  suddenly  fal](m  uj->on  him,  turning 
meekly  and  unqiiestioniiigly  in  the  direction 
wliere  he  was  led,  liis  eyoa  glossy  .-iiid  tearless, 
and  the  muscles  about  his  -mouth  quivering  as 
though  he  no  longer  retained  any  power  over 
their  action,  that  they  understood  how  surely 
all  hope  was  at  an  end. 

Morning  broke,  clear,  and  cold,  and  grey ; 
the  birds  began  to  twitter  among  the  boughs, 
and  the  deer  to  shake  the  dew  from  their 
dappled  hides,  and  to  emerge  from  their 
nightly  covert.  The  lowing  of  cattle  came 
upon  the  wind,  and  at  distant  intervals  tho 
cheerful  whistle  of  the  early  hind  was  audible 
from  the  low  pasture-lands.  The  world  was 
once  more  awake ;  but  on  a  sumptuous  bed, 
in  a  darkened  room,  surrounded  by  all  the 
appliances  of  wealth  and  all  the  cares  of  affec- 
tion, lay  one  for  whom  sight  and  sound  could 
no  more  be,  and  for  whom  there  was  no 
awakening  upon  earth. 

Hubert  Trevanion  had  passed  away  for  ever, 
and  so  calmly,  that  his  anxious  watchers  could 
not  even  guess  at  what  precise  moment  the 
dreamless  sleep  which  so  mysteriously  trans- 
forms the  living  sentient  being  into  the  dull, 
inert,  and  passionless  atom  retaining  nothing  of 
humanity  save  its  outwards  ambiance,  had  fall- 
en upon  him  * 

The  dead  was  at  peace ;  at  peace  in  his  manly 
beauty;  another  brief  week,  and  he  would  be 
but  a  memory ;  while  by  his  side  sat  his  gray- 
haired  father,  who  had  stolen  to  the  death-room, 
as  noiselessly  as  tliough  his  muffled  step  would 
have  disturbed  the  .sleeper. 

His  quick  ear  had  caught  and  interpreted  tho 
hurried  whispers  of  the  attendants  ;  and  with- 
out tho  utterance  of  a  word,  he  had  motioned 
them  all  from  the  room,  fastened  tho  door  be- 
hind him,  and  sat  down  tearlessly  beside  his 
dead  son. 

Close  to  the  pillow  tliat  supported  his  head ; 
so  close  that  his  tiiick  labored  brcatli  heaved 
tho  dark  curls  which  rested  on  tho  spotless 
cambric;  and  sometimes  he  clutched  at  the 
sheet  by  which  the  body  was  covered,  and  som»- 
times  he  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  the  noblo 
features,  as  if  to  impress  their  outlines  more  for- 
cibly upon  his  memory. 

Morning  brightened,  and  the  eastern  sky  be- 
came one  prism  of  glory  ;  the  song  of  the  wild 
birds  pealed  out  an  universal  chorus,  from 
which  the  clear  and  exulting  notes  of  tlio  early 
lark  detached  themselves  like  the  triumjiliant 
outgushing  of  an  emancipated  soul  ascending 
in  rapture  fiir  above  the  dregs  and  dross  of" 
earth.  Nature  was  gladdened  by  tho  birth  of 
a  now  day ;  and  the  sons  of  toil  wcro  already 
entering  upon  its  duties ;  but  still  tlie  death- 
chamber  was  closed. 

"  This  must   not  be^ — this   should  not  have 


110 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


been" — exclaimed  Dr.  Fernlej',  the  noiso  of 
•whose  carriage-wheels  had  been  the  first  sound 
whic'Ii  awoke  upon  the  deep  silence  ol'tho  man- 
Bion  ;  '•  why  were  j-ou  so  imprudent  as  to  per- 
mit your  master  to  shut  himself  in  with  his 
dead  son?  The  door  must  be  opened  instant- 
ly." 

Vain,  however,  were  all  his  efforts  to  obtain 
admission  ;  there  was  no  answer  to  his  earnest 
appeals,  and  at  len^rth  tlio  lock  was  forced, 
whon  the  unfortunate  old  man  was  found 
Btretchod  across  the  body  of  his  son,  as  insen- 
aible  as  the  pale  form  upon  which  he  rested. 

Hours  passed  ere  ho  was  restored  to  con- 
sciousness; and  even  then  his  return  to  exist- 
ence was  pitiable.  Obedient  as  a  child,  he 
complied  witli  every  request,  and  resigned  him- 
eelf  to  every  arrangement  with  a  vague,  un- 
meaning smile,  which  betrayed  that  he  had  lost 
all  power  of  volition;  at  intervals  he  wrung  his 
hands,  and  murmured  out  "  My  son !  my  son  1" 
But  these  intervals  were  rare,  and  for  days  he 
continued  a  mere  human  machine,  mindless  and 
will-less. 

Under  these  circumstances,  Dr.  Fernley, 
■who  had  established  hi:iiself  at  the  Ilall,  had 
no  alternative  save  to  ascertain  the  name  and 
address  of  liis  nearest  relative,  in  order  that  he 
might  bo  summoned  to  superintend  the  arrange- 
ments which  were  imperative  under  the  circum- 
stances; and  accordingly  an  express  was  dis- 
Eatched  to  Mr.  Trevanion,  the  nephew  who  had 
oen  for  so  many  3-ears  an  exile  from  his  ances- 
tral home,  and  who  was  thus  suddenly  called 
upon  to  assume  the  duties  of  its  master. 

The  last  sad  ofilces  were  performed  for  the 
dead,  while  the  bereaved  father  sat  supinely 
in  his  cushioned  chair,  clad  in  a  suit  of  sables 
over  which  his  dull  eye  glanced  without  per- 
ception on  emotion,  and  tho  long-estranged 
relative,  who  had  never  exchanged  one  sen- 
tence with  his  heir,  officiated  as  chief-mourner 
at  his  funeral. 

And  then  ifr.  Trevanion  entered  upon  tho 
more  onerous  responsibilities  of  his  position. 
At  the  express  request  of  the  family  phj'sician, 
a  consultation  was  held  upon  tho  unhappy  bar- 
onet, whose  mental  condition  was  declared  to 
bo  beyond  hope,  although  his  bodily  health  still 
promised,  as  they  unanimously  declared  to  with- 
stand tho  shock. 


CnAPTER  XLI. 

SOLITARY    nEFLECTIONa 

"And  now,  gentlemen  ;"  said  Mr  Trevanion, 
as  tho  party  withdrew  from  the  chamber  of  the 
Bufforer;  "I  must,  before  we  separate,  request 
that  I  may  be  favored  with  your  advice  regard- 
ing my  unfortunate  uncle.  I  have  personal 
duties  to  perform  whioh  entirely  preclude  the 
possibility  of  my  residcnco  at  tho  Hall,  or  my 
own  supcrintenilenco  of  his  health  and  comfort, 
■which  must  bo  my  first  consideration.  All 
other  points  aro  of  minor  importance,  and  may 
bide  their  time. 

"  That  Sir  Jasper  Trevanion  has  executed  a 
will  there  can  bo  no  doubt,  wliilc  it  is  equally 
certain  that  it  must  have  been  made  in  favor 


of  bis  eon  •,  there  can  not,  tuorefu'e,  f v^t  my 
necessity  for  torti^'iug  liim  by  efl'oits  (wLlch 
would,  moreover,  "  in  all  probability  piove 
abortive)  to  make  Iiim  comprehend  the  neces- 
sity of  such  a  precaution  ;  even  did  his  present 
state  of  mind  hold  out  any  prospect  thiit  such 
a  document,  executed  under  such  circumstances, 
could  be  considered  as  a  legal  one. 

"All  I  apprehend,  therefore,  tl.at  can  bo 
done,  is  to  insure  his  jjcrfeet  comfort  and  con- 
venience so  long  as  he  is  spared ;  and  I  am 
anxious  that  those  should  be  scrupulously  and 
cfiicicntly  secured.  As  I  know  little  of  tho 
personal  tastes  or  idiosyncracies  of  my  uncle, 
I  am  by  no  means  qualified  to  decide  on  tho 
most  desirable  mode  of  effecting  such  an  ob- 
ject ;  nor  should  I  feel  satisfied  to  follow  the 
suggestions  of  mere  donu'stics,  who,  however 
attached  to  their  afilicted  master,  may  err  in 
their  estimate  of  his  requirements.  I  therefore 
appeal  to  you. — I  shall  feel  gratified  by  your 
assistance." 

"  Frank   and   manly,  Mr.   Trevanion,"   said 

Sir  D D — ^— ;  "  but  no  more  than  I  should 

liave  anticipated  ficm  j;oh.  Your  position,  rs 
regards  the  invalid,  is  difficult  and  j^oculiar, 
but  he  could  not  have  fillen  into  better  hands. 
You  are  right ;  lie  is  powerless  now,  and  you 
can  afford  to  forget  the  past." 

"7\ftcr  the  scene  which  I  have  just  wil> 
nessed,"  was  the  reply ;  "  the  past  is  only  to 
be  i-egretted.  I  have  learned  a  stern  lesson  in 
that  silent  room.  I  now  feel  only  that  Sir 
Jasper  Trevanion  is  my  nearest  kinsman,  and 
the  head  of  my  house." 

"  And  in   that  house  let  him   remain,   my 

good  sir,"  broke  in  Dr.  C ;   "  it  Avould  b« 

like  rending  the  ivy  from  the  oak,  to  remove 
him  from  his  old  and  accustomed  home." 

"  I  am  quite  of  that  opinion,"  said  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion ;  "and,  moreover,  that  the  attendants  to 
whom  he  has  become  habituated  should  also 
remain  ■  about  him.  With  two  of  them  I  am 
myself  familiar,  as  they  were  already  installed 
here  in  my  boyhood,  and  have  grown  gray  in 
the  service  of  their  master.  I  have  had  inter- 
views with  both  since  my  arrival,  and  they  arc 
anxious  to  end  their  days  under  the  roof  which 
has  for  so  many  years  been  their  only  home. 
I  know  them  to  be  thoroughly  trustworthy; 
and  I  think  that  could  Sir  Jasper  be  consulted 
on  the  subject,  he  would  be  as  desirous  as  my- 
self that  they  should  retain  their  present  sway 
over  his  household." 

"  You  allude,  of  course,"  remarked  Dr.  Fern 
ley,  "  to  Mrs.  Pearson  and  Tomkins  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"Admirably  decided.'  In  fact,  I  do  not  see 
how  the  services  of  either  one  or  the  other 
could  now  be  dispensed  with  ;  the  worthy  old 
housekeej)er  is  worth  lier  weight  in  gold  in  a 
sick-room,  while  her  co-ndjutor  is  equally  valu- 
able in  his  own  department." 

"  We  will,  if  you  please,  gentlemen,  put  his 
abilities  to  the  test,"  said  tlie  merchant,  as  he 
hiid  his  hand  upon  the  bell ;  "  after  your  hurried 
journey  you  must  require  some  refresliment." 

As  no  objection' was  raised  to  the  sugges- 
tion, u  speedy  adjournment  was  made  to  the 
dining-room ;  where,  enlivened  by  a  well- 
spread  board,  and  some  of  the  choicest  wines 
from  the  baronet's  cellar,   the   eufferbgs   of 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE, 


111 


the  iauiiiJ  himself  vcre  Boon  forgotten  by 
the  professional  bretliren,  ^ho  entered  into  a 
political  discussion  with  as  much  earnestness 
as  they  had  previously  done  into  the  ailments 
of  their  patient ;  while  Mr.  Trevanion,  seated 
at  the  liead  of  that  table  to  which  he  had  been 
6o  <jruiljj;iugly  admitted  in  his  youth,  was  com- 
pelled to  take  his  part  in  the  conversation, 
and  to  alFeet  an  interest  which  he  wns  far  from 
feelin"  in  tlic  subject  of  their  discourse,  occu- 
pied as  he  then  was  with  objects  of  more  jier- 
Bonal  consideration  and  anxiety. 

"  It  strikes   me,  Mr.  Trevanion,"   observed 

gii-  D J) ,  as  he  dissected  a  partridge. 

"  that  you  would  do  well  to  ingratiate  yourself 
witli  tiio  landholders  of  the  county,  to  whom,  as 
I  am  informed,  you  are  almost,  if  not  entirely, 
a  stranger.  Take  my  word  for  it  that  we  are 
on  the  eve  of  a  general  election,  and  it  would 
be  idle  to  stand  on  ceremony  under  present 
circumstances.  Sir  Jasper,  poor  man !  is  na- 
turally Jiors  de  combat,  aud  you  are  his  most 
fitting  successor.  I  have  some  interest  hero 
myself,  aud  shall  be  most  happy  to  exert  it  in 
your  favor." 

"  In  that  case  wo  shall  have  a  contest,"  said 
Dr.  Fernlcy ;  "  as  Lord  Dronemore  has  long 
been  anxious  to  start  his  elder  son." 

"What!  The  poet  who  has  just  returned 
from  the  Pyi-amids  V 

"The  same." 

"  But,  my  good  sir,  we  want  politicians,  not 
poets,  in  the  Lower  Ilouse,"  interposed   Dr. 

C ;  "  sound  practical  men,  who  care  little 

to  hear  themselves  talk;  Avorking  bees,  who 
will  know  how  to  store  their  own  hive — n(5t 
honorable  tourists,  who  scatter  their  honey 
that  others  may  hoard  it." 

".Perhaps  so  ;  but  I  still  adhere  to  my  opin- 
ion.    What  say  you,  Mr.  Trevanion  V 

"  Simply,  that  I  never  intend  to  offer  myself 

to  the  electors  of ,  until  I  have  a  stake  in 

the  county." 

"  Unfortunately,"  observed  Sir  D D , 

with  a  courtly  inclination  of  the  head  ; . "  the 
prospect  is  by  no  means  a  remote  one,  and 
the  subject  appears  to  me  to  be  worthy  of  con- 
sideration." 

"  Had  I  a  son — "  commenced  the  merchant. 

"  You  have,  I  believe,  a  grandson,"  said  Dr. 
Fernley. 

Mr.  Trevanion  started.  Tlie  existence  of 
Ida's  child  had  been  a  forbidden  topic  in  his 
presence  from  the  moment  of  its  birth  ;  and  he 
■was  consequently  unprepared  for  so  abrupt  a 
reminder.  The  stern  man  had  resolved  to 
forget  the  fact  himself;  and,  as'  a  natural  coa- 
aequence  with  one  of  his  peculiar  character,  he 
had  calculated  that  others  Avould  follow  his 
example. 

"My  grandson  is  not  a  Trevanion,"  he  re- 
marked, coldly. 

"  True ;  but  that  circumstance  does  not  mili- 
tate against  the  fact  that  he  is  heir-presump- 
-tive  to  the  baronetcy." 

Tlie  merchant  winced  again. 

"  Anda  fine  little  fellow  he  is,"  pursued  the 
pertinacious  physician ;  "  I  never  saw  a  more 
noble  boy." 

"You  are  a  fortunate  man,  sir,"  said  Dr. 
C— r — ,  who  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  family 
history,  "and  we  will,  with  your  permission, 


drink  to  the  young  man's  health  in  a  bumper 
of  this  splendid  hock." 

Mr.  Trevanion  bowed  stiffly,  as  l.!3  guests 
prejvared  to  do  honor  to  tlic  proposed  i)lcdgc ; 
he  even  raised  the  glass  to  liis  lips  as  the  toast 
was  drunk,  but  the  cool  liquid  seemed  to  scorch 
him,  and  not  one  word  of  acknowledgment  fol- 
lowed the  draught. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Dr.  Fcrnloy,  to 
whom  the  silence  which  succeeiled  was  perfectly 
intelligible  ;  "  I  must  request  of  you  to  excuse 
me,  as  I  liave  tWo  important  visits  to  make  be- 
fore sunset." 

"  While  I,"  followed  up  St  D D ; 

"must  be  back  in  town  to-ni;';Lt,  and  conse- 
quently have  little  tiir.e  to  spare.  It  is  won- 
derful how  the  hours  fly  by  when  one  is  pleas- 
antly engaged." 

"  While  your  carriages  are  prejfhring,"  said 
the  family  physician ;  "  will  you  allow  me  to 
suggest  that  we  should  take  a  jiartiug  look  at 
our  unfortunate  friend  Sir  Jasper?" 

"  By  all  means,"  was  the  ready  reply,  and 
once  more  the  party  ascended  to  the  baronet's 
sick  room,  but  every  effort  to  rouse  him  into 
mental  consciousness  again  failed ;  aud  the  men 
of  science  finally  departed,  leaving  the  weaiy 
and  irritated  merchant  alone  in  the  vast  and 
lonely  mansion. 

Then  it  was  that,  abandoned  to  himself,  and 
left  to  wrestle  with  his  own  thoughts  for  the 
first  time  since  this  signal  change  had  taken 
place  in  hii  social  position,  Mr.  Trevanion 
keenly  felt  the  isolation  which  liis  own  vindic-  ) 
tive  passions  had  created  about  him. 

The  garrulous  old  physician  was  right;  ho 
had  a  grandson,  and  that  grandson  must,  one 
day  should  he  live  to  manliood,  inherit  the 
lordly  estates,  and  the  proud  title  of  his  ances- 
tors, while  the  daughter  whom  he  had  cast 
forth,  alike  from  his  heart  and  from  his  hearth, 
would  rule  over  a  splendid  home  for  which 
she  would  be  indebted  to  her  son  and  not  to 
him. 

The  thought  was  wormwood  to  him !  And 
then,  as  his  eye  traveled  over  the  vast  dimon- 
sious  of  the  gorgeous  rooms  in  which  he  sat,  he 
pictured  to  himself  the  crouching  insignificant 
form  of  his  wife,  who  would  probably  at  aa 
eai'ly  period  become  its  temporary  mistress, 
and  with  a  sensation  of  disgust  and  scorn,  ho 
rose  and  paced  the  floor  like  one  suddenly 
awakened  to  a  sense  of  injury. 

The  fiivolous  Miss  Clara  Rotheringbury,  the 
inert  aud  mindless  Mrs.  Hubert  Trevanion,  to 
fill  the  place  of  his  own  beautiful  and  high- 
born mother  !  The  proud  man  shuddered  as  he 
contemplated  such  a  contingency,  while  slowly 
and  unmvoked,  there  rose  up  before  him  the 
radiant  vision  of  his  daughter  ;  that  daughter, 
whose  beauty  and  whose  grace  had  flattered 
his  vanity,  and  satisfied  his  pride ;  and  like  one  , 
under  the  influence  of  mesmerism,  unable  tO  I 
contend  against  a  will  stronger  than  his  own, 
the  picture  broadened  and  deepened  until  she 
seemed  to  stand  before  him  with  her  infant  iu 
her  arms,  her  proud  brow  glowing  with  mat- 
j-only  dignity,  and  her  eyes  bright  with  natui-al 
love. 

It  was  a  splendid  picture,  and  the  merchant's 
heart  throbbed  as  he  lingered  on  it ;  but  after 
awhile  he  shook  off  the  spelL 


112 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


"Perhaps  it  must  be  so,"  he  murmured  to 
himself ;  "  but  not  yet — not  yet — Hubert  Tre- 
vanion  will  not  forgive,  even  if  Sir  Hubert  be 
ultimately  eompelied  to  do  so.  I  am  still 
master  of  my  own  actions;  and  ■when  no  longer 
able  to  control  them,  I  must  e'en  follow  the 
exain{)le  of  the  French  prince,  and  not  suffer 
the  long-descended  baronet  to  revenge  the  inju- 
ries of  the  money-seeking  merchant.  Yet, 
•when  I  remember  that  she  might  have  entered 
this  house  as  a  jiceress,  it  almost  maddens  me ! 

"And  to  think  too  that  he — that  the  vain 
boy  who,  by  a  few  idle  flatteries,  blighted 
all  my  views — that  he  may  one  day  play  the 
master  here — I  could  almost  wish  that  the 
poor  old  man  who  crushed  my  youth,  and  who 
now  in  his  helplessness  can  not  resist  the  slight- 
est of  my  wishes,  might  live  on  until  the  world 
and  the  world's  honors  had  ceased  to  hold  out 
any  charm  to  the  penniless  adventurer  who 
robbed  me  of  my  daughter." 

It  was  fortunate  that,  at  this  period  of  his 
Bclf-communing,  Mr.  Trcvanion  chanced  to  re- 
member that  he  had  still  many  and  important 
duties  to  perform  bef  )re  he  left  ihe  Hall ;  and 
with  his  hahitual  energy  he  immediately  pre- 
pared to  execute  them.  There  were  solicitors 
and  land-stewards  to  consult  and  instruct ;  ten- 
ants to  receive,  servants  to  discharge,  and  a 
host  of  minor  arrangements  to  make,  as  essen- 
tial as  they  were  harassing. 

At  length,  however,  all  was  accomplished. 
Tlie  papers  of  Sir  Jasper,  including  liis  \n\l. 
of  which  a  duplicate  was  in  the  possession  of 
his  attorney,  were  duly  examined  and  sealed ; 
the  family  diamonds  and  those  of  the  late 
Lady  Trcvanion,  all  of  which  had  been  recently 
reset  f )r  the  destined  b'ide  of  the  unhappy 
Hubert,  together  with  the  costly  service  of 
plate,  were  transferred,  under  the  care  of 
Tompkins,  to  the  baronet's  banker  in  town; 
leases  that  were  falling  in  were  renewed,  in 
accordance  with  the  instructions  previously 
given  by  Sir  Jasper ;  the  wages  of  the  several 
servants  retained  at  the  Hall  wore  doubled; 
the  stud  was  reduced,  and  all  the  equipages, 
save  one,  were  disposed  of. 

Nothing,  in  short,  remained  to  bo  done,  when 
Mr.  Trcvanion  took  his  departure  from  the 
Hall,  which  could  conduce  to  the  convenience 
or  security  of  its  afflicted  master;  while  so  ably 
had  the  still  active  Pearson  seconded  his  efforts, 
that,  while  in  t!ie  apartments  tenanted  by  the 
baronet,  all  was  luxury  and  comfort,  even  the 
Btrong-minded  niercliant  felt  his  heart  sink  with 
a  strange  soii.vation  of  av.c  and  repulsion  as  ho 
traversed  the  spacious  suite  of  state-rooms,  and 
found  their  gorgeous  drai)cries  and  stately  mir- 
rors shroud'd  iu  their  Holland  covering.?.  Life 
Beenicd  indeed  to  have  been  put  out  in  the 
homo  of  his  fathers. 

"  I  shall  chwo  the  gallery  altogether,  sir,  as 
Boon  as  you  aro  gone,"  said  the  ancient  house- 
keeper in  a  low  voice,  as  .'iho  f(j]Iowed  him  in 
liis  last  circuit  of  the  mansion,  her  voluminous 
blick  garments  sweeping  with  melancholy  mo- 1 
notony  along  the  uncarpetcd  floors,  "  and  only 
open  it  to  air  tlio  moms,  and  to  dust  the  furni-  ] 
turo,  all  of  whicli  will  of  course  bo  done  under 
my  own  eye.  You  know  that  you  can  trust 
me.  Master  Hubert — I  beg  pardon,  sir;  I  meant  I 
to  have  said  Mr.  Trovanion ;  but  really,  now,  I 


when  all  seems  to  have  passed  away  except 
yourself^  my  old  brain  is  clearer  about  early 
days,  than  on  what  is  going  on  about  mo. 
Poor  Sir  Jasper  1  To  think  that  ho  who  was  a 
boy  to  me,  should  have  come  to  this,  while  I 
am  still  hale  and  able ;  it  is  strange  and  sad 
indeed,  sir,  is  it  not  ?  And  that  dear  boj' — the 
sweetest  youth  that  ever  trod  the  earth,  gone 
tool  How  often  he  made  me  talk  of  you, 
Master  Hubert,  and  tell  him  how,  although  you 
went  out  from  these  doors  without  a  friend,  to  ] 
seek  your  fortune  in  the  wide  world,  you  came 
to  be  a  great  and  a  rich  man,  the  companion 
of  proud  lords  and  a  guest  iu  the  king's  pal- 
ace." 4 

"  But  how  came  you  to  know  all  this,  my 
good  Pearson?"  demanded  the  merchant,  wiih 
a  curiosity  which  he  could  not  repress. 

"  Oil,  sir,  we  ahva3-s  knew  all  about  you," 
was  the  eager  reply,  as  jilauting  the  stick  by 
which  she  was  compelled  to  support  herself 
while  walking,  the  aged  woman  suddenly  stop-    , 
ped  in  order  to  give  greater  emphasis  to  her 
words:   "for  you  Avcre  no  sooner  gone  than  Sir 
Jasper,  poor  dear  gentleman !  began  to  have  a 
thousand  fears  about  you ;  and   although  he 
never  dared  to  name  your  name  before  her  lady-  ) 
ship,  he  often  talked  to  Tompkins  and  his  own  ' 
man  about  his  unhappy  nephew  ;  and  I  do  be- 
lieve, Master  Ilnbert,  that  if  you  had  only  bent 
your  pride  to  write  a  letter  to  my  master,  and    , 
to  ask  him — " 

"I  had  nothing  to  ask  of  him,  Pearson." 

"  More's  tlie  pity,  sir,  more's  the  pity  that  yoa  ; 
had  not,  for  then  xve  should  have  had  happier  , 
hearts  at  the  old  Hall." 

"  So  then  I  am  to  understand  that  Sir  Jasper  .  ', 
— that  my  uncle — really  did  regret  his  harsh-  1 . 
ness  when  it  was  too  late." 

"Indeed  he  did.  Master  Hubert,  indeed  he  ' 
did;  and  of  late  years,  since  my  lady  died,  often 
and  often  did  he  and  his  poor  dear  son  tell  me 
how  honored  and  how  happy  you  were,  and 
what  a  credit  you  were  to  the  family  name; 
and  that  you  had  a  daughter  so  beautiful  that 
she  might  have  married  the  greatest  lord  in  the 
land."  , 

"And  so  she  might,"  said  the  merchant,  bit-  • 
terly,  "but  she  did  not." 

"  So  I  heard,  sir,  so  I  heard ;  but  then  Sir 
Jasper  learned  from  her  own  lips  that  she  had  ; 
wedded  the  man  of  her  heart ;  and  such  a  boy 
as  she  had,  my  master  said  ;  it  was  lenlly  won- 
derful to  hear  him  talk  of  that  child ;  and  of  ' 
course  you  know,  sir,  that  the  poor  youth  you 
laid  to  rest  only  a  few  days  back  was  to  have 
been  his  godfather,  although  he  was  too  ill  to 
go  up  to  town  for  the  christening." 

"  Ila !  indeed  1"  exclaimed  her  startled  listen-  ; 
er,  "was  Mr.  Hubert  Trcvanion  really  to  have 
been  tho  sponsor  of  Master  Sydney   Elphin- 
stone  ?" 

"  Of  your  daughter's  son,  sir,"  said  Pearson, 
"but  he  was  to  be  called  Hubert;  tho  young 
lady  would  have  it  so,  they  told  me,  because  if 
was  her  father's  name." 

''  It  is  cold  here,  my  pood  Pearson,"  said  the 
merchant,  huskily ;  "  let  us  leave  theso  deso- 
late-looking rooms.  Poor  Sir  Jasper  I  How 
much  I  wish  that  ho  could  recognize  mo  before 
1  leave." 

"No,  sir,  no;    there  is  no  hopo  of  that," 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


18 


whispered  the  housekeeper,  mysturiously,  "my 
mrustor's  mind  will  not  conue  buck  to  this  world 
till  lie  is  about  to  leave  it  altogether ;  and  then 
it  will  be  but  a  blink  of  light,  faint  and  feeble, 
so  that  soul  and  body  may  go  together." 

"  A  strange  doctrine,  that,  my  ^ood  old 
friend,"  smiled  Mr.  Trevanion,  "  but  wo  will 
hope  better  things.  Who  knows  ?  The  con- 
stitution of  my  uuclo  is  a  sound  one,  and  he 
may  yet  rally." 

"Ay,"  murmured  the  aged  dame,  "he  xuill 
rally,  but  it  will  only  be  at  the  sound  of  that 
trumpet  which  will  call  us  all  from  our  long 
gleep.  And  now  you  had  better  go  to  the 
dining-room  at  once.  Master  Hubert ;  there  is 
a  line  lire  there,  and  your  fiiuuer  will  be  served 
in  a  few  minutes." 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

SUNSniXE   AND   SHADOW. 

j  Great  was  the  astonishment  of  Lady  Mary 
Brooklands,  for  of  the  actual  mistress  of  the 
house  there  was  no  question,  when  she  was 
requested  by  Mr.  Trevanion  on  his  return  to 
town,  to  oblige  him  by  putting  the  female  serv- 
,ints  of  his  establishment  into  the  liandsomest 
mourning  compatible  with  their  station;  and 
!hat,  at  the  same  time,  a  hundred-pound  note 
was  placed  in  her  hand,  with  a  respectful  en- 
ireaty  that  she  would  be  good  enough  herself 
o  appear  in  the  same  sable  habiliments  in 
konor  of  his  deceased  relative. 

"  Do  me  the  favor  also,  my  dear  Lady  Mary ;" 
le  said;  "to  impress  upon  Mrs.  Trevanion  the 
ecessity  of  wearing  the  deepest  sables,  for  I 
ave  almost  a  twofold  death  to  deplore ;  as  I 
ave  not  only  buried  Hubert,  but  have,  more- 
rer,  left  my  unfortunate  undo  in  a  state  of 
ring  death,  even  worse  than  actual  annihila- 
on.  Slje  can  not,  as  I  well  know,  appreciate 
»  16  delicacy  of  my  position  without  your  prompt- 
g,  and  I  consequently  throw  myself,  as  far  as 
le  is  concerned,  upon  your  accustomed  kind- 
«s  and  consideration." 

"  Rely  on  it,  that  I  will  do  all  that  is  right, 
W  dear  sir;"  was  the  reply  of  the  lady,  as 
le  crushed  the  fragment  of  tissue  paper  be- 
feen  her  glove  and  her  hand;  "and  I  am 
1  re  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say,  that  your 
1  xiety  to  do  every  thing  in  a  proper  manner, 
I  i  one  suited  to  your  position  in  the  world, 
'  so  melancholy  an  occasion  as  this,  is  pre- 
<  ely  what  I  should  have  expected  from  you. 
"Dear  mo!"  she  pursued,  dropping  into  a 
toir,  and  assuming  an  expression  of  senti- 
mtal  sympathy ;  "  what  a  trying  visit  yours 
t|st  have  proved,  Mr.  Trevanion ;  father  and 
•1.  at  one  blow — or  rather  from  what  you  tell 
nl  it  would  have  been  less  deplorable,  had 
tl!  bereaved  old  gentleman  really  followed  his 
C|d  to  the  grave." 

f There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it;"  replied  her 

owpanion,  in  tiie  same  tone;   "no  doubt  on 

eRhof  it;  for  his  condition  is,  as  you  judi- 

I     Wjisly  remark,  indeed  deplorable.    •  Mindless 

I     an  powerless,  he  retains  nothing  of  humanity 

i     Mthe  form ;  and  so  long  as  he  survives,  I  see 

D^3  hope  of  any  amendment" 


"The  affair  is  altogether  very  untoward;" 
observed  Lady  Mary,  carefully  examining  tlia 
pattern  of  the  Valenciennes  upon  her  handker- 
chief 

"Worse,  worse;"  said  the  merchant  con- 
tracting his  heavy  eyebrows;  "my  responsi- 
bility has  suddenly  become  most  painful." 

"  But  in  a  sensible  point  of  view,  you  aro 
actually  the  head  of  the  family,  and  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Trovanions." 

"  True  ;  in  a  sensible  point  of  view,  but  not 
in  a  legal  one ;  I  am,  in  fact,  nothing  more  than 
the  guardian  of  Sir  Jasper,  and  have  neither 
power  nor  influence  while  he  lives." 

"  It  is  monstrously  provoking  I"  drawled  the 
family  friend ;  "  and  I  know  by  experienco 
how  long,  how  very  long,  persons  in  his  pecu- 
liar state  do  often  live.  Where  there  is  no 
wear  on  the  mind,  the  body  is  wonderfully 
tenacious  of  existence." 

"It  is  at  least  consolatory  that  ho  sufibrs  no 
pain ;"  said  Mr.  Trevanion,  calmly. 

"  Very," — was  the  retort,  as  the  titled  matron 
applied  her  handkerchief  to  her  nose ;  "  but 
still — you  will  excuse*  mo,  I  know,  if  I  repeat 
that  the  whole  thing  is  nevertheless  mon- 
strously provoking.  The  baronet,  by  your  ac- 
count, docs  not  live,  he  only  vegetates ;  and  I 
confess  that,  feeling  as  I  do  toward  yourself,  I 
could  have  wished — " 

"  No,  no ;  I  thank  you  for  your  interest  in 
my  welfare.  Lady  Mary;"  interposed  the  mer- 
chant, "  but  I  must  not  suffer  myself  to  glance 
at  what  might  have  been." 

"  Yot  he  had  injured  you  so  deeply."  I 

"  Like  many  oilier  men  who  pride  them- 
selves upon  their  moral  strength,  ho  was  at 
last  compelled  to  succumb  to  a  stronger  will 
than  his  own,  but  I  have  had  satisfactory  proof 
that  he  rejpented  his  harshness  when  it  was,  too 
late." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it;"  said  Lady  Mary; 
"  if  the  abstract  fact  affords  you  the  slightest 
gratification.  And  now,  my  dear  sir,  that  Ida's 
son  has  become  an  important  little  personago 
in  your  flimilj-,  I  trust  that  you  will  be  induced 
to  pardon  her  escajmde.  As  you  are  well 
aware,  with  all  my  affection  for  the  dear  girl,  ( 
I  have  never  hitherto  presumed  to  plead  her 
cause."    . 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,  Lady  Mary,  and  have 
estimated  your  delicacy  at  its  just  value.  No 
— ^you  have  never  striven,  by  word  or  look,  to 
moderate  my  just  resentment." 

"  I  could  not  venture  to  do  so ;  my  posi- 
tion as  a  relative  of  Mr.  Elphinstone's  was  so 
onerous,  that  I  shrank  from  every  species  of 
interference." 

"I  fully  estimated  the  reasons  of  your  silence. 
Had  you,  like  her  mother,  harassed  me  by  weak 
repinings  and  still  more  idle  reproaches,  the 
breach  between  us  could  never  have  been 
repaired." 

"  That  was  precisely  what  I  felt,  my  dear 
sir;  but  now — " 

"  Now,  madam,  I  must  have  time  to  reflect 
A  father  whose  child  deceives  him,  and  elopes  . 
from  beneath  his  roof  leaving  him  to  brave  as  / 
he  best  may  the  comments  of  the  world,  merits 
but  little  indulgence  at  the  hands  of  her  out- 
raged parent;  and  I  tell  you  frankly.  Lady 
Mary  Brooklands,   that  had  Mr«.  Sydney  El- 


114 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


pliiustono  become  the  mother  of  a  girl,  instead 
of  presenting  an  heir  to  the  Trevanions,  I 
\i-oul(l  have  abandoned  her  for  ever  to  the 
miserable  obscurity  of  her  present  lot." 

"  But  as  it  is  (" 

"  As  it  is,  1  shall  be  ruled  by  circumstances  : 
I  am  not  yet  Sir  Hubert  Trevanion,  and  I  can 
alTord  to  wait." 

Little  did  the  stern  and  unrelenting  father 
imairine  tliat  his  daucchter  had,  like  himself, 
declared  her  ■willintrness  to  "bide  her  time." 

The  disconcerted  Lady  Mary,  wlio  on  tlie 
restoration  of  her  nejihew's  vife  to  favor, 
had  rniiidly  built  up  a  cloud-castle  of  advan- 
tage to  herself,  was  too  much  accustomed  to 
the  inflexions  of  ilr.  Trevanion's  voice,  and 
the  portentous  action  of  his  eyebrows,  to  pro- 
lomj  the  discussion;  and  accordincly,  after 
having  pledged  herself  to  superintend  the 
j)ersoiial  arrangements  of  Mrs.  Trevanion  on 
tliis  important  occasion,  slie  hastened  to  term- 
inate tlie  interview,  and  so  well  did  she 
redeem  lier  pledge,  that  within  a  week  the 
merchant's  wife,  despite  her  "  dear  mes," 
"  how  very  disagreeably,"  and  sundry  other 
inane  expletives,  found  herself  attired  in  the 
deepest  sables,  for  a  man  whom  she  had 
never  seen,  and  who  she  had  been  taught  to 
regard  with  aversion,  as  an  impediment  in 
her  husband's  path  toward  greatness. 

Nevertheless,  with  her  usual  apathy,  she 
resigned  herself  to  her  fate.  She  had,  as  we 
have  shown,  long  ceased  to  contend,  and  nl- 
llioiigli  on  Ida's  evasion  from  the  jiaternal 
roof,  slie  did,  with  the  true  instinct  of  a 
motlie/s  heart,  for  a  time  revolt  against  the 
inflexible  harshness  of  her  husband,  the  mere 
force  of  habit  soon  crushed  her  back  into  her 
habitual  insignificance,  and  surrounding  her- 
self with  novels,  she  endeavored  to  forget 
her  own  sorrows  in  those  of  her  favorite  he- 
roines, and  suffered  the  titled  matron  who 
had  u.~urped  her  place  in  tlie  household,  not 
only  to  act,  but  even  to  think  for  her. 

The  mental  condition  of  Mrs.  Trevanion  in 
her  r.icdiniond  Villa,  was  little  superior  to 
tliat  of  Sir  Jasper  in  his  ancestral  halls. 

Far  dift'erent  was  the  effect  produced  by 
the   intelligence   of  the   melancholy    events 

which  liad  taken  place  in  ,  on  the  two 

families  so  closely  allied  by  blood  and  friend- 
ship to  the  baronet  and  Iiis  son. 

Upon  Lady  Malcolm,  who  had  anticipated 
a  life  of  honor  and  affection  for  her  gentle 
Edith,  the  blow  fell  heavily  indeed,  although 
she  derived  consolation  from  the  fact  that 
the  fair  girl  lierself,  however  slie  might,  and 
undoubtedly  did,  admire  and  respect  Hubert 
Trevanion,  had  yet  seen  too  little  of  him  to 
render  her  sorrow  at  his  loss  of  more  than  a 
temporary  nature.  Edith  was,  in  truth,  only 
learning  to  love  him;  her  young  heart  liad 
been  awakened,  but  not  won,  and  though  she 
wept,  it  was  rather  in  pity  for  his  fate  than 
in  regret  at  her  own  oisappointnient,  while 
lier  mother,  with  all  a  mother's  anxiety, 
looked  into  the  future  of  lier  chih^  and  shud- 
dered as  she  felt  how  suddenly  it  had  become 
a,  void. 

Their  retired  existence,  which  had  hitherto 
been  brightened  and  ghnidened  by  a  thousand 
iimocaut  and  happy  projects  for  the  future. 


had  in  one  brief  moment  lost  its  charm  ;  the 
one  perpetual  subject  of  discourse  had  becom© 
only  a  theme  of  sorrow  and  regret ;  the  light 
of  their  modest  dwelling  Avas  extinguished; 
and  as  Lady  Malcolm,  with  a  troubled  eye, 
followed  the  movements  of  lier  daughter,  her 
heart  swelled,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  felt  disjiosed  to  rei>ine. 

The  grief  of  Mrs.  Elphinstone  was  twofold; 
for  even  in  the  brief  interviews  which  had 
taken  place  between  them,  she  had  learned  to 
love  her  long-estranged  relatives;  while  the 
only  ray  of  sunshine  which  her  miserable  itn 
fatuation  permitted  to  fall  upon  her  heart* 
was  the  hope  of  soon  being  relieved  from  the 
I^resence  of  Miss  Malcolm  by  her  marriage 
with  Hubert  Trevanion. 

That  hope  had  now  passed  away  forever-; 
while  the  calm  and  uniinpassioned  resigna- 
tion of  Edith,  who,  in  the  presence  of  her 
mother  even  restrained  her  tears  in  order  not 
to  augment  the  distress  of  her  parent,  awoke 
a  new  suspicion  in  the  Bclf-tormentiug  mind 
of  Ida. 

"She  never  loved  him,"  she  murmured  to 
herself;  "she  never  loved  him,  or  she  would 
have  needed  the  consolation  which  she  is  so 
eager  to  aft'ord.  What  can  be  the  blighted 
ambition  of  a  mother  when  placed  in  com- 
petition with  a  heart  whose  first  affection  is 
cast  back  upon  it  i 

"2so,  no;  she  would  have  shed  other  tears 
over  the  grave  of  Sj'dney  Elphinstone;  her 
secret  passion  was  hojieless,  and  she  had  self- 
control  enough  to  obc}'  the  bidding  of  her 
maneuverinsx  parent. 

"Poor  child!  she  is  playing  her  part  badly  ; 
now,  when  even  /can  detect  the  truth.  Hu-  ■ 
bert  is  happy  to  have  escaped  a  fate  like  , 
mine ;  better  to  die  young — a}',  to  die  a  thou- 
sand deaths — than  to  live  on,  unloved  sad 
neglected,  when  all  the  illusions  of  hope  and  : 
passion  are  rent  away,  "and  the  bleak,  bare  , 
realities  of  existence  alone  remain." 

And  with  this  gratuitous  suft'ermg'  came  a 
renewed  feeling  of  isolation;  the  tic  which 
had  existed  between  herself  and  Sir  Jasper,  , 
and  wliieh  was  to  have  been  rendered  still  i 
closer  through  her  child,  had  greatly  tended  • 
to  reconcile  her  to  the  unrelenting  silence  of  ; 
her  fiither,  which  she  now  felt  with  double  i 
force.  I 

In  the  early  months  of  her  marriage,  the, 
passionate  devotion  of  her  husband  had  suf- 
ficed to  render  her  independent  of  all  other' 
affection,  and  she  had  consequently  endured 
it  with  jialience  and  submission  as  the  conse- 
quence of  her  own  act;  but  now,  when  sho' 
believed  the  heart  of  Sydney  to  be  estranged' 
from  her,  she  shrank  appalled  at  her  lonel*-' 
ness.  , 

There  did  appear,  indeed,  no  prospect  of  a 
reconciliation  now,  when  the  unhappy  events; 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  family,  and. 
wliich  would  have  afforded  so  favorable  an 
opportunity  for  ilr.  Trevanion  to  summon  his 
only  child  once  more  to  her  home,  had  beer 
coldly  and  officially  announced  to  lier  by  Sir 
Jasper's  attorney,  in  precisely  the  same  font 
as  they  had  been  made  known  to  Lady  Mai' 
colm. 

Never,  until  this  moment,  had  Mrs.  Elplun' 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


115 


BtOTift  ponFopSerl,  pvon  to  lioisdf,  tliat  Bhe  had 
involuntarily  looked  bej'oiul  tlio  nfToction  to 
j     the  generosity  of  her  xinfie;  and  it  was,  con- 
I      sequently,  with  terror  that  slie  remoniborcd 
I     ho-vr  fe;irfiilly  her  slender  fortrne  had  dwin- 
dled away,   and   that    she   kad  no  longer    a 
friend  on  "earth  to  whom  she  could  appeal  for 
assistance. 

OnSydnev"'s  professional  grains  she  had  Ions; 
ceased  to  calculate ;  it  was  Sir  Jasper's  intei'- 
cession  with  her  father  which  had  formed 
the  mainstay  of  her  hope,  and  now  Sir  Jasper 
was  dead  1o  all  human  sympathies. 

She  stmined  her  infnnt  to  her  heart  nlmost 
convulsively  as  these  fearful  thouijhts  flashed 
across  her  brain.  What  would  become  of  her 
"boy?  For  herself,  she  could  die;  death  had 
no  terrors  for  her;  it  would  be  peace,  and 
Test,  tind  oblivion^  but  her  noble  boy — he 
was  too  youncr,  too  beautiful,  t-oo  beloTed,  not 
to  live  long  and  hapj)ily;  and  yet  tOrwhat  a 
i  fate  was  he  reserved  S 

j  Her  own  trials  faded  before  her  fears  for 
I  him;  nnd  as  his  soft  arms -encircled 'herneclc, 
'}  and  his  rosy  cheek  rested  against  hers,  the 
!  wife  was  forgotten  in  the  mother,  and  she 
I  shed  tears  as  holy  as  an  angel  might  have 
I  sregistei^d. 

1  It  was  in  this  wild  liurst  of  grief,  to  which 
1  she  had  yielded  ^lerself  up  immediately  after, 
I  the  departureof  Lady  Malcolm  and  her  daugh- 
\  ter,  that  she  was  discovered  by  her  husband 
j  on  his  return  from  tlie  assize-town  where  the 
I  «ause,  iipon  which  he  had  been  ■engaged  for 
I  Lady  Malcolm,  had  been  tried  and  gained  in 
■a manner  which  had  surpassed  his  most  san- 

'^gnine  hopes.     Sir  F T -,  upon  whose 

well-known  -eloquence  its  suocesj  was  con- 
sidered mainly  to  depend,  when  in  the  very 
act  of  putting  on  his  gown,  had  been  seized 
with  sudden  and  violent  indisposition:  his 
jappearance  in  court  was  accordingly  impos- 
jsible;  and  it  was  too  late  to  secure  the  serv- 
ices of  any  other  leading  counsel 
.  j  Under  these  circumstances,  there  was  no 
jalternative  save  to  leave  the  cause  entirely 
'.in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Elphinstone,  whose  fa- 
I  Imiliarity  with  all  its  details  rendered  him  the 
imost  eligible  person  to  conduct  it;  and  it  was 
consequently  fortunate  that  the  industry  of 
|:he  young  man,  in  the  first  place,  and  his  in- 
tense anxiety  for  his  friend  at  the  critical 
Inoment  when  he  was  called  \ipoa  to  incur  so 
jieavy  a  responsibility,  produced  a  degree  of 
(ixcitement  that  for  the  time  overcame  the 
iiervousness  to  which,  on  his  first  appearance 
n  80  prominent  a  position,  he  would  most 
>rohably  have  yielded. 

j  Forgetting  his  own  identity  in  the  import- 
ant duty  before  him,  he  watched  the  case  as 
|t  proceeded  with  a  care  and  tenacity  which 
;nabled  him  to  garner  up  every  fact  and  ar- 
jnment  adduced  by  the  opposing  couns-el; 
ind  when,  after  closely  and  clev-erly  eross- 
juestioning  the  witnesses  brought  against 
jim,  he  at  length  rose  in  his  turn  to  reply, 
jie  ease  and  skill  with  which  he  analyzed  and 
)mmented  upon  the  speech  of  his  opponent, 
•e  lucid  manner  in  which  he  brought  for- 
:ard  and  connected  his  own  proofs,  the  ex- 
'•aordinary  grace  of  his  action,  the  animation 
i  his  handsome  countenance,  and  above  all, 


his  minute  acquaintance  with  every  detail  of 
the  case,  however  triding  nnd  fn'lile  in  ap- 
pearance, soon  excited  universal  attention. 

The  Judge  leaned. forward  in  his  seat,  evi- 
dently interested  both  in  the  cause  and  the 
orator;  the  gentlemen  of  the  bar  desisted 
from  their  several  occupations;  squibs  were 
left  half  written,  and  caricatures  half  sketched; 
the  audience  were  silent  and  absorbed;  while 
even  the  opposing  counsel,  who,  on  finding 
himself  pitted  against  a  mere  youth,  a  legal 
novice  hitherto  unknown  on  the  circuity  had 
performed  his  duty  somewhat  less  punctili- 
ously than  usual,  was  observed  more  than 
once  to  suffer  an  approving  gesture  to  escape 
him,  as  the  speech  proceeded. 

But  the  enthusiastic  speaker  noticed  noth- 
ing of  all  this ;  his  whole  heart  was  in  his 
cause;  nor  did  he  imagine  when  he  at  last 
resumed  his  seat  that  in  the  estimation  of 
most  of  his  profession.al  brethren  his  cause 
was  already  gained  Such,  indeed,  was  the 
result,  and  Sydney  Elphinstone  was  both  a 
proud  and  a  happy  Tnau  when,  to  Ids  surprise 
and  gratification,  he  heard  himself  compli- 
mented by  the  learned  Judge  who  had  pre- 
sided, and  congratulated  by  the  counsel  who 
v.-cre  6e:ited  about  him;  while,  as  the  climax 
of  his  triumph,  he  had  scarcely  been  an  hour 
at  his  hotel,  when  a  note  from  his  intended 
coadjutor  was  placed  in  his  hand,  containing 
not  oul^^  the   thanks  and  felicitations  of  Sir 

F— - —  T ,  but  also  the  handsome  fee  with 

which  his  own  ominent  services  had  been  re- 
tained. 

■"  The  gold  which  jou  have  so  ably  won, 
my  dear  sir,  you  must  be  content  to  wear," 
said  the  high-minded  lawyer,  "  and  I  trust 
that  you  will  accept  with  it  my  very  sincere 
hope  that  we  shall  ere  long  meet  again  with 
the  same  happy  result" 

His  fi:-st  step  towaid  forensic  -celebrity  was 
taken,  and  the  ground  was  firm  beneath  him. 

Such  were  the  circumstances  under  which 
the  young  husband  returned  to  his  home,  only, 
as  already  stated,  to  find  his  wife  absorbed  in 
grief. 

"  Ida,  my  own,  my  darling  Ida,"  he  ex- 
clahned,  as  he  hurried  to  her  side,  and  folded 
her  to  his  heart,  forgetting  every  thing  save 
his  love  and  her  sorrow;  "what has  happened? 
why  do  I  find  you  in  this  miserable  state? 
Speak,  darling — do  not  torture  me  with  sus- 
jiense.'' 

Mrs.  Elphinstone  replied,  by  plajcing  in  his 
hand  the  letter  which  announced  the  death  of 
Hubert  Trevanion,  and  the  imbecility  of  his 
father. 

Sydney  was  greatly  shocked, 
"  This  is,  indeed,  appalling!"  he  said,  in  an 
accent  of  deep  feeling  ;  "  how  I  pity  your 
poor  father,  who  will,  no  doubt,  be  greatly 
shocked  that  all  possibility  of  a  reconciliation 
with  his  family  is  now  over.  Do  not  tliink  me 
heartless,  Ida,  if,  however  painful  as  these 
facts  are,  it  is  a  consolation  to  me  to  find  that 
no  misfortune  has  happened  to  either  yourself 
or  our  boy." 

"Myself!"  echoed  his  wife,  bitterly;  "and 
is  it  then  no  misfortune  to  be  alone  in  tha 
world  ?" 

"  Alone,  Ida !     Did  you  say  alone,  with  your 


X  nrj    J  ^L.Ii.L,yJ  V  o     »jjr±j. 


husband  hj  your  side,  and  your  child  upon 
your  bosom  ?" 

'•But.  for  that  child,  I  should  indeed  be 
alone." 

Elphinstone  withdre\r  his  arm  from  her 
"waist,  and  rose  from  the  sofii. 

"  Hmvc  I  deserved  this,  Ida  ?"  he  asked,  re- 
proachfully. 

Mrs.  Elphinstone  vras  silent. 
'•  Even  you,  althou^jh  you  hare  ceased  to 
love  me.  -n-ill  perhaps  afford  me  your  pity," 
he  pursued,  f^reatly  agitated ;  "  Avhen  I  tell 
you  that  I  hastened  home,  full  of  hope  and 
joy,  -with  words  of  kindness  and  encourage- 
ment still  sounding  in  my  ears,  to  offer  to  you 
the  first  fruits  of  my  professional  success. 
The  anticipation  of  your  approval,  the  hope  of 
your  sympathy,  made  every  moment  of  my 
tedious  journey  seem  an  hour  until  I  reached 
my  own  door:  the  transition  is  a  bitter  one; 
but  I  do  not  blame  you  :  our  affections  are  be- 
yond our  oxvn  control,  and  I  must  submit  to  my 
late." 

"  Do  not  add  cruelty  to  coldness,  Mr.  Elphin- 
Btonc,"  said  his  Tvife. 

"  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  can  you  ever 
experience  at  my  hands,  Ida.  I  have  loved  you 
as  woman  is  seldom  loved ;  I  would  sacrifice 
my  life  to  insure  your  happiness ;  but  you 
willfully  misjudge  me.  How  ean  I  regain  the 
affection  which  was  once  mine  ?  Only  become 
what  you  wore  during  the  first  months  of  our 
marriage — tender,  generous,  and  confiding ; 
only  let  ma  once  more  be  convinced  that  I  have 
not  forfeited  your  love  ;  that  our  sad  and  unac- 
countable estrangement  is  at  an  end ,  and  I 
shall  consider  no  effort  too  great  which  may 
enable  me  to  feel  that  you  are  again  the  Ida  of 
former  days." 

"  Would  that  it  indeed  were  in  my  power," 
was  the  gloomy  reply ;  '•  but  we  can  not  de- 
ceive ourselves,  Sydney ;  we  are  both  changed. 
Like  yourself,  I  utter  no  reproach ;  I  only 
yearn  for  a  renewal  of  the  illusion  which  is  un- 
hajipily  di.-sipatcd  forever." 

"And  wherefore?  If  wo  are  only  true  to 
oursilves  and  to  each  other,  what  more  can  we 
rcijuire  for  happiness?" 

"  Do  not  urge  me,"  said  Ida,  with  a  fresh 
burst  of  tears ;  '■  I  am  unliinged,  and  sick  at 
heart." 

"•In  that  at  least  we  sympathize,"  retorted 
her  husband,  as  he    turacd  away,  unable  to 
endure  the  sight    of  a  grief  which  he    could 
neither  comprehend  nor  console  ;  that  his  wife 
was  suffering  most  acutely  he  could  not  doubt ; 
and  such  was  in  fact  the  ease,  for  jealousy  is 
an  intermittent  fever  which  "  has,"  says  a  cele- 
brated French  author,  "  its  paroxysms  and  its 
hours  of  la.'isitude ;  no  patient  could  long  en- 
dure the  violence  of  the  ague  fits  which  shake, 
oJiill,  and  agitate  their  victim  with  an  universal 
Bhiver;  no  heart  is  8tr.):ig   enough  to  sustain  ! 
the  tension  of  the  anger  which   absorbs  the  I 
whole  being."     And  thus  it  was  with  Ida;  the  ' 
doubts  and  fears  in  which  she  had  so  recently  I 
indulged  had  prostrated  her  powers;  and  now, 
as  she  looked  upon  the  clear  frank  eve  and 
proud   brow  of  her  husbjuid.  a   new   trouble 
grew  upon  her.     Could  it  indeed  be  that   she  ' 
had  wronged  him?  j 

She  began  to  doubt  herself;  and  that  doubt ' 


was  torture ;  for.  if  she  had  done  so.  ho-w 
mean,  how  despicable,  must  she  not  appear  in 
his  eyes  i  He  might  profess  to  love  her  still, 
but  vould he  do  so  when  she  had  wounded  him. 
alike  in  his  heart  and  in  his  honor? 

She  rose  suddenly  from  her  seat,  and  laying 
her  child  upon  the  cushions  of  the  sofa.' she 
moved  a  few  steps  toward  her  husband  with 
the  intention  of  once  more  throwing  herself  at 
his  feet,  and  entreating  him  to  pardon  her; 
but  just  as  she  approached,  unconscious  of  her 
purpose,  he  took  his  hat  from  the  table,  and 
merely  saying :  "  I  can  no  longer  delay  appris- 
ing Lady  Malcolm  of  the  success  of  her  cause, 
which  I  was  anxious  to  communicate  person- 
ally,"— ^he  turned,  and  left  the  room. 

Once  more  the  angel  of  peace  folded  its 
wings,  and  bowed  its  radiant  head. 

"Ko,  I  have  not  wronged  himl"  was  the 
exclamation  of  Ida,  as  she  swept  l)ack  her 
disordered  hair,  and  clasped  her  hands  in  pas- 
sionate emotion:  '•hcdarcnot  remain  to  justify 
himself;  and  worse,  far  worse,  before  he  has 
been  an  hour  in  his  home — the  home  of  his 
wife  and  child — ^be  finds  a  ready  excuse  for 
hastening  to  reap  the  reward  of  his  exertions 
in  her  smile. 

"  Fool  that  I  was  to  doubt  f  when  he  takes, 
so  little  pains  to  conceal  his  falsehood,  why 
^hould  I  torture  myself  by  sclf-accusings  as 
idle  as  they  are  ill-timed  ?  Should  I  not  blush 
at  the  cowardly  impulse  which  would  have 
carried  me  to  his  feet,  to  be  again  cajoled,  anJ 
again  deceived? 

"Father I  you  are  revenged.  Greivously 
have  I  sinned,  but  greivously  also  do  I  suffer. 
You  would  have  made  me  great ;  and  could 
you  only  know  the  abject  thing  I  am,  you 
would  forego  all  further  vengeance — loveless, 
friendless,  and  almost  homeless,  your  proua 
heiress  still  liangs  upon  the  smile  of  a  man 
whom  her  love  has  wearied — ^still  clings  to 
him,  even  amid  her  Avrongs." 

The  demon  once  more  triumphed.  Reason  ; 
was  drowned  beneath  the  waves  of  passion. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


A    LAST     HOPE. 

His  luifortunate  reception  by  his  wife,  after 
his  professional  triumph,  had  wouudetl  Elphin- 
stone to  the  heart ;  and  consequently,  at  the 
very  mon\ent  when  he  should  have  been 
hopeful  and  buoyant  he  became  depressed  and 
spiritless. 

Why,  he  asked  himself,  should  he  toil,  when 
she  whose  love  would  have  made  his  labor 
light  had  not  only  ceased  to  interest  herself  in 
his  efforts,  but  had  even  disdained  to  utter  a 
single  comment  on  his  success  ? 

To  what  a  different  result  he  had  once 
looked  forward!  How  fondly  and  confidingly 
had  Ida.  on  former  days,  listened  to  the  air- 
built  hopes  wliich  at  that  period  he  had  so 
little  power  to  realize;  while  now.  when  each 
and  all  were  alx)ut  to  become  real  and  tangible, 
she  had  withdrawn  from  him  alike  her  sym- 
pathy and  her  encouJ'agemont. 

Vain  were  all  the  congratuhitious  poured  on 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


nr 


by  Ills  friends,  and  the  laudatoiy  comments  '  restored  Elpliinstor.e  to  her,  as  fond  r.sl  as  in- 


/ ;  of  tlie"  public  press  ;  vain  -trcre  even  the  oO'ers 
of  professional  employment  pressed  upon  him, 
to  arouse  him  from  the  settled  fjloom  into 
which  he  had  fallen ;  and  althouij:h  he  pursued 
his  leijal  duties  with  care  andooiiSL-ientiousness, 
his  enthusiasm  was  at  an  cud ;  and  few  could 
now  reeognize  in  the  calm  and  uuimpassioned 
Sydney  Elphinstone,  the  brilliant  ;ind  spark- 
ling orator  by  whose  eloquence  they  had  so 
recently  been  startled  and  surprised. 

His  crushed  heart  was  no  longer  in  his  task; 
it  was  buried  beneath  the  ashes  of  his  loveless 
home.  Young  find  sanguine,  he  had  never 
foreseen  the  possibility  of  a  spirit-void  like 
this ;  and  the  moral  desolation  withered  him. 

Had  he  possessed  more  strength  of  char- 
net  er,  he  might  have  replaced  affection  by 
ambition,  but  his  nature  was  too  yielding,  and 
too  dependent  upon  external  support,  to  lead 
him  to  strive  for  the  mere  excitement  of  the 
struggle,  whea  no  helping  hand  was  stretched 
'    forth  to  sustain  him. 

It  is  true  that  the  tearful  gratitude  of  Lady 

Malcolm  and  her  daughter,  and  the  reflection 

that  Edith  was  at  length  in  secure  pos.session 

of  the  handsome  inheritance  of  which  she  had 

j  been  in  danger  of  seeing  herself  defrauded,  and  j 

henceforward   protected  from   all   danger  of^ 

pecuniary  embarrassment,  afforded  him  deep 

and  genuine  gratification ;  but  even  this  eon- 

',  sciousuess  was  n  very  inadequate  compensa- 

j  lion  for  the  home-happiness  that  he  had  lost ; 

1  \rfeile    amid    his    present   wretehedness    there 

1  awoke  within  him  a  dread  that  Ida,  the  bright 

!  and  beloved  being  whose  love  had  once  made 

,  his  world,  might  one  day  urge  him  beyond  his 

j  patience,  slfould  she  continue  to  indulge  in  the 

1  baseless  suspicions  and  unjust  accusations  by 

I  which  she  had  already  tortured  him. 

"  But  no,  no ;"  he  murmured  sadly  to  him- 
self; "  come  what  may,  I  must  be  guilty  of 
no   such  cowardice;    for  me   she  abandoned 

■  rank,  and  wealth,  and  station,  incurred  the 
I  anger  of  her  implacable  father,  and  resigned 

herself  to  comparative  poverty ;  she  is  the 
wife  of  my  bosom,  and  the  mother  of  my 
child. 

"  So  long  as  she  has  no  home  save  mine  to 

■  shelter  her ;  no  heart  save  mine  to  bleed  for 
;  her,  I  must  bear  all  the  misery  which  she  may 
leee  fit  to  inflict  upon  me.  I  were  less  than' 
!  man,  were  I  to  resent  even  the  most  cruel  of 

I  her  caprices;  but  should  it  one  day  chance 
I  that  her  father  should  relent,  then  indeed,  it 
jwould  become  nly  duty  to  assert  myself;  to 
I  prove  to  her  that  I  am  not  the  abject  thmg 
ishe  thinks  me. 

i  "  Yes,  even  although  in  wringing  her  heart  I 
jshould  crush  my  own  forever,  we  should  then 
diave  no  alternative  save  to  pare.  She  has 
iceaaed  to  love  me;  obscurity  and  privation 
Ihavedone  their  work;  and  slie  would  find  con- 
eolation  m  the  gaud  and  glitter  which  render 
the  contrast  of  her  present  existence  so  bitter 
!to  her. 
'     "  Poor  Ida !  why  did  I  vamlv  imagine  that 


gent  as  ever;  but  llie  word  was  not  uttered, 
the  look  was  not  vouchsafed. 

Ida  !iad,  after  the  interview  which  we  have 
described,  subsided  into  a  cold  and  listless 
serenity,  which  admitted  of  no  reproach,  and 
silenced  all  questioning.  To  the  well-being  of 
her  boy  she  was  ever  keenly  alive,  but  she 
manifested  no  interest  on  any  other  subject; 
Sydney  came  and  went  as  he  listed  without 
either  inquiry  or  comment ;  she  was  calmly 
courteous  when  he  Avas  near  her,  but  seemed 
totally  careless  of  his  absence ;  it  was,  in  short, 
a  domestic  illustration  of  the  German  tale  of 
the  dead  and.  the  living  bodies  linked  together, 
and  at  length,  unable  longer  to  endure  the  joy- 
less existence  to  which  he  was  condemned, 
Elphinstone,  in  a  moment  of  ungovernable 
wretchedness,  poured  out  all  his  sorrow  into 
the  sympathizing  bosom  of  Lady  ILaleolra,  and 
entreated  her  good  offices  with  Ida. 

Hitherto  he  had,  in  so  far  as  he  was  enabled 
to  do  so,  locked  the  secret  of  his  home-trials 
within  his  own  breast,  but  they  had  gradually 
become  too  heavy  to  l^  Iwrne  alone ;  and  as, 
with  blanched  cheeks  and  quivering  lips,  he 
described  the  daily  torture  to  which  he  was 
subjected  to  the  amiable  woman  who  loved 
him  as  a  son,  her  heart  sunk  within  her. 

True  to  his  implied  promise  to  his  wife, 
Elphinstone  forbore,  even  ia  his  agitation,  to 
hint  at  her  unworthy  suspicions.  He  well  Icnew 
that  Lady  Malcolm  would  never  have  forgiven 
the  insult  offered  to  her  child ;  and  thus  his 
listener  could  only  recur  to  her  original  idea 
that  Ida  v.-as  causing  the  unhappiness  of  both 
by  a  weak  jealousy  of  some  former  object  of 
her  husband's  affection, 

"  You  grieve  me  more  than  I  can  express, 
Sydney,"  she  said,  when  his  sad  confession  was 
made;  "but  you  must  remember  that,  painful 
as  your  present  trial  can  not  fail  to  be  to  you, 
there  is  never  jealousy  without  love.  Mrs. 
Elphinstone  may  probably  have  been  told  that 
she  was  not  the  first  possessor  of  your  heart — 
that  you  had  loved  before  you  became  the 
slave  of  her  own  beauty — and,  however,  we 
may  lament  tliat  she  should  yield  to  the  weak- 
ness of  repining  at  so  common  a  circumstance, 
still,  as  her  error  is  solely  caused  by  her  affec- 
tion, it  should  meet  with  indulgence  "fr-om  you." 

"  But  I  swear  to  you,  my  dear  Lady  Mal- 
colm, that  I  never  loved  any  woman  but  hep- 
self.  Consider  what  my  age  was  when  I  mar- 
ried] Was  it  probable  that  at  twenty  I  should 
offer  her  an  exhausted  heart  ?" 

"Age,  my  dear  boy,  has  little  to  do  with 
passion.  Before  you  utter  any  further  dis- 
claimers, try  to  recall  the  past,  and  to  remem- 
ber if  there  be  not  some  name  which  has,  at 
one  period  or  other,  been  linked  with  your 
own," 

"  Never.     The  thing  is  impossible." 

'  "  And  yet,  if  I  mistake  not,  I  have  myself 

heard  rumors  of  an  attachment  between  Lady 

Mary  Maitland  and  Mr.  Sydney  Elphinstone?" 

How  dare  people  so  trifle  with  the  name  of 


my  love  would  compensate  for  all ?  The  fault '  a  woman!"  exclaimed  her  companion,  indig 
w£3  mine;  and  I  must  expiate  it  as  I  Ijcst !  nantly.  "  Lady  Mary- never  gave  me  the  most  re- 
™^y-"  _  I  mote  reason  to  suppose  that  she  regarded  mo 

I  One  word  of  kindness,  one  look  of  tender- 1  with  the  slightest  favor;  while,  for  myself,  I 
'aess  from  his  wife  at  this  period,  would  have  '  looked  upon  her  simply  aa  a  beautiful  and  ua- 


118 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


afTectcd  girl,  of  whom  I  should  have  been 
firouii  as  a  sister,  but  never  should  have  chosen 
as  a  v.ifc/' 

•■  Xcverthcless,  as  the  report  reached  me,  it 
may  also  have  rcaohefl  Mrs.  Elphinstone." 

'•  I  am  persuaded  that  Ida  never  even  heard 
the  name  of  Lady  Mary  Maitland." 

"  Of  that  fact  you  can  not  be  sare,  my  dear 
boy ;  and  I  still  adhere  to  my  opinion.  That 
you  have  given  your  wife  the  slightest  cause 
of  uneasiness  since  your  marriage,  I  am  myself 
in  a  position  to  deny.  Did  I  not  make  Mrs. 
Elphinstone's  acquaintance  while  still  a  bride? 
Do  I  not  know  that  up  to  the  present  day  you 
have  frequented  no  house  but  my  own  ?  that 
the  hours  which  must  have  been  devoted  to  a 
flirtation  of  any  kind,  had  you  been  unprin- 
cipled enough  to  indulge  in  so  reprehensible  an 
amusement,  have  been  consecrated  to  the  in- 
terests of  Edith  and  myself?" 

Elphinstone  involuntarily  shrank  under  her 
frank  and  unsuspicious  gaze. 

"  Thus  then ;"  she  pursued  ;  "it  can.  only  be 
as  I  have  stated ;  and  you  would  do  well  to 
allude  to  the  subject  ,•  not  as  suspecting  the 
cause  of  her  present  disquiet,  for  that  could,  in 
either  case,  only  wound  her  feelings;  but  speak 
of  Lady  Mary  openly  and  unaffectedly  as  a 
former  acquaintance,  even  as  a  friend,  if  'you 
will ;  and  conclude  by  informing  your  wife  that 
the  young  lady  is  about  to  bestow  her  hand 
upon  t!ie  Marquis  of  Brentwood,  a  fiict  of 
which  I  have  been  assured." 

"  Such  a  proceeding  would  avail  me  nothing ;" 
said  Elphinstone,  gloomily;  "Ida  has  never 
even  dreamed  of  Lady  Mary." 

"  You  astonish  me,  Sydney,  by  your  persist- 
ence in  this  opinion  ;  I  had  hoped  and  believed 
that  I  had  discovered,  and  could  have  struck 
at,  the  root  of  the  evil.  But  doubtlessly  T  have 
wronged  your  wife,  by  attributing  to  her  so 
despicable  a  weakness  as  jealousy." 

"  I  fear  not." 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  are  inexplicable,  but  I 
have  no  right  to  ask  of  you  a  greater  amount 
of  confidence  than  you  are  willing  to  repose 
in  me.  All,  therefore,  that  T  can  now  do,  is  to 
inquire  how  I  may  be  of  ser^nce  to  you?" 

^  I  will  tell  you,  my  kind  friend  ;"  was  the 
agitated  reply;  "on  you  rests  my  only  hope. 
See  my  poor  self-deluded  Ida  ;  reason  with 
her;  convince  her  of  my  unchanged  and  un- 
changeable affection ;  describe  to  her  the 
miserj'  which  she  is  daily  and  hourly  inflicting 
on  me ;  ask  her  only  to  hear  my  justification 
before  she  condemns  me  ;  urge  her  to  hear  you 
in  the  name  of  her  boy — she  still  loves  him  ! 
And,  above  all,  bear  with  her  waywardnes.s, 
should  she  give  utterance  to  any  thing  which 
may  wound  you — look  upon  her  rather  as  oue 
suHering  from  vital  disea.so  than — " 

"Enough,  Sydney,  enough — I  will  obey 
your  bidding,  my  dear  boy,  for  your  dead 
mother's  sake;  although  I  am  quite  aware 
tliat  the  part,  which  I  am  about  to  plaj',  is,  at 
the  best,  an  invidious  one  ;  at,  any  sacrifice  of 
my  own  feelings,  liowever,  I  will  strive  to  re- 
store peace  between  you,  for  your  present  ex- 
istence is  a  sad  wa.ste  of  life,  and  must  sooner 
or  later  become  intollerable  to  both  parties. 
Periiaps  Jfrs.  EIj)hinstone  will  be  more  frank 
than  yourself;  should  it  happily  provo  so,  I  am 


sanguine  as  to  the  results  of  my  interfer- 
ence," 

The  excited  yonng  man  seized  the  kind 
hand  which  was  extended  to  him,  and  raised  it 
to  his  lips. 

"And  yoa  will  bear  with  her,  even  should 
she—" 

"Yes,"  interposed  Lady  Malcolm,  with  an 
encouraging- smile ;  "even  should  she  tell  me, 
as  with  justice  she  may.  that  I  have  exceeded 
the  privilege  of  a  friend,  by  presuming  to  in- 
trude my  advice  unasked;  so  be  of  good 
cheer,  Sydney;  I  will  call  upon  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone early  to-morrow ;  and  I  trust  that  before 
I  leave  her  I  shall  see  her  weeping  out  in 
^•our  arms  the  happy  tears  of  renewed  confi- 
dence and  affection.  And  now,  in  return  for 
my  concession,  go  home,  and  try  my  experi- 
ment regarding  Lady  Mary  Maitland.  I  am 
not  yet  convinced,  and  shall  be  by  no  means 
surprised  if  on  arriving  at  your  house,  I  find 
my  own  interference  altogether  unnecessary." 

The  young  man  strove  to  return  her  parting- 
smile,  but  it  was  with  a  sad  foreboding  of  the 
failure  of  Lady  Malcolm's  attempt  that  he 
turned  his  step  homeward. 


CKAPTER  XLIT. 

TOE  WIFE   AJTD  THE  FRIEXD. 

iRKSOifE  as  Mr.  Trevanion  had  considered 
his  position  while  under  the  roof  of  his  uncle, 
it  became  tenfold  more  so  when  he  was  again 
established  in  his  own  house.  The  peculiar 
circumstances  of  the  last  month  had  unsettled 
his  mind  for  business ;  while  the  daily  increas- 
ing inanity  of  his  wife,  and  the  selfish  con- 
descension of  Lady  Mary  Brooklands,  alike 
irritated  him.  ifrs.  Trevanion,  like  most  weak 
people,  had  a  horror  of  mourning,  and  declared 
that  her  health  was  injured  by  the  gloom  of 
every  thing  about  her, 

"I  should  not  have  cared,  you  know,  Lady- 
Mary;"  she  whined;  "  if  I  had  been  called 
upon  to  wear  this  odious  silk  and  crape  for  Mr. 
Trevanion,  or  Ida,  or  even  for  youriself ;  because 
then  it  would  have  been  only  right  and  proper; 
but  to  do  it  for  a  person  I  never  saw  in  my  life 
is  a  great  deal  too  lad  ;  just  as  Mademoiselle 
Laura  had  sent  me  three-  loves  of  caps  that  are 
now  sheer  wa.-^te.  And  the  servants,  too;  I 
declare  tlioy  all  look  liko  people  just  returned 
from  a  funeral;  and  as  for  ifr.  Trevanion.  it  is 
really  shocking  to  see  how  little  he  cares  how 
things  go  on  now  at  liome." 

"  Mr.  Trevanion  has  a  great  responsibility 
pressing  upon  him,  mj'  dear  madam  ;  and  can 
not,  consequently,  be  expected  to  interest  him- 
self so  much  as  formerly  in  the  details  of  his 
e.sitablishment ;  which,  moreover,  he  docs  mo  ■ 
the  honor  to  think  that  I  can  regulate  with 
tolerable  efficiency,"  was  the  sententious  re-l 

ply-  „' 

"  I  wish  that  poor  Ida  had  never  left  us, 
resumed  the  lady  of  the  mansion,  after  a  brief 
silence;  "there'was  some  thing  like  life  in  the 
house  while  she  was  here — and  I  had  some  one 
to  love  me  then — but  now,  I  might  as  well  be  : 
in  my  grave." 


XJJ-Xi        O  Jlj  X\  U\J  \J  t3 


An  equivocal  smile  played  for  an  instant 
about  the  mouth  of  her  companion,  but  it  did 
not  linj^er. 

"  Doubtlessly,  we  all  miss  Mrs.  Elphinstone," 
glio  said,  '■  but  surely,  you  at  least  have  no  just 
cause  of  complaint.  Mr.  Trevanion  is  a  most 
generous  husband." 

'•GenerousJ"  echoed  the  poor  lady,  with  a 
burst  of  very  unusual  indignation;  "  I  am  sure 
I  can  not  think  what  meaning  you  attach  to 
such  a  word.  Do  you  imply  that  I  am  clothed, 
and  fed,  and  lodged,  like  a  gentlewoman?  I 
have  a  right  to  be  so,  for  my  fortune  was  the 
foundation  of  my  husband's.  But  what  am  I 
to  become  in  my  own  house  ?  Do  you  suppose 
that  because  I  bear  with  the  indignity  in  si- 
lence, 1  do  not  feel  the  insult  of  seeing  a  stranger 
take  ray  place,  and  perform  my  duties  ?" 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Trevanion,  you  amaze  mo  I" 
exclaimed  Lady  Mary,  alarmed  by  this  sudden 
and  unexpected  self-assertion,  on  the  part  of 
lior  hitherto  supine  and  Ustless  companion ; 
'•in  your  delicate  state  of  health,  would  it  be 
Ivind,"  would  it  be  prudent,  to  subject  you  to  so 
jrreat  a  fatigue  as  the  superintendence  of  an 
extensive  establishment  necessarily  involves  ? 
Tou  surely  can  not  be  serious  iu  thus  misinter- 
preting the  considerate  kindness  of  Mr.  Treva- 
aiioa  ?" 

"  It  would  be  no  fatigue  to  reply  if  I  were 
occasionally  consulted  on  the  arrangements  of 
my  household,"  said  the  irritated  woman,  to 
v.-hom  anger  had  lent  a  temporary  energy,  "but 
if  he  did  not  see  me  from  day  to  day,  I  might 
easily  imagine  that  Mr.  Trevanion  had  forgotten 
my  existence.  Surely,  when  my  daughter  was 
gone,  I  had  a  right  to  bo  the  mistress  of  my 
cwn  house." 

"  Mrs.  Trevanion,"  said  Lady  Mary,  looking 
np  from  her  worsted- work  with  an  air  of  offend- 
ed virtue,  ■"  I  can  not  pretend  to  misunderstand 
your  inference.  You  are  jealous  of  my  position 
in  the  family.  Tou  shall  no  longer  have  cause 
to  be  so.  I  will  immediately  apprise  Mr.  Tre- 
vanion of  your  sentiments,  and  request  his  con- 
sent to  resign  a  post  which  has  for  j'ears  been 
both  delicate  and  difficult.  He  will  be  de- 
lighted, I  do  not  doubt,  to  find  that  you  con- 
sider yourself  equal  to  the  exertion  of  taking 
my  place." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  never  asked  you  to  leave 
US,"  was  her  terrified  reply;  "of  course  you 
will  tell  Mr.  Trevanion  what  you  please,  and 
3'ou  know  well  what  he  will  answer.  I  iiavc 
no  friend  to  take  my  part;  no  child  to  care 
f  jr  me,  and  so  I  must  submit ;  but  if  you  think 
that  I  do  not  feel,  you  arc  both  mistaken." 

Lady  Mary  instantly  saw  her  advantage,  and 
pursued  it 

"  I  had  flattered  myself,"  she  said  haughtily, 
"  that  you  regarded  me  as  a  friend,  but  I  And 
that  I  am  deceived ;  and  that  after  having  de- 
voted long  and  weary  years  to  the  interests  of 
yourself  and  your  daughter,  I  am  still  consider- 
ed as  a  stranger.  Under  such  circumstances, 
Mrs.  Trevanion,  I  can,  of  course,  no  longer  re- 
main a  guest  in  your  house." 

"You  were  very  kind  to  Ida,  I  know,"  con- 
ceded her  companion,  sullenly. 

"  And  of  what  have  you  yourself  to  com- 
plain?" was  the  harsh  inquiry;  "before  we 
fart,  I  should  desire  to  ascertain  upon  what 


grounds  you  assume  the  right  to  censure  mo. 
Mr.  Trevanion,  conscious  that  neither  his  con- 
nections nor  your  own  could  introduce  your 
daughter  into  the  society  in  which  ho  wished 
her  to  move,  solicited  my  assistance,  which  I 
granted  as  frankly  as  it  was  asked.  I  filled 
your  house  with  the  I'lite  of  the  fashionable 
world;.  I  did  for  Ida  what  neither  her  money 
nor  her  beauty  could  have  done;  I  enabled 
her  to  take  her  place  among  them.  That  she 
did  not  profit  by  my  exertions  in  her  behalf 
was  assuredly  no  fault  of  mine." 

"  You  introduced  your  nephew  to  her,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Trevanion,  with  a  last  flash  of  ex- 
piring spirit. 

"I  presented  many  to  her  besides  my 
nephew,"  was  the  reply  of  Lady  Mary,  as  a 
conscious  flush  rose  to  her  cheek;  "but  I 
never  counseled  her  to  marry  him.  On  the 
contrary,  I  represented  to  her  the  folly  and 
rashness  of  such  a  choice.  Had  she  been  my 
own  daughter,  I  could  not  have  advised  her 
more  disinterestedly.  But  it  is  of  yourself  that 
I  would  speak  rather  than  of  your  daughter. 
Do  you  not  also  owe  many  hours  of  gratifica- 
tion to  my  good  offices  ?  Have  you  not  seen 
j-ourself  surrounded  by  some  of  the  greatest 
and  noblest  in  the  land  ?  And  have  you  for- 
gotten to  whom  3'ou  were  indebted  for  such  a 
privilege  ?  Your  husband  has  a  better  memo- 
ry, and  to  him  I  shall  have  no  cause  to 
appeal" 

"Ah,  those  were  happy  daysl"  murmured 
out  the  broken-spirited  woman,  once  more 
crushed  beneath  the  well-acted  indignation  of 
her  haughty  companion,  and  burying  herself 
still  deeper  amid  her  cushions ;  "  those  were 
happy  daysl" 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  find  that  you,  at  least, 
admit  that  fact,"  pursued  this  relentless  perse- 
cutor, "as  it  proves  that  you  have  little  cause 
of  complaint.  Those  days  might  have  been 
renewed,  had  the  same  good  understanding 
continued  to  exist  between  us;  but  that  will 
be  impossible  when  I  have  left  you.  j\fi/  friends 
will,  as  a  natural  consequence,  resent  tlie  affront 
which  has  been  ofl'ored  to  me,  nor  will  it  be  in 
my  power  to  prevent  it." 

"I  am  sure  that  it  was  not  my  intention  to 
offend  you,"  sobbed  out  Mrs.  Trevanion,  whose 
unaccustomed  excitement  had  terminated  in 
tears;  "  you  know,  my  dear  Lady  Mary,  that  I 
dare  not  do  so,  even  if  I  wished  it.  Do  not 
leave  me  alone  with  my  husband ;  it  is  too  late, 
too  late — once,  perhaps,  I  might  have  resented 
his  harshness,  but  that  time  has  gone  by.  I 
only  wished — I  only  thought — that  I  might 
have  been  treated  with  more  kindness,  more 
consideration;  that  I  might  at  least  have  had  a 
voice  in  what  concerned  myself;  but  I  will 
never  indulge  in  such  a  hope  again." 

"  And  you  will  do  well,"  said  her  companion, 
as  she  glanced  with  contempt  upon  the  weak 
woman  whose  domestic  wrongs  should  rather 
have  excited  her  sympathy ;  "  you  have  not  to 
learn  to-day  the  peculiar  disposition  of  Mr. 
Trevanion  ;  he  is  proud,  very  proud,  and  should 
he  find  himself  coldly  treated  by  those  who 
have  hitherto  professed  to  bo  his  friends,  he 
would  bitterly  resent  the  insult.  Should  I 
withdraw  myself  from  his  house,  this  would 
undoubtedly  be  the  case,  nor  could  I  conceal 


from  him  tliat  a  puerile  love  of  power  on  your 
own  part  had  led  to  the  annoyance. 

"  Decide,  therefore,  in  how  far  you  feel  your- 
self able  to  resist  his  displeasure.  If  I  go,  it  is 
because  you  have  desired  it ;  if  I  remain,  it  can 
and  shah  only  be  at  your  express  request. 
That  you  have  deeply  wounded  me,  you  must 
both  see  and  foel,  but  for  your  own  sake  I  will 
consent  to  pardon  the  affront,  if  by  so  doing  you 
believe  tliat  I  may  avert  from  you  the  resent- 
ment of  your  husband." 

"Oh,  no,  no;  don't  talk  of  leaving  us,"  gasp- 
ed out  her  victim  ;  "  whatever  I  may  feel,  what- 
ever I  may  suffer,  I  will  never  offend  you  again 
even  by  a  word,  my  dear  Lady  Mary." 

"  I  will  trust  to  that  assurance ;  and  now, 
listen  to  me  a  moment  longer,  Mrs.  Trevanion. 
You  know  that  your  nephew  is  dead,  and  that 
his  father  will,  in  all  probabihty,  soon  follow 
him  to  the  grave.  Now  I  appeal  to  your  own 
good  sense;  if  even  here,  in  your  Richmond 
Villa,  j'ou  are  unequal  to  the  exigences  of  your 
position,  how  could  you  hope  to  acquit  j'our- 
solf  of  the  more  complicated  and  onerous  duties 
which  would  await  you  at  Trevanion  Hall  ? 
And  besides,"  she  added  with  a  smile  full  of 
blandishment  and  meaning,  "as  Zarfy  Treva- 
nion, you  will  have  ample  occupation  in  sustain- 
ing your  rank,  and  receiving  your  guests.  By 
tlie  by,  I  find  that  the  family  diamonds  are 
superb,  and  as  Ida  is  unfortunately  hois  cle  com- 
hat,  at  least  for  the  present,  j'ou  will  enjoy  un- 
disputed po.sse.ssion  of  these  far-famed  jewels. 
Is  it  then  reasonable  that  you  should  indulge  in 
idle  repinings  at  imaginary  wrongs,  when  so 
brilliant  a  destiny  awaits  you  V 

Weak  and  vain,  however,  as  the  poor  mother 
was,  there  was  yet  something  in  the  words  of 
her  companion  which  jarred  upon  her  feelings. 
She  could  not  exult  in  any  triumph  which  was 
obtained  at  the  cost  of  her  only  child ;  and  even 
the  vision  evoked  by  the  artful  Lddy  Mary  lost 
its  charm,  as  sho  remembered  how  beautiful 
her  banished  Ida  would  have  looked  in  the 
diamonds  which  were,  as  she  was  assured,  to 
be  her  own. 

Little,  however,  did  Lady  Mary  Brooklands 
care  to  .speculate  upon  the  hidden  feelings  of  a 
mother's  heart.  Sho  had  accomplished  lier 
jiurpose ;  she  had  silenced  the  justifiable  mur- 
murs of  the  ill  used  wife ;  she  had  cruslicd  the 
gerni  of  indignation  in  tho  spirit  of  the  woman ; 
slie  had,  as  slio  trusted,  aroused  her  egotism, 
and  dazzled  lier  vanity,  and,  better  still,  sho 
had  secured  herself  against  every  cliance  of  ex- 
jmlsion  from  a  home,  in  which,  without  either 
outlay  or  responsibilitj',  sho  lived  a  hfo  of  luxu- 
ry and  ca.so  which  fbrmed  a  delicious  contrast 
to  the  existence  of  privation  and  expedients  to 
which  sho  must  have  been  reduced,  if  once  more 
compelled  to  subsist  upon  her  very  insufficient 
jointure. 

Tho  conviction  of  her  present  and  futuro 
securit}'  acted  like  magic  on  the  mood  and  man- 
ner of  tho  noblo  matron;  she  listened  to  Iho 
puerilities  of  her  companion  wilii  unfailing 
patience;  ah'ected  to  sympathize  in  all  her  mur- 
muns — for  despite  her  promises,  i>nor  Mrs.  Tro- 
vanion's  existence  was  one  long  murmur,  which 
appeared  to  possess  for  her  a  species  of  negative 
enjoyment;  and,  finally,  she  rose  from  lier 
worated-work  to  select  from  a  box  of  books, 


just  received  from  Churton's,  '  a  charming  new 
novel,'  which  she  recommended  to  her  perusal 

No  wonder  that  when  Lady  Mary  consider- 
ately witluirew  in  order  that  slie  might  enjoy 
it  undisturbed,  the  guileless  dupe  felt  self-con- 
victed of  injustice  and  want  of  courtesy  toward 
tlie  able  tactitian  who  had  so  skillfuUy  termi- 
nated an  interview,  which,  from  the  instant 
that  her  own  point  was  gained,  had  alike  wear 
ried  and  disgusted  her. 

In  ten  minutes  more  the  family  friend  was 
closeted  in  the  library  with  the  master  of  thd 
house 


.CHAPTER  XLV. 

GREEK  MEETS   GREER. 

As  had  been  constantly  tho  case  since  his 
return  to  town,  Mr.  Trevanion  was  surrounded 
by  papers  and  accounts,  all  relating  to  the 
affairs  of  his  family,  which  now  appeared  to 
absorb  the  whole  of  his  attention;  for,  although 
his  first  impulse  had  been  one  which  diil  him 
honor,  it  must  not  be  denied  that  afler-reflcc- 
tion  had  induced  him  to  regard  himself  if  not 
actually  as  an  ill-used,  at  least  as  a  very  \^nfor- 
tunate,  individual. 

Uad  Sir  Jasper  borne  the  shock  of  his  son's 
death,  as  ho  had  borne  that  of  his,  daughter's 
desertion,  and  been  still  competent  to  fulliU  tho 
duties  of  his  station,  it  is  jirobablc  that  his 
nephew  would  have  awaited  with  patience  and 
equanimity  tho  period  when  ho  should  himself 
become  tho  representative  of  the  family  honors; 
but  when  he  remembered  that  the  baronet  was, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  dead  to  the  world, 
though  he  might  possibly  continue  for  years  to 
live  on  in  the  same  imbecile  and  powerless  con- 
dition, a  feeling  of  irritation  took  possession  of 
him  which  he  made  little  or  no  c-flbrt  to  re- 
press. 

Every  detail  connected  with  tho  estate  as- 
sumed, in  his  eyes,  a  separate  imjiortiuiee,  far 
greater  than  it  in  reality  merited ;  the  value  of 
the  ancient  timber  which  rendered  the  exten- 
sive park  tho  most  picturesquo  and  stately  ia 
tho  county,  was  calculated  again  and  again ;  tho 
massive  plate,  which  had  been  the  accumuUi- 
tion  of  centuries,  and  the  Indian  accessions  by 
wiiich  it  had  been  increased  through  the  mar- 
riage of  Sir  Ja.sper  with  tho  nabob's  widow, 
underwent  a  similar  process;  while  not  tho 
least  interesting  subject  of  his  ruminations  was 
tho  banker's  book,  witli  its  careful  record  of  tho 
heavy  sums  saved  annually  by  the  baronet,  and 
destined  to  the  establishment  of  his  son. 

Hithetto,  ilr.  Trevanion  had  looked  upon 
money  rather  as  a  means  than  an  end  ;  though 
ho  had  labored  assiduously  for  wealth,  he  had 
regarded  it  rather  as  a  slave  than  a  master ;  ho 
had  valued  tho  pomp,  tho  lu.xury,  and  the  con- 
sitleratiou  which  it  secured  to  him,  and  not  tho 
gold  for  its  own  sake ;  nay,  throughout  tho 
whole  of  his  career  until  the  marriage  of  Ida, 
he  had  coyetod  its  increa.so  rather  for  her  sako 
than  for  his  own;  and  all  his  yearnings  had 
been  awakened  by  tlie  sole  ambition  of  achieviiyg 
greatness  without  the  aid  of  those  who  had  de- 
spised him  in  bis  poverty. 


Xow-,  however,  when  the  "  blood}-  Imnd"  ap- 
p  :.i\'d  to  be  ahnost  within  his  grasp,  it  was  no 
Imiuer  the  chief  object  of  attraction,  and  had  he 
I  •111  a  needy  man  with  whom  tlie  world  had 
il  alt  {^rudzinglr,  he  might  well  have  been  par- 
r!.Mied  for  such  a  feehng ;  while,  as  it  was,  it 
-  -iiied  suddenly  to  have  changed  his  whole  na- 
ture. 

He  had  no  sooner  ascertained  the  enormous 
Fum  produced  by  his  own  already  colossal  wealth, 
when  united  to  that  of  which  ho  must  necessa- 
rily become  the  owner  on  the  demise  of  the 
baronet,  than  ho  suddenly  forgot  his  ambition 
in  his  avarice.  He  even  regretted  the  profuse 
expenditure  in  which  he  had  for  so  many  years 
indulged,  as  he  reflected  that,  having  failed  in 
his  darling  project  of  securing  a  noble  son-in- 
law,  so  much  more  would  have  been  added  to 
the  heap ;  and  there  were  moments  when  ho 
almost  resolved  to  curtail  his  establishment,  in 
order  to  reduce  the  further  inroads  which  it 
compelled  him  to  make  upon  his  treasured  cap- 
ital. 

Never  had  the  proud  merchant  been  so  rest- 
less and  so  ill  at  ease.  Trevanion  Hall  on  the 
one  hand,  and  his  counting-house  in  the  city, 
on  the  other — his  two  mines  of  wealth — ap- 
peared to  him  so  discordant  and  so  incompati- 
ble that  they  almost,  each  in  its  turn,  fretted 
Lim  to  fever. 

He  was  now,  actually  if  not  legally,  the  head 
of  his  house;  but  while  the  old  man  lived,  he 
must  continue  to  be  Mr.  Trevanion,  the  mer- 
I  chant.  His  commercial  affairs  progressed  as 
I  usual,  but  there  was,  nevertheless,  a  moral  in- 
iterregnum  in  his  existence,  during  which  he 
1  could  not  mentally  define  his  real  position. 
'  To  a  haughty  spirit  like  his  the  feeling  that 
I  such  was  the  case  amounted  to  actual  sufTer- 
j  ing ;  arid  at  times  he  would  have  been  thank- 
jful,  had  intelligence  reached  him  that  his  uncle 
ihad  been  restored  to  the  possession  of  his  fac- 
1  iilties,  for  then  ho  could  at  least  have  recon- 
!  oiled  himself  to  pursue  the  career  which  had 
(already  raised  him  to  opulence  and  honor;  but 
leituated  as  he  now  was,  it  had  become  distaste- 
Iful  to  him,  while  he  had  no  equivalent  to  replace 
!  either  its  excitement  or  its  advantages. 
1  Haughty  and  stern  as  ever,  he  had  less  self- 
command  ;  and  where  he  would  formerly  have 
spurned  support,  he  now  yearned  to  secure  it. 
He  was  no  longer  young ;  no  longer  sanguine  ; 
he  could  not  look  beyond  the  present  hour  with- 
JQut  disturbing  himself 

j  Nothing  had  come  to  pass  as  he  hadforeshad- 
|owed  it.  Tiio  nephew,  whose  very  name  had 
•been  obnoxious  to  him  because  he  stood  in  the 
[wayof  liLs  own  greatness,  was  in  his  grave; 
the  daughter  upon  whom  he  had  leaned  with 
;confidence  as  the  sure  agent  of  his  ambition  had 
jfailed  him;  the  relative  whom  he  sought  to 
.humble  was  beyond  the  reach  of  worldly  morti- 
Ification  ;  .and  more  bitter  than  all  else,  he  must 
consent  to  forego  his  resentment,  and  to  ac- 
knowledge the  child  of  a  penniless  son-in-law  as 
[his  heir,  or  bo  condemned  to  the  exasperating 
Iconsciousness  that,  resist  as  he  might,  he  had  no 
Vpower  to  prevent  that  child  from  succeeding 
ihim  as  tlie  heir  of  the  Trevanions. 
!  He  had  arrived  at  this  phase  of  his  reverie 
'when  Lady  Mary  Brooklands  entered  the  li- 
brary. 


1  "  Are  you  engaged,  Mr.  Trevanion  ?"  she 
asked  in  her  blandest  tone;  "if  so,  I  will  take 
some  future  'opportunity  of  communicatiug 
what  I  have  to  say." 

"My  engagements  at  present,"  was  the 
equally  bland  reply  ;  "  are  l)y  no  means  press- 
ing ;"  and  Mr.  Trevanion,  with  his  usual  cere- 
monious politeness,  rose  from  his  seat  to  ad- 
vance a  chair  f<>r  his  visitor. 

As  ho  resumed  his  own,  liis  ej'o  foil  on  the 
formidable  array  of  figures  iu  which  he  had 
that  morning  inscribed  his  possessions  in  ex.te 
and  posse ;  and  it  was  with  increased  statcli- 
ness  that  he  prepared  to  grant  the  audience 
solicited  by  his  noble  inmate. 

Lady  Mary  was  a  peer's  daughter,  true ;  but 
she  was  as  poor  as  she  was  proud ;  while  he 
had  wherewithal  to  buy  up  a  store  of  peerages, 
should  they  come  into  the  market.  The  time 
had  passed  when  she  was  absolutely  essential 
to  him,  but  he  well  knew  that  he  was  as  neces- 
sary to  her,  as  ever.  He  had  purchased  her 
■services,  and  could  still  pay  their  price ;  there 
was  no  feeling  of  obligation  on  either  side; 
while  constant  association  had  enabled  them  to 
comprehend  each  other  perfectly. 

Lady  Mary  inwardly  sneered  at  the  man  of 
money  who  aspired  at  greatness ;  while  the 
merchant,  on  his  side,  despised  the  great  lady 
who  sacrificed  her  dignity  to  her  interests. 
Still,  nothing  could  exceed  the  urbanity  and 
good  breeding  with  which  both  played  their 
part  in  the  domestic  drama.  If  there  was 
neither  confidence,  friendship,  nor  regard  be- 
tween them,  there  was  the  strong  tie  of  mutual 
necessity.  Each  was  essential  to  the  other, 
and  each  was  conscious  that  such  was  the 
case. 

Thus,  even  when  Mr.  Trevanion,  with  a  keen- 
ness of  perception  rendered  still  more  acute  by 
distrust — for,  from  the  moment  Ida  became  the 
wife  of  Sydney  Elpliinstone,  he  Jiad  distrusted 
Lady  Mary — perceived,  or  fancied  he  per- 
ceived, that  the  tortuous  talent  of  the  titled 
widow  was  about  to  be  exhibited  in  some  new 
and  skillful  maneuver,  not  a  look  or  a  gesture 
was  ever  suffered  to  betray  such  a  suspicion ; 
nor  did  he,  when  he  occasionally  contrived, 
with,  apparent  unconsciousness,  to  baffle  her 
endeavor,  permit  her  to  imagine  that  he  was 
aware  of  having  done  so. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  constantly  upon  his 
guard  against  a  surprise ;  and  it  was,  conse- 
quently, with  a  misgiving  of  some  fresh  design 
upon  his  purse  or  his  pride  that  he,  on  the  pres- 
ent occasion,  assumed  an  attitude  of  profound 
and  earnest  attention. 

Nor  was  he  far  wrong  in  his  anticipations, 
for  after  having  so  cleverly  protested  against 
the  indignant  interference  of  the  wife,  the  as- 
tute matron  resolved  to  render  her  position 
equally  secure  with  the  husband. 

Skillfully  as  she  had  striven  to  ascertain  the 
intentions  of  Mr.  Trevanion,  on  his  accession 
to  the  baronetcy,  she  had  been  unable  to  effect 
her  purpose.  Had  she  sucoeeded  in  inducing 
him  to  confide  to  her  his  decision  regarding  his 
daughter,  her  own  future  fate  would  have  been  ' 
clearly  mapped  out  before  her  ;  for  should  he 
resolve  to  recall  his  long-banished  child,  now  a 
wife  and  a  mother,  Mrs.  Elpliinstone  must 
necessarily  do  the  honors  of  Ti-evauiou  IXjiU, 


12^ 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


an;l,  -with  her  hi:^li  spirit,  would  brook  no  inter- 
ftTcnce  from  herself;  in  which  case,  she  must 
cither  forego  the  well-appreciated  advantages 
of  her  preseut  h  )me,  or  ci>n^ent  to  subside  iuto 
insiguilieimce ;  whereas,  should  the  oflFended 
father  persevere  in  his  resentment,  her  own 
reign  was  secured. 

It  was  to  satisfy  herself  of  tliis  important 
point  that  she  now  intruded  on  the  solitude  of 
the  merchant,  but  she  was  by  far  too  able  a 
tactician  to  put  the  question  directly. 

'•  My  reason  for  wishing  to  see  you  at  this 
particular  moment,  Mr.  Trevanion,"  she  com- 
menced; "was  to  inform  you  that  I  have  just 
had  a  somewhat  important  conversation  witli 
your  wife.  As  it  is  extremely  probable  that 
your  uncle.  Sir  Jasper,  can  not  long  survive, 
and  as  his  death  will  occasion  great  and  exten- 
sive alterations  in  your  domestic  arrangements, 
I  tljought  it  desirable  to  ascertain  the  wishes 
and  intentions  of  ilrs.  Trevanion,  when  the 
event  should  occur — "  , 

"  A  work  of  supererogation,  madam,  which 
could  tend  to  no  result." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but,  aware  as  I  am  of  the  pe- 
culiar constitution  of  Mrs.  Trevanion's  mincl,  I 
tliought  it  very  possible  that  when  ouce  she 
had  become  Lady  Trevanion,  she  would  con- 
eider  herself  aggrieved  should  I  continue  to 
exercise  the  same  authority  under  your  roof 
as  you  have  hitherto  delegated  to  me ;  and, 
therefore,  I  resolved  to  have  a  clear  and  per- 
fect understanding  with  herself  upon  the  sub- 
ject." 

"And  did  you  succeed?"  inquired  her  list- 
ener, with  a  sneer. 

«  Perfectly." 

"Then,  my  Lady  Mary,  you  have  worked 
a  miracle  which  throughout  the  whole  of  my 
married  life,  I  have  been  unable  to  accom- 
pli.sh." 

"  I  was  prepared,"  pursued  his  companion ; 
"should  my  poor  friend  evince  the  slightest 
desire  to  assume  her  duties  as  mistress  of  the 
house  in  her  new  home,  to  abdicate  my  throne 
at  once;  and,  with  that  view,  I  had  already 
written  to  my  cousin,  the  Dowager-Ducliess  of 
Claumore,  who  is  a  widow  like  myself;  to  pro- 
pose that  we  .should  combine  our  forces,  and 
establish  a  Joint  household." 

"  And  Avhat  did  her  grace  reply  ?"  inquired 
the  merchant,  with  most  alarming  composure. 

"  I  am  still  awaiting  her  answer,"  said  the 
discomfited  Lady  Mary,  striving  to  conceal  her 
uneasiness;  "but  there  can  bo  little  doubt  as 
to  its  purport,  since  she  made  the  same  request 
to  me  before  I  became  your  guest." 

"  That  arrangement  then  is  still  in  abeyance ; 
but  5'ou  will,  perhaps,  be  kiud  enough  to 
acquaint  mo  how  Mrs.  Trevanion  received  your 
proposition." 

"She  refused  to  liear  of  my  leaving  her — 
she  oven  shed  tears — and  I  assure  you,  my 
dear  ilr.  Trevanion,  that  I  bitterly  reproached 
myso'f  for  liaviiig  occasionally  imagined  that 
she  misinterpreted  my  feelings  and  intentions." 

"Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy  on  the  sub- 
ject, Lady  Mary:  Mr.s.  Trevanion's  imaginary 
annoyances  may  always  be  removed  by  a  new 
dress  or  a  new  novel.  For  once,  however,  she 
acted  with  common  sense;  but  you  must  par- 
don mo  if  I  vcnturo  to  remark  that  it  would 


have  been  more  in  accordance  with  your  usual 
good  judgment,  had  you  consulted  me  rather 
than  my  wife.  However,  I  have  no  doubt  thai 
j-ou  were  impelled  by  a  sense  of  delicacy  to  act 
as  j'ou  did ;  and  you  are,  at  all  events,  a  free 
agent.  Thus,  then,  I  am  to  understand,  that, 
before  you  decide  upon  3'our  future  plans,  you 
will  await  the  reply  of  your  cousin  the  duch- 
ess." 

"Why,  not  precisely — "  commenced  tlie 
noble  matron,  with  an  eagerness  which  she  im- 
mediately endeavored  to  restrain  ;  "of  course, 
so  far  as  my  residence  with  her  is  concerned,  I 
shall  bo  compelled  to  do  so ;  but  I  am  half  in. 
ciined  to  visit  Scotland  imder  any  circun> 
stances." 

"  I  had  flattered  myself  that  you  would  have 
felt  some  curiosit_y  to  see  my  aucestral  home,' 
remarked  Mr  Trevanion,  with  even  more  than 
liis  usual  stateliness;  "and,  indeed,  I  looked 
forward  to  the  advantage  of  your  good  taste 
and  judgment  in  the  alterations  and  improve- 
ments which  I  shall  find  it  nccessar}-  to  make 
there.  My  uncle  has,  since  the  death  of  hia 
wife,  lived  a  very  retired  life,  and  suflered  the 
ITall  to  remain  in  precisely  the  same  state  in 
which  I  remember  it  in  my  boyhood ;  I  dis- 
covered no  symptom  of  decided  neglect  or 
decay  on  my  late  visit,  certainly ;  but  still 
much  is  required  to  render  it  what  1  should  I 
desire.  I  j 

"  Both  the  Hall  and  the  adjacent  estate  ha?e  *l 
great  capabilities,  very  great  capabilities,  and 
I  have  resolved,  when  they  once  come  into  my 
possession,  to  develop  them  to  their  utniort 
extent.  Sir  Jasper,  as  I  soon  ascertained,  had 
been  anxious  rather  to  save  money  than  to 
spend  it ;  and  he  was  riglit.  He  had  a  son  to 
inherit  the  property ;  I  am  differently  situated ; 
and,  moreover,  while  he  was  known  to  all  the 
country,  I  shall  enter  it  as  a  stranger,  and 
must  consequently  be  cautious  not  to  allow 
the  local  dignity  of  the  family  to  suffer  in  my 
hands. 

"  This  place  is,  as  you  are  aware,  Mrs.  Tre- 
vanion's jointure-house,  and  enough,  more  than 
enough,  has  already  been  expended  upon  it; 
indeed,  to  bo  candid  with  you,  I  almost  repent 
that  I  have  been  tempted  to  do  so  m\ich>. 
However,  when  I  establish  myself  at  the  Hall, 
it  will  probably  let  more  advantageously  in, 
consequence,  than  it  might  otherwise  have' 
done. 

"  As  to  tho  house  in  to'rni,  for  the  present  at 
least,  it  will  answer  every  purpose,  as  I  eliall' 
decidedly  resitlo  in  the  country  until  I  have. 
completed  all  my  plans."  , 

Lady  Mary  bowed  and'  smiled,  and  tacitly 
signified  her  acquiescence  in  the  propriety  of 
these  somewhat  premature  projects ;  but  still, 
as  she  covdd  not  conceal  from  herself,  she  wiue, 
no  nearer  her  own  j)oint  than  ever. 

"  Mrs.  Trevanion  appears  to  be  most  anxioiifi 
that  you  should  consent  to  a  reconciliatior: 
with  your  daughter  at  this  particular  crisis,' 
she  hazarded,  in  order  to  arrive  at  some  con. 
elusion. 

"  Mrs.  Trevanion  is  very  good ;  and  slie  muK, 
surely  have  become  aware  long  ere  this,  that^ 
as  I  can  place  no  reliance  on  her  judgment  01 
any  serious  emergency,  I  can  not  be  expecte< 
to  suiTor  her  wants  or  -wishes  to  control 


i 


THE     J  E  A  J.  U  U  b     WIFE, 


123 


nuy  •way.  'This  particular  crisis'  offers  no 
reason  that  I  can  perceive,  for  a  precipitate 
measure  of  the  sort.  ilrs.  Sydney  Elpliiiistone 
quitted  my  roof  at  her  own  good  pleasure,  but 
Bhe  must  return  to  it  only  at  mine ;  and  when, 
if  ever,  I  may  decide  on  again  receiving  her, 
is  entirely  a  matter  for  my  own  consideration." 

"Yet  surely,"  remarked  the  lady,  making 
another  desperate  plunge  to  clutch  the  truth 
which  lay  deep  beneath  the  waves  of  the  mer- 
chant's resolute  reserve ;  "  it  will  be  a  most  un- 
pleasant thing  for  you  to  feel  that  your  heir  is 
a  stranger  to  j'ou  I  Of  course,  Ida  must  be 
naturally  anxious  that  her  boy  should  be  reared 
and  educated  in  such  a  manner  as  you  would 
approve." 

"  I  really  do  not  see  why  Mrs.  Elphinstone 
Bhould  be  more  punctilious  with  regard  to  her 
eon's  conduct  than  her  own.  On  the  contrary, 
she  is,  no  doubt,  perfectly  aware  that  he  will 
ultimately  be  more  independent  of  nij-  displeas- 
ure than  she  could  ever  be;  and  I  feel  no 
present  inclination  to'  interfere  with  her  pecu- 
liar system  of  education." 

"But  you  can  not,  nevertheless,  shut  your 
eyes  to  the  fact,  my  good  sir,  that  your  daugh- 
ter does  not  possess  the  means  necessary  to 
carry  out  any  such  system  in  an  efficient  man- 
ner; and  surely — " 

"You  are  a  zealous  friend,  Lady  Mary,  and 
Mrs.  Elphinstone  will,  beyond  all  doubt,  be 
grateful  for  your  good  offices ;  but  still,  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  that  j^ou  over-rate  the  privations 
to  which  she  has  thought  proper  to  expose  her- 
self. You  should  remember  that  she  possesses 
an  income  of  three  hundred  a  year  (about  as 
much  as  she  expended  upon  her  dress  before 
her  marriage),  and  tliat  Mr.  Sydney  Elphin- 
stone is  declared  to  be  a  very  rising  young 
man ;  fame  brings  profit,  my  dear  madam,  in 
every  profession ;  and  thus  you  see  that  you 
alarm  yourself  unnecessarily,  and  tliat  the 
young  gentleman,  regarding  whose  future 
career  you  express  so  very  flattering  an  anx- 
iety will  need  no  patronage  of  mine." 

"Still,  as  the  heir  to  the  Trevanion  es- 
tates— " 

"I  yet  stand  in  his  way,"  said  the  mer- 
chant, dryly,  "and  may  probably  do  so  for 
many  years  to  come;  added  to  which,  al- 
though Sir  Jasper  is  hors  de  combat  in  all  mat- 
ters of  business,  he  is  nevertheless  still  alive ; 
and  for  any  reason  which  I  can  see  to  the  con- 
trary, now  that  his  mind  can  no  longer  act 
upon  his  physical  health,  he  may  survive  for 
twenty  years  to  come." 

"  You  can  not  be  serious,  Mr.  Trevanion." 

"I  am  perfectly  so." 

"I  regret  to  hear  it,  as,  according  to  my 
own  view  of  the  case,  you  would  be  wise  in 
60  ordering  your  arrangements  as  to  be  pre- 
pared at  any  moment  to  supply  his  place." 

"I  flatter  myself.  Lady  Mary,  that  I  should 
have  been  quite  competent  to  do  so  at  an 
hour's  warning,  at  any  period  during  the  last 
thirty  years.  But,  my  dear  madam,  I  have 
myself  known  invalids  in  his  condition  out- 
live their  natural  heirs;  and  who  shall  say 
that  my  uncle  may  not  augment  the  uufnber." 

His  listener  was  fairly  baffled,  but,  indig- 
nant at  the  idea  of  defeat,  she  returned  once 
more  to  the  charge. 


"I  am  to  understand,  then,  Mr.  Trevanion, 
that,  in  the  remote  contingency  of  Sir  Jas- 
per's death,  you  are  anxious  that  I  should  ac- 
company the  family  to  Trevanion  Hall  \" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Lady  Mary.  Can  you 
doubt  that  you  will  ever  be  a  welcome  guest 
beneath  my  roof." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  the  lady,  beginning  to 
chafe  under  the  consciousness  that  she  was 
check-mated  at  every  move;  "but  my  in- 
quiry embraces  a  wider  scope  than  you  ap- 
pear inclined  to  concede  to  it.  As  I  have  al- 
ready stated,  I  have  been  entreated,  even 
with  tears,  by  Mrs.  Trevanion,  not  to  abandon 
her  to  the  heavy  and  irksome  responsibilities 
which  must  devolve  upon  the  mistress  of 
such  an  establishment  as  that  which  you  con- 
template in shire. 

"Of  course,"  she  pursued  with  a  signifi- 
cant smile,  "  I  have  not  learned  to-day  that 
she  can  make  no  independent  arrangement  of 
so  serious  a  nature  without  your  sanction ; 
and  it  is  consequently  to  you  that  I  appeal 
before  I  conclude  my  own  plans." 

"I  trust,  my  dear  madam,  that  you  have 
not  wearied  of  my  house ;  I  should  indeed  be 
sorry  to  find  that  such  were  the  case." 

"  No,  no ;  do  not  mistake  me.  The  fact  is, 
that,  as  I  take  a  totally  different  view  of  the 
baronet's  malady  from  yourself,  I  look  daily 
for  news  of  his  death  ;  and  since  you  compel 
me  to  speak  frankly,  I  should  like  to  be  in- 
formed whether,  when  it  has  taken  place,  you 
have  any  intention  of  recalling  your  daughter 
and  establishing  her  at  the  head  of  your  house- 
hold; as,  in  the  event  of  such  an  arrange- 
ment, I  must  of  course  decline  a  further  resi- 
dence beneath  your  roof.  Ida  is  no  longer  a 
mere  girl,  and  she  would  naturally — " 

"When  I  have  given  Mrs.  Sydney  Elphin- 
stone a  right  to  dictate  her  own  terms,  I  shall 
be  prepared  to  consider  th«n,"  was  the  im- 
perturbable reply.  "At  present  I  am  content 
to  wait  the  demise  of  my  uncle  before  I  de- 
cide on  my  after-plans.  Meanwhile,  I  feel 
much  indebted  to  you,  my  dear  Lady  Mary, 
for  the  consideration  which  you  have  shown 
to  the  wishes  of  Mrs.  Trevanion.  No  doubt 
she  is  appalled  by  the  prospect  before  her; 
she  would  be  equally  so  by  a  far  less  import- 
ant event;  and  I  shall  feel  still  further  ob- 
liged, if  you  will  tranquilize  her  mind  upon 
the  subject,  and  assure  her  from  me  that,  in 
any  and  every  case,  I  shall  be  careful  that  she 
is  not  exposed  to  any  extra  care  or  exertion. 
I  trouble  you  with  this  mission,  because,  after 
the  interest  which  you  have  so  kindly  evinced 
in  her  very  unnecessary  anxiety,  I  feel  satis- 
fied that  you  will  derive  gratification  from 
peforming  so  friendly  an  office." 

Lady  Mary  Brooklands  rose;  she  could  en- 
dure no  more ;  the  calm  self-possession  of  her 
companion  made  the  blood  tingle  in  her 
veins;  but  she  was  one  of  those  wary  indi~ 
viduals  who  live  not  only  in  the  world,  but 
on  it ;  she  could  not  afford  to  be  true  to  her- 
self; and,  accordingly,  she  repressed*  the 
haughty  rejoinder  which  trembled  upon  her 
lips;  and,  after  a  few  inconsequent  remarks, 
left  the  library,  as  ignorant  of  the  real  inten- 
tions of  its  master  as  when  she  had  en- 
tered it. 


124 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


Xoverthelcss,  "when  she  once  more  found 
herself  alone  in  her  own  pretty  morning- 
room,  with  its  costly  store  of  rare  china,  buhl, 
marqvieterie,  and  bronze,  she  soon  succeeded 
in  convincing  herself  that  the  designs  of  Mr. 
Ti'cvanion  were  more  transparent  than  he 
imaizincd ;  and  that  it  behooved  her  to  be 
<iaroful  of  her  own  interests. 

"  Had  he  resolved" — thus  she  mentally  ar- 
gued— "  to  exclude  Ida  from  her  home  during 
his  life-time,  he  would  have  evinced  more 
anxiety  to  prevent  me  from  cariying  out  my 
assumed  arrangement  with  the  Duchess  of 
Clanmorc ;  as  the  idea  of  his  placing  at  the 

head  of  his  house  in  shire,  a  woman  of 

■whom  he  is  ashamed  even  here,  is  preposter- 
ous. Crafty  as  he  has  been,  he  has  not  suc- 
ceeded in  deceiving  me ;  and  now  my  only 
chance  of  averting  the  mortifying  change  of 
fortune  by  which  I  am  threatened,  exists  in  an 
imilicdiate  reconciliation  with  Ida.  How  do  I 
regret  that,  in  obedience  to  her  father's  request, 
I  did  not  reply  to  the  letters  which  she  ad- 
dressed to  me  after  her  marriage  !  However, 
le  pause  est  passe,  and  I  must  endeavor  to  re- 
trieve my  fault     I  will  write  to  her  at  once." 

And,  seating  herself  at  the  antique  secre- 
taire, inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  and  malachite, 
which  occupied  the  bay  of  the  window,  twenty 
minutes  had  not  elapsed  before  she  had  crossed 
the  first  page  of  her  paper  with  expressions  of 
affection,  regret,  and  remorse,  as  intense  as 
thouEch  she  had  been  the  cause  of  Mrs.  Elphin- 
stone's  disgrace,  and  had  been  plotting  to  rob 
her  son  of  his  birthright. 


CHAPTER    XLVL 

AX    EXPLANATION. 

Ix  compliance  with  the  advice  of  Lady 
Malcolm,  El]ihinstone,  on  his  return  home, 
affecting  to  be  blind  to  the  coldness  and  in- 
difference of  his  wife,  resolutely  commenced 
a  conversation,  to  which  she  contributed  noth- 
ing beyond  an  occasional  monosyllable ;  nor 
could  even  his  account  of  the  trial,  and  the 
formidable  ordeal  through  which  he  had  so 
successfully  passed,  elicit  from  her  any  demon- 
stration of  excitement  or  gratified  pride. 

Nevertheless,  he  persisted  in  his  migracious 
task,  until  her  suppressed  emotion  became  too 
powerful  for  concealment,  and  the  heart  of 
!Sydn«-y  began  to  swell  with  hope. 

"  You  do  feel  for  me,  and  with  me,  Ida,"  he 
eaid  tenderly,  as  she  turned  away  to  hide  the 
tears  which  had  forced  their  way  from  her 
downcast  eyes  ;  "  I  am  sure  you  do,  although, 
for  some  inexplicable  cause,  you  are  anxious 
to  suppress  those  feelings.  Oh  I  do  not  at  this 
mopient,  when  I  am  harassed  both  in  mind 
and  body,  deny  to  me  the  blessing  of  your 
ej'mpaihy." 

"  Why  will  you  persist  in  urging  me  to 
feii^n  what  I  can  not  feel  ?"  asked  his  wife, 
struggling  to  regain  her  self-possession ;  "  how 
can  I  sympathize  in  a  triumph  with  which  I 
am  totally  unconnected?  It  is  for  Lady  Mal- 
colm and  her  daughter,  in  whose  cause  you 
exerted  the  talents  which,  when  their  exhibitiou 


could  only  have  profited  your  wife  and  child, 
you  suffered  to  lie  dormant,  to  congratulate  you 
on  their  success." 

"  Ida  !"  exclaimed  her  husband,  reproacb- 
fully;  " you  are  unjust.  You  well  know  how 
long  I  had  been  yearning  fur  an  opportunity 
of  usefulness,  and  that  until  the  day  when  I 
was  intrusted  with  this  cause,  which 'will,  as  I 
trust,  prove  the  corner-stone  of  my  profes- 
sional reputation,  I  had  been  unable  to  secure 
one.  Surely  you  would  not  visit  it  upon  me 
as  a  crime  that  my  first  efforts  were  exerted 
in  the  behalf  of  my  mother's  dearest  friend?" 

"  By  no  means  ;  and  in  the  acknowledgments 
of  that  friend  you  will  liave  your  best  reward. 
It  is  the  consciousness  of  that  fact  which  closes 
my  own  lips."  • 

"  But  can  you  imagine  for  a  moment  that  any 
thing  can  compensate  to  me  for  your  own  cold 
indifference  ?" 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,  Sydney,"  was  the 
measured  reply  ;  "  for  you  can  not  deceive  me. 
Had  this  famous  trial,  «^hieh  has  so  suddenly 
lifted  you  from  obscurity  to  fame,  involved  the 
interests  of  any  other  individual  than  Edith 
Malcolm,  I  consider  it  very  problematical  if 
you  would  have  exhibited  the  same  amount  of 
energy." 

"  Again,  Ada  ?" 

"  Can  you  deny  the  fact  V 

"  Yes,  and  no.  In  any  and  every  case  I 
should  have  felt  it  my  duty  to  put  'forth  all 
my  strength ;  but  I  do  not  seek  to  deny  that  I 
should  have  felt  much  less  anxiety  as  to  the 
result." 

"  For  once  you  are  frank  ?" 

"  For  once !  Have  you  ever  found  me  other- 
wise ?  Listen  to  me,  Ida :  high-minded,  pure- 
hearted,  and  capable,  as  I  well  know,  of  any 
sacrifice  for  those  you  love,  you  are,  neverthe- 
less, destroying  our  mutual  happiness  by  » 
phantom  which  you  have  yourself  evitked. 
Once  more,  despite  your  pledge  to  the  contrary, 
you  are  indulging  in  inferences  as  unjust  to 
myself  as  they  are  injurious  to  the  innocent 
girl,  for  whom  I  have  never  felt  more  than  the 
regard  and  affection  of  a  brother.  Can  yoo 
not  rely  upon  my  plighted  word?  And  have 
you  forgotten  that  she  was  the  promised  bride 
of  your  poor  cousin  ?" 

"  A  fable,"  said  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  scorn- 
fully ;  "  a  bridegroom  with  the  hand  of  death 
already  pressiusj  upon  his  heart ! — a  bride  who 
scarcely  vouchsafed  to  shed  a  tear  over  his  , 
untimely  grave  I  The  game  was  ill-played, 
and  could  not  deceive  the  lookers-on." 

"  Can  it  be  possible,  Ida,  that  you  still  per- 
sist in  so  fatal  a  delusion?  Have  you  no 
respect  for  the  father  of  your  child? — do  • 
regard  for  the  honor  of  your  own  sex?  If 
it  indeed  be  so;  if  you  blindly  indulge  in  a  ' 
weakness  which  neither  assurances  nor  proofe 
can  overcome,  what  a  life  of  misery  is  before 
us  both!" 

"  The  assurances  have  not  been  wanting,"  eaid 
his  wife,  gloomily;  "  but  where  are  the  proofs?" 

"  Tliey  exist  in  the  fact  that,  aware  of  your 
suspicions,  I  have  not  for  months  frequented 
the  ftouse  of  Lady  Malcolm,  save  on  profes- 
sional busmess  ;  aiid  that  I  voluntarily  offered 
to  effect  a  total  estrangement  between  the  two 
familiea." 


•  By  exposing  me  and  my  wretchedness  to 
the  contempt  of  those  who  had  caused  it." 

"Ida,  do  not  drive  me  to  extremity!"'  ex- 
claimed her  husband;  ''from  you  I  can  Lear, 
I  have  borue,  much — but  all  endurance  lias 
its  limits.  I  can  not  long  support  an  existence 
BO  cruel  as  this  to  which  you  have  condemned 
me.  While  I  believed  that  your  jealousy  was 
the  result  of  au  affection  which  would  not 
brook  less  than  an  adet^uate  return,  I  strove 
by  every  mc;uis  in  my  power  to  prove  how 
much  you  wronged  me ;  but  now,  when  I  see 
aud  feel  that  1  am  no  longer  the  object  of 
either  love  or  confidence,  I  have  not  self-com- 
mand enough  to  eudure  the  daily  and  hourly 
trials  to  which  I  am  subjected." 

"  And  do  I  escape  my  share  of  suffering  ?" 
'Iiufortuuately  you  do  not.     Would  that  it 
were  otherwise!" 

"  "\^"e  have  committed  a  fatal  error,  Sydney," 

said  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  suddenly ;  "  or  rather  it 

ii   I  wlio   have   been  guilty  of  one.     In  my 

I  ■wretched  egotism,  believing  that  I  could  and 

I  should  suffice  to  make  your  happiness,  I  urged 

I  you  to  abandon  the  world,  that  we  might  live 

only  for  each  other.     I  overtaxed  your  affec- 

j  tion ;  I  calculated  too  blindly  on  your  stability ; 

I  putting  firm  faith  in  the  assurances  which  you 

I  had  given  me  that  when  once  I  became  your 

wife  your   existence  would   be    bound  up  in 

i  mine,  I   thought    myself    secure.     What   the 

'  result  of  my  confidence  has  been,  I  need  not 

I  say :  suffice  that  we  are  both  most  wretched ! 

You   affirm  that   you  can  no  longer  support 

I  such  an  existence ;  judge,   then,  how  little  I 

j  shall  be  able  to  endure  it.     I  never  deceived 

j  you,  Sydney ;  I  warned  you,  when  you  sought 

[my  hand,  that  if   ever    I  had  proof  of  your 

•  falsehood,  I  should  hate   as  deeply  as  I  had 

I  ever  loved.     I  say  so  still ;  but,  until ,  I  have 

I  that  proof,  I  will  struggle  on  for  my  child's 

I  sake — ay,  even    for   my  own — for  what  have 

I I  now  left  on  earth  to  cling  to  but  yourself." 
Exhausted  by  her  own    emotion,  Ida   sank 

back  upon  her  chair,  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  while  hot  tears  forced  their  way 
through  her  trembling  fingers.  In  an  instant, 
Elphinstone  was  at  her  side. 

"  And  I — I,"  he  murmured  convulsively ;  "  I 
have  none  but  you.  Why  will  you  close  your 
heart  against  me  ?" 

With  a  wild  gesture,  his  wife  flung  her  arms 
about  his  Deck 

"  Precisely  as  I  anticipated!"  said  a  voice, 
which  proceeded  from  the  unclosed  door  that 
opened  upoa  the  lawn,  and  Lady  Malcolm, 
"with  a  beaming  smile  and  extended  hand,  ad- 
Tanced  eagerly  toward  them. 

In  an  instant,  Mrs.  Elphinstone  stood  erect ; 
no  trace  of  tears  could  be  detected  in  her 
|flashing  eyes,  although  they  still  lingered  on 
jher  cheeks:  proudly,  and  even  dcfyingly, 
[she  returned  the  animated  glance  which  was 
'fastened  on  her ;  and  while  Sydney  grasped, 
with  warmth  and  fervor,  the  proffered  hand, 
his  wife  remamed  cold  and  motionless. 
!  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  one  word  would 
Isuffice  to  explain  all?"  asked  their  visitor, 
(cheerfully ;  "and  now  that  word  has  been 
jspoken,  you  see  the  happy  effect  which  it  has 
ijiroduced." 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  interpret  your 


meaning.  Lady  Malcolm  ?"  asked  Ida,  haijghtily ; 
"  for  you  must  pardon  me  if  1  confess  myself 
unable  to  comprehend  either  the  purport  of 
your  words,  or  the  reason  of  this  somewhat 
extraordinary  intrusion  on  the  privacy  of  my 
home." 

"  Will  you  not  excuse  my  want  of  ceremony 
in  the  earnestness  of  its  motive,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Elphinstone?  With  considerable  difficulty  I 
succeeded  in  convincing  your  husband  that 
your  late  unhappiness  had  arisen  solely  from 
your  imeasincss  on  the  subject  of  a  certain 
Lady  Mary  Maitland,  and  that,  consequently, 
Avhen  he  informed  you  that  she  was  about  to 
become  Marchioness  of  Brentwood,  you  would 
at  once  appreciate  at  its  real  value  the  idle 
gossip  of  a  few  tattling  women." 

Mrs.  Elphinstone  glanced  toward  her  husband 
for  an  instant,  and  a  sarcastic  expression  passed 
over  her  features  as  she  replied,  "You  are 
very  kind,  madam,  to  interest  yourself  so 
warmly  in  our  domestic  happiness,  but,  for- 
tunately, I  am  too  clear-sighted  to  become  your 
dupe.  LFntil  tliis  moment  I  never  heard  even 
the  name  of  the  lady  to  whom  it  would  appear 
that  Mr.  Elphinstone  was  so  much  devoted,  as 
to  render  it  a  matter  of  congratulation  to  mo 
that  slio  is  about  to  become  a  wife.  This  was 
a  piece  of  intelligence  which  I  had  yet  to  learn, 
and  I  thank  you  for  the  information,  tardy  as 
it  is." 

"  Mrs.  Elphinstone,  what  would  your  man- 
ner to  me  imply?  You  know  how  sincere  an 
affection  I  feel,  and  have  ever  felt,  for  your 
husband,  but  even  his  wife  may  presume  too 
far  upon  it." 

"  Oh,  I  can  incur  the  threatened  risk  without 
shrinking;"  said  Ida,  with  a  mocking  laugh, 
"it  is  really  time  that  we  should  understand 
each  other ;  and  I  can  but  admire  the  frank- 
ness witli  which  Lady  Malcolm  acknowledged 
an  affection  in  which  her  daughter  so  cordially 
unites." 

"  Ida  1"  exclaimed  her  husband,  imploringly. 

"Suffer  Mrs.  Elphinstone  to  explain  herself, 
Sydney,"  said  their  visitor,  with  calm  dignity; 
"if  I'mistake  not,  there  was  an  allusion  mado 
to  Edith — to  Miss  Malcolm,  which  requires  ex-  / 
plauation,  and  I  demand  it  here  and  now."  ' 

"  You  shall  have  it,  madam ;"  said  the  in^ 
fatuated  woman,  as  she  drew  herself  proudly 
up  and  confronted  the  pale  and  stately  matron. 
"  If  I  was  not  aware,  until  you  obliged  me  by 
the  information,  that  at  the  very  time  wlion 
Mr.  Elpliiuftone  (no  doubt  supposing  that  I 
must  ultimately  becomo  the  heiress  of  tiio 
wealthy  Mr.  Trevanion),  induced  mo  to  believe 
that  I  was  the  only  woman  he  had  ever  loved, 
he  had  so  far  committed  himself  in  another 
quarter,  as  to  have  become  the  theme  of  idle 
tongues,  and  subjected  a  lady  to  the  same  mor- 
tification, I  feel  littlo  disposed  at  the  present 
day  to  resent  the  indignity  which  he  then 
offered  to  me. 

"  I  do  not  even  seek  or  care  to  know  whether 
on  that  ocC|asion  he  played  the  flattering  part 
of  a  rejected  suitor;  or,  weighing  the  lady's 
reputed  wealth  with  my  own,  conceived  that 
the  scale  turned  in  my  favor ;  if  the  former  was 
tlie  case,  his  own  feelings  must  have  been  a 
sufficient  punishment ;  if  the  latter,  I  am  now 
taught  to  exult  in  a  firmnosa  on  the  part  of 


i'ib 


lliJli      J  ll,£i.L.KJ  V  O       WlJeJl.. 


inr  father,  which  I  had  hitheto  regarded  as 
cruelty. 

'•  Thus,  then,  I  trust  you  will  perceive  that, 
althou>^h  the  knowledge  of  Mr.  Elphinstone'.s 
former  atttachincnt  l»y  no  means  tends  to  exalt 
my  opinion  of  cither  his  stability  or  his  good 
faith,  it  can  not  otiierwise  atiect  my  happiness. 
I  am  no  child  to  fight  with  shadows.  And 
now,  as  you  request  it,  I  will  explain  my  ref- 
erence to  Mi.«3  Malcolm.  I  confess,  that  to 
myself  it  appears  wholh'  unnecessary  that  I 
should  do  so,  but  since  ,vou  request  it — " 

"  I  do  not  request,  I  demand  it." 

"  Ida  1"  once  more  exclaimed  her  husband, 
in  violent  agitation. 

Mrs.  Elphinstone  disregarded  an  appeal,  of 
which  she  even  appeared  to  be  unconscious ; 
and  coldly  pursued : 

"  You  found  us  happy,  Lady  ^falcolm. 
When  you  first  crossed  our  path  wc  were,  or  I 
believed  that  we  were,  every  thing  to  each 
other;  not  a  cloud  had  come  between  us; 
and  what  has  been  the  result  of  our  acquaint- 
ance ?" 

With  a  groan  wrung  from  his  very  heart, 
Sydney  flung  himself  on  the  sofa,  and  buried 
his  face  among  the  cusliions.  He  could  not 
bear  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the  admirable  woman 
and  unfailing  friend,»wlio  was  about  for  his 
sake  to  be  subjected  to  tlio  most  cruel  insult, 
that  could  be  offered  to  a  mother. 

'■  The  result  1"  echoed  Lady  Malcolm,  in  a 
tone  of  undisguised  amazement. 

"  Tlie  result,  madam :  You  have  a  daughter 
younger  tlian  myself,  perhaps  handsomer — 1 
am  too  proud,  or  perhaps  under  existing  cir- 
cumstiince.s,  too  careless,  to  contest  that  point. 
I  welcomed  her  to  my  liome,  where  she  has 
gradually  supplanted  me.  She  has  been  my 
husband's  chosen  companion ;  she  consoled  hiin 
by  her  society  when,  by  giving  birth  to  his 
child,  I  was  condemned  to  the  irksomeuess  of 
a  sick-room  ;  her  accomplishments  have  admin- 
istered to  his  amusements  ;  her  attentions  have 
soothed  his  vanity ;  and  finally,  when  the  wel- 
fare of  those  who  were  dependent  on  him 
failed  to  arouse  him  into  energy  and  action,  she 
discovered  the  secret  of  awakening  both,  by 
enUsting  them  in  her  service.  And  you  de- 
mand to  know  my  meaning.  Lady  Malcolm  I 
You,  who  have  looked  calmly  on,  and  suffered 
the  affections  of  my  husband  to  be  wrenched 
from  mo,  day  by  day,  by  the  wiles  of  an  artful 
girl." 

"No  more,  Ida — no  more!"  exelaimed  her 
husband,  suddenly  springing  up.  "  You  can 
not  understand  the  bearing  of  your  words; 
you  can  not  mean  to  imply  to  the  mother  of 
Edith—" 

"J  imply  nothing,  Mr.  Elphinstone,  and  I 
am  fully  and  painfully  aware  of  my  own  mean- 
ing. 1  have  endured  much,  and  long;  but  all 
human  endurance  has  its  limits." 

Iiady  Malcolm  had  turned  awa}',  but  the 
violence  of  her  emotion  coidd  bo  detected  in 
the  convulsive  shiver  by  which  her  whole  frame 
was  agitated.  Twice  she  strove  to  speak,  but 
the  words  died  away  upon  her  lips;  and  her 
heart  throbbed  visibly  beneath  the  pressure  of 
the  hand  with  which  she  strove  in  vain  to  con- 
trol its  beatings. 

"Sydney,"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a  hoarse 


whisper,  "I  forgive  your  wife  for  your  moth- 
er's sake — I  can  do  no  more.  Mv  pure,  in- 
nocent child  I  My  poor  Edith  1  Vho  shall 
escape  the  tongue  of  slander,  the  taint  of  sus- 
picion, since  she  has  become  their  victim. 
Farewell,  S^'dney,  we  must  meet  no  more  on 
this  earth.  Would  that  our  final  parting  had 
been  less  bitter." 

"  Not  so,  Lady  Malcolm,  not  so,"  said  El- 
phinstone, sternly,  as  he  retained  his  grasp 
of  the  hand  which  she  liad  extended  to  him  ; 
"  my  wife  has  truly  said  that  '  all  human  en- 
durance lias  its  limit.*,'  and  I  have  been  ferced 
bej'ond  the  boundary  of  mine.  I  will  not 
consent  that  this  meeting  shall  be  our  final 
one;  I  will  7iot  consent  to  be  abandoned  by 
my  best  and  oldest  friend,  at  the  bidding  of 
a  woman,  who,  in  the  indulgence  of  a  weak 
and  vicious  passion,  has  forfeited  at  once  her 
own  dignity  and  the  respect  of  her  husband. 
I  thank  you  that  you  liave  not  attempted  to 
vindicate  your  pure  and  injured  daughter, 
and  by  so  doing,  cast  a  doubt  on  my  own 
honor.  Mrs.  Elphinstone  is,  happily  for  us 
both,  possessed  of  an  income  which  will 
enable  her  to  quit  a  home  in  which  she  de- , 
clafes  herself  to  have  been  deceived,  neglect-.' 
cd,  and  dishonored,  nor  shall  I  ever  cease  to 
remember  that  slic  is  the  mother  of  my  child, 
should  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  add  to  her 
worhll}'  comfort  and  respectability. 

"  In  becoming  my  wife,  she  made  great 
and  undeniable  saciifices,  Avhich  I  have  en- 
deavored to  repay  by  a  forbearance  that  has 
at  last  rendered  me  contemptible  in  my  own 
eyes.  I  have  deserved  the  indignities  which 
have  been  lieaped  upon  rae,  but  I  will  now 
assert  myself. 

"Violating,  as  Mrs.  Elphinstone  has  done, 
every  principle  of  delicacy,  she  shall  not 
have  cause  to  reproach  me  with  a  want 
of  generosity  in  my  turn.  I  am  a  father,  and 
how  I  have  loved  our  boy  she  well  knows, 
but  I  will  s]>are  her  the  pang  which  I  inflict 
upon  myself;  I  will  not  rob  her  of  her  child.. 
She  will,  at  least,  have  one  being  left  to  love, 
while  1—1—" 

"  Sydney  I"  gasped  his  wife,  as  she  ap- 
proached him.  "  Dort  understand  you  right- 
ly ?  Do  you  sacrifice  me  and  your  child  to 
those  who  have  brought  this  misery  upoa 
me?" 

"  I  ask  3'ou  to  make  no  sacrifice,"  was  the 
cold  reply  ;  "  I  leave  ^-ou  free,  while  securing 
my  own  immunity  from  further  insult." 

"Sydney,"  said  Lady  Malconi,  in  her  turn; 
"beware  of  forming  a  rash  and  hasty  resolu- 
tion. That  you  liave  been  wronged  is  true, 
but  you  love  your  wife,  and  must  not,  with- 
out 'mature  reflection,  destroy  the  hajjpiness 
of  two  lives." 

"  Doubtlessly,  madam,"  remarked  Ida,  bit- 
terly, "  what  Mr.  l-Llphinstone  refuses  to  an 
injured  wife,  he  would  concede  to  your  en- 
treaties. I,  however,  decline  to  owe  an^ 
thing  to  the  intercession  of  the  individual — ' 

"  Ida,"  interposed  lier  husband;  "  let  it  suf- 
fice that  you  have  hitherto  been  enabled  to 
insult  me  with  impunity;  I  will  not  suflFer 
you  to  carry  j'our  madnesss  further.  If  the 
dignity  and  honor  of  your  husband  are  of 
so  little  importance  in  your  eyes,  that  you 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


127 


cim  afford  to  sacrifice  them  to  yotir  insane 
and  uiifuuiuled  suspicions,  I  warn  j-oii  tliat  I 
sliall  not  attempt  to  reciprocate  the  injur}*, 
lint,  will  part  from  j-ou  without  noise  or 
scandal ;  venture,  however,  to  utter  but  one 
v.ord  affecting  the  reputation  ®f  those  to 
whom  you  are  indebted  for  a  friendship 
which  3'ou  have  requited  with  the  most  gra- 
tuitous ingratitude,  and  I  shall  prove  less 
forbearing.  The  law  shall  then  separate  us, 
and  the  world  shall  judge  between  us." 

"Yet  once  more  let  me  entreat — "  com- 
menced Lady  Malcolm,  earnestly. 

"  It  is  useless,  madam,"  said  Ida,  with  a 
calm  more  frightful  than  the  wildest  passion; 
"  the  question  has  been  decided.  I  prefer 
tlie  beggary  to  which  Mr.  Elphinstone  has 
condemned  me  to  any  association  with  those 
whom  I  can  neither  regard  nor  respect,  and 
wliose  very  presence  is  irksome  to  me.  Per- 
mit me,  however,  before  you  leave  us,  to  as- 
sure you  that  I  am  not  the  victim  you  would 
fain  have  made  me.  I  warned  my  husband 
before  I  gave  him  my  hand,  that  mine  was 
not  a  heart  which  could  be  trampled  on  with 
impunity.  I  warned  him  that  mine  was  no 
cold  and  common  nature,  which  could  be 
etung,  and  requite  the  venom  with  a  smile. 
Believe  me  when  I  say — for  I  sav  it  advised- 
ly— tliat  I  can  hate  as'deeply  as  I  have  loved  ; 
that  where  I  have  been  injured,  I  can  re- 
quite. Do  not  picture  me  to  yourself,  or 
paint  me  to  your  daughter,  as  crushed  by  the 
fate  to  which  you  have  mutually  hurried  me. 
The  blow  will  fall  more  heavily  upon  my 
husband  than  upon  myself.  He  abandons 
me  to  the  comments  of  the  world — I  leave 
him  to  tiie  reproaches  of  his  own  conscience." 
1  Lady  JIaleolm  offered  no  reply,  but  after 
j  wringing  the  hand  of  Sydney,  walked  slowly 
from  the  room,  and  the  husband  and  wife 
were  alone  together. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

A   FIRST   SEPARATION. 

I  On  the  departure  of  Lady  Malcolm,  Mrs. 
Elphinstone  had,  in  her  turn,  advanced  to  the 
door  of  the  a[)artmeut,  firmly  and  haughtily, 
but  with  a  slow  and  measured  step,  which 
■would,  had  he  been  inclined  to  do  so,  have 
afforded  ample  time  to  her  husband  to  detain 
her. 

Mr.  Elphinstone,  however,  evinced  no  de- 
sire to  control  her  movements.  He  was  fol- 
lowing Lady  Malcolm  with  his  eyes  as  she 
traversed  the  garden  ;  nor  did  he  move  from 
the  window  until  she  had  disappeared  through 
the  door  of  communication  which  opened  uji- 
on  her  own  grounds;  and  when  he  at  length 
changed  his  position,  his  wife  had  left  the 
room. 

For  a  moment  the  young  husband  looked 
around  him  like  one  bewildered  by  a  sudden 
blow.  Even  the  accustomed  objects  by 
which  ho  was  surrounded  appeared  strange 
sand  unfamiliar.  There  was  an  expression  of 
Ikeen  suffering  upon  his  features,  and  a  trem- 
lulousness  in  his  manner,  which  betrayed  how  ' 


deeply  he  had  been  moved  ;  but  his  eye  waa 
tearless  as  lie  raised  his  hat  from  the  table, 
and,  ringing  for  a  servant,  desired  tliat  ^Irs. 
Elphinstone  might  be  informed  that  he  should 
not  return  home  that  night,  and  that,  conse- 
quently, it  would  be  unnecessary  to  detain 
the  dinner. 

Poor  Sydney !  The  illusions  of  life  were 
over  for  him ;  and  he  felt  that  heneeforward 
he  must  pursue  his  path  alone.  For  hours 
he  wandered  through  the  lanes  where  he  had 
so  often  loitered  with  Ida;  nor  was  it  until 
the  declining  sun  warned  him  that  he  had 
still  to  seek  a  home  that  he  reluctantly 
turned  once  more  into  the  busy  thoroughfare 
which  led  toward  town. 

His  reflections  had  been  very  bitter  ones, 
but  his  conscience  acquitted  him  of  wrong; 
and  while  he  remembered,  with  the  sad 
yearning  of  regret,  all  that  his  wife  had  once 
been  to  him — his  elegant,  though  modest 
home — his  beautiful  and  only  child — his 
very  heart  seemed  bursting  within  him. 
But  his  resolution  was  not  shaken  even  for 
an  instant.  His  wounded  affections  might, 
and  did,  rebel;  but  the  pride  of  outraged 
manhood  gave  him  strength  to  resist  their 
pleadings. 

Still  it  was  with  a  njelancholy  feeling  of 
isolation  that  he  at  length  reached  the  Tem- 
ple, which  he  had  resolved  should  be  his 
future  home,  and  gave  the  necessary  instruc- 
tions to  his  amazed  but  unquestioning  clerk. 

"  My  profession  must  henceforth  be  wife, 
and  child,  and  world  to  me,"  he  murmured 
to  himself,  as  he  sank  into  one  of  the  un- 
wieldy chairs  by  which  his  priv.ite  otBce  was 
encumbered.  "'I  miwt  forget  the  past,  and 
strive  to  suffice  to  myself.  I  will  endeavor 
to  evoke  ambition  from  the  ashes  of  outraged 
affection.  I  can  not  be  happy,  but  I  may  yet 
be  true  to  myself." 

It  was  a  bold  vaunt ;  but,  even  as  he 
uttered  it,  he  felt  its  emptiness,  and,  after  a 
sliarp  struggle  with  feelings  which  he  vainly 
stigmatized  as  weak  and  womanly,  he  bent 
his  head  upon  the  desk  before  him,  and  wept 
bitterly. 

He  was  alone ;  and  no  prying  eye  could 
note  his  tears.  For  awliile  "this  conviction 
gave  him  a  sense  of  relief,  which  was  almost 
happiness;  but  soon  tlie  consciousness  re- 
turned to  him  that  thus  he  niust  ever  be; 
that,  alike  in  grief  or  ioil,  he  must  remain 
companionless — unchcered  by  the  sympathy 
of  home;  that,  husband  and  father  though  he 
was,  the  tenderness  of  a  wife,  tlie  Iftvc  of  a 
child,  would  no  longer  make  his  labor  light, 
or  his  success  a  triumph. 

And  he  was  still  so  young!  So  full  of  the 
best  and  holiest  impulses  of  life  I  , To  what 
long  and  weary  years  of  existence  might  he 
not  be  condemned  ?  The  reflection  startled 
him.  No!  the  life  of  study  and  intellectual 
struggle  upon  wiiich  he  had  decided  so  pre- 
maturely, would  not  sufTice  to  blot  out  the 
hitter  memories  of  the  past.  He  could  not 
breathe  tlie  5ame  air,  or  exist  in  the  same 
hemisphere,  with  the  woman  ho  had  so  dearly 
loved — the  child  upon  whom  he  had  built  up 
so  many  hopes. 

"  I  will  labor  on  until  I  have  insured  their 


inXi     oxjj^i-iKJuo 


comfort  and  woll-Lcing,"  was  liis  next  re- 
solve. "I  will  restore  to  her,  by  my  exer- 
tions, the  affliicnee  ■\vliieh,  for  my  sake,  slie 
abandoned ;  my  boy  shall  cease  to  be  a  beg- 
gar ;  and  then,  when  I  have  secnred  my  name 
from  reproach,  the  world  will  bo  before  me, 
and  I  will  hew  out  my  own  path  unfliuch- 
ingly." 

The  darkness  grew  dense  about  him ;  every 
object  in  the  vast  and  dreary  room  became 
,  dim  an<i  indistinct;  and  the  deep  silence  of 
the  ancient  pile  was  rendered  still  more  op- 
pressive by  tlie  hollow  reverberations  from 
the  busy,  streets  beyond. 

The  tide  of  feeling  rushed  back  upon  him. 
The  past,  with  all  its  hopes  and  all  its  affec- 
tions, I'osc  on  his  memory  with  mocking 
brilliancy ;  and  with  lingering  tenderness  he 
lived  over  again  the  few  brief  months  of 
happiness  and  love  that  he  had  passed  with 
Ida. 

"  Is  it  firmness  or  cowardice  which  has  im- 
pelled me  to  the  extreme  step  that  I  have  now 
taken  ?"  ho  a.skcd  himself.  "  Is  it  not  my  duty 
to  endure  all,  until  I  have  sectred  the  compe- 
tence which  is  now  mine  only  in  perspective, 
and  which  may  even  fail  me  yet?  Daro  I 
abandon  the  woman  who,  in  the  unselfish  con- 
fidence of  a  trusting  heart,  gave  herself  to  me 
in  my  poverty  and  obscurity,  when  she  might 
have  become  the  ■vnfo  of  one  who  could  have 
surrounded  her  with  all  the  luxuries  of 
life? 

"  In  seeking  to  assert  myself;  I  have  been 
alike  ungenerous  and  unjust;  but  it  is  not  j-ct 
too  late  to  repair  my  fault.  She  can  not  mis- 
take my  motive,  if  I  tell  her  frankly  the  decision 
at  whicli  I  have  arrived.  To-morrow,  then — 
to-morrottr  I  will  once  more  return  to  that  home 
which  I  believed  that  I  had  abandoned  forever. 
I  will  strive  to  remember  all  that  she  once  was 
to  me,  and  forget  that  which  she  now  is.  I 
■will  support  my  wrongs  in  silence,  until  I  can 
liberate  both  her  and  myself  with  honor. 

"It  is  bitter,  very  bitter;  but  it  must  bo 
borne.  She  docs  not  comprehend  how  I  have 
loved,  how  I  still  love  her,  and  it  is  better  so ; 
she  will  have  one  regret  the  less  when  the  hour 
of  separation  at  lengtli  comes.  Yes,  I  feel  that 
I  have  decided  rightly.  She  is  too  young,  too 
beautiful,  to  be  abandoned  to  a  hollow  and  cold- 
hearted  world  until  she  2:)osscsses  the  means  of 
compelling  its  respect.  I  have — I  ought  to 
have  no  alternative — and  I  will  meet  my  fate 
courageousl}',  cruel  as  it  is." 

As  the  unhappy  young  man  arrived  at  this 
determination,  ho  rang  for  lights,  which  were 
no  sooner  placed  before  him,  than  with  nervous 
rapidity  he  unsealed  and  rend  the  letters  which 
lay  upon  his  table ;  and  for  a  brief  moment  a 
Bmilo  of  exultation  played  about  his  lips.  There 
was  work  before  him ;  not  assistance  coldly 
and  grudgingly  tendered,  but  opportunities  of 
usefulness  pressed  cordially  and  flattciingly 
upon  him.  II is  heart  might  bo  silencdl  forever, 
but  his  mtellect  was  about  to  bo  called  into 
full  exercise ;  and  henceforth  he  must  live  for 
fame,  and  forget  his  jjrivato  sorrows  in  his 
public  duties.  • 

In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  ho  seized 
his  pen,  and  far  into  the  night,  alone,  fasting, 
and  heart-crushed,  ho  labored  on. 


nis  sohtude  was  uninvadcd,  his  wants  un- 
heeded. He  was  alone  with  his  vanished 
visions,  his  blighted  hopes,  his  withered  trust; 
nor  was  it  until  the  cold  gray  dawn  stole  with 
its  dreary  gleam  into  the  room,  that  he  at 
length  flung  himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  fell  into 
a  deep  and  comfortless  sleep. 

And  how  had  Ida — she  who  had  wilfully 
wrecked  her  own  happiness  and  that  of  a  hus- 
band whom  she  loved  with  all  tlie  pas.'»ionato 
ardor  of  her  ill-governed  nature — how  had  sho 
passed  the  night  in  which  she  had  become 
worse  than  widowed  ?  At  times  on  her  knees 
beside  the  cradle  of  her  child,  weeping  such 
tears  as  leave  their  trace  forever  upon  tho 
heart  from  which  they  flow — upbraiding  herself, 
her  destiny — regretting  the  past — shrinking 
from  the  future — and  listening  with  a  beating 
heart  for  tho  returning  step  of  him  whom  she 
had  outraged.  At  times  pacing  the  room  with 
rapid  and  unequal  steps,  braving  the  fate 
which  her  own  folly  had  brought  upcm  her, 
and  striving  to  believe  that  she  no  longer  loved 
him. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  and  the  clock  of  a 
neighboring  church  pealed  out  the  hour  of 
midnight,  however,  all  the  false  energy  by 
which  she  had  hitherto  been  sustained,  forsook 
her.  Xever,  until  the  moment  in  which  slio 
at  length  despaired  of  his  return,  had  slio 
been  fully  conscious  how  necessary  Sydney 
was  to  her  existence.  Even  her  child  was 
forgotten  in  the  utter  despair  which  took 
possession  of  her.  The  very  firmness  with 
which  ho  had  brought  this  wretchedness  upon 
her  compelled  her  respect;  and  for  awhile 
she  cowered  beneath  the  conviction  of  his 
unsuspected  strength  of  character  This  pros- 
tration of  spirit  was,  however,  only  tem- 
porary. .    • 

"Beit  so,"  she  murmured  to  herself;  "the 
contest  will  no  longer  be  an  unequal  one :  in 
bruising  my  heart,  he  will  crush  his  own ;  for 
even  while  he  betrayed  me,  I  feel  that  he  loved 
me  still.  I  have  no  longer  a  home — scarcely  a 
name — and  yet  I  will  defy  the  fate  to  which  be 
has  condemned  me.  Time  will  prove  who  can 
best  bear  up  against  the  trial. 

"  But  no.  no ;  that  seeming  strength  couM 
have  been  but  mamentary.  Sydney,  you  have 
deceived  yourself;  it  is  not  I  who  am  destined 
to  be  the  victim :  you  can  not,  you  dare  not, 
abandon  both  wife  and  child,  and  brave  the 
world  without  sympathy  or  support.  No,  T  feel 
and  know  that  you  will  yet  return  to  my  feet  a 
suppliant ;  but  it  .«liall  be  too  late,  even  did  you 
sue  to  me  this  very  hour.  You  abandon  me  to 
poverty;  I  accept  it,  for  you  will  have  con- 
demned yourself  to  an  cxi.stenee  far  moic 
wretched;  and  while  the  world  may  .synipa* 
thize  in  my  privations,  you  sliall  never  know 
the  keener  pangs  that  you  havo  inflicted  on  my 
heart. 

"Ay,"  she  pursued  still  more  bitterly;  "tbo 
moment  in  which  yon  have  thrust  me  forth  to 
struggle  with  that  world  has  been  well  chosen. 
Your  path  is  smooth  before  you ;  you  have  felt 
the  intoxicating  consciousness  of  success — the 
future  is  bright  in  its  ])romise ;  and  it  is  now — 
now — that  you  assume  the  semblance  of  a  power 
which  I  defy. 

"  Were  I   still   the   spoiled   and    pami)€ted  , 


d 


THE     JEALOUS     WIFE. 


12{ 


heiross.  I  could  forpive  vou  ;  for  then  indeed  I 
;>mld,  -w-ithoiit  humiliation,  welcome  you  back 
:o  my  heart,  and  struggle  to  forgot  the  past — I 
Oiallbe  very  wretched,  but  I,  too,  can  bo  firm  ; 
'  -lo  liave  been  martyrs  who  have  smiled  at 
l.f  st:ike  ;  and  I,  like  them,  will  endure  my 
nartyrdom  w'thout  complaint,  proudly  con- 
"cious  that  I  shall  not  sutFer  alone." 

Day  broke  ;  the  busy  hum  of  men  rose  on 
I  he  liir;  the  sorrowing,  who  had  for  a  few 
Ijrief  hours  forfxotten  their  cares  in  sleep, 
'iwoke  to  renewed  grief;  the  happy  sprang 
I'rom  their  beds,  exulting  in  a  new  season  of 
imjoymeut;  and  ere  the  siui  had  long  been 
ihove  the  horizon,  Sydney  Elpliiustone,  true  to 
lis  purpose  of  the  previous  night,  was  already 
•n  his  way,  self-accusing  and  self-rebuked,  to 
lis  now  cheerless  home. 


CHAPTER  XLYIIL 


"At  last!"  murmured  Ida  to  herself,  as  from 
jlie  window  of  her  dressing-room,  which  she 
.ad  flung  open  in  order  to  ccol  her  aching  brow 
1  the  fresh  morning  air,  she  saw  her  husband 
ass  the  gate  of  the  lawn,  and  approach  the 
louse :  "  I  knew  that  it  must  bo  so ;  a  few 
jiort  hours  have  sufficed  to  show  him  that  he 
iFcrrated  his  own  strength ;  this  is  as  I  would 
ave  it ; — I  shall  not  be  the  forsaken  wife, 
iirust  forth  from  the   hearth  and  heart  of  the 

ian  on  whose  truth  and  loyalty  she  had  re- 
id;  but  the  indignant  and  self-avenging 
Oman,  who  has  energy  enough  to  revenge  her 
IJTi  wrongs!" 

i  As  she  thus  communed  with  her  own 
jioughts,  she  hastily  bound  up  her  hair,  bathed 
br  swollen  eyes  with  cold  water,  and  arranged 
r  dress,  which,  in  the  irritation  of  a  long  and 
eepless  night,  had  become  disordered. 
As  the  Indian  suttee  decorates  herself  with 
e  most  costly  jewels  ere  she  prepares  to  as- 
nd  the  funeral-pyre  of  her  husband,  so  did 
rs.  Elphinstone,  strong  in  her  resolution  to 
sist  the  pleadings  of  Sydney,  and  to  inflict 
I  him  a  pang  which  must,  nevertheless,  as 
e  was  painfully  conscious,  recoil  upon  herself, 
ind  calmly  before  her  glass,  and  endeavor 
jith  fastidious  care  to  obliterate  every  vestige 
the  sufferbg  through  which  she  had  just 
issed,  ere  she  doomed  hei'self  to  life-long 
lisery  by  rejecting  all  overtures  to  a  reconcil- 
jtion  which  might  yet  have  saved  them  both. 
I  Slowly,  and  with  an  unruffled  brow,  she  ulti- 
;ately  descended  to  the  breakfast-room ;  and 
jCre,  as  she  had  anticipated,  she  found  her 
(■.sband— not  calm  and  collected  like  herself— 
it  evidently  laboring  under  an  agitation  by 
lich  he  was  thorouglily  unnerved. 
As  she  entered  the  apartment,  he  turned 
ruptly  toward  her,  and  extended  his  hand ; 
t  the  action  was  unheeded  by  his  wife,  who, 
tering  a  cold  and  brief  "  good  morning,"  pre- 
red  to  lay  her  own  hand  upon  the  bell 
j"Hear»me,  Ida,"  he  said  eagerly,  as  he  inter- 
TOted  the  movement ;  "  before  our  solitude  is 
ij-aded  by  the  entrance  of  a  servant,  let  me 
U  you  that  I  have  recognized  my  fault; 
9 


wounded  pride  and  the  resentment  of  a  heart 
smitten  in  its  best  affections  hurried  me  into  a 
harshness  foreign  to  my  nature,  and  unworthy 
of  one  whom,  however  lightly  you  may  now 
regard  his  happiness,  you  once  loved. 

"  Let  us  forget  the  past,  at  least  until  I  can 
provide  you  with  a  home  more  congenial  to 
your  tastes  and  habits.  We  can  never  again 
be  to  each  other  what  we  once  were  ;  but  we 
may  still  live  under  the  shelter  of  the  same 
roof,  and,  by  mutual  forbearance,  replace  our 
lost  illusions  by  a  calm  and  peaceful  reality. 

"  Our  position  must  be  a  painful  and  an  on- 
erous one,  as  I  well  know;  but  if  we  both 
strive  to  render  it  endurable,  surely  wo  may 
succeed." 

"  Mr.  Elphinstone,"  was  the  cold  reply,  "  the 
picture  which  you  have  sketched  is  by  no  ■ 
means  an  attractive  one.  That  you  have,  since 
you  left  your  home,  recognized  the  cowardice  I 
and  selfishness  of  sacrificing  your  wife  to  the 
woman  who  has  supplanted  her  in  your  affec- 
tions, I  am  rejoiced  to  hear,  as  it  proves  that 
you  are  not  as  yet  thoi-oughly  forgetful  of 
your  responsibilities  as  a  husband  and  a  father ; 
and  for  your  own  sake,  I  am  glad  of  this,  al- 
tliough  the  fact  can  not  for  a  moment  affect 
either  my  happiness  or  my  determination. 

"  You  are  right,  I  did  love  you  once — truly,  ^ 
deeply,  fervently — but  that  time  is  past.  Ida 
Trevanion  confided  in  you — honored  you — 
would  have  laid  down  her  life  to  brighten 
yours — and  clung  to  you  through  every  change 
of  fortune.  Ida  Elphinstone  honors  you  no 
longer,  confides  in  you  no  longer  :  her  idol  has 
been  cast  from  its  pedestal,  and  she  has  found  it 
clay. 

"Do  not  mistake  yourself;  it  is  no  sublime 
and  self-abnegating  repentance  which  now 
leads  you  to  confess  and  to  deplore  your  injus- 
tice ;  it  is  simply  a  sense  of  the  void  which  our 
separation  will  cause  in  your  future  existence. 
You  still  love  me,  in  spite  of  yourself — in  spite 
of  the  wrong  that  you  have  done  me — the  in- 
dignity to  which  you  have  exposed  me — and 
you  can  not  contemplate  without  terror  the 
consequences  of  a  final  rupture  between  us.  I 
am  still,  as  ever,  necessary  to  your  happiness  ; 
and  it  is  for  your  owq  sake,  not  for  mine,  that 
you  arc  anxious  to  avert  the  evil." 

"  Ida,  I  swear  to  you,  that  were  I  at  this 
moment  possessed  of  the  afHuence  to  which  I 
trust  one  day  to  attain — were  I  enabled  to 
place  you  in  the  position  from  which  I  rashly 
hurled  you  down — believing,  vain  fool  that  I 
was !  that  my  love  would  compensate  to  you 
for  every  sacrifice — I  should  not  now  be  here, 
pleading  to  you  to  relieve  me  from  self-rebuke. 

"Even  now,  I  do  not  ask  of  you  to  pardon 
any  tiling  beyond  the  impetuous  and  uncon- 
sidered resolution  which  I  yesterday  ex- 
pressed, for,  save  in  that  solitary  instance,  I 
have  nothing  to  regret — nothing  with  which 
to  reproach  myself.  All  I  entreat — and  be- 
lieve me  when  I  say  that  I  do  it  earnestly — 
is,  that  you  will  remain  beneath  my  roof,  and 
imder  my  protection,  until  I  am  enabled  to 
feel  that  my  ill-omened  love  has  not  en- 
tailed upon  you  the  misery  and  suffering  of 
poverty. 

"  Like  yourself,  I  was  weak  while  I  believed 
that  I  possessed  your  afTcctiou,  but,  like  your- 


1.10 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE. 


so'f,  I  have  ncquircd  strcnjrth  by  trifil.  I  can 
bear  to  live  without  you;  I  ca?i  dare  to  look 
fonvard  to  an  existence  unsolaeed  by  affectioD ; 
but  1  can  not  brcxik  that  the  -woman  I  liave 
luved  sliould  be  exposed  to  trials  to  which  she 
could  never  have  been  subjected  had  she  not 
become  my  wife." 

"  You  talk  bravely,"  said  Ida,  with  a  wither- 
inc^  sneer;  "the  future  will  jirove  in  how  far 
you  are  justified  in  usiTi<^  sucii  his^h-sounding 
woi'd3.  Once  more,  I  tell  you  that  I  am  re- 
venged ;  I  will  not  remain  another  day  beneath 
your  roof. 

"  I  express  no  gratitude  for  your  assumed 
anxiety  m  my  future  welfare ;  for,  specious  as 
tlie  argument  might  seem  to  one  unacquainted 
with  your  nature,  it  can  never  mislead  me.  In 
your  egotism,  you  dread  the  comments  of  the 
world ;  the  contempt  which  must  attach  to  a 
man  who,  after  winning  the  heart  of  a  trusting 
woman  who  had  hitheito  kno^ftTi  nothing  of  life 
save  its  enjoyments,  thrust  her  forth  to  poverty 
when  she  was  bold  enough  to  resent  her 
wrongs. 

"  Well,  sir,  to  these  unsparing  comments, 
to  that  withering  contempt,  you  shall  be  sub- 
jected. I  am  no  hireling,  to  await  in  luimble 
si;liinission  the  good  j)leasure  of  a  master.  I 
will  owe  you  nothing — I  will  not  even  accept 
as  a  boon  from  your  Inind,  the  guardianship 
of  my  child,  for  you  dare  not  wrest  him 
f:oin  me.  Unlike  yourself,  I  have  a  regret — 
I  Iiave  a  reproach.  I  regret  that  the  fortune 
(f  tlio  heiress  did  not  enable  you  to  secure 
the  affluiiiee  which,  in  all  probability,  invested 
me,  in  your  eyes,  with  charms  that  faded 
under  the  disapjjointmeut  which  superA'cned  ; 
and  I  reproach,  not  you,  but  myself,  that  I 
was  weak  enough  to  be  deluded  into  sup[)os- 
i'lg  tl-.nt  such  must  not  inevitably  have  been 
the  CISC." 

"  Ida,"  said  Elphinstonc,  sadly,  "  passion  has 
made  you  illogical.  If  it  indeed  be  as  you 
a'iii'm,  and  that  I  am  in  truth  guilty  of  the 
un':;cnerous  weakness  of  which  I  am  now  ac- 
cused ;  if  your  loss  of  fortune,  forfeited  as  it 
was  for  my  sake,  has  rendered  you  less  dear 
to  me;  then  why  should  I  shrink  from  the 
desliuy  which  you  have  hewn  out  for  me  ? 
How  can  I  love  you  still  with  a  fervor  which 
you  have  declared  me  unable  to  control  or 
to  pubduc  ?  13y  prophesying  my  life-long 
m'sery  in  resigning  you,  you  still  confess  your 
faith  in  the  stability  of  my  aft'eetion,  and 
tacitly  admit  the  falsehood  of  your  own  accu- 
sa'iioiis;  by  fastening  upon  me  the  vice  of 
avarice,  you  divest  me  of  those  finer  feelings 
which  could  alone  render  my  future  isolatisd 
existence  a  burden  and  a  pang.  The  comments 
of  a  world,  to  which,  for  your  sake,  I  shall 
offer  no  explanation,  I  shall  know  how  to  de- 
spise ;  its  contempt  I  shall  regard  as  little, 
until  I  have  compelled  its  respect.  Do  not, 
therefore,  delude  yourst'lf;  but  i)ause  ere  you 
enlFer  passion  to  overwhelm  your  reason. 
Once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  I  entreat  of 
you  to  L'lve  mercy  upon  us  both." 

"And  ouco  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  I 
refuse  to  comply  with  your  entreaty,"  vehe- 
mently replied  his  wife;  "my  boy  Avill  suffii'O 
to  me;  and  I  trust  that,  for  your  own  sake, 
you  may  bo  enabled  to  derive  equal  consola- 


tion in  the  smiles  of  your  mother's  fiiend  nnd 
her  inestimable  daughter,  or  in  those  of  tho 
Lady  Mary  Maitland,  wlio  had  the  honor  of 
preceding  me  in  your  affections,  until,  like  a 
Av  ay  ward  child,  you  weary  of  the  new  toy  as 
you  wearied  of  the  old  one. 

"The.  world  is  wide,  Mr.  Elphinstonc,  and 
you  arc  becoming  its  favorite ;  I  should  bo 
unwilling  to  cast  one  shadow  upon  the  bright- 
ness of  your  path.  You  Imvc  assured  me 
that  the  fame  which  you  have  lately  acquired 
must  bring  fortune  in  its  train ;  enjoy  that 
fortune  without  scruple  and  without  stint,  for, 
from  the  hour  in  which  I  quit  your  house,  I 
make  no  claim  upon  you ;  I  reject  all  favors, 
all  concessions ;  1  came  to  you  almost  penni- 
less, and  almost  penniless  I  am  content  to 
j  continue.  Console  yourself  as  I  shall — if  yo» 
can"  I  i 

"And  this  is  your  final  resolution?"'  f  ! 

-It  is."  ' 

"So  be  it,  then,"  was  the  rejointlcr  of  the    ■ 
young  husband;  "I  had  hoped  that  the  mem- 
ory of  the  past — the  fate  of  our  only  child — 
might  have  Aveighed  with  you;   but  1  have 
deceived  myself,  and  will  urge  you  no  further.    ' 
Only  remember,  Ida,  that  a  few  houi.s  hcnce^ 
should  you  repent  your  decision,  it  will  at    i 
ready  be  too  late.    Since  jon  refuse  to  accord    j 
to  nic  even  the  right  of  contributing  to  your    i 
necessities,  I  shall   feel    little  inclination  to   i 
waste  my  life  in  profitless  labor,  nor  shall  the   i 
name  of  the  man,  towai-d   whom  j-ou  have 
evinced  a  hatred  so  unbounded  arid  niicom-    ■ 
promising,  ever  again  be  intruded  n]>oii  you.   . 
You  have  nothing  more  to  fear  cither  from 
my  afl'ection  or  my  enmity.     As  you   liave  , 
justly  remarked,  the  world   is  wide;   I  will  , 
make  my  home  beyond  the  reach  of  inquiry 
or  pursuit.     I  am  young  and  strong;  strong  , 
in  purpose  as  in  frame.     Wretched  1  may  be^  i 
but  I  shall  at  least  be  a  stranger  to  rcnioi-Sfc  i 
I  have  endeavored  to  fulfill  my  duty  to  the  '. 
last;  and,  if  I  have  failed,  I  am   content  to  ' 
abide  the  consequences  of  my  erroi-."  i 

For  an  instant  the  firmness  of  Mrs.  Elphin-  >' 
stone  forsook  her;  there  was  a  deptli  of  feel-  j 
ing  in  the  accents  of  her  husband  that  fell  ■ 
cold  and  heavy  on  her  heart;  but  she  would  j 
not  yield  ;  and  she  was  about  to  utter  somo  ■■ 
chilling  rejoinder,  when  a  servant  entered,  j 
and  jilaccd  a  couple  of  letters  on  the  (able._ 

Witliout  even  glancing  at  the  superscrip- ,' 


tion,  and  anxious   to  inijiress  upon 


lier  lius- 


band  that  at  the  very  moment  in  which  he  j 
was  threatening  to  expatriate  liinisclf— thus ' 
rendering  all  possibility  of  their  future  rccon-  ■ 
ciliation  impossible — slio  was  indifferent  to  a 
resolution  beneath  which  she  nevertheless' 
quailed,  she  tore  open  that  which  lay  ncareflt 
to  her;  and  she  was  unable  to  supjircss  a' 
start  of  surprise  as  she  recognized,  in  tho. 
lengthy  and  highly-perfumed  epistle,  tho, 
handwriting  of  Lady  Mary  Brookliimls.  A 
blended  feeling  of  astonishment  and  cott- 
tempt  impelloi  her  to  read  it  to  the  end. 

Experience  had  taught  her  the  holiownosa. 
of  her  former  friend;  and  as  this  was  the  first 
communication  which  she  had  received  froiD( 
her  since  her  marriage,  a  vague  sufpicion; 
crossed  her  mind  that  her  astute  ladyship 
must  have  been  impelled  by  some  powerfu. 


i 


THE    JEALOUS    WIFE, 


131 


Viotivc  tolavlsliupon  her  the  laudatory  ciiflcai^ 
aieuts  wliioh  formed  the  staple  of  the  missive. 

Suddenlv,  however,  affecting  to  remember 
:he  presence  of  her  husband,  she  held  toward 
lira  the  still  open  letter,  savitiir,  as  she  did  so: 

"A  letter  from  your  amiable  aunt,  Mr.  El- 
ihinstone.  It  may,  perhaps,  interest  you  to 
•jist  your  eye  over  it." 

Sydney  received  it  ^ivith  a  silent  bow,  but 
t  was  m.erely  to  fold  and  replace  it  on  the 
able;  and  he  was  just  nbout  to  quit  the 
ooni,  when  a  wild  cry  from  his  wife  arrested 
,:im.  Ida  sat  motionless,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
.n  vacancy,  and  a  bulky  packet  with  a  deep 
■lack  border,  of  which  she  had  just  broken 
he  seal,  crushei  -couvulsivcl}^  in  her  hands, 
t  "Read  it,  Sydney,  if  you  would  save  my 
jnses,"  she  at  length  gasped  out,  in  a  shrill 
•hisper;  "  read  it^  for  I  can  not." 

Elphinstone  took  the  packet  from  her 
ands,  and  instantly  detected  the  familiar 
.laracters  of  Mr.  Trevanion.  He,  however, 
i.'ineed  no  emotion ;  be  the  contents  of  the 
•tter  what  they  might,  he  imagined  that 
iiey  could  in  no  way  interest  himself;  but 
\i  erred  in  his  judgment. 
jThus  while  Ida,  panting  from  agitation, 
|;teued  with  parted  lips  and  starting  eyes, 
|5  stood  calm  and  unmoved;  and  his  voice 
ias  clear  and  steady,  as  its  wont,  as  he  pre- 
tired  to  obey  her, 
;Thus  ran  the  letter. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE   LETTER. 

j  "Tp.EVAXioy  Hall,  August,  IS^. 

i"  "When  the  daughter  to  whom  I  had  in- 
sisted alike  my  future  hapiiiness,  and  the 
liilization  of  my  most  cherished  hopes,  left 
i|e  shelter  of  my  roof  to  throw  herself  into 
Ti3  arms  of  an  obscure  and  needy  lover,  I 
iilieved  that  I  had  forever  closed  my  heart 
ijainst  her, 

f'She  well  knew  that  through  her,  and  by 
Ijr,  I  would  alone  attain  the  object  to  which 
3iiad  devoted  the  whole  energies  of  a  labori- 
<-\i  life;  that  I  had  neither  support  nor  syra- 
I'thy  to  anticipate  from  the  woman  whom  I 
Iji  made  my  wife ;  that  my  path  toward  the 
{ill  to  which  I  aspired  was  beset  by  mortifi- 
t'ion;  that  my  position  was  a  false  one; 
til  that  the  present  was  only  rendered  en- 
tirable  to  me  by  the  probable  results  of  the 
f  ure. 

t  That  daughter  was  my  only*  child ;  and  the 
tappobtment  inflicted  upon  me  at  her  birth, 
*i;ht  perha[)3  to  have  prepared  me  for  the 
^1  keener  mortification  to  which  I  was  sub- 
jited  by  her  marriage.  It  did  not,  however, 
t-a  in  the  moment  of  painful  excitement, 
■vien  her  sex  was  revealed  to  me.  I  at  once 
f,  that  the  infant,  at  least,  was  blameless — 
tjt  it  was  an  accident  of  fate  ;  and  I  was  no 
6iner  satisfied  that  I  had  little  prospect  of 
a' in  becoming  a  father  than  I  resolved  to  do 
f]  the  girl,  who  was  destined  to  be  my  heir- 
«|  all  that  I  would  have  done  for  the  son  who 
■Viold  have  perpetuated  my  name- 


I  "  You  best  know,  Mrs  Sydney  Elphinstone, 
how  I  redeemed  the  pledge  made  to  myself 
within  a  few  years  of  your  biith.  You  best 
know  how  care  and  gold  were  alike  lavished  on 
your  infancy,  your  girlhood,  and  your  maturity ; 
but  what  tou  did  not  perhaps  understand  was 
this;  that  in  admiuistcriiig  with  ready  hand  to 
your  vanity,  your  luxury,  and  your  egotism, 
m  developing  your  talents,  and  in  affording  to 
you  every  opportunity  of  enhancing  those  pci^ 
sonal  qualities  with  which  you  had  been  gifted 
by  nature — as  if  to  convince  nie  that  tjic  dai"- 
ling  project  of  my  life  might  yet  be  accom- 
pl  shed — I  was  actuated,  less  by  a  weak  feeling 
of  pride  in  your  personal  and  mental  endow- 
ments, than  by  a  desire  to  accomplish  my 
purpose. 

■"  Had  I  left  you  to  the  sole  guardianship  of 
a  fond  and  mindless  mother,  you  would  have 
I  grown   to  womanhood  as   obscure  as  herself, 
1  and  as  -unworthy  to  co-operate  in  my  own  views ; 
and  thus,  you  would  have  had  no  right  to  as- 
pire to  a  fate  less  mean  than  that  to  which  you 
I  saw  fit  to  condemn  yourself. 
{      "  And  now,  for  the  last  time — as  henceforth 
I  the    subject    must    never    again    be    mooted 
I  between   us — let  me  impress  upon  you — that 
you  have  deserved  no  forgiveness  at  my  hands, 
i  trusted  in  you,  and  you  betrayed  my  trust. 
I  had  confided  to  you  the  irksomeness  of  my 
position — the  humiliation  Avhich  I  had  endured 
from  my  nearest  relatives ;  I  had  poured  out 
ray  heart  before  you,  and  made  you  feel  how 
essential  your  obedience  to  my  wishes   must 
inevitably  prove  to  my  ultimate  resumption  of 
the  social  rank  to  which  I  was  entitled  by  my 
birth ;  and  you  failed  me. 

"  You  fled  from  my  house  like  a  detected 
felon,  and  you  have  paid  the  penalty  of  your 
fault.  With  ostentatious  pride,  you  left  be- 
liind  you  every  article  of  luxury  to  which  the 
world  could  afiix  a  price ;  but  j'ou  strangely 
overlooked  the  fact  that  you  carried  away  with 
you  a  father's  hopes  and  a  mother's  peace  of 
mind.  Were  you  less  culpable  than  if  you 
had  broken  into  my  strong-box,  or  rifled  your 
mother's  jewel-case  of  its  last  diamond?  I 
leave  it  to  yourself  to  answer. 

"  You  had  wealth  within  your  grasp ;  a 
coronet  at  your  feet ;  cupidity  and  ambition 
might  alike  have  been  satisfied,  and  you  re- 
jected both — for  what?  To  unite  yourself  to 
one  who  deprived  you  of  every  worldly  advan- 
tage— to  see  your  first-born  son  come  into  life 
a  beggar — and  to  welcome  the  alms  of  an  of- 
fended father  as  a  boon  from  Heaven ;  while 
even  for  those,  trifling  as  the  gift  would  have 
appeared  in  the  days  Avhen  you  had  not  a  wish 
ungratified,  you  were  indebtc  1 — not  to  any  vol- 
untary relenting  on  my  part  (for  my  experience 
has  taught  me  that  no  human  being  exists  upon 
the  earth  who  might  not  be  independent  of  the 
sordid  wants  of  the  world,  did  he  not  invite 
them  either  by  imprudence  or  dishonor) — but 
to  the  intercession  of  your  friend.  Lady  Mal- 
colm. 

"  I  am  far  from  justifying  the  interference 
of  a  stranger  in  such  delicate  matters  as  those 
of  family  differences;  and  it  is  even  probable 
that  I  might  have  resented  her  ladj'ship'a 
intrusion  on  the  occasion  to  which  I  have 
alluded,  had   I  not   been  aware  that  she  waa 


132 


THE    JEALOUS    TTIFE, 


one  of  the  most  valued  friends  of  Sir  Jasper 
Trevanion,  to  -whom  I  felt  convinced  that  she 
wouKl  represent  your  necessities,  should  I  fail 
to  relieve  tliem — a  humiliation  to  which  I  would 
not  have  exposed  myself  for  half  my  fortune. 
To  her,  therfore,  and  not  to  myself,  you  owe 
tlie  temporary  assistance,  "which  I  trust  proved 
serviceable  to  you  in  your  need. 

"  And  now,  as  I  presume  that  I  have  enabled 
you  fully  to  comprehend  the  nature  of  our 
relative  positions,  I  will  proceed  to  exj)lain  my 
reasons  for  terminating  the  silence  which  has 
so  long  existed  between  us. 

"  You  are  a  wife  and  a  mother ;  in  the  first 
of  these  capacities  I  am  not  only  willing,  but 
even  anxious,  to  ignore  your  pre-existence  as 
much  as  possible ;  nor,  from  all  that  has 
reached  me,  am  I  inclined  to  suppose  that  you 
are  less  desirous  than  myself,  to  render  the 
chain  as  light  as  may  be  practicable,  witliout 
exposing  yourself  to  "the  idle  gossiping  of  a 
censorious  world. 

"  As  a  mother,  however,  the  case  should  be, 
and  7}iust  be,  widely  different.  Circumstances 
have  occurred,  which  tend  to  make  the  son  of 
ilr.  Sydney  Elphinstone  of  considerable  im- 
portance to  the  Trevanion  family ;  and  these  I 
sliall  now  communicate  to  you  in  detail,  in  order 
tliat  you  may  decide  upon  your  future  line  of 
action. 

"About  the  period  of  your  child's  birth, 
and  while  my  uncle,  Sir  Jasper,  was  engaged 
in  preparing  the  settlements,  resetting  the 
family  diamonds,  and  completing  the  equipages 
Tvliich  he  had  been  to  town  to  superintend, 
previous  to  the  marriage  of  his  son  with  Miss 
Edith  Malcolm,  your  cousin,  Herbert  Treva- 
nion, whose  licalUi  had  long  been  visibly  de- 
clining, became  rapidly  worse;  and,  with  a 
want  of  moral  courage  which  was,  perhaps, 
fortunate  for  his  successors — as  he  might  (under 
the  blind  influence  of  a  first  passion,  which  you 
will  in  all  probability  not  feel  tempted,  from 
your  own  experience,  to  doubt),  have  forced 
some  imprudent  concessions  frpm  his  doating 
father — he  never  warned  him  of  the  fact  of  his 
approacliing  end,  until  it  became  too  late  for 
the  baronet  to  divert  any  portion  of  the  famOy 
possessions  from  their  legitimate  channel;  and 
thus  he  ultimately  died,  without  having  eflected 
the  slightest  alteration  in  the  will  which  Sir 
Jasper  had  executed  in  favor  of  him  and  his 
heirs. 

"  Nor  was  this  all ;  for  tho  baronet,  utterly 
prostrated  by  tho  suddenness  of  tho  bereave- 
ment which  had  rendered  his  old  ago  desolate 
— and  mark,  Ida,  that  like  you  ho  had  flung 
from  him  tlio.'^o  who  miglit  have  sustained  and 
embellished  his  existence,  had  ho  done  them 
justioe — lell  powerless  beneath  tho  blow ;  phys- 
ically ho  resisted  tho  shock,  but  his  mind  was 
less  energetic  than  liis  frame ;  from  that  hour 
in  which  his  son  ceased  to  exist,  ho  became  a 
puling  idiot 

"  You  will  think  this  shocking,  Ida,  but  this 
is,  nevertheless,  what  men  call  retribution.  In 
liis  pride  and  strength  lie  drove  mo  from  liis 
roof;  in  his  imbecility  and  weakness,  I  made  it 
safe  and  firm  above  him  ;  in  my  youth  ho  cast 
me  forth ;  in  his  age  1  had  secured  to  him  tho 
legitimate  shelter  of  his  liomo. 

"I  am  told  that,  legally,  he  was  dead,  and 


!  that  I  could  in  my  turn  have  lorded  it  over  hia 
helplessness.  I  need  not  say  that  I  did  not  do 
so.  My  wrongs  were  sufficiently  atoned,  and 
I  scorned  the  baseness  of  a  vulgar  vengeance. 

"  Thus  far,  nothing  had  eccurred  with  which 
I  could  not  grapple  single-lianded,  without  ono 
fooling  of  misgiving  as  regarded  my  own 
strength;  but  more  was  stiirto  follow,  which 
forced  upon  mo  the  recollection  that  I  was  still 
a  flxtlicr;  and  that,  although  sinned  against 
almost  beyond  forgiveness,  I  was  bound  to 
pardon  the  child  who  had  offended,  as  well  as 
tho  relative  who  had  injured  me. 

"  Four  days  since,  I  received  a  hasty  sum- 
mons to  this  place.  The  physical  strength  of  ' 
Sir  Jasper  Trevanion  had  iailed,  but  his  intel- 
lect had  been  restored  to  him.  I  found  himon 
his  death-bed,  but  I  already  knew  that  he  had 
long  repented  his  injustice  toward  me,  and  I  i 
abstained  from  all  reproach.  ' 

"As  I  stood  beside  his  pillow,  old  memorie.", , 
indeed,  revived,  but  I  tlirust  them  back;  and' 
it  was  with  a  true  heart  and  a  calm  brow  that! 
I  pressed  the  hand  which  he  extended  to  mo.. 
But  for  me,  the  old  man  would  have  been  child-i 
loss  and  desolate;  like  me,  he  had  been  for  a' 
time  proud  and  relentless;  now  he  clung  to  mo 
as  tho  only  being  left  to  him  on  earth,  to  whomj 
he  could  turn  for  comfort  and  support — whoj 
could  save  his  death-bed  from  the  intrusion  of, 
strangers  and  liirelings — who  could  close  his' 
eyes  with  the  hand  of  affection,  and  fallow  liiiu 
to  the  grave  with  the  reverence  of  relationshii  ; 
and,  as  I  saw  and  felt  all  this,  Ida,  my  luTiit. 
long  closed  against  all  such  emotion,  yeanin! 
toward  j'ou. 

"As  I  forgave  in  that  solemn  hour  the  mnn 
who  had  marred  my  j-outh,  so  did  I  also  forgive! 
you,  who  had  blighted  my  age.  [ 

'•■  He  died  that  night ;  and  untd  dawn  li 
watched  beside  him,  alone;  for  he  had  read  to 
me  tho  one  great  lesson  of  my  Iffe ;  and  while  1 
gazed  in  silence  upon  his  rigid  brow  and  com- 
pressed lips,  never  again  to  be  unsealed  in  this 
world,  and  which  had  closed  in  the  utterance 
of  a  blessing  upon  myself  for  the  generositv 
with  which  I  had  requited  his  injustice,  I  feH; 
that  I  could  afford  to  forget  all  the  past.  It 
therefore,  remains  for  you  to  assist  mo  in  th' 
effort 

"  I  will  not  deceive  you.  The  fact  that  y( 
have  a  son,  who  must  at  my  death  succeed  u 
the  Trevanion  estates,  and  bear  the  name  of, 
my  ancestors,  lias  not  been  without  its  efTcc'; 
in  strengtjicnirig  my  resolution.  It  were  idl( 
to  deny  that  such  is  the  case;  but  hero,  in  the; 
house  of  death,  wdiero  the  light  of  day  is  re 
placed  by  the  glare  of  waxen  tapers,  and  tlu' 
voices  of  my  fcUow-men  by  the  low  whispers 
which  seem  to  be  a  foretaste  of  the  hollow  nn:r' 
murs  of  tho  burial-vaults,  where — after  oik. 
gloomy  pageant — all  will  relapse  into  silence' 
until  it  again  opens  to  receive  my  own  corpse 
I  am  startled  by  the  consciousness  that  I  ni 
longer  suffice  to  myself. 

"  I  strive  to  conquer  this  weakness  by  dwell 
ing  upon  the  change  that  has  come  over  niv 
fortunes ;  by  the  reflection  that  I  am  now  almos, 
fabulously  wealthy ;  by  endeavoring  to  accn.-^ 
tom  my  ear  to  tho  new  titles  by  which  I  ■'' 
addressed  by  tho.=>o  about  me;  and — shall 
confess  it  ? — I  feel  scorn  of  myself  that  I  shoul 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


IS^ 


bo  so  unmaTinod  "by  events  perfectly  natural  in 
themselves,  and  which  otliers  will  regard  as 
utterly  common-place,  or  as  mere  matter  of 
congratulation. 

"Thus  it  is,  ho\5ever ;  and  you  will,  conse- 
quently, understand  that  you  have  once  more 
become  essential  to  my  happiness. 

"Do  not  fail  me  a  second  time.  These  mor- 
bid feelin,i;-s  AvMl  pass  away  when  1  am  once 
more  involved  in  the  cares  and  interests  of  life 5 
and  you  are  well  aware  that  to  you  alone  I  can 
turn" with  confidence  to  assist  me  in  the  new 
duties  which  have  devolved  upon  me. 

''  Your  mother.  Lady  Trevanion,  has  no  inte- 
rests in  common  with  myself,  save  such  as  ailect 
her  own  comfort  and  convenience ;  no  intellect 
oa  wliich  I  can  repose,  no  judgment  to  which  I 
can  appeal;  while,  as  regards  Lady  Mary 
I  Brooklands,  you  need  only  look  b.-^ck  upon 
:  your  own  past  career  to  feel  that  she  is  precise- 
ly the  last  person  to  whom  I  would  intrust  the 
care  of  either  my  dignity  or  my  honor. 

"  Thus,  Ida,  a  new  career  of  triumph  awaits 
you.  Your  former  home,  and  the  arms  of  your 
lather,  are  open  to  you^  the  future  existence 
of  your  son  is  defined,  and  beyond  the  reach  of 
fete.  So  soon  as  the  tomb  lias  closed  over  my 
j  aged  relative,  I  shall  return  to  town,  where  I 
i  shall  anxiously  await  you,  trusting  that  your 
future  aSectiou  and  obedience  will  obliterate 
the  past 

"  You  need  fear  no  reproach,  entertain  no 
j  apprehension    of   my    prolonged    displeasure. 
1  Greatly  as  you  have  been  to  blame,  your  pun- 
■  ishment  has  exceeded  your  fault     I  am  pre- 
pared alike  to  forgive  and  to  forget. 

"I  forward  to  you,  by  this  post,  a  letter  from 

your  husband's  aunt,  which,  by  some  mistake^ 

was  sent  here  with  others  addressed  to  myself 

If  it  be  as  I  conjecture,  that  her  sapient  lady- 

1  ship  foresaw  the  probability  of  our  reconciha- 

j  tion,  and  has  written  to  reclaim  her  place  in 

j  your  affections — or,  to  speak  more  distinctly — 

to  secure  her  own  future  interests,  by  affecting 

)  a  sympatliy  in  your  trials  whicli  she  has  never 

1  felt,  do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  misled  by  her 

',  speciousnesa 

"  She  is  heart  and  soul  an  egotist ;  she  sacri- 
ficed 3'ou  to  the  necessities  of  her  nephew,  and 
'■  now  she  would  be  equally  ready  to  sacrifice  you 
to  her  own. 

"  Once  more,  Ida,  be  just  to  yourself  and  has- 
I  ten  to  resume  your  proper  station  in  society. 
By  this  day  week  I  shall  be  again  established 
in  that  home  to  which  I  am  prepared  to  wel- 
come you  back,  and  where  I  trust  to  see  the 
I  hopes  which  you  once  blighted  in  your  own 
1'  person,  either  restored  with  increased  brilliancy, 
I  or  renewed  and  realized  in  that  of  your  son. 
1  '■  Hubert  Trevanion." 


CHAPTER  L. 

CONCLUSION. 

"  Sydney  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Elphinstone, 
springing  from  her  seat,  and  casting  her.self  on 
lier  knees,  with  clasped  hands  and  streaming 
eyes,  "  Sydney,  we  are  saved!" 

"We  are!" 


"  The  past  has  been  a  hideous  dream ;  the     ? 
future  is  bright  before  us." 

Elphinstone  was  silent. 

"  Why  do  you  not  speak,  Sydney,"  pursued 
his  wife ;  "  wliy  do  j-ou  not  exult  with  me  in 
the  blessed  prospect  whicJi  has  opened  upon 
us  ?" 

"  I  do  indeed  rejoice  that  my  most  asdcnt 
desire  has  been  granted,  Ida,"  said  her  husliand, 
in  the  calm  accents  of  deep  and  concentrated 
feeling,  "  that  both  you  and  our  boy  are  now 
secured  against  all  possibility  of  struggle  and 
privation.  My  heart  is  relieved  of  a  weight  by 
which  it  was  crushed  to  the  very  earth,  and  I 
am  thankful,  most  thankful." 

"And  yourself,  Sydney?  What  of  your- 
self?" 

"  Myself,"  replied  the  young  man,  bitterly, 
"what  should  I  say  of  myself,  save  that  I  ex- 
ult in  the  reflection  that  Mr.  Trevanion's 
daughter  will  no  longer  be  sacrificed  to  my 
necessities." 

"Mr.  Trevanion's  daughter!"  echoed  Ida^ 
hoarsely,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  looked 
earnestly  into  his  face ;  "  Mr.  Trevanion's 
daughter!  Have  I  then  ceased  to  bo  your 
wife  i" 

"  Legally,  no ;  but  even-that  barrier  to  your 
future  happiness  may  be  removed,  should  you 
desire  it." 

"Sydney,  do  not  torture  me!  Toll  me  what 
you  mean." 

"Simply  that  I  have  interpreted  the  true 
sense  of  your  father's  closing  sentences.  I  am 
still  too  young  to  suppose  that  he  can  have 
speculated  upon  my  death,  when  he  expressed 
so  ardent  a  hope  that  his  dreams  of  ambition, 
as  regarded  yourself^  might  still  be  realized. 
Too  young  to  die,  as  men  commonly  understand 
the  term,  but  still  old  enough  for  that  death  of  /  ' 
the  soul — divorce."  ' 

A  sharp  scream  burst  from  the  lips  of  Ida. 

"  Why  should  you  shrink  from  such  a  climax 
to  our  married  life  ?"  pursued  Sydney,  in  the 
same  unimpassioned  tone.  "  Did  you  not  will- 
fully deny  my  claim  upon  your  affections  ?  Did 
you  not,  unauthorized  and  uninfluenced  by  the 
sanction  of  a  parent,  spurn  my  protection  as  an 
insult,  and  my  roof  as  a  disgrace?  Did  you 
not  avow  that  I  no  longer  possessed  either  your 
love  or  your  respect  ?  Have  3'Ou  so  soon  for- 
gotten the  contempt  with  which  you  rejected 
my  offers  of  aid — my  earnest  entreaties  that 
you  would  allow  me  to  fulfill  those  duties  to- 
ward you  which  I  had  vowed  at  tlie  altar  ?  Ilavo 
we  not,  from  that  moment,  been  severed  in 
heart  and  fact-  and  do. you  now  quail  before  a 
mere  form  which  would  liberate  you  iu  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  and  leave  you  free  to  make  a 
nobler  and  a  better  choice  ?" 

"  Sydney!"  gasped  out  his  Vife,  vehemently 
clasping  his  arm,  while  her  whole  frame 
quivered  with  emotion ;  "  Sydney,  forgive 
me !  Poor  and  helpless,  I  could  have  lived 
without  you  ;  or,  if  the  effort  had  proved  too 
mighty  for  my  strength,  I  cguld  liave  died 
without  a  murmur,  for  life  would  have  been 
valueless  without  your  love;  but  now — now  j 
— on  my  knees,  I  implore  of  you  to  pity  and 
to  pardon  me." 

"It  is  too  late,"  said  Elphinstone,  as  he 
turned  gloomily  away ;  "  one  of  those   tears, 


ISi 


THE    JEALOUS     WIFE. 


one  of  tliose  STTpplications,  only  an  hour  bade, 
vould  have  sufficed  to  restore  pardon  and 
peace  between  us ;  but  tlie  moment  of  recon- 
ciliation has  now  gone  by  forever.  Even  as 
you  spurned  my  entreaties,  Ida,  do  I  now  re- 
ject yours.  Let  it  suffice,  tbat  one  of  my 
family  has  debased  herself  by  acceptin<^r  the 
'ben^ts  grudgingly  doled  out  to  her  by  tlie 
insolence  of  wealth  ,-  do  not  hope  to  force  a 
similar  concession  from  myself" 

"  Sydney,  have  you  no  mercy,  no  pity  ?  I 
have  deceived  both  you  and  myself.  Never, 
never,  did  I  love  you  more  deeply,  more  de- 
votedly, than  when,  in  my  mad  folly,  I  ac- 
cused and  wronged  you — yes,  wronged  you  ; 
I  will  even  believe  that  I  did  you  wrong,  if 
you  will  only  once  more  take  me  to  your 
heart,  and  call  me  by  the  blessed  name  of 
wife." 

"  You  deceive  yourself  still,  Ida ;  if  in  the 
obscurity  of  our  present  home  you  placed  no 
faith  in  an  affection  which  was  subjected  only 
to  one  solitary  trial ;  if  you  could  not  see  me 
evince  a  brotherly  interest  in  a  young  and 
fatherless  girl,  who  had  been  the  playmate 
of  my  boyhood,  and  who  had  been  reared 
under  the  eyes  of  an  anxious  and  high-prin- 
cipled mothei- — how  can  you  hope  to  induce 
lue  to  place  any  faith  in  a  pledge  wrung  from 
you  in  a  moment  of  strong  excitement? 

"  Learn  to  know  yourself  better.  The  man 
who  could  not  escape  suspicion  tinder  such 
circumstances  would  be  weak  indeed  to  be- 
lieve that  he  could  be  more  secure,  when  the 
o])portunities  of  misjudging  him  were  multi- 
plied a  hundredfold.  I  can  not  take  you  to 
my  heart,  Ida,  though  I  ean  not  pluck  you 
thence ;  though  I  do  not  hesitate  to  admit, 
should  the  admission  still  afford  you  one  sen- 
sati.m  of  happiness  or  triumph,  that  you  alone 
have  ever,  or  can  ever,  possess  it.  I  dare  not 
call  you  wife,  for  you  yourself  have  repudi- 
ated the  title." 

"For  our  child's  sake — " 

"  Ida,  in  my  turn  1  ask,  have  you  nomercy  ? 
Am  1  not  to  be  parted  from  my  child  I    Have 


I  not  completed  my  sacrifice,  and,  in  rctnrn  ! 
for  all  that  I  have  done  and  suftered,  I  ask 
but  this. 

"Let  the  world  condemn  me  if  it  will,  let 
your  own  heart  accuse  Me  if  it  can,  but  do 
not  let  my  bo}'  misjudge  me  :  let  nie,  at  least, 
be  blameless  and  honorable   in   his  eyes.     I 
claim,  I   demand,  this  justice  ;   and  it  is  the  j 
last  appeal  I  shall  make  to  your  generosity. 
We  may  never  meet  again  ;  in  a  few  years  I  ; 
shall  have  faded  from  his  memory,  and — Ida,  ' 
for  the  love  which   you   once  bore  me,  will 
j'ou  not  promise  me  that  he  shall  never  leftrn 
to  loathe  or  despise  his  father  I     He  will  not , 
even  bear  my  name — I  know  it,  but  I  do  not 
murmur ;  it  is  my  fate  to  resign  every  claim,  • 
every  tic,  which  once  bound   me  to  an  exist- ' 
enee   of  delusive  promise,  and  I  submit  in 
silence;  yet,  still  I  can  not  forget  that  I  have 
a  child ;  that  he  is  very  dear  to  me,  and  that 
he  is  torn  away  from  me  forevei-,"  , 

"  And  j'our  wife — ^j-our  wife  1"  shrieked  Ida.  • 
Elphinstone  turned  toward  her  as  she  still ' 
knelt  upon  the  floor,  her  hands  tightl}'  clinched  I 
together,  her  long  and  abundant  hair,  which  • 
had  escaped  the  comb  which  should  have 
confined  it,  half  concealing  her  slight  figure, 
and  her  llvidfeatures  convulsed  with  agony;' 
for  a  moment  he  stood  gazing  upon  her  as 
motionless  as  though  he  had  been  hewn  in , 
stone;  then  his  breast  heaved,  a  smothered; 
sob  escaped  him,  a  few  inarticulate  words' 
burst  in  a  hollow  murmur  from  his  lips,  andj 
with  frantic  energy  he  bent  down,  raised  herj 
to  his  bosom,  held  her  there  for  a  few  seconds,  [ 
and,  as  he  felt  her  weight  grow  heavy  iu  his! 
arms,  he  laid  her  softly  upon  a  sofa,  and. 
rushed  from  his  home.  ; 

A  month  afterward,  Mrs.  Eljihinstone  wasi 
the  self-widowed  inmate  of  her  lather's  house;  | 
Lady  Marj'  Brooklands  was  in  modest  lodg- 
ings  in  a  West-End  street;  and  no  trac© 
could  be  discovered  of  the  young,  heart-broken  ■ 
exile,  who  had  abandoned  his  native  laud  for- ! 


ii 


THE    RIVAL    BEAUTIES. 


CHAPTER.  I. 

On  the  southern  oiitskirt  of  a  pleasant  town 
in  the  west  of  England,  which  I  shall  here  call 
Westnim,  stood  an  antique-looking  house,  evi- 
dently never  originally  intended  to  sutler  such 
close  contact  with   the  mercantile   street  from 
which  it  was  distant  little  more  than  a  hundred 
yards.     A  lofty  wall,  of  duJl  red  brick,  divided 
Into  equal  lengths  by  a  richly  decorated  gate 
of  Avrought  iron,  supported  by  pillars  of  coarse 
granite,  each  surmounted  by  a  rudely-sculptured 
griffin  with  its  dexter  claw  resting  upon  a  dag- 
ger, skirted  the  high  road  for  a  considerable 
j    distance  on  either  hand ;  overtopped  here  and 
\   there  by  the   stately  crest  of  a  pine,  or  the 
spi'eadiug  branches  of  an  aged  oak ;  while  from 
the  gate  itself,  a  straight  avenue  of  limes,  whose 
dense  foliage  almost  shut  out  the    sunlight,  ex- 
tended to  the  house-door,  which  was  approached 
bj-  a  stately  flight  of  broad   stone  steps.     The 
,  dwelling  was  vast,  plain  in  its  appearance,  and 
i  evidently  constructed  rather  for  comfort  than 
for  show.     From   the  road  it  presented  simply 
a  Solid  square  of  brick-work,  with  its  regularly- 
j  pierced  windows   encased   in   that    peculiarly 
I  •wrought  stone  which  looks  as  though  it  had 
1  been  subjected  to  the  action  of  a  strong  rip- 
!  pling  tide  ;  but  on  the  side  which  faced  the  ex- 
,  tensive  grounds  the  uniformity  was  broken  up 
I  by  a  boldly-projecting   bay,  where   large  glass 
I  doors,  opening  iipon  a  lawn,  afforded  an  iinim- 
I  peded  view  into  the  vast  saloon  beyond  them, 
j     -A  spacious  conservatory,  rich  in  rare  and  ex- 
i  otic  plants,   abutted  upon  this   summer   apart- 
jment,  whence   it  was  approached  by  a  lateral 
!door;  and  when  this  was  flung  back,  flooded 
tlie  room  with   perfume ;    while   the   eye   Avas 
equally  entranced  by  the  lovely  home-view  pre- 
sented by  the  luxuriant  shrubberies,  the  glitter- 
ing little  stream  that  terminated  the  descent  of 
tlie  sloping  laAvn,  and  the  gambols  of  a  couple 
,of  tame  deer,  which  browsed  or  sported  confi- 
dingly under   the   shadows   of   the  tall  trees, 
among  whose  leafy  branches  roosted  a  stately 
peacock. 

The  whole  appearance  of  such  an  establish- 
jment  in  such  a  position  was  an  anachronism. 
jThe  venerable  building  was  vast  enough  to 
have  shown  to  advantage,  as  regarded  its  capa- 
jbilities,  in  the  midst  of  a  park  of  some  hundred 
jici-js,  whereas  it  was  seated  on  the  verge  of  a 
property  scarcely  exceeding  six  ;  Avliile  the  un- 
jieniable  marks  of  antiquity  which  it  bore 
libout  it,  were  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  mind  of  a 
[itranger,  that  the  little  town,  by  Avhich  it  was 
jiow  elbowed,  had  grown  up  to  it,  after  the 
aahion  of  the  continental  villages,  which  spring 
ike  fungi  about  a  vv-ealthy  monastic  house. 
■  In  the  centre  saloon  to  which  we  have  refer- 
ed,  were  seated,  on  a  glorious  autumnal  noon, 
iwo  ladieg  in  deep  mourning  dresses.    The  close  , 


cap,  concealed  hair,  and  long  crape  weepers  of  the 
elder,  at  once  betrayed  her  recent  widowhood ; 
even  had  not  the  hatchment  which  surmounted 
the  principal  entrance  already  convinced  those 
who  looked  upon  it,  that  sorrow  and  bereave- 
ment had  lately  visited  this  placid  dwelling. 
She  sat,  or  rather  reclined,  in  a  large  chair, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  evidently 
buried  in  thought ;  but  that  her  reflections  were 
not  altogether  painful  was  evident,  from  the 
faint  smile  which  at  intervals  played  about  her 
faded  lips.  She  was  still  handsome,  although 
no  longer  young;  and  her  countenance  beamed 
with  that  graciousness  which  so  attractivelv 
succeeds  the  bloom  of  youth  in  certain  well- 
constituted  natures.  Time  had  touclied  hev 
lightly ;  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  had  not 
cared  to  rebel  against  his  advances.  Tall,  and 
finely  formed,  the  elasticity  of  her  movements 
almost  belied  the  matronly  years  which  had 
passed  over  her ;  for  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  lately 
suffered  the  first  deep  sorrow  of  a  calm  axiii 
happy  life,  while  she  had  still  many  blessings  to 
compensate  for  her  one  heavy  loss  ;  and  thus 
her  heart  had  not  grown  old  with  time,  but 
had  remained  pure,  and  warm,  and  generous, 
and  shed  its  genial  influence  over  her  whole 
person. 

There  is  something  very  beautiful  in  such  an 
autumn-tide  of  life  as  this.  Something  almost 
holy,  which  affords  a  moral  homily  that  all 
would  do  well  to  read.  Kot  a  line  had  yet  fur- 
rowed the  high  pale  brow  of  Mrs.  Mortimer ; 
the  finger  of  passion  ;  the  seal  of  vanity  vexed 
into  asperity  by  trampling  upon  its  own  ruin  ; 
the  withering  regret  Avhich  lingers  bitterly  over 
the  past  that  it  lacks  power  to  recall,  had  left 
no  token  of  their  passage  on  that  placid  coun- 
tenance. All  there  was  love  and  peace ;  and 
few  Avould  have  wished  the  clear  soft  eye  more 
dazzling,  or  the  benignant  smile  more  gay. 

Her  companion  was  a  fair  girl,  who  could 
have  numbered  but  sixteen  or  seventeen  sum- 
mers. She  too,  as  wo  have  said,  was  attired  in 
close  and  deep  moui'iiing;  relieved,  however, 
by  a  broad  falling  collai-  and  wristbands  of 
white  crape  ;  and  still  more  by  a  profusion  of 
light  auburn  hair,  which  flowed  in  redundant 
masses  over  lier  shoulders.  Nothing  could  be 
more  faultless  than  the  pure  Grecian  outline  of 
that  young  face  and  form ;  nor  more  angelic 
than  the  expression  of  the  speakir.g  features, 
even  tempered  as  it  was  by  a  shade  of  sadness, 
which  appeared  rather  habitual  to  them  than 
the  mere  eftcct  of  circumstances. 

She  was  seated  before  an  embroidery-framo  ; 
and  save  when  she  occasionally  glanced  anx- 
iously towards  the  elder  lady,  as  if  to  convince 
herself  that  the  protracted  reverie  into  which 
she  had  fallen  was  not  one  calculated  to  increase 
her  melancholy,  she  plied  her  needle  busily  and 
mechanically ;  although  from  the  varying  ei- 


Tni'    RH'AL  BEAUTIEa 


presaion  of  her  face,  it  might  be  readily  s«r- ,  fant  gre-w  into  the  laughing  child  beneath  this 
miscd  that  the  elaborate  iiiulertaking  in  wliieh  roof,  without  a  care  or  a  regret.  Yon  have 
she  was  engaged  employed  her  fingers  far  more  been  a  blessing  to  mo,  mj- sweet  girl;  andeould 
tiian  her  thoughts.  I  dare  to  do  so  without  sin,  I  should  tlmnk  tlia 

"Gertrude,"  mui-mured  Mrs.  Mortimer  sud-  dispensation  which  gave  me  so  loving  and  so 
denly,  as  v'thdrawiiig  her  eyes  from  the  unseen 'loved  a  daughter.  Nor  was  the  ali'eetion  of 
object  on  which  tliej' had  so  long  been  fixed,  j  your  departed  uncle  less  perfect ;  but  you  hav« 
she  turned  them  upon  her  companion;  "I  amU'et  to  learn  that,  on  his  deatli-bed,'  his  last 
beginning  to  weary  for  tiie  return  of  Frederic.  ]  prayer  was  for  you  and  Frederick.  For  his 
And  you.  my  dear  girl,  shall  you  not,  like  me,  I  children.  Do  you  understand  that  ]irayer,  my  '• 
be  rejoiced  to  welcome  him  once  more  to  his  child?  lie  has  made  no  pi-ovision  for  you  in 
home,  even  bereaved  as  it  is?" 


A  deep  and  burning  blush  was  the  only  reply 
elicited  by  the  question;  but  as  if  unconscious 
of  the  fact,  Mrs.  Mortimer  pursued  in  an  accent 
of  tenderness. 

'•  Poor  dear  Frederic !  ITow  devotedly  he 
loved  his  father ;  and  how  little  did  he  appre- 
hend, when  he  hung  upon  his  neck  so  fondly  on 
his  departure  for  tliis  long  and  adventurous 
journey,  that  he  looked  on  him  for  the  last 
time  I" 

"  My  dear  aunt !"  sobbed  out  a  low  soft  voice. 

"Forgive  me,  my  beloved  child!"  said  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  as  she  extended  her  arms,  into  which 
the  fair  girl  flung  herself  with  a  passionate  burst 
of  "tears;  "  I  distress  you  as  well  as  myself,  by 
these  incautious  repinings;  and  I  have  still  so 
much  for  which  to  be  grateful!     But  when  I 


his  will ;  for  he  has  bequeathed  to  you  some- 
thing more  worthy  of  the  tenderness  he  felt 
for  the  daughter  of  his  adoption,  the  pride  of 
his  latter  years ;  and  this  bequest  is  the  hand ' 
of  his  only  son." 

"  Of  Fredei-ic !"  gasped  out  her  breathlesB 
listener. 

"  Even  so :  Frederic  loves  you.  He  must  love  i 
you.  Were  you  not  the  companions,  the  friends ' 
of  long  and  happy  years  ?  IIow  can  it  be , 
otherwise^  You  will  soon  meet  again.  Five  yeara ' 
of  absence  have  changed  you  strangely,  Ger-' 
trade — changed  you  from  a  pretty  child  into  a^ 
graceful  woman:  and  this  change  cannot  but! 
delight  Frederic;  while,  on  his  side,  the  hand-' 
some  youth  of  twenty  is  about  to  retiirn  to  us 
an.  accomplished  and  travelled  man  of  twenty-' 
five  ;  and  surely  you  will   find  no  fault  with 


think  of  my  noble-hearted  boy,  and  of  the  fiesh  such  an  alteration?     And  now  kiss  me,  mv  own 


trial  which  awaits  us  on  our  meeting,  I  can 
scarcely  sustain  the  prospect,  even  while  I  pine 
to  have  him  once  more  beside  me.  You  too, 
Gertrude— you,  upon  whom  I  have  built  up 
such  bright  dreams  of  happiness  to  come ;  you 
can  understand  the  struggle,  can  you.not  ?  You 
love  your  cousin;  you  know  all  his  worth,  his 
manliness,  his  high  and  well-grounded  princi 
pie.  You  love  the  bold  and  gallant  boy  who 
was  the  playmate  of  your  infancy;  the  bright- 
eyed  and  warm-hearted  youth  who  was  the"  as- 
sociate of  your  girlhood ;  you  share  with  me 
!n  all  my  hopes  and  fears.  Tell  me  frankly.Ger- 
triide,  do  you  not  love  him  ?" 

A  second  blush,  which  almost  dried  the  tears 
that  rested  upon  her  cheeks,  was  a  more  defi- 
uite  answer  than  the  few  inarticulate  words  by 
which  it  was  accompanied. 

"And  now,  Gertrude,"  pursued  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer with  a  fond  smile ;  "  draw  forward  that 
stool,  and  seat  yourself  at  my  feet,  for  I  have 
much  to  say  to  you ;  much  on  which  not  only 
your  own  happiness  depends,  but  mine,  and,  1 
trust  and  believe,  that  of  Frederic  also.  Nay, 
silly  child,  why  do  you  tremble?  Surely  your 
busy  little  heart  must  already  have  warned  you 
of  what  is  to  come ;  for  I  have  long  given  you 
cause  to  feel  convinced  that  yon  are  as  dear  to 
me  as  my  own  child;  and  that  it  was  in  the 
hope  you  would  one  day  become  such,  that  I 
have  cherished  you,  and'bestowed  upon  you  a 
place  in  my  heart  whence  nothing  can  cast  you 
out.  You  know,  Gertrude,  that  when,  on  the 
death  o'  your  poor  father,  (whose  heart  was 
broken  by  the   loss  of  his  young  and  amiabl 


love,  and  tell  me  that  you  shall  be  happy  to  be-. 
come  indeed  my  daughter!"  ; 

"Aunt!'  exclaimed   Gertrude,    as  she  freed: 
herself  from  the  embrace  of  her  smiling  rela-' 
tive,  and  cast   herself  upon   her   knees  before! 
her:  "a  grateful  heart  has   few  words.     Y<»a' 
know  how  I  have  ever  loved  you ;  how  I  loved^ 
him  for  whom  we  mourn  ;  forgive  me,  then,  if' 
I  declare  that  I  dare  not  be  ha]ipy  as  you  would' 
have  me — my  dear,  dear  aunt,  I  dare  not.     Oh,  Ij 
beseech  you,. do  not  withdraw  your  hand!    Do; 
not  misunderstand  me,  or  you  will  break  my 
heart !     Indeed,  indeed,  you  little  know  all  thai' 
I  feel ;  all  that  I  would"  hope,  did  I  dare  to  dc 
so.     Remember,  my  best,  my  only  friend,  thai 
when  Frederic — when  Mr.  Mortimer — left  F.np-: 
land,  I  was  a  mere  girl  of  twelve  years  old,  tc' 
whose  childish  fancies  he  granted  an  indulgenw 
attributable  at  once  to  his  own  generous  naturf; 
and  to  his  desire  to  act  in  all  things  accordinj^, 
to  the  pleasure  of  his  parents.     Remember,  ton" 
that  five  long  years  have  since  elapsed ;  tholi 
Frederic — that    Mr.    Mortimer — has   grown  tt^ 
manhood;  that  he  has  visited  many  countries;, 
seen  many,   many  women  more  worthy  of  hit! 
love  than  your  poor  Gertrude ;  and  that  Icouki 
not,  even  orphan  and  penniless  as  I  am,  that  1' 
could  not  throw  myself  on  the  mercy  of  a  reluo; 
taut  heart." 

The  brow  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  darkened  for  ar, 
instant,  but  the  shadow  passed  away  as  rapidl\ 
as  it  had  gathered;  and  it  was  with  a  playful 
smile  that  she  smoothed  down  the  long  silkci! 
curls  which  streamed  over  her  knees,  as  sIm 
asked  cheerfully:    But  is  this  all,  my  ]>ennileK 


ifc,)  who  survived  your  birth  only  a  few  short  and  desolate  young  lady?  Does  the  relnctaiid 
weeks,  his  brother  brought  you  home,  and  only  exist  in  a  want  of  faith  in  the  continuct: 
placed  you  in  my  arms  as  a  tru.st  from  Heaven,!  affection  of  Frederic;  or  has  it  also  some  hid 
you  were  far  too  young  to  have  any  con.seious-  den  source  into  which  my  maternal  eyes  an 
nctjs  of  your  bereavement:   and  the'  smiling  in-  not  permitted  to  intrude?     Answer  me  honfistj 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


Iv,  «9  becomes  yonr  nature,  and  as  you  hope  for 


my 


love  and  coutidence."' 


What,  can  I  say,  dear  aunt?     Remember  the 
djiys  of  uiy  happy  cliihiliood.  Was  not  your  son 
my  dear,  dear  cousin,  my  constant,  and  ahnost  my 
:    sole  companion?     Did  he  not  forego  even  the 
'    sports  he  loved,  to  share  in  mine?     Did  he  not 
i    qnell  the  wild  and  bold  spirit  of  his  age  to  sym- 
,    pathize  witli  my  more  timid  and  shrinking  na- 
■    ture?  Did  we  not  part  with  tears,  such  as,  thanks 
I    to  your  fond  affection !  I  have  shed  but  once?  And 
j    then — forgive  me,  my  best  friend — has  he  not, 
i    since  he  left  us,  been  the  one  subject  of  all  our 
I    thoughts,  all  our  speculations,  and  all  our  hopes? 
I   Of  myself,  then,  how  dare"  I  speak?     But  Frede- 
ric !     Oh,  believe  me,  believe  me  ;  although  his 
,   thoughts  and  his  affections  piay,  and  must  have, 
I   turned  to  home  fondly  and  frequently,  still  even 
tliat  home  has  not,  cannot  have  been  all  to  him ; 
a  thousand   other    circumstances   and   persons 
have  crossed  his  path;  a  host  of  other  interests 
have  risen  iip  about  him.     He  is  young,  enthu- 
siastic, and  full  of  talent.    What,  and  who,  may 
he  not  have  seen  since  he  left  us?     Can  you  not 
tmderstand  and  appreciate  all  I  mean?" 

"I  understand  that  you  have  evoked  a  spec- 
tre which  I  must  exorcise,"  replied  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer with  a  placid  smile.  "  You,  at  least,  can 
\  appreciate  the  merits  of  that  home  to  which  our 
j  dear  truant  is  about  to  return  ;  while  I  can,  on 
i  my  side,  decide  upon  the  value  of  the  fair  face 
I  which  you  estimate  so  lightly.  No,  Gertrude, 
I  you  do  yourself  less  than  justice.  Frederic  may 
I  nave  seen,  and  been  struck  for  a  moment,  by 
I  prouder  beauty  than  your  own  ;  but  wlien  he 
I  seeks  a  wife,  believe  me,  my  child,  he  will  ask 
1  nothing  beyond  the  bride  whom  his  father's  dy- 
i  ing  wishes  have  selected  for  him.  Only  be  true  to 
[  yourself;  let  him  comprehend  your  nature  in  all 
j  Its  loving  purity,  and  he  will  not  resist  its  iniiu- 
i  once  even  before  he  learns  that  a  will  and  a  voice, 
[  doubly  sacred  because  they  reach  him  from  the 
j  grave,  had  already  decided  on  your  union." 

Silenced,  but  not  conviaeed,  Miss  Mortimer 
jooiild  o;dy  raise  the  hand  of  her  fond  and  indul- 
gent relative  to  her  lips  with  a  thrill  of  silent 
gratitude  far  more  eloquent  than  words.  Young 
as  she  was,  and  reared  as  she  had  been  in  a  re- 
tirement which  almost  amounted  to  seclusion, 
die  at  once  felt  all  the  delicacy  and  peculiarity 
of  her  position.  The  child  of  a  younger  brotheV 
w^ho  died  ere  his  speculations  had  produced 
their  anticipated  results,  and  bequeathed  her  to 
jthe  affectionate  charity  of  the  head  of  his  house, 
[die  now,  for  the  jfirs't  time,  became  painfully 
(OOQscious  of  her  dependent  situation  ;  and  of  the 
jthousand  restraints  which  it  imposed  upon  the 
(dignity  of  her  sex,  when  she  should  be  thrown 
ifnto  constant  contact  with  her  wealthy  and  en- 
jvied  cousin  ;  and  thus  not  all  the  caresses  of  her 
i*unt,  whose  imagination  was  busy  with  a  bright 
|and  beaming  future,  could  remove  the  sudden 
weight  which  had  fallen  upon  her  heart,  and 
rested  there.  ! 

Cheerful  as  she  was  constitutionally,  the  soli- 
iud»  of  her  girlhood,  relieved  only  "by  the  at- 
^ndance  of  her  masters,  the  indulgence  of  her 
•elatives,  and  the  society  of  the  few  mature 
Viends  of  Mrs.  Mortimer,  had  afforded  her  am- 
Me    time  for    reflection    and    self-questioning; 


and  although  until  this  day  she  had  never  sus- 
pected tliat  she  loved  the  generous  boy  who 
had  for  long  years  been  to  her  more  than  a 
brother,  there  had  nevertheless  occurred  mo- 
ments, in  which  her  cheek  had  crimsoned,  al- 
tliough  there  were  none  near  to  mark  it,  as  she 
detected  herself  referring  every  little  success  in 
her  studies,  and  every  slight  improvement  in 
her  person,  to  his  a2>proval,  and  to  his  praise. 
Now,  however,  her  eyes  were  opened,  and  she 
trembled  as  she  reflected  how  entirely  she  had 
suffered  herself  to  be  engrossed  by  his  well-re- 
mei'ibcred  image ;  and  how  eagerly  she  had 
wept  and  waited  for  each  anxiously  expected 
letter,  when  by  some  accident  it  was  delayed  ; 
and  with  what  impatience  she  had  watched  for 
the  paragraph  which  was  dedicated  to  herself 

As  she  grew  from  girlhood  she  had  taught 
herself  to  forget  that  she  was  a  mere  child  when 
they  parted ;  although  not  a  feature,  not  an 
outline  had  changed  in  her  tenacious  memory 
in  either  the  face  or  form  of  her  absent  coiisin. 
The  high,  pale  brow  circled  by  its  dark  and 
clustering  curls ;  the  proud  lip,  with  its  half 
tender  and  half  scornful  smile  ;  the  tall,  slight, 
graceful  figure,  with  its  haughty  carriage  and 
promise  of  future  strength  ;  all  were  before  her 
as  though  they  had  been  limned  in  never-chang- 
ing colors  iipon  her  heart  and  brain ;  and  de- 
spite the  calm  confidence  and  security  of  her 
aunt,  the  trembling  girl  shuddered  as  she  re- 
flected upon  the  possibility  that  five  long  years, 
with  their  vicissitudes  and  chances,  might  have 
taught  the  man  to  overcome  and  to  despise  all 
tlie  feelings  and  follies,  and  even  the  affections 
and  preferences,  of  the  youth  ;  while  she  had 
idly  and  wilfully  brooded  over  the  past  until  it 
had  tii'.ged  with  its  own  hues,  not  only  the  feel- 
ings of  the  present  houi',  but  even  the  happiness 
of  her  whole  future  life. 

'The  young,  the  giddy,  and  the  unthinking 
may  smile  at  such  a  conviction  in  the  breast  of 
a  girl  of  seventeen ;  but  let  them  remember 
that  circumstances  form  the  character,  and  that 
notliing  matures  so  early  in  woman  as  her  heart. 

Gertrude  did  not  deceive  herself  A  grateful 
and  loving  nature  had  first  prompted  her  to  re- 
gard her  cousin  as  the  epitome  of  all  human 
perf^ection,  while  he  was  present ;  and  the  con- 
tinual and  incautious  panegyrics  of  her  aunt, 
since  his  departure,  had  not  only  fostered,  but 
even  increased  her  mental  enthusiasm.  That 
Frederic,  her  own  Frederic,  should  select  any 
other  wife  than  her  gentle  and  beautiful  Ger- 
trude, never  for  an  instant  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Mortimer.  That  he  should  prefer  any  woman, 
however  lovely  and  distinguished,  to  his  fair 
and  orphan  cousin,  none  could  have  made  her 
suspect,  even  for  a  moment ;  and  thus  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  pour  forth  all  her  heart,  and  all 
her  hopes,  into  the  very  ear  which  should,  for 
its  own  peace,  have  been  deaf  to  such  a  theme. 

The  arrival  of  Fredei-ic  was  every  day  ex- 
pected; iirgent  letters  having  been  dispatched 
to  Egypt,  where  he  was  then  travelling  with  a 
friond,  to  apprise  him  of  his  father's  danger, 
from  the  moment  when  the  attendant  physicians 
had  forbidden  all  further  hope  ;  but  the  tale 
which  we  are  now  telling  is  not  of  recent  date, 
and  the  maans  of  transport  from  so  far  distant  a 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


land  -were  at  that  period  widely  opposed  to  ,  enough  to  forbear  the  exhibition  of  her  powei-s, 
tliose  of  the  present  day.  Thus  three  inoiitlis  ,  and  to  compel  you  to /«/ their  extent ;  a  most 
had  already  elapsed  since  the  grave  had  claim-  grievous  error  in  woman,  be  her  talent  what  it 
ed  its  tenant;  and  the  first  rush  of  grief  had  may ;  and  one  that  unsexes  her  as  ruueh  as  a 
partially  subsided,  to  give  place  in  the  heart  of  i  dereliction  from  propriety.  Could  you  fail  to 
Mrs.    Mortimer  to  the   auiious   desire   of  once   remark  that  the  pale,  sickly -looking'ili-s.  Dela- 


more  embracing  her  long-absent  son.  With  her, 
sorrow  had  not  exhausted  itself  in  those  wild, 
and  phrensied,  and  ungoverncd  paroxysms  which 
necessarily  induce  their  own  remedy:  it  was 
rather  a  deep,  and  settled,  and  unfading  regret; 


mere  was  but  the  echo  of  her  radiant  and  self^ 
appreciating  daughter  ?     In  one  short  half  hour  , 
I  fear  that  I  have  read  her  character.     Would  I 
thatTlie  Grange  had  still  remained  untenanted; 
for,  believe  me,  its  present  inmates  will  il" 


which,  even  while  it  admitted  other  affections  i  place  its  fonner  owner.     The  one  is  a  cypher, 
and  other  hopes  to  their  place  in  her  bosom,  i  and  the  other  has  no  heart." 


■was  destined  to  end  only  with  her  life,  and  to 
become  tlieneeforwai'd  a  poi-tion  of  her  existence. 

Her  husband  had  left  behind  him  an  unsullied 
and  honorable  name,  and  she  could  dwell  upon 
his  memory  with  a  well-grounded  pride  ;  while 
no  portion  of  her  wedded  existence  offered  an 
occasion  of  remorse  or  of  regret:  and  thus,  even 
while  iier  heart  wept  in  secret  over  her  bereave- 
ment, siie  liad  still  a  smile  for  other  joys,  and  a 
sympathy  for  other  interests. 

"  My  boy  will  find  but  one  sad  change  await- 
ing him,"'  she  resumed,  after  a  long  and  medita- 
tive pause;  "little  has  ti'anspired  in  our  quiet 
neighborhood  to  jar  upon  his  early  memories. 
The  young  iiave  sprung  up  in  strength,  and  the 


"  Can  this,  indeed,  be  you,  dear  aunt?"  asked 
Gertrude,  looking  up  in  wonder. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  smiled.  "  I  appear  bitter  aad 
ungenerous,  my  dear  .child,  and  perhap*  I  am  | 
so  ;  but  that  visit  has  left  an  uneasy  impressioa  ' 
on  my  mind.  I  foresee  little  gratification  in 
such  an  acquaintance." 

"  And  yet  the  dear  old  vicar  says  tliat  they 
have  already  done  so  much  good,"  said  the  fair 
girl  persuasively  ;  "  that  they  have  subscribed  i 
largely  to  the  schools,  made  a  donation  to  tire  ! 
almshouses,  an'd  desired  him  to  furnish  them 
with  a  list  of  the  most  deserving  of  the  poor. , 
Surely  in  this,  at  least,  they  have  acted  rightly,  i 
And  then,  think  what  a  boon  it  will  be  lo  many ' 


aged  liave  declined  in  like  manner;  but  he  will!  industrious  families  who  eaunot  readily  obtain 
be  prepared  by  the  alteration  which  he  sees  in  i  work  in  the  winter  season,  to  be  secure  of  em- 
himself  for  these  trifling  differences.  Alas!  it  is  ployment  for  several  months,  while  the  exten-, 
at  home — iji  the  home  he  loved  so  well — that  he  I  sive  improvements  contemplated  by  Miss  Dela- 1 
must  look  for  the  one  great  and  painful  change ;  j  mere  are  carried  out !" 

and  that  one  we  must  endeavor  to  lighten  as  "I  admit  all  tiiis,  and  cordially  rejoice  at  it,"; 
best  we  may,  my  child.  After  five  long  years  replied  the  elderly.lady  ;  "  and  yet  I  cannot  like' 
of  vicissitude  and  excitement,  it  Avill  require  all  this  brilliant  stranger.  That  she'is  a  spoiled  child; 
our  exei-tions  to  counteract  tlie  monotony  of  a 'of  fortune  is  evident,  and  as  regards  that  fact! 
retreat  like  this ;  but  we  will  not  again  sufi:crj  she  is  perhaps  entitled  to  indulgence;  but  she' 
him  to  escape  us;  and  nothing  save  this  eon- j  presumes  too  much  upon  her  individuality  ;  and' 
eideration  could  have  induced  me,  at  this  early  i — to  come  back  once  more  to  my  original  declar- 

„i _f :i 1 1     i-     — •    ij    i.-    i.1      I     ..:  ...       T ; i  ii..,i  -i.  .  i ...  i 


etage  of  my  widowhood,  to  yield  even  to  the 
representations  of  our  good  vicar,  by  making  the 
acquaintance  of  the  strangers  at  The  Grange." 

"  It  must,  indeed,  have  been  an  effort  " — 
murmured  Gertrude,  still  thinking  of  her  absent 
cousin. 

"  And  one  which  was  ill  repaid,"  acquiesced 
Mrs.  Mortimer ;  "  for  1  know  not  why,  but  I  am 
not  prepossessed  by  either  mother  or  daughter, 
altlioiigh  tlieir  reception  was  most  gracious." 

"  And  yet  Mr.s.  Delamere  lias  the  a])pearance 
of  a  kind-iiearted,  althougli  indolent  woman; 
whik'  her  daughter  is  decidedly  a  beauty." 

"  A  bofluty  !"  ociiocd  Mrs.  Mrtrtimer  half  in- 
dignantly, as  lier  eyes  rested  upon  the  lovely 
face  of  lier  niece:  "You  have  strange  notions 
of  beauty,  my  poor  child.  What!  would  you 
persuade  me  tiiat  you  admire  those  bold  black 
eyes,  whidi  seem  to  pierce  to  your  very  soul 
one  moment,  only  to  be  lost  the  next  beneath 
their  long,  tliiik  ja.'^hes,  as  tliough  they  shrank 
before  your  answering  gaze. — That  haughty  lip, 
wliicli  seems  to  smiie  reluctantly,  and  as  if  it 
would  ratlier  writiie  with  a  sarcasm  ?  Ko,  no, 
Gertrude;  showy  siie  may  be,  and  is;  but  Miss 
Delamere  lias  no  pretensions  to  be  called  a  beau- 
ty. And  then  her  manner — so  self-centred,  so 
decided,  so  essentially  unwomanly,  would  coun- 
teract any  loveliness,  however  striking.  That  simply,  although  uneonsciously,  that  she  might, 
she  is  clever,  I  do  not  doubt;  but  still  not  wise | hear  "herself  accused   of  exaggeration   by  hei' 


ation — I  am  convinced  that  she  has  no  heart." 

"  Shall  I  not  win  you  to  think  otherwise," 
asked  Gertrude  playfully ;  "  when  I  tell  yoii, 
tliat  while  1  accompanied  her  to  the  spot  upon 
which  the  new  succession-houses  are  to  be  erect-i 
ed,  slie  spoke  most  warmly  of  her  sympathy  in' 
the  delight  that  you  would  soon  experience  from 
the  return  of  your  son  ;  and  asked  me  a  thou- 
sand friendly  questions  relating  to  him,  whichi 
I  answered  with  equal  frankness?  Tears  start-| 
ed  to  her  eyes  as  1  told  her  of  all  the  grief  that 
you  had  suffered  on  his  departure  ;  wliile  it  was' 
beautiful  to  see  the  smile  with  which  slie  listened 
to  mj'  assurance  that  ere  long  your  heart  would 
be  at  peace,  and  all  your  anxiety  upon  his  aty 
count  terminated  by  his  return.  Indeed,  dear 
aunt,  at  that  moment  she  was  very  beautiful." 

"  You  cannot,  even  ihus,  make  a  convert  of^ 
me,"  was  the  reply  of  Mrs.  Mortimer;  "I  feel 
that  I  shall  never  like  Miss  Delamere." 


CHAPTER  II. 

And  who  was  Miss  Delamere  ?  W\^o  was  this 
dark-eyed  stranger,  whose  attractions  Gertrude 
Jlortimer  sti'ove  to  increase  in  hei-  own  eyes. 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


:    1 


aunt?  "Wliile  the  aunt,  on  her  side,  did  not 
dare  to  admit  them  to  her  own  reason,  as  though 
gome  evil  were  foreshadowed  to  lier  mind,  as 
vivid  as  it  was  iintangible,  connected  witli  an 
individual  of  whom  she  as  yet  kijew  nothing. 

Upon  this  point,  we  have  little  to  tell.  The 
Grange,  rendered  vacant  by  the  pecuniary  em- 
barrassment of  its  former  proprietor,  had  been 
advertised  for  sale  in  the  public  prints;  and 
after  having  been  visited  by  an  agent,  had 
finally  been  purchased  at  a  liberal  pirice  by  its 

firese'nt  owners:  but  of  the  .antecedents  of  these 
adies  no  one  in  the  neighborhood  knew  any- 
thing. They  had  arrived,  taken  possession,  ap- 
plied for  a  pew  in  the  parish  church,  and,  as  a 
natural  consequence,  been  waited  upon  by  the 
vicar;  who,  delighted  at  the  interest  evinced 
by  Miss  Delamere,  in  his  schools,  his  almshouses, 
and  his  poor,  had  entreated  Mrs.  Mortimer  to 
accompany  his  own  wife  in  her  introductory 
visit 

That  the  strangers  were  affluent  was  sufficient- 
ly apparent ;  for,  even  while  commencing  the 
costly  improvements  upon  which  they  had  de- 
cided, the  well-organized  establishment  already 
formed  at  The  Grange  prevented  every  appear- 
ance of  discomfort  or  disordv  ;  and  the  superb 
furniture  and  articles  of  virtu  scattered  through 
tlie  apartments,  betokened  long  habits  of  ele- 
gance and  even  profusion. 

The  elder  lady  was,  indeed,  as  Mrs.  Mortimer 
had  declared,  a  mere  cypher.  A  little,  Avither- 
ed,  peevish,  faded  woman  of  fashion,  for  whom 
it  was  always  too  hot,  or  too  cold  ;  too  early,  or 
too  late.  Who  constantly  ke]^t  a  bottle  of  ether 
upon  her  reading-table  ;  enhanced,  as  fai-  as  was 
yet  in  her  power,  the  ruins  of  her  former  beaut}' 
by  the  use  of  rouge,  and  the  adoption  of  cap- 
border  of  costly  mechlin ;  could  only  exist  in 
the  twilight  of  a  well-curtained  room ;  and  wil- 
lingly displayed  her  still  faultless  foot  to  the 
adrfiiration  of  her  visitors.  She  said  little  ;  and 
that  little  in  a  low,  drawling,  monotonous,  and 
unmusical  voice,  whidh  did  not  invite  conversa- 
tion ;  while  on  no  single  occasion  did  she  ever 
exert  herself  to  emit  an  opinion  upon  any  sub- 
ject whatever ;  contenting  herself,  in  reply  to 
every  question  or  appeal,  by  languidly  closing 
her  eyes  as  she  answered, — "I  really  do  not 
know  ;  you  had  better  inquire  of  Syl)il." 

And  Sybil  was  never  at  fault.  Let  the  theme 
be  what  it  might,  it  failed  to  produce  the  liesi- 
tation  of  an  instant.  With  a  well-stored  mind, 
gi'eat  self-possession,  and  a  full  estimnte  of  her 
moral  and  mental  powers,  as  well  as  of  her  per- 
sonal fascinations,  she  lost  no  single  advantage 
with  which  she  had  been  gifted  by  nature ; 
but  decided  plans,  purposes,  and  perplexities, 
■with  a  quiet  and  unostentatious  composure 
wliich  no  one  ever  appeared  disposed  to  ques- 
tion or  to  disturb. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  Miss 
Delamere  assumed  the  attitude  of  an  oracle ;  or 
exhibited  towards  her  indolent  parent  the  slight- 
est tinge  of  disrespect  or  neglect.  On  the  con- 
(trary,  although  siie  never  appealed  to  her  tastes, 
jbeing  an  enemy  to  all  works  of  supereroga- 
tion, she  never  failed  to  consult  her  wishes, 
ind  to  receive  in  reply  the  languid,  "  Fray  don't 
joisturb  me,   Sybil;    I   care   nothing   about  it. 


Only  please  yourself."  And  in  obedier.ce  to  this 
injunction,  Sybil  never  hesitated  to  plejise  her- 
self; and  frequently  succeeded  by  tlie  6am« 
means  in  pleasing  others. 

The  evident  attiuence  and  high-breeding  of 
the  strangers  ;  the  unembarrassed  deportment 
of  Miss  'Delamere  ;  her  indifference  to  all  those 
inconvenient  conventionalities  by  which  unmar- 
ried females  are  generally  fettered ;  her  un- 
limited command  of  money  ;  and  her  universal 
acquaintance  with  all  popular  and  even  abstruse 
subjects,  rendered  their  past  existence  a  problem 
to  all  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood,  whose 
inferences  aiid  surmises  were  alike  industrious 
and  absurd. 

Thus  much,  however,  was  evident.  Mrs.  Dela- 
mere was  a  woman  thoroughly  habituated  to 
luxury,  and  that  dolcc  far  nun/e  which  can  only 
be  commanded  by  wealth  ;  while  the  younger 
lady,  whose  dark,  rich  beauty  was  almost,  daz- 
zling, was  highly  accomplished,  occasionally 
even  profound  in  her  remarks,  with  great  know- 
ledge of  the  world,  and  specious  and  winnins; 
manners;  she  was  always  'cheerful,  witty,  ami 
at  times  slightly  sarcastic  ;  wiul\  '.loreover,  that 
affected  indifference  to  her  own  attractions 
which  is  the  most  ineradicable  and  refined  van- 
ity ;  and  which  can  never  be  successfully  attained 
until  a  matured  experience  has  enabled  its  pos- 
sessor to  check  all  impulsive  demonstrations,  and 
to  let  the  head  lead,  where  in  youth  it  is  the 
heart  that  plaj-s  the  pioneer. 

Such  was  Miss  Delamere  at  eight-and-twenty ; 
and  such  an  apparition  in  a  quiet  country  town 
was  well  calculated  to  excite  alike  curiosity  and 
surprise.  The  splendor  of  her  toilette,  remark- 
able, however,  only  for  the  material,  and  never 
for  the  exaggeration  of  its  fashion — the  perfect 
ease  with  which  she  drove  her  ponies  through 
the  crowded  streets  on  market  days,  or  gallop-, 
ed  over  the  heights  on  her  thorough-bred  horse, 
followed  only  by  a  groom — or  argued  architec- 
tural details  with  the  professional  man  employ- 
ed to  enlarge  and  embellish  The  Grange — or 
discussed  points  of  logic,  and  even  theology 
with  the  vicar,  or  medicine  and  metaphysics 
with  the  elderly  and  respectable  phy.sician  of 
Westrum,  were  all  alike  subject  of  marvel ;  but 
never,  even  in  her  most  enthusiastic  moments, 
did  Miss  Delamere  throw  a  single  light  upon  the 
past. 

Her  communications  were  all  in  generalities  ; 
and  while  the  usually  taciturn  mother  occasion- 
ally alluded  with  evident  iinconsciousness  to  a 
Lady  Anne  So-and-so,  and  a  Lord  Such-an-onc, 
never  did  the  name  of  an  individual,  save  as  it 
might  be  connected  with  a  political  question,  or 
a  current  rumor,  pass  the  lips  of  the  daughter; 
who  appeared,  on  arriving  at  Westrum,  to  have 
virtually  passed  a  sponge  over  her  previous  ex- 
istence. 

It  is  true,  that  with  the  past  her  new  asso- 
ciates might,  stringently  speaking,  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do ;  but  it  is  no  less  a  fact  that 
metropolitan  circles  will  more  readily  admit 
strangers  who  present  themselves  among  them 
rich  in  the  positive  advantages  of  wealth  and 
fashion,  than  the  old  and  self-appreciating  fami- 
lies of  the  provinces,  who,  having  grown  ancient 
with  the   timber  upon  their   estates,  look  upon 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


the  time-worn  monnments  of  their  race  as  a 
patent  of  local  nobility,  and  dread  all  intrusion 
into  their  ohamied,  if  not  always  charming  set, 
with  misgiving  and  jealousy. 

Moreover,  tlie  Delamores  established  them- 
selves at  The  Grange  witlwut  a  single  introduc- 
tion ;  and  it  was  only  the  fact  of  their  having, 
courteously  enough,  but  very  decidedly,  caused 
it  to  be  understood  that  they  declined  all  ac- 
quaintance with  tlie  notabilities  of  the  town, 
with  the  exception  only  of  the  incumbent  and 
the  physician,  that  inspired  the  "  neighbor- 
hood" with  anj'  confidouce  in  their  real  grade 
in  socict}'. 

In  accordance  with  the  request  of  the  vicar, 
whose  parochial  interests  were,  as  we  have  seen, 
involved  in  the  concession,  Mrs.  Mortimer  hadj 
consented  to  accompany  his  amiable  and  timid 
wife  to  The  Grange ;  but,  nevertheless^  although 
the  general  respect  and  regard  which  was  feltj 
for  the  gentle  widow  made  her  example  power- 1 
ful,  it  was  still  a  moot  question  with  the  owners 
of  tliis  "Hall"  and  that  "House"  if  they  should 
venture  to  commit  themselves  by  too  ready] 
an  exhibition  of  goodwill  towards  persons  of  : 
whose  actual  identity  they  were  altogether  un- 
informed. 

Tiiis  irresolution,  however,  in  no  degree  affect- ' 
ed  either  the  feelings  or  the  energies  of  Miss 
Delamcre.  Her  workmen  toiled,  her  imder- 
taking  pi-ogressed.  her  conservatories  were  lined 
with  the  most  costly  plants  ;  her  fountains  threw ! 
up  their  silver  threads  in  the  sunshine  ;  her  neat  j 
but  exquisitely  appointed  chariot  bore  her  peri- 
odically to  her  comfortably-curtained  pew  inl 
the  parish  church ;  the  London  coach  duly  ar- 1 
rived,  laden  with  boxes  and  packing-cases  for 
her  wardrobe  ;  and  she  rode  and  drove,  walk- 
ed, and  executed  the  most  elaborate  compositions 
upon  her  harp,  as  tranquilly,  and  with  as  miich 
laijoyment,  as  though  all  the  magnates  of  the 
country  had  left  their  visiting  tickets  at  the  por- 
ter's lodge. 

It  was  evident  that  she  could  do  without 
tliem ;  and  this  conviction  ere  long  appeared 
all-sufficient  as  regarded  her  right  to  their  civi- 
lities ;  and  accordingly,  after  a  lapse  of  time, 
Jiaviiig  satisfied  themselves  that  the  current  ex- 
penses at  Tile  Grange  were  duly  met,  that  the 
religious  tenets  of  its  new  owners  were  ortliodox, 
ajid  that,  come  what  might,  Mrs.  Mortimer  would 
necessarily  incur  all  the  responsibility  of  the 
Tesult,  one  by  one  the  neighboring  families  left 
Uieir  names  at  the  door ;  not  sorry  to  satisfy  at 
once  their  curiosity,  and  the  tardily  performed 
duty  of  courtesy. 

Nor  could  even  the  most  fastidious  indulge  in 
a  sneer  or  a  doubt  as  regarded  the  taste  of  their 
new  neighbors  ;  for  -as  they  drove  through  the 
grounds,  every  modification  bore  testimony  to 
tlie  refinement  and  resources  of  the  strangers. 
In  no  direction  was  an  attempt  at  show  or  osten- 
tation visible:  tlie  old  timber — and  where  is 
the  great  landed  pri>prietor  who  does  not  found 
his  judgment  upon  both  the  feeling  and  the 
"  ways  and  means"  of  a  neighbor  upon  his  re- 
Bi)ect  for  this  venerable  and  venerated  adjunct 
to  a  country  place  ? — liad  been  carefully  pre- 
•crved  ;  and  the  new  points  of  view  which  had 
boon  secured  from  the  hoiue,  had  simply  cauficd 


the  sacrifice  of  a  few  half-grown  trees,  or  clnmpi 
of  flowering  shrubs.     Not  a  bay  or  a  garble  of 
the  fine  old   structure  had  suffered  mutilation  ; 
but    on   either  hand  were   rapidly    rising  com- 
modious and  handsome  additions,  in  perfect  keep- 
ing with  the  style  and  order  of  the  orginial  edi- 
fiee,  with  which  they  were  so   skilfully   con>-  i 
bined,  tluit  it  was  easy  to  detect  at  a  glance,  , 
how  very  soon  time  would,  by  blending   the  ■ 
tints  of  the  several  structures,  render  it  impossi- 
ble to  discover  the  boundary  of  each. 

This  fact  had  considerable  weight  with  the 
squirearchy,  who,  whether  priding  themselves  , 
iipon  their  ancient  descent  or  their  present 
wealth,  had,  ere  they  ventured  upon  their  visit, , 
already  heard,  and  even  seen  so  much  of  the 
young  lady  of  The  Grange,  that  they  had  be- 1 
come  jealous,  and  anxious  upon  the  subject  of  j 
their  own  consequence  ;  and  trembled  in  secret . 
lest  they  should  see  their  antique  glories  crush- 1 
ed  beneath  the  ostentatious  profusion  of  "  per-! 
sons  of  whom  they  knew  nothing." 

One  glance  at  the  arrangements  sufficed  to 
convince  them,  hoAvever,  that  everything  had 
been  ordered'  rather  with  a  view  to  personal 
gratification  than  idle  or  presumptuous  display; 
and,  costly  as  all  the  accessories  of  the  placai 
undoubtedly  were,  they  became  reconciled  to , 
the  innovation  when  their  self-love  was  satisfied; 
that  no  attack  had  been  premeditatedly  made- 
upon  it;  while  the  quiet  and  undemonstrative, 
manners  of  Mrs.  Delamere  reassured  all  tliej 
local  fashionables  among  the  matrons  that  tliey, 
need  not  fear  for  themselves.  It  is  true  that  the, 
rouge  was  admirably  laid  on,  and  the  shawls, 
and  mechlins  of  tlie  lady  almost  unapproach-. 
able  in  value  ;  but  she  wore  both  the  one  and' 
the  other  with  such  unmistakable  indifferenc«,i 
that  it  was  at  once  evident  they  never  occupied; 
her  thoughts. 

The  only  stumbling  block  was  Sybil.  The 
methodical  and  somewhat  straight-laced  dam<s 
of  the  county  coiild  not  decide  what  to  make  of 
her.  She  was  so  perfectl|r  at  her  ease  ;  so  ap- 
parently unconscious  that  she  differed  in  any, 
respect  from  themselves  ;  while  she  was,  at  tlie. 
very  instant,  bewildering  them  with  her  no- 
quirements,  and  astonishing  them  with  her  opift- 
ions ;  so  cheerfully  frank,  while  she  evaded  all; 
their  covert  investigations;  so  full  of  the  pro»- 
ent,  while  she  never  adverted  to  the  past;  thai' 
they  could  not  come  to  any  decision  as  regardet'i 
her.  It  was  true  that  nothing  could  exceed  bej: 
courtesy ;  but  still  it  was  not  the  courtesy  of 
an  obliged  person,  but  rather  the  desire  to  jileasi 
of  one  who  was  quite  conscious  that  she  coul 
afford  gratification  whenever  it  was  her  will  t< 
do  so,  and  who  was  happy  to  oblige. 

Thi9=  was  vexatious ;  for  when  people  havi' 
compelled  themselves,  as  they  believe,  to  con. 
fer  an  obligation,  tliey  are  not'easily  induced  b,  . 
submit  to  a  reverse  of  the  medal ;  and  to  bov 
their  intentions  altogether  misunderstood,  o 
unappreciated.  Still  they  could  find  no  tangibl, 
fault  with  Miss  Delamere  :  her  extreme  beauty  . 
and  her  perfect  good  breeding  were  admitte*, 
on  all  sides  ;  and  as  no  particular  individual  hv, 
the  moral  courage  to  allow  that  this  very  eX: 
cess  of  good  breeding  had  been  a  source  of  peij 
Boual  mortifieation,  the  result  of  the  visit  vrm 


TIIE   RIVAL  BEAUTIKS. 


declared  to  be  satisfactory,  although  there  was 
everywhere  a  mental  reservation. 

In  the  tlu-onged  circles  of  London  life  it  is  an 
!    every-day  occurrence   for   beauty,  talent,  and 
J    fashion,  to  find  themselves  eclipsed  by  greater 
!    beauty,  higher  talent,  or  more  decided  fashion : 
,   tlie  wheer  of  society  is  forever  revolving,  and 
1   its  votaries  soon  become  habituated  and  recon- 
!   died  to  the  rotary  movement  which  elevates 
and  depresses  each  in  turn  ;  but  the  aristocracy 
of  a  country  neighborhood  stand  still  like  their 
crwn  oaks  and  elms,  and  do  not  so  jJatieutly  en- 
dure the  inflictiou  of  any  rivalry. 
''      Tluis,  although  every  one  praised  the  beauty 
and  the  deportment  of  Miss  Delamere,  she  did 
•  not  impress  them  favorably :  fathers  trembled 
t  for  their  sons,  mothers  for  their  daughters,  young 
:  ladies  for  their  lovers,  and  expectant  heirs  for 
I  their  college  recollections  and  forgotten  studies. 
'      In  short,  the  ladies  decided  that  the  handsome 
t  etranger  was  a  flirt,  and  empty-headed  squire- 
lings  that  she  was  a  blue-stocking. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

ixwniLE  Frederic  Mortimer  was  hastily 
Itraversing  Italy,  on  his  way  to  England.  Italy, 
Ithe  laud  of  his  predilection,  where,  on  his  ^out- 
ward route,  he  had  lingered  over  every  natural 
|ot  artistic  beauty  with  almost  a  lover's  tender- 
jness ;  where  he  had  each  day  discovered  some 
teew  delight ;  whose  skies  and  groves  had  tilled 
hiis  mental  visions  even  in  strange  countries ; 
jond  where  he  had  resolved  to  rest  awhile  ere  he 
Ifinally  returned  to  his  home,  in  order  that  he 
j-night  store  his  memory  with  a  rich  gallery  of 
llife-enduring  pictures.  The  alarming  letter, 
lliowever,  which  was  put  into  his  hands  at  Cairo, 
pversed  in  a  single  instant  all  his  plans  ;  and 
't  was  with  a  throbbing  and  a  trembling  heai't, 
chat  he  found,  on  arriving  at  Alexandria,  only  a 
single  vessel  lying  in?  the  liarbor  bound  for 
i-'ipe;  and  which,  moreover,  was  not  to  sail 
■  -^  veral  days. 

liiose  days  were  torture  to  the  affectionate 

n.-art  of  Frederic  ;  for  although  the  expressions 

M  his  careful  mother  had  been  measured,  and 

(lie  had  abstained  from  informing  him  that  all 

ope  was  over,  still  he  read  the  truth  in  the 

nstrained  anguish  which  breathed  throughout 

e  whole  letter ;  for  there  are  certain  misfor- 

nes  wiiich  we  feel  at  once,  without  needing 

at  they  should  be  formally  set  forth  in  order 

convince  us  of  their  ex-istence. 

At  length  the  anchor  of  the  small  schooner 

is  weighed  ;  and  with  a  fair  breeze,  she  scud- 

d_m  the  direction  of  Trieste,  her  solitar/pas- 

i'T  being  Frederic;  who,' after  having  taken 

■  '•  of  his  travelling  companion,  then  prepar- 

■  tur  an  expedition  to  the  Pyramids,  had  be- 

I"  totally  absorbed  by  the  one  mingled  hope 

1  fear  which  pointed  towards  his  home. 

'  'Jice  again  on  terra  firma,  he  lost  no  time  in 

■^•jcutuig  his  journey ;  but  not  as  he  had  for- 

^ly  done,  did  he  now  traverse  Itaiy.     All 

ill  had  before  engrossed  his  attention  and 

iL'lited  his  fancy,  seemed  to  have  disappear- 

,  u  gloomy  veil  hung  over  the  whole  landscape, 


.and  blotted  out  the  sunshine:  no  longer  eager  to 
visit  and  to  investigate  every  object  of  interest, 
he  remained  buried  in  a  corner  of  the  vehicle, 
absorbed  in  his  own  painful  forebodings,  and 
indifferent  to  all  external  objects.  The  most 
renowned  cities,  and  the  most  picturesque 
points  of  view,  were  alike  unable  to  ai'ouse  him 
from  his  abstraction:  the  affection  of  the  son 
had  overcome  the  impulses  of  the  artist  and  the 
man  of  taste ;  and  a  cold  dew  stood  at  times 
upon  his  forehead,  as  he  pictured  to  himself  that 
his  father  might  at  that  precise  instant  bo 
breathing  his  last  sigh,  and  looking  in  vain 
around  the  death  room  for  the  absent  one  who 
should  have  been  there  to  receive  it. 

Frederic  Mortimer,  accustomed  from  his  ear- 
liest youth  to  make  his  own  tastes  and  plea- 
sures subservient  to  (hose  of  others ;  not  by 
compulsion,  but  from  the  imperative  prompt- 
ings of  his  own  warm  and  unselfish  heart,  had 
not  beUed  in  manhood  the  promise  of  his  youth. 
Calm,  selfcentred,  and  somewhat  grave,  he  was 
indeed ;  and  altogether  not  divested  of  a  cer- 
tain pride  which  rendered  him  jealous  of  any 
Avant  of  affection  or  regard  in  those  about  him ; 
but  this  frequent  failing  of  silent  and  shy  men 
was  compensated  by  the  outgushing  tenderness 
of  a  nature  ever  prompt  to  bestow  even  more 
than  it  exacted  in  return. 

Still  this  was  Mortimer's  leading  defect ;  this 
anxioxis  yeai'ning  to  be  loved,  which  rendered 
him  exacting  even  with  those  who  were  nearest 
and  dearest  to  him,  while  it  exposed  him  to  the 
risk  of  imposition  in  his  general  commerce  with 
the  world  ;  and  amiable  as  the  failing  might  be 
in  its  origin,  it  nevertheless  exerted  an  un- 
healthy influence  upon  his  general  character. 
Few,  liowevei",  stispected  the  extent  of  this 
weakness ;  while  all  with  whom  he  came  into 
contact  could  appreciate  his  high  and  noble 
qualities,  and  the  graceful  gentleness  by  which 
he  was  distinguished. 

Young,  wealthy,  strikingly  handsome,  and 
gifted  with  no  ordinary  powers  of  the  mind,  the 
son  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  fully  justified  her  tender- 
ness, of  which  he  felt  so  perfectly  secure,  that 
no  cloud  had  ever  passed  over  his  spirit  as  his 
thoughts  dwelt  upon  his  mother's  love.  To  his 
father  he  had  been  equally  devoted;  and  he 
had  cherished  his  girl-cousin  with  a  fond  feeling 
of  mingled  admiration  and  proud  support.  Be- 
yond these  boundaries  his  heart  had  not  yet 
progressed.  Absorbed  before  his  departure 
frolI^  England,  by  his  studies ;  and  during  the 
college  vacations,  by  those  home  diities  which 
are  so  pleasurable  in  youth,  he  had  never  wast- 
ed a  thought  upon  other  and  more  precarious 
affections ;  while,  throughout  his  wanderings  in 
foreign  countries,  he  had  devoted  himself  rather 
to  places  than  to  persons  ;  and  seen,  in  the  fai" 
faces  which  flitted  before  him,  merely  suitably 
accessories  to  the  various  scenes  on  which  he 
looked 

Such  was  Frederic  Mortimer  when  he  once 
more  set  foot  upon  English  ground.  Rich  in 
aft'ection ;  ardent  in  temperament,  although 
grave  in  manner ;  thirsting  to  bo  loved  as  he 
felt  that  he  could  himself  love  ;  full  of  hope  for 
the  future,  even  altliough  the  present  waa 
clouded  by  a   hc:;"y  sorrovr;  generous;  high- 


10 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


hearted  ;  ever  ready  to  enhance  the  happiness 
of  others  by  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  wishes, 
■where  that  sacrifice  did  not  involve  tlie  one 
leading  weakness  ;  a  devoted  son,  a  frank  and 
fearless  friend,  and  an  upright  man. 

A  fortuight  had  elapsed  since  the  bright  noon 
■npon  whicii  we  introduced  Mrs.  Mortimer  and 
her  orphan  niece  to  our  readers  ;  and  the  shades 
of  evening  were  rapidly  invading  the   glorious 


liich  had  marshalled  the  sun  to  its 


gor- 


vapors  wli 

geous  setting,  and  which  flooded  the  lawn  with 
a  golden  light,  as  if  reluctant  to  fade  from  the 
face  of  the  fair  carta  so  soon. 

Gertrude  stood  in  the  bay  of  the  summer  sa- 
loon already  mentioned,  looking  herself  like  the 
spirit  of  the  hour,  and  fixing  the  gaze  of  her 
fond  and  admiring  aunt  by  the  exquisite  glow 
of  her  beanty,  as  her  rich  hair  was  touched  by 
the  radiant  beams ;  when  she  murmured  as  if 
unconsciously :  "  It  must  be  so  !  That  golden 
arch,  sheddmg  its  dazzling  reflection  on  all 
around  it,  and  tinging  the  growing  vapors  with 
a  thousand  prismatic  hues,  must  be  the  open 
portal  of  Eternity  ;  through  which  the  wonder- 
ful shadow  of  the  Creator  makes  itself  for  a 
brief  space  visible  to  man,  as  if  to  invite  him  to 
win  his  entrance  into  the  more  solemn  and  per- 
fect glories  beyond !  And  do  you  know,  dear 
Aunt?"  she  co'ntinued,  turning  with  an  enthusi- 
astic smile  to  her  wondering  relative  ;  "  I  have 
often  imagined,  despite  the  science  of  the  learn- 
ed, that  the  lovely  stars,  which  we  are  taught 
to  look  upon  as  worlds,  may  in  reality  be  no- 
thing save  the  dust  of  heaven  flimg  from  the 
feet  of  the  Eternal,  as  he  moves  in  His  majesty 
-above  the  clouds  of  night!" 

"These  are  strange  wild  fancies,  Gertrude!" 
remarked  Mrs.  Mortimer  somewhat  gravelj*: 
"Our  retired  life  has  made  a  day-dreamer  of 
you ;  but  you  must  struggle  against  such  un- 
Dridled  imaginations  as  these.  You  are  no 
longer  a  child ;  and  the  realities  of  the  world 
will  more  than  suffice  to  occupy  your  mind." 

"  Yet,  surely,  dear  aunt,  there  should  be  some 
poetry  in  life?  It  is  so  disheartening  to  cast 
away  all  the  bright  visions  of  a  wayward  fancy. 
But  hark  !  I  hear  the  gate  bell — the  hour  is  too 
far  advanced  for  casual  visitors! — ^Aunt,  dear 
aunt,  I  liave  a  presentiment — nay,  I  feel  con- 
vinced, that  Frederic  has  arrived!" 

Mrs.  ilortimer  sank  back,  half  fainting,  in  her 
chair;  and  waving  her  hand  ini]>(ititiitly.  in  a 
hun-ied  and  failing  voice  desired  the  fair  girl  to 
hasten  and  ascertain  if  her  conjecture  wei'c  in- 
deed correct ;  an  exertion  which  her  sudden 
emotion  rendered  impossible  to  herself 

Tiie  heart  of  Gertrude  had  not  deceived  her. 
As  she  reached  the  hall,  a  tall  slight  figure 
alighted  from  a  travelling  carriiige,  and  hastily 
niurmurirg,  "  My  dear  cousin,  I  am  rejoiced  to 
Bce  you  once  again! — Where  is  my  mother?" 
passed  her  without  a  second  glance  ;'  and  in  the 
next  instant  had  crossed  her  threshold  of  the 
saloon. 

Saddened  and  disappointed,  although  tremb- 
ling with  a  sensation  of  indescribable  happiness, 
Gertrude  retired  to  her  own  room,  imwilling  to 
intrude  iier  presence  until  the  first  burst  of  ma- 
ternal and  filial  affection  had  passed  by;  for  she 
instiiictivel}'  felt  that  there  is  a  holiness  in  sor- 


row such  as  theirs,  which  should  be  looked  on 
by  no  other  eye,  how.ever  dear. 

The  partial  obscurity  of  the  hall,  combined 
with  her  own  agitation,  had  rendered  it  impoa- 
sible  for  her  to  distinguish  the  features  of  her 
long  absent  cousin  ;  while  it  was  equally  evi- 
dent that  he  had  at  once  comprehtinded  the  e»» 
tent  of  his  misfortune  by  the  mourning  dress 
in  which  she  met  him ;  and  engi-ossed  by  that 
solitary  idea,  had  given  no  thought  to  herselt 
In  vain  did  she  argue  to  her  own  reason  that 
nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  what  had 
occurred  ;  her  heart  was  unsatisfied — that  heart, 
which  had  yearned  towards  him  even  from  her 
girlhood.  Had  he  merely  touched  her  hand  a£ 
he  passed  beside  her,  .she  would  have  asked  nc 
more,  for  she  would  then  have  felt  that  she  had 
a  place  in  his  remembrance ;  but  their  fii-sl 
meeting  had  been  a  perfect  blank,  .and  this  coi> 
viction  chilled  her  to  the  soul.  ; 

Meanwhile  Frederic  had  flung  himself  upor! 
the  neck  of  his  widowed  mother,  and  for  a  fe\i 
seconds  was  totally  incapable  of  utterance; 
Throughout  his  whole  journey  he  had  hopec^ 
even  against  hope  ;  and  he  felt  this  truth  bitter 
ly  as  the  extent  of  his  misfortune  was  instantly 
revealed  to  him  bj'  the  mourning  dresses  whicli 
now  saddened  his  once  cheerful  home.  •■'  j 

Fortunately  for  both  parties,  ^Irs.  Slortimei 
had  already  had  time  to  look  upon  her  bereavcj 
ment  with  more  resignation  ;  and  the  presence  o: 
her  son  seemed  for  a  while  to  restore  to  her  al; 
the  happiness  that  she  had  irrecoverably  lost; 
At  one  moment  she  thrust  him  from  her,  that  shj 
might  admire  his  noble  features  and  his  maul;j 
form  ;  and  in  the  next,  she  drew  him  once  morj 
to  her  bosom,  and  covered  his  pale  brow  an^j 
cheeks  with  kisses,  as  fondly  as  she  had  formei; 
ly  done  when  it  was  the  face  of  a  laughing  boj 
which  rested  on  her  shoulder  ;  and  ela.-<ped  hiij 
closer  in  her  arms,  as  though  she  feared  that  h, 
would  again  escape  her ;  for  the  loss  of  one  bt 
loved  object  always  endears  us  the  more  t 
those  who  are  spared  to  us;  and  we  instinctivij 
ly  lavish  upon  the  living  all  the  tenderneij 
and  afi'ection  which  we  once  bestowed  upon  tl" 
dead.  , 

Two  long  hours  had  elapsed  ere  either  Mr 
Mortimer  or  her  son  remembered  or  remarkej 
the  absence  of  Gertrude ;  and  the  warra-heartf 
matron  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  with  h<i 
hand  locked  in  that  of  Frederic,  and  her  mi't 
eyes  earnestly  fixed  upon  him,  she  began  to  cj 
late,  in  terms  of  the  most  grateful  atfectio 
upon  the  care  and  tenderness  she  had  expeii 
eneed  from  her  niece  throughout,  not  only  h 
late  heavy  trial,  but  all  the  long  years  of  1" 
absence.  Mortimer  welcomed  the  subject  gla^ 
ly,  {9\-  it  at  once  afforded  a  relief  to  1 
thoughts,  and  enabled  him  to  dwell,  withb) 
self-reproach,  or  disrespect  to  the  memory  | 
his  father,  upon  less  gloomy  images  than  thoi 
by  which  he  had  latterly  been  engrossed ;  ai! 
Mrs.  ilortimer,  with  her  heart  and  mind  full  i  ' 
one  absorbing  idea,  heard  in  every  low-breath- 
exclamation  of  approval  or  affection  uttered  ! 
her  son,  a  realization  of  her  hopes. 

She  said  little  of  the  beauty  of  her  niece.  ) 
she  was  conscious  that  no  eye  could  rest  up, 
it  with  iudilference;  but  she  expatiated  up 


TIIE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


11 


her  hi?h  qualities  of  heart  and  mind,  iipon  her  | 
t-ntluisiiistie  and  self  neglecting  afl'ectiou,  and 
upon  her  artless  frankness. 

The  eve  of  Frederic  beamed  with  delight  as 

'he  listened.     It  was  even  thus  that  his  memory  [ 

had  pictured  her ;  and  he  could  not  forbear  the  | 

^recollection  as  his  mother  spoke,   that  such  an-  j 

fticipations  are  but  too  frequenth-  disappointed.  ] 

I     "This  is,   indeed,   a   sincere  joy  to  me;"  he 

•said   atiectionately  :     "  I    have    always    dearly 

loved  my  pivtty  cousin,  and  I  dreaded  at  times 

[that  on  iny  return,  I  might  find  her  changed  by  ! 

Itime  into  "one  of  those  cold  automata  so  com- 1 

'men  in  our  correct,   and   somewhat  frigid  Eng- 1 

'  ''and.     Nay,  do  not  look  reprovingly,  my  dear 

'  fnother ;  for  remember  that  I  have  been  long 

'    innccustomed    to    the    cold     conventionalities 

■  Ivhich  chill  so  many  warm  young  hearts  in  our 

'   Swn  country,  where  formality  is  often  mistaken 

or  propriety,  and  the  best  years  of  life  sadden- 

'  Id  by  mere'  forms.     I  rejoice  that  this  morti- 

''  ncation  is  spared  to  me  ;  and  that  I  shall  indeed 

*  licet  once  more  the  artless  and  frank  playmate 

*  [f  niy  boyhood,  changed  only  in  person,  but  un- 
'   buched  in  heart." 

:'   !  Mrs.  Mortimer  became  radiant  with  happiness ; 

•-   |nd  the  very  excess  of  her  satisfaction  determin- 

[d  the  worthy  lady  for  once  in  her  life  to  enac-t 

^   he  diplomatist,  and  to  withhold  from  her  son  the 

*  Iving  wishes  of  his  father  until  the  beauty  and 
'  Rrtues  of  Gertrude  had  produced  their  effect ; 
'■•   [r  single  hearted   as   she  was,  she  nevertheless 

ew  enough  of  tlie  waywardness  of  human  na- 
ire  to  feel  that  it  invariably  shrinks  from  all 
at  bears  the  appearance  of  compulsion ; 
hile  the  circumstances  under  which  they  now 
et  were  a  sufficient  excuse  for  the  omission. 
the  first  shock  of  Frederick's  grief  there  would 
.ve  been  an  indelicacy  in  calling  upon  him  to 
•ew  the  grave  of  his  father,  with  the  roses  of 
3  o.wii  happiness". 

No  more  time  was  lost  in  summoning  Ger- 

ide;  but,  alas!  that  which  had  already  elapsed 

re  than  sufficed  to  convince  the  orphan-girl 

all  the  difficulties   and   all    the   dangers  by 

lich  she  was  surrounded,     ilrs.  Mortimer  had 

')-'d  taught  herself  mentally  to  overleap  the 

-   of  separation   which   had  rendered  the 

i;s  almost  strangers — to  forget  the  change 

1  had  necessarily  taken  place  in  both,  and 

i.'uliar  delicacj-  of  her  niece's  position  ;  but 

:i)re  Gertrude  reflected  in  the  solitude  of 

'     iiwn  chamber,  the  more  appallingly  they 

i  •  np  before  her. 

I:id   her  fond  but   ill-judging  aunt  withheld 

her,  as  she  liad  now  done  fi-om  Frederic, 

'.i:ig  injunction   of  Mr.  Mortimer,  she  be- 

1  tliat  she  could  once  more  have  met  Jier 

'ill  with  compai'ative  composure  and  uncon- 

c  !-d  delight ;  but   that   fiital    confidence  had 

f  -d   up  a  barrier  between   them  which  the 

k1  nkii'g  and  womanly  pride  of  her  nature  for- 

h  '•  htr  to  overpass.  _  Could  she  thus,  she  asked 

h  5  If,  suffer  Frederic  to  read  her  heart ;  and 

t'  l-icover  how  tenaciously  she    had  clung  to 

li'  j.ower  over  his  affection's,  conscious  that  the 

o..:g  breath  of  his  father  had  given  her  a  claim 

t<  h^mi?     Who   could   tell    what   attachment, 

^■'t  hopes,  he  might  have  left  behind  him  in 

3<J'-  one  of  the  distant  countries  he  had  so  late- 


ly traversed ;  and  whence  he  had  had  even 
now  returned  compulsively  long  ere  he  had 
purposed  to  do  so  ? 

The  more  she  reflected  upon  the  personal  and 
moral  merits  of  her  cousin,  the  more  she  satis- 
fied herself  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
have  passed  unloved,  and  consequently  unlov- 
ing, throughout  five  long  and  adventurous 
years ;  and  her  repiignance  to  force  herself  upon 
ins,  perhaps  reluctant,  affections,  became  doubled 
by  the  conviction.  No — come  what  might, 
though  her  heart  might  break,  her  youth  be 
withered,  and  her  life,  so  happy  hitlierto,  be 
changed  into  a  mere  dreary  and  weary  waste  ol 
feeling  and  existence,  she  would  at  least  retain 
both  her  own  respect  and  his ;  she  would  love 
him  still  and  for  ever — she  could  no  longer 
withhold  from  him  all  the  tenderness  of  her  na- 
turally fond  and  confiding  nature ;  but  she 
would  love  him  in  secret ;  she  would  not  force 
upon  him  any  demonstrations  of  an  attachment 
which  cither  ties  and  circumstances  miglit  have 
tended  to  render  burdensome  ;  she  would  forget 
the  hateful  secret  so  lately  and  so  unfortunately 
confided  to  her  by  her  aunt ;  and  she  Avould  re- 
solutely school  herself  into  an  external  indiffer- 
ence which  should  leave  her  cousin  free — free 
to  misunderstand  her  motives — free  to  under- 
value her  feelings — free,  in  short,  to  love  else- 
where, and  to  forget  her. 

To  enable  her  to  do  this,  she  had,  however, 
still  to  undertake  another  task,  which,  although 
light  in  comparison  with  that  of  controlling — ■ 
she  knew  not  for  how  great  a  length  of  time — 
her  most  hidden  feelings,  was  nevertheless  at 
once  painful  and  invidious.  She  did  not  for  an 
instant  apprehend  that  in  the  first  rush  of  sor- 
rowful tenderness,  her  partial  aunt,  (anxious  as 
she  was  to  secure  her  happiness  by  what  she 
considered  as  the  most  simple  and  facile  means,) 
would  find  a  moment  to  confide  to  Frederic  the 
secret  which  had  been  made  known  to  herself ; 
and  she  instinctively  felt  that,  in  order  to  work 
out  her  noble-minded  and  dignified  purpose,  not 
a  moment  must  be  lost  in  securing  the  silence  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer. 

This  was  the  last  struggle ;  for  Gertrude  at 
once  became  conscious,  as  she  formed  the  reso- 
lution, that  in  thus  flinging  from  her  the  only 
positive  link  between  herself  and  her  worship- 
ped cousin,  she  was  indeed  leaving  every  thing 
to  chance ;  while,  unaccustomed  to  form  even  a 
fair  estimate  of  her  own  attractions,  she  wept 
bitterly  as  she  contrasted  her  probable  influ- 
ence over  his  affections  with  that  of  fifty  other 
women  whom  he  nnist  have  encountered  abroad- 
Bitter  indeed  were  her  tears  as  she  contempla 
ted  her  voluntary  self-abnegation  ;  but  never 
theless  they  were  not  all  bitterness,  for  sh<k 
reflected  also  upon  the  extreme  attachment  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer  for  her  son,  and  pleased  herself 
with  the  belief  that  in-  immolating  her  own 
happiness  to  that  of  Frederic,  should  her  fore- 
bodings prove  correct,  she  should  iusome  small 
degree  compensate  to  her  indulgent  rehitive  f^ir 
the  hoard  of  aftection  poured  out  u])oii  lierself, 
even  at  the  cost  of  much  present  dis]>lcasure, 
and  perhaps  suspicion  of  her  real  motive*. 

Long  and  very  painful  were  tliose  two  hours 
of  vigil  to  Gertrude  ;  and  it  was  full  of  the  re- 


12 


TTIE   raVAL   DEAUTIES. 


solutions  which  she  had  formed  with  a  strong 
conviction  of  riglit,  and  ii  tirrn  dotcrminalioii  to 
adlicre  to  thcni,  tliat  slie  at  length  obeyed  the 
eumnions  of  her  aunt,  after  having  bathed  her 
eyes  to  hide  all  evidenea  of  her  tears,  and 
smoothed  down  the  disordered  ringlets  Avhieh 
fell  ovr  her  pale  cheeks. 

When  she  entered  the  saloon  she  almost 
shrank  as  the  bright  light  of  the  lamp,  which 
had  just  been  carried  in,  threw  its  broad  glare 
upon  her  countenance  ;  but  in  the  next  instant 
her  cousin  sprang  towards  her,  and  eagerly 
clasping  her  hands  within  his  own,  poured  forth 
his  thanks  and  his  greeting. 

As  he  drew  her  towards  him,  evidently  with 
the  intention  of  pressing  his  lips  to  hers,  she 
instinctively  felt  that  the  moment  was  already 
come  in  which  she  must  commence  the  exercise 
of  her  self-control :  and  even  as  she  replied  to 
his  ardent  words,  she  turned  aside  her  face,  and 
the  ottered  lips  fell  coldly  on  her  cheek. 

In  his  turn,  Frederic  felt  his  kindly  impulses 
cheeked  ;  and  Hung  back  upon  him  ;  "  Pardon 
,me,"  he  said,  as  he  released  her  hand  ;  "  I  had 
forgotten  for  a  moment,  my  dear  cousin,  that 
you  are  no  longer  a  child.  The  heart  is  so  apt 
to  cling  to  the  past;  but  you  must  forgive  me." 
And  as  he  looked  earnestly  at  the  beautiful  girl 
who  stood  trembling  and  blushing  before  him, 
his  voice  became  more  tremulous  as  he  added, 
"  Indeed  you  must  forgive  me ;  I  would  not 
wilfully  have  offended  you." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  only  smiled,  for  she  saw  in  the 
assumed  coldness  of  Gertrude  simply  the  confu- 
sion natural  to  a  young  and  timid  woman  sud- 
denly brought  into  contact  with  a  recognized 
lover  ;  while  in  the  expressive  eyes  of  her  son 
she  read  at  once  his  surprise  and  his  admira- 
tion ;  and  this  was  precisely  wh.at  she  had  hoped 
and  expected.  Her  satisfaction  visibly  dimin- 
ished, however,  as  the  eveiiing  wore  on,  and 
she  discovered  that,  courteously,  and  even  kind- 
ly, as  her  niece  received  all  the  attentions  of 
Frederic,  she  betrayed  no  single  symptom  of  af- 
fection. When  he  spoke  she  listened  intently  ; 
wlien  he  addressed  liiniself  directly  to  iier,  she 
replied  without  trepidation  or  embarrassment : 
but  her  words  were  measured,  and  the  faint 
Binile  which  played  about  her  lips,  was  evi- 
dently forced. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  her  beauty,  eren  fault- 
less as  it  was,  lost  half  its  charm  ; 'there  was  no 
liglit  in  her  eye,  no  bloom  upon  her  cheek,  her 
Very  movements  were  constrained;  and  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  grieved  and  disappointed,  sought  in 
Tain  for  the  solution  of  what  to  her  was  a  pain- 
ful niysteiy.  Fortunately  for  all  parties — for 
Fre<lerie  himself,  after  the  glowing  panegyrics 
lavished  upon  the  fair  automaton  before  him  by 
his  mother,  was  vsil>ly  mortified  and  discon- 
certed in  his  turn — the  fatigue  of  the  traveller 
formed  a  natural  pretext  for  his  retiring  early 
to  rest ;  and,  impossible  as  she  would  only  on 
the  previous  day  have  believed  such  a  thing  to 
be,  the  disappearance  of  her  cousin  was  a  relief 
to  the  overcliarged  heart  of  Gortrude,  which 
Hed  in  secret  at  tiie  restraint  self-imposed  upon 
t«  bcfit  and  holiest  impuhics. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MoRTTMER  had  no  sooner  left  the  room,  ko- 
companied  by  his  mother,  than  Gertrude  hai^tily 
seized  her  night-light,  hurried  in  her  tuin  to 
her  chamber,  totally  forgetful  of  the  fact  that, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  had  omitted  to 
claim  the  fond  kiss  of  her  aunt ;  nor  did  she 
recall  the  circumstance  even  after  she  had  closed 
the  door  behind  her,  and  flung  herself  into  a 
chair  to  weep  in  secret  over  her  coming  trial. 
With  the  magnificent  person  of  Frederic  still 
before  her  eyes,  with  his  low  melodious  voict 
still  stealing  upon  her  ear,  with  the  touch  o! 
his  lips  still  thrilling  upon  her  cheek,  she  askec 
herself  if  she  indeed  had  strength  to  fling  fron 
her  the  hope  of  one  day  being  his  wife ;  an( 
the  tears  fell  in  torrents  on  her  bosom,  as  shi 
shrank  from  returning  an  answer  even  to  he  ■ 
own  heart. 

She  was  still  weeping  and  struggling  agains 
what,  even  amid4ier  angiiish,  she  considered  a; 
an  Tmworthy  weakness  and   infirmity  of  jnu 
pose,  when  her  door  softly  opened,  and  Sh- 
Mortimer    entered.     In    an    instant    Gertrud. 
dashed  away  her  tears,  and  rose  to  meet  he ' 
but  the  affection  of  her  fond  relative  was  nc! 
to  be  so  readily  deceived  ;  and  taking  the  hwi' 
of  the  agitated  girl,  she  drew  her  to  the  sofi 
and  seating  herself  beside  her,  looked  steadili 
almost  sternly,  into  her  face  for  a  moment  i- 
silence.     The  hearf  of  the  conscious  Gei"tnni 
throbbed  convulsively,  but  she  neither  shraii 
from  that  searching  gaze,  nor  made  any  attero' 
to  commence  a  conversation  which  she  felt  ooi 
vinced  would  to  her  be  fraught  with  vital  iii 
portance ;    she  only  suffered    the  tears  whiJ 
she  had  striven  to  restrain,  again  to  flow  free!' 
and  compressed  the  slender  fingers  which  vti 


clasped  about  her  own. 


Vhat  means  this  emotion,  Gertrude  f" 
length  demanded  Mrs.  Mortimer,  more  ^en'! 
than  her  look  had  seemed  to  promise :  "  Tins  st 
den,  and  most  unlooked-for  change  in  all  y<' 
mood  and  manner?  In  what,  or  how,  can  ;' 
son,  my  Frederic,  have  oft'ended  you,  that  y; 
should  treat  him  as  one  whose  return  was  • 
most  unwelcome  in  his  mother's  house — in  i< 
own  homo?  What  am  I  to  understand?  ,- 
ready  have  you  frozen  him  into  indilference .' 
a  reception  very  different  from  that  which 'a 
had  anticipated  for  the  companion  of  hisyodi 
and  the  bride  of  his  father's  choice !"  , 

"  It  was  that  very  choice,  that  very  conscie*- 
ness,  my  dear,  dear  aunt,"  hurriedly  interni.d 
her  listener,  as  intelligibly  as  her  deep  and  .!♦- 
bing  respiration  would  permit  her  to  artieulj-'i 
"  which  compelled  me  to  the  coldness  I  havi  ^ 
sumed.  Oh!  jiromise  me  at  least  one  thiiij 
implore  you — promise  that  you  will  con  li 
from  Mr.  Mortimer  the  expressed  desire  ol" 
father.  Let  me  not  constantly  be  conipelle>;« 
appear  before  him  as  the  spectre  of  some  ea  -t 
and  dearer  hope — as  the  wife  forced  upon  ;ra 
by  a  sense  of  filial  duty — as  an  evil  which  1 '» 
unable  to  escape.  Promise  me  that  you'i" 
keep  this  unhappy  secret;  and  leave  the'«t 
to  fate.  Tlien,  indeed,  I  may  venture  not  Hy 
to  look  at,  and  to  listen  to  him,  but  also  to  -n- 


^< 


I 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTII-B. 


18 


Isider  him  as  a  friend,  and  to  strive  to  secure  his 
jesteem  and  affection :  while,  fettered  as  I  am,  I 
|dare  not — I  ought  not — to  act  otherwise  than  I 
iam  now  doing." 

1  "  Gertrude,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer  with  a  re- 
igretfnl  gesture,  "  your  request  comes  too  late. 
iStartled  as  I  was  by  your  extraordinary  con- 
duct, I  still  hoped  that  it  had  been  less  conspi- 
cuous to  your  cousin  than  to  myself;  and  anxious 
to  learn  the  impression  produced  by  your  ap- 
pearance, we  were  no  sooner  alone  together 
than  I  hastened  to  dispel  the  regrets  renewed 
by  his  first  entrance  into  the  chamber  in  which 
lie  had  been  so  often  visited  by  his  fathei",  by 
desiring  to  know  what  he  thought  of  the  little 
:ousiu  whom  he  had  left  a  mere  child,  and  now 
met  once  more,  almost  a  woman^" 

"And  what  did  he  answer?"  asked  her  listen- 
3r  eagerly. 

"  But  a  few  woi-ds,  Gertrude,  and  those  few 
jailed  the  tears  into  my  eyes.  He  admitted 
rour  beauty — he  avowed  that  it  far  surpassed 
lis  expectations;  and  he  declared  that  he  never 
ihould  cease  to  feel  grateful  for  your  affection 
.0  his  widowed  mother  ;  nevertheless,  my  child, 
le  said  that  your  cold  formality  had  cut  him  to 
:he  soul,  when  he  entered 'his  father's  home, 
arearied  in  body,  and  stricken  in  heart,  pining 
"or  the  affection  and  tenderness  of  all  by  whom 
le  had  formerly  been  loved.  Oh !  Gertrude,  my 
jwn  adopted  child,  how  cruelly  have  you  dis- 
ippointed  both  mother  and  son  !" 

"  Aunt,"  exclaimed  Miss  Mortimer  in  an  ac- 
;ent  of  acute  anguish,  "  do  not  reproach  me,  or 
rou  will  drive  me  mad.  I  must  follow  the  path 
)f  duty.  I  should  be  unworthy'of  you,  of  my- 
self, could  I  for  an  instant  forget  what  is  due  to 
ill  of  us.  But  surelj',  surely,"  she  added  depre- 
;atingly ;  "  you  did  me  the  justice  to  declare 
.hat  1  am  not  an  ingrate  ;  that  my  every  effort, 
ny  every  eare,  are  for  the  happiness  and  peace 
)f  those  to  whom  I  am  so  deeply,  so  fearfully 
ndebted  ?  You  did  not  suffer  him  to  believe 
.liat  I  was  an  heartless  egotist,  incapable  of 
haring  alike  the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  those 
ibout  me  ?" 

"  You  know  my  nature  too  well,  my  child,  to 
inspect  me  of  such  deception.  On  the  contrary, 
:  assured  him  that  he  had  altogether  mistaken 
rou;  and  that  the  coldness  of  which  he  cora- 
)lained  was  nothing  more  than  the  natural  re- 
traint  produced  by  your  knowledge  of  the  will 
ind  wishes  of  your  uncle." 

Gertrude  buried  her  crimson  forehead  in  her 
lands  as  she  gasped  out ;  "  And  onoe  more,  what 
vas  his  reply  ?" 

"The  only  one  which  I  could  have  antici- 
lated  from  him.  He  instantly  said  that  the 
jvishes  of  his  father  should  be  obeyed." 

Tiie  agonized  girl  groaned  aloud. 

"You  are,  in  truth,  inexplicable,"  pursued 
ilrs.  Mortimer-,  "I  had  looked  forward  to  the 
■etiirn  of  Frederic  for  the  renewal  of  that  hap- 
uness  to  which  this  roof  ha?  been  so  long  a 
tranger,  and  to  yourself  as  one  of  its  chief  pro- 
noters ;  and  at  the  very  moment  when  I  antici- 
pated the  reward  of  all  my  care  and  all  my 
u.\iety,  you  wilfully  and  capriciously  renew 
^y  sorrows,  and  teach  me  the  utter  unreason- 
bleness  of  my  hopes." 


"  He  knows,  then,  that  it  was  my  uncle's  mil 
that  I  should  be  his  wife  V 

"  He  does ;  and  he  is  ready  to  fulfil  the  wishes 
of  a  father  who  was  to  him  alike  a  parent  and  a 
friend;  for  he  is  conscious  that  he  could  not 
confide  his  happiness  to  better  hands.  Seek, 
thei'efore,  my  dear  girl,  to  overcome  the  puerile 
and  unworthy  fancy  by  which  you  have  suffer- 
ed yourself  to  be  misled,  and  let  him  see  you  as 
you  are,  frank,  joyous,  and  affectionate.  And 
now,  good  night.  You  had  forgotten  me,  Ger- 
trude, when  you  retired  to  your  room,  but  my 
heart  cannot  so  easily  be  cheated  of  its  dues. — 
Heaven  bless  you,  my  dear  girl;  may  you 
awaken  to-morrow  with  healthier  feelings,  And 
do  yourself  better  justice." 

And  after  a  mutual  embrace  Mrs.  Mortimer 
and  her  neice  parted  for  the  night ;  the  one  to 
reason  herself  into  a  belief  that  ere  the  morrow 
the  mere  girlish  caprice  of  the  evening  would 
have  yielded  to  a  sense  of  coming  happiness: 
and  the  other  to  pass  the  weary  hours  of  dark- 
ness in  a  rigid  examination  of  her  own  impulses 
and  motives,  and  in  a  firm  resolution  to  abstain 
from  every  action  or  word  which  might  be  mis- 
construed by  her  cousin  into  a  desire  to  remind 
him  of  the  claim  which  the  mistaken  affection 
of  her  deceased  relative  had  given  her  over  his 
fate. 

Convinced,  however,  by  the  rebuke  of  her  in- 
dulgent aunt,  that  she  had  overacted  her  diffi- 
cult and  painful  part,  she  determined  hencefoi"- 
ward  to  unbend  just  sufficiently,  to  prove  to 
Mortimer  that  she  was  desirous  to  extend  to 
him  the  same  family  affection  which  she  had  felt 
for  his  parents,  but  without  exceeding  by  the 
merest  detail  her  self-allotted  task.  Poor  Ger- 
trude !  How  little  did  she  comprehend  that  she 
was,  by  these  means,  iindermining  her  own 
peace.  Her  high-minded  but  mistaken  policy 
produced  its  result.  From  day  to  day  Frederic 
saw  additional  reason  more  highly  to  admii'e 
and  esteem  his  gentle  cousin,  but  nothing  to  en- 
gage his  affections.  Always  placid,  willing,  and 
even  eager  to  conduce  to  his  comfort  and  con- 
venience, Gertrude  was  ice  itself  as  regarded 
his  feelings ;  her  very  smiles  were  chilling,  and 
effectually  checked  his  enthusiasm;  and  when 
her  aunt  compelled  her  to  display  her  talents, 
and  thus  to  enforce  the  praises  of  her  cousin, 
she  received  them  with  an  apparent  apathy  that 
sealed  his  lips,  at  the  very  instant  in  which  he 
would  fain  have  poured  out  his  whole  soul  into 
her  ear. 

And  yet,  how  deeply,  how  devotedly  did  she 
dwell  upon  those  half-uttered  plaudits  !  How 
did  she  lie  for  hours  upon  her  sleepless  pillow, 
engaged  in  recalling  every  inflection  of  his  voice, 
every  expression  of  his  speaking  countenance  I 
Plow  often  did  she  ask  herself  if  it  were  indeed 
possible  that  he  should  ever  love  her !  But  as 
her  breast  began  to  heave  beneath  the  welcome 
hope,  the  intrusive  memory  forced  itself  upon 
her  mind,  that  all  this  fair-seeming  was  in  pro- 
bability the  mere  result  of  duty,  the  mere 
struggle  to  conceal  a  reluctance  which  he  was 
too  generous  to  betray. 

For  a  brief  while  Frederic  did  indeed  strug- 
gle, but  it  was  simply  to  recover  the  beloved 
companion    of  his    youth;    to    awaken    in    tlie 


14 


THE  RrV^AL  BEAUTIES. 


beautiful  creature  whom  he  felt  that,  would  ghe 
permit  it,  he  could  worship  with  his  whole 
heart,  one  spark  of  the  liallowed  fire  which  had 
been  kindled  in  their  early  years ;  but  after  a 
time  he  began  to  accuse  himself  of  vanity  and 
cowardice,  in  thus  seeking  to  compel  an  aft'ec- 
tion  which  shrank  before  his  efforts.  It  is  true 
tliat,  in  her  unselfish  heroism,  Gertrude  was  too 
obtuse  to  distinguish  the  efforts  of  her  cousin's 
heart  from  tlie  mere  common-places  of  a  man 
resolved  to  immolate  his  own  feelings  to  the 
will  of  a  cherished  father;  and  consequently  she 
repelled  the  covert,  and,  as  she  imagined,  lan- 
guid advances  of  an  honest  passion,  believing 
that  Frederic  only  sought,  with  his  natural  ge- 
nerosil  v,  to  conceal  from  her  the  real  indiffer- 
ence wliich  he  felt  for  the  wife  who  had  been 
chosen  for  him,  but  whom  his  own  preference 
had  not  elected. 

Wearied  at  length  by  a  pertinacity'  which  at 
once  discouraged  his  hopes  and  wounded  his 
6elf-love,  Mortimer  resolved  to  leave  the  issue 
of  his  fate  to  time,  and  applied  himself  diligent- 
ly to  the  business  considerations  entailed  upon 
him  by  his  succession  to  the  family  property. 
But  even  here  he  found  little  to  occupy  liis 
thoughts.  His  accession  to  the  estates  of  his 
father  was  a  mere  matter  of  legal  form ;  his 
mother's  jointure  was  amply  secured ;  there 
were  no  debts,  no  difficulties ;  his  income  great- 
ly exceeded  his  anticipations,  and  his  position 
in  the  county  was  at  once  insured  and  unex- 
ceptionable. His  farms  were  flourishing,  his 
tenants  satisfied,  no  single  cause  for  anxiety 
made  a  demand  upon  his  mind  ;  his  liome  was 
the  abode  of  peace,  his  mother  devoted  and  af- 
fectiomate,  and  still  he  was  not  happy ;  and 
perhaj)s  the  less  so  that  he  could  not  dwell  upon 
one  tangible  annoj-anee. 

The  very  calm  of  his  existence  was  a  trial, 
Bucceeding  as  it  did,  in  the  very  bloom  and 
buoyancy  of  his  manhood,  to  the  scenes  of  pri- 
vation and  excitement  to  which  he  had  been 
for  j-ears  habituated.  The  oil  of  peace  had  been 
poured  too  suddenly  and  too  lavishly  upon  the 
ti-oubled  waters  of  his  life,  and  with  a  nature 
eminently  gi'cedy  of  excitement  and  emotion, 
he  withered  under  the  peaceful  monotony  of  an 
existence  which  left  nothing  either  to  appre- 
hend or  to  hope. 

His  hurried  and  engrossing  foreign  experience, 
while  it  had  engaged  and  satisfied  his  mind,  had 
left  liis  heart  unoccupied  ;  and  that  heart,  in 
the  calm  interregnum  afforded  by  his  present 
mode  of  existence,  put  forth  its  claim  in  turn  ; 
the  temple  was  prepared,  the  altar  raised,  but 
the  divinity  was  still  wanting. 

How  often  did  Mortimer  feel  inclined  almost 
to  cui-se  the  affluence  which  had  descended  upon 
him  in  a  Daiiaen  shower.  How  often  did  he 
detest  liiinsolf ;  envying  the  fate  of  those  who 
were  called  upon  to  wrestle  with  the  world, 
and  to  exert  all  their  nioial  and  physical  ener- 
gies to  secure  one  footing  upon  the  slip]>ery 
ladder  where  he  saw  iiimself  enthroned  midway 
without  a  single  effort  of  his  own.  They,  at 
least,  had  something  to  hope,  somctliiig  for 
wliich  to  strive  ;  an  aim,  an  end  to  their  being; 
while  he  was  a  mere  unit  in  the  great  sum  total 
of  the  world,  to  whom  a  fixed  position  had  been 


'  assigned,  and  who  had  no  share  in  the  common 
I  task  that  was  going  on  about  him. 
'  Thus  spoke  his  sense  of  fitness  ;  but  his  pride 
'  hissed  yet  more  loudly  in  his  ear.  What  did 
'  his  worldly  advantages"  avail  ?  He  was  young, 
I  wealthy,  and  handsome  ;  his  social  position  waa 
I  undeniable  ;  and,  nevertheless,  the  fair  girl 
i  whom  he  could  have  loved  so  well — the  orphan 
!  to  whom  he  would  fain  have  restored  a  hun- 
'  dred-fold  all  the  blessings  of  which  she  had  beon 
despoiled  by  fortune  ;  the  bride  whose  beauty 
would  have  been  his  pride,  and  whose  love 
would  have  been  his  boast — poor,  ])arentle8S, 
and  dependent  as  she  was, — scorned  the  passion 
whicli  he  had  been  ready  to  lavish  upon  her: 
and  had  shown  him,  gently  and  kindly,  it  is 
true,  but  firmly  and  undisguisedly,  that  even 
these  worldly  advantages  could  not  command 
affection. 

On  the   part  of  Mortimer,  this  mistake  was 
however,  rationel  enough  ;  for  the   principle  of 
action  adopted  by  Gertrude  was  well  calculated 
to  mislead  him.     Like  all  young,  ardent,  and 
inexperienced  persons,  she  exaggerated  at  once; 
her  difficulties  and  her  duties ;  and  while  she 
increased  in  tenderness   and   attention  to  hei 
aunt,  she  steadfastly  maintained  her  eoldnest- 
towards  her  cousin  ;  who  nevertheless  becamt' 
only  more  dear  to  her  from  day  to  day.    A  con 
viction  which,   far   from   inducing  her  to  relaj' 
her  studied  demeanor,  only  determined  her,  b}' 
exhibiting  her  increasing  danger,  to  persist  ill 
her  original  purpose.     Did  he  enter  the  fainibi 
sitting-room  while  she  was  reading  aloud,  he] 
voice  instantly  ceased  ;  were   she  at  her  pian>i 
when  his  step  resounded  in  the  hall,  she  inunedi' 
ately  closed  the   instrument ;    althougli   at  hii 
express  request  she  opened  it  mechaiiieaily,  aui. 
went  through  the  task  allotted  to  her  with  gecj 
tleness  and  care  ;  but  it  always  sufficed  to  he 
to  know  that  her  cousin  was  present,  to  chec! 
her  enthusiasm,  and  to  depress  her  energies.     ; 
It  was  impossible  that  Mortimer  should  Ion 
continue  blind  to  a  fact  like  this;  but  instea! 
of  looking  upon  it  in  its  true  light  as  an  over 
strained  feeling  of  maidenly  delicacy,  he  read  ij 
every  action   of  the   unhappy  girl   only  a  tao' 
demonstration  of  her  imwillingness  to  fetter  he: 
self,    and   a  desire  to  make  him   comprehen<^ 
without  the  aid  of  words,  which  must  have  he(> 
painful  to  both  parties,  her  reluctance  to  fiilt, 
the  contract  which  had  been  made  without  hr 
sanction.       The    natural    consequence    eiisuedj 
I'rederic   became   ere   long  ill  at  ease  with  lij 
beautiful  cousin,  in  whom   he  could  not  reco, 
nize  the  frank  and  free-hearted   playmate  of  li,( 
earlier  age,  and   forgot   to   make  allowance  f'l 
the   change   wliieh    a   few   years   never  fail    : 
operate  in  a  girl  approaching  to  womanhood.; 
Nothing  is  so   easily   wounded   as  self-lov 
and,  unconsciously  to  himself,  Mortimer  had  dj 
jH'iided  upon  the  aflection  of  his  cousin.    He  i 
menibered  how  often  they  had  sat  .-^iile  by  si-; 
under  the  same   tree,  engaged  upon  the  sn*, 
1)ook,  warmed   by  the  same  sunheaiii ;  and  I 
heart  h;id  yearned   in   absence   to   renew  tlm 
innocent  and  liai|iv  hours.     It  was  to  (iertiii 
that  he  had  looked'  to  relate  to  him  in  <letail  t ' 
I  last  incidents  of  his  father's  life:   he   could  i 
I  enter  upon   such  a  subject  with   his  widow 


THE   RIVAL  BILiUTIES. 


IS- 


[mother,  and  even  tlie  old  and  faithful  servants 
'of  the  ftuuily  could  give  him  but  imperfect  ac- 
counts of  ail  that  lie  pined  to  hear.  It  was 
also  from  Gertrude  that  he  had  anticipated  the 
enthusiastic  inquiries  which  travellers  so  love 
to  answer:  but  although  she  listened  eagerly  to 
'the  anecdotes  elicited  by  the  questions  of  her 
auut,  she  had  never  once  propounded  one  of 
'her  own.  Beautiful  as  she  was,  he  soon  taught 
iliimself  to  believe  that,  despite  his  mother's  en- 
comiums, slie  had  no  soul ;  and  that  the  lovely 
face  before  him  was  a  mere  mask,  behind  which 
ill  was  void.  Piqued  far  beyond  what  he  sus- 
lected,  he  became  cool  and  reserved  in  his  turn. 
■Jnable  to  comprehend  or  suspect  the  extreme 
ielicacy  which  had  dictated  her  reserve,  he 
^mforted  himself  with  the  belief  that  where 
ill  was  pure  and  estimable  there  could  be  uoth- 
ng  to  conceal ;  and  that,  consequently,  the  con- 
jiuct  of  Gertrude  was  either  the  result  of  a  co- 
quettish affectation  which  it  would  be  alike 
i^eak  and  immanly  to  gratify,  or,  as  we  have 
ilready  stated,  a  decided  indifference,  if  not  re- 
jugnanee,  to  himself,  which,  much  as  it  wounded 
[is  self-love,  he  was  too  proud  to  make  one 
[ibrt  to  overcome. 

I  It  is  saddening  to  reflect  how  very  seldom, 
[hen  personal  vanity  is  engaged  in  the  analysis 
■  the  feelings  of  another,  we  are  competent 
tidges  of  what  is  beneath  our  eyes ;  how  prone 
e  are  to  misinterpret  the  most  trifling  actions 
id  the  most  simple  words ;  how  the  error 
lepens  from  day  to  day ;  and  how  we  base 
nvictions  upon  false  premises,  and  cling  to 
em  the  more  pertinaciously  from  their  very 
int  of  consistency  and  foundation. 
Had  Frederic  been  more  just  to  himself,  he 
ight  soon  have  probed  the  innocent  heart  of 
|>  cousin  to  its  very  centre  ;  for  there  were  mo- 
Knts  when,  with  her  whole  soul  hanging  uj^ion 
111  words  and  yearning  for  his  sympathy,  she 
!>uld  have  wiliinglj-  forgotten  thebarrier  which 
fl;  had  herself  raised  between  them,  and  flung 
Irself  iipon  his  bosom,  ready  to  pour  out  before 
-  Ijn  all  the  treasure  of  her  long-hoarded  affec- 
'  tin ;  but  he  did  not  look  beyond  the  surface,  he 
cl.  not  appreciate  her  timid  apprehensions,  and 
Imtiisjudged  her  nature. 

Coupled  with  an  ingenuousness  as  rare  as  it  is 

i'    ILutiful,  Gertrude  possessed  great  firmness  of 

i'     pj'pose ;  and  although  she   mi-ght  err  in  judg- 

n,nt,  her   principles   were    faultless,    and    her 

Kerosity  of  heart  unimpeachable.    How  many 

'     WBen  are  fated  to  become  the  sacrifice  of  their 

'    oil  virtues ;    and  how   seldom  do   they  reap 

I '    ejn  a  tardy  reward  for  all  the  sufferings  which 

;i     t%  endure  for  conscience  sake!    Gertrude  was 

itt    OS  of  these  self-constituted  victims  ;  and  it  was 

;:i    hjaunt  alone  who  could  appreciate  the  loveli- 

D'H  of  her  real  character.     And  that  Mrs.  Mor- 

t)"r  did  appreciate  it  in  its  fullest  extent  was 

P^.  ed  by  tlie  fact  tliat  she  could  not  bring  her- 

se.  for  a  moment  to   doubt,  that,  despite   the 

■"jt'fy'ng  coolness  and  distance  of  her  niece, 

tl>e  needed  only  time  to  convince  Frederic  of 

,..    n4excollence ;  and  that  the   constant  contact 

,;  i    in    which  lie   was  unavoidably   thrown  with 

'   ^'^"f  f'.e  most  lovely  and  amiable  of  her  sex, 

rav    ultimately  compel  him  to  love  his  cousin 
^\  1  all  the  devotedness  she  so  well  deserved. 


Of  their  union  she  never  doubted ;  for  where 
could  he  find  a  wife  so  thoroughly  constituted, 
not  only  to  promote,  but, to  ensure  his  happi- 
ness ?  The  mind  and  heart  of  Gertrude  were 
pure  as  in  her  girlhood,  her  intellect  well  cul- 
tivated, and  her  disposition  admirable. — Ergo 
Fredrie  must  love  her ;  and  beyond  this  faith 
Mrs.  Mortimer  never  looked :  she  forgot  that  her 
son  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing  his  cousin  as 
she  saw  her,  and  of  appreciating  her  many  ex- 
cellencies. Hers  was  the  experience  of  long 
years — the  test  of  trial  and  sorrow,  where  she 
had  found  at  once  support  and  consolation  ;  and, 
above  all,  a  compansionship  which  Gertrude 
resolutely  refused  to  concede  to  her  less  favored 
son,  who,  wearied  by  the  void  produced  by  ii> 
aetion  after  a  long  period  of  excitement,  soou 
began  to  pine  for  change,  and  to  believe  that 
the  monotony  of  his  home  would  ere  long  prove 
unendurable. 

That  change,  however,  was  not  so  distant  as 
he  apprehended. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Grange  was  a  fine  old  place,  with  its 
sharp  gables,  and  pointed  windows,  and  shady 
I'ccesses,  and  deep  shadowy  arches,  telling  of 
centuries  passed  away,  when  architects  cared 
little  to  calculate  the  surface  that  they  covered, 
and  indulged  themselves  freely  in  the  fantasies 
of  wide  and  winding  passages,  strange,  shape- 
less nooks,  and  staircases  sufliciently  ample  to 
afford  ingress  to  the  baronial  coach,  as  well  as 
its  occupant.  None  of  the  apartments  were 
shaped  like  those  of  modern  days  ;  in  each  and 
all  there  was  a  niche  or  a  bay ;  the  one  to  hold 
a  statue,  and  the  other  to  admit  a  group  of 
flowering  plants,  or  a  musical  instrument,  or  an 
easel ;  and  the  Delameres  had  not  long  been  its 
tenants  ere  these  recesses  found  their  appro- 
priate ornaments.  Costly  bronzes,  rare  works 
in  alabaster  or  marble,  a  library  of  choice  books, 
valuable  rather  from  their  nature  than  their 
number ;  a  harp,  a  guitar  (at  that  period  a 
scarce  instrument  in  England),  tapestry-frames, 
drawing  tables,  and  all  the  elegant  necessities 
of  refined  female  existence,  were  lavishly  but 
imobtrusively  scattered  over  the  reception 
rooms. 

The  result  was  admirable,  and  yet  there  was 
no  appearance  of  vulgar  stage-effect :  the  effect 
of  a  master-hand  was  every  where  visible,  and 
each  article  seemed  indispensable  where  all  was 
in  harmony.  The  morning  room  was  a  triumph 
of  taste,  with  its  rich  draperies  of  sea-green 
damask,  and  clouds  of  transparent  white  muslin, 
its  Venetian  carpet  and  mirrors,  and  its  solitary 
statue  of  Parian  marble,  the  production  of  a 
classic  chisel;  its  luxurious  couches,  and  cush- 
ioned lounges;  all  only  half  revealed  in  the 
twilight  which  was  permitted  to  invade  the 
apartment,  protected  from  the  glare  without  by 
Italian  jalousies  and  garlands  of  creeping  shrubs. 

The  deity  of  this  fair  shrine  was  Sybil.  It 
was  here  that  she  had  placed  her  harp,  her 
work-table,  her  writing-stand,  and  all  the  ob- 
jects which  conduced  to  her  daily  occupations; 


16 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


and  it  is  here  that  we  shall  once  more  introduce 
her  to  our  reader. 

The  morning  was  sultry ;  one  of  those  languid 
and  lovely  days  which,  at  the  close  of  autumn, 
seem  to  condense  within  themselves  all  the  glo- 
ries of  the  past  summer;  when  the  gorgeous 
flowers  that  have  withheld  their  blossoming  du- 
ring the  fluctuating  temperament  of  the  preced- 
ing months,  put  forth  all  their  brightness,  as  if  to 
force  a  more  powerful  contrast  with  the  coming 
winter;  when  the  air,  heavy  with  perfume, 
breathes  voluptuously  upon  the  leaves  which  it 
•carccly  stirs;  and  the  whole  expanse  of  the 
clear  sky  spreads  like  a  veil  of  azure,  unfleekcd 
by  a  single  vapor,  above  the  green  earth,  which 
takes  a  richer  tint  from  the  light  about  it. 

Miss  Delamere  was  seated  at  her  harp,  but 
her  fingers  wandered  listlessly  among  the  chords. 
Her  brows  were  slightly  drawn  together,  as  if 
by  intense,  and,  it  might  be,  anxious  thought; 
but  this  rapt  expression  did  not  tend  to  decrease 
her  extraordinary  beauty.  Her  raven-black 
hair;  reflecting,  as  the  light  touched  it,  that 
matchless  purple  tint  so  rarely  seen,  was  banded 
smoothly  from  her  lofty  forehead  low  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  drawn  into  a  luxuriant  knot  on  the 
summit  of  her  small  and  finely-shaped  head. 
Her  magnificent  arms  were  revealed  in  all  their 
beauty  beneath  the  folds  of  soft  muslin  by  which 
they' were  covered,  and  her  small  foot  moved 
like  a  fairy  thing  among  the  pedals. 

Half  buried  in  a  lounging  chair,  Mrs.  Delamere 
had  placed  herself  at  the  other  extremity  of  the 
apartment,  in  deep  shadow,  with  her  ether- 
bottle,  her  fan,  and  a  volume  of  the  last  new 
novel  beside  her.  She  was  not,  however,  either 
reading  or  thinking  :  Mrs.  Delamere  seldom 
read,  aiid  never  thought.  Both  fatigued  her; 
and  Sybil  read  and  thought  enough,  as  she 
would  have  declared,  had  she  possessed  energy 
to  do  so,  to  exempt  her  from  any  such  necessity. 

They  had  been  silent  for  a  considerable  time, 
when  Miss  Delamere  suddenly  raised  her  head; 
and  throwing  ofi^,  by  an  effort  of  will,  every 
traee  of  the  care  which  her  features  had  worn 
only  a  moment  back,  asked,  with  a  sunny  smile, 
"  And  what  thought  you.  Mamma,  of  our  new 
acquaintance,  Mrs.  Slortimer,  and  her  niece?" 

"  I  have  never  thought  about  them." 

"  Then,  do  so  now,  I  pray  you.  Is  not  the 
yoimger  lady  very  beautiful  V 

"  Oh,  yes;  a  blue-eyed  girl — Was  she  pretty?" 

"  Very,"  said  Sj'bil,  with  strong,  and  some- 
what bitter  emphasis.  "  She  has  one  of  those 
faces  which  Guido  would  have  loved  to  paint, 
when  he  cinctured  the  brow  of  the  Virgin  with 
an  aureole  of  angels." 

"Ha!" 

"  There  was  soul  in  her  eyes,  too ;  and  they 
were  so  intensely  blue  and  limpid!  They  have 
haunted  me  ever  since." 

"  Haunted  you  ?" 

"  Yes;  but  in  an  evil  spirit.  I  only  love  blue 
eyes  on  canvass.  There  is  no  strengtii  of  pur- 
pose in  them.  They  wore  made  merely  to  look 
upon  summer  sunshine, — storm  and  tempest 
would  pale  them.  And  yet — well,  well  I  J'er- 
haps  it  is  liotter  so  :  men  regard  women  simplj' 
as  toys ;  and  toys  should  break,  or  tlie  grown  j 
children  would  weary  of  them;  they  were  meant  ] 


to  make  this  old  earth  look  new,  and  we  must 
change  our  suits,  or  they  would  become  thread- 
bare." 

"  And  is  all  this  d  propos  of  Miss — What  is  her 
name,  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Mortimer." 

"  Oh,  yes.  Is  all  this  d,  propos  of  Miss  Morti 
mer's  eyes?" 

"  Yes,  and  no ;  but  she  is  certainly  very  beau- 
tiful." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so." 

There  was  another  tinge  of  bitterness  in  th« 
light  laugh  with  which  Sybil  greeted  the  congra 
tulation ;  and  it  was  somewhat  impatiently  tha 
she  thrust  her  harp  from  her  as  she  rose,  am 
approaching  her  mother,  said  softly,  "  You  wil 
be  able  soon  to  test  my  taste.  Mamma,  for  w 
must  return  the  visit  to-day.  We  have  alread- 
delayed  the  courtesy  too  long.  Shall  I  orde 
the  barouche,  or  will  you  trust  yourself  to  m 
ponies?" 

"Sybil!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Delamere  with  m( 
mentary  energy,  as  she  half  rose  from  amon 
her  cushions,  and  raised  her  ej-es  to  those  of  h( 
daughter;  "you  know  best,  and  I  have  no  wis, 
to  interfere ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that — Do  yc 
not  know  what  I  m«an? — that  we  are  spendir. 
a  great  deal  of  money." 

"  We  are  so." 

"  But  i-eally,  my  dear,  can  we  do  it?" 

"  We  are  doing  it  every  day." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  see — I  know— However,  it 
your  aftair,  not  mine ;  only,  perhaps — " 

"  There  must  be  no  perhaps,"  interi>osed  51 
Delamere,  and  again  the  finely-pencilled  bro. 
were  slightly  contracted.  "  The  season  of ' pi 
haps '  is  past.  Will  you  decide,  my  dear  Moth; 
in  favor  of  the  barouche,  or  the  ponies  ?" 

"  Please  yourself."  ; 

"The  ponies,  then,  assuredly,"  said  Sybil,' 
she  approached  the  bell ;  "  and  their  toilette  v 
be  accomplished  as  expeditiously  as  your  d 
Shall  I  ring  for  your  maid  ?" 

"  Do  so." 

And  the  bell  was  rung;  and  while  Sybil '- 
seated  herself  at  the  harp,  the  Abigail  assisjl 
the  reluctant  Mrs.  Delamere  to  rise  from  -f 
chair,  folded  her  shawl  more  conveniently  ab^ 
her,  collected  the  fan,  the  novel,  and  tjie  etl- 
bottle,  and  finally  followed  her  languid  mist:i 
from  the  room. 

The  door  had  no  sooner  closed  behind  tlHi 
than  the  head  of  the  brilliant  beauty  fell  hea  ly 
upon  the  instrument,  her  fingers  forsook  • 
chords,  and  she  became  plunged  in  a  deep  d 
gloomy  train  of  thought.  Once  or  twice  i* 
turned  her  large  eyes  searehingly  on  every  i,^ 
and  on  every  side^hey  rested  upon  some  ol;-| 
of  luxury  or  beauty ;  but  there  was  no  refle  u 
happiness  in  their  expression;  the  bi'ow  ''» 
smooth,  but  the  crumpled  rose-leaf  had  niaj!'* 
the  repose  of  the  spirit.  ; 

With  Sybil,  however,  such  a  mood  of  i''<> 
could  be  but  of  short  continuance.  Aft  • 
time  she  rose  and  walked  calmly  and  slow  M> 
a  mirror,  where  she  gazed  earnestly  at  tli'"*- 
flection  of  her  own  beauty,  until  a  hau '5 
smile  played  about  her  lip,  and  the  liglit  rej'f*" 
od  to  her' eyes.  There  was  resolute  triuni)."' 
the  whole  expression  of  her  face  and  atti  !«■ 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


IT 


Kt  that  moment  she  felt  no  regret  that  she  had 
hrown  down  the  gauntlet  to  fate,  but  was  read}- 
or  the  eombat. 

Sooth  to  say,  she  was  no  mean  antagonist! 

When  the  beautiful  little  pony  carnage  stop- 
>ed  at  the  gate  of  Mrs.  Mortimer,  the  ladies  were 
itiolliiig  about  the  grounds,  and  their  visitors 
ad  already  taken  possession  of  the  saloon,  ere 
he  bell  recalled  them  to  the  house.  Mrs.  Dela- 
lere  was.  as  usual,  almost  swathed  in  shawls; 
'')Y  although  she  never  ventured  to  declare  so 
uich,  she  detested  an  open  carriage,  and  fancied 
•lat  she  was  perished  with  cold  even  in  the  hot- 
'?st  seasoQ  of  the  year,  whenever  she  risked  her 
'ealth  in  so  hazardous  a  manner.  Her  wraps 
i-ere,  nevertheless,  upon  this  occasion  trifliqg  be- 
ide  those  of  those  of  her  daugliter;  who,  in 
Idition  to  a  mantle  so  disguising  that  it  might 
'ive  served  as  a  domino,  had  flung  over  her  close 
,)nnet  a  voluminous  black  veil  which  complete- 
r  concealed  her  countenance.  Nothing,  in  fact, 
ive  her  height,  and  the  peculiarly  graceful 
liture  of  her  movements,  could  have  distin- 
'lislied  her  from  the  veriest  dowdy  of  the  neigh- 
[irhood ;  nor,  when  Mrs.  Mortimer  and  her 
jece,  closely  followed  by  Frederic,  entered  tiie 
jiartment,  did  she  raise  the  cloud  of  lace  be- 
.ath  which  slie  was  literally  in  eclipse. 

Mrs.  Delamere  soon  sank,  in  a  state  of  semi- 

ihaustion,  into  a  chair ;  and  her  hostess,  as  a 
itter  of  course,  established  herself  at  her  side, 
it  even  after  the  presentation  of  Mortimer, 
3'  three  younger  members  of  the  party  re- 
fined standing  in  the  full  glow  of  the  mid- 
<iv  sun,  before  the  open  doors  of  the  verandah  ; 
-  iB  only  a  few  moments  had  elapsed,  ere,  at  the 
ergestion  of  Sybil,  they  wandered  out  into  the 
*en  air. 
■'  '  You  have-  a  true  English  home  here,  Miss 
^rtimer,"  she  said' caressingly,  as  she  passed 
■  b"  arm  through  that  of  Gertrude  ;  "  such  a 
Ine  as  I  sliould  value  beyond  all  the  j>omp  on 
eth.  Tiiere  is  no  trace  of  yesterday  in  these 
ft  old  trees,  nor  in  the  time-tint  of  the  venera- 
-■■  tj  house  they  so  nobly  overshadow.  I  have  a 
hi-ror  of  the  architectural  mushrooms  which 
sfm  to  be  scarcely  of  an  hour's  growth  ;  there 
itjio  repose  in  them  ;  nothing  of  the  past';  and 
•fljere  there  is  so  little  in  the  present  to  com- 
P.sate  for  such  a  want,  we  may,  and  ought  to 
•forgiven  for  loving  to  look  back  upon  earlier 


t 


Yes,"  said  Gertrude  fondly  ;  "  it  is  a  dear  old 
pbe;  and  although  our  neighbors  occasion- 
*}  endeavor  to  alarm  niv  aunt  by  adverting  to 
"!  pres\nnption  of  the  little  post-town  which 
hJali  but  invaded  her  territory,  I  believe  that 
»t^ estimates  it  at  ite  full  value'" 
.  j^^"<i  slie  is  right,"  replied  Sybil.  "  Proudly, 
»rt'ed,  may  she  ask,  '  Wh.at's  Hecuba  to  me,  or 
A  J  Hecuba?'  What  has  this  peaceful  retreat  in 
Ctfmoh  with  the  busy,  hustling,  vulgar  turmoil 
ontliird-rate  provincial  coiiffregation  of  traders 
a",  gossips?  I  appeal  to  Mr.  Mortimer,"  she 
■«•'!,  turning  her  graceful   head   abruptly  to- 


V  ^y^  Frederic,  who  was  walking   at  her  side 
.      5  has  travelled,  and  must  feel  and  app 
,•;  w^he  charm  of  such  a  home  as  this  " 


'^'•'■'aJ-  *"'?^*  *^'"*  ^  °-^  ^^^  insensible  to  its  value, 
aoj^  that  of  its  inmates,"  said  the  young  man. 


with  a  slight  bow;  "and  still  less  should  I  feel 
inclined  to  question  it^  merits,  did  we  often  re- 
ceive such  guests  as  Miss  Delamere  ;  but  1  never- 
theless confess  that  there  are  moments  wlien  I 
should  scarcely  regret  to  feel  it  placed  somewhat 
nearer  to  the  centre  of  mind  and  movement. 
The  bee  itself  is  at  times  cloyed  with  honey." 

The  expression  of  Sybil's  countenance  was  in- 
visible beneath  her  veil,  but  sUe  felt  the  sigli  of 
the  fair  girl  upon  whose  arm  she  leant ;  and  she 
had  already  seized  the  text  of  a  long  and  ear- 
nest chapter,  which  no  stranger  had  a  riglit  to 
read. 

"  How  well  I  recognize  the  spirit  of  your  ex- 
acting sex  in  that  measured  answer!"  she  said 
playfully.  "  The  poet  lias  assured  us  that '  man 
never  is,  but  always  to  be  blessed;'  how  much 
happier  are  we  humble-minded  women  !  Is  it 
not  so.  Miss  Mortimer?  We  who  make  our 
moral  garment  to  the  very  measure  of  our  means, 
and  seldom  look  beyond  the  circle  iu  whicli  we 
are  condemned  to  move." 

"  This  from  you!"  exclaimed  Gertrude  with 
unfeigned  surprise  :  "  You,  who  appear  to  rule 
circumstances  with  a  wand  of  ivory,  and  to 
make  all  obey  your  bidding?". 

"  You  do  not  speak  in  epigrams,  I  trust,"  was 
the  retort  of  Sybil :  "  Reassure  me  on  the  in- 
stant, or  you  will  frighten  me.  Mj-  rule,  believe 
me,  does  not  extend  beyond  builders  apd 
gardeners,  and  I  find  even  these  difficult  to 
govern.  I  will  not  have  you  look  upon  me  as  a 
maitress  feimne ;  I  detest  everything  wiiich  un- 
sexes  a  woman.  Remember  that  my  mother  is 
out  of  health,  that  lier  energies  are  ruined,  and 
that  she  requires  one  wiio  can  tliink  and  act  for 
her ;  and  that  ontj  must  and  should  be  her  own 
child." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Delamere — "    . 

"  Do  not  mistake  me  once  more,"  pursued 
.Sybil,  as  she  clasped  the  slender  fingers  of  her 
companion  in  her  own:  "  You  did  not  intend  to 
wound  me,  nor  have  j'ou  done  so ;  but  I  feel  tliat 
I  shall  greatly  prize'your  friendship,  and  I  am 
anxious  to  put  forth  my  claim  frankly.  Tlie 
power  which  is  Avielded  at  the  Grange  is  not 
mine  ;  it  has,  if  you  will  permit  me  so  to  say,  a 
more  vulgar  origin ;  it  is  the  mere  power  of 
gold,  and  I  am  simply  the  '  slave  of  the  lamp;' 
a  little  vain,  perhaj^,  occasionallj^,  of  the  results 
of  mj^  agency,  but  scarcely  to  be  considered  as 
their  autlior.  All  this  is  sad  egotism,  however, 
and  will  but  increase  the  threatened  tedium  of 
Mr.  Mortimer,  who  has  so  lately  been  conver- 
sant only  with  the  grand  and  the  beautiful ;  1«  t  us 
rather  delude  him  into  some  bright  memuries 
of  the  past,  and  throw  liim  back  for  a  bri.f  in- 
terval into  the  world  of  wonders  and  a(l\ei.- 
turre." 

"  I  begin  to  believe  that'it  exists  eveiTwhere,* 
said  Frederic,  fascinated,  he  scarcely  knew 
wherefore,  hy  the  perfect  self-possession  and 
candor  of  the  visitor. 

"  Ko  doubt  it  does,"  acquiesced  Miss  Dela- 
mere ;  while  Gertrude  was  fairly  silenced,  alike 
by  the  stream  of  words  which  she  liad  encount- 
ered on  the  one  hand,  and  by  the  effect  which 
they  evidently  produced  upon  the  other :  "  We 
only  require  eyes  to  see,  and  a  mind  to  com- 
prehend ;    but,  as  the  Musselmaun  nevei-  vca- 


18 


TIIE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


tures  to  cntor  liis  mosqne  until  he  has  perform 
cd  lijs  piirifviiig  ablutious,  6o  neither  can  we 
estimate  wliat  is  ivally  jtassint;  about  us  before 
we  have  prepan-d  our  intelligence  to  receive 
the  amount  of  marvel  which  has  been  prepared 
for  the  gratification  of  our  moral  sense.  I  fear 
that  we  are  nil  sad  spendthrifts  of  liappincss ; 
and,  like  the  defrauded  miser,  never  know  the 
intrinsic  value  of  our  accumulated  treasures  un- 
til we  are  cheated  of  them.  But  let  us  talk  of 
Italy,  Mr.  Mortimer;  beautiful  Italy!  where  I 
once  s|ient  two  happy  years.  What  a  spell  ex- 
ists in  the  very  name  of  Italy!  It  is  a  dream  for 
the  dying." 

And  they  spoke  of  Italy,  long  and  earnestly  ; 
but  Frederic  soon  unconsciously  felt  his  self-love 
somewhat  piqued  by  the  discovery  that  he  had 
much  to  learn,  and  nothing  to  teach  to  his  com 
panion  upon  his  favorite  subject.  She  had  seen 
all,  had  appreciated  all,  and  had  judged  all 
Perhajw  had  he  suffered  himself  to  reflect  at 
such  a  moment,  he  would  readily  have  found  a 
key  to  the  enigma,  and  have  discovered  that 
where  he  had  only  felt,  Miss  Delamere  had  stu 
died  and  reasoned  ;  that  ho  had  been  the  mere 
pilgrim  of  imiigination  and  enthusiasm,  where 
she  had  been  the  observant  and  calculating  wo 
man  of  the  woi-ld  ;  but  he  was  in  no  mood  for 
Buch  an  analysis ;  he  was  anxious  to  shine,  to 
produce  an  etfcct,  and  he  found  himself  worsted 
upon  every  jioiiit.  He  saw  this,  and  aftei*  a  time 
he  became  mortified  and  discouraged.  The  soft 
eyes  of  Gertrude  were  upon  him,  but  their  ad 
miring  gaze  was  wasted.  It  was  not  uj^on  his 
cold  and  reserved  cousin  that  he  had  been 
anxious  to  make  a  favorable  impression  ;  he 
had  aimed  at  interesting,  and  perhaps  attract 
ing,  Miss  Delamere,  and  he  began  to  believe  that 
he  had  failed. 

Sybil,  however,  read  the  expression  of  his 
epeaking  features  as  readily  as  she  would  have 
perused  the  pages  of  a  printed  volume  ;  and  by 
an  easy  transition  she  led  the  convei-sation  to 
the  marvels  and  monuments  of  Egypt,  a  land 
which  she  had  never  visited  ;  and  having  once 
rtiore  succeeded  in  arousing  the  enthusiasm  of 
Frederic,  she  immediately  became  all  ear ;  en- 
couraged his  nai'rative  by  eager  and  wcll-[)laced 
inquiries;  and  made  him,  with  consummate  tact. 
the  liero  of  the  liour.  To  Mortimer  she  had  ap- 
peared deligiitfiil  when  she  talked;  no  wonder, 
then,  that  when  she  hung  upon  his  words  like 
one  entranced,  he  should  consider  her  tenfold 
more  charming;  and  that  as  they  moved  slowly 
forwar<l,  and  he  remarked  the  finished  and  yet 
unstudied  grace  of  all  her  movements,  and  the 
liigh-bred  dignity  of  her  gestures,  he  should  put 
forth  all  his  powers  of  mind  and  manner  to  se- 
cure lier  favor,  and  to  enhance  his  merits  in  her 
eyes. 

Tlicre  was  a  tormenting  mystery,  top,  in  the 
thick  and  heavy  veil  which  added  to  the  charm 
of  the  interview.  He  could  only  imagine  the 
play  of  the  intelligent  features  that  it  conceal- 
ed ;  and  he  felt  like  one  imder  the  influence  of 
S  wild  and  delicious  dream. 

When  they  re-entered  the  Baloon,  they  found 
Mrs.  Delamere  languidly  admiring  a  maciiificent 

£iecc    of  unfinislied    tapcstry-work    winch    her 
ostesa  was  court«eufiIy  exhibiting  with  the  ami-| 


able  hope  of  amusing  her  unamuseablc  guest 
and  the  animated  and  judicious   admiration  ( 
Sybil,   who   instantly  joined   their  party,  so.. 
made   ample   amends  for   the   languid  and  ev 
dently  extorted  encomiums  of  her  half-sleep 
mother.     Her  knowledge  of  the  different  effec 
of  startling  contrasts,  and  delicate  gradation 
tints,  was  not  less  astonishing  to  Frederic  tli: 
the   intinuite   acquaintance   which  she  had  I 
trayed  in  their  previous  conversation  with  ll 
merits  of  different  schools  of  art,  and  Avorks 
science  ;    and  a  feeling  of  sincere  gratificati. 
took   possession  of  his  mind   as  he  noticed  t 
sudden  animation  of  delight  which  lighted  i 
the  fair  face  of  Gerti-ude,  as  she  saw  the  labo 
ous  industry  and  taste  of  her  aunt  thus  estinii 
ed  at  its  i-eal  value.     Nor  was  he  less  plej^S' 
and  surprised  at  the  promptitude  with  whi' 
Sybil,  even  interested  as  she  was  by  the  socif 
of  her  new   friends,   obeyed   the   signal  of  l! 
mother,  and  prepared  to  take  her  leave.  ' 

No  gesture  of  nnnoj-ance  escaped  her,  ■ 
thougli  it  was  evident  that  she  by  no  moiji 
partici]iated  in  the  impatience  to  be  gone  niii- 
tested  by  Jlrs.  Delamere  ;  but  as  Frederic  n'; 
to  order  the  carriage,  she  busily  and  judiciou.r 
arranged  the  eternal  shawls  which  had  bli 
partially  flung  oft',  and  made  her  parting  c<'- 
pliments  with  grace  and  self-possession. 

Hands  were  shaken  and  courteous  words - 
changed  ;  and  when  the  languid  valefudinnm 
had  at  length  succeeded  in  reaching  the  li.- 
door,  leaning  listlessly  upon  the  arm  of  Mdi- 
mer,  Sybil  sprang  lightly  into  the  fairy  vehii', 
possessed  herself  of  the  reins,  and  then,  ]\a\'g 
almost  succeeded  in  convincing  her  compailu 
that  she  was  comfortably  established  an- g 
her  wraps,  threw  back  her  heavy  veil  for  nt'i- 
stant,  and  turned  her  dark  and  splendid  '■> 
full  upon  Frederic  with  an  exi)ression  of  int(  «t 
and  aeknowledgmoiit  which  for  an  Instant  r- 
ly  dazzled  him.  The  next  moment,  howi  r, 
tlie  jealous  cloud  of  lace  Ml  back;  a  grn' ill 
bend  intiuuitcd  a  final  leave-taking,  and  ic 
beautiful  ponies  were  in  motion  towards  <i« 
Grange. 

They  were  fairly  out  of  sight  ere  MoHi»r 
changed  liis  position  ;  and  even  when  1  rt 
length  did  so,  instead  of  returning  to  the  li'»e. 
he  descended  the  steps  and  wandered  once  ;r« 
into  the  grounds.  He  had  ample  food  for  r ;^ 
tion.  On  liis  arrival  at  home  he  had  been  I'rt- 
whole,  and  prepared  to  extend  all  his  affeci'M 
upon  its  beloved  inhabitants.  The  conveif  on 
of  his  mother  on  the  very  evening  of  his  r"™ 
had  strengthened  him  in'this  purpose,  forii«*l 
held  out  the  promise  of  tlie  precise  dt'in.T 
which  he  had  for  several  years  vaguely  pii'.ri'd 
to  himself;  but  what  was  the  result?  Sh  M 
his  period  of  .sojourn  beneatli  his  ancestrojoof 
•had  been,  he  had  become  wearied  of  ita  •'»'»• 
tony,  and  discouraged  by  the  inditrercnee  ;tli« 
very  being  whose  meinory  he  had  eh e  Hod 
the  most  fondly  ;  and  yet,  he  rememberc'"« 
this  cold  beauty  was  to  be  his  wife.  Su(;**» 
the  will  of  a  father  whom  he  had  never  o\>^^ 
during  his  life;  and  whom  he  believed  il^'W 
still  more  im])ossible  to  disobey  after  his  'ttj^ 
when  his  every  wish  was  doubly  hallovl  Uy 
tlie  fact,  that  it" could  no  longer  be  enforc- 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


19 


Only  on  the  previous  day — nay,  even  an  hour 
nek— lie  felt  tliat  he  eould  have  submitted  to 
is  fate  without  a  murmur ;  for  of  eseapiiig  it 
e  did  not,  and  had  never  dreamed.  He  knew 
.uough  of  the  gratitude  and  veneration  of  Ger- 
rude  for  her  benefaetors  to  be  convinced  that, 
it  whatever  cost  of  feeling  to  herself,  should  he 
[ft'er  her  the  alternative  of  declining  his  liand, 
le  would  resolutelj-  and  conscientiously  insist 
pou  fulfilling  the  will  of  her  uncle ;  and  he 
;us  consequently  prepared  to  make  her  his 
ride,  and  to  trust  to  time  and  his  own  tender- 
ess  to  win  from  her  the  love  without  which  he 
)uld  not  disguise  from  himself  that  he  must  be 
retched. 

The  last  hour  had,  however,  worked  a  strange 
,!volution  in  his  whole  nature.  He  had,  at  last, 
,en  the  very  being  form  whom  his  soul  had 
|ned,  in  moments  of  reflection ;  the  very  being 
;hom  he  had  hoped  to  find  in  his  orphan-cousin  ; 
Icreature  not  only  beautiful,  but  beaming  with 
tellect;  eager  and  enthusiastic  in  feeling;  full 
;  that  light  of  the  soul  which  diffuses  its  own 
idiance  over  all  around  it;  charming  without 
iiy  visible  effort  to  attract,  fascinating  without 
I'ectation,  and  graceful  without  mannerism ; 
,th  a  mind  richly  stored,  and  a  gentleness  es- 
atially  feminine. 

What  evil  star,  he  asked  himself,  had  brought 
p  radiant  Sybil  across  his  path  ?  What  wretch- 
<  chance  had  induced  her  to  immure  her  mental 
jd  pei"sonal  loveliness  in  that  retired  spot,  as 
f  to  plunge  him  into  a  trial,  perchance  too 
ijghty  for  his  strength  ?  Why  were  they  ever 
led  to  meet,  when  he  was  fettered  by  an  ob- 
Ijation  through  which  it  was  impossible  to 
Ipak?  And  then  another  thought,  scarcely 
h  painful  to  his  mind,  and  still  more  so  to  his 
jide,  beset  him.  He  had  not  failed  to  gain  the 
ijictions  of  his  less  gifted  cousin?  And  was  it 
tjrefore  probable  that  the  dazzling  being  who 
iiv  occupied  his  thoughts,  wotdd  prove  more 
ijulgent  than  one  who  had  known  and  loved 
Iji  in  former  years » 

pie  doubt  was  rational  enough ;  and  yet, 
Bjiiige  to  say,  Frederic,  in  his  inmost  soul, 
Bjreely  doubted;  he  felt  that  Sybil  at  least 
c  Id  understand  him — her  many  words,  and 
1«  one  look,  had  convinced  him  "that  she  did 
«\  and  he  clung  to  the  conviction  despite  his 
hjter  reason.  He  could  only  resolve  to  avoid 
K,  and  thus  to  weaken  her  spell;  but  he 
i<|5ot  that  this  was  by  no  means  easy  in  a 
ngliborhood  limited  in  its  society,  and  depend- 
c[  upon  its  own  resources. 

li'evertheless,  such  was  his  determination ;  and 
MQ,  as  a  commencement  of  his  task,  he  cornpcl- 
hjhimself  to  dwell  upon  the  image  of  Gertrude 
-jf  his  destined  wife — and  he  recalled,  with 
MjC'thmg  approaching  to  happiness,  her  beani- 
lijlook  when  she  saw  the  pleasure  evinced  by 
'H  aunt  at  the  encomiums  lavished  by  Miss 
Maraere  upon  her  tapestrj-.  But  alas!  even 
Ujslight  gratification  brought  with  it  the  image 
ob'D'll.and  he  felt  that  hers  was,  indeed,  no 
^n  praise,  and  that  his  mother  might  well  be 
■     eiiBcd  for  appreciating  such  testimony  to  her 

i.        0  marvel  was  it,  therefore,  that  Mortimer 


finallj'  returned  to  the  house  even  more  dispir- 
ited than  he  had  left  it. 


CILVPTER  VL 

There  are  few  more  serious  and  real  misfor- 
tunes for  a  man  of  active  and  enthusiastic  dis- 
position, than  to  be  entirely  independent  of 
personal  e.xertion.  When  the  necessaries  of  life 
compel  the  e.xereise  of  the  mental  and  moral 
energies,  every  struggle,  exclusively  of  feeling, 
becomes  to  a  certain  degree  weakened  and  con- 
trolled by  more  immediate  and  sordid  duties. 
Expediency  wdiispers  him  to  be  up  and  doing  ; 
and  he  is  compelled  to  give  ear  to  the  admoni- 
tion, if  he  would  maintain  his  position  in  socie- 
ty. Thus  his  cares,  divided,  and  subdivided  by 
conflicting  impulses,  create  a  re-action  by  which 
each  is  in  turn  subjected  to  the  domination  of 
the  other,  and  all  are  finally  brought  under  the 
dominion  of  reason.  But  where  no  such  neces- 
sity for  energy  exists ;  where  the  position  is  de- 
fined, and  the  fate  assured ;  where  the  purple 
and  fine  linen  are  independent  of  all  personal 
exertion,  the  mind,  free  to  enforce  its  full  claim, 
seldom  fails  to  revenge  itself  upon  the  pam- 
pered body,  and  to  magnify  its  own  trials.  Ev- 
ery thing  in  creation  requires  extraneous  ali- 
ment ;  and  Ihe  spirit  cannot  constantly  feed 
upon  itself  without  becoming  extenuated  by 
the  perpetual  demand  upon  its  resources. 

And  thus  it  was  with  Mortimer.  How  many 
envied  him!  What  had  he  to  wish  for ?  Was 
he  not  an  only  son  ? — his  own  master  ? — rich 
enough  to  indulge  in  every  caprice,  however 
unreasonable  ?  What  more  could  he  desire  ? 
And,  in  turn,  he  might  have  answered — "  What? 
Not  the  indulgence  of  unreasonable  extrava- 
gance ;  not  the  power  of  vain  and  foolish  fol- 
lies ;  but  peace — peace  of  heart ;  the  peace 
which  makes  home  a  heaven,  and  life  a  boon ; 
t!ie  peace  which  gold  cannot  purchase ;  and 
ofteatimes,  God  be  thanked,  even  poverty  can- 
not take  away  !"  And  from  day  to  day,  with 
no  other  and  more  immediate  care  to  distract 
liis  thoughts,  he  felt  that  this  peace  was  wanting. 

He  sat  beside  his  fond  and  gentle  mother ; 
and  there,  indeed,  had  Heaven  gifted  him  with 
the  power  of  controlling  all  within  his  reach, 
he  would  not  have  sought  for  change  ;  but  as 
he  dwelt  tipon  the  beautiful  creattire  near  her, 
who  was  fated  to  be  his  second  self,  another 
and  a  brighter  vision  interposed :  and  even 
while  his  brow  was  calm,  his  spirit  writhed 
within  him. 

No,  never — so  he  argued — never  could  they 
understand  each  other  :  the  frigid  temperament 
of  Gertrude,  which  led  her  almost  to  consider 
as  a  crime  every  manifestation  of  feeling  how- 
ever natural  and  iimoeent,  could  never  assimi- 
late with  his  own  ardent  and  exacting  nature. 
She  was  pure,  amiable,  and  good  ;  it  was  im- 
possible to  live  under  the  same  roof  with  her, 
and  not  to  admit  this ;  but  we  have  already  ex- 
plained the  morbid  craving  of  Mortimer  for 
deep  and  excessive  affection  towards  himself ; 
and  this  he  had  failed  to  detect  in  the  only  be- 


20 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


ing  -who  -was,  perhaps,  fated  to  love  him  better 
than  all  else  on  earth. 

As  time  wore  on,  and  the  natural  grief  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer  grew  less  acute,  her  desire  to  see 
her  son  the  husband  of  his  cousin  became  more 
importunate.  He  had  attained  the  age  at  which 
she  believed  that  men  are  calculated  to  make  at 
once  the  most  happy  and  the  most  prudent  of 
husbands.  At  tive-and-twenty  her  own  lament- 
ed partner  had  led  her  to  the  altar,  and  her 
•whole  life,  until  she  became  a  widow,  had  been 
one  interval  of  happiness;  a  fact  which  had 
alone  been  suttieient  to  convince  her  guileless 
an(i  unsuspicious  mind  of  a  truth  which  she 
never  sought  to  question.  Perfectly  unconscious, 
therefore,  that  she  was  driving  the  iron  still 
deeper  into  his  heart,  she  never  found  herself 
alone  with  Frederic,  but,  by  some  exertion  of 
feminine  tact, she  led  the  conversation,  whatever 
might  be  its  original  purport,  to  the  subject  of 
maniage ;  and  even  became  eloquent  as  she 
enlarged  upon  it. 

"  In  a  life  of  celibacy,"  she  said  upon  one  oc- 
casion, Avlicn  her  patient  but  dispirited  listener 
was  seated  placidly  at  her  side  ;  "  Avhen  too  long 
prutrjiofcd.  a  man  contracts  habits  and  preju- 
dices fearfully  detrimental  to  all  subsequent 
home-happiness.  He  frittei-s  away  his  best  and 
holiest  feelings  in  idle  and  profitless  dissipation, 
or  in  paltry  and  puerile  follies ;  he  accustoms 
himself  to  selfish  and  sordid  indulgences ;  and 
becomes  either  minutely  and  contemptibly  ex- 
acting with  regard  to  certain  trivial  convention- 
alities, to  which  he  attaches  a  fictitious  import- 
ance that  excites  the  pity,  if  not  the  ridicule  of 
his  associates,  or,  '  unstable  as  the  wind,'  he 
suffers  himself  to  be  made  the  sport  of  every 
caprice  of  chance,  or,  worse  still,  of  momentary 
egotism,  and  sacrifices  to  the  passing  instant  all 
the  interests  of  the  future.  The  glow  of  youth, 
and  the  bloom  of  manhood,  have  alike  escaped 
him  unheeded ;  and  it  is  only  when  the  fingers 
of  Time  have  begun  to  weave  threads  of  silver 
among  the  rapidly-thinning  locks  which  former- 
ly clustered  in  j)rofusion  about  his  brow,  and 
when  certain  spasmodic  twinges  seize  upon  his 
burning  foot  or  his  swelling  hand,  that  he  com- 
pels himself  at  last  to  think  of  marriage,  which 
has  probably  been  from  an  early  age  the  subject 
of  his  sarcasm. 

"  And  then,  how  humiliating  is  it  to  reflect, 
that  when  the  unmistakable  commencement  of 
decay  at  last  works  this  mental  revolution,  the 
prudent  and  fastidious  conmientator  upon  other 
men's  follies  almost  universally  leacis  to  the 
altar,  and  ties  to  himself  for  life,  either  a  young 
and  inexperienced  girl,  more  fitted  to  stand  in 
the  relationship  of  his  grand-daughter — a  toy  to 
fondle  and  to  neglect  at  will — or  a  favorite  fe-l 
male  servant,  famous  for  her  culinary  ability, 
or  talent  as  a  nur.se.  The  latter  alternative, 
degrading  though  it  may  be,  is  nevertheless  the 
best,  as  it  scarcely  entails  martyi-dom  upon 
either  party ;  for  the  selfish  sensualist,  as  he 
gloats  over  his  gastronomic  luxuries,  forgets, 
at  least  for  a  time,  amid  his  egotistical  indul- 
gences, the  price  at  which  they  have  been  pur- ' 
cliased;  and  probably  cares  little  that  the  hand 
which  smoothes  the  cushions  of  the  gouty  chair  i 
ia  as  red  as  the  leather  with  wliich  it  in  covered.  | 


In  the  other  case,  however,  the  reflection  u 
fearful !  It  is  a  realization  of  the  German  legent 
of  the  living  body  attached  to  the  senseles 
corpse.  Believe  me,  the  superannuated  bride 
groom  indulges  in  a  fallacy  when  he  imagine 
that  he  can  educate  the  young  wife  whose  pei 
sonal  qualifications  have  induced  him  to  encoui 
age  the  delusion  that  he  can  still  repay  her  a 
fection,  or  imbue  her  with  his  peculiar  hahi' 
and  feelings.  The  mind  may  indeed  be  tutor, 
but  the  heart  is  beyond  the  schooUng  of  cl' 
tism. 

"  And.  meanwhile,  what  is  the  fate  of  the  po. 
victim  of  expediency  ?  Either  she  sets  at  naiig 
the  tastes  and  wishes  of  her  ill-assorted  husban 
plunges  into  dissipation,  and  revenges  herself 
the  world  for  the  emptiness  and  joylessness 
home  ;  or  she  withers  beneath  the  chilling  cc 
viction  that  her  moral  existence  must  be  a  blat 
I  am  far  from  justifying  either  result;  for, 
this  blessed  country  no  woman  can  be  compel 
to  such  an  union  ;  but  still  we  have  the  evei 
day  experience  that  much  may  be  done  by  • 
treaty,  by  expostulation,  and  by  holding  ( 
brilliant,  and,  too  often,  fallacious  prospct, 
calculated  to  operate  powerfully  and  viciou' 
upon  an  inexperienced  unagination. 

"  It  is  only  after  the  step  is  irrevocably  tali 
that  the  truth,  in  all  its  terrors,  beconie's  mi 
fest  to  the  victim;  and  that  the  young  he  , 
frozen  by  its  contact  with  one  on  which  all  i 
softer  and  more  attaching  sympathies  have  I  ? 
been  extinguished,  shrinks  appalled  at  the  ► 
pect  of  its  own  isolation,  and  rushes  into  e 
world  in  search  of  that  coiupanionship  wlli 
cannot  exist  at  its  own  hearth. 

"  It  would  be  alike  useless  to  trace,  and  pi-  | 
ful  to  contemplate,  the  probable  close  of  sii^* 
career ;  nor  is  its  wretchedness  lessened  bv  i« 
fact  that  the  first,  and  deepest  blame  is  attr  i- 
table  to  the  cupidity  of  parents  and  guard  4, 
and  the  egotism  of  self-love.  To  be  alike  \u  >l 
'and  honorable,  marriage  should  never  be  all- 
ied to  present  any  marked  and  startling  con  «t 
either  in  age  or  station  ;  for  the  balance  of 'li- 
vidual  advantages  is  no  sooner  lost,  tharli* 
charm,  and  even  the  holiness,  of  such  a  bo  » 
gone."  , 

"  There  are,  moreover,  other  perils,  niy"«r 
mother,  scarcely  less  dangerous,"  observed ,^^ 
timer  upon  one  occasion,  "  less  visible,  per  J* 
but  equally  to  be  avoided;  such,  for  install  •• 
incompatibility  of  tastes,  habits,  and  di  «•• 
tions,"  and  he  sighed  as  he  ventured  the  re/t 

"  Undoubtedly,"  acquiesced  his  mother;  u'* 
in  assuming  these,  both  parties  must  be  e  lul 
not  to  nourish  a  morbid  and  unreasonabi'  fl- 
ing. So  much  may  be  done  where  the  he,-  " 
right,  and  the  mind  pure.  The  great  p<  \  ^ 
to  contract  marriage  before  selfish  tastes,! '•'*• 
and  dispositions  are  too  deeply  rooted.  lv^>^^ 
own  ease  you  have  nothing  to  ajtpreher  'o' 
Gertrude  has  not  a  thought  or  a  feeling  "<» 
angels  might  not  share." 

Fiedeiic  sighed  again  ;  he  did  not  doiil  »n« 
truth  of  the  assertion,  but  he  would  fail  »V 
seen  more  of  the  fond  and  devoted  woi  n  '» 
the  wife  who  was  to  siiarc  his  fortune;  W»<» 
then  his  importunate  fancy  turned  back  i  ^J' 
bil,  and  he  dwelt  upon  her  remembrance  <* 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


21 


lat  of  a  "  bright  and  particular  star,"  far  better 
lited  to  shine  upon  tlie  liorizon  of  his  own 
:?Hrt,  than  the  cold  and  insensible  girl  to  whom 
i  bad  been  offered  through  the  volition  of 
lother. 

;  He  marvelled  if  Miss  Dclamere  bad  ever 
Wed  •  but  he  soon  succeeded  in  convincing 
mself  that  had  she  indeed  so  done,  she  would 
\}t  still  have  been  Miss  Dclamere ;  for  who 
luld  have  resisted  her  fascinations  ?  Of  her 
['e  he  nevA-  thought,  for  Sybil  was  one  of 
tiose  bright  creatures  who  seem  to  control  time, 
id  to  create  about  them  a  perpetual  spring, 
let  what  could  they  ever  be  to  eacli  other? 
|;aa  not  his  destiny  fixed  and  irrevocable? 
le  might  secure  her  friendship,  but  he  dared 
)t  aspire  to  her  love. 

'  And,  meanwhile,  the  intercourse  of  the  two 
'niilies  insensibly  increased,  and  grew  to  inti- 
acy.  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  half  won  over  to 
j:e  Sybil  by  the  admiration  and  affection  which 
e  evinced"  for  Gertrude  ;  while  Frederic  only 
(predated  the  more  highly  a  character  so  su- 
Irior  as  to  place  her  above  common  and  wo- 
anish  rivalry,  as  she  expatiated  to  himself 
)on  the  perfections  of  his  cousin. 

Tou  are,  indeed,  an  enviable  person,  Mr. 
ortimer,"  she  said  with  a  sweet  smile,  as  they 
ere  one  day  professing  to  make  a  survey  of 
e  improvements  at  The  Grange ;  "  nothing 
Q  be  more  faultless  than  the  beauty  of  that 
vely  girl ;  no  cameo  ever  presented  a  more 
rfect  outline  than  her  exquisite  features,  and 
e  is  so  gentle,  so  essentially  feminine,  her  dis- 
sition  is  so  placid,  and  her  manners  are  so 
Id,  that  it  will  in  truth  be  a  privilege  to  lead 
ijch  abeiug  in  safety  and  happiness  tlirough  life." 
j"  Her  empire  will  be  home,"  said  Frederic, 
mpelling  himself  to  reply. 
"  And  where  should  it  be  ?"  asked  Miss  Dela- 
pre  earnestly.  "  What  should  a  woman  as- 
je  to  beyoad  that  ?  All  else,  believe  me,  is 
We  delusion  for  our  sex.  Where  the  heart  is, 
ere  alone  should  the  energies  be  exerted,  and 
the  home  a  palace  or  a  cottage,  it  will  suf- 
We  are  not,  as  you  are,  the  slaves  of  ani- 
on, of  wealth,  of  power  ;  our  dominion  is  of 
me  growth,,  and  like  the  ivy,  clings  ever 
.•shlyand  closely  to  the  same  prop.  Men  will 
ver  understand  us ;  tliey  think  us  light,  tri- 
Jg  and  capricious ;  tliey  cannot  sound  the 
pih  of  a  true  womnn's  heart." 

And  yet,"  remarked  Mortimer,  as  for  an  in- 
mt  he  glanced  into  the  beaming  countenance 
'ore  him,  "  you  have  not  ventured  beyond 
re  theory  in  your  own  person."       * 

Oh,  I!"  said  iliss  Dclamere,  with  a  forced 
igh  ;  "  I  am  altogether  horse-de-cotubat.  I  am 
itented  with  my  fate,  and  satisfied  to  remain 
pectator  of  tlic  events  which  progress  around 
Persons  attract  me  occasionally,  and  I  am 
'linkful  for  the  variety  which  such  pre-pos- 
•pions  afford,  but  I  liave  learned  to  estimate 
f  preferences  at  tlieir  true  value,  and  am  quite 
iare  that  wliat  appears  very  desirable  andde- 
Ihtful  to-day,  incurs  a  great  risk  of  proving 
wous  a  year  hence.  How  few  among  us  re- 
jy  understand  our  true  interests !  But  this  is, 
rhaps.  as  it  should  be  ;  for  a  perpetual  change 
«|  seutiment    and    feeling    lends    a    constant 


charm  to  life,  and  destroys  its  monotony.  We 
can  afford  to  like,  for  a  rational  regard  helps 
us  delightfully  over  the  rough  paths  of  our  pil- 
grimage ;  but  we  must  be  careful  how  we  per- 
mit ourselves  to  love,  for  the  error,  once  com- 
mitted, is  iiever  to  be  repaired." 

"  You  argue  with  the  coolness  of  a  philoso- 
pher." 

"  And  j-ou,  like  all  your  sex,  have  a  con- 
tempt for  petticoat  philosophy,  is  it  not  so  ? 
Kevertheless,  you  may  be  forgiven.  Your  hap- 
piness is  assured,  and  you  are  not  called  upoi 
to  resist" 

"  If  you  assume  such  a  position  I  cannot  dis- 
cuss tne  point." 

"  Why  should  you  seek  to  do  so  ?  Where  no 
struggle  is  required,  no  victory  is  needed.  I 
look  upon  you  as  the  most  enviable  man  I  know : 
your  station  in  society  is  exalted  enough  to 
satisfy  any  healthy  ambition ;  you  have  a  mother 
who  IS  a  model  for  her  sex,  and  by  whom  you 
are  adored.  It  is,  perchance,  scarcely  delicate 
in  me  to  push  my  definition  closer,  and  yet  you 
surely  must  forgive  me  if  I  again  advert  to  your 
lovely  cousin — what  more  can  you  ask  of  fate  ? 
May  I  not  say  of  you  what  was  said  of  the 
favored  ones  of  old,  that  '  the  gods  have  you  in 
their  keeping  ?' " 

"  And  your  own  star  ?"  asked  Frederic  in  a 
tone  of  slight  pique. 

"  Mine !"  replied  Sybil,  with  another  of  those 
ambiguous  laughs  which  from  her  lips  were  al- 
ways musical,  even  while  it  was  not  easy  to 
detect  their  actual  inspiration ;  "  I  doubt  if  any 
one  of  the  luminous  bodies  has  condescended  to 
adopt  the  care  of  my  destiny,  it  has  been  so  es- 
sentially common-place.  I  am,  however,  for- 
tunately satisfied,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  to 
be  a  looker-on." 

"  And  you  have  never  loved  ;  you,  who  could, 
and  should,  love  well  and  deeply  ?" 

Sybil  turned  aside  for  an  instant  in  silence, 
and  wrenched  away  the  branch  of  a  floAvering 
shrub  near  which  they  were  passing,  as  if  by 
this  action  to  throw  oft"  some  painful  and  power- 
ful feeling ;  apparently  she  succeeded,  for  in  the 
next  instant  her  voice  was  almost  steady  as  she 
replied, — 

"  I  may  have  done  so  ;  and  now,  like  a  wreck- 
ed merchant,  only  cling  tlie  closer  to  the  security 
of  land.  None  can  warn  more  fittingly  than 
those  who  have  suffered." 

Mortimer  breathed  quickly.  She  had  loved 
then,  and  she  was  still  Miss  Dclamere ;  al- 
though, from  the  very  self-possession  wliich  she 
iiad  so  nobly  assumed,  it  was  evident  that  she 
had  not  escaped  unscathed.  lie  forgot  Ger- 
trude— he  forgot  his  father's  dying  request — he 
forgot,  in  short,  all  save  tlie  radiant  creature  be- 
side him,  as  he  asked  impetuously, — 

"  And  having  loved  once,  although  unhappily, 
can  you  be  now  contented  to  live  on  like  the 
crowd  about  you  ?     Do  you  not — " 

"'So,"  said  Sybil,  hiying  her  hand  lightly 
upon  his  arm,  and  glancing  with  an  arch  smile 
into  his  face  ;  "No,  for  trust  me,  I  know  well 
what  you  would  ask.  Even  as  the  Spartans 
were  accustomed  to  intoxicate  their  slaves  in 
order  that  their  children  miglit  see  the  vice  of 
drunkenness  in  all  its  abhorrent  coarseness,  and 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


80  learn  to  avoid  it,  are  woinon  of  my  stamp 
permitted  once  to  prostrate  their  best  feelings 
before  those  of  another ;  but,  like  the  Spartan 
boys,  they  generally  profit  by  the  experienee, 
anti  obtain  a  firmer  power  over  their  own  sus- 
ceptibilities ;  and  this  done,  even  if  they  do 
not  secure  happiness,  they  at  least  exhibit  a 
counterfeit,  which  passes  current  as  readily  in 
tlie  world." 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  such  a  compromise," 
said  Frederic,  somewhat  coldly  ;  "  I  have  a  dif- 
ferent notion  of  '  the  uses  of  adversity.'  " 

"  Would  you,  then,  trail  your  crape  over  the 
kenn^4s  of 'the  world?"  asked  Miss  Delamcre, 
with  a  slight  accent  of  scorn  ;  "  believe  me,  the 
dear  friends  about  us  have  little  real  sympathy 
with  any  sorrow  which  leaves  themselves  un- 
scathed ;  nor  do  I  see  the  wisdom  of  nursing 
regret,  where  we  have  only  to  reassert  our  dig- 
nity, and  to  profit  by  our  expei-ience.  We  may 
occasionally  feel  the  wound  open  afresh,  but  we 
can  always  conceal  it;  nor  are  we  called  \ipon 
to  present  our  breast  to  a  second  stab.  We] 
learn  a  great  lesson  when  we  are  first  taught  to 
accept  life  upon  its  own  terms ;  and  to  gather 
the  wheat  and  the  tares  together  without  mur- 
muring." 

"  And  am  I  to  imderstand  that  you  have  at- 
tained to  this  privilege?"  asked  Mortimer,  with 
growing  uneasiness. 

"  I  hope  so ;  but,  as  this  species  of  philosophy 
is  not,  as  1  am  well  aware,  to  be  acquired  at 
once,  I  do  not  expect  to  make  you  a  convert. 
Nevertheless,  I  cannot  atFord  to  allow  you  to 
(juarrel  with  my  tenets,  because  you  are  the 
pupil  of  a  more  romantic  school.  They  are  the 
result  of  long  and  close  observation,  for  I  have ' 
never  been  accustomed  to  move  over  the  rough  | 
paths  of  the  world  with  my  eyes  shut ;  and  since  j 
1  have,  by  some  strange  chance,  elected  you^ 
into  a  temporary  father-confessor,  I  will  even  I 
••oiifide  to  you  thus  much  more — that  I  have  I 
si-eii  so  many  fair  promises  turn  out  signal  fai- 
lures;  so  nmny  cliarming  buds  of  nope  onlyj 
produce  a  blight;  that  1  have  endeavored  to, 
profit  by  tlie  examples  which  have  been  afibrd-; 
ed  me.  '  1  know  one  sweet  girl  especially,  who: 
resisted  all  warning,  and  who  spurned  at  all! 
ojiposition,  in  order  to  fulfil  the  dream  of  heri 
yuiing  lieart;  but  alasl  she  only  sowed  in  faith! 
"to  reap  in  bitterness.  So  much  is  required  on  j 
both  Bides  to  render  a  married  life  really  happy, 
that  it  is  almost  presumptuous  to  seek  an  excep- 
tion in  one's  own  particular  case  there  should 
be  such  pei-fect  conformity  of  tastes,  feelings, 
and  principles,  such  power  of  self-abnegation, 
fiueh  entire  and  absolute  devotion  to  another ; 
and  above  all,  such  a  faculty  of  loving  through 
weal  and  woe,  that  I  have  renounced  all  hope 
of  ever  meeting  one  wiio  would  care  to  incur 
80  great  a  risk  for  my  sake." 

"  You  despair  of  such  a  result?" 

"  Even  so,  and  am  I  so  much  to  blame?"  she 
asked  with  a  winning  smile;  "and  may  I  not 
trust  tliat  you  will  acquit  me  of  cold-liearted- 
nes.s  and  egotism  if  1  have  taught  myself  to  a]>- 
preciate  the  world  as  it  is,  and  to  receive  with 
gratitude  the  calmer  enjoyments  which  it  ten- 
ders to  me,  without  exacting  more?  Because  1 
will  not  be  a  voluntary  martyr,  must  I  submit 


to  be  thought  an  egotistical  coquette  ?  or  to  bare 
it  believed  that  I  love  pleasure  and  display, 
simply  from  the  fact  that  I  am  incapable  of  all 
higher  and  holier  affection?  In  short,  will  you 
still  apply  to  me  in  your  heart  all  those  injuri- 
ous epithets  with  which  your  sex  generally 
overwhelm  a  woman,  who,  having  attained 
years  of  discretion  and  reflection,  still  remains 
free,  and  declares  her  resolution  to  continue  ; 
so  ?" 

"  No,"  murmured  Frederic,  nevertheless  only 
half  convinced  ;  "  but  I  hold  that  the  man  who 
is  able  to  induce  you  to  recant  that  resolution 
will  be  the  happiest  of  mortals." 

Sybil  laughed,  and  placing  her  slender  finger 
upon  her  lip,  archly  shook  her  head.  "  And 
now,  reverend  father,"  she  said  sportively,  "  we 
must  never  again  recur  to  this  subject.  You 
are  affianced  to  your  cousin  morally,  therefore 
a  married  man — and  I  to  my  principles.  Let  us: 
rather  talk  of  your  sweet  bride-elect,  who  needs: 
but  your  guiding  and  supporting  hand  to  he- 
come  all  that  you  can  desire  to  see  her.  Were 
she  nothing  better  than  a  beauty,  it  is  a  theme 
which,  conversant  as  I  have  now  become  with 
your  ardent  nature,  I  should  dread  to  toucli 
upon;  but  such  is  far  from  being  the  case;  slic 
is  fulliof  pleasant  womanly  feelings  and  acquire 
ments,  and  altogether  qualified  to  make  youi; 
home  happy."  ; 

"  You  have  studied  her  merits  deeply,"  saiti 
Mortimer,  somewhat  sarcastically.  ] 

"  Was  it  not  natural  that  I  should  do  so?  Mre- 
Mortimer  was  the  first  of  our  county  nvighbor! 
who  ventured  within  our  anchorage  withou. 
demanding  a  clean  bill  of  health — You  werj 
yourself  the  first  individual  with  whom  1  wn 
brought  into  contact  after  my  arrival,  and  vriti 
whom  I  had  a  taste,  a  pursuit,  or  a  study  i ' 
common — while  Gertrude  was  pointed  out  f 
me  as  your  destined  wife.  Do  jou  wonder  the 
that  I  looked  somewhat  closely  into  her  elini 
acter,  when  I  felt  that  it  involved  your  happ 
ness?  But  no — no — "  she  pursued  hurrieiil' 
as  she  averted  her  head,  and  quickened  lu, 
pace  ;  "  I  have  expressed  myself  ill,  unforti- 
nately — I  should  have  said — " 

"  ISothing  save  the  very  words  you  uttered 
exclaimed  Frederic  breathlessly.  "  You  hB\; 
admitted  that  you  honor  me  with  some  portic 
of  your  interest,  and  believe  me  that  I  wi 
study  to  deserve  it." 

From  that  moment,  however.  Miss  Delame 
resolutely  turned  the  subject  of  di-scourse,  !!■ 
could  all  the  artifices  of  Frederic  induce  her 
resume  it.  P^nough  had  nevertheless  passed  I; 
twecn  them  to  convince  Sybil  that  Mortim; 
was  utterly  indifferent  to  his  cousin,  and  by  i^ 
means  equally  so  to  herself;  while  Fredei' 
quitted  her  presence  with  the  proud  convictiij 
that  although  Miss  Delamcre  had  resolved  nev, 
to  give  away  her  heart,  she  had  at  least  I 
stowed  her  regard  upon  himself.  The  conv 
tion  came  at  a  fortunate  period  to  heal  t 
wounds  of  his  self-love  ;  and  he  ingenuously  1 
lieved  that  his  own  feeling  towards  the  beau 
ful  Sybil  was  of  a  similar  nature  ;  but  he  did  !■ 
estimate  the  perils  of  the  trial  to  which  he  tl: 
rccklcsslv  abandoned  his  peace  of  mind. 

An  individual  of  winning  manners  and  acco 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


lisbed  intellect,  whose  habits  and  sentiments ! 
ssiuiihite  with  our  own,  makes  great,  although  j 
iiperceptible  progress  in  our  ati'ections  before 
i-e  become  eogiiiziiiit  of  the  fact.  We  imagine 
jiat  we  are  only  gratitied,  interested,  and  un- 
lerstood,  while  in  truth  we  have  in  some  degree 
ijased  to  understand  ourselves ;  and  where  we 
Plieved  that  we  were  merely  encouraging  an 
Intercourse  tending  to  make  the  hours  pass  less 
leavily,  and  with  more  profit  to  our  personal 
jielings,  we  have  unconsciously  created  a  moral 
ilimeut  necessary  to  our  after-existence;  and 
ame  morning  we  awaken  with  our  brain  and 
ur  heart  alike  replete  with  new  impulses,  new 
loughts,  and  new  sensations,  of  which  we  had 
ot  even  dreamed  when  we  retired  to  rest  upon 
le  previous  night.  We  had  lain  down,  like 
uUiver,  in  all  tlie  pride  of  our  strength,  only 
)  tind  after  our  slumber  that  we  are  bound  by 
i  thousand  Lilliputian  bonds,  each  a  mere  hair 
(i  itself,  but  collectively  forming  a  net-work 
|-om  which  we  cannot  free  ourselves. 
I  The  society  of  Sybil  became  daily  more  neces- 
iiry  to  Mortimer,  lie  no  longer  looked  upon 
[er  as  a  mere  acquaintance,  with  whom  it  was 
ccasionally  pleasant  to  while  away  an  idle 
our;  but  even  in  her  absence  he  constantly 
jferred  to  her  tastes  and  opinions,  and  coupled 
er  image  with  all  his  pursuits.  When  he  acci- 
entally  recalled  to  recollection  an  unusually 
iterestiiig  incident  of  travel,  he  reserved  it 
util  he  could  relate  it  to  Miss  Delamere  ;  and 
',  in  the  course  of  his  reading,  he  was  struck 
y  an  able  passage,  or  a  quaint  conceit,  it  was 
Irthwith  marked,  in  order  that  it  might  be  sub- 
litted  to  her  judgment,  or  made  conducive  to 
er  amusement ;  while  she  no  sooner  appeared 
iian  he  instantly  roused  himself  from  the  languor 
rhich  was  rapidly  becoming  habitual  to  him, 
nd  exerted  himself  to  do  justice  to  his  natural 
nd  acquired  powers  of  mind. 

Aud  day  by  day,  meanwhile,  one  sat  beside 
im  who  was  equally  able  to  appreciate  these 
fforts,  but  who  felt  that  they  were  made  for 
nother.  Delighted  to  see  her  son  gratified  and 
mused,  Mrs.  Mortimer  increased  in  courtesy 
nd  attention  to  tiie  inmates  of  The  Grange, 
ever  dreaming  that  the  matured  and  decided 
eauty  of  Sybil  could  bear  comparison  with  the 
unobtrusive  loveliness  of  her  gentle  niece,  and 
_  nsequently  far  from  suspecting  that  she  was 
iding  and  abetting  in  the  downfall  of  her  own 
isioiis ;  but  Gertrude  was  more  clear  sighted 

Inexperienced  as  she  was  in  the  ways  of  the 

orld  and  in  the  caprices  of  passion,  she  soon 
iscovered  that  Frederic   saw  and  spoke   only 

ith  the  eyes  and  lips  of  Sybil ;  and  with  a  bit- 
er joy  did  she  congratulate  herself  from  hour 
hour,  tliat  she    had   voluntarily  withdrawn 

Piin  a  contest  by  which  her  pride  must  have 
en  wounded,  and  her  independence  com- 
jironiised.  How  often,  entirely  forgotten  or 
j>yerlooked  by  her  cousin  and  liis  brilliant  guest, 
lid  she  continue  riveted  to  her  work-table  by 
he  spell  which  his  presence  never  failed  to  ex- 
rcise  over  her,  listening  to  arguments  in  which 
he  could  well  have  sustained  her  part ;  and  in- 
erpreting  a  thousand  words  and  inferences 
vhich  each  partj'  conceived  to  be  sacred  to 
hemselves ;  how  often  did  she  catch  the  beam 


in  the  eye  of  Frederic  as  it  rested  on  his  beau- 
tiful companion,  and  feel  the  icebolt  upon  her 
heart ! 

Vainly,  however,  did  she  watch  for  any  an- 
swering demonstrations  from  Miss  Delamere. 
Sybil  remembered  her  conversation  with  Morti- 
mer ;  and  although  fully  conscious  of  the  em- 
pire which  she  had  attained  over  his  mind  and 
heart,  she  never  permitted  its  repetition.  To 
all  appearance  she  had,  indeed,  forgotten  the 
circumstance,  for  she  did  not  shun  the  intimacy 
which  Frederic  was  so  anxious  to  establish,  but 
rather  assumed  towards  him  the  bearing  of  au 
elder  sister,  desirous  to  enlarge  his  tastes,  and 
to  diminish  his  enthusiasm.  Nevertheless,  it 
was  certain  that  although  she  might  succeed  in 
the  former  attempt,  she  produced  no  effect  in  the 
latter;  for  Mortimer  was  not  tlie  pupil  calcu- 
lated to  grow  calmer  under  the  teaching  of  such 
a  preceptress  ;  and  thus  Gertrude  remained  a 
melancholy  spectator  of  gaiety  in  which  she 
was  not  called  upon  to  share  ;  and  an  attach- 
ment which  she  was  not  supposed  to  compre- 
hend. 

And  yet — what  would  she  not  have  given  for 
one  of  those  ardent  looks,  one  of  those  heart-in- 
spired tones!  A  year  of  life?  Pshaw!  what 
was  a  year  of  life  to  her,  who,  young  as  she  was, 
had  already  begun  to  feel  how  dreary  a  boon 
existence  may  become  when  coupled  with  disap- 
pointment? At  times,  she  asked  herself  what 
she  had  done  to  merit  such  a  fate ;  but  although 
she  felt  tempted  to  reproach  her  cousin  for  hav- 
ing so  thoroughly  misjudged  her,  never  for  an 
instant  did  her  generous  nature  include  in  its 
transient  bitterness  the  syren  who  had  beguiled 
his  affections.  All  that  had  taken  place  appear- 
ed, on  the  contrary,  so  natural,  that  as  she  gazed 
in  admiring  sadness  upon  the  radiant  woman 
with  whom  she  had  thus  unfortunately  been 
brought  into  collision,  she  felt  at  once  humbled 
and  disheartened;  and,  although  she  believed 
that  she  could  love — that  she  did  love — as  well 
as  Sybil,  she  shrank  from  every  other  comparisoa 
between  them. 

"  Hers  is  the  affection  of  a  day,"  would  she 
mui-mur  in  her  solitude,  "  fed  by  his  presence, 
and  strengthened  by  his  praise;  while  mine  has 
been  the  silent  worship  of  years,  indulged  in  ab- 
sence, alimented  by  hope,  and  encouraged  by 
reason.  But  he  has  no  faith  in  such  a  feeling — 
my  secret  is  my  own,  and  it  is  my  sole  heritage. 
The  delusion  is  at  length  over;  and  the  orphan 
girl  is  alone  with  her  sorrow." 


CIL\PTER  VIL 

And,  meanwhile,  the  p.assion  of  Frederic  for 
Miss  Delamere  increased  hourly;  and  searcely  a 
day  passed  in  which  he  did  not  find  or  invent 
some  pretext  for  a  visit  to  The  Grange.  He  wiu 
himself  unconscious  of  the  Extent  to  which  he 
had  become  enthralled.  Never  once  had  the 
idea  of  declining  the  hand  of  his  cousin  crossed 
his  imagination  ;  in  fact,  ho  rarely  thought  upoa 
the  subject ;  and  when  he  chanced  to  do  so,  it 
was  calmly  and  without  repugnance,  as  an  av- 
rangement  sufficiently  remote  to  present  no  im- 


24 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


mediate  impediment  to  his  tastes  and  pursuits. 
Fully  impressed  witli  the  conviction,  that  the 
event  was  one  of  at  least  equal  indifference  to 
(icrtrude,  he  regarded  it  simply  as  he  did  every 
other  question  of  duty  and  expediency ;  deter- 
mined to  act  correctly  and  uprightly  when  the 
time  should  come,  without  troubling  himself  by 
speculating  upon  its  probable  consequences, 
either  to  his  own  happiness  or  that  of  his  cousin. 
Doing  full  justice  to  the  virtues  and  amiability 
of  his  future  wife,  he  was  satisfied  that  his  mar- 
ried existence  would  be  at  least  calm  and  honor- 
able ;  and  he  believed  that  he  should  be  able  to 
render  hers  equallj'  so ;  but  beyond  this  faith  he 
did  not  venture  to  trust  himself.  He  felt  con- 
vinced that  the}'  should  never  understand  each 
other;  and  he  endeavored  to  forget  a  necessit}- 
from  which  he  made  no  effort  to  escape. 

Nowhere  could  he  so  effectuallj-  do  this  as  in 
tlie  society  of  Sybil,  the  infinite  variety  of  whose 
character  continually  invested  her  with  a  new 
aharm  ;  even  the  mystery  by  which  she  had  sur- 
rounded herself  was  not  without  its  attraction, 
for  it  altogether  destroyed  the  common-place  of 
ordinary  friendship.  To  imply  any  secret  in- 
volving her  honor  or  truth,  Mortimer  felt  to  be 
utterly  impossible;  and  often  as  he  bewildered 
liiiiiself  by  conjectures  on  her  previous  existence, 
it  never  occurred  to  him  that  it  could  comprise 
any  episode  unfavorable  to  her  dignity. 

Moreover,  Miss  Delaniere  had  frankly  de- 
clared her  resolution  never  to  marry;  and  con- 
seijUciitly  their  familiar  intercourse  was  equally 
uiiuiiportant  on  both  sides,  while  it  was  a  per- 
j)etual  source  of  gratification  to  each  party. 

Fascinated  as  he  was,  Frederic  no  longer  pos- 
Bessed  a  sufficicntlj'  unbiased  judgment  to  re- 
flect upon  the  extreme  singularity,  if  not  indeli- 
cacy, of  the  convert  confidence  made  to  him  by 
Sybil.  He  did  not  pause  to  remember  that  such 
intimate  disclosures  are  very  rarely  volunteered 
b}'  an  unmarried  woman  to  an  acquaintance  of 
the  opposite  sex ;  and  never  until  long  and 
tried  friendship  has  removed  the  indelicacy  of 
such  a  communication. 

He  saw  in  it  only  what  Sybil  had  been  anx- 
ious   that   he   should  see ;  an   intention  on   her 


duly  appreciated  by  him.  But  at  length  they 
awakened  the  anxiety  of  the  very  mind  which 
they  were  intended  to  tranquillize;  and  even  when 
Sybil  relieved  her  at  her  tapestry-frame,  and 
with  marvellous  skill  wrought' out  the  most 
charming  and  complicated  fancies,  investing  th» 
very  labors  of  the  needle  with  the  poetry  which 
she  dispensed  over  all  she  touched,  Mrs.  Jlorti- 
mer  began  to  ask  herself  if  these  unwearied 
endeavors  to  please  and  to  oblige,  were  really 
exerted  solely  for  her  own  sake  ;  and  ere  long,  shs 
felt  the  answer  to  be  doubtful  and  unsatisfactory. 

She  remarked  too,  that  when,  on  rare  occa- 
sions, Gertrude  made  an  attempt  to  conquer  her 
depression,  and  to  put  forth  her  innate  powei-g 
of  conversation,  although  Sybil  might  ha>-© 
been  pensive  and  absorbed  a  moment  previous- 
ly, she  immediately  threw  oft"  her  momeutary  ; 
reserve ;  and  with  a  wit  which,  like  Aaron's 
rod,  absorbed  that  of  all  around  her,  speedily , 
repossessed  herself  of  the  attention  of  the  whok  i 
circle. 

From  day  to  day  Mrs.  Mortimer  reflected, 
more  seriouslj'  upon  all  these  circumstances; 
and  the  result  of  her  cogitations  was  a  deter- 
mination to  lose  no  more  time  in  recalling  to 
the  memory  of  Frederic  his  actual  position  as' 
regarded  his  cousin.  Satisfied  that  Gertrude,,' 
whom  she  loved  as  a  daughter,  was  strongly, 
attached  to  her  son,  she  felt  that  she  could  not. 
suffer  her  happiness  to  be  made  the  sport  of: 
one  whom  she  began  to  suspect  of  an  unworthy 
but  not  the  less  dangerous  coquetry  ;  and,  be- 
heving  that  the  evil  had  as  yet  made  too  littlf 
progress  to  render  her  ta«k  one  of  much  difE' 
cult}',  she  consequently  felt  less  repuguanct' 
than  she  otherwise  would  have  done  in  repre  \ 
senting  to  Frederic  the  painful  results  whicl 
might  ultimately  accrue  from  his  present  uqj 
guarded  system  of  conduct. 

Accordingly  as  he  one  morning  entered  th« 
library  where  she  was  engaged  in  writing,  witl 
his  hat  and  gloves  in  his  hand,  and  evidentK 
about  to  leave  the  house,  she  looked  up  froD 
her  desk,  and  inquired  with  a  forced  smile,  i 
he  were  again  about  to  absent  himself  for  tb' 
day? 

I  think  not,  my  dear  mother,"  he  repliec; 


part  to  remove  all  feeling  of  restraint,  and  all 

tinge  of  imprudence  from  their  constant  and  somewhat  confusedl}-,  and  with  evident  anxiet 
increasing  companionship  ;  and  he  was  the  more  |  to  escape  ;  "  I  am  only  going  to  canter  over  t 
strengthened  in  this  coiiTiction  by  the  fact,  that, The  Grange  to  inquire  for  Mrs.  Delaniere,  vrb 
she  rarely  lost  an  opportunity  of  impressing' was  somewhat  indisposed  when  I  returned  las 
upon  him  the  attractions  au(l  virtues  of  his! night;  and  should  she  not  feel  better  to-day, 
cousin.  lis  improbable  that  she  will  wish  for  visitore." 

Several  months  passed  on  thus ;  and  each  "  In  which  case  shall  we  really  see  you  agai 
succeeding  week  Mortimer  spent  less  and  less  in  an  hour  or  two,  my  dear  bov  ?  Gertrude  an,' 
time  at  home;  while  he  generally  so  contrived  1 1  promised  ourselves*  such  derightful  morniufj 
liat  when  he  was  himself  there  Mrs.  and  Miss,  when  you  should  bo  restored  to  us,  that  we  ai 
Delaniere  should  also  be  its  inmates.  No  party!  almost  inclined  to  feel  mortified  by  your  coi, 
of    pleasure   was  complete   without   them :    no  tinual  desertion." 

evening  circle  brilliant  in  which  they  were  not  "Do  you  indeed  miss  me  so  much,  then  i 
included;  and  while  he  found  a  particular }  asked  Frederic  aftVct  innately,  as  he  laid  do\M 
fauteuil,  in  which  the  languid  mother  was  ;  his  hat,  and  drew  a  chair  to  the  side  of  his  m-. 
Drought  to  confess  "that  she  was  really  as  eom-'ther:  "As  to  my  cousin,  I  have  long  had  proi 
fortably  established  as  in  her  own,  the  tables  of  |  that  neither  my  presence  nor  my  absence  ct 
Mrs.  Mortimer  were  constantly  decorated  with  .affect  her  equanimity,  and  consequently  deemei 
clusters  of  beautiful  exotics  gracefully  presented  no  apology  necessary  in  her  case  ;  but  to  you^ 
by  the  attentive  daughter.  iself,  my  dear  mother,  if  indeed  my  wanderini' 

Frederic  was  ten<lerly  nttadied  to  his  mother,  |  tend  to  diminish  your  happiness,  1  cannot  oti' 
and    these   delicate   courtesiof*   were   therefore .  too  many." 


THE  RIVAL  BELVUTIES. 


26 


"Of  late,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer, 
*ith  eometliiiig  which  souiuled  like  a  sign  ;  "  1 1 
have  had  so  few  opportunities  of  conversing  i 
X)nlidentiully  with  you,  that  if  you  can  indeed! 
(pare  me  half  an  hour,  I  would  ask  you  to  defer  j 
rour  visit  until  I  have  spoken  to  you  upon  a 
mhject  in  wliich  all  mj'  best  feelings  are  inte- 
•ested.  You  consent?  Then,  Frederic,  I  will 
i?cnture  to  remind  you  that  you  are  now  more 
Jian  five-aud-twenty,  and  that  it  is  my  dearest 
!*-ish  to  see  you  married,  and  to  tind  myself  sur- 
-ounded  by'new  and  and  attaching  ties  before 
■  am  callei  upon  to  leave  this  world.  I  have, 
!i8  you  may  remember,  already  spoken  to  you 
iipou  the  same  subject,  but  I  now  repeat  my  en- 
Ireaty  most  earnestly  ;  nor  do  I  fear  that  I  shall 
jib  80  in  vain." 

^  She  paused,  but  Mortimer  continued  silent. 
'i  "  You  have  assured  me,"  she  pursued,  after  a 
lime,  '•  that  you  formed  no  attachment  while 
ibroad,  but  that  you  brought  back  to  us  the 
lame  pure  and  atieetionate  heart  with  which 
ou  departed;  and  I  believed  you,  for  you  had 
ever  deceived  me.  You  may,  therefore,  judge 
tf  my  joy  upon  receiving  this  assurance,  for . 
jour  happiness  has  ever  been  the  chief  aim  of 
ly  existence.  You  returned  all  that  my  prayers 
ad  asked — all  that  could  satisfy  the  exactions 
ven  of  a  mother's  ati'ection ;  and  on  my  side  I 
;joice  to  prove  to  you  that  throughout  the 
hole  of  your  absence,  I  had  been  unweariedly 
jcupied  m  securing  to  you  a  wife  worthy  of 
our  noble  virtues.  You  loved  your  cousin, 
oung  as  you  were,  even  before  your  departure ; 
hile  to  Gertrude  you  were  already  more  dear 
lan  any  one  else  on  earth.  I  took  care,  my 
jar  boy,  to  foster  and  encourage  that  afi'ec- 
on ;  for  I  knew  your  nature  too  well  to  fear 

!tber  caprice  or  fickleness  on  your  part.  My 
Foi'ts  were,  however,  unnecessary.  Her  love 
r  you  grew  with  her  growth ;  she  has  sat  for 
urs  at  my  feet,  listening  to  my  speculations 
d  hopes,  and  mingling  her  old  memories  with 
Let  our  conversations  commence  as  they 
ght,  you  were  always  their  closing  theme. 
hen  i  hinted  at  the  dangers  to  which  you 
exposed,  she  stopped  me  with  her  tears  ; 
d  when  I  talked  of  the  blessedness  of  your 
urn,  she  was  radiant  with  delight.  Trust 
a.wonian  can  always  read  a  woman's  heart ; 
ile  the  task  was  doubly  easy  to  one  who, 
e  myself,  felt  a  twofold  interest  in  the  iuves- 
;ation." 

till  Mortimer  listened  in  silence. 
1  was  aware,  however,"  continued  his  mo- 
',  resolutely,  "  that  even  the  love  of  such  a 
It  as  hers  would  not  suttice  alone  to  married 
piness.  For  your  sake,  therefore,  my  dear 
y,  as  well  as  for  her  own,  I  studied  to  make 
uU  that  was  estimable,  both  in  mind  and 
rt,  and  richly  have  1  succeeded;  the  beauty 
ler  person,  faultless  as  it  is,  doep  not  exceed 
t  of  her  character.  She  is  portionless,  it  is 
but  she  is  your  uncle's  cliild,  and  you  do 
',  happily,  re(juire  any  increase  of  fortune ; 
lie  it  IS  certain  tliat  you  can  nowhere  find  a 
more  iiciil\-  endowed  with  personal  charms, 
ntal  qualities,  or  moral  virtues." 
'  I  admit  the  fact  willingly,"  said  Frederic  with 
«*le  lip,  and  an  uncertain  tremor  in  his  voice  • 


for  the  words  and  manner  of  his  mother  had 
enabled  him,  in  a  few  seconds,  to  see  fvirther 
into  the  real  depths  of  his  heart  than  he  had 
ever  before  done,  and  convinced  him  that  he 
had  been  indulging  a  wilful  and  dangerous  self- 
delusion  ;  "  far  be  it  from  me  to  depreciate  in 
the  slightest  degree  the  merits  and  virtues  of 
my  cousin ;  and  yet  I  fear  that  I  could  never 
secure  her  happiness ;  our  dispositions  and  ha- 
bits are  utterly  incompatible.  She  is  too  meek, 
too  retiring ;  and  you  must  forgive  me  if  I  say 
also,  too  uuimpassioiMied  to  satisfy  my  exacting 
tastes.  I  can  quite  comprehend  that  her  affeo- 
tion  for  yourself  led  her  to  feel  an  unaffected 
interest  in  all  your  anxieties  upon  my  account; 
but,  believe  me,  it  was  far  more  for  your  sake 
than  for  mine.  My  impetuosity  would  scare 
her — my  enthusiasm  irritate  her  feelings — my 
defects  become  insupportable  to  her.  In  fact, 
my  dear  mother,  Gertrude  is  too  perfect;  her 
very  placidity  would  chill  me  into  stone ;  and 
thus  we  should  become  a  perpetual  torment  to 
each  other." 

"  You  do  not  judge  your  cousin  fairly,  Frede- 
ric," said  Mrs.  Mortimer  with  increased  serious- 
ness, more  and  more  convinced  that  her  suspi- 
cions had  not  misled  her  :  "  you  make  no  allow- 
ance for  the  peculiarity  of  her  position ;  and  you 
fail  to  recollect  that  you  have  made  no  effort  to 
diminish  its  difficulty.  It  is  true  that  she  has 
not  attempted  to  compel  your  affection,  deeply 
as  she  would  have  prized  it,  for  Gertrude  is  in- 
capable of  every  thing  unwomanly ;  but  surely 
you  would  not  construe  her  delixjacy  into  a 
crime? — Are  her  meekness  and  retiring  modesty, 
indeed,  defects  in  your  eyes?  The  objection  is 
a  novelty  under  such  circumstances.  It  is  true 
that  others  my  be  more  brilliant  in  conversation, 
more  showy  in  manner,  more  coquettish  in  dis- 
position, and,  consequently,  more  attractive  for 
an  hour ;  but  these  are  mere  drawing-room  ac- 
complishments, which  have  little,  indeed,  to  do 
with  lioine-happiness,  and  are  a  most  fallacious 
foundut  ion  for  married  peace.  Gertrude  has  not, 
1  admit,  been  educated  for  the  world,  but — as  I 
fondly  hoped — for  a  better  and  a  purer  destiny." 

"  And  I  trust  that  she  will  yet  fulfil  her  fate," 
said  Frederic  with  a  sigh.  "  There  are  many 
far  worthier  than  myself,  who  will  and  must 
appreciate  her  many  estimable  qualities,  and 
whom  she  may  perhaps  love:  while  I  repeat 
my  conviction  that  she  feels  nothing  more  than 
a  sisterly  aftection  for  myself;  and  I  confess  tliat 
1  have  an  utter  abhorrence  of  all  marriages  of 
expediency." 

Poor  Mrs.  Mortimer,  exhausted  by  an  effort  at 
opposition  so  contrary  to  her  nature,  and  de- 
pressed by  a  disappointment  for  which  she  luid 
been  totally  unj)repared,  could  no  longer  re- 
strain her  tears,  they  fell  fast  in  silence  uncil 
they  were  remarked  by  her  son;  who,  in.staiiily 
subdued  by  the  sight  of  a  sorrow  of  which  lie 
was  himself  the  cause,  hastened  to  entreat  her, 
for  his  sake,  to  compose  herself,  deehuiiig  that 
he  was  ready  to  obey  her  wishes  in  all  tilings. 

As  he  uttered  tins  assurance,  however,  the 
heart  of  Frederic  sank  within  him,  and  lie  felt  as 
though  a  cloud  had  settled  upon  tlie  future. 
Now,  indeed,  he  became  aware  of  lln-  iiiipiro 
which  Sybil  had  acquired  ov»i'  liis  whole  l)eii.g 


26 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


She  never  might  have  consented  to  rescind  her 
resolution,  and  to  become  his  wife  ;  but  he  could 
at  least  have  lived  on  in  hope — lived  on,  as  he 
in  truth  had  done  for  tiie  last  few  months, 
scared}-  caring  to  ask  anything  of  to-morrow, 
but  ricii  in  ail  tlic  happiness  of  to.day. 

"  It  never  could  be  my  wish  to  urge  you  to 
any  act  repulsive  to  your  own  feelings,  my  dear 
boy,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  as  she  wiped  away 
the  largo  drops  wliioh  were  still  coursing  each 
other  down  her  clieeks;  "but  for  many  reasons 
I  felt  it  my  duty  to  be  frank  with  you,  and  even 
to  press  you  upon  this  ^subject.  Your  father's 
dying  entreaty,  your  cousin's  devoted  affection, 
and  tlie  perseverance  with  which  I  myself 
nourished  that  girlish  love  until  I  felt  tiiat  it 
had  become  a  principle  of  her  existence,  all  de- 
termined me  to  the  course  I  have  pursued;  but 
compulsion  in  such  a  case  is,  of  course,  iinna 
tural  and  impossible.  You  are  free  to  act  as 
you  see  fit;  only  I  beseech  you  to  divest  your- 
self of  the  erroneous  belief  that  j-our  own  in- 
difference to  your  cousin  is  returned  by  her. 
Would  that  it  indeed  were  so !  You  have  now 
only  to  express  your  will,  and,  should  you  de 
sire  it,  the  subject  shall  never  again  be  named 
between  us ;  and  you,  at  least,  shall  not  be  made 
the  victim  of  a  fatal  mistake." 

"  I  will  not  disappoint  your  affection,  my  be 
loved  mother,"  said  Frederic,  as  he  rose.  "  In 
obtaining  the  hand  of  a  woman  like  my  cousin 
I  ought  to  feel  liappy ;  and  when  you  inform  her 
that  I  will  make  it  my  study  to  deserve  her 
affection,  slie  will  perhaps  not  scruple  to  admit 
it,  since  you  assure  me  that  such  a  feeling  in- 
deed exist.s."  And  pressing  his  lips  to  the  fore- 
head of  his  agitated  companion,  he  hastily 
left  the  room. 

Mi's.  Moi-timer  no  sooner  found  herself  alone 
than  she  gave  free  vent  to  the  grief  which  she 
had  hitherto  vainly  endeavored  to  suppre: 
She  could  not  conceal  from  her  own  heart  that 
the  concession  of  her  son  had  been  wrung  from 
him  entirely  bj'  his  affection  for  herself;  and  she 
began  to  doubt  in  how  far  she  would  be  justified 
in  accepting  it.  She  trembled,  not  only  for  his 
liappiiiess,  but  for  that  of  Gertrude  ;  for  what 
could  be  anticipated  from  an  union  formed  under 
such  circumstances?  Then,  however,  the  vision 
of  Sybil  rose  before  her,  and  she  almost  shud- 
dered as  she  thouglit  of  the  power  which  this 
showy  and  mysterious  stranger  had  acquired 
over  tiio  mind  and  feelings  of  Frederic. 

The  more  she  reflected,  the  less  did  she  find 
lierseif  able  to  bring  any  definite  or  tangible 
accusation  against  her;  but  nevertheless  there 
was  a  vague  and  undefined  feeling  of  lier  un- 
worthiness  and  craft  whirh  would  obtrude  itself, 
and  a  tiiousand  petty  circumstances  flashed  upon 
her  memory,  all  tending  to  strengthen  the  im- 
pression ;  wiiile,  as  she  recurred  to  tlie  original 
distaste  wliidi  she  had  experienced  towards 
Miss  Dclaint-rc  from  tlie  very  moment  of  their 
introduction  siie  becairx'  almost  superstitious  in 
her  beliif  tliat  it  liad  been  a  warning  to  avoid 
her  actjuaintance,  and  she  felt  tempted  to  visit 
upon  lierself  all  tlu-  blame  of  her  present  trial. 

That  her  idolized  son  siiould  become  the  luis- 
band  of  a  heartless  maneeuvrer  was  a  dread 
60  bitter  that    she    could    not    reflect   upon  it 


without  the  keenest  sufTering;  and  that  thie 
would  inevitably  be  the  case  should  she  reject 
the  promise  which  she  had  so  lately  and  with  so 
much  diflSculty  extorted  from  him,  "she  felt  fatal- 
ly convinced. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  affected  no  overstrained  and 
narrow-minded  bigotry  of  birth,  or  pride  of 
purse  ;  but  she  could  not  calmly  brook  the  idea' 
of  seeing  her  only  son  married  to  a  woman  whol 
found  it  expedient  to  conceal  her  previous  his-' 
tory,  and  to  live  as  though  the  present  were  all 
in  all  to  her.  Frederic  owed  much  to  himself 
and  still  more  to  the  memory  of  his  father,  for 
although  no  aristocrat  by  descent,  his  famiU 
was  ennobled  by  its  honor  and  fair  fiixno,  whih 
he  himself  was,  as  she  well  knew,  ill  constructe( 
to  bear  disgrace,  come  in  what  shape  it  might, 
Yet  here  he  was  willing,  and  even  eager,  to  int 
cur  a  risk  upon  whose  amount  he  could  not  cal 
dilate,  and  to  entrust  alike  his  respeetabilit', 
and  his  happiness  to  a  woman  whose  fair  fae' 
and  brilliant  fascinations  had  undermined  hi' 
reason  and  hoodwinked  liis  prudence.     ,  '. 

The  anxious  motlier  felt  that  his  peril  must  b; 
overcome  at  once;  she  reflected  also  that  Fred«' 
ric  was  incapable  of  forfeiting  his  word,  an' 
that  consequently,  the  more  time  she  suffered  tj 
elapse  before  his  marriage  with  Gertrude,  tl, 
longer  she  should  subject  him  to  a  strugg, 
which  was  evidently  too  painful  to  be  borr: 
calmly ;  while  once  united  to  his  amiable  ar' 
adoring  cousin,  she  could  not  entertain  a  dou': 
that  he  would  soon  appreciate  her  endearii, 
and  attaching  qualities,  and  repay  her  aflFectir 
with  all  the  energy  of  his  nature.  | 

Thus  reassured,  Mrs.  I^Iortimer  became  grad. 
ally  consoled ;  and,  convinced  that  she  was  i' 
suring  at  once  the  happiness  of  her  son  and  th, 
of  his  cousin,  she  closed  her  desk,  and  procetj 
ed  to  the  morning-room,  where  Gertrude  v] 
busily  engaged  in  arranging  fresh  flowers  upoi 
stand  near  the  window,  in  order  to  communicf' 
to  her  the  message  of  her  now  declared  lover.. 

Perhaps  the  gentle  girl  intuitively  felt  tl; 
such  a  tale  would  have  been  more  fitly  told  ' 
Frederic  himself.  Certain  it  is  that,  for  all  ,' 
ply,  she  only  murmured,  as  she  flung  herself  i 
passion  of  tears,  into  the  arms  of  Jlrs.  Mortim 
"  But,  my  dear,  dear  aunt,  do  you  think  that, 
really  loves  me  I" 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

Mkanwhile  Frederic,  dissatisfied  with  himf ;, 
and  conscious  of  the  unmanly  fickleness  wlj» 
he  had  betrayed,  forgot  for  a  brief  time  e  a 
the  bitterness  of  his  disappointment  in  the  it- 
miliation  of  his  self-accusations.  Aware  tt» 
when  the  subject  of  his  marriage  with  his  co  jn 
was  first  broached  by  his  mother,  he  Imc'tt 
;t  tacitly  consented  to  the  arrangement,  d 
thus  misled  her  into  a  belief  that  it  was  con> 
ent  with  his  own  wishes,  he  felt  that  from  » 
moment  he  should  in  honor  have  ceased  to,i»' 
sider  himself  free;  and  that  not  even^ie 
coldness  of  Gertrude  should  have  induced  m 
to  treat  her  with  the  neglect  and  avoid  ce 
which  he  had  exhibited,  until  he  had  ascertf  «<1 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


27 


:rom  her  own  lips  that  his  suit  was  distasteful 
';o  lier. 

'  The  reflection  came,  however,  too  late  ;  for  if 
'(he  had  indeed  loved  him,  her  heart  must  have 
jeen  loo  deeply  wounded  long  to  retain  a  pas- 
lion  which  his  whole  conduct  had  tended  to 
!liscounige  ;  while,  should  his  suspicion  that  he 
[,vas  indifferent  to  her  prove  correct,  and  that 
:ihe  nevertheless  determmed  to  become  his  wife 
(iierelv  in  obedience  to  the  wishes  of  his  parents, 
[lis  prospect  of  happiness  was  even  less  promis 


and  yet  he  was  about  to  commit  the  twofold 
treachery  of  offering  his  h^nd  to  a  woman  whom 
he  did  not  love,  and  of  confessing  his  repug- 
nance to  tliis  union  to  another  whom  he  felt  to 
be,  in  point  of  fact,  her  rival.  Even  his  once 
devoted  affection  for  his  mother  had  been  weak- 
I  cned  by  a  more  engrossing  attachment.  He  no 
i  longer  made  her  happiness  his  first  and  dearest 
'  care ;  there  was  but  one  bright  point  in  the 
horizon  of  his  existence,  and  all  around  it  had 
!  become  dimmed  and  faint. 


Ing.     Where    the    self-love    of   each    party  had|      And  thus  he    slowly   rode    away  from    that 

home  which  liad  ceased  to  be  to  him  what  it 


)een  mortified  there  could  be  little  hope  of  a 
Perfect  intelligence  at  any  period,  however  re- 
note  ;  and  Mortimer,  altliough  unconscious  of 
jhe  extent  of  his  moral  infirmity,  was  prepared 
[o  believe  that  he  could  never  experience  a 
incere  attachment  for  any  woman  who  had 
liviuced  towards  him  tiie  coldness  of  his  cousin. 
I  How  different  had  been  the  whole  bearing 
md  manner  of  Sybil  1  Bound  to  him  by  no  ties 
!>f  either  memory  or  kindred,  she  had  neverthe- 
ess  met  his  advances  towards  a  friendship, 
vhich  now  appeared  doubly  precious,  with  a 
varmth  and  frankness  which  to  him  were  inap- 
ireciable.  As  the  one  repelled,  so  had  the  other 
ncournged  him  ;  and  on  the  part  of  Miss  Dela- 

tiere,  resolved,  as  she  had  declared  herself  to 
e,  never  to  hazard  her  happiness. to  the  keep- 
ing of  another,  there  was,  consequently,  a  beau- 
jiful  disinterestedness  which  proved  that  she 
ralued  him  for  himself,  without  one  ulterior 
firoject.  The  reflection  crossed  his  mind  at  an 
j'.nlucky  moment ;  for,  as  he  mentally  argued, 
ilthougli  he  had  been  rash  enough  to  love  her, 
jven  forewarned  by  an  assurance  which  should 
.ave  proved  an  efficient  safeguard  against  so 
Tofitless  a  passion,  she  was  guiltless  of  all  that 
lad  occurred ,  and  it  behoved  him  to  act  at 
jnce  with  a  sincerity  wortliy  of  her  own,  by 
cquainting  her,  witliout  loss  of  time,  with  the 
Urport  of  his  recent  interview  with  his  mo- 
|lier;  and  assuring  her  that  any  apparent 
hange  in  his  feelings  of  regard  must  be  attri- 
uted  to  his  compelled  position,  rather  tlian  to 
ny  actual  diminution  in  that  friendship  and 
espect  which  would  endure  to  the  end  of  his 
xistence. 

The  human  heart  is  ever  ingenious  in  its  so- 
Ihistry ;  and  thus  Mortimer,  whose  dafly  yearn- 
jig  for  the  society  of  Sybil  was  urging  him  to 
ler  presence,  even  while  writhing  under  the 
[fiFeet8_  of  his  past  vaccillation,  had  little  diffi- 
julty  in  convincing  himself  that  he  was  bound! 
exonerate  his  conduct  from  the  danger  of 
iiBconception,  by  immediately  pouring  forth 
U  the  anguish  of  his  spirit  before  the  very 
•Oman  fiom  whom  it  should  have  been  sacredly 
DRcealed. 

Full  of  this  one  absorbing  idea,  he  forgot  that, 
b  the  most  eventful  moment  of  her  life,  his 
etter  feelings  should  have  led  him  to  the  side  of 
ertrude ;  and  that  it  was  to  lier  alone  tliat  he 
'as  bound  to  confess  his  error,  and  frankly  to 
eclare  his  real  sentiments. 
But  the  whole  nature  of  Frederic  had  become 
langed  since  his  acquaintance  with  Sybil.  The 
idiguant  blood  would  iiave  rushed  to  his  brow, 
ad  the  thirst  of  vengeance  to  his  heart,  had  any 
Ip  breathed  aa  insinuation  against  his  honor; 


once  was ;  and  from  the  two  beings  who  loved 
him  better  than  aught  else  on  earth,  heedless  of 
the  new  wound  wliich  this  untimely  desertion 
must  inflict  on  both,  and  intent  only  upon  justi- 
fying himself  in  the  eyes  of  one  who  had  sud- 
denly superseded  them  in  his  aff'ections. 

Never  had  the  road  between  the  town  and 
The  Grange  appeared  so.long  or  so  gloomy;  for, 
as  though  haunted  by  a  compunction  which  he 
could  not  resist,  he  traversed  it  almost'  at  a 
foot's  pace,  dreading,  nearly  as  much  as  he  de- 
sired, the  coming  interview. 

When  he  at  length  reached  the  lodge,  the  first 
object  which  met  his  eyes  was  Sybil;  Sybil,  in 
'  all  her  beauty,  lingering  upon  a  spot  whence 
she  could  command  the  road  by  which  he  must 
arrive,  and  evidently  awaiting  his  appearance. 
Never  had  she  looked  more  radiant;  a  light 
danced  in  her  deep  eyes  as  she  detected  hia 
presence,  a  slight  flush  rose  to  her  cheek,  and 
there  was  an  earnest  welcome  in  the  gesture 
with  which  she  invited  him  to  alight  and  join 
her.  Jn  an  instant  Frederic  sprang  to  the  ground, 
flung  the  bridle-rein  to  his  groom,  and,  drawing 
'  the  arm  of  his  fair  hostess  through  his  own, 
was  hidden  with  her  in  the  leafy  depths  of  the 
;  shrubbery.  The  indisposition  of  Mrs.  Delamere 
I  was  alike  forgotten  by  both  ;  Sybil  was  full  of 
I  reproaches  on  his  unwonted  tardiness,  which 
I  had,  as  she  declared,  interfered  most  disagree- 
jably  with  her  day's  arrangements,  in  which 
'she  had  very  inconsiderately,  as  it  had  now 
j proved,  done  him  the  honor  to  include  him; 
while  Mortimer  was  oppressed  by  a  remem- 
brance of  the  communication  which  he  was  about 
to  make. 

It  was  strange  that,  with  a  perfect  faith  in 
the  sinceritj'  of  Miss  Delamere's  declaration,  that 
he  could  never  be  to  her  more  tlian  a  valued 
friend,  he  should  nevertheless  find  a  difficulty 
in  entering  upon  his  task  ;  but  the  human  mind 
is  a  complicated  machine,  over  which  its  owner 
sometimes  lacks  control ;  and  thus  Frederic 
strove  to  smile  at  the  sallies,  and  to  appear  in- 
terested in  the  sportive  rebukes,  of  his  beauti- 
ful companion. 

"  Nevertheless,"  continued  Miss  Delamere, 
when  she  at  length  saw  fit  to  conclude  her 
smiling  reproaches,  "  the  lost  time  may  yet  be 
redeemed  in  this  instance — a  rare  case,  you  must 
admit,  Mr.  Mortimer ;  and  one  which  seldom 
occurs  in  life,  where  a  past  folly  can  hope  no 
better  result  than  a  long  repentance, — and  there- 
fore I  will  inform  you,  without  further  delay, 
that  mamma — who,  par  parenihti-se,  is  mucii  bet- 
ter this  morning — has  consented  to  accompany 
me   to   the   Hartwell  ruins.      Bow  say  you  I 


28 


THE  RITAL  BEAUTIES. 


Will  you  be  our  escort,  or  rather,  I  should  have 
said,  our  cicerone,  for  ,to  you  they  must  be  old 
acquaintance  ?  SVe  are,  as  you  know,  mere 
novices  in  the  neigliborhood,  and  need  a  guiding 
hand  ;  therefore  it  will  be  an  act  and  office  of 
courteous  charity  for  which  we  shall  individual- 
ly and  collectively,  be  duly  grateful." 

"  You  are  aware  that  I  am  only  too  happy  to 
obey  your  onlers,  be  they  what  they  may,"  said 
Fredei-ic  with  unaccustomed  gravity. 

"  Yes,  yes,  chevalier  «a?is  peur  et  sans  re- 
proche"  laughed  Miss  Delamere ;  "  I  well  know 
tliat  you  are  a  very  model  of  knightly  virtue  ; 
but  still  I  may  be  permitted  to  suggest  that  you 
might  have  accepted  this  challenge  with  some- 
what less  of  the  '  woful  countenance.'  Believe 
me,  that  its  result  will  be  even  more  innoxious 
than  that  of  the  windmills." 

"  Would  that  I  shared  the  conviction !"  said 
Frederic  with  increased  melancholy ;  "  but,  listen 
to  me  for  one  moment,  while  I  tell  you  that  my 
appearance  here  to-day  is  less  a  pleasure  than  a 
duty ;  and  believe,  in  your  turn  that  there  is 
no  discourtesy  in  such  an  admission.  You  know 
but  too  well,  that  for  months  past  my  only 
hours  of  perfect  happiness  have  been  those  for 
which  I  have  been  indebted  to  your  friendship, 
tliose  which  I  have  spent  in  your  society  :  you 
may  therefore  easily  conceive  that  I  must  have 
a  powerful  and  a  fatal  reason  for  approaching 
you  with  any  other  feeling  than  one  of  unmiti- 
gated delight ;  and  yet  such  is  the  fact." 

An  expression  almost  of  alarm  passed  over 
the  speaking  features  of  Sybil,  as  she  compelled 
herself  to  ask  an  explanation  of  his  meaning. 

"  Miss  Delamere,"  said  Mortimer,  struggling 
with  liis  emotion,  "  you  have  often  congratulated 
me  upon  my  probable  union  with  my  cousin, 
and  1  liave  been  accustomed  to  receive  your 
congratulations  as  calmly  as  they  were  offered; 
for  1  merely  regarded  the  event  after  the  fashion 
tliat  all  men  regard  death,  as  that  which  must 
one  day  happen,  but  of  which  the  period  is  at 
once  distant  and  indefinite.  To  day,  however, 
I  can  do  so  no  longer ;  for  I  have  been  forcibly 
reminded  of  my  engagement,  and  urged  to  fulfil 
it.  In  short,  I  am  no  longer  my  own  master; 
but  am  called  upon  to  devote  myself  to  my  af- 
fianced bride.  Do  you  now  understand  the 
reason  of  a  gloom  so  foreign  to  my  nature  in 
your  society?" 

"  Scarcely,"  replied  his  companion,  with  a 
forced  composure  which  lent  a  strange  coldness 
to  her  manner :  "  Miss  ilortimer  is  so  very 
beautiful — so  very  faultless — that  you  can  have 
no  excuse  for  such  a  caprice.  But  it  is  the 
privilege  of  your  sex  to  disappoint  all  ordinary 
calculations;  and  doubtlessly  the  siiadow  will 
pass  as  speedily  as  it  has  gathered." 

" 'iliis  from  you,  Sybil!"  said  Frederic  re- 
proaclifully. 

"Is  not  the  inference  a  friendly  one?  And 
&XC  we  not — have  we  not  been — fiiends?" 

"  Such  was  my  belief,"  muttered  Mortimer. 

"  So  much,  at  least,  you  may  concede  with 
safety,"  saiil  Sybil  somewhat  haughtily  ;  "  I 
seek  not,  1  have  never  sought,  foj-  more  ;  nor 
do  1  coujprehend  why  your  approacliii  g  union 
witli  Jliss  Mortimer  should  degrade  what  was 
once  a  pleasure,  as  you  have  just  confessed,  into 


a  duty,  I  have  been  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Mor 
timer,  very  frank.  You  will  do  me  the  justic* 
to  admit  that  I  have  never  willingly  interfered 
with  the  happiness  or  claims  of  your  cousin.  I 
explained  to  you  without  reserve,  my  feelinge 
and  my  determination  ;  nor  have  I  seen  auv 
reason  to  alter  or  to  recant  either.  That  youi 
absence  will  create  a  sensible  blank  in  my  every' 
day  existence,  I  avow  without  hesitation;  bu(' 
I  have  neither  right  nor  desire  to  repine  at « 
inevitable  a  deprivation.  We  never  could  hav< 
become  more  to  each  other  than  we  have  been 
and  I  cannot  consequently  marvel  that  we  musi 
now  become  less.  To  a  being  isolated  like  my 
self,  the  possession  of  congenial  eompanionshij 
is  undoubtedly  a  great  boon ;  but  I  advance  m 
pretensions  to  retain  it  when  it  militates  agains 
the  higher  and  dearer  claims  of  another." 

"  Enough,"    said   Frederic    almost    fiercely 
"  Enough  !     You  know  your  power,  Sybil,  aD- 
you  are  merciless.     I  teil  you,  with  a  freedoii 
equal  to  your  own,  that  no  such  resolution  a' 
you  have  formed  will  ever  resist  the  real  ini 
pulse  of  a  true  woman-heart ;  and  that,  had  , 
possessed  the  qualities  which  should  have  wo. 
you  despite  all  your  pride  and  all  your  pliiili 
sophy,  jou  would  have  responded  to  my  affe I 
tion.     And  oh!  had  it  indeed  been  so,"  he  ai| 
ded  passionately,  as  he  possessed  himself  of  tli 
small  and  trembling  hand  that  still  rested  up(| 
his  arm,   "  I  would  have  braved  even  mym; 
ther's  tears  and  my  cousin's  scoin,  to  make  yd 
mine.     No  consideration  upon  tiiis  earth  sliou; 
have  parted  us.     But  I  was  not  worthy  of  yo; 
I  am  the  victim  of  my  own  frantic  seif-dehisio' 
and  must  abide   my   fate.     You,   at  least,  a; 
spared  the  pang  of  self-reproach  ;  from  Die  fii| 
you  spurned  and  discouraged  a  ])assion  to  wLi; 
you  found   no  answer  in  your  own  breast,  a  I 
you   have   acted   generously  and    nobly.      T; 
fault  and   folly  have   been  all   niv  own  ;  am 
must  endeavor  to  expiate  tiiem  with  what  coi 
age  I  can  command.     All  that  I  venture  to  «• 
is,  that  you  will  not  witiidraw  your  esteem  fr«; 
one  to  whom  it  has  become  indeed  precious,  h 
to  whom  you  have  resolutely  refused  the  dear 
]>rivilege    of  living    for   your    happiness.      Ii 
doom  is  now  sealed  ;  in  a  few  montlis,  jtrobal 
a  few  weeks, — for  I  care  not  liow  nor  wiien  li 
destinj-  m'ay  be  accomplished, — 1  sliall  heco/ 
the   husband   of  my  cousin — of  a  woman  w  , 
however,  beautiful  and  gifted,  has  never  \o\j 
me,  and  whom  1  can  never  love.     To  frieiidslji 
only  must  1  look,  therefore,  for  tliat  rcniiiaiilt 
haj>i)iness  which  will  be   requisite  to  render  '' 
future  existence  endurable;  and  where  cail 
seek  it  so  efiectui.Uy  as  at  your  hands  ?" 

"  I  am  no  changeling  in  either  heart  or  f^' 
ing,  Mr.  Mortimer,"  said  Sybil,  slowly  and  - 
afiectcdly  disengaging  her  hand  from  his  clil'. 
"  So  long  ns  we  continue  at  the  Grange,  so  I  j? 
will  you  be  a  welcome  guest  beneath  its  i  ;f. 
I  sliould  have  rejoiced  to  see  you  with  mor 'f 
the  elected  lnidegKiom  in  your  mood  and  n<>- 
ncr,  but  1  suppose  that  1  must  accept  you  u;n 
your  own  term.s.  And  now  let  us  part;  we  s;ll 
be  wise  not  to  discuss  tiiis  subject  niorealler|iii 
for  it  is  one  which  is  in  some  degree  painfull 
us  botli.  Your  groom  is  probably  awaitii.g  A 
long  ere  this,  at  the  house." 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


30 


"And  <»nr  expedition  to  the  ruins!"  asked 
iFrederic  witli  sudden  eagerness. 
[  '•  Must  be  deferred,"  said  Sybil,  pressing  her 
forehead  Avith  lier  iinnd.  "  1  do  not  feel  quite 
Veil,  and  faney  that  I  have  already  over-walked 
nivself.  We  will  tlirow  that  project,  along  with 
[many  others,  into  the  casket  of  the  future." 
[  "  Suffer  me  at  least  to  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs. 
belainere,"  persisted  Mortimer,  who  could  not 
[conceal  his  mortification  at  this  unexpected  dis- 
missal, and  who  was  anxious  before  his  depar- 
ture from  The  Grange  to  overcome  the  sudden, 
land  to  him  unaccountable  reserve  of  Sybil. 
[  "  My  mother  has  not,  in  all  probability,  left 
lier  room,"  was  the  discouraging  rejoinder;  "and 
[is  still  languid  from  the  indisposition  of  yester- 
iiay.  I  will  faithfully  convey  your  remem- 
[jrBnces  and  good  wishes.  And  here,  most  op- 
■portunely,  is  your  gallant  bay  !  He  is,  in  truth, 
li  noble  creature :  and  were  I  addicted  to  the 
Isomewliat  paltry  vice  of  envy,  I  should  be  per- 
haps inclined  to  covet  the  possession  of  so  fine 
[»n  animal.  As  it  is,  I  congratulate  him  upon 
[laving  fallen  into  the  hand  of  one  who  can  alike 
|i])preciate  and  enhance  his  merits.  Do  not  fail 
.0  offer  my  sincere  regards  to  Mrs.  Mortimer 
|»nd  her  niece,  and  give  Surrey  his  head  if  you 
[woiild  reach  home  in  time  for  luncheon." 
i  And  with  a  graceful  and  calm  bow.  Miss 
^elamere  turned  away,  and  disappeared  within 
Jie  portico. 


CHAPTER  IX 

■  The  reflections  of  Mortimer  during  las  home- 
ward ride  were  of  strangely  conflicting  nature  ; 
[or,  wliile  the  extraordinary  and  sudden  coldness 
!>f  Sybil  pained  his  heart,  it  nevertheless,  by  a 
'ingtilar  antithesis,  flattered  his  vanity.  There 
VHS  only  one  way  ef  accounting  for  conduct  so 
vny  ward  and  unexpected  ;  and  he  felt  satisfied, 
hat  even  while  she  rejected  his  love,  she  could 
lot  endure  the  idea  that  he  should  become  en- 
grossed by  another.  And  if  this  were  indeed 
rue,  what  did  it  prove  ?  Assuredly  that  Miss 
)elamere  had  permitted  herself  unconsciously  to 
eel  a  deeper  interest  in  him  and  his  aff'ections 
Jian  she  apprehended  to  be  possible  under  the 
areimistances. 

The  heart  of  Frederic  throbbed  proudly  as  the 
conviction  grew  stronger  every  instant.  He  felt 
hat  he  was  loved,  and  that  he  had  compelled 
his  love  whicli  had  been  so  steadfastly  refused 
o  him  ;  loved  by  a  woman  of  genius  and  en- 
iiiusiasm,  who  liad  instinctively  yielded  to  a 
bassion  which  she  had  foresworn,  against  which 
^e  iiad  struggled,  but  which  had  proved  too 
pighty  for  her  strength. 

And  he  had  only  learnt  this  truth  when  it  was 
[oo  late :  when,  for  the  second  time,  he  had  pro- 
jnised  to  fulfil  the  wishes  of  his  mother,  and  to 
bimolate  his  happiness  to  what  he  had  been 
aiight  to  consider  as  his  duty.  Tlie  eftort  had 
ken  sufliciently  bitter  when  it  was  made,  but 
khal  must  it  be  now  ?— now  that  he  was  loved 
Mr  Sybil— that  the  wildest  dream  of  his  ambi- 
(lon  was  realized,  and  that  all  he  coveted  on 
!«rth  was  within  his  grasp  ? 


To  his  impetuous  nature  there  was  madness 
in  the  thought;  and,  slirinking  from  a  renewed 
exhibition  of  his  weakness  to  his  mother,  and 
goaded  by  a  host  of  feelings  each  more  power- 
ful than  that  by  which  it  had  been  preceded,  he 
had  resolved,  "long  ere  he  had  reached  home, 
to  throw  himself  upon  the  generosity  of  Ger- 
trude. 

He  was  conscioiis  of  the  humiliation  to  which 
he  must  inevitably  expose  himself  by  such  a 
proceeding  ;  nor  was  he  by  any  means  blinded 
to  the  fact  of  its  want  of  delicacy-  and  considera- 
tion ;  but  still,  in  the  selfishness  of  his  passion, 
he  could  not  forbear  a  feeling  of  gratulation  at 
the  conviction,  that  by  these  means  he  could  not 
fail  to  recover  his  freedom,  for  that  the  pride  ot 
his  cousin  would  necessarily  lead  her  to  spura 
all  claim  upon  a  reluctant  hand,  and  to  liberate 
him  from  his  engagement  on  the  instant. 

Perfectly  satisfied  in  his  own  mind,  despite 
the  assurances  which  he  had  received  from  his 
mother,  that  the  feelings  of  Gertrude  would 
suffer  no  pain  from  his  secession,  and  that  her 
vanity  alone  would  be  wounded  ;  he  gave  him- 
self no  uneasiness  as  to  its  ultimate  effect  upon 
her  happiness  ;  but  he  could  not  feel  so  well  as- 
sured that  Mrs.  Mortimer  would  display  equal 
philosophy.  He  was  aware  that  beneath  her 
apparent  placidity  she  possessed  quick  and 
strong  sensibility,  coupled  with  a  stern  and  rigid 
sense  of  honor;  and  that  the  first  would  be" 
painfully  excited  by  his  desertion  of  the  being 
whom,  next  to  himself,  she  loved  the  best  on 
earth  ;  while  a  failure  in  the  last,  in  the  person 
of  her  own  son,  could  not  fail  to  wound  her  to 
the  very  soul. 

For  an  instant  the  spirit  of  Mortimer  quailed, 
and  he  almost  shrank  from  exposing  her  to  such 
a  trial ;  but  in  the  next,  the  form  of  Sybil  rose 
before  him — Sybil,  who  by  an  effort  might  now- 
become  his  own  ;  and  once  more  he  nerved  him- 
self to  his  ungracious  task. 

Gertrude  might  still  be  ignorant  of  his  morn- 
ing conference  with  his  mother — he  forgot  that 
he  had  been  absent  during  two  long  hours — and 
should  this  hope  be  realized,  his  difficulty  as  re- 
garded the  interview  with  herself  would  be 
materially  diminished,  for  he  was,  at  least,  guilt- 
less of  any  attempt  to  win  her  affections ;  and 
she  must  consequently  acquit  him  of  a  want  of 
consistency,  of  which  he  was  innately  more 
disposed  to  feel  ashamed,  than  of  the  more 
vital  fault  which  he  was  about  wilfully  to  com- 
mit. 

Thus,  careless  alike  of  winning  and  of  retain- 
ing his  love,  and  unconscious  that  he  had  him- 
self recently  given  her  a  right  to  consider  her- 
self as  the  arbiter  of  his  destiny,  it  was  not 
impossible  that  he  might  even  so  far  work  upon 
her  sisterly  attachment  as  to  constitute  her  his 
advocate  with  his  justly  irritated  and  offended 
mother — for  Frederic  had  suddenly  become  di- 
plomn'ic  in  his  provisions.  In  short,  as  he 
reined  up  his  horse  at  the  gate  of  the  avenuo, 
he  had  almost  succeeded  in  bringing  himself  to 
believe  that  he  hail  already  overcome  the  ob- 
stacles which  had  seemed  so  apjmlliiig  at  a  first 
glance;  and  that  happiness  and  Sybil  were  to 
be  won  by  a  simple  wish. 

He  had  scarcely  alighted,  however,  ere  the  il« 


30 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


lusion  vanished.  ITow  cnsy  nre  tlie  conquests 
which  we  iicliievc  before  we  encounter  the  ene- 
my! How  ehiquent  tlie  addresses  Avhicli  we  de- 
liver before  we  are  brouglit  face  to  face  with  our 
interlocutor!  But,  alas  for  the  promises  upon 
which  we  pride  ourselves!  How  often  does  the 
valor  which  had  previously  borne  us  up,  evapo- 
rate before  the  presence  of  the  adversary,  and 
the  aspect  of  the  auditor! 

And  so  it  was  with  Frederic.  He  had  no 
sooner  entered  the  hall,  recognized  the  door 
which  in  all  probability  alone  separated  him 
from  his  cousin,  than  he  began  to  feel  that  the 
path  which  he  had  traced  for  himself  was  by  no 
means  strewn  with  roses;  and  it  was  conse- 
quently, almost  with  a  sensation  of  relief  that, 
upon  entering  the  breakfast-room,  he  found  it 
occupied  by  both  his  mother  and  Gertrude. 

The  welcome  of  the  former  was  affectionate 
but  somewhat  sad;  for  she  felt  that  his  arrival 
had,  under  the  circumstances,  been  too  long  de- 
ferred. She,  however,  uttered  no  reproach, 
while  the  conscious  girl  beside  her,  trembling 
w^itli  mingled  fear  and  happiness,  having  greeted 
him  with  a  forced  smile  and  a  burning  blush, 
once  more  bent  her  fair  face  in  silence  over  her 
work-frame.  Suddenly  remembering  some  im- 
]inrtant  omission  in  her  household  arrangements, 
Mrs.  Mortimer  hastened  to  leave  the  room  ere 
any  other  subject  could  be  broached  ;  and  Frede- 
ric, who  had  not  yet  overcome  his  agitation, 
found  himself  tete-d-iefe  with  his  formidable 
cousin. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  walk  to  the  window, 
where  he  stood  for  and  instant,  gazing  fixedly 
on  the  objects  beyond,  but  utterly  unconscious 
in  what  "they  consisted ;  his  next,  to  turn  ab- 
ruptly toward  his  silent  companion,  who  still 
leant  over  her  work,  as  though  intent  only  upon 
its  progress.  He  would  have  compensated  the 
chance  of  escape  with  half  his  fortune,  but  it 
was  too  late ;  and  finally,  by  a  desperate  effort, 
he  flung  himself  into  a  chair  which  chanced  to 
stand  near  her,  and  grasped  the  delicate  hand 
that  rested  on  the  tapestry. 

"  Gertrude,"  he  said,  in  an  accent  which  she 
could  scarcely  recognise  as  that  of  her  calm  and 
indifferent  cousin,  and  which,  for  an  instant,  she 
almost  believed  to  be  agitated  by  anxious  affec- 
tion ;  "  yoii  have  much  with  which  to  reproach 
me.  I  feel  that  I  must  have  disappointed  most 
cruelly  the  anticipations  of  your  fond  and  sister- 
ly regard;  but  I  trust  to  your  generosity,  to  your 
forgiveness.  Perhaps  wc  have  not  understood 
eacii  other.  "We  parted  as  those  ever  part  who 
have  been  dear  to  each  other,  while  we  met 
again  almost  as  strangers.  It  is  possible  that  I 
may  have  forgotten  the  changes  which  time 
never  fails  to  produce  on  the  feelings  of  a  child 
who  has  expanded  into  a  fair  and  beautiful  wo- 
man ;  while,  on  your  part,  you  nuvy  have  omitted 
to  make  a  duo  allowance  for  the  influence  wiiich 
circumstances — which  events — which,  in  short 
■ — But  I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  past;  only  per- 
mit me  to  hope  tliat  we  may,  at  last.  Although, 
pcrha])S,  still  in  an  imperfect  manner,  understand 
each  other." 

Gertrude  raised  her  large  blue  eyes  to  his  in 
inquiring  wonder,  but  she  could  not  articulate  a 
syllable.     Her  heart  tlirobbed  painfully ;  a  pre- 


sentiment of  some  coming  trial  oppressed  her, 
and  once  more  her  head  sank  upon  her  bokorn! 

"  You  have  been  informed,  my  dear  cousin,' 
continued  Frederic  hurriedly,  for  he  had  passi,!- 
the  Rubicon,  and  now  only  "sought  to  teiniinnt. 
the  interview  as  speedily 'as  possible,  "that,  ii 
his  last  hours,  my  father  expressed  a  wish  tlm 
we  should  one  day  be  more  closely  united,  wliil, 
such  was  also  my  own  most  ardent  hope  when 
returned  to  a  home  *o  painfully  bereaved.    Tlia 
was,  however,  as  you  well  know,  no  moment  ii 
which  to  enter  upon  such  a  subject,  and,  perhaps 
the  circumstance  -^as  fortunate  for  both  of  u.- 
We  had  been  too  long  strangers.    We  were  oiu 
selves  unconscious  of  the  changes  to  which  w- 
had  been  subjected,  nor  had  much  time  elapse, 
ere  I  felt  the  fact;  but  believe  me,  my  swci 
cousin,   that  I  no  sooner  found  myself  an  alic 
from  your  heart,  than  I  tacitly  withdrew  m 
claim."  'j 

Gertrude  gasped  for  breath ;  but  even  ovei' 
powered  as  she  was  by  this  singular  addrcp;' 
coming  so  immediately  at  the  close  of  the  coiij 
munication  made  only  that  morning  by  her  aim ' 
her  innate  sense  of  dignity  prompted  her  at  one' 
to  reply —  i 

"  You  are  free,  Mr.  Mortimer.  On  my  side,  I 
advance  no  claim  upon  your  affections.  Yc' 
are  the  son  of  my  benefactors — your  will  is  m' 
duty.  Spare  both  yourself  and  me  a  disciissit' 
which  must  pain  us  both."  ; 

"  You  misconceive  me,  Gertrude,"  eagerly  r' 
sponded  Mortimer,  who,  anxious  to   exonera' 
his  own  conduct,  was  blind  to  the  intuitive  &< 
licaoy  of  her  motive,  and,  for  the  moment,  cvi! 
misunderstood  himself.     "  If  I  could,  for  a  m; 
ment,  have  flattered  myself  that  I  had  crent- 
an  interest  in  your  bosom  beyond  that  of  nio' 
relationship  and  habit,  I  should  have  acted  ve  ' 
differently;     but    you     have    been    consistc' 
throughout.      We  have  lived  under  the  sni 
roof,  without  one  sympathy  in  common.     I  bn 
done   homage  to  your  admirable   qualities  [ 
mind  and  heart;  I  have  felt,  and  ever  shall  foi 
deeply  grateful  for  your  devoted  and  filial  aif* 
tion  towards  my  admirable  mother;  I  ackno! 
ledge  all  the  obligation  which  we  owe  you,  1 
I   base    no    presumptuous    hope   U])on   feclii 
which  have  borne  no  reference  to  myself."     I 

"  Frederic,"  said  Miss  Mortimer,  who  iusti , 
tively  felt  the  real  tendency  of  his  expressio 
and  whose  honest  pride  supplied  her  witli  t(J 
porary  strength,  "  there  needs  no  exonernt ; 
where  there  has  been  no  wilful  fault.  We  ';■ 
not  constituted  for  each  other;  and  forgive  li 
mv  dear  cousin,  if  I  venture  to  entreat  that  yi 
will,  at  least,  spare  yourself.  You  have  rent  '• 
ed  tlie  concession  of  this  morning,  and  I  uv- 
you — I  have  need  to  thank  you  (for  that  fi  I 
acquiescence,  wrung  from  a  reluctant  he.), 
might  have  involved  us  in  one  common  miseij) 
that  you  are  frank  enough — feeling  that  }yt 
affection  for  a  beloved  mother  had  led  you  ii' 
a  fatal  error — to  confess  your  mistake  at  oi', 
and  to  confide  in  my  friendship  to  restore  ;:J 
to  hapi)iness.  Be  hapi)y,  Frederic,  be  happ 
gasped  the  soul-stricken  girl.  "  Do  not  let  '« 
tliought  of  me  cloud  tlie  horizon  of  your  c> 
fence.  I  know  all  that  you  could  tell  m;l 
have  known,  I  have  seen  it  long.     My  sist'  ' 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


SI 


reenrd  lins  boen  too  sincere  to  look  blindly  iipon 
tJie  attacliiuent  by  which  you  are  absorbed. 
You  owe  me  no  explanation,  no  excuse.  Per- 
haps I  could  have  wished  that  you  had  spared 
[  me  the  trial  of  to-day,  but  it  is 'now  over,  and, 
■  henceforth.  I  entreat  you  to  think  of  me  only  as 
;  a  devoted  friend." 

"  Gertrude,  what  can  you  mean?" 
"Would  you  urge  nie  to  be  more  explicit? 
Surely  it  is  unnecessary.  My  path  is  plain.  I 
owe  all  to  you  and  your  parents.  Suffer  me  to 
pav  back  the  debt.  You  did  not  imderstand  the 
heart  that  you  have  wrung;  and  the  fault  lias 
perhaps  been  my  own.  Let  me  but  see  you 
iiappy,  and  I  care  not  for  myself." 

"Happy!"  echoed  Mortimer;  "can  I  be  hap- 
py otherwise  than  by  the  happiness  of  those 
about  me  ?  You  are  incomprehensible.  From 
tlie  first  moment  of  our  meeting,  you  have 
sluinned  and  avoided  me.  I  come  to  you  in  all 
frankness  to  explain — it  may  be  to  atone — " 

"  I  require  no  atonement,"  said  the  heroic 
pirl,  as  she  swept  back  the  rich  clusters  of  her 
liair,  and  met  his  gaze  unshrinkingly.  "  Do  not 
; -waste  an  instant  upon  me.  My  aunt  must  be 
j reconciled  to  your  change  of  purpose.  Confide 
iin  my  regard.  I  have  been  weak,  very  weak ;  I 
ishould  have  known  by  experience,  that  a  sincere 
affection  cannot  lightly  be  rooted  out,  and  I 
'should  have  felt  that  itVill  admit  no  substitute. 
■Frederic,  you  love  Miss  Delamere,  and  I  covet  no 
reluctant  heart.  Forget  that  Gertrude  ilortimer 
lexists,  or  remember  her  only  as  the  babj^-play- 
mate  who  amused  your  boyhood ;  but  never 
cease  to  remember  that,  in  j-our  orphan  cousin, 
you  have  a  friend  whose  every  energy  will  be 
exerted  to  spare  you  one  pang,  to  deliver  you 
from  one  suffering.  Only  be  just  alike  to  your- 
pelf  and  to  me.  Only  confess  that  you  have 
bestowed  your  affections  elsewhere,  and  that  I 
am  the  sole  obstacle  to  your  happiness,  and, 
|then,  believe  that  the  obstacle  is  at  once  and 
jforever  at  an  end.  Shall  it  not  be  so?"  she  ask- 
ed, as  she  extended  her  hand  with  a  smile  so 
ghastly  that  all  the  anguish  of  a  bursting  heart 
ippeared  to  have  settled  upon  her  livid  lip. 
'  Will  you  not  do  me  the  justice  to  confide  in 
ny  affection,  and  to  rely  iipon  my  truth  ?" 

"  Gertrude,  I  do  not  "know  you!"  murmured 
ffcderic,  a]ipalled  by  the  change  which  had 
)asscd  over  her  faultless  features :  "  Can  you 
ndeed  feel — and  for  me  ?" 

No  words  would  suffice  to  convey  the  ex- 
jression  of  mingled  tenderness  and  reproach 
yhich  for  a  brief  instant  lighted  up  the  tearful 
lyes  of  the  orphan ;  but  in  the  next  moment 
hey  were  again  averted,  and  their  long  lashes 
ell  like  a  veil  upon  her  pallid  cheeks." 

"Gertrude !"  gasped  Frederic,  as  he  started 
rem  his  chair,  and  turned  away;  "you  have 
)cen  veri/  cruel." 

For  a  short  time  no  sound  was  aiidible  save 
he  hurried  tread  of  Mortimer,  as  he  paced  ra- 
>idly  to  and  fro  the  ajiartment;  but  at  length 
le  paused  once  more  beside  the  work-frame. 

"  I  was  prepared  to  love  you,"  he  whispered 
ioarsely ;  ••  I  did  love  you  ;  but  you  repelled  me. 
ily.  mother  had  vaunted  your  tenderness,  your 
miability,  your  devotion,  and  I  yearned  to  pos- 
eas  myself  of  your  affections.      But  how   did 


you  meet  me,  Gertrude?  Jfow?  I  cannot  live 
without  the  love  of  those  about  me :  not  the 
mere  commonplace  of  habit,  whose  attachment 
is  shared  alike  by  all  that  surrounds  it;  but  deep 
and  exclusive  love — that  love  '  even  unto  death,' 
which  fills  the  heart  to  overflowing,  and  can  be 
poured  only  upon  one  object;  I  yearned  for  it — 
panted  for  it — I  sought  it  at  your  hands ;  silently 
it  is  true,  but  earnestly ;  and  it  was  refused  '. 
me.  I  looked  further ; — I  may  deceive  myself 
— but  I  at  least  believed  that  I  had  found  it — I 
believe  so  still.  You  now  possess  my  secret, 
Gertrude.  My  whole  being  is  absorbed  in  the 
passion  to  which  I  have  delivered  myself  up. 
My  very  existence  depends  upon  its  success.  I 
am  no  longer  master  of  my  own  feelings.  If  I 
have  indeed  wronged  your  timid  nature — " 

"Enough — enough,"  murmured  Miss  Morti- 
mer almost  inaudibly ;  "  We  are  friends,  Frede- 
ric— Do  you  now  understand  me?  Friends — 
We  must  never  again  speak  upon  this  subject. 
How  can  I  now  serve  you  ?  I  am  ready." 

The  low  sigh  of  her'  listener  was  his  first  re- 
sponse. He  felt  all  the  cruelty  of  the  step  that 
he  had  taken  when  it  was  too  late  to  remedy  the 
evil.  His  mother  had  judged  correctly — Ger- 
trude loved  him  ;  but  what  was  such  a  love  to 
him  now?  His  whole  heart  and  hope  were 
bound  up  in  Sybil.  He  knew  not,  he  could  not 
know,  a  second  affection.  It  was  too  late  to 
shrink  before  tlie  dread  of  giving  pain  to  an- 
other ;  his  existence  was  on  the  die ;  and  his 
path,  though  it  might  be  difficult,  was  plain. 

I  am  aware  that  my  hero  will  disappoint  more 
than  one  of  my  readers ;  I  early  vaunted  both 
his  mental  and  moral  qualities;  I  drew  a  glow- 
ing picture  alike  of  his  heart  and  head ;  and 
yet  I  have  suffered  him  to  fail  under  his  first 
trial.  I  have,  however,  no  apology  to  make — I 
am  simply  relating  a  tale  of  every-day  life,  in 
which  all  the  actors  are  human;  and  did  I  ven- 
ture to  paint  a  perfect  mortal,  I  should  but  cari- 
cature my  fellow-beings. 

It  is  possible  that  Frederic  might  have  suc- 
cessfully withstood  every  other  weakness,  every 
other  snare,  laid  for  him  by  his  own  passions 
and  prejudices;  but  in  Sybil  he  had  unfortii- 
nately  encountered  tlie  arbitress  of  his  destiny. 
He  believed  that  she  loved  him  passionately, 
because  unwillingly;  and  that  belief  fostered 
his  peculiar  failing. 

Nevertheless  he  was  still  the  wai-m-hearted, 
affectionate,  and  generous  being  whom  I  form- 
erly depicted — as  upright  as  honorable,  and  as 
right-minded  as  ever ;  but  he  had  learned  to 
view  most  things  through  a  species  of  moral 
prism,  which  distributed  its  tints  according  to 
his  own  morbid  feelings.  His  passion  for  Sj'bil 
had  colored  all  his  thoughts  ;  and,  in  short,  he 
was  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  no  longer  master  of 
his  own  impulses.  His  affection  for  (iertrude  still 
continued,  but  its  nature  was  changed  ;  she  was 
to  him  as  a  dear  sister,  but  no  more  ;  her  unob- 
trusive beauty  and  quiet  virtues,  when  compar- 
ed with  the  dazzling  loveliness  and  captivating 
qualities  of  Miss  Delamere,  sank  into  shade,  and 
were  almost  negatived;  he  respected  her  cha- 
racter, he  felt  her  worth,  but  liis  heart  refused 
to  ratify  the  decision  of  his  i-enson. 

Weak,  but  still  worthy,  he  was  conscious  of 


82 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


r11  the  fanltinoss  of  his  indecision,  and  pained 
by  the  suffenng  which  it  had  induced,  although 
incapable  of  sacrificing  his  own  dream  of  liappi- 
ness  in  order  to  mitigate  its  effects  ;  and  it  was 
consenuently,  with  deep  feeling  that  he  again 
took  tne  hand  of  his  cousin,  as  he  said, — 

"  I  accept  the  friendship  so  frankly  offered, 
Gertrude  ;  and  in  return  1  tender  you  the  fond- 
tst  affection  of  a  brother.  I  know  all  your 
worth  ;  perhaps  I  only  appreciate  its  full  value 
too  latii;  but  of  this  it  is  vain  to  speak.  I  throw 
mj-self  upon  your  kindly  offices.  No  one  has 
more  inffuence  over  my  mother  than  yourself; 
exert  that  influence  in  my  behalf  I  fear  that 
what  you  have  to  tell,  and  to  defend,  will 
wound  her  deeplj- ;  but  she  loves  me,  and  will 
forgive  all,  if  you  become  my  advocate.  May 
the  day  arrive  in  which  I  am  enabled  to  repay 
your  goodness !  Believe  me,  I  shall  knoAV  how 
to  be  eloquent,  when  your  happiness  is  to  re 
ward  my  exertions." 

The  j)ale  cheek  of  Gertrude  flushed  for  an  in 
stant.  She  could  offer  no  reply  to  such  an  as- 
surance, feeling  as  she  did  that  for  her,  hence- 
forward the  word  happiness  would  be  a  mere 
empty  sound.  She  simply  clasped  the  hand  of 
her  cousin  in  her  own,  and  ratified  by  a  look 
tlie  promise  she  had  already  made. 

She  had  scarcely  done  tliis  when  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer re-entered  the  apartment ;  a  happy  smile 
was  upon  her  lips,  and  words  of  self-gi-atulation 
were  readj-  to  burst  forth  ;  for  she  believed 
that  her  absence  had  enabled  Frederic  to  com- 
pensate to  his  cousin  for  all  her  past  sufferings  ; 
but  the  light  faded  from  her  eye,  and  the  eon- 
grattilations  died  upon  her  tongue  as  she  ap- 
proached them  :  it  was  at  once  evident  that 
both  would  bo  ill-timed  ;  a  conviction  which 
was  strengthened  by  the  fact,  that  as  she  had 
appeared,  her  son  hastily  seized  his  hat,  and 
hurried  from  the  room. 

"Gertrude!"  she  exclaimed  anxiously:  "What 
is  the  meaning  of  this?  Can  it  be  possible  that 
Frederic  has  again  deceived  me  ?" 

But  Gertrude's  strength  was  now  exhausted  ; 
and  she  could  only  bury  her  face  upon  her 
tapestry-frame,  and  give  free  vent  to  the  bitter 
tears  of  humiliation  and  blighted  hope. 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Mortimer  stood  aghast; 
Bhc  couhl  not  mistake  the  nature  of  the  emotion 
upon  wiiich  she  looked.  It  was  evident  that 
this  was  no  outpouring  of  an  oppressive  happi- 
ness, which  sought  to  relieve  itself  in  a  passion- 
ate burst  of  feeling;  there  was  no  struggling 
smile  to  revtal  the  latent  joy;  no  effusion  of 
aifectionate  tenderness  towards  herself  to  chal- 
lenge her  ready  sympathy.  She  saw  at  once 
tliat  the  cold  drops  which'  trickled  through  the 
Blender  fingers  were  wrung  from  the  heart's  sor- 
row ;  and  foigctting  for  an  instant  all  the  de- 
voted love  wliieh  she  bore  towards  her  son,  she 
attempled  at  once  to  console  her  niece,  and  to 
relieve  her  own  feelings,  by  giving  loose  to  the 
indignant  aiig'-r  which  his  vacillating  conduct 
had  awakere  1  in  her  generous  spirit. 

Only  for  a  moment,  however,  did  the  noble 
girl  sulVerflie  outbreak  of  her  iriitation  to  have 
way.  Rousing  herself  by  a  powerful  elTort,  she 
lifted  her  p'de  face  from  its  resting-jilace,  and 
dashing  away  the  tears  which  still  crowded  into 


her  dim  eyes,  she  hastened  to  declare  that  tl 
blame  of  all  that  had  occurred  rested  soleh-  wit 
herself;  that  her  own  vanity,  her  own  wea^ 
ness,  had  alone  led  to  this  distressing  scen< 
that  her  cousin  had  deceived  himself  in  belie 
ing  for  a  time  that  he  could  love  her,  and  hi 
frankly  and  truthfully  declared  his  error  befo 
it  had  become  a  source  of  misery  to  both  pa 
ties ;  that  she  had  seen  the  folly  and  iiiadne 
of  her  pretensions  ;  and  that,  henceforward,  8) 
should  regard  him  only  as  a  brother. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  listened  in  grief  and  admir 


tion  ;  but  she  was  not  to  be  misled.     Th 


roug' 


out  her  whole  life  Gertrude  had  been  to  her 
an  affectionate  and  confiding  child,  and  s 
knew  every  impulse,  and  every  emotion  of  t 
young  pure  heart  which  was  now  bleeding  II 
fore  her.  She  felt  that  the  victim  had  be 
bound  by  her  own  hands  to  the  horns  of  t 
altar;  and  although  the  soft  voice  murmur; 
"Peace!  peace!"  there  was  no  peace  in  t 
stjieken  spirit  of  the  anxious  mother. 

"  I  see  it  all !'"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  hard,  «' 
tone,  utterly  unlike  the  usual  softness  of  I,' 
affectionate  accents:  "But  Frederic  decei\ 
himself,  as  he  has  deceived  me,  if  he  hopes  e^, 
to  obtain  my  consent  to  such  a  measure.  I 
you,  my  child,  I  can  saj'  nothing  which  woV 
express  my  admiration  of  your  generous  a' 
self-sacrificing  conduct ;  but  it  shall  not  avij 
He  has  acted  unworthily  in  an  unworthy  cau! 
lie  has  wounded  me  to  the  heart ;  smitten  i 
in  my  best  affections;  taught  me  to  blush  !• 
the  son  who  was  at  once  mj*  pride,  and  the  Ik ji 
of  my  old  age.  And  for  whom  ?  For  an  adv  •■ 
turer,  surrounded  by  mystery,  and  probably  ;■ 
disgrace ;  a  woman  hacknied  in  the  worlj) 
ways,  from  whom  he  should  have  shrunk  wji 
the  intuitive  loathing  of  an  honest  heart;  foi 
fiend  who  has  brought  dissension  and  sorr' 
into  the  bosom  of  his  family.  You  plead  i 
vain,  Gertrude.  He  maj'  be  insensible  to  y-r 
affection,  blind  to  your  merits,  incapable  of  • 
prcciating  your  virtue;  but  he  shall  ne,: 
disgrace  the  memorj-  of  his  father,  b^y  bc8t<j- 
in  his  name  upon  one  who  is  unworthy) 
bear  it." 

"  He  loves  her,  my  dear  aunt"  , 

An  expression  of  cold  contempt  settled  u ji 
the  fine  features  of  Mrs.  ilortimer.  , 

"He  has  avowed  to  me,"  resolutely  purs  1 
Gertrude  amid  her  sobs;  "that  his  happiiji 
depends  upon  Miss  Delamerc.  Reflect  upon  I 
acknowledgment,  I  beseech  of  you.  JJi»  b" 
piness — the  happiness  of  your  beloved  and  cf 
son.  And  cau  you  wonder  that  it  should;* 
so  ?  Remember'  her  beauty,  her  wit,  her  nl*- 
vellous  actjuirements;  and  confess  that  few^i- 
deed  would  be  able  to  resist  them.  Forget  i, 
and  all  that  you  had  devised  when  thiiil|g 
only  of  my  weak  attachment :  Frederic  i.-|« 
longer  a  mere  youth  to  be  thrallcil  by  the  f* 
of  iiabit;  he  hiis  looked  into  his  own  heart,  jJ 
felt  the  inerticiency  of  such  a  tie.  Confess,  <>, 
my  dear  aunt,  that  I  am  nothing  beside  so  ;l" 
liant  a  being  as  Sybil;  I  have  long  felt'M 
truth,  and  it  is  one  to  which  you  cannot  re:  Ul 
insensible.  Let  us  forget  the  past ;  your  ac- 
tions and  my  gratitude  will  alike  enable  u,U» 
do  this — in  time." 


THE   RrV^AL  BT5AUTIES. 


St 


Twill  hoar  no  nioro,!'  said  Mrs.  Mortimer, 'and  at  first  he  persimdcd  himself  that  thei>« 
»'ihe  rose  from  her  seat :  '  "  The  dream  of  my  eonld  be  no  doubt  of  lier  affection  ;  but  gradi>. 
liiis  over;  but  I  liavc  still  the  authority  Avliieli  ally  he  became  less  convinced  of  tlie  fact.  Sha 
niiire  has  given  to  the  parent  over  tlie  child,  jwas  so  beautiful,  so  full  of  mind  and  intellect — 
Fderic  must  choose  between  his  mother  and  |  at  once  so  fascinating  and  so  accomplished,  that 


b  mistress.  Of  your  hand  he  has  ceased  to  be 
•wthy;  but  should  he  bestow  his  own  upon 
tl;  nmnceuvring  woman  by  whom  he  is  now 
aSirallod,  he  ceases  to  be  m}-  sou." 

Oil,  in  mercy  revoke  that  cruel  sentence, 
mdenr,  dear  aunt!"  gasped  out  the  affrighted 
gi',  flinging  herself  upon  her  knees,  aud  im- 
pi'ing  the  retreat  of  the  excited  mother. 
"  link  of  the  hours  of  affection,  of  anxiety, 
oi.ty  which  you  have  passed  together — think 
hi  liis  father  loved  him — have  pity  upon  me 
vh  love  him  still !" 

irs.  Mortimer  bent  over  the  trembling  sup- 
pi  U  at  her  feet,  and  pressed  her  pale  lips  to 
tli.-till  paler  forehead  which  was  upraised  to 
in.:  them,  but  she  did  not  swerve  from  her 
relution.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  made 
Ui[;ool  and  dupe  of  Mrs.  Delamere  ;  that  she 
ha'  been  deceived  by  Frederic  ;  and  that  she 
wi|  the  architect  of  her  niece's  misery.  Her 
licit  was  wrung,  and  her  pride  was  wounded. 
Sliliad  been  so  long  accustomed  to  regard  her 
»o:|is  a  being  superior  to  his  fellow  men,  that 
8h.[eould  not  brook  this  sudden  dispersion  of 
•U'ler  cherished  illusions ;  and  it  was  with  a 
fir  step  and  a  tearless  eye  that  she  at  length, 
euijorted  by  her  indignation,  and  strengthened 
byiie  spectacle  of  Gertrude's  wretchedness  and 
hoiism,  passed  into  the  library,  and  desired  a 
Beijint  to  request  the  immediate  presence  of 
MiMortimer. 

'e  summons  was,  however,  fruitless,  for 
Fl-c[eric  had  already  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  X. 

(  quitting  his  cousin,  the  first  impulse  of 
oimer  had  simply  been  to  absent  himself 
fori  time  from  home,  until  the  influence  of 
G'.'iude  had  enabled  her  to  reconcile  his  mo- 
Uiejto  his  change  of  purpose.  Ill  at  ease,  and 
■nij  us,  despite  the  evidence  of  his  senses,  to  be- 
jK-yhat  the  attachment  of  his  cousin,  of  which 
lie  iiid  no  longer  entertain  a  doubt,  was  the 
me  idle  caprice  of  a  young  girl,  who  had  for 
Uieirst_  time  been  brought  into  contact  with 
*"■   '    idual  of  tiic  opposite   sex,  he,  however 

line-  ' J    1  ■         1^ 

hi4 


it  appeared  presumptuous  to  believe  that  such 
a  being  could  pass  through  the  world's  paflis,  aa 
she  had  evidently  done,  calm  and  unfetlcred, 
merely  to  suffer  herself  at  last  to  be  won  by  the 
love  of  so  obscure  an  individual  as  himself.  She 
had,  perhaps  acted  strangely  and  inconsistently 
at  their  last  meeting,  but  who  should  say  what 
dormant  memories  the  announcement  of  his  ap- 
proaching marriage  might  have  awakened  ?  Sha 
had  confessed  to  a  former  altaehment ;  and  waa 
it  not  ]M)ssible  that  tlie  intelligence  which  he  so 
iibiiiptly  iiiipiirted  to  her  had  struck  some  hid- 
(Kn  chcird  w  hich  had  for  a  time  ceased  to  vibrate 
in  her  heart;  aud  that  thus  her  change  of  mood 
and  manner  might  in  no  way  bear  upon  her 
feeling  for  himself? 

The  suspicion  was  torture,  and  tlie  cold  dropa 
stood  upon  the  brow  of  Frederic  as  it  became 
stronger  every  instant.  Should  this  indeed  ba 
so,  idly  had  he  wounded  the  affection  and  pride 
of  his  mother,  vainly  had  he  tortured  the  sensi- 
bility of  his  cousin,  cruelly  had  he  deceived  him- 
self. 

Any  conviction,  however  bitter,  was  prefer- 
able to  such  an  uncertainty,  and  in  five  minutes 
more,  Frederic  was  galloping  recklessly  towards 
The  Grange. 

Great  was  his  astonishment  and  dismay  on 
perceiving  that  the  hall  was  encumbered  with 
trunks  and  packages,  which  a  couple  of  servants 
were  engaged  in  cording  and  heaping  one  upon 
the  other;  and  still  more  utter  was  his  despair, 
when  he  learnt  that  almost  immediately  after 
his  departure.  Miss  Delamere  had  desired  that 
the  travelling  carriage  might  be  iu  readiness 
early  on  the  following  morning,  to  convey  her 
mother  and  herself  to  the  coast,  where  they 
were  to  embark  for  the  continent. 

The  brain  of  Mortimer  whirled,  and  his  pulses 
throbbed  with  emotion.  What  could  this  mean  f 
It  was  evident  that  tiie  project  was  a  sudden 
one,  since  no  leave-taking  had  been  contemplat- 
ed. Could  anj'thing  have  happened  in  which 
the  happiness  or  safety  of  Sybil  was  involved  ? 
Was  he  to  lose  her  just  as  he  had  discovered, 
that  she  had  become  necessary  to  his  existence ! 
Should  she  not,  in  such  a  case  have  at  once  ap- 
pealed to  him,  for  support  and  assistance?  And 
yet  how  could  she  throw  lierself  upon  tlie  pro 
tectionof  a  man  wlio  had  just  declared  to  h 


oner  found  himself  once  more  alone,  tlian  tection  ot  a  man  wlio  had  just  declared  to  her 
Noughts  reverted  to  Sybil.     Sybil  would  I  that  he  was  to  become  the  husband  of  anothei-? 


»K>t )  readily  have  transferred  her  claim  to  ano- 
w"-|hftd  his  hand  been  pledged  to  her;  but 
Bvtj  knew  how  to  love  and  to  love  deeply. 
Heilvpry  word  and  look  betrayed  her.  Had 
■iCjot  been  all  enthusiasm  and  frankness  so 
•onjis  she  believed  him  to  be  free  ?  And  had 
DfJtj sudden  coldness  and  reserve  succeeded  to 
Uiopowledge  of  his  betrothment?  True,  she 
naclliul,  and  repeated  on  many  occasions,  that 
•nel.'ould   nc-uat-  mnrry  ■  '  -'■'  '     ■>    > 


'•'ould  never 
ofUismiled  at  a  declara"tion  in  which  he  placed 
no  ^th  ?     And  was  he  not  now  justified  in  this 


HlnenUlly  reviewed  all  their  Inte  interviews, 
3 


Mortimer  was  bewildered  by  rapidly  conflicting 
feelings,  and  at  length,  scarcely  conscious  of  tlia 
indisci-etion  of  his  conduct,  he  inquired  of  one 
of  the  busy  servants  the  cause  of  Mrs.  Delamere'* 
sudden  departure. 

"  I  cannot  say,  Sir,"  was  the  unsatisfactory 

reply;  "  but  I  don't  tliink  it's  a  pleasure  party, 

any  way,  for  my  young  mistress   looked   diill 

enough,   when    she    gave    me    her  ordersi    and 

but   had  he   not  as 'seemed  as  if  she'd  much  ado  to  keep  her  teim 

.   : v:.i.  1 1  1    down." 

Sybil  ?ms  unhappy,  then!  And  once  more 
Frederic  Ix-gan  to  connect  this  sudden  grief  with 
his  communication  of  the  morning,  and  to  feel 


S4 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


convinced  that  the  intention  of  this  abrupt  jour- 
ney Wiis  to  avoid  himself,  and  if  this,  indeed, 
were  so,  they  raiglit  never  meet  again.  Such 
an  apprehension  was  too  painful  to  be  borne; 
and,  without  further  hesitation,  he  traversed  the 
hall  and  entered  the  morning  room,  resolved  to 
learn  the  truth  from  the  lips  of  Sybil  herself. 

Great,  consequently,  was  his  disappointment, 
when  he  found  it  occupied  only  by  Mrs.  Dela- 
mere,  who  sat  in  the  accustomed  chair,  in  the 
accustomed  attitude,  listlessly  looking  upon  the 
open  ])age3  of  a  volume  from  which  it  was  evi- 
dent that  she  did  not  imbibe  a  single  idea ;  and 
tliis  languid  and  impassible  object,  jarring  as  it 
did  u])on  the  excited  nerves  of  Mortimer,  was  ill 
calculated  to  calm  his  agitation. 

"Ila!  is  that  you,  JNIr.  Mortimer?"  yawned 
tlie  lady,  depositing  the  book  upon  a  table  near 
her ;  "  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  Sybil  is  busy 
in  her  own  room.  We  leave  this  to-morrow 
morning  early." 

"Shall  you  be  absent  long?"  asked  Fiederic, 
with  a  cold  thrill  at  his  heart. 

"I  don't  know;  Sybil  settled  it  all  I  hate 
travelling,  but  she  said  we  must  go;"  and  she 
turned  uneasily  among  her  cushions. 

"  You  have  received  no  unpleasant  news,  I 
trust?" 

"  No,  I  believe  not;  but  Sybil  knowf.  best.  It 
is  lier  own  arrangement;  I  suppose  she  is  tired 
of  The  Grange." 

Tired  of  The  Grange!  Miss  Dolai.iere  tired 
of  The  Grange !  How  bitter  was  the  inference! 
But  the  very  excess  of  his  mortification  gave 
Frederic  courage  to  pursue  his  inquiries. 

"  You  are  not  about  to  take  a  very  long  jour- 
ney, I  hope  ?" 

"I  really  can't  say;  I  fancy  Sybil  has  not 
quite  made  up  her  mind,  for  when  I  asked  the 
same  question,  she  merely  said,  '  Anywhere  ;  she 
did  not  care  where  we  went,  if  we  got  away 
from  this  neighborhood  for  a  time.'  " 

And  as  Mrs.  Delamere  closed  her  eyes  with  an 
expression  of  fatigue  after  so  unusually  lengthy 
a  speech,  the  blood  rushed  to  the  brow  of  her 
auditor,  and  a  proud  smile  rose  instinctively  to 
Ills  lip. 

All  was  clear ;  Sybil  loved  him,  and  feared  to 
remain  wliere  she  must  so  soon  encounter  him 
as  the  husband  of  Gertrude.  The  post  arrived 
'  at  Wcstrum  before  noon,  and  consequently  it 
was  certain  that  no  intelligence  of  ini])ortance 
could  have  reached  The  Grange  through  that 
medium  since  he  had  left  it  in  the  morning.  On 
his  arrival,  lie  had  been  received  with  smiles, 
and  greeted  with  the  tidings  of  a  projected  party 
of  pleasure;  it  was  only  after  lie  had  told  his 
tale  that  the  brow  of  Syl)il  had  grown  dark,  and 
her  tone  cold.  And  now  she  sought  to  avoid 
liim. 

Frederic  was  no  coxcomb,  but  the  inference 
was  too  palpable  to  be  mistaken.  This  fatal  de- 
parture might  be  prevented — must  be  prevent- 
ed; for  was  he  not  now  free  to  pour  out  all  his 
spirit  before  the  idol  of  his  heart?  Gertrude 
had  relinquished  lier  claim  to  his  hand,  and  was 
even  now  reconciling  his  mother  to  the  transfer 
of  his  affeetions;  that  mother  loved  him,  and  I 
would  never  perseveringly  oppose  his  happi- 1 
Qfiss — and  Sybil  I     Sybil,  by  the  very  excess  of  J 


her  delicacy,  by  the  very  terror  of  betrayingik 
secret,  had  convinced  hnn  that  her  affectl 
were  his  own.  The  moment  of  inaction  i, 
consequently  past.  He  had  merely  souglit  i 
love  of  Sybil  tacitly  ;  it  now  remained  for  : 
to  ask  it. 

He  turned  once  more  to  Mrs.  Delamere : 

"  And  Sybil — Miss  Delamere — Where  is  si;!' 

His  companion  had  recourse  to  her  other  iit 
tie,  for  this  pertinacity  overpowered  her.  m 
was  so  little  accustomed  to  do  the  lienors  o.u 
conversation,  that  she  sank  under  the  pn  nl 
tax  upon  her  energies,  and  it  was  alniost';t 
tishly  that  she  replied;  "  I  really  don't  kn(,- 
I  believe  in  her  room.  You  can  ring  the  11 
and  inquire  of  her  maid." 

Frederic  hastened  to  obey,  and  the  set  nl 
who  answered  the  summons  returned  acm- 
panied  by  the  Abigail,  who,  with  a  coinph  oc 
heightened  by  the  hurry  of  her  arraiigen  't«^ 
informed  the  anxious  visitor  that  her  mi:  jsi 
had  a  short  time  previously  walked  inti  Iw 
grounds.  ; 

With  a  hasty  bow,  Mortimer  left  the  ihiii, 
and  started  in  pursuit  of  the  fair  waiul  r ; 
but  he  traversed  the  conservatories,  and  cii-rcHl 
every  temple  and  grotto  in  vain, — Miss  'la- 
mere  was  no  where  to  be  seen.  At  lengt  al- 
most in  despair  of  finding  her,  and  half  tei  t<.>d 
to  believe  that  he  had  been  misled,  he  pi  lA 
into  a  small  dense  thicket,  which  skirto  th« 
property,  and  ere  long  lie  discovered  til 
seated  under  the  shadow  of  an  ilex,  witJiit-r 
head  pillowed  on  her  hand,  and  her  face  eii'ciy 
hidden  by  the  dark  and  luxuriant  masses  'htr 
hair,  which  had  escaped  from  the  conililiiU 
habitually  confined  it  and  now  fell  abo  ilier 
shoulders  to  the  ground.  j 

For  a  moment  he  stood  motionless — fi  ;i  in 
admiration  and  astonishment.  It  was  tli'jint 
occasion  upon  which  he  had  seen  the  biiiiiul 
Sybil  in  tears;  and  now  he  detected  thorg* 
drops  slowly  trickling  through  her  i'fin. 
The  careless  abandon  of  her  attitude,  a ;  iIk 
secluded  spot  which  she  had  chosen  in  oi'r  U> 
conceal  her  grief  from  other  eyes,  also 'U  » 
tale  of  deep  and  bitter  suffering  ;  and  hi  eart 
beat  quicker  as  the  conviction  grew  iipi;  liim 
that  he  should  soon  be  privileged  to  dr^liow 
tears,  and  to  turn  that  grief  to  gladnes:|  V«» 
still  he  lingered.  lie  could  imagine  tli.aul*- 
less  face  now  so  elTeetually  concealed 'rliu* 
the  graceful  figure,  touched  here  and  tl io  VJ 
the  straggling  sun-rays,  which  flickered  \f>W 
the  leaves  above  her  licad,  was  so  bcaujul  in 
its  unconscious  harmony  of  attitude,  tliii.  '*• 
only  by  an  eft'ort  he  could  resolve  upoi  ii'cak- 
ing  so  bright  a  spell.  1 

His  step  was  noiseless  upon  the  moss  rown 
turf,  and  thus  he  reached  her  side  be !«  »•)< 
was  aware  of  his  approach  ;  nor  even  tji  <»w 
she  stir  eye  or  limb  until  Mortimer, ;enUv 
bending  over  her,  whispered  her  name.  ; 

"  You  here  !"  she  exelniincd,  as  she  I'md' 
from  the  earth,  and  dashed  away  the  il'st"'' 
from  her  long  lashes.     "  What  can  Mr.  i:'*™*'    , 
come  here  to  seek  ?"  . 

"  Your  love,  Sybil— your  coveted  nripn^j 
less  love!"  was' the  i'nipiis,<!ioned  reij-  _. 
have  struggled  in  vain  to  obey  you— ;»'**•• 


THE  RIViVL  BEAUTIES, 


36 


ip-self  with  your  friendsliip — to  immolate  the 
ippiiiess  of  my  whole  life  to  a  distasteful  and 
(ilbrced  duty:!  cannot  do  it,  Sybil, — I  had 
tterrated  my  powers  of  endurance.  You  nuist 
li;en  to  me,  and  love  me,  or  my  existence  will 
liceforth  be  a  blank.  You  are  about  to  leave 
l^'land,  but  that  step,  extreme  and  oruel  as  it 
ilshall  avail  you  nothing ;  I  will  follow  you  to 
tl>  end  of  the  earth ;  I  will  be  proof  alike 
iiiinst  your  coldness  and  your  disdain.  Till  I 
ijt  you  I  was  at  peace  ;  what  I  am  now  is 
■\\iT  own  work,  and  you  must  abide  the  result 
cjvour  fascinations.  Sybil,  my  precious  Sybil, 
Si.ll  I  sue  in  vain  ?" 

\s  the  last  words  escaped  his  lips,  the  knee  of 
Jlrtimer  bent  before  Miss  Delamere,  and  her 
hid  was  clasped  in  his.  He  saw  not  the  proud 
ail  triumphant  gleam  which  for  an  instant 
pised  over  her  features,  for  before  he  again 

aied  his  ej'es  to  her  face,  all  was  once  more 
11  and  cold,  and  passionless. 
1  Why  are  you  silent,  Sybil  ?"  he  pursued 
y{h  increasing  emotion.  "One  word — I  ask 
for  one — to  be  the  most  happy  or  the  most 
erable  of  men, — and    you  will   deny  it  to 

Wliat  can  I  say  ?"  asked  Miss  Delamere  in 
aiw  murmur,  but  still  without  withdrawing 
hj  hand.  "  I  know  you  only  as  the  betrothed 
o!i)-our  cousin.  From  the  first  hour  of  our 
aliiaintance  I  was  aware  of  your  engagement. 
I  iive  ever  looked  upon  you  as  one  no  longer 
fij  to  act,  or  even  to  feel,  beyond  a  certain 
w|l-defined  boundary.  How  then,  could  I  love 
y|,  or  seek  your  love  ?  I  am  no  idle  girl  who 
8<|.  a  suitor  in  every  civil  stranger,  and  an 
aiwal  upon  every  courtly  lip.  My  affections 
li'iot  so  near  the  surface  that  they  may  be 
wing  or  sported  with  by  every  touch  of  acci- 
'Icjt  or  vanity ; — and  I  have  told  you  more 
Uh  once  my  steadfast  purpose  to  resist  all 
blidishments  which  might  tend  to  peril  my 
lilrty  of  thought  and  affection." 

jl  liave  no  faith  in  such  resolves,"  said  Fred- 
eiK  doggedly,  as  he  rose  unbidden  from  her 
fe 

Were  we  two  temper-chafed  children,"  ob- 
•«ed  Miss  Delamere,  lifting  her  large  lumin- 
01  eyes  to  his  with  a  smile  so  beautiful  that  it 
injht  have  maddened  an  anchorite  ;  "  I  might 
rejrt  by  telling  you  that  I  placed  as  little  de- 
pt)]ence  upon  the  vacillating  affection  which 
nt|  hovered  for  months  between  two  different 
ol|ct«,  and  was  at  length  only  decided  by  im- 
p_i|e.  Nay,  now  you  are  angry,"  she  con- 
tiijed  with  another  beaming  look ;  "  I  had  no 
injition  to  offend  you,  nor  as  a  rational  and 
thjking  woman,  shall  I  reply  to  you  in  such 
t*ji8.  No,  Mr.  Mortimer,  for  it  behooves  us 
at  such  a  moment  as  this,  to  be  just  to 
^  Ives  and  to  each  other.  It  is  my  departure 
irfl.  Tlie  Grange  which  has  hurried  you  into 
Ihjitrange,  and  forgive  me  if  I  add,  unwarrant- 
abl  step  which  you  are  now  taking.  Your 
■%  is  not  your  own,  for  it  has  been  promised  ; 
ev  your  heart  is  no  longer  in  your  gift,  for  it 
".  Mged  ;  and  I  am  not  one  likely  to  dispute 
eitj  r.     It  is  true  that  I  am  about  to  leave  Eng- 


f  far^ell  to  your  famUy  this  evening ;  tii«  cour- 


tesy which  I  have  received  from  your  motlicr 
and  yourself  demanded  this  consideration,  after 
which,  all  would  have  been  at  an  end  between 
us.  A  year  ago  the  existence  of  the  one  was 
iitterly  \niknowu  to  the  other, — a  year  hence  it 
would  have  been  to  each  simply  a  passing  and 
a  pleasant  memory;  why  do  yoli  seek  to  r.ender 
it  otherwise  ?" 

"  Sybil,"  said  Frederic,  as  his  whole  frame 
shook  with  emotion  ;  "  you  can  no  longer  deceive 
me  Avith  mere  words.  It  is  not  j'our  heart  that 
speaks.  I  will  not,  I  dare  not  believe  that  you 
are  a  vain  and  passionate  coquette,  who  has 
wiled  away  a  few  heavy  hours  in  ensuring  my 
misery — and  this  I  must  believe,  or  be  assured 
that  r  have  ceased  to  be  indifferent  to  your 
peace." 

"  You  are  bold,  sir,"  s.iid  Sybil  haughtily,  as 
she  raised  her  tall  figure  to  its  full  height,  and 
prepared  to  turn  away. 

"  I  am  bold,"  acquiesced  her  companion,  clasp- 
ing her  arm  in  order  to  intercept  her  retreat ; 
"  I  am  bold,  Sybil,  for  I  am  desperate.  Only  a 
few  hours  back,  conscious  that  I  could  not  live 
without  your  affection,  I  threw  myself  upon  the 
generosity  of  my  cousin,  and  she  liberated  me 
from  my  engagement." 

"  Impossible!"  exclaimed  Miss  Delamere  ener- 
getically ;  "  Gertrude  Mortimer  may  be  cold  and 
self-centered,  but  she  was  seem-e  of  your  hand, 
and  it  is  not  possible  that  she  could  renounce 
her  right." 

Once  more  the  brow  of  Frederic  cleared,  and 
his  eye  gleamed  with  delight !  "  I  thank  you  for 
the  doubt,"  he  said  tenderly ;  "  it  tells  me  all  I 
sought  to  know.  And  you  will  love  me,  Sybil, 
will  you  not  ?  For  I  swear  to  you  that  I  am 
free." 

"And  your  mother?"  murmured  his  listener. 

"  Gertrude  has  undertaken  to  convince  her 
that  she  had  mistaken  us  both,  and  to  prepare 
her  to  receive  another  and  a  dearer  daughter." 

"  And  yet  this  must  not  be,"  said  Miss  Dela- 
mere, as  suddenly  perceiving  the  disarray  of  her 
magnificent  hair,  she  stooped  and  raised  the 
comb  which  lay  at  her  feet,  and  twisted  the 
scattered  tresses  into  a  luxuriant  knot  on  the 
summit  of  her  small  and  graceful  head;  "Such 
a  proceeding  would  be  neither  delicate  nor  ge- 
nerous. Even  supposing  that  I  had  been  weak 
enough  to  suffer  my  feelings  to  overcome  not 
only  my  reason,  but  also  a  resolution  formed 
years  ago,  I  could  not  consent  to  build  up  my 
happiness  upon  the  misery  of  another;  or  forget 
that  the  preference  which  would  enable  me  to 
do  so,  could  only  have  originated  in  a  transitory 
fancy,  too  soon  to  be  dispelled.  The  contest 
between  Gertrude  Mortimer  and  myself  would 
be  alike  idle  and  unnatural.  She  is  yet  upon 
the  very  threshold  of  womanhood;  her  heart  is 
an  uninseribed  tablet,  save  where  your  name 
has  been  written;  she  is  beautiful;  and,  like  the 
sensitive  plant,  retires  before  a  touch.  She  has 
never  trod  the  stony  paths  of  the  world,  and 
been  galled  by  their  roughness;  she  is  very  wo- 
man in  all  that  is  womanly;  needing  care,  and 
affection,  and  support  Remember,  too,  that  it 
is  to  you  that  she  has  looked  for  these  from  her 
childhood;  and  that  she  has  a  right  to  claim 
them  as  the  inheritance  of  your  father's  afteo- 


36 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES! 


tion ;  aud  then,  having  reflected  upon  all  tliis, 
reverse  the  picture,  Frederic,  and  look  on  me" — 

For  a  moment  she  paused,  as  if  for  some  dis- 
claimer from  her  companion,  but  he  continued 
resolutely  silent.  For  the  tirst  time  Sybil  had 
addressed  liim  by  his  Christian  name ;  and  his 
tJ-iumnh  at  discovering  how  rapidly  and  invol- 
untarilj'  she  was  betraying  the  state  of  her  own 
lieart,  made  liim  fear  to  trust  himself  with  a 
word,  lest  he  should  afford  her  an  opportunity 
of  resuming  her  self-possession. 

"  I  am  not  about  to  provoke  an  idle  and  ill- 
timed  compliment,"  she  pursued  with  a  stifled 
sigli ;  "  I  seldom  speak  of  myself;  and  when  I 
am  compelled  to  do  so,  heartily  despise  the  flat- 
tery which  mortifies  me  bj-  the  conviction  of  my 
own  egotism.  I  am  aware  that  nature  has  not 
been  a  niggard  to  me  :  I  have  been  told  the  eon- 
U-ary  too  often  to  affect  a  cliildish  ignorance  of 
my  personal  advantages.  But  more  than  these 
are  required  to  ensure  domestic  happiness.  Tlie 
flower  that  blossoms  in  a  day  too  frequently 
fades  on  the  morrow.  Do  you  understand  the 
metaphor?  You  have  known  your  cousin  from 
lier  birth — I  am  the  mere  acquaintance  of  a  few 
brief  months." 

"  Tliey  have  comprised  all  of  my  existence 
wliich  I  care  to  remember,"  broke  in  Frederic 
impetuously. 

iliss  Delamere  thanked  him  by  a  look — and 
such  a  look ! 

"Every  action,  almost  every  thought,  of  your 
cousin,  has  been  revealed  to' you.  Of  me  you 
know  nothing,  save  that  I  exist,  and  stand  be- 
side you." 

"  I  ask  nothing  from  tJie  past — all  from  the 
future." 

"  With  me  the  timidity  of  girlhood  has  given 
place  to  a  decision  of  character  which  the  world 
loves  to  criticise,  although  it  is  its  own  work.  I 
have  my  own  principles,  mj-  own  prejudices,  ray 
own  peculiarities;  and,  worse  than  all,  I  need  no 
guidance,  no  support ;  I  can  choooc  my  own  path, 
and  follow  it." 

"  Only  let  us  tread  it  together,"  whispered 
Frederic,  as  he  pressed  his  lips  to  the  hand  that 
rested  on  his  arm. 

"  You  are  incorrigible,"  mui-mured  Svbil,  in  a 
tone  which  betrayed  her  innate  gratification; 
"  but  you  must,  nevertheless,  listen  to  reason." 

"  I  will  listen  to  anything  from  your  lips." 

"  But,  having  so  done,  you  will  not  have  done 
all:  you  must  act  as  well  as  liearken.  Mrs. 
Mortimer  will  never  consent  to  receive  me  as  her 
daugiilcr.  AVhere  yo?t  feel,  sA«  will  reflect.  You 
know  wliat  have  been  her  plans;  and  she  is  no 
longer  young.  In  our  early  years  we  content 
ourselves  witli  flowers,  when' we  find  that  we 
cannot,  as  we  begin  by  hoping  to  do,  grasp  the 
stars ;  but  maturity  and  age  are  more  tenacious 
of  tlieir  projects;  their  aspirations  are  more 
rational  and  practicable ;  and,  accordingly,  they 
abandon  them  with  less  carelessness.  I  cannot 
condescend  to  be  merely  received  on  sufferance 
in  any  family." 

"Sybil,  dear  Sybil,  your  delicacy  is  morbid; 
IB  misplaced.  My  mother  already  admires  and 
esteems  you;  and  she  will  no  sooner  become 
ttouvinced  that  you  hay«  my  happiness  in  your 


keeping,  than  she  will  learn  to  love  you  as  het 
own  child.'* 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,  my  friend,"  said 
Sybil  playf  illy ;  "  that  Mrs.  Mortimer  admiree 
me — perhaps  !  She  listens  to  my  harp,  applauds 
my  singing,  prizesmy  sketches  of  your  dear  old 
house — so  much,  indeed,  unfortunately,  that 
have  scarcely  been  able  to  reserve  one  for  niv 
self " 

"  When  you  are  its  mistress,  and  that  I  cai 
spare  you  for  so  long  a  time,  you  shall  sketch  i 
from  all  points." 

"  Xay,  if  you  inten-upt  me  every  instant, 
shall  despair  of  making  you  understand  m 
mcanirag,"  said  Sybil  gently.  "  That  she  do^ 
all  this  I  admit  at  once  ;  but  esteem ! — oli,  h. 
lieve  me !  that  I  shall  never  be  esteemed  1> 
Mrs.  Mortimer,  if  I  thwart  her  plans ;  though 
should  present  myself,  with  my  genealogic. 
tree  in  one  hand,  and  the  whole  history  of  n; 
past  life  in  the  other." 

"  You  have  but  to  present  yourself  as  my  afi 
anced  bride,  and  tliat  shall  suffice."  ' 

"  Four  yourself  I  doubt  not ;  and  I  thank  y<i 
that  you  at  least  are  satisfied  to  take  me  up- 
trust;  but  I  have  carefully  studied  the  charact! 
of  your  mother.  Gentle  and  womanly  as  she  ; 
she  is  capable  of  firm  and  strong  determiiiatit: 
From  your  earliest  boyhood  she  had  resolv; 
upon  your  union  with  your  cousin ;  and  she  v, 
not,  trust  me,  revoke  her  purpose."  ; 

"  I  am  no  longer  a  boy,  and  I  have  refused' 
consent  to  this  hateful  marriage.  Am  I  not  (.' 
to  act  as  I  deem  best,  and  to  secure  my  hajl- 
ness  according  to  my  own  ideas  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  but  you  are  unstable,  'i 
eitlier  side  there  must  be  a  struggle.  Let  ) 
play  the  monitor  for  once.  Support  it  in  J 
worthiest  and  most  prudent  phase.  Fulfil  9 
wishes  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  ;  and  let  us  part" 

"  And  this  is  j-our  advice  ?" 

"  Is  it  not  that  which  I  should  offer?  Bet', 
far  better  to  be  the  victim  of  my  own  sens  >/ 
right,  than  of  another's  scorn!"  ; 

"  And  is  the  strife  of  feeling  then  confd 
only  to  yourself  and  to  my  motlier  V 

"  Js'ot  so — Oh,  no!  not  so,"  said  Sybil' ••> 
emotion  :  "  I  do  not  for  an  instant  forget  ji' 
cousin.  Poor  girl  I  so  young,  so  beautiful,  iJ 
yet  so  wretched !" 

"  I  spoke  not  of  Gertrude,"  said  Mortim** 
patiently.  "  I  ventured  to  believe  tiiat  1.  Oi 
might  have  been  remembered  when  you  U^i 
of  the  victims  to  be  immolated  upon  the  sl;n« 
of  exaggerated  sentiment  and  orerstraine  I*- 
licacy.  But  enough  of  this,  dear  Sybil ;  •'* 
to  imagine  that,  by  rejecting  my  affection,  <>n 
restore  me  to  my  cousin,  for  all  is  over  bet'i-'n 
us.  I  might  have  loved  her  had  I  never  ki.*'D 
Sybil  Delamere,  but  she  is  aware  that  it  i^" 
impossible;  and  I  little  understjuid  her  nlire 
if  she  would  condescend  to  accept  the  "o 
where  she  was  conscious  that  the  heart •»• 
withheld.  Spurn  my  affection,  if,  indeed,  i«j 
be  your  will ;  but  I  swear  to  you  that  •'"' 
never  be  the  husband  of  another.  Leav(, »« 
Grange,  if  you  still  persist  in  your  purpose  bni 
wander  where  you  may,  I  will  pursue  you  >"< 
I  have  life." 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


8Y 


Tliis  is  truly  '  Midsummer  madness,'  Frede- 
ri,'  replied  Miss  Delamere ;   "  however,  th 
mill  I  coiioode — our  journey  shall  be  delayed." 

For  mv  sake,  Sybil  ?"  asked  Frederic,  as  he 
ej;nded  his  hand."' 

For  1/oiir  sa^e,  if  you  will  have  it  so,"  was 
tli reply;  and  the  small  iingers  of  the  lady 
reiod  foV  an  instant  on  the  outstretched  palm 
ofi er  suitor :  "  But  build  up  no  vain  hojics  upon 
th  concession,"  she  continued  laughingly;  "  for 
I  1  not  }'et  convinced — nor  won." 

jHow  then  shall  I  win  you  ?  Teach  me,  and 
I  ill  be  a  docile  pupil." 

;Nay,  I  know  not,"  said  the  lady  almost  peu- 
silv.  "How  gloriously  the  sun  is  setting!" 
sh  continued  abruptly.  "  He  is  a  grand  pain- 
te!  I  often  think  that  could  I  transfer  a  few  of 
th.e  mixed  tints  to  the  canvass  upon  my  easel, 
I  i)ould  feel  as  Pygmalion  must  have  done 
Win  he  saw  the  prodace  of  his  chisel  live  and 
bilithe." 

i)or  Gertrude !  She  too  loved  to  gaze  upon 
th'setting  sun,  but  she  never  mixed  up  herself 
ar  her  own  vain  triumphs  with  the  glory  upon 
\r  jh  she  looked. 


CHAPTER  XL 

» long  as  the  intoxication  produced  by  the 
prence  of  Sybil  continued  to  exert  its  influence, 
evjy  feeling  and  every  thought  of  Mortimer 
yf$  absorbed  b\^  the  one  loved  object ;  and  it 
wi{  only  when  he  had  reluctantly  taken  his  de- 
paure  from  The  Grange  that  he  once  more  be- 
cai;  keenly  alive  to  the  irksome  and  painful 
na^re  of  the  interview  which  awaited  him  with 
hiinother.  He  well  knew  how  devotedly  she 
lo|d  him,  and  how  trustingly  she  had  looked 
tolis  affection  as  the  prop  and  blessing  of  her 
ol'|ige ;  and  the  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes  as  he 
odjitted  to  himself  how  great  must  now  be  her 
di|r>pointment. 

jiose  tears  were,  however,  not  the  bitter,  and 
tonften  infructuous  drops  of  repentance  ;  they 
ro  only  before  the  impulse  of  genuine  filial  af- 
feion.  His  manhood  rebelled  at  the  mental 
an  moral  coercion  to  which  he  had  been  sub- 
jei'd,  it  is  true;  but  his  affection  for  his  mother 
reiiined  undiminished.  She  had  only  sought 
tojcnre  his  happiness ;  but  she  had  failed  by 
nec-cting  to  remember  that  human  nature,  even 
east  faulty,  revolts  at  a  control  which  sel- 
fails  to  defeat  its  own  object ;  and  by  be- 
iig  tliat  her  idolized  son  was  exempt  from 
iie  errors  of  his  fellow-men. 
here  she  had  taught  herself  to  expect  per- 
fe([on,  she  was  shocked  at  the  slightest  indica- 
of  mortal  frailty;  and  where  the  failure 
one  which  involved  not  only  his  own  con- 
ncy,  but  also  the  happiness  of  another,  and 
vill  of  his  dead  father,  the  blow  was  heavier 
she  could  bear. 

sad  conviction  that  such  must  be  the  case 
?lled  with  Frederic  to  his  home ;  and  how 
ry  seemed  the  venerable  house,  which  had 
tJljiow  been  ever  lighted  up  by  the  beams  of 
nUwn  Bunnv  heartl  Once  his'breast  bounded 
mU  passed  ita  threshold,  but  now  all  ap- 


peared wrapped  in  gloom — Sybil  was  not  be- 
neath its  roof — Sybil,  the  enchantress,  whom  he 
was  to  win  through  tears,  reproaches,  and  re- 
grets! 

But  Frederic  deceived  himself.  The  spirit  of 
his  mother  Avas  crushed  within  her.  Slie  had 
no  longer  energy  for  reproach.  All  her  remain- 
ing strength  of  purpose  was  concentrated  upon 
one  point.  The  heart-dream  of  Gertrude  was 
dispelled  for  ever;  and  she  must  aid  her  in  the 
wretched  task  of  smiling  at  her  own  misery. 
The  illusion  which  had  taught  her  to  look  upon 
her  son  as  a  being  made  up  of  all  that  was  great 
and  good,  witliout  one  failing  to  cast  a  shadow 
over  the  brightness  of  his  character,  was  gone  ; 
and  she  meekly  bowed  her  spirit  before  the  bit- 
terness of  a  life-long  disappointment;  but  still 
there  remained  one  pang  to  be  inflicted,  to  which 
she  was  keenly  and  sensitively  alive,  and  with 
which  she  was  threatened,  it  is  true,  but  against 
which  she  firmly  determined  to  contend. 

Thus  when  Frederic  entered  her  presence,  she 
received  him  sadly  but  tenderly.  His  fault  had 
been  the  ofi'spring  of  a  few  months,  but  her 
love  had  been  the  growth  of  years;  and  the 
heart  weeps  long  ere  its  crimson  tide  is  ex- 
hausted. 

"  I  have  seen  Gez-trude,"  were  her  first  words, 
after  she  had  welcomed  him ;  "  and  she  has  re- 
lated to  me  all  the  substance  of  the  morning's 
conversation.  You  are  free,  my  son,  to  act  as 
you  think  best  regarding  your  cousin.  I  could 
have  wished  it  otherwise,  but  happiness  is  not 
our  lot  in  this  world.  She  has  acted,  as  she 
ever  does,  with  a  noble  self-abnegation  which 
makes  me  proud  of  the  adopted  daughter  I  have 
reared ;  and  cannot  permit  myself  to  muamur 
when  she  is  silent.  Sufliee  it,  then,  that  I  shall 
never  again  intrude  this  subject  upon  you. 
Better,  far  better,  that  you  should  reject  the 
hand  of  such  a  being  at  once,  then  receive  it 
only  to  involve  both  her  and  yourself  in  one 
common  misery.  She  is  too  good,  to  loving,  to 
be  flung  by  like  an  outworn  toy:  and  this  feel- 
ing is  my  best  and  only  consolation  under  a 
serious  disappointment." 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  mother,"  said  Frederic, 
at  once  touched  and  astonished  at  the  calm  and 
self-possessed  manner  of  his  mother  ;  "  that  as  I 
once  before  assured  you,  Gertrude  and  I  are  to- 
tally unsuited  to  each  otlier." 

"  Say  rather,"  was  the  reply,  "  that  your 
means  of  happiness  were  made  too  easy  by  ray 
want  of  judgment.  I  did  not  understand  you, 
my  dear  boy;  I  should  have  created  difficulties, 
invented  doubts,  and  discovered  inconveniences, 
in  a  marriage  with  your  cousin ;  but  it  is  now 
too  late  to  repent  the  past ;  and  I  have  no  in- 
tention of  pressing  the  matter  further." 

"Did  you  know,  or  could  you  guess,  how 
much  I  feel  in  thus  thwarting  j^our  wishes,  you 
would  understand  that  no  such  puerile  cauMC  has 
dictated  my  conduct,"  urged  Mortimer  earnestly ; 
"  I  do  assure  you  that  I  act  onlj^  upon  conviction." 

"  May  you  never  have  cause  to  discover  j'our 
mistake,  Isut  I  confess  that  I  do  not  hope  so 
mucli,"  was  the  rejoinder  of  Mrs.  Mortimer. 
"  Remember,  Frederic,  that  mari-iage  is  the  most 
important  step  hazarded  by  either  man  or  wo- 
man ;  that  it  is  no  transitory  speculation  which 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


may  l>e  annulled  when  its  fallacy  is  proved  by  a 
life-loug  venture,  from  which  tliere  is  no  honor- 
able mode  of  escape,  and  which  must  decide 
the  wliole  tenor  of  your  after-existence.  Tlius 
tlien,  it  behoves  you  to  look  well  to  its  probable 
result ;  neither  to  contract  an  engagement  hasti- 
ly, nor  to  suffer  yourself  to  be  deluded  by  a  few 
social  accomplishments,  or  personal  fascinations. 
You  do  not  marry  for  the  world,  but  for  your 
home ;  and  the  woman  who  dazzles  the  most  in 
Bociety  is  frequently  the  least  calculated  to  form 
the  blessing  of  the  domestic  circle." 

"  I  admit  the  truth  of  your  reasoning,  my  dear 
mother,''  said  Frederic  eagerly  ;  "  but  surely  it 
ie  quite  possible  to  meet  with  one  who  unites  all 
Uie  necessary  qualities  to  do  both.  I  confess 
that  I  could  not  love  a  wife  who  was  incapable 
of  sustaining  her  just  position  in  society,  as  well 
as  of  performing  her  home  duties  ;  and  I  am  ex 
acting  enough  to  require  that  mine  should  be 
equal  to  either  emergency." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  sighed  deeplj-,  but  made  no 
reply. 

"  Nay  more,"  pursued  her  son  ;  "  I  consider 
it  only  due  to  you  to  declare,  without  reserve 
or  hesitation,  that  I  have  every  reason  to  hope 
and  to  believe  that  I  have  found  that  one." 

"  Do  you  allude  to  Miss  Delamere  i"  asked  his 
mother  coldly. 

"  I  do.  Sj'bil  is  the  very  being  to  realise 
every  wish  and  every  dream  of  my  heart ;  and 
I  believe  that  she  loves  me.  Will  you  not,  then, 
my  dear  mother,  receive  her  with  the  affection 
which  alone  can  render  my  marriage  perfectly 
happy  ?" 

"  Has  she  told  you  frankly  who  she  is,  and 
what  is  her  real  position  in  the  world  ?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Mortimer,  with  the  same  resolute 
composure  whicli  she  had  maintained  through- 
out the  whole  of  this  trying  conversation. 

"  She  has  not ;  but  I  am  alone  to  blame,  if 
blame  there  be.  I  would  not  insult  her  by  a 
doubt,  and  I  declined  the  confidence." 

"  And  she  permitted  you  to  do  so?" 

"  She  simply  yielded  to  my  desire.  Satisfied 
tliat  she  is  all  that  is  good,  and  pure,  and  high- 
minded,  I  had  little  curiosity  to  pry  into  the 
paat" 

Mrs.  Mortimer  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  was  about  to 
make  a  mighty  effort,  and  her  composure  was 
rapidly  giving  way ;  suddenly,  however,  she 
roused  herself,  forced  back  the  burning  tears 
which  were  endeavoring  to  escape,  and  looking 
Bteadily  at  her  son,  said  sadly  but  firmly, — 

"  And  can  it  really  be  true,  Frederic,  that  you 
■would  introduce  into  the  home  of  your  ances- 
tors, and  the  heart  of  your  mother,  a  woman  of 
whom  you  know  absolutely  nothing?  —  a  hand- 
some adventurer,  whoso  wiles  have  overmatch- 
ed your  frankness  ? — a  syren,  who  has  blinded 
you  to  your  own  honor"?  And  you  ask  me  to 
look  upon  so  doubtful  a  person  as  a  daughter — 
as  your  wife  ?  If  this  indeed  be  so — and  I  read 
no  denial  in  your  countenance —  it  behoves  me, 
at  least,  to  remember  what  is  due  alike  to  the 
name  I  bear  and  to  myself.  You  are  your  own 
master.  Should  you  decide  upon  placing  your 
happiness  and  your  respectability  in  the  keep- 
ing of  this   ambiguous   personage,  I  have   no 


power  to  prevent  the  commission  so  egregio 
and  dangerous  a  folly ;  but  if  you  anticipate  n 
consent  and  countenance  to  such  a  step,  a 
cherish  one  hope  of  inducing  me  to  beconu 
party  to  your  disgrace — for  that  disgrace  ^^ 
inevitably  result  from  such  an  alliance,  I  hav. 
prophetic  conviction — I  now,  and  dofinitiv. 
declare  that  you  deceive  yourself,  for  tba 
never  will  recognize  Miss  Delamere  as  i 
daughter,  until  I  am  convinced  tliat  there 
ists  no  passage  of  her  past  life  that  she  is  ai: 
ous  to  conceal." 

"  llevoke  that  sentence,  I  beseech  of  you,  i 
dear  mother  1"  exclaimed  Frederic  with  stn 
emotion,  as  lie  approached  her ;  but  the  enei 
of  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  almost  exhausted:  • 
tears,  no  longer  to  be  restrained,  were  faliinn  , 
showers  upon  her  pallid  cheeks ;  and  she  c  • 
retained  strength  to  waive  him  from  her  as  :  ■ 
hurried  from  the  room,  exclaiming  emphatica' , 
"Never!"  ■ 

She  had  no  sooner  reached  her  own  apr' 
mcnt,  and  after  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping  1 1 
partially  recovered  her  composure,  tliau  '; 
hitherto  proud  and  happy  mother,  pressing  • 
throbbing  temples  in  her  trembling  hands,  hn  i 
to  reflect  with  earnest  anxiety  upon  the  posit  i 
of  her  son.  Every  report  which  had  e  r 
reached  her  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Delamer  - 
and  the  neighborhood  had  for  months  been  > 
with  them — although  when  they  first  canio 
her  knowledge  she  had  disregarded  and  aln  t 
forgotten  them — now  recurred  vividly  to  r 
memoiy,  and  increased  her  alarm.  Th'e  abi  t 
appearance  of  the  mother  and  the  daughte:!t 
The  Grange,  unaccompanied  by  a  single  n'e 
relative  or  friend,  and  unprovided  with  any- 
troductions;  the  lavish  expenditure  which  d 
ensued;  the  mj'stery  in  which  the  past  hislV 
of  the  strangers  was  enveloped;  tlie  coml 
exercised  by  the  younger  lady,  her  unquest li- 
able authority  over  the  establishment,  and;e 
self-sufficing  independence  of  her  characte:- 
all  conspired  to  terrify  Mrs.  Mortimer,  nndo 
fill  her  with  the  most  painful  apprehensions! 

Wliere  Frederic  saw  only  single-hearted'* 
and  enthusiastic  feeling,  his  motlier  discov  'd 
cold  and  worldly  calculation;  and  while  ho 
lieved  that  he  had  won  the  love  of  Sybil  agi  Jt 
the  dictates  of  her  own  reason,  she  felt  '> 
vinced  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  systeui'f 
conduct  as  clever  as  it  was  premeditated. 

Had  Miss  Delamere  been  a  young  and  i  x- 
perienced  girl,  she  might  have"  felt  incline  Ho 
judge  her  less  harshly;  but  Mrs.  Mortimer  |i*l 
no  difficulty  in  deciding  that,  despite  all  the'i» 
of  dress  and  manner,  Sybil  was  at  least  the  eial 
of  Frederic  in  years,  and  much  his  senicin 
knowledge  of  tlie  world ;  and  that  she  bacjre 
this  become  aware  how  often  the  heart  ■»;•» 
miglit  have  resisted  mere  personal  beauty ,Jky 
be  won  by  the  wiles  of  coquetry,  and  the ';:^ 
tion  of  worldly  wisdom.  i 

The  bloom  and  loveliness  of  youth  cai)t» 
under  any  circumstances,  lose  their  charm  ;ul 
it  is  nevertheless  certain,  that  a  pure-mi;e<i 
girl  never  appears  to  less  advantage  than  "^f^ 
she  is  conscious  of  a  passion  whicli  her  intii'^o 
sense  of  propriety  and  modesty  teaches  Ii  t* 
conceal.     There  is  an  awkwardness  in  siinro 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


S9 


J«ction  -which  even  leads  its  possessor  to  over- 
3t  her  part ;  she  shuns  and  repels  where  she 
->uld  fuiii  attract;  she  affects  eoKlness  where 
Ir  heart  yearns  to  pour  out  its  whole  treasure 
1, feeling;*  and  she  looks  and  moves  in  opposi- 
(  a  to  her  own  secret  impulses.  The  woman 
( the  world  is,  on  the  contrary,  ignorant  of  all 
1  ;se  moral  refinements.  Her  words  and  ac- 
i  ns  are  weighed  and  calculated ;  she  is  ever 
udy  to  enhance  her  own  advantages,  both  of 
ind  aud  person;  her  whole  deportment  is 
ijulated  upon  a  given  principle ;  she  has  a 
rpose  to  accomplish,  and  she  works  steadilj- 
I  ward  towards  its  realization ;  her  tears  and 
:  r  smiles  are  alike  subservient  to  her  will ;  she 
i  a  adapt  herself  to  every  mood  and  to  every 
cessity ;  for  her  the  romance  of  life  is  over, 
I  d  its  realities  alone  remain. 
Thus  reflected  Mrs.  Mortimer ;  and  with  bit- 
i-ness  of  spirit  she  felt  how  unequal  was  the 
mtest  between  her  own  g';ntle  and  pure-niind- 
Gertrude  and  the  world-taught  ttybil ;  aud 
w  equally  ill-calculated  was  the  frank  and 
ofiding  nature  of  her  son  to  resist  the  bland- 
iments  of  so  accomplished  an  actress. 
Not  onee  did  she  suffer  herself  to  believe  it 
ssible  that  she  might,  by  these  conclusions, 
•ong  Miss  Delamere;  she  remembered  the 
illiant  fortune  which  Frederic  had  inherited 
im  his  father,  and  she  felt  convinced  that 
ereia  lay  the  whole  secret  of  her  affection. 
■^  true  that  the  style  of  living  Jidopted  at 
•  Grange  far  outweighed  that  of  her  own 
ijlishment ;  but  this  profusion  had  only  been 
i  work  of  a  few  months,  and  might  terminate 
abruptlj-  as  it  had  conuuenced.  None  knew 
source,  and  none  could  oonsequently  decide 
its  permanency :  like  every  thing  else  con- 
cted  with  Sybil  it  was  a  mystery,  and  con- 
jueatly  suspicious. 

Turn  whither  she  would  Mrs.  Mortimer  found 
reposing  place  for  ner  spirit ;  all  her  associa- 
ins  with  the  past,  and  all  her  visions  for  the 
;nre,  were  alike  destroyed.  The  home  of 
ace  had  once  more  become  a  house  of  mourn- 
J,  and  she  felt  desolate  even  beside  her  own 

~SLttL 


CHAPTER.  XIL 

From  her  solitary  chamber  Mrs.  Mortimer  at 
igth  proceeded  to  that  of  Gertrude;  who, 
ostrated  by  the  intense  emotion  which  she 
d  undergone,  and  the  violence  which  she  had 
ne  to  her  own  feeling  while  laboring  to  re- 
ncile  the  mind  of  her  aunt  to  the  views  of 
«deric,  liad  flung  herself  upon  her  bed  in  an 
ony  of  wretchedness,  where  the  anxious  Mrs. 
)rtimer  now  found  her  scorched  with  incipient 
«-er,  her  eyes  hard  and  glossy,  and  her  cheek 
uhed  into  a  burning  crimson. 
"My  poor,  poor  girl,"  she  murmured  fondly, 
she  drew  a  chair  near  her  pillow ;  "  You  are 
e  first  victim !  But  you  must  forget,  or  at 
»st  despise  him,  Gertrude.  Yes ;  though  he 
my  own  son,  the  child  of  my  hope  and  of 
y  age.  still  do  I  bid  you  despise  him.  He  is 
'  longer  worthy  of  love  like  yours.     He  can 


no  longer  estimate  a  pure  aflfection  ;  and  your 
pride  must  teach  you  to  overcome  an  ill-placed 
attachmeht."  Gertrude  answered  only  by  a 
burst  of  tears. 

It  is  hard,  very  hard,  for  a  young  and  pure 
heart,  which  has  confided  its  alt  of  happiness  to 
the  supposed  love  of  an  ardent  and  devoted 
suitor,  to  find  itself  suddenly  cast  back  upon  its 
own  feelings  by^  some  cold  worldly  calculation, 
or  some  equally  unworthy  caprice ;  but  to  such 
a  sufferer  there  is  still  some  consolation  left,  in 
the  memory  of  many,  many  happy  moments, 
which  even  delusive  as  their  promise  has  ulti- 
mately proved,  were  at  least  a  source  of  joy 
while  the  illusion  lasted,  and  so'othed  the  self- 
respect  of  the  victim ;  who,  conscious  that  she 
was  not  won  unsought,  is  thus  enabled  to  pay 
back  scorn,  for  scorn,  Avliere  she  has  strength 
of  mind  to  conquer  her  ill-placed  passion. 

But  even  this  poor  solace- was  denied  to  the 
stricken  and  shrinking  niece  of  Mrs.  Mortimer. 
She  had^iven  away  her  heart  unasked,  and  the 
tender  had  been  rejected.  The  world  had  no 
greater  mortification  to  inflict;  life  no  keener 
suftering  to  endure.  She  loved,  and  her  lovo, 
was  despised.  She  felt  that  her  mission  on' 
earth  was  ended ;  and,  young  as  she  was,  and 
possessed  of  every  attribute  to  adorn  and  to  en- 
joy existence,  as  she  felt  her  temples  throb  and 
her  pulses  beat  with  fever,  she  began  to  hope 
that  her  overtaxed  strength  had  failed  beneath 
the  mighty  effort  which  she  had  been  called  up- 
on to  make  ;  and  that  her  life  was  about  to  be 
the  forfeit  of  the  struggle. 

Alas,  poor  trembler!  she  little  knew  how- 
much  the  heart  of  woman  can  endure,  and  still 
beat  on  ;  she  had  j'ct  to  learn  that  the  bright 
face  of  the  sun  may  be  clouded,  and  the  fair 
bosom  of  the  earth  be  draped  in  pall,  the  eye  of 
the  sufferer  still  find  force  to  look  upon  the 
changed  aspect  of  all  around  it.  Her  experience 
had  come  early,  and  was  yet  imperfect ;  there 
was  long  and  weary  years  before  her  to  eoin- 
plete  the  lesson ;  a  lesson  wliieh  is  often  car- 
ried even  to  the  grave,  and  never  thoroughly 
learned. 

"  That  he  should  hesitate  even  for  an  instant 
between  you !"  pursued  Mrs.  Mortimer  with  in- 
dignation, as  she  tenderly  wiped  away  the 
scorching  drops  which  fell  upon  the  flushed 
cheeks  of  her  niece  ;  "  I  no  longer  recognise  my 
son.  But  I  have  at  once  and  definitely^  refused 
my  sanction  to  his  marriage  with  that  artful 
woman  at  The  Grange.  No  nameless  adven- 
turer shall  lord  it  under  the  roof  of  the  Morti- 
mers while  I  live  to  guard  the  honor  of  our 
house.  Let  him  marry,  if  he  Avill,  some  poor 
and  honest  peasant-girl :  bitter  as  such  a  trial 
would  be  to  me,  I  think  I  could  support  it,  when 
I  knew  that  she  was  honest.  But  this  woman — 
what  know  we  of  her?  AVhat  may  we  ever 
know  ?  And  to  reflect  that  such  knowledge 
might  come  when  it  was  too  late,  and  that  wa 
had  received  in  our  very  home  a  woiiuvu  whose 
name  made  the  virtuous  blush  and  tlie  idle 
sneer.  No,  no — that  I  could  never  boar.  Dear 
as  he  is  to  me,  I  would  ratlier  look  upon  him  in 
a  coffin,  and  follow  him  to  the  vault  of  his  an- 
cestors ;  for  he  would  then  lie  there  undislionor- 
ed,  as  the  son  of  such  a  father  jnusl  do." 


40 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


And  overcome  by  the  vision   wliicli  she  had  |  grave  for  'vrhieh  she  pined,  and,  perhaps,  rect 
_:.._.j  .._   XI       ^:.x_-i  —  _xi.. ..!-.„.  1.  ..ir_..  her  when  she  was  gone.    And  yet — she  sl'iudi . 

cd  as  she  reflected  upon  the  price  which  li 
must  pay  for  these  bitter  indulgences,  upon  13 
sin  of  cherishing  sucli  feelings,  towards  the  hi 
band  of  another ;  and,  worse  than  all,  upon  I'l 
impossibility  of  conquering  a  passion  wbji 
could  hope  for  pardon  neither  in  her  own  et 
nor  in  those  of  others.  { 

As  she  writhed  upon  her  bed  of  pain,  vai'7 
endeavoring  to  conceal  her  anguish  both  of  m'l 
and  body  from  her  companion,  Mrs.  Mortiir 
was  aroused  by  the  touch  of  a  burning  hi 
from  a  reverie  into  which  she  had  fallen,  'i 
turned  anxiously  to  utter  some  word  of  entre  r 
or  consolation,  when  she  saw  the  widely  diln  J 
and  rigid  eyes  of  the  poor  sufferer  hxed  ,f 
consciously  upon  her,  while  her  cheeks  and  .3 
had  become  as  cold  and  pale  as  marble,  am  i 
once  discovered  that  she  was  no  longer  abLo 
give  ear  to  either.  ' 

In  an  agony  of  terror  she  rushed  to  the  be]  0 
summon  assistance  ;  and  ten  minutes  had  sca|>- 
ly  elapsed  ere  the  wild  and  ringing  laugb-, 
and  incoherent  words  of  the  unhappy  girl  )V 
claimed  a  violent  attack  of  delirium. 

The  bow,  too  tightly  bent,  had  sprung  fa 
the  unnatural  tension;  the  pure  and  beauliJ 
mind  was  prostrate,  and  wild  visions  were  sw  > 
ing  like  impish  revellers,  across  her  torti.d 
brain.  She  was  at  the  bridal  of  Frederic,  she  a 
the  handmaiden  of  the  bride,  and  was  atti  g 
her  for  the  altar ;  the  bridal  wi'enth  was  of  n  5, 
but  she  could  not  shake  away  the  venoniou  i- 
sects  that  had  nestled  themselves  among  ;« 
leaves,  and  then  she  writhed  and  struggle  n 
the  arms  of  the  wepping  attendants  in  her  cfl'is 
to  dislodge  the  hideous  intruders,  but  all  is 
vain  ;  and  she  flung  the  garland  down,  deckig 
that  she  could  not  bind  poison  about  the  l,«r 
of  her  cousin's  affianced  wife. 

Then  her  fingers  Avorked  rapidly  as  she  !&• 
pared  the  white  and  glistening  robe;  but  a.B 
a  shade  passed  over  her  brow,  and  anguish  cl;3- 
ed  her  eyes,  as  she  declared  that  it  was  wet  ji 
tears — salt  and  bitter  tears — which  fell  like.^ 
roding  drops  of  iron  upon  the  delicate  via 
lace,  and  marred  its  purity ;  and  again  she  et  j/« 
to  wipe  away  the  stains,  and  toiled,  and  Y"ri;.'d 
her  slender  limbs  into  a  thousand  painful  di''^ 
tions,  until  exhaustion  once  more  terniinatetii* 
paroxysm,  and  she  fell  back  upon  her  pijw 
gasping  out  that  she  was  summoned  to  her  ,!a 
funeral  feast,  where  she  would  exchange  lei 
wedding-garments  for  a  shroud,  and  her  |l^ 
riage-veil  for  a  pall  of  crape. 

Even  to  the  beloved  voice  of  her  auntjlie 
tortured  car  was  deaf,  and  the  wrung  \tli 
closed;  and  long  ere  the  arrival  of  the  pW" 
cian  the  fever  was  at  its  height.  _     j 

And  where  was  Frederic  at  this  trying  !»• 
ment?  i 

Once  more  on  his  way  to  The  Grange.jut 
himself  scarcely  conscious  of  the  nature  ojii* 
own  intentions.  Startled  as  he  had  been  b  M 
determined  and  unwonted  energy  of  his  nio;2r| 
he  was  too  thoroughly  subjugated  by  the  cU 
of  Sybil  to  be  shakni  in  his  j-urpose,  and  Ui 
the  vacillation  in  which  he  had  latterly  indiri^d, 
he  dreamed  of  delay,  of  temporising,  of  th|> 


eonjured  up,  the  afflicted  mother  bent  her  face 
over  that  of  her  suffering  niece,  and  their  tears 
•were  mingled  upon  the  pillow. 

"  May  you  not  wrong  her  by  these  suspicions, 
my  dear  aunt  ?"  gasped  out  Gertrude  after  a 
pause  too  painful  for  endurance :  "  Remember 
that  we  know  absolutely  nothing  of  these  stran- 
gers, who  may  perhaps  have  been  less  reserved 
to  Frederic.  Let  me  conjure  you  to  decide  no- 
thing rashly.  His  happiues?  the  happiness  of 
your  only  son,  the  cluld  of  your  deep  and  un- 
tiring love,  is  at  stake.  Oh,  let  me  implore  you 
to  be  cautious  ;  I  know  too  well  the  rmsery  of  a 
blighted  hope ;  spare  alike  him  and  yourself, 
for  you,  oh  !  how  could  you  bear  to  see  him  fade 
away  before  your  eyes,  a  withered  and  a  wretch- 
ed thing,  careless  of  all  save  the  grave  to  which 
he  would  be  hastening  ?" 

Mi-s.  Mortimer  made  no  reply.  In  common 
with  most  other  persons  of  gentle  disposition 
and  equal  temper,  it  required  some  serious  cause 
to  rouse  her  into  indignation  and  firmness ;  but 
the  cause  once  in  existence,  her  whole  nature 
■underwent  a  startling  change.  This  was  the 
first  great  trial  of  her  life,  for  sorrow  had  touch- 
ed her  lightly,  and  had  come  oidy  in  the  soften- 
ing and  inevitable  course  of  natural  events;  and 
thus  the  whole  force  of  her  garnered-up  powei's 
of  resolution  and  moral  endurance  Avere  brought 
simultaneously  into  action,  imshorn  of  any  of 
their  strength. 

Proud  of  the  name  she  bore,  and  of  the  son 
whom  she  loved  so  tenderly,  she  saw  her  best 
feelings  attacked  in  their  very  citadel,  and  she 
armed  herself  in  their  defence  with  a  jealous 
earnestness  which  rendered  her  deaf  to  all  the 
reasonings  of  her  more  indulgent  and  forgiving 
niece  ;  nor  Avas  the  spectacle  of  that  niece's  suf- 
fering calculated  to  make  her  swerve  from  her 
purpose. 

The  appeal  of  Gertrude  had,  indeed,  dried  her 
tears,  but  it  had  effected  no  change  in  her  reso- 
lution. Frederic  had  disappointed  and  outraged 
her  affection ;  and  this  she  felt  that  she  must 
bear  as  best  she  might ;  but  that  he  should  dis- 
honor alike  himself  and  her,  she  was  resolved 
never  to  permit,  so  long  as  her  will  maintained 
its  influence  over  his  mind.  Thick  sobs  rose  to 
her  throat,  and  shook  her  Avhole  frame,  but  she 
disregarded  this  physical  struggle,  and  thought 
onlj'  of  the  moral  evil  with  which  she  Avas 
threatened 


^  Thus,  the  entervicAV  produced  no  comfort  to 
either;  for  Gertrude  boAved  beneath  her  oAvn 
BorroAvs,  and  bcAvildered  by  the  sudden  change 
in  her  hitherto  gentle  and  placid  protectress; 
di<l  not  venture  again  to  plead  a  cause  Avhich 
ensured  her  OAvn  misery,  but  remained  with 
closfd  eyes  and  trembling  heart,  a  prey  to  rapid- 
ly-increasing illness  and  sickening  dread.  Come 
what  miglit,  to  her  the  future  Avas  a  chaos. 
Should  Frederic  obey  the  injunctions  of  his  mo- 
ther, and  relinquish  his  suit  to  Sybil,  he  Avould 
assuredly  abandon  his  home  once  more,  and  thus 
be  entirely  lost  to  her;  while,  Avretched  as  Avas 
the  alternative,  in  becoming  the  husband  of 
Miss  Delamere,  he  Avould,  at  least,  remain  Avhere 
ihe  could  see  him,  and  hear  his  A'oiee,  and  l)e  to 
him  as  a  sister,  and  he  Avoukl  follow  her  to  the 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


41 


bof  some  medium  of  action  -which  might 
►  reconcile  all  the  conflicting  interests  by 
fhich  he  was  surrounded  ;  but  the  more  he  re- 
bcted,  the  more  he  became  convinced  of  the 
fjpelessness  of  such  a  result, 
f  As  this  conviction  grew  upon  him,  he  deter- 
Sned  to  make  a  last  appeal  to  the  liitherto  un- 
Sling  affection  and  indulgence  of  his  mother, 
[fore  he  communicated  to  Miss  Delamere  the 
iexpected  opposition  to  wliicli  he  had  been 
jbjected;  for,  strong  in  his  faith  in  tlie  purity 
d  honor  of  Sybil,  he  dreaded  her  indignation 
the  intelligence,  while  as  an  amende  to  Mrs. 
brtimer  for  her  concession,  should  she  be 
L-ought  upon  at  last  to  comply  -with  his  en- 
4aties,  he  resolved  to  avail  hmiself  of  what  he 
(nsidered  as  the  implied  offer  of  his  mistress, 
jd  to  accept  her  revelation  of  the  past,  in  order 
jat  all  mystery  might  be  terminated  at  once. 
^Cheered'  by  this  resolution,  he  had  already 
trned  his  horse's  head  once  more  towards  home 
■hen  he  heard  some  one  galloping  rapidly  be- 
hd  him,  and  in  another  moment  a  groom  in 
■k  Delamere  livery  placed  in  his  hand  a  note 
m  Sybil.  He  tore  it  open.  It  contained  only 
lew  lines,  but  they  sufficed  at  once  to  change 
intentions. 

■  Come  to  me,"  it  said,  "  I  am  wretched,  and 
re  much  to  say.  Mamma  expects  you  to  din- 
Mention  no  word  of  this  morning's  eon- 
sation.     She  suspects  nothing."  Sybil. 

bere  could  be  no  mistake.  Miss  Delamere 
about  to  volunteer  the  very  confidence 
liich  he  had  determined  to  solicit,' and  thus  he 
puld  go  doubly  armed  into  the  presence  of  his 
inded  mother,  and  all  difficulties  would  be 
jrcome.  It  was  only  bj'^  a  violent  effort  that 
I  could  restrain  himself  from  pressing  the  wel- 
ae  paper  to  his  lips,  and  having  made  a  brief 
[)ly  to  the  messenger,  he  at  once  struck  spurs 
io  his  horse  and  retraced  his  way  towards  The 
( &nge. 

rhe  dinner-bell  rang  in  vain,  and  Mrs.  Morti- 
ir,  to  her  extreme  dismay,  seated  herself  at 
tile  alone.  Xever  before  had  she  felt  so  tbo- 
iighly  desolate,  for  hitherto,  in  the  absence  of 
1  ■  son,  Gertrude  had  been  her  companion,  and 
I  ihe  remembered  that  one  of  her  children  was 
I  rr  stretched  upon  a  bed  of  sickness,  while  she 
H  parted  from  the  other  in  displeasure,  her 
lirt  swelled,  and  she  hurriedly  quitted  the 
r  m  to  conceal  her  emotion  from  the  servants. 
I  ■  Frederic's  sake  alone  she  had  made  an  effort 
t  ippear  in  her  accustomed  place  ;  and  he  had 
Rented  himself  without  one  attempt  at  ex- 
Cnation  or  excuse ;  even  although,  for  the  first 
we  in  their  lives,  they  had  exchanged  other 
wds  than  those  of  affection. 
["  This,  only  this,  was  wanting  to  complete  my 
^iJtchedness,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  as  she 
cfe  more  bent  her  steps  to  the  chamber  of  the 
•ering  girl ;  "  Now,  mdeed,  my  cup  of  bitter- 
np  is  full,  for  my  son's  heart  is  estranged  from 

T  _ 

CHAPTER  XTTT 

iT  was  a  glorious  evening,  and  the  vivid  sun- 
Hjma  which  were  carefully  excluded  from  the 


sick  chamber  of  Miss  Mortimer,  were  streaming 
broad  and  bright  over  hill  and  valley,  and  tin^ 
ing  all  the  foliage  with  a  golden  glow,  when 
Frederic  once  more  full  of  hope  and  confidence, 
sprang  from  his  saddle  at  the  door  of  The  Grange. 

Ardent  in  all  his  feelings,  his  previous  depres- 
sion had  been  succeeded  by  a  wild  and  baseless 
Ijoy,  which  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  and  gave  an  un- 
wonted animation  to  his  whole  person.  Sybil 
had  told  him  in  her  note  that  she  was  wretched ; 
and  he  comprehended  at  once  that  this  wretched- 
ness had  been  induced  by  an  instinctive  delicacy, 
which  upbraided  her  for  the  silence  that,  in  their 
relative  position,  was  a  wrong  done  to  his  affe«- 
tion. 

Now,  therefore,  he  was  about  to  receive  the 
whole  outpouring  of  her  trust,  and  he  congratu- 
lated himself  upon  the  chivalrous  generosity 
which  had  led  him  to  believe  in  her  withoiit 
proof,  and  to  love  her  without  any  other  guaraiv 
tee  than  lier  own  sweet  and  guileless  nature. 

She  was  alone  when  he  entered  the  saloon, 
and  in  an  instant  he  was  at  her  side,  with  her 
hand  clasped  in  his. 

"  You  have  summoned  me,  Sybil,  and  I  am 
here." 

"  I  thank  yoii,"  was  the  calm  reply.  "  After 
you  had  left  me  this  morning,  I  felt  that  I,  &% 
least,  had  said  too  much  or  too  little,  and  that  it 
was  expedient  we  should  meet  again  at  onoe. 
My  proceeding  may  appear  strange  to  you,  but 
you  know  the  frankness  of  my  nature,  and  wiU. 
understand  tlijat  I  am  never  influenced  by  the 
young-lady  tactics  of  common  societj'.  This  is 
destroying  the  romance  of  our  position  strange- 
ly, is  it  not,  Frederic?  But  I  am  aware  that  I 
have  been  to  blame,  and  I  am  anxious  to  repair 
my  error." 

"  Who  would  not  sin  to  excuse  themselves  so 
sweetly?  Although  I  am  unconscious  of  th« 
fault,  I  am  ready  to  exact  the  penance." 

"  Thus,  then,  in  our  late  conversation,  you 
spoke  plainly  and  iindisguisedly,  I  could  not, 
and  I  clid  not  affect,  to  misunderstand  you.  You 
offered  yourself  to  me  unreservedly,  to  me  of 
whom  you  know  nothing,  save  that  I  have 
pleased  your  fancy,  and  for  so  much,  I  will 
admit,  gained  your  affection.  I  urged  feebly,  I 
fear,  but  truthfully,  my  conviction  of  your  mo- 
ther's disapproval,  when  I  should  have  done 
more,  when  it  would  have  been  at  once  more 
dignified  and  more  worthy  of  myself  to  have 
concealed  my  own  feelings  altogether,  and  to 
I  have  assured  you  at  once,  and  definitively,  that 
with  this  conviction  nothing  should  induce  me 
I  to  listen  to  your  addresses.  Suft'er  me,  therefore, 
to  do  this  now,  and  at  the  same  time  to  assure 
you  of  my  sincere  regret,  that  I  should  have 
allowed  you  to  be  misled,  even  for  a  few  hours, 
as  to  my  determination.  Nay,  you  must  hear 
me  out.  I  am  quite  conscious  of  my  debt  of 
obligation  to  yourself;  it  is  one  which,  through- 
out my  life,  I  am  never  likely  to  forget,  but  I 
am  too  proud  to  avail  myself  of  a  trust  so  un- 
bounded, and  that  same  pride — " 

"  Sybil,  you  are  ungenerous!"  exclaimed  Fre- 
deric. "  Was  it  for  this  you  sunmioned  me  ?  I 
know  not  how  I  have  deserved  so  bitter  a  disap- 
pointment. All  the  world  appear  to  have  co»» 
spired  against  me." 


42 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


"  That  is  precisely  what  I  apprehended,"  said 
Miss  Delam  ere  coldly.  "You  have  confided  to 
Mrs.  Mortimer  our  conversation  of  this  morning; 
and  my  warning  has  proved  correct." 

"  And  what,  though  it  be  so  ?"  was  the  impe- 
tuous reply.  "  I  am  dependent  upon  no  one. 
My  mother — even  my  mother,  whom  I  had 
hitherto  been  accustomed  to  consider  as  the 
most  unselfish  and  unprejudiced  of  human  be- 
ings, may  fail  me  when  I  calculate  upon  her  af- 
fection, hut  she  cannot  compel  me  to  sacrifice 
the  happiness  of  my  life  to  a  caprice." 

"  And  may  I  ask  what  is  the  nature  of  my  un 
worthiness  ?"  asked  Sybil,  in  an  accent  which, 
althougli  it  was  intented  to  be  playful,  involved 
a  strong  tinge  of  sarcasm. 

Frederic  bit  his  lip  and  remained  silent. 

"  Nay,  nay,  be  not  afraid  t-e  meet  me  with  a 
candor  equal  to  my  own,"  said  Miss  Delamere 
pressing  his  arm  sportively.  "  You  will,  I  am 
6ure,  do  me  the  justice  to  a"dmit  that  even  after 
I  had  weakly  suffered  you  to  see  that  my  affec- 
tions were  no  longer  in  my  own  keeping,  I 
urged  your  mother's  cause,  and  not  my  own 
Surely,  then,  my  feelings  merit  some  considera 
tion.""^ 

"  You  are  aware  how  earnestly  she  had  set 
ber  heart  upon  my  marriage  with  my  cousin," 
observed  Frederic  at  length,  conscious  that  he 
must  offer  some  reply. 

"  And  was  this  all  ?" 

"  You  force  me  to  be  unmanly,  Sj^bil ;  but  it 
is  your  will,  and  I  must  submit.  Forgive  me. 
then,  if  I  concede  that  this  was  not  all.  My 
mother  does  not,  cannot  know  you  as  I  do  ;  her 
secluded  life  renders  her  apprehensive 

"  Rather  say  suspicious,"  broke  in  Sj'bil 
haughtily. 

"  Be  it  so  ;  you  are  a  stranger  to  her ;  and  I, 
Sybil — forgive  her  when  you  remember  that  I 
am  her  only  child." 

"  I  understand  and  appreciate  all  that  you 
would  say,"  was  the  reply  of  his  companion,  as 
she  rose  coldly  and  indignantly  from  her  seat  ; 
"  Mrs.  Mortimer  fears  to  unite  her  son  with  pro- 
bable disgrace.  I  will  relieve  her  from  so  pain- 
ful an  apprehension." 

"  Sybil,  Sybil,  you  will  drive  me  distracted  !" 
exclaimed  Mortimer.  "  Am  /  then,  to  be  the 
eaerifice  of  this  struggle  of  misplaced  pride  ? 
Are  no  concessions  to  be  made  to  save  me  from 
wretchedness  ?" 

"  To  you,  and  for  you,  I  should  have  con- 
sidered none  too  great,"  murmured  Miss  Dela- 
mere, falling  back  in  the  chair  from  which  she 
had  just  risen,  and  covering  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  which  however,  failed  to  conceal  the 
large  tears  that  streamed  thick  and  fast  upon 
her  checks ;  "  But  I  cannot,  and  I  should  not, 
condescend  to  lend  mj-self  to  a  degradation 
such  as  tills.  Let  us  part  at  once:  I  am  inured 
to  suffering,  and  you  will  soon  learn  to  forget 
tliat  I  have  passed  like  a  dark  cloud  over  the 
horizon  of  j'our  life." 

"  Sybil,"  said  Frederic,  almost  inarticulately  ; 
"  If  for  me  you  will  indeed  consent  to  sacrifice 
your  own  feelings,  may  I  not  entreat  of  you  to 
tumor  my  motlier  in  this  caprice  !  Believe  me 
that  it  does  not  arise  from  any  doubt  of  your 
integrity;    it  cannot:    but  from  an  overween- 


ing affection  for  myself.  You  can  understanc 
and  appreciate  her  anxiety,  when  you  remem 
ber  that  it  is  to  me  alone'  that  she  must  loo) 
for  support  and  comfort  in  her  old  age.  Yoi 
know,  too,  how  tenderly  she  loves  me.  Surciv 
then " 

"  It  is  precisely  because  I  do  appreciate  an. 
know  all  this,"  "said  Miss  Delamere  ;  "  that 
recal  also  what  is  due  to  my  own  dignit\ 
Once  more,  let  us  part.  Like  Ctesar's  wife." 
should  not  even  suffer  myself  to  be  suspected." 

"  You  condemn  me  then  remorselessly  t 
wretchedness,  Sybil  ?" 

"  Do  not  mistake  yourself,  Frederic ;  yo 
will  soon  overcome  a  passing  disappointmeii 
You  were  happy  before  you  knew  me ;  yo 
have  now  only  to  forget  me,  and  that  happ 
ness  will  be  renewed." 

"  And  it  is  you,  Sybil — You,  who  confess  tlu 
you  have  loved, — who  tell  me  this  ?  But  trii 
true ;  you  have  a  right  to  do  so — for  you,  i 
least  have  loved,  and  have  forgotten." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Mortimer,"  was  the  reply ;  but  tl; 
eye  of  the  lady  flamed,  and  her  bosom  heave| 
as  she  listened  to  the  reproach  ;  "  I  have  indec' 
done  this  :  but  shall  I  tell  you  how  ?  By  jH-o . 
ing  that  I  had  raised  an  unworthy  object  up<| 
the  altar  of  my  heart — by  finding  that  the  worli 
the  hideous  world,  with  its  sordid  interests  aii 
its  vulgar  prejudices,  had  come  between  r; 
and  my  idol — by  discovering  the  hands  of  brf; 
and  the  feet  of  clay  where  I  had  fondly  belie v; 
that  all  was  sterling  ore.  And  now  blame  n, 
if  you  can,  and  dare." 

"  Sybil,  you  sport  with  my  affection  ;  y, 
wrong  my  nature ;  you  compel  me  to  plaji 
part  unworthy  alike  of  you  and  of  myselt  j 
can  no  more  live  without  your  love  lieucefori 
than  witliout  the  air  I  breathe,  or  the  ea'i 
upon  which  I  tread.  Be  generous,  Sybil,  i 
yourself;  and  do  not  sacrifice  an  affection  1,' 
mine  to  a  mere  overstrained  idea  of  digni 
You  have  yourself  read  tlie  character  of 
mother  as  though  you  had  known  her  fr,i 
your  childhood,  and  thus  you  cannot  feel  fj- 
prise  at  her  determination.  You  can  have  .• 
thing  to  conceal,  notliing  to  repent ;  and  ^ 
you  coldly  condemn  me  to  pay  the  penaltj'f 
another's  error."  _    |^ 

"  Place  yourself  for  an  instant  in  my  positi(  * 
said  Miss  Delamere,  as  the  large  tears  fell  si  '^ 
ly  upon  her  cheeks.  "What  has  been  my  <•- 
duct  since  my  arrival  in  your  neighborno;? 
Have  I  not  borne  myself  like  one  conscioii'f 
her  own  character  and  station?  And  w(;(I 
you  ask  me  to  submit  to  a  degradation  fit  g 
only  for  a  person  whose  antecedents  had  l^i 
suspicious,  or  at  least,  suspected?  Am  I  'J 
living  \mder  the  roof  witli  my  own  motl'i 
Do  we  not  possess  all  the  habits  and  attrib."* 
of  gentlewomen  ?  And  is  it  because  a  1ov:M 
retirement  has  induced  us  to  select  a  sechid 
corner  of  the  kingdom  as  our  temporary_h<e, 
that  I  am  to  be  insulted  by  doubts  injurioi.» 
my  honor?"  ^  ' 

Sybil,  dear  Sybil !  believe  me "        : 

Frederic,  I  do  believe  you!  Would  tl  1 
had  less  easily  been  won  to  do  so  ;  but  rei  » 
are  now  alike 'idle  and  unavailing.  I  will  211 
confess  that  our  estrangement  will  cause    » 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


4S 


pang :  but  it  shall  be  borne ;  and,  to  return 
[mce  more  to  Ca;sar  for  a  parallel,  I  will  hide 
ny  head  in  my  mantle,  and  none  shall  look  up- 
m  the  strugi^le." 

Large  drops  of  emotion  stood  upon  the  brow 
)f  Mortimer  as  he  listened ;  and  when,  as  if  to 
•ender  the  image  more  complete,  Miss  Dclamere 
juried  her  face  amid  the  cushions  of  the  sofa, 
ind  her  quick  sobs  fell  iipon  his  ear,  he  forgot 
ill  save  the  syren  by  whom  his  very  spirit  was 
imtbralled ;  and  casting  himself  at  her  feet  he 
Irowed  that  no  earthly  power  should  part  them. 
jrVhat  was  to  him  home,  parent,  or  the  world's 
mile  ?  She  was  his  home,  and  his  world  ;  and 
[ill  beside  her  image  was  blotted  out  and  anni- 
'lilated.  He  covered  her  hand  with  burning 
kisses ;  he  besought  her  to  have  pity  upon  his 
gony ;  he  addressed  her  by  all  the  endeariug 
ames  which  love  lends  to  the  lips  of  his  vota- 
ies ;  he  entreated  only  for  one  word,  one  smile ; 
ut  for  a  time  Sybil  was  obdurate.  Her  pride 
ad  been  stung ;  and  she  misdoubted  the  moral 
oarage  of  the  passionate  but  unstable  suitor 
'horn  her  beauty  had  won  ;  nor  was  it  until 
le  agitation  of  Mortimer  had  reached  its  climax 
lat  she  again  raised  her  head,  and  parting  the 
ucuriant  hair  which  clustered  about  his  brow, 
azed  upon  him  with  a  sorrowful  tendei-ness 
lore  eloquent  than  even  his  own  impassioned 
rords. 

There  was  hope,  however,  in  that  look,  and 
rederic  sprung  from  her  feet,  and  clasped  her 
I  his  arms,  exclaiming :  "  You  are  mine,  Sybil 
Deny  it  not,  you  are  mine  !  I  read  it  in  your 
res.  'Ton  will  forget  all  save  my  affection, 
y  life  shall  be  one  long  devotion  to  your  will, 
le  long  struggle  to  secure  your  happiness. 
ou  know  not,  you  cannot  know,  how  earnestly 
love  you !" 

He  too,  told  me  all  this,"  murmured  Miss 
elamere,  as  slie  suffered  her  beautiful  head  to 
rop  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  impetuous  suitor, 
and  yet  he  failed  me  in  the  hour  of  trial." 
"  Because  he  was  a  coward  and  a  madman," 
id  Frederic  tenderly;  "  Because  he  knew  not 
id  could  not  estimate  the  treasure  which  he 
mg  from  him.  Why  dwell  upon  the  past,  with 
ich  a  present  and  such  a  future,  to  engage  your 
loughts  ?" 

"Aiad  yet  he  knew  me  in  my  bright  girlhood," 

irsued  Miss  Delamere   in  the  same  subdued 

■'"; ;  "  every  action  of  my  life  ;  every  thought 

iiv  heart.    The  wild  and  perhaps  absurd  am- 

•iri,  of  being  loved  only  for  my  own  sake, 

1  not  yet  entered  my  mind ;  I  was  content  to 

or  at  least  to  seem,  as  others  were,  the  mere 

vorite  of  fortune  and  of  the  world;   and  he 

et  me  in  its  sunniest  paths,  in  the  full  glow 

youth  and  triumph.     How  then  can  I  trust 

;ainr 

"  The  more  readily,  because  it  was  only  thus 
kAew  you,  my  sweet  Sybil,"  replied  her  eom- 
nion  earne3tlJ^  ' "  Had  he  seen  you,  as  I  have 
ne,  in  your  home,  of  which  you  are  at  once 
e  blessing  and  the  charm,  I  should  have  lost 
e  richest  prize  that  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  man. 
)u  have  now,  indeed,  explained  to  me  all  that 
IS  hitherto  incomprehensible.  Tell  me  only 
if  you  no  longer  love  him  ;  I  care  not  to  know 
■J  he  is;   nay,  I  should  shrink  from  such  a  I 


knowledge,  lest  I  should,  even  now,  and  hoi-o 
sully  the  pure  joy  of  my  spirit  by  a  curs.c.  Only 
assure  me  that  you  no  longer  love  him,  and  \ 
ask  no  more." 

Lovely  was  the  smile  with  which  Miss  Dela- 
mere replied;  for  although  her  lips  moved,  no 
sound  escaped  them.  But  Mortimer  was  satis- 
fied; such  a  smile  could  beam  only  upon  the 
one  beloved  ;  and  as  he  gazed  upon  the  beauti- 
ful face  that  was  upturned  to  his  own,  he  would 
not  have  exchanged  his  dream  of  happiness  for 
the  most  glowing  certainty  of  "  waking  bliss." 

For  a  few  moments  they  remained  gazing 
steadfastly  at  each  other  ;  but  at  length,  en- 
couraged by  the  expression  of  his  mistress's 
countenance,  Frederic  ventured  to  draw  her 
more  closely  to  him,  and  to  touch  her  cheek 
with  his  lips.  He  was  not  rebuked,  although 
she  instantly  withdrew  herself  from  his  clasp  ; 
and  the  measure  of  his  joy  was  full. 

"  And  now,  Sybil,  my  own  Sybil,"  he  whis- 
pered, "  let  us  talk  only  of  ourselves — think  only 
of  ourselves ;  of  the  long  years  of  bliss  wliich 
await  us,  and  of  our  bright  prospects  for  the 
future." 

"  Without  one  reference  to  the  past  ?" 

"  What  have  we  to  do  with  the  past  ?"  was 
the  eager  rejoinder ;  "  For  me  it  is  for  ever 
annihilated." 

"  And  have  you  no  curiosity — none — to  solve 
the  mighty  mystery  which  was  to  be  to  us  what 
the  wall  was  to  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  ?" 

"  None  ;  till  you  care  to  make  it  known." 

"  It  shall  be  then,  the  first  trial  of  your 
truth,"  laughed  Miss  Delamere ;  "  only  pledg- 
ing myself  that  you  shall  one  day  learn  all  that 
I  have  to  tell,  and  warning  you  that  it  will 
scarcely  repay  you  for  the  hearing,  so  infinitely 
small  will  be  the  amount  of  the  revelation. 
But  I  will  not  wrong  your  generosity  by  volun- 
teering an  autobiography  at  this  precise  mo- 
ment, lest  you  should  suspect  that  I  doubt  your 
faith.  Moreover,  I  shall  love  to  play  the  co- 
quette for  once  ;  and  by  piquing  your  curiosity, 
to  keep  up  your  interest  in  my  unworthy  self. 
How  know  you  but  I  may  be  after  all,  a  mere 
igiiis  fatuus,  a  wandering  light,  an  impalpable 
form;  and  that,  like  Ixion,  when  you  seek  to 
embrace  your  mistress,  you  may  one  day  clasp 
a  cloud?" 

The  reply  of  Frederic  convinced  her  that  ho 
was  at  least  satisfied  the  illusion  was  not  yet 
dispelled ;  and  more  fascinated  than  ever  by 
the  aff"ectionate  and  endearing  gentleness  of 
his  beautiful  betrothed,  he  forgot  all  the  dif- 
ficulties and  annoyances  by  which  he  Avas  sur- 
roimded,  to  resign  himself  wholly  to  the  spell 
of  her  fascinations.  Tlie  dressing-bell  rang 
unheeded ;  sufficiently  adorned  by  the  sub- 
dued happiness  which  was  betrayed  in  her 
every  look  and  gesture,  Sybil  felt  that  she 
required  no  added  charm  in  the  eyes  of  her 
lover  ;  and  it  was  only  when  a  second  sum- 
mons in  the  dining-room  reached  them  through 
a  servant,  that  she  hastily  wreathed  a  few 
flowers  from  a  jardiniere  in  her  luxuriant  hair, 
and  offered  her  hand  to  Mortimer  to  lead  her 
from  the  saloon. 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES, 


CHAPTER  XIY. 


The  convalescence  of  Gertrude  ■was  slow,  but 
certain.  Her  youth,  and  the  gentle  and  uncom- 
plaining patience  with  which  she  supported  her 
Buffering,  proved  to  be  efficient  physicians ; 
while  their  eflfects  were  strengthened  by  the 
deep  and  silent  delight  with  which  she  re- 
marked the  affectionate  anxiety  and.  sympathy 
of  her  cousin. 

She  was  no  sooner  able  to  leave  her  room 
than  Frederic,  whose  conscience  was  not  alto- 
getlier  at  ease  as  regarded  the  origin  of  her  in- 
disposition, passed  hours  each  day  at  her  side  ; 
reading  aloud  from  her  favorite  authors,  or  con- 
versing on  topics  of  general  interest,  calculated 
to  amuse  without  exciting  her. 

Willingly,  most  willinglj-,  would  she  thus 
have  worn  out  her  life.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  one  sweet  di'cam  of  her  childhood  were 
indeed  realised  ;  nor  would  she  trust  herself 
to  look  either  backward  into  the  past,  or  for- 
ward into  the  future.  The  present  was  all  in 
all  to  her  ;  and  as  she  saw  her  cousin  move 
noiselessly  to  her  sofa,  and  felt  her  hand  in  his, 
and  watched  all  the  little  arrangements  with 
which  he  busied  himself  for  her  comfort,  tears 
of  blissful  gratitude  rose  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
forgot  all  her  previous  trials. 

Kor  was  Mrs.  Mortimer  less  happy  than  her- 
self. Unconscious  of  the  decisive  interview  of 
her  son  with  Sybil,  she  too,  began  to  hope  that 
older  and  better  feelings  were  resuming  their 
influence  over  his  heart;  and  that  a  mere  pass- 
ing fancy  had  yielded  beneath  a  sense  of  her 
disapprobation  and  of  his  own  folly.  Nor  did 
even  his  daily  absences  from  home  shake  this 
belief;  for  she  was  reasonable  enough  to  feel 
that,  after  his  extreme  intimacy  at  The  Grange, 
he  could  not,  consistently  with  a  proper  obser- 
vance of  courtesy  and  honor,  at  once  withdraw 
himself  from  the  society  of  Mrs.  Delamere  and 
her  daughter ;  while  that  he  could  constantly 
pass  hours  in  intimate  companionship  with  Ger- 
ti'ude,  whose  pure  and  etherial  beauty  was  but 
the  tangible  and  palpable  reflection  of  her 
equally  pure  and  beautiful  nature,  and  remain 
insensible  to  the  charm,  appeared  to  her  im- 
possible ;  and  the  rather  that,  in  the  languor 
and  helplessness  of  convalescence,  the  grateful 
girl  had  in  a  great  measure  laid  a3ide  the  studied 
reserve  which  she  had  hitherto  observed,  and 
Buffered  her  cousin  to  read  the  depths  of  her 
young  and  guileless  heart. 

Little  did  either  of  them  suspect  that  there 
was  a  moral  bandage  before  the  eyes  of  Frede- 
ric, whicli  rendered  him  blind  to  the  perfections 
of  every  object  save  one ;  and  that  the  kindlj- 
attentions  which  had  been  originally  the  mere 
impulse  of  pity  and  brotherly  regard,  had  in- 
ci'eased  and  continued  under  the  deeply  felt, 
although  unconscious,  happiness  induced  by  the 
restored  affection  of  his  mother. 

It  is  probable  that,  had  Sybil  endeavored  to 
dissuade  him  from  his  constant  attendance  in 
the  sick  room  he  might  have  been  led  to  con- 
ti-ast  her  egotism  with  the  unselfish  generosity 
of  lier  rival;  but  far  from  indulging  in  so  dan- 
gerous a  weakness.  Miss  Delamere  encouraged 
Lim  in  his  la-bor  of  love ;  while  Bcoi-cely  a  day  1 


passed  in  which  some  offering  did  not  reach  th« 
mvalid  from  the  ladies  at  The  Grange,  accon> 
panied  by  the  kindliest  expressions  of  anxiety 
and  sympathy. 

Of  these  offerings,  however,  Frederic  was 
never  made  the  medium ;  sometimes  they  wew 
conveyed  by  a  servant,  while  at  othei-s  the  pon\'- 
phaeton,  driven  by  its  fair  mistress,  deposited 
at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  the  rarest  floweis 
from  her  conservatory,  the  newest  work  from 
the  press,  or  the  choicest  fruits  of  the  season. 

For  a  time  Gertmde  had  felt  querulous  and 
irritated  when  these  presents  were  laid  before 
her ;  she  shrank  from  obligations  conferred  by 
Miss  Delamere,  and  would  willingly  have  for- 
gotten her  existence;  but  her  attentions  wei« 
so  pertinacious,  so  gracefully  tendered,  and  so 
judicious,  that  she  ultimately  became  reconciled, 
and  looked  even  with  pleasure  upon  the  gor- 
geous blossoms  which  made  a  mimic  summer  in 
her  shady  room ;  or  listened  to  the  brilliant  and 
well  selected  pages  to  which  the  low  and  ear 
nest  tones  of  her  cousin  lent  an  added  chaim 
until  she  forgot  that  she  owed  their  enjoymeoi 
to  the  considerate  kindness  of  Sybil. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  was,  however,  far  from  doinf, 
the  same.  Unable, -without  compromising  he:! 
own  dignity,  to  refuse  these  diurnal  civilitia( 
she  suffered  them  in  silence,  but  not  the  les- 
deprecated  the  diligence  and  perseverance  witll 
which  they  were  tendered.  She  would  fai; 
have  terminated  at  once,  and  for  ever,  all  cotti 
munication  with  The  Grange  and  its  inhabitants; 
but  she  felt  that  she  had  no  means  of  so  doin  | 
without  exposing  her  apprehensions,  and  thi; 
placing  herself  at  the  mercy  of  Sybil's  ea-; 
casms.  I 

Could  she,  for  a  moment,  have  suspected  thi; 
she  was  already  pledged  to  her  son,  all  her  hes' 
tation  would  have  vanished  under  a  sense  of  hi 
ter  displeasure  ;  but  Miss  Delamere  had  herse 
suggested  that  there  would  be  an  indelicacy 
making  known  their  engagement  during  the  co 
valescence  of  Gerti-ude  ;  and  Frederic,  delight), 
thus  to  escape,  even  for  a  brief  interval,  the  ii 
proaches  of  his  mother  and  the  grief  of  his  couf; 
— for  he  could  no  longer  deceive  himself  as  , 
the  nature  of  her  feelings  towards  him — ma' 
no  effort  to  combat  her  opinion.  ! 

Gradually,  however,  as  Gertrude  regain, 
strength,  his  attentions  relaxed.  His  devoti 
to  her  comfort  became  less  marked,  and  his  i' 
sences  from  home  alike  more  frequent  and  ni< 
prolonged.  It  is  true,  that  while  beside  her 
was  still  kind,  and  gentle,  and  affectionate;  b 
it  was  soon  apparent  to  the  poor  invalid  that ; 
was  indebted  to  the  regard  of  the  cousin,  (>'■ 
not  to  the  zeal  of  the  lover.  SuftVring  had,  b(; 
ever,  calmed  her  mind,  and  weakened,  althoi' 
by  no  means  conquered  her  feelings ;  and  as  ;• 
slowly  overcame  her  malady,  a  deep  and  i- 
complaining  melancholy  replaced  tne  gir » 
buoyancy  which  had  once  marked  her  charac  . 

The  abstracted  look,  the  frequent  fit*  of  • 
sence,  and,  above  all,  the  smile  of  release  wl  i 
Frederic  had  not  tact  enough  to  conceal  a.-  • 
parted  from  her,  siifficed  to  convince  her  that  e 
imaginary  paradise  in  which  she  had  lived  f  » 
few  weeks  must  soon^ive  place  to  a  less  gl,'* 
ing  reality;  and  she  bi-aced  up  Tier  strengtl  • 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


hppovt  the  change  as  resolutely  as  she  could, 
rhe  idea  that  by  her,  and  through  her,  discord 
Hiould  come  bet-«'ecu  t)\e  mother  and  the  son, 
lent  her  a  factitious  energy,  incomprehensible 
Wen  to  herself;  and  often,  very  often,  did  she 
lucceed  in  meeting  her  anxious  aunt  with  a 
Imile  upon  her  lips,  when  her  heart  was  deluged 
In  tears. 

'  Thus  were  things  situated  when  a  contagious 
kver  was  introduced  into  Westrum  by  a  travel- 
'jr,  which  spread  rapidly  among  the  poor,  and 
^'ated    universal    consternation.     The    native 
Jiaritv  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  not,  however,  to 
je  ehiUed  by  any  personal  apprehension ;  and 
felus,  despite'  the  entreaties  of  her  family,  she 
jontinued  with  undiminished  assiduity  her  pe- 
lodical  visits  to  her  numerous  pensioners ;  and, 
ir  a  time,  their  fears  continued  to  appear  su- 
U-fluous :  when,  urged  by  a  desire  to  render 
le  advantage  obtained,  as  she  supposed,  by  her 
iece  over  a  dangerous  rival  more  assured,  she 
a  sooner  saw  Gertrude  sufliciently  restored  to 
inder  such  a  proceeding  safe,  than,  affecting 
\  believe  that  she  required  to  be  aroused  from 
le  moral  lethargy  consequent  upon  a  long  and 
lervating  indisposition,  she  resolved  to  collect 
jout  her  the  friends  by  whom  she  was  surround- 
l:  and,  by  making  her  house  more  attractive, 
obtain  at   once   the  twofold   advantage   of 
Qusing  her  son  in  his  home,  and  of  affording  to 
T  niece  an  opportunity  of  displaying  the  per- 
nal  attractions  and  mental  qualifications  with 
hich  she  was  so  richly  gifted. 
Those  friends  were  "by  no  means  numerous, 
it  they  were  well  selected ;  for  Mrs.  Mortimer 
■eferred  solitude  to  that  species  of  social  pis 
«er,  which  tends  to  fill  the  drawing-rooms  of 
B8  fastidious  party-givers ;  and  thus,  Dr.  Jervis, 
e  vicar,  and  his  estimable  wife,  the  local  phy- 
:ian  and  his  two  well  educated  daiighters,  and 
e  (amiUes  of  the  neighborhood,  few,  but  well- 
ed, constituted  the  whole  of  her  circle. 
One  only  objection  offered  itself  to  this  ar- 
'  ngement,  and  that  one  existed  in  the  impos- 
(ility  of  excluding  from  her  hospitality  the  la- 
iJsatThe  Grange.     Well  aware  of  the  caque- 
7e  of  a  country  town,  and  fettered,  moreover, 
1  the  unceasing  attentions  of  Sybil  to  her  niece, 
'.•%.  Mortimer  at  once  felt  the  utter  impractica- 
1  ity  of  passing  them  over  ;  but  less  far  sighted 
'  in  Gertrude,  she  had  taught  herself  to  believe 
'  It  the  danger  which  she  apprehended  was  now 

Sirpast ;  and  it  was  consequently  with  less  re- 
tance  than  she  would  formerly  have  felt,  that 
despatched  a  note  of  invitation,  which  was 
itaediately  and  most  graciously  answered. 
Nor  was  the  delusion  of  the  fond  mother  by 
m  means  extraordinary ;  for  superadded  to  the 
H  that  she  was  familiar  with  all  the  estimable 
(jalities  of  her  niece,  and  knew  how  to  appre- 
<itc  at  its  just  value  the  whole  amount  of  her 
ifrth,  it  was  no  less  certain  that,  to  the  eye  of 
lii.sinterested  critic,  the  beauty  of  Gertrude  far  , 
Ascended  that  of  Miss  Delamere,  radiant  as  it 
^ ;  although  it  required  more  mind  to  appre- 
•^e  trie  oie  than  the  other  in  a  more  common 
Cfcerver. 

SMie  pnre  and  Grecian  profile  of  Gertrude, 
Itlessly  chiselled;  her  deep  and  expressive 
9  eyes,  with  their  long  laahes  at  least  threo 


43 


shades  darker  than  her  hair;  her  radiant  conv 
plexion ;  and  the  redundant  tresses  of  a  golden 
auburn,  which  fell  in  magnificent  profusion  to 
her  shoulders;  all  combined  to  invest  her  with 
a  soft  and  ethereal  expression  which  almosi 
amounted  to  the  ideal ;  and  to  give  an  essentially 
womanlj'^  character  to  her  loveliness,  Avhicn 
spoke  rather  to  the  heart  than  to  the  eye ;  while 
her  slight  and  fragile  figure,  pliable  as  the 
willow,  and  as  graceful  in  its  undulations,  waa 
so  well  assorted  to  her  face,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  look  upon  her  without  interest  and  af 
fection  ;  while  the  attraction  of  Miss  Delamei^ 
existed  rather  in  the  rich  and  voluptuous  im- 
pression produced  by  her  whole  nppearancfl 
than  by  the  perfection  of  any  particular  feature. 

Very  beaiitiful,  indeed,  she  was ;  but  the  artis- 
tic critic  would  have  declared  that  she  charmed 
rather  by  her  general  demeanor  than  by  positive 
and  regular  outline  or  coloring.  Tliere  was  a 
tinge  of  fearlessness,  a  shade  of  self-appreciation, 
a  degree  of  boldness,  in  the  ordinary  expression 
of  her  fine  black  eyes,  which,  nevertheless,  at 
particular  moments,  veiled  themselves  so  deli- 
ciously,  that  tliose  to  whom  their  softened 
glances  were  directed  appreciated  them  the 
more  deeply  from  the  contrast — upon  the  prin- 
ciple that  no  woman  dislikes  a  coxcomb,  who 
throws  off  his  coxcombry  for  her  alone.  Her 
rich  complexion  was  alone,  it  might  be,  a  shado 
too  glowing  for  a  fastidious  taste,  but  it  diffused 
so  wonderful  an  animation  over  her  whole  coun- 
tenance, that  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  wish  it 
less  brilliant,  while  the  extraordinary  beauty  of 
her  mouth,  and  the  magnificent  teeth  revealed 
at  every  smile,  combined  with  the  peculiar  me- 
lody of  her  low  rich  voice,  completed  a  face  of 
no  ordinary  attraction.  Her  form  was,  more- 
over, faultless;  and,  in  gracefulness  of  motion 
and  manner,  she  did  not  yield  even  to  her 
gentler  rival ;  while  in  that  self-possession  and 
ease  which  can  only  be  acquired  by  a  commerce 
with  refined  society,  she  was  greatly  the  supe- 
rior of  the  more  retiring  Gertrude,  who  had 
been  reared  in  comparative  seclusion. 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Mortimer  flattered  herself 
that  after  a  time  the  quiet  graces  of  her  nieco 
would  entirely  wean  the  heart  of  Frederic  from 
the  more  artificial  fascination  of  Miss  Delamere ; 
and  that  to  produce  this  desirable  result,  he  re- 
quired only  to  see  her  in  the  society  of  other  fe- 
males of  her  own  age,  and  to  contrast  her  with 
her  associates.  Herself  gentle  and  domestic,  she 
could  not  appreciate  the  attraction  which  Sybil 
derived  from  her  superior  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  strong  in  the  hopes  of  success,  slie 
resolutely  disregarded  her  own  love  of  quiet 
and  retirement,  and  to  the  surprise  of  those 
about  her,  declared  her  intention  of  no  longer 
withdrawing  herself  from  the  hospitable  atl- 
vances  of  her  neighbors.  In  order  the  mor« 
gracefully  to  effect  her  purpose,  she  had  conse- 
quently, resolved  to  open  her  own  house,  and 
Gertrude  although  sensitively  shrinking  under 
a  feeling  of  the  invidiousness  of  her  own  posi- 
tion, meekly  prepared  to  play  her  part  in  this 
new  trial. 

The  dinner  passed  off  somewhat  heavily  ;  fot 
the  art  of  dinner-giving  is  one  of  sufficient  difH- 
eulty,    especially    in    a   limited    neighborhood. 


46 


THE  RIVAL  BEAtTIES. 


•where  all  the  parties  are  intimately  kno\rn  to 
each  other ;  but  even  liere  the  perfect  tact  of 
Miss  Delamere  enabled  her  to  infuse  a  certain 
portion  of  animation  into  those  about  her.  The 
elderly  gentlemen  were  enchanted  with  her  in- 
formation, and  their  wives  with  her  urbanity ; 
■while  the  younger  ladies  were  enraptured  by 
her  elegant  costume,  and  their  brothers  and  cou- 
eins  captivated  by  her  beauty. 

Gertrude,  meanwhile,  in  her  simple  dress  of 
white  muslin,  subdued  in  spirit,  and  oppressed 
at  heart,  contributed  to  the  general  conversa- 
tion only  b}'  monosyllables;  and  was  effectually 
thrown  into  the  shade  by  her  more  brilliant  ad- 
versarj'.  Tlie  languor  of  illness  lent,  indeed,  a 
deeper  charm  to  her  beauty,  but  it  was  one  little 
calculated  to  attract  the  mere  pleasure-seekers 
by  whom  she  was  surrounded  ;  while  the  only 
eye  which  she  sought  to  see  turned  upon  her  in 
affection,  was  rivetted  almost  incessantly  upon 
the  beaming  countenance  of  another. 

As  the  ladies  rose  from  table  Mrs.  Mortimer 
felt  painfidh'  conscious  that  her  object  had  failed, 
and  that  she  had  but  afforded  to  Sybil  a  fresh 
opportunity  of  evincing  the  extent  of  her  social 
talents ;  nevertheless,  she  still  hoped  against 
hope ;  and  when,  on  reaching  the  drawing-room, 
she  saw  her  dreaded  guest,  after  having,  with 
almost  child-like  anxiety,  provided  for  the  per- 
fect comfort  of  her  mother,  (whose  constitu- 
tional helplessness  continually  rendered  her  de- 
pendant upon  others  even  in  her  most  trivial 
aiTangements:)  move  to  the  side  of  her  niece, 
and  take  her  hand  with  an  expression  of  anxious 
sympathy,  her  heart  once  more  swelled,  as  she 
decided  that  nothing  could  be  comparable  to 
the  pure  beauty  of  the  pale  girl  who  formed  so 
strong  a  contrast  with  the  matured  and  (as  her 
prejudice  impelled  her  to  add)  meretricious  wo- 
man of  the  world,  who  was,  even  then  smiling 
over  the  ruin  which  had  been  her  own  work. 

But  while  Mrs.  ilortimer  so  judged,  the  reason 
of  Gertrude  was  differently  impressed.  She  felt 
and  acknowledged  all  the  superiority  of  her  en- 
forced companion  ;  nor  did  the  fact  that  since 
the  first  moment  of  her  arrival  she  had  been 
enable  to  detect  even  a  glance  directed  towards 
Frederic,  which  implied  a  sense  of  conscious 
triumph  or  security,  jealously  as  she  had  watch- 
ed for  such,  undeceived  her  as  to  the  power 
which  she  possessed  over  his  mind  and  feelings. 

Moreover,  Miss  Mortimer  had  not  been  blind 
to  the  circumstance  tluit  her  aunt  owed  to  Sybil 
all  the  cheerfulness  of  the  son^ewhat  tedious  re- 
past which  liad  just  terminated  ;  while  she  was 
equally  willing  to  admit  the  amiability  by  which 
it  had  been  succeeded ;  forming,  as'  it  did,  so 
startling  a  reverse  to  the  bearing  of  many  a  bril- 
liant female  conversationalist,  who,  on  rising 
from  table,  suddenly  throws  aside  all  her  en- 
ergy;  and  retiring,  while  surrounded  merely 
by  lier  own  sex,  to  a  solitary  faideuil,  or  a  dis- 
tant sofa,  closes  her  eyes  in  languid  weariness, 
and  awaits  the  return  of  the  gentlemen  t«  re- 
new her  triumphs. 

In  Sybil  nothing  had  been  overstrained ;  noth- 
ing obtrusive.  Her  rich  voice,  and  her  low 
melodious  laughter,  had  alike  made  music  in  the 
circle ;  but  she  had  never  appeared  to  tliink  of 
herself,  while  exerting  her  powers  to  amuse 


others ;  nor  did  her  smiles  cease,  or  effort*  to 
afford  pleasure  terminate,  with  the  presence  of 
the  most  interested  of  her  auditors. 

Surrounded  only  by  the  ladies  of  the  party, 
her  looks  were  as  bright,  and  her  words  as 
bland  as  ever  ;  and  seated  beside  Gertrude,  with 
the  hand  Avhieh  she  had  secured  clasped  in  her 
own,  no  shadow  of  ennui  could  be  detected,  as 
she  murmured  out  a  thousand  expressions  of 
sympathy  and  regard. 

"  You  have,  indeed,  been  a  sad  sufferer,  my 
dear  Mi.ss  Mortimer,"  she  said  caressingl}*;  "and 
you  make  me  truly  happy  by  the  assurance  that 
I  was  able,  in  a  degree,  however  slight,  to  render 
your  convalescence  less  drearj-.  Happilj-,  liow- 
ever,  it  is  now  at  its  close ;  and  you  must  really 
take  more  care  of  your  health  in  future." 

In  spite  of  her  efforts  to  suppress  it,  the  sigh 
of  Gertrude  was  audible  to  her  listener. 

"  I  fear  also,"  said  Sybil  in  a  still  lower  tone; 
"  that  you  are  unhappy.  You  have  not  j-et  bad 
time,  like  myself,  to  acquire  the  most  useful  of  ' 
all  philosophy  which  almost  defies  fate.  Kay, 
why  that  blush  ?  Beautiful  as  it  is,  it  seems  to 
rebuke  my  indiscretion ;  but,  believe  me,  I  was 
far  from  seeking  to  give  you  pain,  conscious  a* 
I  am  that  whatever  may  be  the  cause  of  your 
present  melancholy  it  is  free  from  self-reproach." 

"  You  do  me  no  more  than  justice,"  said  Ger- : 
trude,  raising  her  ej-es  meekly  to  those  of  her ; 
interlocutor.  "  Sad  I  may  be — Perhaps  long ; 
illness  necessarily  induces  depression;  but  my; 
life  has  been  an  open  volume  of  which  the  pages 
were  free  to  all  about  me;  and  as  yet  I  have 
met  blame  from  no  one." 

Tlie  reply  had  been  simple  and  guileless,  for' 
no  thought  of  repajing  by  sarcasm  the  courtesy 
of  her  visitor  had  crossed  the  mind  of  Mis* 
Mortimer  as  it  was  made  ;  but,  nevertheless,  il 
was  now  Sybil's  turn  to  blush  ;  and  the  elo- 
quent blood"  mantled  over  her  brow  and  bosora, 
and  burnt  there  for  an  instant,  as  she  fixed  a 
searching  look  upon  the  pale  girl  beside  her. 
A  moment  sufficed,  however,  to  convince  hei, 
that  no  covert  meaning  had  been  implied,  anr 
she  at  once  regained  her  self-possession. 

"  And  do  you  equally  attach  blame  to  n< 
one  ?"  asked  Miss  Delamere,  at  the  close  o; 
this  scrutiny  ;  "  Rest  assured,  that  if  any  vh* 
know  you  have  brought  that  shadow  to  you 
brow,  X)ne  reproach  from  your  gentle  lips  wil* 
suffice  to  make  them  retract  their  fault." 

"  I  have  no  reproach  to  utter,"  said  Gertrud 
somewhat  coldly  ;  "Nothing  to  resent;  nothin 
to  wish." 

"  Naj',  then,"  laughed  her  companion;  "yo; 
resemble  the  hero  of  the  Eastern  tale,  who? 
curse  was  the  power  of  fulfilling  every  desire 
and  who  died  the  victim  of  his  own  morj; 
satiety.  But  do  not  think  to  deceive  me  thu, 
Look  upon  me  as  a  fiiend — a  sincere  fnen< 
Appearances  are  against  me,  I  admit;  but  I  c 
not  on  that  account  despair  that  you  will  do  ir 
justice.  Gertrude,"  she  continued,  lowerii: 
her  voice  to  a  still  deeper  murnuir;  "  I  kno 
too  well  the  cause  of  that  pallor,  and  of  tho. 
tears  which  are  even  now  glistening  in  yo' 
eyes ;  but  you  wrong  me  greatly  if  you  rcga' 
me  as  other  than  their  innocent  and  involunta: 
cause.     Nay,  more " 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


47 


'•Oh,  no!  enough,  enough!"  gasped  her  Hs- 
rner;  "  I  will  not  affect  to  misuuderstnnd  your 
iferenee;  and  it  refers  to  a  subject  which  never 
m,  and  never  ought,  to  be  discussed  between 
Is.  I  can  well  conceive  that  Frederic — that 
ly  cousin — had  yielded  to  tlie  wishes  of  lus 
lother,  and  consented  to  sacrifice  his  iuclina- 
ons  to  her  will;  but  I  cannot  condescend  to 
e  made  the  pis  aller  of  a  disappointed  passion, 
or  to  owe  a  reluctant  heart  to  the  suggestive 

Irotection  of " 

"  Why  do  you  pause,  Miss  Mortimer  ?"  asked 
bil  calmly  ;  "  Of  a  rival,  you  would  say ;  and 
erliaps  in  the  eye  of  the  world  I  may  appear 
I  such ;  but  to  yourself  such  rivalry  must 
em  impossible,  or  at  best  irrational ;  for  to 
e  it  appears  a  folly  too  wild  to  be  entei-tained 
/ea  for  an  instant.  The  ice  is  now  broken, 
lid  you  must  suffer  me  to  speak.  It  is  true 
jiat  at  the  present  moment  your  unstable 
Lsin  believes  that  he  loves  me.  But  why  ? 
'ecause  you  received  his  attentions  coldly, 
id  repelled  all  his  advances;  while  his  vanity 
'und  the  consolation  that  it  sought  in  my 
iiendship ;  which  I  yielded  the  more  readily 
|iat  I  looked  upon  him  as  a  man  no  longer  free 
j-  offer  more  in  return.  Am  I  now  excused  ?" 
"  Will  you  pardon  me  if  I  remind  you  of  the 
■ench  proverb  Avhich  says  that  '  qui  s'e.rcuse, 
iceuse'  Miss  Delamere  ?"  asked  the  tortured 
rl  with  sudden  energy  :  "  I  have  never  yet 
Imitted  an  attachment  to  my  cousin — never 
irmitted  myself  a  remai-k  upon  his  intimacy 
The  Grange — never  uttered  your  name  as 
at  of  one  by  whom    I    had    been    injured  ; 

id  thus " 

"  Tlius  you  would  reproach  me  tacitly  with 
e  impertinence  of  my  inferences  ;  but,  my 
:ar  Miss  Mortimer,  such  sophistry  is  unworthy 
you,  and  I  will  also  say  of  myself,"  replied 
i-bil  with  dignity.  "  For  the  first  and  last 
ne  I  am  now  forcing  upon  you  a  subject  most 
teresting  to  us  both  ;  and  indeed  you  must 
lav  me  out,  if  it  be  only  for  your  own  sake." 
Gertrude  dropped  her  eyelids  heavily  to  sup- 
ess  the  tea>'8  thai  were  struggling  to  escape; 
id  resigned  herself  to  silent  endurance. 
_"  Consider  our  relative  positions,"  pursued 
iss  Delamere  ;  "  and  you  will  at  once  admit 
e  justice  of  my  arguments,  and  cease  to  look 
>on  me  as  an  enemy.  I  believe  that  I  am  not 
ithout  vanity — my  woman-nature  is  powerful 
ough  to  assert  its  rights  ;  but  I  am  neverthe- 
B  sufficiently  rational  to  understand  that 
J  comparison  between  you  and  myself  must 
nd  to  my  own  disadvantage.  You  look  in- 
edulous  ;  but  while  so  doing  you  have  for- 
tten  our  respective  ages  ; — the  bloom  and 
jshness  of  eighteen — that  beaute  du  (liable,  as  a 
■ench  wit  has  termed  it — which  is  the  true 
ory  of  our  sex,  its  brightest  as  well  as  its  most 
anescent  charm,  is  still  your  own  ;  while  for 
i  it  is  now  over.  Each  day  adds  something 
your  attractions,  while  it  withdraws  a  shade 
•>m  mine.  To  you  dress  is  a  mere  pastime  ;  to 
5  it  has  become  a  study, — while,  as  regards 
'f  ntal  and  moral  qualifica"tions,  I  know  enough 
'!  life,  and  above  all,  of  men,  to  be  quite  aware 
lat  they  prefer  a  scholar  to  a  tutor ;  and  there- 
'"£,  when  looking  upon  my  experience  in  this 


light,  I  am  aware  that  it  is  purely  a  defect. 
Still — and  herein  at  least  even  you,  my  dear 
Miss  Mortimer,  will,  I  am  sure,  give  me  credit 
for  my  frankness — I  admit  fully  and  freely  that 
your  own  coldness  has  induced  your  cousin  to 
prefer  my  society,  and  even  to  attach  himself  to 
my  person.  But  in  this,  believe  me  when  I  as- 
sure you,  that  I  have  been  in  no  way  to  blame. 
I  have  told  him,  not  once  but  many  times,  that 
for  personal  and  private  reasons  I  had  decided 
never  to  marry ;  and  this  not  lightly  and  co- 
quettishly,  but  in  sober  and  honest  sincerity 
and  truth.  If  I  have  failed  to  obtain  credence  *' 
for  such  assertions,  it  has  been  througli  no  fault 
of  mine  ;  and  I  have  now  compelled  mjself  to 
intrude  this  subject  upon  you  simply  to  redeem 
mj'self  in  your  eyes ;  and  to  assure  you  that, 
even  should  the  illusion  last,  it  will  suffice  for 
me  to  be  convinced  from  your  own  lips  that  a 
renewal  of  his  addresses  is  necessary  to  your 
happiness,  for  me  at  once  and  for  ever  to  dis- 
countenance his  suit.  No  personal  feeling  shall 
make  me  indulge  my  own  interests  to  the 
destruction  of  yours ;  for  far  sooner  would  I 
secure  the  approbation  of  my  conscience  in  the 
conviction  that  I  had  done  my  duty,  than  suc- 
ceed in  gratifying  my  wishes  at  the  expense  of 
your  peace." 

"  If  I  understand  you  rightlj^"  replied  Ger- 
trude with  forced  composure  ;  "  my  cousin  has 
assured  you  of  his  affection ;  and  you  have  at 
least  conditionally  consented  to  receive  bis 
homage.  In  such  a  case  neither  party  is  any 
longer  free.  From  my  aunt  you  must  be  aware 
tiiat  you  will  experience  great  and  resolute  op- 
position ;  but  that  is  a  consideration  for  your- 
self alone.  As  regards  my  own  feelings,  I  beg 
you  to  believe  that,  desiring  only  the  happiness 
of  Frederic,  it  will  be  my  greatest  joy  to  see  it 
assured  in  any  way.  I  advance  no  claim  to  an 
affection  which  has  never  been  mine  ;  nor  have 
I  shared  the  delusion  of  my  kind  aunt,  who  saw 
only  what  she  desired.  And  now  that  we  have 
sufficiently  discussed  this  topic,  you  must  allow 
me  to  make  an  effort  to  perform  the  duties  of 
hospitality  to  our  other  guests." 

As  Miss  Mortimer  ceased  speaking,  she  rose 
calmly  and  even  proudly  from  her  seat,  and  ap- 
proached the  music  stand,  where  the  daughtei-a 
of  Dr.  Collins  were  examining  the  new  ballads 
which  were  profusely  scattered  on  every  side. 

The  remainder  of  the  evening  passed  off  tran- 
q^uilly  and  pleasantly.  Agreeable  conversa- 
tion, well  executed  music,  and  perfect  harmony, 
made  the  time  run  swiftly ;  for  none  saw  lower 
than  the  surface  ;  nor  could  guess  that  aching 
hearts  were  here,  as  elsewhere,  disguised  be- 
neath smiling  brows.  And  yet  so  it  was  ;  Mrs.  • 
Mortimer  had  discovered,  long  ere  her  party 
separated,  that  she  had  been  buoyed  up  by  falla- 
cious hopes  ;  for  that  her  son,  in  all  that  pleasant 
circle,  saw  and  heard  only  Sybil,  whose  brilliant 
talents  had  constituted  its  main  charm ;  while 
she  had  merely  to  glance  occasionally  towards 
her  niece  to  feel  convinced  that  she  was  sustain- 
ing a  struggle  but  ill  calculated  to  assist  her  con- 
valescence. 

It  is  true  that  she  smiled  as  she  conversed 
with  those  about  her,  and  even  acceded  with- 
out difficulty  to  the  proposal  of  Sybil,  that  she 


THE  RIVAL  BEAOTIES. 


ould  accompany  her  in  a  duet  well  suited  to 
splay  the  finished  execution  of  both  parties; 
id  all  this  apparently  without  an  effort;  but 
e  anxious  eyes  of  her  fond  protectress  were 
it  to  be  deceived.  Well  aware  that  the  eoun- 
nance  of  Gertrude  was  a  faithful  index  of  her 
elings,  she  readily  comprehended  the  sudden 
pses  into  niclaiiclioly  and  depression,  against 
hich  the  unhappy  girl  waged  so  unsuccessful 
wafare,  and  from  which  she  started  only  to 
Feet  a  gaiety  that  was  foreign  to  her  heart. 
Ignorant  of  the  conversation  which  had  taken 
ace  between  her  niece  and  Miss  Delamcre,  and 
jrstified  by  the  calm  and  unpretending  carriage 
the  latter,  whom  no  attention  of  Frederic, 
iwever  marked,  could  betray  into  the  slightest 
hibition  of  unwomanly  triumph,  she  felt  vex- 
.  and  disheartened;  and  it  was  with  a  feeling 
intense  relief  that  she  heard  the  carriages 
her  several  guests  successively  announced, 
d  received  their  parting  compliments. 
The  last  to  quit  the  room  was  Mrs.  Delamere 
d  her  daughter;  the  elder  lady  having  dis- 
vered  an  absorbing  source  of  interest  in  the 
rangement  of  a  set  of  Chinese  puzzles,  then 
most  unknown  in  England,  and  which  had 
en  a  travelling  present  from  Mortimer  to  his 
usin.  Nor  was  it  until  Gertrude  had  begged 
r  to  carry  off  her  now  treasure  to  The  Grange, 
at  she  at' length  reluctantly  passed  her  arm 
rough  that  of  Frederic,  and  prepared  to  take 
r  leave. 

"  We  part  friends,  good  friends,  do  we  not, 
y  dear  Miss  Mortimer  ?"  murmured  Sybil 
ide,  as  her  mother  was  engaged,  with  the  as- 
itance  of  her  host  and  hostess,  in  folding  shawl 
ter  shawl  about  her.  "  You  retain  no  anger 
:ainst  me  ?  No  suspicion  of  my  loyaltj'  ?" 
"  Why  distress  either  me  or  yourself  by  such  a 
lestion  ?"  asked  Gertrude  evasively,  in  her  turn. 
"  Because  I  do  not  think  that  you  do  me  jus- 
!e.  My  proceeding  to-night,  for  example,  has 
irtled  you.  Any  one  save  myself  would  have 
rnnk  from  it;  but  I  spurn  all  such  coAvardly 
,d  vulgar  notions  of  expediency,  and  based  as 
ey  are  upon  false  principles.  Besides,  my  con- 
icnce  would  have  reproached  me  had  I  not 
mkly  and  openly  afforded  to  you  an  opportu- 
ty  of  disclosing  your  real  feelings  and  senti- 
ents.  You  have  now  done  so,  and  I  thank 
)u ;  for  there  is  nothing  which  I  so  much 
■ead  as  the  reproaches  of  my  own  reason, 
ad  now  good-bye ;  let  me  soon  see  a  bloom 
)on  that  fair  face,  for  it  is  sadly  pale  to-night, 
id  makes  my  heart  ache." 

Tiieii  elasplng  the  small  hand  which  was  in 
lurtesy  extended  to  her.  Miss  Delamere  bowed 
smiling  farewell  to  her  wearied  hostess,  and 
woiiipanied  her  mother  to  the  carriage. 
"  To-morrow !"  she  whispered  softly,  as  Mor- 
mer  assisted  her  to  her  seat;  and  in  another 
omeiit  the  gates  closed  behind  her. 


ClIAPTEIi  XV. 

TiiK  night  was  calm  and  still;  the  moonlight 
y  clear  and  bright  upon  the  lawn,  and  tipped 
le  treefl  with  silver ;  aud  all  was  pcaco  over 


both  earth  and  sky,  as  Gertrude,  after  dismiss 
ing  her  attendant,  extinguished  the  lights  upon 
her  toilette,  and  threw  back  the  easement  to 
steep  her  burning  forohead  in  the  fresh  breeze 
that  came,  laden  with  perfume,  from  the  bk>»- 
som-teeming  garden. 

That  evening  had  been  to  her  one  of  intenw 
and  agonizing  struggle ;  and  never  had  she  felt 
so  desolate  as  now.  True,  she  had  before  both 
understood  and  seen  that  Frederic  was  lost  to 
her,  but  she  had  at  least  never  before  willingly 
and  deliberately  resigned  him  to  another;  never 
before  given  to  that  other  a  right  to  consider 
him  as  her  own.  The  womanly  pride  which 
had  driven  her  to  this  alternative  was  now 
prostrate ;  and  a  thousand  reflections,  each 
more  bitter  than  the  last,  bowed  her  bruised 
spirit  to  the  very  dust 

That  Sybil  had  been  ungenerous,  indelicate^ 
and  abrupt,  she  could  not  conceal  from  herself; 
but  had  she  not,  in  her  turn,  also  betrayed  a 
weakness  and  want  of  self-possession  wiiieh 
almost  authorized  fhe  impertinence  to  which 
she  had  been  subjected?  Had  she  not  wilfully 
laid  bare  her  heart  to  the  merciless  probing 
beneath  which  it  had  writhed  in  torture,  witl>- 
out  one  effort  to  escape  the  infliction?  And  had 
she  not  in  order  to  spare  her  pride,  armed  her 
adversary  with  weapons  to  be  turned  against 
herself? 

How  she  despised  the  hollow  gaiety  which 
for  hours  she  had  assumed  ?  How  she  detested 
the  hypocrisy  which  had  taught  her  to  belie 
her  best  and  holiest  feelings!  And  how  sho 
shuddered  as  she  remembered  that  the  die  waa 
indeed  now  cast !  In  short,  Gertrude  was  mis- 
erable; her  heart  was  wrung,  and  her  spirit 
crushed.  Even  hopeless  as  her  attachment  had 
long  been,  she  still  loved  Frederic  with  an  in- 
tensity so  deep  and  absorbing,  that  he  was  tlie 
centre  of  all  her  thoughts;  and  she  had  dwelt 
so  fondly  upon  that  one  image,  that  the  impre»> 
sion  had  become  indelible.  It  was  not  pas- 
sion with  which  she  regarded  him;  but  tha 
pure  and  gentle  aflection  which,  although  warm 
and  intense,  was  yet  veiled  and  subdued  by_tb« 
natural  reserve  of  a  modest  aud  well  organicei 
mind. 

Thus,  as  she  reflected  upon  her  conversation 
with  Miss  Delamere,  she  felt  much  as  the  drowi>- 
ing  mariner  may  be  supposed  to  feel,  who,  aft«r 
flinging  from  him  the  last  floating  spar  which 
might  have  assisted  to  buoy  him  up,  in  order  to 
trust  to  his  own  unaided  strength,  suddenly 
hears  the  water  singing  in  his  ears,  and  feels  it 
mounting  to  his  lips,  as  he  discovers  that  be  i« 
unable  longer  to  sustain  himself. 

Far  dift'erent  were  the  solitary  reflections  of 
Sybil;  as  she,  too.  at  that  still  hour,  breathed 
the  soft  air  which  entered  at  her  open  window, 
and  passed  in  mental  review  the  oecurrcnees  of 
the  evening.  Ib'r  large  dark  eyes  were  raised 
to  the  calm  sky  which  glittered  with  its  myriad 
worlds  of  mysterious  light,  and  her  head  was 
pillowed  upon  her  hand;  while  her  long  and 
luxuriant  hair  from  which  she  had  detached  its 


wreath  of 


pomegr 


anate  blossom,  and  the  comba 


by  which  it  had  been  confined,  fell  in  rich  and 
profuse  masses  almost  to  her  feet,  and  undula^ 
m  the  passing  breeze. 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


49 


The  scene  vrould  have  been  a  fine  subject  for 
the  artist.  In  the  very  depth  of  the  spacious 
chamber  stood  a  toilette-table  of  ebony,  sur- 
mounted by  an  immense  mirror,  mounted  in  the 
ejime  costly  wood,  and  lighted  by  half-a-dozen 
•wax  candles  in  bi-anches  of  or-nudu. 

Scattered  over  the  table,  and  resting  upon  the 
drapery  of  antique  point  by  which  it  was  cover- 
ed, lay  a  profusion  of  gems,  among  which  the 
ci-imson  garland  had  been  flung,  evidently  in 
careless  haste  ;  and  just  within  tbe  "reflection  of 
tlie  tapers  gleamed  out  the  white  and  delicate 
draperies  of  the  bed,  whose  muslin  festoons  fell 
like  a  vapor  over  the  hangings  of  pale  pink  silk, 
or  were  looped  back  by  heavy  tassels  of  the 
eame  color  and  material.  Just  beyond,  the  light 
touched,  but  only  partially  revealed,  an  exqui- 
•ite  statue  of  Silence,  which  occupied  a  small 
recess ;  and  then  a  portion  of  the  apartment 
appeared  in  a  species  of  twilight,  which  was 
again  invaded  by  the  silvery  beams  of  the  moon ; 
which,  after  falling  upon  the  bending  figure  of 
Sybil,  cast  her  shadow  far  along  the  floor,  re- 
lieved by  a  framework  of  glittering  radiance. 

The  heavy  curtains  had  been  drawn  back  from 
the  window ;  and  as  she  leaned  there,  absorbed 
in  thought,  her  features,  with  their  varying  ex- 
pression, were  distinctly  visible  in  the  clear  cold 
light.  Her  eye  was  dancing  with  triumph,  and 
a  proud  smile  sat  upon  her  lip.  She  had,  that 
evening,  accomplished  her  master-stroke ;  she 
had,  that  evening,  succeeded  in  her  most  diffi- 
cult and  delicate  undertaking  ;  and  she  was  now 
enabled  to  declare  to  Mortimer  thajb  not  only  did 
his  cousin  willingly  resign  his  hand,  but  that  she 
I  had  never  indulged  a  hope  of  his  aft'ection,  or  a 
desire  to  claim  it.  Thus,  then,  she  should  be 
more  than  justified  in  the  eyes  of  Frederic,  and 
might  even  become  less  distasteful  in  those  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer  herself. 

But,  suddenly,  some  unwelcome  thought  ob- 
truded itself  among  these  pleasant  visions  ;  and 
the  brow  of  the  lady  darkened,  and  a  shiver 
passed  over  her  frame,  as  though  the  night  air 
nad  chilled  her.  The  rich  lips  quivered  for  an 
instant,  and  then  became  firmly  compressed; 
while  the  slender  fingei's  that  were  buried  in 
her  hair,  by  a  simultaneous  impulse  closed  con- 
Tulsively  upon  each  other,  as  if  to  clutch  some 
object  that  was  about  to  escape  them.  Her 
breath  labored  in  her  throat,  and  a  moisture 
glittered  in  her  eye  ;  but  by  a  violent  effort  she 
flung  off  the  emotion,  and  a  deep  flush  rose  to 
her  cheek,  that  dried  the  incipient  tear,  and 
seemed  to  endue  her  with  fresh  courage.  She 
raised  her  head  and  glanced  around  her,  at  first 
haughtil}-,  and  with  an  expression  of  defiance ; 
but  her  slow  and  lingei-ing  survey  was  scarcely 
;  completed,  ere  again  brow  and  bosom  became 
blenched,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  together  so 
tightly  that  the  blood  appeared  ready  to  spring 
from  beneath  the  nails,  as  she  murmured  almost 
inaudibly — 

•'  It  is  too  late  to  retrent ! — It  is  my  last 
diance  I  I  have  perilled  my  all  upon  the  die ! — 
I  must  succeed,  or  I  am  lost  ^' 

Then,  closing  the  window  impetuously,  and 
drawing  before  it  the  damask  draperies  to  ex- 
clude tbe  moonlight,  she  hastened  to  extinguish 
"&«  tapers  upon  her  table ;  and  ultimately  flung 
i 


herself  upon  her  bed  in  tbe  darkness,  still  folded 
in  her  dressing-gown,  and  enveloped  in  the 
masses  of  her  loose  hair.  It  was  clear  that  there 
was  no  peace  of  heart  in  that  sumjituous  cham- 
ber. 

Gertrude,  too,  wearied  at  length  of  her  reve- 
ry;  but  it  terminated  far  differently  from  that 
of  Sybil.  At  first,  a  feverish  irritation  had 
rendered  her  unjust  alike  to  herself  and  others; 
then,  a  feeling  of  wretchedness  and  isolation  had 
wrung  from  her  some  of  those  bitter  tears  which 
are  known  only  in  youth,  and  which  are  never 
shed  by  the  merely  worldly  and  selfish,  or  eon^ 
prehended  by  individuals  of  sturdy  nerves,  and 
neutral  emotions,  who  exact  a  tangible  cause  for . 
every  demonstration  of  feeling,  and  regard  aa 
folly  every  species  of  suffering  which  is  merely 
moral. 

Alas!  however  unimportant  in  the  eyes  of 
others  may  be  the  evils  by  which  our  miseries 
are  induced,  they  are  by  no  means  trifling  iu 
our  own,  when  we  are  conscious  of  their  result; 
nor  when  the  heart  is  wrung,  can  it  suffer  less 
because  the  cause  appears  puerile  to  the  world. 

Those  tears,  nevertheless,  calmed  the  agitation 
of  Gertrude  ;  and,  aft«;r  a  time,  she  began  to  re- 
flect upon  the  pledge  which  she  had  given  to 
Frederic,  to  assist  his  views  with  her  aunt ;  and 
to  reproach  herself  for  her  weakness  in  thua 
yielding  to  her  feelings,  when  every  sigli  of  de- 
jection on  her  part  would  increase  the  displea- 
sure and  determination  of  Mrs.  Mortimer,  and 
I  thus  render  his  position  more  onerous.  Meekly, 
I  therefore,  she  dried  her  eyes  ;  and,  having  made 
!  her  preparations  for  the  night,  knelt  down  be- 
I  side  her  bed  to  praj-,  without  one  reiuiJant  of 
bitterness  or  resentment. 

Thus  was  she  still  engaged  when  hasty  steps 
sounded  upon  the  landing,  und  in  another  instant 
some  one  tapped  at  the  door.  She  hurriedly 
rose  from  her  knees,  and  drew  back  the  bolt, 
when  she  was  met  by  the  favorite  maid  of  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  who  implored  her  to  hasten  to  the 
room  of  her  mistress,  who  had  been  taken  alarm- 
ingly ill. 

Gertrude  flew  rather  than  ran  to  the  chamber 
of  her  aunt,  whom  she  found  partially  supported 
by  pillows  and  gasping  for  breath.  A  deep  red 
spot  was  burning  upon  either  cheek,  and  her 
eyes  were  veiled  by  a  thick  mist,  which,  at  in- 
tervals, she  endeavored  to  sweep  away  with  her 
fevered  hand.  In  an  instant,  the  unhappy  girl 
read  the  truth.  Her  affectionate  protectivs's  had 
imbibed  the  fatal  disease  which  was  then  ravag- 
ing Westrum  ;  and  the  fever  was  already  at  its 
height 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Mortimer?"  she  gasped  out, 
almost  inarticulate  with  terror;  '-Where  is  Dr. 
Collins?" 

"  My  master  is  gone  himself  to  fetch  the  doc- 
tor, miss,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  He  left  the  house  as 
we  awoke  you." 

With  a  throbbing  heart  the  frightened  Ger- 
trude discovered  at  once  that  the  disease  by 
which  her  aunt  was  attacked  was  one  of  the 
most  serious  nature.  Even  during  the  few  hours 
which  had  intervened  since  they  parted  in  the 
drawing-room,  the  change  in  her  appearance 
was  alarmingly  visible.  Her  eyes  were  sunken 
and  glazed ;  her  respiration  heavy  and  oppress- 


60 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


ed;  and  the  snrface  of  her  skin  dry  and  heated. 
Nevertheless,  the  invalid  endeavored,  witli  a 
forced  smile,  to  soothe  and  reassure  the  trem- 
bling girl ;  but  it  was  with  diffieulty  that  she 
could  articulate  even  the  few  words  that  she 
addressed  to  hei-,  or  the  confession  that  she  had, 
throughout  the  day,  been  conscious  of  a  coming 
indisposition. 

On  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Collins  he  pronounced 
the  presence  of  fever ;  aggravated,  as  he  believed, 
by  the  recent  exertions  of  his  patient;  but  re- 
commending simply  some  cooling  remedies,  and 
perfect  quiet,  declined  to  give  a  decided  opinion 
upon  the  precise  nature  of  the  attack  until  his 
next  visit;  aii<l  then  having  seen  an  effervescing 
draught  administered,  took  his  leave  for  the 
night. 

The  cousins  were,  consequently,  left  to  their 
anxious  watch ;  and  it  was  with  dismay  that 
they  traced  the  rapid  progress  of  the  evil. 
Fearful  fainting-fits  were  succeeded  by  perfect 
helplessness  and  torpor;  and  to  these  again 
supervened  delirium. 

Towanls  dawn,  however,  the  consciousness  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer  appeared  to  return  ;  her  eyes 
•were  fixed  alternately  upon  the  affectionate 
watchers  beside  her,  and  an  expression  of  in- 
tense love  passed  over  her  features. 

Gertrude  was  the  first  to  remark  the  happy 
change ;  and  springing  from  her  seat,  she  was 
in  an  instant  bending  over  the  pillow  of  the 
sufferer. 

"  Aunt !  my  beloved  aunt,  speak  to  me!"  she 
exclaimed,  clasping  the  scorching  form  of  Mrs. 
Mortimer  in  her  arms ;  "  Can  I  do  nothing  to 
relieve — nothing  to  ease  you?" 

A  smile  of  gratified  affection  struggled  upon 
the  lip  of  the  invalid,  but  she  had  no  longer  the 
power  of  utterance ;  and  it  was  with  trembling 
anxiety,  and  a  painful  foreboding  of  misfortune, 
that  Gertrude  busied  herself  about  the  sick-bed 
while  awaiting  the  second  advent  of  the  physi- 
cian. On  his  next  appearance,  although  he 
spoke  cheerfully  to  the  cousins,  and  bade  them 
rather  seek  to  secure  themselves  from  the  pos- 
sible chance  of  infection,  than  fear  for  his  pn 
sent  patient,  they  were  not  deluded  by  his 
words;  for,  familiar  with  the  expression  of  his 
countenance,  they  at  once  read  there  a  greate 
consciousness  of  danger  than  he  was  willing  to 
admit. 

Any  personal  precaution  was,  however,  far 
from  the  thoughts  of  either ;  their  only  care 
was  to  forbid  all  entrance  to  visitors,  and  to 
limit  the  attendance  of  the  servants  to  the  dress- 
ing-room, reserving  the  actual  cares  of  the  sick- 
chamber  to  themselves  ;  an  arrangement  which 
was,  nevertheh'ss,  partially  invaded  by  the  at- 
taelied  attcndiint  of  tlie  sTiffcrer,  who,  having 
insisted  upon  her  right  to  watch  over  her  be- 
loved lady,  was  reluctantly  permitted  to  share 
their  vigils.  This  done,  Mortimer  retired  for  a 
brief  time  to  liis  room;  overcome  with  dread, 
and  it  may  be,  with  remoise,  as  he  remembered 
the  unhappiness  which  he  liad  lately  caused  to 
a  fond  mother,  who  might  now  ba  snatched 
from  him  for  ever.  Hurriedly  he  seized  a  pen, 
and  seating  himself  at  his  desk,  he  wrote  a  few 
bcarcely  legible  lines  t*)  Sybil,  to  inform  hei-  of 
the  misfortune  which  had  occurred,  to  forbid  I 


her  approaching  the  house,  and  to  implore  her 
not  to  venture  mto  Westrum  before  they  again 
met. 

The  letter  was  instantly  dispatched  ;  and  e» 
changing  his  coat  for  a  dressing-gown,  he  hasten- 
ed back  to  the  sick-chamber.  As  he  entered, 
Gertiude  pressed  her  finger  to  her  lip  ;  and  on 
bending  over  the  bed,  he  saw  that  his  mother 
had  fallen  into  an  uneasy  doze — the  first  inter- 
val of  comparative  repose  which  she  had  ex- 
perienced since  the  commencement  of  the  attack. 

As  he  was  about  to  turn  away  he  found  hit 
cousin  at  his  side,  and  obeying  the  gesture  of 
her  hand,  he  seated  himself  in  a  large  chair,  in 
which  she  had  alreadj'  arranged  the  cushions, 
evidently  in  the  hope  that  he  might  also  sleep; 
jbut  her  affectionate  solicitude  did  not  avail ;  his 
iieart  and  mind  were  too  full  for  slumber ;  and 
as  he  looked  around  upon  the  melancholy  scene 
before  him,  a  thousand  thoughts,  and  doubta, 
and  even  regrets,  crowded  upon  him ;  whil« 
every  passing  moment  seemed  to  concentrate  a 
year  of  existence. 

Nothing  is  more  cheerless,  nothing  more  de- 
pressing, than  the  slow  approach  of  daylight  in 
a  sick  room.  The  window  of  Mrs.  Mortimer's 
chamber  had  been  thrown  wide  open,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  direction  of  Dr.  Collins ;  and  as  the 
cold  gray  drawn  began  for  the  second  time  to 
glimmer  over  the  distant  heights  which  shut  ia 
the  coast,  the  night-lamp  sickened  into  a  pale 
yellowish  gleam ;  and  the  wind  as  it  swept 
through  the  branches  of  a  lofty  acacia  near  the 
house,  moaned  amid  the  leaves  like  a  sjiirit  of 
desolation.  'Upon  the  bed,  and  covei-ed  only  by 
a  liglit  coverlet,  lay  the  extended  form  of  the 
sufferer ;  her  cheek  burnt  with  fever,  her  eye« 
dark  and  sunken,  the  pulses  of  her  temples  visi- 
bly throbbing,  and  her  fitful  starts  proclaiming 
the  unsatisfactory  nature  of  her  apparent  slum- 
ber. Near  her  stood  a  small  table  already  laden 
with  phials,  filled  with  divers  colored  liquid*, 
and  the  thousand  details  which  reveal  the  pre- 
sence of  illness;  and  beside  her  pillow  sat  Ger- 
trude, pale  it  is  true,  but  with  a  restlessness  in 
her  ex|)ression  and  an  eagerness  in  her  eye, 
which  betrayed  how  tlioi'oiiglily  her  whole  be- 
ing was  absorbed  in  the  duties  of  her  watch. 

No  tiiought  of  self,  no  sympathy  even  with 
Frederic,  occupied  her  at  that  hour.  Her  soul 
hung  upon  the  abstract  question  of  life  and 
death  which  was  so  soon  to  be  solved  before  her: 
and  as  a  few  incoherent  words  were  occasionally 
uttered  by  the  Tinconscious  sufferer,  she  sank 
from  the  chair  to  her  knees,  and  listened  breath- 
lessly, lest  she  should  lose  one  sound  of  that 
cherished  voice  which  might  so  soon  be  hushed 
for  ever. 

Nor  was  Frederic  less  worthy  than  his  cousin 
to  perform  the  filial  duty  to  which  he  had  bound  ; 
himself     Pale  and  silent,  he  leaned  back  in  hij 
seat,  gazing  upon  the  convulsed  featui-cs  of  liii 
motlier,  and  starting  painfully  at   every  spasm 
which  shook  lier  tortured  limbs,  as  though  by 
some  electrical  sympathy  it  passed  over  his  own  : 
frame,   or   watching  with   helpless   hope   every 
motion  of  Gertrude,  as  though  he  trusted  in  her  • 
power  to  solace  and  relieve  the  poor  suffei'er, 
while  he  felt  his  own  uselessness. 

No  one  thought,  no  one  regret  strayed  to  Sy 


Bill] 

lint  it  I 
inlfr  to 
dM 
kk 
fJtk^ 
ileoiicii 
Kdpist 
reoilj 
ilitfrio 
titparii 


fctk 
II  tit 
stsippi 
ptitira; 
tibi 
i«5it!i 

«a'«i 

'i'm 


Hi  4, 


THE  RIVAL  BKAUTIEa 


61 


hil,  ftfi  he  sat  there  in  that  melancholy  dawning 
[le  saw  only,  felt  only  for  the  mother  who  had 
Ljoved  him  so   tenderly,  and  whom   he   had  re- 
I'lently  so  ill  requited.     During  his  silent  wateh 
I  had  lie  been  offered  her  life  in  exchange  of  every 
other  earthly  good,  he  would  not  have  hesitated 
for  an  instant  to  secure  it.     lie  had  deeply  felt 
:he  loss  of  his  fond  father,  but  he  had  not  seen 
liiin,   fading    and   failing  before   his  eyes;  this 
was  his   tirst  acquaintanceship  with  heavy  sick- 
ness, and  he  shuddered  as   he  remembered  how 
few  of  those  who  had  been  tainted  bj'  the  fever 
which  was  now   rioting  in  the  veins  of  his  mo- 
ther, had  escaped  with  life. 

Strange  that  neither  to  the  one  nor  the  other 
of  these  two  devoted  watchers  came  one  reflec- 
tion on  the  possibility  of  their  own  infection  ! 
Their  sorrow  was  too  sincere  for  selfishness, 
there  was  no  stage-effect  in  that  sick-room  ;  no 
striving  at  applause,  no  craving  for  the  empty 
praise  of  the  idle  and  uninterested.  Even  at 
this  early  period  each  felt  a  foreboding  consci- 
ousness that  there  was  no  hope,  and  tlieir  sole 
anxiety  was  to  smoothe,  in  so  far  as  human 
means  and  human  devotion  could  do  so,  her 
passage  to  the  grave  who  had  so  tenderly 
plucked  away  the  thorns  from  their  own  path 
of  life. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

Days  passed  over,  days  so  long  and  so  heavj- 
that  it  seemed  as  though  time  had  paused  in 
order  to  prolong  the  trial :  and  still  Gertrude 
and  Fi'ederic  watched  unweariedly  beside  what 
they  knew  to  be  the  bed  of  death.  jS'o  tear  es- 
caped them  during  the  brief  and  rare  intervals 
of  consciousness  which  enabled  the  sufferer  to 
recognise  and  to  acknowledge  their  devotion  ;  it 
was  only  amid  the  fierce  and  fevered  paroxysms 
of  delirium  that  they  indulged  themselves  in  an 
outpouring  of  the  anguish  by  which  they  were! 
consumed,  or  suff-red  themselves  to  be  over-| 
come  and  prostrated  by  the  melancholy  prospect' 
before  them. 

At  the  terrible  hour  in  which  we  trace  the 
sure  approach  of  a  cruel  and  irremediable  se-i 
paration :  when  a  dear  and  holy  bond  is  about 
to  be  rent  asunder,  and  we  are  called  upon  to 
resign  the  affection  and  companionship  which 
have  been  made  precious  by  years  of  pos- 
Bession  and  sympathy,  the  world  appears  to 
fade  into  nothingness,  and  all  the  hopes  and 
joys  of  our  health  and  our  prosperity  seem  to 
crumble  into  ashes.  Wfiat  can  life  offer  at  such 
I  a  moment  which  presents  an  apparent  equiva- 
llent  for  that  which  we  are  called  upon  to  re- 
Jeignf  What  has  the  empty  future  to  tender, 
save  a  vague  and  undefined  hope,  which  vanish- 
iesinto  vapor  before  the  choi-ished  realities  of 
:  the  pastf  How  many  memories  assail  us,  which 
I  hod  previously  seemed  to  be  blotted  out,  only 
I  to  bring  with  them  the  torturing  reflection,  that 
I  at  the  expiration  ofa  few  brief  days,  perhaps  even 
I  ofa  few  brief  hours,  we  shall  be  called  upon  to 
resign  forever  the  gaze  of  those  loving  cyoR, 
and  the  clasp  of  that  gentle  hand,  which  hudi 


been  to  us  throughout  life   both  happiness  and 
support? 

And  such  were  now  the  wretched  reflections 
of  Gertrude  and  Frederic.  Even  the  hopeful 
words  of  their  friendly  physician  had  ceased  to 
greet  them,  during  his  frequent  visits,  nor  did 
the  anxious  cloud  upon  his  brow  tend  to  re- 
assure their  sinking  spirits.  Never  absent  for 
an  instant  from  the  sick  room,  save  when  they 
Bingly  snatched  a  scant  and  hasty  meal  in  the 
adjoining  chamber ;  driven  even  into  this  mo- 
mentary desertion  of  their  charge  by  the  ex- 
press injunction  of  Dr.  Collins,  who  strenuously 
interdicted  the  useless  and  dangerous  risk  of 
swallowing  food  in  an  infected  atmosphere, 
they  became  ere  long  careless  and  almost  un- 
conscious of  all  beyond  the  influence  of  their 
own  sorrow. 

Ultimately,  however,  the  increasing  paleness " 
and  languor  of  his  cousin  struck  Mortimer  with 
a  new  terror,  and  he  anxiously  implored  her  to 
retire  to  her  own  apartment,  were  it  merely 
for  an  hour,  in  order  to  secure  a  less  troubled 
slumber  than  that  which  she  had  hitherto  taken 
upon  her  chair,  but  Gertrude  only  shook  her 
head  with  mournful  resolution. 

"  No,  no,  dear  Frederic,"  she  murmxired  ;  "  I 
shall  not  long  be  called  upon  to  watch,  leave 
me  to  my  vigil.  Am  I  not  also  her  child  ?  And 
would  you  deprive  me  of  perhaps  the  last  sor- 
rowful, but  still  deep  happiness  that  I  may  ever 
know  in  this  world  ?" 

And  Mortimer,  whose  wretchedness  would 
have  been  almost  intolerable  had  he  been  called 
upon  to  endure  it  alone,  could  only  press  her 
hand  with  aft'eetionate  gratitude,  and  murmur 
out  his  low-voiced  but  fervent  thanks. 

And  so  they  sat  side  by  side,  for  hours,  listen- 
ing to  the  meaningless  words  which  at  times  fell 
upon  their  ears,  full  of  tenderness  and  anxiety, 
and  with  which  their  names  were  constantly  as- 
sociated, or  watching  for  a  lucid  interval  in 
which  they  might  once  more  (fatch  a  glance  of 
recognition  ;  and  whenever,  for  an  instant,  the 
attention  of  Frederic  strayed  from  his  suffering 
mother  to  his  devoted  cousin,  he  saw  her  with 
her  eyes  eagerly  and  earnestly  fixed  upon  the 
convulsed  features  of  her  beloved  protectress : 
faint  from  weakness,  but  still  strong  in  the 
courage  of  her  love. 

How  glorious  is  the  apparent  omniscience  of 
woman  in  a  sick-room  !  With  the  eye  of  the 
heart  she  seems  intuitively  to  discover  every 
want  and  with  the  ready  hand  of  tenderness  to 
anticipate  every  wish.  Her  limbs  never  weary, 
her  eyes  never  droop,  her  step  is  light  and  noise- 
less, and  her  voice  low  and  soft.  She  has  a 
word  of  comfort  for  every  murmur,  a  glance  of 
sympathy  foi-  every  pang.  And  the  secret  of 
her  power  lies  in  the  fact,  that  in  the  presence 
of  suffering  she  flings  off  her  own  identity,  and 
totally  forgetful  of  self,  lives  only  in  the  pangs 
of  the  helpless  being  whom  she  tends. 

Thus  it  is  that  wome^  of  real  feeling  mourn 
longer  and  more  deeply  for  those  wliom  tliey 
have  loved  and  lost  than  men  ;  who,  being  by 
nature  unfitted  to  the  service  of  a  eicki-ooni, 
have  fewer  of  those  touching  memories  which 
grow  out  of  the  last  sad  niomenf-s  of  coin]>animi- 
ship;    for   even   where    they    devote  all   their 


sa 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


energies  to  solace  and  to  soothe  the  dying,  they 
are  devoid  of  the  nice  perception  which  enables 
a  woman  to  see  beyond  the  surface,  and  to  hear 
■with  the  ear  of  the'  spirit. 

And  so  it  was  in  the  present  instance.  Fred- 
eric was  ever  ready  and  active  when  his  services 
were  claimed,  but  he  could  not,  like  Gertrude, 
foresee  the  necessity  of  action.  He  guessed  notj 
when  the  pillow  became  uneasy  to  the  aching  j 
head,  nor  when  the  parched  lips  needed  the  re-| 
freshing  moisture.  At  times,  he  overlooked,  in 
Lis  own  soriow,  the  precise  moment  at  which 
the  sustaining  draught  should  be  administered, 
or  the  position  of  the  sufferer  changed,  but  the 
watchful  perception  of  Gertrude  never  sluni- 
bered,  and  he  saw  the  wandering  delight  and 
expression  of  relief  which,  even  amid  her  pangs, 
passed  over  the  countenance  of  Mrs.  Mortimer, 
as  the  gentle  tendance  of  the  watchful  girl  freed 
her  from  some  unseen  suffering. 

All  would  have  been  comparatively  easy  to 
Gertrude,  had  she  not  hour  by  hour,  and  day 
by  day,  been  compelled  to  feel  that  her  beloved 
aunt  was  unconscious  of  all  which  took  place 
about  her  :  that  she  did  not  recognize  her  as  she 
hung  over  her  pillow  to  murmur  in  her  ear  the 
accents  of  tenderness,  and  that  even  the  strong 
clasp  of  the  fevered  hand  betokened  pain  instead 
of  affection. 

There  is  something  strange  and  awful  in  the 
aspect  of  intellect  alienated  by  disease — in  that 
moral  death  which  prostrates  all  the  mental 
powers,  and  places  a  gulf,  impassable  as  chaos, 
between  the  watcher  and  the  watched.  Where, 
we  ask  ourselves,  as  we  listen  to  the  meaning- 
less words  and  the  joyless  laughter,  -vy-here  is 
the  soul  ?  In  what  unknown  and  mysterious 
world  is  it  now  wandering,  liberated  from  all 
the  thrall  of  earthly  affections  and  anxieties? 
How  can  it  be  that  we  possess  only  the  form, 
while  the  spirit  is  far  away  ?  With  what  and 
whom  does  it  hold  commune,  during  its  estrange- 
ment? And  Avith  what  viewless  and  fearful 
order  of  beings  are  we  brought  into  almost  im- 
mediate contact,  through  the  medium  of  the  es- 
tranged intellect  before  us  ?  The  reason  totters 
as  we  ask  ourselves  the  question,  and  the  heart 
is  pained  by  the  very  vagueness  of  the  specula- 
tion. 

At  the  termination  of  a  week,  the  friendly 
physician,  having  requested  a  private  interview 
witli  Mr.  Moi-timer,  feelingly  but  definitely  as- 
sured him,  that  all  hope  of  saving  his  patient 
was  at  an  end,  and  that  he  conceived  it  to  be 
his  duty  to  prepni-e  her  son  for  an  event  which 
would  in  all  probability  take  place  in  a  very  few 
hours. 

"  I  am  aware,  my  dear  sir,"  he  concluded,  as 
he  wrung  the  hand  of  the  young  man  with  a 
cympatliy  wliich  was  evidently  sincere  ;  "  that 
your  respected  parent  has  no  wordly  matters 
to  arrange  ;  for  with  her  well  regulated  mind, 
she  was  incapable  of  deferring  tlie  performance 
of  80  serious  a  duty,  and  it  is  this  conviction 
whieh  consoles  me  under  the  apprehension  that 
she  may  depart  without  one  lucid  interval  suffi-j 
eiently  long  or  complete  to  enable  her  to  follow 
up  any  definite  idea.  That  sho^  may,  however, ' 
recover  the  necessary  cousciouaness  to  recognise  I 


those  about  her,  I  believe  to  be  highly  proba- 
ble,  and  to  this  prospect  we  must  therefore  en- 
deavor to  confine  our  hope.     But  I  should  re- 


pro£ 


zh  myself  hereafter  were  I  not  at  this  mo- 


ment frankly  to  declare,  that  in  all  human  pro- 
bability, her  sufferings  will  soon  be  at  an  end, 
and  so  thoroughly  am  I  convinced  of  the  fact, 
that  I  shall  not  again  leave  the  house  until  all 
is  over,  but  will  remain  in  the  breakfast-rnom 
with  Mr.  Nottingham,  whom  I  have  request ..l 
to  be  prepared  with  such  restoratives  as  may 
be  desirable,  either  for  the  poor  sufferer  herself 
or  for  Miss  Mortimer,  who  in  her  present  worn 
and  weak  state,  will  not  fail  to  be  seriously 
affected  by  the  shock  which  awaits  her." 

For  a  time  Mortimer  was  silent,  overcome  by 
the  anguish  of  his  feelings,  but  at  length  he  ral- 
lied sufficiently  to  inquire  if  it  would  not  be 
prudent  to  induce  his  cousin  to  leave  the  sick- 
room before  the  awful  moment  arrived,  and 
thus  spare  her  the  pang  of  witnessing  the  last 
struggle. 

"  You  will  undoubtedly  do  well  to  make  the 
trial,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  I  fear  that  you  will 
not  succeed.  In  the  hour  of  sorrow  your  admi- 
rable cousin  appears  to  have  no  recollection  of 
herself  I  remember  her  on  a  former  melancho- 
ly occasion,  and  even  amid  my  own  regret  for 
one  of  the  most  valued  friends  I  ever  had,  I 
could  not  repress  my  astonishment  and  respect 
at  her  courageous  and  devoted  conduct.  Depend 
upon  it  that  throughout  this  new  trial,  therefore, 
she  will  not  be  less  true  to  herself,  although  I 
fear  that  her  sufferings  will  be  even  more  acute, 
for  no  child  ever  loved  a  parent  more  affection- 
ately than  she  has  loved  her  aunt.  And  now 
go,  my  dear  young  friend,  I  will  not  detain  you 
another  instant  from  your  post.  Should  my 
presence  become  necessary,  you  can  summon 
me  on  the  instant,  but  until  it  is  so  I  will  not  ;i 
intrude  upon  the  sacredness  of  your  sorrow."      j 

Mortimer  obeyed  l»ut  his  limbs  almost  failed' 
as  he  again  ascended  the  stairs,  and  approached 
what  was  so  soon  to  be  the  chamber  of  death. 
When  he  entered  he  saw  Gertrude  upon  her- 
knees  by  the  bedside,  with  her  face  concealed  in  ^ 
the  coverlet,  but  as  she  detected  his  stealthy, 
step,  she  raised  her  head,  and  looked  eagerly 
and  inquiringly  towards  him.  | 

"  What  had  Dr.  Collins  to  communicate  ?"  ehej 
asked  in  a  low  whisper,  as  her  cousin  reached: 
her  side.  ' 

"  His  apprehensions  for  your  own  health,  my 
dear  Gertrude,  and  his  desire  that  I  should  in- 
duce you  to  retire  for  an  hour  or  two  to  your' 
own  room." 

"Ha!  Is  it  80?  Must  it  be  so  soon?"  ex-' 
claimed  the  poor  girl,  wringing  her  hands  in^ 
agony.  "  And  he  would  ask  me  to  leave  herf 
But  perhaps  it  was  right  that  he  should  do  so— 
a  duty  which  he  was  called  ui)on  to  perform— 
he  meant  well  I  know.  But  you,  Frederic,  yon 
her  son,  will  not  echo  such  a  wish.  She  will 
yet  recognise  me,  I  feel  that  she  will — and  1 
would  not  lose  that  last  look,  that  last  amile 
for  all—" 

She  could  add  no  more,  and  suffocated  by  her 
suppressed  sobs,  she  once  more  dropped  hei 
head  upon  the  bed,  while  Mortimer  as  he  huog 


i 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


Bi 


|j»ver  her,  attempted  no  further  argument,  con 
f  dnced  that  all   interference  upon  such  a  point 
nust  prove  ineffectual. 

Two  more  dreary  hours  went  by,  twilight  was 
apidly  shedding  additional  gloom  over  the  sick- 
hamber,  and  still  Mrs.  Mortimer  lay  in  a  state 
.f  torpor,  disturbed  only  by  the  violent  and  un- 
latural  laboring  of  her  breath,  and  the  spasmo- 
Uc  convulsions  of  her  limbs,  when  suddenly  she 
ipened  her  heavy  eyes,  and,  looking  earnestly 
iito  the  gloom,  feebly  articulated:  "Frederic — 
iortrude — where  are  my  children?" 
In  an  instant,  they  were  at  her  side. 
"  My  own  dear  onesl"  she  again  gasped  out; 
•  come  nearer — nearer." 

They  instinctivelj-  sank  upon  their  knees,  and 
•ach  took  one  of  her  wasted  hands  in  silence. 

"We  part — part  for  ever!"  continued  the 
rembling  voice,  "  the  world  is  passing  from  me 
—in  peace."  And  then,  bringing  together  the 
Kinds  which  clasped  her  own,  she  added  with 
iicreased  difficulty  :  "  Heaven  bless  you  both — 
)oth  my  own  ones.  My  children,  I  have  had  a 
earful  dream — but  it  was  no  more  than  a  dream, 
!  see,  and  I  feel  its  falsehood.  Embrace  me  both 
)f  you — both  at  once — let  me  die  in  the  blessed 
■onviction  that — " 

What  she  would  have  added,  they  knew  not, 
or  she  spoke  no  more  ;  another  earnest  gaze, 
mother  beaming  and  happy  smile,  and  the  kind- 
y  spirit  passed  into  that  rest  which  was  never 
igain  to  be  broken  upon  earth. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 


All  was,  indeed,  over.  There  was  no  longer 
my  necessity  for  exertion,  no  longer  anything 
X)  hope  or  fear.  The  darkened  windows,  the 
:ioiseless  tread,  and  the  deep  stillness  of  the 
:iouse  of  death,  had  succeeded  to  the  tumultuous 
f'/elings,  the  weary  vigils,  and  the  agonizing 
mspense  of  the  previous  week,  and,  for  a  time, 
Mortimer  experienced  that  frightful  void  of 
heart  which  appears  to  the  survivor,  as  though 
it  shut  out  all  human  sympathies,  and  is  destin- 
ed to  be  eternal.  He  had  no  longer  a  mother, 
he  stood  alone,  and  as  he  thought  of  the  past,  he 
rickened  at  the  prospect  of  the  future. 

But  although  he  sorrowed,  and  sorrowed 
deeply,  the  despair  of  Gertrude  was  still  more 
intense.  No  tears  came  to  her  relief,  her  feel- 
ings appeared  to  be  annihilated,  and  she  sat 
Iwith  clasped  hands,  and  ej-es  fixed  on  vacancy, 
{unconscious  of  all  that  passed  about  her.  In  this 
[moral  prostration,  there  was  no  shade  of  self, 
jshe  did  not  remember  that  she  was  now,  indeed, 
[an  orphan,  penniless  and  homeless,  who  must, 
|hereafter,  battle  for  every  foot  of  way  which 
■she  made  upon  the  world's  path,  or  that  siie 
•possessed  no  other  affection  upon  earth  to  re- 
fplaee  that  which  .she  had  lost — her  whole  being 
jwas  absorbed  in  one  great  grief  of  her  bereave- 
Iment. 

!    To  her,  the  protectress  of  her  youth,  and  the 
[friend  of  her  womanhood,  had  Ifeen  all  in  all — 
laad  that  all  was  gone  for  ever. 
!    For  hours,  each  day,  she  sat  beside  the  pale 
motionless  corpse,  herself  as  pale  and  almost  as 


motionless ;  nor  was  it  until  the  morning  of  the 
burial  tliat  she  was  aroused  into  more  demon- 
strative suffering.  Then,  indeed,  the  floodgates 
of  her  grief  were  opened,  and,  to  the  great  re- 
lief of  Dr.  Collins,  she  speedily  wept  and  ex- 
hausted herself  into  a  succession  of  fainting  fits, 
which  rendered  her  insensible  to  the  departure 
of  the  funeral  train,  and  calmed  the  aj)prehen- 
sions  which  he  had  begun  to  entertain  of  the  re- 
sults of  her  immeasurable  and  silent  agony. 

On  iiis  return,  he  found  her  calmer.  Sli'e  even 
answered  his  inquiries,  and  consented  to  see  her 
cousin,  although  her  lip  trembled  as  she  com- 
plied with  the  suggestion,  nor  could  she,  when 
he  approached  her  bed  and  took  her  hand,  arti- 
culate one  word  of  welcome  or  condolence. 
Frederic  was  deeply  affected,  and,  for  a  time, 
even  forgot  his  own  sorrow  in  an  attempt  to 
soothe  that  of  the  fair  and  fragile  creature  before 
him.  Theirs  was  a  common  grief,  and  each  read 
the  heart  of  the  other  without  the  help  of 
words;  while  it  was  evident  that  the  meeting 
once  over,  they  felt  consolation  in  the  presence 
of  each  other,  and  the  worthy  doctor  satisfied 
with  the  judiciousness  of  his  arrangement,  forced 
Mortimer  gently  into  a  chair,  and,  then,  quietly- 
retired  from  the  room. 

For  a  time,  nothing  was  heard,  save  the  low 
sobs  of  the  faithful  Roberts ;  whose  services  be- 
ing ended  about  her  beloved  mistress,  had  been 
silently  and  zealously  transferred  to  her  niece ; 
but,  ere  long,  the  affectionate  whispers  of  Mor- 
timer broke  upon  the  stillness,  and  were  reward- 
ed by  the  grateful  tears  of  his  dejected  listener, 
as  they  wept  together  over  their  mutual  bereave- 
ment. 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  day,  Morti- 
mer kept  his  post  at  the  bedside,  and  each  party 
derived  a  melancholy  consolation  from  this  eom^ 
pauionship.  They  were  less  desolate  in  heart, 
as  they  remained  with  clasped  hands,  and 
streaming  eyes,  indulging  all  the  luxury  of  sor- 
row, and  grieving  rather  for  each  other  than  for 
themselves. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  in  the  utter  solitude 
of  night,  she  could  brood  over  her  anguish  un-  ' 
controlled,  that  Gertrude  felt  the  full  force  of 
her  loss;  and   even  ventured  to  glance  at  a  fu- 
ture which  to  her  was  fraught  with  terror. 

So  long  as  even  the  inanimate  remains  of  her 
aunt  had  continued  in  tlie  house,  she  had  been 
less  isolated  in  spii-it ;  but  now  all  was  gone  ;  she 
could  not  even  cling  to  tlie  sensi'less  clay:  the 
grave  had  claimed  its  tenant,  and  her  woi-k  of 
love  was  ended. 

Ff)r  several  succeeding  days,  Mortimer  d<n  ot 
ed  his  whole  time  to  his  cousin;  nor  did  lie  once 
quit  the  house,  save  when  with  (iertru<le  loaning 
feebly  upon  his  arm,  he  spent  a  short  lime  in  tlie 
grounds;  and  thus,  although  the  stricken  girl 
would  not  have  admitted  even  to  herself  that  it 
could  be  BO,  she  was  almost  happy.  Iv'cver  had 
Frederic  been  so  gentle,  so  affectionate;  and 
when  she  occasionally  endeavored  to  sj)eak  of 
her  future  plans,  he  silenced  her  by  asking  if 
she  were,  indeed,  weary  of  her  home,  that  she 
should  seek  another. 

This  state  of  things  was  not,  however,  fated 
to  last.  During  the  illness  of  Mrs.  Mortimer, 
several  letters   had   been  delivered  to  her  sou 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


^ 


from  Sybil ;  but,  with  the  morbid  feeling  peculiar 
to  heavy  grief,  he  had  shrunk  from  opening 
them,  and  thus  renewing  his  intercourse  with  a 
person  whom  he  knew  to  he  distasteful  to  her, 
while  she  was  stretched  upon  a  bed  of  sickness; 
nor  could  he  even  reconcile  himself  to  do  so, 
until  the  first  bitterness  of  his  regret  had  passed 
over. 

Time,  however,  soon  produced  its  effect.  The 
elasticity  of  the  human  mind  is  proverbial ;  and 
neither  joy  nor  sorrow  will  endure  for  ever. 
Constant  communion  with,  and  increasing  af- 
fection for  his  cousin,  for  ir  while  sufficed  to  en- 
gage his  thoughts ;  but  ere  long,  he  felt  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  stronger  stimulus;  the  very  excess 
of  his  grief  had  worked  its  own  reaction  ;  and  he 
began  to  reflect  both  upon  the  present  and  the 
future. 

As  we  have  elsewhere  remarked;  Mortimer 
could  not  live  without  feeling  himself  beloved; 
and  this  craving  for  an  undivided  and  absorbing 
devotion  naturally  turned  his  thoughts  to  Sybil ; 
when  he  began  to  marvel  how  he  could  have 
suffered  her  letters  to  remain  unopened.  He 
shrank  from  admitting,  even  to  himself,  that  the 
last  words  of  his  mother  had  born  a  reference 
to  Miss  Delamere  by  no  means  favorable  to  his 


passion, 
under    a 


and  that  she   had   eventually  expired 
delusion    which    his    future    conduct 


would  in  all  probability  negative ;  but  it  is 
not  the  less  certain  that  those  very  words  had 
tended  in  no  inconsiderable  degree  to  influence 
him  in  leaving  the  letters  so  long  unread. 

That  he  was  once  more  acting  ungenerously 
towards  his  cousin  he  never  reflected  :  for  in- 
tent only  on  proving  liis  gratitude  for  her  devo- 
tion to  his  mother,  he  foigot  that  she  was  ig 
norant  of  his  engagement  to  Sybil,  and  might 
possibly  misconstrue  the  nature  of  attentions  to 
whicli  she  had  hitherto  been  unaccustomed ; 
and,  unconsciously  even  to  herself,  repay  them 
with  feelings  which  she  had  no  desire  to  awaken. 

Thus  it  was  with  no  compunction  as  regarded 
Oertrude,  that,  having  at  length  succeeded  in 
silencijig,  even  if  he  could  not  entirely  subdue, 
till-  upbraiilingof  liis  own  thoughts,  he  proceed- 
<  i!  to  cxiiiiiinc  the  letters  which  had  been  so 
lo'.iir  a<'(ii:iiulating ;  and,  as  he  did  so,  Sybil  rose 
h'fore  him  in  all  her  beauty  and  in  all  her  love: 
while,  as  she  wrote  admirably,  the  spell  deep- 
ened as  he  advanced  in  his  "task,  until  lie  felt 
his  breast  bound,  and  his  brow  flush  with  hap- 
piness. 

The  earlier  notes  were  brief  and  guarded ; 
j.nd  contained  merely  expressions  of  earnest  re- 
ifret  at  tlie  serious  indisposition  of  his  mother, 
offers  of  every  luxury  at  The  Grange  which 
might  be  acceptable  to  the  invalid,  and  en- 
treaties that  he  would  keep  her  constantly  in- 
formed of  the  progress  of  the  disease.  But  as 
the  danger  of  ^Irs.  Mortimer  increased,  the  let- 
ters became  lo  iger  and  more  affectionate.  She 
bewailed  the  continued  sufferings  of  her  esteem- 
ed friend,  but  she  was  even  more  expansive,  in 
her  expressions  of  anxiety  about  himself  She 
besougiit  him  to  adopt  every  measure  for  escap- 
ing tile  infection,  and  even  pointed  out  the  pre- 
ventatives with  wliich  she  was  acquainted  ;  and  i 
finally,  she  reproached  him  so  tenderly  for  his, 
silence,  that  it  was  easy  to  perceive  how  im-l 


possible  it  was  for  her  to  feel  resentment  where 
her  heart  was  interested. 

The  last,  the  longest,  and  the  least  guarded  of 
all  these  epistles  liad  been  written  on  the  day 
succeeding  Mrs.  Mortimer's  death.  It  was  a 
triumph  of  affectionate  eloquence,  a  master- 
piece of  delicate  and  earnest  devotion.  She  had 
wept  tear  for  tear  with  him.  She  had  appreci- 
ated all  the  virtues,  and  all  the  worth  of  his  de- 
parted mother.  She  was  conscious  that  notliing 
could  compensate  to  him  for  such  a  loss,  and 
yet  there  were  affections,  and  ties,  and  sympa- 
thies, as  pure  and  as  holy,  to  call  him  back  to 
that  world  from  which  he  had  now  shrank  away, 
with  weakened  spirits  and  a  doubting  heart. 
And  tliere  was  no  mention  of  Gertrude.  She 
had  forgotten  all  save  him  to  whom  she  wrote. 
It  was  his  tears  alone  that  she  would  wipe 
away  ;  his  grief  that  she  would  soothe  ;  his 
isolation  that  she  would  brighten  into  com- 
panionship and  joy. 

And  joy  indeed,  once  more  stole  over  the 
spirit  of  Mortimer.  Not  even  his  apparent 
neglect  had  been  able  to  chill  the  warm  out- 
pourings of  a  heart  which  he  felt  to  be  all  hia 
own.  Like  her,  he  forgot  the  sufferings  of  his 
desolate  orplian  cousin.  Like  her,  he  peopled  the 
world  with  one  all-sufficing  object ;  and  like  her, 
he  felt  that  althougli  the  cup  of  bitterness  had 
been  lifted  to  his  lips,  life  could  still  ofler'  a 
brighter  and  a  better  draught. 

All  the  past,  as  regarded  Sybil,  came  back 
fresh  and  glowing  to  his  memory  ;  and  while  he 
refolded  the  letters,  he  breathed  deeply,  like 
one  who  had  east  oft"  a  heavy  weight  of  care  ; 
and  hastily,  but  scrupulously,  securing  his 
newly-found  treasure,  he  left  his  room,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  summer-parlor,  in  which  he  had 
spent  so  many  hours  of  happiness  in  her  society. 
There  he  felt  that  he  could  more  fully  appre- 
ciate the  transport  of  being  beloved,  for  there 
every  spot  and  every  object  was  replete 
with  memories  of  her  grace,  her  wit,  and  her 
accomplishments.  Books  in  wliieh  her  name  | 
was  inscribed  lay  upon  the  table.  Music  to  i 
which  her  touch  and  her  tones  had  lent  and 
added  harmony,  was  scattered  over  the  instru- 
ment. Sketches  drawn  by  her  skilful  hand, 
were  in  the  portfolios ;  and  above  all,  there 
was  the  Avindow  at  which  slie  had  stood  beside 
him,  the  tapestry-frame  at  which  she  had 
wrought ;  and  the  mirror  in  which  her  fault- 
less tigure  had  been  reflected.  As  the  miser 
gazes,  enrapt  upon  his  treasio-es,  so  did  Mor- 
timer linger  over  each  and  all  of  these — for 
each  and  ail  told  of  her  who  had  become  to  him 
the  universe;  and  he  was  so  thoroughly  ab- 
sorbed m  this  employment,  that  he  continued 
unconscious  of  an  arrival,  until  the  door  of  the 
apartment  opened,  and  Sybil  herself  stood  be- 
fore him. 

For  an  instant  he  remained  motionless  :  for 
the  deep  mourning  dress  of  Miss  Delamere 
jarred  upon  the  current  of  liis  thouglits,  and 
almost  brought  with  it  a  sensation  of  remoi-se  ; 
but  the  feeling  lasted  scarcely  a  moment 
beneath  the  soft  and  nympatlnzing  sniile  of 
his  visitor,  and  the  tearful  accent  in  which  she 
murmured,  as  she  advanced  towards  him  witli 
extended  hand. 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES.  ^ 

My  poor   Frederic  I     And  do  I  indeed  ece  i  the  privilege  of  seeing  you,  thnt  I  cast  from  n 


1  of  in  If 
Mnotlii, 
loss,  a. 

''i  SJIUpt 

ID  bad  t) 

■«?  leart 
«Je.  Si! 

iiild »!» 
4;  £ 


you  thus — the  mere  shadow  of  your  former 
self?  Had  you  then  so  utterly  forgotten  tiie 
future  in  the  present  ?  Did  no  thought  of  Sybil 
and  of  her  anxieties  induce  you  to  be  more 
careful  of  your  health  than  I  read    in  your  pale 


ivery  other  thought  than  that  of  the  delight  _ 
blending  my  tears  with  yours.  1  folt  the  neee 
sity  of  seeing  you  myself:  of  convincing  yt 
that  in  losing  your  estimable  mother  you  "hu 
not  lostaW;  and  so  long  us  you  recognise  and  m 


cheek    and    your    heavy    ej-es,  that   you    have  predate  my  motives,  I  am  careless  of  all  besid 


been  ?  But  I  will  not  reproach  you — no  !  not 
even  for  a  silence  which  has  wrung  my  heart, 
although  it  has  never  weakened  my  Irust  in 
your  affection.  I,  too,  have  sorrowed,  Mor- 
timer; but   my    tears    fell    because    I  felt   that 


yours    were 


"  How  shall  1  ever  repay  you  for  suuh  aliV. 
tion  ?"  murmured  Mortimer  tenderly,  as  he  raii 
ed  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  By  listening  to  my  advice,"  replied  Mis 
Delamere  ;  "  by  looking  calmly  and  dispassioi 


mingled    with    them;     and    the  ately  upon  your  position  ;  and  by  admitting  th 


knowledge  of  your  unhappiness  sufficed  to 
make  me  Avretched  in  m}'  turn  ;  but  even  iu  my 
moments  of  deepest  grief,  I  remembered  the 
future,  and  was  comforted." 

"  My  own  kind  Sybil,"  murmured  Mortimer, 
OS  he  drew  her  to  his  heart,  and  she  suffered  her 
head  to  rest  for  an  instant  upon  his  shoulder : 
"  Talk  not  to  me  of  the  past :  you  are  here ; 


reason  of  what  I  have  already  hinted.  1 
not  speak  further  of  yourself,  for  I  believe  yo 
to  be  sufficiently  unselfish  to  feel  little  interes 
upon  that  point ;  but  once  more,  remember  th 
invidious  position  of  your  cousin.  Young,  beau 
tiful,  and  as  one  who  was  very  dear  to  yoi 
never  concealed,  tenderly  attached  to  you,  di 
you  imagine  for   a  moment  that  she  can  thu 


and  to  me  you  are  all  in  all :  but  you  know  not,  continue    alone    to    share    your    home,    and    t< 
you   cannot   guess,    all    that   I    have    felt   and  j  absorb  your  attention,  without  the  greatest  risl 


suffered 

You  deceive  yourself,"  was  the  reply ;  "  and 


to  her  fair  fame  ?" 

Who   would   dare — ?' 


exclaimed  Mortimei 


his    companion    steadily 


it  is  in  order  to  induce  you  to  break  through  the  with  a  kindling  eye. 
melancholy  associations  by  which  you  are  now  [      "  Many,"    replied 

surrounded  that  I  am  here.  My  visit  is,  as  l!"and  those  even  among  your  most  intimate 
need  scarcely  say,  ostensibly  to  your  cousin  ;|  associates:  mothers  who  have  daughters  tc 
but  you  will  not  require  to  be  told,  that  this  marry ;  men  whose  age  places  them  beyond  the 
early  advent  is  caused  by  a  deeper  and  a  dearer  I  reach  of  slander;  girls  who  are  ambitious  of 
anxiety.  Frederic,  you  must  no  longer  remain  I  your  notice;  and  young  men  who  are  jealoua 
under  this  roof     The  constant  sight  of  objects  [of  your  advantages.     I  feel  that  I  give  you  pain, 

'—  '■■" '  "-^'•■"^^--  my  dear  Frederic  ;  but  the  probe  of  the  surgeon 

is  frequently  the  only  cure.     You  are  misled  by 
a  false  chivalry — " 

"  Sybil,"  interposed  her  listener ;  "  Gertrude 
has  no  other  friend,  save  myself,  on  earth." 

"  And  would  you  render  that  one  worse  than 
powerless  ?" 

"  You  may  be  right ;   but  I  love  her  as  a 
brother.     How,  then,  can  I  abandcfn  her  at  such 


familiar  to  you  in  other  times,  and  under  other 
circumstances  Avill  tend  to  render  your  melan- 
choly morbid  and  unnatural.  That  you  should 
grieve  is  just  and  right ;  but  remember  that  you 
owe  much  to  yourself — and — may  I  not  add, 
something  also  to  me  ?" 

"  I  know  and  feel  the  truth  of  all  that  you 
advance,  Sybil,"  said  Mortimer  mournfully ; 
"and  gladly,  most  gladly,  would  I  act  upon 
your  suggestion ;  but  you  forget  that  I  am  not  a  moment  ?" 
free — that  my  poor  cousin  is  still  too  weak  to  |  "  Simply  i 
encounter  the  fatigue  of  a  removal ;  and  that  I 
cannot  abandon  her  in  a  sorrow  which  has  been 
induced  by  me  and  mine." 

A  slight  color  rose  to  the  cheek  of  Miss  Dela- 
mere, and  her  fine  biow  contracted  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  but  it  was  with  even  greater  gentleness 
that  in  the  next  instant  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
those  of  her  companion,  and  said,  slowly  and 
emphatically :  "  It  is  you,  Frederic,  who  forgot 


"  Simply  by  remembering  the  responsibility 
of  your  situation.  Miss  Mortimer  is  no  longer  a 
child;  make  her  the  judge  between  you." 

"  After  what  has  passed,  I  feel  that  I  dare  not 
She  has  already  too  much  cause  of  complaint 
against  me." 

"  And  do  you  believe  that  by  augmenting 
that  cause,  you  can  acquit  yourself  in  her  eyes  ? 
Need  I  say,  Frederic,"  and  again  a  shadow 
passed  over  the   features   of  Miss   Delamere  of 


the  ready  comments  of  a  censorious  world  ;  and  more  than  dubious  expression  ;  "  need  I  explain 
although  I  know  that  for  yourself  you  could  to  you  how  gladly  I  would  have  offered  her  a 
despise  them,  yet  have  you  no  right  to  disregard  j  temporary  home  at  The  Grange,  had  I  not  been 


their  probable   effect  upon  your  cousin.     You 
may  tell  me,  in   your  turn,  that  I   have  disre 


conscious  that  I  should  only  subject  myself  to  th 
mortification  of  a  refusal?     Siich,  indeed,  wjs 


garded  them  in  my  own  person;  and  of  this  I  [my  first  intention,  but   I  soon  felt  its  fallacy 

and    nothing    then    remained    to    me    save    to 


am  aware  ;  for  not  even  the  j)resence  of 
Mortimer  under  your  roof  may  to  some  appear 
a  sufficient  excuse  for  my  thus  venturing  to 
visit  a  house  which  has  no  longer  a  mistress  ; 
but  there  are  feelings  which  place  us  beyond 
such  considerations,  nor  do  I  hesitate  to  admit 
that  I  have  been  swayed  by  these.  I  could  not 
know  you  to  be  unhappy,  and  sacrifice  the  joy 
of  telling  you  how  deeply  I  sympathized  in  your 
sorrow,  by  any  paltry  fear  of  misconstruction  ; 
and  I  had  been  for  so  long  a  time  deprived  of 


exempt  her,  in  so  far  as  I  might,  from  futur« 
suffering.  Be  it  as  you  will,  however.  It  is 
evident  that  I  have  deceived  myself  with  regard 
to  the  extent  of  your  interest' in  your  cousin. 
Since  you  cannot  part  from  her,  my  path  in 
plain :  I  am  once  more  taught  to  ft:<;l  how 
greatly  I  overrate  the  affection  of  another  when 
I  test  it  by  my  own." 

"  Sybil!   how  have  I^deserved  this?" 

"  Forgive  me,  Frederic,  forgive  mc,"  mui-mur- 


w 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


ed  Miss  Delamere,  burying  her  face  in  her 
b«iids  ;  "  you  have  made  me  very  wretched, 
and  I  have  not  pride  enough  to  conceal  my 
disappointment." 

"  My  own  love !"  exclaimed  Mortimer,  as  he 
clasped  lier  tenderly  to  his  herirt ;  "  how  little 
do  you  understand  me  !  When  you  entered  the 
room  all  around  me  spoke  only  of  yourself  It 
was  to  commune  with  your  iniage  that  I  was 
here.  Yes,  although  I  visited  for  the  first  time 
aiiice  the  death  of  my  mother  the  apartment  in 
•which  she  the  most  delighted,  I  had  forgotten 
all  save  you — all  save  the  hours  which  we  had 
pa.ssed  togi'tiicr  on  the  same  spot.  I  Avas  to 
retrace  a  thousand  memories  of  yourself  that  I 
was  hei-e.  Sybil,  you  are  my  world — the  very 
essence  of  my  being:  but  I  lay  under  a  heavy 
di'bt  of  gratitude  to  my  cousin,  and  I  dare  not 
even  seem  to  forget  it*  amount." 

"  Yet  you  wilfully  risk  the  destruction  of  her 
peace — and  mine." 

And  tlie  tears  of  Miss  Delamere  forced  a 
passage  througli  her  fingers. 

"  Be  it  as  you  will,"  said  Mortimer,  unman- 
ned at  the  siijlit  of  her  grief;  "  henceforward 
I  can  have  no  will  but  yours.  Yet  how  can  I 
explain  an  absence  which  will  condemn  her  to 
perfect  solitude  in  a  house  so  latel}'  visited  by 
death  ?  Will  she  not  feel  my  departure  as  a 
wanton  cruelty,  which  even  her  indulgence 
cannot  excuse  ?" 

"  Not  if  you  are  frank  ;  not  if  you  sincerely 
place  before  her  your  real  motive." 

"  Had  she  only  secured  another  home,"  said 
Mortimer,  reluctantly  yielding  to  an  influence 
against  which  he  was  unequal  to  contend  ; 
"  1  should  feel  less  hesitation  in  informing  her 
of  my  purpose  ;  but,  save  mj'self  poor  Gertrude 
possesses  only  one  or  two  very  distant  relatives, 
to  whom  she  is  utterly  unknown  ;  and  with 
whom,  even  should  they  consent  to  receive  her, 
ehe  would  probably  be  unhappy." 

"  "What,  then,  are  your  future  plans  regarding 
her  ?"  asked  Sybil,  suddenly  raising  her  head 
and  looking  steadfastly  towards  him. 

"  I  confess  that,  as  yet  I  have  not  formed 
an}',"  was  tlie  reply. 

'•  Tlien  listen  to  me,"  said  Miss  Delamere,  as 
she  aft'ectionately  took  his  hand,  and  met  his 
eyes  Avith  a  smile.  "  We  live  in  no  modern 
I'topia,  where  men's  tongues  are  dipped  in 
honey,  and  women  dream  only  of  the  blossoms 
amid  which  they  walk  ;  nor 'is  the  present  all 
in  all.  Both  Miss  Mortimer  and  yourself  have 
n  long  future  before  you,  into  which  each  must 
look  steadily  and  carefully.  You  owe  her 
much,  very  much  ;  and  it  belioves  you  to  act  at 
once  with  generosity  and  j)rudence.  She  has 
J  (  latives,  you  say  ;  arrangements  may  there- 
fore easily  be  nuide  for  a  time,  until  you  have 
ft  riglit,  consistently  and  irreproachably,  to  offer 
lier  a  home  under  your  own  roof  Acquit  me, 
1  beseeeh  you,  of  a  jjaltry  jealousy  which  I 
should  scorn,  and  d 
day  comes  I  shall  b 
you  fail  in  so  high  and  lioly  a  duty 

"  Sybil,  foi-give  me,"  exclaimed  Mortimer 
passionately;  "sorrow  has  made  me  wfak  and 
Btipine  ;  and  I  indeed  rcijuire  your  guiding  af- 
fttctiou.      Vou    are    right,    quite    right.      1    aui 


me  justice.     When  that 
the  first  to  blame,  should 


(wilfully  subjecting  poor  Gertrude  to  miscon 
st  ruction.  All  shall  be  done  as  you  suggest ; 
j  and  I  trust  that  I  have  long  years  before  me  in 
I  which  I  may  be  able  to  prove  how  deeply  I 
feel  all  that  I  owe  her.  But  you  have  forgot- 
ten, dearest,  that  by  this  arrangement  you 
are  also  banishing  me  from  your  own  presence 
— sending  me  forth  a  wanderer  without  a  beacoQ- 
light." 

The  eyes  of  Miss  Delamers  flashed,  and  her 
bosom  heaved  ;  but  the  smile  was  bland  and 
the  voice  steady,  in  which  she  replied : 

"  Talk  not  of  me,  Frederic  ;  my  faith  .in  your 
aff'ection  will  suffice  until  the  departure  of  'Mis* 
Mortimer  enables  you  to  return  to  Westrum ; 
moreover,  we  have  a  great  resource  in  a  perpe- 
tual and  daily  correspondence.  In  such  a  cast 
selfishness  must  be  utterly  laid  aside.  I  speak 
to  you  only  as  a  sister ;  be  guided  on  this  occa- 
sion by  my  advice,  and  trust  me,  j'ou  will  hav« 
no  reason  to  regret  it.  Moreover,  no  time 
should  be  lost.  I  repeat  that  the  position  of 
j'our  cousin  is  invidious,  while  your  own  ig 
scarcely  less  so.  And  now  my  ungracious  task 
is  ended.  My  visit  was  to  Miss  Mortimer,  but  I 
doubt  if  I  can  longer  await  her  coming  ;  and  I 
will,  therefore,  leave  alike  my  greeting  and  mj 
condolence  in  your  hands." 

"  And  what  more  leave  you,  Sybil  ?" 

"  My  heart,  my  soul,  my  being ; — trifle  noi 
with  the  trust." 

"  Dare  I  believe  so  much  ?" 

"  Mortimer,'"  said  Miss  Delamere,  as  she  ros« 
to  depart ;  "  I  have  been  once  deceived,  and  my 
life  nearly  paid  the  forfeit  of  my  mistake  ;  and 
yet  I  never  loved  him  as  I  love  you.  Beware, 
therefore,  of  yourself,  if  I  am  dear  to  you ;  you 
know  not,  you  cannot  guess,  all  that  your  false- 
hood would  involve." 

"  I  shall  never  know  it,"  whispered  her  com- 
panion,  as  he  detained  her. 

"  It  would  be,  at  best,  a  fearful  knowledge,* 
said  Sybil  with  a  slight  shudder;  "May  it  be 
spared  to  both  of  us." 

And  so  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  XVIH. 

Another  day  had  dawned ;  and  the  cold  gray 
light,  as  it  slowly  spread  over  the  eastern  hori- 
zon, fell  upon  the  kneeling  figure  of  Gertrudo 
Mortimer,  who,  with  her  face  buried  among  th« 
cushions  of  an  arm-chair  which  occupied  the 
deep  bay  of  the  window  of  her  sleeping  cham- 
ber, had  remained  throughout  the  whole  long 
silent  night  motionless,  tearless,  and  almost  xuv 
conscious. 

There  are  feelings  so  deep  that  they  annihi- 
late  the  power  of  thought,  and  for  a  time  almost 
seem  to  arrest  vitality.  Such  were  those  of  th« 
orphan.  The  cousins  had  met  as  usual  in  the 
twilight;  and,  arm-in-arm,  as  was  their  wont, 
they  had  paced  to  and  fro  beneath  the  tall  tree« 
which  overhung  the  water.  They  had  done  so 
every  evening  since  the  convalescence  of  Ger- 
trude had  enabled  her  to  encounter  such  a 
fatigue  ;  and  everj'  evening  hitherto  she  had  re- 
turned to  the  house  when  the  heavy  dew  warnad 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


CT 


>a  her  to  retire,  renovated  both  in  health  and 

K'lirt     But  now  all  was   changed.     With  the 

mage  of  Sybil  still  bright  before  him,  Frederic 

1  ml  summoned  sufficient  resolution  to  point  out 

.o  his  dismaj'cd  and  astonished  listener  the  pro- 

]  jable  results  of  their  present  mode  of  life  ;  and 

j  lis  representations,  carefully  and  even  tenderly 

1  is  they  were  made,  opened  before  her  an  abyss 

I  )f  difficulty,  which,  in  her  innocence,  she  had 

I  lever  apprehended. 

I  j    That  any  ungenerous  comment  could  be  elieit- 
i  }5d  by  her  i-esidence  in  the  dear  old  home  which 

(jiad  cradled  her  childhood,  and  under  the  roof 
ijf  a  cousin  who  to  her  was  as  a  brother,  had 
,  iiever  entered  into  her  imagination  ;  but  now  the 
I  Ireil  was  rent  away,  and  she  saw  all  the  wretch 


jdness  of  her  fate.  It  was  true,  too  true,  that 
ihe  had  no  longer  a  right  to  feel  herself  the 
latural  and  authorized  inmate  of  that  home — 
he  legitimate  companion  of  that  cousin ;  and 
^t  once  the  fearful  question  arose  in  her  mind, 
iV^here,  then,  am  I  to  hide  my  sorrow?  From 
vhom  am  I  to  look  for  sympathy  and  affec- 
ion? 

Separated  at  an  early  age  from  all  the  rela- 
ives  of  her  mother,  by  whom  her  very  exist- 
ence had  probably  been  long  forgotten,  and  to 
lone  of  whom  she  could  now  be  an  object  of 
nterest,  slie  knew  not  where  she  could  apply 
■ven  for  shelter.  The  child  of  tenderness  and 
ndulgenee,  she  had  yet  to  learn  the  bitterness 
if  that  bread  which  is  yielded  rather  than 
itfered — of  that  protection  which  is  an  obliga- 
jon  leather  than  a  blessing;  and  although,  when 
klortimer  awakened  her  to  the  truth,  he  had 
>een  careful  to  remind  her  that,  by  the  will  of 
ler  deceased  aunt,  she  was  entitled  to  a  legacy 
)f  two  thousand  pounds,  she  had  scarcely  heed- 
id  the  assurance.  As  she  had  heard  it  when  it 
ffas  first  announced  to  her,  so  did  she  hear  it 
jiow,  for  she  had  yet  to  learn  the  importance 
llf  the  fact;  and  the  oidy  impression  which  re- 
nained  upon  her  mind,  was  one  of  gratitude  for 
lis  earnest  declaration  that,  let  her  dwell  where 
she  might,  she  would  ever  be  to  him  an  object 
rf  the  dearest  interest,  whom  it  would  be  alike 
lis  pride  and  his  delight  to  shield  from  every 
j-iaL 

Poor  Gertrude  !  To  her  the  past  and  the  fu- 
-ure  were  alike  a  blank ;  while  the  present  was 
fraught  only  with  pain  and  difficulty.  For  the 
jirst  time  she  felt  the  real  influence  of  that  ter- 
pific  bugbear,  the  world — that  thing  of  the  hydra- 
bead,  and  tlie  million  tongues.  She  shrank  away 
jippalled  from  its  contact,  and  would  fain  have 
iiidden  herself  from  its  eagle  ken,  and  scorching 
jX)uch.  But  wliere  ?  The  grave  had  swallowed 
up  the  bulwark  which  had  been  hitherto  raised 
jaetween them.  She  was  alone;  alone  to  wrestle, 
[ind  alone  to  weep.  Slie  had  turned  to  Fred- 
;mc  for  counsel ;  but,  like  herself,  he  knew  not 
apon  what  to  determine. 

I  And  thus  they  had  pai'ted  for  the  night,  both 
jiepressed,  both  irresolute ;  but  with  what  dif- 
rerent  feelings !  Pained  as  he  was,  alike  for  his 
I'.ousin  and  for  himself,  Mortimer  was  still  able 
\M  relieve  his  anxiety  and  to  mitigate  his  regret, 
iajr  thoughts  of  Sybil,  and  visions  of  future  hap- 
ipmess;    while  the    poor  and    desolate    orphan 


crept  to  her  solitarj' chamber  to  brood  in  silence 
over  this  new  and  unexpected  trial. 

Tears  slow  and  bitter,  coursed  each  other 
down  her  pale  cheeks,  and  hours  passed  by  be- 
fore she  had  even  power  to  think ;  she  felt  her 
misery,  but  she  could  not  analyze  it.  At  length, 
however,  this  mute  despair  exhausted  itself,  and 
a  clearer  perception  of  her  real  position  forced 
itself  upon  her  reason.  Her  wan  cheek  crim- 
soned at  the  idea  of  slander — slander,  connected 
with  herself,  however  undeserved ;  and  she 
taeitlj'  acknowledged  the  propriety  of  her  im- 
mediate separation  from  her  cousin. 

J'or  awhile  that  one  conviction  overpowered 
her ;  nor  had  she  ever  known  until  that  night  how 
tenderly  and  exclusively  she  loved  him.  She 
knew  it  now,  however ;  now  when  that  one 
idea,  the  idea  of  living  no  longer  under  the  same 
roof — of  enjoying  no  longer  his  cherished  com- 
panionship, annihilated  all  beside,  and  made  all 
else  appear  as  dust  in  the  balance. 

He  loved  another  but  even  that  was  nothing 
so  long  as  she  could  remain  near  him,  and  listen 
to  his  voice,  and  meet  his  smile.  And  now  this 
poor  lu.xury  which  she  was  daily  purchasing 
with  the  wreck  of  her  own  peace,  was  wrested 
from  her.  They  were  to  part.  The  world  had 
already  pronounced  its  fiat,  and  there  was  no 
appeal. 

Then  came  another  transition  of  feeling ;  less 
poignant  perhaps,  but  still  more  frightful.  She 
was  to  go  !  But  where  ?  She  grasped  her  cold 
forehead  with  her  burning  hands,  and  tried  to 
think.  What  a  waste  spread  wide  and  blank 
before  her!  She  could  not  remain  at  Westruml 
all  eyes  would  be  upon  her  there  ;  all  would  re- 
member the  past,  and  siie  should  wither  beneath 
the  lip-deep  pity  of  the  idle  and  the  curious :  not 
there — where  she  must  witness  the  progress  of 
her  cousin's  suit,  and  hear  the  thrilling  peal 
chime  out  the  moment  of  his  marriage.  And 
Westrum  had  hitherto  been  her  world  ;  and  all 
beyond  was  strange  and  new  to  her. 

Mortimer  was  her  last  surviving  relative  on 
her  father's  side,  and  tluis  she  found  no  resting- 
place  for  her  weary  heart,  where  she  would 
willingly  have  sought  it.  Of  her  mother's  fam- 
ily she  knew  no  more  tlian  that  two  of  her  rela- 
tions still  existed  :  the  nearest  of  whom  was  a 
brother,  who  by  careful  perseverance  had  real- 
ized a  handsome  fortune,  which,  by  his  unsocial 
and  penurious  habits,  had  been  yearly  increas- 
ing;  but  whose  heart  had  long  been  closed 
against  all  his  connexions. 

Gertrude  gasped  for  breath  as  she  recalled  to 
her  memory  all  that  she  had  heard  of  him :  his 
harsh  unkindness  to  her  consumptive  mother — 
his  insolent  neglect  of  her  widowed  father — his 
utter  abandonment  of  herself.  To  Mr.  Sinclair 
she  felt  that  she  could  make  no  appeal ;  to  him 
she  must  be  simply  an  object  of  grudging  charity: 
an  intrusive  and  unwelcome  dependent.  She 
could  not  accept  his  protection  upon  such  terms 
as  these,  even  should  he  be  induced  to  promise 
it ;  and  tiiat  he  would  do  so  was  more  than 
doubtful.  Of  Miss  Warrington,  the  maiden  aunt 
of  her  mother,  she  knew  little,  save  that  she 
dwelt  in  a  small  village  in  Devonsiiire,  where 
she  contrived  witli  some  difficulty  to  make  A 


S8 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


very  confined  income  suffice  for  her  limited 
wants ,  but  she  was  aware  that  every  year  a 
brief  and  formal,  although  kind,  letter  had  ar- 
rived at  West  mm  from'  the  old  lady,  desiring 
tidings  of  her  own  welfare,  until  she  had  attained 
the  age  of  womanhood,  when  these  periodical 
enquiries  had  suddenly  ceased:  and  all  inter- 
course was  thus  terminated  between  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer and  the  Inst  relative  of  her  mother  who  had 
appeared  to  feel  an  interest  in  her  fate. 

All  this  was  bleak  enough  ;  and  the  timid  and 
loving  heart  of  Gertrude  shrank  tremblingly 
before  the  bitter  trial  of  re-awakening  a  long 
dormant,  and  in  nil  probability,  extinct  affection 
in  the  bosom  of  an  aged  and  unknown  relation, 
of  whose  disposition,  habits,  and  prejudices,  she 
was,  moreover,  utterly  ignorant.  Needy  as  she 
was,  there  was  much  reason  to  apprehend  that 
she  would,  from  motives  of  prudence,  decline  to 
burden  herself  with  an  inmate  who  could  do 
little  towards  a  decrease  of  her  penury,  and 
might  prove  an  incumbrance  rather  than  a  com- 
fort; but  cheerless  and  unpromising  as  the  plan 
appeared,  it  was  that  upon  which  the  unhappy 
girl  decided.  She  felt  that  she  could  better  sup- 
port the  privations  of  poverty  and  the  exactions 
of  old  age,  even  although  rendered  doubly  sel- 
fish by  a  life  of  solitude,  than  the  insolent  in- 
tolerance of  purse-proud  and  heartless  vanity, 
meting  out  its  benevolence  with  a  scornful  lip 
and  a  niggard  spirit. 

Thus  resolved,  the  orphan  rose  from  her  knees; 
and  drawing  back  the  curtains  which  had  hith- 
erto shut  out  the  daylight,  seated  herself  calmly 
and  tearlessly  at  her  desk.  She  had  wept  over 
the  past;  she  shrank  from  dwelling  upon  the 
present ;  but  she  nerved  herself  bravely  against 
tlie  future. 

She  wrote  respectfully  and  frankly ;  she  ex- 
plained alike  her  position  and  her  apprehen- 
sions ;  she  boldly  declared  the  limited  nature 
of  her  resources;  and  she  threw  herself  upon 
the  generosity  of  her  mother's  kinswoman.  She 
made  no  professions,  and  volunteered  no  pro- 
mises; she  knew  the  purity  of  her  own  inten- 
tions ;  and  she  was  too  proud  to  sully  them 
by  exhibiting  a  doubt  that  they  could  be  sus- 
pected. 

The  task  was  nevertheless,  an  arduous  one ; 
for  she  had  no  clue  by  which  to  guess  how  her 
communication  would  be  received.  She  Mt 
that  she  had  no  claim  upon  the  kindness  of  the 
lonely  old  lady ;  and  she  said  so  with  the  same 
truthfulness  which  was  constantly  her  habit.  It 
was  easy  to  read  that  her  heart  liad  bled  as  she 
•wrote,  but  she  did  not  intrude  her  sorrow 
where  she  was  uncertain  of  sympathy. 

Her  painful  task  ended,  she  closed  the  letter, 
onee  more  shut  put  the  light,  and  throwing 
herself  ujion  her  knees,  prayed  fervently  for 
strength  to  irx^et  the  result  of  her  application, 
be  it  what  it  might;  and  then,  calmed  and 
comforted,  she  slept,  and  for  a  time  forgot  in 
the  deeji  and  dreatnless  slumber  of  exhaustion, 
the  wiight  of  sorrow  by  wliich  she  was  bowed 
almost  to  the  earth. 

In  the  moiniiig,  when  tlje  cousins  again  met, 
Gertrude  summoned  sufficient  nerve  to  acquaint 
Frederic  with  lier  decision  of  tlie  past  night; 
but  he,  who  had  found  it  comparatively  easy  to  | 


paraphrase  the  reasonings  of  Sybil,  felt  his  heart 
sink  as  he  contemplated  the  actual  position  of 
the  orphan. 

"  You  are  too  hasty  in  your  arrangements, 
my  dear  Gertrude,"  he  said  anxiously ;  "  as 
although,  for  your  own  sake,  it  is  necessary  that 
we  should  part  for  a  time,  it  is  by  no  means  ex- 

Eedient  or  proper  that  you  should  quit  the 
ome  of  your  childhood  with  a  Imste  which 
would  seem  to  imply  that  you  were  no  longer  a 
welcome  inmate.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  my 
own  feelings  in  this  emergency — they  are  too 
painful ;  but  I  must  insist  that  you  are  just  to 
yourself  You  do  not  know,  my  dear  cousin — 
and  Heaven  grant  that  you  never  may  ! — the 
myriad  trials  of  poverty;  the  wringing  misery 
of  those  perpetual  and  soul-draining  expedients 
to  which  the  well-born  poor  are  subjected.  You 
cannot  share  the  privations  of  Miss  Warrington." 

"  I  care  not  for  poverty,"  observed  Gertrude, 
forcing  a  smile. 

"  Because  you  do  not  comprehend  it,"  replied 
Mortimer  gravely ;  "  Nor  must  you  ever  do  sa 
I  will  not  insult  you  by  urging  my  right  upon 
this  point;  let  it  sufiice  that  it  ought  to  be,  and 
shall  be  enforced;  but  at  the  same  time,  it  is 
incumbent  upon  you  not  even  to  appear  as 
though  you  were  willing  to  add  to  difficulties, 
already,  no  doubt  sufllciently  oppressive.  Be 
guided,  I  entreat  of  you,  by  me.  In  the  first 
place,  do  not  as  yet,  even  dream  of  leaving 
Westrum.  I  will  absent  myself  for  a  time,  and 
this  must  be  all  that  is  necessary  to  prevent 
unpleasant  remarks." 

"  Never!"  exclaimed  Gertrude  energetically; 
"  You  shall  not  be  driven  from  your  home  for 
my  sake." 

"  Will  you  not  yield  to  my  wishes,  Gertrude? 
Remember,  my  dear  girl,  the  probable  import" 
anee  of  this  one  step  to  all  j-our  after  life.  I 
have  already  much,  very  much,  with  which  to 
reproach  myself;  do  not  deepen  my  self-blame 
by  showing  me  that  you  disregard  my  advice. 
Are  you  not  the  sister  of  my  adoption?  A»8 
you  not " 

"Enough — enough,"  gasped  out  his  listener; 
"  Be  your  will  what  it  may,  it  shall  be  obeyed." 

"  Do  not  speak  so  coldly,"  said  Mortimer,  with 
emotion :  "  Only  to  know  you  happy,  I  would 
make  almost  any  sacrifice.     Let  us  then,  work 
together  to  this  end,  for  it  7niist  be  accomplished. 
Why  do  you  not  claim  a  home — call  it  so  if  you 
will,  though  I  trust  soon  to  offer  you  one  more    ' 
genial — why  do  you  not  claim  a  home  with  Mt    i 
Sinclair?     He  was  the  brother  of  your  mother  ;l 
— your  own   nearest  relation  ;    and   under  his 
roof  you  will  at  least  be  secure  of  every  luxui-y 
to  winch  you  have  been  accustomed." 

"  I  dread  the  price  that  must  be  paid  for  lu» 
uries  wliich  I  am  contented  to  forego." 

"  Do  not  be  misled  by  what  may,  after  all, 
prove  to  be  a  false  apprehension.  It  is  true 
that  Mr.  Sinclair  was  a  cold  brother,  and  a  luk^ 
warm  friend  ;  but  he  has  been  tliroughout  life 
intent  only  upon  accumulating  wealth.  We 
have  not  communicated  with  him  for  years;  and 
time,  my  dear  Gertrude,  works  strange  changes. 
Your  uncle  is  a  solitary,  childless  man  ;  he  must 
have  passed  many  a  weary  hour,  even  amid  his 
prosperity ;  and   remember,  that  if  he  has  re- 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


6t 


mained  silent  during  so  many  years,  we,  on  our 
side,  have  made  no  attempt  to  dispel  that  si- 
lence. It  may  be  that  he  will  thankfully  re- 
ceive to  his  heart  the  child  of  his  only  sister; 
and  should  you  once  meet,  the  result  cannot  be 
doubtful.  In  any  case  you  owe  it  both  to  your- 
self and  him,  to  make  the  tirst  appeal  to  his  af- 
fection." 

"  I  will  do  so." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  compliance,  but  let  it 
be  done  cautiously  ;  do  not  suffer  him  to  imply 
that  you  have  no  other  resource — do  not  permit 
him  to  believe  that  you  are  dependent  upon  his 
acquiescence  for  a  home." 

•'  Upon  what  pretext  can  I  then  address  him? 
asked  Gertrude,  almost  reproachfully.  Morti- 
mer buried  his  eyes  in  his  hands,  and  remained 
silent. 

"  My  dear  Frederic,"  resumed  his  cousin,  with 
a  composure  which  grew  out  of  the  very  bitter- 
noss  of  her  anguish :  "  whatever  I  do,  and  to 
whomsoever  I  apply  in  my  extremity,  I  must 
act  with  openness  and  honor.  I  have  been  tiie 
child  of  benevolence  almost  from  my  cradle  ; 
and  although  the  hand  of  charity  has  hitherto 
been  extended  to  me  so  tenderly  that  I  have 
never  felt  its  weight,  I  must  now  learn  to  re- 
ceive the  bitterness  with  the  blessing,  and  to  be 
grateful  for  the  boon,  however  offered.  I  can- 
not approach  my  uncle  with  a  vain  sophistry 
upon  mj'  lips ;  I  must  present  mj-self  as  I  am : 
1  need  a  home,  and  it  is  from  him  that  you  have 
•willed  for  me  to  ask  one.  I  feel  and  know  that 
you  would  spare  me  every  mortification  to 
which  it  is  possible  that  I  may  be  subjected  by 
telling  the  whole  truth ;  but  believe  me,  it 
would  only  make  the  suffering  greater,  were  it 
deferred  until  it  brought  with  it  the  rebuke  of 
my  own  conscience.  I  will  write  to  Mr.  Sin- 
clair since  you  desire  it ;  but  it  must  be  as  I 
have  written  to  Miss  Warrington ;  and  I  have  a 
firm  conviction  that  our  correspondence  will 
soon  terminate." 

"  The  whole  affair  makes  me  wretched," 
murmured  Mortimer  ;  "  I  feel  that  I  am  wrong, 
and  yet — " 

"  Wherefore  accuse  j'ourself  ?"  asked  Gertrude 
affectionately  ;  "  you  have  acted  towards  me 
■with  the  frank  and  upright  principle  which  I 
had  a  right  to  expect  from  you.  I  am  weak, 
I  know  ;  but  I  will  not  prove  unworthy  of  you  ; 
of  those " 

Tears  stopped  her  utterance  ;  and  Mortimer, 
no  longer  able  to  contend  with  his  emotion,  seiz- 
ed his  hat  and  hurried  from  the  room. 

How  often  is  cowardice  blent  with  the  better 
feelings!  Mortimer  could  escape  by  flight  the  I 
spectacle  of  a  sorrow  which  he  deeply  felt ; 
but  he  had  not  the  heroism  to  sacrifice  his  own 
selfish  gratification  in  order  to  mitigate  its 
extent. 

Much  had  passed  during  the  interview  that! 
was  soothing  to  the  feelings  of  Gertrude ;  but 
notliing  which  had  lessened  the  difficulties  of 
her  position.  She  was  still  helpless  and  home- [ 
less ;  and  the  new  task  whicii  had  devolved 
upon  her  of  addressing  Mr.  Sinclair,  was  the  j 
most  mortifying  trial  to  which  she  had  been  i 
yet  exposed. 

That  he  would  receive  her  as  an  inmate  she  I 


did  not  for  an  instant  anticipate,  and  she  conse- 
quently felt  that  the  suffering  was  gratuitous; 
but  it  was  Frederic's  desire  that  she  should  at 
least  offer  him  the  alternative,  and  she  was  con- 
tent to  abide  by  his  directions.  The  letter  was 
therefore  written  in  deep  sorrow,  but  with  per- 
fect resignation  ;  and  the  days  Avhich  necessari- 
ly intervened  before  an  answer  could  arrive, 
were  among  the  most  cruel  of  her  life. 

It  came,  however,  at  length  ;  and  cold,  brief, 
and  insulting  as  it  was,  she  experienced  a  sensa- 
tion of  relief  on  finding  that  he  definitely  de- 
clined her  proposal.  He  was  sorry,  he  said, 
that  those  who  had  reared  her  as  that  most 
useless  of  all  created  beings,  a  fine  lady,  had 
ultimately  left  her  a  beggar ;  although  such  a 
climax  might  have  been  expected  ;  and  it  could 
not  be  rationally  anticipated  that  he,  who  from 
motives  of  prudence  had  remained  a  bachelor, 
vvould  voluntarily  encumber  himself  with  a  per- 
son about  whom  he  knew  nothing,  and  who 
could  advance  no  claim  upon  his  notice.  He 
wished  her  well,  and  warned  her  to  be  prepar- 
ed for  mortifications  and  trials  of  all  sorts,  which 
j  it  would  be  impossible  for  her,  situated  as  she 
was,  to  avoid  ;  but  he  hoped  that  by  humility 
and  industry,  supposing  that  she  possessed  any 
talent  sufficiently  useful  to  be  turned  to  account, 
she  might  ultimately  be  able  to  make  her  way 
in  the  world.  And  this  was  all.  There  was  no 
word  of  sympathy  ;  no  sentence  of  encourage- 
ment. The  gulf  between  them  yawned  wider 
and  blacker  than  ever ;  and  she  had  no  refuge, 
save  in  the  compassion  of  the  poor  and  solitary 
Miss  Warrington. 

Mortimer  had  awaited  the  reply  of  Mr.  Sin- 
clair before  he  left  Westrum  ;  and  it  was  with 
a  feeling  of  bitter  indignation  that  he  perused 
it.  His  first  impulse  was  to  hasten  to  town,  in 
order  to  seek  an  interview  with  the  cold-hearfc- 
ed  worshipper  of  Mammon,  and  to  impress  upoa 
him  the  unworthiness  of  his  conduct,  and  the 
responsible  position  in  which  he  stood  towards 
his  last  surviving  relative  ;  but  from  this  mea- 
sure he  was  dissuaded  by  Gertrude  herself,  who 
meekly  represented  that  her  uncle  was  fully 
borne  out  in"his  assertion  that  she  had  no  claim 
upon  him,  save  that  Avhich  his  own  heart  might 
have  afforded  her,  and  who  declared  her  willing- 
ness rather  to  suffer  any  privation  than  to  in- 
trude herself  again  upon  his  notice. 

Mortimer  argued  in  vain  ;  for  once  his  cousin 
was  resolute.  The  very  extremity  of  her  posi- 
tion had  nerved  her  with  a  fictitious  courage. 

"  1  have  still  a  hope,"  she  said,  forcing  back 
the  tears  which  rose  to  her  burning  eyelids ;  "  I 
have  still  one  relative  who  may  feel  for  my 
orphan  state,  and  with  whom  1  shall  be  safe 
from  the  comments  of  the  idle  and  the  malevo- 
lent. My  tastes  are  simple  ;  for  I  hav«  never 
forgotten  that  I  was  indebted  for  all  the  bless- 
ings by  which  my  youth  has  been  surrounded 
to  the  goodness  of  others ;  and  thus  I  have 
taught  myself  to  comprehend  that  I  might  one 
day  be  called  upon  to  resign  them.  Moreover, 
my  dear  cousin,  I  am  rich  in  the  conviction  of 
your  regard,  a  treasure  of  which  the  world  can- 
not deprive  me,  and  thanks  to  the  unfailing 
kindness  of  her  to  whom  I  owe  everything,  and 
whose  affection  endured  even  beyond  the  grare. 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


lam  not  quite  pennyless:    while  I  possess  ta- 1  heart.     She  almost  doubted  her  identity,  and 
lents  which  may  also  be  made  available.     Go  yet,  it  was  all  too  true ;  the  dimness  of  her  vision 


then,  in  peace,  mj-  dear  cousin  ;  and  rest  satis 
fied  that,  in  one  way  or  the  other,  I  shall  soon 
be  enabled  to  send  yon  an  assurance  that  your 
snxiety  upon  my  account  may  cease.  Do  not 
imagine  that  I  speak  lightly  or  presumptuously: 
I  have  thought  much  and  seriously  during  the 
last  few  days  ;  and  I  am  comforted  by  the  con- 
viction that  otiiers  have  successfully  combated 
against  circumatances  even  more  unpromising 
tlian  those  by  which  I  am  now  surrounded." 

"  Could  I  but  see  any  means  by  which  your 
departure  from  hence  might  be  rendered  unne- 
cessary— "  broke  in  Mortimer. 

"  There  are  none ;  and  I  ought  earlier  to  have 
foreseen  the  necessity  of  my  removal ;  nor  can 
I  find  any  excuse  for  my  want  of  prudence,  save 
in  my  ignorance  of  society,  and  the  extent  of 
my  mental  suffering.  Now,  however,  all  is  clear 
to  me  ;  and  for  my  sake  and  your  own,  it  must 
no  longer  be  deferred.  By  to-morrow's  post  I 
shall  forward  my  letter  to  Miss  Warrington ; 
and  should  that  fail,  I  must  learn  to  suffice  to 
myself." 

"  You  do  not  comprehend  the  trials  of  which 
you  talk  with  so  much  calmness." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  the  poor  girl  sadly ; 
"but  it  is  a  knowledge  which  will  soon  be  ac- 
quired, and  must  be  accepted  with  philosophy. 
And  now  let  us  rather  speak  of  your  departure. 
Like  my  letter,  you  must  leave  Westrum  to- 
morrow ;  and  I  shall  be  better  able  in  solitude 
to  arrange  my  plans,  and  brace  mj^self  to  what- 
ever necessity  may  arise." 

"  You  will  write  to  me  frequently,  daily, 
Gertrude  ?" 

"  I  can  scarcely  promise  so  much  ;  but  direct- 
ly that  I  luive  anything  to  tell,  you  shall  hear 
from  me.  And  now,  Frederic,  let  us  part  at 
once ;  you  have  much  to  arrange,  and  your  time 
is  short.  I  too,  need  rest.  To-morrow  we  shall 
meet  again  before  your  departure ;  and  mean- 
while we  do  but  unnerve  each  other." 

"  You  are  perhaps  right,"  said  Mortimer  irre- 

Bolutely,  "  and  yet " 

"  Kot  a  word  more,  my  own  dear  cousin,  if 
you  would  spare  me,"  murmured  Gertrude  al 
most  inarticulately,  and  Frederic  attempted  no 
further  expostulation,  but  drawing  the  drooping 
girl  to  his  bosom,  and  pressing  his  lips  to  her 
j)ale  brow,  lie  gently  replaced  her  upon  her  seat, 
and  left  the  room. 


passed  away  ;  and  the  truth,  the  frightful  truth, 
stood  cold  and  bare  before  her. 

Slowly,  but  steadily,  she  rose  from  the  sofa, 
and  for  a  while  her  hand  wandered  over  tli« 
thousand  cherished  trifles  that  were  strown  upon 
the  table  before  her.  Her  eyes  were  tearless, 
and  her  lip  never  quivered.  Hers  was  the  very 
desolation  of  the  spirit  to  which  tears  are  re- 
fused! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


As  he  disappeared,  she  swept  back  her  dishe- 
velled hair,  fixed  a  long  look  of  anguish  upon 
her  mourning  dress,  and  then  bowing  her  head 
upon  her  hands,  remained  motionless. 

lie  was  gone!  They  had'parted,  perhaps  for 
ever;  for  already  she  had  resolved  not  to  ex- 
pose hers<'lf  to  the  trial  of  the  morrow's  meeting, 
lie  was  gone!  And  where?  To  forget  her  and 
her  sorrow  in  the?  smiles  of  Sybil.  He,  at  least, 
had  a  haven  cf  iiappiness  in  wiiicli  he  could  find 
ahelter  from  the  pitiless  storms  of  that  world  on 
which  she  was  about  to  be  launched,  unknow- 
ing upon  wiiat  bleak  shore  she  might  be  driven. 

She  felt  like  one  in  a  frightful  dream ;  all 
about  her  appeared  unreal  ;  the  floor  rocked 
beneath  her  feet ;  and  old  familiar  objects  wore 
a  strango  aspect  that  chilled  her  to  the  very 


"  My  Dear  Niece, — 
"  You  have  acted  prudently,  and  properly. 
You  cannot,  and  must  not,  remain  one  day  longer 
than  is  absolutely  indispensable  under  the  sam« 
roof  with  your  unmarried  cousin.  A  young 
woman's  reputation  is  like  a  sheet  of  white 
paper,  and  people  are  ready  enough  to  scrawl 
upon  it  when  they  can. 

"  I  am  glad,  for  your  own  sake,  that  Mrs. 
Mortimer  has  behaved  so  handsomely  ;  for  there 
is  no  blessing  like  independence.  It  has  been 
the  comfort  of  my  own  life,  that  I  am  indcpeo- 
dent  of  ever}'  body. 

I  hope  that  you  are  not  a  beauty — I  detest 
beauties — and  that  you  are  not  a  gad-about ;  I 
never  go  out  except  to  church  ;  and  not  often 
even  there,  owing  to  my  deafness.  If  you  ai"« 
notable,  we  shall  get  on  famously  together,  for 
I  have  a  great  respect  for  the  usefuls ;  and 
where  people  are  not  aver  rich  they  must  be 
managing. 

I  have  given  orders  to  have  all  prepared  for 
you,  so  you  will  have  no  trouble  when  you  ar- 
rive, and  will  have  time  to  look  round. 

Drop  me  a  line  to  say  when  I  may  expect 
you  ;  and  keep  up  your  spirits,  for  I  have  long 
learned  the  folly  of  fretting  for  what  cannot  be 
mended. 

Travel  as  cheaply  as  you  can  ;  money  spen* 
upon  the  road  leaves  nothing  to  show  for  it,  and 
is  waste  at  best.  When  I  travelled  1  always 
carried  a  provision-basket,  and  found  it  a  greaJk 
saving. 

"  As  we  shall  so  soon  meet,  I  shall  reserve 
all  further  advice  for  future  occasions ;  and  only 
add,  with  my  respects  to  your  cousin,  that  I 
am, 

"  Your  affectionate  aunt, 

"  Martha  Wariunoton. 
"  P.S.  I  opened  my  letter  to  bid  you  wrap  up 
carefully.     Sore   throats   are   easily   caught  at 
this  time  of  the  year." 

Gertrude  gasped  for  breath.  She  had  once 
more  a  home,  and  she  was  thankful.  It  is  true, 
that  a  few  words  of  consolation  and  sympathy 
would  have  cheered  her  shrinking  spirit;  but 
there  was  at  least  kindness  in  the  (juiet  and 
matter-of-course  manner  in  which  her  unknown 
relative  had  at  once  opened  her  house,  if  not 
her  heart.  The  style  of  the  letter  was  dry  and 
junint;  but  still  it  gave  little  clue  to  the  real 
eiiaracter  of  the  writer. 

The  caution  of  old  age,  and  the  prudence  of 
parsimony,  were  indeed  apparent ;  but  beyond 


iJieac,  the  orphan  could   gather    nothing  upon  [sorrow  about  the  grounds;  for  the  lust  time,  slie 
jrhich  to  hinge   a    single  idea  of  the   real  dis-.  flung  herself  upon  her  knees  beside  the  bed  uj)oa 
wsition  of  her  aunt;  and  these  were   naturally  whieh  her  loved  protectress  had  so  lately  laia 
he    circuni- '  stretched  in  death  ;  and  fo 


THE  RIVAL  BRA.UTIES. 


61 


M  have  been  anticipated  under  th( 
itances.  Taken  altogether  the  prospect  was 
lot  a  cheering  one  ;  but  it  nevertheless  held 
7ut  a  certainty  of  protection  and  security  which 
jxcited  her  gratitude,  and  aroused  h-ir  from  the 
;orpor  into  which  she  had  fallen  since  the  de- 
jarture  of  her  cousin. 

She  felt  that  no  time  was  to  be   lost,  and  she 
•esolved  to  obey  the  directions  of  her  new  mo 
litress  to  the  letter.     Earnestly,  therefore,  she 
jommenced    her    simple    preparations.     Every 
thing  that  she  possessed  she  owed  to  the  gene- 
rositj'  of  her  depai-ted   aunt ;  and    now,  when 
fll,      ihe  was   about   to  4^iit   for  ever  the  home  of 
IB,     aer    lost    happiness,    she    felt    as   though  her 
ownership  in  all  had  ceased. 
In  vain  did  the  weeping  Roberts  entreat  and 
flM  Expostulate  ;  Gertrude  was  firm.     One  by  one 
„,]     she  rejected  the  proffered  elegances  which  she 
liad  been  accustomed  to  call  her  own  ;  replac- 
ing  each    in    its    proper    position,   and  scrupu- 
ously  refusing   to    herself  the    gratification  of 
-etaining  the  most  trifling  object  not  absolutely 
accessary  to  her  personal  comfort. 

The  pang  was  at  once  bitter  and  complicated, 
for  most  of  these  had  been  the  cherished  trea- 
nires  of  long  years  ;  but  not  the  less  were  they 
ill  abandoned.  Tears  swelled  in  her  eyes  as 
■she  turned  away  from  tlie  instrument  which 
iiad  been  a  birth-day  gift ;  from  the  work-frame 
at  which  she  had  so  sedulously  wrought  beside 
[her  gentle  aunt  ;  the  books  that  she  had  loved, 
[the  flowers  that  she  had  tended.  She  cared 
little  for  the  costly  baubles  with  whieh  she  had 
,50  ofteu  been  adorned,  for  they  reflected  only 
[hours  of  empty  gaiety  and  vain  display  ;  but 
jail  that  spoke  to  her  of  a  companionship  and 
fXa.  affection  for  ever  lost,  wrung  her  heart  al- 
imost  to  bursting. 

At  length  all  was  reddy  :  the  modest  pack- 
es  were  made  ;  the  chaise  which  was  to  con- 
vey her  to  the  country  town,  whence  the  coach 
in  whieh  she  was  to  travel  to  her  destination 
took  its  departure,  was  ordered  for  the  mor- 
row ;  and  then,  and  only  then,  she  sat  down  to 
acquaint  Mortimer  with  her  proceedings.  To 
have  done  so  earlier  would  have  been  to  sum- 
mon him  home  only  to  renew  a  parting  which 
to  her  had  already  been  a  trial  almost  beyond 
her  strength ;  to  have,  perhaps,  subjected  hei'self 
to  receive  him  as  her  companion  during  the 
journey  ;  and  thus  to  have  prolonged  her  suf- 
ferings, and  incurred  the  risk  of  exciting  the 
displeasure  of  Aliss  Warrington,  who  had  evi- 
dently been  unprepared  for  such  an  arrange- 
ttient. 

Had  she  been  less  absorbed  by  grief,  it  is  pro- 
vable that  she  might-  have  displayed  less  firm- 
ness; but  there  is  a  recklessness  in  actual  an- 
iguish  which  causes  all  minor  considerations  to 
be  unheeded ;  and  thus  the  timid  and  tenderly 
nurtured  orphan,  who  had  never  hitherto  moved 
from  her  home  without  the  protecting  escort  of 
I.er  aunt,  now  calmly  prepared  to  set  forth  on 
a  long  and  weary  journey,  alone  and  self-depen- 
dent. 

For  the  last  time,  she  wandered  in  silence  and 


the  last  time,  sha 
lingered  at  the  door  of  her  cousin's  room,  and 
remembered  how  proudly  and  how  joyously  sh« 
had  decked  it  out  with  flowers,  when  he  return- 
ed to  his  home,  and  to  the  hearts  of  those  who 
had  so  long  awaited  him.  Alas!  for  what? 
Then,  came  the  parting  with  the  old  and  attach- 
ed servants,  wh<f  had  known  and  loved  her 
from  her  childhood  ;  and  she  had  to  part  from 
one  and  all  with  a  closed  hand ;  but  she  meekly 
explained  her  inability  to  repay  their  affection 
by  aught  save  words  and  wishes,  for  which 
they  blessed  her  as  she  went ;  and  she  at  length 

/I.,.'        1 ir    .•.,1-     iu  .     _i_; _^  1       3 ?_  _ 


flung    herself  into    the    chi 


and,    drawing 


down  the  blinds,  wept  unrestrainedly,  as  she  waa 
borne  away  from  her  home — her  "friends — her 
memories — and  her  hopes. 

Poor  Gertrude!  The  measure  of  her  misery 
was  full.  She  had  drained  the  cup  of  bitterness 
to  its  very  lees ;  and  still  she  was  like  a  seared 
autumnal  leaf,  driven  onward,  she  knew  not 
where ;  the  very  spot  of  fate. 

Nothing  can  be  told  of  such  a  journey.  What 
were  its  pettj^  annoyances,  its  puerile  difficulties, 
its  coarse  inconveniences  to  her!  She  had  a 
more  perfect  antidote  against  all  outlay  either  of 
anxiety  or  money  than  even  the  basket  of  the 
thrifty  Miss  "Warrington,  in  the  heart-sicknesg 
which  made  her  careless  of  all  personal  in- 
dulgences. 

And  so  she  travelled  on  day  and  night,  uncon- 
scious of  fatigue,  and  only  aroused  to  the  neces- 
sity of  sustaining  nature  by  the  officious  sugges- 
tions of  her  fellow-passengers;  nor  did  she  shrink 
away  even  from  the  ungenial  contact  with  the 
voluble  and  the  busy,  or  from  the  unaccustomed 
food  which  was  placed  before  her ;  she  neither 
heard  the  first,  nor  heeded  the  second.  Her 
thoughts  and  her  memories  were  alike  her  only 
companions. 

At  last,  her  dreary  pilgrimage  was  over,  as  the 
coach  stopped  at  a  wayside  inn,  to  change 
horses,  where  a  peasant  lad  civilly  inquired  if 
one  Miss  Mortimer  were  a  passenger ;  and,  hav- 
ing received  an  afiirmative  reply  from  the  coach- 
man, approached  the  window,  and,  totiching  his 
hat,  announced  himself  as  her  guide  to  Bletchley, 
which  lay  off  the  main  road. 

A  short  note  from  her  aunt,  desiring  her  to 
follow  the  messenger  and  to  leave  her  luggage 
at  the  inn  until  the  evening,  when  she  would 
send  a  car  to  transport  it  to  its  destination,  left 
her  no  alternative  ;  and,  alighting  from  the  ve- 
hicle, worn  and  weary  as  she  was,  she  prepared 
for  this  new  exertion. 

Ere  she  had  walked  many  minutes,  however, 
she  felt  thankful  that  it  was  necessary,  for  her 
way  lay  througli  rich  fields  ripening  for  the 
harvest;  then,  bounded  a  pleasant  copse,  where 
the  nuts  hung  in  clusters  above  her  head;  and, 
finally,  led  her  along  the  margin  of  a  little 
stream,  whose  ripple  ran  cool  and  bright  over  a 
bed  of  pebbles.  The  birds  were  singing  merrily 
in  the  boughs,  the  sun  was  shining  cheerily  in 
the  heavens,  and  the  soft  breeze  bathed  her 
fevered  forehead  in  freshness. 

What  a  relief  was  this  from  the  stifling  atmo- 


«2 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


sphere,  and  the  noisy  discomfort  of  the  moving 
prison  in  which  she  had  been  so  long  immured ! 
Wretched  as  she  was,  she  felt  the  bland  and 
blessed  influence  of  nature  ;  and,  as  her  rustic 
guide  trudged  on  silently  beside  her,  she  strove 
to  shake  off  her  depression,  and  to  make  an  ef- 
fort to  meet  her  new  friend  with  composure  and 
Belf-command. 

On  any  other  occasion,  the  fatigue  of  such  a 
•walk  would  have  overcome  the  slender  strength 
of  the  orphan  ;  but  now  it  give  her  time  for  re- 
flection ;  and,  as  they  approached  the  village, 
she  remarked  with  delight  the  modest  church, 
half  overgrown  with  ivy,  which  stood  apart 
upon  the  summit  of  a  gentle  rise,  at  whose  base 
the  rivulet  wound  placidly  along;  while  its 
downward  slope  was  studded  with  the  humble 
graves  of  the  villagers,  and  grazed  by  innumer- 
able sheep.  All  seemed  calm  and  peaceful ;  and, 
eave  where  one  straggling  street  formed  an  un- 
graceful line  in  the  centre  of  the  picture,  the 
modest  cottages  peeped  out,  each  from  its  nest 
of  leaves,  and  she  already  found  herself  wishing 
that  in  one  of  these  she  was  about  to  find  her 
home. 

It  was,  consequently,  with  a  feeling  akin  to 
disappointment,  that  she  saw  her  guide  make 
directly  for  the  central  street;  and,  after  having 
traversed  it  to  a  third  of  its  length,  open  the 
gate  of  a  ding}-,  grim,  brick  house,  separated 
from  the  pathway  by  a  stripe  of  gravel  enclosed 
within  an  iron  palisade.  Her  heart  swelled,  and 
her  spirit  once  more  sank;  but  this  revulsion  of 
feeling  was  happily  interrupted  by  the  appari- 
tion of  a  female  figure  upon  the  threshold.  It 
was  evident  that  some  one  had  been  watching 
for  her  arrival ;  and  the  very  fact  conveyed  a 
welcome. 

This  conviction  lent  her  new  energy ;  and, 
when  the  extended  hand  and  the  feeble  voice 
convinced  her  that  she  had  interpreted  its  mean- 
ing aright,  she  could  only  murmur  out  a  few  in- 
articulate words  as  she  suffered  herself  to  be  led 
into  the  dwelling. 

She  had  just  left  the  balmy  fields,  the  be- 
nignant sunshine,  and  the  fresh  breeze  of  heaven, 
beneath  which  her  heart  had  expanded,  and  her 
sorrows  had  for  a  while  been  hushed  ;  and  aguin 
she  suddenly  found  herself  surrounded  by  gloom, 
and  that  bleak  discomfort  which  strikes  upon 
the  sense  even  before  the  e^e  has  become  cog- 
nisant of  its  cause.  But  she  repressed  the  sigh 
which  was  rising  to  her  lips,  as  she  endeavored 
to  reply  to  the  friendly  greeting  with  which  she 
was  received,  iliss  Warrington  had  again  sunk 
into  her  ciiair,  as  she  entered  the  apartment;  and 
it  was  not  until  she  had  slowly  removed  her  bon- 
net, that  Gertrude  ventured  to  glance  towards 
her  new  protectress. 

When  she  did  do  so,  her  eye  fell  upon  a  tall 
and  meagre  form,  so  rigidly  upright  that  the 
attitude  was  almost  painful  to  contemplate, 
from  the  Impression  of  restraint  which  it  pro- 
duced. It  seemed  impossible  that  any  emotion, 
however  powerful,  could  relax  the  rigid  sinews 
of  the  frame,  or  the  hard  niustles  of  the  coun- 
tenance ;  while  every  fold  of  the  tightly-fitting 
and  dingy  black  dress,  and  every  plait  in  the 
Bnowy  neckerchief  and  cap,  appeared  to  partake 
of  the    some    precision.     The    gray    heir  was 


banded  smoothly  over  a  forehead  upon  which 
long  years  and  worldly  trials  had  alike  failed 
to  impress  a  wrinkle  ;  while  the  dim  eyes,  the 
long  straight  nose,  and  the  tightly-compressed 
and  slender  lips,  completed  a  picture  little  cal- 
cuhited  to  inspire  other  feelings  than  those  of 
timidity  and  apprehension. 

And  the  frame  was  worthy  of  the  picture. 

The  apartment  was  low  and  dark ;  and  it  was 
easy  to  perceive  that  every  article  of  furniture 
had  occupied  its  present  position  from  the  mo- 
ment in  which  it  had  become  the  property  of 
its  owner ;  the  heavy  and  unwieldy  chairs  ap- 
peared to  have  grown  to  the  walls  against 
which  they  were  ranged  in  straight  lines  and 
even  distances ;  the  antique  table,  with  its  claw 
feet,  had  M-orn  a  dint  into  the  floor,  and  its 
polished  surface  was  guiltless  of  a  stain  ;  the 
tall  bureau  loomed  dark  and  rigid  in  a  recess 
beside  the  fire :  and  not  one  vestige  of  attnal 
inhabitation,  not  one  trac;  of  the  every-day  oc- 
cupation which  lend  a  gjace  and  a  gladness  to 
every  home,  however  humble,  of  which  they 
form  a  part,  was  perceptible  throughout  the 
room. 

Gertrude  had  nerved  herself  to  encounter 
poverty  and  privation  ;  but  this  utter  absence 
of  all  the  minor  elegances  which  help  to  throw 
a  veil  over  the  sternest  trials  of  life,  struck  her 
to  the  very  heart ;  and  its  effect  was  the 
greater,  because  it  was  an  evil  for  which  she 
had  been  totally  unprepared.  An  open  book, 
a  single  flower,  would  have  removed  the  im- 
pression ;  but  neither  book  nor  flower  was  to 
be  seen  in  the  little  parlor  of  Miss  Warrington. 
All  was  cold,  and  bleak,  and  desolate. 

An  instant  sufficed  for  this  ungenial  survey; 
and  then,  shivering  with  a  chill  which  seemed 
to  be  coursing  through  her  veins  like  a  stream 
of  ice,  the  unhappy  Gertiude  withdrew  her 
eyes  from  the  blank  around  her  to  fix  them 
once  more  upon  her  companion. 

The  old  lady  had,  meanwhile,  been  as  biisily 
occupied  in  examining  the  person  of  her  niece  ; 
and  it  would  have  been  easy  for  any  one,  ac- 
customed to  interpret  the  expression  of  her 
almost  inflexible  countenance,  to  discover  that 
she  was  not  entirely  satisfied  with  the  result. 
She  became,  if  possible,  a  line  more  upiisht  ; 
her  thin  lips  were  drawn  a  degree  more  tightly 
together;  and  her  bony  fingers  were  more 
closely  clasped.  Even  through  the  dimness  of 
her  failing  sight,  she  had  already  ascertained 
that  her  new  inmate  was  a  beauty  ! 

The  first  solecism  of  poor  Gertrude  -(^-as  an 
attempt  to  place  her  bonnet,  which  she  had  held 
for  a  considei-able  time  in  her  hand  while 
answering  the  inquiries  of  her  aiint  regarding 
her  journey,  upon  the  uncovered  table. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  my  dear  Miss  Morti- 
mer," said  the  old  lady,  as  she  solemnly  waved 
her  back  with  her  hand,  "  but  I  do  not  allow 
anything  to  be  placed  upon  that  table,  until  I 
am  assured  .that  it  is  free  from  dust,  and  can  do 
no  mischief  As  we  are  to  live  together,  we 
had  better  understand  each  other  at  once.  If 
your  bonnet  fatigues  you,  be  good  enough  to 
place  it  upon  a  chair." 

Gertrude  obeyed  in  silence.  Her  heart  was 
wrung. 


niE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


08 


isplay  no  disappointment  or 
the  transition. 


I  have  no  doubt  that  we  shall  get  on  very  I  Old  age  is  apt  to  attach  an  undue  importance 
Ivrell  before  long,"  pursued  Miss  Warrington, 'to  the  brilliant  futilities  of  life,  and  to  suspect 
"  that  is,  as  I  remarked  in  my  letter,  if  you  iti-e,  others   of  prizing   them  at  an  equal  price  ;  and 

thus  the  sorrows  of  tlie  heart,  even  while  they 
reject  or  overlook  such  considerations,  are  fre 
quently  mistaken  for  the  mortifications  of  vani- 
ty, and  provoke  rather  animadversion  than 
pity. 

Even  inexperienced  as  she  was,  Gertrude  in- 
tuitively felt  this  truth  ;  and  conscious  that  her 
new  protectress  must  be  well  aware  of  the 
change  which  she  could  not  fail  to  discover  be- 
tween the  affluence  to  which  she  had  been  ac- 
customed, and  the  comparative  penury  to  which 
she  was  now  condemned,  she  saw  at  once  that 
it  behoved  her  to  disj 
inconvenience  from  the  transition. 

To  the  meek  and  unselfish  nature  of  the  or- 
phan this  was  easy  ;  for  to  personal  privation 
she  was  indifferent.  It  was  the  moral  coercion 
which  she  foresaw  that  alarmed  her ;  that  bai'e 
and  whitewashed  room  would  have  been  to  her 
a  paradise,  could  she  only  have  been  assured 
that  there  her  life  could  have  been  spent ;  but 
this  she  knew  to  be  impossible ;  other  duties 
awaited  her,  and  these  must  be  performed  at 
any  cost. 

It  was,  however,  with  a  sensation  of  pleasure 
that  she  found  herself  introduced  into  a  less 
formal  apartment  than  that  in  which  she  had 
at  first  been  received ;  when,  after  having 
smoothed  her  hair  and  bathed  her  eyes,  she 
again  descended  from  her  chamber.  True,  all 
was  chilly,  formal,  and  methodical,  in  this  new 
parlor  also,  but  still  it  was  less  appalling  than 
the  state-room,  wliich  had  evidently  been  open- 
ed in  honor  of  her  arrival.  The  gaunt  bureau 
was  replaced  by  a  small  writing-table ;  the 
chairs  were  capable  of  transport ;  and  upon  the 
table  stood  the  cheerful  tea-equipage,  flanked 
by  a  pair  of  candles ;  while  upon  a  set  of 
swinging  shelves  suspended  from  the  wall, 
rested  half-a-dozen  volumes,  of  divers  degrees 
of  antiquity. 

Miss  Warrington,  in  a  roomy  and  upright 
chair  of  time-polished  mahogany,  was  already 
established  before  the  tea-tray,  as  rigid,  as  pas- 
sionless, and  as  correct  as  before  ;  but  the  ac- 
cent in  which  she  invited  her  guest  to  seat  her- 
self was  kind,  and  even  gracious. 

"  Your  baggage  has  arrived,  my  dear  niece," 
she  said,  as  Gertrude  ventured  to  approach  a 
chair,  "  and  by  this  time  to-morrow  you  will  be 
quite  at  home.  For  a  while,  at  least,  you  will 
have  no  leisure  to  be  dull ;  for  this  is  a  busj 
season  at  Bletchley.  We  have  .preserves  to 
make,  and  wine ;  and  I  liave  no  doubt  that 
you  will  willingly  relieve  me  of  so  ^reat  a  re- 
sponsibility." 

"  I  almost  fear "  commenced  Gertrude 

timidly. 


simple  and  quiet  in  your  habits ;  as,  indeed, 
under  your  present  circumstances,  you  will  re- 
quire to  be.  Method  is  everything :  it  is  by 
method  tliat  I  have  lived  respectably  upon  mj- 
slender  income,  as  becomes  one  who  is  a  gentle- 
woman by  birth  ;  and  it  is  by  method  only  that 
you  will  iearn  to  do  the  same.  But  now,  1  dare 
say.  you  will  be  glad  to  go  to  your  own  room, 
and  rest  yourself  after  your  journey.  You  will 
find  all  prepared.  I  have,  indeed,  gone  to  some 
elight  expense  in  order  to  make  you  comfort- 
able ;  but  you  are  welcome  to  all  that  I  can  do, 
and  I  hope  that  you  will  approve.of  my  arrange- 
ments." 

Gertrude  faltered  out  her  thanks  ;  and  the 
old  lady  having  rung  a  hand-bell  wliich  stood 
within  reach,  she  hastily  snatched  up  her 
bonnet,  and  followed  the  staid  middle-aged 
servant  by  whom  the  summons  was  answered, 
up  a  dark  and  narrow  flight  of  stairs  ;  and,  with 
a  feeling  of  relief  impossible  to  describe,  at 
length  found  herself  alone  in  the  apartment 
which  had  been  allotted  to  her. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  cast  herself  upon  her 
knees,  to  implore  strength  and  support  in  her 
coming  trials  ;  and  to  otter  up  the  mute  thanks- 
givings of  her  spirit  for  the  home  which  had 
received  her,  when  she  might  have  been  a  deso- 
late wanderer  in  the  wilderness  of  the  world. 
This  duty  performed,  she  rose  and  glanced  with 
some  interest  round  the  narrow  room  that  was 
now  her  own.  All  was  scrupulously  clean  and 
orderly  ;  the  uncurtained  bed  was  covered  with 
a  counterpane  of  snowy  whiteness  ;  the  painted 
table  was  similarly  adorned,  the  solitary  window 
was  draped  with  festoons  of  dimity,  and  over- 
looked a  garden  shaded  by  tall  old  trees ;  the 
mantel  was  decorated  with  an  oval  piece  of 
satin  embroidery,  representing  the  parting  of 
Hector  and  Andromache,  in  a  black  frame  ;  and 
tlie  walls  had  been  ncAvly  whitewashed. 

Poor  and  rude  as  all  these  arrangements  were, 
Gertrude,  nevertheless  felt  grateful ;  and  en- 
deavored to  believe  that  she  should  soon  cease 
to  regret  the  absence  of  the  elegance  to  which 
fihe  had  been  accustomed,  in  the  luxury  of  soli- 
tude. It  was  the  daily  and  hourly  demand 
upon  her  feelings  in  the  society  of  her  aunt 
which  appalled  her ;  for  she  had  already  seen 
enough  to  be  convinced  that  they  had  not  a 
habit  or  a  sentiment  in  common. 

Once  shut  into  the  little  room  which  was  to 
be  her  own,  she  believed  that  she  should  find 
strength  iu  the  very  extremity  of  her  isolation  ; 
and  as  she  contemplated  the  luxuriant  foliage 
which  made  a  twilight  in  the  apartment,  she 
remembered  Westrum  and  its  embowering  trees, 
and  she  felt  that  she  yet  possessed  one  source 
of  rational  enjoyment. 

Long,  therefore,  ere  she  was  summoned  to 
the    tea-table    of  Miss  Warrington  she  had  re- 


"  Fear  what  ?"  asked  the  old  lady,  somewhat 
'  sharply,  as  her  pinched  lips  became  thinner  and 
closer :     "  Surely  you  do   not  mean  to  say  that 
covered    sufficient  calm    to  meet  her,  with  at  you  are    ignorant  of  so  simple  an   accomplish- 
least  apparent  cheerfulness  ;  and  she  made  the  ment  ?" 

effort  tlie  more  readily,  that  siie  was  conscious  "I  must,  I  believe,  plead  guilty  to  this  igno- 
liow  little  her  sorrow  was  likely  to  be  met  with  ranee,  my  dear  madam,"  replied  llie  orphan 
sympathy;  and  how  much  it  might  be  miacoa-  witli  a  sad  smile  ;  "  but  I  shall  rejoice  to  learn 
etrued,  and  perhaps  resented.  jail  that  you  may  be  kind  enough  to  teach  me." 


64 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


The  first  feeling  of  Miss  "Warrington  was  evi 
dently  one  of  intense  surprise  and  displeasure  ; 
but  this  was  soon  rebuked  by  the  submissive 
manner  of  her  young  relative. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said  oneouragingly,  "  the 
fault  is  perhaps  not  your  own ;  and  if  you  are 
indeed  willing,  as  you  say,  to  learn,  it  may  still 
be  repaired.  But,  bless  me.  Miss  Mortimer, 
how  did  j-ou  emploj-  your  time?" 

"  In  reading,  madam,  in  puiuting,  or  with  my 
instrument,  or  my  needle." 

"  Then  you  can  work  ?  That  at  least  is  some- 
thing, and  may  be  made  useful  in  every  family ; 
but  reading,  painting,  and  playing,  are  mere 
waste  of  time,  and  can  be  turned  to  no  account. 
I  have  no  reproach  of  that  kind  to  make  to  my- 
self in  my  old  age ;  and  you  will  do  well  to 
aToid  it  for  the  future." 

Gertrude  sighed  in  silence. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see,"  pursued  the  old  lady  after 
a  pause  and  still  in  the  same  monotonous  and 
sententious  accent,  "  that  you  are  at  all  events 
free  from  the  silly  love  of  dress ;  the  amount  of 
your  packages  has  already  convinced  me  of  that 
fact." 

"  I  have  brought  with  me,  madam,  merely 
my  mourning,"  replied  Gertrude,  devouring  the 
tears  Avliieh  forced  themselves  into  her  eyes, 
"  nor  do  I  apprehend  that  I  shall  ever  wish  to 
throw  it  off." 

"  And  you  are  right,  quite  right,"  said  Miss 
"Warrington,  totally  misapprehending  the  senti- 
ment of  the  assurance  ;  "  With  good  manage- 
ment nothing  is  more  economical  than  black.  I 
have  worn  it  for  years,  and  therefore  speak 
from  experience.  Fortunately,  we  have  no 
shops  at  Bletchley — at  least,  none  of  those  shops 
that  are  the  "Vanity-fair  at  which  young  women 
barter  their  prudence  for  finery.  We  are  quiet 
people  at  Bletchley,  aud  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  idle  nonsense  of  fashion." 

And  so  passed  the  evening ;  wearisome  and 
flat,  and  almost  interminable.  Not  a  sentence 
was  spoken  by  the  lady  of  the  house  which  did 
not  bear  some  reference  to  that  gnawing,  grind- 
ing, ever-present  necessity,  which  is  enforced  by 
slender  means  coupled  with  the  pretension  of 
gentility.  Every  action,  every  thought,  and 
CTcry  effort,  was  ruled  by  the  one  leading  prin- 
ciple ;  all  were  to  tend  to  the  same  object ; 
nothing  was  to  be  said,  or  devised,  or  under- 
taken, which  did  not  acknowledge  as  its  aim, 
the  furtherance  of  some  petty  economy,  or 
some  puerile  saving. 

Gertrude  was  bewildered.  She  felt  like  one 
in  a  new  wprld  ;  and  her  spirit  quailed  under 
the  consciousness  of  her  utter  inability  to  com- 
prehend or  to  assist  the  views  of  her  enforced 
associate.  Frecl.Mic  was  right  She  had  indeed 
talked  too  lightly  of  trials  which  she  had  never 
comprehended  ;  of  a  struggle  which  she  had 
been  unable  to  foresee.  Hers  had  hitherto  been 
the  poetry  of  life;  she  woa  now  about  to  be 
initiated  into  its  prose. 


CIIAITKR  XX. 
Thb  receipt  of  hie  cousin's  letter  at  once  has- 


tened the  return  of  Mortimer  to  Westrum,  whteh 
he  reached  in  the  hope  that  he  might  antieipats 
her  departure.  We  have  already  shown  that  he 
failed  in  his  object ;  nor  was  his  regret  lessened 
by  the  desolate  sensation  created  by  the  aspect 
of  a  companionless  house.  Amid  all  his  self- 
blame — for  that  he  did  feel  much  is  certain, 
however  unwilling  he  might  be  to  admit  tbs 
fact  to  himself — his  annoyance  was,  moreover, 
increased  upon  perceiving  around  him  every 
object  on  which  his  eyes  had  been  accustomed 
to  rest:  and  of  which  he  was  well  aware  that 
Gertrude  was  the  actual  owner.  There  stood 
her  piano — and  he  knew  the  value  she  had 
attached  to  it ;  here  were  her  books — the  chosen 
friends  of  her  retirement — nay,  the  key  placed 
in  his  hand  by  the  weeping  Roberts,  and  which 
opened  a  small  inlaid  cabinet,  the  bequest  of  his 
dead  father  to  a  niece  whom  he  loved  as  a  child, 
soon  convinced  him  that,  even  to  the  graceful 
ornaments  which  all  women  prize  so  highly, 
she  had  left  everything  behind. 

For  a  time,  Mortimer  felt  as  though  thers 
were  a  tacit  reproach  in  this  self-denudation  on 
the  part  of  his  absent  cousin ;  but  a  moment's 
reflection  enabled  him  to  do  her  better  justice; 
and  he  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  iutuitivs 
delicacy  of  her  proceeding. 

His  first  care  was  to  give  earnest  iiistruetioDS 
to  Mrs.  Roberts  to  cause  everything,  however 
trifling  which  had  been  the  jpruperty  of  her 
young  mistress,  to  be  carefully  collected;  and, 
this  done,  he  accompanied  the  willing  waiting- 
woman  through  the  principal  apai-tinents,  and 
bade  her  point  out  every  object  for  which  Bh« 
had  heard  his  cousin  profess  any  preference  or 
regard,  and  add  them  to  the  rest.  The  packages 
were  then  made ;  and  the  heart  of  Frederic  felt 
lighter  as  he  saw  them  driven  from  the  door. 

During  his  ramble  through  the  grounds  that 
evening,  he  was  almost  happy  in  the  knowledgs 
that  Gertrude  would  find  comfort  and  consola- 
tion in  the  accustomed  objects  thus  I'cstored  to 
her;  and  as  the  deer,  wearied  of  waiting  for 
the  kind  notice  of  their  gentle  mistress,  ap- 
proached him  to  claim  his  caress,  and  appeared 
to  demand,  with  their  mild  eyes,  tidings  of  their 
missing  playmate,  he  almost  smiled  as  he  re- 
sponded to  their  mute  but  intelligent  inquiry. 

Poverty  could  not  now  subject  his  cousin  to 
every  species  of  privation  ;  and  the  period  of  her 
exile  must  soon  terminate  ;  for  had  not  Sybil, 
his  own  high-hearted  Sybil,  reminded  him  that 
her  proper  home  would  soon  be  beneath  his 
own  roof?  Frederic  iuxd  foi-gotten  that  women 
seldom  forgive  even  a  shadow  of  rivalry. 

The  letter  which  he  had  despatched'  to  Ger- 
trude to  announce  the  departure  of  her  pro- 
perty, was  almost  buojant;  for,  delighted  to 
have  thus,  in  some  degree,  made  comjiensation 
for  his  other  short-comings,  he  forgot  in  the 
prospect  of  her  temporary  gratulation,  th«  . 
more  enduring  evils  by  which  she  was  sur- 
rounded ;  and,  after  reproaching  her  for  leaving 
Westrum  without  affording  him  the  o])portunit-y 
of  accompanying  her  to  her  new  residence,  1m 
reminded  her  that  ere  long,  he  should  reclaim 
her  at  the  hands  of  her  present  hostess;  and 
painted  the  future  in  colors  blight  enough  to 
scare  her  spirit  as  she  contrasted  them  with  thft 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


«i 


ines  of  the  present ;  and  felt  the   utter  impos- 
ibility  of  their  ultimate  realization. 

It  was  consequently,  in  an  eviable  frame  of 
nind  that  lie  started,  on  the  following  morning 
or  The  Grange.  Sybil  was  not  yet  apprised  of 
lis  arrival,  of  which  he  had  abstained  from  ae- 
juainting  her,  anxious  to  enjoy,  to  the  fullest 
ixtent-,  tlje  delight  of  her  surprise  ;  but,  before 
ve  accompany  him  to  this  new  meeting  with  his 
iffianced  bride,  we  must  conduct  our  readers  to 
lie  luxurious  abode  of  the  proud  beauty,  and 
atroduee  them  to  a  new  acquaintance. 

Among  the  other  characteristics  of  the  plea- 
nre-gromuls  of  The  Grange,  was  a  long  walk 
ringed  with  superb  laurels,  which  traversed  an 
ixotic  slirubbery  at  some  distance  from  the 
lOUse,  and  formed  a  delightful  retreat  during 
'.he  more  sultry  portion  of  the  day. 

As  Mortimer  was  leaving  Westrum,  two  per- 
■ons  entered  tiie  walk,  one  of  whom  was  5liss 
^elamere,  and  the  other  a  stranger,  upon  whose 
irm  she  leaned,  as  in  earnest  and  engrossing 
lonversrttion,  they  moved  slowh*  forward. 

There  was  a  singular  expression  of  mingled 
riumph  and  apprehension  on  the  brow  of  Sybil, 
,vhile  the  features  of  her  companion  wore  a 
•estless  and  anxious  look,  totally  at  variance 
A'ith  his  apparent  character.  He  was  a  tall  and 
"mely-formed  man  of  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
,vith  large  light-blue  c^-es,  fair  hair,  arranged 
ifter  a  foreign  fashion,  a  marked  and  somewhat 
;alient  nose,  and  a  beard  closely  cut,  and  en- 
urcling  his  chin,  a  mode  now  designated  en 
■oilier  but  which  was,  at  that  period,  totally 
uiknown  in  England.  A  decided  air  of  fash- 
on,  and  even  of  pretension,  could  be  detected 
hrough  tlie  extreme,  but  evidently  studied 
limplicitj-  of  his  dress  and  bearing ;  and  there 
.^•as  an  expression  of  haughty  superciliousness 
ibout  his  mouth,  which  he  found  it  impossible 
it  intervals  to  suppress. 

•'  And  you  are  really  happy,  Sybil  I"  were  the 
irst  words  he  uttered  after  a  pause,  during 
nhich  his  eyes  had  been  rivetted  upon  the  fairy- 
ike  form  of  his  companion. 

"  Certainly." 
'    "  I  dare  not  believe  it  possible," 
■    "  And  wherefore!" 

"  Because  3-ou  once  loved  me.  Deny  it  not : 
y-m  loved  me." 

•' Is  this  intended  as  an  insult,  Sir  Horace  ?" 

isked  Miss  Delamere,  as  she  suddenly  paused, 

and  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his  arm,  looked 

proudly  into  his  face. 

&    I    "  Pshaw  1"  muttered  the  stranger  through  his 

[clenched  teeth,  at  the  same  time  re-possessing 

f>     ihimself  of  the  liberated  hand,  and  again  leading 

p    per  forward ;  "  Do  you  connect  the  idea  of  insult 

ji     iwith  your  love?     Be   more   rational,  charming 

0    Sybil.     You  are  conscious  that  there  is  no  great 

j     pleasure  to  be  derived  from  dwelling  upon  the 

J     ipast  for  ei filer  of  us;  but  this  slight  reference 

was  necessary.     You  are  too  clever  a  tactitian, 

too    aceoni[)lished    a    woman  of  the    world,  to 

imagine  for  a  moment  that  it  is  simply  curiosity 

)      which  had  led  me  to  intrude  upon   you  on  this 

jj     loccasion.     You    cannot  think   it,  and   must  be 

jJ     well  able  to  solve  the  riddle.     Tell  me  then, 

why  am  I  here  ?" 

"  I  am  no  CEdipus,"  was  the  oold  reply ;  but 


the  heart  of  the  lady  beat  turaultuously,  and  hoc 
eye  fell  as  she  compelled  herself  to"  answar: 
"  You  must  e'en  play  the  Sphinx  yourself 

"  You  will  not  help  me  to  a  solution  ?" 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Nay,  then,  since  you  are  resolved,  I  know 
you  well  enough  to  feel  all  the  fruitlessnea 
of  persisting  further — and  yet  your  woniatt- 
heart — " 

"  Has  ceased  to  control  my  reason,"  interpos- 
ed Miss  Delamere.  "  I  have  learned  the  fallacy 
of  imagination,  and  am  now  content  to  abide  by 
realities." 

"  But  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  are  really 
doing  this?  1  confess  that  to  me,  your  whole 
existence  here  appears  only  a  graceful  fiction. 
Sybil,  you  are  no  common  being;  but  even  you 
may  be  too  adventurous." 

"  Would  you  assume  the  right  to  control  my 
actions?" 

•'  By  no  means ;  I  am  not  so  rash.  If  I  found 
it  impossible  to  do  so  when  I  possessed  that 
right,  I  should  scarcely  venture  to  make  the 
attempt  now.  But  I  confess  that  when  I  re- 
member the  slender  amount  of  the  wreck  of 
your  fatlier's  fortune,  and  the  exact  addition 
which  was  made  to  it,  I  cannot  comprehend  the' 
splendor  by  which  you  are  surrounded." 

"  Miracles  may  be  wrought  even  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,"  said  Miss  Delamere  quietly. 

,"So  I  perceive;  but  will  not  the  bubble  burst?" 

"  Before  I  answer  your  question,  you  are 
bound  to  answer  mine.    What  brings  you  Jiere?" 

The  gentleman  did  not  immediately  reply; 
but,  after  the  pause  of  an  instant,  said  resolutely: 
"  A  passion  which  I  cannot  overcome." 

"  And  yet,"  faltered  Sybil,  evidently  panting 
with  emotion,  "after  what  has  passed — " 

"  True ;   after  what  has  passed,  you  have  a  * 
right  to  be  astonished  at  my  presence  ;  and  yet, 
Sybil,  you  must  feel  at  once  that  whei-e  you 
have  been  loved,  you  never  can  be  forgotten." 

"  You  are  complimentary." 

"  I  am,  at  least,  sincere.  You  have  seen  fit  to 
make  yourself  the  centre  of  a  social  pageant; 
nor  shall  I  attempt  to  fathom  your  motives. 
Only  this  much  I  may  venture  to  "remark — that 
be  j-our  reasons  what  they  may,  the  farce  which 
you  have  put  upon  the  stage  must  soon  ba 
played  out.  Do  not  persist,  therefore,  in  wiiat 
may  ultimately  prove  a  ruinous  error;  but  let 
me  drop  the  curtain,  while  the  audience  are  still 
dazzled  by  the  effect  of  your  machinery." 

"  You  speak  in  enigmas.  Is  your  haughty 
mother  cognizant  of  this  new  cajirice?" 

"  Call  it  what  j-ou  please,"  said  her  compa- 
nion, as  he  cla.sped  in  his  own  the  small  hand 
that  rested  on  liis  arm,  "I  will  not  cavil  wilk 
j-ou  for  words.  No,  bella  h  cava,  my  iimlhor 
knows  not  that  I  am  here;  knows  not,  in  lact, 
that  I  am  in  England;  nor  will  she  cvimi  ba 
aware  that  I  have  left  Florence,  if  you  con.sent 
to  my  wishes,  so  rapidly  will  w«  wing  our  way 
back." 

A  singular  expression  passed  over  the  eloquent 
features  of  his  listener,  as  she  asked  somewhat 
bitterly  :  "  And  your  suspicions — how  are  they 
to  be  laid  at  rest?" 

"  I  must  exert  my  philosophy,"  was  tlin  reply, 
but  the  tone  in  wluch  it  was  uttered  impliod 


TIIE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


more  nnea9ine8s  than  pleasantry.  "A  year 
hence,  Sybil,  and  from  what  I  see  around  me,  I 
am  quite  aware  that  you  must  be  penniless. 
You  will  tell  me,  perhaps,  that  the  lovely  face, 
now  80  proudly  turned  towards  me,  will  prevent 
Buch  a  eliuiax ;  but  do  not  deceive  yourself  The 
fates  only  know  why  you  have  chosen  a  wilder- 
ness like  this  for  so  gorgeous  a  display,  or  what 
benefit  you  expect  to  derive  from  it ;  for  here 
there  cannot  exist  a  single  being  capable  of  ap- 
preciating you  ;  I  will  not  say  capable  of  loving 
you,  for  you  have  placed  yourself  upon  too  lofty 
a  pedestal  to  encourage  such  advances;  and, 
moreover,  I  know  you  to  care  little  for  exciting 
such  a  feeling." 

"  And  yet  I  once  loved  you." 

Her  companion  shook  his  head.  "  Tliat  you 
deceived  yourself  for  a  time  into  the  belief,  I 
will  concede,"  he  said  gravely  ;  "  but  the  result 
proved  your  mistake.  Remember  why,  and 
how  we  parted." 

"  My  necessities  compelled  me  to  the  conces- 
Bion,"  murmured  Sybil,  as  the  hot  blood  burnt 
upon  her  cheek. 

"  Why  will  you  wilfully  misunderstand  me?" 
^  he  asked  impatiently.     "  You  know  well  that  I 
'  made  no  allusion  which  could  wound  your  pride 
— 7-mine  was  a  mere  question  of  feeling." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Miss  Delamere;  "and  now?" 

"  Now,  I  would  remind  you  how  devotedly, 
how  earnestly  I  loved  you ;  and  with  what  re- 
luctance I  lent  myself  to  the  wishes  of  my  family, 
even  after  I  discovered  that  it  was  in  vain  to 
hope  that  I  could  ever  inspire  you  with  an 
equally  absorbing  passion.  Yes,  Sybil,  even 
then,  I  loved  you,  although  I  could  no  longer 
ehnt  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  vanity  was  with 
you  more  powerful  than  affection  ;  and  that — 
but  enough — I  am  not  here  to  reproach,  but  to 
convince  you  that,  in  mj^  breast,  at  least,  affec- 
tion was  no  feint ;  and  that  I  am  still  as  much 
your  slave  as  ever." 

"  Do  not  believe  it,"  said  Miss  Delamere  scorn- 
fully:  "  I  have  no  faitli  in  the  constancy  of  your 
sex.  I  should  as  soon  endeavor  to  write  on  the 
wave,  or  ride  upon  the  wind,  as  to  rely  upon  the 

Sermanence   of  any  passion,   however  violent, 
o,  no.  Sir  Horace  ;  you,  who  were  scared  bj'  a 
phantom,  when    I  was    unscathed   by   a  sin  ' 
breatii,  cannot  now,  in  sober  earnestness,  come 
to  claim  the  hand  which  you  formerly  rejected.'' 

"  I  come  to  reclaim  the  heart." 

Sybil  started.  A  shiver  ran  through  her 
veins ;  her  pale  lips  parted,  but  she  could  not 
articulate  a  syllable. 

"  You  tremble,  Sybil,"  continued  her  compan- 
ion; "  and  yet,  what  can  you  fear?  Look  dis- 
passionately at  our  mutual  position.  I  am  free 
and  wealthy.  My  presence  here  to-day  must 
convince  you  of  the  extent  of  my  love.  You 
are  madly  braving  a  certain  and  a  swift-coming 
destruction,  from  wliich  I  would  fain  save  you. 
It  were  idle  to  expose  the  reasons  whicli  render 
it  impossible  that  I  should  offer  you  my  name  ; 
but  my  lieart,  Sybil — that  heart  which  you  first 
taught  to  feel,  is  all  your  own.  Will  you  reject 
it«  homage  ?" 

'*  And  this  to  a  woman  whom  you  cmce  sought 
to  make  your  wife?" 


"  Even  so.  Do  not  let  ns  enact  a  melodramt^ 
Sybil.  To  the  world  be  what  you  pleasa 
Make  of  yourself,  if  you  will,  the  presiding 
genius  of  the  Aladdin's' garden  which  you  have 
created  about  you,  and  induce  those  who  visit 
it  to  believe  that  every  leaf  and  every  blosson 
is  a  gem ;  but  to  me  be  honest.  Had  I  hearc 
of  you  in  a  remote  retirement,  shunning  th« 
ej'cs  of  the  world,  and  anxious  to  escape  no' 
only  the  influence,  but  also  the  temptations  of 
the  past,  I  should  have  endeavored  to  forge' 
you ;  but  as,  even  in  my  foreign  home,  I  tracec 
you  step  by  step,  fondly  lingering  in  the  shado\« 
of  my  blighted  affection,  and  learned  alike  witl 
wonder  and  incredulity  the  inexplicable  natun 
of  your  proceedings,  I  began  to  hope  that  yoi 
would    not    again    meet    me    unmoved;     biu,: 

that " 

"  Why  do  you  pause,  Sir  Horace  ?  You  sm 
that  I  listen  calmly." 

"  In  short,  Sybil,"  faltered  her  companion,  ") 
taught  myself  to  believe  that,  recklessly  as  yoi 
miglit  rush  upon  your  own  ruin,  you  would  no 
willingly  involve  your  mother  in  the  same  suf 
fering ;  but  that  I  should  be  able  to  induce  yoi 
to  spurn  the  comments  of  a  world  by  wliici 
you  had  already  been  wounded  ;  and  to  reston' 
both  yourself  and  her  to  legitimate  affluence." 
The  self-command  exhibited  by  Miss  Delamen 
as  she  listened,  was  almost  frightful.  Her  lip 
were  ashy  pale,  and  the  veins  about  the  temple 
swollen  almost  to  bursting ;  but  lier  step 
steady,  and  her  head  erect.  It  would  have  beei 
impossible  from  her  manner  to  analyse  the  feel 
ing  by  which  she  was  possessed. 

"Have  I  deceived  myself,  Sybil?"  pursuei 
the  low  passionate  voice ;  "  Will  not  you  b 
mine  as  I  have  loved  to  dream?  A  life  of  de 
votion  shall  repay  the  sacrifice ;  you  shall  i 
breathe  a  wish,  you  shall  not  indulge  a  visit 
which  I  will  not  hasten  to  gratify.  Sped 
dearest ;  do  I  plead  in  vain  ?"  ^ 

A  strange  wild  smile  flickered  upon  the  lip 
of  Miss  Delamere ;  and,  encouraged  by  ho 
silence,  and  an  expression  which  he  misintei_ 
preted,  her  companion  ventured  to  throw  hi.' 
arm  about  her  waist.  He  encountered  no  n 
sistance;  but  as  he  drew  her  towards  him, 
bitter  and  hollow  laugh  broke  from  her  li 
as,  bending  her  head,  she  whispered  in  ! 
ear — 

"Xeither  ruin  nor  disgrace  await  me,  S* 
Horace  Trevor:  I  am  an  affianced  wife!" 

Tiien,  turning  upon  him  a  look  of  haught 
defiance,  she  withdrew  herself  fi-oin  his  clasf 
onl}%  however,  to  perceive,  at  a  distance  of 
few  paces,  Mortimer,  evidently  overpowered  b 
emotion,  standing  directly  in  her  path. 

For  an  instant  she  quailed,  but  only  for  an  i! 
stant;  in  the  next  she  advanceil  towards  Iiii 
with  a  radiant  smile  and  an  extended  hand,  o: 
claiming  blandly  : 

"Ha!  you  are  welcome,  truant.  I  was  jii: 
beginning  to  weary  of  my  ncwly-arriye 
cousin,  who  is  practising  all  his  pretty  fascins 
lions  upon  me  on  his  way  to  one  wlioin  he  lov« 
better.  And  when  did"  you  return?  Do  n<. 
venture  to  tell  me  that  you  liave  been  moi 
than  an  hour  at  Westrum,  lest  I  resent  so  gla 


i 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


67 


g  a  proof  of  indifference  towards  the  friends 
ho  have  been  long  and  anxiously  awaiting 
OUT  re-appearance.  And  now  I  must  make 
oil  known  to  my  relative,  Sir  Horace  Trevor; 
u'  admiration  of  our  sex,  and  the  envy  of  his 
wu.  Horace,  this  is  Mr.  Mortimer,  of  whom 
0  were  just  speaking." 

Frederic  had  iustinetiveh''  clasped  the  hand 
hich  had  been  extended  to  him,  but  he  did  not 
■tain  it ;  and  as  they  were  successively  named, 
10  gentlemen  exchanged  a  cold  and  haughty 
o\v,  which  augured  unfavorably  for  their  fu- 
ire  good  understanding. 

At  a  single  glance  Miss  Dslamere  thoroughly 
ppreciated  tlie  inimical  feeling  with  which 
hoy  met ;  and,  uncertain  of  the  extent  of  what 
lortimcr  might  have  seen  or  heard  before  she 
ooame  aware  of  his  presence,  she  hastened 
u  introduce  an  irrelevant  subject  of  conversa- 
ion. 

"  And  thus  you  are  still  wedded  to  Florence, 
Torace,"  she  said,  as  if  pursuing  a  former  topic  ; 
and  fully  purpose  an  immediate  return  there  ? 
a  truth,  I  am  by  no  means  astonished  at  your 
esolution.  You  know  that  with  me,  also,  beau- 
iful  Italy  has  always  been  a  favorite  dream." 
"  Then  why  not  return  there  V 
Sybil  stole  a_glance  at  Frederic,  who  was  walk- 
ng  silently  by  her  side,  ere  she  replied  with  a 
mile — 

■'  My  movements  are  not  always  under  the 
control  of  my  wishes  ;  many  things  may  occur 
0  prevent  such  an  expati-iation — at  least  for  the 
arcsent." 

"  What  woman  wills,  fate  wills,"  said  Sir  Ho- 
race with  emphasis  ;  "  and  especially  when  that 
svoman  is  Sybil  Delamere." 

"  Alas !  how  well  you  know  to  the  con- 
trary." 

"  Certainly  not  from  my  experience  of  the 
juist.  You  may  have  thwarted  the  projects  of 
"tilers;  but  I  believe  that  you  have  in  general 
boon  tolerably  successful  in  accomplishing  your 
own." 

"  Et  tu.  Brute  P'  exclaimed  tlie  lady  with  a 
light  laugh,  which,  however,  failed  to  disguise 
altogether  a  certain  feeling  of  anxietj-  and  rest- 
lessness ;  "  but  I  ought  to  have  remembered 
that  it  is  dangerous  to  tilt  against  you  in  a  war 
of  wits.  Talk,  therefore,  if  you  please,  of  any 
one  rather  tlian  of  myself,  for  you  will  mislead 
ilr.  Mortimer  into  a  belief  that  I  am  a  very 
dangerous  person ;  an  idea  which  I  am  very 
sure  has  never  yet  occurred  to  him." 

"  I  congratulate  j'our  friend  upon  the  personal 
qualifications    which   have   enabled  him  to  re- 
main blind  to  the   fact,"    replied  Trevor    sar- 
castically :  "  he  must  be  possessed  of  an  ample 
fund  of  talent  and  amiability,  to  work  such  a 
miracle  as  that  of  encountering  alone  and  un- 
restrictedly the  fascinations  which  turned  the 
heads    of    half    London ;    and   even   then   de- 
'-       epised  the  limited  extent  of  tlieir  power.     You 
did  not   know   Miss   Delamere    in   town,    Mr. 
Mortimer;    immersed   in  pleasure,  surrounded 
by  adorers,  and  the  very  arbitress  of  fashion ; 
•'■^    .  or  you  would  have  feared  to    approach    her 
■:      here,  where  you  were  exposed   to   the   whole 
*'!'      artillery   of  her  blandishments.      Do    not    be 
deluded  into  the  belief  that  she  is  to  be  en- 


countered with  impunity.    I — her  cousin — warn 
you  of  her  error." 

Sybil  bit  her  lip ;  and  Mortimer,  still  too 
much  irritated  to  trust  himself  with  words,  an- 
swered only  by  a  slight  bend,  and  Miss  Dela- 
mere passed  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and 
leaned  upon  it,  as  though  she  clung  to  him  for 
support 

"  Ti'uly  this  Grange  affair  is  a  strange  whim," 
pursued  the  incorrigible  Trevor  ;  "  1  leave  you 
in  a  crowd ;  yourself  the  busiest  mote  quiver- 
ing in  the  sunbeam,  and  I  find  you  liere  bui  t 
in  like  a  delinquent  nun,  betAveen  four  walls."  ^ 

"  I  was  weary  of  the  turmoil  to  which  you 
allude." 

"  Weary  I"  echoed  her  interlocutor ;  "  Not  so, 
fair  lady  ;  if  I  know  anything  of  hximan  nature, 
and  above  all,  of  woman  nature.  Your  sex  only 
weary  of  the  world  when  it  has  Avearied  of 
them  :  and  all  those  who  look  you  in  the  face 
will  feel  the  impossibility  of  such  an  effect  in 
j'our  case." 

"  You  have  faith  in  nothing,"  replied  Sybil 
gaily. 

"  I  have  heard,"  was  the  retort ;  "  that  a 
stricken  deer  always  flies  to  the  covert  to  die." 

"  While  I," — interposed  Miss  Delamere,  mak- 
ing a  violent  effort  to  control  her  emotion ; 
"  sought  the  solitude  of  the  country  in  order  re- 
ally to  live  ;  for  my  previous  state  of  being  was 
mere  empty  existence.  I  was  like  one  wlio  had 
never  looked  upon  a  sun-rise ;  and  who  knew 
not  the  marvellous  blessings  and  the  glorious 
privileges  to  be  obtained  by  those  who  really 
seek  them." 

"Better  and  better!  You  philosophize.  I 
am  delighted  that  I  ventured  thus  to  invade 
your  retreat,  for  I  shall  leave  you  a  wiser  and  a 
happier  woman.  Thus,  then,  you  liave  blotted 
out  the  past,  and  now  live  only  in  the  future?" 

"You  read  me  admirablj-." 

"And  am  I  to  declare  this  to  poor  Captain 
Fitz — what  was  liis  name  ? — whose  head  you 
turned  for  a  whole  montli,  and  whose  heart 
was  only  saved  from  destruction  by  the  fact  of 
its  having  already  been  regularly  broken  once 
or  twice  every  season  for  the  last  five  years." 

"  You  may  declare  it  to  a  whole  military  pha- 
lanx." 

"  But  not  to  Prince  Gustave,  surely,  Sybil?" 

Despite  all  her  self-command,  the  hand  of  the 
lady  trembled  upon  the  arm  that  supported  it, 
and  her  eyes  flashed  with  irritation  ;  but  the 
expression  of  triumph  which  she  read  upon  tlic  • 
features  of  Trevor  made  her  rally  in  a  moment; 
and  it  was  with  an  affectation  of  interest  which 
betrayed  her  inward  emotion  that  she  exclaimod, 

"  lia!  Apropos  of  the  poor  young  Princt — 
where  is  he  now  parading  his  listlessness?  I 
have  not  heard  of  him  since  I  left  town." 

"  We  have  been  residing  together  in  P'lorence." 

"Together!"  echoed  Sybil  with  a  start,  and 
evidently  for  once  thrown  off  lier  guard. 

"  il  percfie  non,  la  mia  bellaV  asked  Sir  Ho- 
race ;  "Did  you  not  encourage  our  acquauit- 
anee  ?  And  could  you  believe  me  to  be  forni'^d 
of  so  coarse  a  clay  as  to  be  unable  to  appreciate 
the  delicate  porcelain  of  your  exquisite  friend  T 

Moilimer  listened  in  silence,  but  Miss  iXla- 
mere  could  feel  the  yiolent  throbbing  of  liis  hearl 


88' 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUniS. 


as  she  walked  beside  him.  Fortunately  he  had 
not  been  required  to  join  in  a  conversation 
which  turned  upon  persons  with  whom  he  was 
nrtaequninted  ;  but  JtLis  exemption  had  only 
abled  liim  tlie  more  fully  to  note  every  word 
Avhicli  had  been  uttered  by  either  party ;  and 
the  longer  he  listened,  the  more  painfully  he 
felt  in  how  false  a  position  he  stood  as  regarded 
the  past  life  of  the  woman  to  whom  he  was 
about  to  unite  his  fate.  Moreover,  the  manner 
of  Sir  Horace  towards  Sybil  displeased  him.  It 
is  true,  he  was  her  cousin  ;  but  even  that  rela- 
tionship, close  as  it  was,  did  not  appear  to  Fre- 
deric to  justify  the  supercilious  and  almost  ac- 
cusing tone  in  whicli  he  sometimes  addressed 
her.  There  was  a  levity,  also,  in  his  allusions, 
which  imj>lied  a  Avant  of  respect  for  her  dignity; 
if  not  actually  for  her  feelings.  Either  she  had 
loved  these  men  who  were  now  so  lightly  men- 
tioned ;  or  she  had  trifled  with  them,  and  thus 
given  him  a  licence  to  couple  her  name  with 
theirs ;  and  in  either  case,  how  was  his  idol 
fallen  ? 

He  thought  of  his  buried  mother,  and  sighed. 

His  companions  still  talked  on,  but  he  listened 
no  longer.  His  whole  soul  was  in  the  past — 
that  past  which  was  to  him  a  mystery  and  a 
blank.  Could  it  be  that  Sybil,  whom  he  had  be- 
lieved to  be  above  the  weaknesses  and  the  errors 
of  her  sex,  had  frittered  away  her  youth  in  those 
heartless  and  puerile  affectations  of  attachment, 
which  merely  gratify  the  vanity  without  awak- 
ening the  feelings ;  but  which,  nevertheless, 
wear  the  bloom  of  purity  from  the  spirit,  and 
harden  it  into  worldliness,  while  rendering  it 
for  ever  afterwards  incapable  of  a  deep  and 
honest  passion  ?  Or  had  she,  indeed,  loved  so 
absorbingly,  that  her  heart  had  become  a  waste; 
and  that  those  who  knew  best  were  conscious 
that  they  could  not  pain  her  by  allusions  from 
whicli  others  of  her  sex  would  instinctively  have 
Bhrunk  ?  Vainly  did  he  ask  himself  these  ques- 
tions. They  could  be  answered  only  by  a  know- 
ledge of  the  past. 

One  thing  was  evident.  Sybil  had. been  one 
of  the  gayest  votaries  of  fashion — courted,  ad 
mired,  and  adulated  ;  and  she  had  suddenly  with 
drawn  lierself  from  the  world,  and  buried  her- 
self in  the  country',  where  she  was  an  utter 
stranger.  What  could  have  induced  such  a  re- 
solution ?  It  could  not  have  been  any  diminu- 
tion of  homage,  for  she  was  still  young,  beauti- 
ful, and  brilliant;  while  it  was  equally  apparent 
tliat  the  sacrifice  had  not  been  made  from  pru- 
dential motives;  as  she  had,  on  her  arrival  at 
The  Grange,  at  once  entered  upon  a  course  of 
almost  reckless  exi)euditure,  which  implied  no 
pecuniary  anxieties.  Hitherto,  Mortimer  had 
never  speculated  upon  the  subject.  It  had  been 
Sybil's  pleasure  to  act  thus;  and  he  was  grate- 
ful for  any  caprice  which  had  brought  them  to- 
gether ;  but  now  a  doubt  of  he  knew  not  what 
crept  ov<  r  him  ;  and  the  words  of  liis  mother 
rose  before  him  in  characters  of  fire.  A  thou- 
sand confused  ideas  and  vague  mi.sgiving3  floated 
across  his  brain.  He  felt  as  though  his  ail'eclion 
kad  been  wronged  and  trifled  with  ;  that  Sybil 
•was  not  what  he  had  believed  her  to  be  ;  and  as 
he  moved  forward,  instinctively  obeying  the 
inapulse  of  th«  beautiful  hand  which  still  rested 


pi 


»:!■ 


at  least,  yon  i 


upon  liis  arm,  he  was  conscious  of  an  irritation 
which  he  struggled  to  conceal. 

Ere  long,  however.  Miss  Delamere  was  struck 
by  the  altered  expression  of  his  countenance,  jit 
and  apprehensive  that  the  conversation  of  her  mi  iS':] 
new  guest  had  impressed  him  to  her  disadvanfc.  i  jtjf 
age,  she  hastened  with  her  usual  tact,  to  turn  it  J  ]y-:i 
upon  himself,  well  aware  that  the  mention  of  .j  ^ii 
his  own  name  could  not  fail  to  arouse  him  from  |  'Ji 
his  untimely  reverie,  and  judging  by  its  effect 
upon  his  physiognomy,  that  she  must  at  ouod 
adopt  a  bold  measure  in  order  to  counteract  its 
influence,  and  retain  her  hold  upon  his  honor. 

Yes!"  she  said,  in  reply  to  some  observa-j  iin 
tion  of  her  more  loquacious  companion  ;  "  There- 
in, at  least,  you  are  quite  right,  and  Mr.  Mor- 
timer himself  is  a  breathing  evidence  of  tlia 
truth  of  your  remark." 

Frederic  started  as  he  heard  himself  named 
and  once  more  he  listened  with  attention. 

How    so  ?"    asked    Sir    Horace,    listlessly, 
•e  the  gay  deceivers  of  our  sex  to  be  found  j 
upon  every  soil?      Surely  her 
should  have  escaped." 

"  And  yet  I  have  done  the  very  reverse,"  said  ) 
Miss  Delamere,  in  a  tone  of  light  gaiety  which  i 
grated  unpleasantly  upon  the  car  of  her  lover; 
"  I  buried  mjself  as  you  see,  in  order  to  liv» 
entirely  for  my  own  fancies  and  feelings,  but 
my  star  had  willed  it  otherwise,  and  I  onlj 
rushed  upon  my  fate." 

"  And  am  I  to  imply  that  Mr.  Mortimer  is 
fate  ?" 

I  must  even  permit  you  to  do  so ;  but  be 
lieve  me,  that  fault  has  not  been  my  own.  Yon 
would  not  imagine,  Horace,  to  look  at  him,  calm 
and  placid  as  he  appears,  that  he  has  far  more 
strength  of  character  than  yourself;  and  j'et  so 
it  is.  When  I  arrived  at  Westrum,  I  not  only 
made  hi.«  acquaintance,  but  that  of  his  bethroth- 
ed  wife,  a  cousin,  born  and  educated  for  the 
express  purpose  of  rendering  him  the  happieil 
man  on  earth.  By  the  way,  how  is  it  that  yon 
men  never  will  be  content  to  be  happy  save 
after  your  own  fashion?  You  can  imagine  no- 
thing prettier,  or  more  gentle,  or  more  guili 
less,  than  the  fair  betrothed,  and  jet  he  has 
seen  fit  to  overthrow  all  the  family  arrange- 
ments, and  to  lay  his  heart  upon  a  less  worthy 
altar." 

"  You  are  modest,  my  sweet  kinswoman.  But 
how  did  you  accomplish  this  transition  ?" 

"  Have  I  not  already  told  jou  that  the  fault 
was  not  my  own  ?  In  vain  did  I  represent  to 
him  the  inlprudence  of  thwarting  his  mother's 
wishes.  In  vain  did  I  counsel,  argue,  and  even 
frown,  all  was  of  no  avail.  He  was  still  rasbjflj^, 
enough  to  persist.  Vv'ere  you  not,  Frcdericri/'  \ 
and  she  turned  towards  him  with  a  smile  for! 
which,  only  on  the  previous  day,  he  would  havsj 
forfeited  a  year  of  existence.  j 

]Sow,  however,  even  that  smile  could  not! 
overcome  the  feeling  produced  by  the  indelicacy 
of  such  a  communication,  made  in  such  a  tone. 
Shocked  by  her  levity,  Mortimer  could  only 
stammer  out  a  few  disjointed  v/ords;  but,  afl'eet- 
ing  to  understand  from  these  that  he  assented  to 
her  assertion,  she  continued  without  any  change 
of  manner, — 

"  Thus  then,  you  see  that  I  must  stand 


I' 


TEffi  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


69 


q  ttcd,  altliough  in  eudeavoring  to  restore  him 
tills  reason,  1  contrived  to  lose  my  own:  and 
ii\-  you  will  probably  be  better  able  to  uuder- 
Bl  id  why  I  nave  ceased  to  regret  town  and 
it  j:aieties.  For  pleasure  I  mean  to  exchange 
h'i<iiicss,  and  to  substitute  affection  for  ad- 
nation." 

Mr.  Mortimer  little  suspects  how  many  ene- 
n  s  he  will  have  succeeded  in  making.  Like 
tl  brothers  who  peopled  earth  by  flinging 
e)  les  behind  them,  he  will  soon  discover  tliut 
b  has  created  a  shoal  of  envious  adversaries, 
K\o  will  never  forgive  so  heinous  an  act  of  pi- 
r;v  as  tliat  of  carrying  off  the  brilliant  and  co- 
V  1(1  Miss  Delamere." 

You  speak  emphatically,  Sir  Horace,"  said 
}  timer  with  a  clouded  brow. 

And  I  have  cause  to  do  so,"  replied  Trevor, 
c<iposedly;  "You  have  disarranged  all  my 
o'l  plans  also.  My  errand  here  was  to  induce 
jr.'  fair  cousin  to  return  with  me  to  Florence, 
fti  you  have  most  inauspiciously  crossed  my 
pJh.  For  I  should  have  succeeded,  Sybil, 
dwld  I  not  ?" — he  asked,  with  an  expression 
oi-ye  and  lip  which  flooded  her  brow  with 
ci  ison — "  if  you  had  not  given  Mr.  Mortimer 
&  'i-ht  to  hold  you  back  ?" 

In  any  and  every  case,  your  failure  would 
h;  r  been  signal,"  said  Miss  Delamere,  with  a 
h;;.:htiness  which  she  had  not  previously  dis- 
TM  ed  towards  him  ;  then,  as  if  fearful  that  she 
ri  cd  too  much,  she  added  carelessly :  "  My 
HI  her,  as  you  are  aware,  detests  the  water, 
ai  is  not  young  enough  to  make  a  perpetual 
p:  rimage  of  her  existence.  We  were  about  to 
le  0  AVestrum  for  the  continent  a  short  time 
bik,  but  my  wishes  were  overruled." 

nd  again  she  looked  earnestly  and  affection- 
at  y  in  the  face  of  Mortimer,  as  if  to  recall  to 
I  memory  by  whom  and  how  they  had  been 
c<travened. 

till,  alike  pained,  displeased,  and  disappoint- 
td'rederic  could  only  reply  by  a  constrained 
«ilc.  Willingly  would  he  have  found  himself 
a^ie,  for  the  pulses  of  his  forehead  labored 
a.]ii6\  to  pain,  and  he  felt  quite  unequal  to  the 
elit  of  taking  part  in  a  conversation  which 
j.''''d  upon  the  sensitiveness  of  his  nature; 
b  he  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  leaving 
S  il  to  the  society  of  her  cousin,  who  had  al-l 
[•t  ly  become  odious  to  him.  By  his  officious  | 
a)  iirance  he  had  torn  away  the  veil  which 
H'  1-  should  have  been  raised,  and  had  reveal- 
C' '»  liim  the  woman  whom  he  loved  divested: 
ot  lalf  the  spell  by  which  she  had  hitherto  | 
hi  1  environed.  He  was  conscious,  too,  that 
li  liad  exhibited  himself  most  disadvantage- 
01  y  to  this  supercilious  stranger,  who  not 
oi,-  possessed  the  privilege  of  a  relationship 
■^'^  '  !i  authorized  him  to  become  a  guest  at 
1  Grange,  but  who  was  also  cognisant  of  the 
P  — that  past  which  he  now  felt  must  in- 
il  nee  all  Ids  future  life — that  past  of  which  he 
h:  until  to-day  been  careless  ;  but  which  now, 
p  litom-like,  scared  him  as  he  glanced  towards 

f'luctant  as  he  was,  however,  he  felt  that  the 

"'   i    must  be  made,     lie  must  return  to  liis 

ate   home,  now   doubly   desolate,  for  Ger 

was  no  longer  there  to  welcome  him  with 


her  meek  smile,  and  her  low  soft  voice,  and  he 
must  learn  to  endure  the  conviction,  that  while 
he  sat  in  solitude,  brooding  oyer  liis  doubts  and 
apprehensions,  his  brilliant  mistress  was  bandy- 
ing sallies  and  sarcasms  witli  one  who  had 
known  her  from  her  childliood,  and  who  was 
evidently  in  her  entire  confidenc"e. 

Feigning  therefore,  suddenly  to  remember  an 
enforced  appointment,  he  drew  out  his  watch, 
and  declaring  that  he  had  already  exceeded  the 
given  time,  he  hurriedly  took  his  leave  ;  but 
not  before  Sybil  had  tenderly  nuirmured  in  his 
car:  "  Farewell  then,  till  to-morrow,  my  own 
Frederic!  Remember  how  earnestly  1  shall 
wait  and  watch  for  you." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

And  his  home  was  indeed  desolate  when  lie 
once  more  entered  it.  His  dinner  was  served  in 
silence,  and  removed  untouched,  and  then  he 
was  9nce  more  alone.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
feeling  of  dreariness  with  which  he  listened  to 
the  sound  of  his  own  footsteps,  as  he  paced  to 
and  fro  in  the  echoing  apartment  which  had 
once  been  glad  with  fond  and  cheerful  voices,  or 
the  loud  ticking  of  the  time-piece,  which  only 
served  to  show  him  how  wearily  the  moments 
passed  along.  * 

Fatigued  at  length  by  the  monotony  of  his 
own  moveiuents,  he  threw  himself  upon  a  chair, 
and  abandoned  himself  to  a  train  of  bitter  and 
upbraiding  reflections.  He  could  no  longer  doubt 
that  he  had  been  deceived:  that  deluded  by  his 
vanity,  and  misled  by  a  headstrong  passion,  he 
had  become  the  easy  prey  of  a  heartless  and 
manoeuvering  Avoman.  The  pang  was  a  bitter 
one,  and  as  he  remembered  the  pure  and  un- 
selfish affection  which  he  had  recklessly  flung 
from  him,  he  bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast, 
and  a  tear  stole  into  his  eye.  For  an  instant  ha 
resolved  never  to  see  Sybil  again ;  she  was  not 
yet  his  wife,  and  he  would  leave  her  free  to  ex- 
ert her  arts  upon  anotlier  victim;  but  tliis  reso- 
lution failed  as  suddenly  as  it  had  been  c.on- 
ceived:  he  might  indeed  liberate  Sybil,  but  lie 
could  not  free  himself  from  the  spoil  which  slie 
had  cast  about  him.  Even  now,  even  at  t!ie  mo- 
ment when  he  mentallj'  acknowledged  her  pro- 
bable unworthiness,  he  was  rather  inclined  to 
curse  the  intrusive  cousin  who  had  opened  his 
eyes  to  her  demerits,  than  her  in  whom  they  ex- 
isted. For  weal  or  for  woe  he  felt,  indeed,  as 
she  herself  had  expressed  it,  that  Miss  Delamere 
was  his  fate. 

It  was  too  late  to  contend,  his  honor  was  en- 
gaged, and  she  held  his  happiness  in  her  hands. 
And  then  came  the  soothing  memory  that  slie 
had  owned  to  him  a  previous  affection,  so  sin- 
cere as  to  have  threatened  in  its  failure  the  very 
principle  of  her  existence  ;  but  still,  as  she  had 
declared,  less  deep  than  that  whicii  he  had  him- 
self inspired.  And  who  would  say  but  that  her 
love  for  him  might  obliterate  every  other  |)a3s- 
ing  fancy,  and  restore  her  to  him,  as  he  had  once 
fondly  believed,  all  his  own. 

Thus  vacillating  between  his  pride  and  his 
passion,  did  Mortimer  alternately  vow  to  escape 


10 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


1 


by  flight  the  snare  which  had  been  laid  for  him, 
and  then  resolve  inimediatelj^  afterwards  to 
maintain  his  right  over  the  affections  which  he 
had  won. 

"  "When  once  she  is  really  mine,"  he  murmured 
to  himself;  "she  shall  at  least  renounce  all 
t«rcourse  with  this  sarcastic  cousin,  who  has 
Buddenly  come  between  us  like  a  blight,  and 
meanwhile,  I  will  watch  her  narrowly ;  not  a 
word,  not  a  gesture  shall  escape  me  which  bears 
reference  to  the  past.  In  order  to  comprehend 
my  position  fully,  even  although  by  so  doing  I 
should  but  be  meeting  regret  and  disappoint- 
ment on  the  very  threshold  of  my  married  live, 
I  will  garner  up  every  inference  and  every  il- 
lusion :  and  thus,  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour, 
I  shall  learn  something  of  her  past  existence — 
Bomething  which  may  tend  to  acquit  her  in  my 
eyes,  or  which  must  render  me  supremely 
wretched." 

In  vain  did  a  passing  memory  bring  back  his 
thoughts  to  Gertrude :  her  image  dwelt  with 
liim  only  as  that  of  a  loved  sister  and  a  regret- 
ted friend,  no  pulse  bounded  as  he  recalled  the 
sweet  companionship  of  past  days ;  Sybil  was 
to  him  all  in  all ;  and  even  while  his  reason 
doubted,  and  his  pride  rebelled,  the  vehemence 
of  his  passion  continued  unabated. 

Nevertheless,  he  resolved  on  the  following 
day  to  abstain  from  visiting  The  Grange.  He 
had  a  plausible  excuse  in  the  accession  of  busi- 
ness, which  had  supervened  on  the  death  of  his 
mother ;  and  even  amid  his  anxiety  to  watch 
the  proceedings  of  Sybil,  he  could  not  overcome 
his  dislike  of  her  cousin. 

Accordingly  he  ordered  his  horse,  and  rode 
leisurely  through  the  green  lanes,  and  over  the 
hills  of  the  neighborhood,  suffering  the  animal 
to  travel  at  his  own  pace,  and  almost  to  follow 
his  own  path ;  nor  was  it  until  upon  entering  the 
town  on  his  return  that  he  was  aroused  from 
the  painful  and  irritating  train  of  thought,  in 
which  he  had  indulged  throughout  the  ride ; 
but  then,  indeed,  he  awoke  once  more  to  the 
realities  of  the  present,  as  he  encountered  Miss 
Delamere  and  her  guest,  seated  side  by  side  in 
the  little  pony  phaeton,  which  the  lady  was 
driving  with  her  accustomed  ease  and  skill. 

The  meeting  was  constrained  on  all  sides,  for 
the  annoyancfe,  even  if  not  the  jealousy  of  Morti- 
mer was  at  once  renewed ;  while  Miss  Delamere 
herself  for  an  instant  appeared  embarrassed. 
Nevertheless,  with  that  tact  which  seldom  de- 
serts her  sex  in  any  extremity,  she  was  the  first 
to  rally,  and  ])layfLdly  menacing  him  with  her 
wliip,  siie  exclaimed  with  a  sunny  smile,  as  soon 
as  the  necessary  greetings  were  exchanged; 
■'  You  dare  not  rcjuoach  me,  Frederic,  for  hav- 
ing played  the  truant,  for  you  must  remember 
that  I  told  you  I  sliould  expect  you  at  an  early 
hour  this  morning,  and  accordingly  I  waited 
your  appearance  until  1  felt  that  it  was  vain  to 
expect  you  any  longer,  and  therefore  I  yielded 
to  the  entreaties  of  Sir  Horace,  who  was  anxious 
to  see  somewhat  of  the  ultima  thnle  to  which  he 
l)ad  80  courageously  ventured,  and  resolved  to 
do  the  honors  of  our  hills  and  lanes,  not  how- 
over,  without  a  liope,  which  is  now  realized,  that 
we  miglit  encounter  you  upon  our  way.-" 

"  Did  I  produce  the  impression  of  one  who  in- 


tended to  intrude  a  reproach  ?"  asted  Mortimer 
rather  coldlj\ 

Sybil  looked  uneasy. 

"  You  see  that  my  fair  cousin  is  at  least  pr* 
pared  to  wear  her  chains  meekly,  Mr.  Mord. 
mer,"  observed  Trevor  in  his  accustomed  accentj 

"Miss  Delamere  is  too  good,"  was  the  stififre] 
ply  ;  "  but  as  yet,  I  have  no  right  to  inflioj 
them."  [ 

A  sob,  almost  of  suffocation,  rose  to  the  thro*! 
of  the  lady,  of  which  the  bitterness  was  no'i 
diminished  as  she  detected  the  low  but  self-graj 
tulatory  laugli  which  escaped  her  companion.   I 

"  And  what  think  you  of  our  Siberia,  St' 
Horace  Trevor?"  pursued  Mortimer  in  the  samij 
cold  tone ;  "  Can  you  breathe  amid  these  primij 
five  wastes,  where  the  perfumes  of  fashion  hav<j 
never  come  ?  Can  you  contrive  to  exist  in  thi' 
wilderness  where  men  dare  to  vegetate  withon, 
a  previous  patent  of  exclusiveness  and  ton  ?  Or; 
have  you  seen  enough  to  induce  you  to  retreal 
in  alarm  to  a  more  congenial  hemisphere  ?"       'i 

"  I  like  Westrum  and  its  environs  vastly.i 
said  the  baronet  with  a  yawn  ;  "  I  always  hsiji 
a  passion  for  discoveries,  and  I  begin  to  hop 
that  I  have  in  reality  more  rural  tastes  than 
hitherto  gave  mj-^elf  credit  for  possessing.  A 
to  living  here,  I  say  nothing,  but  every  on 
condemned  to  such  a  fate  may  at  least  congrati, 
late  himself  upon  the  fact  of  emulating  Trutl 
which,  as  some  one  has  somewhere  told  us,  hi 
taken  up  its  residence  at  the  bottom  of 
well." 

"  Are  you  aware  that  all  my  property 
situated  in  this  country.  Sir  Horace?"  askc 
Mortimer  haughtily. 

"  Yes,   oh   yes :    so   I  understand   from 
cousin.      Sybil  has   no   secrets   from  me,  yo 
know." 

"  I  was  not  aware,"   retorted  Frederic 
increasing    displeasure,    "  that   Miss   Delamei 
herself  was    so    well   informed   upon  the 
ject." 

"  My  dear  Frederic,"  said  the  young 
coughing  down  a  sensation  of  no  ])leasant  d 
scription,  as  she  saw  her  prudent  inq\iiries  th" 
betrayed  ;  "  surely  you  do  pot  intend  to  'mal 
me  understand  that  you  so  readilj'  forget  yo' 
own  communications  to  me  ?  Sir  Horace,  wi 
the  natural  anxiety  of  a  relative,  asked  qu« 
tions  which  I  answered  without  reserve,  n 
supposing  that  you  wished  to  make  any  myste> 
of  so  common-place  a  circumstance." 

Mortimer  felt  embarrassed  in  his  turn;  ' 
had  no  recollection  of  having  made  his  pec) 
niary  aflairs  a  subject  of  conversation  duri 
'lis  interviews  with  Sybil,  but  he  was  unable  i/ 
deny  that  such  had  been  the  case,  and  he 
sequentl}^  remained  silent. 

You  will  dine  at  The  Grange — of  course 
said  Miss  Delamere  earnestly. 

"  I  fear — I  believe — I  think  that  it  will  I 
mpossible,"  was  tlie  reply.  "  I  have  to  ma: 
arrangements  for  the  payment  of  Gertrud 
'cgacy,  which  have  already  been  too  long  (i[ 
layed.     She  is  my  cousin,  as  you  are  aware,"  ji 

dded,    with    a    peculiar    emphasis,    "  and 
merely  personal  consideration  should  induce  \ 
to    neglect    her    interests.     Her    signature 
certain  papers  is  indispensable,  and  in  order  ' 


TUE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


71 


'■i%i 


tkeiti! 


obtain  this,  it  is  necessary  that  I  sliould  see  her. 
I  had  intended  to  ride  to  The  Grange  this 
errening  to  take  leave  for  a  few  days,  bnt  as  we 
have  80  fortunately  met,  I  will  do  so  now." 

"  Are  you   serious,   Frederic  ?"    asked   Sybil 
with  a  throbbing  heart. 

Perfectly  so ;  and  no  moment  could  be  more 
auspicious  than  the  present  (when  1  know  you 
to  be  assured  of  pleasant  and  congenial  society) 
for  the  performance  of  my  duty.  Make,  there- 
fore, I  pray  you,  my  excuses  to  Mrs.  Delaraere 
whom  I  hope 


u,  my  ( 
to  fine 


d  in  strong  health  on  my 
really    will    not    dine    at    Tlie 


return." 

"  And    you 
Grange  ?" 

I  cannot.    My  conscience  already  reproaches 

And  when  may  we  look  for  you  again  ?" 
I  can  scarcely  answer  the  question.  I  am 
"about  to  travel  from  one  ultima  thule  to  another, 
and  I  know  not  what  may  occur  to  detain  me. 
I  need  not,  however,  on  that  account  detain 
you."  And  pressing  the  hand  which  Sj'bil  ex- 
tended to  him  with  a  reproachful  smile,  he 
slightly  touched  his  hat  to  the  baronet,  by 
whom  the  salutation  was  returned  with  equal 
coldness  and  they  separated. 

•'  Sybil  ?"  exclaimed  Sir  Horace  with  a  light 
laugh ;  "  I  fear  that  the  twig  is  not  so  well 
limed  as  you  believed.  The  young  Squire  is 
less  plastic  than  he  should  be  in  such  able  hands 
as  yours." 

"  You  do  not  understand  Mortimer,"  said  his 
companion,  vainly  endeavoring  to  conceal  her 
mortification ;  "  he  is  annoyed  that  I  should 
have  left  home  when  I  promised  to  wait  for 
him,  and  he  wishes  me  to  perceive  his  annoy- 
ance." 

"  Is  that  all  ?" 

"  "What  more  can  there  be  ?" 

"  Nay,  you  know  best ;  but  it  struck  me — It  is 
too  absurd,  fair  cousin,  I  admit,  considering  our 
impromptu  relationship,  got  up  too,  as  it  was, 
for  his  especial  delectation — but  it  struck  me 
that  the  gentle  Corydon  was  jealous." 

"  Nonsense!" 

"  Do  you  dare  me,  Sybil  ?" 

"  Trevor,  you  are  absurd." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  remember  that  my  ab- 
surdity has  brought  me  from  Italy,  and  I  owe 
no  forbearance  to  this  tetchy  swain  of  yours. 
So  long  as  I  believed  you  to  be  sure  of  him,  I 
compelled  myself  to  submit,  aware  as  I  am  that 
he  had  certain  social  conventionalities  in  his 
favor,  but  having  within  the  last  half  hour  seen 
reason  to  change  my  opinion,  I  warn  you  that  I 
enter  the  lists  again." 

"Do  you  persist  in  your  insult.  Sir  Horace?" 

"You  give  my  humble  suit  a  harsh  name,  fair 
lady!  Do  youhokl  it  as  nothing  that  I  have 
found  it  impossible  to  forget  you  ? — that  in  order 
to  secure  your  love  I  am  ready  to  expatriate 
myself  for  months,  or  even  years? — that  al- 
though my  whole  family  will  be  estranged  from 
me  by  such  a  measure,  I  am  liere  to  implore  of 
you  to  assert  your  superiority  to  vulgar  preju- 
dice, and  share  my  fortunes?" 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself  while  you  fail  to 
deceive  me,  Sir  Horace,"  said  Miss  Delamere 
with  an  angry  and  impatient  gesture.    "  I  could 


I  in  no  manner  so  greatly  gratify  your  suspicious 
I  and  arrogant  relatives  as  by  disgracing  myself 
as  you  suggest ;  for  those  wlio  could  not  brook 
Sybil  Delamere  as  your  wife  would  rejoice  to 
exult  over  her  as  your  mistress.  You  see  that, 
unlike  yourself,  I  have  courage  enough  to  call 
things  by  their  right  names.  And  now  liear  mo 
while  I  declare  to  you  that  had  another  indi- 
vidual on  earth  dared  to  insult  me  by  such  a 
proposition,  I  would  have  resented  it  to  the  latest 
hour  of  my  life;  but  with  you.  Sir  Horace 
Trevor,  I  am  peculiarly  situatecl,  and  I  liave  felt 
myself  compelled  to  endure  the  affront.  Let 
it,  however,  suffice  to  assure  you,  once  for  all, 
that  nothing  less  than  your  hand  and  name  will 
ever  induce  me  to  listen  to  you  for  a  moment !" 

"Again,  Sybil?" 

"As  you  please,"  was  the  scornful  retort; 
"  Remember  that  it  was  not  I  who  solicited  a 
renewal  of  our  intercourse." 

"  But  should  this  worthy  country  squire  fail 
you  ?" 

"  You  have  heard  all  that  I  have  to  say  upon 
the  subject.  But  of  this  be  convinced,  that 
Mortimer  will  no  more  fail  me  than  I  shall  fail 
myself,  it  may  please  you  in  your  exclusive- 
ness  to  despise  him ;  but  he  is  a  man  of  honor, 
and  will  scorn  to  falsify  his  words." 

"Honor!"  sneered  Trevor;  "it  is  a  term 
which  admits  of  such  various  significations  that 
it  becomes  difficult  to  define  it  accurately.  We 
all  pique  ourselves  upon  our  honor,  even  when 
others  conceive  it  to  have  been  altogether  for- 
feited." 

The  eyes  of  Miss  Delaraere  flashed,  but  she 
made  no  rejoinder. 

"  You  will  be  a  coquette  to  the  last,  Sybil," 
pursued  the  baronet  after  a  pause ;  "  but  one  can 
scarcely  look  you  in  the  face,  and  not  forgivo 
you ;  although,  knowing  your  power  as  you  do, 
j'ou  might  be  more  merciful  in  its  exorcise.  But 
what  of  this  cousin  mentioned  by  your  Pyramus? 
Is  it  the  pretty  orphan  to  whom  his  "^mamma 
had  promised  him  as  a  husband  ?  If  so,  gare  U 
loup !" 

Miss  Delamere  curled  her  lip  in  scorn.  "  Yea, 
the  legacy  to  which  he  alluded  was  one  be- 
queathed- by  his  mother  to  her  protegre  ;  but  I 
am  perfectly  tranquil  on  the  subject.  When  tlia 
eagle  has  once  gazed  upon  the  sun,  he  is  content 
to  close  his  eyes  on  the  moonlight." 

"  A  pretty  metaphor  enough ;  but  do  not  forget 
that  even  the  eagle  cannot  gaze  for  ever  without 
wearying  of  a  splendor  so  blinding.  Poetry  haa 
its  cliarms  for  a  while,  but  the  veriest  entluisiast 
must  at  times  descend  to  prose.  Even  I  am  oo- 
casionally  prosaic." 

Sybil  endeavored  to  assume  an  air  of  gsiiety 
and  uneoucern ;_  but  she  was,  nevei-thcless,  not 
without  some  misgiving  on  the  subject  of  Morti- 
mer's visit  to  liis  cousin.  It  was  evidently  a  re- 
solution as  suddenly  formed  as  it  had  been, 
abruptly  announced;  and  she  felt  that  they  had 
parted  coldly  and  unsatisfactorily.  That  tlj« 
presence  of  Sir  Horace  Trevor,  and  his  unguariJ- 
ed  allusions,  had  tended  to  render  Frcderio  uo- 
easy  and  suspicious,  she  could  not  eonecal  eveii 
from  herself;  and,  sincere  was  her  secret  grati*- 
lation,  that  she  had,  by  boldly  avowing  their 
engagement  to  a  third  party,  mado  il  iinpossibl* 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


I 


for  him  honorably  to  recede  without  some  de- 
fined and  tangible  cause. 

Still  she  dreaded  the  power  of  old  associations 
mnd  habits  over  tlie  nature  of  one  so  impression- 
able as  Mortimer,  at  a  moment  when  he  was 
■writhing  under  imagined  slight;  and  she  had 
no  sooner  reached  home  tlmn  she  retired  to  her 
own  room,  in  order  to  reflect  upon  the  measures 
to  be  pursued  to  prevent,  or  at  least  to  delay  the 
threatened  departure. 

Meanwhile,  8ir  Horace  Trevor  strolled  to  the 
Hbrary,  half  mortified,  and  half  amused  by  the 
dialogue  in  Avhich  he  had  just  been  engaged; 
and,  to  his  surprise,  found  Mrs.  Delamere  in- 
atalled  in  an  easy  chair,  in  an  apartment  which 
nhe  generally  shunned. 

"  Do  1  disturb  your  studies,  my  dear  madam?" 
he  asked  as  he  entered. 

"  Oh,  no !  I  was  only  thinking,  and  I  would 
rather  not  think,"  was  the  tremulously  uttered 
peplj'.     "  But  where  is  Sybil  ?" 

"  In  her  own  room,  I  believe.  She  complain- 
«d  of  being  somewhat  fatigued." 

"  And  where  is  Mr.  Mortimer?  I  am  alwaj-s 
nneasy  when  I  do  not  see  Mr.  Mortimer  here." 

"  Mr  Mortimer  has  just  taken  leave  of  Miss 
Delamere.  He  leaves  Westrum  to-morrow  on  a 
visit  to  his  cousin." 

Mrs.  Delamere  raised  her  head  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  and  fixed  her  eyes  steadfastly  upon  the 
^eakcr. 

"Gone  to  see  his  cousin!"  she  murmured  as 
if  unconsciously.  "  Only  returned  j'esterday, 
and  leaves  again  to-morrow !"  Then,  as  she 
glanced  rapidly  around  her  with  a  slight  shud- 
der, she  pursued,  more  directly  addressing  her 
companion :  "  Is  this  your  work,  Sir  Horace 
Trevor?" 

"  On  my  soul,  no !  Why  should  you  suspect 
I  ?"  -was  the  reply. 

"  I  do  not  know — I  cannot  explain,"  she  said 
languidly,  as  she  once  moi-e  fell  back  into  a  re- 
cumbent position ;  "  but  I  am  becoming  morp  be- 
wildered every  hour.  However,  Sybil  knows 
best  Yet  why,  or  for  what  you  are  here,  Sir 
Horace,  I  cannot  comprehend.  You  have  now 
no  claim  ujxjn  Sybil?" 

"  I  do  not  seek  to  advance  any,"  replied  the 
Baronet  with  quiet  sarcasm:  "I  came  to  The 
Grange  simply  to  pay  my  respects  both  to  your- 
self and  her." 

"It  is  very  erti-aordinary,"  faltered  the  old  lady. 
"Does  Mr.  Mortimer  approve  of  your  visit?" 

'•  I  did  not  hazard  the  inquiry,"  said  Trevor, 
taking  up  a  book  at  random,  and  throwing  him- 
■elf  into  a  chair;  "  but  judging  from  the  expros- 
aion  of  his  countenance,  I  should  feel  inclined  to 
doubt  it." 

"  Tlien,  why  do  you  remain  ?  Why  does  Sybil 
allow  it?" 

*'  Siie  lias  adopted  me  as  a  cousin." 

"  Sir  Horace  Trevor,"  said  the  agitated  mo- 
flier,  ■'  do  not  jest  upon  such  a  subject.  You 
know  that  I  am  helpless  in  all  that  concerns 
Sybil;  but  you  caimot,  you  dare  not,  seek  to  re- 
new your  atldresses  to  her.  You  dare  not,  for 
you  are  a  man  of  the  world,  and  you  dread  its 
aneei'.  Wiiy,  then,  would  you  ruin  her  pros- 
pects?— Why  would  you  destroy  us  both?" 

"  Believe  me,  my  dear  madam,"  exclaimed  the 


Baronet,  touched  in  spite  of  his  egotism  by  th 
tears  which  were  falling  slowly  over  her  pal 
cheeks,  "  that  I  am  far  from  having  any  sue"; 
intention ;  and  surely,  when  you  look  upon  th 
luxury  by  which  you  are  surrounded,  you  mus 
admit  that  the  idea  of  ruin  comes  strangely  frot, 
your  lips." 

Mrs.  Delamere  clasped  her  hands  convulsivel;' 
together,  but  after  a  moment  she  conquered  he 
emotion  sufficiently  to  i"eply  with  a  forced  coa 
posure,  which  was  almost  impressive  : 

"  I  could  have  understood  the  remark  frot 
any  one  but  yourself,  and  have  admitted  it' 
truth.  Sir  Horace ;  but  from  you  it  bears  . 
strange  and  painful  construction';  from  you  whi 
knows  so  well — Let  it  pass,  however.  You  hav« 
perhaps,  earned  the  right  to  wound  me — "         ; 

"  My  dear  madam,  I  swear  to  you — " 

"  Let  it  pass.  Sir  Horace,  let  it  pass ;  but,  one-, 
more,  why  are  you  here  ? — why  did  Sybil  cod' 
sent  to  receive  you?  You  are  not,  you  canno 
be  anything  to  each  other ;  and  remember  tha; 
should  your  visit  excite  the  displeasure  of  Mii 
Mortimer,  your  revenge  will  be  a  cruel  one." 

The  idea  which  her  own  Avorks  had  conjure« 
up,  and  the  unaccustomed  energy  which  she  hac 
exhibited,  had,  by  this  time,  fairly  overpowere< 
the  unhappy  old  lady;  who,  burying  her  face  h 
her  handkerchief,  as'if  to  shut  even  the  sight  o', 
her  companion,  sobbed  aloud.  Ti-evor  rose,  am 
paced  uneasily  up  and  down  the  room.  He  hat; 
always  been  used  to  see  Mrs.  Delamere  so  placid^ 
and  so  apparently  reckless  of  all  that  passei' 
about  her,  that  he  was  totally  unprepared  foj 
this  sudden  burst  of  feeling;  nor  was  it  until  sh^ 
had  regained  some  degree  of  composure,  that  h'|^ 
ventured  to  approach  and  take  her  hand.  } 

"  Speak  your  wishes,  my  dear  madam,"  h] 
said,  in  an  accent  of  deference  which  seemei, 
strange  in  such  a  speaker;  "  and,  be  they  wha' 
they  may,  I  will  obey  them." 

Mrs.  Delamere  looked  up  with  a  smile  of  gra 
titude  too  intense  to  be  mistaken.  "I  than] 
you,"  she  murmured  between  her  sobs:  "wit) 
my  whole  heart  I  thank  you.  Sybil  is,  I  fear, 
playing  a  despei'ate  game ;  and  her  fate  is  ii ; 
your  hands.  Leave  us  now,  at  once,  if  yoi'v 
would  save  her — leave  us  now,  and  forget  us."  ; 

"  I  will  order  my  horses  within  an  hour." 

"Horace,  how  I  once  loved  J'ou,"  faltered  th. 
feeble    voice;    "Oh,    why   were   you   not    m;,, 
son  ?" 

"Farewell,  my  dear  madame,  for  ever,"  sai(' 
Trevor,  as  he  wrimg  her  hand  respectfully  " 
will  but  take  leave  of  Miss  Delamere,  and  da^ 
part  at  once." 

"  Do  not  even  that,"  implored  the  old  lady  a 
she  detained  him  for  an  instant.  "  I  will  ex 
plain  it  all  to  Sybil.  It  is  better  that  you  shouU 
not  meet  again." 

''  Be  it  so — I  came  hither  because  I  was  i 
coxcomb,  and  presumed  upon  the  past  You; 
tears  have  rebuked  me;  and  not  through  mi,| 
means  shall  you  shed  another.  Tell  her  that 
sincerely  desire  her  happiness,  and  bid  her  a» 
the  same  time  beware.  To  her,  tiie  past  shoulc 
act  as  a  powerful  monitor,  as  it  has  done  to  me 
Farewell,  but  never  cease  to  remember  that 
have  expiated  my  present  error  by  my  obedi 
ence." 


:i 


Mrs.  Delamere  would  have  replied,  but  before 
h»  had  wiped  away  her  tears  he  was  gone. 


ill!,''ll 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


71 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

And  Mortimer  had  also  proceeded  homewards 
ifter  parting  from  Sybil,  but  it  was  Avith  a 
leavy  heart  nud  depressed  energies.  His  in- 
lignation  at  her  levity  and  carelessness  of 
SFOunding  his  feelings,  had  endued  him  with  a 
factitious  strength  during  their  interview,  and 
jirged  him  to  the  sudden  resolve  he  had  an- 
liounced ;  but  he  was  no  sooner  alone  than  he 
^•epented  his  precipitancy,  for  he  at  once  became 
i»nscious  how  entirely  his  happiness  depended 
open  her,  and  how  utterly  he  was  in  her 
^ower. 

1'  It  was,  however,  too  late  to  retract  his  words ; 
Lnd  now,  in  order  to  sustain  an  appearance  of 
consistency,  he  felt  that  he  must  carrj-  out  his 
project,  and  thus  leave  her  for  days  to  the  un- 
[iisturbed  society  of  her  cousin — of  the  man 
whom,  of  all  others  he  hated,  without  being 
mnbled  to  advance  a  plausible  reason  for  his 
ii.-like.  The  aversion  was,  nevertheless,  as 
4j'ange  as  it  was  intuitive ;  nor  did  Mortimer 
leek  to  counteract  the  feeling.  It  sufficed  that 
rrevor  admired  Sybil,  and  that  he  was  in  her 
wnfidence,  to  make  him  obnoxious  to  his  jeal- 
ras  and  exciting  nature. 

Moreover,  the  sarcastic  allusions  and  biting 
'jests  of  the  baronet  had  aroused  at  once  the  in- 
ignation  and  the  suspicions  of  Frederic ;  they 
ad  cast  a  baneful  cloud  over  the  hitherto  bright 
emisphere  of  his  passion.     Its  pure  glow  was 
llied ;  its  fond  romance  was  dispelled ;  he  had 
en  the  cherished  idol  of  his  heart  treated  as 
mere  woman,  and  he  felt  himself  aggrieved. 
J    By  what  right  had  this  presumptuous  stranger 
,  intruded  himself  and   his  memories  of  the  past 
1  {between  him   and  his  betrothed  wife  ?     Upon 
j  what  pretence  did  he  presume  to  censure  and 
,  )judge  one  who  was  plighted  to  another  ?     And 
then  came  the  recollection  that  Sybil  had  her- 
self justified  such  interference,  by   openly  and 
auSeasonably  communicating  to  him  an  engnge- 
jment  in  which  he  could  have  no  concern,  and 
,  [probably  felt  little  interest ;  and  this   remiuis- 
,  jcence   was   even   more   painful   than  those  by 
'  [which  it  had  been  preceded. 
:  \    Fain  would  he   have  acquitted  her  of  every 
•  fclame,  in  order  that  all  his  irritation  might  vent 
j  iitself  upon  her  cousin  ;  but,  even  blinded  as  he 
[was  by   a  hitherto   uncalculating    passion,  he 
I  Icould  not  reconcile  the  scene  in  the  garden,  and 
,  Bier  subsequent  disclosure,  with  that  nice  con- 
I  teeption  of  the  delicacy  of  her  sex  which  he  had 
'  UOTed  to  indulge. 

I  i  TiTie,  Sybil  was  no  common  character,  and 
^  me  had  warned  him  of  the  fact  long  ere  he  had 
^  told  her  that  she  was  dear  to  him  ;  he  should 
j  Wierefore  have  been  prepared  for  any  exhibi- 
]  jtion  of  moral  daring  ;  but  his  feelings  had  been 
I  anvolved  in  the  demonstration,  and  it  had 
startled  him  unpleasantly.  It  was  not  that  he 
shrank  from  acknowledging  their  engagement ; 
[he  would  rather  have  gloried  in  declaring  it 
'before  the  face   of  the   whole  world  ;  but  thus 


lightly  and  unhesitatingly  revealed  by  herself, 
it  seemed  robbed  of  half  its  sanctitj*. 

Suddenly  a  servant  entered  tlie  apartment, 
and  placed  a  letter  before  him.  lie  glanced 
listlessly  at  the  address,  and  then,  with  an  eager 
gesture,  tore  it  open.  lie  had  at  once  recog- 
nized the  handwriting  of  Sybil. 

"  We  cannot  part  thus," — these  were  its  con- 
tents— "  I  must  see  you  before  you  go,  were  it 
only  to  hear  from  your  lips  what  I  have  already 
read  upon  your  countenance.  I  do  not  seek  to 
upbraid,  or  to  reproach  j-ou — you  have,  per- 
haps, mistaken  both  yourself  and  me  ;  and  I 
desire  only  to  learn  the  extent  of  that  mistake. 
I  love  you  too  well  to  murmur ;  and  I  forgiv* 
you  if  you  can  forgive  yourself  Sir  Horace  has 
gone  ;  in  my  present  state  oT  mind  I  could  not 
tolerate  society.  You  only  leave  "Westrum  to- 
morrow ;  there  is  yet  time  for  you  to  devote 
one  half-hour  to  the  unhappy  "  Sybil." 

Mortimer  sprang  to  the  bell;  ordered  hia 
horse ;  and  in  ten  minutes  was  on  his  way  to 
The  Grange. 

Sybil  loved  him — she  was  unhappy — and  Tre- 
vor was  gone!  All  his  suspicions  were  at  an 
end  ;  they  had  been  dispelled  like  Alpine  mista 
before  the  morning  sun. 

And  so  time  passed  on  ;  and  Frederic,  who 
had  vowed  to  himself  that,  ere  long,  ho  would 
possess  every  secret  of  Sybil's  heart,  spent  hours 
and  days  at  her  side,  careless  and  forgetful  of 
all  save  the  present.  Even  the  memory  of  Sir 
Horace  Trevor  had  almost  ceased  to  be  distaste- 
ful to  him,  from  the  cold  and  indifferent  manner 
in  which  he  was  constantly  mentioned  by  Miss 
Delamere  ;  naj^,  he  began  to  accuse  himself  of 
absolute  folly  and  injustice,  to  the  fascinating 
creature  whose  every  feeling  and  anxiety  wei** 
evidently  bound  up  in  himself;  and  to  marvel 
at  the  weakness  he  had  betra3"ed. 

Had  Sybil  loved  her  cousin,  he  would  have 
won  hijr,  doubtless,  years  before  ;  for  that  he  or 
any  man,  could  fail  to  return  her  affection,  ap- 
peared to  Mortimer  impossible.  Yet,  neverthe- 
less, and  incongruous  as  the  fact  may  seem,  ha 
clung  to  his  present  mode  of  existence  withoirt 
one  effort  to  enhance  his  happiness  by  at  once 
making  Sybil  his  wife. 

Had  the  alternative  been  forced  upon  him,  he 
would  rather  have  resigned  his  life  than  the 
prospect  of  obtaining  her  hand,  for  without  her 
he  would  have  felt  that  life  to  be  a  blank ;  but 
still,  as  the  diver,  who,  however  sure  of  hia 
skill,  hesitates  for  a  while  ere  he  takes  his  ven- 
turous leap,  so  did  Mortimer  linger  in  the  midst 
of  present  security,  as  though  unwilling  to  lose 
t^e  firm  footing  which  ho  still  retained. 

Thus  weeks  and  months  sped  on ;  and  if  & 
shadow  occasionally  fell  upon  the  bright  brow 
of  tlie  lad}-,  it  was  soon  chased  by  smiles.  All 
her  tastes,  all  her  avocations,  were  made  sub- 
servient to  his  Avishes.  She  was  at  once  hit 
friend,  his  counsellor  and  his  idol. 

Their  solitude  was  almost  uninvaded  ;  for  al- 
though the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood  were 
ready  to  admit  the  fascinations  an<l  accomplish- 
ments of  Miss  Delamere,  tliey  were  not  tlie  lesa 
jealous  of  her  attractions,  and  suspicious  of  the 
mystery  by  which  she  was  suiTounded ;  while 


H 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


those  among  tliom  vrho  bad  been  the  familiar 
friends  of  Mrs.  ilortiuier,  could  not  see  -n-ithout 
regret,  and  even  blame,  the  effect  of  her  bland- 
ishments upon  the  destined  husband  of  their 
banished  favorite. 

The  constant  visits  of  Frederic  at  the  Grange, 
■were  subject  of  continual  comment ;  and  his 
consequent  estrangement  from  themselves  kept 
alive  a  feeling  of  distaste  towards  its  inhabit- 
ants, which  sufficed  to  render  their  visits  brief 
and  unfrequent. 

Thus,  then,  nothing  intervened  to  ruffle  the 
smooth  current  npon  which  the  lovers  glided 
along  the  stream  of  time  ;  and  this  circumstance 
was  favorable  to  Sybil,  inasmuch  as  it  afforded 
her  ample  opportunitj-  to  pour  out  all  the  stores 
of  her  well-cultivated  mind  and  brilliant  fancy  ; 
and  each  night,  as  he  rode  slowly  homewards, 
dazzled,  and  more  cntiiralled  than  ever,  Frederic 
marvelled  how  so  bright  and  gifted  a  being  could 
be  content  to  pass  her  days  in  an  obscure  retire- 
ment ;  and  to  lavish  upon  him  alone  all  the  trea- 
sures of  her  intellect,  and  aU  the  fascinations  of 
her  beauty. 

What  was  the  world  to  him  with  such  a  com- 
panion ?  Henceforth  "Westrum  would  be  his 
"world ;  he  should  care  for  no  other,  and  he 
should  live  and  die  beneath  the  roof  of  his 
ancestors,  without  one  hope  or  one  ambition  im- 
eatisfied. 

Thus  had  he  quitted  Sybil  on  one  occasion, 
after  an  evening  of  calm  and  rational  enjoy- 
ment ;  enhanced  by  the  exertions  which  she 
had  made  to  "  hold  his  reason  prisoner."  They 
had  sang  together  over  the  same  chess-board, 
more  engrossed  by  each  other  than  by  the  game ; 
and  while  Mrs.  Delamere  slumbered,  or  seemed 
to  slumber  in  her  chair,  they  had  built  up  a 
thousand  airy  castles,  each  more  soft  and  sunny 
than  the  last. 

They  had  talked  of  the  future  fondlj;  and 
eagerly  ;  and  Frederic  had  bespoken  her  inter- 
est and  sj'mpathy  for  his  poorer  tenantry',  and 
her  assistance  in  a  store  of  projects,  all  tending 
to  render  the  home  in  which  their  lives  were  to 
be  spent  more  worthy  of  her  presence ;  and  as 
he  did  so  the  eye  of  Sybil  sparkled,  and  her 
chest  heaved  ;  while  at  intervals  her  parted  lips, 
and  earnest  attitude,  bespoke  a  momentary  an- 
ticipation of  what  must  follow. 

The  chain  woven  by  her  lover  was  bright, 
but  the  connecting  link  was,  nevertheless,  want- 
ing ;  he  said  nothing  which  could  convert  that 
future  into  the  more  immediate  present ;  and 
thus  she  waited  and  watched  in  vain  ;  and  they 
parted,  even  as  they  had  done  on  every  previous 
occasion,  without  one  word  from  Frederic  which 
implied  a  wish  to  realise  his  visions  by  their 
early  union. 

Still,  it  was  not  until  he  was  really  gone,  that 
Miss  Delamere  could  believe  in  such  a  result. 
Never  had  he  been  more  tender  or  more  expan- 
rive.  Wiiat  could  it  mean  ?  Bound  to  her,  as 
he  now  was,  by  every  tie  of  honor,  by  every 
bond  of  principle,  could  he  be  merely  trifling 
with  her  feelings?  She  still  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  apartment,  where  his  hand  had  clasped 
hers,  and  whence  she  had  met  and  answered  the 
last  long  look  that  he  turned  upon  her  as  he  re- 
tired.    Her  cheek  was  flushed  and  her  eye  glit- 


tered ;  she  knew  not  what  to  think.  The  death 
of  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  removed  the  onlj-  avowed 
obstacle  to  their  marriage ;  the  departure  of 
Gertrude  rendered  all  dread  of  future  rivalry 
impossible ;  he  was  alone,  quite  alone,  in  a 
silent  and  cheerless  home  ;  he  made  no  attempt 
to  disguise  the  extent  of  his  attachment  to  hcN 
self,  while  she  was  conscious  that  she  had  left 
no  means  untried  to  rivet  the  chains  which  h« 
had  voluntarilj-  adopted  ;  and  still  he  appeared 
to  live  on  as  though  the  present  sufficed  to  satis- 
fy all  the  exactions  of  his  heart.  I 

And  she  had  borne  this  strange  and  almost 
humiliating  uncei'tainty  for  months,  believing 
each  day  that  the  morrow  would  terminate  her 
suspense  ;  and  that  morrow  had  come  and  gon^ 
and  brought  no  explanation.  What  could  it 
mean  ? 

Suddenly  the  bloom  faded  from  her  cheel^ 
and  the  light  from  her  ej-e.  Could  he  have 
learned  the  history  of  the  past?  Iler  limbs  to^ 
tered,  and  she  sank  upon  a  seat.  With  the  rapi- 
dity of  lightning  her  thoughts  glanced  back  toi|  I 
the  visit  of  Trevor — Had  he  indeed  betrayed 
her?  But  no;  that  was  impossible;  for  never 
once  had  she  left  them  alone  together ;  while 
the  feeling  of  avoidance  which  each  had  exhi 
bited  towards  the  other  was  also  a  guarantee 
that  such  could  not  have  been  the  case. 

Then  she  remembered  that  Mortimer  had,* 
during  the  removal  of  Gertrude,  been  absent! 
for  many  days  in  town — Wiio  had  he  met  therel 
With  whom  had  he  held  communication  ?  Could 
he  have  encountered  anj'  of  her  former  friends,! 
and  questioned  them  as  to  her  past  histoiyfi 
And,  if  so,  what  was  the  meaning  of  his  subs*- 
quent  conduct?  Did  he  dare — did  he  consider 
himself  authorized  to  sport  with  her  feelings,! 
with  her  fate,  with  her  very  existence  ? 

The  doubt  was  almost  too  terrible  to  bear 
and  as  she  sat  in  silence,  with  her  hands  tightlyi 
clasped  together,  the  large  drops  of  emotion 
started  on  her  brow,  and  her  breath  labored! 
until  it  escaped  audibly  from  between 
clenched  teeth. 

The  brilliant  beauty  was  crushed  and  bowed? 
and  in  that  moment  Gertrude  was  revenged. 

Gradually,  however,  she  became  more  calln  ._ 
the  improbability  that  Mortimer,  who  was  si 
most  a  stranger  in  London,  should  in  so  short  f 
space  of  time  have  gained  admission  to  a  circlt 
which  prided  itself  upon  its  exelusiveness  ;  anc 
the  still  greater  improbability  that  he  shoulo 
have  attained  to  a  sufficient  degree  of  intimacj 
with  any  of  its  members  to  enable  him  to  proi 
secute  such  an  enquiry,  forced  themselves  upoi 
her  reason  ;  but  still  she  conld  find  no  plausibli 
solution  to  his  mysterious  silence  ;  and  a  thou 
sand  harrowing  apprehensions  haunted  he) 
mind.  Every  day,  and  every  hour  of  suspense^ 
heightened  alike  her  alarm  and  her  ditlicultyt 
She  reflected  with  terror  that  her  youth  wsji 
gone ;  and  that,  did  she  now  fail  in  effectinj 
the  object  for  which  she  had  striven  so  zealously 
the  failure  might  be  fatal.  She  could  not  hop»i 
long  to  retain  the  bloom  which  characterizeci 
her  beauty;  and  her  position  was  desperate  I" 
Mortimer  alone  could  save  her;  for  ruin  wa 
approaching  with  giant  strides,  and  she  had  n* 
other  resource. 


THE  KIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


"Sometliing  must  be  done,"  slie  at  length 
gasped  out,  unconscious  of  lier  own  utterance ; 
"  I  must  know  all — all  that  is  before  me.  I 
cannot  endure  this  gnawing  suspense  and  live. 
He  must  speak,  and  speak  clearlj'.  But  how 
compel  him  to  this?  He  is  weak  luid  sus- 
picious, and  startles  at  a  shadow — and  yet,  he 
must  speak  out.  Either  he  is  in  my  power, 
and  I  am  safe  ;  or  he  has  played  me  false,  and 
all  is  over.  Trevor  cannot  have  betrayed  me — 
he  can  know  nothing — or,  should  it  be  other- 
wise  "   her   voice    died   away  in   a   hoarse 

whisper,  and  once  more  all  was  silence. 

Suddenly  a  thought  flashed  across  her,  and  a 
withering  smile  rose  to  her  lip  as  she  approach- 
a  writing-table,  and  seated  herself  before  it. 
For  a  few  moments  she  remained  buried  in 
thought ;  and  then,  slowly  and  earnestly,  she 
began  to  write.  It  was  evident  that  tlie  task 
which  she  had  undertaken  was  no  light  or  easy 
one,  for  she  progressed  in  it  slowly,  and  ap- 
peared to  form,  not  only  every  word,  but  even 
every  letter,  with  consummate  care  and  study. 
But  at  length  it  was  completed  ;  and,  after 
having  attentivelj'  examined  the  contents  of  the 
paper,  she  folded  it  with  equal  deliberation  ; 
and  then,  having  selected  a  particular  seal  from 
a  number  which  lay  upon  her  desk,  she  closed 
the  letter,  and  threw  the  seal  that  had  secured 
it  into  the  fire,  which  was  still  mouldering  in 
the  grate. 

This  done,  she  remained  for  a  while  silently 
gazing  upon  the  decaying  embers,  as  if  jealous 
lest  they  should  fail  m  their  work  of  destruc- 
tion ;  but  she  no  sooner  saw  the  glittering  ore 
melt  and  disappear,  than  she  returned  to  the 
table,  took  iip  the  lettei-,  and,  having  concealed 
it  in  her  bosom,  calmly,  and  with  renewed  self- 
f/Ossession,  rang  for  her  maid,  and  retii'ed  to  her 
»wn  apartment. 

On  the  following  day  Sybil  was  invisible  even 
to  Mortimer.  Indisposition  confined  her  to  her 
chamber  ;  and,  after  lingering  for  a  couple  of 
hours  about  tlie  grounds,  and  sauntering  to  and 
fro  beneath  lier  windows,  in  the  vain  hope  of 
obtaining  at  least  a  glance  of  her  figure  as  she 
traversed  the  apartment,  he  was  compelled  to 
return  home  ungratified.  Nor,  even  then, 
could  he  compel  himself  to  any  occupation. 
A  whole  day  without  Sybil  overcame  his 
philosophj'. 

Nothing  suificed  either  to  interest  or  amuse 
him.  He  felt  no  apprehension  as  to  the  result 
of  her  illness,  for  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  treated 
the  matter  lightlj^  declaring  that  it  was  only  a 
head-ache  ;  and  that  Sybil  was  subject  to  head- 
aches when  she  over-exerted  herself,  which  she 
had  done  lately,  and  she  had  warned  her  of  the 
consequences.  However,  Sybil  knew  best ;  and 
in  all  pi-obability  would  be  quite  well  again  on 
the  morrow.  Thus,  there  was  no  cause  for  anx- 
iety; and  Mortimer  was  at  liberty  to  bewail  his 
own  dreariness  ;  to  feel  the  wretcliedness  of  his 
large  and  echoing  rooms,  and  to  comprehend 
his  utter  dependence  upon  another.  The  sensa- 
tion was  by  no  means  a  pleasant  one.  He  had 
become  so  habituated  to  the  constant  society 
and  companionship  of  Miss  Delamere,  that  he 
almost  felt  injured  by  its  sudden  withdrawal. 
She  might,  so  he  argued,  surely  have  received 


him;  b\it  then  the  reflection  crossed  his  mine 
that  she  had  declined  the  visit  of  her  mothei 
and  that  he  could  advance  no  claim  to  an  indu 
gence  which  had  been  denied  to  her  paren 
Still  he  was  only  half  reconciled  to  his  cxcli 
sion ;  time  hung  heavily  upon  his  hands ;  an 
he  began  to  feel  a  conviction  that  some  defiiiit 
step  must  be  taken  to  prevent  the  recurrence  c 
such  a  mortification.  And  what  step  ?  Ther 
was  but  one  which  could  invest  him  with 
right  to  dispute  the  will,  and  to  monopolize  th 
society  of  Sybil ;  and  to  this  he  had  long  looke 
forward  as  to  a  fixed  and  certain  event.  Whj 
then,  did  he  hesitate,  and  fall  into  a  somewha 
gloomy  reverie,  as  the  vision  of  an  early  mai 
riage  with  his  beautiful  betrothed  fastened  itse^ 
upon  his  mind?  Was  she  not  to  him  all  thn 
she  had  ever  been;  or  changed  only  by  an  ir 
crease  of  tenderness  ?  Did  he  doubt  her  ?  Nc 
no,  that  could  not  be  ;  and  yet,  it  was  nevei 
theless  certain  that  a  cloud  st"ill  hung  over  hi 
thoughts.  Sybil  had  indeed  given  him  he 
heart,  her  time,  and  her  interest,  but  he  hai 
failed  to  gain  her  confidence. 

While  he  had  frankly  placed  before  her,  no 
only  every  action,  but  almost  every  feeling  o 
his  life,  even  from  his  earliest  boyhood;  and,  a 
the  Orientals  express  it,  had  "  laid  his  heart  ii 
her  hand,"  she  had  betrayed  no  answering  trust 
She  had  gladdened  him  by  her  gaiety,  soothe( 
him  by  her  sympathy,  and  delighted  him  by  he 
devotion  ;  but  beyond  this,  to  him  she  Avas  .stil 
morally  imknown  ;  and  as  he  became,  in  Ids  en 
forced  solitude,  conscious  of  the  whole  exten 
of  her  power  over  his  fate,  the  words  and  warn 
ings  of  his  dying  mother  again  sounded  in  hi 
ears,  and  would  not  be  silenced. 

Angry  and  irritated  at  his  own  weakness 
Mortimer  again  and  again  mentally  argued,  oi 
at  least  strove  to  argue  down  these  intrusive 
recollections.  Why  should  he  suffer  them  no-o 
to  oppress  him?  Was  he  not  pledged  to  Sybil! 
Had  he  not  Avillingly,  and  even  eagerly,  soughl 
her  hand?  And  could  he  now,  at  the  eleventl 
hour,  yield  to  such  visionary  misgivings  with- 
out dishonor?  Once  her  husband,  he  should 
know  all ;  and  that  all,  as  she  had  herself  as 
sured  him,  would  amount  to  so  very  a  trifle, 
that  he  could  not  fail  to  smile  at  his  own  curi- 
osity. Yet  still  the  shadow  lingered.  While 
constantly  in  the  presence  of  Sybil  he  eared  foi 
nothing,  thought  of  nothing,  save  the  passing 
hour  ;  his  heart  and  his  fancy  were  alike  satis^ 
fied,  and  he  regarded  his  marriage  only  as  a 
distant  contingency:  but  once  abandoned  to  his 
own  solitary  reflections,  and  compelled  to  look 
into  the  future  as  well  as  upon  the  present,  the 
jealousy  of  his  nat\ire  rose  up  in  arms,  and  his 
reason  rebelled  against  his  passion. 

What,  however,  availed  that  reason  now? 
Sybil  was  his  betrothed  wife,  and  the  ai-giimcnt 
was  strengthened  by  the  selfishness  from  which 
no  human  being  is  wholly  free  ;  to  be  liappy, 
he  must  be  happy  with  her — slic  had  become 
necessary  to  his  existence.  This  one  blank  and 
weary  day  had  revealed  how  little  he  sufficed 
to  himself;  and  then — by  the  conviction  liis  re- 
verie took  a  brighter  hue,  and  he  began  to  shape 
out  in  his  own  fancy  such  a  scheme  of  life  aa 
would  have  renewed  the  golden  age. 


H 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES 


Pitv  that  the  materials  with  which  fanc_v  loves |  tain  him  in  his  seat:  "  For  pity's  sake — for  min« 
build  should  be  so  frail!  What  mightyfabrics  — if  I  have  indeed  been  dear  to  you,— breath* 


to  build  should 

of  mortal  blessedness  should  we  not  create  about 
us  if  they  were  more  substantial!  But  as  the 
child  ere'cts  its  castle  of  cards  only  to  see  it 
crumble  and  disappear  upon  the  slightest  touch 
80  do  men  too  often  rear  those  goodly  schernes 
in  prospect  which,  like  the  gold  of  the  fairy-gift, 
prove  mere  ashes  when  in  possession. 

At  an  early  hour  on  the  morrow  Mortimer 
was  at  The  Grange;  and  this  time  he  was  ad- 
mitted without  difficulty.  Miss  Delamere  had 
left  her  chamber,  and  was  already  in  the  south 
ern  parlor.  He  needed  no  announcement,  for 
with  this  ceremony  he  had  long  dispensed  ;  and 
opening  the  door  softly,  he  entered.  But  his 
arrival  produced  no  change  in  the  attitude  of 
Sybil ;  and  he  was  instantly  struck  by  the  change 
in  her  appearance.  She  was  lying  upon  a  sofa 
with  her  face  buried  among  the  cushions.  Iler 
hair  was  drawn  away  from  her  forehead,  and 
gathered  into  a  large  "loose  knot  at  the  back  of 
her  head,  evidently  without  care ;  a  morning 
dress  of  white  muslin  was  rather  folded  about 
her  than  adjusted  to  her  figure ;  and  there  was 
an  air  of  negligence  about  her  whole  person  so 
foreign  to  her  usual  habits,  that  it  at  once  be- 
spoke the  presence  of  some  overwhelming 
sorrow. 

Mortimer  detected  this  at  a  glance,  and  in  an 
instant  he  was  by  her  side. 

"Sybil,  my  own  Sybil,  what  has  happened  ?" 

Sybil  started,  and  raised  her  head,  and  if 
Mortimer  had  been  struck  by  the  change  in  her 
general  appearance,  he  was  still  more  startled 
by  the  alteration  of  her  countenance.  A  deep 
crimson  flashed  upon  her  cheeks,  her  swollen 
eyelids  betrayed  a  night  of  tears,  her  lips  were 
pale  and  quivering,  and  her  hand  trembled  as 
ne  took  it  in  his  own. 

"  Speak  my  beloved  1  Tell  me,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  all  this  wild  grief?" 

"  Frederic!"  she  murmured  almost  Lnaudibly, 
"  I  dare  not  1" 

More  and  more  bewildered,  Mortimer  gazed 
upon  her  like  one  in  a  dark  dream ;  but  she 
was  unhappy,  she  was  crushed  beneath  some 
weight  of  sQrrow,  too  great  even  for  her  to  bear, 
and  he  forgot  at  once  all  save  his  love  :  "  Kay, 
you  shall  speak,  Sybil ! — Sybil,  are  you  not 
mine?  Have  I  not  a  right  to  share  your  grief, 
arise  from  what  cause  it  may? — Should  you  have 
any  secret  from  me  ?" 

But  Sybil  was  still  silent,  although  her  sobs 
became  audible. 

"Lean  on  me,  dearest! — There,  hide  those 
swollen  and  weary  eyes  upon  my  bosom,  and 
tell  me  all,"  pursued  Mortimer  more  gently : 
"  You  know  not  what  you  make  me  suffer  by 
this  suspense.  To  see  you  thus,  and  to  be  re- 
fused your  confidence,  is  more  than  I  can  bear. 
Have  mercy  on  me,  Sybil,  and  tell  me  what 
mean  those  tears!" 

Miss  Delamere  only  shook  her  head  despond- 

"You  wound  me  deeply,  Sybil,"  said  her 
lover ;  "  but  I  will  not  urge  you  further.  I  shall 
appeal  to  your  mother." 

"Frederic!  Frederic!"  gasped  out  his  com- 
panion, OS  she  flung  her  arms  aboat  him  to  re- 


not  a  word  of  this  misery  to  my  poor  mothe]^ 
— it  would  kill  her  did  she  know  its  cause!" 

"Torture  me  not  then,  my  own  love!"  im- 
plored Frederic,  as  he  yielded  to  the  pressure  of 
the  beautiful  arms  which  still  rested  upon  his 
neck,  and  sank  upon  his  knee  beside  the  couch; 
"  but  let  me  learn  from  your  own  lips  the  cause 
of  this  violent  emotion.  Have  you  lost  a  friend! 
Your  fortune  ?  Your  gestures  deny  this.  Has 
anyone  dared  to  injure  or  insult  you?"  And 
the  eyes  of  the  speaker  flashed  as  he  put  the 
question. 

A  more  violent  burst  of  grief  was  its  reply. 

"  Yes — I  have  guessed  aright !"  he  exclaimed 
vehementl}-,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  flash- 
ing eye  and  a  bent  brow  :  "And  now,  Sybil,  I 
entreat  no  longer;  I  insist  upon  an  instant  ex- 
planation of  this  mystery.  As  my  future  wife,  I 
command,  in  this  at  least  your  obedience.  Your 
honor  is  in  my  hands,  and  none  shall  dare  to 
sully  it  bj-  a  breath." 

In  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment,  Misa 
Delamere,  thus  adjured,  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  When  she  withdrew  them,  she  was  pale 
even  to  ghastliness,  as  she  took  a  letter  from  her 
bosom,  in  which  it  had  been  concealed,  and 
with  averted  eyes  held  it  towards  her  com- 
panion, who,  scarcely  less  agitated  than  herself 
tore  it  hastily  open. 

As  he  hurriedly  devoured  its  contents,  ths 
whole  frame  of  Mortimer  shook  with  suppressed 
rage ;  and  he  gnawed  his  lip  as  though  he 
would  have  wreaked  that  vengeance  upon 
himself  which  could  not  be  poured  out  upon 
his  enemy. 

"It  is  a  goodly  scrawl!"  he  at  length  ex- 
claimed bitterly :  "  The  work  of  a  vile  incen- 
diaiy,  who  has  not  dared  to  affix  his  foul  name 
to  the  revolting  slander.  But  it  is  false,  false 
as  hell,  Sybil ! — ^'o  tongue  has  dared  to  prate 
as  this  assassin  states — no  thought  has  ever  pol- 
luted your  fair  fame.  Again,  and  again  I  swear 
to  you  that  it  is  false  !  Have  I  for  one  moment 
concealed  my  purpose  in  fi'cquenting  your  house? 
Is  it  not  notorious  throughout  the  neighborhood 
that  I  have  been  for  months  a  suitor  for  your 
hand?  Is  not  your  own  mother  beneath  your 
roof?  Out  upon  such  devilish  but  pun3'' ma- 
lice— my  very  heart  heaves  against  the  coward 
lie !" 

"How  am  I  sunk!"  sobbed  Sybil. 

"  Sunk  !  Nay,  dearest,  rather  saj-  how  are  you 
exalted  in  my  eyes  by  this  jealous  sensibility  to 
all  that  touches  your' honor.  Never  to  me  hava 
you  seemed  half  so  noble,  but  I  beseech  j'ou, 
calm  your  grief,  it  cuts  me  to  the  soul,  for  ifc 
shows  riie  that  it  is  I  who  have  armed  this  wri- 
ter with  his  unhallowed  weapon.  Yes,  S5biU 
it  is  I,  who,  spell-bound  by  the  happiness  of  the 
present  hour,  have  too  long  forgotten  that  I 
have  as  yet  enforced  no  right  to  its  continuance. 
It  was  too  much  to  hope  that  a  meddling  world 
would  leave  us  to  our  holy  and  hallowed  affec- 
tion until  we  had  placed  it  beyond  the  reach  of 
comment  and  suspicion.  There  is  a  serpent  in 
every  Eden,  and  the  crawling  reptile  has  now 
invaded  ours.  But  there  is  a  remedy,  a  holy 
and  blessed  remedy  for  the  evil,  my  beautiful 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


W 


beloved — we  -will  delay  it  no  longer;  and  the 
■nake  will  be  innoxious  when  we  have  robbed 
it  of  its  venom." 

A  smile  shone  through  the  teara  of  Miss  Dela- 
mere,  and  as  again  Mortimer  resumed  his  scat 
beside  her,  she  gradually  suffered  herself  to  be 
consoled  by  his  ardent  and  affectionate  reason- 
ing. Once  more  the  color  returned  to  her  cheek 
and  lip,  and  she  hung  upon  his  words  with  an 
earnestness  that  made  him  doubly  eloquent. 
She  said  little,  but  that  little  sufficed  to  con- 
Tiuee  him  that  he  was  the  happiest  of  mortals ; 
and  as  they  sat  with  their  hands  locked  together, 
and  her  head  pillowed  upon  his  shoulder,  he  al 
most  blessed  the  anonymous  correspondent  who 
had  revealed  to  him  the  moral  excellence  and 
Bhrinking  delicacy  of  his  beautiful  and  injured 
Sybil. 

'"  And  now,  my  own  one,"  he  said  tenderly  as 
he  prepared  to  depart ;  "  we  have  each  sufficient 
occupation  both  for  our  thoughts,  and  for  our 
time.  You  need  rest,  however,  and  while  you 
itrive  to  obtain  it,  I  will  not  lose  a  moment  in 
seeking  out  the  vile  author  of  this  atrocious 
calumny.  Let  him  not  hope  to  escape.  It  is 
not  so  easy  to  disguise  any  handwriting  as  it 
may  appear  to  be ;  there  are  always  some  pe- 
I  culiarities,  trivial  and  slight,  perhaps,  but  never- 
ttheless,  perfectly  susceptible  of  identification, 
I  by  which  the  writer  may  be  traced  with  proper 
I  care  and  caution;  and  trust  me,  your  present 
correspondent  shall  not  escape." 
I  "  Frederic,"  whispered  Miss  Delamere  with 
an  appealing  look  ;  "  will  you  consent  to  make 
me  quite  happy  ?" 

"  Can  you  doubt  it,  Sybil  ?" 

"  Tlien  love,  restore  to  me  that  letter,  and  let 
me  destroj-  it." 

"  Do  not  ask  me  what  I  cannot  grant  I  will 
,not  be  cheated  of  my  vengeance." 
!  An  expression  of  intense  anxiety  passed  over 
jtlie  features  of  Miss  Delamere ;  but  she  instant- 
fly  recovered  herself,  and  with  her  sweetest 
jsmile  she  again  extended  her  hand,  as  she  said 
lemphatically :  "  This  is  the  first  time  that  I 
|have  ventured  to  claim  a  favor  at  your  hands, 
land  I  will  not  be  so  denied.  To  me  j-our  pre- 
sent intention  brings  a  two-fold  anxiety  ;  first, 
Frederic,  answer  me ;  how  can  I  feel  one  mo- 
ment's peace  while  I  know  j-ou  to  be  engaged 
|in  a  search  which  must  at  once  irritate  and  pain 
jyou,  and  by  which,  if  you  are  successful,  you 
pnly  invblve  yourself  in  newer  and  more  dan- 
Iferous  difficulties  ?  while,  as  regards  myself,  do 
you  imagine  for  an  instant  that  I  can  be  happy 
iwhile  such  a  document  is  in  existence  ?  No, 
antil  that  bitter  and  blighting  scrawl  is  'de- 
jtroyed,  I  must  be  wretched ;  for  does  it  not 
!>rand  me  with  disgrace  ?" 

Enough,  Sybil,  enougli!"  exclaimed  Morti- 
ner,  as  he  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  pressed 
lis  lips  upon  her  forehead;  "You  have  con- 
jnered,  and  I  forego  my  vengeance." 

"My  own  dear  Frederic  1"  murmured  one  of 
^e  sweetest  voices  in  the  world,  as  the  torn 
ragincnts  of  the  obnoxious  letter  fell  in  a  shower 
ipon  the  carpet ;  "  Now  indeed,  I  know  that 
"ou  love  me." 

Five  minutes  afterwards  Mortimer  was  gone ; 
ind  Sybil,  having  listened  to  the  sounds  of  his 


horse's  feet  until  they  were  lost  in  the  distance, 
slowly  rose  from  the  sofa,  and  carefully  gather- 
ing up  the  shreds  of  paper,  tlirew  them  one  by 
one  into  the  fire  which  w.is  blazing  in  the  grate'; 
and  then  having  satisfied  herself  tliat  they  were 
all  destroyed,  cast  one  long  ti-iumpliant  look 
round  tlie  apartment,  and  tlirew  herself  again 
upon  her  seat. 


CHAFrER  XXIII, 

Several  months  had,  as  we  have  already 
stated  elapsed  since  the  death  of  Mrs,  Mortimer, 
and  Time  the  great  physician  of  the  mind,  as- 
sisted by  one  of  (he  most  amiable  and  unselfish 
dispositions  in  the  world,  had  restored  Gertrude 
to  comparative  happiness.  Grateful  for  the  pro- 
tection which  had  been  so  frankly  afforded  to 
her  at  a  period  when  it  was  sorely  needed,  she 
had  studied  to  accommodate  herself  to  the  ex- 
igencies and  peculiarities  of  her  aged  relative 
with  a  good  faith  which  insured  her  ultimate 
success.  And  already  the  effects  of  lier  gentle 
influence  were  palpable  ;  not  only  in  the  gen- 
eral appearance  of  the  gloomy  little  house,  but 
also  in  the  manner  of  its  rigid  mistress. 

The  arrival  of  all  the  orplian's  domestic  trea- 
sures had  at  first  grievouslj"  annoyed  and  di»- 
turbed  Miss  Warrington  ;  who,  as  she  saw  pack- 
age after  package  unladen  from  the  heavy  road- 
wagon  which  nearly  blocked  up  the  narrow 
street,  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together  ;  com- 
pressed her  lips  until  they  beea*me  almost  invisi- 
ble, and  sat  bolt  upright  and  speechless ;  until 
she  comprehended,  from  the  exclamations  of 
her  matronly  attendant,  and  the  expostulations 
of  the  two  sturdy  porters  who  were  engaged  in 
carrying  the  things  into  the  house,  that  not  only 
was  the  entrance-passage  entirely  choked  np, 
but  that  the  kitchen  stairs,  and  even  the  kitchen 
itself,  had  likewise  been  invaded.  Tlien  indeed, 
she  recovered  in  some  degree  from  her  con- 
sternation ;  although  it  was  only  to  express  her 
dissatisfaction  in  a  cold,  dry,  sarcastic  tone, 
which  to  poor  Gertrude  was  more  painful  than 
the  most  violent  exhibition  of  temper. 

"  Really,  Miss  Mortimer,"  she  said,  and  not 
even  the  tension  of  her  lij)s  relaxed,  as  she  look 
ed  her  full  in  the  face ;  "  I  feel  that  I  have  been 
very  inconsiderate.  You  must  have  found  your- 
self terribly  inconvenienced  in  my  house  before 
your  furniture  arrived,  and  I  greatly  fear  that 
you  will  even  now  be  at  a  loss  to  dispose  of  it 
consistently.  My  passage  is  scarcely  wide  enough 
for  a  piano ;  nor  do  I  think  that  an  inlaid  book- 
case will  accord  particularly  well  with  the  gerr 
eral  style  of  my  property.  But  perhaps  you 
have  an  idea  of  moving  to  a  larger  residence." 

"  My  dear  madam  !"  exclaimed  the  ori)lian,  as 
she  sprang  forward  and  seized  the  reluctant 
hand  of  the  querulous  old  lady;  "I  do  not 
know  what  to  say  to  you — how  to  apologise.  I 
was  not  aware " 

And  poor  Gertrude,  who  was  already  ovei»» 
come  by  the  munificence  of  her  cousin,  and  the 
affectionate  letter  which  had  aceonipaiii<d  his 
gifts,  burst  into  an  irrepressible  flood  of  tcar.s. 

"  Nay,  nay,  niece,  this  is  foolish,"  said  Alias 
"Warrington  less  harshly ;  "  I  dare  say  tliat  you 


78 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


did  not  expect  such  an  unloading  of  the  Tower 
of  Babel  as  this,"  (the  good  lady's  verbal  illustra- 
tions were  usually  somewliat  confused,)  "  so 
don't  cry,  for  that  will  not  clear  the  passage, 
and  it  will  be  necessary  that  we  ahould  get  up 
Btairs  to  bed.  We  liad  better,  therefore  be 
tliinking  of  Avliat  had  best  be  done.  Two  eases 
of  books  !"  she  ejaculated  after  an  instant,  as  if 
unconsciously;  "  AVho  on  earth  is  to  readthera ; 
and  wiiere  are  tliey  to  be  put?" 

"  Please  ma'am,"  said  Hannah,  intruding  just 
•within  the  door  of  the  room  a  face  heated  by 
exertion,  and  a  stout  arm  bared  above  the 
elbow  ;  "  the  men  can't  bring  in  any  more  of 
the  things,  for  there  ain't  room,  unless  we  take 
some  of  them  up  stairs  into  miss's  sleeping 
chamber;  are  we  to  carry  them  up?" 

"  Inquire  Miss  Mortimer's  pleasure,"  was  the 
unsatisfactory  reply,  and  the  discomposed  old 
lady  looked  stiffer  and  harder  than  ever. 

"  Oh !  yes,  yes,"  eagerly  exclaimed  Geiti-ude  ; 
"  anywhere — anything — good  Haimah  ;  I  will 
soon  unpack  the  cases,  and  send  them  out  of  the 
house.  Indeed,  my  dear  madam,"  she  added 
appealingly,  as  the  maid  disappeared ;  "  it  is 
tliose  unwieldly  wooden  boxes  which  create  all 
this  confusion,  and  when  once  we  are  rid  of 
them,  you  will  be  surprised  to  find  how  little 
they  contain." 

"I  have  long  ceased  to  be  surprised  at  any- 
thing, niece,"  said  the  still  unappeased  mistress 
of  the  house  ;  "  and  it  is  at  least  fortunate  that 
your  huge  chests  will  supply  us  with  firewood 
for  the  winter." 

At  length,  when  the  room  of  Gertrude  had 
been  converted  in  appearance  into  a  well-packed 
•warehouse,  through  the  civil  exertions  of  the 
porters,  ingress  and  egress  were  once  more  ren- 
dered possible,  and  Misa  Warrington  unclasped 
her  fingers. 

The  orphan  hailed  with  delight  this  symptom 
of  returning  composure,  and  found  courage  to 
allude  to  the  future  arrangement  of  her  recover- 
ed treasures ;  but  vaiidy  did  she  suggest  how 
admirablj'  the  piano  would  stand  between  the 
•windows,  and  how  chamiingly  the  book-case 
would  fit  into  the  recess  beside  the  fire-place- 
Miss  Warrington  was  resolved  to  consider  the 
introduction  of  these  elegant  superfluities  as  a 
grievance,  and  declared,  that  as  she  detested 
music,  and  never  read  anytliing  save  her  Bible, 
her  rooms  should  not  be  lumbered  by  any  such 
useless  incumbrances. 

Gertrude  was  silenced.  She  had  intuitively 
felt  from  the  first,  tlie  utter  futility  of  reasoning 
with  her  protectress,  and  the  impropriety  of 
thwarting  her  wishes,  and  accordingly,  she 
began  to  consider  how  she  might  tlie  most  con- 
venient ly  rtcconunodate  those  two  bulky  luxuries 
in  her  own  small  apartment,  resolving,  at  the 
sanie  tin)e  tlnit  she  would  conscientiously  re- 
frain from  reading  in  her  aunt's  presence,  or  dis- 
turbing her  by  the  sound  of  the  instrument. 

The  sacrifice  was  a  severe  one,  but  the  orphan 
Tvas  beginning  to  be  schooled  in  self-abnegation 
and  restraint,  and  thus  the  determination,  un- 
tnsteful  though  it  was,  failed  to  bring  a  cloud  to 
her  young  brow. 

Such  had  been  the  reception  of  Mortimer's 
offering ;    and  for  some  "weeks,  Gerti-udc  care- 


fully abstained  from  intruding  any  of  her  little 
possessions  upon  the  notice  of  her  aunt.  Througli 
the  agency  of  Hannah,  who  soon  conceived  an 
affection  for  her  young  mistress,  as  she  persisted 
in  calling  her,  the  obnoxious  packing-cases  were 
broken  up,  and  dulj-  stowed  away  for  winter 
fuel,  and  as,  with  the  exception  of  the  pinno  and 
the  book -case,  all  the  other  articles  were  small, 
she  experienced  less  inconvenienee  than  she  had 
anticipated,  in  arranging  them  in  a  manner  cal- 
culated to  satisfy  her  aunt. 

The  effect  of  their  possession  upon  liersell 
was  most  salutary.  She  no  longer  felt  alone  ; 
no  longer  deserted.  Every  object  by  which  she 
was  now  surrounded  spoke  directly  to  her  heart, 
and  drew  her  back  again  into  the  past.  Her 
whitewashed  walls  were  gladdened  to  her  eyes 
by  the  sketches  of  the  dear  old  house  at  West- 
•um,  which  had  so  often  fondlj-  occupied  her 
leisure ;  her  toilette  sparkled  once  more  with 
cut  glass  and  porcelain,  and  as  the  sunbeams 
penetrated  the  branches  of  the  venerable  trees 
l)efore  her  window,  and  threw  their  chequered 
light  upon  the  table,  there  were  moments  in 
which  she  almost  deluded  herself  into  the  belief 
that  she  was  once  more  at  home.  And  then  her 
books  I — there,  indeed,  her  store  of  happiness 
was  inexhaustible  ;  and  they  were  the  more  en- 
deared to  her  by  the  fact  that  the  fly-leaf  of 
each,  bore  some  affectionate  record,  and  that 
they  thus  spoke  to  her  from  beyond  the  grave. 

The  honest-hearted  old  woman,  who  formed 
in  herself  the  whole  establishment  of  Miss  War- 
rington, was  astounded  by  the  magnificence 
which  rendered  the  apartment  of  Gertrude  so 
dissimilar  to  tlie  remainder  of  the  house,  and 
was  never  weary  of  examining  the  elegant  futi- 
lities with  which  it  was  crowded  ;  but,  shrewd 
enough  to  comprehend  that  half  the  annoyance 
of  her  mistress  on  their  arrival  had  arisen  from 
a  jealous  feeling  of  the  contrast  which  they 
would  offer  to  her  own  faded  and  bygone  trea- 
sures, which  she  had  for  years  been  accustom- 
ed to  regard  with  reverence,  she  carefully  ab- 
stained from  all  mention  of  her  admiring  won- 
der in  her  presence. 

Thus  for  a  time  it  would  have  appeared  as 
though  the  stately  old  lad\-  had  altogether  for- 
gotten the  incursion  which  had  been  made  upon 
her  premises,  but  it  was  not  so.  Her  first  ap- 
prehension had  been  that  Gertrude  might  priae 
lerself  on  this  acquisition  of  luxury,  by  which 
she  was  rendered,  in  a  great  degree,  indepen- 
dent of  those  about  her,  and  however  much  she 
gloried  in  her  own  personal  independence,  she 
could  not  brook  that  the  orphan  whom  she  had 
befriended  should  thus  be  enabled  to  dispense 
with  her  good  offices. 

It  was,  perhaps  a  pardonable  weakness,  and 
it  was,  at  all  events,  a  very  common  one.  She 
did  not  relent,  therefore,  until  she  had  becom* 
perfectly  satisfied  that,  far  from  presuming  on 
her  unexpected  good  fortune,  her  mild  and 
gentle  inmate  had  become  more  attentive,  kind, 
and  thoughtful ;  as  though  she  felt  that  a  tadl 
apology  were  needful  for  the  annoyance  to 
which  she  had  innocently  subjected  her  hostess. 
Miss  Warrington  had,  however,  by  indulging 
the  suspicion  unwittingly,  created  a  great  diffi- 
culty for  herself;  for  when  etrong  in  her  con- 


THE  RIVAL  BKA.UTIES. 


79 


rlction  of  Gertrude's  inmate  amiability,  she  re- 
solved to  recaut  her  objections  to  the  due  en- 
joyment of  these  uewly-acquired  luxuries,  she 
was  at  a  loss  how  to  make  the  eoneessioii  with- 
out a  compromise  of  her  dignity. 

She  was  revolving  the  subject  in  her  mind,  as 
she  had  already  done  several  times  before,  on  a 
bright  summer  evening,  when,  shut  into  the 
dingy  little  parlor,  while  all  was  fair  and  sun- 
shiny without,  Gertrude  was  busily  engaged 
with  her  needle  iu  the  service  of  her  aunt,  and 
during  a  pause  in  their  monotonous  dialogue,  a 
■wandering  Italian  boy  took  his  stand  before  the 
house  with  a  barrel  organ,  and  began  to  play 
the  Barcarole  in  Masaniello. 

As  the  first  bars  of  the  melody  met  her  ear, 

I  the  hands  of  Gertrude  fell  powerless  upon  her 

j  lap,  and  she  panted  with  emotion.     In  another 

1  moment  she  sprang  from  her  chair,  and  rushed 

]  to  the  window,  where  she  stood  trembling,  smil- 

I  ing,  and  weeping,  in  a  breath. 

I      "  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  lady  with  a  grim 

I  smile,  which  was  the  most  engaging  expression 

of   which   her   countenance    was    susceptible  ; 

"There  is  no  great  harm  done  if  he  does  see  you, 

I  for  one  of  those  people  does  not  come  to  Bletch- 

ley  for  twelve  months  together,  so  that  we  may 

afford  to  give  him  a  few  pence." 

But  Gertrude  did  not  hear  a  word.  She  heard 
nothing,  felt  nothing,  was  conscious  of  nothing 
but  the  sound  of  music,  and  this  was  the  first  to 
which  she  had  listened  since  she  had  become 
indeed  an  orphan.  Every  pulse  in  her  heart  was 
stirred ;  the  "  old  familiar  strain"  had  carried 
her  awaj' — away — tlirough  time  and  space,  and 
she  was  quivering  with  a  sense  of  happiness  to 
which  she  had  been  long  a  stranger,  and  which 
she  had  often  failed  to  feel  even  when  an  auditor 
of  the  most  finished  performance. 

The  sound  ceased  ;  the  musician  was  remune- 
rated and  the  spell  was  broken.  The  dingy 
parlor  appeared  more  dull  than  ever,  and  the 
monotonous  needlework  more  wearisome,  but, 
meanwhile,  the  grim  smile  still  rested  on  the 
features  of  the  old  lady. 

"  You  seem  uncommonly  fond  of  music,  Ger- 
trude," she  commenced,  delighted  at  the  open- 
ing afforded  by  the  appearance  of  the  Savoj'ard ; 
"and  yet  I  have  never  once  heard  you  touch 
your  piano  since  it  came  into  the  house." 

Gertrude  looked  up  cheerfully,  although  the 
tears  were  still  glistening  in  her  eyes,  as  she 
replied :  "  I  feared  to  disturb  you,  my  dear 
madam." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  child,"  said  her  compa- 
nion ;  "  you  see  even  that  hurdy-gurdy,  or  what- 
ever it  was,  did  not  disturb  me  ;  but,  perhaps, 
you  have  not  room  to  play  in  j-our  own  cham- 
ber. Send  for  Jones,  and  let  your  instrument 
be  brought  down  stairs.  It  strikes  me  that  it 
would  stand  very  well  between  the  windows." 
"  Oh,  how  kind  you  are !"  exclaimed  the  de- 
lighted girl  earnestly. 

"  And  while  he  is  here,"  pursued  the  old  lady, 
inwardl}^  moved  by  this  unstudied  emotion,  "he 
may  as  well  disencumber  you  of  your  book-case: 
your  room  is  too  small  to  accommodate  so  large 
a  piece  of  furniture." 

"  Oh,  how  happy  you  make  me !"  again  ejacu- 
lated the  excited  listener;  "and  my  work-frame, 


mj'  dear  aunt,  and  my  painting-table — will  you 
admit  them  all  ?" 

j  "As  you  will — as  you  will,"  was  the  reply, 
j"  but  charge  Jones  to  be  careful  of  the  walls  as 
jhe  comes  down  stairs.  Nothing  tears  a  house 
jto  pieces  like  moving  furniture,  and  I  cannot 
afford  to  new  paper  the  passage  for  the  next 
;five  years." 

Two  months  after  this  conversation,  it  would 
have  been  ditficult  for  any  one  to  have  recognis- 
ed Miss  Warrington's  hitherto  dingy  little  parlor. 
By  imperceptible  degrees,  a  score  of  elegant 
trifles  were  successively  introduced;  even  a  vase 
of  flowers  was  permitted  to  stand  upon  the  po- 
lished table  without  comment ;  for  the  quick  eye 
of  the  old  lady  immediately  detected  that  th«> 
careful  Gertrude  had  placed  it  upon  a  minute 
mat  of  her  own  working.  Ere  long,  the  dull- 
looking  walls  were  relieved  by  some  admirably- 
executed  water-colored  drawings  from  a  well- 
stored  portfolio ;  and  the  village  carpenter,  after 
a  few  hints  from  the  fair  artist,  succeeded  in 
producing  some  creditably-made  frames,  which 
I  were  neatly  covered  with  morocco  paper  by  the 
■same  skilful  fingers;  the  dark  curtains  which 
fell  in  gloomy  masses  like  the  folds  of  a  pall, 
were  next  discarded,  and  gossamer  draperies  of 
spotless  muslin  supplied  their  place. 

An  air  of  elegance  and  ease  had  succeeded  to 
the  squalor  and  desolation  which  had  formerly 
been  the  characteristics  of  the  house;  and  all 
had  been  done  so  quietly,  so  simply,  and  so  un- 
ostentatiously, that  even  the  rigid  and  indepen 
dent  Miss  Warrington  almost  forgot  that  she 
was  indebted  to  another  for  the  increase  of 
comfort  about  her. 

Gradually  also,  Gertrude  emancipated  herself 
from  the  excessive  thraldom  which  had  confined 
her  entirely  to  the  premises  of  her  aunt ;  and,  in 
her  plain  mourning-dross,  and  closely  veiled, 
ventured  to  ramble  about  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  the  village. 

Her  demeanor  was  so  undeniably  correct,  that 
even  Miss  Warrington  herself  could  advance  no 
valid  objection  to  her  enjoyment  of  this  neces- 
sary exercise ;  and,  thus,  the  orphan  found  her- 
self once  more  enabled  to  commune  occasionally 
in  solitude  with  her  own  thoughts. 

That  they  were  generally  very  sad  ones,  can 
scarcely  be  a  subject  of  surprise ;  but  there  were, 
nevertheless,  moments  in  which  the  natural 
beauties  by  which  she  Avas  surrounded  drew  her 
on  from  the  past  to  the  present ;  and  taught  her 
to  feel  that  life  still  possessed  much  of  which  she 
had  reason  to  be  grateful. 

We  have  already  described  the  approach  to 
Bletchley;  but,  cheerful  and  picturesque  as  it 
was,  Gertrude  soon  discovered  that  the  villag«*ji 
possessed  still  greater  beauties  than  those  with 
which  she  had  already  made  acquaintance;  when, 
turning  her  back  in  the  direction  of  the  high 
road  by  which  she  had  travelled,  she  wound 
round  the  base  of  the  grassy  height  crowned 
by  the  modest  church,  and  found  herself  sur- 
rounded by  the  original  hamlet,  upon  whose 
skirt  the  dull  and  straggling  street,  of  which 
she  was  now  an  inhabitant,  had  grown  up  as 
its  population  had  increased. 

The  whole  landscape  wjis  essentially  English 
in  its  character.     It  did  not  boa^it  one  grand  oi 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


Btriking  feature;  there  was  neither  rock  nor 
torrent,  dense  forests  nor  foaming  cataract,  to 
be  seen  on  any  side ;  but  all  was  calm,  rich, 
nod  almost  hoi}-,  in  its  beautiful  tranquillitj-. 
In  the  distance  a  chain  of  undulating  hills, 
clothed  with  beeches,  shut  in  the  prospect; 
and  as  she  stood  and  gazed,  with  all  the  joy  of 
a  liberated  captive,  and  all  the  enthusiasm  of  an 
artist,  upon  the  scene  before  her,  the  declining 
Bun  poured  a  flood  of  glory  upon  the  quivering 
leaves  which  glittered  like  jewels  in  the  light. 

Tho  evening  wind,  as  it  sighed  along  the 
branches,  brought  with  it  the  odor  of  the  clover 
and  the  cinquefoil,  which  had  been  mown 
during  the  heat  of  the  past  day ;  and  the  tink- 
ling sound  of  the  sheep-bell  on  the  hill-side. 
The  luxurious  lowing  of  the  cattle  from  a  warm, 
snug-looking,  and  substantial  farm,  nestled  under 
the  southern  slope  of  the  range,  was  heard  at 
intervals,  as,  after  having  resigned  their  milky 
hoard,  they  wound  their  way  to  an  accustomed 
pasture,  while  the  song  of  the  nightingale  oc- 
casionally broke  forth,  as  if  in  welcome  of  the 
coming  twilight. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  valley  lay  a  hedge-bor- 
dered road,  over  which  the  picturesque  hay- 
wagons  moved  lazilj'  along,  to  the  music  of 
the  green  and  waving  corn,  which  rose  and  fell 
with  a  deep  murmur,  like  the  waves  of  some 
summer  sea,  as  the  breeze  passed  over  it — amid 
the  perfume  of  the  wild-rose  and  the  woodbine, 
the  white  clematis  and  the  elder ;  and  crushed 
with  their  heavy  wheels  the  transparent  and 
classical  cup  of  the  bindweed,  which,  not  eon- 
tent  with  girding  the  hawthorn  boughs  with  its 
fairy  garlands,  as  if  to  replace  the  departed 
glories  of  their  own  spring-loving  blossoms, 
trailed  its  graceful  wreaths  far  across  the  path ; 
while  the  spotted  fox-glove  started  up  beside 
the  little  cress-covered  stream  that  glided  noise- 
lessly along,  and  the  bluebell  rang  its  tiny  chime 
like  an  elfin  choir. 

Fi"om  the  road  which  we  have  just  described 
commenced  a  slight,  smooth  ascent,  known  as 
Bletchley  Green,  the  little  common  of  the 
hamlet,  whereon  the  horse  of  the  curate, 
and  the  donkey  of  the  cottager,  met  upon 
equal  grounds.  On  the  verge  of  the  road 
stood  the  modest,  and  once  the  solitary  inn  of 
the  hamlet;  a  plain,  unpretending  cottage,  the 
extreme  ruddiness  of  whose  brick-built  front 
•was  subdued  by  a  casing  of  pale-colored  cement ; 
the  ancient  and  approved  sign  of  the  Red  Lion 
was  lettered,  not  illustrated,  on  the  swinging 
sign ;  and  a  rude  bench  extended  its  length 
along  the  house  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
weary  traveller,  while  a  deep  trough  constantlj- 
Bupplicd  with  water,  offered  refreshment  in  its 
turn,  to  the  jaded  steed. 

From  that  point  commenced  the  chief  charm 
of  Bletchley  Green.  The  modest  cottages  of 
dark  gray  stone,  peeping  out  from  their  leafy 
Bcrecns  like  bird's  nests  occasionally  overgrown 
by  the  lioneysuckle  and  the  creeping-rose  ;  tlieir 
carefully-tended  little  gardens,  spreading  to  the 
right  and  left,  gaj-  with  marigolds,  and  stocks, 
and  gilly-flowers,  among  which  the  bees  made 
constant  music  as  they  flew  to  and  fro,  sating 
themselves  with  sweets,  or  clustered  about  the 


neatly-thatched  hives  which  were  ranged  in 
goodly  order  along  the  grassy  path. 

There  is  something  gladdening  in  the  aspect 
of  a  cottage-garden,  rich  in  all  the  usual  vege- 
table produce  which  helps  the  poor  man's  meal ; 
and  cherishing  all  those  familiar  and  old- 
fasliioned  blossoms  which  horticultural  societiei 
and  scientific  florists  are  rapidly  sweeping  from 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  Certain  it  is,  too, 
that  flowers  nowhere  prosper  so  well  as  under 
the  eyes  of  the  cottagers.  Their  geraniuma, 
their  fuchsias,  their  hydrangias,  even  to  their 
pansies  and  their  anemones,  are  frequently  finer 
than  can  be  found  elsewhere.  Horticulturists 
may  tell  us  that  the  cups  of  the  tulips  are 
"  muddy,"  and  that  their  dahlias  are  botanicallv 
imperfect ;  I,  for  one,  care  not  if  it  be  so,  for  it 
is  not  the  less  a  fact  that  they  grow  lovingly 
and  sturdily  in  the  cottage-garden,  while  they 
often  look,  in  a  more  richly-prepared  soil,  and 
under  more  scientific  tending,  as  though  they 
had  been  forced  into  unnatural  uniformity ;  just 
as  the  glad  gracefulness  of  childhood  is  palpably 
coerced  by  the  discipline  of  the  dumb-bells  and 
the  black-board. 

To  conclude  the  digression,  however,  and  to 
return  to  the  village — Advancing  and  receding 
irregularly,  now  flung  back  by  the  rustw 
builder,  in  order  not  to  interfeVe  with  the 
growth  of  a  fine  old  patriarchial  ash  or  elm, 
and  now  standing  closer  to  the  public  path, 
that  the  little  willow  shaded  pond  within  its 
enclosure  might  ^ot  encroach  too  much  on  th« 
convenience  of  the  inmates  of  the  dwelling, 
the  quiet  and  modest  cottages  extended  along 
one  side  of  the  Green,  almost  to  the  crest  of 
the  nearest  hill ;  while,  on  the  other,  they  gava 
place  to  grass  fields,  and  patches  of  wheat  or 
barley;  or,  still  more  grateful  to  the  eye  during 
the  sultry  noons  of  summer,  stretches  of  inangel- 
wurtzel,  with  its  large,  heavy,  dark-green 
leaves. 

But  the  charm  of  Bletchley  Green  was  tiM 
"  Great  House,"  a  vast  and  imposing  niansioa 
which  looked  down  upon  the  hamlet  from  a 
slight  acclivity.  A  splendid  specimen  of  the, 
solid  architectural  taste  of  the  times  of  thai 
eighth  Henry,  it  spread  its  lordly  ten-aces,  ani 
extended  its  hanging  woods  across  the  whol« 
brow  of  the  ascent,  until  thfy'wcre  parted 
only  by  a  low  and  ancient  wall  from  the  grave- 
yard attached  to  the  little  church  alreadj 
named. 

The  whole  scene  was  calm  and  beautiful ;  and 
as  Gertrude  at  length  reluctantly  tui-ned  away 
in  order  to  return  to  her  unpicturesquc  home, 
she  heaved  an  unconscious  sigh ;  for  the  timo- 
touehed  and  stately  mansion,  with  its  venerable 
woods,  had  brought  back  to  her  a  thousand 
memories  of  Westrum,  and  the  other  dear  old 
house  which  had  cradled  her  youth.  It  struck 
her,  too,  as  strange,  that  in  th'at  deai-th  of  sub- 
jects on  which  to  converse  together,  Miss  Wai'- 
rington  should  never  have  mentioned  the  near 
neighborhood  of  such  a  residence  as  this;  and 
the  rather,  as  the  whole  appearance  of  th« 
place  evidenced  its  inhabitation.  Gentlewoman 
as  she  was  by  birth,  even  although  crippled  in 
fortune,  she   was  decidedly  eligible  as  an  ac- 


ll 


TIIE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


81 


1 1  qtiftintance  at  the  Manor-house ;  and  Gertrude, 

I  jin  her  moral  solitude,  could  not  forbear  a  wish 

n  'that  this  resource  had  been  open  to  her. 

''*!  I     Again  and  again  her  thoughts  reverted  to  that 

1  '*   'noble  mansion  and  its  embowering  woods;  and 

the  modest  tea  equipage  was  no  sooner  removed 

in  the  evening,  than,  as  she  resumed  her  work, 

she  resolved  to  question  her  aunt  as  to  its  inha- 

j^  ,"i  [bitants. 

'}^\      "  Oh,  they  are  rich  people,  very  rich  people," 
"'"""i  replied  the  old  lady  quietly ;  "  and  far  too  grand 
to  visit  any  one  in  Bletchley.     The  crimson-cur- 
t.'iitied  pew,  which  you  must  have  noticed  op- 
posite the  pulpit,  belongs  to  them." 

"  Then,  they  are  absent,"  remarked  Gertrude ; 
"  for  it  has  remained  empty  every  Sunday  since 
I  arrived  here.  Several  times  I  have  determin- 
ed to  inquire  the  name  of  its  owners,  but  it  has 
always  escaped  my  memory." 

"  Their  name  is  Armstrong ;  and  Hannah  tells 
me  that  they  returned  home  two  days  ago,  after 
in  absence  of  three  months.  Here  or  there, 
:iowever,  it  signifies  little,  for  they  are  seen  only 
It  chui'ch." 
"  Are  they,  then,  so  very  haughty?" 
"  Yes — no — I  I'eally  cannot  tell  how  to  answer 
iie  question.  Thej'  are  free  enough  with  the 
•>oor,  and  let  no  one  want  in  the  village  if  they 
aiow  it ;  but  their  house  is  always  full  of  com- 
pany, and  tliey  are  for  ever  driving  or  riding 
bout  the  countrj';  but,  as  they  prefer  the  up- 
er  road  when  they  go  to  the  post-town,  they 
ever  pass  this  way." 
Gertrude  sighed.  She  could  not  but  feel  that 
t  was  mortifying  to  know  that  there  was  refined 
oeiety  within  her  reach  even  here,  and  yet  that 
he  was  shut  out  from  all  hope  of  participating 
n  its  enjoyment.  A  moment's  reflection,  how- 
ver,  suthced  to  restore  her  to  a  more  healthy 
rame  of  hiind;  she  remembered  that  her  circum- 
tances  were  changed,  and  that  she  could  no 
onger  associate  with  the  rich  and  the  happy 
;pon  equal  terms ;  and  a  flush  rose  to  her  cheek 
s  she  felt  how  little  fitted  she  was,  either  by 
abit  or  association,  to  endure  the  mortification 
f  any  other  species  of  companionship. 
The  subject  was,  consequently,  dropped;  for  it 
as  one  in  which  the  old  lady  evidently  took 
ot  the  slightest  interest,  and  upon  which  Ger- 
ade  had  as  little  inclination  to  dwell. 
And  so  three  days  more  passed  on,  in  the  same 
earisome  routine  as  usual;  and  it  was  with  de- 
bt that  the  orphan,  on  the  morning  of  the 
urth,  hailed  the  return  of  the  Sabbath.  Sun- 
ay  was  to  her,  indeed,  a  day  of  rest  and  hap- 
iness;  the  holy  services  in  the  rustic  church, 
le  calm  and  impressive  manner  and  the  simple 
.oquence  of  the  venerable  pastor,  the  only 
uest  who  ever  passed  the  threshold  of  her  aunt, 
nd  for  whom  she  had  already  learnt  to  feel  a 
!verenee  and  regard,  which  he  repaid  in  fa- 
lerly  and  affectionate  kindness ;  the  respectful 
id  quiet  demeanor  of  the  simple  congratulation ; 
id  that  holy  calm  which  ever  prevades  the 
'untry  on  a  sabbath-day — all  conspired  to 
ake  it  a  festival  to  the  heart  of  the  orphan- 
rl.  Her  plain  and  mourning  toilette  was  soon 
ade;  the  solitary  bell  of  the  low  church  rang 
it  over  hill  and  valley  ;  and,  with  her  aunt 
laning  upon  her  arm,  she  once  more  advanced 


.•a: 
l-ot 


to  the  narrow  pew  of  which  she  was  a  constant 
occupant. 

The  infirmities  of  age  rendered  Miss  War- 
rington a  slow  walker,  and  the  services  had  jusst 
conunenced  when  tliey  entered.  For  a  con- 
siderable time  Gertrude  did  not  raise  lier  head, 
for  she  had  at  once  sank  upon  her  knees  as  she 
took  her  place ;  and  when  she  at  length  did  so 
she  threw  back  her  veil,  and  remained  looking 
earnestly  towards  the  clergy-man,  totally  ab- 
sorbed by  the  pious  oflices  in  wiiich  she  was 
engaged.  It  was  not  until  the  sern>on  was  near- 
ly concluded  that  she  chanced  to  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  curtained  pew  of  the  Ar/n- 
strongs  ;  and  she  almost  started  as  slie  perceived 
that  she  was  an  object  of  observation  to  more 
than  one  of  its  occupants.  She  instantly  with- 
drew her  eyes,  but  even  in  that  momentary 
glance  she  had  remarked  that  it  was  tenanted 
by  four  individuals ;  an  elderly  gentleman, 
elaborately  powdered  ;  a  portly  dame  of  abou. 
the  same  age,  and  two  youuger'ladies,  apparent- 
ly their  daughters.  She  perceived,  moreover, 
that  with  the  exception  of  those  of  the  matron, 
who  was  evidently  absorbed  by  the  rector's  dis- 
course, the  eyes  of  all  its  occupants  were,  in 
their  turn  directed  towards  herself. 

The  fact  was,  however,  a  very  simple  one ; 
as  she  was  in  all  probability,  the  sole  stranger 
at  that  moment  in  the  sacred  edifice,  and  suffi- 
ciently distinguished  by  the  simple  but  striking 
elegance  of  her  appearance  from  the  rest  of  the 
congregation  to  excite  observation ;  and  the 
only  effect  produced  upon  her  by  the  conviction 
that  she  had  been  an  object  of  remark,  was  her 
care  to  avoid  all  further  glances  in  the  direction 
of  the  Squire's  pew. 

Ere  long  the  service  drew  to  a  close ;  and, 
once  more  supporting  her  aged  relative,  Ger- 
trude left  the  church,  just  in  time  to  see  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Manor-House  enter  their 
plain  but  well-appointed  chariot,  and  disappear. 

"  There  go  the  Armstrongs,"  said  the  old  lady, 
as  she  drew  her  large  cloak  more  closely  round 
her,  and  leaned  heavily  upon  the  arm  of  her 
j-oung  companion,  while  they  threaded  their 
way  among  the  graves  ;  "  All  the  petty  gentry 
of  Bletchley  will  now  be  once  more  busy  with 
the  doings  at  the  Great  House ;  and  all  the  poor 
secure  of  help  for  the  next  three  months.  Our 
good  rector  alwaj-s  looks  cheerful  when  they  are 
in  their  places,  for  they  lighten  his  duties  by 
their  kindness  to  the  sick  ;  and  so  do  the  school- 
children, for  they  are  sure  of  not  being  over- 
looked in  some  way  or  abother." 

"  Could  they  have  a  better  or  a  holier  wel- 
come home  ?"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  as  a  tear 
swelled  in  her  gentle  eye. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  matter-of-fact  reply ; 
"  they  must  do  something,  and  I  suppose  their 
pride  suffers  less  from  charity  than  sociability. 
At  all  events,  you  now  know,  and  have  seen 
all  that  you  ever  will  know  or  see  of  the  Arm- 
strongs." 


CHAPTER  XXrV. 

The  Armstrongs  were  a  good  old  family,  and 
the  Manor-house    was   worthy   of  its   owners  ; 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


ftlthough  the  estat*  was  somewhat  ehorn  of  its 
pristine  splendor.  Once  the  lordly  domain  of 
bir  Couitenaye  Armstrong,  to  whom  belonged 
alike,  mansion,  village,  wood  and  hill,  it  had  in 
process  of  time  passed  to  the  grandson  of  his 
niece ;  who,  in  order  to  render  himself  legally 
eligihle  to  hold  the  property,  had,  by  royal 
patent,  assumed  the  name  and  arms  of  the 
Armstrongs;  although  the  spnrs  of  the  brave 
old  knigiit  were  not  fated  to  be  buckled  on  by 
his  descendants,  who  had  successively  shown 
tliemselves  rather  addicted  to  the  sports  of  the 
field  than  to  its  perils  ;  while  the  extent  of  the 
property  had  gradually  contracted  under  the 
pressure  of  debts  and  ditficulties. 

Knough,  however,  still  remained  to  render  the 
.-nanor  of  Bletchley  one  of  the  finest  estates  in 
the  county  ;  and  if  the  present  owners  were  a 
shade  less  popular  than  thej-  might  have  been 
among  their  immediate  neighbors,  that  circum- 
stance might  safely  be  attributed  to  the  fact, 
that  neither  by  station,  education,  or  habits, 
were  those  neighbors  eligible  to  the  acquaint- 
anceship to  which  some  among  them  so  eagerly 
asj)ired. 

But  while  the  petty  gentry  and  wealthy 
farmers  looked  with  some  asperity  and  indig- 
nation upon  what  they  considered  as  the  undue 
haughtiness  of  the  Armstrongs,  the  prayers  of 
tJie  needy  were  secured  to  them  by  their  unre- 
mitting attention  to  their  wants;  the  schools 
and  the  poorhouse  were  rich  with  their  gifts; 
and  the  cottages  of  the  laborer  and  the  peasant 
gladdened  by  their  benevolence. 

The  head  of  tlie  family  was  an  honest,  hearty, 
single-minded,  and  somewhat  eccentric  man, 
who  was  in  perfect  good-humor  both  with  him- 
felf  and  all  his  possessions  ;  and  quite  satisfied 
to  live  and  be  merry  as  long  as  he  could,  in  this 
best  of  all  possible  worlds ;  and  who,  as  he 
saw  prouder  and  nobler  neighbors  gradually 
rise  up  around  him,  and  occupy  with  their  more 
modern  mansions,  and  grace  by  their  more 
high-sounding  titles,  portions  of  the  land  which 
had  once  acknowledged  only  an  Armstrong  as 
its  lord,  remained  perfectly  careless  as  to  the 
e.xact  position  assigned  to  him  by  county  eti- 
quette, on  those  occasions  when  the  said  neigh- 
bors, who  had  obliged  him  by  assisting  in  the 
consumption  of  his  venison  and  claret,  in  thvir 
turn  invited  him  to  their  tables;  satisfied  that 
Lord  .lolin,  or  Sir  Harry,  were  only  parvenus  in 
the  county  after  all  ;  and  that"^  tTiey  would 
have  given,  and  gladly  given,  no  small  portion 
of  their  broad  acres  to  have  felt  themselves,  as 
he  did,  even  stronger  in  the  past  than  in  the 
present,  as  he  sat  among  the  monuments  of  his 
ancestors,  and  remembered  that  they  had  been 
lords  of  the  same  soil  for  centuries. 

A  good  landlord,  an  indulgent  master,  and  a 
liberal  patron  of  all  the  local  charities,  Mr. 
Armstrong  was  permitted  to  doze  away  the 
five-and-fhirty  minutes  generally  occupied  by 
the  weekly  sermon  f>f  tli,e  rector,  in  his  comfort- 
able and  well-cushioned  pew,  without  much 
ct)mment ;  while  the  demeanor  of  his  better 
half  was  so  perfectly  irreproachable,  as  she  sat 
in  the  most  scrupulouslj-  perpendicular  position, 
immediately  facing  the  minist^M-,  from  whose 
countenance  she  never  once  permitted  hei-self 


to  withdraw   her   eyes,   that   she   made  ampUl, 
amends  for  the  solecisms  of  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  a  portly  and  comely 
personage,  still  possessing  some  remains  of 
beauty  ;  or  rather  some  trace  of  the  ])rettineRs 
which  had,  ere  she  had  scarcely  attained  her 
si-xteenth  year,  won  the  heart  of  her  husband. 
Fine-t-empered  and  affectionate,  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  love  her  ;  although  equally  in> 
possible,  at  the  same  time,  to  repress  an  oc- 
casional smile  at  the  little  absurdities  into 
which  she  was  continually  betrayed  by  an 
education  barely  ebauchie,  and  a  remnant  of 
romance  which  offered  a  strange  contrast  with  ( 
her  portly  person  and  faded  face. 

The  girls  were  well-bred,  well-mannered,  and 
well-looking ;  a  century  in  advance  of  their 
parents  as  regarded  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  social  etiquette ;  but  gentle,  dutiful,  and 
exemplary  in  all  the  relations  of  domestic  life  ; 
while  their  only  brother,  the  hope  of  hia 
father  and  the  idol  of  his  mother,  possessed 
not  only  a  fine  person,  but  one  of  those  up- 
right and  noble  natures  which  tend  to  exalt 
humanity. 

Yielding  and  indulgent  upon  all  minor  points, 
Ernest  Armstrong  was  firmness  itself  in  all  mat- 
ters of  principle    and    right  feeling  :  incapable 
of  bartering   one  worthy    impulse    against  per-  i 
sonal  interest  or  self-aggrandizement,  or  of  com-  i 
mitting  one  disloyal  action  for  the  gratification  j 
of  a  selfish  caprice.     And  yet  even  he  was  not  j 
without  his  faults.     Who  is  so?     lie  was  aware  | 
of  both  his  personal  and  acquired  advantages;  j 
and,  perhaps,  prided  himself  a  shade  too  much  i 
on    each.      He    was   ambitious   too  ;    and    was 
ever  yearning  after  some  vague,  shapeless,  and 
untangible  vision,  to    which   he    was   unable  to 
give  either  a   local    habitation  or  a  name  ;  but 
which  filled  him  with  vain  aspirations  after  he  j 
knew  not  what,  and  rendered  him  less  satisfied 
than  he  should   have  been  with  the  actual  ad-  j 
vantages  of  his  position. 

The  sun  was  sinking,  and  jnst  as  its  last  and  J 
ruddiest    beam    flooded    the  beach-woods  with  | 
which    the    hills   were    clothed,    the    wide   and  j 
lofty  iron  gates  that  opened   upon  the  entrance  I 
court  of  Bletchley  House  were  flung  back,  and 
Ernest  Armstrong  galloped  up  to  the  foot  of  the 
broad  fligiit    of  steps,    flanked    with    eouchanl 
lions,  which  led  to  the  door  of  tlie  mansion,  and  ' 
sprang  hurriedly  from  "his   horse.     The  accus-  j 
tomed  word  of  comment  or  direction  was  un-  , 
said  to  his  smart  groom  as  he    strode  into  the  ' 
hall  ;  and   there   was   a  cloud    upon    his  brow  | 
which  told  that  whatever  had  been  his  errand  ij 
it  had  sped  ill.  | 

The  last  diimer-bell  was  ringing  as  he  crossed  j 
the    green,    and    he  at   once    proceeded    to  hi*  | 
dressing-room,  and    made   a    hasty  toilette,  e*«  • 
he    joined    the    family    party,    which   had  aj 
ready  proceeded    to  tiie  dining-room.     On  his 
entrance  every  eye  was  turned  j^ipon  him  ;  but 
the  eager  inquiry   which   had   risen   to  the  lips  ij 
of  his  fond    sister  remained  unuttered,  as  they 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  overshadowed  counte-  1 
nance,  and  felt  that,  imtil  the  disappearance  of 
the  servants,   they  must  abstain  from  all  ques- 
tioning, j 

Mi's.  Armstrong  was  in  her  place  at  the  ht  id 


iS(« 


■fc 
rli'i 

liS-te 

liiiriffi 


ktliis' 

rsiiii 
Bfme 

htJOtl 

btskl; 

knilii 


tes^iie, 
"Tot 
iami:' 


1 11'%  1 

JBiigto 

'''liiiiiti 

:\i 

"a  bit 
'itei 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


FS 


of  the  table,  where  she  sat  smiling  at  the  silver 
tureen  which  glittered  before  her,  as  she  was 
accustomed  to  smile  on  every  person  or  thing 
which  was  familiar  to  her;  while  "  the  Squire," 
as  he  loved  to  be  called,  was  as  jovial  as  his 
wont;  and  the  momentary  disturbance  oeea- 
gioned  by  the  tardy  entrance  of  his  son  otiee 
over,  he  resumed  his  soup  and  his  subject,  with- 
otit  seeming  to  remark  that  anything  had  oc- 
curred to  darken  a  orow  which  was  generally 
as  clear  and  as  bright  as  sunsliine. 

"  They  are  welcome  to  all  their  old  castles. 
Bay  I ;"  it  was  thus  that  he  gathered  up  again 
the  thread  of  his  foregone  discourse  ;  "  Give  me 
a  good,  honest,  substantial  dwelling-house,  with 
•well-fitted  doors  and  windows,  and  only  as  many 
galleries  alid  staircases  as  may  be  necessary  to 
lead  to  tlie  rooms.  As  for  your  vaults  and  your 
dungeons,  they  may  do  very  well  for  the  dead 
and  the  dismal ;  but  again  I  say,  give  me  a  range 
of  cool  cellarage,  well  stocked  with  generous 
old  wine.  I  have  no  taste  for  such  gimeracks, 
and  I  hope,  girls,  that  you  will  never  be  bitten 
by  this  absurd  mania  for  old  clothes  and  old 
moveables,  which  seems  to  be  making  .such  pro- 
gress among  us.  Nothing  but  wine  and  pictures 
improve  by  being — what  do  you  call  it?  Aye, 
rococo — that's  the  word,  and  a  queer  one  it  is, 
but  nothing  that  soimded  like  common-sense 
would  have  served  to  express  the  tomfoolery  of 
the  fancy.  Pass  the  hock,  Ernest,  after  you 
have  helped  yourself  Rococo  chairs,  forsooth  ! 
weighing  half  a  ton,  as  bolt  upright  as  a  promis- 
ing militia-man  at  drill,  or  carved  all  over,  arms, 
back,  and  legs,  as  if  to  give  you  a  hint  of  the 
tortures  of  the  Inquisition  by  bruising  every 
bone  in  your  skin.  I  trust  never  to  see  any 
such  worm-eaten  enormities  in  my  drawing- 
room." 

"  But  all  those  old-world  things  are  so  pic- 
turesque, papa,"  said  Eleanor. 

"  Very  !"  laughed  the  matter-of-fact  old  gen- 
tleman :  "  and  so  is  a  rock,  but  it  won't  grow 
cabbages  ;  and  the  moonliglit.  but  it  won't  force 
grapes  or  pine-apples.  Believe  me,  my  dear, 
that  the  most  sensible  and  rational  taste  is  that 
which  leads  people  to  appreciate  all  the  improve- 
ments tliat  are  making  fromyear  to  year,  and  to 
encourage  the  talent  and  industry  that  are  re- 
quired to  bring  them  to  bear.  If  people  are  to 
indulge  in  whims  of  rococo  and  their  great- 
great-grandfathers,  everything  may  as  well  stag- 
nate." 

"  And  yet,  sir,"  said  Ernest,  as  though  the  re- 
mark jarred  upon  the  current  of  his  own  silent 
tlioughts  ;  "  there  is  surely  some  respect  due  to 
tlie  memory  of  the  past — some  consideration 
owing  to  a  long  line  of  ancestry  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  there  is  I  We  should  be  the  first 
to  admit  tliat  fact,  my  boy.  I  am  only  quarrel- 
ing with  the  abuse  of  the  virtue." 
'  "  Then  the  principle  at  least  is  worthy,  even 
in  your  eyes,  papa,"  smiled  Mary ;  "  and  you 
are  candid  enough,  I  know,  to  concede  that  this 
itaste  for  antiquity  is  at  all  events  a  refined  one 
'even  in  its  absurdity." 

'  A  refined  fiddlestick  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Arm- 
iBtroug  good-humoredly ;  "I  am  not  going  to 
allow  you  to  distort  the  real  meaning  of  my  ad- 
imiseion ;  I  venerate  the  abstract  principle,  but 


I  detest  the  finicking  demonstrations.  I  lovo 
'and  reverence  tastes  tluit  encourage  progression, 
and  improve  and  advance  coTnmercial  interests, 
feed  the  poor  and  support  the  artizan.  Who 
ever  thouglit,  fifty  years  ago,  of  raking  refine- 
ment out  of  a  garret,  and  clothing  elegance  in 
the  faded  rags  of  a  dead  generation  ?" 

"  Still  you  must  admit  that  there  was  some- 
thing fine  and  chivalrous  in  the  feudal  dwellings 
of  the  old  barons,"  persisted  Eleanor. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
word^  my  dear.  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  should 
prefer  comfortable  to  chivalrous,  as  I  read  the 
term,  when  applied  to  the  building  in  which  I 
was  to  live.  Stone  floors,  easements  sunk  five 
feet  into  the  walls,  and  oubliettes,  may  be  very 
romantic  appurtenances  to  a  residence,  but  lam 
quite  unsophisticated  enough  to  be  as  well 
pleased  with  Brussels  carpets,  plate-glass  win- 
dows, and  conservatories." 

"  Some  castles  are  very  pretty,  nevertkeless, 
Mr.  Armstrong,"  softly  purred  his  helpmate  ; 
"  Only  remember  the  Tower  of  London  1  I'm 
sure  when  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  long  to  live 
there." 

"  Your  mother  has  settled  the  question  now  I 
think,  girls,"  laughed  her  husband  good-humor- 
edly. "  Why,  my  dear,  there  is  scarcely  a  stone 
in  the  whole  building  that  has  not  the  curse  of 
blood  upon  it  !  But  now  that  the  fruit  is  upon 
the  table,  and  the  servants  out  of  earshot — Give 
this  fine  ripe  peach  to  your  mother,  Eleanor — 
tell  us,  Ernest  my  boy,  what  has  gone  wrong 
with  you?" 

"  Everything,  my  dear  sir,"  was  the  moody 
reply. 

"  Why!  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  new- 
comers who  have  invaded  the  neighborhood  are 
likely  to  interfere  with  the  interests  of  a  family 
which  have  been  seated  in  the  county  for  cen- 
turies ?" 

"  And  yet  such  is  the  ease,  sir.  Of  our  own 
tenants  we  are,  of  course,  sure  enough  ;  and 
were  the  poor  voters,  my  mother  and  sisters 
would  have  secured  them ;  but  it  seems  that, 
with  the  yeomen  and  petty  gentry,  we  are  by 
no  means  so  popular.  You  do  not  give  sport- 
ing-dinners like  Lord  John,  nor  attend  vestry- 
meetings  like  Mr.  Hellingham,  nor  do  fifty  other 
things  which  would  bring  you  into  familiar  con- 
tact with  these  worthies ;  and  thus  they  have 
decided  that  neither  yourself  nor  your  son  are 
'  fit  and  proper  persons  to  represent  them  in 
Parliament.'  Half-a-dozen  electors,  to  whom  I 
made  known  our  intention  of  canvassing  the 
borough,  thanked  me  somewhat  superciliously 
for  the  honor  which  we  desired  to  confer  upon 
them,  politely  reminding  me  that,  altliough  the 
name  and  estate  of  the  owners  of  Bletchley 
House  were  well  known  to  all  the  eounfcy,  its 
inhabitants  were  strangers  in  their  own  land, 
and  gave  me  civilly  to  understand  that  they 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  us." 

"  W-h-e-w  !"  whistled  the  old  gentleman  ; 
"they  are  inclined  to  dictjite  to  us  our  duties, 
are  they  ?  To  draw  comparisons  between  uu 
and  a  bi-jiinless  young  prodigal  like  Lord  John, 
who  so  long  as  he  fills  his  house  with  noisy 
pai-asites.  cares  little  for  the  kind  of  society 
which  he   ought  properly  to  frequent;  and  a 


14 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


mumbling  old  meddler  like  Hcllingham,  -who 
contrives  to  keep  the  parish  in  hot  water,  about 
paltry  matters  which  one  dip  into  his  own 
purse  would  settle  aiuicably  at  once  ?  Give  it 
up  then,  my  boy;  give  it  up  at  once,  I  say. 
What  can  it  signify  to  either  of  xis  that  we  earn 
the  privilege  of  adding  two  capitals  to  our 
name  upon  the  back  of  a  letter,  and  of  being 
abused  in  the  newspapers  for  holding  our 
tongues  when  they  think  we  ought  to  have 
spoken,  or  for  having  given  our  opinion  when 
they  consider  that  we  should  have  remained 
■ilent." 

"  Yet  to  be  so  thoroughly  shelved  in  one's 
own  county  is  anything  rather  than  pleasant, 
•ir." 

"  Why,  hang  their  impudence !  so  it  is, 
Ernest,  and  I  don't  see  that  we  are  called  upon 
to  put  up  with  it,  if  you  feel  any  inclination  for 
us  to  try  our  strength.  We  have  no  reason  to 
ehrink  before  the  free  eloquence  of  the  hustings; 
■we  may  not  be  popular,  as  you  say,  but  we  can 
have  no  dirt  flung  into  our  faces  which  we  can- 
not readily  wipe  off.  Do  I  owe  any  man  a 
penny?  Am  I  ashamed  to  look  any  man  in  the 
face  throughout  the  county  ?  Can  I  not  answer 
boldly  to  my  name  in  any  place,  and  at  any 
time?"^  What  do  they  mean  by  my  being  un- 
popular?    We'll  try  it,  Ernest,  we'll  try  it." 

"  I  trust  j'ou  will,  sir,  for  tliere  can  be  no 
douht,  that  you  are  the  only  legitimate  repre- 
sentative of  this  borough." 

"  Or  you,  my  boy." 

"  Xo  sir,  not  I.  It  will  suffice  my  ambition 
to  follow  in  youi-  footsteps." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled  affectionately  upon 
his  son,  as  he  replied, 

"  But  the  idea  was  your  own,  Ernest ;  as  for 
me,  I  should  have  lived  my  life  out  without 
caring  one  straw  who  won  the  seat,  always 
provided  he  were  a  staunch  Tovy,  likely  to  do 
honor  to  his  party." 

"  You  should,  however,  remember  that  you 
owe  a  duty  to  the  county,  sir ;  all  your  wealthy 
neighbors  are  mere  parvenus  on  the  soil,  while 
Vou  have  only  to  point  to  the  vaults  of  Bletch- 
ley  eliurch  to  establish  your  claim,  and  to  justify 
your  position." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  Ernest;  it  shall  be  done." 

"  Then  we  have  no  time  to  lose,  my  dear  sir, 
for  I  understand  that  two  candidates  are  already 
in  the  field." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong 
heartily  ;  "  there  is  no  honor  in  walking  over 
the  course,  so,  early  to-morrow  we'll  commence 
our  canvass.  You,  girls,  must  drive  into  town, 
mount  your  smartest  bonnets,  and  lay  in  a  stock 
of  flounces  and  furbelows,  without  inquiring  too 
narrowly  as  to  the  piice ;  while  your  dear  mo- 
tlier  has  only  to  follow  up  her  usual  benevolent 
avocations  to  serve  the  good  cause  more  per- 
haps than  we  now  suspect.  There's  Jones  too, 
my  attornej%  as  good  and  as  honest  a  fellow  as 
ever  breathed,  will  help  us,  heart  and  hand,  I 
well  know,  for  half  a  do//rn  years  ago,  he  talked 
to  me  just  as  you  are  doing  to-day,  Ernest;  but 
you  were  then  at  college,  and  I  luid  no  induce- 
uient  to  trouble  myself  upon  the  s\ibjeet.  Now, 
however,  the  case  i*  altered,  and  I  fiH'l  that  I 
Lave  no  light  to  shriiik  from  smoothing  your 


path  for  the  future.     But  who  are  the  declare4  1 
candidates?" 

"  Lord  John  Somers  starts  in  the  Whig  in-  ■ 
terest,  of  course." 

"  Naturally.     You  seldom  know  a  duke's  son, 
emancipated  from  paternal  rule,  who  does  not  i 
show  his  independence  by  opposing  his  father's 
political  principles,  and  establishing  himself  aa 
a  man  of  the  people." 

"  And  then — And  this  is  the  opponent  who  is 
likely  to  give  us  the  most  trouble :  there  is  Sir 
Harry  Vane,  Tory  to  the  back-bone." 

"  Aye,  Sir  Harry  is  staunch ;  it  almost  irks 
me  to  oppose  him." 

"  He  has,  however,  already  shown  that  he, 
on  his  side,  has  no  such  scruples."  • 

"  All  the  better,  my  boy,  all  the  better;  there 
is  the  less  occasion  for  delicacy.  And  if  he  only 
doses  his  voters  with  new  wine,  as  he  did  his  i 
friends  the  last  time  we  dined  at  The  Chase,  he 
will  not  fail  to  set  their  teeth  on  edge,  and  de- 
liver them  over,  sad  and  squeamish,  into  our 
hands." 

"  Yet  there  are  persons,  my  dear  sir,  who 
prefer  thin  port  and  muddy  sherry  to  no  wine 
at  all." 

"Which  means — ?  Come,  speak  out,  boy,  you 
know  that  I  hate  all  reservations  in  a  family. 
Let  me  understand  the  drift  of  your  remark." 

"  Englishmen  seldom  vote  freely  on  an  em]>ty 
stomach,  and  prefer  a  shake  of  the  hand  to  a 
touch  of  the  hat." 

"  The  last  I  will  freely  give  them,  but  I  shall 
hardly  brook  to  feast  the  Smiths,  Browns, 
Joneses,  and  Robinsons,  under  the  roof  of  my 
ancestors.  If  I  can  compromise  the  matter  by 
feeding  them  at  the  Red  Lion — " 

"  Such  an  arrangement  must  not  even  be  con- 
templated," e.xelaiined  young  Armstrong  eager- 
ly :  "  It  would  swamp  us  at  once.  Ko  people 
are  more  exacting  than  voters  on  the  eve  of  an 
election,  and  I,  moreover,  confess  that  I  was 
quite  unprepared  for  such  fastidiousness  on  your 
part,  my  dear  sir,  when  I  remembered  how  little 
you  have  appeared  to  insist  upon  your  privileg- 
es, and  to  stand  by  your  order,  ever  since  1  havo 
been  old  enough  to  remark,  and  to  comment 
upon  your  mode  of  life." 

"  What !  Because  I  am  so  thoroughly  con- 
scious of  my  true  position  in  the  county  that  I 
am  careless  of  enforcing  its  rights,  you  imagine 
that  I  should  readily  play  the  host  to  a  mob  of ; 
semi-genteel,  presuming  and  underbred  men, 
about  whom  I  neither  know,  nor  ought  to  know, 
anything?" 

"  You  cannot  do  without  them ;  and  more- 
over, the  election  once  past,  you  need  no  long*  r 
annoy  yourself  or  your  family  by  continuing 
their  acquaintance." 

"Kay, — hang  it!"  expostulated  the  honcat- 
hearted  old  Squire ;  "  that  were  indeed  a  ver- 
sion of  '  the  orange  sucked,  we  throw  the  peel 
away.'  Recollect,  young  gentleman,  that  the 
appeal  which  I  am  about  to  make,  since  you  de- 
clare that  it  must  and  ought  to  be  made,  will 
be  addressed,  not  to  strangers,  but  to  my  neigh- 
bors; men  whose  forefatliers  remember  mine, 
and  who  would  justly  consider  themselves  ag-| 
grieved,  should  I  carry  the  matter  off"  in  so  cool 
a  manner  aa  you  advise.     It  strikes  me,  Ernest, 


•II 

I  |b1« 


TItE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


that  such  blind  and  selfish  policy  would  leave 
the  Armstrong  interest  at  a  discount,  and  some- 
what interfere  with  your  own  views  in  the  event 
of  my  death." 

"  Well,  sir,  perhaps  you  are  right,  and  even 
in  that  case  you  will  be  no  worse  off  than  some 
of  the  proudest  and  noblest  of  our  neighbors." 

"  Aye,  confound  it!"  conceded  Mr.  Armstrong, 
■  when  a  duke's  son  turns  liberal  he  plays  his 
card  with  a  vengeance.  I  verily  believe  that 
there  is  not  one  owner  of  a  brass-plated  door  in 
the  whole  borough  who  has  not,  on  some  occa- 
eion  or  other,  found  his  legs  under  my  Lord 
John's  mahogany.  Still,  I  say,  that  I  dislike  the 
system ;  not  from  personal  pride  as  you  well 
know,  but  because  I  do  think,  and  always  shall 
think,  that  a  line  should  be  drawn,  and  never 
overpassed  upon  any  pretext,  confining  each 
class  of  society  to  its  proper  limits." 

"  I  hope  that  you  do  not  intend  to  sport  that 
sentiment  upon  the  hustings,"  said  his  son  -with 
a  smile. 

"  Confound  the  hustings !"  retorted  the 
Squire,  as  he  filled  his  fourth  glass  of  port,  and 
held  it  up  admiringly  to  the  light.  "  Have  your 
own  way,  however,  my  boy,  and  arrange  every 
thing  as  you  think  best.  I  suppose  in  these 
reforming  days  all  my  old-world  prejudices 
must  be  laid  aside ;  only  thus  much  I  will  not 
concede.  You  and  I  may  make  shift  to  be  hand 
and  glove  with  the  male  portion  of  the  popu- 
lation, and  no  great  harm  can  ensue,  but  1  will 
have  no  intrusion  on  my  wife  and  daughters ; 
no  Mrs.  Tomkins  or  Miss  Simkins  introduced 
into  my  drawing-rooms.  Neither  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong nor  the  girls  are  ambitious  of  a  seat  in 
I'arliament." 

"  Had  Ernest  included  us  in  his  universal- 
visiting  scheme,"  said  Eleanor  laughingly,  "  I 
should  like  to  have  commenced  my  social  cru- 
sade by  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  sweet- 
■  looking  girl  in  deep-mourning,  who  sat  in  the 
next  pew  to  the  rector's  last  Sunday  ;  I  do  not 
think  that  I  ever  saw  a  more  lovely  face." 

"  Or  a  more  ladylike  deportment,"  followed 
up  Mary ;  "  Who  can  she  be  ?  I  never  remarked 
her  at  Bletchley  church  before." 

"  Saunders  tells  me,"  murmured  the  oily  voice 
of  Mrs.  Armstrong,  as  she  looked  up  from  her 
plate,  where  she  had  been  playing  with  a  piece 
of  preserved  ginger,  and  listening  with  secret 
dismay  to  the  discussion  between  her  husband 
and  her  son  ;  "  Saunders  tells  me  that  she  has 
been  here  for  some  weeks,  and  that  she  is  the 
niece  of  an  old  maiden  lady,  a  sort  of  decayed 
gentlewoman,  who  receives  no  one  but  Dr. 
Simmonds,  and  although  in  straightened  circum- 
stances, owns  the  house  she  lives  in,  and  is  as 
proud  as  she  is  poor." 

"  What  a  pity !"  exclaimed  young  Armstrong 
suddenly  looking  up  ;  "  had  she  only  been  an 
uncle  instead  of  an  aunt,  she  would  have  had  a 
vote." 

"  Now,  fie  upon  you  for  a  recreant,  Ernest!" 
said  Mary  playfully  ;  "  here  we  are  talking  of 
one  of  the  sweetest-looking  creatures  upon 
earth,  and  you  are  coldly  speculating  upon  her 
maiden  aunt." 

"  You  forget  that  I  have  never  seen  this 
Bletchley  beauty,  and  that  we  are  on  the  eve 


of  a  general  election.  I  promise,  however,  to 
favor  you  with  my  opinion  as  to  her  personul 
merits  before  you  are  eight  and  forty  hours 
older.     Will  that  satisfy  you  ?" 

"  Not  altogether  ;  as  I  shrewdly  suspect  that 
your  decision  will  be  considerably  affected  by 
the  old  lady's  politics.  If  you  secure  her  in- 
terest, you  will  expatiate  on  the  Venus ;  but 
should  the  ancient  gentlewoman  read  you  a 
Whig  lecture,  you  will  see  everything' through 
a  glass  darkly,'  and  turn  traitor  to  your  own 
taste." 

"  In  which  case  I  will  bear  witness  against 
him,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong :  "  for  a  prettier  little 
sylph  never  sported  bombazine  and  crape.  Poor 
thing  !  poor  thing !  'tis  but  a  sad  dress  for  one 
so  young,  and  apparently  so  helpless.  An  or- 
phan, I  have  no  doubt." 

"  If  I  thought  so — "  commenced  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, and  paused. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  if  you  thought  so,  what 
would  be  the  consequence  f"  inquired  the  old 
gentleman. 

"  Oh,  nothing  wrong,  you  may  be  sure,  my 
love,"  replied  Mrs.  Armstrong,  nervously  twitch- 
ing the  strings  of  her  cap  ;  "  only  it  struck  me 
that  if  she  really  is  a  gentlewoman,  you  might 
not  object,  although  she  is  poor,  to  my  showing 
her  some  civility.  I  have  daughters  of  my 
own,  and  they  will  be  orphans  some  day,  Mr. 
Armstrong." 

"  Not  yet,  my  dear;  not  yet,  I  hope,"  said  the 
squire;  "but  you  are  quite  right.  If  she  should 
really  prove  to  be  a  gentlewoman — " 

"  And  if  her  aunt  really  has  any  political  in- 
terest," broke  in  his  son. 

The  sisters  laughed,  and  even  their  father 
joined  in  the  merriment,  as  he  I'esumed  waggish- 
ly :— 

"  Why,  I  see  no  reason  to  object  to  your  show- 
ing her  a  little  attention,  if  such  a  prospect  does 
not  alarm  the  girls." 

"Nonsense,  papa!" 

"  Very  well;  the  pei-il  be  on  your  own  heads. 
But  we  must,  first,  make  some  inquiries  about 
the  young  lady." 

"  Our  good  rector,  mamma  says,  is  acquainted 
with  her  aunt.  He  will  be  excellent  authority," 
said  Eleanor. 

"  Undeniable.  So,  you  had  better  question 
him  upon  the  subject." 

"  Poor  thing,"  murmured  Mrs.  Armstrong; "  an 
orphan !  I  shall  be  sure  to  like  her,  for  I  am 
an  orphan  myself." 

"  Of  some  years'  standing,  my  dear,"  said  her 
husband  with  a  smile ;  "  and  probably  better  re- 
conciled to  your  fate  than  this  mourning  beauty. 
However,  all  I  have  to  require  is,  that  you  will 
take  no  steps  in  the  business  until  you  have  con- 
sulted Dr.  Simmoiids.  Her  appearance  is  cer- 
tainly  much  in  her  favor." 

And  the  subject  drojtped.  The  two  girls  were 
anxious  to  possess  a  new  friend,  their  mother  to 
do  a  kind  action,  and  her  son  to  further  his  elec- 
tioneering interests. 


I'HE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Oy  the  following  day,  all  Blctchley  -was  in 
commotion.  The  two  Armstrong  carriages  had 
traversed  the  village  de  bout  en  bout,  a  circum- 
stance which  had  not  occurred  within  the 
memory  of  "the  oldest  inh.ibitant;"  but  even 
this  marvel  ceased  to  be  matter  of  astonishment, 
or  rather,  was  absorbed  in  a  wonder  still  moie 
wonderful,  when  tlie  barouche,  which  contained 
the  three  ladies  of  the  fiimily,  was  seen  to  stop 
at  the  door  of  Miss  Warrington,  and,  after  a  brief 
parley  between  the  portly  footman  of  the  Squire 
and  the  mature  attendant  of  the  maiden  lady, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughters  actually  de- 
scended from-  their  equipage,  and  entered  the 
house. 

What  could  it  mean?  Never  before  had  such 
an  occurrence  taken  place  at  Bletchley;  and,  al- 
tliough  the  "professional  men"  of  the  adjoining 
town^  who  had  "  boxes"  in  and  about  the  hamlet, 
had  long  considered  themselves  aggrieved,  yet 
they  had  always  declared  themselves  delighted, 
that  the  Armstrong  family  had  never  made  the 
slightest  advances  towards  an  acquaintanceship, 
wliich,  alike  as  neighbors  and  as  "  professional 
man,"  they  considered  to  be  justly  their  right. 

And  now — when  at  lengtli  the  inmates  of  the 
Great  House  had  apparently  resolved  to  alter 
their  tactics — How  had  they  commenced?  Kot 
bv  rendering  honor  where  honor  might  be  said 
to  be  due,  but  by  making  their  first  visit  to  an 
old,  impoverisheij,  and  iminfluential  gentlewo- 
man, who  had  herself  lent  a  decided  aggrava- 
tion to  tlie  case  by  the  fact  that,  although  an 
inhabitant,  and  even  a  householder  in  the  vil- 
lage for  many  years,  she  had  never  swerved 
from  her  original  determination — not  to  admit 
a  single  neighbor  under  her  roof,  save  the  elder- 
ly and  widowed  rector,  to  whom  she  was  furn- 
ished with  a  letter  of  introduction,  and  whom 
slie  consequently  considered  at  once  as  her 
friend  and  her  pastor,  and  Mr.  I'ilbeam,  the 
apothoijiry,  on  the  occasion  of  an\-  indisposition. 

Not  ev.^n  the  kind  attention  and  sympathy 
wliich  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  constantly  and  libe- 
rally evinced  towards  tlie  two  invalid  daughters 
of  a"  former  curate  of  Bletchley,  elderly  maiden 
Indies,  the  one  deaf,  and  the  other  paralytic,  and 
wliich  linil  been  demonstrated  in  a  manner  at 
jnce  costly  and  delicate,  although,  in  deference 
to  the  wislies  of  her  husband,  she  had  never 
made  tln-ir  afquiiint.ance  ;  had  any  effect  in  less- 
<  ning  their  indignation,  when,  as  they  sat  be- 
hind tiie  rusty  Venetian  blind  of  their  solitary 
window,  a;nu-*ing  themselves,  as  was  tlieir  wont, 
bv  wnti-hing  every  thing  that  passed  in  the  dull- 
est of  all^duU  village  streets,  and  informing 
thems'lves,  in  so  far  as  their  obtuse  faculties 
|)er:nittf<l  them  so  to  do,  of  all  the  affairs  of  their 
neiL'hliors  ;  they  detected  the  arrival  of  the  lady 
(if  the  Manor  with  her  two  blooming  daughters, 
niiil  their  actual  entrance  beneath  the  roof  of 
tlie  poor  and  proud  Miss  Warrington ;  who,  de- 
s|)ite  nil  their  own  advances,  still  continued  as 
great  a  stranger  to  them  as  when  she  first  took 
possession  of  the  dingy  old  house  bequeathed  to 
her  by  her  godmother,  aad  became  a  denizen  of 
the  hamlet 


"  What's  in  the  wind  now  ?"  exclaimed  Misa 
Margery,  as  with  a  shaking  head,  she  forced 
aside  one  of  the  laths  of  the  blind  in  order  to 
obtain  a  better  view  of  the  proceedings  across 
the  way  ;  "  What's  in  the  wind  now  {"  she  re- 
peated, raising  her  voice  to  the  exact  and  well- 
studied  pitch  which  rendered  it  tolerably  audible 
to  her  sister ;  "  Is  the  sky  about  to  rain  larks  f 
And  are  the  grandees  of  the  Great  House  about 
to  favor  the  gentry  of  Bletchley  with  their  no- 
tice at  last  ?" 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  replied  Priscilla 
shrewishly  ;  "  though  it  strikes  me  that  it  would 
have  been  more  becoming  had  they  paid  their 
first  visit  to  the  daughters  of  a  former  pastor. 
However,"  she  added,  stroking  into  more  ap- 
proved order  the  neckerchief  of  snowy  muslia 
which  was  primitively  crossed  over  hei-  bosom, 
and  sweeping  into  a  capacious  basket  a  pile  of 
sundries  rej)resenting  needlework  ;  "  we  must 
not  resent  the  slight,  or  we  shall  got  no  more 
game  and  old  wine ;  though  our  thouijhts  are 
our  own,  and  our  feelings  upon  the  subject  can- 
not be  altered." 

"  If  you  really  think  they  are  coming  here — " 
began  Miss  Margery  in  her  shrill  tone. 

"  7/' I  think!"  interposed  her  more  captious 
sister  ;  "  There  can  be  no  doubt  upon  the  sub- 
ject to  any  person  of  sense,  and  their  having 
gone  first  to  Miss  Warrington's  is  in  all  probabi- 
lity a  mistake.  You  really  have  no  proper 
pride,  Margery,  or  you  must  at  once  see  the 
utter  impossibility  of  theit  visiting  any  one  in 
the  village,  and  passing  us  over." 

"  Well,  very  likely  you  are  right,"  conceded 
the  tottering  woman  so  vehemently  addressed ; 
"  I  am  sure  1  do  not  wish  to  contradict  you,  and 
I  was  only  about  to  suggest  that  we  haVl  better 
defer  our  dinner  until  after  their  departure. 

"  There  is  some  sense  in  that,  at  all  events," 
said  the  conciliated  Priscilla,  "and  as  the  parlor 
is  tolerably  tidy,  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
watch  for  them." 

"  Ah  !  Thompson,  how  are  you  ?"  exclaimed 
the  fussy  little  apothecaiy,  as  he  extended  hig 
hand  to  shake  that  of  a  portly  ex-stockbroker, 
who,  having  been  nearly  "  cleared  out  "  on 
'Change,  had  retired  to  Bletchley  with  his  wife 
and  daughter,  to  exist  as  they  best  might  upon 
the  dregs  of  what  was  once  a  snug  little  fortune; 
"  Gay  doings  this  morning  in  the  village,  eh  f 
The  Armstrong  carriage,  I  see,  at  the  door  of 
my  patient  Miss  Warrington — Something  new, 
eh  ?     What  can  be  the  meaning  of  it  ?" 

"  Her  house  is  her  own,"  growled  Mr.  Thomp- 
son. 

"  Why,  so  is  yours,  and  so  is  mine,  but  thai 
fact  will  not  answer  ni}'  question." 

"  Your  house  is  not  your  own,  Pilbeam,  you 
only  rent  it,  and  I  am  in  the  same  case,  or  the 
barouche  would  have  stopped  at  our  doors  in- 
stead of  hers." 

"  What  can  they  care  about  that,  eh  ?  They 
are  not  likely  to  wish  to  hire  the  house." 

"  Pshaw !"  muttered  the  ex-stockbroker,  shrug 
ging  his  broad  shouldei-s,  "  The  ladies  are  can. 
vassing,  that's  all." 

"  Oh!  they  are,  eh?  To  be  sure  they  are  I 
How  dull  1  was  not  to  understand  the  manoeuvre. 
But  I  must  just  slip  back,  and  warn  Mrs.  Pit 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


81 


beain  that  she  will  soon  have  company,  for  I 
'ihave  a  vote  for  the  borough." 

•  Oh !  you  have,  have  you :"  was  the  surly 
ri-ply;  "  TJieii  I  won't  detain  j-ou,  or  Mrs.  I'il 
Ix-iira  may  not  have  time  to  change  lier  cap  be 
fore  the  enemj'  are  upon  her,  and  you  can't  do 
less  than  vote  for  old  Armstrong,  you  know, 
wlien  the  ladies  become  personal  friends.     You 

I  must  pocket  your  principles,  Piibcara,  or  you 
may  chance  to  damage  your  practice  ;"  and 
with  this  parting  courtesy  Mr.  Tliompson  mov 
ed  on. 

"  Surly  old  brute!"  muttered  the  dapper  little 
apothecary  as  he  hastily  retrod  his  steps  towards 

Iiliome  ;  "  And  a  constitution  like  a  horse  ;  the 
j  man's  an  eyesore  to  me." 
I  "  What  can  have  taken  the  Armstrongs  to  old 
Misss  "Warrington's  ?"  said  the  comely  widow  of 
a  dissenting  minister,  who  had  fixed  her  resi- 
dence at  Bletchloy,  in  order  that  her  gawky  son 
might  profit  by  the  advantage  of  a  Wesleyan 
school  established  in  the  village ;  "  I  never  was 
so  surprised  in  my  life  !" 

"  I'm  not,"  was  the  concise  reply  of  the  young 
hopeful. 

"  And  why  are  you  not  surprised!"  asked  his 
mother  in  amazement. 

"  Because  I  ain't." 

"  Well,  80  you  say ;  but  surely  you  can  give  a 
reason!" 

"The  pretty  girl's  my  reason,"  grinned  Master 
Abinadab ;  "  her  son's  made  her  do  it.  It's  quite 
natural." 

"  Abinadab !"  ejaculated  the  pious  relict  of  the 
departed  preacher,  "  What  can  you  mean  ?" 

"  Just  what  I  say.  And  I  only  wish  that  I 
could  go  to  church  every  Sunday,  to  sit  and  look 
at  her  at  my  ease  ;  for  she's  the  prettiest  girl 
that  ever  I  laid  my  eyes  on." 

"  Go  to  church !"  almost  screamed  the  matron ; 
"  go  to  church,  did  j-ou  say  ?  This  must  be 
looked  to.  How  will  the  discreet  and  holy  Mr. 
Longwind  mourn  over  you  when  he  hears  that 
your  father's  son  is  on  the  high  road  to  per- 
dition !" 

"  You  needn't  tell  him,"  was  the  dogged  re- 
ply; "  and  if  he  even  mourned  in  sack  cloth  and 
ashes,  he  couldn't  prevent  my  saying  that  Miss 
Warrington's  niece  is  the  prettiest  girl  in  Bletch- 
ley." 

The  widow  sank  back  upon  her  chair  aghast. 
She  had  never  hitherto  suspected  that  the  edu- 
cation of  her  hopeful  son  was  so  far  advanced. 

Little  did  goodnatured  Mrs.  Armstrong,  or  her 
daughters,  suspect  the  commotion  which  their 
advent  had  created  in  Bletehley  ;  little  did  they 
imagine  that  their  visit  to  the  orphan  had  de- 
furred  a  dinner,  prompted  an  impertinence,  and 
alarmed  the  sectarian  jealousy  of  a  Wesleyan 
mother.  And  yet  so  it  was;  and  had  I,  Asmo- 
ili;us-like,  introduced  my  readers  into  the  secrets 
of  every  family  in  the  village,  I  could  have  con- 
viticed  them  that  the  "  sensation,"  as  the  French 
designate  an  excitement  of  this  description,  was 
universal. 

Happily  ignorant  of  the  fact,  however,  the 
tliree  ladies  entered  the  neat  and  cheerful  little 
parlor  in  which  Gertrude  and  her  aunt  were 
seated,   with  a  single-hearted   desire   alike   to 


please  and  to  be  pleased;  nor  did  they,  in  that 
I  humble  habitation,  encounter  anything  wliieh 
i  jarred  upon  their  refinement,  or  prompted  them 
to  regret  the  kindly  feeling  by  wliich  they  had 
been  led  to  visit  it. 

Miss  Warrington,  unaccustomed  as  she  hod 
been  for  years  to  receive  guests  bciieatli  her 
roof,  had,  nevertheless,  never  forgotten  she  waa 
entitled  by  her  birth  to  find  herself  in  the  most 
unexceptionable  society,  and  to  hold  her  plac« 
even  among  tlie  most  fastidious  on  the  question 
of  family  and  breeding  ;  nor  was  the  quiet  and 
somewhat  stern  dignity  of  her  deportment  lessen- 
ed by  a  slight  siiade  of  displeasure  at  the  fai't 
that  the  ladies  of  the  Manor-house  had  tiiua 
forced  themselves  upon  her  acquaintance,  despit-e 
her  declaration  that  she  Avould  hold  communica- 
tion with  no  one  in  the  parish,  save  the  rector; 
lAd  that  the  politeness  now  tendered  had,  more- 
over, been  tardy  in  its  demonstration.  Indeed, 
had  the  visit  been  made  (as  we  are,  however, 
aware  that  it  never  would  have  been)  before 
Gertrude  became  her  inmate,  and  had  clothed  in 
comfort  and  elegance  the  previous  nakedness  of 
the  land,  she  felt  that  her  wounded  pride  would 
have  been  too  powerful  for  her  courtesy;  for  no- 
thing is  more  easily  mortified  than  tlie  self- 
esteem  of  genteel  poverty ;  but  now,  as  she 
glanced  round  her  modest  room,  she  saw  littU 
to  irritate  or  to  excite  an  uncomfortable  sensa- 
tion. 

Erect,  stately,  and  unbending,  there  was  no 
shadow  of  obsequiousness  in  the  welcome  which 
she  uttered  to  her  unexpected  guests.  Had  they 
been  the  acquaintance  of  years  she  could  not 
liave  exhibited  greater  ease  or  self-possession  ; 
and  while  the  whole  frame  of  Gertrude  quiver- 
ed with  pleasure  her  aunt  remained  as  perfectly 
unmoved  as  though  she  rather  permitted  than 
exulted  in  the  compliment  which  was  now  paid 
to  her. 

The  unassuming  manner  of  Mrs.  .Armstrong, 
and  the  honesty  of  her  nature,  were  well  calcu- 
lated to  remove  even  the  slight  feeling  of  annoy- 
ance which  the  maiden  lady  had  originally  been 
disposed  to  indulge  ;  and  thus,  as  she  listened  to 
the  kindly-intentioned  but  not  very  profound 
discourse'  of  her  visitor,  the  fingers  of  Miss  War- 
rington gradually  relaxed  their  convulsive  grasp, 
her  mouth  resumed  its  natural  proportions,  and 
even  her  figure  began  to  lose  somewhat  of  ita 
rectangular  rigidity ;  and  meanwhile  the  threa 
younger  ladies  were  already  engaged  in  cheer- 
ful and  unembarrassed  conversation  upon  th« 
thousand  and  one  subjects  which  young  ladiea 
love. 

The  piano,  the  drawing-stand,  and  the  work- 
frame,  all  afforded  admirable  texts;  and  befoiO 
they  parted,  the  happy  orphan,  who  felt  her 
heart  once  more  expand  beneath  th^infiuenee 
of  congenial  society,  had  already  initiated  Mi.ss 
Annstrong  into  the  mysteries  of  a  new  tapestry- 
stitch,  and  promised  to  assist  Mary  in  a  difiicu'lt 
point  of  perspective. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  d«ar  Miss  Warrington," 
prattled  on  the  good-natured  lady  of  the  Manor; 
"  that  I  am  delighed  to  iiave  a  neighbor  at  last. 
It  has  not  been  my  fault  that  I  liave  been  so 
long  without  one ;  but  Mr.   Armstrong   is   not 


TIIE  niVAL  BEAUTIES. 


fond  of  country  neighbors,  and  it  is  my  duty, 
Tou  know,  to  consult  bis  pleasure  in  every- 
thing." 

'•  In  that  case,  however,  madam — "  began  her 
listener,  with  a  sudden  resumption  of  dignity, 
and  clasiiung  of  the  fingers. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say," 
laughed  the  light-hearted  matron  ;  "  that  in  such 
a  case  1  had  better  not  have  come  here  now ; 
bat  I  a.ssure  you,  that  as  regarded  yourself,  Mr. 
Armstrong  had  no  objection;  none  in  the  world; 
quite  the  contrary.  I  am  so  ghid  to  know  yon, 
and  he  will  be  so  glad  to  know  you  ;  and  the 
girls  will  be  so  glad  to  know  each  other ;  that 
it  is  only  a  pity  we  did  not  make  our  acquaint- 
ance before." 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,  my  dear  ma- 
dam," said  Miss  "Warrington,  as  soon  as  the  volu- 
bility of  her  companion  enabled  her  to  profit 
by  a  pause  ;  "  I  am  naturally  much  flattered  by 
tlie  offer  of  a  friendship  totally  unexpected  and 
unsought  on  my  part:  and  I  beg  you  to  believe 
that  wheuever"^you  feel  it  pleasant  to  exchange 
the  luxury  of  your  own  home  for  the  modest 
obscurity  of  mme,  I  shall  always  be  honored  by 
your  presence,  but  I  never  leave  my  own 
house ;  I  have  not  done  so  for  years ;  never, 
indeed,  since  I  was  left  an  orphan,  and  my  own 
mistress." 

"  How  very  singular !"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
with  a  smile  which  revealed  her  still  beautiful 
teeth ;  "  we  are  only  five  in  number  at  this 
moment,  and  three  of  us  are  orphans  ;  for  Miss 
Mortimer,  I  apprehend,"  she  added,  sinking  her 
voice  to  a  whisper,  "  is  also  motherless." 

"  And  fatherless,"  followed  up  her  interlocu- 
tor, in  an  accent  of  deep  feeling  which  could 
scarcely  have  been  expected  from  one  so  rigid, 
and  apparently  so  passionless ;  "  Nay,  I  may 
almost  add,  friendless ;  for  my  poor  Gertrude  has 
no  other  protector  than  myself,  and  at  my  age, 
I  cannot  long  expect  to  be  spared  to  her." 

"  You  are  quite  wrong,  my  dear  lady,  quite 
wrong,"  eagerly  replied  the  kind-hearted  Mrs. 
Armstrong ;  "  she  has  a  warm  and  a  sincere 
friend  in  Dr.  Simmonds.  He  speaks  of  her  in 
raptures.  And  I  am  certain  that  when  we  know 
moi-c  of  each  other,  we  shall  all  be  her  friends. 
Only  see  how  Mary  and  Eleanor  are  getting  on ! 
Now,  who  would  believe  that  they  had  never 
spoken  to  each  other  an  hour  ago!  But  to  be 
sure,  our  good  rector  had  ali-eady  made  them 
acquainted  with  your  charming  niece;  so  I  dare 
Bay  they  felt  the'mselves  at  home  w 
once." 

Still  a  shadow  darkened  the  faded  brow  of 
Miss  AVarrington.  It  would  have  been  easy  for 
n  spectator  to  decide  that,  in  her  opinion,  the 
young  ladies  were  "getting  on"  too  fast.  They 
had  (virncd  over  all  Gertrude's  portfolios,  had 
raiisackfd  all  her  loose  music,  had  unfolded  her 
tnpistry.  and  at  last  appeared  inclined  to  try 
tlie  tone  of  her  instrunient. 

Nor  was  this  closing  suspicion  an  erroneous 
otie;  for  in  ai>  anotiier  moment  Miss  Armstrong 
was  seated  at  the  piano,  and  enabling  even  the 
modest  orphan  to  feel  that,  biilliant  and  sliowy 
as  was  the  execution  lo  wliieh  she  listened,  she 
could  fear  no  rivaliv  in  tluit  particular  acconi- 
plishuient ;    in   which,   thanks    to    the    finished 


science  of  Sybil,  she  was  so  thorough  a  proficient, 
that  she  had  even  occasionally  glanced  at  the 
possibility  that,  should  she  ever  be  reduced  to 
the  necessity  of  eking  out  her  slender  income  by 
her  own  exertions,  she  might  safelj'  depend 
upon  her  knowledge  of  music  for  a  livelihood. 

"  I  have  already  spoken  of  myself,  ilrs.  Arm- 
strong," said  the  proud  maiden-lady  at  length 
after  an  evident  struggle  with  her  feelings,  and 
under  cover  of  the  noise  produced  by  the  nin^ 
ble  fingers  of  the  young  musician.  "  And  I  am 
now  anxious  to  speak  to  you  of  my  niece.  I  am 
quite  sure  that  you  mean  nothing  but  kindnea 
to  both  of  us;  but  that  kindness  may  work  a 
vast  deal  of  evil  to  Gertrude.  She  is  a  good 
girl,  a  very  good  girl ;  she  has  made  me  happie? 
than  I  ever  expected  again  to  be  in  this  Ufe; 
but  I  know  that  she  is  herself  unhappy  ;  I  know 
that  she  must  be  so  under  my  roof.  She  has 
been  reared  in  luxury,  and  she  is  poor.  I  had 
hoped,  and  I  still  hope  to  reconcile  her  by  de- 
grees to  the  great  change  which  has  taken  place. 
She  has  good  sense,  and  good  feeling,  and  she 
will  gradually  reconcile  herself  to  her  fate,  if 
she  is  left  to  struggle  against  it  in  obscurity ; 
but  I  cannot  answer  for  the  eft'ect  which  may 
be  produced  upon  her  mind  by  constant  associa- 
tion with  companions  so  difterenfly  circum- 
stanced as  your  daughters.  I  fear  that  she  will 
begin  to  repine,  to  fret,  to  grieve  once  more 
over  all  that  she  has  lost ;  in  short,  I  tell  yon 
frankly,  that  I  see  nothing  but  danger  and  soi^ 
row  in  the  prospect  of  a  friendship  with  youi 
family." 

"  Then  you  do  not  like  us  ?"  asked  her  visitor, 
with  another  sunny  smile,  which  showed  how 
easily  and  trustfully  she  anticipated  the  reply 
of  her  companion. 

"  My  only  fear,"  said  Miss  Warrington,  laying 
her  thin  hand  upon  that  of  her  visitor ;  "  is  thai 
we,  and  above  all,  that,  she,  may  like  you  too 
much." 

"  Thank  you  I  Thank  you !"  laughed  Mrs. 
Armstrong  ;  "  all  is  then  as  it  should  be.  Have 
no  care  for  the  future.  As  to  your  pretty  niece, 
she  reminds  me  of  the  pretty  lady  in  the  song,— • 

"  Friends  in  all  the  aged  she'll  meet. 
And  lovers  in  the  young  I" 

and,  moreover,  I  do  not  despair  of  making  yon 
yourself  less  unsociable  than  you  threaten  to  be." 
"  I  can  exercise  no  control  over  my  niece  in 
such  a  cose,"  persisted  Miss  Warrington,  as  if 
th  her  at  unconscious  of  the  closing  phrase  of  her  con> 
panion  ;  yet,  if  I  can  induce  her  to  listen  to  me, 
I  honestly  confess  that  I  shall  endeavor  to  warn 
her  against  the  perils  of  an  unequal  friendshipi, 
Gertrude  has  at  once  much  to  learn,  and  much 
to  unlearn  ;  and  as  her  future  life  must  be  passed 
in  obscurity,  the  sooner  she  masters  her  lesson 
the  happier  for  herself" 

"  My  drar  lady  !"  exclaimed  the  eager  matron, 
how  prosily  voii  talk !  Just  as  if  it  were  possi. 
ble  to  foretell  the  fate  of  a  pretty  girl.  Who 
knows  but  she  may  make  a  conquest  under  out 
roof  All  the  world  are  not  seeking  for  money  ; 
and  where  could  any  man  find  a  sweeter  crea- 
ture? Why,  as  I  look  round  your  snug  little 
parlor,  I  see  a  thousand  proofs  of  care  and  el* 
gance,  such  as  are  frequently  wanting  in  a  hirga* 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


establisbment ;  and  yon  talk  of  her  having  a 
great  deal  to  learn. 

"  However,  we  are  told  you  know,  that  '  no 
ijian  is  a  prophet  in  his  own  country,'  so  I  sup- 

tiose  I  must  forgive  you.  But  wc  have  really 
)een  unreasonable  in  our  visit ;  we  have  stayed 
here  an  age,  and  you  will  be  quite  tired  of  us. 
Mary!  Eleanor!  Come,  my  dears;  it  is  time 
for  you  to  take  leave  of  your  new  friend,  or 
Miss  Warrington  will  have  reason  to  suspect 
that  we  have  an  idea  of  claiming  possession  of 
lier  for  the  day." 

The  two  girls  sprang  from  their  seats,  and 
each  possessed  herself  of  the  hand  of  Gertrude. 

"  Good  bye,  then,  my  dear  Miss  Mortimer, 
for  the  present ;  but  we  shall  hope  to  see  you 
very  soon  and  very  often." 

The  orphan  smiled  amid  her  happy  tears. 

"  And  I  want  to  show  you  to  Mr.  Armstrong, 
my  dear,"  followed  up  the  mother ;  "  so  you 
must  not  disappoint  us.  What  say  j'ou  to  dining 
with  us  to-morrow  ?  Now,  don't  tell  me  that 
you  are  engaged,  for  I  will  not  believe  a  word 
of  it." 

"  Indeed,  Madam,"  replied  my  heroine — for 
radient  as  Sybil  may  appear  to  many,  Gertrude 
is  my  heroine — "  I  had  no  intention  of  volun- 
teering so  wild  a  fable.  An  engagement,  since 
my  arrival  at  Bletchley,  has  hitherto  appeared 
to  me  as  unattainable  as  a  meteor;  but  I  am  de- 
pendent upon  the  will  of  my  aunt,  and  must  first 
obtain  her  sanction,  before  I  gratefully  accept 
80  delightful  a  proposition." 

For  a  moment.  Miss  Warrington  resumed  her 
most  rigid  perpendicular,  and  looked  the  very 
condensation  of  a  thousand  refusals.  She  was 
human ;  and  it  was  impossible  quite  to  forget 
that  she  had  been  an  inhabitant  of  the  village 
for  more  than  twenty  years,  and  that  this  was 
the  first  occasion  upon  which  she  had  been 
honored  by  the  countenance  of  the  owners  of 
the  Great  House — a  favor  for  which  she  was, 
moreover,  shrewd  enough  to  perceive  that  she 
was  even  now  indebted  to  their  admiration  of 
her  young  relative.     But  in  the  next  instant  her 

8 ride  came  to  her  aid,  and  resolved  not  to  allow 
iem  to  perceive  and  to  despise  her  egotism,  she 
again  unbent,  and  deferred  the  question  to  her 
niece,  declaring  that  she  had  not  the  slightest 
desire  to  control  her  wishes. 

"  Then  all  is  arranged,  my  dear  Miss  Mor- 
timer," said  the  good-natured  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
giving  a  hearty  shake  to  tlie  hand  which  she 
had  already  taken  in  the  full  confidence  of  suc- 
cess ;  "  And  as  you  may  find  it  pleasant  to  be- 
come better  acquainted  with  your  new  friends 
before  you  are  introduced  to  the  rest  of  the 
family,  the  carriage  shall  be  here  for  jou  at  five 
o'clock.  Nay,  not  a  word  of  objection,  my  dear 
Miss  Warrington,  you  know  that  our  little  vil- 
lage, pretty  and  snug  as  it  is,  does  not  boast 
even  a  fly,  and  therefore  you  must  let  me  have 
my  way." 

Resolved  to  victimize  her  own  feelings  even 
to  the  end,  and  disarmed  by  the  cordiality  of  I 
her  visitor,  tlie  maiden-lady  forbore  all  further 
utterance  of  her  objections ;  and  after  a  few 
more  parting  compliments,  the  Armstrong  i 
barouche  drove  from  the  door.  I 

"  Why,  it  can't  be  possible  ?"  exclaimed  the  | 


shrill  voice  of  Miss  Margery  Bayliss,  as  the  long- 
tortured  lath  of  the  Venetian-blind  sprang  back 
to  its  place,  "  They  are  not  coming  here,  after 
all  1" 

"  They  may  please  themselves,"  was  the  angry 
retort  of  Priscilia;  "  We  want  no  patronage; 
we  are  gentlewomen  born,  and  need  not  con- 
descend to  any  body.  I  dare  say  the  mutton  is 
boiled  to  rag?." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Pilbeam,  you  are  a  great  deal 
too  bad !"  said  his  pretty  but  peevisli  helpmate  ; 
"  There  go  the  Armstrongs  ;  actually  past  the 
very  door,  and  it  is  quite  clear  that  they  never 
meant  to  come  here  at  all ;  and  now  I  may  go 
and  undress  again ;  and  put  away  your  best 
coat,  that  you  have  been  rubbing  to  pieces 
against  the  back  of  your  chair  for  the  last  twc 
hours.  You  are  always  trying  to  give  me  aa 
much  trouble  as  you  can  ;  thinking,  I  suppose, 
that  with  five  children,  and  helping  you  to 
make  up  your  medicines,  I  have  not  enough  to 
do." 

"  It  is  not  my  fault,  my  dear.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  I  have  a  vote." 

But  he  argued  in  vain ;  for  the  irate  beauty 
had  already  left  the  room  in  high  displeasure. 

"Aye,  tliey  may  look  about  them  as  they 
drive  along,"  said  the  precocious  Master  Abina- 
dab,  as  he  watched  the  departure  of  the  ladies 
of  the  Manor ;  but  it's  no  use,  for,  with  all 
their  flowers  and  furbelows,  they'll  never  b« 
able  to  hold  a  candle  to  Miss  Warrington's  pretty 
niece." 

And  there  was  also  another  who  followed 
them  with  her  eyes,  as  the  carriage  rajndly  dis- 
appeared ;  and  that  other  was  Gertrude.  Sta- 
tioned behind  the  muslin  drapery  of  the  win- 
dow, with  a  beating  heart,  and  a  glowing  cheek, 
when  she  could  no  longer  hear  "  the  wheels  of 
their  chariot,"  she  sighed,  as  though  they  bore 
her  new-found  happiness  away  with  them. 
Again  the  past  had  come  back  upon  her ;  again 
she  felt  that  even  for  her  there  might  yet  be 
some  sympathy  in  store:  and  then  she  slowly 
turned  away  from  the  casement,  and  her  eye  fell 
upon  the  upright  figure  of  her  aunt. 

"  When  you  are  quite  at  leisure,  Gertrude," 
were  the  first  words  which  fell  upon  her  ear; 
"  be  good  enough  to  gather  together  all  those 
ends  of  worsted.  If  Hannah  attempts  to  sweep 
them  up,  I  shall  have  my  carpet  scraped  thread- 
bare." 

She  was  obeyed.  The  heart-chilled  orphan 
quietly  dropped  iipon  her  knee,  and  picked  up, 
one  by  one,  the  bits  of  German  wool  which 
Miss  Armstrong,  in  her  zeal  to  learn  the  "  stitch," 
liad  scattered  upon  the  floor.  Tears  rose  un- 
bidden to  her  eyes  ;  the  illusion  had  vanished ; 
and  the  cold,  bare,  shivering  reality  was  once 
more  before  her.  The  unexpected  deportment 
of  her  aunt  during  the  visit  of  tlieir  unlooked 
for  guests  had  surprised  and  delighted  her  by 
its  quiet  dignity,  and  she  had,  for  a  time,  for- 
gotten that  it  was  not  the  ordinary  mood  and 
mamier  of  her  aged  relative  ;  but  mei-ely  a  re- 
flection of  former  years  and  of  former  habits, 
which  she  would  inevitably  lay  aside,  (as  tlia 
barrister  lays  aside  his  wig,  and  the  dramatio 
queen  her  diadem,)  so  soon  as  its  assumption  be- 
came needless.     Still,  it  had  unconsciously,  even 


90 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


to  herself,  increased  her  respect  and  veneration 
for  the  witliered  and  desolate  woman  to  whom 
she  was  indebted  for  a  home,  and  wlien  she  liad 
risen  from  her  knee,  and  carefully  deposited  the 
offending  shreds  in  the  litter-basket  which  stood 
beside  her  work-table,  she  approached  her  af- 
fectionately, and  said  in  a  subdued  voice — 

••  You  are  not  displeased,  I  trust,  my  dear 
madam,  that  I  have  accepted  the  invitation  of 
Mrs.  Armstrong  f" 

The  old  lady  coughed  slightly,  and  clasped 
her  hands  tightly  together,  ere  she  n'plied, 
"Displeased!  Oh,  no;  1  have  no  right,  no  wish, 
to  feel  displeased;  but  I  would  much  rather 
tliat  it  had  not  been  given.  Visiting  is  expens- 
ive amusement,  Gertrude ;  very  expensive 
amusement ;  and  j'ou  cannot  afford  to  visit. 
However,  50U  know  best.  But  I  confess  that  I 
should  not,  under  such  circumstances,  like  to 
squander  upon  an  evening's  pleasure  as  much  as 
would  support  me  for  a  week  at  home." 

"  Nor  would  I  do  so,  my  dear  aunt,"  was  t"he 
meek  reply,  "  for  my  conscience  would  upbraid 
me,  bitterly  upbraid  me,  were  I  guilty  of  so 
great  a  foil}'." 

"  And  are  you  ready  to  suffer  the  mortifica 
tion  of  exiiibiting  your  rusty  mourning  among 
the  gay  dresses  of  your  new  friends  ?  Are  you 
brave  enough  to  be  pointed  at  as  the  poor 
orphan  that  ilrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughters 
have  taken  under  their  protection  ?" 

"No,  madam,"  said  Gertrude,  proudly;  "I 
can  boast  of  no  such  courage  ;  nor  am  I,  as  I 
trust,  called  upon  to  make  so  great  a  sacrifice 
of  right  and  honest  feeling.  Had  I  ever  dared 
to  confide  to  you  the  amount  of  generosity  ex- 
hibited towards  me  by  my  too  liberal  cousin, 
}'ou  would  be  aware  how  little  I  have  to  shrink 
from  any  contact,  even  with  the  elegant  and 
wealtiiy  family  with  which  I  shall  so  soon  be 
brought  in  collision ;  while  the  second,  and  far 
more  bitter  mortification  to  which  you  allude, 
can  never  overtake  me  while  I  am  the  inmate 
of  your  house,  and  the  daughter  of  your  adop- 
tion." 

Even  Miss  "Warrington  was  moved,  and  her 
thin  lips  quivered  for  an  instant ;  nor  was  it  un- 
til she  had  recovered  from  this  unwonted  emo- 
tion that  she  resumed  : — 

"  My  house  and  my  adoption  are,  however, 
very  small  matters  in  the  eyes  of  the  wealthy, 
Gertrude  .  but  that  signifies  little ;  I  only  fear 
lest  they  should  soon  become  so  in  your  own." 

As  siie  ceased  speaking,  the  orphan  was  on  her 
knees  before  her,  her  mild  eyes  swimming  in 
tears,  and  her  lips  fastened  upon  the  withered 
hands  which  were  clasped  upon  the  old  lady's 
knee. 

"  My  only  jirotectress,  and  with  one  far-off 
exceplioii,  niy  oidy  friend,"  she  murmured, "  have 
vou,  indeed,  so  poor  an  opinion  of  the  heart,  so 
little  confidence  in  the  gratitude  of  the  forsaken 
and  abandoned  being  to  whom,  imknown  as  she 
was,  you  so  frankly  and  cordially  offered  alike 
a  home  an<i  a  refuge  from  the  world  which  had 
cast  her  od?" 

"  No,  no,  (Jertrude,  you  mistake  me,"  replied 
Miss  Wari'ington,  as  at  length,  fairly  overconn-, 
she  bent  down,  and  j>rc88ed  her  lips  ui)on  the 
pale  brow  of  the  earnest  girl.     "  It  is  not  because 


I  doubt,  but  because  I  have  learned  to  love  yon, 
and  am  jealous  of  your  affection,  that  I  spoke 
thus.  Dry  your  tears,  and  forget  what  ha.1 
passed.    I  believe  I  now  know  you  thoroughly." 

"  And  for  ever,"  said  Gertrude  solemnly ;  "  a"nd 
in  order  to  prove  to  you  that  you  do  me  no  mor^ 
than  justice,  I  will  at  once  renounce  this  new 
acquaintance,  which  has  excited  your  apprehe»> 
sions.  Ilalf-a-dozen  lines  to  Mrs.  Arnistronff 
will  suffice,  and  I  will  write  them  now — thi4 
moment." 

"  I  no  longer  apprehend  anything,  my  dear, 
and  I  strictly  forbid  the  sacrifice,"  replied  the 
old  lady.  "  You  say  that  you  can  visit  these 
people  without  expense,  and  without  becoming 
weary  of  my  poverty,  and,  therefore,  so  let  it 
be,  Gei-trude.  You  are  young,  and  heaven 
knows  that  the  life  which  j'ou  have  hitherto  led 
at  Bletchley  has  been  dull  enough  ;  this  is  your 
only  prospect  of  a  little  change,  and  you  shall 
not  throw  the  chance  from  you.  Bless  me!"  slw 
continued,  looking  at  her  watch;  "it  is  close 
upon  four  o'clock,  and  we  have  not  yet  dined  I 
Wipe  your  eyes,  my  dear,  and  ring  the  bell  for. 
Hannah."  ' 


CHAPTER  XXVI.  ' 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  fooling  of 
triumph  and  exultation  experienced  by  ^liss  De- 
lamere  when  she  became  fully  assured  of  the 
success  of  her  unworthy  and  unwomanly  act  of 
duplicity.  After  so  long  a  period  of  suspense; 
after  so  unwearied  an  exertion  of  all  her  powera 
of  fascination  and  address,  she  was  at  length,  at 
the  very  moment  in  which  she  had  began  to  des* 
pair  of  ever  accomplishing  her  object,  about  to 
see  all  her  hopes  realized,  anj  all  her  as])iration8 
fulfilled.  She  had  no  time,  or  even  ilu•linatio^^ 
to  congratulate  herself  upon  the  fact  that  she 
owed  her  triumph  to  the  fine  sense  of  honor,  and 
upright  principle  of  the  man  who  was  to  becomfi 
her  husband.  She  felt  only  tliat  she  had  not 
striven  in  vain  ;  that  she  had  not  suffered  any 
obstacle  to  deter,  or  to  impede  her  in  her  pu^ 
suit;  that  now,  at  least,  she  had  sown  tlie  seed 
of  policy  in  good  ground,  and  tliat  her  resolute 
perseverance  had  overcome  all  impedimenta, 
and  would  produce  a  rich  harvest  in  tiie  future. 

But,  amid  her  exultation,  there  was,  neverthe- 
less, one  harrowing  recollection,  which,  like  tha 
skeleton  of  the  Kgyptian  banquets,  constantly 
obtruded  itself  on  her  most  sunny  visions.  Sybil 
still  remembered  that  she  was  not  yet  the  wife 
of  ^lortimer ;  that  she  was  not  yet  Rnfe;  that, 
until  their  hands  had  met  at  tiie  altai',  a  thoiv 
sand  unfoi-eseen  and  inexplicable  chances  mighty 
d(^spite  all  her  precaution,  overthrow  the  bril- 
liant edifice  of  her  hopes,  and  that  even  the  de- 
licate and  fastidious  sense  of  honor  to  which  he» 
lover  had  sacrificed  all -his  doubts,  all  his  mis- 
givings, all  the  entreaties  of  his  nioliier,  and  all 
the  quasi-clainis  of  his  cousin,  niiglit,  should  it 
once  more  be  called  ])rematurely  into  action, 
prove  the  most  dangerous  and  insuperable  baf 
to  their  union.  * 

"  '  If  'twere  well  done,  'twere  well  it  were 
done  quickl}-,*"  murmured  Sybil  to  herself.  To 
be  wrecked  in  sight  of  shore,  were  to  render  ruin 


iai" 


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THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


ijl  Ijin  fold  more  bitter  of  endurance.     There  must 
HJ  ,  [e  no  more  idle  vacillation  of  manner  on  my 
>     art.     I  have  awaited  sutHciently  long  already 
crisis  which  I  was,  after  all,  eventually  com- 
tllcd  to  create.     His  last  words  have  given  me 
right  to  act  freely  and   energetically,  and   I 
nist  exert  that  right.     He  loves  nie,  thus  much, 
t.  least,  is  certain ;  loves  me,  and  wilfully  blinds 
inisclf  to  the  fact  that  he  is  about  to  place  in 
ly  hands,  not  only  the  happiness  of  his  life,  but 
von  his  freedom  of  action,  and  liberty  of  will, 
[e  sees  in  me  only  a  beautiful  and  gifted  wo- 
!i       lan;  and  this  is  as  it  sliould  be.     He  believes, 
30,  that  he  has  probed  my  heart  to  the  very 
ottom,   and  has  found  there   no   other  image 
lian  his  own,"  and  a  scornful  smile  rose  to  her 
p.     "And  what  see  I  in  him?     Tliat,  at  least, 
0  has  not  divined.     A  superb  edifice  of  human- 
cy,  it  is  true,  but  built  up  upon  a  most  fragile 
lundation  :  a  superstructure  of  pride,  and  ego- 
iem,  and  vanity,  decked  out  by  the  preatige  of  a 
landsomc'  person^   and  hedged  in  by  what  the 
rorld  calls  honor — sensitive,   and  nice,  and  jea- 
ous  honor.      The   world  loves  phrase-makmg, 
:iid  is  satisfied  by  seizing  generalities ;  but  did 
t   search  the   human   spirit  to   the   core,   how 
vould  it  marvel  when  it  discovered  out  of  what 
)oor  and  pitiful  materials  some  of  its  most  vaunt- 
,,     id   qualities   are   compounded!     How  I   loathe 
hose  soulless  and  nerveless  beings  who  are  con- 
ent,  in  the  struggle  of  their  kind  for  precedence, 
o  sink  down  tamely  to  the  very  bottom  of  the 
veil  of  mediocrity,  and  to  abide  there  without  a 
nurmur,  content  to  see  from  their  dreary  pit 
■h?  half-dozen  stars,   or  the  one  struggling  sun- 
leam,  which,  more  in   scorn  than  kindness,  pe- 
let rates  at  times  the  depths  of  their  voluntary 
larkness,  until  the  rope  of  chance  drags  them 
'    ;hence  to  exhibit  their  weakness  to  the  daylight. 
'    And  what  is  Mortimer,  but  one  of  these — an  un- 
stable trembler,  wliose  nature  has  been  smooth- 
?d  into  symmetry  and  polish  b}' prosperity,  as 
the  pebble  is  rounded  and  varnished  by  the  tide 
'    |that  laves  it,  a  man  whose  will  can  be  governed 

■  by  tlie  first  comer,  as  the  vane  is  governed   by 
'    the  wind?     Even  now  I  cannot  trust  him,  but 

!look  back  upon  the  ]->ast,  and  tremble.  Has  not 
bis  heart  yielded  before  his  self-love  ?  Have  I 
not  won  his  affections  by  pandering  to  his  va- 
nity? And  to-day,  even  to-da}',  at  the  eleventh 
lioiir,  though  I  hold  his  pliglited  faith,  might  not 

'  one  whisper  suffice  to  overturn  all  my  efforts? 
Let  but  that  whisper  reach   him,  and  not  even 

;    the  spells   by  which  I  have  made   him  captive 

'  iwould  be  strong  enough  to  bind  him  to  me — my 
reproach  would  be  silenced  by  allusions  to   his 

'    iwounded  honor.     It  is  not  of  me  that  he  would 

■  jthink  in  such  an  emergency,  but  of  himself     I 

■  Bee  and  feel  all  this,  and  I  have  no  longer  time 
to  hesitate;  either  his  fate  is  in  my  hands,  or 
mine  in  his.  We  are  both  gamblers,  who  have 
placed  our  all  upon  a  thfow,  but  he  handles  the 
dice  like  a  froward  child,  and  it  were  degrading 
to  be  foiled  by  so  poor  an  adversary." 

Who  that  looked  upon  that  beautiful  and 
radiant  woman,  as  she  sat  with  her  cheek  pil- 
lowed upon  her  Muall  white  hand,  and  her  large 
eyes  bent  down,  and  veiled  by  their  long  dark 
lashes,  to  all  appearance  absorbed  in  a  tranquil 
and  tender  reverie — who  could  have  suspected 


I  the  deep  and  concentrated  passion  which  even, 
at  that  very  instant,  was  laboring  in  her  bosom? 
But  as  the  grove  and  the  garden  flourish  in  rich 
luxuriance,  and  garland  with  their  perfumed 
greenery  the  base  of  Etna,  while  the  lava-flood 
boils  and  burns  Avithin  its  crater,  so  did  the 
gorgeous  loveliness  of  Sybil  Delaraere  veil  the 
deformity  of  her  moral  nature. 

And  yet  it  had  not  always  been  thus.  Only 
a  few  short  years  before,  and  she  had  been 
beautiful  iu  mind  as  well  as  in  form  ;  but  now 
the  hot  iron  of  the  world  and  the  world's  vices 
had  seared  her  heart,  and  had  made  her  what 
she  was. 

Poets  and  romancers  delight  to  paint  the  love 
of  a  woman's  spirit  in  rainbow  tints.  The 
rhythms  run  more  glibly,  and  dance  along  ia 
softer  cadences,  when  they  embody  joy,  and 
grace,  and  harmony :  It  is  more  pleasant  to 
describe  Arcadia,  than  to  borrow  images  even 
from  the  Pandemonium  of  Dante  himself  But 
no  true  woman's  love  ever  j'et  ran  through  all 
its  course  in  sunshine  :  many  and  many  a  dark 
shadow  falls  upon  the  stream-clouds,  sometimes 
weeping  themselves  away  in  innoxious  tears  to 
be  forgotten  when  shed,  but  often — how  often  ! — 
big  with  storm,  and  lurid  with  the  bghtning- 
flash. 

Some  escape  the  tempest,  and  learn  to  look 
back  with  a  smile  upon  its  perils :  others  fail 
beneath  the  trial,  and  are  overwhelmed  ;  while 
the  bolder  and  the  more  desperate  ride  upon  the 
wreck,  and,  like  the  syrens  of  old,  lure  others 
to  the  same  ruin. 

Some  such  reflection  as  this  floated  across  the 
mind  of  Sybil  as  she  at  length  looked  up,  and 
her  proud  lip  wore  an  expression  of  bitter  self- 
reliance  which  betrayed  the  working  of  her 
secret  spirit.  She  had  forgotten,  she  knew  not 
for  how  great  a  length  of  time,  that  she  was  not 
alone ;  and  now,  as  she  glanced  towards  the 
fauteuil  of  her  mother,  she  saw  Mrs.  Delamere 
with  the  usual  novel  in  her  hand,  but  with  ^er 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  ceiling,  and  evidently  as 
completely  absorbed  in  thought  as  she  herself 
had  lately  been. 

"  You  must  wear  a  gayer  aspect  than  you 
now  display  at  my  approaching  marriage,  my 
dear  madam,"  she  said,  startling  her  companion 
by  the  suddenness  of  her  address. 

"  I  thought  that  all  was  at  an  end,"  was  the 
faint  reply  ;  "  I  confess  that  I  had  lost  all  hope. 
However,  you  know  best,  Sybil." 

"  All  would,  indeed,  have  been  at  an  end,  had 
your  conjecture  been  a  correct  one,"  said  Misa 
Delamere,  forcing  a  laugh;  "but  surely  you 
should  have  had  more  faith  in  my — what  shall 
I  call  it?  my  fate,  ray  star,  or — if  the  plain 
term  will  not  shock  you — my  management." 

Mrs.  Delamere  sighed. 

"  '  One  swallow,'  say  the  proverb  mongers," 
pursued  the  younger  lady,  "  '  does  not  make  a 
summer,'  nor,  believe  me,  does  one  failure  make 
a  defeat.  I  was  yet  young  enough  to  strive, 
and  I  have  striven ;  I  vowed  to  succeed,  and  I 
have  succeeded.  I  am  loved,  mother,  loved  oa 
I  have  never  before  been." 

"And  you,  Sybil ;  wh'at  of  yourself?" 

"  Of  me  1"  echoed  her  daughter,  with  a  second 
ringing  laugh,  which  sounded  hollow  and  un- 


92 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


natural ;  "  I  made  no  vow  to  feel,  as  well  as  act 
I  had  much  to  revenge  ;  much  to  repair ;  I  shall 
60on  have  done  both ;  but  I  have  played  only 
with  my  head ;  my  heart  was  no  party  to  the 
game." 

"  Can  you  always  silence  it  ?     If  not " 

"  If  not,  I  can  stifle  its  rebellion ;  the  task 
will  be  no  new  one." 

"  And  have  you  told  him  all?" 

Miss  Delamere  started  in  her  turn. 

"  Do  you  ask  me  if  I  am  mad  ?  If  I  have 
poisoned  my  own  draught,  and  fired  my  own 
roof-tree  f  Do  you  not  know  that  we  are  almost 
penniless,  and  that  Mortimer  is  our  last  hope  ?" 

Tears,  large  and  silent  coursed  each  other 
down  the  pale  cheeks  of  her  listener. 

"  No,"  pursued  Miss  Delamere,  in  an  accent 
BO  resolute  that  it  was  almost  harsh ;  "  I  have 
not  told  him  all,  or  a  few  months  hence  we 
should  have  been  beggars,  and,  moreover,  he 
has  no  suspicion  that  our  apparent  wealth  will, 
when  he  seeks  to  grasp  it,  be  converted,  like 
the  fairy  gift  of  the  nursery  fable,  into  leaves 
and  ashes.  Nay,  do  not  look  so  scared  ;  I  have 
overcome  more  serious  difficulties  than  this,  and 
'  I  have  no  inclination  to  shrink  before  my  last 
trial.  He  is  too  sensitive,  too  tenacious  of  the 
world's  opinion  to  be  trusted  with  a  secret  like 
■line,  which  he  shall  never  know  or  learn,  until 
the  knowledge  must  be  borne." 

"  And  Sybil " 

"  I  am  aware  of  all  that  you  would  urge," 
pursued  Miss  Delamere  with  undisguised  im- 
patience, "  but,  in  my  case,  such  scruples  could 
only  be  misplaced.  I  have  read  Mortimer  to 
hisheart's  core,  and  I  have  not  now  to  learn 
where  he  would  fail.  Fear  nothing  for  the 
future ;  once  his  wife,  I  shall  be  able  to  mould 
him  to  my  will — he  is  insufficient  to  himself — 
but  this  is  a  fact  which  no  man  will  concede, 
even  to  his  own  reason,  and  in  the  solitude  of 
his  own  tlioughts,  like  the  wind-harp,  he  does 
but  give  out  the  sounds  awakened  by  an  ex- 
ti-aneous  influence." 

"  Surely,"  murmured  Mrs.  Delamere,  with  a 
slight  shudder ;  "  these  are  dangerous  senti- 
ments for  one  about  to  become  a  wife!" 

Sybil  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Is  it  dangerous  for  the  traveller  to  perceive 
the  gulf  which  he  has  to  pass,  or  the  precipice 
he  is  about  to  skirt  ?  Should  I  be  safer  were 
I  to  close  mj-  eyes  to  the  probabilities  of  the 
future  ?  I  have  not  now  to  learn  that  when  a 
man  really  loves,  he  does  not  content  himself 
by  casting  before  his  mistress,  as  Raleigh  did, 
the  mantle  from  his  shoulders,  but  prostrates  at 
her  feet,  alike  his  tastes,  his  prejudices,  and  his 
will.  You  will  t«ll  me,  perhaps,  that  Mortimer 
has  done  all  this,  and  you  will  be  right  ;  but 
beyond  ev<-!i  this  there  is  yet  a  step.  Touch, 
though  never  so  lightly,  the  sense  of  honor 
upon  which  he  prides  himself,  and,  at  whatove 
cost,  he  will  immolate  all  other  considerations 
to  tliat  one  jiliantom.  And  now,  answer  me 
am  I  in  a  position  to  volunteer  the  revelation 
jou  seem  to  consider  fitting  ?" 

Mrs.  Delamere  was  silent . 

"  Let  me  but  retain  my  secret,"  continued 
Sybil,  evidently  rather  communing  with  herself 
than  addressing  her  companion;  "  and  Frederic 


Mortimer  shall  not  long  remain  the  inert  and 
vacillating  being  he  has  hitherto  shown  him- 
self There  are  some  natures — and  such  is  hia  ; 
— which  cannot  exist  without  extraneous  sup- 
port ;  and  although,  like  the  vegetable  para- 
sites, they  may  blossom  while  entwined  aboui 
the  sustaining  props  of  a  hardier  plant,  and 
assume  at  least  a  semblance  of  vigor,  j-et,  when 
left  to  their  own  poor  resources,  they  either 
grovel  along  the  earth,  and  become  sullied  by 
the  dust  with  which  they  blend  ;  or,  in  endea- 
voring to  elevate  themselves  for  a  season,  only 
exhibit  their  intrinsic  weakness,  and  become 
the  sport  of  every  breeze  that  passes  over 
them.  This  has  so  far  been  his  career  ;  \m 
aspirations  are  noble,  but  they  evaporate  in 
words  ;  his  strength  exists  only  in  his  egotism  ; 
he  is  like  one  of  those  incongruous  picture* 
which  we  sometimes  look  upon  without  well 
knowing  whether  to  sigh  or  to  sneer  ;  a  grand 
outline  marred  by  the  minor  touches.  Had  1m 
not  been  a  weak  man  he  might  have  been  a 
great  one." 

For  a  few  moments  she  was  silent ;  and  it 
was  with  a  smile  of  haughty  bitterness  that 
she  at  length  rose  from  her  seat  and  resimied  : 

"  I  have  now  proved  to  you  that  my  study 
in  his  case  has  been  a  profound  one  ;  that  I 
shall  do  nothing  rashly  ;  but  that  I  have  even 
formed  projects  for  the  future  which  are  at  leasl 
partially  unselfish.  Xow,  however,  when  th« 
moment  for  action  has  arrived,  I  must  think 
only  of  myself  I  have  already  suffered  enough, 
more  than  enough  ;  I  will  be  no  willing  vicfim 
a  second  time.  Yes,"  she  added,  with  flashing 
ej-es  and  clenched  hands,  as  she  paced  thi 
apartment  passionately  ;  "  I  have  lived  to  listen 
to  words  which  told'^me  but  too  plainly  the 
height  from  which  I  had  fallen — to  find  myself 
considered  merelj'  as  a  coveted  toy,  where  I 
had  once  been  an  idol — to  see  myself  com)K'lled 
to  repay  insult  only  by  a  smile — and  shall  I 
not  be  revenged  for  this"?  sliall  I  tamely  brook 
the  degradation  from  which  I  may  free  myself 
by  my  own  efi"orts  ?  Little  do  they  understand 
the  nature  of  Sybil  Delamere  who  believe  it 
possible.  As  the  wife  of  Frederic  Mortimer  I 
may  defy  even  him;  and  I  will  defy  him,  aye, 
to  the  very  death  !" 

"  Sybil — my  dear  Sybil — what  mean  you  f" 

"  You  would  know  my  meaning  ?  '  Listen, 
then.  Recall  the  past ;  live  over  again  for  an 
instant  the  last  few  years  ;  remember  how  ha 
loved  me — how  he  pursued  me — how  he  flung 
everything  at  my  feet,  and  asked  me  only  to 
stoop  and  gather  up  the  offering. — You  cannot 
have  forgotten  all  this,  for  not  onlj"  every 
memory,  but  every  fact  of  our  present  exist- 
ence is  linked  with  those  days — and  now  learn 
that  it  was  to  renew  his  suit  that  ho  was  lately 
here " 

Mrs.  Delamere  leaned  forward  in  her  sea* 
with  eager  eyes  and  parted  lips. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Sybil  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
as  she  paused  before  "her  mother;  "Yes — ho 
sought  me  once  again  ;  but  not  as  formerly — 
not  with  sighs,  and  protestations,  and  en- 
treaties; but  boldly,  lightly,  and  unblushingly; 
with  the  eye  of  a  conqueror,  and  the  lip  of  a 
libertine " 


es'w 


mm 

KMJl 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


{Wliat  more  slic  miglit  have  added  is  uncer- 
,  for  as  the  hist  -words  escaped  her  quivering 
Mrs.  Delamere  fell  back  insensible  upon  Iver 

'^shions. 
For  a  few  moments  Sybil  remained  looking 
ion  her  unhappy  mother,  without  making  one 
tort  to  restore  her  to  consciousness  :  although 
le  flush  faded  from  her  cheek  and  her  clenched 
igers  relaxed.  The  storm  of  passion  which 
id  shook  her  spirits  to  the  very  centre,  had, 
r  a  time,  crushed  even  her  powerful  energies, 
id  rendered  her  reckless  of  everytliiiig  around 
n:  Ere  long,  however,  she  recovered  her 
)mposure,  and  without  summoning  other  assist- 
ice,  at  length  succeeded  in  restoring  the  scat- 
red  senses  of  the  wrej;ched  Mrs  Delamere ; 
hieh  she  had  no  soooer  effected  than  she 
iked  bitterly — 

"  And  now.  Madam,  have  I  not  silenced  all 
^ur  scruples,  and  satisfied  all  your  objections  ? 
'ould  you  still  ask  me  to  trifle  with  my  last 
iospeet  of  social  redemption  ?  Have  I  not  suf- 
■iently  expiated  the  past  to  have  some  claim 
(M»n  the  future  ?  And  shall  I  not  more  honor- 
)ly  fulfil  my  destiny  as  the  wife  of  Mortimer, 
lan  as  the  mistress  of  Sir  Horace  Trevor?" 
Mrs.  Delamere  swept  her  trembling  hand 
■ross  her  eyes ;  they  were  hot  and  tearless  ; 
le  had  previously  suffered  deeply  for  years, 
ut  the  iron  which  had  hitherto  only  seared 
lt  spirit,  had  now  entered  her  soul.  She 
lade  no  reply  to  the  harsh  questionings  of 
ybil,  nor  did  tliere  need  any  ;  for,  regardless 
i  tlieir  reception.  Miss  Delamere  had  no  sooner 
ivkin  them  utterance  than  she  turned  and  left 

!lie  room. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  Ifow  do  listen  for  five  minutes,  Ernest,  while 
tell  j-ou  all  about  Miss  Mortimer,"  said  Mary 
a-nistrong,  as  with  one  arm  about  the  neck  of 
•  r  brother,  she  bent  over  him  while  he  ran 
is  eye  along  a  list  of  names,  spread  on  a  table 
lefore  him. 

"  I  know  all  that  you  have  to  say,"  he  re- 
ilied  with  an  impatient  smile ;  "  she  is  very 
iretty,  and  very  bashful,  and  blushes  beau- 
ifully  ;  and  is  quite  delighted  by  the  con- 
leseension  of  the  ladies  from  the  Great 
louse." 

Mary  laughed.  "  You  have  made  a  wretched 
;uess.  Pretty  you  knew  she  was,  for  you  had 
eeii  lier  at  church ;  but  as  for  the  rest—" 

"  Richards,"  murmured  the  young  man,  still 
ntent  upon  his  task;  "We  are  sure  of  him,  I 
Jiink;  he  is  a  tenant  of  our  own.  Richards, 
,wenty-six." 

'•  She  is  not  a  whit  less  at  her  ease  with  stran- 
jers  than  Eleanor  or  myself." 

"  Indeed!  all  the  worse,  perhaps,  both  for  her 
md  her  friends.  Thompson — oh,  aye,  Thompson 
>f  River  farm — doubtful,  I  fear;  for  I  know  that 
It;  i.s  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  and  as  wrong- 
loadud  as — " 

••  Ernest,  you  are  too  bad.  I  have  a  great 
cnind  not  to  say  another  word." 

"  You  could  not  oblige  me  more,  for  you  see 


that  I  am  fully  occupied  already.  But,  by  tho 
bye,  what  about  the  old  woman's  interest?" 

"  You  must  canvass  her  yourself,  for  we  were 
by  far  too  well  engaged  even  to  think  of  this 
horrid  election." 

"How  very  provoking!"  exclaimed  young 
Armstrong ;  "  But  you  women  ai-e  always  use- 
less in  matters  of  importance.  Why  did  you 
not  take  me  with  you  ?  While  you  were  turn- 
ing the  head  of  the  niece  I  should  have  managed 
the  aunt.  Collins? — was  it  not  Collins,  Mary, 
who  had  an  execution  in  his  house  last  winter?" 

"  To  be  sure  it  was.  Do  j-ou  not  remember 
that  papa  became  securitj'  for  tlie  debt,  and  hoTV 
grateful  he  has  been  ever  since  ?" 

"I  thought  so;  then  I  may  fairly  calculate 
upon  him.     Collins,  twenty-seven." 

"Well,"  said  Mary  desperately;  "as  I  see 
that  you  are  determined  not  to  listen,  I  shall 
tell  you  no  more  about  Miss  Mortimer,  but 
leave  you  to  form  your  own  opinions  to- 
morrow." 

"  And  why  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Because  she  dines  here." 

"Dines  here?     Impossible." 

"  Impossible  as  you  may  think  it,  she  does 
dine  here ;  and,  moreover,  the  carriage  is  to  be 
sent  for  her." 

"  Then  we  are  sure  of  her  interest." 

"  I  was  not  awai'e  that  she  had  any." 

"  But  her  aunt  must,  as  a  householder,  and 
the  dinner  to-morrow  secures  it." 

"  Well,  upon  my  honor,  Ernest,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong ;  "  you  are  a  perfect  recreant.  Why, 
even  papa  himself  would  be  more  gallant.  But 
I  warn  you  not  to  calculate  without  your  host, 
for  Miss' Warrington  appears  to  me  to  be  a  very- 
impracticable  old  lady." 

"  Oh,  never  fear ;  I'll  exert  myself,  and  flirt 
with  the  niece." 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  you  will  find  that 
task  so  easy  as  you  appear  to  imagine." 

"  Very  likely ;  but  in  a  good  cause  I  am  pre- 
pared to  go  great  lengths ;  and  as  she  is  really 
very  pretty,  I'll  sacrifice  myself  without  a 
murmui'." 

"  Papa  will  be  infinitely  indebted  to  you." 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  replied  the  young  man, 
extending  his  arms  in  a  long  yawn,  which  ha 
terminated  by  drawing  his  sister  close  to  him, 
and  pressing  his  lips  upon  her  cheeks;  "  and  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  Moggy,  I  shall  not  be  alto- 
gether sorry  to  compensate  myself  by  a  little 
fun  for  this  weary  work;  for,  after  all,  it  is 
weary  work ;  and  were  it  not  that  I  expect 
Somerville  down  in  a  day  or  two  to  back  me, 
I  should  almost  feel  inclined  to  give  it  up  in 
disgust ;  but  Somerville  is  a  famous  fellow,  and 
an  old  hand  at  canvassing." 

Mary  made  no  reply,  but  a  vivid  blush  stolo 
over  her  cheek  and  brow. 

"  Well,  and  now,  as  it  appears  that  I  must 
hear  all  you  have  to  say  about  the  little  cottage- 
maiden,"  he  pursued  after  an  instant's  silence  ; 
"pray  favor  me  with  it  at  once.  You  foiindher 
very  pretty,  very  gentle,  and  very  captivating, 
it  seems." 

"  We  found  her  what  we  certainly  did  not 
venture  to  anticipate,"  replied  Mary,  rallying 


u 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


from  her  momentary  confusion,  "  a  finished  gen- 
tlewoman." 

"A  Bletchley  gentlewoman,  of  course?" 
"  You  are  too  provoking,  Ei-nest,  and  I  shall 
leave  you  to  make  j-our  own  discoveries." 

"Thank  you  ;  but  just  now  I  have  not  time 
to  venture  upon  any ;  so  shall  content  myself 
should  the  fair  Sylvia  prove  as  lovely  across  a 
dinner  table  as  slie  does  at  a  distance,  with  cau- 
tioning Somerville.  who  has  a  strong  dash  of 
Bentinicnt  in  his  composition,  not  to  full  in  love 
with  her.  He  is  fond  of  '  Love  in  a  cottage,' 
and  '  Lo\  e  among  the  roses,'  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing ;  and  should  he  become  thralled  by  her 
bright  ej-es,  he  will  reserve  all  the  smiles  and 
flatteries  which  he  has  proniised  to  diffuse  libe- 
rally among  the  electors'  wives  and  daughter! 


ear,  "  To  oblige  you  I  will  even  promise  to  falV 
in  love  with  your  protegte ;"  she  could  no  long 
er  retain  her  displeasure,  but  shaking  her  fingei 
at  him,  said  laughingh',  "  Always  in  extremes 
as  usual;  I  have  an  equal  horror  of  Scylla  niK 
Charybdis,  so  if  you  seek  to  please  me,  you  wil 
steer  a  middle  course. 

And  with  these  words  she  disappeared  ;  whil«; 
young  Armstrong,  returning  to  his  seat,  soor' 
lost  all  memory  of  the  discussion  over  the  im-j 
portant  list  of  voters  which  he  had  been  pre! 
viously  studying.  I 

"  Well,  well,  we  must  make  the  best  of  il 
now,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong,  when  informed  bj 
his  Avife  of  the  invitation  which  she  liad  giver 
to  Miss  Mortimer ;  "  but  you  have  exceeded' 
your   commission,    Charlotte.     You   know  how 


for  her  especial  benefit,  an  arrangement,  Miss  j carefully  I  have  eschewed  the  petty  gentry  of 
Moggy,  whicl)  woald  materially  affect  the  sue-  the  neighborhood,  and  now  you  have  saddled! 
cess  of  our  canvass."  ime  witli  a  woman  from  Bletchlej'." 

"And  you  expect  him  in  a  day  or  two,  did       "  She  is  so  pretty,"  expostulated  his  good  na- 


you  not  say?"  Mnrj'  ventured  to  inquire,  as  she 
turned  aside,  and  affected  to  be  busily  engaged 
in  removing  some  withered  leaves  from  a  plant 
which  occupied  a  jardiniere  near  her. 

"  In  a  day  or  two,"  acquiesced  her  brother, 
with  another  formidable  yawn  ;  "  and  I  heartily 
wish  that  he  were  here  now.  Do  you  know, 
Moggy,  I  had  no  idea  that  the  Armstrongs  were 
60  unpopular  about  Bletchley." 

"  1  am  sure  they  ought  not  to  be  so,"  replied 
Mary,  somewhat  indignantly  ;  "  both  papa  and 
mamma  are  a  sort  of  Providence  to  tlie  poor  ; 
there  is  no  distress  which  they  do  not  seek  to 
alleviate  ;  no  sorrow  which  they  not  soothe. 
If  I  were  papa,  I  would  not  even- seek  to  stand 
for  their  stupid  borough." 

"  Come,  come ;  we  must  have  no  treason  in 
the  camp,"  laughed  Ernest ;  "  remember  that 
you  ladies  are  our  light  troops,  and  that  we  ex- 
pect  good   service    from   you   all 


tured  helpmate. 

"  So  much  the  worse  ;  these  pretty  underbred! 
young  women  play  the  deuce  in  a  family,  espe-' 
cially  where  there  is  a  grown-up  son.  i3eside8, 
a  month  hence  we  shall  liave  the  house  full  ol' 
company,  and  if  you  are  to  be  consistent,  you' 
will  be  compelled  to  introduce  this  girl  to  peo-' 
pie  who  will  be  as  little  pleased  with  her  as  she 
will  be  at  her  ease  with  them  ;  by  which  meant 
you  will  succeed  in  annoying  all  parties." 

"  But  the  girls  like  her  so  much — " 

"  (Jf  course  they  do  ;  young  folks  are  always 
delighted  with  a  fresh  face,  and  have  no  objec- 
tion to  a  foil,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  but  I  detest 
the  principle.  It  is  at  once  unfair  and  unhand- 
some." 

"  I'm  sure,  if  I  had  thought  that  you  would 
be  angry — " 

"  I  am  not»angry,  Charlotte,  but  I  like  eveir 
thing  in  its  proper  place,  and  this  poor  girl  will 


aye,    even 

Miss what  did  you  call  your  new  wonder? — |be  out  of  place  here." 

even  she  must  be  made  useful."  "Somehow  or  other,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong, | 

"What     nonsense     you    talk,    Ernest;    one  i  who  was  not  fastidious  in  her  familiar  phraseo-' 
would  imagine   that  we  had  picked  up  some' logy,  "Somehow   or   other,   my  dear,  I  think 


poor  little  peasant,  toward  wnom  no  ceremony 
need  be  observed.'' 

"  Ceremony  I  why  surely  you  do  not  mean  to 
imply  tliat  much  of  that  frigid  commodity  will 
be  required  in  tlie  future  acquaintancesliip  with 
which  your  newfangled  fancy  has  provided  the 
famil}'!"  said  young  Armstrong  with  a  some- 
what contemptuous  smile,  which  so  irritated 
Mary,  that  she  turned  on  her  heel  and  left  him, 
declaring,  as  she  reached  the  door,  that  she 
■would  no  longer  encourage  such  ill-timed  and 
misplaced  impertinence. 

"  Wiiy,  you  cannot  surely  be  angry  in  earnest, 
my  pretty  Moggy  f "  he  expostulated. 

"  Not  angry,  but  sincerely  pained,"  she  said 
steadily.  "  Is  it  because  Miss  Mortimer  is  poor, 
Ernest,  that  you  should  thus  persist  in  a  tone 
Tinsuited  to  the  occasion  ?  However,  I  have  al- 
ready Avasted  more  time  with  you  than  I  can 
"Well  spare,  and  I  will  now  leave  you  to  your 
more  congenial  einploynicnt." 

"  Not  with  a  frown  at  all  events.  Give  me  at 
least  a  kiss  before  you  go." 

Mary  was  not  inexorable  ;  she  lingered  for  an 


you'll  change  your  mind  wlien  you  see  her 

"  I  hope  I  maj',"  was  the  abrupt  retort 

And  he  did  so. 

On  the  morrow,  when  Gertrude  entered  her 
aunt's  little  parlor,  simply  attired  in  a  plaiai 
close  dress  of  black  crape,  with  a  single  white 
camelia  half  hidden  among  her  luxuriant  hair, 
even  the  obtuse  Miss  Warrington  could  not  help 
thinking  that  she  had  seldom  seen  anything 
more  beautiful  than  the  gentle  orphan  ;  who, 
witli  eyes  sparkling  with  anticipated  happiness; 
and  cheeks  slightly  flushed,  appeared  only  anx- 
ious to  conceal  from  lier  protectress  the  extent 
of  her  new-found  joy. 

"  Why,  you  look  like  an  angel,  Gertrude !" 
she  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"  May  I  always  so  look  in  your  eyes,"  was 
the  meek  reply  ;  but  at  that  moment  no  thought 
of  vanity  mingled  with  tlie  heartfelt  and  inno-, 
cent  delight  of  the  fair  girl.  It  was  not  that 
she  had  forgotten  the  past ;  it  was  not  that  she 
had  ceased  to  mourn  in  secret  over  her  buried 
hopes  ;  for  alas  !  the  memory  of  suffering  is  like 
the  poisoned   bale,  which  wlien  opened  and  ex- 


instant,  and  as  her  brother  whispered  in  her  I  amined,  spi-eads  pestilence  over  all  with  which  it, 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIEa 


95 


comes  into  contact ;  but  she  W!\8  young,  and  she 
had  boon  living  for  months  in  an  ungenial  and 
cliilliiig  atmosphere 

Grateful,  deeply  grateful,  as  she  felt  to  the 
aged  relative  who  liad  received  and  cherished 
her,  they  had  scarcely  a  thought  or  an  impulse 
in  common  ;  differently  educated  and  different- 
ly constituted,  they  had  neither  a  taste  nor  a 
liabit  which  could  assimilate  ;  and  the  unhappy 
girl  was  hourlj'  pained  by  the  conviction  that 
neither  time  nor  circumstances  could  enfoi'ce  a 
greater  congeniality  between  them. 

Naturally  open-hearted  and  confiding,  Ger- 
trude was  compelled  to  exercise  a  constant 
restraint  over  herself:  for  she  had  once  dis- 
covered that  her  nature  could  never  elicit  any 
sympathy  from  that  of  her  aunt.  Even  her  ad- 
vantages of  education  and  refinement,  instead 
of  proving  a  source  of  consolation,  were,  in  her 
peculiar  position  an  aggravation  of  suffering, 
and  a  cause  of  trial.  Like  all  persons  who  have 
outlived  their  particular  epoch,  and  who  are 
unable  to  comprehend  the  progress  which  has 
taken  place  about  them.  Miss  "Warrington  looked 
with  suspicion  and  distrust  upon  all  that  she 
was  unable  to  bring  down  to  the  level  of  her 
own  understanding,  and  became  irritated  by 
every  appearance  of  superiority  ;  while  desti- 
tute, save  in  rare  moments  of  excitement,  of 
both  tact  and  sensibility,  she  frequently  wound- 
ed where  she  believed  herself  to  be  simply 
uttering  the- merest  common-places;  and  with- 
ered the  young  and  sensitive  nature  of  her  niece 
by  an  antiquated  displajr  of  worldly  wisdom,  as 
mistaken  in  its  expression  as  it  was  repugnant 
in  its  principle. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  Gertrude  looked  for- 
ward with  her  first  feeling  of  recovered  happi- 
ness to  any  congenial  companionship.  Had  she 
been  less  nobly  endowed  by  nature,  or  less  pure 
and  lofty  in  mind,  she  might  have  recurred  to 
tlie  chilling  inference  of  her  aunt,  that  she  was 
about  to  be  looked  upon  as  " the  poor  orphan 
whom  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughters  had 
taken  under  their  protection,"  but  no  such  sus- 
]Meion  darkened  the  spirit  of  the  orphan.  She 
had  been  accustomed  from  her  girlhood  to  meet 
the  world  upon  equal  terms ;  and  she  was  un- 
conscious that  it  could  ever  be  otherwise,  or 
that  her  altered  fortunes  might  affect  the  feel- 
ings of  others  towards  her.  Had  she,  indeed, 
learned  this  bitter  lesson,  it  might  have  dimmed 
her  eye  and  paled  her  cheek,  to  reflect  that  she 
was  about  to  brave  such  an  ordeal ;  but  strong 
in  her  honest  single-heatediiess,  no  misgiving 
came  to  mingle  with  her  delight;  and  as  she 
alighti'd  at  the  door  of  the  Manor-house,  she 
th()iii,Mit  only  of  the  kindly  words  and  smiles 
with  which  she  had  been  bidden  there. 

When  she  reached  the  stately  drawing-room, 
into  which  she  was  ushered  by  a  venerable, 
gray-headed  servant,  she  found  it  tenanted  only 
by  Mrs.  Armstrong;  whose  greeting,  smiling 
and  courteous  as  it  was,  was  still  somewhat  con- 
strained. She  was  trembling,  poor  woman  ! 
lest  her  lord  should  not  like  Miss  Mortimer  so 
well  as  she  herself  did,  and  was  consequently 
afraid  of  making  too  ^much  progress 'in  their 
acquaintance. 
But,  although  the  conversation  languished, 


Gertrude  found  ample  amusement  in  admiring 
the  fine  oak-pannclling  of  the  spacious  apart- 
ment, with  its  delicate  carvings  and  grim  old 
family  portraits.  To  her  such  a  room  was  fifty- 
fold  more  attractive  than  any  modern  saloon, 
tricked  out  with  the  myriad  costly  baubles 
which  tell  no  tale  of  the  past;  and  her  bright 
eye  wandered  hither  and  thither,  from  tlie  steel- 
clad  cavalier  to  the  wigged  and  frowning  judge  ; 
and  from  the  prim  and  powdered  dowager  to 
the  bland  and  graceful  maiden,  undisguised 
even  by  the  mass  of  hair  and  plenitude  of  petti- 
coat which  half  concealed  her  age  ;  unconscious 
that  her  hostess  was  ill-at-ease,  and  anxious 
only  to  find  herself  once  more  in  the  society  of 
the  two  amiable  girls  who  had  penetrated  lik« 
sunbeams  into  her  dreary  home. 

She  was  standing,  wrapped  in  admiration  of 
a  fine  full-length,  by  Reynolds,  of  the  late  pro- 
prietor of  the  estate,  upon  which  the  last  ruddy 
tints  of  the  setting  sun  were  lingering  in  a  blaze 
of  glory,  when  the  door  suddenly  opened  ;  and, 
as  she  turned  with  a  throbbing  heart  to  receive, 
as  she  believed,  the  greeting  of  her  young 
friends,  she  found  herself  confronted  by  a  slight 
and  handsome  man,  whose  extreme  likeness  to 
the  portrait  by  which  she  had  been  attracted, 
caused  her  inadvertently  to  start ;  nor  was  she 
singular  in  her  emotion,  for  the  surprise  exhib- 
ited by  the  intruder  as  his  eye  met  hers,  was 
equally  apparent. 

In  the  next  moment,  however,  he  advanced ; 
and  his  bow  was  at  once  respectful  and  cour- 
teous, as  Mrs.  Armstrong  exclaimed  in  a  tone 
of  undisguised  relief,  "  Oh,  I  am  so  very  glad 
that  j'Ou  are  come,  Ernest,  for  the  girls  are 
sadly  late  to-day  I  Miss  Mortimer,  my  dear,  Mr. 
Ernest  Armstrong,  my  son." 

Gertrude  curtseyed,  and  resumed  her  seat 
while  the  young  man,  who  had  promised  to  sa- 
crifice himself  by  flirting  with  the  cottage- 
maiden  in  order  to  secure  her  aunt's  interest  for 
his  father,  was  evidently  at  some  loss  how  to 
commence  his  undertaking.  He  had,  indeed, 
previously  seen  her  more  than  once,  but  never 
as  he  saw  her  then ;  her  graceful  and  delicate 
figure  revealed  in  all  its  symmetry  by  the  soft 
drapery  of  her  transparent  dress ;  her  fair  bi-ow 
crowned  with  a  diadem  of  sunny  hair ;  and  her 
whole  appearance  indicating  the  elegance  and 
refinement  which  are  attainable  only  by  the  well- 
born and  the  well-bred. 

There  is  a  description  of  beauty  which  speaks 
only  to  the  senses;  and  which,  pleasant  as  it 
may  be  to  look  upon,  creates  no  diffidence  in 
the  spectator  ;  and  such  was  the  beauty  which 
Ernest  Armstrong  had  prepared  himself  to  meet, 
from  the  few  and  imperfect  glimpses  which  he 
had  occasionally  obtained  of  Miss  Mortimer. 
He  had  anticipated,  also,  the  blush  and  flutter 
of  an  inexperienced  girl  suddenly  launched  into 
a  sphere  of  society  unsuited  to  her  habits ;  and 
he  was  comparatively  amazed  to  find  himself  in 
the  presence  of  a  beautiful  and  high-bred  wo- 
man, at  once  modest  and  self-possessed. 

One  glance  sufficed  to  show  him  all  this ; 
while  every  word  she  uttered  only  increased 
his  admiration.  The  sunniness  of  her  smile,  the 
softened  brilliancy  of  her  speaking  eyes,  the 
varied  expression  of  her  lovely  and  animated 


96 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


countenance,  and  the  rare  and  beaming  charm 
of  intellect  which  diffused  a  new  beauty  over 
•what  was  alreadj'  beautiful,  together  with  those 
transient  shades  of  melancholy  which  her  early 
ti'ials  had  rendered  a  portion  of  her  nature ;  all 
combined  to  bewilder  his  imagination  and  to 
fascinate  his  feelings.  His  mollier  had,  indeed, 
found  a  diamond  in  the  desert. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  encouraged  by 
the  evident  pleasure  of  her  son,  resumed  her 
usual  composure.  Whore  Ernest,  with  all  his 
fastidiousness  about  women,  took  little  pains 
to  conceal  his  admiration,  she  could  no  longer 
doubt  tliat  his  father  would  be  equally  satisfied 
that  her  discrimination  for  once  had  not  been 
at  fault.  Terhaps  she  might  have  been  less 
eatisfied  with  her  own  generalship  could  she 
have  known,  that  already,  although  half-an-hour 
had  not  elapsed  since  the  introduction,  her  son 
was  secretly  lamenting  the  unlucky  chance 
which  brought  Henry  Somerville,  the  most 
popular  man  in  London,  to  the  Manor-house, 
before  he  had  secured  the  claim  of  previous 
acquaintanceship  with  the  beautiful  young  stran- 
ger. And  never  would  Ernest  Armstrong  him- 
self have  so  heartily  rejoiced  to  learn  that  Henry 
Somerville  was  already  engrossed  with  a  pas- 
sion for  his  sister  Mary,  as  he  would  have  done 
oould  it  have  been  whispered  into  his  ear  at 
tliat  moment. 

Unconscious  of  the  affect  she  had  produced, 
and  wholly  absorbed  by  the  happiness  of  once 
more  tindmg  herself  in  congenial  society,  the 
heart  of  Gertrude  beat  calmly,  and  a  bland 
smile  played  about  her  lip.  The  sisters,  on  their 
entrance,  welcomed  her  with  a  warmth  which 
even  satisfied  Ernest;  and  although  the  old 
gentleman  at  first  met  her  with  a  cold  bow, 
and  a  grave  courtesy  which  was  almost  chilling, 
his  brow  soon  relaxed ;  and  as  he  led  her  to  the 
dining-room,  his  eye  rested  upon  her  beaming 
face  a  moment  longer  than  it  need  have  done. 

"  Have  you  yet  commenced  your  flirtation 
with  the  pretty  villager?"  asked  Mary  mali- 
ciously, as  she  followed  in  the  wake  of  her 
mother,  who  had  taken  the  arm  of  Mr.  Somer- 
ville, leaving  her  daughters  to  the  escort  of 
their  brother. 

•  She  was  answered  only  by  an  impatient 
"  Pshaw  I" 

"  Remember  that  her  aunt  must  have  some 
interest  in  the  borough,"  followed  up  Eleanor 
gaily ;  but  Ernest  made  no  retort. 

"  Do  you  really  not  admire  her?"  asked  Mary 
tnxiously. 

"Do  we  admire  the  angels!"  demanded  her 
brother  in  reply;  "  I  can  scarcely  believe  her  to 
be  human." 

"  My  (Icar  Ernest!"  expostulated  both  the  girls 
somewhat  alarmed,  "  wliat  can  you  mean  ?" 

"  To  '  fool  you  to  the  top  of  your  bent,'  what 
else?"  said  the  young  man,  making  a  violent 
effort  to  restrain  himself.  "  Do  you  not  know 
tliat  both  my  head  and  heart  are  now  too  fully 
occupied  by  votes  and  voters,  to  have  much  at- 
tention to  spare,  even  to  so  pi'ctty  a  girl  as  your 
village  divinity  ?" 

Reassured  by  this  reply,  the  sisters  seated 
themselves  at  table ;  Mary,  in  quiet  gladness,  be- 
side the  brilliant  Somerville,  and  Eleanor  near 


her  new  friend.  Tlie  meal  passed  in  unusual 
cheerfulness,  for  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  silently 
congratulating  herself  upon  the  evident  satisfac- 
tion of  her  husband ;  while  the  Squire  himself, 
startled  out  of  his  ordinary  exclusiveness  by  th« 
beauty  and  elegance  of  his  fair  guest,  and  grati- 
fied by  the  ariival  of  his  son's  friend  to  shar« 
the  fatigue  Of  the  approaching  canvass,  was  full 
of  jest  and  merriment. 

The  spirits  of  Gertrude  rose  under  the  influ- 
ence of  so  genial  an  atmosphere ;  and  the  winning 
swo<;tnes3  of  her  manner,  combined  with  the 
cultivation  of  her  mind,  won  upon  all  around 
her,  although  by  no  means  in  an  equal  degree ; 
for,  long  before  the  evening  came  to  a  close, 
Ernest  Armstrong  was  what  is  commonly  called 
"  over  head  and  ears  in  love  "  with  the  beautiful 
orphan. 

Although  accustomed  from  his  boyhood  to 
frequent  the  society  of  his  sister's  friends,  among 
whom  were  many  richly  endowed  alike  by  n». 
ture  and  by  fortune,  Ernest  had  never,  hitherto, 
evinced  so  decided  a  preference  for  any  one  of 
the  fair  girls  with  whom  he  was  brought  into 
contact,  as  to  justify  his  father  in  the  fondly-in- 
dulged hope  that  he  would  contract  an  early 
marriage  ;  nor  had  even  the  raillery  of  the  old 
gentleman  upon  a  coldness  which  he  declared  to 
imply  a  degeneracy  unpardonable  in  an  Area- 
strong,  produced  the  slightest  eftect. 

Happy  in  his  family,  and  devotedly  attached 
to  his  sisters,  Ernest  enjoyed  the  -passing  hour 
without  attaching  any  importance  tg  tJie  smiles 
which  were  lavished  upon  him  on  all  sides ;  re- 
turning to  the  domestic  circle,  after  every  tempo- 
rary absence,  Avith  all  the  cheerfulness  and 
buoyancy  that  he  had  quitted  it. 

Under  these  circumstances,  however  he  might 
regret  the  apparent  insensibility  of  his  son,  Mr. 
Armstrong,  nevertheless,  consoled  himself  by  the 
belief  that  the  Aitural  ambition  of  Ernest  would 
effectually  protect  him  from  all  danger  of  form- 
ing an  vinequal,  or  what  he  would  have  designa^ 
ed,  an  unworthy  marriage  ;  and  was  fain  to  be 
satisfied  to  see  year  after  year  go  by  without 
any  change  in  the  young  man's  pursuits  or  wish- 
es. Assuredly  the  idea  was  not  likely  to  crosi 
his  mind  that  the  village  of  Bletchley  was  destii> 
ed  to  produce  the  fair  one  who  was  fated  to 
teach  the  hitherto  insensible  heart  of  his  heir 
that,  like  those  of  other  men,  it  was  formed  of 
"  penetrable  stuff',"  and  he  consequently  saw  no 
danger  in  the  bright  eyes  and  ruby  lips  which 
had,  nevertheless,  so  soon  succeeded  in  tliawing 
the  aristocratic  ice  of  his  own  nature ;  for,  with 
all  his  home-joviality.  Squire  Armstrong  was 
deeply  imbued  with  that  ancestorial  vanity  so 
common  among  our  old  English  families;  and 
looked  upon  his  genealogical  tree  as  the  noblest 
possession  of  his  race. 

And  yet,  whether  it  were  the  novel  manner 
of  Gertrude's  introduction  to  his  domestic  circle, 
or  that  she,  in  truth,  possessed  all  the  personal 
and  moral  attributes  which  were  calculated  to 
thrall  his  fancy,  it  is  certain  that  she  almost 
instantly  effected  an  extraordinary  revolution  in 
the  sentiments  of  Ernest  Armstrong.  For  tli« 
first  time  in  his  life,  he  became  aware  that  even 
his  affection  for  his  family,  and  that  ^'earning 
after  some  as  yet  unexplained  good  for  which  he 


5 


a* 
,11* 
■rfi 


liji, 


a,  lit 

f 
iifli 

ilitf, 
tlitl 
tb-ii 

Hill 

toll 


Wis 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES.  97 

.1  panted  from  liis  boyhood  up,  did  not  suffice. fulness  to  Him  wlio  had  raisod  for  lior  so  briicflit 

satisfy  all  the  cravings  of  his  heart,  in  whicli  an  oasis  in  the  desert  of  her  blighted  existence, 

•per  and  softer  feelings  were  nestled,  which  and  looked  with   renewed  cheerfulness   upon 

1  never,  hitherto,   been   awakened  from  their  future  from  wliich  she  had  hitherto  shrunk  with 

t.     Unconsciously,   even   to   himself,   he  had  a  feeling  of  desolation  and  anxiety. 

ihably  formed  a  bfatt  ideal  of  female  perfection 

lioh  all  his  previous  experience    had  failed  to 

ilize,  and  which   was   now   suddenly  placed 

ore  him;   for  it  is  certain  that  every  mind 

■;ites  its  own  fabric  of  brightness;  every  imag- 

,tion  combines  its  own  vision  of  beautj' ;  and 

■ry  taste  establislies  its  own  rule  of  harmony. 

.'  "world  is  full  of  loveliness,  but  that  loveliness 

■cts  difterent  persons  in  a  dilferent  degree  ;  a 

(•umstance  whence  must  be  deduced  the  fact, 

it  scant  justice  is  frequently  rendered  to  the 

iHctions  of  some  very  handsome  women,  while 

^e  of  others  excite  the  greatest  enthusiasm  in 
■  same  individuals. 

rims  it  chanced  that  in  Gertrude  Mortimer 
re  combined  all  the  peculiar  excellences 
lich  were  essential  to  the  taste  of  Ernest  Arm- 
oiig;  who,  affectionate  rather  than  impassion- 

could  see  no  cham  in  a  beauty  devoid  of 
itleness  and  repose,  and  who  was  a  stranger 
that  exaggeration  of  sentiment,  and  impetuosi- 
of  feeling,  which  are  as  bi-ief  as  tliey  are  de- 
nstrative.  His  temperament  partook  rather 
tlie  genial  warmth  of  the  sunshine  wliich 
2;ers  were  it  glows,  than  of  the  fiery  lava 
ich  consumes  all  over  whicli  it  passes,  only  to 
urate  into  stone  as  it  flows  onward.  His 
tes,  save  such  as  led  him  to  covet  advance- 
nt  and  the  world's  plaudits,  were  simple  and 
iiied,  and  there  was  a  depth  in  all  his  feelings 
ich,  although  difficiilt  to  fathom,  rendered 
an  equally  beyond  the  power  of  common 
Mits  to  ruffle  or  disturb. 

Co  love,  with  such  a  man,  was  to  love  earnest- 
and  well,   and  the   fact  that  he  had  attained 

four-and-twentieth  year  without  even  ad- 
;ting  to  himself  a  preference,  far  less  a  passion, 
s  a  suttieient  proof  that  he  was  not  to  be  mis- 

merely  by  an  excited  fancy.  Accustomed  to 
ilyze  and  to  reflect,  he  readily  detected  the 
^■^-seeming  of  the  designing,  and  the  artificial ; 
ile  lie  was  keenly  alive  to  all  that  was  sincere, 
1  great,  and  beautiful.  Mature  in  mind,  be- 
ise  alilce  self-governed  and  persevering,  he 
lid  appreciate  tiie  mental  and  moral  qualities 
others,  at  the  same  time  that  he  possessed  in 
;iself  every  necessary  attribute  to  grace  and 
'Iden  domestic  life. 

Mich  was  tlie  heart  which  Gertrude  was  des- 
';d,  unconsciously,  to  win, — poor  Gei-trude, 
o  had  been  slighted  and  abandoned  for  a 
■'■ions    and    worldly   coquette    by   one    whoj 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  time,  meanwhile,  was  passing  very  differ- 
ently with  Sybil.  Like  Gertrude,  siie  had  been 
cradled  in  luxury,  and,  like  her,  she  had  expe- 
rienced a  reverse ;  but  there  ended  tiie  parallel. 
The  trials  of  the  orphan  had  been  totally  inde- 
pendent of  her  own  actions,  while  the  brilliant 
Miss  Delamere  had  recklessly  rushed  upon  her^ 
fate.  Born  in  the  midst  of  affluence,  she  had' 
been  tiie  child  of  care  and  affection,  and  happi- 
Kcss  appeared  to  be  her  birthright.  The  pas- 
sionate caresses  of  a  weak  and  indulgent 
mother,  and  the  ill-judged  admiration  of  a  short- 
sighted father,  proud  of  her  beauty,  and  lavish 
of  his  praises,  had  early  taught  hfr  the  secret 
of  her  childish  importance,  while  the  unealcu- 
lating  expenditure  by  which  she  was  surrounded, 
imbued  her  with  a  selfishness  that,  even  in  her 
girlhood,  became  the  mainspring  of  all  her 
actions. 

To  desire  was,  in  her  case,  to  possess,  and  to 
possess  was  ere  long  scarcely  to  enjoy.  Uncon- 
scious, or,  still  worse,  careless  of  tlie  wants  of 
others,  poverty  was  to  her  an  emptj'  sound  ;  and 
human  suffering  the  invention  of  romance,  or 
the  heirloom  of  a  race  distinct  from  that  to 
which  she  appertained,  and  consequently,  be- 
yond the  pale  of  her  sympathy.  Her  eyes  were 
never  pained  by  the  dismal  spectacle  of  penury, 
nor  her  ears  importuned  by  the  wailings  of  the 
unfortunate.  Her  sky  was  all  sunshine,  and  she 
never  paused  to  ask  herself  over  whose  devoted 
head  the  clouds  had  lowered  which  were  swept 
from  her  own  horizon.  If  she  ever  wept,  the 
tears  were  those  of  a  susceptible  vanity,  so 
easily  wounded  as  to  be  seldom  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  most  puny  weapon ;  for  she  had  no 
other  sorrows,  and  as  her  Avhole  existence  was 
concentrated  in  self,  so  she  had  no  grief  to  give 
to  the  woes  of  those  less  richly  dowered. 

In  one  respect,  however,  this  self-adulation 
proved  her  friend  ;  for  anxious  to  shine  in  that 
world  wliich  was  the  worshipped  idol  in  her 
luxurious  liome,  she  devoted  herself  with  the 
pertinacious  earnestness  which  formed  a  strong 
featui-e  in  her  character,  to  the  various  studies 


which  were  rather  suggested  tlian  urged  upon 
lier.     In  every  showy  accomplishment  she  soon 
d  have  known  and  prized  her  better ;  but  j  excelled ;  and,  overwhelmed  by  the   delighted 
!  human  beings  always  pursue  the  fitt'rig  path,  I  encomiums  of  lier  exulting  parents,  she  learned 
^;  world  would  become   a  paradise,   and  we|to  appreciate  the  increase   of  attraction  which 


1  be  apt  to  forget  that  there  is  a  brighter 
d  beyond. 

.ittl<(  dreaming  that  the  happy  evening  which 
■  had  sjient  in  the  midst  of  smiles,  and  flowers, 
1  music,  was  to  form  an  era  in  the  existence 
one  at  loast  of  the  party,  she  consequently 
'k  leave  of  her  friends  at  the  Hall  with  a 
ddened  and  a  grateful  heart,  over  which  no 
irle  shadow  reflected  to  mar  its  joy,  and  on  her 


he  thus  secured,  and  turned   eagerly  to  newer 
and  more  difficult  attainments. 


These  slie  mastered  in  their  turn,  to  a  degree 
which  rendered  her  what  she  had  always  panted 
to  become — the  envy  of  her  own  sex,  and  the 
admiration  of  the  other ;  and  the  petted,  over- 
;  dressed,  and  jewel-laden  plaything  of  the  draw- 
ing room  ;  the  wilful,  capricious,  and  haughty 
idol  of  the  nursery ;  and  the  pains-taking  aii»' 
ucjv^ard  drive  poured  out  her  spirit  in  thank- 1  persevering  tenant  of  the  schoolroom,  found  her- 
7 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEiVUTIES. 


Belf  at  eighteen  "  the  observed  of  nil  observers." 
Something  waa,  however,  still  wanting,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  siie  found  that  some- 
thing beyond  her  reach,  and  discovered  that  she 
■was  not  all-powerful.  Surrounded  by  tlie  cost- 
ly appearances  of  wealth,  the  reputed  heiress 
o'f  thousands,  and  the  belle  of  every  ball-room  ; 
gifted  alike  by  nature  and  by  fortune,  Sybil 
Delamere  aspired  to  exalted  rank,  and  deemed 
no  station  too  lofty  for  her  merits.  In  vain  did 
Buitors  present  themselves,  to  whom  even  her 
anxious  and  doting  father  could  advance  no 
plausible  objection ;  their  addresses  were  re- 
pulsed witli  scorn  ;  and  the  haughty  beauty  at 
the  age  of  five-and-twenty  found  herself  still 
Miss  Delamere. 

It  is  true  that  she  had  nobles  in  her  train,  but 
among  these  some  demurred  to  her  pedigree  ; 
others  to  her  undisguised  coquetry  ;  and  othei-s 
again,  (the  weakest  of  the  tribe,)  to  her.  some- 
•what  ostentatiously  displayed  acquirements. 
She  was  a  delightful  companion  in  a  ball-room, 
a  eharming  acquaintance  in  a  crowd,  but  none 
among  them  wooed  her  as  a  wife.  They  en- 
ihrined  their  idol  with  the  most  delicate  flattery, 
but  they  left  her  upon  her  self-erected  pedestal. 

Nevertheless  she  untiringly  pursued  her  ob- 
ject. Wealth  could  not  win  her,  for  she  was 
unconscious  of  it«  value,  never  having  felt  its 
want ;  of  superior  talent  she  was  jealous ;  for 
in  her  inborn  selfishness  she  loved  it  only  as  a 
means,  not  as  an  end ;  while  to  the  gentler  and 
purer  charm  of  genuine  affection  she  was  alto- 
gether insensible — she  sufficed  to  herself.  Every 
action,  every  word  was  measured,  and  adopted 
to  the  one  engrossing  aim  of  her  life — a  mar- 
riage of  vanity,  and  nothing  appeared  impossi- 
ble to  her  impei-ious  and  ambitious  spirit. 

Handsome,  witty,  and  self-possessed ;  as  she 
disgusted  one  set  of  admirers  by  her  insolent  as- 
Bumption,  she  saw  new  lovers  ever  ready  to 
chain  themselves  to  the  wheels  of  her  ehariot, 
and  at  length,  among  the  crowd  of  her  admirers 
she  numbered  Sir  Horace  Trevor,  a  baronet  of 
ancient  family  and  large  estate,  who,  captivated 
by  her  beautv,  and  the  admiration  of  which  she 
was  everywhere  tl>e  object,  laid  himself  and  his 
fortunes  at  her  feet  after  the  brief  acquaintance 
of  a  month. 

Assuredly  such  a  marriage  was  far  from  reali- 
sing the  lo,,g-indulged  visions  of  the  spoiled 
beauty  ;  but  as  he  wliispered  his  hopes  into  her 
car  during  the  pause  of  a  quadrille,  she  sudden- 
ly remembei-ed  that  her  youth  was  ebbing  from 
her,  and  tiiat  she  had  attained  the  sober  age  of 
twenty-five. 

What  marvel,  then,  that  she  answered  by  a 
•  nile? 

A  few  months  subsequent  to  this  engagement, 
Sybil  lost  her  father  ;  nor  was  it  until  upon  his 
death-bed  he  revealed  the  fact,  that  slie  became 
aware  of  the  hollowness  of  her  position.  She 
had,  indeed,  long  been  standing  upon  a  sand- 
heap,  which  waa  rapidly  crumbling  away  be- 
neath her. 

The  ])rincipnl  of  a  mcreantile  house  which 
had  for  several  generations  ranked  as  one  of 
the  most  wealthy  in  the  country,  Mr.  Delamere 
had  sacrificed  to  ostentation  and  self-indulgence 
eo  large  &  portion  of  his  capital,  that  be  found 


it  necessary  to  enter  into  extensive  and  hazan. 
ous  speculations  in  order  to  retrieve    his  fall 
fortunes  ;  but,  naturally  sanguine,  reckless,  an,, 
indolent,  he  had   by  such   means  only  increase' 
his    difficulties,    and    now,    in    his    last    hou 
when  he  should  have  put  from  him  all  thouglj 
of  the    world,    and    the    world's    vanities,     1 
found  himself   compelled  to  humble  his  prou 
spirit   before   the    wife    whom    he    had    mine, 
and  the  daughter  whom  he   had  deceived  ;  an 
to  confess  that  he   had  for  j'ears   existed  upo,l 
the  credit  so  long   and    so  laboriously  create! 
by  his  predecessors,  while  he  was,  in  fact,  a'' 
most  a  beggar.  \ 

He  told  his  tale,  and  died. 

With  what  feelings  it  was  heard  by  his  aj 
palled  and  helpless  wife,  it  were  idle  to  attempi 
even  for  an  instant,  to  describe ;  while  upo. 
Sybil  it  produced  no  more  powei-ful  effect  thai 
surprise.  To  her  the  idea  of  approachin'. 
poverty  could  only  convey  a  mass  of  vague  an' 
undefined  images  ;  she  attached  no  tangibl 
meaning  to  the  word.  Her  father  had  d< 
dared,  while  the  large  tears  fell  slow  and  col 
upon  his  wasted  cheeks,  that  ti\enceforwar 
there  remained  nothing  to  his  family  save  th 
strictest  necessaries  of  existence ;  and  Syb; 
with  a  smile,  had  bidden  him  cense  to  griev 
for  this  at  least,  as  they  should  be  rich  enoug 
with  these. 

And  if  the  dying  man,  even  ainiil  his  Win 
and  doting  adoration  of  his  brilliant  chile 
marvelled  despite  himself,  for  a  ruoment  at  th 
cheerful  self-abnegation  of  one  who  had  neve 
hitherto  displayed  so  holy  and  beautiful  forgei 
fulness  of  her  own  interests,  the  mistake  was 
happy  one,  and  served  to  smooth  his  downwarJ|C '"! 
passage  to  the  tomb;  for  even  he,  in  such  a 
hour,  ceased  to  remember  that  his  prized  an< 
pampered  Sybil  numbered  among  the  necei 
saries  of  everj'-day  life  equipages,  and  jewelt 
and  piled  carpets,  and  silken  draperies,  an> 
all  the  gaud  and  glitter  of  fashionable  exist' 
erice. 

But  even  had  Miss  Delamere  been  enabled  t 
form  a  more  correct  estimate  of  the  essential 
of  life,  she  would  still  have  regarded  with  pel 
feet  pliilo-^ophy  the  change  which  had  s 
suddenly  come  over  her  fortunes;  for  she  « 
membered  her  engagement,  and  eonsequentl 
felt  herself  free  from  all  apprehensions  for  th 
future.  Sir  Horace  Trevor  was  sufficientlj 
wealthy  to  render  such  a  circumstance  uniix 
portant,  and  she  never  reflected  for  an  iustan 
that  the  ruin  of  her  father  could  affect  her  ow> 


^0 


■lik 
im 

J«l 

1.1 

rid 

Hid 

laiji 
iinta 
Mil 


prospects. 

,  Nor  was  her  trust  in  her  lover  ill-foundec 
The  baronet,  of  course,  learned,  with  the  res 
of  the  world,  that  the  apparently  giganti| 
wealth  of  Mr.  Delamere  had  been  a  mer, 
splendid  fallacy  ;  but  he  was  too  thorough!; 
subjugated  by  the  fascinations  of  his  afiiancoi 
bride  to  see  in  such  a  circumstance  any  reasoi, 
for  liberating  himself  from  his  engagement  \ 
and  thus,  although  when  the  aft'airs  of  thi 
deceased  merchant  were  wound  up,  amid  whicl| 
the  personal  debts  of  Sybil  herself  furnishe(; 
no  inconsiderable  item,  and  that  it  was  ascerj 
tained  how  very  limited  a  sum  remained  io\\ 
the  maintenance  of  the  widow  and  her  daughtei: 


ll 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


99 


lither  the  vain  and  weak  mother,  or  her  child, 
( isidered  it  necessary  to  make  the  retrench- 
iiits  which  their  altered  means  suggested  ; 
Moly  satisfying  themselves  with  such  as  were 
< forced  upon  them  by  their  mourning  state, 
id  retiring  to  one  of  the  country  residences 
(  Mr.  Delamere,  which,  by  the  zoal  and  self- 
(votion  of  some  of  his  tried  friends,  had 
l.^n  saved  from  the  wreck  of  his  property, 
k1  there  surrounding  themselves  witli  the 
] curies  and  comforts  to  which  they  had  been 
I  ?ustomed. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  is  scarcely  neces- 
.^•y  to  explain  that  the  capital,  which,  pru- 
(■Qtly  administered,  might  at  least  have  insured 
t  the  survivors  a  modest  existence,  became 
i^idl}' diminished  in  amount;  but  still  no  at- 
Inpt  was  made  by  either  to  defer  the  impend- 
ij  ruin. 

Mrs.  Delamere,  who  had  throughout  her 
'lole  life,  been  accustomed  to  depend  on  others, 
iiiidoned  the  care  of  her  future  career  en- 
tely  to  Sybil ;  who,  strong  in  her  prospect  of 
f)!!  becoming  Lady  Trevor,  scorned  to  admit 
13  possibility  of  any  change  in  their  mode  of 

Had  not  their  equipages  been  reduced  from 
ii.-ee  to  one  ? — their  establishment  from  half- 
«lozen  lounging  and  powdered  footmen,  to  a 
fitary  male  attendant  ?  Had  they  not  witli- 
ciwn  from  the  gay  world  into  an  almost  total 
I  itude  ? 

To  the  supine  and  sorrowing  mother,  such 
ijuments  were  unanswerable,  and  with  a  total 
iiorance  of  business  she  rapidly  satisfied 
Irself  that  it  was  impossible  to  accomplish 
1  ire  ;  and  as  she  glanced  from  her  crape  and 
"uibaziue  to  the  glowing  countenance  of  Tre- 
r,  and  the  evident  composure  of  Sybil,  who 
:  d  voluntarily  assumed  all  the  responsibility 
'  their  position,  she  ceased  to  trouble  herself 
on  the  subject. 

Tluis  the  year  of  mourning  passed  by  ;  and 
til  it  passed  away  also  an  important  portion 
the  means  upon  which  they  had  now  to  de- 
nd  for  their  subsistence  ;  but  this  eonsidera- 
111  ap])eared  in  no  degree  to  influence  the 
iiceediiigs  or  feelings  of  Miss  Delamere.  As 
0  period  arrived  at  which  the  widow  could 
ce  more  appear  with  propriety  in  the  world, 
e  took  active  measures  to  dispose  of  the 
otty  villa,  which  was  their  last  home  of 
rly  days,  and  having  succeeded  in  securing 
eligible  purchaser,  completed  the  sale  under 
r  mother's  sanction  ;  and  forthwith  busied 
rself  in  appropriating  the  proceeds  to  the 
irangement  of  a  hired  house  in  an  unexcep- 
jjnable  part  of  town,  whence  her  marriage 
light  take  place  without  derogation,  either  to 
T  own  consequence,  or  to  that  of  her  bride- 
oom. 

IWearied  of  the  monotony  of  the  country, 
iid  glad  of  any  change  which  promised  amusc- 
ent,  Mrs.  Delamere  looked  on  in  silence  ;  and 
'hen  she  once  more  found  herself  in  tiie  midst 
;  accustomed  scenes  and  familiar  faces,  she 
lit  no  inclination  to  question  tlie  prudence  by 
hich  her  individual  comfort  was  thus  en- 
mced,  while  Sybil  herself,  delighted  to  be 
ice  more  restored  to  congenial  habita  of  dissi- 


pation, ^md  to  become  anew  an  object  of  adula- 
tion and  envy,  closed  her  ears  alike  against  the 
warnings  of  friends  and  the  sneers  of  enemies, 
and  plunged  recklessly  into  the  torrent  of 
fashion,  which  received  her  upon  its  surface, 
as  it  is  ever  willing  to  do  every  brilliant  bubble, 
so  long  as  it  is  able  to  support  itself  by  its  own 
buoyancy,  content  to  take  its  revenge  upon  its 
hollow  mockery  when  it  bursts. 

Sir  Horace  Trevor  was  assiduous  in  his  hom- 
age ;  somewhat  weak,  and  undisguisedly  vain, 
the  lounger  of  fashion,  who  was  about  to  sacri- 
fice what  the  roues  of  society  call  their  freedom 
to  the  charms  and  fascinations  of  Miss  Delamere, 
was  too  proud  of  the  admiration  elicited  by  his 
afiianced  Avife  to  find  any  time,  or  to  feel  any 
inclination  to  censure  the  wanton  improvidence 
which  was  necessiated  by  its  indulgence.  Per- 
haps he  might  have  desired  to  see  the  accom- 
plishments and  attractions  of  the  beautiful  co- 
quette more  immediately  exerted  for  his  own 
gratifications  ;  but  be  this  as  it  might,  it  is  at 
least  certain  that  none  could  have  discovered 
such  a  feeling  in  his  manner  ;  and  that,  although 
the  name  of  the  brilliant  Miss  Delamere  was  oc- 
casionally coupled  at  the  clubs,  or  on  the  mall, 
with  those  of  more  than  one  of  his  most  familiar 
friends,  (and  that  not  always  with  the  degree 
of  respect  and  caution  due  to  a  betrothed  wife,) 
he  was  still  to  be  seen  at  her  side,  alike  in  pub- 
lic, and  in  the  luxurious  semi-solitude  of  her 
home,  as  attentive,  as  devoted,  and  as  absorbed 
as  ever. 

The  season  was  nearly  at  an  end.  London 
began  to  yawn  from  its  suburbs  to  its  very  cen- 
tre. That  miniite  portion  of  its  denizens  who 
insolently  call  themselves  "  the  world,"  were 
hurrj-ing  either  to  their  estates  in  the  country, 
or  to  display  their  wearied  glories  in  foreign 
courts  ;  the  matches  which  had  been  arranged 
during  the  turmoil  of  the  last  three  months,  were 
publicly  heralded  in  the  "  Post,"  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  the  vulgar,  and  were  already  engrossing 
the  inventive  faculties  of  milliners,  and  employ- 
ing the  technical  talents  of  the  law.  It  had 
j  been,  as  was  generally  allowed  by  the  privileged, 
1  an  "unusually  good  spring;"  tradesmen  were 
'  calculating  their  gains,  and  mothers  smiling  over 
1  their  triumphs.  There  had  been  no  important 
I  deaths  "  to  plunge  half  a  dozen  noble  families 
I  into  mourning,"  and  people  had  nothing  left  to 
do  but  to  rush  abroad  and  become  voluntary 
exiles  for  the  remainder  of  the  year,  or  to  stay 
at  home  and  "  dullify." 

Sj'bil,  like  the  rest,  was  somewhat  worn  and 
somewhat  withered  by  the  ceaseless  race  of  dis- 
sipation ;  but  this  was  not  all.  Among  the 
"  fashionable  departures  for  the  continent"  figured 
the  name  of  Sir  Horace  Trevor — Trevor,  the  ob- 
sequious suitor,  and  the  affianced  bridegroom — 
Trevor,  the  bewailed  of  the  clubs,  and  Uie 
mourned  of  the  dandies — Trevor,  the  quasi-ben- 
edict !  What  could  this  mean  ? 
I  Suffice  it  that  he  was  gone,  and  that  there 
I  wa«  joy  and  gratulation  at  the  hearth  of  his 
I  venerable  father.  It  was  evident  that,  be  the 
j  cause  what  it  might, — and  the  fecret  had  been, 
'■  for  a  wonder,  marvellously  kept — his  marriage 
I  was  at  an  end. 
I      In  another  month,  Mrs.  Delamere   and  her 


100 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIE& 


daughter  left  town,  and  in  three  more  they  were 
domesticated  at  The  Grange. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  little  French  clock  in  the  morning-room 
of  Miss  Delaraere  had  chimed  twelve,  and  was 
Btill  ringing  out  the  simple  and  pretty  air  of 
Charmante  Gabrielle,  in  that  clear  and  almost 
unearthly  harmony  which  seems  as  if  created 
by  the  movements  of  a  fairy  dancing  over  a 
peal  of  silver  bells  ;  but  its  music  had  evidently 
no  charm  for  the  ear  of  its  brillant  mistress. 
Attired  with  a  care  and  coquetry  which  be- 
trayed her  detei-mination  to  enhance  to  the  ut- 
most the  value  of  her  personal  attractions,  there 
was,  nevertheless,  a  cloud  upon  the  brow  of 
Sybil  which  accorded  ill  with  the  festal  charac- 
ter of  her  dress.  And  well  might  it  linger  there, 
for  she  felt  that  the  next  few  hours  must  decide  : 
her  fate. 

As  yet  Mortimer  had  not  disappointed  even  [ 
tlie  slightest  of  her  anticipations.  She  had  play- ' 
ed  her  game  skilfully  and  boldly,  and  the  stake 
was  almost  won.  But  there  was  still  a  difficul- 
ty  to  overcome  ;  and  even  she,  self-sufficing  as 
she  was,  shrank  before  it.  She  had  yet  to  tell 
him  that  she  was  a  beggar !  True,  she  had 
smiled  when  her  mother  alluded  to  this  necessi- 
ty, and  declared  the  matter  unimportant ;  but 
when  she  compelled  herself  to  look  closely,  and 
to  remember  the  circumstances  under  which 
they  had  originally  met,  and  the  false  seeming 
by  which  she  had  maintained  her  brilliant  posi- 
tion, her  heart  almost  failed.  Had  slie  not  al- 
ready found  it  necessarj'  to  urge  forward  her 
marriage  by  an  expedient  which  even  she  her- 
self blushed  to  recall,  although  she  would  not 
have  hesitated  to  repeat  it  had  there  existed 
need  for  such  a  measure  ?  And  had  she  not 
ventured  upon  this  expedient  from  a  knowledge 
of  the  susceptibilitj'  of  her  suitor  in  all  that  re- 
garded his  honor  ?  Here  at  least  she  had  pos-  \ 
Bessed  a  strong  conviction  to  work  upon ;  but  in 
her  present  extremity  she  was  less  assured.  Of  the 
fervent  and  almost  blind  affection  of  Mortimer 
Bhe  could  not  entertain  a  doubt ;  but  she  was ' 
nevertheless  aware  that  he  had  wooed  and  won  ' 
her  under  the  impression  that  she  was  as  wealthy  j 
as  himself ;  and  she  could  not  foresee  the  effect' 
likely  to  be  produced  upon  his  mind  by  the  dis- ' 
covery  of  so  vital  an  error.  1 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  that  she  ; 
had  overacted  her  part,  and  voluntarily  plunged  ' 
into  a  sea  of  difficulties.  It  was,  however,  too 
late  for  re])entance,  for  she  could  no  longer  con- 
ceal the  real  circumstances  of  her  position. — 
Mortimer  liad  already  spoken  of  the  necessity 
of  summoning  a  professional  friend  for  the  pur- 
pose of  preparing  tlie  marriage-settlements;  and 
she  was  well  aware  that  a  lawyer  was  not  to  be  I 
blinded  like  a  lover.  Jloreovcr,  her  pecuniary 
resources  were  almost  exhausted  ;  she  had  no 
longer  an  instant  to  lose  :  all  the  splendor  and 
indulgence  by  which  she  had  surrounded  her- 
self were  about  to  vanish  like  a  dream  ;  and  she 
bitterly  felt  that  youth  and  li()|)e  would  alike  | 
paas  away  with  them.     All  further  attempt  to  j 


disguise  her  actual  situation  was  impracticable 
and  even  fertile  as  she  had  proved  herself  hithei 
to  in  expedients,  she  was  compelled  to  admit  th 
fact.  ISotlpug  was  left,  therefore,  save  to  avoi 
her  utter  want  of  fortune  to  Mr.  Mortimer,  an 
to  trust  to  fate  and  her  own  fascinations  to  a< 
complisii  a  new  triumph. 

Upon  one  point  alone  she  was  decided — sh 
must  not — she  dared  not — tell  him  the  truth 
she  knew  too  well  that  his  rigid  sense  of  righ 
would  revolt  against  the  persevering  falsehoc 
and  dishonesty  of  her  past  conduct ;  some  fabl 
must  be  invented  to  amuse  him,  and  to  interes 
, his  sj-mpathies  in  her  behalf;  he  must  not  b 
I  suffered  to  suspect  that  he  had  been  duped. 

Such  were  the  reflections  of  the  female  Ms 
chiavel,  who  sat  surrounded  with  luxury, 
[herself  the  brightest  object  in  that  sunny  sun: 
imer-room,  awaiting  the  advent  of  her  suitor 
land  well  had  she  calculated  her  influence  ove 
I  his  mind.     "  Every  thing  by  turns,  and  nothin)' 
j  long,"  the  very  "Cynthia  of  the  minute,"  sh' 
was  aware  that  her  strong  hold  on  Mortime' 
[was    her   infinite    variety,    which    amused   hi 
imagination  while  it  bewildered  his  judgmenl 
Tears  had  served  her  well  upon  a  former  occa' 
sion,   but  then   it  was   the    fond   and   sensitivj 
woman  shrinking  from  the  first  faint  breath 
blame,  and  tears  were  the  natural  and  fittini' 
concomitant  of  such  a  grief     Xow,  it  was  he' 
pride,    not   her   delicacy,   which  was  in   armt^ 
She  must  show  him  that  she  would  rather  resigi    'i' 
even  his  love  than  her  own  self-respect     YL    ??"' 
must  find  her  with  a  dry  eye  and  an  apparently'     '^^ 
settled    purpose,    however   that    purpose    wi    -.^'^ ' 
actually  destined  to  be  shaken  by  his  expostn' 
lations.      But,    confident    as    she   was   in    he 
powers  of  dissumulation,  she  was  yet  terrifiedl 
lest,  by  so  Ater  a  change  in  her  worldly  ciii 
cumstances,  those  expostulations  should  be  with 
held ;  and  now,  in  her  solitude,  there   was 
acting   in   the  terrible  emotion  which   bathe< 
her  brow  with  chilling  damps,  and  made  he 
pulses  throb. 

A  rapid  step  in  the  hall,  and  the  hurrie>i 
opening  of  the  door  of  her  apartment,  ere  loni 
startled  her  into  the  renewed  energy  of  purpose ' 
and  as  Mortimer  approached  her  with  joy  beamj 
ing  in  his  eyes,  she  extended  her  hand, 
struggled  to  smile  a  welcome. 

The  (juick  glance  of  att'ection  was  not,  how' 
ever,  to  be  cheated  by  the  oomp)jlled  wreathin 
of  that  palp  and  trembling  lip  ;  and  it  was  wit 
great  alarm  that  Mortimer  inquired  into  th 
cause  of  so  violent  an  emotion. 

"  Alas,  Frederic,"  replied  Miss  Delamere, 
she  averted  her  face,  and  breathed  a  sigh  whic 
appeared  to  heave  a  weight  of  woe  from  he' 
oppressed  bosom;  "No  wonder  that  I  ar 
wretched,  when  I  am  called  upon  to  commun: 
cate  to  you  that  which  will,  in  all  probabilitj 
separate  us  for  ever." 

"  What  can  you  mean,  Sybil  ?"  was  the  anxion 
retort  of  tlie  bewildered  Jlortimer ;  "  surel; 
your  anonymous  persecutor  has  not  dared  agai 
to  invade  your  peace  ?  Speak,  I  entreat  of  you 
and  leave  me  now  at  least,  free  to  unmask  th 
cowardly  assassin,  who  is  amusing  his  foul  le 
ure  by  undermining  our  happiness." 

Sybil  shook  her  head,  ana  remained  silent 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


101 


"  If  the  law  can  reach  him," — pursued  Morti 
]>r  indignantly. 

"  Fate,  not  malice,  is  our  present  enemy," 
I  a1  Miss  Delamere  with  a  second  sigh.  "  There 
ino  foe  to  combat,  no  adversary  to  overcome. 
;  K'lieved  that  all  ray  trials  were  at  last  over ; 
•at  all  my  visions  were  about  to  be  realized; 
1 1 1  deceived  myself.  Strong  in  your  affection, 
.lad  forgotten  that  chance  and  change  are  the 
j  verniiig  principles  of  this  life,  and  1  have  been 
iddenly  awakened  from  my  delusion.     Wiiile 

.vas  dreaming  in  fancied  security  of  a  future 
I  peace   and  love,  insured  by   your   affection, 

stiny  was  at  work  to  falsify  all  my  provisions. 
;  ihaps  I  was  not  worthy  of  so  much   happi- 

ss;  in  any  case  the  illusion  is  dispelled,  like 
;iny  by  which  it  was  preceded.     I  appear,  and 

■  ve  long  appeared,  to  live  in  a  world  of  shadows. 
.10  sooner  seek  to  grasp  them  than  they  elude 
W  touch.  You  know  not, — may  you  never 
;  ow  ! — the  trials  which  I  have  passed,  gaily  as 
!niay  seem  to  defy  fate  ;  but  for  this  blow  I 
mfess  that  I  was  totally  unprepared!" 

"  Sybil,  you  torture  me  !" 

"  For  your  sake  and  for  my  own,   I  will   at 

■  ee  speak  plainly,"  said  Miss  Delamere,  while 
.'r  fingers  wandered,  as  if  unconsciously,  among 

e  luxuriant  hair  of  her  listener,  and  parted  the  i 
'  uvy  curls  from  his  liot  and  throbbing  forehead,  j 
Our  contemplated  union  is  at  an  end.  We, 
:  ly,  we  must  be,  still  dear  to  each  other,  Fred- 
•  k' ;  but  we  can  be  no  more  than  friends.  The 
^operty  of  my  father  was  placed  in  the  hands 
I  trustees,  one  of  whom  has  absconded,  carry-' 
;t  with  him  all  the  funds  upon  which  my 
iither  and  myself  were  dependent  for  our  sup- 1 
;  rt.  The  other  was  a  mere  cypher,  from  whom 
:  thing  can  be  recovered,  nothing  lioped.  Like  | 
rselves,  he  entrusted  all  to  liis  colleague  ;  and  i 
;e  ourselves,  he  is  also  a  very  heavy  loser ; ! 
,t  he  has  other  resources — we  have  none. 
tLM-ly  in  his  power,  through  the  confidence  of 
V  misguided  father,  and  the  faith  reposed  in 
m  by  his  co-trustee,  his  evasion  is  «ur  utter 
in  ;  and  all  this — the  blight  of  two  lives,  audi 
<■  wreck  of  one  fabric  of  liappiness  such  as  the 
iild  has  seldom  ever  dreamed  of,  has  been 
ijveyed  to  me  on  a  single  page — in  a  few 
jrmal  lines  of  condolence  and  information.  Of, 
(yself  I  dare  not  speak.  It  is  only  in  my  own' 
•art  that  I  am  conscious  of  the  amount  of  suf-  j 
ring  which  I  am  called  upon  singly  to  endure." 
And  as  she  ceased  speaking,  the  head  of  Sybil 
nk  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  lover,  and  he  felt 
c  sliudder  which  passed  over  her  whole  frame.  '■ 
"  And  is  this  all  f"  asked  Mortimer,  as  he 
asped  her  to  his  heart.  "  Is  this  the  mighty 
I'l  insurmountable  obstacle  which  is  to  sever 
?  Surely  Sybil,  you  wrong  me  by  such  a 
'utjt,  and  you  have  never  understood  the 
iture  of  my  love.  Did  you  for  a  moment  sus-l 
■<t  that  I  valued  you  for  your  power  of  adding 
I'  my  wealth,  or  for  anything  save  your  own 
J2ar  self?  How  little  do  you  yet  understand  a 
jwsion  like  mine  !  Learn  to  know  me  better  ; 
id  to  feel  tliat  I  rather  rejoice  at  this  sudden  i 
veise  of  fortune  which  makes  you  more  entirely , 
y  own.  Are  j-ou  mourning  over  your  loss  of  i 
Buenee?  Havel  not  enough  for  both  of  us? 
^Uat  have  yfu  lost!     Will  not  our  home  be] 


that  of  your  mother,  and  am  I  not  rich  enougTi 
to  maintain  you  in  comfort  and  opulence  to 
which  you  have  been  accustomed  ?  Fie  upon 
you,  Sybil ;  you  have  never  yet  understood  me. 
Now,  indeed,  we  shall  be  everything  to  each 
other,  you  will  be  all  my  own ;  al)  your  happi- 
ness will  be  in  my  keeping  and  believe  me,  I 
will  prove  worthy  of  the  trust.  Our  mutual 
affection  will  never  be  endangered  by  a  diver- 
sity of  interests  ;  but  doublj^  united  by  affection 
and  by  marriage,  we  shall  have  but  one  heart 
and  one  soul.  Oli,  my  beloved  Sybil !"  he  added 
passionately  ;  "  this  calamity  alone  was  needed 
to  show  yoxi  all  the  extent  of  my  attachment; 
and  far  from  deprecating  its  occurrence,  I  wel- 
come it  as  the  blessed  means  of  proving  to  you 
the  sincerity  of  an  affection  which  can  end  only 
with  my  life.  Henceforward  I  shall  remember 
that  I  won  you  when  you  were  wealthy  and  in- 
dependent, and  when  I  could  offer  you  no  equiv- 
alent for  the  position  which  you  occupied  save 
a  devoted  heart.  There  will  be  no  drawback 
to  my  happiness  in  the  suspicion  that  you  loved 
me  for  the  paltry  possessions  which  I  inherited 
from  my  ancestors;  while  I  shall  feel  with 
honest  pride  that  I  am  the  source  of  all  your 
future  enjoyments ;  and  you  cannot  guess  the 
luxury  of  such  a  conviction,  while  you,  on  your 
side,  will  now  be  equally  assured  that  I  loved 
you  only  for  yourself,  undazzled  by  the  fictitious 
splendor  in  which  you  have  hitherto  moved,  a» 
in  an  atmosphere  peculiarly  your  own.  Say. 
dearest,  is  it  not  well  worth  while  to  lose  somt 
thing  of  the  world's  wealth  to  secure  so  proud  n 
feeling  V 

"  But  I  am  literally  a  beggar,  Frederic  ;  these 
empty  gauds  by  which  I  am  now  surrounded, 
constitute  my  whole  fortune,  and  my  mother's." 

"  And  we  could  have  dispensed  even  with 
these,  dear  Sybil,"  replied  Mortimer,  as  he  strain- 
ed her  to  his  heart ;  "  Such  love  as  ours  is  inde- 
pendent of  the  vanities  of  society.  Now,  indeed, 
I  feel  that  I  have  a  worthy  stake  in  the  world ; 
that  I  am  no  longer  a  mere  unit  in  the  countless 
crowd  of  my  fellow-men,  but  a  responsible  and 
important  member  of  society,  with  others  de- 
pendent upon  me  for  support  and  happiness. — 
You  shall  see  how  this  conviction  will  operate 
upon  my  hitherto  listless  character ;  j-ou  shall 
learn  how  deeply  I  feel  the  holiness  of  my  earth- 
ly mission  ;  and  you  shall  do  me  justice." 

Was  the  renewed  shudder  which  passed 
through  the  veins  of  Jliss  Delamere  one  of  com- 
punction, as  she  listened  to  this  impassioned  re- 
ply ?  Wiio  shall  say !  She  had  prepared  her- 
self to  exert  all  lier  powers  of  fascination,  all 
her  arts  of  coquetry  ;  but  the  fervent  honesty 
of  purpose  by  which  she  had  been  met  nega-  , 
tived  all  her  plans.  The  victim  was  self-bound 
to  the  horns  of  the  altar. 

"  Frederic,"  she  at  length  murmured  fondly  ; 
"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  thank  you.  You,  in- 
deed, then  love  me  for  myself.  You  are  above 
the  vicissitudes  of  fortune";  and  it  is  at  last  my 
happy  fate  to  be  really  valued  for  my  own  sake. 
Oh,  did  you  know,  could  you  guess,  how  tho- 
roughly you  have,  by  this  noble  self-abnegation, 
redeemed  all  human  nature  in  my  ey<'8,  I  think 
that  you  would  not  regret  the  sacrifice  which 
you  are  making,  great  as  it  is.     You  know  not 


102 


TIIE   RIVAL  BEAUTIEa 


what  I  have  suffered  Bince  the  arrival  of  that 
fatal  letter.  My  reflections  were  horrible ! 
Warned  by  the  past,  I  did  not  dare  to  hope  that 
even  your  aft'eetion — and  believe  me,  when  I 
declare  that  1  nevertheless  did  justice  to  its  sin- 
cerit}' — I  did  not  dare  to  hope  that  it  would 
■withstand  such  an  ordeal.  You  had  sought  nie 
when  I  was  suri-ounded  by  all  the  comforts,  and 
by  manv  of  the  luxuries  of  life  ;  and  I  have  been 
taught  "bitterly  to  feel  how  much  a  mere  com- 
mon character  is  influenced  by  such  accessories. 
Existing  in  a  paradise  of  hope,  cradled  in  the 
most  delightful  visions,  living  only  in  the  pro- 
spect of  a  future  fraught  with  love  and  happi- 
ness, the  terrible  intelligence  of  ruin  seemed  at 
once  to  sever  me  from  every  thing  which  I  had 
learned  to  prize,  and  doom  me  to  life-long 
wretchedness.  0,  I  have  indeed  felt  within  the 
last  few  hours  how  short  a  step  it  may  be  from 
joy  to  despair;  and  how,  while  we  possess  the 
one,  we  should  prepare  ourselves  against  the 
tortures  of  the  other." 

"  My  poor  Sybil!" 

"  Yes,  pity  me,  Frederic,  pity  me  ;  for  I  have 
lived  a  year  of  torture  since  yesterday.  But  I 
will  dwell  upon  this  miserable  subject  no  longer. 
You  love  me ;  and  1  have  now  nothing  to  re- 
gret, nothing  to  apprehend.  You  are  my  world  ; 
and  althougli  I  shall  give  myself  to  you  far 
otherwise  than  I  hoped,  I  have  no  fear  that 
j'our  affection  will  be  diminished  by  my  mis- 
fortunes. Nay,  I  could  almost  forget  the  humi- 
liation of  my  own  pride  to  thank  destiny  for  a 
blow  which  has  elevated  me  in  my  own  eyes, 
since  it  has  failed  to  lessen  me  in  yours." 

"  It  is  not  in  the  power  of  fate  to  do  so,"  replied 
Mortimer  earnestly;  "I  have  enough  for  both 
of  us,  and  therefore  let  not  the  hateful  considera- 
tion of  money  occupy  your  thouglits  for  an  in- 
stant. It  can  be  no  obstacle  to  our  happiness. 
I  can  restore  to  j'ou  the  opulence  which  you 
have  lost,  and  maintain  you  in  the  station  to 
wliich  you  have  beeen  accustomed.  You  shall 
have  nothing  to  regret.  In  your  mother  I  shall 
fiud  a  new  parent,  and  in  yourself  possess  all 
that  I  can  covet  in  this  life.  Do  not,  therefore, 
wrong  my  affection  by  grieving  over  an  inevit- 
able misfortune,  but  rather  tell  me  when  you 
will  give  me  a  legal  right  to  repair  it." 

A  thick  and  stifling  sob  rose  to  the  throat  of 
Miss  Delamere.  Even  she,  callous  and  selfish 
as  she  was,  was  nevertheless  overcome  for  an 
instant,  and  felt  abashed  before  the  dupe  whom 
slie  had  made.  But  the  pang  of  compunction 
passed  as  rapidly  as  it  had  risen ;  the  game  was 
now  indeed,  in  her  hands,  and  the  recompense 
of  all  her  efforts  within  her  very  grasp.  Her 
tears  fell  warm  and  fast  upon  the  hands  which 
clasped  her  own  ;  but  as  their  impulse  remained 
unsuspected,  this  womanly  gushing  out  of  sensi- 
bility only  endeared  her  the  more  to  the  infatu- 
ated Mortimer. 

"All  shall  be  as  you  will,"  she  whispered,  as 
the  passed  Iier  hand  across  her  eyes,  and  then 
«wei)t  back  the  clustering  curls  which  had  half 
veiled  her  countenance  ;  "  All — for  henceforth 
I  can  have  no  will,  no  hope  but  yours." 

"  And  you  will  promise  to  weep  no  more,  my 
best  beloved  V 


Sybil  shook  her  head  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Let  this  be  your  first  act  of  wilful  ohed\ 
ence,"  said  Mortimer  fondly  ;  "  for  it  is  impo|' 
sible  to  talk  of  the  future  while  I  see  you  stec 
ed  in  tears.  And  now  let  us  be  more  just  to  ou 
selves  than  we  have  hitherto  been,  since  the  worj 
seems  inclined  to  treat  us  roughly,  and  leave  i  i 
to  be  the  architects  of  our  own  happiness.  i 
give  you  a  fortnight,  Sybil,  a  whole  fortnight,  1; 
prepare  for  the  awful  event  which  we  ha^; 
deferred  too  long  already.  Nay,  no  diselairaen 
I  feci  inclined  to  be  arbitrary,  and  1  will  n( 
concede  another  day,  not  another  hour.  Yo, 
see  therefore,  that  you  have  no  regrets." 

"But  I  have  much  to  arrange;  much  tor; 
trench." 

"  We  will  do  all  in  good  time ;  but  for  tli 
present,  we  must  have  no  retrenchment,  f 
alteration.  Your  mother  will  need  to  be  su  i 
rounded  by  familiar  objects,  and  to  indulge  h(i 
usual  habits,  during  your  absence.  In  losini 
you  she  will  already  have  lost  too  much.  Lea'?! 
The  Grange,  therefore,  without  one  changi 
which  may  imply  that  you  abandon  it  for  evej 
Would  that  we  could  also  leave  Mrs.  Delameii 
in  happy  ignorance  of  wliat  has  occurred,  bi' 
that  is  I  fear,  impossible!"  i 

"As  yet,"  faltered  Sj'bil,  "she  knows  mi 
thing ;  for  I  confess  that  I  did  not  dare  to  a<) 
quaint  her  with  the  truth,  while  there  existed 
probability  that  I  should  yet  have  more  an 
darker  news  to  tell;  nor   indeed,  even    had  fliiil 


wished  to  do  so,  could  I  have  commanded  i 
cient  self-possessiou  to  render  such  a  tale  inte 
ligible." 

And  herein,  at  least,  Sybil  was  partially  sit 
cere,  for  Mrs.  Delamere  was  ignorant  of  the  ne^ 
expedient  contemplated  by  her  daughter,  an 
could  not  consequently  have  comprehended  th 
condolence  of  Mortimer  had  he  deemed  it  fi 
ting  to  offer  them;  but  as  such  was  far  fromh 
intention,  Sybil  gladly  saw  herself  fi-eed  froif  ifi 
this  last  peril,  and  acquiesced  in  the  suggestion  Kt, 
that  no  suspicion  of  her  heavy  trial  should  b|  't^ 
engendered  in  the  mind  of  the  unhappy  ladyji 
promising,  with  one  of  her  most  eloquent  an 
winning  smiles,  that  all  her  discourse  with  ht 
mother  should  turn  upon  her  approaching  ma 
riage,  and  the  bridal  arrangements  necessary  t 
its  speedy  completion  ;  while  so  gentle  did  sh 
show  herself,  and  so  impassioned  in  her  expre.- 
sions  of  gratitude  and  affection,  that  the  delude 
Mortimer  at  length  parted  from  The  Grangt 
convinced  that  hitherto  his  had  been  a  barre 
and  a  vain  existence,  and  that  now  only  he  wr 
about  indeed  to  live. 

How  thoroughly  do  human  beings  allow  then 
selves  to  be  cheated  by  false-seeming !  As  th 
floating  corse, borne  onward  by  the  current,  a 
though  it  still  wears  the  semblance  of  mortality 
and  possesses  a  fictitious  motion  due  to  the  ai 
tion  of  the  waves  upon  which  it  rides,  is  nottli 
less  a  corse,  sustained  upon  the  surface  by  it 
own  innate  corruption,  and  incapable  of  volur 
tary  movement ;  so  is  the  vice  which  drape 
itself  in  graceful  sophistries  equally  foul,  a 
though  it  craftily  retains  the  likeness  of  socif 
convention.  The  figure  is  perhaps  a  strong  on< 
but  not  the  less  appropriate ;  for  the  decay  ho 


Jl 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


lot 


>eeii  gradual  and  certain  in  both  cases,  and  the 

ockery,  both  physical  and  moral,  alike  hollow 

d  false. 

Alas,  for  Sybil  Delamere !  The  child  of  love 
jtnd  prayer,  how  she  had  fallen  from  her  high 
jninence  !  By  how  many  slow  and  almost  im- 
KTceptible  steps  had  she  been  advancing  on 
lor  downward  path  1  How  little  do  women, 
khile  venturing  upon  their  first  aci.  of  levity, 
mtieipate  the  remorse  and  wretchedness  to 
rhich  they  ai-e  about  to  subject  their  after-life, 
;nJ  in  what  a  tissue  of  duplicity  and  untruth 
hey  are  about  to  involve  their  future  actions ; 
triving  in  vain,  moreover,  to  believe  tiiat  a 
rifling  dereliction  from  duty  and  high  principle 
lannot  condemn  them  even  while  they  are  com- 
piled to  feel  that  it  indeed  does  so,  in  the  very 
iivstery  by  which  it  is  necessary  to  shroud  it ; 
:nd  above  all,  in  the  consciousness  that  they 
lave  become  less  pure  in  their  own  eyes ! 

And  then — after  that  first  step — what  an  un- 
filing of  the  silver  cord  of  purity  and  peace  is 
asential  to  guide  them  through  the  labyrinth  of 
licir  faults  and  follies,  until  at  length,  the 
)right  and  precious  help  exhausted,  tiiey  have 
V  toil  alone  and  unaided  even  to  the  close  of 
heir  dark,  and  false,  and  unloved  career ! 

Far,  very  far,  had  Sybil  progressed  in  this 
jad  pilgrimage.  Cuiming  as  the  serpent,  she 
.vas  also  as  beautiful ;  but  if,  like  the  reptile, 
;he  had  been  compelled  to  cast  the  glittering 
kin  which  veiled  her  moral  deformity,  how 
.vould  those  who  loved  her  now  have  shrunk 
Vom  her  fatal  fascination  ! 

But  the  glory  of  loveliness  still  beamed  about 
ler,  and  Mortimer  was  destined  to  be  its  victim. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

In  the  society  of  the  family  at  the  Manor- 
luse,  Gertrude  had  found  a  resource  and  a 
comparative  happiness,  for  which  she  was  deep- 
ly grateful.  Contrary  to  lier  anticipations  also. 
Miss  Warrington,  while  declining  the  somewhat 
languid  overtures  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  on  her 
own  account,  and  remaining  firm  in  her  deter- 
mination not  to  cross  any  threshold  in  the  charac- 
ter of  a  guest,  offered  no  opposition  to  a  friend- 
ship which  she  could  not  conceal  from  herself 
might  ultimately  become  of  essential  service  to 
lier  almost  friendless  niece ;  and  thus,  as  the 
virtues  and  accomplishments  of  the  orphan  de- 
veloped themselves  to  her  new  acquaintance, 
tlie  mtercom-se  between  the  families  became 
more  intimate  ;  the  passion  of  the  young  heir  i  tl 
continuing  unguessed  at  alike  by  its  object,  and  ~ 
those  around  them. 

To  Gertrude  herself,  the  future  presented  no 
vision  of  affection.     She  believed  her  heart  to 


feelings;  but  .she  attached  to  tlicm  no  import- 
ance whatever,  considering  thom  as  the  mere 
kindly  demonstrations  of  an  amiable  nature,  in- 
tended to  beguile  her  into  a  temporary  forgets 
fulness  of  her  desolate  position.  And  in  this 
spirit  alone  did  she  receive  and  respond  to  his 
an.\iou8  and  earnest  devotion  ;  grateful  tliat  she 
was  no  longer  able  to  say  in  her  solitude,  us  slie 
had  once  said,  that  she  had  ceased  to  be  an  ob- 
ject of  interest  to  any,  and  was  destined  to 
tread  the  path  of  life  without  one  kindly  hand 
to  thrust  aside  the  briars  with  which  it  was 
overgrown. 

But  beyond  this  point  the  thoughts  or  feel- 
ings of  Gertrude  never  wandered  ;  tlie  image  of 
her  cousin  was  still  enshrined  in  her  heart  of 
hearts.  To  her  he  was  faultless  as  in  those  early 
years  when,  with  her  head  pillowed  upon  the 
knees  of  her  loving  aunt,  she  listened  to  a  thoik- 
sand  ofttold,  but  never  unwelcome,  legends  of 
his  infancy  and  boyhood;  and  there  were  yet 
moments  when  a  weight  of  bitter  regret  settled 
upon  her  spirit,  beneath  which  she  felt  shrunk 
and  prostrate.  It  is  true  that  she  strove  against 
a  weakness  which  revolted  her  own  reason  ;  but 
these  dark  periods  of  memory  affected  alike  her 
health  and  her  temperament,'and  brought  many 
a  cloud  across  the  horizon  of  her  existence. 
Sometimes,  in  order  to  emancipate  herself  from 
a  moral  thrall  at  once  painful  and  unavailing, 
she  endeavored  to  recall  all  the  sufferings  to 
which  the  vacillation  of  Mortimer  had  exposed 
her;  all  the  circumstances  of  Avhich  she  liad 
been  made  the  victim,  all  the  incidents  whereia 
her  pride  had  been  wounded,  or  her  hopes  slight- 
ed. But  the  heart  has  a  logic  of  its  own,  and 
the  culprit  was  arraigned  at  the  bar  of  her  par- 
tial judgment  only  to  be  acquitted. 

Yet  still  she  struggled  against  a  weakness 
which  would  ere  long,  should  Mortimer  indeed 
become  the  husband  of  Miss  Delamere,  dengen- 
erate  into  sin.  But  would  he  do  so  ?  was  the 
ever-recurring  interrogatory  which,  as  this 
thougiit  arose,  she  addressed  to  her  eager  and 
swelling  heart.  Had  not  her  dying  aunt  linked 
the  hand  of  Frederic  with  her  own  ? — Had  she 
not  expired  in  the  belief  that  her  last  praj-er 
was  to  be  accomplished?  Did  she  not  know- 
how  devotedly  he  had  once  loved  the  gentle 
mother  whose  every  thought  was  for  him?  And 
could  it  be  that  a  stranger,  the  love  of  a  stran- 
ger  

At  that  phase  of  the  silent  argument,  how- 
ever, Gertrude  paused  to  weep.  She  remember- 
ed the  fascinations  of  that  stranger,  and  the 
enthusiastic  character  of  lier  cousin.  Ko,  no, 
was  no  hope.  Sybil  was  the  star  of 
Frederic :  the  "  bright,  particular  star,"  fated 
to  rule  his  destiny.  She  had  come,  none  new 
whence  or  why,  to  accomplish  iier  mystei'ious 
mission  ;  she  had  come,  and  conquered,  and  her 


have  been  exhausted  in  the  past ;  and  even  when  j  own  duty  was  simply  to  submit. 

her  thoughts  rested  on  Mary  Armstrong,  and  he        Such  was  the  state  of  Gertrude's  mind,  when, 

"■' '" " ^  ' —  '"  ' ^  ■-■'^~~  as  she  was  one  morning  busily  engaged  in  giv- 
ing the  last  touchcsTto  a  masterly  sketch  which 
she  had  made  of  Bletchley  church  for  Eleanor 
Armstrong,  while  Miss  Warrington  was  occu- 
pied with  the  daily  paper,  the  solitary  luxury 
in    which  she    indulged,    she    was    startlc^d    by 

pers^.veraiice,  solaced  her  pride  and  soothed  her  |  an  exclamation  from  the  old  lady,  which  waa 


■ho  soon  afterwards  became  her  declared  suitor, 
she  wove  no  web  of  fancy  for  herself,  m  which 
she  too  was  to  be  loved  and  won. 

The  ceaseless  attentions  of  Ernest  Armstrong, 
the  more  welcome  perhaps  that  they  were  un- 
obtrusive, and  only  to   be   estimated  by  their 


104 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIEa 


immediately  followed  by  lier  reading  aloud  the 
paragraph  by  which  it  had  been  called  forth. 

"  Listen,  Gertrude,"  she  said,  in  that  accent 
of  quiet  complacency  in  which  elderly  persons 
are  wont  to  indulge  while  promulgating  any 
species  of  news;  '  On  Tuesday  morning,  at  the 
parish  church  of  Westrum,  by  the  Rev.  James 
lugatesbv,  Frederic  Mortimer,  Esq.,  of  Westrum 
House,  to  Sybil,  only  daughter  of  the  late 
William  Delamere,  Esq.'  So  your  cousin  is 
married,  you  see,  and  married  without  having 
the  civilitv  to  apprise  you  of  it  beforehand." 

But  GeVtrude  made  no  reply.  The  pencil' 
dropped  from  her  hand,  and  it  was  only  by  a 
fearful  effort  that  she  preserved  herself  from 
fainting.  All  was  then  indeed  over.  The 
prayers  of  her  dying  aunt,  the  hopes  of  long 
years,  her  silent'  but  deep  affection — all  .had 
alike  failed.  As  she  saw  herself  definitively  and 
forever  separated  from  her  cousin,  the  lore 
which  she  had  done  so  much  to  overcome  welled 
up  afresh,  and  she  felt  as  though  she  had  just 
listened  to  lier  death-warrant. 

It  was  in  vain  that  she  sought  to  disguise  her 
emotion.  Pale,  panting,  and  bewildered,  she 
gazed  hopelessly  around  her,  but  every  object 
appeared  to  swim  before  her  eyes ;  she  tried  to 
tliink,  but  a  mist  was  over  her  spirit,  and  she 
could  not  combine  the  images  which  were  float- 
ing across  her  brain. 

Her  aunt  again  addressed  her,  in  all  proba- 
bility upon  the  same  subject,  but  although  she 
heard  the  voice  she  could  not  connect  any  mean- 
ing with  the  sound,  and,  at  length,  conscious 
that  she  coiild  not  much  longer  support  the  con- 
straint under  which  she  was  then  suffering,  she 
murmiwed  a  few  disjointed  and  almost  inaudible 
words,  and  tottered  from  the  apartment. 

When  the  dinner  was  announced,  Gertrude 
was  still  in  her  room,  where  she  was  found  by 
the  servant  who  went  to  summon  her,  stretched 
lifeless  upon  the  bed. 

Painful,  very  painful,  were  the  solitary  hours 
■which  she  spent  in  that  narrow  and  cheerless 
chamber;  onlj^  the  less  wretched,  however,  that 
tliey  were  solitary.  There  she  had  leisure  to 
contemplate  all  the  circumstances  of  her  posi- 
tion, to  weep  over  the  memories  of  the  past,  and 
to  shudder  at  the  dreariness  of  the  future.  How 
had  she  deceived  herself,  in  believing  that  she 
had  almost  succeeded  in  overcoming  her  affec- 
tion. How  bitterly  was  she  taught  to  feel  that 
tliere  is  a  depth  in  the  human  heart  which,  once 
stirred,  is  long,  very  long,  ere  its  waters  again 
subside ! 

Encouraged  for  years  by  her  fond  but  incau- 
tious aunt  to  believe  that  she  was  the  destined 
-wife  of  her  cousin,  she  had  cherished  the  illusion 
until  even  reason  had  failed  to  convince  her 
that  it  was  dispersed,  and  it  had  required  no 
lf.ss  than  its  present  final  conformation  to  enable 
her  to  comprehend  the  truth.  Vainly  had  she 
imagined  tiiat  she  was  prepared  to  hear  of  his 
marriage,  and  to  reconcile  herself  to  think  of 
l»im,  henceforward,  only  as  the  husband  of  an- 
other. 

Gertrude  was  merely  tasting  the  bitter  experi- 
ence of  a  fact  which  all  of  us  have,  at  some  time 
in  our  lives,  been  fated  to  acknowledge]"  that, 
however  we  may  deem  ourselves  prepared  for 


I  an  impending  evil,  and  however  we  ma^y  have' 
I  argued  ourselves  beforehand  into  befitting  re- 
I  signation,  its  advent  usually  finds  us  as  powe^ 
j  less  and  as  prostrate  as  though  it  had  been  utter- 
I  ly  unforeseen. 

Poor  girl !  the  strongest  link  in  her  existence 
I  had  been  rudely  and  abruptly  rent  asunder.  It 
was  Frederic  who  was  the  one  bond  betwecu 
i  her  and  the  past,  and  now  she  must  remembei 
I  him,  aud  love  him  only  as  the  husband  of  Sybil; 
of  that  Sybil  who  had  come  between  her  and 
happiness,  and  rendered  her  an  outcast  from  the 
home  of  her  youth.  To  her,  Frederic  could  be 
nothing  now,  nothing  save  a  sad  memory.  All 
his  thoughts,  all  his  cares,  all  his  tenderness 
must,  henceforth,  be  devoted  to  the  woman 
whom  he  had  taken  to  his  heart.  She  only  ha4 
now  the  right  to  watch  over  him  in  sickness,  to 
weep  with  him  in  sorrow,  and  to  soothe  him  in 
disappointment.  And  how  would  she  fulfil  her 
holy  mission?  I 

"Oh,  well,  well !"  murmured  Gertrude  to  hei*- ! 
self,  as  the  question  rose  in  her  pure  heart,  "shs  j 
must  do  so,  for  Frederic  loves  her!" 

And,  then,  her  own  hot  tears  rained  down  to 
feel  that  another  had  usurped  the  blessed  duties 
which  she  would  have  performed  so  zealously. 
She  thought  not  of  sharing  the  brilliant  fortune 
of  her  cousin,  of  indulging  in  the  luxuries  which 
it  would   command,   or  of  claiming  her  share  in  i 
the  sunny  hour  of  his  existence ;  she  dwelt  only  I 
upon  home,  upon  the  chances  and  changes  which  1 
might  come  even  to  him,  and  on  those  moments  i 
when  the  tenderness  of  a  wife  transcends  all  | 
other  consolations.  \ 

Vainly,  however,  did  she  dwell  upon  these  1 
thoughts :  the  conviction  soon  followed,  thai  i 
for  her  no  such  hallowed  duty  was  destined,  ! 
but  that  Frederic  was  lost  to  her  forever ;  nor  ! 
could  she  now,  without  guilt,  even  encourage  a  j 
wish  that  it  were  otherwise.  Had  she  been  j 
told  a  week,  only  a  week  beforehand,  that  his  ' 
marriage  was  irrevocably  decided,  she  believed  ' 
that  she  could  have  schooled  both  her  heart  and  ; 
her  reason  into  submission.  Had  he  Avritten  her  ' 
a  few  lines  of  kindness  and  affection, she  believed  ' 
that  she  could  have  reconciled  herself  to  what  he' 
would  then  have  once  more  assured  her  was  to 
him  an  earnest  of  happiness :  but  to  learn  that  '•■ 
all  was  over  through  the  cold  medium  of  a  pub-  ( 
lie  print,  to  feel  that  she  had  been  forgotten  ' 
while  her  whole  heart  was  full  of  his  image;  ! 
this  it  was,  as  she  fancied,  which  made  the  blow  ' 
so  heavj'  to  be  borne  ;  and  so  she  tried  to  cheat  1 
j  herself  into  the  belief  that  she  loved  him  less,  ' 
I  even  while  she  felt  that  she  could  not  deceive  ! 
herself.  I 

No,  struggle  as  she  might  with  her  own  weak-  ) 
ncss,  she  could  not  be  so  deceived.  She,  indeed, 
prayed  for  his  happiness,  but  still  not  for  hia  I 
happiness  uith  another.  The  desire  of  posses.s-  • 
ing  the  affections  of  the  being  whom  we  love  is 
one  of  the  strongest  feelings  implanted  in  the  • 
bosom  of  humanity.  ' 

Even  witli  the  most  pure  and  perfect  attach-  ': 
ment,  there  mingles  more  selfishness  than  we 
are  willing  to  acknowledge :  we  love  its  ob-  ' 
jects  not  only  for  their  sakes  but  for  our  ovm  ;  ' 
the  most  heroic  devotion  fails  to  divest  us  of  ' 
,  this  egotism  ;  in  serving,  soothing,  aud  saving 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


106 


those  vre  love,  we  are  also  protecting  oiir  own 
interests,  which,  by  an  exclusive  affection,  we 
have  bound  up  so  intimately  with  theirs,  that 
we  can  no  longer  separate  them:  cleave  the 
trunk,  and  tlie  branches  wither. 

To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  there  have 
been  instances  in  which  a  total  self-abnegation 
has  been  exhibited,  and  where,  in  order  to  se- 
cure the  happiness  of  one  party,  ihe  other  has 
i-esigned  all  claim  to  an  affection  which  had 
once  been  the  day-spring  of  existence.  But 
wlio  has  read  the  heart  which  so  foreswore  it- 
self? Who  has  witnessed  the  struggle  of  a 
declining  passion,  paling  under  the  conviction 
tliat  this  sacrifice  was, — mutely,  perliaps,  and 
reluctantlj',  but  still  that  this  sacrifice  was, — 
covertly  desired  of  them  ?  Who  has  seen  the 
blood-drops  start  from  the  brow,  and  the  damps 
of  death  bed  upon  the  clammy  palms  grasped  to- 
gether in  despair  ?  Who  has  watched  the  slow 
breaking  of  the  wounded  heart  which  resigned 
its  treasure,  not  in  obedience  to  its  own  impul- 
ses, but  beneath  the  influence  of  a  bitter  pride, 
which,  when  it  had  given  all,  would  not  suffer 
tliat  all  to  be  tolerated  where  it  should  have 
been  prized  ?  And  who,  we  ask  finally,  has 
followed  that  blighted  and  withered  victim  to 
it£  closing  hour,  without  feeling  convinced  that 
"  the  silver  cord  was  loosened,  and  the  golden 
bowl  was  broken,"  which  had  knit  and  filled 
Uie  two  natures  thus  unnaturally  severed,  be- 
fore the  act  of  self-abnegation  was  accomplish- 
ed. The  wounded  heart  flies  to  the  thicket  to 
die  :  the  outraged  and  disappointed  spirit  plucks 
out  its  own  spear. 

Let  the  world  read  matters  as  it  will — and 
"  he  who  runs  may  read" — there  is  yet  a  volume 
which  it  cannot  unclose  in  its  reckless  haste 
and  egotism,  without  pausing  longer  than  it  is 
prone  to  do,  ere  it  can  hope  to  comprehend  its 
pages — the  weai-y  but  glorious  volume  of  the 
human  heart ;  weary,  because  it  holds  so  much 
of  woe — glorious,  because  it  contains  so  much 
of  hope. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

Oh,  the  first  withering  of  the  young  and  de- 
voted heart,  how  litter,  how  irremediable  it  ap- 
pears 1  Every  link  of  hope  and  memory  alike 
snapped  at  once  ;  tlie  past  a  blight,  the  present 
a  pang,  and  the  future  a  blank  !  Life  has  in- 
deed deeper  and  deadlier  miseries' in  store,  but 
none  so  keen — none  so  overwhelming,  none  so 
bitter, — the  waters  of  Marah  sear  the  soul  over 
which  they  flow,  and  the  trace  of  their  passage 
is  never  blotted  out!  Time  and  change  are 
alike  powerless  to  renew  the  freshness  whicli 
tJiey  have  marred. 

Tlie  heart  may,  after  a  while,  take  anotlier 
impression  ;  it  does,  it  must ;  for  the  wear  of 
tJie  world  hardens  the  spent  fire  to  lava,  and 
new  idols  will  be  wrougiit  out  of  the  wreck  of 
tlie  first  destruction,  but  it  is  no  iong»M"  the  same 
worship.  Tlie  chrine  has  been  desecrated,  the 
veil  of  tlie  sanctuary  rent,  and  where  ail  was 
once  uncalculating  trust  and  tenderness,  liave 
grown    up    doubt   and  dread — tliose    noisome 


weeds  which  stagnate  upon  the  pool  of  egotism, 
and  foul  the  waters  beneath.  Self  struggles  to 
the  surface  ;  self,  which  had  hitiierto  remain- 
ed dormant,  and  folded  in  the  angel  coil  of 
peace  and  joy,  and  no  sooner  claims  its  place 
than  it  mingles  palpably  in  the  after-devotiou 
over  which  it  originally  poured  forth  all  its  en 
ergies  upon  its  object  without  one  ungenerous 
reservation. 

Life !  what  is  the  luxury  of  thy  banquet 
when  this  one  cup  has  been  drained  and  thrown 
aside  ?  Ambition  waves  aloft  its  golden  ves 
sels,  wealth  tips  its  goblets  with  jewels,  plea 
sure  rears  its  tankard  with  roses,  and  sensuali- 
ty crushes  into  its  capacious  bowl  the  juice  ol 
the  purple  grape  until  it  overflows;  but  tin; 
vase  which  was  garlanded  with  hope,  lighted 
by  sunshine,  and  hallowed  by  the  heart's  best 
and  holiest  affections,  can  be  fitly  replaced  by  none 
of  these ;  only  one  such  draught  can  be  ever 
drained ;  and  when  that  one  has  been  dashed 
with  the  bitterness  of  disappointment,  the  tide 
of  existence  may  indeed  moisten  the  lip,  but  it 
can  never  again  warm  the  heart.  The  bland 
outgushing  of  the  spirit's  spring  has  hopelessly 
wasted  its  pure  current  on  the  desert-sands. 

Too  proud,  nevertheless,  to  yield  to  the  in- 
fluence of  a  neglected  passion,  Gertrude  strug- 
gled resolutely  against  the  wretchedness  which 
swelled  her  young  and  desolate  heart  almost  to 
bursting.  She  forgave  Sybil.  How  could  sh« 
do  otherwise  when  she  remembered  that  she 
was  now  the  wife  of  Frederic?  But  she  could 
not  bless  the  arrow  by  which  she  had  been 
stricken.  Again  and  again  she  read  the  solita- 
ry letter  with  which  her  forgetful  cousin  had 
cheered  her  exile,  and  she  could  not  mistake  the 
implied  proposal  that  she  should  again  seek 
home  beneath  his  roof  But  when  ?  Alas,  she 
understood  it  now  !  When  Sybil  should  be  in- 
stalled in  the  place  of  the  beloved  aunt  wIk) 
had  made  that  home  a  paradise — when  Sybil 
should  head  the  board,  and  fill  the  chair  which 
had  once  been  hers — when  anotlier  voice  should 
command,  and  another  will  control,  wiiere  slie 
had  swayed  so  gentle  a  rule  that  obedience 
seemed  but  a  dearer  privilege.  No,  no:  it 
could  not  be.  Gertrude  looked  round  her  mod- 
est chamber,  and  breathed  out  a  low  and  fer- 
vent thanksgiving  that  she  had  another  and  a 
calmer  place  of  refuge. 

Perliaps  it  was  well  for  her  that  she  had  to 
strive  also  against  the  suspicions  of  her  anxious 
hostess,  whose  blunted  sensibilities,  although 
they  were  unequal  to  sympathise  Avitli  what  she 
regarded  as  the  mere  nervous  absurdities  of 
fanciful  and  pampered  young  people,  were  not, 
however,  sufficiently  obtuse  to  deaden  the  cu- 
riosity wliicii  led  her  to  seek  an  immediate 
cause  for  their  development;  and  thus  Gertrude 
soon  discovered  the  necessity  of  controlling  her 
feelirgs  in  the  presence  of  her  aunt,  and  of 
checking  the  tears  which,  at  intervals,  rose  to 
licr  burning  eye-balls.  And  the  task  was  a  hard 
and  a  bitter  one;  for  like  many  other  well- 
meaning,  but  ill-judging  pei'sons,  Jli.ss  Warring- 
ton no  sooner  heard  the  apotiiecary  wjio  liad 
been  called  in,  declare  that  his  patient  was 
simply  siifl'ering  fi'om  moral  depression  and  de- 
bility, and  required  only  amusement  unattended 


106 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


-with  exeraon  to  restore  her  to  health,  than  she 
installed  herself  daily  for  hours  in  the  sick- 
room, where,  in  default  of  other  subjects  of  con- 
versation, she  descanted  perpetually  on  the  very 
themes  which  the  poor  girl  would  fain  have 
avoided,  and  that  which  a  voluble  pertinacity 
which  rendered  their  exhaustion  hopeless. 

"  It  is  fortunate,  however,  Mr.  Pilbeam,  very 
fortunate,"  she  said  upon  one  occasion,  as  the 
apothecary  seated  himself  by  the  bed-side,  and 
strove  to  rally  the  spirits  of  Gertrude  by  an  as- 
surance that,' in  a  short  time,  she  would  be  en- 
abled to  leave  her  room ;  "  very  fortunate,  in- 
deed, that  there  is  really  no  danger,  for  I  sliould 
scarcely  have  known  how  to  act,  had  you  given 
me  cause  to  apprehend  the  contrary.  A  month, 
or  I  may  say  onlj'  a  week  ago,  I  could  have 
written  to  apprise  her  cousin,  who  is  her  neas- 
est  relation — for  I  am  but  her  great-aunt,  and 
should,  consequently,  have  declined  all  respon- 
sibility in  such  a  case ;  but,  at  this  moment,  I 
don't  know  where  to  find  him,  as  he  is  just  mar- 
ried, and  is  probably  on  his  wedding-tour.  In 
my  time,  people  were  satisfied  to  remain  at 
home  on  such  occasions,  to  feast  their  tenantry, 
and  keep  open  house,  but  now  they  consider  it 
correct  to  run  away  from  their  friends,  as 
though  they  had  done  something  that  they  were 
ashamed  of" 

"  Temper  a  niutantur,  et  noi  mutamur  in  illis, 
eh?"  interposed  the  apothecary  sententiously, 
with  a  condescending  smile. 

Miss  Warrington  was  silenced  for  a  moment, 
and  at  once  bewildered  and  displeased,  but  she 
soon  recovered  herself,  and  resumed : — 

"  Such  being  the  case,  we  do  not  know  where 
to  address  him.  However,  as  Gertrude  is  better, 
we  can  afford  to  wait  until  he  is  again  at  West- 
rum.  As  for  myself,' I  confess  that  I  felt  little 
or  no  alarm  at  lier  illness,  for  on  the  day  of  her 
ai-rival  here,  I  remarked  to  Hannah  that  I  did 
not  believe  she  had  an  ounce  of  blood  in  her 
veins,  and  even  now  she  looks  better  than  when 
she  first  came  to  Bletchley." 

"  You  may  be  quite  easy  upon  the  subject, 
my  dear  madam ;  m  a  few  days  we  shall  have 
Miss  Mortimer  in  the  drawing-room.  But  we 
must  be  careful  to  protect  her  from  all  unne- 
cessary excitement,  as  her  nerves  are  evidently 
very  susceptible." 

"  You  would  rather,  perhaps,  that  she  should 
not  yet  see  the  Miss  Armstrongs,  who  have 
called  every  day,  and  are  half  offended  that  I 


up  i 
idy. 


"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  lady,  on  the  con- 
trary," briskly  exclaimed  Mr.  Pilbeam,  who 
would  ratiier  have  risked  a  relapse  in  his  pa- 
tient than  the  chance  of  displeasing  the  family 
at  the  Manor-house ;  "  their  visits  can  only  be 
beneficial  to  Miss  Mortimer,  as  I  understand  that 
tliey  have  alread}'  become  very  intimate.  A 
great  privilege  that  for  the  young  lady,  my 
dear  madam;  a  very  great  privilege,  and  not 
extended  beyond  herself  as  regards  this  imme- 
diate ni'lglilMirliood.  You  gave  your  interest 
to  'Armstrong  and  independence,'  of  course, 
Miss  Warrington?" 

"  I  gave  it  to  no  one,"  was  the  tart  reply,  as 
the  clenched  fingers  of  his  interlocutor  became 


blenched  by  the  violence  with  which  they  were 
interlaced. 

"  No — eh?  Well,  you  surprise  me!"  was  the 
composed  rejoinder.  "  All  Bletchley  took  it  for 
granted  that  you  had  supported  him.  However, 
it  seems  that  he  has  succeeded  without  you, 
for  he  is  i7i,  I  hear.  Some  rumor  to  be  sure,  of 
bi'ibery  and  that  kind  of  thing,  but  it  is  of  course 
all  local  gossip,  and  as  I  often  say  to  Mrs.  Pi^ 
beam,  when  she  occasionally  i-eports  these  small 
matters  over  our  tea-table,  tcmpus  omnia  revelaX 
— at  all  events,  I  never  give  an  opinion ;  no 
professional  man  should,  eh?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  madam,  I  will  take  ray 
leave,"  said  the  dapper  little  apothecary,  resun> 
ing  his  hat  and  cane  ;  "  and  I  trust  that,  by  tl» 
termination  of  the  honey-moon,  my  fair  patieni 
will  be  in  a  fit  condition  to  pay  her  bridal  visit, 
Nothing  like  change  of  scene  and  cheerful  so- 
ciety in  such  a  case  ;  eh,  my  dear  Miss  Mort^ 
mer?     What  say  you  to  my  prescription?" 

Gertrude  said  nothing.  Her  mightiest  effort 
at  endurance  and  self-control  would  only  enabla 
her  to  torture  her  faded  lips  into  a  ghastly 
smile,  as  she  took  the  hand  which  he  extended 
on  his  departure,  ere  she  turned  her  weary  and 
aching  head  upon  her  pillow,  and  strove  to  es- 
cape at  once  from  the  light  of  day  and  the  sound 
of  human  voices. 

But  no  such  escape  was  to  be  hers.  Miss 
Warrington,  excited  by  her  own  unusual  acti^ 
vity  and  deeply  offended  by  what  she  consider- 
ed as  an  undue  presumption  on  the  part  of  Mt 
Pilbeam,  whom  she  detested  both  for  his  bal^- 
ble  and  his  bill,  no  sooner  heard  the  street  door 
close  behind  him  than  she  continued  to  vent  her 
hoarded  ill-humor  upori  Mortimer;  and  poor 
Gertrude  was  compelled  to  endure  all  the  ouK 
pouring  of  her  wrath. 

"  The  accidental  allusion  to  your  cousin's  mar- 
riage, my  dear,"  she  resumed,  as  she  installed 
her  perpendicular  person,  according  to  her  own 
idea  of  comfort,  in  the  large  arm-chair  just  va- 
cated by  the  diligent  apothecary  ;  "  reminds  ma 
— I  say  nothing  of  myself;  I  am  an  old  woman, 
and  the  days  are  past  when  it  was  considered 
necessary  to  show  any  regard  to  the  feelings  of 
such  useless  individuals  as  old  women,  when 
they  chance  to  be  poor — but  it  reminds  me,  aa 
I  was  about  to  say,  that  Mr.  Mortimer  has  treats 
ed  you  with  great  disrespect,  in  not  writing  to 
inform  you  of  his  intended  marriage.  He  mighi 
be  very  much  engaged;  I  dare  say  he  was; 
people  generally  are,  I  believe,  at  such  timea, 
but  still  half-an-hour  might  always  be  spared 
for  such  a  purpose.  I  confess  that  I  feel  very 
indignant  at  so  singular  and  marked  a  slight; 
for  it  is  a  slight,  Gertrude,  look  at  it  as  you  will; 
you  may  be  poor,  but  you  are  as  well-born  and 
as  well-bred  as  himself,  and  he  has  no  right  t» 
look  down  upon  you." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  aunt,  you  mistake  him," 
faltered  the  poor  girl,  tortured  to  the  very  soul, 
"  ^Frederic  is  incapable  of  such  a  feeling." 

'•  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  the  old  lady, 
in  that  provoking  tone  which  implies  a  resolute 
opposition  of  sentiment  ;  "  very  glad,  for  it 
would  degrade   him,  not  you.     But  be  this  as 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


107 


it  may,  his  conduct  Las  been  very  extraordinary. 
He  should  liave  remembered  that  his  parents 
had  no  right  to  educate  and  rear  you  like  a 
duchess  only  to  leave  you  to  starve  at  last." 

"  Spare  me,  I  entreat  of  you,"  exclaimed 
Gertrude  piteously  :  "  Did  you  understand  the 
nature  of  Frederic,  you  would  feel  how  impos- 
sible it  was  for  him  to  act  otherwise  than  he  has 
done  !" 

"  Well,  my  dear  child,  do  not  agitate  your- 
self," replied  the  old  lady,  somewhat  alarmed 
b}-  the  violence  of  hei'  emotion  :  "  we  will  say 
no  more  upon  the  subject.  I  understand  it  all 
now — the  lady  was  jealous  of  your  pretty  face, 
and  perhaps  she  was  right.  But  keep  up  your 
spirits,  and  that  pretty  face  may  stand  your 
fi'iend  }'et" 

Oh,  are  these  not  the  trifles  which  make  life 
difficult  to  bear, — these  puny,  pigmy  miseries, 
which,  like  the  knife  of  a  surgeon,  rend  open 
again  and  again  the  wound  which  might  have 
healed  before  its  appointed  time  ?  To  the  first 
evil  they  are  as  nothing  in  proportion ;  and 
yet  how  many  who  struggle  manfully  against 
tlie  crushing  fall  of  the  mighty  mass,  and 
strive,  languidly  perhaps  and  wearily,  but 
still  resolutely,  to  save  some  fragment  from 
tlie  wreck,  are  disheartened  and  bruised  anew 
by  the  perpetual  droppings  of  the  loosened 
pebbles  1     How  justly  has  it  been  said  that — 

"  'Tis  trifles  make  the  sum  of  huiiwin  things  !" 

and  yet,  upon  those  trifles  is  liinged  the  whole 
peace  of  our  existence. 

Day  after  day,  almost  hour  after  hour,  did 
these  corroding  conversations  occur,  until  Ger- 
trude, who  would  fain  have  herself  forgotten  all 
beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  her  present  home, 
more  than   once    found  herself  upon   the  very 

Eoint  of  confiding  to  Miss  Warrington  the  bitter 
ut  still  cherished  secret  of  the  past,  in  order  to 
silence  her  for  ever  More  than  once  did  the 
confession  tremble  on  her  tongue,  but  as  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  rigid  and  passionless 
countenance,  and  then  dropped  them  upon  the 
compressed  and  bony  fingers  before  her,  the 
blood  rushed  back  upon  her  heart,  and  she  con- 
tinued to  endure  in  silence. 

Not  even  the  pei-severing  afi^ection  of  the 
amiable  inmates  of  the  Manor-house  could 
oounteract  the  evil  effect  of  this  constant  de- 
mand upon  her  fortitude.  She  gradually 
withered,  until  even  Mr.  Pilbeam  himself  be- 
gan to  apprehend  that  ^he  disease  which  he 
had  at  first  treated  so  lightly,  was  in  fact  too 
deep-seated  to  be  overcome ;  and  thus  impres- 
sed, he  ventured  to  suggest  to  Miss  Warrington 
tlie  necessity  of  an  immediate  change  of  scene. 
Better,  as  he  shrewdly  and  philosophically  de- 
cided in  his  own  mind,  if  she  must  die, — and  die 
he  had  by  this  time  become  convinced  she 
would — that  it  should  be  anywhere  rather  than 
under  his  hands. 

It  was  easy  to  suggest  such  an  arrangement; 
and  in  former  years^it  would  have  been  equally 
easy  for  the  orphan  to  have  acquiesced  in  it  at 
once;    but   now    she    instantly    negatived   the 

G reposition  ;  for  she  had  begun  to  comprehend 
le  nature  of  that  poverty   which   so  pertina- 
«iou8ly  intrudes  its  gaunt  hand,  close-clenched, 


I  before  the  moral  vision  of  the  needy,  and  com- 
■  pels  them  to  feel  their  helplessness. 

Happily,  however,  Providence  had  watched 
over  the  gentle  and  uncomplaining  victim  of 
misfortune, — that  blessed  Providence  which  is 
by  the  thoughtless  miscalled  chance,  or  fate,  or 
accident,  but  which  still  beautifully  and  har- 
moniously pursues  its  holy  waj',  thwarting  the 
provisions  of  the  evil  minded,  and  smoothing 
the  rugged  path  of  the  stricken  and  the  feeble. 

It  was  but  on  t|ie  morrow  after  the  medical 
fiat  had  gone  forth,  that  Mary  and  Eleanor 
Armstrong  once  more  arrived  at  the  modest 
dwelling  of  Miss  Warrington,  laden,  as  was 
their  custom,  with  fruit  and  flowers  ;  but  also, 
on  this  occasion,  radiant  with  delight.  Mc 
Pilbeam  had  just  left  the  Manor-house,  where, 
ip  answer  to  the  earnest  inquiries  of  the  Squire 
for  his  fair  favorite,  ho  had  reiterated  hia 
opinion  of  the  necessity  of  an  immediate 
change  of  air  and  scene,  and  they  had  come  as 
amVjassadresses  from  their  mother  to  claim  the 
society  of  Gertrude  for  a  few  weeks. 

The  cheeks  and  brow  of  the  sick  girl  flushed 
with  happiness  for  a  moment,  but  in  the  next 
instant  the  glow  faded,  and  her  heart  sank. 
She  felt  that  she  would  rather  be  left  free  to 
indulge  her  sorrow,  than  compelled  to  make  a 
renewed  eff"ort  for  existence.  She  was  perish- 
ing then,  she  knew,  slowly  but  surely ;  and 
could  she  only  have  escaped  the  unintentional 
persecutions  of  her  aunt,  she  would  have  re- 
joiced to  linger  out  her  remaining  days  iu 
peace  and  solitude,  and  gradually  to  emancipate 
herself  from  every  earthly  affection. 

It  is  certain  that  there  is  a  strange  fascination 
in  the  idea  of  death  to  the  young  who  ai-e 
subdued  by  a  lingering  sorrow.  The  stronger 
and  sterner  interests  which  link  man  to  the 
world  in  riper  age  are  still  unknown  to  them. 
That  second  life,  if  so  it  may  be  termed,  which, 
like  Minerva,  springs  in  all  its  power  from  the 
brain,  and  teaches  its  due,  or  at  least  enforced, 
subordination  to  the  heart,  has  not  yet  com- 
menced. The  chain  of  roses  alone  has  withered, 
and  it  is  sweet  and  soothing  to  hope  to  perish 
with  them ;  while,  by  a  strange  contradiction, 
it  is  only  when  the  links  of  iron  have  been 
forged,  and  their  weight  is  felt,  that  the  shackled 
captive  revolts  against  release,  and  clings  to  his 
rusted  fetters. 

Under  this  impression  of  hopelessness,  Ger- 
trude urged  the  utter  impossibility  of  contend- 
ing in  her  present  state  of  weakness,  against 
the  stir  and  bustle  of  an  establishment  like  that 
of  the  Manor-house  at  a  period  so  exciting  as 
the  close  of  a  successful-contested  election  ; 
but  her  objection  was  instantly  met  by  the 
assurance  that  all  the  local  duties  of  hospitality 
contingent  upon  that  success  had  been  already 
fulfilled,  and  that  early  on  the  morrow  both 
Mr.  Armstrong  and  his  son  would  depart  for 
town. 

"  Thus,  you  see,  my  dear  frightened  Ger- 
trude," said  Eleanor  persuasively;  "that  you 
will  be  as  quiet  with  us  as  in  your  own  tran- 
quil home,  for  our  party  will  consist  only  of  my 
mother  and  ourselves,  and  Mr.  Somerville,  who, 
for  some  reason  which  Mary  can  perhaps  ex- 
plain, appeal's  at  the  present  moment  to  have  a 


108 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


decided  disinclination  to  visit  Ix)ndon.  As  for 
Ernest,  he  too  from  some  unaccountable  cause, 
seemed  this  morning  to  share  the  sentiment  of 
his  friend :  but  he  could  not,  of  course,  be  ex- 
cused, so  go  he  must,  and  will ;  but  he  bade  me 
not  forget  to  say  that  it  was  he  who  gathered 
the  grapes,  and  selected  the  flowers  which  we 
have  brought,  in  order  that  you  might  be  as- 
sured how  truly  he  sympathizes  with  the  rest 
of  his  family  in  their  anxiety  for  your  recoverj'. 
Bo  now  we  have  only  to  obtain  the  consent  of 
Qur  kind  Miss  Warrington  to  this  little  arrange- 
ment, and  to  carry  you  off  to-morrow  so  soon  as 
we  have  taken  leave  of  papa."  . 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  the  earnest  kind- 
ness of  such  an  invitation ;  and  accordingly,  on 
the  following  evening  Gertrude  found  herself 
established  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  the 
Armstrongs,  and  surrounded  by  the  most  affec- 
tionate attentions.  The  effect  of  so  genial  a 
change  alike  upon  her  health  and  spirits  was 
gi-eat  and  rapid ;  and  if  her  heart  was  occasion- 
ally wrung  by  the  spectacle  of  Mary's  radiant 
happiness,  as  she  contrasted  it  with  her  own 
forlorn  condition,  she  found  support  and  com- 
fort in  the  knowledge,  that  her  struggles  were 
nnguessed  at  by  those  about  her ;  and  exerted 
herself  to  secure  her  secret  so  successfully  that 
tliere  were  even  moments  in  which  she  ceased 
to  feel  its  weight. 

Thus  three  weeks  passed  over,  and  Mr.  Pil- 
beam  himself  began  to  feel  that  his  visits  were 
becoming  supererogatory,  as  he  saw  an  occa- 
sional bloom  once  more  suffuse  the  pale  cheek 
of  his  beautiful  patient,  and  a  light  dance  iu  her 
eye ;  but  like  Mrs.  Armstrong,  he  stringently 
objected  to  her  return  liome  until  lier  health 
should  be  more  unequivocally  restored ;  and 
Gertrude,  although  she  still  endeavored  to  dis- 1 
cover  a  thousand  reasons  for  terminating  her  i 
visit,  was  in  reality  happy  to  find  that  they 
were  all  overruled  in  turn.  To  Eleanor  she  had 
become  almost  essential ;  for  the  whole  time  and 
attention  of  Mary  were  engrossed  by  Soraer- 
ville,  who  had  proved  so  efficient  an  auxiliary 
during  the  election,  that  he  had  won  the  heart 
of  tlie  Squire  as  well  as  that  of  his  daughter; 
and  thus  the  two  younger  girls  were  seldom  se- 
parated, and  all  the  various  attainments  of  the 
orphan  were  in  time  discovered  and  estimated 
bj'  her  amialde  but  less  gifted  friend.  Arm  in 
ai-m  tlicy  wandered  through  the  richly-wooded 
grounds  of  the  Manor-liouse,  or  loitered  iipon 
tJio  border  of  tiie  graceful  little  stream  whicli 
laved  tlieir  boundaries;  and  Eleanor  learned  to 
love  and  appreciate  a  host  of  natural  beauties 
upon  which  she  had  previouslj'  looked  almost 
with  indifference. 

There  is  always  a  world  of  poetry  lying  dor- 
mant in  the  breast  of  a  young  pure  girl,  which 
it  requires  some  extraneous  circumstances  to  de- 
velop ;  and  so  was  it  with  the  friend  of  Ger- 
ti'ude,  who  soon  began  to  marvel  that  she  could 
BO  long  liave  roinaiiied  careless,  if  not  insensible 
to  the  loveliness  of  all  about  her. 

"  Why  is  it,  G(Mtrude,"  she  asked,  "  that  I 
never  felt  tluis  before  ? — That  I  never,  until  I 
knew  you,  could  appreciate  these  mai'vellous 
mysteries  of  nature  ?  I  loved  tlie  country,  but 
only  for  my  own  sake  ;  only  because  I  breathed 


a  purer  air,  and  enjoyed  more  liberty  than  ia 
town  ;  that  I  delighted  to  pluck  the  flowers, 
and  to  bask  in  the  sunshine,  and  to  indulge  in 
the  merelj'  material  pleasures,  which  are  in>- 
possible  to  a  London  life.  It  now  seems  inea- 
plicable  to  me  that  I  should  have  been  so  blind." 

"  And  yet  it  is  not  so,"  replied  the  orphan 
with  a  sad  smile  ;  "  it  is  only  those  who  lia\'e 
suffered,  or  who  have  looked  upon  sufferings 
who  can  make  companionship  with  nature ; 
who  can  hear  voices  io  the  woods,  and  reap 
hope  in  the  glorious  spectacle  of  a  sun-lighted 
sky.  Look  you,  Eleanor,"  she  added  with  emo- 
tion, as  they  entered  a  small  garden-pavilion 
overhung  with  trailing  plants,  and  seated  then>- 
selves  upon  its  rustic  bench  :  "  Look  only  here. 
Do  you  mark  how  these  lovely  but  frail  Banl^> 
sian  roses  wreathe  themselves  fondly  about  ths 
lattice-work  which  they  almost  conceal;  so  is  the 
world  garlanded  with  hopes  as  byght  and  as 
unenduring ;  and  yet  we  would  not  rend  away* 
those  scented  blossoms,  because  we  know  that 
in  a  few  hours  they  must  fade  ;  neither  would 
we  forego  those  hopes,  although  we  know  that 
they  may  end  in  disappointment.  Nay  more, 
we  do  not  uproot  the  tree,  when  its  bloom  is 
scattered,  for  we  await  the  season  which  shall 
renew  its  blossoming — while,  with  the  human 
heart,  Eleanor,  with  the  human  heart,  there  is  no 
second  harvest,  although  it  still  beats  on,  as  if 
in  disdain  of  the  blighted  past." 

"  Gertrude,  you  are  wrong  to  dwell  upon 
such  thoughts.  You  see  that  I  can  weep  with 
you,  but  you  are  still  to  blame.  You  have,  ii> 
deed,  lost  the  friends  of  your  childhood,  but  you 
will,  you  must,  make  many,  many  more." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  the  orphan  with  a  slight 
shudder:  "  at  least  it  is  not  to  you,  to  whom  I 
owe  so  much  of  happiness,  that  I  should  talk 
thus.  But  you  know  not,  Eleanor, — and  may 
you  never  know! — how  hard  it  is  to  lose  all — 
all ;  and  to  begin  your  life  anew,  without  ona 
tie  of  kindred  or  of  kindness." 

"  Our  conversation  has  taken  a  sad  turn,"  in- 
tei'posed  Eleanor,  hastily  wiping  her  eyes :  "  and 
you  are  not  so  wise  a  monitress  as  usual.  Lea- 
son  me  no  more  lessons  to-day,  fair  Mistress  Ger- 
trude, but  rather  let  me  twine  this  lovely  branch 
of  roses  in  your  pale  hair.  There,  is  it  not  glo- 
rious? Five  kister-bloonis  in  one  rich  cluster  J 
And  now,  to  read  you  anotlier  and  more  cheer- 
ful homily  than  j-our  own,  I  will  tell  you  th:it 
they  look  like  the  blossoms  of  a  newer  and  a 
fresher  hope,  flowering  about  the  cold  memories 
of  other  joys." 

And  as  she  concluded  her  graceful  task,  sha 
once  more  drew  the  arm  of  her  friend  within 
her  own,  and  thej^  quitted  the  pavilion. 

An  unusual  stir,  as  they  approached  the  house, 
prepared  them  for  some  arrival  ;  and  they  had 
scarcely  entered  the  hall,  when  Eleanor  was  in 
her  brother's  arms ;  but  he  held  her  there  only 
for  an  instant  ere  he  turned  to  greet  her  com- 
panion. Beautiful  as  she  looked,  however,  as 
she  stood  before  him  with  extended  hand  and 
smiling  lip,  her  simple  white  dress  displaying  to 
advantage  all  the  sj-mmetry  of  her  frail  but 
graceful  figure,  her  bonnet  in  her  hand,  .uiid  her 
luxuriant  hair  still  garlanded  with  the  flowers 
which  Eleanor  had  twined  about  it,  the  young 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


1«9 


man  could  not  suppro 


tart  as  his  eye  fell 


npon 


her.     The   expression   of  her  face  was  so 


eyes,  was  known  to  be  an  orphan,  and  a  por- 
tionless one  ;  while  Ernest  Armstrong  was  one 
of  the  best  matches  in  the  country  ;  and  conse- 
quently not  one  of  his  friends  could  for  a  mo- 
ment believe  him  to  be  mad  enough  to  <lreani 
of  marrying  her.  The  idols  of  the  world  must 
have  hands  of  gold,  even  if  tliey  have  brows  of 
brass,   and   feet   of   clay ;  and    the   divinity  of 


languid,  th !  outline   of  her  always  delicate  fe 
tures  so  much   sharpened,  and    her  whole    ap- 
pearance so  strongly  indicative  of  suffering,  that 
j  he  felt  a  pang  at   Jus   heart,  and  a  vague  terror, 
which  he  dared  not  to  trftst  himself  to  define. 

For  the  first  time,  a  suspicion  that  Gertrude 
was   the    prey   of  some   secret  sorrow,  against  j  every  other  shrine  is  looked  upon  as  an  object 
which  she  had  struggled  until  her  strength  had ! of  false  worship.       No,  no;    young   Armstrong 
failed  beneath   the    conflict,    pressed  upon    liis  I  might  waste  his  time  in  dangling  about  a  pretty 
s^iirits  ;  and  as  the  idea  grew  in  strength,  despite  I  girl  who  was  going  to  her  grave,  and  thus  show 
all  his  efforts  to  suppress   it,  he  began  to  com- 1  the  Lady  Janes,  and  the  Honorable  Miss  Lucys, 
I  rarehend  the   extent  of  his  feeling  towards  her.  |  that  he  was  not  a  marrying  man — which,  by 
.  What  would  he  not  have  given  at  that  moment ,  the  way,  was  rather  clever  on  his  part — but  be- 
i  to   have    possessed    the    power  of  reading   her  yond  this,  of  course   there  was  nothing  to  be 
!  heart,    and    of  soothing   her   sorrows,    be  they  i  said ;  and  so   the  "  capital  match"  was  left  in 
•what  they  might ;  but  this  he  knew  to  be  im-]  peace  to   follow  the  dictates  of  his  own  heart 
I  possible  ;  and  thus  he  spoke  to  her  only  of  her ,  and  his  own  reason, 
sickness,  of  her  recovery,  and  of  his  gladness  on  |     Mrs.  Armstrong,  meanwhile,  was  so  perpetual- 
finding  her  a  guest  in  his  father's  house  ;  while  |  ly  occupied  in   doing  the   honors  of  her  house, 
Gertrude,    unsuspicious    of  the    emotion    which  j  and  in  taking  her  share  in   every  conversation 
rendered  the  expression  of  even  these  common- 'that  was  going  on   about  her,  however  unintel- 
place  greetings  difficult  to  him,  simply  thanked  ligible  it  might   actually  be  to   her  limited  ca- 
tdm  with  her  sad  sweet  smile  ;  and  hastened  to  pacity,  that  she  had  not  a  moment  to  waste  in 
her  apartment,  in  order  not  to  restrain,  by  her  conjectural  speculations;   while  Mary,  happy  in 

Sesence,   the   mutual    commuuications   of  the  herself  and  in  all  around  her,  became  egotistical 
uily.  in  the  very  joy  of  her  heart,  and  limited  all  her 

j  interest  to   her   own   narrow   circle.     Perhaps 

there   were    moments    in    which    Eleanor    felt 

!  startled  ;  but  she,  too,  believed  it  to  be  impossi- 

CIIAPTER  XXXII.  jble  that  her  fastidious  and  ambitious  brother 

i  could  scarcely  love  the  niece  of  old  stingy  Miss 

After  the  return   of  Ernest  Armstrong,  the  Warrington  ;  and  she  had,  moreover,  become  so 

house  gradually  became    filled  Avith    company,  sincerely   attached  to  Gertrude,  that  she  would 

and  it  required   all   the  resolution  which  Ger-  jnot  be  convinced. 

ti-ude  could  command  to  enable  her  to  endure  |  And  Gertrude  herself,  even  while  she  was 
this  constant  demand  upon  her  energies,  without '  grateful,  deeply  grateful,  for  the  unwearied  and 
falling  back  into  her  original  depression;  and  gentle  kindness  of  which  she  was  the  object, 
yt,  strange  to  say,  she  no  longer  felt  an  inclina-  never  for  an  instant  conjectured  that  it  had  an- 
tion  to  return  to  her  desolate  home.  Too  sadly  other  source  than  the  generous  pity  of  one  wlio 
jware  that  Miss  Warrington  was  more  than  re- 1  was  alike  blessing  and  blessed,  to  a  suffering 
pDnciled  to  her  absence  by  the  reflection  that  it  fellow-creature.  !She  only  felt  that  she  was  no 
'Lereased  the  expenses  of  her  narrow  house- [longer  alone  in  the  world  ;  that  there  were  now 
hold ;  and  once  more  habituated  to  the  voice  of  I  two  beings  to  whom  her  sufferings  were  not  in- 
syinpathy  and  kindness,  she  shuddered  as  she  different,  and  who  would  mourn  over  her  were 
remembered  that  the  day  must  soon  come  in  [they  to  terminate  as  she  had  once  hoped.  She 
which  she  should  once  more  be  deprived  of  all  ieven  looked  upon  the  smiling  face  of  Mary,  and 
tliis  luxury  of  affection,  and  when  her  restored  j  the  beaming  countenance  of  her  destined  hus- 
liealth  would  no  longer  afford  her  a  pretext  for  band,  without  remembering  her  own  blighted 
extending  her  already  lengthy  visit.  hopes;  and  although  a  dark  cloud  at  times  set- 

The  bustle  and  movement  consequent  upon  tied  upon  her  spirit,  it  seldom  lingered.  A  re- 
tJie  influx  of  visitors  wearied  and  saddened  her ; 'signed  and  placid  melancholy  had  succeeded  to 
but  she  found  an  equivalent  in  the  perpetual  |  the  irritation  of  feeling  to  which  she  had  pr©- 
and  brotherly  kindness  of  Ernest,  who,  pleading  viously  yielded  ;  and  she  had  almost  taught  her- 
the  necessity  of  Eleanor's  more  general  atten-  self  to  believe  that  "  it  was  well  for  her  that 
tion  to  their  other  guests,  was  constantly  occu- [she  had  been   afflicted."     She   knew  not  that  a 

great  moral  change  was  taking  place  within  her, 
by  which  the  image  of  Mortimer  was  fading 
more  rapidly  from  her  heart  than  time  could 
have  effaced  it. 

It  chanced  that  on  a  sweet  autumnal  morning 
Gertrude  found  herself  alone  in  the  music-room, 
where  she  had  been  engnged  in  tuning  Eleanor's 
harp;  and  having  completed  her  task,  she  stood 
for  a  time  at  one  of  her  low  windows  opening 
to  the  lawn,  until  at  length,  feeling  invigorated 
by  the  soft  balmy  wind  which  was  wakening 
the  leaves  to  that  low,  luxurious,  and  mystia 
whisper,  which  seems  to  speak  to  us  iu  the  laik 


pied  in  securing  the  comfort  and  amusement  of 
the  orphan.  Nor  was  he  diverted  from  his 
work  of  sympathy  even  by  the  smiles  of  the 
liigh-born  beauties  which  now  graced  his 
mother's  drawing-room,  or  the  example  of  his 
own  sporting  companions  ;  who,  on  their  return 
from  shooting,  fishing,  or  boating,  divided  their 
remaining  time  between  billiards  and  flirtation. 
And  all  these  attentions  were  so  carefully  as 
veil  as  so  zealously  proffered,  that  they  excited 
no  remark  even  among  the  idlest  and  the  most 
Barcastic  of  her  associates.  The  beautiful  in- 
Talid,  with   her  pale  brow  and  her   dovelike 


110 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


guage  of  another  and  a  more  liarmonious  world,  been  imprudent.  I  have  ascended  the  mound, 
she  stepped  out  upon  the  velvet  sward,  and  forgetting  that  my  strength  is  not  equal  to  the 
bared  her  brow  to  its  influence.  j  exertion ;  and  I  came  here  to  rest  awhile.    Pray, 

The  sound  of  distant  voices  and  ringing  laugh-  .  forgive  me." 
ter  reached  her  from  the  open  windows  of  the        "  Surely,  you  jest,"  was  the  impetuous  reply, 
house,  and  jarred  with  the  soft  serenity  of  the  |"0h,  Gertrude,  if  yoii  could  only  guess  how  I 
scene  on  which   she  looked;  and  in  order  to  se-   have   sighed  for  this  moment — this  moment  of 


cure  a  more  perfect  sense  of  solitude,  she  strolled 
onward  under  the  flickering  shadows  of  the 
shrubbery,  and  followed  with  a  languid  step, 
the  windings  of  a  flower-bordered  path,  which 
led  to  an  eminence  commanding  a  view  of  the 
village  of  Bletchley,  and  the  surrounding  country. 
Light,  fleecj-  clouds  were  flitting  across  a  sky 
of  intense  blue,  tempered,  however,  by  that 
Blight  purple  mist  peculiar  to  autumnal  atmos- 
pliere ;  the  little  stream  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley  was  sparkling  and  shimmering  along  its 
narrow  channels ;    the  fields  were   alive   with 


happiness — when  I  may  assure  you  of  all  my  re- 
spect— all  mj'  regard." 

','  I  have  long  felt,  long  acknowledged  it," 
murmured  the  fair  girl,  as  she  looked  up  grat©- 
fully  and  confidingly. 

"  "Would  that  the  conviction  had  served  me 
better!"  said  Ernest,  still  retaining  her  hand; 
"  would  that  it  had  induced  you  to  confide  more 
fully  in  a  friendship  in  which  you  admit  that 
you  have  faith.     Gertrude,  you  are  not  ha 


py. 

?en 
convinced  of  this.  Your  painful  illness  has 
reapers;  the  low,  gray  church,  half  buried  in  i  been  an  efl"eet,  not  a  cause.  Seek  not  to  de- 
ivv,  had  just  caught  the  full  radiance  of  the  mid- 1  ceive  me.  To  common  observers,  you  may, 
daV  sun,  and  looked  as  though  it  were  wreathed  [indeed,  be  only  an  invalid  crushed' by  mere 
with  emeralds;  the  leaves  of  the  sallows,  which  i physical  ailment ;  but  to  me,  you  are  the  prey 
at  intervals   skirted  the  water,  danced  merrily  of  a  deeper  suff'ering." 

on  theii'  flexile  stems  to  the  music  of  the  current  j  The  orphan  answered  onlj'  with  her  tears, 
over  which  they  hung  ;  children  called  to  each  "  Gertrude,"  persisted  the  young  man,  as  he 
other  as  they  sported  among  the  husbandmen  ; !  seated  himself  beside  her ;  "  you  have  given  me 
tlie  lowing  of  the  cattle  rose  from  the  luxuriant  a  right  to  consider  myself  your  friend  ;  give  me 
meadows;  the  birds  were  loud  among  the  likewise  cause  to  feel  that  1,  indeed,  am  so.  Re- 
branches, and  the  butter-flies  fluttered  from  member  that  you  have  become  the  adopted  child 
flower  to  flower;  in  short,  it  was  one  of  those  ■  of  our  house;  tiiat  we  have  all  learned  to  love 
daj-s  so  beautiful  and  so  rare  in  our  capricious ,  you.  Have  I,  then,  no  claim  to  ask  for  some 
climate,  when  Xature  seemed  to  have  donned  answering  trust  ?  Perhaps  I  may  be  indiscreet; 
her  richest  garb,  and  the  wliole  earth  to  revel  but  did  you  know  how  cold  everj'  tear  that  you 
in  a  sense  of  its  own  beauty.  jshed  falls  upon  my  own  heart,  you  would  for- 

For  a  while  Gertrude  stood  entranced,  tears  ^  give  me." 
filled  her  eyes,  but  they  were  tears  of  gratitude  A  sudden  faintness  came  over  the  orphan, 
and  praise.  Soon,  however,  she  became  con-  She  began  to  understand  him — to  understand 
scions  that  she  had  overtaxed  her  strength,  and  herself,  and  she  trembled  at  the  revelation.  She 
slowly  descending  the  height,  she  diverged  to-  strove  to  withdraw  her  hand;  she  strove  to  rise 
wards  the  garden  pavilion,  in  order  to  rest  for  |  and  escape,  but  her  agitation  was  too  powerful, 
a  time  before  she  returned  to  the  house.  The  I  "Gertrude!"  exclaimed  her  companion  re- 
creeping  roses,  honeysuckles,  and  clematis,  by  |  proachfully ;  "you  do  not  do  me  justice." 
which  it  was  overgrown,  had  been  suffered  to  |  "  Oh,  reeal  that  accusation  for  pity's  sake," 
run  wild,  and  nearly  obscured  the  entrance  ;  faltered  the  stricken  girl;  "I  know  and  feel  that 
biit  putting  them  aside,  Gertrude  stepped  light- 'you  are,  indeed,  nn*  friend." 
ly  across  the  threshold,  and  started  with  mingled  |  "  And  is  that  all,  Gertrude  ?  Is  that  all  which 
suri)rise  and  annoyance,  to  find  herself  intrud-'you  have  felt  and  known?  Have  I,  indeed, 
iiiir  upon  the  privacy  of  Ernest  Armstrong.  A  made  mj'self  so  little  understood?  Or  is  it  thai 
bright  flush  rose  to  the  cheek  of  the  young  man  j  you  are  indifferent  to  an  affection  which  has 
as  he  bounded   from  the  bench  upon  which  he  now  become  to  me  a  principle  of  existence?" 


upon 

had  been  seated,  and  suffered  his  book  to  fall 
from  his  hand  in  his  eagerness  to  welcome  her. 

"  Gertrude — Miss  ilortimer— "  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  sprang  forward  to  lead  her  to  the  seat 
which  he  had  ^ust  abandoned  ;  for,  in  her  em- 
barrassment, she  had  continued  standing  upon 
tJie  same  spot,  without  making  an  effort  to  ad- 
vance:  "Miss  Mortimer  here, — and  alone!  Bj' 
what  happy  cliancc — " 

"  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  faltered  Ger- 
trude, as  she  sank  exhausted  alike  by  fatigue 
and  distress  upon  the  bench  ;  "  I  did  not  mean 
to  invade  your  privacy.  I  thouglit  you  were 
with  your  friends." 

"  I  dare  not  flatter  mj-self  that  you  sought  my 
society,"  he  said,  looking  anxiously  upon  her ; 
"  but,  surely,  Gertrude,  you  are  ill,  or  unhappy! 
What  has  happened?" 

"Nothing,  believe  me,  nothing;  but  I  have 


principh 

The  orphan  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
the  hot  tears  streamed  through  her  fingers. 

"  It  must  be  as  you  will,  Gertrude/'  said 
Ernest,  as  he  started  from  her  side,  and  paced 
hurriedly  across  the  narrow  floor ;  "  but  you 
know  not  how  devoted  a  heart  you  would  re- 
ject— you  know  not  the  depth  of  the  affection 
which  you  would  throw  from  j'ou — you  cannot 
guess  the  treasure  of  love  which  I  have  hoarded 
up  only  to  cast  it  at  your  feet ;  you  may  be 
loved  again,  but  never,  never  again  as  now." 

Gertrude  looked  up  in  alarm ;  her  heart  beat 
violently,  and  the  tears  were  arrested  in  her 
eyes. 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed  passionately  ;  "  You 
mistake  yourself,  Mr.  Armstrong,  and  imagine 
that  the  generous  sympathy  which  you  have 
felt  for  me  has  grown  into  affection.  But  this 
cannot,  must  not  be.     As  yet  we  are  almost 


i 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


in 


strangers  ;  you  are  the  onlj^  son  of  wealthy  and 
powerful  parents,  while  I  am  poor  and  friend- 
less. You  are  full  of  life,  and  hope,  and  happi- 
ness, while  I  am  already  faded  and  erushed  by 
trial  and  misfortune,  tlow  would  your  proud 
father  brook  such  a  marriage  ?  Forget  that,  you 
have  ever  conceived  so  wild  a  thought.  Be  just 
to  yourself,  and  leave  me,  at  least,  the  consola- 
tion of  feeling  that  I  have  not  lost  a  friend." 

"  You  reason,  Gertrude,"  said  the  young  man 
reproachfully,  "  you  reason  coldly,  where  you 
should  onl}'  feel.  You  disdain  the  heart  which 
you  have  made  your  own." 

"  Do  not  mistake  me."  sobbed  the  orphan  ;  "I 
ffm  already  sufRcientlj'  unhappy.  But  remem- 
ber only  my  position  and  your  own.  Remem- 
ber the  friendship  and  affection  which  have  been 
lavished  upon  me  by  your  family,  and  then  ask 
yourself  if  I  could  m^eed  listen  to  you  without 
ingratitude  ?  Deeply,  very  deeplj-,  do  I  feel  my 
obligation  for  such  a  proof  of  your  regard  ;  but 
I  beseech  you,  if  you  would  not  expose  me  to 
the  most  bitter  self-repi'oaeh,  to  bestow  the 
warmer  feelings  of  your  heart  upon  another." 

"  Enough,  Miss  Mortimer,"  said  her  companion 
haughtiU^ ;  "  I  will  endeavor  to  obey  you.  I 
have,  in  truth  been  worse  than  blind  not  to 
comprehend  that  your  affection  has  been  already 
bestowed  elsewhere.  I  have  now  only  to  apo- 
logise for  my  presumption,  and  to  wish  you  a 
happier  fate  than  that  which  I  would  have  se- 
cured to  you." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  he  seized  his  hat,  and 
rushed  from  the  pavilion. 

As  he  disappeared  Gertrude  made  a  movement 
as  though  she  would  have  detained  him,  for  at 
that  moment  she  felt  as  though  she  was  once 
more  about  to  become  an  alien  from  her  kind. 
She  was  at  last  conscious  that  even  while  she 
believed  herself  to  be  living  upon  the  memory 
of  the  past,  she  was  in  fact  learning  to  love 
Ernest  Armstrong,  a  lesson  in  which  she  had 
progressed  but  too  well,  and  now  she  saw  her- 
self again  thrust  back  iipon  the  desolation  of 
her  own  heart.  The  impulse  was,  however, 
only  momentary,  her  better  principle  retained 
her  in  her  seat :  she  might  be  wretched,  bnt  she 
would  still  continue  blameless ;  she  would  not 
repay  the  trusting  friendship  of  a  whole  family 
by  bligthing  their  proudest  hopes;  and  thus, 
her  extended  hands  were  withdrawn,  her  labor- 
ing sobs  were  suffered  to  have  way,  and  finally, 
her  head  sank  upon  the  rustic  table  before  her, 
and  she  wept  as  those  only  can  weep  who  see 
all  the  hopes  of  their  existence  shivered  about 
them. 

Forgetting  alike  where  she  was  and  the  time 
whicli  had  elapsed  since  she  left  the  house,  she 
remained  for  more  than  an  hour  sunk  in  a  torpor 
of  giief  which  scarcely  allowed  her  to  retain  the 
faculty  of  thought.  She  only  knew  that  she 
was  wretched,  very  wretched ;  she  only  felt 
that  her  last  luxury  lay  in  the  hot  tears  which 
were  coursing  each  other  down  her  pallid  cheeks, 
when  she  was  suddenly  startled  by  the  sound 
<rf  a  deep  sigh  immediately  behind  her. 

She  turned  in  alarm,  and  saw  Ernest  Arm- 
strong standing  a  few  paces  from  the  bench  upon 
•which  she  was  seated. 

"  Gertrude,"  he  said  with  deep  emotion;  "  t«ll 


me  the  truth.  I  left  you  angry  and  miserable 
but  my  anger  could  not  la^t,  nor  can  I  longei 
endure  my  misery.  As  you  hope  for  happinesf 
in  this  life,  be  frank  with  me.  Have  I  a  shaw 
in  those  tears  ?" 

'•Mr.  Armstrong,"  faltered  the  orphan,  as  sh( 
extended  to  him  her  trembling  hand  ;  "  shoulc 
I  be  worthy  of  all  the  friendship  which  yoi: 
have  shown  to  me  for  so  many  months  if  I  could 
have  witnessed  unmoved  the  displeasure  witli 
which  you  lately  quitted  me  ?  Oh,  surely  surely, 
you  at  least  should  know  me  better  ?" 

"  And  what  more,  Gertrude  ?"  asked  Ernest, 
again  seating  himself  beside  her:  "  Have  I  re- 
turned only  to  receive  so  formal  an  assurance 
as  this  ?  Do  you  believe  me  to  be  so  weak,  so 
frivolous,  so  unworthy,  as  to  have  sought  your 
love  without  long  and  eardest  reflection?  Only 
tell  me  that  it  is  not  given  to  another,  and  even 
although  it  should  not  yet  be  mine  I  will  await 
your  will ;  I  will  trust  to  time,  and  to  my  own 
devoted  affection,  for  ultimate  success.  1  will 
struggle  to  deserve  your  preference,  and  to  se- 
cure your  happiness.  I  will  be  everything  that 
you  shall  seek  to  make  me." 

"  I  dare  not  listen  to  such  words  from  your 
lips,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  murmured  Gertrude,  aa 
she  endeavored  to  rise  from  her  seat. 

"  You  shall  not  leave  the  pavillion,  Gertrude, 
until  my  question  is  answered,"  said  her  com- 
panion resolutely ;  "  This  day,  this  very  hour,  I 
must  know  my  "fate — and  then,  Gertrude,  then, 
you  will  have  made  the  happiest  man  on  earth, 
or — we  meet  no  more." 

"  Meet  no  more  !"  gasped  the  orphan,  uncon- 
sciously echoing  his  words  in  an  accent  of  such 
heart-struck  anguish  as  rendered  all  further  ex- 
planation superfluous. 

"  You  are  mine — deny  it  not,  Gertrude,  you 
are  mine,"  murmured  the  delighted  young  man, 
as  he  suddenly  clasped  her  to  his  bosom  ;  "  Nay 
chide  me  not^I  will — I  will  release  you — but 
no  disclaimers — reason  as  you  will  noV,  and  I 
will  listen  ;  I  have  not  loved  you  in  vain,  and 
all  else  I  can  support.  Why  do  you  turn  away 
in  displeasure,  Gertrude?  Are  you  offended  by 
my  joy?  Nay,  do  not  leave  j'our  seat;  I  will 
abandon  mine,  if  you  condemn  me  to  so  great  a 
saerifiee,  but  do  not  drive  me  from  you.  See,  I 
have  even  released  your  hand.  What  would 
you  more  ?" 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  the  weeping  girl,  strug- 
gling against  the  emotion  which  had  dyed  her 
cheeks  and  brow  with  a  crimson  blush  ; '"  Weak 
and  unworthy  as  I  feel  such  an  avowal  to  be,  I 

will  no  longer  deny  that — that In  short,  Mr. 

Armsti'ong — " 

"  Call  me  Ernest." 

"  In  short,"  pursued  the  orphan,  heedless  of 
the  interruption  ;  "  unconsciouslj',  oh,  believe 
me,  most  imconsciously,  I  have  treacherously  re- 
paid the  kindness  of  your  family,  by  suffering 
myself  to  feel — to  feel  as  I  should  not  have  done 
towards  one  for  whom  they  have  higher  and 
prouder  hopes." 

"  They  all  love  you,  Gertrude." 

"  But  will  they  continue  to  do  so  when  they 
learn  how  ill  I  have  requited  their  friendship?" 

"  Will  they  not  be  indebted  to  you  for  my 
happinosB,  which  is  their  first  care?" 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIEa 


Gertrude  shook  her  head  despondingly.  She 
had  already  learned  a  bitter  lesson  in  the  world's 
lore,  and  she  remembered  that  she  was  poor  and 
powerless. 

"Sceptic!"  smiled  her  more  sanguine  com- 
panion, "  have  you  not  faith  in  my  influence  over 
the  family  which  you  appear  so  much  to  dread  t 
I  am  aware  that  my  good  father  will  look  grave, 
and  talk  of  expediency,  and  prudence,  and  all 
tliose  matters  of  which  elderly  gentlemen  are 
accustomed  to  make  bugbears  to  the  young;  but 
I  shall  appeal  from  his  liead  to  his  heart,  and  I 
have  never  yet  made  such  an  appeal  in  vain. 
He  already  loves  you  as  a  child ;  so,  away  with 
these  puerile  fears.  Is  it  your  fault  if  you  are 
dearer  to  me  than  all  else  on  earth?  Are  you 
to  blame  if  3'ou  are  lovelier  and  more  estimable 
than  others  of  your  sex?  Trust  me,  the  day  is 
not  far  distant  when  all  under  our  roof  will 
bless  you  for  having  rendered  it  both  holier  and 
happier." 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  believe  so,"  murmured 
Gertrude  with  a  faint  smile;  "but  until  I  am 
welcomed  by  Mr.  Armstrong  himself,  this  sub- 
ject must  never  be  renewed  between  us.  To- 
day, I  must  remain  at  the  Hall,  for  I  feel  that  I 
haVe  not  strength  to  encounter  the  fatigue  of  a 
removal,  but  to-morrow  I  shall  return  to  the 
humble  home  which  I  ought  never  to  have 
quitted ;  and  then — "  she  concluded  with  a  burst 
of  tears,  which  she  strove  in  vain  to  suppress; 
"  then  it  will  depend  upon  your  father  if  I  ever 
again  become  his  guest." 

Ernest  was  about  to  expostulate,  but  as  he 
looked  into  the  eyes  of  his  companion,  he  read 
there  a  determination  against  Avhich  he  felt  that 
it  were  vain  to  contend ;  and,  accordingly,  he 
raised  her  hand  respectfully  to  his  lips  in 
silence. 

"  And  now,  leave  me,"  said  Gertrude  implor- 
ingly; "  if,  indeed,  j'ou  love  me,  leave  me  alone 
to  think.  I  have  need  of  thought ;  alas  !  I  fear, 
too  much,  but,  at  least,  spare  me  all  further  self- 
reproach." 

"  Do  you  regret  my  happiness  ?" 

Once  more  she  smiled  through  her  tears,  and 
he  felt  that  he  was  answered. 

"  And  you  will  wear  this  rose  for  my  sake, 
Gertrude,'  will  you  not  ?"  whispered  the  young 
man  tenderly,  as  he  broke  away  a  branch  of  the 
flowering  parasite  which  trailed  across  the  en- 
trance of  the  pavilion. 

"  I  will,  if  you  obey,  and  leave  me  now." 

"  I  am  gone,"  was  the  murmured  reply,  and 
still  he  ling.'r<>d. 

Five  minutes  more  wore  away,  and  th'en  the 
blooming  branches  were  hurriedly  thrust  aside, 
and  he  sprang  liglitly  into  the  sunshine,  looked 
back  for  a  second  into  the  depths  of  the  rustic 
apartment,  and  disappeared  among  the  tall 
•lirubs  near  its  entrance. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Ernest  had  no  sooner  departed  than  Gertrude 
»ank  upon  her  knees.  Divided  between  happi- 
ness and  self-reproach,  she  had  no  longer  power 
to  trust  to  her  own  strength.     What  had  she 


done? — and  what  was  she  about  to  do?  She 
felt  bewildered  and  alarmed.  How  little  had 
she  understood  the  nature  of  her  own  feelings; 
how  little  had  she  been  prepared  for  the  ordeal 
through  which  she  had  just  passed  1  That  she 
should  have  permitted  herself  to  love  Ernesk 
Armstrong,  appeared  to  her  at  one  moment  as 
monstrous  ;  slie  who  knew  the  ambitious  views 
of  his  family,  and  the  lofty  aspirings  of  his  own 
nature.  And  she  had  been  doing  tliis  while  she 
believed  herself  to  be  still  weeping  over  the 
smouldering  embers  of  a  scorned  and  now  sinful 
attachment.  The  new  phoenix  had  risen  from 
the  ashes  which  she  had  deemed  extmguished 
forever. 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  throbbing  eye- 
balls, as  though  she  sought  to  awaken  from  a 
wild  dream,  but  all  was  still  vivid  in  its  truth. 
The  branch  of  roses  lay  on  the  table  beside  her; 
the  book,  upon  which  Ernest  had  been  engaged 
when  she  entered,  remained  where  it  had  fallen 
from  his  hand ;  strive  as  she  would,  there  was 
no  room  for  doubt. 

Ere  long  her  thoughts  wandered  to  Mr.  Arm- 
strong, and  she  trembled  as  she  reflected  upon 
his  probable  indignation:  while,  solitary  as  she 
was,  and  although  no  eye  was  upon  her,  a  blush 
of  mingled  pride  and  shame  rose  to  her  brow  as 
she  pictured  to  herself  the  reproaches  which  he 
would  fasten  upon  the  pennil^s  orphan,  who 
had  accepted  his  hospitality  only  to  blight  the 
prospects  of  his  son ;  and  she  bowed  her  head, 
self-convicted,  and  would  at  that  moment  hava 
gladly  forgone  all  her  newly-born  hopes  of  hap- 
piness to  escape  his  just  rebuke. 

Gradually,  however,  her  reflections  became 
less  gloomy,  and  she  raised  her  drooping  head, 
and  pillowed  it  upon  lier  arm,  as  she  wiped 
away  the  intrusive  tears  which  were  still  cours- 
ing each  other  down  her  cheeks,  and  fastened 
her  thoughts  upon  Ernest,  and  the  aftections 
which  he  had  vowed  to  her. 

Was  she,  indeed,  so  very  much  to  blame  for 
having  failed  to  remain  insensible  to  such  a  pas- 
sion ?  Had  he  not  devoted  himself  to  her  in 
misfortune  and  in  suiTering  ?  Had  he  not  ejf- 
tended  to  her  the  hand  of  friendship,  when  that 
of  the  world  was  closed  against  her?  Was  ha 
not  all  that  the  heart  of  woman  could  covet  in 
him  she  loved  ?  And  all  these  questions  weca 
answered  with  a  throbbing  pulse,  until  she  be- 
came almost  acquitted  in  her  own  eyes. 

But  Gertrude  had  still  another  doubt,  another 

Eang  to  combat.  The  more  perfect  she  taught 
erself  to  believe  Ernest,  the  more  a  sense  of 
her  own  unworthiness  fastened  upon  her.  White 
he  had  bestowed  on  her  all  the  fervor  of  a  first 
attachment,  she  had  requited  it  only  by  the  gift 
of  a  worn  and  heavy  heart.  In  every  phase  of 
the  transfer  it  was  unequal.  On  his  side  weisa 
worldly  independence,  social  station,  and  an  en- 
tire and  devoted  passion;  on  hei's  poverty,  ob- 
scurity, and  blighted  hopes. 

As  this  conviction  grew  upon  her  she  wept 
over  herself,  for  she  felt  that  she  was  indeed  a 
bankrupt  in  all  that  makes  life  brilliant,  and  a 
thousand  times  did  she  upbraid  herself  for  the 
selfishness  which  had  led  her  to  listen  to  the 
addresses  of  such  a  suitor. 

Repentance,  however,  came  too  late,  and  ap- 


THE  RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


118 


mi 


robensivo  that,  should  slie  longer  delay  her 
'turn  to  the  house,  her  absence  might  create 
'luc  alarm  as  to  her  safety  in  the  mind  of  Elea- 
or,  Gertrude,  rousing  herself  from  lier  ahstrac- 
,111,  smoothed  the  tangled  hair  upon  her  brow, 
allied  her  swollen  eyes,  and  carefully  lifting 
le  cherished  rose  branch,  which  had  been  the 
rst  gift  of  love  from  the  table,  folded  her 
I  awl  about  her,  and  turned  slowly  in  the  di- 
vtion  of  the  hall. 

What  a  change  had  taken  place  in  her  whole 
ostiny  during  the  last  few  hours ! — what  a 
;iange  in  all  her  feelings  1  She  scarcely  knew 
•hether  to  rejoice  or  to  mourn  on  finding  that 
le  had  voluntarily  flung  from  her  all  the  old 
Bsociations  of  j'ears,  and  was  almost  read}'  to 
sk  herself  if,  indeed  a  new  scheme  of  happi- 
ess  could  grow  out  of  the  ashes  of  the  past. 
[oreover  Gertrude,  meek  as  she  was,  possessed, 
evertheless,  a  proud  spirit ;  and  when  she  re- 
ected  upon  the  time  in  which  her  hand  would 
ave  been  eagerly  sought,  while  now  it  could 
larcely  be  that  her  alliance  would  be  more 
lan  coldly  welcomed  by  the  family  of  Mr. 
.rmstrong,  while  it  might  be  even  scornfully 
yected,  tears  of  wounded  feeling  rose  to  her 
yes,  and  she  felt  tempted  to  recant  her  conces- 
on,  limited  as  it  had  been. 

But  where  is  the  young  heart  which  does  not 
ivlo  j^awaken  to  the  touch  of  hope  ?  Where  is  the 
vnve  so  deep  that  no  flower  will  spring  upon 
surface  ?  Gertrude  remembered  her  last 
lie,  her  blighted  visions,  her  crushed  affec- 
oiis :  she  recalled  to  her  mind's  eye  the  dreary 
loof,  and  the  ungenial  society  of  her  aunt ;  and 
ince  more  she  smiled  as  the  attachment  of  Br- 
est Armstrong  rose  before  her ;  an  attachment 

hieh  had  scorned  to  yield  before  difficulty  and 

If-sacrifice;  and  again  she  i-esolved  to  leave 
iji-  fate  in  his  hands. 

All  these  internal  combats  nevertheless  weak- 
';■  d  both  her  mental   and  physical  strength, 

1  she  became  convinced  that,  even  had  not  a 

->  of  propriety  dictated  the  measure,  an  im- 

liate  removal  from  the  exhausting  gaieties  of 

Hall  was  necessary  to  the  preservation  of 

.    convalescence,    while   her   absence   would 

;ul  to  test  the  consistency  of  her  suitor;  and 
t  was  accordingly  with  a  firm  resolution  to 
larry  out  her  project  of  departure,  that  she  at 
length  reached  the  house,  pale  and  languid, 
jmly  to  be  tenderly  chidden  for  her  imprudence 
,n  wandering  out  alone  in  her  then  state  of 
:veakness. 

The  announcement  of  her  intended  return 
iiome  on  the  morrow,  elicited  still  more  remon- 
irance,  Eleanor  could  not  spare  her ;  Mr.  Arm- 
trong,  on  his  arrival,  would  be  annoyed  to  find 
hat  she  had  left  them  before  her  health  was 
ioroughly  re-established ;  Mary  revealed  the 
lecret  of  a  projected  fishing-party,  where  she 
rfFectionately  assured  her  that  she  would  be  in- 
iliapensable,  a  declaration  in  which  she  was 
j.Tarmly  seconded  by  Somerville ;  and  the  old 
iady  insist^!  upon  several  points,  so  strangely 
Hvolved,  niat  it  was  difficult  to  comprehend 
iheir  bearing  upon  the  case.  One  individual 
iinly  remained  totally  silent  throughout  the 
Iwhole  discussion,  and  that  one  was  Ernest :  he 
f  lieard  eveu  the  guests  of  his  mother  join  in  the 
i!  8 


general  entreaty,  and  saw  tears  of  gratification 
stand  in  the  soft  eyes  of  the  fair  girl  as  she  re- 
plied to  each  appeal ;  and  still  he  sat  by,  appa- 
rently engaged  with  a  newspaper,  and  without 
uttering  a  sentence. 

At  length  Eleanor,  distressed,  and  almost  an- 
noyed, to  find  all  her  endeavors  fail  in  chang- 
ing the  resolution  of  her  friend,  suddenly  turned 
towards  her  brother  for  assistance,  exclaiming 
eagerly— 

"Am  I  not  right,  Ernest?  Do  you  not  con- 
sider Gertrude  very  imprudent  to  leave  us  yet?" 

"  If  you  really  desire  my  opinion,"  was  the 
reply,  and  to  every  eye,  save  one,  it  was  calm- 
ly and  almost  indifferently  uttered ;  "  I  con- 
sider that  if  Miss  Mortimer  conceives  it  to  be 
necessary  and  right  to  return  to  Bletchley,  she 
should  be  left  free  to  follow  the  dictates  of  her 
own  judgment ;  butshould  she  happily  see  causa 
in  an  hour  or  two  to  alter  her  opinion,  slie 
knows  how  much  she  has  it  in  her  power  to 
oblige  us  all." 

"  And  yet  you  persist,  Gertrude,"  said  Elea- 
nor repi-oachfuUy. 

And  Gertrude  did  persist ;  and  the  following 
day  saw  her  once  more  an  inmate  of  the  hum- 
ble dwelling  of  Miss  Wai-rington ;  enduring,  as 
best  she  might,  iSie  condolences  of  her  com- 
panion upon  her  pale  cheeks  and  nerveless 
step  ;  her  inferences  as  to  their  cause,  and  her 
regret  that  she  did  not  possess  more  self-com- 
mand. 

Gertrude  blushed  as  she  listened ;  for,  natu- 
rally ingenuous,  she  felt  that  she  was  guilty  of 
tacit  deceit  in  thus  indulging  her  aunt  in  her  er- 
roneous lamentations.  Yet  what  had  she  to 
tell?  That  Ernest  Armstrong  loved  her?  Of 
what  avail  were  such  a  confidence,  when  out  of 
that  passion  there  might  grow  nothing  save 
mortification  and  disaj)poiiitmenfc' to  herself? 
Better,  far  better,  that  the  worthy  old  gentlewo- 
man should  cling  to  her  first  illusion,  than  that 
she  should  be  enabled  to  break  up  new  ground, 
and  imagine  fresh  subjects  of  grievance.  Even 
in  the  solitude  of  her  chamber,  moreover,  the 
orphan  no  longer  found  peace.  In  weeping 
over  her  sorrows  she  had  experienced  that 
strange  sad  luxury  which,  by  some  occult  dis- 
pensation, those  who  mourn  deeply  ever  feel 
when  alone  with  their  affliction  ;  but  now  that 
most  bitter  of  all  sufferings,  suspense,  was  her 
daily  and  hourly  companion;  a  suspense  ren- 
dered doubly  diiiicult  to  bear,  as  it  involved  at 
once  her  happiness  and  her  self-esteem. 

During  the  last  eventful  evening  at  the  Ilall, 
she  had  found  an  opportunity  to  forl)iil  llio  visits 
of  Ernest ;  and  with  a  right-min<led  delicacy, 
had  also  interdicted  all  correspondence  until 
the  decision  of  his  father  should  have  beea 
made.  In  vain  did  the  young  man  expostulate 
upon  what  he  termed  the  overstrained  and  un 
necessary  cruelty  of  tliis  arrangement :  Gev 
trude  was  firm, 

"  Should  Mr.  Armstrong  consent,"  she  said 
meekly  ;  "  the  privation  will  ultimately  have 
been  unimportant;  should  it  prove  otlierwiso, 
we  have  already  met  too  often,  and  I  owe  it 
both  to  you  and  myself  to  terminate  our  int«F 
course  at  once." 

Strong  in  her  sense  of  right,  to  this  resolution 


114 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


she  adhered ;  and,  finding  that  it  was  n  vain  to 
oppose  hoi-  will,  Ernest  eonld  only  deelare  a  de- 
termination in  his  turn  to  proceed  at  once  to 
town  in  order  to  have  an  immediate  interview 
•with  his  father,  and  by  these  means  shorten  the 
period  of  their  separation. 

Thus  the  orphan  found  herself  once  more  al- 
most alone  ;  for  although  she  had  become  more 
dear  than  ever  to  the  friends  whom  she  had  left, 
they  were  less  able  than  before  to  devote  a  por- 
tion of  their  time  to  her.  The  duties  which  the 
presence  of  their  numerous  guests  imposed  upon 
them,  and  which  was  rendered  still  more  impe- 
rative by  the  sudden  and  incomprehensible  de- 
sertion of  Ernest,  confined  them  strictly  to  their 
immediate  circle ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
kindly  messages,  and  affectionate  notes  which 
constantly  reached  her,  Gertrude  might  have 
found  some  trouble  in  reconciling  herself  to  the 
conviction  that  the  old  llall  and  its  w^arm-hearted 
inhabitants  still  remained  in  the  neighborhood. 

Moreover,  long  and  weary  days  went  by,  and 
there  were  no  news  of  Ernest.  He  had  failed, 
then,  and  he  left  her  to  divine  that  failure  in  his 
silence.  Once  more  she  was  scorned — once  more 
her  heart  was  widowed;  and  she,  who  had  be- 
lieved for  many  many  months  of  heaviness  that 
she  eoxild  never  love  again,  had  suftered  herself 
once  more  to  hope  only  to  be  once  more  de- 
ceived. Such  was  at  last  her  firm  conviction ; 
and  although  she  wept  over  the  loss  of  such  a 
heart  as  that  which  she  had  won,  she  did  not 
yield,  as  on  a  former  occasion,  to  this  new  weight 
of  woe.  Her  woman-pride  nerved  her  to  sup- 
port the  trial  with  dignity,  and  there  were  mo- 
ments in  which  she  found  herself  mentally  con- 
soling Ernest  under  a  disappointment  which  she 
considered  as  inevitable.  And  then  she  glanced 
at  her  own  future  existence,  when  all  should  be 
indeed  over  between  them ;  but  the  anticipation 
chilled  her,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to  siiut 
out  the  vision.  Enough  that  it  was  hers  to  live 
and  suft'er;  he,  at  least,  might  soon  again  be 
joyous  and  happy  as  she  had  first  known  him. 
A  thousand  cares,  and  avocations,  and  hopes, 
■would  wean  her  from  his  memory ;  and  he 
•would  be  restored  to  his  family  and  to  himself, 
■when  she  was — foi-gotten ! 

Such  a  consolation  fell  cold  upon  her  heart,  as 
the  night-dew  upon  grave-flowers ;  the  blossoms 
might  revive  beneath  its  influence,  but  the  dark 
tomb  felt  it  not ;    and   so  time  wore  on,  until 
three  weary  weeks  had  expired,  and  tl 
hectic  which  had  almost  disappeared  from  thejti 
cheek  of  the  orphan  began  once  more  to  tinge  |  a 
the  di.'lieate  skin ;  a  low  cough  was  occasionally 
heard  to  escape  from  her  pallid  lips;    and  the 
cold  moisture  which  bathed  her  brow  at  inter- 
vals rendered  the  long  and  flexile  tresses  by 
•which  it  was  shaded  languid  and  dull. 

To  Miss  Warrington  these  changes  were  im- 
perceptible; but  Mr.  I'ilbeam  was  more  clear- 
sighted, and  he  ere  long  began  to  insist  with  ex- 
treme pertinacity  uj)on  licr  instant  return  to  the 
Hall.     (Jertruile  wai,  however,  inflexible;  attri- 


ing  become  sufficiently  attached  to  her  societS 
to  find  her  renewed  solitude  irksome,  stronglp 
opposed  her  removal.  | 

Baffled  at  the  cottage,  the  little  apothecary; 
seriously  alarmed  for  his  patient,  and  not  altogi 
ther  iiulifferent  to  the  eclat  of  a  visit  to  tb 
Hall,  when  it  was  known  throughout  the  neigl; 
borliood  that  Miss  Mortimer  was  no  longer  il' 
inhabitant,  hastened  to  tell  his  tale  of  fear,  an 
hint  his  wishes  to  ^Mrs.  Armstrong;  but  ono 
more  he  was  destined  to  disappointment.  Th 
good  old  lady  shed  a  shower  of  tears  as  sb 
learned  the  relapse  of  her  favorite ;  Eleano 
turned  pale,  and  clung  to  a  chair  for  support 
while  Mary  loudly  and  earnestly  expressed  he 
grief;  but  beyond  these  demonstrations  of  ir 
terest  and  aff"ection,  none  of  them  progresseoJ  j.!,"],. 
In  vain  did  he  deelare  the  necessity  for  an  in' 
mediate  change  of  air  and  habits ;  in  vain  did  h 
remark  how  wonderfully  beneficial  her  residenc' 
at  the  Ilall  had  proved  upon  a  previous  occt{ 
sion ;  in  vain  did  he  imply  the  expediency  C 
her  instant  return ;  he  was  listened  to  with  coi 
sideration  and  anxiety,  but  all  his  strateg 
proved  fruitless;  and  at  length,  feeling  that  h 
had  no  right,  and  should,  moreover,  be  very  in 
politic  to  endeavor  to  force  upon  the  mistretl 
of  the  house  a  guest  who  had,  from  some  causi 
or  other,  evidently  ceased  to  be  welcome  beneat' 
her  roof,  he  reluctantly  rose,  ami  took  his  leave 
although  not  until  he  had  promised  to  give  Mn 
Armstrong  constant  intelligence  of  his  patient 

Mr.  Pilbeam  ruminated  as  he  descended  th 
hill  on  his  return  homeward,  upon  the  probabl 
cause  of  so  marked  and  unfavorable  a  change 
It  WHS  true  that  all  the  ladies  of  the  family  ha 
deeply  felt  his  communication,  but  they  ha- 
studiously  confined  their  comments  upon  Mis 
Mortimer  to  the  subject  of  her  illness  ;  and  the 
had  evidently  avoided  with  the  greatest  care  aJ 
reply  to  his  inferred  proposition.  "What  coul' 
it  mean  ?  Mrs.  Pilbeam,  called  to  the  council  i.  ,„ 
his  surgery,  while  he  prepared  sundry  myste  ||[j| 
rious  medicaments  of  divers  colors,  dropped  0 
poured  from  tall,  capacious  looking  glass  bottle 
with  ground  stoppers  and  gilded  etiquettes,  inb  f" 
little  slim  phials  of  two  or  three  inches  in  lengtb  ,  ' 
with  long  labels,  neatly  inscribed  and  foldec 
suspended  from  their  necks ;  and,  then,  havini 
corked  them  earefully,  passed  tham  across  th 
counter  to  his  anxiously  listening  helpmate,  vrh 
concluded  the  operation  by  crowning  them  'witl 
faint]  head-pieces  of  bright  scarlet  paper,  which  sh 
[•immed  rapidly  and  neatly  round  the  edge  witl 

huge  pair  of  scissors — Mr.s.  Pilbeam,' howevei 
elucidated  the  mystery  at  once. 

It  was,  she  declared,  precisely  what  niigh 
have  been  expected.  What  could  the  Hal 
people  want  with  poor  Miss  Warrington's  niece 
but  to  make  use  of  her?  And  what  use  coid 
she  be  of  now,  when  they  had  a  housefull  o 
friends  to  amuse  them?  She  couldn't  help  say 
ing,  however,  that  she  was  vei-y  glad  of  it ;  fo 
when  people  set  themselves  up  to  be  better  thfli 
other  people,  it  did  them  good  to  have  thei 


bating  her  weakness  to  the  extreme  sultriness  p>ridc   pulled   down  ;   tlsoug 
of  the  season,  and  tlie  difficulty  which  it  induced     '     ■     ' 
in  her  breathing ;  while,  to  her  infinite  relief,  she 
found  herself  supported  by  her  aimt,  •who,  hav- 


slie  must  eonfea 
that  she  was  very  sorry  the  poor  girl  fretted  B« 
much,  although,  if  there  was  no  sickness  amonf^ 
the  gentry,  Mr.  Pilboam  would  be  reduced  U 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTTES. 


116 


pi'actise  upon  his  parish  poor,  which  -was  neither 
pleasant  nor  profitable ;  so,  that  everything  was 
for  the  best  after  all. 

The  busy  apothecary  listened,  nodded,  mixed 
and  labelled  assiduously,  until  his  daily  duties 
■were  completed ;  occasionally  venturing  upon 
an  inference,  or  uttering  a  regret  that  his  own 
popularity  might  be,  perchance,  diminished  at 
the  Great  House  by  this  untoward  event ;  and, 
finally,  satisfied  that  his  quick-witted  wife  had 
solved  the  enigma,  protested  with  an  anxious 
sigh,  that  he  trusted  he  should  be  able  to  sup- 
port the  system  of  his  patient  until  the  departure 
of  the  Hall-guests  made  her  return  there  desir- 
able to  the  family. 

"  You  know,  my  dear,"  he  concluded ;  "  that 
before  the  visit  of  Miss  Mortimer,  I  had  never 
been  called  in  by  the  Armstrongs,  except  to 
attend  the  domestics;  and  I  made  a  great  ad- 
vance when  I  exchanged  the  servant's  hall  for 
the  drawing  room,  eh?  and  that  it  is  which 
makes  this  business  doubly  vexatious,  andre.illy 
very  detrimental  to  me.  Who  can  tell  what 
good  fortune  might  have  occurred,  if  the  poor 
thing  had  been  allowed  to  remain  where  she 
was,  eh  ?  An  accident,  or  an  attack  of  fever, 
might  have  induced  them,  when  I  was  on  the 
spot,  to  employ  me,  instead  of  sending  off  an 
express  to  the  town,  as  they  have  always  done. 
But  I  do  believe  that  I  was  born  to  be  unlucky." 

Be  this  as  it  might,  and  certainly  the  worthy 
apothecary's  position  was  sufficiently  obscure 
to  prove  that  he  was  at  least  no  inordinate 
favorite  of  the  blind  goddess,  it  is  certain  that 
before  noon  the  next  day,  all  the  magnates  of 
Bletchley  were  aware  that  the  proud  Miss  Mor- 
timer had  been  made  to  understand  that  there 
was  not  room  at  the  Hall  for  her,  while  the 
grandees  from  London  were  there ;  and  great 
was  the  gratulation  of  the  maiden  sisters,  and 
the  minister's  widow,  when  the  secret  was  con- 
fided to  them. 

As  to  the  Misses  Bayliss,  they  declared  their 
conviction,  that  poor  Miss  Warrington's  still 
poorer  relation  might  make  up  her  mind  that 
she  had  seen  the  last  of  the  Hall ;  as,  indeed,  it 
would  seem  that  she  had  done,  by  her  fretting 
herself  ill  again  ;  for,  of  course,  the  Armstrongs 
could  hardly  be  so  barefaced  as  to  have  her  up 
there  again  directly  their  house  was  empty ;  and 
then  in  the  spring  they  would  be  off  to  town  ; 
aod  by  the  time  they  returned,  they  wouldhave 
fo,-gotten  all  about  her. 

Nothing  could  be  more  feasible  or  more  ra- 
tional; nor  did  Getrude  herself  venture  for  a 
moment  to  entertain  a  different  opinion.  They 
would  soon  forget  her.  They  would  leave 
Bletchley  early  in  the  spring ;  for  she  had  been 

E resent  when  the  arrangement  was  made,  and 
ad  even  been  urged  to  join  their  party.  They 
would  abstain  from  seeking  her  society  before 
their  departure.  And  thus,  from  very  different 
premises,  and  with  very  different  feelings,  the 
same  conclusion  was  attained. 

Gertrude  was  wretched,  for  she  was  hopeless ; 
but  even  this  hopelessness  served  to  sustain  her. 
As  she  had  nothing  now  to  anticipate,  so  also 
she  had  nothing  to  fear.  Her  fate  was  accom- 
plished. And  yet,  she  felt  that  one  parting  ex- 
planation might  have  been  vouchsafed  to  her ; 


and  her  pride  was  wrung,  that  although  the 
letters  of  Eleanor,  after  having  reached  her  at 
long  intervals,  and  then  ceased  altogether,  had 
seemed  to  announce  a  cessation  of  all  friendship, 
the  daily  present  of  game,  or  fruit,  or  flowers 
had  never  failed.  It  was  as  though  they  had 
.withdrawn  their  regard,  and  now  conceded  only 
their  compassion. 

The  sensitive  delicacy  of  the  orphan  was 
deeply  wounded;  and  while  her  aunt  constant- 
ly expatiated  upon  the  persevering  attentions 
of  her  new  friends,  the  unhappy  orphan  turned  . 
sickening  from  the  dainties  for  which  she  was 
indebted  to  them,  and  suffered  the  most  rare 
and  beautiful  flowers  to  wither  for  want  of  at- 
tendance, or  banished  them  from  her  room  upon 
the  plea  that  they  affected  her  breathing.  There 
was,  however,  one  faded  rose-branch  which  she 
cherished,  although  color  and  scent  had  long 
since  departed  from  it ;  her  heart  was  not  yet 
so  full  as  to  shut  out  that  cherished  memory. 

Become  too  feeble  to  walk  unattended,  Ger- 
trude was  soon  compelled  to  content  herself 
with  the  air  which  she  could  procure  through 
an  open  window ;  and  there  she  remained 
seated  for  hours,  with  a  book  or  a  needle  in  her 
hand  listening  abstractedly  to  the  economical 
dissertations  of  her  rigid  aunt,  and  lost  in  a 
maze  of  painful  thought. 

She  was  so  sitting  upon  one  occasion,  on  a 
sweet  evening,  when  the  glow  of  the  setting 
sun  shed  a  golden  glory  over  her  pale  features, 
and  glistened  amid  her  long  languid  curls, 
looking  rather  like  a  seraph  than  a  mortal,  and 
thinking,  as  was  her  habit,  of  the  quiet  grave 
which  would  so  soon  bury  alike  her  and  her 
griefs,  in  all  the  luxury  of  solitude  ;  Miss  War- 
rington having  left  the  room  upon  some  house- 
hold duty;  when  she  suddenly  became  con- 
scious of  a  thick  and  hurried  breathing,  which 
betrayed  that  some  stranger  had  paused  beside 
her.  Easily  alarmed,  she  was  about  to  retire, 
when  a  light  form  bounded  through  the  gate  of 
the  little  fence  and  in  the  next  instant,  before 
her  tottering  limbs  had  power  to  second  her 
will,  Ernest  Armstrong  stood  before  her,  his 
eager  hands  grasping  the  window-.sill,  and  his 
fine  countenance  glowing  with  joy  and  animation. 

"  Gertrude,  my  own  Gertrude,"  he  exclaimed 
passionately  ;  "  We  have  conquered  1  At  last 
you  are  mine.  My  father  has  sent  me  before 
him  to  prepare  you  for  his  visit.  He  comes  to 
embrace  his  new  daughter." 

The  orphan  gazed  fixedly  at  him  for  nn 
instant,  and  then  fell  back  upon  her  seat  speecli- 
less  and  powerless.  She  had  struggled  against 
her  despair,  but  she  had  not  strength  to  support 
this  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling.  With  the 
quick  glance  of  affection.  Earnest  at  once  dis- 
covered the  error  of  which  he  had  been  guilty 
in  the  happiness  of  his  own  heart,  and,  in  another 
moment,  he  had  sprung  into  the  apartment,  and 
was  at  her  feet. 

"  What  have  I  done,  Gertrude  ?"  he  whisper- 
ed tenderly  ;  "  Speak  to  me,  dearest,  and  assure 
me  that  the  past  is  forgiven  ;  that  the  silence 
which  you  enforced  upon  me,  has  not  led  to  a 
doubt  of  my  afi'eetion  ;  that  I  am  welcome,  even 
although  I  may  have  been  long  in  coming.  One 
word,  Gertrude,  only  one,  if  you  still  love  me." 


116 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


Gertrude  strove  to  utter  the  assurance  that 
he  asked,  but  her  pale  lips  trembled  without  re- 
gaining the  force  of  utterance  ;  and  then  it  was 
that,  surprised  at  her  prolonged  silence,  the 
agitated  young  man  looked  more  earnestly  upon 
her,  and  recognised  the  ravages  which  the  last 
few  weeks  had  made  in  her  whole  person. 

•The  shudder  which  passed  over  his  frame 
alone  betrayed  his  wretchedness,  but  it  was 
eloquent — for  a  moment,  he  feared  that  he  had 
returned  too  late — and  he  eagerly  fastened  his 
eyes  upon  her  wasted  features  and  sunken  form, 
as  if  to  ask  himself  Avhether,  indeed,  there  were 
yet  hope. 

After  a  time,  however,  his  anxious  and  affec- 
tionate devotion  appeared  to  call  back  the  fleet- 
ing senses  of  the  orphan,  and  a  convulsive  sob 
announced  her  return  to  consciousness.  A  deep 
blush  rose  to  her  faded  cheek  as  she  found  her- 
self in  the  arms  of  Ernest,  and  her  lirst  impulse 

to  liberate  herself;  but  the  clasp  of  affection  a  skilful  physician.     You  are  here, 


was  not  to  be  so  readily  flung  off,  and  it  was 
with  increased  tenderness  that  Ernest  appealed 
to  her  feelings,  to  her  fidelity,  and  to  her  justice. 

"  You  have  doubted  me,  Gertrude,"  he  mur- 
mured reproachfully ;  "  you  have  doubted  me, 
or  I  should  not  find  you  thus.  I  can  read  hours 
of  misgiving  and  of  reproach  upon  the  pale  brow 
that  rests  so  languidly  upon  my  shoulder.  When 
I  approached  tlie  window,  I  saw  you  as  radiant 
as  ever,  and  little  did  I  suspect  that  it  was  the 
mere  cheat  of  a  mocking  light.  "Why  have  you 
been  thus  ungenerous  towards  me  ?  Did  you 
not  know  that  when,  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  I  pleaded  with  my  father,  I  was  pleading 
for  the  happiness  of  my  whole  life — naj-,  for  that 
very  life  itself? — And  did  you,  indeed,  judge  so 
poorly  of  me  as  to  believe  that  I  would  be 
■worsted  in  such  a  cause  ?" 

A  faint  and  timid  smile  rose  to  the  lip,  of  the 
orphan. 

"  Time  has  passed,  I  know  it  but  too  well," 
pursued  Ernest,  "  since  the  cruel  moment  in 
Avhich  you  banished  me  from  your  presence  un- 
til I  could  return  with  my  father's  sanction  to 
our  marriage  ;  and  you  are  also  quite  aware  that 
my  father  loves  you,  but,  nevertheless,  his  am 


happiness  must  have  a  more  solid  and  tangiblf 
foundation.  In  short,  we  discussed  the  mattei- 
until  he  became  convinced  that  I  had  reason  or 
my  side,  and  now,  I  transgress  no  duty  in  telUng 
you  that  I  am  all  your  own." 

"  And  shall  j-ou,  indeed,  never  regret  so  greai 
a  sacrifice,  Ernest?  Shall  you  never  Aveary  of 
your  poor  penniless  bride  ?"  asked  his  listenei 
tenderly. 

Do  we  weary  of  the  air  we  breathe,  Gei' 
trude  ?  Are  you  not  the  one  thought,  the  one 
interest  of  my  existence?  In  losing  you,  ] 
should  have  lost  all  that  rendered  life  endurable 
But  this  fear  is  past,  and  now  I  have  only  tc 
entreat  of  you  to  take  more  care  of  my  happi- 
ness than  it  is  evident  you  have  done  of  late; 
for,  trul}',  dearest,  j-ou  are  sadly  changed." 

'  I  know  it,"  said  the  pale  girl,  as  she  sweplJ 
her  languid  hand  across  her  brow;  "  I  am,  in- 
deed, as  you  remark,  sadly  changed,  but  joy  vti    iF' 
and  all  wiU     ^ 
iklo 

ih 

'dii 

■•;iill 


soon  once  more  be  well  Avith  me, 

For  the  first  time  the  enraptured  lover  ven 
tured  to  touch  with  his  lips  the  forehead  which 
reposed  upon  his  shoulder ;  and  he  did  so  un- 
chidden,  for  the  strength  of  the  orphan  was  eb-! 
bing  rapidly  beneath  the  conflicting  emotion  oil 
the  last  half  hour,  and  the  heart  of  the  youDgl  ff » 
man  heaved  as  he  watched  the  color  rise  andSB*!^ 
fade,  in  rapid  alternation  upon  her  cheek. 

It  was  consequently,  almost  with  a  feeling  of 
relief,  that  he  heard  the  sound  of  approaching! 
footsteps,  and  Avliile  Gertrude  instinctively  with- 
drew herself  from  liis  hold,  he  hastily  rose  from 
his  seat,  and  stood  beside  her.  In  the  next  in- 
stant, Miss  Warrington  entered  the  room,  andl 
an  exclamation  of  surprise  escaped  her  lips  aei 
she  remarked  the  presence  of  the  intruder.         ( 

"  I  owe  you  a  thousand  apologies,  my  deal! 
madam,"  said  Ernest  in  reply,  as  he  advanced' 
towards  her  with  extended  hand  ;  "  I  feel  that 
I  have  been  guilty  of  a  most  unceremonious  en- 
trance beneath  your  roof,  but  I  trust  that  you 
will  pardon  the  mdiscretion  when  I  tell  you  ''  ~^ 
I  came  here  to  claim  my  bride." 

"Your  bride,  Mr.  Armstrong!"  echoed  the! 
bewildered   old   lady,    as   she   sank   almost 


Km 

BBt 


Ijition — his  vanity — call  it  what  you  will — had  i  breathless  as  the  orphan  herself,  into  her 


led  him  to  form  other  projects  for  his  son,  and 

?rou  must,  therefore,  forgive  him,  even  though 
le  should  have  exhibited  such  pertinacious  re- 
luctance in  yielding  to  my  prayer.  Believe  rfie 
also,  dearest,  when  I  assure  you  that  your  digni- 
ty has  never  been  compromised,  even  for  an 
instant;  it  could  not  be,  for  that  dignity  wasj 
also  mine.  As  regarded  your  birth,  there  were, ' 
of  course,   no   scruples,    for   therein   we   were  j  warning. 


customed  arm-chair :  "  Beware,  young  gentle-! 
man,  how  you  jest  with  a  Mortimer.  /  am  old, 
and  powerless,  it  is  true,  but  Gertrude  is  not  al-i 
together  friendless,  and  she  must  not  be  made 
the  sport  of  idle  vanity." 

And  as  she  spoke,  her  tall  figure  grew  yet 
taller;  while  the  fingers  generally  so  tightly ^ 
clasped,  were  extended  and  outstretched  as  if  in 


equals.  You  see  that  I  am  frank  with  you,  |  "  You  wrong  me.  Miss  Warrington,"  was  the, 
Gertrude;  for  we  love  each  other,  and  I 'feel  j  proud  reply ;  "  I  come  as  a  suppliant,  not  as  a 
that  I  have  no  right,  as  certainly  I  have  no  jester,  and  I  am  even  now  momentarily  awaiting 
•wish,    to    mislead    you.     Tlie  difficulty  was   at  " 

once  less  in  importance,  and  mofe  powerful  in 
effect  You  are  as  well  aware  as  myself  that  the 
Armstrongs  were,   some   generations   ago,   the 


inost  wealthy  family  in  the  country,  and  my  fa-  det 
ther  had  eneournged  strange  visions  that  1  was 'per 


the  arrival  of  my  father  to  second  my  suit. 
love,  and  have  long  loved  your  niece,  and  she 
has  condescended  to  return  my  affection ;  family 
aft'airs,  with  which  I  will  not  weary  you,  have' 
ained  me  some  time  in  town,  and  I  regret  tc 


perceive,  tliat  during  my  absence  the  health  of 
destined  to  restore  their  ancient  affluence  by  Gertrude  has  not  progressed  as  I  had  hoped.' 
what  the  world  calls  a  fortunate  marriage;  butjShe  has,  however,  promised  me  that  slic  will 
I  knew  too  well  that  this  was  a  popular  misno-  exert  all  her  energies  to  recover  strength,  and. 
taer,  as  it  is  commonly  understood,  and  that  my  I  we  must  trust  that  care  and  zeal  will  aid  hef 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


117 


successfully  in  the  effort.  And  now,  my  dear 
raaJ^m,  do  you  still  vefuati  your  hand  to  your 
new  nephew?" 

The  astonishment  of  the  stately  old  lady,  far 

from    diminisliiiig,    only  increased  with    every 

word  to  which  she  listened ;  but  as  she  saw  the 

meek  and  appealing  eyes  of  Gertrude  fixed  upon 

her,  she   almost  unconsciously  placed  her  hand 

'u  lin  that  of  the  young  man  who  stood  respectfully 

llbefore  her,   and  drew  a  long  breath  as  though 

"'.  Wlshe  would  have  heaved  a  heavy  weight  from 

■    her  breast, 

"  You  have  told  me  nothing  of  this,  Miss 
Mortimer,"  she  at  length  said  in  •  her  most  sen- 
tentious tones ;  "  and  you  have  been  wrong. 
I  am  your  natural  guardian,  and  could  not 
have  objected  to  this  marriage,  provided  it  be, 
as  I  trust  it  is,  welcome  to  Mr.  Armstrong's 
family ;  for  otherwise  I  at  once  refuse  my 
sanction,  and  cannot  countenance  the  visits  of 
this  gentleman." 

There  was  no  opportunity  for  either  Gertrude 
orr  her  lover  to  reply  to  this  solemn  announce- 
ment, for  the  words  were  still  upon  the  lips  of 
Miss  Warrington,  when  a  carriage  stopped  at 
the  door,  and  the  Squire  was  announced. 
Vainly  did  the  poor  girl  endeavor  to  rise  from 
her  chair  to  receive  him  ;  the  throbbing  of  her 
heart  was  so  violent,  that  she  could  only  clasp 
her  hands  together  and  gasp  for  breath  ;  but 
she  soon  overcame  this  imdue  emotion,  and 
pride  lent  her  strength,  as  Mr.  Armstrong  turn- 
ed from  the  ceremonious  greeting  of  the  maiden 
aunt,  to  welcome  him,  if  not  with  complete 
composure,  at  least  with  perfect  self-possession. 

There  was  a  slight,  a  very  slight  shade  of 
constraint  upon  the  brow  of  the  Squire,  which 
did  not  escape  the  anxious  ej^es  of  Gertrude  ; 
and  perhaps  it  was  fortunate  that-she  remarked 
it,  for  it  gave  her  nerve,  conscious,  as  she  was, 
that  she  had  used  no  imworthy  means  to  secure 
the  affection  of  his  son.  He,  however,  seate-d 
himself  beside  her,  after  having  given  a  nod 
of  intelligence  to  Ernest,  who  was  eagerly 
watching  his  movements,  and  kindly  taking  her 
hand,  expressed  the  regret  which  he  felt  at  her 
altered  appearance. 

"  We  have  all  been  in  error,  my  dear  Miss 
Mortimer,"  he  pursued,  although  with  visible 
effort ;  "  and  that  mad  boy  yonder  not  the 
least.  What  business  had  he  to  agitate  and 
harass  you  with  his  foolish  fancies  when  you 
had  no  strength  to  spare  ?  And  what  business 
had  you  to  listen,  when  you  should  have  been 
tliinking  of  your  health,  and  endeavoring  to 
take  care  of  yourself?  Oh  I  my  pretty  Ger- 
trude," he  whispered  more  affectionatelj' ,  as  he 
saw  the  large  tears  swelling  in  her  eyes ; 
"  what  business  had  I,  old  fool  as  I  was,  to 
suppose  that  I  knew  better  what  was  good  for 
him  than  he  did  himself?  However,  as  we 
have  all  been  wrong,  we  must  all  endeavor  to 
be  wiser  in  future.  You  will  not  find  Ernest 
half  so  troublesome,  now  that  he  is  sure  of  hav- 
ing his  own  way,  wliile  your  little  heart  will  be 
at  ease,  and  that  will  prove  the  best  medicine 
in  your  own  case.  As  for  me,  Gertrude,  you 
j  must  forget  that  I  did  not  do  justice  to  your 
mei'its  at  once,  as  perhaps  I  should  have  done  ; 
for  I  have  had  to  contend  against  a  host  of  old 


hopes,  and  of  old  memories,  by  which  I  have 
been  haunted  since  his  boyhood.  How  say 
you,  madam?"  he  added,  addressing  the  old 
lady  ;  "  As  we  have  each  made  some  sacrifice 
should  we  not  each  also  make  some  conces- 
sion ?" 

"  My  dear  Sir,"  broke  in  the  happy  Ger- 
trude ;  "  how  can  I  reply  to'  such  imhojied  for 
indulgence  ?  But,  indeed,  indeed,  I  am  not  un- 
worthy of  it,  I  have  long  despaired  in  silence, 
without  one  feeling  save  that  of  gratitude 
towards  j-ourself.  I  did  not  dare  to  hope,  but 
I  at  least  avoided  all  self-reproach." 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  know  it," 
was  the  cordial  rejoinder  ;  "  Had  it  been  other- 
wise you  would  not  have  been  the  little  Ger- 
trude who  robbed  us  of  all  our  hearts.  And 
the  more  I  look  at  you,  the  more  I  feel  dis- 
posed to  admit  that  Ernest  is  right,  and  that 
you  will,  after  all,  bring  him  the  best  dowry." 

"  I  am  acquitted,  then,  in  your  eyes  at  least, 
Sir,"  said  the  young  man  with  a  triumphant 
smile. 

"  Fully — honorably  acquitted,  and  I  receive 
with  joy  to  my  heart  and  home  the  daughter 
j-ou  have  selected  for  me." 

And  as  he  spoke,  the  kind  old  Squire  folded 
the  agitated  orphan  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her 
with  paternal  tenderness. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  pursued,  after  the  pause  of 
a  moment,  during  which  no  one  made  an  effort 
to  break  the  silence;  '"to-morrow  Mrs.  Ai-m- 
strong  and  the  girls  will  be  with  you  early; 
nay,  they  wanted  to  invade  the  carriage  to- 
night, when  they  learned  my  errand ;  but  they 
had  grumbled  so  much  for  the  last  few  weeks  at 
what  the}'  were  pleased  to  call  my  unkindness, 
in  debarring  them  from  the  society  of  their  fa- 
vorite, that  I  resolved  to  punish  them  for  their 
want  of  obedience,  and  so,  in  spite  of  all  their 
reproaches  and  entreaties,  I  set  forth  alone,  as 
the  y'oung  gentleman  opposite  had  done  before 
me,  although  I  suggested  that  we  should  travel 
in  companj'.  So  you  see,  my  pretty  Gertrude, 
that  you  must  put  on  all  your  best  looks  to  re- 
ceive them,  or  incur  the  risk  of  \indergoing  a 
course  of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  dieting,  and  nursing, 
and  warning,  when  you  may  pass  your  time 
more  pleasantly." 

"And  Eleanor,  and  Mary?  Do  thej-  really 
still  love  me  ?"  asked  the  orphan  with  emotion. 

"  For  Eleanor  I  can  answer  at  once,"  smiled 
Mr.  Armstrong ;  "  as  for  Mary,  her  love  appears 
to  be  monopolised  by  Somerville,  but  I  dare  say 
that  you  will  nevertheless  be  able  to  come  to  an 
understanding.  And  now  I  must  take  my  leave, 
and  so,  moreover,  must  this  young  gentleman, 
who  has  agitated  you  more  than  enough  already, 
and  against  whom  I  shall  request  Miss  Warring- 
ton to  close  her  doors  if  he  does  not  conduct 
himself  with  becoming  prudence  ;  for  as  he  has 
insisted  upon  giving  me  a  daughter,  so  in  my 
turn,  I  shall  insist  that  she  be  taken  proper  care 
of!" 

Ernest  would  fain  have  expostulated,  and 
turned  an  imploring  look  from  his  father  to  his 
hostebS,  but  he  met  with  no  encouragement  from 
either.  Mr.  Armstrong,  vanquished  alike  by  his 
affection  for  his  son  and  his  regard  for  Gertrude, 
had  succeeded  in  overcoming  all  distaste  to  their 


118 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


marriage,  and  had  consequently  not  seen  with- 
out alarm  the  fearful  state  of  weakness  to  which 
Bhe  was  reduced,  while  he  instantly  felt  the  ne- 
cessity of  protecting  her  from  all  undue  excite- 
ment ;  and  thns  it  was  evident  that  he  antici- 
pated no  opposition  to  liis  will,  as  he  avoided 
the  eye  of  the  young  man  like  one  who  would 
admit  no  furtlier  discussion  upon  the  subject; 
while  Miss  Warrington,  half  bewildered,  and 
half  alarmed  at  what  was  passing  about  her,  felt 
like  a  person  under  the  influence  of  an  agitating 
dream,  and  was  looking  anxiously  for  the  depar- 
ture of  her  self-constituted  guests. 

There  was  accordingly  no  appeal,  and  with  a 
Darting  word  which  lasted  throughout  a  some- 
what lengthy  and  explanatory  leave-taking  be- 
tween the  sententious  old  lady  and  the  simple- 
mannered  Squire,  Ernest  was  compelled  at  last  to 
relinquish  the  hand  which  had  been  confidingly 
abandoned  to  him,  and  to  follow  his  father  to 
the  carriage  with  as  much  philosophy  as  he  could 
command ;  nor  was  it  until  the  sound  of  their 
retreating  wheels  convinced  her  that  tliey  were 
indeed  gone,  that  Miss  "Warrington  turned  to- 
wards her  niece  with  wonder  and  reproach  alike 
upon  her  lips  ;  but  her  words  fell  powerless  on 
the  closed  ear  of  her  companion.  The  reaction 
of  feeling  had  consumed  her  small  remaining 
amount  of  strength,  and  the  orphan  lay  back 
insensible  in  her  chaii-. 

With  eager  but  mistaken  zeal,  Miss  Warring- 
ton and  her  handmaiden  hastened  to  arouse  the 
exhausted  girl  from  the  pei-fect  repose  of  mind 
and  body  induced  by  the  syncope  into  which 
she  had  fallen,  and  to  convey  her  to  her  cham- 
ber, where,  at  her  earnest  request,  they  left  her 
to  reflect  iipon  all  the  unhoped-for  events  of  the 
last  few  hours.  And  very  strange,  almost  too 
strange  for  sober  self-gratulation,  appeared  the 
total  change  which  had  supervened  in  all  her 
'eelings.  Again  and  again  she  asked  herself  if 
'■t  indeed  were  true ;  if  it  were  not  merely  a 
?heat  of  her  wandering  reason  ?  But  again  and 
»gain  she  was  enabled  to  recall  everj^  word  and 
almost  every  look;  she  seemed  still  to  feel  the 
pressure  of  the  old  man's  lips  upon  her  cheek, 
and  the  warm  clasp  of  the  hand  which  had  so 
long  been  closed  over  her  own,  and  she  smiled 
the  heart's  smile  as  every  succeeding  moment 
strengthened  her  consciousness  of  the  truth. 
She  who  had  been  so  long  an  outcast,  was  then, 
indeed,  at  last  to  know  the  blessings  of  domestic 
affection  ;  to  be  called  by  the  endearing  names 
of  daughter — sister — wife  !  to  see  herself  the 
object  of  care  and  tenderness,  and  love,  when 
she  had  taught  herself  to  believe  that  from  all 
these  holy  privileges  she  was  inexorably  shut 
out.     Her  sense    of  happiness  became    almost 

Eainful.  She  had  learned  to  support  suffering, 
ut  she  was  feeble  as  an  infant  under  this  new 
sensation.  The  very  silence  appeared  vocal  to 
Ijcr,  and  the  air  laden  with  gentle  voices,  and 
the  evening  twilight  bright  with  kindly  smiles. 
Her  narro\/  room  was  peopled  with  joyous  vi- 
sions, and  her  solitude  made  cheerful  by  their 
presence. 

One  dark  shadow,  and  one  only,  gloomed 
amid  the  brightness  of  her  thoughts :  she  had 
forgotten  that  she  was  poor,  and  that  her  po- 
verty had  for  a  time  closed  the  heart  of  him  to 


whom  she  was  soon  to  pay  the  duty  of  a  child 
she  forgot  that  this  same  poverty  would  compel  i 
her  to  go  a  portionless  bride  to  the  arms  of  her 
destined  husband ;  she  had  ceased  to  remember 
all  her  past  struggles,  and  to  weep  over  her 
faded  beauty ;  but  there  was  still  one  painful 
memory  which  would  not  be  silenced.  She  had 
become  an  alien  from  the  affection  of  her  near- 
est relative,  the  playmate  of  her  childhood,  and 
the  friend  of  her  youth.  Yes,  from  the  period 
of  his  marriage  it  was  evident  that  he  had  ceas- 
ed to  interest  himself  in  her  fate,  perhaps  even 
to  recal  her  existence ;  and  the  affectionate  heart 
of  Gertrude  swelled  even  amid  her  new  sense 
of  happiness,  and  the  tears  of  disappointed  feel- 
ing fell  from  her  eyes,  as  this  intrusive  recol- 
lection forced  itself  upon  her. 

Although  all  her  early  dreams  of  hope  had 
long  melted  away,  like  those  ice-palaces  which 
are  constructed  upon  the  Xeva,  only  to  melt  be- 
neath the  next  change  of  temperature  ;  she  yet 
clung  to  the  son  of  that  more  than  mother  who 
had  watched  over  her  girlish  years  with  a  tend- 
erness of  which  she  had  never  hoped  to  be  again 
the  object ;  still  she  thought  of  him  as  of  a  lov^ 
ed  and  cherished  brother  ;  and  the  heart  cannot 
easily  forego  so  blessed  a  bond. 

Thus  there  was  yet  one  drop  of  gall  in  the 
overflowing  cup  of  her  meek  delight,  and  for  a 
while  that  drop  appeared  to  taint  the  whole 
draught ;  but  gradually  she  became  awakened 
to  the  weakness  of  yielding  to  such  depressing 
memories,  and  although  the  painful  impression 
still  remained,  she  compelled  herself  to  turn  to 
other  and  brighter  thoughts ;  she  finally  sank 
to  sleep,  to  dream  of  Ernest  Armstrong,  and  to 
be  happj'. 


CILVPTER  XXXIV. 

Sybil  and  Mortimer  were  man  and  wife  ;  and 
they  were  travelling  over  that  glorious  Italy 
which  they  both  loved  so  well,  and  were  so 
well  able  to  appreciate.  More  beautiful  than 
ever  in  the  eyes  of  her  enraptured  bridegroom, 
Mrs.  Mortimer  was  radiant  with  smiles,  bright 
with  genius,  and  affectionate  even  beyond  his 
hope.  Surrounded  by  all  the  appliances  of  lux- 
ury, she  had  scarcely  time  to  form  a  wish  ere  it 
was  eagerly  fulfilled ;  her  days  were  all  suik- 
shine,  and  her  heart  all  triumph.  Now,  indeed, 
she  could  defy  fate  ;  now,  indeed,  she  was  ro- 
venged  upon  that  world  which  had  dared  to 
scorn  her ;  and  if  she  did  not  love  her  husband 
as  he  deserved  to  be  loved,  she  could  at  least  so 
thoroughly  feign  the  tenderness  for  which  he 
sought  as  to  blind  him  to  the  fact. 

At  length  they  reached  Kome  ;  and  here  they 
had  decided  to  spend  a  long  and  delicious  month 
among  the  old  and  glorious  memories  of  the  past. 
No  prospect  could  be  more  enchanting  to  Fre- 
deric, possessed  of  his  long-coveted  bride,  and 
existing  in  the  land  of  his  predilection,  he  had 
not  a  desire  unfulfilled  ;  but  Sybil  soon  became 
less  enthusiastic  than  himself,  and  there  was  an 
evident  restlessness  in  her  manner  each  morning 
as  they  set  forth  to  visit  the  memorable  moQU- 
ments'of  the  Imj  erial  City. 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


One  of  her  constant  oaves  since  leaving  Eng 
land  bad  been  to  examine  the  visitors'  hook  of 
every  hotel  at  which  they  took  up  their  temp- 
oi-ary  abode  ;  and  although  Frederic  found  an 
equal  amusement  in  the  heterogeneous  assem- 
blage of  authographs  thus  placed  under  his 
eyes  ;  yet,  as  he  sat  with  his  arm  folded  about 
the  slight  figure  of  his  wife, — his  glance  follow- 
ing the  direction  of  her  finger  —  and  laughed 
with  her  at  the  pompoiis  announcement  attach- 
ed to  the  plebeian  names  of  Tompkins,  Jenkins, 
Smith,  e  tutti  qiianti,  it  was  nevertheless  evident 
tliat  Sj'bil  attached  a  serious  interest  to  the  sur- 
vey, in  which  he  was  far  from  participating.  A 
sigh  of  relief  escaped  her  as  she  closed  the  din- 
gy volume  upon  each  occasion  until  that  upon 
which  we  shall  rejoin  her. 

Rome  was  crowded  with  foreigners ;  and  it 


Sybil  attempted  a  contemptuous  laugh.  " 
have  had  few  favorites,"  she  said,  as  she  passe 
her  small  and  jewelled  hand  through  the  elu 
tering  curls  of  her  companion :  a  liberty  whic 
he  resented  by  drawing  her  to  liis  bosom,  an 
thus  afforded  her  the  opportunity  she  sought  i 
recovering  her  self-possession ;  "  and  poor  Si 
viatti  is  sufficiently  well  satisfied  witii  himse 
to  be  able  to  dispense  with  all  extraneous  ad( 
ration  ;  but  I  confess  that  for  a  time  he  amuse 
me.  You  know,  P'rederie,  that  all  depends  upo 
the  mood  of  the  moment,  and  that  the  antics  < 
the  monkey  sometimes  interest  as  much  as  tli 
stateliness  of  the  lion ;  and  thus  Saviatti,  a 
prince  though  he  be,  or  at  least  calls  himself,  w£ 
my  monkey  during  three  months,  after  which 
totally  lost  sight  of  him." 

Mortimer  was    silent.     It  was   not  that  on 


was  not  without   considerable   difficulty    that;  suspicion  of  Sybil's  truth  rushed  across  his  mind 


but  as  yet  that  past,  into  which  he  so  ardently  d( 
sired  to  penetrate,  remained  a  mystery  to  hin 
On  the  eve  of  her  marriage,  he  had  not  venture 
to  hazard  a  (Question,  lest  she  might  be  paine 
by  such  an  implied  want  of  confidence  ;  an( 
since  she  had  been  his  wife  he  had  thouglit  < 
her,  only  of  her,  and  flung  from  him  every  an? 
iety  save  that  of  contributing  to  her  hapjjinesi 
Now,  however,  he  for  the  first  time  remen 
bered  that  he  had  made  no  progress  in  her  cor 
fidence,  and  that  he  was  indebted  to  chanc 
for  every  revelation  connected  with  her  eai'l 
life.     Nor  had  he  felt  altogether  convinced  b 

- -^ ,    -  the  explanation  which  he  had  extorted;  for  h 

greed   of   gain   and   carelessness   of   the  faded  I  could  not  conceal  fi-om  himself  that  it  was  ovei 
glories  of  the    past,  denominate  a  magnificent  strained,  and  that  its  flippancy  but  ill  disguise 


Mortimer  succeeded  in  securing  for  Sybil  such 
accommodation  as  he  considered  worthy  of  hei-. 
The  streets  were  loud  with  those  trivial  sounds 
of  mere  common-place  e  very-day  life,  which  form 
so  paltry  and  puerile  a  contrast  with  the  grand 
amd  stately  relics  of  buried  centuries;  bright 
bonnets  and  idle  laughter  desecrated  the  myste- 
ries of  the  Coliseum ;  dingy  droschys  and  dusty 
berlins  crowded  the  hotel  yards ;  vociferoiis 
oaths  in  English,  German,  and  Italian,  were 
growled,  screamed,  or  muttered  on  every  side ; 
the  churches  and  the  coftee-houses  were  alike 
full ;  and  everything  promised  what  the  de- 
2nerate  Romans  of  the  present  day,  in  their 


Beason. 

The  hotel-book  was  fuU  of  names,  on  which 
the  ink  had  as  yet  had  scarcely  time  to  dry. 

Highnesses,  duchesses,  peers,  and  chevalliers  of  he  replied  somewhat  sarcastically: 
every  order  under  the  sun,  were  intermingled  in  [  case   the  meeting   is  a  fortunate  one ; 
sublime  confusion  with  the  city-knights,  touring- 1  monkey-prince  will   afford  a  diverting 


its  hollowness. 

It  was,  therefore,  under  the  influence  of 
sensation  as  painful  as  it  was  novel  to  him,  tha 

In  tha 
for  th 
relic 
ti'aders,  and  chevaliers  d'industrie.'  It  was  evi-  j  after  our  solemn  musings  among  nioulderin] 
dent  that  not  a  hope  of  even  partial  seclusion  [ruins  and  crumbling  monuments.  We  shall 
remained  for  the  married  lovers.  The  fingers  of  doubtlessly,  soon  meet,  as  we  are  domesticate 
Sybil  had  alrea,dy  indicated  her  acquaintance  I  under  the  same  roof;  and  thus  an  acquaintanc 
with  at  least  a  d'ozen  of  the  new  arrivals,  while  '  so  gaily  commenced  may  be  as  cheerfully  cod 
Fi'cderic  himself  had  discovered  more  than  one  tinned." 

name  that  was  full  of  old  associations.  As  yet,  "  I  care  little  ever  to  meet  him  again,"  sai( 
however,  neither  had  been  sufficiently  discour-  j  Sybil,  dropping  her  beautiful  head  upon  th 
aged  to  utter  more  than  an  impatient  "  Pshaw!"  j  shoulder  of  her  husband,  and  looking  up  at  hie 
at  each  encounter,  until  the  somewhat  cramped  j  with  one  of  those  beaming  smiles  wliieli  alway 
and  hyper-flourished  signature  of  the  Prince  de  i  captivated  his  reason  :  "  Every  folly  has  its  day 


Saviatti  caused  an  involuntary  start  on  the  part 
of  the  lady,  which  brought  a  bright  flush  into 
her  cheek. 

"  You  know  il  illustricimo  Principe,  Sybil  ?" 
said  Mortimer,  who  had  observed  her  emotion. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  somewhat  embarrassed  reply  ; 
"in  so  far  as  such  an  individual  really  can  lae 
known.  I  met  him  frequently  during  a  season 
in  town,  when,  as  he  expressed  it,  he  was  '  do- 
ing his  England,'  and  I  confess  that  I  am  sur- 
prised to  find  him  here,  when  I  believed  that  he 
■was  in  Egypt,  or  China,  or  at  the  antipodes, 
pour  pro  me?ier  sa  paresse  ;  for  he  is  full  of  Si- 
cilian prejudices,  and  always  laughed  at  my  en- 
thusiasm for  Rome  and  its  treasures." 

"  He  is  evidently  no  favorite  of  yours,"  re- 
marked her  husband,  who  had  detected  an  un- 
usual tinge  of  bitterness  in  her  tone. 


and  becomes  st.ale  by  repetition.  Saviatti  is  to( 
frivolous  to  leave  one  regret  behind  him." 

"  Did  he  visit  England  alone  ?"  asked  Erede 
ric,  already  half  appeased,  as  he  bent  down  anc 
kissed  the  fair  forehead  which  was  pillowed  upoi 
his  bosom :  "  Was  the  monkey  unaccompaniec 
by  his  attendant  bear  ?" 

"Oh  no!  there  was  a  tall,  lean,  sour-visagec 
abbate,  who  was  in  his  train  when  he  arrived  ii 
town  ;  but  I  believe  that  the  Prince  wearied  o 
the  espionage  to  which  he  was  condemned  by  tlu 
companionship  of  this  saturnine  individual,  whc 
had  been  attached  to  his  person  by  his  father,  ant 
so  gave  him  his  dismissal;  for  it  is  certain  tbal 
he  returned  to  Palermo  only  a  few  weeks  aftei 
the  advent  of  his  principal." 

"  Saviatti  is,  then,  a  Palermitan  ?" 

"So  I  understand.  But  you  appear  singi'larlj 


120 


THE  RIVAi:  BEAUTIES. 


interested  about  this  frivolous  foreigner,  Fred- 
eric! "- 

"  Do  you  wonder  that  it  should  be  so,  Sj- 
bil?  Did  he  not  know  you,  and  apparently 
know  you  Ultimately,  long  before  we  had  even 
met?" 

Mrs.  Mortimer  changed  her  position ;  her 
cheek  burnt,  and  she  did  not  care  to  expose  it 
to  the  observation  of  her  husband. 

"  And  do  you  believe  that  he,  and  such  as  he, 
could  ever  know  me  ?"  she  asked  with  a  pretty 
affectation  of  scorn.  "  Do  both  yourself  and  me  i 
better  justice,  my  dear  Frederic.  Saviattij 
knows  me  as  he  knows  Rome;  he  appreciates 
me  as  he  appreciates  the  glories  of  the  Parthe 
non  and  tlie  sublimity  of  St.  Peter's.  And, 
apropos  of  this,  what  shall  we  do  this  evening? 
Surely  we  came  to  the  Imperial  City  for  a 
better  purpose  than  that  of  '  chronicling  small 
beer  ?' " 

"  Shall  we  visit  the  Coliseum  ?" 

"  H  Colisco  ?  Oh  no  !  Have  you  forgotten 
that  the  moon  is  at  its  full,  and  that  it  will* 
swarm  with  fools?  Let  us  go  there  when  it 
can  be,  if  not  entirely,  at  least  comparatively 
our  own.  I  loathe  to  witness  the  tricks  of  the 
travelled  mountebank,  upon  the  very  spot 
where  once  gushed  forth  the  proud  blood  from 
the  panting  arteries  of  the  stricken  gladiator, 
or  the  holy  life-tide  of  the  Christian  captive. 
Do  not  even  let  us  attempt  the  Villa  Medici ; 
we  shall  be  elbowed  by  foreign  Excellencies  and 
crimson-siockined  Eminences  ;  nor  will  that,  in 
all  probability,  be  the  worst.  Remember  the 
list  of  names  over  which  we  have  been  ponder- 
ing ;  and  dread  the  encounter  of  this  flight  of 
northern  locusts  as  you  would  the  malaria  of 
the  Campagna." 

"  Whither  ca7i  we  go,  then,  to  avoid  them  ?" 
asked  Frederic,  once  more  appeased  by  the  be- 
lief that  all  society  had  become  importunate  to 
Sybil  which  deprived  her  of  his  own.  "  Like 
the  ravenous  insects  to  which  you  have  com- 
pared them,  they  will  swarm  in  every  direc- 
tion." 

"  Have  you  ever  visited  the  gardens  of  the 
Negroni  ?" 

"  ^^ever." 

"  Will  you  devote  your  evening  to  me  alone, 
without  regret  and  without  ennui  T 

"  ^■ot  my  evening  only,  but  my  whole  exist- 
ence !"  replied  Frederic  tenderlj-. 

Sybil  laughingly  placed  her  hand  upon  his 
lips. 

"Wait  until  we  are  wandering  in  the  deli- 
cious solitudes  to  which  I  am  about  to  introduce 
yon,"  she  said  ;  "  before  you  forget  the  liusband 
in  the  lover.  There,  indee'd,  you  will,  or  I  great- 
ly mistake  ycu,  be  compelled  to  yield  to  the 
Boft  influence  of  the  spot ;  about  which  we 
Bhall,  in  all  i)robabilit}-,  be  permitted  to  ramble 
fllone,  as  it  has  few  attractions  for  the  mere 
tourist,  who  .seeks  to  see  rather  than  to  feel." 

"  Wliat  a  delicious  prospect!  And  when  shall 
ve  set  foi-th }" 

"  Now,  if  you  will  The  sun  is  near  its  de- 
cline, and  till-  hour  is  most  propitious." 

And  as  Sybil  spoke  she  passed  to  an  inner 
apartment,  whence  she  emerged  a  few  moments 
ftiterwards,  shawled  and  bonneted  ;  aud  more-  ] 


over,  for  the  first  time  since  her  marriage,  close 
ly  veiled.  There  was  little  fear  that  a  man  of 
pleasure  like  Saviatti  would  be  found  in  the 
solitary  recesses  of  the  Negroni  gardens ;  but 
even  the  risk,  slight  as  it  was,  must  be  provided 
against;  and  congratulating  herself  upon  her 
expedient  for  rendering  "  assurance  doubly 
sure,"  Mrs.  Mortimer,  as  she  luing  gracefully 
upon  the  arm  of  her  husband,  and  heard  him 
thank  her  again  and  again  for  so  deliglitful  a 
suggestion,  smiled  half  in  triumph  and  half  in 
scorn.  The  evening  would  now  pass  awaj-  with- 
out any  encounter  with  the  prince ;  and  she 
must  trust  to  her  tact  to  \irge  their  early  de- 
parture by  every  means  in  her  power.  She 
had  ere  this  read  her  weak  but  devoted  hus- 
band even  to  the  heart's  core  ;  aud  she  well 
knew  that  his  vanity  was  the  lever  by  whit;h 
she  could  at  all  times  move  him  at  her  will. 

Long  before  they  reached  the  silent  and 
shadowy  gardens,  and  even  while  she  listened, 
apparently  rapt  in  interested  attention,  to  somfi 
old  travelling  memory  with  which  Mortimer 
was  endeavoring  to  beguile  the  way,  her 
whole  plan  was  arranged,  and  she  felt  secure  of 
its  success. 

To  her  it  would  be  no  sacrifice  to  abandon 
Rome  if  she  also  escaped  Saviatti.  She  had  been 
warned  in  time  of  his  presence ;  and  she  resolved 
to  profit  by  the  knowledge. 

"  We  must  leave  Rome,  and  that  speedily," 
she  murmured  to  herself,  as,  with  an  exclama^ 
tion  of  delight  from  Mortimer,  they  plunged  into 
the  thickest  shades  of  the  perfumed  solitude, 
which  to  him  promised  an  evening  of  intense 
and  quiet  happiness,  and  to  her  a  few  hours  of 
insipidity  and  safety ! 


CILVPTER  XXXV. 

Fair  and  gracious  reader,  have  you  ever  visit 
ed  the  Negroni  Gardens  at  Rome  ?  If  not,  be 
careful  to  bend  your  steps  thitherward  wh'  : 
you  again  find  yourself  a  denizen  of  the  lordly 
city,  if  you  be  one  who  loves  that  fantastic  bleu  - 
ing  of  the  natural  and  the  artistic,  the  prese:;; 
and  the  past,  which  speaks  to  the  heart  as  we! 
as  to  the  senses;  and  aft'ords  a  calm  and  sootlv 
ing  relief  from  the  perpetual  stir  and  excitt»- 
ment  of  the  busy  world  by  which  you  are  sur- 
rounded. 

The  stamp  of  centuries  was  never  more  visi- 
bly impressed  upon  the  mouldering  remains  of 
tower  or  battlement  than  it  is  upon  the  hoary 
trees  and  antique  monuments  of  those  far-reach- 
ing solitudes ;  above  one  of  whose  walls  tluj 
Baths  of  Dioclesian  may  be  seen,  apparently 
coeval  with  the  longlinesof  untrimmed  cypresses, 
wliose  trailing  branches  scarcely  admit  the  pna- 
sage  of  an  intruder  among  their  mysterious 
depths;  and  the  wild  patches  of  bay,  scentiiiL' 
the  air  with  their  luxurious  perfume,  as  if  in 
emulation  of  the  tangled  masses  of  jasminfi, 
starred  with  ten  thousand  blossoms  ;  while,  scat- 
tered on  every  side,  at  times  lialf-buried  amid 
the  dense  and  vagrant  vegetation,  and  at  others 
rising  in  cold  calm  majesty  upon  some  partially 
uninvaded  spot,  the  wanderer  encounters  fr^g- 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


121 


Hi  lilt 

icefiillj 
fil  tin 
iillali 
liallii 
'% 

.  h 

■i  k 


uriini,   ' 
Ll 


ments  of  ancient  architecture,  of  -wbicli  the 
date,  the  purpose,  and  even  the  name  of  him 
■who  wrought  them,  are  alike  unknown  ;  vases 
of  quaint  device  and  graceful  chisscliug :  altars 
ea-ected  to  the  Manes,  in  those  deep  and  silent 
nooks  so  appropriate  to  their  worship ;  and 
sarcophagi,  which  teach,  as  we  look  upon  them, 
the  sublime  majesty  with  whicli  past  ages  invest- 
ed the  idea  of  man's  apotheosis. 

It  is  rare  that  even  the  cry  of  a  passing  bird 
disturbs  the  silence  of  these  dreary  retreats ; 
but  there  is  a  constant  and  mysterious  voice 
among  the  leaves,  as  they  heave  or  quiver  to  the 
passing  wind ;  and  a  perpetual  murmur  of  fall- 
ing waters,  trickling  from  the  porphry  basins 
•ffhich  the}-  overflow,  and  stealing  away  beneath 
8  network  of  rank  grass  and  aquatic  weeds  by 
•wliich  their  onward  course  is  totally  concealed. 
When  the  eye  wanders  upwards,  and  penetrates 
between  the  sturdy  boiighs  of  the  ancient  wood, 
it  sees,  shadowed  upon  the  dense  purple  sky  of 
evening,  the  massive  domes,  and  tall  singularly 
diaped  tower  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore ;  the 
■worship  of  art  is  without  those  hoary  walls ; 
the  worship  of  nature  is  within ;  for  how  much 
is  there  of  holiness  in  such  a  scene — how  much 
to  exalt  the  soul,  and  to  rebuke  the  pride  ! 

For  a  while  Sybil  and  Mortimer  walked  for- 
•wavA  in  silence.  Both  were  too  full  of  their 
own  sensations  to  break  the  stillness  by  a  word. 
To  Frederic  the  whole  wildei-ness  was  one  of 
enchantment ;  his  heart  throbbed,  and  he  press- 
ed more  closely  to  his  side  the  hand  which  rest- 
ed on  his  arm,  without  even  remarking  that  the 
mute  caress  Avas  not  returned.  The  spirit  of  the 
spot  was  within  him,  and  about  him.  Keenly 
adive  to  the  grand  and  solemn  in  nature,  he  was 
absorbed  by  that  rare  and  beautiful  feeling  of 
universal  love  which  comes  like  a  holy  dream 
upon  the  heart  only  at  those  infrequent  moments 
•wiien  every  hope  appears  to  be  realized,  and 
■when  it  makes  of  its  happiness  one  common 
crucible  in  which  to  blend  and  to  purify  every 
thing  around  it. 

It  is  true  that  many  individuals  pass  through 
life  without  either  the  opportunity  or  the  neces- 
sai'y  faculty  for  experiencing  this  enviable,  and, 
alas!  too  transitory  state  of  feeling.  Hume  has 
said  that  "  some  people  are  subject  to  a  certain 
delicacy  of  passion;"  and  Mortimer  was  precise- 
ly such  a  person.  Jealous  of  the  affection  of 
others,  he  was  equally  lavish  of  his  own ;  pure 
in  taste,  upright  in  principle,  and  tenacious  of 
all  which  affected  his  honor,  he  was,  neverthe- 
less, supine  in  the  ordinary-  interests  of  life ;  he 
had  ncitlier  ambition,  nor  a  desire  of  wealth ;  he 
lived  rather  in  a  self-created  world  of  sensation 
tiian  in  that  outward  and  material  circle  by 
■which  he  was  environed ;  and  he  was,  conse- 
quently, more  readily  influenced  by  purely  per- 
sonal circumstances  than  one  who  had  diifused 
his  hopes  and  his  anxieties  over  a  broader 
sphere  of  impulse  and  action. 

Thus,  tlien,  at  the  moment  described,  his 
heart  and  his  aspirations  were  alike  satisfied, 
lie  had  won  the  woman  whom  he  loved ;  and, 
despite  tliose  passing  shadows  of  misgiving 
which  are  the  ordinary  concomitants  of  strong 
and  exacting  passion,  he  nevertheless,  did  not 
entertain  a  doubt  that,   on  his  part,  he  was 


equally  beloved.  Sybil  was  at  his  side,  they 
trod  together  a  path  of  silence  and  encliautment, 
and  Mortimer  avsis  supremely  happy. 

And  where  had  the  thoughts  of  Sybil  wander- 
ed? Were  they  with  the  husband  upon  whose 
arm  she  leaned?  Were  they  with  the  mother 
from  whom  she  was  for  the  first  time  separated! 
— or  did  they  linger  upon  tiiat  home  of  which 
she  was  so  soon  to  become  the  presiding  genius, 
and  on  those  duties  which  Avould,  hereafter, 
devolve  upon  her  f  In  sooth,  they  were  occu- 
pied by  none  of  these.  As  they  turned  from 
one  avenue  into  another,  a  hasty  glance  first 
assured  her  that  their  solitude  still  continued 
uninvaded,  and  then,  her  reflections  fell  back 
to  the  point  at  which  they  had  momentarily 
paxised. 

For  months,  Rome  had  been  the  object  of  all 
her  wishes,  as  well  as  those  of  Mortimer  ;  buj 
from  Rome  she  now  felt  that  it  was  expedieni 
they  should  depart  at  once,  and  the  pretext  fop 
this  apparent  caprice  was  readily  found.  Yet, 
to  return  to  Westrum — to  bury  herself  in  an 
obscure  English  county,  of  Avhose  monotony  sho 
had  already  had  dreary  experience,  now  thai 
her  point  was  carried,  and  that  the  world  was 
once  more  before  her — revolted  alike  her  vanity 
and  her  patience.  And  for  whom  was  she  re- 
quired to  do  this  ?  For  a  man  whose  supineness 
she  despised,  whose  intellect  she  scorned,  and  of 
whose  feelings  she  was  careless.  Sybil  at  ono« 
convinced  herself  that  sTich  a  sacrifice  was  im- 
possible. She  was  not  formed  for  home,  either 
by  nature  or  by  education ;  nor  was  she  respon- 
sible for  the  mistake  which  her  husband  had 
wilfully  committed,  in  supposing  that  the  mera 
fact  of  becoming  his  wife  would  change  alike 
her  principles  and  her  tastes. 

That  this  mistake  is  of  daily  occurrence  in  the 
world,  and  perpetrated  even  by  men  of  shrewd 
sense  and  habitual  prudence  upon  other  points, 
is  certain  ;  and  that  it  will  continue  to  be  so  is 
equally  sure,  so  long  as  vanity  and  sensual  gra^- 
tification  are  suftered  to  silence  the  dictates  of 
reason ;  but  so  trite  a  truth  could  ofi^er  no  miti- 
gation to  the  disappointment  of  a  particular  in- 
dividual, and  was  assuredly  not  calculated  tt) 
assuage  that  of  a  man  of  Mortimer's  peculiar 
temperament. 

From  the  very  period  of  her  enforced  retire- 
ment from  a  world  by  wffleh  she  had  onee  been 
worshipped,  Sybil  had  felt  the  most  invineipla 
desire  to  return  to  it,  so  soon  as  she  should  have 
sectired  a  position  which  would  enable  her  to 
revenge  what  she  had  riever  ceased  to  consider 
as  its  injustice.  Accustomed  to  regard  herself 
as  one  c  jnstituted  to  shine  in  whatever  circle 
she  might  embellish  by  her  presence,  and  caring 
little  for  the  happiness  of  domestic  life,  and 
still  less  for  the  charm  of  domestic  duties,  she 
felt  at  home  only  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd,  and 
as  tlie  centre  of  admiration.  The  excitemeni 
Avhich  fatigues  and  exhausts  a  less  ambitious  na- 
ture, was  to  hers  the  very  aliment  on  which  it 
existed;  and  she  looked  forward  to  the  prospect 
of  re-appearing  in  the  world,  in  tlie  character 
of  a  wealthy  married  woman,  with  deliglit,  as  ii 
would  afford  the  opportunity  of  a  social  veiv 
geance,  well  calculated  to  soothe  her  pride  and 
to  satisfy  her  ambition.  , 


122 


THE  RIV^VL  BEAUTIB3. 


It  was,  consequently,  upon  speculations  such 
as  these  that  the  thouglits  of  Sybil  were  en- 
gaged, amid  the  solemn  shades  threaded  by 
Mortimer  Avith  tender  veneration ;  nor  was  her 
reverie  disturbed  by  a  single  word  until  they 
reached  a  spot  so  striking  and  pi|turesque,  as  to 
rouse  even  her  companion  fropi  his  trance  of 
delight  They  had  traversed  one  of  the  cypress 
avenues  from  end  to  end.;  and  then,  striking 
into  a  lateral  walk,  fragrant  with  untended 
lemon-trees  and  vagrant  honeysuckle,  sheltered 
on  its  northern  side  by  a  thick  belt  of  bay,  and 
rendered  fresh  and  verdaat  upon  its  other  lip 
by  one  of  those  hidden  rivulets  of  water  already 
described,  they  suddenly  came  upon  a  small 
open  space,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  an 
altar,  moss-grown  and  hoary,  where  an  eternal 
requiem  was  supplied  by  the  overflowing  of  a 
capacious  basin  which  was  half  veiled  by  the 
surrounding  underwood,  and  the  flexible  leaves 
which  trembled,  as  if  in  adoration  to  the  touch 
of  the  passing  breeze. 

"  Beautiful !"  exclaimed  Frederic,  as  he  sud- 
denly paused,  and  claimed  the  attention  of  his 
musing  bride.  "  Where  can  we  find  a  better 
halting  place  ?  Here,  Sybil,  the  world,  and  the 
•world's  follies  are,  indeed,  as  nothing ;  and  we 
may,  for  a  few  instants,  be  all  in  all  to  each 
other.  With  what  exquisite  judgment  did  our 
forefathers  select  the  spots  which  they  dedicated 
to  the  past  affections  and  the  past  ties  by  which 
they  had  been  linked  to  the  loved  and  lost! 
How  must  the  Manes,  could  they  be  conscious 
of  the  present,  cherish  a  scene  like  this  I  Let  us 
rest  here  a  while.  See  how  luxurious  a,  coucli 
is  spread  for  you  beneath  this  tliicket  of  bay, 
overarched  by  tall  and  stately  cypress-trees  I — 
the  mossy  turf  yields  to  the  foot  more  softly 
than  the  velvet  carpets  of  a  palace ;  the  gurgling 
■water  and  the  awakened  leaves  are  redolent  of 
harmony  ;  and  we  may  here  indulge  in  the  full 
consciousness  of  a  happiness  which  has  nothing 
more  to  ask  of  destiny,  save  its  continuance." 
>  "  It  is,  indeed,  a  lovely  retreat,"  said  Sybil, 
as  she  suffered  herself  to  be  established  beside 
the  bi'imming  basin,  whence  the  crystal  waters 
escaped  with  a  low  mui-mur  which  lent  a  mystic 
voice  to  the  solitude ;  "  To  be  happy  here,  the 
spirit  need  only  be  at  peace." 

"  Let  us,  then,  be  happy,"  retorted  the  still 
enamored  husband,  as  he  flung  himself  beside 
her,  and  supporting  her  slight  figure  with  his 
eaicircling  arm;  "For  are  we,  at  least,  not  at 
peace  ?  Are  we  not  wdl  able  to  appreciate  all 
its  charm  ?  I  love  you  in  the  world,  Sybil ;  in 
the  crowd  wliere  my  protection  and  my  support 
are  necessary  to  your  more  delicate  nature ; 
but  in  such  a  scene  as  this  how  doubly  dear  do 
you  appear  to  me,  where  you  are  all  my  own, 
and  we  are  alone  with  the  sublime  works  of 
nature !" 

"  Would  tliat  we  could  ever  be  thus,  my  best 
friend!"  replied  Sybil,  with  one  of  her  most 
radiant  smiles;  "but,  alas!  that  is  impossible. 
We  owe  ourselves  to  the  world,  whicli  is  a  stgrn 
task-mistress,  and  will  enforce  their  duties  upon 
all  her  children.  Even  now,  since  wo  entered 
these  gardens,  I  feel  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of 
my  own  individual  responsibility;  I  have  be- 
come convinced  that  the  path  before  me  must 


not  be  perpetually  strewn  with  roses.  Ann 
when  I  think  of  you,  Frederic  ;  of  you,  tvitli 
all  your  glorious  faculties,  and  manifold  ojipoi-- 
tunities  of  good,  I  become  almost  sad  with 
anxiety.  You  know  how  I  love  you  ;  for  have 
I  not  given  myself  to  you,  despite  the  resolution 
of  years,  and  the  dictates  which  I  had  so  long 
accustomed  myself  to  regard  as  those  of  a  ctilin 
and  matured  reason  ?  And  yet,  I  confess  that  1 
would  also  feel  myself  compelled  to  regard  yon 
with  pride  as  well  as  affection ;  I  would  see 
you  jtist  to  yourself;  not  shunning  the  world 
as  an  object  either  of  scorn  or  alarm,  but  boldly 
taking  your  place  among  the  foremost  of  those 
by  whom  its  destinies  are  controlled." 

"  Sybil,  you  astonish  me  I  What  can  I  need' 
more  than  I  possess  ? — what  can  the  world  of , 
which  you  speak  add  to  my  present  happiness?; 
Have  I  not  wealth  sufficient  to  ensure  to  youi— 
and  that  alone  can  now  be  my  consideration — , 
all  the  luxuries  of  life?  Is  not  my  social  station' 
unexceptionable?  Are  not  you  my  own?  AYhat 
have  I  now  to  do  with  ambition  ?  My  race  of . 
hope  is  run." 

"  Are  you  then  content  to  die  and  be  forgot- 
ten »" 

"  Not  by  those  who  love  me.  Not  by  such  as 
you,  Sybil ;  but  I  care  little  for  the  memory  of  . 
the  world.  Look  around  you.  We  are  here 
almost  on  holy  ground.  This  silent,  and  yft 
most  eloquent  monument,  perpetuates  the  reculr 
lection  of  some  departed  one,  biit  it  identitirs 
that  recollection  only  for  those  who  reared  it. 
Thus  would  I  have  it  myself.  Rear  for  me  an 
imperishable  altar  in  your  own  heart,  and  I  shall 
ask  no  worship  which  would  entail  a  more  coiv- 
spicuous  shrine." 

"  Let  us,  then,  talk  of  life  rather  than  death," 
said  Sybil,  with  a  sigh  for  which  Mortimer  felt, 
grateful  to  her.  "  You  are  still  too  young  to  in> 
mure  yourself  in  a  country  house,  limiting  y<>nr 
duties  to  receiving  rents  and  entertaining  jno- 
vineial  persons.  Neither  your  tastes  nor  ymir 
acquirements  fit  you  for  occupations  like  thts. , 
and  I  confess  that  I  cannot  see  you  recoiuiii' 
yourself  thus  to  fritter  away  your  years  and 
your  faculties,  without  remorse  and  regret ;  w>- 
morse  that  my  society  may  induce  you  to  bear 
with  such  a  fate,  and  regret  that  you  should  not 
have  chosen  a  nobler  destiny." 

"  And  liow  can  I  dispel  siieh  bitter  feelings?" 
asked  her  bridegroom  playfully ;  "  Shall  I  volun- 
teer myself  as  prime  minister,  or  try  my  fortune 
as  commander-in-chief?  Nevertheless,"  he  addoJ 
more  gravely,  "  you  surprise  me  greatly,  Sybil  : 
for  we  have  so  frequently  and  so  fondly  talk.  ,1 
together  of  the  delights  of  a  tranquil  home,  mul 
the  happiness  of  making  that  homo  the  ccnti\< 
of  benevolence  and  love,  that  I  was  unprepar.  ■.! 
for  this  change  of  sentiment  in  one  by  whom  1 
believed  that  my  thoughtful  and  somewhat  in- 
dolent nature  was  thoroughly  understood." 

"  Nor  must  you  now  misconceive  me,  Frcil- 
enc,"  replied  Sybil  somewhat  anxiously;  "  1"'^ 
fore  I  became  your  wife  I  thought  only,  I  dream  1 
only  of  securing  your  affection,  of  having  yn 
constantly  beside  me,  aud  of  engrossing  all  tlio 
faculties  of  your  soul ;  but  now  that  I  know  yon 
better  and  prize  your  more  ;  now  that  egotism 
has  become  less  prominent,  and  that  I  live  In 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


123 


you  rather  than  in  myself,  I  have  learned  to  be 
jealous  of  your  future  destiny.  I  desire  that 
others  should  understand  and  appreciate  you  as 
I  do — that  they  should  be  eompelled  to  acknow- 
ledge that  what  you  will  to  do,  you  can  accom- 
plish ;  in  short,  that  you  were  never  born  to 
live  and  die  a  mere  country  gentleman,  vegetating 
•with  your  crops,  and  confining  alike  your  am- 
bition and  your  patriotism  to  the  due  payment 
of  your  taxes,  and  an  annual  speech  at  the  county 
dinner." 

"  What  a  malicious  picture,  Sybil !" 

"  Is  it  not  correct  in  eA'ery  feature  ?  And, 
meanwhile,  who  are  you  permitting  to  outstrip 
you  in  the  race  of  life  ?  I  will  not  speak  of  the 
great  master-spirits  of  the  age  ;  let  them  wear 
with  honor  the  laurels  that  they  have  so  nobly 
won ;  but  look  at  the  herd  of  mere  empty  imi- 
tators, who  make  a  reputation  by  the  simple 
mimicry  of  their  great  models,  as  certain  blocks 
of  stone  owe  a  voice  to  the  sounds  they  do  but 
echo ;  and  who,  while  only  the  shadows  of  a 
substance  which  they  follow,  conscious  that  they 
have  no  other  means  of  moral  existence,  are 
nevertheless,  included  in  the  public  eye  as  part 
and  parcel  of  the  being  of  the  very  leaders 
whom  they  imitate,  even  while  they  are  unable 
to  appreciate  their  powers.  Are  these,  and  such 
as  these,  crippled  alike  in  means,  in  station,  and 
in  acquirements,  to  bear  away  the  palm  of  the 
world's  praise,  while  you  look  on  supinely  ?  Be- 
lieve me,  Frederic,  you  are  destined  to  higher 
fortunes  than  those  bequeathed  to  you  by  your 
ancestors." 

"  You  are  an  enthusiast,  Sybil,  and  because 
you  love  me,  you  imagine  that  I  am  equal  to 
any  emergency  ;  but  you  forget  that  the  very 
nature  of  my  education  has  altogether  unfitted 
me  for  the  strife  and  struggle  of  the  world. 
Home-usefulness  has  been  the  only  aim  and  end 
of  my  ambition.  I  have  tenantry  and  depend- 
ants to  whom  I  owe  all  the  exertion  of  which  I 
am  capable." 

"  Say  rather,  which  you  are  disposed  to 
make,"  replied  his  fair  wife  somewhat  impa- 
tiently ;  "  But  you  should  rouse  yourself,  Fred- 
eric, from  so  unseemly  a  state  of  moral  lethargy. 
Your  local  duties  are  sacred  only  to  a  certain 
point,  nor  can  they  entail  the  necessity  of  self- 
sacrifice.  You  have  a  handsome  property,  it  is 
ti'ue,  but  in  this  respect  you  only  resemble  hun- 
dreds of  others,  and  consequently  that  simple 
fact  will  afford  you  none  of  that  personal  dis- 
tinction which  is  necessary  to  make  a  figure  in 
the  world.  Moreover,  you  owe  your  present 
position  to  the  energy  and  prudence  of  your  an- 
cestors ;  the  contingency  is  purely  adventitious, 
and,  as  yet,  you  have  done  nothing  for  your- 
self." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  to  do  ?  My  habits 
we  formed;  I  am  no  longer  young  enough  to 
jrook  control,  nor  am  I  so  necessitous  as  to  ren- 
der it  endurable." 

Sybil  laughed.  "  One  would  imagine,"  she 
>  Ud  playfully,  for  by  the  inflexion  of  her  hus- , 
iind's  .voice  she  was  at  once  aware  that  he  was 
iispleased  by  her  pertinacity ;  "  One  would 
keally  imagine,  my  dear  Fi'ederic,  that  I  pro- 
posed to  induce  you  to  enter  into  a  merchant's 
ofl5ce,  or  to  purchase  an  ensign's  commission.  Is  | 


there  not  such  a  career  «s  diplomacy,  for  in- 
stance, where  at  once  you  might  avail  your- 
self of  your  natural  talents,  and  of  your  know- 
ledge of  continental  habits  and  policy? — a  career 
of  which,  possessed  of  such  advantages  as  yours, 
it  is  impossible  to  prophecy  the  termination." 

"  And  our  home,  Sybil  ?" 

"  Our  home  Avill  "be  rendered  prouder  and 
happier  by  the  distinction  of  its  owner." 

"  But  I  have  no  influence  with  the  Govern- 
ment, even  wei-e  I  to  permit  myself  to  indulge 
in  such  a  vision." 

"  You  have  money,  and  a  golden  key  unlocks 
every  door  in  our  dear  treasxire- worshipping 
England." 

Frederic  sighed  as  he  glanced  around  him. 
IIow  little  had  he  anticipated  such  a  discussion 
in  that  delicious  solitude !  For  months  had  he 
talked  with  Sybil  of  the  tranquil  happiness  of 
that  ancestral  home  which  she  now  so  strenu- 
ously urged  him  to  abandon.  He  was  well 
aware  that,  once  involved  in  public  life,  he 
should  have  little  leisure  for  those  calm  and 
heart-satisfying  pleasures  which  are  never  to  be 
secured  elsewhere  ;  and  he  remembered,  almost 
with  a  pang,  that  none  of  her  previous  argu- 
ments had  prepared  him  for  such  an  effort  at 
self-abnegation.  And  yet,  he  was  rather  pained 
than  angrj'.  If  she  did  indeed  wish  him  to 
make  so  vast  a  sacrifice,  was  it  not  her  love  for 
him,  her  pride  in  him,  which  led  her  to  forget 
that  she  was  also,  should  she  succeed  in  inspir- 
ing him  with  her  views,  sacrificing  herself? 

It  was  consequently  with  a  sad  smile  that  h'e 
pursued  the  subject,  by  reminding  her  that  such 
an  undertaking  was  beset  with  difficulties ;  that 
their  comfort,  their  affection,  and  their  peace  of 
mind,  would  be  perilled  for  an  uncertain  result, 
while,  even  should  all  end  favorably,  they  could 
never  again  be  all  in  all  to  each  other. 

Sybil,  however,  had  counter-arguments  to  ad- 
vance, which,  even  if  they  were  not  conclusive, 
were  at  least  flattering  and  plausible  ;  but  still 
Mortimer  hesitated  to  pledge  himself  to  a  line 
of  conduct  so  repugnant  to  his  tastes. 

"  Enough  of  this  for  to-day,  dearest,"  he  said, 
as  he  pressed  to  his  lips  the  small  hand  which 
had  remained  clasped  in  his  own  throughout 
their  dialogue  ;  "  Let  us  not  further  darken  the 
present  by  anxiety  for  the  future.  Are  we  not 
in  Rome,  Sybil  ?  And  is  it  not  profanation  thus 
to  wander  away  in  thought  from  the  glories  by 
which  we  are  surrounded  ?" 

"  You  will  think  me  very  capricious,  my  own 
Frederic,"  said  his  wife  tenderly,  "  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  already  weary  to  return  to  I'ngland. 
I  know  by  j'our  start  that  you  are  surprised,  but 
you  must  forgive  me  when  I  confess  that  not 
even  your  affection  can  make  me  forget  a  thoii- 
sand  anxieties — my  mother,  alone  for  the  first 
time — the  unsettled  state  of  my  unfortunately 
involved  affairs.  Do  you  know  that  I  absolutely 
shudder  when  I  reflect  upon  all  the  trouble  and 
annoyance  which  await  you  on  my  aeeoniit,  and 
shall  have  no  real  peace  until  all  is  arranged?" 

"  Leave  Rome  !"  exclaimed  Frederic,  painfully 
impressed  he  knew  not  wherefore,  by  this  sud- 
den whim. 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  be  astonished,  dear 
love,"  said  Sybil  with  well-acted  humility  •  '  i^"* 


but 


lU 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUrnS. 


you  must  recollect,  th^t  however  you  may  have 
exalted  me  in  ypur  own  affectionate  imagination, 
I  am  only  a  woman,  after  all ;  and  then,  remem- 
ber that  ve  can  return  whenever  we  wish  t6  do 
60  ;  and  that,  with  a  heart  at  ease,  I  shall  be  so 
much  better  able  to  give  myself  up  to  all  the 
delights  of  such  a  sojourn.  In  short,  j"ou  know 
not,  Frederic,"  she  added  in  a  low  whisper,  as 
she  buried  her  face  upon  his  shoulder,  "  how 
many,  and  what  earnest  reasons  I  have  for  wish- 
ing to  return  at  once  to  England." 

"  Is  it  in  order  to  congratulate  me  upon  my 
forthcoming  embassy  ?"  asked  Mortimer,  forcing 
a  smile ;  but  before  she  could  reply  they  were 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  interrupted. 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  cannot  be  mistaken,"  ex- 
claimed a  voice  which  appeared  to  rise  from  the 
ground  immediately  beside  them,  as  a  figure 
emerged  from  behind  a  tangled  mass  of  bay -trees, 
and  advanced  rapidly  towards  the  spot  where 
they  were  seated  :  "  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  see, 
or  that  at  least  I  hear  Miss  Delamere." 

The  words  were  English,  but  the  accent  in 
which  they  were  uttered  was  decidedly  foreign, 
and  the  change  of  position  necessitated  by  so 
abrupt  an  apparition,  enabled  Sybil  to  conceal 
fi'om  her  husband  the  emotion  which  they  had 
elicited,  as,  extending  her  hand,  she  answered 
with  wonderful  self-command,  "  Your  ear  has 
not  deceived  you.  Prince,  and  we  are,  indeed, 
fated  to  meet  again  at  Rome."  » 

"  iS'o  matter  where,"  was  the  reply,  as  the 
speaker  clasped  the  offered  hand,  and  then  threw 
himself  upon  the  grass  beside  her;  "Ko  matter 
where,  so  that,  as  you  say,  we  meet  again.  Are 
you  long  from  England  ?" 

"  About  two  months :  and  you  ?" 

"Oh,  I?  I  really  scarcely  know — I  hardly 
recollect — I  remember  nothing  since  we  parted ; 
since  you — " 

"  Prince,"  interposed  Mrs.  Mortimer  hastily : 
"  allow  me  to  present  to  you — my  husband." 

"  Corpo  dl  Baccol"  ejaculated  the  intruder  as 
if  unconsciously  ;  but  m  the  next  instant  he  re- 
covered himself,  and  with  considerable  dignity, 
replied  with  a  low  bow  ;  "  I  am  honored.  Sir, 
I  congratulate  you  ;  I  understand  all  now ;  and, 
perhaps  I  should  apologize — but  two  months — 
two  whole  months — that  will  be  my  excuse,  and 
you  will  forgive  my  indiscretion." 

Mortimer  bowed  in  his  turn. 

"  The  Prince  Saviatti,  my  dear  Frederic,  of 
whom  1  have  spoken  to  you,"  said  Sybil  with 
one  of  her  sweetest  smiles. 

"  Ila  1  iladam  has  spoken  of  me,"  pursued 
the  foreigner ;  "  I  am,  it  is  impossible  to  be 
more,  flattered.  We  are  then,  old  acquaintance. 
Do  you  stay  long  in  Rome,  Sir  ?" 

"  We  are  as  yet  undecided,"  replied  the  young 
husband,  in-itated  he  knew  not  wherefore  by 
the  cool  and  self-satisfied  manner  of  the  in- 
truder. 

"  Oil,  then,  I  shall  have  the  honor  to  decide 
you,"  was  the  reioinder.  "  Madame  and  I  are 
such  old  and  good  fricnd.i,  and  we  have  so  much 
to  talk  over,  and  we  shall  be  so  glad  to  come  to- 
gether again  in  this  charming  manner.  I  know 
this  old  Rome  of  ours  now,  dc  bout  en  blanc,  and 
I  shall  have  the  happiness  to  be  your  cicerone, 
and  to  be  always  beside  you." 


Mortimer  involuntarily  shrank  back ;  the  easy 
hyper-courtesy  of  his  new  acquaintance  revolt- 
ed his  English  reserve. 

"  We  have  here  many  of  your  old  acquaintance. 
Mademoiselle — iest-d-dier,  Madame" — resumed 
the  Prince ;  "And  ha! — it  is  a  sad  pity,  but  you 
have  just  come  one  little  day  too  late  to  see 
Trevor.  lie  went  yesterday— he  would  go  yes- 
terday ;  I  could  not  stop  him.  He  is  like  you ; 
he  forgets  old  times,  and  he  goes  home  to  your 
foggy  England  to  fetch  his  wife." 

"  His  wife!" 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  is  detennined  at  last  to  play 
the  pastor  fido.  Poor  Trevor !  he  makes  a  gi'an'd 
mistake — don't  you  see  it  as  I  do?  But  hr  liad 
so  little  choice.  He  was  pretty  near  wIku  vou 
call  in  London  'cleared  out,'  couldn't  git  mi, 
you  know,  and  so — married.  Perhaps  he  was 
right,  and  I  consoled  him  with  this ;  '  Bad 
enough,'  I  said,  'but  better  than  worse;  a  rich 
wife  is  always  better  than  an  empty  purse.' " 

"  Will  you  never  reform!"  asked  Sybil  with 
affected  playfulness. 

"  I  must,"  was  the  prompt  reply ;  "  since  you 
and  Trevor  have  presented  me  with  so  charming 
an  example — so  encouraging  a  model.  Perhaps 
I  may  even  marry  a  rich  wife  myself — when 
there  "is  no  other  hope  left  for  me."  " 

"  You  are  ungallant.  Prince,"  said  Mrs.  Mor- 
timer, resolutely  concealing  her  annoyance. 

Not  at  all ;  for  I  cannot  hope  to  find  a  second 
Miss  Delamere.    See  now — I  find  you  here  alone 

with  Monsieur "  he  paused'for  an  instant, 

but  as  Sybil  did  not  pronounce  the  name  of  her 
husband,  which  he  had  evidentally  awaited,  he 
pursued  in  the  same  tone ;  "  absolutely  alone  in 
this  solitude,  while  other  married  pairs  are  con- 
gregated  in  the  Coliseo,  or  the  Parthenon,  or 
St.  Peter's — Is  it  not  enough  to  make  me  des- 
pair? I  always  suspect  the  couples  who  are  so 
anxious  to  afficher  leur  bonheur ;  while  you  dis- 
arm me  by  your  evident  desire  to  escape  tli6 
crowd.  Monsieur  is  too  happy — Who  will  not 
envy  him  his  triumph  ?" 

Mortimer  writhed  beneath  a  familiarity 
which  he  felt  to  be  almost  insolent.  It  was  not 
thus  that  he  had  approached  Sybil :  that  he 
had  won  her.  He  could  not  brook  that  slio 
should  be  subjected  to  what  he  considered  as 
an  affront  to  her  dignity,  and  he  was  about  to 
make  some  caustic  remark,  when  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  Prince,  who,  as  he  reclined  upon 
the  ground  almost  at  the  feet  of  his  fair  friend, 
languidly  striking  a  costly  cane  mounted  with 
gems  against  his  polished  boot,  asked  care- 
lessly— 

"  And  how  long  do  you  remain  in  Rome, 
Madame  ?  I  am  hei'e  for  the  next  three  months, 
and — always  with  the  permission  of  ilonsieur — 
I  shall  ask  you  to  do  the  same.  You  will  be 
well  amused.  We  shall  have  plenty  to  occupy 
us  in  the  present,  and  we  have  so  much  to  talk 
over,  and — who  knows? — to  remedy  in  tha 
past." 

"  We  leave  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  said 
Sybil  resolutely. 

"Tjn-antl"  laughed  the  Prince:  "You  wanjfc 
to  be  persuaded — entreated." 

"  I  do  not  always  yield  either  to  persuasioa 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


125 


or  entreaty,"  and  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Mortimer 
^ew  still  more  cold  and  repelling. 

"  True — not  always,"  conceded  M.  Saviatti 
■w'lth  undiminished  composure  ;  "  but  sometimes 
— j-ou  will  not  deny  that  sometimes  you  are  not 
inexorable.  See — I  am  at  j'our  feet— and  I  pray 
you  to  retract  your  threat." 

"  Our  plans  are  decided." 

"Bah!"  ejaculated  the  Prince  sarcastically; 
•  Monsieur,  married  since  two  or  three  months, 
must  be  accustomed  to  see  you  change  j-our 
mind.  I  have  not,  iinhappily,  the  right  to  ask 
that  you  should  once  more  do  so  at  my  request, 
but  the  tastes  of  your  sex  are  so  variable  that 
I  may  at  least  hope.  Why  should  you,  Ma- 
dame," and  there  was  a  shade  of  mockery  in 
his  tone  as  he  proceeded ;  "  why  should  you  de- 
sire to  stand  alone,  and  to  declare  your  will  im- 
mutable ?  Do  you  hope  that,  knowing  all  j-our 
other  perfections,  any  one  will  consent  to  be- 
lieve so  enormous  a  solecism  ?  No,  no  ;  when 
I  have  the  honor  to  meet  you  to-morrow,  you 
will  say  to  me  frankly :  '  Prince,  I  have  repent- 
ed my  idle  resolution,  and  am  for  three  months 
.in  Rome.'" 

"  We  shall  see." 

Mortimer  had  with  difficiilty  restrained  his 
indignation,  but  the  evident  displeasure  of  Sy- 
bil had  so  far  moderated  his  momentarily-in- 
creasing annoyance  as  to  enable  him  to  control 
his  feelings. 

The  last  impertinent  rejoinder  of  Saviatti 
was,  however,  more  than  he  could  support,  and, 
suddenly  springing  up,  he  extended  his  hand 
to  his  wife,  as  he  said  with  affected  calm- 
ness,— 

"Sybil,  the  air  is  becoming  damp.  I  cannot 
allow  you  to  remain  longer  exposed  to  its  influ- 
ence. Prince,  I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you  a 
good  evening." 

"  K"ot  at  all,  Monsieur ;  not  at  all,"  said  the 
pertinacious  foreigner;  "Madame  and  I  are  old 
friends ;  I  will  accompany  you" — and,  rising  in 
his  turn,' he  prepared  to  put  his  purpose  into 
execution. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  Mortimer,  sud- 
denly stopping  short,  and  forcing  his  words 
flirough  his  clenched  teeth  ;  "  I  am  this  lady's 
husband:  for  my  sake  she  has  been  good  enough 
to  forget,  or  at  least  to  resign,  all  past  friend- 
Aips,  and,  as  you  and  I  are  total  strangers,  you 
will  do  me  a  favor  by  permitting  us  to  return 
alcme." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur,  by  all  means — ^by  all  means  in 
the  world,"  replied  the  Prince,  with  an  affecta- 
tion of  ceremonious  courtesy  which  became  a 
Barcasnj  from  its  excess.  "  I  owe  you  ten  thou- 
sand apologies,  and  I  know  so  well  the  value  of 
Madame's  society,  that  I  am  conscious,  very  con- 
Bcious  of  my  error.  I  have  the  honor  to  salute 
you  both,  and  to  make  you  my  sincere  compli- 
ment on  your  marriage."  And  so  saying,  Sa- 
viatti raised  his  hat,  bowed  profoundly,  and 
moved  forward  with  a  brisk  step  ;  humming  as 
he  went  one  of  the  popular  airs  of  the  day. 

"Sybil,"  demanded  Mortimer  sternly,  when 
they  were  once  more  alone  ;  "  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  what  has  just  passed  ?" 

"The  meaning,"  replied  his  wife  with  an  im- 
patiejit  shrug  of  the  shoulders ;  "  the  meaning 


simply  is  that  you  have. been  'spirited  by  a 
fool ;  spirited  and  angered  worse,'  and,  that  by 
your  want  of  self-command,  you  have  made  ua 
the  proverb  of  Rome." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Mortimer  ;  "  a  few  hours  win 
suffice  for  us  to  leave  the  ridicule  behind.  Wa 
will  abide  by  your  decision,  and  return  at  once 
to  England." 

"  You  are  strangely  discomposed,  Frederic." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  conceal  it.  Oh,  Sybil  1"  he 
continued  vehemently;  "did  you  know,  could 
you  imagine,  the  proud  confidence  with  which 
I  have  always  looked  upon  you — Were  you  ablfl 
to  estimate  the  resolute  scorn  with  which  I  have 
flung  from  me  every  suspicion  of  that  past  which 
you  so  pertinaciously  conceal — the  absorbing 
affection  which  I  have  poured  out  at  your  feet 
— you  would  comprehend  what  I  have  suffered 
during  the  last  hour." 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  you  are  weak 
enough  to  be  jealous,  Frederic?" 

"  Perhaps  so — but  this  is  not  all.  I  tremble 
to  perceive  that  my  faith  in  yon  is  shaken  ;  that 
I  am  under  the  influence  of  some  inexplicabl-e 
misgiving — that,  in  short,  I  shall  never  again 
feel  safe  in  your  affection,  until  you  lay  the 
whole  past  before  me,  frankly  and  confidently." 

"  Frederic — Mr.  Mortimer,"  exclaimed  Sybil 
indignantly,  as  she  turned  her  flashing  eyes  full 
upon  him  :  "  Am  I  to  be  made  the  sacrifice,  be- 
cause an  idle  babbler  sees  fit  to  vent  his  inani- 
ties upon  me  ?  Had  I  not  already  told  you  that 
I  knew  this  man?  That  he  was  an  empty  cox- 
comb, living  only  for  himself,  and  making  his 
rank  an  excuse  for  his  absurdities  ?  Would  it 
have  been  more  delicate,  more  honorable  in  me 
to  have  betrayed  his  secret,  as  you  now  compel 
me  to  do — and  to  have  met  your  questioning 
with  the  reply  that  he  had  loved  me  ?  Let  it 
suffice  that  you  are  now  in  possession  of  this 
mighty  secret,  and  that  the  rejected  suitor  will 
not  fail  to  amuse  all  Rome  before  noon  to-mov- 
row,  at  the  expense  of  the  jealous  husband." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

The  reader  must  now  follow  us  to  a  vast  and 
magnificent  apartment,  of  such  extent  that  the 
dark  walls — whereon  a  series  of  ancient  family 
portraits  pannelled  into  the  wood-work,  and 
encircled  by  a  faded  gold  moulding,  too  mueli 
time-worn  to  reflect  the  light — were  left  in  tlw 
deep  shadow;  although,  in  the  centre  of  tlie 
marble  floor,  a  somewhat  capacious  tablf  bore 
a  cluster  of  wax  tapers,  which  shed  their  bril- 
liancy over  a  number  of  crystal  goblets,  tall- 
necked  bottles,  and  a  small  tray  containing 
di.shes  of  olives,  prepared  caviare,  salted  sar- 
dines, and  other  provocatives  of  thirst.  On 
eiter  side  of  the  table  were  ranged  rows  of 
chairs  ;  against  one  of  which  rested  a  long  slen- 
der Turkish  chibouq^ie  of  jasmin-wood,  with  a 
superb  mouth-piece  of  amber,  encircled  by  lurge 
turquoise  ;  and  the  bottdaka,  or  bowl  of  gilded 
clay,  carefully  placed  in  a  small  round  dish  of 
highly-polished  brass.  Near  another  stood  a 
magnificent  oriental  narghile;  its  ample  vaso 
of  elaborately  cut  glass  already  filled  witli  the 


126 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES, 


scented  waters  through  which  the  coarser  aroma 
of  the  Virginian  weod  was  destined  to  pass  be- 
fore it  rt-aehed  the  lips  of  the  smoker;  and  its 
long  pliable  tube  of  leather,  bound  with  crim- 
son and  silver  threads,  coiled  like  a  glittering 
snake  upon  the  table  above.  A  couple  of  boxes 
of  cedar- wood,  inscribed  with  certain  letters  and 
figures,  which  doubtlessly  certified  as  to  the 
genuineness  of  their  contents,  were  still  herme- 
tically closed  ;  but,  from  their  form  and  fashion, 
it  was  easy  to  discover  that  they  also  were  filled 
•with  tobacco  in  that  more  symmetrical  and  mi 
nute  shape  which  has  lately  obtained  so  much 
in  European  taste  ;  while  scattered  here  and 
there,  among  the  spai-kling  wines  and  goblets 
of  Venice  glass,  were  cards,  and  dice,  and  other 
necessary  appliances  of  the  gambler's  craft. 

In  short,  all  around  annoimced  the  necessary 
preparation  for  one  of  those  midnight  orgies  in 
which  the  idle  and  the  desauvre  are  accustomed 
to  cheat  their  ainui,  to  waste  their  health,  and 
to  consume  their  substance.  And  it  was  strange 
and  even  sad  to  glance  round  that  stately  room, 
with  its  angles  gradually  disappearing  in  the 
darkness,  its  gi'ira  warriors  and  frowning  se- 
nators looking  down  as  if  in  cold  and  silent 
scorn  from  their  gloomy  eminence,  and  the  huge 
mirror  resting  upon  the  high  wide  mantel  of 
particolored  marble,  and  dimly  reflecting  in 
the  distance  the  deep  glow  of  the  clustered 
lights ;  and  to  see  it  profaned  by  such  occupa- 
tion. It  seemed  like  a  bitter  satire  silently  pro- 
nounced by  past  splendor  upon  modern  folly. 

The  silence  was,  however,  of  short  duration; 
for,  as  though  they  had  only  awaited  the  com- 
pletion of  these  preliminary  arrangements, 
groups  of  young  and  fashionably-dressed  men 
ere  long  began  to  arrive,  until  every  seat  save 
one  was  filled ;  that  which  was  marked  by  the 
position  of  the  narghile ;  and  servants  in  rich 
but  varied  liveries  began  to  busy  themselves  in 
opening  the  cedar  boxes,  and  pouring  out  the 
rich  wines,  which  were  dispersed  over  the 
table. 

Every  European  nation  seemed  to  have  sup- 
plied its  representative  to  that  nocturnal  revel. 
On  one  side  the  deep  flashing  eyes,  and  raven 
hair,  and  bistre .  complexion  of  the  Spaniard, 
were  contrasted  with  the  pale  cheek  and  sandj' 
locks  of  the  Norwegian ;  on  another,  the  once 
fresh,  but  now  somewhat  faded  complexion  and 
calm  hazel  eyes  of  the  Englishman,  formed  a 
marked  and  characteristic  contrast  to  the  dull 
skin  and  restless  physiognomy  of  the  French- 
man ;  the  Greek,  with  his  finelj^-artieulated  fea- 
tures and  mobile  expression,  was  thrown  into 
violent  contact  with  tiie  impassible  and  moody 
gravity  of  the  Turk  ;  and  the  volatile  and  ges- 
ticulating Italian  had  taken  his  place  beside  the 
polished  but  wary  llussian.  It  was,  in  sooth,  a 
gathering  together  of  the  nations,  thus  individu- 
ally assembled  for  one  common  worshij) — for 
one  simultaneous  bowing  down  before  the  Baal 
of  dissipation  and  excess.  For  a  time  nothing 
•was  heard  save  the  questions  and  rejoinders  ne- 
cessitated by  the  nature  of  the  meeting ;  but  ere 
long,  everj-thing  being  arranged  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  revelers,  the  domestics  gradually 
withdrew,  and  the  business  of  the  evening  com- 
menced. 


f  In  one  direction  a  couple  of  gwrnesters,  too 
I  indolent,  or  too  impatient,  to  trust  their  fortunes 
!  to  the  slower  process  of  the  cards,  were  hazard- 
ing large  sums  upon  a  single  throw  of  the  dice ; 
in  another,  a  party  were  collected  round  a  rou- 
lette-table, established  in  an  angle  of  the  apartr 
ment,  which  had  just  been  liglited  up  ;  at  the 
principal  table,  sundry  of  the  guests  had  paired 
off  at  ecarte,  while  others  stood  by,  and  mado 
heavy  bets  upon  the  game.  In  short,  all  were 
occupied  save  two — one,  a  splemlid-looking 
man  of  some  four  or  five  and  thirty,  evidently 
a  native  Italian — and  the  other  a  youth  whose 
fresh  and  ruddy  complexion,  well-opened  gray 
eye,  and  auburn  hair,  at  once  demonstrated  hia 
English  origin. 

"  It  is  strange,  however,  Duke,"  said  the  lat- 
ter, as  he  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  upon 
the  table  ;  "  that  he  should  be  the  only  loiterer, 
when,  only  a  few  hours  ago,  he  announced  his 
intention  to  join  us  early.  Did  I  not  know  that 
he  loves  the  dice-box  better  than  any  dama  in 
Rome,  I  should  say  that  the  poor  prince  had 
met  with  an  adventure." 

His  companion  only  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  smoked  on  in  silence. 

"  And  he  promised  to  give  me  my  revenge 
too,"  pursued  the  hopeful  youth ;  "  and  thai 
cannot  be  done  in  half  an  hour.  However,  ] 
will-not  believe  that  Saviatti  would  take  ad 
vantage  of  my  ill-luck." 

"  You  are  censorious,  il  mio  arco"  said  th* 
Duca,  as  he  suffered  a  huge  volume  of  smoke  to 
escape  from  his  closed  lips,  and  smiled  sarcn^ 
tically :  "  You  take  your  revenge  out  of  fortune 
when  you  should  look  nearer  home.  The  fact 
is,  that  you  cannot  play." 

"  Xot  play  ecarte !"  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
wounded  in  his  most  sensitive  point :  "  A  pretty 
joke,  indeed!  Why,  I  have  done  little  else  for 
the  last  few  years." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  was  the  unmoved  reply. 

"  Every  fool  can  play  ecarte ;"  persisted  the 
stripling,  still  more  incensed  bj-  the'  sang-froia 
of  his  companion. 

"  Not  every  fool.  Milord,"  said  the  Italian :  "  1 
will  explain  to  j'ou " 

•'  I  want  no  explanation,"  retorted  the  youth 
haughtily;  "I  have  played  at  Baden,  Berlin, 
and  Vienna  ;  I  know  every  chance  of  the  game, 
and  I  rej»eat  that  Saviatti  owed  all  his  success 
\o  my  ill-luck.  Did  I  not  win  12,000  francs  at 
Paris  in  one  week  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so,"  again  repeated  the  Italian ; 
"  and  you  are  very  likely  to  lose  the  same  sum 
in  one  night  at  Rome." 

"  You  are  an  ill  prophet,  Duke." 

"  Perchc?  Because  I  tell  you  the  truth? 
Look  you.  Milord  Squanderhigh,  I  could  myself, 
in  a  fortnight,  send  you  home  to  the  good  Earl, 
your  father,  with   nothing  in   your  pocket  but 

your  genealogy,  and  your  bonbonnierc but  I 

am  a  man  of  honor,  and  I  have  a  conscience.  I 
shall  not  play." 

"  You  fancy  that  you  are  more  than  a  match 
for  me  f " 

"  Devvero." 

"  Let  us  try." 

"  No,  no ;  let  ua  smoke.  These  Haranas  $x* 
good  and  cheap." 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTHS. 


127 


"Pshaw!  Nonsense!  You  treat  me  like  a 
child." 

The  Duke  smiled. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  said  the  lordling,  while  a 
sudden  Husli  crimsoned  his  handsome  coniite- 
nnnce,  "  if  you  believe  that  I  feel  indebted  to 
you  for  what  you  are  pleased  to  consider  as  a 
proof  of  your  forbearance,  yon  are  strangely 
mistaken ;  andj  therefore,  if  yon  do  not  wish  me 
to  look  upon  what  you  have  said  as  an  aft'ront, 
let  us  play." 

"  Bene !  since  I  can  retain  your  valuable 
friendship  upon  no  other  terms,  let  us  play." 
And,  so  saying,  the  Italian  calmly  swept  out  of 
his  way  the  glasses,  cigar-tray,  and  bottle  of 
Cyprus  wine  which  were  ranged  before  him  ; 
and,  taking  up  a  couple  of  packs  of  the  cards 
which  were  profusely  scattered  over  the  table, 
began  to  throw  aside  the  low  numbers  with  a 
languid  gesture,  as  though  he  deprecated  the 
«xertion  thus  pertinaciously  thrust  upon  him. 

"While  he  Tvas  thus  engaged,  three  or  four  of 
the  spectators,  who  had  been  overlooking  an- 
other game,  gathered  round  the  two  new  actors, 
and  "  I  bet  upon  il  Signor  Ditco,"  was  the  si- 
multaneous exclamation. 

"  We  want  no  bets,"  said  the  excited  j'oung 
noblemen  ;  "  I  hate  to  play  like  a  puppet,  at  the 
bidding  of  my  backer.  Duke,  we  play  soberly 
for  a  stake— What  shall  it  be  ?" 

"  What  you  please." 

"  You  see,  you  cannot  frighten  me,  for,  if 
there  be  anything  which  I  thoroughly  under- 
stand, it  is  ecarte." 

"  Now,  you  are  endeavoring  to  alarm  me  in 
your  turn,"  said  the  Italian  noble  with  perfect 
gravity ;  "  but  I  also  have  good  nerves.  I  love 
your  country — '  Old  England,'  as  yoii  are  proud 
to  call  her — so,  name  your  own  stakes,  but  let 
them  be  in  English  money." 

"  Ten,  twenty,  thirty  guineas  the  game ;  take 
your  choice." 

"  I  am  a  moderate  man,  corpo  di  Bacco !"  said 
the  Duke,  as  he  coolly  lighted  a  fresh  cigar;  "  I 
will  make  my  choice  au  juste  milieu  :  tvfenty  is 
enougli — quite  enough." 

"  Ha  1  you  begin  to  wince." 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet.  By-and-by  I  shall  tell  you 
how  I  feel." 

"  We  have  never  yet  played  together." 

"  Never.  I  seldom  play  :  now  and  then,  but 
only  to  oblige,  as  I  do  now." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  lesson,"  laughed  the  reck- 
less young  lordling. 

"  Servitore;  I  am  always  happy  to  learn." 

Meanwhile,  high  play  was  progressing  through- 
ont  the  apartment,  and  among  the  most  eager 
of  tire  gamblers  were  the  Russian  prince,  the 
German  baron,  and  the  Hungarian  count,  who 
had  established  themselves  at  the  roulette-table. 
Piles  of  gold  were  heaped  up  and  swept  away 
as  if  by  enchantment ;  and  long  before  day-dawn 
the  German  had  flung  his  watch  and  signet-ring 
npon  the  fatal  baize,  tlie  Russian  his  diamond 
star  in  pledge  for  a  hundred  roubles,  and  the 
•  Hungarian  the  jewelled  clasps  of  hia  sable-lined 
pelisse.  Less  excitable  at  games  of  chance  than 
their  foreign  visitors,  the  Romans  wei'e  masters 
.»£  the  field, 
t      And  at  intervals,  even  amid  the  high-born  and 


high-bred  assemblage,  bitter  oaths  were  vented, 
and  jteals  of  hideous  laughter — the  laughter  of 
mingled  mortification  and  rage — awakened  tho 
dull  echoes  of  the  spacious  room;  deep  draughts 
were  drained,  and  snatches  of  licentious  song 
added  ribaldry  to  vice. 

Yet  still  the  play  went  on.  Why  should  it 
pause?  When  its  votaries  had  exhausted  their 
gold,  they  had  still  their  honor  to  trade  upon ; 
and  so  small  strips  of  paper,  ready  prepared 
iipon  a  eonsol  of  black  marble,  supported  by 
gilded  Cupids  linked  together  by  garlands  of 
roses,  were  passed  from  hand  to  hand ;  and  the 
cards  were  cut,  and  the  dice  were  thrown,  as 
eagerly,  if  not  quite  as  gaily,  as  when  the  solid 
metal  had  been  showered  down  in  streams. 

FiK)m  time  to  time,  the  vapor  of  brandy  rose 
upon  the  heated  atmosphei-e,  and  the  unsteady 
hand  by  which  it  was  poured  betrayed  the  evil 
fortunes  of  the  reveller,  for  whom  the  more 
generous  and  less  enervating  wine  had  lost  its 
spell,  and  throughout  all  this  turmoil,  all  this 
toil,  and  all  this  excitement,  the  placid  duke  and 
the  reckless  lordling  still  j^layed  on,  almost  in 
silence. 

Meanwhile,  however,  Saviatti  had  arrived : 
but  the  engrossing  occupation  of  those  around 
him  had  only  enabled  them  to  greet  his  entrance 
by  a  gesture  or  a  glance  ;  while,  apparently  sa- 
tisfied with  this  somewhat  equivocal  welcome, 
the  Palermitan  quietly  took  possession  of  his 
chair,  ignited  his  narghile,  carefully  placed  a 
minute  and  gilded  pill  of  opium  xipon  the  surface 
of  the  tobacco,  and  smoked  on  in  silence,  absorb- 
ed in  his  own  thoughts. 

Another  hour  went  by,  and  a  bright  streak  of 
light  introduced  itself  between  the  damask 
draperies  which  veiled  one  of  the  high  ease 
ments,  announcing  that  another  day  had  dawn- 
ed. Symptoms  of  weariness  began  to  betray 
themselves  in  some  of  the  losing  gamesters,  and 
gradually  a  group  collected  round  the  principal 
table,  and  began  to  revenge  themselves  by 
excess  of  another  description  upon  the  evil 
freaks  of  fortune. 

"  Testa  di  Venus!"  exclaimed  a  bright-eyed 
Roman;  ^' Ecco  Saviatti.  Prince,  I  pledge  you 
in  a  goblet  of  Salernian.  I  did  not  see  you  enter. 
You  must  have  arrived  just  as — " 

"  You  were  about  to  make  your  fortune  on 
the  red,  when  the  black  was  turned,"  said  the 
Palermitan  quietly  ;  "  you  are  a  perfect  victim 
this  year,  amico  mio." 

"  At  cards,  perhaps,"  was  the  self-satisfied  re- 
tort ;  "  in  other  respects,  I  have  no  right  to  com- 
plain." 

"  No,  no ;  we  all  know  that  the  fates  favor 
you  elsewhere.  But  how  prospers  your  pursuit 
of  the  Altcssa?" 

The  Roman  smiled  conceitedly ;  swept  away 
his  clustering  black  curls  from  a  forehead  which 
might  have  become  a  hero,  and  threw  himself 
back  negligently  in  his  chair. 

"  Bah,  bah !  Colonna  is  affecting  discretion," 
said  a  French  count,  who  was  at  his  elbow,  with 
a  sneer.  "Nothing  is  more  mauvais  toTi,  mon 
cher  ;  r\oi\\iuq,  is,  vaoYC  gentil  bergcr.  i^ither  you 
have  failed — in  which  case  you  are  right  to  keep 
your  own  secret — or  you  must  travel  a  year  or 


118 


TIIE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


two  longer,  and  learn  to  estimate  the  reputation 
of  &femine  galante  at  its  proper  price." 

"  Talking  of  women,"  broke  in  Saviatti  -with  a 
half  yawn,  as  he  witlidrew  the  ivory  mouth- 
,piece  of  his  narghile  from  his  lips,  and  slowly 
swaj-ed  the  flexile  tube  to  and  fro  betAveen  his 
fingers ;  "  women  and  discretion,  be  it  rightly 
understood — I  had  a  most  amusing  encounter 
this  evening,  and  but  for  two  untoward  circum- 
Btances,  I  might  have  been  as  happy  as  Colonna 
implies  to  be." 

"  And  what  were  they  ?"  asked  half-a-dozen 
voices. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  the  Palermitan,  in 
the  same  semi-tragic  accent  in  which  he  had 
made  his  announcement ;  "  in  the  first  place,  my 
dear  friends,  a  jealous  husband — " 

"  Eh,  que  disgracia  P' 

"  In  the  next,  a  sudden  determination  to  leave 
Kome ;  or  rather,  to  leave  me." 

"  To  leave  3/OM .'     Impossible!" 

"  Impossible,  perhaps,  but  nevertheless  a  fact. 
And  in  order  to  show  you  that  I  am  too  generous 
to  follow  a  bad  example — Colonna,  pass  me  the 
champaigne — I  will  drink  the  lady's  health,  and 
tell  you  her  history." 

"Brava!  brava!"  was  the  general  chorus. 

Saviatti  filled  his  glass  with  the  sparkling 
fluid,  and  drank  it  off;  then,  glancing  round  the 
table  upon  his  listeners,  he  said  quietly  :  "  You 
all  remember  the  English  Trevor?" 

"All,  all!" 

"  "Well,  then,  you  are  also  aware  that  I  first 
arrived  in  Rome  in  Trevor's  company ;  but  you 
are  one  and  all  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  before 
quitting  England,  he  was  an  engaged  man.  The 
lady  was  beautiful ;  is  beautiful — your  Altessa, 
il  mio  caro  Colonna,  is  a  Swiss  beside  her  ;  and 
your  Duchessa,  nion  cJuer  De  Tremblay,  a  gri- 
eette.  Trevor,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  present- 
ed me  to  \n&  fiancee,  and  I,  as  I  need  scarcely 
tell  you,  was  civil  to  her  for  his  sake.  IS'ever 
did  1  see  a  man  of  his  indolent  and  languid  tem- 
perament more  inconveniently  in  love  with  his 
future  wife. 

"  After  a  career  of  recklessness,  the  father  of 
la  bella  died  insolvent,  but  that  fact  did  not 
afi"ect  the  passion  of  Trevor  :  he  was  really 
fatiguing  in  his  assiduities,  and  I  almost  began 
to  forgive  the  lady  when  I  imagined  that  she 
thought  so  as  well  as  myself;  for  I  must  do  her 
the  justice  to  acknowledge  that  she  occasionally 
emancipated  herself  very  skilfully  from  the 
thrall,  and  took  a  liberal  revenge  by  coquetting 
right  and  left  whenever  she  could  secure  a  safe 
opipurtunity,  until,  at  length,  I  heard  her  name 
bandied  rather  freely  at  the  clubs,  and  coupled 
in  no  very  mysterious  manner  with  those  of  two 
or  three  of  Trevor's  constant  associates. 

"  As  for  myself,  I  knew  from  the  first  that  she 
was  the  betrollied  wife  of  my  friend ;  and,  more- 
over, beautiful  as  slie  was,  I  liad  seen  another 
whom  I   thought   fairer ;    consequently,    I    felt 

auite  at  lioerty  to  enact  the  Damoa  to  my  Py- 
lias,  and  took  upon  me  to  hint  to  il  fanatico per 
Famore  that  he  was  duped.  Perhaps  you  fancy 
tliat  he  Wivs  grateful  to  me  for  this  modern  act 
of  chivalry  ?  You  deceive  yourselves.  What 
•was  the  friendship  of  lialf-a-dozen  Palermitan 
princes,  compared  to  the  love  of  Sybil?    lie 


was  furious,  met  amici,  furious.  He  believed 
what  I  told  him,  as  a  matter  of  course,  for  I  had 
pledged  my  honor  to  every  statement  that  I 
made,  but  he  spurned  at  the  idea  that  tliey  had 
any  foundation  save  in  the  censorious  imagina- 
tions of  those  who  had  propagated  the  scandal ; 
and  so,  despite  all  that  I  could  urge,  he  still 
loved  on,  while  these  Same  slanders  gained 
ground,  and  I  could  no  longer  doubt  that,  by 
persisting  in  his  suit,  he  was  making  his  o\v'n 
misery.  I  felt  that  something  desperate  un.;*, 
be  done,  for  his  malady  was  beyond  a  common 
cure  ;  and,  accordingly — with  no  slight  desire, 
also,  I  confess,  of  preventing  a  step  which  would 
deprive  me  of  a  favorite  companion — I  resolved, 
despite  his  indignation,  to  recur  to  the  forbidden 
subject,  and  even  to  offer  him  an  opportunity 
of  testing  the  lady's  truth  in  so  unequivocal  a 
manner  that  he  should  no  longer  retain  a  doubt 
as  to  his  true  position. 

"  After  a  thousand  scruples,  he,  at  length, 
consented  to  undei'go  the  ordeal,  and  as  I  had 
more  than  once  suspected  that  the  beautiful 
Miss  Delamere  was  far  from  appreciating  at  its 
just  value  the  very  ceremonious  courtesy  with 
which  I  had  studiously  treated  her,  and  had 
ambition  enough  to  feel  flattered  by  the  pros- 
pect of  becoming  la  signora  princlpessa — for  you 
all  know  the  foible  of  ladies  of  her  nation  f<'r 
the  prestige  of  a  high-sounding  name — I  resolv 
to  see  whether  I  could  not,  in  my  own  per^ 
prove  to  the  misguided  lover  that  he  wu= 
fooled." 

"  Bravissimo,  Saviatti !"  shouted  his  now  more 
than  half  intoxicated  listeners. 

"  I  began,  then,  to  pay  my  court  to  the  flat- 
tered  beauty   assiduously,    but    cautiously.     I 
became  silent  and  depressed,  and  she  soon  di;^ 
covered  that  she  alone  had  power  to  arouse  iiii. 
from  my  moral  lethargj^ ;  but  she  was  as  wr.;  y 
as  myself;   nor  was  it  until  I  had,   as  if  i, 
consciously,  suff'ered  mj^self  to  be  betra^-ed  i;. 
more    than    one    demonstration    of  an    inter.-, 
more  potent  than  I  was  authorised  to  feel  fur 
the  promised  wife  of  my  friend,   that  she,  at 
length,  ventured  to  inquire  into  the  cause  of  m  v 
evident  unhappiness.     You  may  imagine  ho\\   ' 
replied.     How  reluctantly,  but  resolutely,   ; 
secret  was  wrung  from  me;  how  I  besought  In 
to  pardon  my  temerity;  and,  gradually,  beca: 
still  less  reserved,  until  I  brought  her  to  com 
that  she  had  already  suspected  the  truth,  :i 
even  to  admit  that  she  forgave  the  involunta 
error.     The  remainder  of  my  task  was  easy,  l- 
it  required  time  ;  nor  was  she  loth  to  attbrd  i;-. 
In  vain  did  Trevor  complain  of  the  postponement 
of  their  marriage  from  one  period  to  another;  for 
convinced   of  the  immaculaej'  of  his  idol,  he 
never,  for  an  instant,  doubted  the  ultimate  failure 
of  my  intrigue ;  she  always  found  some  plausible 
pretext  to  delay  it,  and,  meanwhile,  I  had  every 
encouragement   to   prosecute    my  suit  which   I 
could  desire.     Still  her  caution  was  admirable, 
and  I  sincerelj'  believe  that,  as  the  mere  indivi- 
dual, she  greatly  preferred  my  friend;  and  that, 
had  I  been  simple  Signor  Saviatti,  the  son  of  a 
Palermitan  banker,  or  of  a  Catanian  apothecary, 
she  would  never  have  hesitated  between  us.  As 
it  was,  however,  I  held  the  winning  card,  and 
the  '  dear  prince,'  had  but  to  utter  one  conclusive 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


129 


to  leave  the  '  poor  baronet '  leagues  behind 

the    race.     How   I  ever  betrayed   her  into 

rvriting  such  dangerous  truths  as  this,  I  cannot 

vcn  now  comprehend;   altiiougli  I   have  more 

han  once  had  occasion  to  remark  tliat  there  are 

.  certain  ehiss  of  women,  who,  wlien  they  once 

ake  a  pen  into  their  hands,  suffer  it  to  run  away 

f  ith  their  reason. 

'•  Certain  it  is  that  it  was  so  in  this  instance. 

wish  that  Trevor  had  not,  in  his  rage,  burnt, 

K'fore  his  faithless  mistress,  the  last  letter  with 

s'hich  she   honored  me,  and   then   you   would 

lave  acknowledged  the  truth  of  my  late  remark. 

lowever,  suffice  it  that  the  letter  in  question 

lid  most  effectually  open  his  eyes,  and  prove  to 

liiu  that  his   fair  inamorata   was  ready   to  fly 

vith  me  from  an  union  to  which  siie  looked  for- 

vard  with   dismay,   and  to  trust  to  my  honor 

lever  to  give  her  cause  to  repent  the  hazardous 

'  tep  that  she  had  taken. 

"  So  far,  so  well ;  but  alas !  chi  la  fatto  il 
nala,  faccia  la  penitenza,  says  the  proverb,  and 
o  it  was  with  Trevor.  The  English  laws  are 
requently  both  unreasonable  and  inconvenient, 
le  had  formerly  promised  marriage  to  Miss 
^elamere,  and  he  was  bound  by  one  of  those 
aws  to  perform  liis  promise,  or  to  incur  the  risk, 
lot  only  of  a  heavy  fine — for  that  he  was  too 
vealtliy  to  care — but  also  of  a  public  exposure, 
.vitli  which  she  did  not  hesitate  to  threaten  liim. 
"  Perhaps  \-ou  expect,  idlers  as  you  are,  tliat 
'.  am  about  to  entertain  you  witli  the  scene 
.vhicli  ensued,  when  the  lady  discovered  that 
ihe  liad  been  duped  in  her  turn,  and  that  she 
laci  lost,  by  one  unlucky  throw,  both  the  foreign 
loble  and  the  English  baronet ;  and,  corpo  di 
Bacco!  it  deserves  narration,  but  I  have  just 
low  neither  time  nor  taste  for  such  a  tale, 
though  in  truth,  her  very  rage  was  magnificent, 
ind  her  indignation  as  genuine  as  though  she 
lad  been  no  party  to  this  war  of  wits.  Well, 
X)  sliorten  a  long  story,  she  retorted  eveiy  re- 
proach of  Trevor,  by  upbraiding  him  with  his 
Dwn  treachery,  and  that  of  his  Fidus  Achates ; 
md,  when  lie  swore  that  he  would  leave  her 
for  ever,  she  threatened  him  with  a  court  of 
lustice,  and  silenced  him,  as  that  threat  seldom 
fails  to  silence  an  Englishman. 

"  Wliat  was  to  be  done?  Trevor  had  no 
Derve  for  such  an  exposure.  To  be  exhibited  to 
the  world  not  only  as  a  dupe,  but  moreover,  as 
the  dupe  of  a  woman  who  had  forfeited  all 
claim  to  consideration  from  the  levity  of  lier 
own  conduct,  was  more  tlian  his  pride  could 
brook.  He  remembered  too,  that  her  pecuniary 
losourccs  must  he  nearly  exhausted,  and  that 
tlie  prospect  of  becoming  his  wife  had  induced 
her  to  persist  in  a  style  of  living  to  which  they 
had  long  been  inadequate  ;  and  thus,  what  from 
fear  from  himself  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  linger- 
ing weakness  for  the  false  fair  one  on  the  other, 
they  at  length  came  to  a  compromise.  IS'ot, 
however,  that  this  desirable  arrangement  was 
nmde  without  considerable  difficulty  ;  for  the 
lady,  at  once  baffled  and  bitter,  was  exorbitant 
in  her  demands,  and  poor  Trevor  was  obliged, 
not  only  to  have  recourse  to  the  Jews,  but  also 
to  ex])atriate  himself  for  a  time,  in  order  to 
satisfy  licr  claim. 

"  Jibbejie  !    The   victim   accompanied   me  to  | 
9 


Berlin,  and  la  bella  abandonnata  left  London,  at 
he  supposed,  to  bury  her  regrets  in  the  country, 
and  for  a  time  he  heard  no  more  of  her ;  while, 
per  me,  I  almost  forgot  her  existence.  Judge, 
therefore,  of  my  amazement  this  evening,  when, 
in  a  solitary  stroll  through  the  Negroni  garden! 
— a  strange  caprice  you  will  say,  and  one  for 
which,  in  point  of  fact,  I  can  scarcely  account 
— my  ear  was  suddenly  attracted  by  the  in- 
flections of  an  harmonious  and  familiar  voice. 
I  listened  for  several  instants  in  oi'der  to  be 
satisfied  that  I  did  not  deceive  myself,  and 
then,  convinced  of  the  accuracy  of  my  memo- 
ry, I  suddenly  turned  the  angle  of  the  path, 
and  saw  before  me  Miss  Delamere  in  person, 
negligently  reclining  upon  the  grass  beside 
one  of  the  fountains,  witli  her  head  resting 
upon  the  shoulder  of  a  very  handsome  cava- 
lier, who  also  held  one  of  her  hands  clasped 
in  his. 

"  Kothing  daunted,  however,  by  the  style  of 
this  grouping — for,  as  you  are  aware,  I  felt  my 
strength,  and  was  not  altogether  sorry  to  have 
an  opportunity  of  making  my  peace,  or  free 
from  the  desire  to  see  it  ratified  somewhat 
after  the  same  fashion — I  accosted  her  at  once, 
and  that  in  a  tone  of  old  acquaintanceship 
which  forbade  any  denial  on  her  part ;  but 
a  change  had  come  over  her  whole  manner. 
It  was  neither  aftectedly  cold,  nor  inferentially 
resentful  ;  it  was  more  discouraging  than 
either;  calm,  self-possessed,  and — could  I  have 
forgotten  the  past — I  shoidd  say  dignified. 
Tlie  problem,  moreover,  was  soon  solved  ;  I 
began  to  allude  to  former  times,  and  I  was 
silenced  at  once  by  a  presentation  to — her 
husband." 

"  n  povero  Saviatti  !" 

"  You  mistake,  gentlemen,  you  mistake," 
pursued  the  Prince  contemptuously  ;  "  you 
should  say  il  povero  marito  ;  for  trust  me  he 
will  ere  long  the  most  deserve  your  pity, 
though  at  present  he  appears  to  be  '  in  love 
with  ruin.'  She  informed  me,  and  you  will  be 
able  to  estimate  the  feeling  with  which  she 
made  the  communication,  that  she  had  been 
travelling  for  the  last  two  months  in  Italy ; 
ergo,  her  bridehood  is  rapidly  waning  into  com- 
monplace wedded  life." 

"  And  who  is  the  sacrifice  f  Is  he  one  who 
has  been  kidnapped  from  our  own  set,  or  a 
mere  nuitrimonial  facility  f" 

Therein  lies  the  point  of  the  epigram," 
said  the  Palermitan  with  a  light  laugh  ;  "  I 
was  presented  to  the  hero  of  the  domestic 
drama,  as  I  have  already  told  you.  But  how  ? 
Why  simply  thus  :  '  Prince,  allow  me  to  pre- 
sent to  you  my  husband — My  dear  Frederic, 
the  Prince  Saviatti,  of  whom  I  have  spoken 
to  you;"  and  thus,  you  see,  although  it  ap- 
peared that  the  '  great  unknown'  was  enabled 
at  once  to  identify  me  as  one  of  his  lady's 
quondam  friends,  I  was  left  totally  in  the  dark 
as  regarded  his  own  individuality.  However 
certain  it  is,  in  whatever  spirit  I  had  been 
made  known  to  him,  he  had  no  suspicion  of 
the  truth,  and  I  almost  began  to  imagine, 
from  the  manner  in  which  he  tolerated  for  a 
time  a  series  of  impertinences  on  my  part,  that 
he  waa  simply  what   Rowscoffsky  has  just  po- 


/so 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


litely  designated  as  a  '  matrimonial  facility  ;' 
but  I  was  mistaken.  He  appeared  suddenly 
to  perceive  that  I  wa*  transgressing  the  bounds 
of  even  Italian  good-breeding,  for  he  started 
from  his  seat  like  a  roused  lion,  and  carried 
6ff  la  doruta,  without  even  permitting  me  to 
walk  back  to  the  city  in  her  company." 

"  Cett  hnpatjahlc !"  siiouted  the  Frenchman  ; 
**  ee  pauvre  Saviatti  est  dtchu." 

"  Then  are  there  two  fallen  angels  in  the 
•ane  drama,"  replied  the  Prince  quietly  ;  "  and 
I  am  ready  to  wager  the  hundred  ducats  which 
I  won  last  evening  of  Squanderleigh,  that  the 
piece  is  not  yet  played  out." 

"  Pshaw!  }ou  have  already  had  }'our  conge." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  moreover,  the  happy  couple 
leave  Rome  to-morrow  ;  another  point  against 
me.  and  nevertheless  I  am  read\-  to  renew  my 
bet,  with  this  reservation,  that  if  I  am  not  my- 
self the  hero  of  the  second  act,  it  will  be 
Trevor.     Who  accepts  the  challenge  V 

"  Not  I,"  said  Colonna  ;  "  I  knovi:  too  well 
the  nature  of  the  sex.  The  investment  is  a 
bad  one." 

A  general  laugh  followed  his  remark,  but 
the  attention  of  the  party  was  suddenly  called 
to  Lord  Squaiiderlcigh,  who  with  a  vehement 
oath  hurled  his  cards  across  the  saloon,  and 
filling  a  goblet  with  brandy,  drank  it  off  to  the 
confusion  of  all  modest  personages,  who  only 
played  to  oblige  their  friends. 

"  Milord,  j-ou  are  uneiTil."  calmly  observed 
his  opponent,  as  he  swept  into  his  open  palm 
the  pile  of  bright  English  gold  which  he  had 
gradually  heaped  up,  and  deposited  it  in  the 
breast-pocket  of  his  coat.  "  I  appeal  to  Co- 
lonna, to  De  Tremblay,  to  Saviatti,  if  I  ever 
play  save  when  I  am  urged  to  it,  and  cannot 
decline  without  discourtesy." 

"  I  care  for  no  such  appeals,"  was  the  furious 
retort.  "  Did  not  Saviatti  only  yesterday  win 
my  money  in  all  probability  in  the  same  way, 
and  on  the  same  principle  ?  And  do  not  both 
Colonna  and  De  Tremblay  hold  bills  of  mine 
similarly  gained  ?  Do  you  take  me  for  a  boy 
to  believe  that,  knowing  my  own  skill  at  the 
game  as  I  do,  I  should  be  idiot  enough  to  sup- 
pose that  1  am  indebted  to  ill-luck  for  my 
perpetual  losses  ?" 

All  the  group  started  indignantly  to  their 
feet,  but  a  gesture  from  the  Duke  silenced 
them  for  a  moment,  as  he  asked  with  compo- 
sure ;  "  And  to  what  then.  Milord,  am  I  to 
understand  that  you  attribute  them?" 

"  To  what !"  echoed  the  stripling,  as  he  turn- 
ed an  undismayed  look  \ipon  the  threatening 
countenances  around  him.  "Have  I  not  spoken 
sufficiently  jilain  already  for  you,  one  and  all, 
to  undei-stand  that  I  attribut*  them  to  your 
superior science  t" 

"  You  must  answer  to  me  for  this,"  said  the 
Duca,  with  an  unshaken  calmness  which  formed 
a  ghastly  contrast  with  the  trembling  passion 
of  his  adversary. 

"  And  to  me,"  said  Colonna. 

"  And  me,"  followed  up  Saviatti. 

The  stripling  listened  with  a  bitter  and  hollow 
laugh,  and  simply  replying,  "I  am  ready," 
swallowed  another  goblet   of  the   liquid   fire. 


turned  a  fierce  gaze  of  defiance  upon  his  oppo-| 
nents,  and  strode  from  the  room. 

By  mid-day  on  the  morrow,  all  Rome  rang 
with  the  news  that  a  fatal  duel  had  taken  place 
two  hours  after  dawn,  beyond  the  Porto  del 
Popolo;  in  which  the  gallant  Lord  Squander- 
leigh,  the  only  son  and  heir  of  the  Earl  of  "Was- 
tinville,  the  hope  of  an  ancient  house,  and  the 
idol  of  an  adoring  mother,  had  fallen  mortally 
wounded  beneath  the  bullet  of  an  unknown  aa- 
versary.  The  authorities  were  all  astir ;  the 
sbirri  in  commotion,  and  the  whole  system  ol 
exclusive  society  shaken  for  four-and-twenty 
hours.  And  then  came  the  relatives  from 
England  to  claim  the  corpse,  and  to  convey  it 
to  the  family-vault,  in  order  that  it  might  repose 
beside  those  of  its  ancestors — and  then,  Lord 
Squanderleigh  was  forgotten. 

Such  was  the  circle  in  which  the  name  of  the 
woman  who  had  become  the  wife  of  the  proud 
and  sensitive  Mortimer  was  branded  withindig-, 
nity — amid  the  curses  of  unsuccessful  gamesters, 
the  fumes  of  wine,  and  the  ribaldries  of  licen- 
tiousness.  Such  were  the  revellers,  who,  not  con-' 
tent  with  branding  her  witii  past  disgrace  and 
present  duplicity,  even  presaged  for  her  a  future, 
still  more  dishonorable  than  either.     Sybil  was 
indeed  fallen  ! — fallen  from  the  brightness  and 
the  purity  which  compel  respect  from  the  ■ 
solute.     She   had   striven   and    had   triumji: 
She  was  the  wife  of  a  man  of  iionor ;  but 
very  triumph  was  contanunated  by  the  tact.  : 
he  must  henceforward  be  a  mark  for  the  wim 
scorn  througli  her  means ;  and  that  world 
one  of  upright  and  soberly  judging  individ  :;, 
who    would  temper  their  justice  with    m.  i 
and  be  silent  where  otherwise  they  must  c 
demn  ;  but  a  world  of  reckless  rouis  and  bit!'  : 
satirists,  to  whom  her  shame  would  be  matter  . 
loose   mirth   and   ribald   speculation;  and   wlic 
would,  from  their  own  intimate  knowledge  o: 
the  vices  of  humanity,   be   enabled   to  analyst 
and  to  lay  bare  every  working  of  her  heart— 
her  woman-heart, — that  pure  and  hoh'  mystery , 
which,   like   the   statue   of   Vesta,   should   evei 
wear  a  veil  for  all  save  he  to  whom  it  is  yiiM 

Sybil  was  indeed  fallen ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 

Meanwhile  all  was  deep  and  quiet  happiiu\=.' 
at  Bletchley.  The  ladies  of  the  manor-hous*. 
had  paid  their  promised  visit;  the  girls  ha', 
welcomed  Gertrude  with  a  warmth  of  delightet' 
affection  which  was  balm  to  her  meek  an(^ 
gentle  heart ;  and  even  Mrs.  Armstrong,  for 
getting  all  the  brilliant  projects  which  she  hac; 
formed  for  her  son,  and  satisfied  that,  as  he;, 
husband  no  longer  witliheld  his  consent  to  thi 
marriage,  it  was  her  duty  to  think  ;is  lie  did 
and  perhaps  feeling,  moreover,  that  she  shouli 
in  all  probability  be  a  person  of  much  more  con: 
sequence  in  the  eyes  of  her  unportioned  diugh; 
ter-in-law  than  she  could  have  hoped  to  be  in 
those  of  the  high  born  or  richly-dowered  damselt 
upon  whom  she  had  formerly  speculated,  wa 


4, 

...Tie 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


181 


lO  less  inclined  than  themselves  to  believe  that  [murmuring,  to  her  a  few  snatches  from  Alfieri, 
Ernest  had,  after  all,  been  less  to  blame  than  had  alike  been  laid  aside,  that  a  sudden  silence 
she  at  first  supposed;  while  the  worthy  old  occurred,  as  eloquent  to  their  feelings  as  the 
squire,  having  once  determined  to  withdraw  his  ^  most  pi-ofuse  and  impassioned  words.  It  was  at 
objections,  did  so  with  an  opcn-heartedness  and  length  broken  by  a  sigh  from  the  orphan,  which 


goneroaity  of  feeling  which   removed  the   last 
shadow  from  the  spirit  of  the  orphan. 

Only  a  few  days  elapsed  ere  (sertrude  again 
found  herself  an  inhabitant  of  the  hall,  and  once 
more  all  the  little  world  of  Bletchley  was  in 


fell  painfully  upon  the 


■ar  of  Ernest, 
he  said  anxiously ; 


'and 


"  You  sigh,  dearest, 
wherefore  ?" 

"  Simply,"  replied  Gertrude ;  "  because  I  have 
left  a  duty  unperformed  for  which  I  am  self-re- 
commotion.       It  was    really  too   bad   and   too '  buked  ;  and  that,    even  now,  I   hava   scarcely 
barefaced,  as  Miss  Bayliss  remarked  with  eon-  *  courage  to  repair  my  error." 


siderable  asperity;  too  bad  on  the  side  of  Miss 
Jlortimer.  and  too  barefaced  on  that  of  the 
Armstrongs,  that  their  company  had  no  sooner 


"  Incorrigible  culprit! 
"Kay,   do  not  jest,  Ernest;  for,   indeed,   my 
heart  is   too   full   for  smiles.     I  feel  that  I  liave 


dispersed  than  they  thought  proper  to  remem-|not  acted  generously  or  frankly  towards  }ou  ; 
ber  their  poor  neighbor.  However,  if  the  girl  j  and  that  I  am,  consequently,  unworthy  of  the 
had  no  more  spirit,  it  served  her  right,  and  she  |  unhesitating  confidence  which  you  have  placed 
would  see  what  would  come  of  it  before  long ;  ]  in  me.     You   may   remember  that,  during  our 


but  it  was  disgraceful  that,  because  thej-  hap- 
pened to  be  the  great  people  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, any  one  should  be  mean  enough  to  en- 
courage them  in  their  impertinence;  and  Miss 
Mortimer,  as  Mr.  Pilbeam  declared,  was  so  blind 
to  the  degrading  part  that  she  was  acting,  as 
actually  to  be  recovering  fi-om  day  to  day,  even 
although  he  had  long  considered  her  case  to  be 
ntterl}'  hopeless :  but  there  she  was,  as  likely  to 
live  as  his  own  wife,  and  as  calm  and  contented 
as  though  she  had  been  treated  with  the  great- 
est respect. 

However,  she  begged  that  she  might  not  be 
quoted  as  having  repeated  the  remarks  of  Mr. 
Pilbeam,  which  he  had  made  to  her  quite  in 
confidence,  as  it  might  injure  him  in  his  busi- 
ness ;  but  it  really  made  her  blood  boil  to  think 
that  Miss  Warrington  and  her  niece  had  not 
shown  more  regard  for  the  respectability  of  the 
village.  Had  she,  or  her  sister,  or  Mrs.  Pilbeam, 
or  even  the  dissenting  minister's  widow,  ever 
demeaned  themselves  in  such  a  way  ?  Not  they. 
As  to  accepting  little  presents  from  the  manor 


memorable  interview  in  the  pavilion,  jou  hinted 
your  belief  that  I  was  the  prey  of  some  secret 
sorrow  ;  and  you  were  right.  That,  however, 
was  not  a  fitting  moment  for  such  a  revelation 
as  I  had  to  make  ;  and  since  that  day  I  hava 
suffered  my  happiness  to  absorb  me  so  entirely, 
as  to  forget  that  the  confession  of  the  past  was 
due  to  you.  It  will  require  an  eft'ort  on  my 
part  to  reoall  that  past ;  but  the  ett'ort  must  be 
made  ;  for  I  cannot  consent  to  become  your  wife 
until  you  are  placed  in  possession  of  every  cir- 
cumstance of  my  early  life ;  and  are  prepared 
to  assure  me  that  what  I  have  to  tell  has  not 
lowered  me  in  your  esteem." 

"  Gertrude,  why  do  you  torture  both  yourself 
and  me?  I  foretell  all  that  you  have  to  say 
— Y'ou  have  loved  another." 

"  I  have,  Ernest,"  was  the  low,  but  resolute 
reply  ;  '•  and  that,  too,  with  all  the  ardor  of  ft 
young  and  trusting  heart.  Nor  was  this  affec- 
tion the  mere  transitory  feeling  of  a  few  months, 
but  the  one  great  and  absorbing  sentiment  of 
my  life.     If  1  know  myself,  1  am  compelled  to 


house,  there  was  nothing  in  that;    for  if  they  confess,  even  to  you,  that  had  my  love  been  re- 

uere  sent,  they  could  not  decently  be  refused  ;j turned,  I  believe   that  neither   time  nor  misfor- 

but  she  must  say  tliat,  for  people  who  pretend  tune  would  have  sufficed  to  overcome  it;  but  it 

'  to  hold  their  healls  higher  than  their  neigliboi-s,  i  was  not  so.   1  loved  where  my  love  was  slighted 

I  the  Warringtoiis  were  about  as  mean-spirited  aland  undervalued;  and  my  whole  waste  of  atfec- 

.'  set  as  she  ever  heard  of.  i  tion  Avas  repaid  only   by  the  attachment  of  a 

Ihese   murmurs  from   the   village,   however,  brother.     But  hear  me  out  before  you  condemn 

never  reached  the  hall.     There  all  was  peace  me.     My  error  was  that  of  inexperience,  not  of 

and  joy.      The  happiness  of  Ernest  was  com-  levity.     I  was  misled  alike  by  my  own  hopes, 

plete.     To  sit  beside   Gertrude,  and   to  watch  and  by  the  tenderness  of  one  who  was  indeed  to 

I  from  day  to  day  the  progress  of  her  convales- ,  me  more   than  a  mother.      And  now,    Ernest, 

'  cence;    to  see  the  faint  flush  again  steal  to  her 'dear  Ernest,  will  you   listen  to  my  story  of  the 

cheek,  and  the  smile   of  recovered  confidence  past?" 


rest  upon  her  lip,  was  to  him  a  never-ceasing 
labor  of  love.  While  Somerville  and  Mary, 
;  -•  i  more  gladsome  in  their  jo}%  were  continually  on 
, '*  ;  horseback,  or  engaged  in  schemes  of  pleasure, 
M  ;  the  tranquil  delight  of  Ernest  and  Gertrude  was 
ite  [  BO  less  engrossing.  To  them  the  whispered  con- 
)»  [  fidences,  the  assured  prospects  of  the  future,  and 
ft  j  the  present  calm,  were  full  of  enjoyment.  They 
loiili  )  had  80  much  to  say,  so  much  to  ask,  so  much  to 
0  !  hope, 


It  was  during  one  of  these  constantly-recur-  simple  confession, 


••  Say  on,  Gertrude,"  answered  the  young 
man,  who  had  involuntarily  relinquished  her 
hand,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  spread  palms; 
"  say  on — I  will  endeavor  to  bear  it  manfully; 
but  you  know  not  how  deeply  you  have  wrung 
me." 

The  tears  of  the  orphan  fell  slow  and  cold,  as 
she  withdrew  her  eyes  from  the  averted  figure 
of  her  lover,  but  she  heeded  them  not.  Stiong 
in  her  conviction  of  right,  she  commenced  her 


nng  conversations,  when  the  twilight  had  sto 
upon  them  almost  unheeded,  and  that  the  pencil 
of  Gertrude,  and  the  volume  from  which  her 


She  told  him  of  the  premature  death  of  hear 
mother  ;  of  tlie  heart-broken  father,  who  eo  soon 
followed  her  to  the  grave.     She  painted  to  him 


lover  had  been  oocasionally  reading,  or  rather  in   rapid,   but   graphic  words,   the  etateij  old 


US 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


house  at  "Wcstrnm  whioh  bad  been  the  cradle 
of  her  childhood,  and  the  home  ot  her  youth; 
and  she  dwelt  with  all  the  eloquence  of  deep 
and  strong  feeling,  upon  the  virtues  of  the  gentle 
aad  high-hearted  Mi-s.  Mortimer. 

Nor  did  her  low  voice  falter  when  she  came 
to  speak  of  Frederic.  There  was  no  suspicious 
haste,  no  coquettish  reservation,  in  the  manner 
in  which  she  related  all  their  early  and  childish 
affection;  she  did  justice  to  his  amiable  quali- 
ties, and  to  the  high  principle  of  his  nature. 
She  told  how,  from  girlhood  up.  she  had  been 
taugiit  to  consider  him  as  her  future  husband  ; 
and  how,  in  order  to  render  herself  worthy  of 
his  love,  she  had  striven  to  acquire  the  habits, 
feelings,    and    accomplishments    which    he    ap- 

S roved.  And  after  she  had  described  the  long 
ours  of  retirement,  in  which  she  had  listened 
to  all  the  confident  projects  of  h-^r  aunt,  while 
the  subject  of  their  discourse  was  yet  absent,  she 
did  not  even  disguise  from  her  agitated  listener 
the  eager  an.\iety  with  which  she  had  awaiSed 
^is  return;  and'the  bitter  disappointment  she 
had  experienced  on  finding  that  her  attiichment 
■was  not  returned,  when  Fredenc,  happy  and 
heart-free,  ere  many  months  elapsed,  bestowed 
the  affection  which  she  had  always  been  taught 
to  consider  as  her  own,  upon  a  stranger. 

"  And  what  said  your  aunt,  who  had  so 
cruelly  misled  you?"  asked  Ernest,  suddenly 
looking  up. 

"  All  that  the  purest  and  most  perfect  affec- 
tion could  dictate,  bhe  wept  over  the  blight  of 
my  visions,  and  her  own  hopes ;  and  vowed 
never  to  receive  another  daugliter." 

"  And  then  Gertrude,  all  these  visions  were 
renewed?" 

The  orphan  smiled  a  sad  smile. 
"No,  Ernest,"  she  said  meekly;  "from  the 
hour  in  which  I  learned  that  the  heart  of  Fre- 
deric was  estranged  from  me,  and  that  his  hap- 
piness depended  upon  another,  the  path  of  duty 
and  of  self-esteem  lay  plain  before  me,  and  I 
had  only  to  follow  it  to  the  end.  Frederic, 
moreover,  was  generous  enough  to  trust  to  me, 
and  to  place  his  cause  in  my  hands;  and  believe 
me  when  1  assure  you  that  he  had  no  cold  ad- 
vocate with  his  mo  her.  I  loved  him,  and  to 
me  his  happiness  was  all  in  all.  It  sufficed  that 
my  affection  was  not  essential  to  him,  for  me  to 
understand  at  once  the  indelicacy  of  sustaining 
-what  was,  at  best,  only  an  imaginary  claim. 
My  poor  aunt  died  ;  and  with  her,  as  you  are 
aware,  the  one  great  tie  which  bound  me  to  my 
fatiier's  family.  In  my  desolation  I  sought  a 
bo-;ne  with  a  "distaiit  relative,  to  whom  1  was  a 
stranger;  .Miss  Warrington  received  me,  and 
Hicerfully  consented  to  impose  another  burden 
upon  her  already  limited  resources.  I  came  to 
Bietchiey,  unknown,  unloved,  and  hopeless. 
You  know  tiie  rest" 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  and  the  heart 
of  (icrtrude  sank  witiiin  her. 

"  And  your  cousin  ?"  a^ked  Armstrong  at 
laigth,  wilii  apparent  effort. 

•'  My  cousin  a  few  montlis  ago  was  united  to 
Miss  Dclamerc." 

"  And  you  still  loved  him,  Gertrude,  when  we 
first  met!  When  I,  at  once,  and  unreservedly, 
^lade  you  the  arbitress  of  my  future  fate ;  when 


I  placed  my  whole  being  in  your  hands,  without 
a  doubt,  without  a  misgiving,  you  still  loved 
this  man!" 

"  I  believed  that  I  did  so,"  was  the  low  and 
timid  reply :  "  and,  in  all  probability,  Ernest, 
had  you  not,  by  your  generous  affection,  taught 
me  the  fallacy  of  my  own  feelings,  I  should 
have  sunk  int«  an  early  grave  with  that  convic- 
tion. Remember  that  my  affection  for  Frederic 
was  one  alike  of  habit  and  of  hope ;  that  I  had 
been  taught  from  my  earliest  girlhood  to  look 
upon  him  as  the  partner  of  my  future  life;  that, 
although  reared  in  a  comfort  bordering  upon 
luxury,  my  seclusion  had  been  almost  unbroken; 
and  that,  in  short,  my  whole  world  w^as  com- 
prised within  the  walls  of  Westrum  House.  It 
IS  not,  however,  for  me  to  excuse  the  past,  I 
have  simply  obeyed  the  dictates  of  my  nature, 
and  fulfilled  my  sense  of  right,  by  removing 
every  mystery  between  us,  and  by  showing  my- 
self to  you  as  I  am.  It  is  for  you  to  decide  if  a 
heart  which  has  hoped  and  mourned  like  mine, 
is  -worthy  of  the  love  that  it  has  won." 

"  Only  answer  me  one  question,  Gertrude, 
and  that  with  the  same  truthfulness  which  I 
have  always  seen  in  you.  Did  you  love  this 
man  as  you  love  me  ?"  and  he  again  seized  her 
hand. 

"  I  could  not.  I  am  now  conscious  that,  in 
the  ignorance  of  my  spirit,  I  mistook  myself.  I 
loved  rather  the  creation  of  ray  own  fancy,  tip/ 
cherished  son  of  my  more  than  mother,  the  one 
fixed  idea  of  my  existence.  I  loved  Frederic 
not  only  for  himself,  but  because  with  him  I  lost 
all.  In  short,"  concluded  the  poor  girl,  with  a 
passionate  burst  of  tears,  "  I  despise  myself  for  an 
illusion  which  was  dissipated  from  the  moment 
in  which  I  discovered  that  I  had  long  uncon- 
sciously suffered  a  deeper  and  a  more  vital  at- 
tachment to  obliterate  the  past.  And  oh  ! 
Ernest,  were  you  aware  for  how  long  a  period 
your  image  was  in  my  heart,  while  I  believed 
that  it  was  absorbed  by  another,  you  would  un- 
derstand all  that  I  would  say,  all  that  1  feel." 

"Idol  I  do!  Gertrude,  and  I  thank  you,  "ex- 
claimed her  lover  with  renewed  tenderness ; 
"  We  will  never  again  look  back  upon  the  past. 
What  was  the  love  of  the  girl  beside  the  affec- 
tion of  the  woman?  I  have  been  irritable  and 
;  unjust,  dearest ;  when  I  should  rather  have  been 
'  proud  of  the  trust  which  you  reposed  in  me,  an  1 
j  of  your  faith  in  my  right  feeling.  You  have 
I  acted  nobly,  Gertrude,  and  once  more  1  thank 
1  you.  And  now,  did  you  not  assure  me,  that  no 
other  secret  exists  between  us,  and  that  this  tale 
of  girlisli  romance  was  the  sole  mystery  of  your 
past  life  ?" 

"  I  did,  and  truly,  Ernest  You  have  now 
read  my  iieait,  which  has  not  a  thought  that  it 
would  hesitate  to  confide  to  you — not  a  feeling 
or  a  hope  of  which  you  are  not  the  object." 

And  still  the  tWiiight  deepened  about  them, 
and  the  glowing  fire-light  alone  flickered  through 
the  silent  apartment,  and  revealed  each  to  ti  • 
other  in  that  luxurious  partial  obscurity  so  d- 
to  tiiose  whose  thoughts  are  full  of  quiet  ha]'i 
ness.  For  a  moment  the  pride  of  Ernest  Aim- 
strong  had  been  wounded.  He  could  not  brook 
that  Gertrude,  his  own  Gertrude,  tiie  only  wo- 
man he  had  ever   loved,  should   have  felt  for 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


188 


I  another  what  he  had  felt  only  for  her  ;  but  he 
'  was  too  right-minded  to  persist  in  so  weak  an 
[  egotism ;  and  he  soon  forgot  his  own  disappoint- 
ment in  admiration  of  the  delicacy  which  had 
taught  the  timid  girl  beside  him  to  consider  as  a 
crime  the  reservation  of  a  fact  which  so  nea,ily 
concerned  his  happiness  ;  and  to  compel  herself 
to  an  avowal  so  painful  to  her  feelings,  in  order 
to  convince  him  that  she  was  worthy  of  a  love 
ia  which  she  thus  ventured  to  confide. 

Henceforward,  he  could  have  no  misgivings. 
The  past  stood  revealed  before  him.  Tlie  pure 
and  guileless  heart  had  poured  forth  all  its  trea- 
sures of  memory,  and  was  indeed  his  own.  One 
short  half-hour  of  suffering  had  secured  to  him  a 
life  of  trust  and  peace  ;  and  the  more  he  reflect- 
ed upon  the  voluntary  and  unembarrassed  con- 
fidence of  Gertrude,  the  more  he  became  con- 
scious of  the  whole  beautj'  and  holiness  of  a  na- 
ture which  shrank  from  even  the  semblance  of 
deceit  and  dishonor. 

And  Gertrude,  too,  was  happy,  for  her  sensi- 
tive conscience  was  relieved  of  a  heavy  weight. 
Ernest  now  knew,  and  had  pardoned  all.  She 
might  henceforward  yield  herself  up,  Avithout 
one  misgiving,  to  the  bliss  of  loving  and  being 
beloved.  All  the  memory  of  the  past  appeared 
to  fade  into  so  far  a  distance,  that  it  rather  wore 
the  mistj'  indistinctness  of  a  painful  dream,  than 
the  sterner  features  of  a  reality.  All  seemed 
unreal,  save  the  actual  present,  with  its  dear 
delights  of  peace,  and  love,  and  joy.  Her  very 
tears  were  luxury ;  and  the  throbbing  of  her 
heart  made  delicious  music  as  she  listened  to 
its  quick  pulsations. 

Who  has  not  experienced  at  such  an  hour  as 
this?  Who  has  not,  at  some  time,  felt  the  utter 
inefficiency  of  words  to  embody  the  million  sen- 
sations which  well  up,  pure  and  warm,  from  the 
overflowing  heart,  and  create  an  atmosphere  of 
happiness  about  them  ?  They  who  have  not 
done  this,  have  been  deprived  of  one  of  those 
blessed  privileges  which  leave  a  holy  impress, 
like  the  footsteps  of  angels,  upon  the  spirit,  and 
appear  to  purify  the  whole  being. 

The  world  may  have  more  tumultuous  plea- 
sures to  offer,  more  voluptuous  joys  to  dispense  ; 
but  tlie  searing-iron  of  passion  and  of  vice  leaves 
a  darker  trace  behind,  and  one  which  no  after- 
tears  can  obliterate. 

Pity,  that  such  moments  of  peaceful  joy  are 
brief ;  and  that,  weakened  by  their  own  in- 
tensity, they  are  soon  compelled  to  give  place 
to  the  commoner  sensations  and  associations  of 
every  day  life.  Like  a  Sabbath  of  the  soul,  they 
do  but  repose,  and  cannot  replace,  the  less  ex- 
alted feelings  incident  to  human  existence  ;  and 
are  but  too  frequently  slighted  or  desecrated, 
until  their  purifying  influence  is  negatived  and 
disavowed. 

And  even  Gertrude  and  Ernest,  deeply  as 
they  had  felt  the  spell  of  that  quiet  joy,  awoke 
after  a  time  to  a  more  intimate  consciousness  of 
their  actual  position ;  and  once  more  the  mur- 
mured words  of  affection,  and  the  lightly-born 
sigh  of  happiness,  broke  upon  the  stillness  of 
the  apartment.  Gradually,  however,  the  tones 
grew' less  indistinct;  and  the  clear  laughter  of 
the  lover  rang  out  at  intervals,  as  some  joyous 
yision  floated  before  his  excited  fancy. 


Meanwhile  Gertrude  affected  to  be  busily  en- 
gaged in  collecting  and  sorting  the  wools  wliieh 
were  scattered  over  her  tapestry  frame,  a  task 
rendered  almost  impossible  by  the  partial  dark- 
ness ;  and,  as  she  was  thus  employed,  a  small 
morocco  souvenir,  clasped  with  gold,  fell  from 
the  basket  in  which  she  was  arranging  them,  at 
the  feet  of  her  companion  ;  who,  hastilj'  lifting 
it  from  the  floor,  laid  his  finger  upon  the  lock, 
and  was  about  to  open  it,  when  Gertrude  eager- 
ly stretched  out  her  hand,  exclaiming, — 

"  iso,  no;  you  must  not  unclasp  those  tablets, 
Ernest;  indeed  you  must  not !" 

"  What  1  another  secret,  Gertrude  ?" 

There  was  no  reply,  as  the  head  of  the  orphan 
was  averted  for  an  instant ;  but  ere  long  she  re- 
peated beseechingly, — 

"  If  you  love  me,  dear  Ernest,  do  not  open 
them.  You  will  laugh  at  me,  and  I  cannot  en- 
dure your  ridicule." 

"  Laugh  at  you,  Gertrude  !  why,  what  have 
you  been  doing?  Inditing  a  sonnet  to  the 
moon,  or  composing  an  elegy  to  a  dead  robin }" 

"  Now  you  are  too  absurd." 

"  Justify  yourself  by  authorizing  me  to  open 
the  tablets," 

"  Be  generous,  Ernest,  and  give  them  up." 

"  Excuse  me — I  covet  them.  You  have  never 
yet  made  me  a  present.     I  accept  these." 

"  Well,  then,  since  it  must  be  so,"  said  Ger- 
trude, half  laughing  and  half  annoyed  ;  "  you 
may  keep  them  ;  but  only  on  condition  that  you 
do  not  retain  the  contents." 

"  Agreed  !"  shouted  the  young  man,  as  he 
bounded  towards  the  fire-place  to  examine  hrs 
prize  ;  "  Why,  what  dry  twig  is  this  ?"  he  asked 
after  the  silence  of  a  moment,  as  he  drew  from 
between  two  folds  of  satin  a  bunch  of  withered 
leaves ;  "  And  is  this  the  treasure  that  I  am 
bound  to  restore  ?" 

"  It  is,  dear  Ernest,"  whispered  the  soft  low 
voice  of  Gertrude,  as  her  small  hand  was  pressed 
lightly  upon  his  shoulder  ;  "  and  to  me  it  is  in- 
deed a  treasure," 

"  And  what  is  it,  dearest?" 

"  Another  and  a  happier  record  of  the  past,' 
blushed  the  orphan,  as  her  lover  folded  his  arm 
about  her  waist,  and  drew  her  to  his  heart ; 
"  The  faded  cluster-rose  of  the  garden  pavilion." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

The  Mortimers  were  domesticated  at  Westrura, 
and  Mrs.  Delamere  established  in  her  favorite 
arm-chair,  as  she  was  wont  to  be  at  The  Grange; 
but  the  old  house  was  soon  subjected  to  a  meta- 
morphosis which  would  have  rendei-ed  it  irre- 
cognisable  to  its  former  owners.  The  first  care 
of  Mortimer,  on  his  return  to  England,  had  been 
to  desire  Sybil  to  select  from  among  the  hixuries 
in  her  former  home  all  those  which  she  waa 
desirous  to  retain  ;  and  this  done,  a  puijiic  au«- 
tion  desecrated  that  long  exclusive  abode.  The 
house  itself  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  an  agent 
for  sale ;  but,  with  intuitive  delicacy,  Frederic 
so  made  his  arrangements,  that  not  a  single 
suspicion  of  the  insolvency  of  its  late  proprie 


1S4 


THE   RIVAL.  BEAUTIES. 


tors  supplied  food  for  the  gossipry  of  the  noigli- 
borhootL 

Kotliiiig  could  be  more  natural  than  that  Mr. 
Mortimer  should  jjrefor  tlie  ancestorial  associa- 
tions of  his  own  birtli-plaee  to  the  mere  splen- 
dors of  a  strange  property,  unendeured  to  him 
by  any  familiar  memories;  and  consequently  no 
comments  were  made  upon  so  simple  a  fact 
and  while  these  changes  were  in  progress,  litll 
or  no  alteration  was  perceptible  in  the  mood  or 
manner  of  the  newly-married  man.  The  quiet 
unobtrusive  gratitude  of  Mrs.  Delamere,  wlio 
once  more  saw  herself  surrounded  by  her  accus 
tomed  lu.vuries,  and  left  to  their  enjoyment 
■without  one  misgiving  as  to  their  continuance 
revealed  itself  in  occasional  snatches  of  deep 
feeling  and  earnest  affection,  and  was  balm  to 
bis  wounded  spirit ;  but  the  excitement  conse- 
quent upon  those  domestic  arrangements  at  an 
end,  ft  gloom  gathered  upon  the  brow  of  Morti- 
mer, which  not  even  the  fascinations  of  his  beau- 
tiful Sybil  had  power  to  banish,  eveu  infatuated 
as  he  still  was  by  her  attractions. 

Their  homeward  journey,  commenced  under 
such  unpleasant  circumstances,  had  not  been 
productive  of  enjoyment  to  either  party.  A 
vtigue,  but  not  the  less  a  painful  suspicion,  had 
grown  upon  Frederic,  that  the  resolute  silence 
of  his  wife  upon  the  past  involved  some  secret 
which  she  was  unwilling  to  confide  to  him. 
And  if  this  were  indeed  the  fact,  of  what  nature 
was  the  mystery,  which,  as  it  now  seemed,  was 
to  remain  for  ever  untold  ? 

There  were  moments  of  bitterness,  in  which 
he  cursed  the  sensitiveness  of  his  nature,  which 
Imd  not  permitted  him  to  temporize  with  tiie 
impertinence  of  the  Sicilian  prince,  and  to  bear 
aiiytliing,  everj'thing,  until,  through  his  ni'^ans, 
he  had  made  himself  master  of  ail  he  had  to 
reve.ll ;  for  that  much  of  it  bore  closely  upon 
the  former  career  of  Sybil,  had  been  evident 
frotn  the  little  which  had  escaped  him  during 
tlieir  one  brief  interview.  He  might  liave  in- 
si.sted  upon  remaining  in  Rome,  and  have  culti- 
vated an  acquaintance  with  this  man  ;  he  might 
— but,  in  the  next  instant,  as  his  glance  fell  upon 
the  graceful  woman  beside  him,  he  almost  hated 
him.self  for  his  treacherous  regrets.  It  appear- 
ed impossible  that  so  fair  and  radiant  a  creature, 
whose   brow  and  eyes  were   full  of  that  proud 

f>lacidity  which  bespoke  a  nature  as  faultless  as 
H-r  person,  couhi  be  other  than  she  seemed. 
Why  sliould  he  tluis  torture  himself?  There 
might  be  nothing  to  learn — nothing  beyond 
those  idle  follies  so  common  in  tlie  world  in 
whieli  she  liad  been  reared,  as  to  be  almost  the 
general  habit  of  her  sex ;  and  her  haughty 
spirit,  s[)urning  at  his  suspicions,  miglit  merely 
be  revenging  itself  by  the  silence  wliich  he  de- 
precated. 

And  Frederic  struggled  to  believe  that  it  was 
BO  ;  and  once  more  he  lavished  upon  Sybil  all 
the  treasures  of  an  affection  as  deep  as  it  had 
been  reckless;  but  the  illusion  would  not  last — 
Again  and  again  his  doubts  and  Ids  mi.<givings 
recurred.  The  manner  of  Saviatti  had  made  a 
de<'per  impression  upon  his  reason  than  even  tlie 
words  whicli  he  hid  uttered ;  and  the  more  he 
dwelt  upon  it,  the  more  keenly  tho  reflection 
woundeu  his  dignity. 


That  his  wife  should  be  thus  lightly  addres*- 
!ed,  thus  superciliously  approaclied,  stung  him 
to  the  very  soul.  He  who  had  alwa^-s  associated 
the  idea  of  her  sex  with  a  respect  and  deferenc« 
almost  eliivalrous,  and  who  had  invested  Sybil, 
above  all,  with  the  sanctity  of  his  brightest  and 
holiest  aspirations,  could  not  brook  that  not 
only  the  woman  whom  lie  had  worshipped,  but 
even  the  wife  whom  he  had  won,  should,  with- 
out resenting  the  insult  on  the  instant,  have  sub- 
mitted to  the  degradation  of  so  unseemly  a 
display  of  sarcastic  insolence.  And  if  she  had 
indeed  done  this — and  that  it  was  so  he  was 
only  too  bitterly  conscious — could  it  be  that  slie 
would  visit  upon  himself  a  minor  injury,  and 
one,  too,  which  grew  out  of  the  sensitive 
jealousy  of  his  aflection  ?  Alas!  he  once  more 
felt  that  there  was  no  room  for  doubt ;  and  that 
harrowing  past  over  which  she  kept  such  strin- 
gent guard,  rose  up  before  him  like  a  spectre 
of  evil,  or  pressed  upon  his  spirit  like  an  incu- 
bus. 

Sybil,  too,  was  changed.  She  no  longer  re- 
turned his  affection  with  the  warmth  which  she 
had  once  shown  in  those  moments  of  returning 
confidence,  in  which,  for  a  brief  interval,  he  re- 
solutely silenced  his  misgivings,  and  strove  to 
fasten  his  thouglits  upon  the  present.  He  fell 
that  she  was  clianged,  and  that  she  rather  per- 
mitted the  demonstrations  of  his  tenderness  as 
a  natural  consequence  of  their  relative  position, 
than  welcomed  them  as  its  privilege.  Tlie 
most  futile  objects  sufticed  to  divert  her  atten- 
tion from  her  husband.  She  was  gradually 
creating  a  world  of  interest  and  sensation  about 
her,  from  which  he  was  morally  excluded.  Eveu 
the  pi'ospeet  of  becoming  a  mother  did  not  arouse 
her  from  the  rapidly  increasing  egotism  which 
betrayed  itself  in  every  action  of  her  life.  The 
necessity  for  exertion  had  ceased,  and  her  fas- 
cinations and  acquirements  were  no  longer  put 
forth  to  win  his  praise.  A  gulf  had  opened  be- 
tween them,  and  the  venerated  roof  of  his  an- 
cestors had  ceased  to  be  a  home  to  the  imbit- 
tercd  and  disappointed  Mortimer. 

It  was  consequently  with  less  mortification 
than  he  would  once  have  felt  that,  after  the 
residence  of  only  a  few  short  months  at  Westruiii , 
Frederic  heard  his  once  adored  Sybil  again  and 
again  recur  to  the  unpalatable  subject  of  his 
social  insignificance  ;  and  reproach  him  with  a 
supmeness  which  left  him  unknown  and  obscure, 
when,  by  a  slight  exertion  of  energy,  he  might 
be  battling  his  way  to  fortune,  and,  better  still, 
to  the  consideration  and  respect  of  his  fellow 
nen.  He  liad  no  longer  an  absorbing  passion 
tvith  which  to  counteract  the  dormant  spii-it  of 
ambition  she  strove   so  resolutel}'  to  awaken  ; 

d  he  listened  until  he  began  to  feel  that  she 
might  be  right;  and  that  he  had,  indeed,  hither- 
to mistaken  his  own  nature  when  he  believed 
that  he  was  unfitted  to  wrestle  with  the  world, 
and  to  grapple  his  way  to  greatness.  He  did 
not  comjirehend  that  it  was  the  mere  yearning 
of  an  unsatisfied  heart  for  something  to  which 
it  might  attach  itself;  for  some  new  and  power- 
ful interest  by  which  it  might  be  filled,  which 
so  misled  his  reason  ;  while  it  is  moreover  cer- 
tain that  it  recjuires  unusual  vigor  of  mind,  and 
decision  of  character,  to  enable  a  man  to  with- 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIE9. 


135 


I  stand  the  influence  of  the  -woman  whom  he  has 
once  passionately  loved,  and  who  has  heeoine 
the  partner  of  his  life.  Be  that  influence  exerted 
as  it  may,  either  openly  and  boldly,  or  quietly 
and  infereutially,  its  general  result  is  the  same. 
The  atfection  may  have  become  chilled,  the  trust 
may  have  grown  weaker,  but  the  moral  power 
remains  unshaken,  and  he  instinctively  imbibes 
some  portion  of  her  tastes,  her  habits,  and  her 
opinions. 

This  power,  regarded  in  its  responsibilitj',  is 
at  once  a  proud  and  a  fearful  one  for  women. 

Where  it  is  healthily  exerted,  it  may  be  pro- 
ductive of  an  immense  amount  of  good;  and 
that  it  has  been  so,  meekly  and  becomingly,  we 
have  many  bright  examples.  How  often  has 
tl>e  loving  energy  of  a  wife  sustained  the  droop- 
ing heart,  and  reanimated  the  chilled  hopes, 
which  no  other  voice  could  call  back  into  be- 
ing !  How  many  noble  actions  have  owed  their 
existence  to  the  pure  and  lofty  aspirations  of  a 
woman's  soul? 

How  many  evil  hands  have  been  stayed,  how 
many  base  intentions  have  been  smothered,  in 
compliance  with  her  warning  whisper?  But 
where  she  desecrates  this  mighty  influence,  and, 
forgetting  the  purity  and  holiness  of  her  mission, 
puts  forth  her  strength  only  for  evil,  then  is  her 

[)ower  indeed  fearful  and  her  responsibility 
ieavj\  Involuntarily  Mortimer  had  become 
subjected  to  this  common  law,  and  had  gradual- 
ly imbibed  the  prevailing  passion  of  his  wife. 
He  required  a  great  and  absorbing  interest  to 
replace  that  which  he  was  only  too  well  aware 
bad  already  ceased  to  exist.  He  felt  the  ne- 
cessity of  silencing  the  murmurs  of  a  disap- 
pointed heart  by  the  louder  and  sterner  tumult, 
of  worldly  struggle. 

One  violent  passion  can  rarely  be  conquered 
save  by  a  second  still  more  vehement ;  and  no 
sooner  did  Mortimer  find  some  moments  of  soli- 
tude— and  they  were  many,  for  already  had 
Sybil,  as  has  been  said,  surrounded  herself  by 
interests,  most  of  which  were  distinct  from  his 
own — than  he  began  to  believe  that  he  had  hith- 
ei'to  mistaken  the  path  to  happiness ;  that  it 
was  mere  idle  absurditj'  to  seek  it  under  his 
own  roof,  and  in  the  society  of  a  woman  who 
refused  to  repay  the  fervent  and  overwhelming 
affection  he  had  lavished  upon  her  by  the  confi- 
dence to  which,  as  her  husband,  and  the  com- 
panion of  her  future  life,  he  was  so  well  en- 
titled ;  and  that  the  home-liappiness,  of  which 
he  had  once  so  fondly  dreamt,  was  a  brilliant 
fallacy,  with  which  he  had  been  cheated,  like 
many  others,  and  from  whose  influence  it  be- 
hoved him  to  liberate  himself. 

This  was  precisely  the  state  of  feeling  to 
which  Sybil  had  been  anxious  to  lead  him ;  and 
as  she  detected  the  workings  of  his  mind,  she 
redoubled  all  her  eff'orts  to  coniplete  the  task 
which  she  had  so  skillfully  commenced.  She 
gradually  became  subdued,  and  almost  sad. 
The  air  of  Westrum,  and  the  monotony  of  their 
daily  existence,  depressed  her.  She  had  no 
faith  in  the  local  practitioners ;  and  her  situa- 
tion made  her  anxious  to  reside  for  a  time  in 
town,  where  she  could  procure  competent  ad- 
vice. 

Such  an  argument  was,  of  course,  unanswer- 


able, even  if  Mortimer  had  felt  inclined  to  op- 
pose her  project,  but  such  was  far  from  bfiiig 
the  case.  Like  herself,  he  had  begun  to  dis- 
I  cover  that  everything  was  dull  and  vapid  about 
I  him,  and  that,  as  regarded  his  estate,  his  stew- 
ard was  even  more  etheient  than  himself;  while 
jthe  prospect  of  becoming  a  father  held  out  to 
him  new  and  delicious  hopes,  to  which  he  was 
ready  to  make  far  greater  sacrifices'  than  a 
simple  change  of  residence.  It  is  true  that  he 
had  hoped  to  see  the  inheritor  of  his  fortune 
born  beneath  the  roof  of  his  forefathers,  as  he 
himself  had  been;  but  this  was  a  sctondury 
consideration,  which  could  not  for  a  moment  be 
placed  in  comparison  with  the  safety  of  the 
mother,  and  the  preservation  of  the  infant;  and 
Mrs.  Mortimer  had  consequently  no  sooner  ex- 
pressed her  wish  to  remove  to  London  than  im- 
mediate preparations  were  made  to  gratify  her 
inclinations. 

Satisfied  by  her  success,  Sybil  became  onc« 
more  almost  the  Sybil  who  had  beguiled  him  of 
his  better  reason.  She  spoke  of  his  worldly 
distinction  as  certain ;  flattered  his  self-esteem 
[by  enumerating  the  many  advantages  under 
which  he  would  commence  his  diplomatic  career; 
j  and  declared  herself  ready  to  make  any  person- 
jal  sacrifice  which  might  tend  to  his  advance- 
I  ment ;  and  once  more  Mortimer  was  beguiled. 

Within  a  fortnight  they  were  established  in  a 
first-rate  hotel,  having  left  the  supine  Mrs. 
Delamere  sole  mi.stress  at  Westrum  ;  and  as  the 
Loudon  season  had  not  yet  commenced  they  had 
ample  opportunity'  to  select  such  a  residence  as 
they  deemed  suitable.  Upon  this  point,  how- 
ever, considerable  difiiculty  was  experienced; 
the  views  of  the  husband  by  no  means  coincid- 
ing with  those  of  the  wife.  In  their  house  hunt 
— one  of  the  most  disagreeable  occupations,  par 
parenthese,  to  which  poor  human  beings  can  be 
subjected! — Mortimer  steadily  bore  in  mind  the 
amount  of  his  income,  while  Sybil  as  resolutely 
discarded  all  such  considerations. 

"  Were  we  about  to  reside  altogether  in  town," 
was  her  constant  argument,  "  or,  were  we  here 
merely  for  purposes  of  pleasure,  a  very  moder- 
ate establishment  might  suffice,  provided  alwayi 
that  the  situation  were  unexceptionable ;  but 
you  must  not  forget  that  you  have  an  import- 
ant purpose  in  view,  and  that  an  ostentatious 
display  of  economy  will  by  no  means  advance 
your  interests.  The  world  worships  wealth  : 
there  is  an  occult  magic  in  riches  which  oper- 
ates even  upon  the  proudest  and  best  principled 
natures.  I  never  hear  a  would-be  philosopher 
affect  to  deprecate  the  man  of  money,  Avitliout 
feeling  a  sneer  at  his  Mant  of  candor  pass  over 
my  heart,  although  I  may  banish  it  from  my 
lips.  No,  no ;  trust  me,  Frederic,  all  such  &(r- 
servation  is  false  and  hollow  ;  for  do  we  not, 
every  day  of  our  lives  see  the  affluent  courted 
and  flattered,  even  by  those  who  neither  re- 
quire nor  hope  to  be  profited  hy  the  wealth 
they  worship  ?  Gold  is  the  religion  of  the 
world.  There  is  no  shrine  so  thronged  with 
devotees.  In  every  other  creed  tliere  are 
schisms;  but  Mammon  knows  no  divisions 
among  his  votaries.  Keep  a  close  hand,  and 
the  good  qualities  which  you  may  possess  wiU 
be  hidden  with   vour  wealth  ;    but  spread  it 


13S 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


abroad  before  the  eyes  of  the  crowd,  and  they 
will  at  once  give  you  credit  for  every  other 
virtue.  When  j-ou  have  accomplished  your 
purpose,  you  will  have  time  enough  to  retrench; 
and,  meanwhile,  believe  me,  the  more  j'ou  can 
persuade  others  that  the  very  object  of  your 
ambition  is  the  mere  caprice  of  a  man  weary  of 
the  total  idleness  of  affluence,  the  more  readily 
you  will  find  friends  to  push  your  fortunes. 
One  mistake  at  such  a  moment  as  this  may  be 
fatal  to  j-our  prospects;  and  you  are  about 
wilfully  to  commit  the  most  serious  error  into 
which  "you  could  possibly  be  betrayed." 

What  marvel  tliat  Mortimer  ultimately  suf- 
fered himself  to  be  subjugated  by  these  specious 
sophistries  ? — That  an  elegant  residence  was  se- 
cured in  one  of  the  most  fajjhionable  squares ; 
that  a  splendid  establishment  was  formed  ;  and 
that  the  equipages,  jewels,  and  opera-box  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer,  were  upon  a  consistent  scale — 
That  the  Morning  Post  duly  informed  its  readers 
of  all  the  movements  of  the  family  ;  thatTatter- 
6all  rejoiced  in  the  patronage  of  Mr.  Mortimer; 
and  that  he  was,  through  the  good  offices  of 
half-a-dozen  of  his  former  friends,  who  hastened 
to  welcome  him  to  town,  in  a  very  short  space 
of  time  ballotted  into  two  of  the  leading  clubs? 

Heart-sick  and  homeless — for  all  was  glare 
and  representation  in  tlie  mansion  of  which  he 
had  become  the  temporary  master — Mortimer 
soon  discovered  innumerable  attractions  in  the 
almost  bachelor  life  to  which  he  was  thus  resto- 
red ;  while  Sybil,  on  her  side,  saw  with  grati- 
tied  vanity  and  ill-concealed  triumph,  that  she 
was  instant!}-  recognised  by  half  a  score  of  her 
former  acquaintance,  who  were  only  too  happy 
to  renew  what  they  were  pleased  to  consider  as 
an  old  friendship,  as  they  caracolled  beside  her 
carriage  in  the  ring,  or  partook  of  the  elegant 
hospitality  of  her  husband.  Thus,  for  a  time, 
all  went  smoothly  ;  and  as  the  period  drew  near 
at  which  Mrs.  Mortimer  anticipated  the  birth  of 
her  child,  and  that  she  was  comparatively  un- 
able to  plunge  into  the  vortex  of  dissipation  by 
which  slie  was  surrounded,  Mortimer  found  his 
expenditure,  although  serious,  j-et  still  defined 
and  regular;  and  amid  the  pressure  of  amuse- 
ment without,  he  ere  long  forgot  his  anxiety 
upon  the  subject. 

Not  even  the  habits  of  dissipation  which  he 
was  rapidly  acquiring  sufficed,  however,  to 
deaden  him  to  the  delight  of  being  a  father;] 
and  when  at  length  his  lieautiful  Sybil  placed  in 
his  arms  her  lovely  little  girl,  he  felt  all  the 
better  feelings  of  his  nature  swelling  forth 
again,  and  made  a  thousand  prudent  resolutions 
for  the  future.  But  alas  for  Frederic  !  constitu- 
tionably  unstable,  he  was  now,  moreover,  under 
tlie  influence  of  a  firmer  spirit  than  his  own,  and 
his  wife  had  formed  far  different  projects.  ! 
Debarred  for  a  few  weeks  from  those  dissipated  I 
and  exciting  pleasures  which  had  been  the  busi- 
ness of  her  youth,  and  had  become  to  her  vain 
and  ambitious  nature  almost  a  neeessitj-,  she  had,  I 
in  her  temporary  retirement,  only  grown  more 
than  ever  anxious  to  compensate  to  herself  for  I 
the  time  that  she  had  lost;  and  accordingly  she 
listened  with  a  quiet  smile  to  the  sententious  j 
orat  ions  of  her  husband  ;  yawned  as  seldom  as  ' 
possible;  and  satisfied  herself  by  pursuing  her  i 


own  course  as  resolutely  as  though  they  had 
never  been  uttered. 

Yet,  skilful  tactitian  as  she  was,  Sybil  had 
nevertheless  the  mortification  to  perceive  that  i 
her  train  was  composed  only  of  such  of  lier  foiv  i 
mer  friends  as  still  remained  unmarried  ;  and 
that  it  was  rarely  a  female  guest  graced  her 
splendid  home.  In  vain  did  she  hint  to  the 
danglers  who  pressed  about  her  that  she  should 
gladly  welcome  their  sisters,  their  mothers,  or 
their  aunts.  The  answer  was  always  readjfc 
One  would  immediately  have  presented  Maria, 
but  she  moved  in  a  set  of  her  own,  and  would 
feel  herself  perfectly  dfsorientee  if  she  were  to 
venture  beyond  it ;  another  would  at  once  havo 
brought  his  mother  to  pay  her  respects  to  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  but  really  Lady  Elizabeth  was  such  a 
"  quiz,"  so  prim,  so  pious,  and  so  straightlaced, 
that  he  had  not  courage  to  subject  her  to  such 
an  ordeal ;  for,  after  all,  she  was  his  mother,  and 
he  did  not  wish  to  peril  his  own  popularity  with 
his  charming  friend  by  inflicting  such  a  penance 
upon  her — It  would  be  like  intruding  a  gnome 
into  the  paradise  of  a  peri — An  actual  kill-joy, 
to  which  he  would  not  be  accessory  for  the 
world  ;  while  a  third  hinted  the  coquettish  pro- 
pensities of  his  widowed  aunt,  from  whom  he 
had  certain  expectations,  and  who  would  never 
forgive  him  were  he  to  place  her  in  a  position 
so  inimical  to  her  vanity.  And  thus,  each  ex- 
cused himself  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world 
«s  regarded  his  female  relatives,  although  all 
were  alike  devoted  to  the  charms  of  their  host- 
ess, and  the  good  cheer  of  their  host ;  whom 
they  amused  in  his  turn  bj- assurances  of  their 
best  efforts  to  second  his  diplomatic  views,  and 
professions  of  intimacy  with  ministers,  secreta- 
ries of  state,  and  influential  individuals  of  all 
parties. 

And  Frederic,  despite  his  new  found  happi- 
ness and  recent  resolves,  listened  and  persuaded 
himself  to  have  faith  in  all  this  table-talk,  for  ho 
had  already  acquired  habits  of  selfish  indulg- 
ence which  warred  against  his  better  principles, 
and  which  he  was  too  supine  to  resist ;  while, 
as  day  after  day,  and  opportunity  after  oppor- 
tunity, passed  over  unimproved,  he  adopted  the 
idea  that  the  fortunate  moment  had  not  yd  ar- 
rived, but  that  come  it  must;  and  therefore, 
laj)ped  in  luxuiy,  and  gradually  suffering  im- 
providence to  sap  the  very  foundations  of  that 
independence  which  was  his  birth-right,  and 
upon  which  he  had  hitherto  prided  himself — he 
waited. 

Nor  did  one  reproach,  or  even  one  expostula- 
tion from  Sybil,  cause  him  to  pause  for  an  instant 
in  his  career  of  pleasure.  She  had  no  sooner 
innoculated  him  with  a  desire  of  8elf-aggrandiz&- 
ment  than  she  appeared  suddenly  to  have  lost 
all  such  ambition  in  her  own  person.  The 
measure  of  her  secret  aspirations  was  now  full 
even  to  overflowing;  and  she  had  no  longer 
leisure  to  speculate  upon  the  probabilities  of 
her  husband's  destiny ;  her  own  was  amply 
fulfilled  ;  and  they  had  ceased  to  have  an  inter- 
est in  common. 

Gradually  she  saw  a  few  of  the  most  fashion- 
able women  in  town  gather  about  her  ;  Avomen 
of  wealth  and  rank,  who  possessed  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  life,  save  indeed  perhaps,  an  unsul. 


THE  RIVAL  BEiiUTIES. 


137 


lied  reputation,  and  she  found  it  easy,  even 
amid  lier  pride,  to  discredit  the  rumors  which, 
from  time  to  time,  were  intruded  upon  her  ou 
this  subject. 

"  The  world  was  so  censorious,"  she  declared 
with  a  frown  of  virtuous  indignation  ;  "  There 
was  so  much  party-spirit  in  English  society  ;  so 
many  petty  jealousies,  and  idle  slanders,  ever 
readV  to  destroy  the  best  and  the  brightest,  that 
she  would  never  believe  that  Lady  Clara  Flush- 
ing had  been  divorced  from  her  "lord  from  any 
cause  more  grave  than  an  incompatibility  of 
temper,  in  which  he  was  doubtlessly  as  much  to 
blame  as  herself;  nor  that  Mrs.  Babington  had 
been  forbidden  to  appear  at  court  for  any  other 
reason  than  that  the  politics  of  her  husband 
were  unpalatable  to  the  Roj-alties. 

In  the  case  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  it  might  indeed 
truly  be  said,  that  charity  had,  in  this  instance, 
covered  a  multitude  of  sins;  but  meanwhile. 
Lady  Clara,  Mrs.  Babington,  e  tutti  ^uanti,  were 
all  handsome,  highbred  and  accomplished  women 
■who  gave  a  new  grace  to  her  drawing-room,  and 
attracted  about  her  all  that  was  most  distin- 
guished of  the  other  sex. 

Constantly  in  a  crowd,  absorbed  in  perpetual 
dissipation,  and  more  beautiful  than  ever,  Sybil 
was  as  independent  of  her  husband's  affection  as 
he  was  rapidly  becoming  of  her  own,  and  as  she 
always  met  him  with  a  smile  whenever  the  acci- 
dents of  a  London  life  threw  them  together,  that 
she  was  always  well-dressed,  did  honor  to  his 
taste,  and  sedulously  supported  his  consequence 
in  society,  he  began  to  believe  that,  after  all,  he 
had  perhaps  no  right  to  expect  more,  and  that 
his  former  dreams  of  home-happiness  and  do- 
mestic bliss  were  a  mere  idle  chmiera. 

Did  he  ever  remember  Gertrude  ?  Who  can 
doubt  that,  even  amid  the  mad  career  which  he 
Tiras  now  pursuing,  there  were  still  moments 
when  a  terror  of  the  future  curdled  at  his  heart, 
and  when  all  would  have  been  dark  and  murky, 
had  not  one  faint  and  far-off  memory,  like  the 
•olitary  star  which  occasionally  pierces  through 
the  vapor  of  the  blackest  night,  gleamed  upon 
the  horizon  of  his  heart,  and  rested  there  ?  Yes, 
guilty  as  he  was  towards  Gertrude — not  because 
he  had  not  loved  her,  for  in  that  respect,  at 
least,  he  had  been  powerless;  but  by  his  cold 
neglect  and  selfish  forgetfulness ;  by  the  indolent 
self-indulgence  which  had  induced  him  froni  day 
to  day  to  defer  those  gentle  courtesies  of  affec- 
tion and  kindliness  which  were  due  alike  to  her 
meek  attachment  and  her  orphan  state,  until  he 
kad,  at  length,  felt  that  he  no  longer  possessed 
a  right  to  recall  himself  to  her  remembrance,  nor 
to  tender  a  helping-hand  to  her  necessities — 
guilty  as  he  felt  towards  her,  still  her  image 
never  crossed  his  mind  that  it  did  not  for  a  mo- 
ment appear  to  purify  and  chasten  his  whole 
nature.  And  if  there  were  times  when,  as  he 
contemplated  his  loveless  home  and  blighted 
hopes,  something  like  a  regret  glanced  across  his 
perturbed  spirit,  who  shall  wonder?  But  he 
soon  hastened  to  banish  feelings  and  thoughts 
lik«  these.  His  lot  was  cast — his  destiny  was 
accomplished — and  it  was  idle  to  look  back. 
On — on — his  course  must  now  be  onward.  His 
whole  future,  his  whole  fortune,  his  wliole  exis- 
terce,  hinged  upon  one  wild  hope.    True,  it  had 


hitherto  eluded  him,  but  Sybil  had  declared 
that  he  need  only  '  bide  his  time '  to  see  it  re- 
alized, and  this  assurance  had  been  echoed  by 
the  boon  companions  who  sat  beside  his  board, 
and  were  the  partners  of  his  pleasures. 

And  thus  time  wore  on,  until  the  season  drew 
near  its  close,  and  the  languor  of  exhaustion 
began  to  replace  the  mad  excitement  which  had 
for  the  last  few  months  characterised  the 
leviathan  city.  Royalty  had  withdrawn  to  the 
stately  towers  and  terraces  of  Windsor;  the 
strawberry  leaves  were  transferred  from  town 
mansions  to  lordly  halls  and  hereditary  castles ; 
men  of  fashion  forsook  their  clubs,  and  women 
of  ton  ceased  their  cabals.  The  seething  cauld- 
ron of  high-life,  which  had  so  long  bubbled  even 
to  the  brim,  emptied  itself  to  the  very  dregs, 
and  Loudon  was  no  longer  habitable,  save  for 
those  obscure  and  unimportant  individuals  who 
are  compelled  by  their  necessities  to  remain 
chained  to  the  wheels  of  the  vast  machine,  and 
to  labor  at  its  preservation,  lest  the  pulsations 
of  its  mighty  heart  should  cease  to  beat,  and 
thus  the  pleasures  and  luxuries  of  the  great 
should  suffer  at  a  future  day. 

In  one  word,  London  was  empty.  Sullen 
employes  compelled  by  the  absence  of  their 
prmcipals  to  mend  pens  and  read  the  daily 
journals  in  dingy  offices  ;  men  of  letters,  unable 
to  travel  further  from  the  head-quarters  of 
reference  and  research  than  to  Brixton  or 
Wandsworth  ;  Guards  men,  sulkily  sauntering 
up  St.  James's  street  to  the  hollow  echoes  of 
their  own  footsteps,  and  counting  the  panes  of 
glass  in  the  well-known  windows,  where  in 
gayer  hours  they  only  numbered  familiar  faces; 
novelists,  closely  immured  in  their  modest 
lodgings,  -weaving,  with  wearied  brain  and 
aching  head,  now  fictions  to  amuse  the  idleness 
of  those  who  are  to  pay  back  gold  for  health, 
and  strength,  and  time  ;  the  would-be  fashiouist 
of  slender  means  and  questionable  pretensions, 
who,  after  aping — as  the  sign  painter  apes  thff 
artist — for  a  brief  season  the  follies  of  the  great," 
closes  his  doors,  not  to  escape  the  heat  and 
dust  of  the  summer  streets,  but  to  i-etrench, 
and  to  prepare  for  a  fresh  season  of  awkward 
imitation  and  uneasy  display  ;  the  modest 
household  to  whom  the  advent  and  exodus 
of  the  great  caravan  of  idleness  are  alike  xin- 
important;  the  careful  trader,  jealous  of  every 
instant  which  may  turn  to  future  profit,  and 
the  vigorous  artisan,  to  whom  all  seasons  are 
alike,  so  that  they  bring  him  daily  toil  and 
daily  bread  ; — by  such  as  these  alone  were  now 
peopled  square,  and  street,  and  place,  in  the 
vast  city,  which  was  thus,  for  a  while  blotted 
out  from  the  highly-colored  map  of  the  civilized 
earth. 

In  short,  as  we  have  already  said  London  was 
empty ;  and  had  a  second  great  fire,  like  that 
of  166(5,  supervened,  not  a^ingle  public  journal 
I  would  have  found  cause  to  enclose  its  closely- 
]  printed  columns  with  a  sable  margin  ;  for  th» 
1  disaster  would  have  occurred  when  there  waa 
1  "  nobody  in  town." 

The  Mortimers,  as  a  matter  of  course,  fol- 
I  lowed  the  example  of  their  associates,  and 
I  retreated  from  London  to  the  country  ;  but, 
1  unlike  most   of  them,  Frederic  would  not  con. 


188 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


Bent  to  increase  tte  revenues  of  the  Post  Office 
by  subjecting  himself  to  the  importunate  "  re- 
minders" of  a  host  of  creditors,  and  accordingly 
satisfied  every  claim  which  could  be  made 
upon  him,  before  he  would  consent  to  return 
to  Westrum.  The  amount  of  his  responsibili- 
ties, as  a  natural  consequence  of  the  life  which 
he  had  been  leading,  more  than  doubled  its  an- 
ticipated extent 

We  are  so  apt  to  forget  the  by-gone  super- 
fluities which  we  regarded  as  necessities  when 
we  indulged  in  them,  but  which,  like  the 
magical  blue  fishes  in  Vathek,  find  a  tongue 
when  conjured  by  the  potent  wand  of  the 
better-memoried  creditor,  that  the  very  wisest 
of  us  are  apt  to  be  bewildered  at  times  in  our 
arithmetic;  no  marvel,  therefore,  that  Jlortimer 
was  fearfully  startled  hy  his  own  defective 
calculation.  But  he  had  little  time  either  to 
regret  or  to  resolve,  for  although  Sj'bil  could 
no  longer  remain  in  London,  she  had  at  least 
arranged  to  transfer  her  own  immediate  frac- 
tion of  London  to  the  obscure  retirement  of 
Westrum,  and  as  the  infant  and  its  nurse  had 
been  sent  forward,  as  well  as  half-a-dozen  ser- 
vants, to  prepare  the  house  for  the  reception 
of  the  expected  guests  ;  and  that,  moreover. 
Lady  Clara  was  too  timid  to  travel  so  far  alone, 
and  consequently  accompanied  her  dear  friend, 
Mrs.  Mortimer,  in  her  own  chariot,  while  the 
master  of  Westrum  made  his  way  back  to  his 
ancestral  home  by  the  mail,  attended  by  his 
confidential  servant ;  he  had  neither  leisure 
nor  opportunity  to  impress  upon  Sybil  the  vital 
importance  of  retrenchment. 


CHAPTER  XXXTX. 

SrBiL  did  the  honors  of  her  house  to  perfec- 
tion, and  although  such  a  crowd  of  fashionables 
had  never  since  its  erection  been  collected  be- 
neath that  roof,  every  one  was  soon  perfectly 
at  home  except  its  master.  The  summer  was 
brilliant,  and  the  grounds,  thanks  to  the  pro- 
visions of  their  mistress,  were  in  full  beauty, 
^ot  one  natural  facility  had  remained  unim- 
proved, and  as  the  gardener  had  been  trans- 
ferred from  The  Grange,  and  the  less  skilful 
functionary  who  had  grown  grev  in  the  family, 
had  been  compelled  to  cede  his  place  to  tliis 
more  scientific  florist,  marvels  had  been  wrought ! 
which  astonished,  even  if  they  did  not  alto- 1 
gether  gratify  her  husband. 

Is'or  was  the  change  within  the  mansion  less 
striking  than  that  without;  but  although 
even  the  beloved  library  in  which  Mortimer 
had  been  accustomed  to  spend  so  great  a  por- 
tion of  his  time  in  studious  and  delightful  ! 
eolitude,  was  invaded  at  all  hours,  he  felt  the  j 
futility  of  remonstraace,  and  was  compelled  to  : 
console  himself  by  the  reflection  that  at  least ' 
its  most  c'lerishecl  treasures  were  sufi^ered  to  { 
remained    unilistTirbe<l,   and     that    it    was    in 

auest  only  of  the  ephemeral  productions  of 
je  day,  that  the  idlers,  who  now  thronged 
h>s  saloons,  so  continually  broke  in  upon  him 
with  those  vapid  demi-apologies,  which  are 
rather  an  impertinence  than  a  courtesy.  ) 


And,  moreover,  one  source  of  happiness  wfji 
still  open  to  him,  in  whose  pure  enjoyment 
none  sought  to  interfere  ;  and  that  one  was  th« 
presence  and  the  affection  of  his  child,  who 
already  received  him  with  eager  cries  of  joy 
and  outstretched  arms,  whenever  he  approach- 
ed the  remote  nursery  to  which  she  had  been 
consigned,  lest  her  baby-griefs  should  oc- 
casionally prove  too  audible  for  high-bred 
nerves. 

And  what  a  treasure  was  that  infant  girl 
to  Mortimer  1  Her  smiles  were  the  Lethe  in 
which  he  plunged  all  his  bitter  memories, 
and  for  a  while  forgot  them.  As  her  dimpled 
arms  wound  themselves  about  his  neck,  and 
her  soft  and  peachy  cheek  rested  upon  his 
own,  he  for  an  instant  believed  himself  to  be 
happy.  For  hours  would  he  wander  about 
the  grounds,  with  the  delighted  child  and  her 
attendant  nurse,  watching  with  anxious  joy  all 
those  mysterious  dawnings  of  intellect  which 
are  perceptible  only  to  the  eye  of  a  parent, 
and  endeavoring  to  strengthen  the  still  un- 
conscious affection  which  she  betrayed  towards 
him. 

And  he  was  enabled  to  do  this  freely,  and 
almost  without  comment,  for  the  brilliant  circle 
of  his  wife  were  for  the  most  part  alike  care- 
less and  regardless  of  his  movements  ;  while 
Sybil  herself,  who  was  provided  with  an  ad- 
mirable souffre-doulcur  in  the  person  of  her 
mother,  was  quite  as  willing  as  her  guests  to 
dispense  with  the  presence  of  her  husband. 

All  Westrum  was  in  amazement.  The  main 
street  of  the  little  town  was  alive  with  equip 
ages  and  horsemen.  Provident  milliners  secur- 
ed the  "  last  London  "  fashions  from  the  transient 
glimpses  which  they  obtained  of  the  fashionable 
dames  as  they  were  whirled  along;  the  breath- 
less post  master  was  no  longer  the  emporium  of 
news  and  gossip,  for  the  duties  of  his  office  oc- 
cupied everj-  hour  of  his  time ;  the  stalwart  car- 
rier, who  had  long,  from  prudential  motives,  re- 
mained a  bachelor,  hastened  to  claim  his  pro- 
mised bride  on  the  strength  of  his  influx  of 
business ;  and  emulous  shopkeepers  ventured  on 
luxurious  innovations  hitherto  unattempted. 

Nor,  while  such  was  the  sensation  produo. 
among  the  traders,  did  the  gentry  of  WestruM 
remain  uninterested  spectators  of  the  progress 
of  events  at  the  great  house.  All  such  as  from 
local  position  and  old  custom  were  privileged  to 
pay  their  respects  there,  hastened  to  enforca 
that  privilege,  and  even  Mortimer  himself  was 
satisfied  with  the  courtesy  of  their  reception. 
The  smile  of  Sybil  was  as  winning,  her  words  as 
bland,  to  the  prosy  rector,  and  the  sententious 
physician,  as  to  those  of  her  own  set.  He,  in 
the  honesty  of  his  nature,  did  not  understand 
the  necessity,  of  which  his  wife  was  fully  con- 
scious, of  conciliating  all  the  visitable  population 
of  the  neighborhood,  in  order  to  render  them 
available  whenever  it  might  be  expedient.  He 
forgot  that  the  court-cards  are  at  times  useless 
without  the  remainder  of  the  pack,  and  that  it 
is  by  shuffling  them  together  that  the  just  value 
of  each  is  elicited  in  the  great  game  of  life  ;  but 
the  more  far-sighted  Sybil  did  not  suflFer  so  ob- 
vious a  fact  to  escape  her. 

While  Lady  Clara  could   criticize  alike   the 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


7»$ 


cap  and  the  courtesy  of  worthy  Mrs.  Collins,  she 
could  afford  to  spare  her  own  friends;  nor  was 
it  less  desirable  to  veil,  by  a  drapery  of  niusliu 
petticoats,    the    occasional    tete-d-tete    in    which 

Sretty  little    Mrs.  Babington    delighted,  to   in- 
ulge  on  a  particular  settee  behind  the  grand 
piano. 

\  Let  it  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the 
i  honor  of  visiting  at  the  great  liouse  was  gra- 
tuitously purchased,  for  such  was  far  from  being 
the  case.  During  the  lifetime  of  its  former 
gentle  and  unpretending  mistress,  no  moral  dais 
had  been  raised ;  no  one  was  compelled  to  feel 
that  he  or  she  must  take  their  places  below  the 
salt ;  but  under  the  reign  of  Sybil  all  was  chang- 
ed. It  was  doubtlessly  pleasant  enough  for  the 
physician's  comely  wife,  and  the  rector's  good- 
natured  daughters,  to  comment  on  the  morrow 
to  their  admiring  and  jealous  friends  upon  the 
courtly  society  with  which  they  had  so  lately 
mingled,  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  certain  that  all 
of  tliem  were  aware  how  little  they  had,  in  point 
of  fact,  formed  an  integral  portion  of  the  brilliant 
circle  to  which  they  had  been  admitted,  and 
where  they  had  rather  been  grouped  in  order  to 
enhance  the  graces  of  the  principal  personages 
upon  the  stage,  as  the  coryphees  of  the  opera 
form  a  living  back-ground  to  the  Taglionis  and 
the  Ceritos ;  and  to  fill  up  the  occasional  pauses 
of  weariness  which  necessarily  ensue  in  all 
struggles  of  display,  than  received  upon  equal 
terras.  Who  could  venture  a  second  tim«  to 
address  a  peer's  daughter,  who  vouchsafed  no 
reply  bej'ond  a  look  of  wonder  at  the  presump- 
tion ;  or  to  tender  any  courtesy  to  a  coquette 
wliose  soul  was  in  her  flounces  ? 

And  yet  the  worthy  people  bore  all  this,  and 
returned  again  and  again,   and  affected  not  to 

Eerceive  that  they  were  merely  the  pawns  upon 
[rs.  Mortimer's  chess-board,  in  order  that  they 
might  revenge  their  own  mortification  upon  the 
dear  friends  against  whom  the  portal  of  this 
earthly  paradise  was  closed. 

Those  among  my  readers  who  have  never 
done  the  like,  can  afford  to  laugh  at  their  infatu- 
ation ;  but  some  there  will  be  who  cannot  claim 
the  privilege  of  mirth  upon  such  a  subject,  for 
this  species  of  moral  meanness  is  not  confined  to 
"Westrum  ;  and  which  among  us  does  not  find 
some  familiar  name  trembling  upon  his  tongue, 
which  would  prove  the  degrading  fact? 

Among  the  guests  of  Sybil  was  a  certain  Mrs. 
Lamerly,  who  was,  for  some  unexplained,  and  it 
might  be  inexplicable,  reason,  more  obnoxious 
to  Mortimer  than  any  other  of  his  lady-visitors. 
Assuredly  it  was  not  from  wounded  vanity  that 
he  disliked  her ;  for,  if  any  of  the  guests  occa- 
eionally  condescended  to  remember  that  Wes- 
trum  House  had  a  master,  it  was  pretty,  lan- 
giushing  Mrs.  Lamerly,  who  by  some  accident 
had  more  than  once  encountered  him  in  his' 
•walks,  and  even  caressed  his  child.  Mrs.  Lamer- 
ly— as  she  assured  him  with  a  sigh,  and  a  down- 
dropping  of  the  lids  which  veiled  a  pair  of  large 
and  lustrous  blue  eyes  as  dark  as  amethysts — 
doated  upon  children,  and  had  it  pleased  provi- 
dence to  make  her  a  mother,  she  was  afraid  that 
Bhe  should  have  suffered  that  one  affection  to 
absorb  her  whole  existence.  What  could  be  so ! 
pure,  so  beautiful,  so  holy,  as  tlie  tie  which 


linked  a  mother  to  her  child  ?  Did  not  Mr.  Mor- 
timer agree  with  her  tliat  all  other  tenderness 
was  poor  and  puerile  in  comparison?  Truly 
did  he  in  his  very  heart  of  hearts  ;  although  he 
only  smiled  vacantly  in  reply,  as  he  drew  his 
laughing  girl  closer  to  his  bosom. 

Mrs.  Lamerly  had,  indeed,  touched  the  right 
chord,  but  she  had  done  it  unskilfully,  and  it 
only  jarred  where  it  should  have  soothed.  Mor- 
timer disliked  this  woman.  She  had  been  one 
of  the  early  friends  of  Sybil,  and  one  of  the 
most  eager  to  renew  their  acquaintance.  She 
had  eloped  when  very  young  with  the  dissipated 
scion  of  a  noble  house,  whom  his  friends,  weary 
of  perpetually  repairing  the  effects  of  his  im-, 
providence,  at  length  sent  into  honorable  exile 
as  attache  at  one  of  the  petty  German  courts, 
where  he  was  ultimately  interred  with  all  honor, 
leaving  his  young  and  pretty  Avidow  penniless. 
He  had,  indeed,  made  an  appeal  to  his  family  ia 
her  behalf  a  short  time  before  his  death,  but  it 
had  been  made  in  vain,  none  knew  wherefore  ; 
while  it  was  not  the  less  certain  that  the  lady 
continued  for  a  couple  of  years  to  inhabit  the 
same  city,  frequent  the  same  court,  and  main- 
tain the  same  appearance,  by  some  occult  faculty 
known  only  to  herself 

At  length,  however,  the  maladie  du  pays  de- 
clared itself,  and  she  returned  to  England  fol- 
lowed by  the  regrets  of  the  Margrave,  and  the 
compliments  of  the  whole  court  circle  ;  as  lan- 
guid and  as  languishing  as  ever,  with  a  comfort- 
able although  somewhat  mysterious  income,  and 
a  magnificent  diamond  bracelet. 

We  have  said  that  Mortimer  greatly  disliked 
the  diplomatist's  widow — Could  it  be  prescience^? 
He  never  asked  himself  the  question :  he  only 
felt  that  even  her  blandishments  were  distaste- 
ful to  him.  And  yet  Mrs.  Lamerly  was  a  general 
favorite  in  her  set ;  she  simpered  out  her  inani- 
ties with  such  a  low  sweet  drawl ;  she  told 
such  piquant  stories  of  Herr  Graff  Such  an  one, 
and  the  Grafine  So  and  so,  without  appearing 
to  be  at  all  aware  of  the  somewhat  startling 
point  of  her  own  anecdotes  ;  sRe  sang  such  deli- 
ciously  wild  and  guttural  Sclavonic  ballads 
almost  with  a  lisp  ;  she  was  so  original,  so  odd, 
and  so  entertaining,  and  she  had  such  fine 
eyes,  that  it  would  have  been  matter  of  wonder 
that  she  still  remained  Mrs.  Lamerly,  had  she 
not  lingered  so  long  at  that  petty  German 
court. 

But  if,  even  for  Sybil,  there  was  still  a  mys- 
tery attached  to  her  friend,  it  was  by  no  means 
reciprocal  as  regarded  herself;  for  the  simple, 
smiling,  and  apparently  unsuspicious  little 
idow  was  well  aware  of  every  incident  in  the 
career  of  her  brilliant  hostess,  and  as  she  looked 
around  her,  and  contrasted  the  opulence  by 
which  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  surrounded  with  her 
own  comparatively  confined  resources,  and  then, 
with  her  usual  well-concealed  shrewdness,  dis- 
covered the  vaccination  of  her  husband's  charac- 
ter, she  began  to  ask  herself  how  long  such  a 
discrepancy  need  exist,  were  he  to  be  exposed 
to  fascinations  of  a  different  desci-iption,  and 
that  she  were  to  exert  her  own  peculiar  powers 
of  pleasing. 

There  was  something  very  agreeable  to  her 
vanity  in  such  a  speculation,  and  although,  in  ^ 


140 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


the  first  instance,  it  had  been  a  mere  idle  fancy, 
the  offspring  of  indolence  and  an  inordinate 
love  of  luxury,  the  thought  recurred  again  and 
again,  until  it  piqued  her  self-esteem  into  a 
desire  to  prove  whether,  indeed,  her  foreign 
graces  could  not  accomplish  such  a  revolution. 
She  had  no  fear  of  robbing  Mortimer  of  the 
heart  of  Sybil,  for  she  had  read  that  heart  to  its 
very  core,' and  she  knew  the  "  perilous  stuff"  of 
■which  it  was  composed;  while,  as  regarded 
Frederic  himself,  slie  had  not  been  a  week  be- 
neath his  roof  before  she  discovered  that  all  his 
affection  was  now  centered  in  his  child,  and 
that  Ills  pivssion  for  his  wife  was  rapidly  degen- 
erating into  tlie  most  encouraging  indifference. 

Mrs.  Lainerly  was  a  coquette  by  nature,  and 
consequently  she  did  not  pause  to  ask  herself 
what  might  be  the  actual  result  of  her  machina- 
tions to  either  party ;  neither  were  her  princi- 
ples of  that  rigid  order  which  would  have 
taught  her  to  pause  upon  the  threshold  of  so 
base  a  treachery  as  that  which  she  Avas  thus  coolly 
meditating  ;  she  only  remembered  that  she  was 
weary  of  inaction ;  that  after  having  for  a  time 
seen  herself  an  object  of  exclusive  adoration, 
she  had  since  degenerated  into  a  mere  unit  in 
the  great  sum  total  of  society.  She  only  re- 
marked that  Mortimer  was  by  many  degrees 
tlie  handsomest  man  in  their  set,  and  never 
doubting  that  she  could  also  render  him  the 
most  agreeable,  she  determined  at  any  rate  to 
try  her  strength,  if  it  were  only  pour  passer  le 
temps ;  and  therefore  it  was  that  she  contrived 
to  waylay  him  in  his  walks,  and  that  she  con- 
ceived so  flattering  an  affection  for  his  child. 

All  this  is  very  hideous,  but  it  was  neverthe- 
less a  natural  consequence  of  the  culpable  care- 
lessness with  which  he  had  suffered  his  wife  to 
surround  herself  by  associates  of  equivocal  re- 
putation, and  to  make  his  home  the  rendezvous 
of  idle  rones  and  fashionable  demireps. 

Mortimer  believed  himself  to  be  as  suscepti- 
ble and  sensitive  as  ever  to  all  which  touched 
his  honor,  but  liis  principles  had  in  reality  be- 
come unconsciously  enervated  by  constant  con- 
tact with  pi'ofligacy  and  folly,  and  if  he  still 
discouraged  the  loose  jests  of  tlie  dissolute,  and 
the  social  vices  of  the  lax,  it  was  rather  because 
tliey  were  repugnant  to  his  taste,  than  that  they 
alarmed  his  virtue. 

Still,  Mrs.  Lamerly  vainly  lavished  upon  him 
all  her  fascinations,  all  her  pensive  sighs,  her 
languid  smiles,  her  bewitching  nonsense.  lie 
never  bestowed  more  than  a  passing  glance 
upon  tliat  fairy  foot  that  scarcely  seemed  to 
press  the  velvet  cushion  by  which  it  was  sup- 
ported ;  kept  his  eye  riveted  upon  the  daily 
jourrmi,  while  her  magnificent  arm,  circled  by 
its  biilliant  bracelet,  rested  like  a  snow-wreath 
upon  the  chords  of  the  harp ;  talked  politics 
with  old  Sir  .loiin  Stickfast,  the  greatest  proser 
in  the  Lower  House,  while  she  was  lisping 
forth  some  (Jermanic  scandal,  and  transferred 
tlie  sliiijiers  wiiich  slie  professed  to  have  em- 
broidereil  expressly  for  him,  to  his  valet. 

Mrs.  Lamerly  was  nevertlieless  not  discour- 
aged. She  had  yet  a  great  card  to  play,  and 
although  her  vanity  would  liave  been  gratified 
could  she  have  been  indebted  for  her  triumpii 
solely  to  the  spell  of  her  own  attractions,  still  j 


her  spirit  of  emulation  was  aroused,  and  she  re- 
solved not  to  be  baffled. 

There  was  a  strong  bond  between  herself  and 
Sybil.  Ostensibly  it  was  that  of  old  affection 
and  happy  memories,  of  renewed  friendship  and 
perfect  confidence,  but  in  reality  it  was  one  of 
mutual  apprehension.  Sybil  was  well  awar« 
that  many  of  the  secrets  of  her  past  life  were  in 
the  keeping  of  her  former  friend,  who  was  as 
conscious  as  herself  of  the  necessity  of  their  con- 
cealment from  her  husband ;  while  the  widow, 
on  her  side,  long  habituated  to  all  the  luxuries 
of  existence,  to  many  of  which  her  present 
income  was  inadequate,  too  well  appreciated 
the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  even  a  tenv 
porary  home  like  that  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  to  cast 
them  from  her  lightly. 

It  was  in  consequence  of  this  conviction  that 
she  still  compelled  herself  to  temporize ;  but 
although  she  succeeded  in  teaching  the  beauti- 
ful infant  to  clap  its  little  hands  and  crow  at 
her  approach,  permitted  it  to  tear  her  costly 
veil  of  Brussels  point  without  betraying  thi 
slightest  irritation,  and  even  induced  it  to  leave 
its  father's  arms  to  nestle  in  her  own,  still  that 
father  remained  cold,  and  she  was  at  length 
driven  to  confess  to  herself  that  her  childish 
graces  were  expended  upon  him  in  vain. 

Languid  and  listless  as  it  pleased  her  to 
appear,  Mrs.  Lamerly  possessed  strong  passions, 
and  a  perseverance  in  all  she  undertook  to  ac- 
complish which  amounted  to  obstinacy.  Nb 
wonder,  then,  that  mortified  vanity  in  this 
instance  aroused  all  the  darker  impulses  of  her 
nature.  Had  he  even  loved  Sybil,  she  could 
have  understood  this  resolute  indifference  on 
the  part  of  Mortimer,  but  her  self-esteem  had 
not  even  this  poor  consolation. 

For  the  first  time  she  felt  the  impotence  of 
her  efforts,  and  a  spirit  of  revenge  took  posse** 
sion  of  her.  It  was  in  vain  that  Lord  James 
Blenheim  and  the  Honorable  Theodore  Bruc« 
whispered  their  honied  words  in  her  ear,  smoothr 
ed  the  satin  cushions  of  her  fatdeuil,  and  hung 
entranced  upon  her  lisping  accents.  She  smiled 
upon  each  in  turn,  it  is  true,  but  she  estimated 
their  adoration  at  its  just  value.  She  knew  that 
in  a  crowded  country-house  all  must  find  amuse-, 
ment  for  themselves,  and  that  idleness  cared  lit- 
tle whence  that  amusement  was  derived,  whe- 
ther from  a  pet  monkey  or  a  fantastic  beauty ; 
that  Lord  James  was  an  engaged  man,  and  tn« 
Honorable  Theodore  a  ruined  gamester.  Still, 
the  incense  of  flattery  was  essential  to  her,  and 
so  she  discouroged  neither,  although  each  was 
but  a  floating  straw  upon  the  current  of  a  stream 
wherein  she  had  resolved  to  dive  deep  for  s 
more  coveted  treasure. 

At  length  her  patience  was  exhausted,  and  sh« 
resolved  to  incur  any  risk  rather  than  fail  in  her 
purpose.  Like  all  sentimental  women,  she  in- 
dulged in  an  elaborate  correspondence.  No" 
letter-bag  ever  arrived  at  Wcstrum  which  did 
not  contain  half-a-dozen  closely-written  epistles' 
to  the  address  of  Mrs.  Lamerly ;  and  it  was  cu- 
rious to  see  the  indolent  and  impassive  beauty- 
seated  at  her  desk,  in  her  turn  rapidly  covering 
sheet  after  sheet  of  delicately  tinted  vellum — 
for  the  odious  and  vulgar  fashion  of  colored 
paper,  mystic  devices,  and  emblematic  wafers. 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


141 


.vas  at  that  period  just  beginning  to  obtain  in 
jigland — witli  the  most  minute  characters,  and 
,0  watch  the  facility  with  wliich  the  crow-quill 
poured  forth  its  stream  of  soundless  words. 

Mrs.  Lamerly  protested  that  she  hated  writing, 
aiid  perhaps  she  did,  but  there  was  sound  diplo- 
macy in  her  perseverance.  Her  position  was 
uncertain  and  insecure  ;  she  could  not  afford  to 
lose  a  friend,  and  it  was,  moreover,  necessary 
that  she  should  be  constantly  informed  of  the 
movements  of  those  who  might,  directly  or  in- 
directly, exeraise  an  influence  over  her  fortunes. 
Thus  no  occurrence  took  place  in  her  set,  and  it 
was  an  extensive  one,  of  which  she  was  not  im- 
mediately made  cognisant ;  and  this  fact  not  only 
enabled  her  to  enhance  her  popularity  by  a  con- 
stant supply  of  that  light  and  oft«n  malicious 
gossipry  so  welcome  at  all  times  to  the  idle  and 
frivolous,  but  also  to  facilitate  such  plans  as  she 
occasionally  found  it  convenient  to  devise. 

It  is  wonderful  how  often  a  placid  and  simple 
exterior  deceives  the  crowd.  The  old  and  trite 
proverb,  tliat  "  still  water  runs  deep,"  is  full  of 
sound  philosophy.  Those  laughing,  rattling, 
reckless  persons,  who  utter  without  reflection 
all  that  rises  to  their  lips,  may  work  mischief 
alike  for  themselves  and  for  others,  but  the 
wound  is  at  least  laid  open,  and  there  is  no  hid- 
den canker  to  apprehend ;  while  the  blow  which 
bruises  rather  than  breaks,  lingers  longer  in  the 
flesh,  and  at  times  corrodes  even  to  the  bone, 
poisoning  tbe  stream  of  life,  and  inducing  the 
fatal  gangrene  which  can  never  be  eradicated. 

Mrs.   Lamerly,  even   while   lisping   out   her 
German  ballads,  discussing  the  merits  of  a  morn- 
ing cap  ;  reading  half-a-dozen  pages  of  a  French 
novel ;  flirting  with  Lord  James  and  the  Honor- 
able Theodore,  quizzing  Sir  John  Stickfast  with 
a  pretty  smile  which  almost  turned  the  brain  of 
the  bachelor  politician,  old  as  he  was  ;  waj'lay- 
'  ing  Mortimer  in  his  walks,  and  dressing  a  doll 
i  for  the  baby,  had  mentally  completed  her  pro- 
ject ;  and  it  was  worthy  of  her.     In  one  way  or 
!  the  other,  as  she  triumphantly  reflected,  it  7nust 
'  tell,  and  who  could  say  but  it  might  succeed  in 
both  ? 

Mortimer  was  too  proud  to  place  himself  in 
competition  -with  the  foplings  by  whom  his  wife 
was  surrounded,  and  thus  he  left  them  a  free 
field  in  wliieh  to  display  their  arts  of  fascina- 
tion ;  but  would  he  do  so  were  he  pitted  against 
a  more  formidable  opponent?  Would  he  not 
awaken  to  a  full  sense  of  his  danger  if  he  once' 
saw  her  the  object  of  adoration  to  a  man  with 
whom  he  could  only  doubtingly  compare  him- [ 
self?  And,  in  this  case,  would  he  not  need  a 
friend,  a  counsellor?  A  slight  and  gratulatoryj 
flush  rose  to  her  cheek  as  she  glanced  around 
her.  Where  could  he  so  fitly  seek  that  friend  | 
OS  in  herself  ?  Had  she  not  already  knit  b(;tween 
them  the  bond  of  his  child's  affection,  which, 
appear  to  disregard  it  as  he  might,  she  felt  well 
assured  must  nevertheless  have,  in  some  degree, 
produced  its  effect. 

It  was  clear  that  he  despised  Lady  Clara,  and 
that  he  barely  tolerated  Mrs.  Babington ;  and 
she  was  well  aware  that  let  proud  man  com- 
mune as  he  may  with  his  own  sex  in  his  hours 
of  pleasure,  it  is  the  sympathy  of  woman  that 
he  turns  to  in  his  season  of  doubt  and  triaL 


What  fervent  passions  have  sprung  from  a  far 
weaker  cause  !  The  haughty  spirit,  once  hum- 
bled to  seek  for  help  and  consolation  in  the  eyes 
and  on  the  lips  of  a  pretty  and  designing  woman, 
seldom  recovers  heart-whole  from  the  moral 
prostration.  Like  the  silly  lamb,  he  leaves 
some  portion  of  the  fleece  upon  the  brambles ; 
and  it  was  upon  this  contingency  that  Mrs. 
Lamerly  cleverly  calculated.  And  meanwhile, 
what  might  be  the  effect  of  her  design  on  Sybil  f 
A  curve  of  scorn  rose  to  her  lip,  and  trem- 
bled there  for  an  instant.  Let  Sybil  look  to 
herself;  her  honor  was  in  her  own  keeping. 
Her  honor!  How  subtle  are  the  distinctions 
made  by  the  world  on  the  subject  of  femala 
honor. 

The  widow  laughed  in  her  sleeve ;  bitterly 
perhaps,  but  still  she  laughed.  Jlrs.  Mortimer 
was  blansee,  it  is  true  ;  had  been  the  jest  of 
half  London  for  a  season;  had  jilted  the  man 
to  whom  she  was  affianced;  had  volunteered 
elopement  with  another  under  very  precarious 
circumstances  ;  and  had  finally  enriched  herself 
with  the  spoils  of  her  first  dupe  ;  but  still  she 
was  an  honorable  woman,  married  to  an  honor- 
able man,  who  would  consider  it  incumbent 
upon  him  to  send  a  bullet  through  the  heart  of 
any  one  bold  enough  to  assail  her  reputation  ; 
while  she  herself — there  needed  no  demon- 
whisper  in  her  ear  to  ui-ge  her  on,  but  it  came  ; 
close,  mocking,  ind  baneful  as  the  blast  of  the 
simoom,  and  the  little  heart  which  a  career  of 
vice  and  folly  had  spared  to  her,  parched  and 
withered  beneath  the  scorching  breath  of 
jealousy  and  mortification. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

"Sybil,"  said  Mrs.  Lamerly,  in  her  most  in- 
sinuating tone,  as  they  stood  together  arranging 
some  exotic  plants  in  a  jardiyiilre,  as  female 
taste  only  can  arrange  them ;  "  I  have  such  a 
favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"  What  is  it?"  demanded  her  companion  in 
reply,  moving  a  few  paces  backward  as  she 
spoke,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  effect  of  her  last 
grouping;  "  I  trust  not  to  sanction  your  sending 
for  your  blue  macaw ;  you  know  that  my  mo- 
ther's nerves  cannot  sustain  its  screams;  so,  do, 
pray,  be  rational,  and  not  urge  it  again." 

"  I  was  not  even  thinking  of  Jacko,  poor  dear," 
pouted  the  simple  beauty,  "  though  j-ou  know 
how  I  miss  him ;  but  tell  me  if  I  did  ask  you  to 
admit  another  pet,  who  never  screams,  and  who 
could  not  disturb  Mrs.  Delamere,  or  anybody 
else,  would  you  refuse?" 

"  That  depends  entirely  upon  the  nature  of 
your  plaything." 

The  little  widow  indulged  in  a  peal  of  rich 
and  ringing  laugliter,  which  sounded  like  the 
very  echo  of  a  jo^-ous  heart,  as,  smoothing  her 
glossy  ringlets  before  a  mirror,  and  drawing 
closer  the  cordillure  of  her  pink  satin  douillette, 
she  said,  with  an  arch  look  :  "  You  must,  in  such 
an  establishment  as  yours,  atill  have  one  bache- 
lor's room  available." 

"  And  if  so,  Amabel  f" 


142 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


"  Why,  then,  I  would  ask  you  to  allow  me  to 
Bupply  It  with  an  occupant" 

"  I  must,  first,  know  whom  you  would  intro- 
duce." 

"  No  one  to  whom  you,  at  least,  will  object, 
Madame  la  Chatelaine^"  said  the  widow  with  a 
peculiar  expression  ;  "  unless,  indeed,  like  many 
of  our  monopolizing  sex,  you  will  neither  take 
nor  give." 

"  Speak  plainly,  Amabel,  if  you  would  be  an- 
swered." 

"  I  will  speak  plainly,"  said  Mrs.  Lamerly 
■with  a  sudden  change  of  voice  and  manner: 
"  Trevor  is  just  returned  to  England.  All  Mor- 
timer as  you  are,  j-ou  cannot  have  forgotten 
Ti-evor,  Sybil  ?  We  met  abroad ;  and  time,  as 
you  are  aware,  works  wonders.  You  were 
married ;  and,  in  short,"  lisped  out  the  lady, 
bashfull}'  inclining  her  head  towards  her  left 
Bhoulder,  until  her  long  light  curls  rested  upon 
the  glowing  satin,  "  I  have  reason  to  suppose 
that  I  almost  succeeded  in  consoling  him." 

"  You!"  involuntarilj'  exclaimed  her  listener, 
as,  with  burning  cheek  and  flashing  eyes,  she 
glanced  towards  the  little  doll-like  figure  beside 
her.  "  You  succeeded  in  consoling  him!  Am  I 
to  understand  that  he  loves  you?" 

"  You  are  to  draw  your  own  conclusions 
when  we  meet,"  tranquilly  replied  the  widow, 
as  she  re-arranged  a  cape-jessamine.  "  Thus 
much,  however,  I  will  tell  you,  that  I  was  the 
depository  of  his  regrets  and  his  despair — that  I 
it  was  who  played  the  Desdemona  to  your 
jealous  Othello ;  and  that  while  I  was  very  near 
loving  him 

'  For  the  (gauntlet)  he  had  run,' 

I   have    sufficient  grounds   for  believing   that 

'He  did  love  me,  that  I  did  pity  him.' 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  Amabel,"  asked  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  suddenly  becoming  pale  as  the  blossom 
of  the  arHm  near  which  she  stood,  "  that  Sir 
Horace  Trevor  made  you  Ms  confid.inte  ?" 

"  That  is  a  searching  question,  Sybil."  was  the 
smiling  retort;  "  but  I  will  be  frant,  and  answer 
at  once  '  j-es'  and  '  no.'  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
heard  as  little  as  I  could ;  for  I  hate  men  to  en- 
tert^iin  me  by  talking  of  other  women  when  they 
should  be  thinking  only  of  myself.  You  loved 
him,  he  said ;  or,  at  ieast,  he  loved  you,  and  you 
■were  to  be  married,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ; 
not  as  I  was  to  poor  Augustus,  but  surrounded 
by  all  the  properties — parsons,  and  proctors,  and 
postilions  m  scarlet  jackets — when  suddenly  you 
jilted  him.  Yes,  I  am  afraid,  Sybil,  that,  in 
order  to  be  quite  fair  and  open  with  you,  I  must 
confess  that  he  said  you — had — jilted  him. 
Naughty  girl!  who  could  not  be  satisfied  with 
any  thing  short  of  a  prince;  and  silly  woman! 
who,  having  made  up  her  mind  to  cat<>h  her 
bird,  was  .tot  careful  to  lime  the  twig  thickly 
enough." 

"  And  was  this  all  he  told  youf "  again  asked 
Sybil,  with  difficulty  controlling  her  emotion, 
whose  very  excess  enabled  her  to  despise  the 
taunt  of  her  companion.  "  Did  he  tell  you  no 
more  than  this!" 

"  It  may  be  that  he  did,"  said  the  widow,  list- 


lessly throwing  herself  upon  a  sofa ;  -"  but  yon 
know  of  old,  Sybil,  that  I  am  a  bad  listener;  and 
my  memory  has  become  so  defective  since  1  lost 
poor  dear  Augustus,  that  I  really  remember  very 
little  that  has  happened  to  me  siuce."' 

"  Listen  to  me,  nevertheless,  Amabel,"  said 
her  companion  with  compressed  and  bloodless 
lips.  "  You  may  succeed  in  deceiving  others, 
but  I  know  you.  We  were  girls  together,  and 
your  baby  caprices  cannot  beguile  nic.  What  it 
your  intention,  what  your  view,  in  bringing 
Trevor  here  ?  Do  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that 
I  may  have  less  interest  than  yourself  in  for- 
getting the  past" 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  was  the  sullen  re- 
ply :  "  I  believe  that  Trevor  admires  me — and — 
I  am  poor." 

"  1  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  with  a 
contempt  which  she  did  not  even  seek  to  con- 
ceal ;  "  but  I  doubt  that  my  husband  will  consent 
to  receive  such  a  guest.  Even  before  our  mar- 
riage, Trevor  was  distasteful  to  him." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  was  the  careless  repij- :  "  he 
feared  a  rival,  but  of  course  that  danger  is  now 
past;  and  if  you  represent  the  matter  to  him  in 
its  true  light,  I  cannot  see  what  valid  objecti  -. 
he  could  raise." 

"  And  yet  you  have  been  a  wife,  Amabel." 

"  I  have ;  and,  therefore,  I  have  not  now  to 
learn  that  these  things  are  easily  arranged. 
Besides,  Sybil,  Mortimer  can  only  rejoice  in  the 
opportunity  of  displaying  his  triumph  to  your 
discarded  lover." 

The  words  .were  common-place  enough,  hut 
there  was  something  in  the  tone  in  which  they 
were  tittered  which  jarred  alike  upon  the  priJe 
and  upon  the  fears  of  Mrs.  Mortimer.  The  war 
of  -wits  was  equal ;  and  there  needed  no  magi- 
cian to  prove  to  Sj'bil  that  her  dear  friend  held 
her  in  the  toils.  It  cost  her  much  to  temporize, 
and  gladly  would  she  have  spurned  her  as  she 
sat,  but  she  dared  not;  and,  accordingly,  she 
forced  a  smile,  and  throwing  herself  down 
beside  her,  said,  in  a  tone  which  she  struggled 
to  render  playful — 

"  Come,  now,  Amabel,  be  true  for  once,  and 
tell  me  if  you,  indeed,  anticipate  that  you  shall, 
one  day,  be  Lady  Trevor." 

"  If  Horace  can  really  forget  you,  I  am  suri-  I 
shall." 

"  Then  are  you  not  throwing  away  your  b.  *. 
chance  by  asking  him  here — here,  where  ^^ 
shall  be  brought  into  close  and  constant  ci': 
tact  I  Mark  me,  Amabel,  I  do  not  believe  for ;.;. 
instant  that  you  have  anything  to  fear  from  my 
influence,  but  you  know  that  men  are  wayward, 
and  surely  it  would  be  more  judicious — " 

"  To  give  him  time  to  forget  me  altogether. 
Is  that  what  you  would  say,  Sybil  ?  I  give  you 
all  due  credit  for  your  humility  ;  and  I  will  so 
far  put  faith  in  it  as  to  tell  you'that  I  feel  quite 
satisfied  you  will  not  exert  your  influence  to 
my  detriiiient ;  while,  as  a  natural  consequenc, 
Trevor  will  henceforward  consider  you  only  .i 
the  wife  of  his  friend,  and  therefore  beyond  li  ■ 
reach.  Thus,  you  see  that  I  have  nothing  i  ■  > 
apprehend." 

"  Amabel,  would  you  only  be  honest  an.i 
straightforward  for  five  minutes — " 

Mrs.  Lamerly  laughed ;  not  ecornfully  or  sa* 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


Till  I 
tOB! 


tiricall}',  but  as  though  she  really  thouglit  the 
dialogue  in  which  she  was  engaged  very  amusing. 

"  Will  you  at  least  hear  me  V 

"  Of  course.  Do  you  not  perceive  that  I  am 
listening  with  all  my  ears,  and  that  I  am  vastly 
entertained  to  discover  that  Sybil  married  has 
lis  great  a  contidence  in  the  eft'ect  of  her  charms 
as  she  had  in  her  first  girlhood?  Why,  my 
dear,  mj-  vanity  has  aged  tenfold  more  than  you 
own ;  and  it  is  as  much  as  1  dared  venture  to 
expose  my  preux  chevalire  to  the  captivations  of 
BO  accomplished  a  coquette,  even  now,  when  she 
is  hedged  round  with  the  proprieties  of  married 
life.  But,  Sybil,"  she  added  with  aftected 
solemnity,  as  she  shook  her  head,  while  her 
chesnut  tresses  shimmered  in  the  sunlight ;  "  I 
know  all  the  onerous  obligations  of  matrimony, 
and  all  the  rigid  duties  which  it  involves.  You 
may  believe  me ;  for  although  I  was  barely 
seventeen  when  I  married  Augustus,  I  discover- 
ed a  gray  hair  above  mj'  right  temple  before  I 
had  been  a  wife  more  than  a  week,  and  almost 
Buspected  a  wrinkle  one  short  month  after- 
•wards.  Judge,  therefore,  if  I  can  enter  into 
your  feelings." 

" I  have  done,"  said  Sybil  indignantly;  "  and 
although  I  cannot  be  discourteous  enough  to 
•weary  of  an  invited  guest,  I  must  decline  receiv- 
ing one  who  is  forced  upon  me."  And  she  rose 
from  the  sofa. 

"  As  you  please,"  retorted  her  companion. 
"  I  am  then  at  liberty  to  tell  Trevor  that  you  do 
not  feel  authorized  to  run  the  risk  of  seeing  him 
here  ?" 

"  Amabel,"  said  Sybil,  as  she  paused  before 
her;  "  I  do  not  understand  you.  I  can  incur  no 
risk  from  contact  with  your  lover." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  unaccommodating?" 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  he  is  distaste- 
ful to  Frederic." 

"Why,  so  are  fifty  other  things.  He  hates 
Lady  Clara,  and  snubs  Lord  John  ;  and  yet  here 
they  are.  He  detests  a  home  full  of  flirts 
and  fools,  and  you  will  admit  that  if  you  are 
good-natured  enough  to  make  room  for  Trevor, 
he  will  be  the  most  rational  man,  and  I  the  most 
rational  woman,  under  your  roof.  You  may  as 
"Well  concede  that  il  caro  7narito  has  very  little  to 
do  with  the  matter." 

"  If  I  were  only  convinced  that  Sir  Horace 
really  mtended  to  make  vou  his  wife,"  said  Sy- 
bil doubtingly,  "  all  my  objections  would  at  once 
be  overcome,  but,  Amabel,  Trevor  is  a  man  of 
the  world,  and  he  knew  you  abroad." 

"  He  did  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Lamerly,  with  the 
most  provoking  d  plomb  ;  "  and  in  like  manner 
Mr.  Mortimer  is  a  man  of  fortune  and  family, 
and  yet,  Sybil,  he  is  your  husband.  Do  not  let 
us  taunt  each  other,  love.  There  are  some  ugly 
proverbs  which  might  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
Bs  both.  In  one  word,  will  you  receive  Trevor 
at  my  friend,  or  not  ?" 

Mrs.  Mortimer  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute ; 
all  her  habitual  self-possession  had  forsaken  her, 
and  it  was  in  an  ill-assured  voice  that  she  at 
length  said :  "  You  are  ungenerous,  Amabel ;  but 
I  can  deny  you  nothing.  Only,  if  I  consent  to 
admit  Ti-evor  here,  you  must  promise  to  keep  a 
secret  for  me ;  a  poor  and  puerile  one,  it  is  true, 
but  still  it  must  be  kept" 


"And  you  will  confide  it  to  me  ?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Lamerly  with  a  genuine  joy,  which  she 
strove  to  conceal  under  an  affectation  of  childish 
eagerness. 

"  I  have  no  alternative,  or  perhaps  I  should 
hesitate  to  do  so,"  replied  Sybil  with  haughty 
bitterness  ;  "  but  this  it  is  :  before  my  marriage 
with  Mr.  Mortimer,  Sir  Horace  visited  The 
Grange  in  order  to — to  renew  his  suit " 

A  low  and  almost  inaudible  laugh  broke  from 
the  parted  lips  of  her  listener ;  but  she  was  too 
much  excited  to  remark  it. 

"  Conscions  of  the  jealous  temperament  of 
Frederic,"  pursued  Sybil ;  "  and  aware  that  our 
previous  engagement  had  authorized,  in  Tre- 
vor's eyes  at  least,  a  familiarity  of  manner  which 
my  captious  suitor  would  never  tolerate,  and 
in  fact,  driven  to  some  such  expedient  by  the 
circumstance  of  his  having  come  upon  lis  when 
Horace  had  raised  my  hand  to  his  lips " 

"Fie,  naughty  Horace  !"  broke  in  the  exult- 
ing widow,  affecting  to  hide  her  eyes  in  her 
jewelled  hands:  "  But  was  that  all  ?" 

"  All,  Mrs.  Lamerly  1"  said  Sybil  sternly ; 
"  and  that  all,  simple  as  it  was,  would  have  suf- 
ficed to  estrange  from  me  forever  the  hand,  if 
not  the  heart,  of  Mr.  Mortimer,  had  I  not,  upon 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  presented  the 
stranger  to  him  as  my  cousin." 

"  Enviable  presence  of  mind !"  said  the  widow, 
with  a  smile  which  partook  rather  of  contempt 
than  admiration.  "  How  the  dear  old  Margrave 
would  have  enjoyed  such  &  tour  de  force  !  Re- 
ally, my  dear  Sybil,  you  are  inimitable !  And 
what  said  your  simple  Corydon  of  his  new  con- 
nexion ?" 

"  He  bore  with  him  for  my  sake  ;  and  that  is 
all  that  I  can  expect,  should  he  again  be  com- 
pelled to  receive  him  as  a  guest." 

"  Poor  Horace !  However,  I  will  endeavor  to 
compensate  to  him  for  the  slights  of  the  happy 
mortal  who  won  you  from  him.  And  so  I  may 
tell  hira  to  come — may  I  not?  And  you  will 
welcome  him  for  my  sake,  for  he  is  at  present 
quite  desoriente ;  only  a  week  from  Italy,  where 
he  saw  your  old  friend  Saviatti,  who  told  him 
that  he  had  seen  you,  and  all  about  poorSignor 
Mortimer  being  as  jealous  as  an  ogre;  and  that 
wretched  little  Lord  Squanderleigh  being  shot  in 
a  duel  bj'  that  dear  handii^ome  Florentine  Duca, 
who  was  kicked  out  of  a  saloon  in  Paris  for 
cheating  at  ecarte  ;  and  a  host  of  other  things 
that  you  would  be  delighted  to  hear.  And  I  will 
promise  to  be  generous,  and  to  lend  him  to  you 
until  he  has  emptied  his  budget :  after  which 
gare  de  loup,  for  1  am  a  little  demon  when  I  am 
thwarted  in  what  the  French  prettily  call '  affaira 
of  the  heart' " 

And  80  the  two  friends  parted 


CHAPTER  XLL 

False  pride,  my  pretty  Gertrude,  nothing  but 
false  pride,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong  gaily,  as  the 
orphan  stood,  steeped  in  blushes,  and  with  large 
tears  swelling  in  her  eyes,  in  the  deep  bay  of  a 
library  window,  where  she  looked  in  the  midst 
of  the  h«avy  dark  frame-work  of  carved  oak 


144 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


like  one  of  Guide's  angels ;  "  surely  wlien  I 
give  you  my  son,  I  may  also  be  allowed  to  offer 
you  a  few  flounces  and  fnrbelows!" 

"  But,  indeed,  my  dear  sii- — " 

"  But,  indeed,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  must 
have  my  way!  Mary  has  set  her  heart  upon  it; 
and  I  will  not  consent  that  there  shall  be  the 
difference  of  a  knot  of  ribbon  between  you.  Do 
you  not  hear  her  every  now  and  then  whisper- 
ing, '  Papa,  I  should  like  so  and  so  ?'  or  '  Papa, 
I  7nust  iiave  such  a  thing?' — And  are  you  not 
botli  my  daughters  ? — 1  can  have  no  more  folly 
of  this  kind,  Gertrude.  Had  you  been  wealthy, 
I  must,  1  know,  have  allowed  you  to  be  as  head- 
btrong  as  t  lie  rest  of  your  sex ;  but  as  it  is,  I 
will  not  hear  another  word." 

"  And  yet,  for  that  very  reason,  dear  Mr. 
Armstrong,  I  must  entreat  of  you  to  let  me 
speak.  L)o  you  know  that  even  now — now,  at 
this  very  instant — when  you  *re  not  only  en- 
deavoring to  hasten  my  marriage  with  your  son 
— I,  a  poor,  penniless  orphan,  who  can  only 
repay  your  generosity  by  the  gratitude  of  a  true 
heart,  and  the  tribute  of  a  sincere  affection — 
but  are  even  urging  me  to  share  the  luxury 
which,  although  they  may  be  the  birthright  of 
Mary,  are  all  too  costly  for  a  portionless  bride 
like  mj-self — do  you  know,  that  even  now — " 
and,  as  she  continued  speaking,  she  had  gradu- 
ally approached  the  old  gentleman,  until  at  last 
she  was  leaning  over  his  high-backed  chair,  her 
arm  upon  his  shoulder,  and  her  golden  hair 
mingling  with  the  grey  and  glistening  locks 
which  clustered  over  his  benevolent-looking 
head ;  "  even  now,  I  feel  as  though  all  this  liap- 
piness  must  be  a  dream ;  and  I  start  at  every 
sudden  noise  least  I  should  awake  only  to  find 
myself  once  more  alone  and  unloved." 

"  Silly  cliild!"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  somewhat  more  than  usual,  as  he 
drew  her  towards  him,  and  pressed  his  lips  to 
her  glowing  cheek. 

"  Suffer  me,  therefore,  I  implore  you,  to  re- 
turn to  my  humble  home  until  the  period  of — 
of  this  double  niarriage.  I  have  already,  in  my 
selfish  happiness,  too  much  neglected  the  bene- 
volent relative  to  wliotn  I  am  indebted  for  all 
that  I  possess,  and  all  that  I  am  taught  to  hope. 
Let  mc  for  three  short  weeks  endeavor  to  prove 
Uiat  the  joy  of  my  heart  does  not  extinguish  its 
affection." 

"  What  you  ask  is  only  fair,  Gertrude,  if  you 
really  wish  it,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong  reluctantly ; 
"  but  1  very  much  doubt  if  either  Ernest  or  liis 
motlier  will  consent  to  such  a  sacrifice.  As  for 
me,  I  confess  that,  between  man  and  man,  (if  I 
may  use  such  an  expression  where  an  old  woman 
is  concerned,)  1  think  you  are  right." 

"  I  know  you  would,  sir,  for  you  are  always 
alike  just  and  generous;  and  therefore  I  may 
now  calculate  upon  your  support  upon  this  point, 
for  which  I  am  really  anxious,  liut  I  have  not 
j'ct  done  ;  and  even  in  spite  of  your  own  dis- 
claimers I  rio  not,  I  will  not  despair,  that  you 
will  still  make  unothcrand  a  greater  concession, 
wlicn  I  entreat  it  ahnost  upon  m)-  knees.  Oh, 
bear  with  me  for  an  instanti  And  indeed,  in- 
deed, you  will  admit  that  I  onl}'  ask  wliat  is 
reasonable  and  consistent!  Reflect  for  a  mo- 
ment!    Your  daughter  is  about  to  marry  a  man 


of  large  fortune,  and  carries  with  her  to  the 
altar  a  dowry  worthy  of  him,  while  I " 

"  Gertrude,  again  I  say  that  this  is  a  falsa 
pride  ;  and,  moreover,  surely  something  is  due 
alike  to  Ernest  and  to  his  family  ?" 

"Much — very  much.  Nevertheless,  I  feap- 
lessly  persist  in  mj'  petition — leave  me  free 
until  I  am  indeed  his  wife  and  your  daughter. 
Do  not  compel  me  to  feel  utterly  powerless." 

"  Poor  Mary  !  Why  will  you  persist  in  thwart- 
ing her?" 

"  Mary  will  hear  reason,  I  know  she  will, 
and  I  shall  be  so  much  happier.  Moreover,  my 
dear  sir,  poor  as  I  am,  I  stil'i  possess  resourceg 
which  I  can  explain  to  dear  Mrs.  Armstrong  and 
the  girls,  although  I  should  shrink  from  detail- 
ing them  to  one  of  your  lordly  sex."   . 

"  Well,  well,  I  have  not  the  heart  to  contra- 
dict you  any  longer,"  said  tlie  squire,  "  so,  if 
you  can  convince  the  women,  I  will  not  interfere 
further  in  the  matter  ;  but  I  warn  you  that  they 
are  likely  to  prove  less  ductile  in  your  hands 
than  I  have  done." 

Enchanted  ty  her  success,  Gertrude  warmly 
thanked  the  affectionate  old  man,  and  hastened 
to  tlie  breakfast-room,  where  fhe  ladies  of  the 
family  were  busily  discussing  the  merits  of  Lyons 
satins,  Lisle  laces,  and  orange-blossoms,  A  ge- 
neral exclamation  greeted  her  entrance.  Mary'g 
taste  was  at  issue  with  that  of  the  London  dress- 
maker, to  whom  Mrs.  Armstrong  bowed  with 
implicit  confidence,  and  it  lias  just  been  decided 
that  the  question  should  be  referred  to  Miss 
Mortimer. 

"  Now,  am  I  not  right,  dear  Gertrude?"  eager- 
ly asked  the  other  bride-elect;  "will  not  our 
dresses  be  infinitely  more  graceful  if  entirely 
composed  of  lace,  tlian  if  we  merely  trim  them, 
and  leave  the  glossy  glarish  satin  unsubdued  ? 
And  shall  you  not  prefer  a  long  veil  of  this  do- 
licious  point  to  an  odious  bonnet?" 

"  The  lace  robe  and  the  veil  by  all  means, 
love,"  replied  Gertrude,  with  a  quiet  smile ; 
"  like  you,  I  shrink  from  the  glare  of  satin  by 
.=un-light ;  but,  unlike  you,  I  shall  neither  ven- 
ture upon  the  one  nor  the  other." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?"  exclaimed  both  sisters 
with  surprise  ;  "  Has  it  not  been  already  ar- 
ranged that  the  two  dresses  are  to  be  precisely 
similar?" 

"  It  was  so  arranged,  I  know,"  said  Gertrude, 
as  she  raised  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  to  her 
lips,  "and  grateful,  very  grateful  do  I  feel  for 
the  affection  which  could  prompt  such  a  propo- 
sal, but,  within  the  last  half-hour,  I  liave  in- 
duced Mr.  Armstrong  to  rescind  his  r(>so]ution." 

"  How  very  unkind  of  papa,"  sjiid  Mary,  with 
a  pretty  pout.  "  Our  party  will  not  look  half  so 
picturesque,  and  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it,  fflr 
I  know  you  so  well,  Gertrude,  fiiat  1  am  quite 
sure  of  }-our  motives  for  this  silly  whim.  But, 
mark  me,  I  will  not  stand  at  the  altar  with  yon 
if  you  are  dressed  one  whit  worse  than  myself" 

The  orphan  laughed  as  she  silenced  the  threat 
with  a  sisterly  kiss.  "  Do  not  fear,  dear  girl," 
she  said  quietly:  "You  have  as  yet  lui  idea  of 
my  lieaped-up  riches,  and  moreover  I  warn  you 
that  I  shall  pride  myself  more  unon  my  drcBS 
that  day,  tlian  were  it  composea  of  lace  lik« 
cobwebs,  or  thrice-piled  velvet" 


THE  RH^AL  BEAUTIES. 


146 


"  What  is  it  then,  Gertrude  f"  inquired  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  anxiouslj*. 

"  It  is  the  work  of  my  own  hands,  my  dear 
imdam.  Simple,  very  simple  in  its  materials, 
lut  rendered  somewhat  costly  by  the  labor  which 
Kis  been  bestowed  upon  it.  Let  us,  however, 
•;itlier  talk  of  dear  Mary's  toilette." 

"  Ernest  will  be  bitterly  disappointed  when 
le  finds  that  you   have  overthrown  our  plans, 

i  Ijcrtrude,"  said  Eleanor  reproachfuUj-. 

'  ■  "  And  so  am  I,"  observed  the  old  lady,  as  she 
•aised  her  ej-es  for  a  moment  from  one  of  those 
rtroeities  which,  in  the  shape  of  illustrations  to 
Magazines  of  Fashion,  Belle  Assemblees,  and 
pi'oductions  of  that  class,  libel  at  once  the  good 
aiste  of  Englishwomen,  and  the  fair  proportions 
!>f  nature.  "  Only  look  here,  Gertrude,  at  this 
sweet  costume !  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  per- 
made  you  both  to  fix  upon  this ;  and  now,  you 
lee,  you  have  upset  everything." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  will,  indeed,  be  inclined 
to  think  so,  my  dear  madam,"  replied  the  or- 
phan, after  glancing  for  a  moment  at  the  great 
Imman  hour-glass,  overwhelmed  with  conflict- 
ing finery,  which  Mrs.  Armstrong  submitted  to 
her  inspection,  "  when  I  tell  you  that  this  is  not 
the  only  concession  that  1  have  induced  your 
jkind  husband  to  make.  A  certain  feeling  of 
remorse  has  reminded  me  that  I  owe  a  debt  of 
gratitude  and  courtesy  to*my  aunt,  and  that  I 
cannot  better  paj-  it  than  by  devoting  to  her 
Qomfort  and  amusement  the  three   brief  weeks 

wliich  still  remain  before " 

"  Oh  !  no  !  no  !  Gertrude.  Impossible  !"  was 
Qie  general  exclamation.  "  Ernest  will  never 
consent,  and,  moreover,  only  consider  that, 
sliould  you  persist,  there  is  an  end  at  once  to  all 
our  consultations,  all  our  plans.  Miss  Warring- 
ton cannot  want  you,  and  will  only  be  annoyed 
by  the  perpetual  intrusion  to  which  such  an  ar- 
rangement would  subject  her.  Ko !  no!  We 
will  yield  the  first  point,  if  you  will  give  up  the 
second." 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot,"  said  the  orplian,  smiling 
through  her  tears, ;  "  I  cannot,  because  I  feel  that 
I  am  doing  right,  and  j-ou  will  see  that  I  shall 
soon  induce  Ernest  to  think  as  I  do.  Remem- 
ber, also,  how  soon  we  shall  have  a  right  to  be 
constantly    together,   without    sacrificing    any 

(Sense  of  duty ;  and  let  us  not  wilfully  rush  upon 

Iso  needless  a  source  of  regret." 

'  "  As  Mr.  Armstrong  has  consented,"  said  the 
(dd  lady,  laying  down  the  beflouneed  beauty 
vhich  had  so  long  been  her  study  ;  "  as  your 
father  has  consented  to  this  arrangement,  my 
dears,  I  think  tluat  Gertrude  is  quite  right :  for, 
after  all,  her  poor  old  aunt  must  miss  her  even 
more  than  we  do  ;    and  so,  if  she  can  persuade 

I  Ernest  to  allow  it,  I  must  desire  that  you  will 

;not  say  anotlier  word  upon  the  subject." 

And  Gertrude  did  succeed,  although  with  con- 
dderable  difficulty,  in  convincing  her  lover  after 
having  been  compelled  to  hear  him  utter  certain 
comments  upon  old  women  which  were  anything 
but  complimentary ;  and  their  last  evening  at 
the  Manor  House  was  considerably  saddened 
by  the  consciousness  that  they  should  not,  for 
some  time  to  come,  again  enjoy  that  solitary 
•oramunion  in  which  they  had  latterly  indulged. 

1     "  Nevertheless,  rebel  as  3'our  are,"  eaid  Ernest 
10 


with  a  smile,  "  I  will  indulge  you  with  one  mora 
evening  saunter  through  the  grounds  :  so,  throw 
on  your  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  we  will  stroll 
until  the  dews  force  us  in  again." 

And  then  it  was,  as  they  wandered  through 
the  rich  shrubberies,  and  seated  themselves  for 
a  time  in  the  pavilion  so  dear  to  both,  that  the 
orphan,  for  the  last  time,  poured  forth  all  the 
feelings  of  her  pure  heart  to  the  man  who  was 
so  soon  to  become  her  husband,  and  listened, 
with  a  happy  smile,  to  the  rebuke  with  which 
he  met  her  earnestly  expressed  regrets  that  slia 
should  bring  him  no  better  dowry  than  her  love. 

"  I  ask,  I  care  for  nothing  more,  Gertrude," 
he  replied,  in  an  accent  which  carried  conviction 
to  her  mind.  "  In  possessing  j'ou,  I  shall  pos- 
sess all  that  I  have  ever  coveted  on  earth ;  but 
when  once  j-ou  are  mine,  I  shall  become  more 
ambitious  for  your  sake.  Nor  do  I  doubt  that 
by  exerting  proper  means,  I  shall  succeed  in 
leaving  you  no  such  cause  of  regret.  I  have  al- 
ready a  project,  and  had  you  been  less  unselfish 
than  you  are,  or  could  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
as  demurely  as  you  have  done,  to  a  temporary 
separation,  I  might  already  have  taken  soma 
steps  towards  its  accomplishment.  However,  as 
you  have  decided  upon  returning  home  where 
I  shall  have  no  chance  of  seeing  jon  except  in 
the  presence  of  your  female  jailer — confound  all 
old  maiden  aunts — I  am  half-inclined  to  start  for 
town  in  a  day  or  two.  You  can  write  to  me  by 
every  post,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  satisfy  myself 
in  that  way  until  I  ascertain  what  may  be  my 
chance  of  success.  But  after  all,  Gertrude,  this 
new  caprice  of  yours  is  too  V>ad.  Look  at  Mary, 
she  has  never  tried  Somerville  as  you  are  trying 
me,  and  I  warn  you,  lady  mine,  that  this  is  the 
last  occasion,  the  very  last,  in  which  I  shall  sub- 
mit to  your  odious  despotism." 

Gertrude  answered  by  an  affectionate  smile. 

"  How  you  women  love  to  tyrannize,"  pursued 
Ernest.  "  Meek  and  mild  as  you  seem,  you  are 
all  alike." 

"  Except  Mary,"  laughed  his  listener. 

"  Not  even  excepting  Mary,"  retorted  her 
lover.  "  She  is  only  deferi'ing  her  impertinence 
till  she  can  cover  it  by  the  dignified  authority 
of  a  wife,  but  you  have  not  had  the  grace  to  do 
this." 

"  And  your  project,  dear  Ernest  ?" 

"  Is  a  secret,  fair  lady,  at  present,  but  I  will 
nevertheless  be  generous  enough  to  confide  to 
you  one  of  its  earliest  results,  should  it  prove 
successful.  You  remember  that  lovely  little 
retreat  which  we  drove  past  a  few  days  ago, 
Gertrude,  half  cottage  and  half  villa,  with  its 
dainty  pleasure-grounds  and  miniature  lake?  I 
covet  that  smiling  abode  as  our  home.  But  I 
have  said  nothing  on  the  subject  to  my  father, — 
who  would,  as  I  well  know,  strain  every  nerve 
to  gratify  me  while  it  remains  in  the  market, — 
for  Mary's  portion  must  be  paid,  and  I  am  aware, 
that  he  could  not,  without  inconvenience,  meei 
so  large  a  demand  upon  his  means  at  this  par- 
ticular moment,  so  that  all  I  can  do  is  to  trust 
that  it  will  not  find  a  purchaser  until  I  am  pre- 
pared to  make  it  mine." 

"  And  had  I  not  been  penniless  you  might  at 
once  have  accomplished  your  wish,"  said  Ger- 
trude sadly. 


146 


TIIE   RIVAL   BFAUTIES 


"Now,  fie  upon  you!"  exclaimed  Ernest,  rather  lost  ground  than  gained  it,  and  were  com- 
"  thus  to  steal  ray  secret  from  me,  and  then  to  pdled  onee  more  to  submit. 
repay  rae  by  outraging  the  delicacy  ofmyatfec-l  Thus  a  week  passed  by,  during  which  Miss 
tion.  One  more  8\ieh  regret,  Gertrude,  and  I  Warrington  was  more  erect  and  sententious 
•ball  begin  to  fear  that  you  have  not  a  proper!  than  ever.  Not  a  rumor  had  transpired  in  the 
confidence  in  my  love."  { neighborhood,   of  the  great    event   which   was 

"Rather,  then,  will  I  be  grateful  for  the ;  about  to  occur.  Not  even  the  grey-haired  curate 
poverty  which  has  left  you  without  one  doubt,"  i  had  a  suspicion  of  the  double  wodding;  although 
replied'  Ihe  hannv  girl,  as  she  wiped  away  the]  he  had  already  been  apprised  that  his  church 
tears  which  had  started  to  her  eyes;  "  and  hence-!  was  to  be  honored  by  the  presence  of  the  Arch- 
forward  I  will  speak  and  act  as  though  I  were  a  deacon,  who  being  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
rich  lieiress,  and  privileged  to  indulge  in  every  Squire,  had  been  invited  to  perform  the  cere- 
epecies  of  extravagance.  Will  that  promise  mony  for  his  daughter ;  and  thus,  although  tlie 
eatisfy  your  exacting  nature  ?"  |  gossips  were  busy  chronicling  every  movemeni 

But  often,  very  often,  when  she  found  herself  [between  the  Great  House  and  the  humble  abode 
once  more  domesticated  beneath  the  narrow  of  Miss  Warrington,  and  found  ample  food  fbr 
roof  of  her  aunt,  did  the  conversation  of  that  their  conjectures,  not  only  in  the  perpetuijl  tratt- 
evening  recur  to  her,  and  never  without  a  pang. '  sits  of  the  ladies  themselves,  but  even  the  cont- 
Of  Ernest's  affection  she  was  assured,  nordidiings  and  goings  of  grooms  and  waiting-raaida, 
she  fear  that  even  poverty  could  weaken  it,  but!  they  naturally  attributed  all  this  deliglitful  con> 
ftill  she  wept  over  the  sacrifices  to  which  he  |  motion  to  the  approaching  marriage  of  Mia 
had  compelled  himself  for  her  sake,  and  bitterly 
felt  her  utter  helplessness  to  lessen  them.     She 


was  indeed  about  to  give  herself  to  him,  a  por- 
tionless bride,  for  even  the  bequest  of  her  aunt 
she  no  longer  felt  to  be  her  own,  and  it  had  al- 
ready been  arranged  by  Ernest  that  it  should 


Armstrong  ;  and  marvelled  that  as  the  proud 
niece  of  tiiei''  neighbor  appeared  so  essential  to 
the  "  Squire's  people,"  she  should  have  choseii 
such  a  moment  to  return  home. 

On    the    tenth  morning    after    her  return   to 
Bletehley,  two  letters  instead  of  one  were,  to  tlie 


be  transferred   to  Miss  Warrington,  as  a  tribute  surprise  of  Gertrude,  put  into  her  hand.     For  a 
of  gratitude    for   the    kindness  which  she    had  I  moment,   her    heart  beat    quickly — It   must  be 


•hown  the  orphan  in  her  hour  of  need 

Thus,  however  cheerfully  Gertrude  might 
eeera  to  bear  the  humiliating  fact  of  her  poverty, 
still  it  revolted  her  delicacy,  and  pained  her 
heart.  She  could  not  quite  forget  the  resolute 
refusal  with  wliich  Mr.  Armstrong  had  in  the 
first  instance  met  the  entreaties  of  his  son  ;  and 
although  he  had  subsequently  treated  her  with 
paternal  kindness,  still  the  mortification  of  that 
refusal  had  left  its  sting.  It  was  in  vain  she  re- 
peated to  herself  that  all  this  waste  of  feeling, 
fiituated  as  she  then  was,  had  become  worse  than 
idle  ;  still  a  tiiousand  memories  rose  up  before 
her,  each  coupled  with  its  own  regret.  She  was, 
indeed,  an  outcast  Even  her  cousin,  the  com- 
panion of  her  childhood,  had  forsaken  her — and 


from  Frederic,  and  after  all,  she  was  not  quit?i 
forgotten.  But  no,  a  single  glance  sufficed  ;  tliD 
writing  was  not  his,  and  the  mysterious  missive 
bore  tlie  London  post-mark.  She  had  a  faint 
idea  that  she  recognized  the  somewhat  quaint 
and  crabbed  characters  of  the  superscription,  but 
she  could  not  identify  them  ;  and  in  another  in 
stantshe  laid  the  letter  down,  merely  marvelling 
who  could  have  written  to  her,  and  soon  alt*^- 
gether  forgetting  the  circumstance  as  she  greedily 
devoured  the  contents  of  Ernest's  far  more  in- 
teresting epistle. 

Even  the  letter  of  a  lover,  however,  comes  to 
an  end  at  last,  and  Gertrude  had  no  sooner  for 
the  second  time  arrived  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
three  closely-written  pages  which  composed  that 


slie  was   about  to  enter  the  home  of  Mr.  Arm-!  of  Ernest,  than  she    once  more  remembered  the 
strong,   as  a  wife   which   his  generous   son   had |  still  unopened  packet  upon  the  table, 
rescued  from  the  cold,  wide  ocean  of  the  world  ;l      These  were  its  content-s. 
•without  a  home,  without   a  friend,  and  almost 

without  a  name.  |      "  Dear  Niece, — "  My  physician  informed  me 

It  was   fortunate  for  Gertrude,  that  the  daily  yesterday  that  1  am  dying,  and  I  felt  so  perfectly 


letters  of  her  happy  and  sanguine  lover,  over 
flowing  as  they  were  with  affection  and  gladness, 
end  the  occupation  with  which  they  necessarily 
provided  her,  tended   to  rouse   her  mind  from 


satisfied  that  lie  was  right  that  I  at  once  dismis- 
sed him,  as  it  is  useless  to  throw  money  away 
which  is  certain  to  be  lost,  both  principal  and 
interest.     I  am   aware   that  the   fact  of  an  old 


the  morbid  state  into  which  it  might  otherwise  man's  death  can  be  of  little  consequence  to  you. 
have  fallen,  while  the  half-playful  and  half-}  and  therefore  it  is  only  as  the  brother  of  your 
serious  reproaches  of  his  sisters,  who  found  it  mother  that  I  now  write  to  tell  you,  that  after 
difficult  to  forgive  her  desertion  at  such  a  mo-i  having  lived  for  so  many  years  alone,  I  am  weak 
meut,  assisted  in  no  slight  degree  to  reconcile!  enough  to  desire  not  to  die  alone.  I  have  no 
her  to  herself.  They  declared  that  everything  relation  upon  earth  but  j'ou,  or  I  would  not  have 
had  gone  wrong  since  she  left  the  Manor-house;  troubled  you  upon  such  an  occasion.  I  enclose 
that  they  could  come  to  no  decision  upon  any  a  5/.  note.  If  you  consent  to  come  to  me,  it  will 
point  without  her  assistance  ;  and  they  even  en-  pay  the  expenses  of  your  journey,  and  if  you  do 
deavored  to  cidist  Miss  Warrington  in  their  not,  you  may  keep  it  to  buy  a  black  gown,  if  you 
cautie.  The  rigid  old  lady,  however,  proved  think  proper  to  wear  one  when  I  am  gone,  out 
impracticable,  and  laid  so  nmch  stress  upon  the  of  respect  to  your  mother's  memory.  If  you  d« 
propriety  of  her  niece  remaining  under  her  roof  come,  you  must  come  at  once,  or  you  may  b* 
until  tlie  very  eve  of  her  marriage,  that  tliey|too  late.     I  give  you  the  address  of  mj  late 


TIIE  RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


U1 


©ffice.     When  you  reach  tovm,  drive  there,  and 
they  will  send  a  clerk  with  you  to  my  house 
you  might  not  be  able  to  find  it. 

"  Your  uncle  and  ■well--n-isher, 
"  William  Spencjer.' 

The  agitation  of  Gertrude  was  excessive,  as 
she  rapidly  perused  the  letter  of  her  obdurate 
relative  ;  but  not  for  a  single  tnstant  did  slie 
hesitate  as  to   the   line   of  conduct  she   should 

f)ur6ue.  She  had  not,  moreover,  a  moment  to 
ose;  the  coach  by  which  she  had  formerly 
reached  Bletchley  only  made  its  London-ward 
journey  twice  within  the  week,  and  was  to  leave 
that  very  day  at  noon.  Hurriedly,  therefore, 
she  detailed  to  Miss  Warrington  the  emergency 
in  wliich  she  found  herself,  and  after  writing  a 
brief  note  of  regret  and  explanation  to  the  ladies 
of  the  Manor-house,  hastily  threw  together  a  few 
indispensable  articles  of  apparel,  and  aided  by 
the  energy  of  Hannah,  found  herself  at  eleven 
o'clock  traversing  the  well-known  meadows,  ac- 
companied by  a  stout  lad  bearing  her  portman- 
teau and  carpet-bag,  precisely  as  she  had  done 
on  the  previous  occasion. 

Yes;  thus  alone  and  unattended,  save  by  a 
fustian-clad  village  boy,  did  the  future  mistress 
of  the  Manor-house  set  forth  upon  her  second 
melancholy  journey,  leaving  behind  her  smiling 
lips  and  loving  hearts,  to  encounter  at  best  a  very 
uncertain  welcome,  and  to  assist  once  more  at 
the  melancholy  spectacle  of  a  death-bed.  She 
reached  the  road-side  inn,  paid  the  modest  fee 
of  her  impromptu  page,  and  then  in  a  large,  bleak, 
chill}'  room,  whose  sanded  floor,  rude  chairs, 
empty  grate,  and  beer-stained  table,  combined 
to  form  the  very  acme  of  discomfort,  sat  down 
to  await  the  departure  of  the  coach,  and  for  the 
first  time  to  reflect. 

Her  thoughts  naturally  turned  on  the  probable 
displeasure  of  Ernest,  when  he  should  learn  not 
only  the  fact,  but  also  the  manner  of  her  depar- 
ture ;  she  felt  that  his  pride  would  be  wounded, 
and  Ills  fcai's  excited  by  her  solitary  pil'griniage, 
but  still  she  did  not  i-epent  the  step  which  she 
had  taken.  The  biother  of  her  mother,  however 
harshly  lie  might  have  acted  towards  her,  had  a 
chum  u]>c)u  her  respect  and  obedience,  which  she 
dared  not  neglect ;  and  even  amid  her  terror  of 
the  present,  and  her  dread  of  the  future,  she  ex- 
perienced something  akin  to  joy  as  she  remem- 
bered that  she  had  still  one  relative  to  whom 
ehe  was  not  utterly  cast  off^,  and  to  whom  she 
might  even  yet  prove  a  source  of  consolation 
and  comfort. 

At  length,  after  much  preparatory  bustle, 
tiie  dragging  of  trunks  and  packages  along  the 
Btone  passages,  the  loud  laughter  and  louder 
oaths  of  a  score  of  idlers  and  hangers-on,  and 
the  shrill  voices  of  women  calling  to  each 
other,  as  it  appeared  to  the  trembling  Gertrude, 
fi-om  every  quarter  of  the  building,  the  horses 
were  at  length  put  to,  and  to  her  great  delight 
she  found  herself,  on  entering  the  coach,  in  the 
presence  of  a  single  fellow  traveller,  a  comely 
■woman  of  sixty,  who,  after  having  uttered  a 
eourteous  and  respectful  "  good-day"  to  her 
new  companion,  attempted  no  further  conver- 
sation, and  thus  once  more  left  the  anxious  girl 
to  her  own  thoughts.  j 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


.  NKV?:HTnKLEss  the  journey  was  a  dreary  one, 
and  well  calculated  to  ojipress  the  already  sad- 
dened heart  of  Gerti'ude.  Nothing  could  bo 
more  dispiriting  than  the  constant  intrusion  of 
strangers,  who,  after  a  coarse  stare,  and  a  surly 
greeting,  were  anxious  only  for  their  own  a«- 
commodation,  and  careless  of  the  discomfort  of 
those  with  whom  they  were  brought  into  tem- 
porary contact ;  the  sudden  stoppages,  accom- 
panied by  hurried  departures,  and  tlie  discor- 
dant rumbling  of  heavy  trunks  overhead,  or  tlie 
still  more  annoying  searches  for  small  parcels, 
mislaid  in  some  of  the  numerous  pockets  dis- 
persed in  the  interior  of  the  vehicle  ;  tlie  succes- 
sion of  repugnant  fumes  of  food  and  strong 
potations,  rendered  still  more  inodorous  by  the 
closeness  of  the  carriage,  and  the  selfishness  of 
its  occupants,  who,  having  fortified  themselves 
against  the  external  air,  saw  fit,  moreover,  to 
insist  upon  its  entire  exclusion ;  the  dreary 
waiting  at  the  doors  of  road-side  houses,  where 
the  other  passengers  descended  to  make  their 
hurried  repasts,  for  the  sole  purpose,  as  it  ap- 
peared, of  subsequently  grumbling  over  their 
inferiority ;  and,  ultimately,  the  arrival  ia 
town,  and  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  in  the  midst 
of  a  twilight  deepened  by  fog,  and  rendered 
still  more  terrifying  to  a  novice  like  Gertrude 
by  the  noise  of  many  voices  and  the  tread  of 
many  feet. 

A  hackney-coach  was,  however,  soon  pro- 
cured, and  ere  long  the  orphan,  with  her 
slender  luggage,  was  on  her  way  to  the  office 
to  which  she  had  been  directed  by  the  letter 
of  her  uncle.  Hitherto  she  had  borne  up 
bravely,  but  this  last  slow  and  melancholy, 
and  to  her  mysterious  progress,  through  narrow 
streets,  where  the  dim  lamps  failed  to  throw 
more  than  a  sickly  beam  upon  the  dirt-obscured, 
and  often  iron-barred  windows  of  the  lofty  and 
frowning  houses,  totally  exhausted  her  couragf;; 
a  thousand  fantastic  doubts  and  terrors  took 
possession  of  her ;  she  was  utterly  alone,  iw 
the  power  of  a  stranger,  of  whose  probity  she 
had  necessarily  no  assurance,  and  as  she  looked 
eagerly  from  the  window  of  the  foul  and 
rumbling  machine  in  which  she  was  borne 
along,  she  could  not  obtain  the  most  remote 
idea  of  the  streets  she  traverse<l ;  all  were  alike, 
long  and  dingy,  and  dark,  without  one  distin- 
guishing feature  which  could  be  discerned 
through  the  thick  and  uncertain  gloom. 

Nor  was  her  situation  apparently  much  im- 
proved when,  at  length,  the  cumbersome  coach 
drew  up  beside  the  narrow  pavement  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  squalid  lane,  and  the  immense 
mass  of  capes  and  handkerchiefs  which  en- 
veloped the  driver  appeared  beside  her,  and 
his  hoarse  voice  inquired  if  tliat  were  tlnj 
right  house.  Gertrude  trembled  in  every  limb 
as  she  declared  her  utter  ignorance  upon  the 
subject,  and  requested  that  he  would  inquir*i 
of  the  inmates.  The  man  turned  away  with  » 
surly  and  inaudible  rejoinder,  but  he  neverthe- 
less obeyed,  and,  at  his  summoiiii,  the  door  w»is 
opened  by  a  slip-shod  woman,  whose  uncombed 
hair  fell  in  revolting  confusion  about  her  faee 
and  who  held  in   her  hand  an  unsnufl'ed  c&iidl« 


14« 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


■which  flared  and  guttered  under  the  action  of 
the  chill   wind. 

The  heart  of  the  orplian  sank  within  her  as 
ehe  felt  convinced  tliat  this  could  not  be  the 
haven  she  had  sought,  and  for  an  instant,  she 
felt  crushed  by  the  conviction  of  her  forlorn 
and  helpless  situation,  thus  utterly  alone  in  the 
streets  of  a  great  city,  amid  damp  and  dark- 
ness ;  but  she  was  soon  relieved  from  this 
new  terror  by  the  approach  of  the  slatternly 
portress,  who,  advancing  to  the  side  of  the  car- 
riage, dr()])pod  a  curtesy,  and  inquired  if  Miss 
would  be  pleased  to  alight,  adding,  that  she  had 
just  come  in  time,  as  Mr.  Jackson  had  already 
locked  all  up,  and  was  preparing  to  go  home. 

"  No,  no,  I  thank  you,"  was  the  quick  re- 
joinder of  Gertrude  ;  "  I  have  not  a  moment  to 
lose.  If  it  be,  as  I  suppose,  Mr.  Jackson  who 
is  to  be  good  enough  to  accompany  me  to  my 
uncle's,  have  the  kindness  to  tell  him  that  I  am 
ready  to  proceed  at  once." 

The  woman  withdrew  into  the  house,  and  at 
the  termination  of  a  few  miniites  she  reappeared 
accompanied  by  a  diminutive  man  of  careworn 
and  haggard  countenance,  who,  as  he  emerged 
from  the  dingy  passage,  was  hastily  buttoning 
a  shabby  and  insufficient  great  coat  over  a  huge 
bunch  of  keys.  By  the  light  of  the  flaring 
candle  he  accosted  Gertrude  with  a  courtesy 
which  was  almost  obsequious ;  and,  on  her  re-  j 
iterating  her  wish  to  avoid  all  further  delay, 
made  a  quiet  bow,  and  mounted  the  box  beside 
tlie  coachman. 

The  poor  girl  was  entirely  ignorant  whither 
she  was  now  proceeding,  and  she  had  ample 
opportunity  to  reflect  upon  the  discomforts  of 
her  position  ere  they  arrived  in  a  narrow  street 
at  Walworth,  wliich  was  their  place  of  destina- 
tion. Here  they  once  more  stopped,  and  the 
active  clerk  having  hastily  descended  from  his 
unenviable  eminence,  and  cautiously  knocked 
at  the  door,  announced  to  Gertrude  that  she  had 
now  reached  her  uncle's  house. 

It  had  by  this  time  become  so  dai'k,  that, 
owing  to  the  absence  of  street  lamps,  which,  as 
it  appeared,  were  a  luxury  entirely  dispensed 
witli  in  that  immediate  neigliborhood,  the  ex- 
cited and  wearied  traveller  could  form  no  judg- 
ment as  to  the  description  of  residence  selected 
by  her  uncle ;  but  she  did  not  long  remain  in 
doubt ;  for  once  more  a  door  was  opened  to 
her,  and  again  a  fenuile  stood  upon  the 
tlireshold,  candle  in  hand,  to  inquire  her  busi- 
ness. To  this  question  Mr.  Jackson  imme- 
diatelj'  replied  in  a  low,  and  somewhat  defer- 
ential tone,  after  which,  he  himself  opened  the 
coach-door,  took  possession  of  the  portmanteau 
and  car|)ct-bag,  which  he  was  compelled  to 
deposit  in  the  front  room,  in  order  that  the 
young  lady  might  be  enabled  to  ])ass  into  the 
house,  an<l  then,  while  the  neat  and  matronly 
person  who  had  given  them  entrance  was 
respectfully  ushering  her  into  the  same  apart- 
ment, he  advanced,  hat  in  hand,  to  inquire  if  he 
should  discharge  the  coach.  Totally  unaccus- 
tomed to  all  Bui'h  arrangements,  Gertrude 
eagerly  and  thankfully  |Mit  her  purse  into  his 
hiind,  and,  while  she  was  making  hurried  and 
whispered    inquiries    as    to   the    state   of   her 


uncle,  she  was  once  more  startled  by  the  sound 
of  a  fierce  contention  without. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Ma'am,"  said  the  good 
woman  with  a  smile,  as,  even  by  the  faint  light 
which  she  carried  she  saw  the  cheek  of  the 
orphan  turn  pale ;  "  It  is  only  Mr.  Jacksoa 
settling  with  the  Jarvey.  They  are  such 
rogues,  that  he  has  been  trying  to  cheat  you,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  but  for  once  he  has  met 
with  his  match  ;  he  must  look  sharper  than 
ever  he  did  in  his  life  before,  if  he  imposes  oa 
Mr.  Jackson." 

"  Oh,  I  entreat  you,  give  him  an3'thing — all 
that  he  asks.  That  outcry  will  disturb  Mr. 
Spencer." 

"  Oh,  no.  Ma'am,"  was  the  quiet  rejoinder ; 
"  I  don't  think  my  master  will  hear  ifr,  but 
if  he  does,  it  will  do  him  good.  He  will  be  so 
glad  to  know  that  you  have  not  thrown  away 
your  money." 

The  heart  of  the  orphan  sank  within  her ; 
she  knew  not  how  to  reply  to  such  an  assur- 
ance, and  involuntarily  she  glanced  round  the 
squalid  room  in  which  she  st6od,  as  if  to  read 
in  its  arrangements  some  token  of  its  owner's 
habits.  The  survey  was  soon  completed.  Fire 
there  was  none,  and  the  discolored  shavings 
which  filled  the  grate  aff'orded  read}^  evidence 
that  they  had  long  remained  undisturbed  ;  a 
small  and  well-worn  carpet  partiallj'  covered 
the  floor,  and  half-a-dozen  rush-seated  chaira 
assisted  in  concealing  the  remaining  portion  of 
the  boards ;  a  small  round  table,  furnished  with 
an  office  inkstand,  a  few  pens,  and  a  torn  blot- 
ting-book,  stood  in  the  centre  ;  and  the  walls 
boasted,  for  all  ornament,  a  folio  sheet-almanao 
fastened  to  the  faded  paper  by  four  pins,  imme- 
diately above  thfe  chimney-piece. 

Gertrude  had  already  been  initiated  into  the 
discomforts  of  genteel  penury ;  but  on  her 
arrival  at  Bletchley  she  had  believed  that  the 
home  of  Miss  Warrington  was  an  extreme  ex- 
ample of  its  class,  while  now  she  had  only  to 
look  round  her  to  be  convinced,  that  even  by 
her  last  change  of  residence,  she  had  left,  not 
merely  positive  comfort,  but  almost  luxury 
behind  her. 

In  an  instant  the  conviction  flashed  upon  her 
mind,  that  the  helpless  old  man  who  had  so 
unexpectedly  summoned  her  to  his  bed  of 
death  had  been  ruined  by  one  of  those  hazard- 
ous speculations  in  which  he  had  formerly 
anuissed  considerable  wealth  ;  and  the  question 
trembled  upon  her  tongue,  when  it  was  arrested 
by  the  rc-entrance  of  Mr.  Jackson,  upon  whosB 
hollow  cheek  the  excitement  of  his  late  conten- 
tion had  almost  brought  a  flush,  and  who 
smiled  a  smile  of  genuine  complacency  as  he 
restored  the  purse  of  Jliss  Mortimer,  assuring 
her  that  he  had  succeeded  so  thoroughly,  thai 
the  rascally  coachman  had  not  carried  off"  a 
farthing  more  than  his  fare.  It  was  evident,  by 
his  crest-fallen  look,  as  Gertrude  answered  only 
by  a  silent  bend  of  the  head,  that  lie  had  an 
ti'eipated  both  thanks  and  congratulations  upon 
liis  victory  ;  but  he  once  more  became  radiant 
as  she  placed  the  last  remaining  guinea  of  Mr. 
Spencer's  gift  in  his  hand,  and  assured  him,  in 
her  gentlest  accents,  that   she  would  not  fail  to 


THE  RIVAL  BIL^UTIES. 


149 


inform  her  uncle  how  greatly  she  was  indebted 
to  his  care. 

How  difficult  it  is  for  those  who  have  once 
enjoj-ed  affluence,  even  though  it  may  liave 
been  succeeded  by  comparative  penury,  and 
those  gnawing  doubts  and  apprehensions  which 
occasionally  accompany  the  disbursement  of  a 
crown-piece,  to  forget  their  early  liabits,  where 
they  feel  they  have  incurred  obligation  !  and 
thus  it  was  as  Miss  Mortimer  of  Westrum 
House,  rather  than  as  the  niece  of  Miss  War- 
rington, that  Gertrude  recompensed  the  ser- 
vices of  the  astonished  old  man,  who  had  been 
her  guide  through  the  mysterious  wilderness 
of  London.  Never,  however,  was  largesse 
better  bestowed  ;  and  could  the  gentle  girl 
have  guessed  with  what  a  feeling  of  astoni.shed 
happiness  that  poor  office  drudge  trudged 
homeward  to  his  obscure  lodging,  to  gladden 
the  eyes  of  his  sickly  wife  and  ill-clad  children 
by  the  sight  of  that  golden  coin,  she  would 
have  shed  tears  of  delight.  When  he  took  his 
leave,  the  female  attendant,  after  apologizing 
to  her  new  inmate  for  leaving  her  in  the  dark 
for  a  few  instants,  as  she  had  no  other  candle, 
bolted  and  barred  the  door  of  the  house  as 
carefully  as  though  it  had  closed  over  the 
entrance  of  the  jewel-cave  of  Aladdin,  and 
then,  hastily  returning,  deposited  the  light 
upon  the  table,  and,  at  the  request  of  Gertrude, 
went  to  inform  the  sick  man  of  her  arrival. 

Again  the  orphan  looked  around  her  in  utter 
sadness.  It  must  be  as  she  had  guessed,  and 
tlie  rich  relative  who  had  abandoned  his  family 
because  he  could  not  endure  to  share  his  wealth 
with  them,  had  lived  to  see  it  melt  away  into 
absolute  penury,  and  perhaps  to  die  amid  pri- 
vation and  regret.  And  then  another  thought 
flashed  upon  her.  Miss  Warrington  as  j-et 
knew  nothing  of  the  generous  intentions  of  Er- 
nest in  her  behalf,  and,  consequently,  she 
should  commit  no  injustice  if  she  proposed  to 
him  to  divide  Mrs.  Mortimer's  bequest  between 
her  aunt  and  the  equally  needy  brother  of  her 
mother.  It  was  little,  as  she  sorrowfully  felt, 
to  offer  to  either,  and  thus  divided,  became 
even  less  worthy  of  their  acceptance ;  but  it 
was  her  all,  and  it  would  suffice  to  convince 
them  that  she  was  not  selfishly  indifferent  to 
tlieir  welfare. 

Feeling  more  happy  than  she  had  done  since 
she  left  Bletchley,  Gertrude  rose  from  her 
Beat,  and  was  disencumbering  herself  of  her 
heavy  travelling  cloak,  when  the  servant  re- 
appeared, and  offered  to  conduct  her  to  the 
cliamber  of  her  uncle,  who  was  prepared  to 
Bee  her. 

Overcome  by  fatigue  and  anxiety,  the  orphan 
fflt  her  knees  tremble  as  she  preceded  the 
woman  up  a  narrow  and  unearpeted  flight  of 
Btairs,  and  then  paused  beside  a  door  which 
stood  partially  open. 

"  Walk  in,  Ma'am,  if  you  please,"  was  whis- 
pered in  her  ear;   "that's  master's  room." 

And  Gertrude  obeyed. 

The  same  solitary  candle  by  which  she  had 
been  received  on  her  arrival  still  lent  its  friend- 
ly light,  which,  faint  though  it  was,  enabled 
her  to  discover  every  detail  of  the  closet-like 
apartment   of  the   dying   man.      One  of  those 


odious  inventions  called  fire-baskets  stood  in 
the  grate,  where  a  feeble  flame  was  flicki-riiig 
beneath  a  suttocatiiig  clump  of  coke  ;  a  table  of 
unpainted  deal  was  drawn  near  the  hearth  with 
a  chair  beside  it,  and  upon  it  stood  a  spoutless 
jug  and  a  glass  tumbler.  A  large  hair  trunk, 
which  had  evidently  long  aflforded  a  banquet 
to  the  moths,  supplied  the  place  of  drawers, 
and  a  comfortless  tent-bedstead,  with  curtains 
so  scanty  that  they  "ofused  to  meet  on  either 
side,  oecM|>ied  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and 
partially  obscured  the  window. 

Upon  this  squalid  bed  lay  the  worsliipper  of 
Mammon,  beneatli  a  tliin  and  sullied  coverlet; 
one  hand  tmder  his  head,  which  was  only  pro- 
tected from  the  chill  night  air  by  a  profusion  of 
snow-white  hair  which  fell  over  the  pillow,  and 
the  other  resting  upon  a  walking-cane,  that  had 
evidently  been  left  purposely  within  his  reach. 

So  you  are  come,  are  you  ?"  growled  a  voice 
which  would  have  been  harsh  had  not  weakness 
rendered  it  feeble,  as  Gertrude  moved  noiseless- 
ly across  the  floor:  "Thank  you  for  that  at 
least."  And  the  bony  fingers  quitted  for  an 
instant  the  head  of  the  cane,  and  were  extended 
to  her  as  she  reached  the  bed-side  :  "  Come  to 
see  me  die — not  in  a  palace — not  in  a  palace,  as 
perhaps  you  expected,  but  like  an  honest  man, 
under  a  quiet  roof,  never  disturbed  by  debts  or 
duns." 

"  Do  not  despair,  sir,"  said  Gertrude  softly, 

you  require  care,  and  I  am  very  grateful  to 

you  for  having  given  me  the  opportunity  of  be- 

oming  your  imrse.     Young  as  I  am,  I  am  no 

stranger  to  a  sick  room." 

All  the  better — all  the  better,"  was  the  un- 
gracious rejoinder;  "no  woman  has  a  right  to 
be  so.  But  sit  down,  sit  down ;  why  do  you 
stand !" 

Gertrude  possessed  herself  of  the  solitary 
chair,  and  placed  it  near  the  sick  man's  pillow. 

And  you,  Mrs.  Sharp,"  continued  the  invalid 
in  the  same  low  growl,  "  go  and  arrange  Miss 
Mortimer's  room.  Have  you  borrowed  a  bolster 
as  I  told  you?" 

Yes,  "sir,"  replied  the  woman  with  a  slight 
blusk 

Very  well,  go  then ;  take  the  candle  with 
you.     We  can  talk  as  well  in  the  dark." 

Mrs.  Sharp  curtseyed  in  silence,  took  up  the 
brass  candlestick,  and  disappeared.  Gertrude 
remained  in  darkness  with  her  scarce  seen,  and 
dreaded  relative. 

"  And  now  tell  me — tell  me,"  whispered  the 
sick  man,  when  they  were  thus  alone  together, 
tell  me,  niece,  what  has  your  journey  cost 
you." 

"  Your  generosity,  sir,  more  than  supplied  my 
want«." 

"Yes,  yes;  you  could  not  spend  five  pounds 
in  coming  here,  unless  you  sowed  silver  by  the 
road-side,  that  it  might  bring  forth  gold.  Loi>- 
don  was  the  trial,  child;  London,  I  know  it.  1 
have  lived  in  London,  boy  and  num.  for  si:.ty 
years,  and  now  and  then  they  liave  tried  to 
cheat  me.  Tried — <lo  you  mark  me — tried,  but 
never  succeeded!"  And  through  the  darkness 
sounded  a  low  chuckle,  as  the  sick  man  turned 
abruptly  upon  the  i)illow.  "I  protected  you 
against  the  tricks  of  London,  vben  I  put  you 


150 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


under  the  care  of  Jaokson — Jackson  is  na  keen 
as  a  tile,  but  \ui»  never  had  wit  enough  to  make 
his  fortune.  He  wiw  too  weak  to  grapple  with 
the  world,  and  to  hold  what  he  had  clutehed. 
It  requires  wit — ay,  and  wisdom  too—when  a 
man  has  onee  become  rich  to  enable  him  to  re- 
main 80,  and  not  suffer  his  honest  gains  to  escape 
him;"  and  full  of  the  image  which  he  had  con- 
jured up,  tiie  wretched  mammon-lover  raised 
nis  bony  (^m  in  the  air,  and  unclosing  his  clenched 
hand,  spread  wide  his  attenuated  lingers,  as 
thougli  a  shower  of  gold-dust  were  evaporating 
from  between  them. 


The 


J  poor  gir 


1  shrank  before  this  sudden  burst 


of  factitious  energy,  although  its  most  hideous 
feature  was  spared  to  her  by  the  obscurity 
around  them,  and  anxious  to  evade  all  reply  to 
such  an  observation,  she  said  timidly, — 

'•  You  were  speaking  of  Mr.  Jackson,  sir." 

"  True,"  was  the  prompt  i-eply,  as  her  uncle 
once  more  relapsed  into  sudden  calm :  "  It  is 
idle  to  talk  to  you  of  what  you  cannot  under- 
stand. I  was  talking  of  Jackson,  telling  you 
Vhat  he  had  been  a  fool,  who  never  knew  how 
to  avail  himself  of  his  natural  capabilities. 
But,  by  the  bye — what's  your  name,  child  ?  I 
have  forgotten." 

"  Gertrude,  sir,"  said  the  poor  girl  almost 
choked  by  her  tears. 

"  Ah,  j-cs,  Gertrude,  I  remember  now  ;  your 
mother  was  fond  of  novel  reading,  and  found 
the  name  there,  no  doubt;  but  no  matter.  I 
say,  Gertrude,  you  did  not  give  Jackson  any- 
thing, I  hope  ?  He's  in  constant  employment ; 
sixty  pounds  %year,  and  only  four  children. 
V.'itli  proper  management,  sixty  pounds  a-year 
will  go  a  great  way,  and  where  there  are  no 
a])penrances  to  keep  up — and  what  appearances 
can  be  expected  from  the  junior  clerk  of  a 
incrcantile  house? — it  is  a  very  comfortable 
income." 

(icrtrude  made  no  reply. 

"  Atid  so  Mrs.  Mortimer  left  you  2,000/., 
child?"  pursued  the  sinking  gold-worshipper; 
"  li.OOOJ.  !  !  Do  you  know  that  millions  have 
been  made  out  of  the  fiftieth  part  of  2,000/. 
And  what  have  you  done  witli  such  a  sum  of 
money  ?" 

"  Will  you  forgive  me,  my  dear  sir,  if  I  ven- 
tui-e  to  tell  you  what  I  should  rejoice  in  doing 
with  a  part  of  it?" 

"  (Jh,  then,  it  is  not  all  gone  I"  said  the  eager 
voice,  as  tiic  bony  fingers  again  expanded  them- 
selves, and  sought  in  darkness  for  the  hand  of 
(iertrude,  which  they  clasped  in  their  skeleton 
pressure  ;  "  Then  it  is  not  all  gone !  And  I  may 
live  long  enough  to  get  you  good  interest  for  it; 
uiKjnestionable  security;  you  may  trust  me. 
IJut  be  saving,  Gertrude,  be  saving.  '  Take  care 
>{  the  pence,  and  the  pounds  will  take  care  of 
liiemselves,'  as  Poor  Richard  says.  But  what  do 
you  want  to  do  with  a  part  of  it,  child?  What 
can  you  know  about  money-matters?  What 
jioMsense  havo  you  got  into  your  silly  woman's 
liea.I  r 

"  I  scarcely  kaow  how  to  tell  you,  sir,  but  I 
had  better  confess  that  when  I  received  your 
letter  I  believed  you  to  be  living  in  alttucuee,  if 
uf)t  in  splendor." 

"  1  dare  be  sworn  you  did!"  growled  out  the 


harsli  voice,  and  the  clasp  of  the  withered  hand 

IS  suddenly  withdrawn. 

"That  idea  alone,"  pursued  the  orphan  undis- 
mayed by  the  elFect  of  her  frank  confession, 
"  made  me  hesitate  for  a  moment  in  obeying 
your  sunmions  ;  for  I  felt  that  where  you  could 
command  every  comfort  and  every  care,  my 
presence  would  avail  but  little;  while  theie 
were  circumstances  which  rendered  me  anxious 
not  to  abandon  my  home  at  this  particular  crisis. 
Now,  however,  I  am  indeed  grateful  that  1  stifled 
the  voice  of  my  selfishness,  for  since  1  entered 
your  house,  I  feel  that  I  may  not  be  utterly  use- 
less ;  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  act  towards  you 
the  part  of  a  child,  and  that,  with  your  permis- 
sion, 1  may  in  a  slight,  although  unfortunately 
a  very  slight  degree,  repair  the  injustice  of  that 
fortune  which  I  am  painfully  aware  has  desert- 
ed you,  at  the  very  moment  when  its  favors 
were  the  most  needed." 

"  And  what  can  you  give  me,  should  I  live  f" 
murmured  the  dying  man,  even  more  huskily 
than  he  had  yet  spoken. 

"  Little,  too  little,  I  fear  to  secure  to  you  all 
the  comforts  of  existence,"  replied  Gertrude 
sadly,  "  but  still  enough  to  protect  you  from 
want." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  live  upon  your- 
self?" 

The  orphan  blushed,  although  all  was  dark 
about  her.  "  I  should,  perhaps,  already  have 
explained  to  you,  my  dear  sir,"  sjie  almost 
whispered,  "  that  I  am  about  to  become  a 
wife." 

"The  wife  of  whom,  Gertrude  Mortimer?" 
loudly  demanded  the  sick  man,  aroused  into 
violent  although  transitory  energy:  "  Bewaie 
how  you  suffer  yourself  to  forget,  that  although 
an  aljiiost  penniless  orphan,  you  are  the  daughter 
of  my  sister." 

"  1  do  not  shrink  before  the  warning,"  was  the 
proud  reply  :  "  I  am  betrothed  to  the  only  son 
of  Mr.  Armstrong  of  Bletchley  House." 

Although  Gertrude  could  not  see  the  action, 
she  could  hear  the  dry  and  fevered  palms  of  the 
invalid  clasp  together,  and  something  like  a 
laugh  mingle  with  the  hard  and  laboring  cough 
which  ploughed  his  chest. 

"  And  so,"  he  said  at  length,  "  You  can  help 
me  to  live  ?  and  I  have  toiled  for  years  only  to 
be  indebted  at  last  to  a  puny  and  love-sick  girl, 
who  is  ignorant  of  the  value  of  what  she  gives 
up  so  readily  I  But  I  am  glad  that  you  are  to 
marry  an  Armstrong,  child,  very  glad.  1  know 
their  history — part  of  it  is  written  in  bonds  and 
post-obits, — but  better  days  are  coming  for  the 
Armstrongs,  better  days;  and  again  I  say  that 
I  am  glad  of  it.  Go"ld  is  like  the  loadstone, 
girl ;  only  it  acts  and  reacts  upon  itself  Did 
you  ever  see  a  jewelled  dowager  seat  herself 
at  a  card  table,  that  all  the  gold  did  not  fly  to 
her  ringed  fingers,  from  those  of  the  poor  and 
proud  adversary  who  had  dared  to  breast  her 
in  the  cunning  strife?  Did  you  ever  see  the 
great  speculator  pitted  against  the  trembling 
novice  in  some  fourth-rate  venture,  that  the 
Leviathan  did  not  swallow  the  gudgeon  ?  No, 
no  ;  gold  loves  gold,  child.  The  sight  of  it  is 
pleasant;  the  ring  of  it  is  sonorous;  tlie  weight 
of  it  is  satisfactory  :  the  man  who  baa  oucc  po8- 


TIIE   RIVAL  BT:AUTII!S. 


151 


lessed  gold,  good,  sterling  gold,  knows  its  real  told  ywi  that  I  havo  any  gloomy  forohodiugs  f 


,'!ilue,  and  cannot  be  cheated  by  a  counterfeit 
To  him  it  is  food  and  fuel,  home  and  wife,  and 
children,  costly  raiment,  and  proud  station.  If 
vou  could  raise   again  the  walls  and  palaces  of 


Do  yon  suppose  that  I  am  afi'aid  to  die '(" 

"  I  sincerely  tr»ist  not,  Sir." 

"  Well,  then,  you  may  be  at  ease  upon  that 
point     Afraid  to  die  !     Pshaw  !   the  very  idea 


Tyre  and  Sidon,  and  Carthage  and  Palmyra,  do ;  is  sickening.  Wluit  have  I  left  to  live  for?  Are 
vou  know  what  all  their  stones  would  cry  aloud  you  not  aware  that  I  have  been  compelled  to 
m  honor  of  their  resurrection?  Kothing  but  |  give  up  business  ;  and  that  I  am  indebted,  even 
gold."  And  the  dying  man  sank  back,  pant-  for  the  services  of  Jackson,  to  the  courtesy  of 
ing  and  exhausted  upon  his  pillow.  my  successor?" 

Gertrude  felt  very  wretcliedL    Here  laj'  beside  i      "  I  had  indeed  suspected,  on  my  arrival  here, 
lier  a  worsliipper  of  Mammon,  evidently  excluded 'that  such  was  probably  the  case." 
from  the  sordid  temple  of  his  cherished  deity  at  I      "  You  are  a  shrewd  observer  it  seems,  girl ; 
the  eleventh  hour,  and  yet  so  fearfully  imbued '  and    yet   you    fancy  that    I    am   afraid   to   die. 
with  the  one  and  oidy  idolatry  of  a  long  life,  Wliat  is   the  world  to  me  now,   when   I   have 


tliat  he  could  not  divest  himself  of  his  old,  and 
aow  worse  than  idle  associations. 


CHAPTER  XLHL 


And    now    tell    me,   child,"   muttered    the 


nothing  left  to  do  in  it?  However,  if  I  should 
live,  it  appears  that  you  have  provided  for  my 
wants,"  and  again  the  exulting  chuckle  was 
faintly  audible ;  "  but  never  fear,  never  fear, 
all  is  nearly  over  with  me,  and  I  shall  not 
burden  you  long." 

"  You  do  me  injustice.  Sir,  if  you  suppose ' 

"I  suppose  nothing,  child;  I  am  a  man  of 
facts — honest,  straightforward,  plain  facts.  My 
wretched  man  after  a  pause,  "have  you  brought  whole  life  lias  been  one  fact — one  dry,  hard  fact 
money  enough  with  you  to  take  you  home  after, — one  palpable  and  tangible  principle." 

all  is  over  here?     You  liad  better  go  back  atl      "I  was  only  about  to  assure  you.  Sir " 

once  when  I  am  gone,  for  London  is  a  sad  place,  "  You  had  already  done  better,  girl,  you  liad 
a  very  sad  place,  fit  onlj^  for  those  who  do  not  i  offered  me  money,  which  will  go  farther  than 
know  the  value  of  what  they  squandei-.  Are  '  all  the  assurances  in  the  world  ;  and  I  hate  sen- 
you  provided  with  money  to  take  you  back  ?"       timent."  , 

"1  am,  sir,"  said  Gertrude,  more  and  more  P'ortunately  for  Gertrude  the  staid  attendant 
saddened  by  the  conviction  that  her  uncle  could '  of  her  uncle  entered  as  he  ceased  speaking,  and 
converse   upon   no  other  than  his   one   darling!  tluis  obviated  the  necessity  of  any  reply.     After 


theme :  "  and  indeed  I  blush  to  have  already 
intruded  so  greatlj-  upon  your  generosity." 

"  That  is  right,"  replied  the  gold-worshipper, 
evidently  much  relieved  by  the  assurance  ;  "  And 
now,  while  we  are  alone,  let  me  tell  you  at  once 
tliat  here,  in  a  pocket-book  under  my  pillow, 
you  will  tind  a  20/.  note.  That  is  to  bury  me, 
child.  A  sad  waste  of  money,  when,  after  all, 
we  need  only  a  few  planks  nailed  together,  and 
a  deep  liole  dug  to  hide  us  away  in  ;  but  we  all 

ive  our  weaknesses,  and  I  wish  to  be  put  into 


having  carefully  deposited  her  candle  upon  the 
table,  she  knelt  down,  and  with  a  piece  of  stout 
iron-wire  attempted  to  stir  into  something  like 
a  blaze  the  dull  and  cheerless  handful  of  fuel  iu 
the  wretched  fireplace  ;  but,  even  cautious  as 
she  was,  the  noise  grated  upon  the  ear  of  the 
sick  man,  who,  drawing  aside  the  miserable 
apology  for  a  curtain  wliieh  veiled  the  head  of 
his  bed,  exclaimed  eagerly, — 

"  Gently,   Mrs.    Siiarp,   gently.      How   often 
have   I    told   you    that  coals   are    the   precious 


the  ground  like  a  gentleman.     So  it  must  all  be! jewels  of  the  people?     It  is  by  no  means  cold. 


spent;  do  you  hear  me,  Gertrude  ?  All — that 
I  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the 
thing  was  done  handsomely.  Jackson  will  follow 
me,  and  it  will  be  a  fine  day's  work  for  him  ;  the 
scarf,  and  hatband,  and  gloves,  will  be  a  little 
fortune,  for  I  know  well  from  experience,  that 
they  can  be  turned  to  good  account.  He  will 
have  earned  them,  however,  for  I  have  given 
directions  tiiat  he  shall  come  here  and  arrange 
e\'erythiiig.  I  cannot  depend  on  you ;  they 
would  rob  and  cheat  you  on  all  hands ;  while 
iackson  knows  the  world,  and  trusts  it  as  little 
as  I  do.  iS'evertheless,  make  him  show  you  the 
account  Twenty  pounds  is  a  large  sum  to 
cx-pend  at  once,  and  a  great  deal  ought  to  be 
done  with  it." 

_ "  I  will  endeavor  to  follow  all  your  directions. 
Sir ;  but  would  it  not  also  be  prudent  to  make 
tome  arrangements  in  contemplation  of  a  hap- 
pier result  to  your  illness  than  you  appear  to 
anticipate  ?  These  gloomy  forebodings  can  only 
tend  to  aggravate  your  sufferings." 

"  Gloomy  forebodings!"  echoed  the  old  man 
in  a  tone  of  sarcastic  indignation,  "  Who  has 


by  no  means  cold,"  he  repeated,  as  he  with- 
drew his  arm  under  the  scanty  coverlid  when 
the  chill  air  of  the  little  chamber  fell  upon  it; 
"  and  coals  are  dear,  vei-y  dear,  this  winter." 

"  It  is  the  nasty  coke.  Sir,  that  will  not  catch," 
said  the  housekeeper  in  a  tone  of  respectful  vo- 
monstrance. 

"  All  the  better,  Mrs.  Sharp,  all  the  better," 
was  the  tart  rejoinder.  "  Half  the  tires  that 
take  place  in  London  are  occasioned  by  that  in- 
judicious use  of  tlie  poker  which  appears  to  be 
an  epidemic  with  j-our  sex.  Let  the  coke  alone, 
it  crackles  and  burns  away  gently,  and  nothing 
more  is  necessary.  And  now,  what  have  you 
got  to  give  Miss  Mortimer?  She  may,  perhaps, 
be  hungry  after  her  journey." 

"  We  liave  a  cold  mutton-chop  in  the  house. 
Sir." 

"Good,  good,  nothing  is  so  wliolesomo  as 
mutton  ;  and  cold  meat  after  fatigue  is  always 
preferable  to  hot  Go  and  sup,  child,  and  theu 
let  me  see  you  again." 

"  I  tliank  you,  my  dear  Sir,"  said  the  unhappy 
Gertrude  ;  "  but  I  have  no  appetite." 


162 


■niE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


*  All  the  better,"  said  the  sick  man  with  a 
snile;  "  all  the  better.  Meat  is  heavy  at  night, 
and  niiglit  spoil  your  rest  Do  as  you  please, 
my  dear,  do  as  you  please.  Mrs.  Sharp  will 
obey  your  orders.  And  now  give  me  some 
■water,  Mrs.  Sharp,  I  am  thirsty." 

"  Water,  Sir!"  exclaimed  Gertrude  earnestly; 
-  Surely  you  will  not  run  the  risk  of  drinking 
water  in  your  present  weak  state  !" 

The  miserable  invalid  made  no  reply  until  the 

auiet  matron  had  poured  a  glass  of  water  from 
\e  dilapidate-d  jug,  and  placed  it  in  his  hand, 
then,  after  having  swallowed  a  portion  of  its 
contents,  he  said  ironically;  "  And  why  should 
I  not  drink  water  ?  Is  it  not  the  natural  bever- 
age bestowed  upon  us  by  nature  ?  Beer  is  priv- 
ileged poison  ;  tea  is  costly,  and  I  have  a  pump 
in  my  yard,  child,  for  which  I  have  already 
paid  a  tax.     Why  should  I  not  drink  water?" 

"  I  would  entreat  for  mv'self,  however,  a  cup 
of  tea,"  said  Gertrude,  who  could  no  longer  re- 
press her  tears ;  "  for  I  begin  to  feel  that  I  am 
utterly  exhausted." 

"Do  you  hear,  Mrs.  Sharp?"  asked  the  sick 
man  peevishly.  "  Miss  Mortimer  wishes  for 
tea;  and,  as  that  is  tlie  case,  you  may  bring  me 
tome  also ;  but  coffee  is  cheaper,  coffee  is 
cheaper." 

"  Coffee  will  be  equally  acceptable  to  me,  my 
dear  Sir,"  gasped  Gertrude. 

"Mrs.  Sharp!  Mrs.  Sharp !"  almost  screamed 
the  wretched  sufferer  from  his  squalid  bed  ;  for 
the  delighted  attendant  had  hurried  from  the 
room,  carrying  off  with  her  once  more  the  soli- 
tary candle,  and  had  already  reached  the  head 
of  the  stairs;  "Miss  Mortimer  will  take  coffee. 
Measure  it  carefully,  for  should  I  get  well  again 
(and  there  is  no  knowing  what  may  occur),  I 
shall  not  overlook  any  waste.  Miss  Mortimer 
will  take  coffee,  and,  perhaps,  some  bread  and 
butter." 

Tlie  female  functionary  replied  by  the  conven- 
tional "  Very  well,  Sir,"  and  rapidly  descended 
the  stairs;  while  the  orphan,  once  more  alone  in 
the  darkness  witli  her  unhappy  relative,  instead 
of  pursuing  the  conversation,  sat  and  retraced 
in  her  mind's  ej-e  every  feature  of  the  sharp  thin 
face  wliich  lay  upon  tlie  pillow  beside  her. 

One  glance  had  sufficed  to  show  that,  in  his 
yojftth,  Mr.  Spencer  must  have  been  strikingly 
handsome.  Tlie  outline  of  his  features  was  re- 
gular and  fine,  although  now  pinched  and 
meagre  fi-om  disease,  and  she  was  almost  tempt- 
ed to  add — from  famine.  A  hectic  circle  burnt 
and  glowed  upon  his  cheek ;  but  his  forehead 
was  as  white  as  marble,  his  eyes  encircled  by  a 
dark  ring,  and  his  narrow  lips  j^arched  and  livid. 
The  expression  of  his  eyes  was  half  cunning  and 
half  su8])ieious,  and  betrayed  a  nature  which  his 
silence  might  otherwise  have  concealed  ;  while 
the  conlinued  clutching  of  his  fingers,  fastening 
as  it  seemed  upon  some  visionary  treasure,  and 
the  continued  restlessness  visible  in  his  whole 
person,  told  that  the  spirit  within  was  ill  at 
ease. 

Not  a  vestige  of  that  beautiful  placidity  and 
inward  peace  which  make  age  so  venerable  and 
so  attracting,  drew  the  heart  of  the  spectator  to 
Mr.  Spencer,  even  in  his  suffering.  The  sv-m- 
pathy  which   he   had   recklessly  cast  from   him 


during  the  course  of  a  long  life  could  not  b« 
awakened  by  the  still  stern  and  eager  selfish- 
ness predominant  in  every  word  and  look  ;  and 
even  while  Gertrude  anxiously  endeavored  to 
cheat  herself  into  the  belief  that  she  should,  in 
time,  feel  for  him  the  affection  due  to  so  near  a 
relative,  she  was,  nevertheless,  conscious  of  a 
sentiment  of  repulsion  which  she  could  not 
overcome. 

The  silence  was  soon  broken  by  the  sick  man, 
to  whom  a  moment's  quiet  appeared  burden- 
some ;  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was  greatly 
weakened  by  the  exertion  of  the  past  hour. 

"  You  will  soon  have  some  amusement,  child," 
he  said,  as  he  turned  his  head  heavily  towards 
her :  "  The  paper  will  be  here  in  a  short  time.  I 
cannot  live  without  a  paper,  and  I  get  it  cheap 
from  a  neighbor  by  waiting  till  the  evening.  All 
I  shall  ask  you  to  read  to  me  is  the  city  article, 
I  care  nothing  about  politics,  or  Old  Bailey  re- 
ports. The  money  market  is  the  only  market 
worth  watching,  and  when  you  have  read  that, 
you  can  follow  your  own  fancy  as  to  the  rest 
But  you  must  be  quick,  for  they  call  for  it  again 
in  half-an-hour.  I  made  that  arrangement  with 
them,"  he  added,  dropping  his  voice  still  lower, 
until  it  sunk  into  a  confidential  whisper,  "  to  pre- 
vent Mrs.  Sharp  from  sitting  up  to  read,  and 
burning  the  candle  to  waste,  for  Mrs.  Sharp  has 
had  an  education,  and  used  to  bring  books  and 
read  while  she  sat  by  my  bedside.  Books,  in- 
deed! when  she  might  have  been  repairing  my 
linen,  or  washing  my  clothes.  I  soon  sent  th» 
books  out  of  the  house,"  and  the  wretched  man 
laughed  once  more  his  low,  bitter,  and  heartlesa 
j  laugh. 

I  The  coffee  was  soon  afterwards  announced, 
and  at  the  bidding  of  her  uncle,  Gertrude  roso 
I  and  followed  the  servant  down  stairs,  once 
,  more  leaving  him  in  the  darkness,  and  alone. 
She  was  miserable,  but  she  feared  to  betray  all 
the  bitterness  of  her  feelings  before  a  stranger 
and  a  menial,  and,  consequently,  she  repressed 
her  tears,  and  seated  herself  at  the  tea-table 
with  one  of  those  forced  smiles  which  are  infi- 
nitely more  painful  to  witness  than  any  burst 
of  grief 

!  Comfortless,  indeed,  was  the  meal  prepared 
;  for  the  wearied  and  exhausted  girl,  but  she 
'  eagerly  accepted  the  steaming  coffee  which  was 
offered  to  her,  and  even  endeavored  to  compel 
herself  to  partake  of  the  uninviting  bread  which 
was  its  accompaniment.  This  last  etlort  proved, 
however,  beyond  her  strength,  and  a  thick  sob 
arrested  the  unpalatable  morsel  ere  she  could 
:  swallow  it. 

j  "  Let  it  come.  Ma'am,  let  it  come,"  said  th» 
sympathising  woman  who  stood  beside  lier,  "  it 
will  do  you  good  to  cry,  and  well  you  may,  poor 
lady.  i)o  not  try  to  stop  your  tears,  you  will  be 
better  able  to  bear  up  afterwards,  and  I  shall  bo 
'  no  restraint  upon  you,  for  I  am  going  to  take 
m\;fnaster  his  cup  of  coffee.  I  must  water  it  a 
little  first,  however,"  continued  the  worthy  Mrs. 
Sharp,  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  "  or  the  poor 
gL'titlcman  will  fancj-^  that  he  is  going  to  the 
workhouse."  And,  taking  the  kettle  from  the 
hob  on  which  she  had  placed  it,  although  there 
t  was  no  fire  in  the  grate,  she  half  filled  it  with 
,  water,  and,  then,  adding  the  coffee,  disappeared 


t 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


16S 


iteadily  in  the  darkness,  as  if  long  habit  had 
rondered  her  independent  of  such  a  considera- 
tiou. 

And  when  she  was  once  more  alone,  Gertrude 
!  -wept,  indeed.  For  a  time,  the  smiling  future 
which  was  beckoning  lier  on,  was  utterly  for- 
girtten,  and  she  lived  only  in  the  cheerless  pre- 
sent She  cared  not  for  the  poverty  of  her 
uncle,  she  would  not  have  shrunk  from  any 
kwivations,  biit  his  narrow  and  sordid  spirit 
crushed  her  to  the  very  earth.  Not  a  vestige 
of  that  becoming  pride  and  moral  independence 
which  would  so  well  have  graced  his  adversity, 
and  recalled  the  habits  and  feeling  of  former 
days,  appeared  to  have  survived  his  pecuniary 
ruin ;  he  had  evidently  sunk  with  his  fortunes, 
and  still  clung  with  a  childish  pertinacity,  to 
the  wealth  that  he  had  lost. 

The  orphan  felt  her  fearful  responsibility,  she 
ftilt  how  much  and  solenmly  it  behoved  her  to 
awaken  him  to  a  better  and  a  more  befitting 
state  of  mind  ;  but  she  could  not  conceal  from 
herself  all  the  difiiculty*of  her  task.  How  was 
eheto  enforce  the  necessity  of  a  higher  and  a 
holier  worship — the  worship  of  humility,  and 
self-abnegation — upon  one  who,  like  the  epilep- 
tic maniac,  saw  everything  tinged  with  the 
yellow  hue  of  gold  ?  And  yet  the  eftbrt  must 
be  made.  She  must  not  suffer  him,  because  he 
had  lost  his  all  in  this  world,  blindly  to  put 
from  him  the  promises  of  the  world  to  come ; 
and  therefore  humbly,  and  with  a  deep  sense  of 
her  own  incapacity,  she  resolved  to  make  an 
attempt  to  inspire  him  with  higher  and  holier 
hopes. 

Poor  Gertrude !  She  had  yet  to  learn  that 
avarice  is  in  itself  a  religion,  and  that  when 
once  it  has  fixed  its  fiery  clutch  upon  the  human 
heart,  that  heart  is  evermore  preyed  upon  by 
the  one  demon-flame,  and  the  fearful  tragedy 
of  the  fabled  Hall  of  Eblis  is  perpetually  enact- 
ed upon  earth.  The  idol  may  indeed  be  con- 
sumed upon  its  shrine,  but  the  infatuated  wor- 
shipper will  still  kneel  before  the  empty  altar, 
and  pour  out  his  orisons  to  the  memory  of  the 
vanished  deity. 

It  was  not  long  ere  the  attendant  returned, 
and  the  orphan  having  wiped  away  her  tears, 
felt  the  presence  of  a  fellow-being  almost  a 
relief  She,  moreover,  had  some  misgivings  as 
to  the  remaining  pecuniary  resources  of  her 
uncle,  which  it  was  expedient  either  to  confirm 
or  to  remove,  in  order  that  she  might  know  how 
to  act,  and  accordingly,  she  determined  to  (j\ies- 
tion  the  staid-looking  woman  who  so  quietly 
and  resignedly  served  him,  and  thus  to  ascer- 
tain, if  possible,  the  exact  position  of  his  affairs. 

Having  once  arrived  at  this  determination, 
glie  desired  Mrs.  Sharp,  on  her  re-appearance, 
to  reply  frankly  to  her  inquiries;  a  request 
with  which  the  matron  readily  and  respectfully 
complied. 

"  I  believe  my  master  to  be  a  ruined  man. 
Ma'am,"  she  said,  "  although  not  actually  desti- 
tute. I  am  the  widow  of  one  of  his  late  clerks, 
and  to  me  he  has  always  been  just,  even  if  not 
generous,  but  lie  is  less  so  to  himself,  and  it  has 
been  with  the  greatest  diflSeulty  that  I  have  in- 
duced him  to  take  suffieient  sustenance  to  pre- 
serve life.     He  cannot  last  long,  and  yet  you 


see  the  wretchedness  in  which  he  is  content  to 
pass  the  last  few  weeks  of  his  existence.  Before 
he  thought  of  inviting  you  here.  Ma'am,  I  ven- 
tured once  or  twice  to  propose  to  him  that  I 
should  engage  some  young  girl  at -low  wages,  to 
do  the  drudgery  of  the  house,  in  order  that  I 
might  devote  my  time  exclusively  to  him,  but 
he  resolutely  refused,  and  I  have  been  com- 
pelled in  consequence  to  leave  him  hour  after 
hour  alone  on  his  sick  bed.  I  should  not  have 
cared  so  much  for  this,  could  he  have  rung  me 
up  when  he  required  my  services,  but  we  have 
not  a  bell  in  the  place,  and  although  I  siibstitu- 
ted  the  cane  which  you  must  have  seen  near 
him,  it  has  frequently  happened  that  he  has 
knocked  upon  the  floor  for  several  minutes 
before  I  heard  him,  and  I  have  found  him  faint 
and  exhausted  from  the  exertion,  and  almost 
believed  him  for  a  moment  to  be  dying." 

"  But  tell  me,  Mrs.  Sharp,  tell  me  honestly," 
urged  the  unhappy  Gertrude,  "  this  state  of 
almost  starvation  in  which  I  find  you,  can  it 
indeed  be  necessary?" 

"  I  really  cannot  say.  Ma'am,  but  I'm  afraid 
so.  As  regards  myself,  Mr.  Spencer  has  always 
paid  my  salary  with  the  greatest  punctuality, 
but  I  will  not  conceal  from  you,  that  a  portion 
of  it  has  almost  always  been  spent  in  purchasing 
trifles  for  his  comfort  which  I  have  been  obliged 
to  tell  him  were  presents  from  my  friends,  or  I 
do  believe  that  he  would  have  died  long  ago  of 
actual  starvation." 

The  tears  of  Gertrude  flowed  afresh.  "  My 
poor  uncle  !"  she  sobbed  out,  "  and  yet  he  was 
once  wealthy." 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,  and  I  have  been  even  told,  very 
rich,  although  he  never  lived  like  a  rich  man, 
but  after  the  death  of  my  husband,  I  saw  little 
of  him  for  some  time,  until  he  proposed  to  m« 
that  I  should  become  his  housekeeper,  an,  offer, 
which,  as  I  was  totally  dependant  on  my  friends, 
I  readily  accepted." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Sharp,  for  your  candor," 
said  the  orphan,  "  and  now,  we  must  act  in  con- 
cert and  endeavor  to  render  his  remnant  of  lifia 
more  tolerable.  My  own  resources  are  scanty, 
it  is  true,  but  they  are  sufficient  for  the  pur- 
pose. Moreover,  under  the  circumstances,  I  feel 
it  a  duty  to  expend  upon  his  comfort  the  sum 
which  he  forwarded  for  my  journey,  and  which 
must  have  made  a  cruel  inroad  upon  his  scanty 
means." 

"  I  fear  it  did.  Ma'am,  for  the  forwarding  of 
that  money  delayed  his  letter  for  several  days. 
He  even  shed  tears  as  he  folded  it,  declaring 
that  should  he  die  before  your  arrival,  he 
should  have  ended  his  life  by  an  act  of  folly. 
But  now  you  are  come,  Ma'am,  all  will  be  right, 
and  lie  already  seems  more  happy  in  his  mind." 

Thus  instruct<?-^.  Gertrude  hastened  to  make 
sundry  petty  but  well-judged  arrangements,  all 
tending  to  the  comfort  of  the  sick  man,  which 
the  housekeeper  gladly  undertook  to  i-calise,and 
she  was  still  involved  in  such  considerations 
when  a  knock  at  the  door  summoned  ilrs.  Sharp' 
to  receive  the  paper,  for  which,  as  she  re- 
marked, her  master  must  have  long  ])cen  anxi- 
ously looking  out,  from  its  unusual  delay.  Nor 
was  she  wrong  in  her  conjecture,  for  she  had 
scarcely    returned    to    the    parlor,   when    tb« 


154 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


sound  of  the  cane  upon  the  uncarpeted  floor 
of  Mr.  Spencer's  room,»announced  that  he  was 
aware  of  its  arrival,  and  impatient  for  his  daily 
luxury. 

Gertrude  accordingly  took  possession  of  the 
unsavory  journal,  which,  reeking  with  the  smell 
of  tobacco,  and  fouled  by  the  touch  of  unwash- 
ed fingers,  be!  rayed  its  tavern  origin,  and  fol- 
lowed by  tiie  housekeeper  with  the  ubiquitous 
candle,  hastened  to  the  sick  room. 

"Good  girl,  good  girl,"  said  the  invalid  eager- 
ly, "  now  come  close  to  me,  and  read  very 
elowly,  slowl}',  that  I  may  be  able  to  understand 
you." 

Gertrude  was  already  repaid  for  her  alacri- 
ty. The  deal  table  was  drawn  nearer  to  the 
bed,  and  the  candle  placed  upon  it.  The  dying 
man  raised  himself  upon  the  pillow,  an  eager 
expression  lighted  his  dim  eyes  for  an  instant. 
The  hand  which  clutched  the  pocket-book  still 
remained  buried  beneath  his  head,  but  the 
other,  relaxing  its  hold  upon  the  cane,  wandered 
over  the  bed-clothes,  and  the  fingers  occasion- 
ally traced  with  wonderful  rapidity  the  figures 
announced  by  Gertrude  as  she  read. 

"Foreign  securities  commanded  no  great  at- 
tention to-day,"  she  commenced,  carefully  ac- 
centing every  syllable. 

"  Just  as  it  should  be,"  giwwled  the  listener, 
"  look  at  home,  is  the  wisest  motto." 

"  Consols  began  at  99,  and  left  off  at  101  3-8. 

"  What's  that? — What's  that?"  asked  her  uncle 
with  a  sudden  enery. 

Gertrude  repeated  the  quotation. 

"  Good,  good,"  he  murmured  almost  inarticu- 
lately, "  things  are  mending.  I  wish  I  had  100, 
OOOl.  to  sell  out." 

Despite  this  species  of  running  commentary, 
however,  the  orphan  at  length  reached  the  ter- 
mination of  her  dreary  task ;  and  declining  the 
proposal  of  her  host  that  she  should  continue 
the  perusal  of  the  inodious  sheet  for  her  own 
private  gratification,  she  ventured  to  urge  her 
etate  of  fatigue,  and  to  request  permission  to  re- 
tire to  rest. 

Nothing  could  be  more  consonant  with  the 
wishes  of  her  uncle.  Gertrude  once  withdrawn, 
Mrs.  Sharp  might  also  immediately  follow,  and 
tlie  candle  be  extinguished.  It  was  therefore 
with  something  like  warmth  that  he  bade  her 
good  night,  and  saw  her  retreat  to  the  wretched 
and  pillowless  bed,  upon  which  she  no  sooner 
threw  herself,  than,  exhausted  both  in  mind  and 
body,  she  had  her  head  upon  the  borrowed  bolster, 
and  sank  into  a  deep,  and  happily,  a  dreamless 
sleep,  with  the  breath  of  prayer  upon  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  annoyance  of  Mor- 
timer, when  OS  he  was  one  morning  crossing  the 
lawn,  gun  in  hand,  preparatory  to  a  day's  shoot- 
ing, he  was  passed  by  a  travelling  chaise  and 
four,  in  which  he  recognised  Sir  Horace  Trevor. 
Already  dissatisfied  with  the  circle  winch  had 
assembled  at  his  iiouse,  and  wearied  by  the  co- 
quetry and  frivolity  of  which  he  was  a  perpe- 
tual witness,  he  fairly  lost  his  temper,  and  felt 


half  inclined  to  warn  the  intruder  from  hJg 
premises.  A  moment's  reflection  sufficed,  how- 
ever, to  show  him  his  folly.  Had  he  not  already, 
by  his  supineness,  authorized  the  presence  of 
several  individuals  almost  equally  obnoxious  to 
him?  And  how  could  he  consequently  decline 
to  receive  his  wife's  relation?  Nevertheless  he 
was  irritated  and  annoyed,  he  had  always  hated 
this  man,  and  here  he  was  once  more  bearding 
him  under  his  own  roof.  Full  of  angry  and  im- 
patient emotions,  he  forgot  for  a  moment  the  en- 
rand  upon  which  he  had  set  forth,  and  plunged 
into  the  shrubbery,  as  if  to  shut  out  at  once  all 
sight  of  a  home  which  had  latterly  become 
odious  to  him. 

Suddenly  the  happy  laughter  of  his  child,  fell 
upon  his  ear,  and,  like  the  harp  of  David  before 
Saul,  it  sufficed  to  restore  him  to  composure.  It 
was  therefore  almost  with  a  smile  that  he  hur- 
ried on,  in  order  to  embrace  his  darling,  and  still 
the  loud  and  ringing  sound  of  her  artless  mirth 
came  buoj-antly  upon  the  breeze.  It  was  yei 
earl}-,  and  he  assuredly  was  ill-prepared  to  co- 
counter  any  one  save  the  infant  and  its  nurse, 
when  at  an  abrupt  turn  in  the  path,  he  saw  be- 
fore him  Mrs.  Lamerly,  seated  upon  the  grass 
under  a  sycamore,  with  her  rich  chestnut  hair 
falling  in  showers  about  her,  and  his  little  girl 
busy  in  tangling  the  gleaming  tresses  with  her 
fairy  fingers. 

Mortimer  would  have  retreated,  but  the  child 
had  alread}'  heard  his  step,  and,  pausing  for  a 
moment  in  her  sport,  recognised  him  with  a 
scream  of  delight.  There  was  consequently  no 
means  of  avoiding  the  encounter,  and  after  tire 
utterance  of  a  brief  greeting,  and  the  expre?«inn^ 
of  his  surprise  at  finding  his  fair  guest  so  e  } 
risen,  he  rested  his  gun  against  a  tree  at  a  li  | 
distance  from  the  group,  and  threw  himsCi  J 
down  upon  the  turf  beside  them.  '^ 

1  Despite  his  dislike  of  the  eoquetish  widow, 
j  Mortimer  could  not  remain  altogether  insensible 
to  the  kindness  which  she  lavished  upon  his 
heart's  idol,  and  on  the  present  occasion  she 
I  looked  so  extremely  pretty  amid  the  disorder 
'  produced  by  her  indulgence  to  the  child  ;  thB 
golden  waves  of  her  hair  glimmered  so  brightly 
in  the  sunshine;  her  wrapping-gown  of  white 
j  muslin,  designed  so  modestly,  and  yet  so  perfecC- 
i  ly,  the  outline  of  her  small' but  faultless  figure; 
the  little  foot  which,  outstretched  a  few  inches 
!  beyond  the  border  of  her  dress,  lay  imbedded 
,  in  a  rich  frame-work  of  mossy  turf,  was  so 
'  exquisitely  minute  and  well-proportioned  ;  her 
fair  cheek  was  so  softly  flushed  by  her  exei> 
tions,  and  her  large  ej-es  were  so  "  darkly, 
deeply,  beautifully  blue,"  as  she  looked  up 
at  him,  half  in  confusion,  and  half  in  merri- 
ment, that  he  began  to  marvel  how  he  could 
so  long  have  remained  insensible  to  her  attrac 
tions. 

"  But  where  is  Harris?"  he  asked  as  the  child, 
after  having  received  and  returned  his  cares^ 
once  more  extended  its  little  arms  to  its  play- 
fellow, and  pursued  its  former  amusement. 

"  Oh,  we  dispense  with  Jlrs.  Harris's  attend- 
ance when  we  are  bent  upon  a  frolic,  do  we  not, 
I'>va  ?"  lisped  the  ingenuous  beauty,  as  she  clasp- 
ed the  little  girl  to  her  breast,  so  suddenly  as  to 
cover  the  face  of  Mortimer  for  an  instant  with 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIEa 


166 


iv  long  and   perfumed   tresses  ;  "  and   we   are 

it  bound  to  tolerate  tlie  intrusion  of  papa.   We 

•  ■al    an    hour    in  tlie  morning   before  mamma 

L    her   friends  have   left  their  dressing-rooms, 

B  order  to   be  entirely  alone,  and  it  is  too  bad 

pat  our  solitude  should  be  invaded  by  gentle- 

H\    in    leather  gaiters  and   velveteen  jacket. 

e  must  select  another  play-ground,  my  pretty 

ni." 

••  You  are  quite  right  Mrs.  Lamerly,'"  said 
ortimer,  apologetically;  "  mine  is  certainly  no 
tire  in  which  to  present  myself  before  one  of 
y  wife's  guests,  but  you  will  at  once  find  my 
A-jse  in  the  fact  that  I  could  not  possibly  auti- 
pate  this  meeting." 

"  Oh,  you  are  quite  forgiven,"  laughed  the 
dy  as  she  affected  to  be  anxious  to  gather 
gether  her  scattered  tresses  ;  an  attempt 
hieh  was,  however,  frustrated  by  an  impa- 
ent  cry  from  the  child,  "  for  it  must  be  con- 
jsod  that  I  am  somewhat  in  the  same  pre- 
canient,  and  not  altogether  in  a  presentable 
)Stume.      We   must    therefore    sign    a   mutual 


could  not  be  too  grateful  to  me  for  all  the  care 
1  took  of  his  interests,  and  the  sacrifices  which 
I  was  always  ready  to  make  for  his  benefit,  and 
although  this  praise  was  perhaps  a  little  partial 
and  exaggerated,  still  it  gives  me  some  right  to 
suppose  that  I  am  not  altogether  ignorant  oa 
such  a  subject." 

"And  so  my  fair  Sybil  was  somewhat  of  a 
coquette  in  her  youth,  eh,  Mrs.  Lamerly  ?  To  be 
candid  with  you,  I  had  already  suspected  as 
much.  A  handsome  woman,  you  know,  has  so 
many  temptations  to  a  little  levity." 

"  To  be  sure  she  has,"  readily  conceded  the 
intimate  friend  of  the  married  beauty ;  "  and 
then  Sybil  was  so  veri/  handsome,  and  so  much 
admired,  that  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  she 
did  get  herself  a  little  talked  of.  For  my  part,  I 
believe  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  who  is  even 
commonly  attractive  to  escape." 

"  iSo  doubt  of  it,"  replied  Mortimer  with  a 
saturnine  smile ;  "  pretty  women  are  the  natural 
prey  of  malevolence  and  slander.  There  are  de- 
grees, however,  even  of  scandal,  and  so  long 


uce,  and  promise  to   behave  more  prettily  in    nothing  can  be  adduced  against  them  beyond  a 
ublie." 

"  One  of  us,  at  least,  will  not  succeed  in  look- 
ig  more  prettily,"  replied  Mortimer,  scarcely 
>iiscious  of  what  he  said,  but  inadvertently 
ttering  his  conviction  at  the  moment;  "and 
hen  I  consider  from  how  kind,  how  very  kind 
motive  \o\i  have  suffered  yourself  thus  to  be 


little  harmless  coquetry,  why,  there  is  not : 
mischief  done." 

"  True,"  replied  his  companion,  as  if  lost  for 
a  moment  in  her  own  reflections  ;  "  but  the  line 
to  be  drawn  between  coquetry  and — and — in> 
propriety,  is  so  extremely  fine — such  a  mere 
hair's  breadth — that,  like  the  bridge  of  El  Sirat, 
u-prised  in  jour  present  picturesque  state  of  by  which  the  Mahommedans  are  to  pass  into 
isarray,  I  should'be  ungrateful  indeed  were  I  heaven,  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to  avoid  tread- 
ot  to  appreciate  all  its  attractions."  ing  over  on  one  side  or  the  other." 

"iSow,  fie  upon  you  for  a  flatterer.  Mi'.  Mor-  "Aptly  illustrated!"  said  Mortimer,  as  he 
iimer,"  was  the  retort  of  the  fair  widow  ;  "  I  swept  back  one  of  the  long  golden  tresses  of  the 
[ball  really  tell  Sybil!"  i  lady,  in  order  to  possess  himself  of  the  chubby 

II  "Tell  Sybil!"  repeated  Frederic  between  his  ,  little  hand  of  the  sleeping  child,  a  movement 


ienehed  teeth,  and  a  sarcastic  smile  hovered  for 

fin  instant  about  his  mouth,  which,  transient  as 

ilt  was,  did  not,  nevertheless,  escape  the  quick 

ye  of   his  companion,  "  you   were  one  of  Sy- 

)irs  earliest  friends,  and  must  be   quite  aware 

hat  I. shall  be  easily  forgiven." 

"  I  can  scarcely  agree  with  you,"  said,  or 
•ather  murmured  Mrs.  Lamerly,  as  she  bent 
lown  and  pressed  her  lips  to  the  rosy  cheek  of 
.he  child,  which,  wearied  at  length  with  its 
iport,  was  falling  asleep  upon  her  encircling 
irm ;  "  Even  knowing  what  I  know,  I  cannot 
jelieve  it." 

"  And  what  do  you  know  ?"  asked  Frederic 
ibruptly. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,  at  least,  which  should 
bring  such  a  scowl  upon  your  brow.  Sybil,  as 
an  unmarried  woman,  may  have  been  fickle, 
capricious,  perhaps  even  what  the  naughty,  ill- 
nature  1  world  calls  a  coquette,  but  now,  of 
course,  all  that  is  over.  The  feelings  of  a  wife 
are  so  ditrerent.  Compelled  to  act  so  as  to  place 
her  above  all  reproach,  she  is  naturally  jealous 
of  her  prerogatives." 

]  "  You  are  an  able  advocate  for  the  unsullied 
Ipurity  of  wives,"  said  Frederic,  with  a  sarcasm 
which  even  at  that  moment  he  could  not  con- 
itrcd. 

"  Certainly  I  am,"  replied  the  lady,  wholly  un- 
moved by  the  tone  in  which  the  observation 
had  been  uttered ;  "  my  good  friend  the  Mar- 
grave often  used  to  tell  poor  Augustus  that  he 


which  brought  him  still  closer  to  the  side  of  the 
apparently  unconscious  widow.  "  Very  ably 
illustrated  !  We  should  indeed  be  merciful  to 
those  who  lose  their  footing,  even  if  we  cannot 
save  them.  But  to  return  to  Sybil.  You  have 
known  her  many  years?" 

"  We  were  girls  together." 

"  And  you  are  acquainted  Avith  her  cousin,  Sir 
Horace  Trevor,  perhaps?" 

"Oh  yes;"  and  Mrs.  Lamerly  laughed  an 
equivocal  laugh  which  rang  even  to  the  depths 
of  ilortimer's  spiriti 

"He  loved  her,  I  believe?" 

"  To  be  sure  he  did,  or  he  would  not  have 
sought  to  marry  her." 

"  1  almost  wonder  that  so  handsome  and 
fashionable  a  man  should  not  have  prevailed." 

"  For  shame,  Mr.  Mortimer,"  said  the  widow 
with  a  pretty  display  of  childish  indignation,  as 
she  struck  his  hand  lightly  with"  her  slight  and 
ungloved  fingers  :  "For  shame  ;  you  are  trying 
to  make  me  tell  tales  out  of  school." 

"  Why  should  I  ?"  asked  Frederic,  looking 
into  her  face  with  one  of  those  smiles  by  which 
men  generally  retort  the  condescending  fami- 
liarities of  the  other  sex;  "  I  have  the  whole 
romance  by  heart.  Fierce  love  on  the  part  of 
the  gentleman ;  negative  encouragement  on 
that  of  the  lady  ;  a  proposal  on  one  hand,  and 
a  refusal  on  the  other.  You  see  1  have  nothing 
to  learn." 

"  Indeed  1"    was   the    ambiguous    rejoinder; 


166 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


"  and  80  you  consider  that  to  be  a  romance  wor- 1     A  slight  suffusion  rose  to  the  brow  of  tb 

thj'  of  an  acknowledged  beauty  ?  Why,  my  dear  lady. 

liir,  I  could  weave  a  better  for  the  gawky  daugh-       "  There,  that  will  do,  Mr.  Mortimer,"  she 


ter  of  a  village  curate." 

"  Never  mind  the  curate's  daughter,  but  in- 
dulge me  with  one  according  to  j'our  own  view 
of  things.  Something  pretty,  picjuant,  and  pe- 
culiar.    1  adore  love-stories." 

It  was  a  strange,  almost  a  frightful  look 
■which  Mrs. 

There  was  a  mocking  triumph  in  her  eye,  which  [half  appeased 

darkened  its  pupil  until  it  became  almost  pur-  j     "  Be  generous,  then,  and  act  as  though  yoi 
pie,    and   an    expression    of    eagerness   in    the  .had  done  so.     Look  round;    can  any  spot  b 


peevishly;  "now  give  me  my  bonnet,  and  le 
me  return  to  the  house." 

"  There  is  the  bonnet,"  replied  Frederic,  ono 
more  throwing  himself  down  beside  her;  "  bu 
I  cannot  suffer  you  to  leave  me  without  th 
promised  love-tale." 


,  Lamcrly  turned  upon  her  companion.       "  I  made  no  promise,"  said  the  lady,  still  onh 
a  mocking  triumph  in  her  ej-e,  which  Ihal" 


dilated  nostril  and  quivering  lip  that  added  to 
its  fierceness,  but  it  passed  away  as  rapidly 
as  it  had  risen,  and,  bending  over  the  child,  she 
said  simply, — 

"  I  have  no  imagination." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  imagine  anything ;  you 
know  the  world  so  well,  and  must  have  such  a 
store  of  memories." 

"  Do  you  suspect  that  I  could  be  guilty  of 
treachery  ?" 

"  I  suspect  nothing,  but,  as  my  meeting  with 
you  this  morning  has  marred  my  sport  for  the 
day,  I  feel  that  you  owe  me  some  compensa- 
tion." 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  you  have  given  me 
gi-eat  cause  to  complain  of  you." 

"I?" 

"  Yes,  undoubtedly.  As  Sybil's  most  familiar 
friend,  I  had  a  right  to  expect  at  your  hands  far 
greater  courtesy  than  you  have  shown  me." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Lamerly,"  said  Frederic,  as  he 
took  her  hand  and  retained  it,  despite  a  slight, 
a  verj'  slight  struggle  for  its  release ;  "  I  am  not 
a  fashionable  man,  and  always  approach  my 
wife's  friends  with  caution." 

" How  incorrigible  you  are!"  was  the  smil- 
ing reply ;  "  You  always  will  misunderstand 
everything.  To  hear  you,  any  one  would  real- 
ly imagine  that  I  wanted  you  to  make  love  to 
me." 

"  That  would  be  very  easy,  and  very  pleas- 
ant," remarked  Mortimer. 

"  Upon  my  word  you  are  too  bad,  and  I  will 
not  allow  it,"  said  the  widow,  releasing  her  hand 
from  that  of  her  companion  ;  "  so  in  order  to 
punish  you,  I  shall  leave  you  to  yourself,"  and, 
gently  placing  the  little  girl  upon  her  lap,  she 
began  to  collect  her  scattered  hair,  as  if  to  enable 
her  to  put  her  thi'eat  into  execution. 

"  Be  careful,  Mrs.  Lamerly,"  exclaimed  Morti- 
mer, springing  from  the  ground  ;  "  You  will 
awaken  Eva.  Allow  me  to  act  as  your  soubrette. 
I  have  a  strong  arm  and  a  light  hand ;  you  shall 
eee  how  well  I  can  acquit  m\self" 

"How  VI  ry  incorrect,  Mr.  Mortimer?" 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?  Can  anything  be 
si^nple?     Docs  not  the  child  prevent  j'ou 


more  appropriate  for  such  a  purpose?     Conn 
now,  I  will  prompt  you — '  Once  upon  a  time'  "— 

"  Be  it  so,"  murmured  Mrs.  Lamerly,  as  , 
transient  shadow  passed  across  her  brow 
" '  Once  upon  a  time,'  then — since  that  is  tb 
fashion  in  which  I  am  to  commence — when 
was  quite  a  girl — But  no,  I  am  in  no  mood  fo 
story-telling  this  morning,  and  moreover,  wha' 
do  you  wish  to  know  ?" 

"  All  that  you  will  confide  to  me." 

"  You  deserve  nothing  at  mj'  hands." 

"  I  will  hereafter  endeavor  to  do  so." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  be  equally  generous 
Trust  not  Sybil  too  far — " 

"Ha!—" 

"  You  are,  however,  perfectly  safe  at  present 
She  despises  the  fops  and  roues  by  whom  she  i 
now  surrounded." 

"  And  if  her  cousin  were  to  arrive?" 

"  What  cousin  ?" 

"  Trevor." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  had  forgotten  that  Trevor  wa 
her  cousin,"  said  the  simple  beauty,  playing  wit! 
a  tuft  of  wild  anemones  which  grew  beside  her' 
"I  have  such  a  bad  memory.  Why,  if  Si 
Horace  were  indeed  to  pay  you  a  visit — Then, 
would  be  nothing  surprising,  you  know,  in  sucl 
an  arrangement  between  relations — it  might  b 
as  well  to  remember  that  the  iron  which  ha 
already  been  ignited  heats  the  mo.<t  easilj 
But  no,  no,  he  will  not  come  here. .  And  besides 
even  if  he  should,  why  should  he  come  only  b. 
renew  his  attachment  to  Sybil?  Lady  Clar| 
knows  him,  though,  to  be  sure,  he  detests  her- 
that,  I  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  and  I  kno^ 
him — -just  as  I  know  Lord  John,  and  a  score  o 
other  men  about  town — but  I  have  not  th 
vanity  to  believe  that  I  can  be  attractive  eiimi:: 
to  tear  him  from  the  dear  delights  of  gay*' 
scenes." 

"  But,  should  he  come,  you  advise  me  to  b 
cautious.  You  consequently  think  that,  despit 
his  rejection,  Sybil  loved  him  ?" 

"  IS"o  doubt  she  did,  or  things  could  not  liav, 
gone  so  far.  And,  perhaps  if  that  odious  Falei 
mitan  Prince  had  not  come  in  the  way,  sh. 
would  have  married  him  wlien  once  they  wen 


from  rendering  yourself  this  service?  and  is  not  engaged,  but  she  was  ambitious,  and  the  titl 
that  child  mine  ?     What  glorious  hair !"  he  con-  dazzled  her  vanity." 


tinned,  as  he  gathered  it  up,  and  endeavored  to 
bind  it  rjuml  her  small  and  well  shaped  head; 
"  It  is  really  tlie  shower  of  Danae  realised." 
"  What  nonsense!"  pouted  the  widow. 
It  is  a  si/i  to  torture  it  in  such  a  way,"  pur 


You  allude  to  Prince  Saviatti  ?" 
"  Of  course  I  do,  and  aft(y  he  bowed  himsd 

off,  it  was  natural  enough  tliat  Trevoi- Bui 

upon  my  word,  we  are  talking  scandal !" 
"  As  "you  say,  it  was  natural   enough,  th 


Bued  Frederic  ;  "  Were  you  my  wife,  1  should  Trevor, '  after  having  '  loved,'  should  '  ridi 
compel  you  to  defy  conventionalities,  and  to  away' in  his  turn,"  said  Mortimer  with  the  ap 
wear  it  a  la  Magdelaine."  >  parent  calm  of  concentrated  feeling,  affectinj 


THE   RIVAL  BE^VUTIES. 


161 


it  to  have  remarked  the  tardy  caution  of  her 
]  t  exclamation  ;  "  these  are  every -day  events, 
•  1  yonr  romance  is  no  more  interesting  than 
r  own." 

•  Ah  !  but However,  I  will  say  no  more 

I'll  the  subject,"  remarked  the  lady,  affecting 
I  ^  heck  herself;  "  It  is,  I  think,  impossible  that 

vor  will  intrude  under  your  roof,  and  conse- 
,'  ntly  the  past  is  of  little  importano'." 

TrI?vor  is  here,"  said  Mortimer  in  a  hoarse 
•lisper. 

•  Here  !  Oh  no,  he  knows  better." 

■  I  tell  you  he  is  here,  I  saw  his  carriage  ap- 
.laohing  as  I  left  the  house." 

•  Your  eyes  deceived  you.     It  is  impossible." 

■  Nevertheless  he  is  here." 

•  But  upon  Avhat  pretext  can  he  have  come  ? 
■y<.'i\A  upon  it,  you  are  wrong." 

■  And  if  not?" 

■  If  not — why  then — Oh,  I  see  it  all  now," 
il  the  beauty  with  a  forced  laugh;  "his  visit 
11  be  attributed  to  me,  for  we  saw  a  great 
;il  of  each  other  abroad.  And  perhaps,"  she 
].:\  fixing  her  large  eyes  steadily  upon  her 

:or ;  "  perhaps  I  have  been  too  modest,  and 
-ay  be  so,  in  which  case  Sybil  has  indeed 
I. '.VII  her  friendship." 

■  She  should  be  gi-ateful  to  you  for  such  an 
mission.     And  do  you  also  love  this  man?" 
"Really,  Mr.  Mortimer — " 

"  We  are  speaking  confidentially,  j'ou  know, 
d  we  may  answer  such  a  question  without  re- 
!2;iiance,  particularly  when  I  assure  you  that, 
oiild  it  be  otherwise,  he  shall  not  remain  four 
id  twenty  hours  in  my  house." 
"  WhjT,  you  are  a  perfect  tyrant !" 
"  That  is  no  replj-,  and  I  must  have  one." 
"  Surely  I  am  not  bound  to  betray  myself?" 
"  Under  the  present  circumstances  I  think  dif- 
rently.  You  have  now  told  me  either  too  little 
•     •  too  much,  for  me  not  to  desire  a    perfect  un- 
^rstanding    upon    the    subject.     Should    you 
deed  be  the  object  of  Sir  Horace  Trevor's  pur- 
lit,  are    you   prepared    to    receive    him  as  a 
litor?" 

"  Upon  my  honor,  Mr.  Mortimer,  I  do  not 
Tmprehend  your  right  to  ask  me  such  a  ques- 
on." 

"  Perhaps  not,  and  yet  it  must  be  answered." 
'  I  "  Well  then,  it  is  possible  that  I  might  be  in- 
tj«  jaced  to  listen  to  him." 

^    "So  be  it,"  said  Mortimer,  rising;  "  as  your 
cknowledged    suitor  alone  can    he  remain  an 
"  Hmate  of   Westrum.      The   romance   shall   at 
'.:<>  >iast  never  reach  its  climax." 

"  Your  readiness  to  dispose  of  me  is,  at  any 
:!»  bte,  not  very  flattering,"  pouted  the  unsophis- 
!>  Seated  beauty. 

[S  I  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Lamerly,  I  owe  you  so  much 
ts  ^altitude  for  your  kindness   to   my  little  Eva, 
iiii*  |hat  I  am  unftignedly  interested  in  furthering  j 
j'our  happiness." 

'   "  But  suppose  I  do  not  love  this  man  V 
3S-  I  "You  will  be  fortunate.    It  is  those  who  mar- 
Ei  ly  whei-e  they  love  only  to  find  their  affections 
ast  back  upon  them,  who  run  the  risk  of  being  , 
U  nade  miserable."  | 

rii»  i  "  Naughty  man !     W^hat  would  Sybil  say  to 
nj'  Inch  a  speech  from  you  ?"  I 

ti|  I  "  If  she  could  make  up  her  mind  to  be  sin- 1 


cere  upon  the  subject,  she  would  tell  you  that  I 
am  quite  right.  Believe  me,  Mrs.  Lamerly,  it 
is  always  safer  to  marry  where  you  arc  loveti, 
than  where  you  love.  The  one  is  an  illusion,  and 
the  other  a  reality." 

"  What  triste  philosophy  !" 

"  I  am  no  philosopher.  I  advance  only  a  plain 
fact." 

"  I  am  sure  that  my  poor  Augustus  loved  me 
dearly." 

"  And  can  you  honestly  quote  that  circum- 
stance as  a  proof  against  my  argument  V 

"  Of  course  I  can." 

"  I  am  glad,  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  I  cannot  think  why  you  should  doubt  any 
thing  so  simple.  Of  course  I  never  could  forget 
that  he  ran  away  with  me  in  defiance  of  all  hia 
disagreeable  relations.  Every  woman  is  proud  of 
such  a  proof  of  her  power." 

"  Xo  doubt  of  it,  but  gratified  vanity  is  not 
affection." 

"  I  detest  such  subtle  reasoning." 

"Because  it  is  unanswerable;  is  it  not  sol 
However,  to  oblige  you,  I  am  willing  to  concede 
that  yourself  an-d  Mr.  Lamerly  were  examples, 
despite  your  love-match,  of  a  contrary  result, 
but  you  know  that  exceptions  only  prove  the 
rule." 

"  I  do  believe  that  you  are  laughing  at  me." 

"  I  dare  not.     Y'ou  are  too  handsome." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mr  Mortimer — " 

"  And  upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Lamerly,  I  am 
perfectly  serious.  Again,  I  repeat  that  you  aro 
too  handsome  to  be  trifled  with  without  risk. 
Suppose  now,  for  instance,  that  Sybil  should  sub- 
prise  us  at  this  present  moment " 

"  I  care  not  though  she  should." 

"  Y"et  she  might  think,  and  perhaps  say — " 

"  She  dare  not!"  exclaimed  the  usually  supine 
widow,  with  flashing  eyes;  "she  dare  not!" 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  she  would  dread  a 
retort?" 

"  Perhaps  so." 

"  Mrs.  Lamerly,  I  beseech  of  you  to  tell  ma 
seriously — " 

"  No,  I  will  not  say  another  word.  And  now, 
since  you  have  taken  fright,  leave  me,  and,  if  you 
will  do  me  the  favor,  be  good  enough  to  desire 
Mrs.  Harris  to  come  and  take  charge  of  Eva,  for 
I  doubt  whether  I  have  strength  to  carry  her  all 
the  waj'  to  the  house." 

Mortimer  paused  for  a  moment,  and  glanced 
down  upon  the  beautiful  young  creature  before 
him,  upon  whose  brow  a  shade  of  offended  dig- 
nity was  discernible.  Half  fascinated,  and  half 
terrified  by  the  strange  mixtui-e  of  coquettish 
simplicity  and  undaunted  worldliness  which  was 
betrayed  in  her  every  word  and  action,  he  could 
not,  at  that  instant,  forbear  assimilating  her  to 
the  glittering,  but  envenomed  serpent,  whicli, 
while  it  enthrals  the  eye,  poisons  the  life-blood. 
Nevertheless,  he  could  not  altogether  liberate 
himself  from  the  spell.  It  was  the  first  time 
tliat  he  had  looked  upon  her  without  jiositive 
dislike,  and  yet,  instead  of  resenting  a  coldnees 
which  would  have  irritated  many  women  less 
atti'active,  she  had  scarcely  disguised  a  far  more 
flattering  feeling  toward^  himself 

And  at  what  a  moment  had  she  done  sof 
When,  dreading  he  knew  not  what,  conscious  of 


168 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


his  wife's  utter  and  selfish  indifference,  and  sus- 
picious of  every  one  by  whom  she  was  ap- 
proached, his  mortified  vanity  and  disappointed 
affection  alike  led  him  to  resent  so  false  and 
comfortless  a  position. 

He  could  not  doubt  that  Trevor  had  triumph- 
ed over  the  heart  of  Sybil  long  before  he  had 
believed  it  to  be  his  own — and  should  he  suffer 
him  to  enjoy  a  second  triumph  over  that  of  the 
fair  creature  before  him?  True,  Trevor  could 
make  her  his  wife,  but  would  he  do  so  ?  Did  she 
even  anticipate  such  a  result  ?  Mortimer  scarce- 
ly believed  that  she  did,  nor  had  he  sufficient 
confidence  in  her  principles  to  imagine  that  she 
would  long  be  swayed  by  such  a  consideration. 
He  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that  he  des- 
pised and  almost  feared  her,  but  he  was  becom- 
ing reckless,  and — he  was  human. 

The  result  of  his  momentary  silence  was  a 
proposal  himself  to  take  charge  of  the  sleeping 
child,  and  to  accompany  Airs.  Lamerly  to  the 
house. 

"  But  suppose  Sybil  should  see  you,"  said  the 
widow,  with  an  arch  and  mocking  laugh. 

"  In  my  turn,  I  reply  tliat  I  care  not."' 

"  Well^  then,  suppose  that  Trevor  should  see 

"  You  can  alone  decide  if  that  circumstance 
is  likely  to  affect  you,"  retorted  Mortimer,  with 
offended  vanity. 

"  Such  a  family  group  I"  again  smiled  the 
lady. 

"  I  wish  it  were !"  retorted  the  gentleman, 
and  in  another  moment  Eva  reposed  quietly 
upon  the  arm  which  he  extended  to  receive  her, 
and  the  bright-eyed  widow  hung  confidingly 
upon  tiie  other. 

"  And  now,  will  you  promise  not  to  be  jealous 
of  Trevor  ?"  she  asked  in  a  low  whisper,  as  she 
approached  her  coral  lips  to  his  ear. 

"  We  shall  see,"  replied  her  companion,  in  the 
same  subdued  tone,  pressing  the  little  hand 
which  rested  against  his  side  still  more  closely. 

"  And  not  to  suspect  Sybil  ?" 

Mortimer  laughed,  but  it  was  not  the  buoyant 
laughter  of  earlier  days,  and  of  earlier  hopes. 


CIL^PTER  XLV. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  excitement  pro- 
duced by  the  arrival  of  Sir  Horace  Trevor  upon 
the  circle  assembled  at  Westrum.  To  most  of 
the  part)-  he  was  unknown,  save  by  report,  but 
that  report  had  sufficed  to  ensure  his  welcome  ; 
for  he  was  precisely  one  of  tliose  individuals 
whom  the  women  are  ambitious  to  see  in  their 
train,  and  tlie  men  to  quote  as  an  acquaintance. 
Self-centred,  worldly,  and  satirical,  he  pos- 
sessed every  quality  calculated  to  shine  in  so- 
ciety, and  as  the  said  society  cares  only  to  be 
datzled,  tinsel  passes  current  as  readilj-  as  ster- 
ling ore. 

Trevor  had  few  vices,  and  it  is  probable  that, 
had  he  been  educated  in  a  different  school,  he 
would  have  adopted  some  more  worthy  ambition 
than  that  of  merely  figuring  as  "  a  "man  about 
town,"  but  the  evil,  which  in  his  case  owed  its 


I  origin  to  his  pecuniary  independence,  and  con-: 

I  sequent  freedom  from  the  enforced  thraldom  o{ 
professional  study,  was   gradually   increased  bj 

j  his  own  experience  of  men  and  manners — aye 
and  of  women  too.  for  even  that  fact  mustb* 

j  admitted  in  his  justification. 

I      Once,  as  we  have  seen,  he  had  loved  earnest. 

1  ly  and  well,  and  moreover,  with  a  perfection  ol 

!  moral  courage  which  had  enabled  him  to  disre' 
gard  the  gibes  of  his   more  dissolute  associates 

'  and  to  look  forward  without   shame  to  the  tirai 

!  when  he  should  have  degenerated  into  a  com 
mon-place  married  man,  but  even  here  hi, 
honesty  of  purpose  met  with  no  answerinj 
truth  ;  he  became  the  prey  of  a  coquette,  an( 
was  made  the  sacrifice  of  a  heartless  cupidity 
and  from  that  hour  Trevor  vowed  an  eterna' 
enmity  to  marriage.  A  mere  votary  of  pleasure 
the  whim   of  the   moment  was   the  sole  rule  o 

j  his  life,  the  most  minute  care  of  his  pei-son  h'\] 
only  serious  occupation,  and  as  a  natural  con 
sequence,  he  became  the  model  of  a  certain  set' 
and  was  dressed  at  and  aped  accordingly. 

Capricious  as  a  spoiled  beauty,  he  was  om: 
hour  the  assiduous  cavalier  of  some  fair  an( 
fashionable  trifler,  and  the  next  a  bitter  satiris; 
upon  the  whole  sex.  Disappointed  in  his  earliest 
aspirations,  and  blighted  in  his  holiest  affeetiont, 
he  affected  to  disbt-lieve  in  the  existence  of  an_\ 
pure  and  disinterested  attachment  whatever- 
maintaining  tliat  human  nature,  and  more  par| 
ticularly  female  human  nature,  was  ineapabl' 
of  profound  feeling  of  any  kind,  and  could  onl;! 
skim  along  the  surface  of  sentiment  and  sensa; 
tion,  as  the  dragon-fly  ruifles  the  wavelets  aj 
the<meadow  brook  upon  whose  current  it  is  tO' 
weak  to  settle. 

As  he  had  begun  life  by  investing  everythinj 
about  him  with  a  fictitious  brightness  wliic 
weuld  not  bear  the  test  of  trial,  so  he  revenge, 
himself  upon  his  own  delusion  in  after-years,  b 
deepening  and  darkening  every  shadow  tha 
fell  across  his  path.  Systematically  skeptica 
he  doubted  even  where  his  reason  should  hav 
been  convinced.  A  Sybarite  on  principle,  b 
was  iri-itable  under  everything  which  interfere 
with  his  individual  gratification,  and  when  b 
occasionally  encountered  persons  of  more  liben 
ideas,  he  either  sneered  at  them  as  dupes,  c; 
denounced  them  as  hj-pocrites. 

But  again  we  repeat  that  Trevor  was  onl' 
such  as  the  world  had  made  him  ;  that  world  o 
fashion,  frivolity,  and  falsehood,  which  was  h' 
peculiar  atmosphere.  He  was  a  moral  wrecl 
which  nevertheless  retained  some  poi-tion  of  i' 
original  brightness. 

Strictly  honorable,   according  to  the  convei 
tional  acceptation  of  the  word,  recklessly  gen 
rous,  and  imperturably  good-tempered,  the  hi' 
terness  which  occasionally  passed  his  lips  nev< 
penetrated  to  his  heart ;  he  was  weak,   but  n' 
wicked.     When    he    gamed,    it  was    merely   ' 
divert  his  idleness;  he  cared  little  for  theresul 
and  consequentlj-    never  lost  his  courtesy  wit 
his  money.     When  he  betrayed  the  woman  wl 
confided  in  him,  he  did  so  with  a  perfect  convi 
tion  that  he   had   simply  distanced  her  it   ' 
race  of  deceit,  and  when  he  sacrificed  the  ii 
ests  of  a  friend  to  his  own,  he  felt  no  compu 
tion,  convinced  that  the  said  friend  would  ha' 


TIIE  RIVAL  BKAUTIES. 


159 


ftdone  precisely  the  saii'.e,  had  he  possessed  a 
lilar  opportunity. 
Such  was  the  man  whose  advent  beneath  the 
Kroof  of  Mortimer  occasioned  such  universal 
rratulation.  He  had,  as  we  have  seen,  arrived 
^rly  in  the  day,  and  Sybil  learned,  witli 
sensation  of  relief,  that  he  had  taken  possession 
of  his  apartment  before  lier  other  guests  were 
assembled  at  the  breakfast-table.  Confident  as 
she  felt  in  her  power  over  her  husband,  she  was 
for  the  first  tiine  conscious  of  an  anxietj'  which 
she  had  never  hitherto  experienced.  She  was 
quite  aware  that  Mortimer  both  despised  and 
disliked  the  circle  which  she  had  already  drawn 
about  her,  and  she  knew  full  well  that  Trevor 
would  be  even  less  acceptable  to  him.  It  might 
be  also  that  a  vague  presentiment  of  danger 
warned  her  of  the  probable  consequences  of 
her  weak  compliance  with  the  suggestion  of  her 
soi-(^isant  friend  Mrs.  Lamerly,  and  that  some- 
thing like  a  doubt  crossed  her  mind  as  to  the 
Eerfect  good  faith  in  which  it  had  been  made, 
[er  woman  vanity  whispered  that,  havjng  once 
loved  her,  it  was  impossible  Trevor  could  be 
thralled  by  the  baby-graces  of  the  fantastic 
little  Amabel,  and  if  it  were  not  so,  why,  after 
tlie  insult  which  he  had  offered  to  her  at  The 
Grange,  should  he  be  once  more  forced  into  her 
path  ?  Gladly  would  she  have  forgotten  his 
existence,  for  his  name  it  was  which  was  in- 
scribed in  the  darkest  page  of  her  life's  volume, 
but  she  felt,  whatever  might  have  been  the 
evasion  of  the  crafty  widow,  that  she  was  in 
possession  of  the  fatal  secret  which  she  was 
anxious  to  conceal  from  Mortimer,  and  that  she 
was  consequently  so  thoroughly  in  her  power 
that  she  could  not  protect  herself  from  the  im- 
pending evil. 

S^'bil  was,  however,  no  weak  and  trembling 
woman  to  be  scared  by  shadows;  and  thus  driven 
to  rely  upon  her  own  strength,  instead  of  jield- 
ing  to  impotent  alarm,  she  endeavored  to  forti- 
fy herself  by  arguments  tending  to  reassure  her 
mind.  Trevor  had  already  tested  the  power  of 
her  former  affection  by  endeavoring  to  renew  it, 
and  he  must  be  convinced  of  the  futility  of  fur- 
ther pursuit.  He  had,  moreover,  offered  to  her 
an  insult  which  he  must  be  well  aware  that  no 
woman  of  pride  or  principle  couhl  ever  pardon. 
But  at  this  phase  of  her  reasoning  Sybil  paused, 
and  although  no  one  was  near  to  detect  her  un- 
bidden emotion,  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
spread  hands,  to  conceal  the  crimson  blush  which 
mounted  to  her  brow.  Alas  !  what  faith  could 
Trevor  place  in  either  her  pride  or  her  principle  ? 
Had  she  not  deceived  him  cruelly  ?  And  was  it 
not  from  his  weakness  that  she  had  wrung  the 
resources  which  had  enabled  her  to  make  a 
second  dupe  ? 

This  reflection,  for  a  time,  prostrated  her 
courage,  but  happily  she  had  been  prepared  for 
the  struggle  which  awaited  her,  and  during  the 
time  that  had  elapsed  between  the  departure  of 
Mrs.  Lamerly's  invitation,  and  the  arrival  of  its 
o^jject,  she  had  possessed  ample  time  to  decide 
her  measures.  She  must  not  receive  him  coldly,  j 
aa  such  a  want  of  courtesy  to  a  bidden  guest  i 
eould  not  but  excife  the  suspicion  of  those  about 
her,  while  it  might,  moreover,  tend  to  impress! 
Sir  Horace  himself  with  the  idea  that  she  feared  | 


him.  Neither  must  slie  permit  liim  to  re8um« 
the  easy  and  familiar  tone,  which  would  almost 
warrant  the  trial  of  a  second  impertinence,  front 
which  her  dignity  as  the  wife  of  Mortimer  might 
be  insufficient  to  secure  her.  ISt),  she  must  meet 
him  with  a  smile  and  an  extended  hand,  it  is 
true,  but  the  smile  must  be  cold,  and  the  hand 
passive.  She  must  regard  him  oidy  us  the  pre- 
sumed suitor  of  an  early  friend,  and  leave  Mre. 
Lamerly  to  do  the  honors  of  Westrum  to  lier 
own  visitor. 

How  she  regretted  that  they  still  had  a  mtituai 
secret,  and  that  she  could  not,  Avithout  compro- 
mising herself  in  the  eyes  of  her  husband,  at 
once,  and  definitely,  divest  him  of  the  privileges 
of  their  presumed  relationship !  but  this,  she  wao 
painfull}'  aware,  was  now  impossible.  How  she 
loathed  the  folly  which  had  induced  her  to  avoid 
confiding  in  the  mad  passion  of  Mortimer  before 
their  marriage,  when  a  few  teai-s  and  smiles 
would  have  induced  him  to  overlook  even  the 
presumption  of  an  admitted  rival,  and  which 
liad  thus  bound  her  hand  and  foot  before  th« 
altar  of  deceit  and  falsehood. 

It  was,  however,  vain  to  deprecate  the  past. 
Were  she  to  confess  to  Frederic  that  she  had  be- 
trayed his  confidence  in  her  truth  in  this  one 
instance,  what  might  he  not  suspect?  And  his 
suspicions  once  aroused,  where  would  they  endf 
She  dared  not  risk  such  an  attempt.  The  re- 
verberation of  the  past  storm  was  beginning  to 
make  itself  heard,  and,  for  the  first  time,  Sybil 
felt  herself  powerless  to  avoid  its  contact. 

How  she  lingered  at  her  dressing-table,  as  if 
delaj'  could  profit  her  in  such  an  emergency,  but 
at  length  the  last  string  was  tied,  and  the  last 
frill  adjusted.  Her  maid,  astonished,  and  at 
length  irritated  by  her  unusual  tardiness,  had 
begun  to  busy  herself  in  repairing  the  disarray 
of  the  chamber  ;  the  warning  bell  had  rung,  and 
she  felt  the  necessity  of  controlling  her  emotion. 
iS'ot  even  then,  however,  could  she  compel  her- 
self to  proceed  at  once  to  the  breakfast-room, 
but  snatching  up  her  gloves  and  handkerchief 
by  .a  sudden  impulse,  she  left  the  chamber,  and 
proceeded  hastily  to  the  nursery. 

There  she  found  only  Mrs.  Harris  and  her  as- 
sistant, by  whom  she  was  informed  tliat  Misa 
Eva  had  been  for  the  last  two  hours  in  the 
grounds,  under  the  guardianship  of  Mrs.  Lam- 
erly. 

"  And  who  authorised  you  to  trust  your  young 
lady  out  of  your  sight  for  such  a  length  of 
time?"  inquired  her  mistress,  angrily :  the  cir 
cumstance  affording  a  safe  escape-valve  for  the 
hitherto  hidden  bitterness  of  her  feelings. 

"Indeed,  ma'am,"  hastened  to  reply  the  aston- 
ished nurse,  "  I  thought  you  must  have  known 
that  the  kind  good  natured  lady  takes  Misa 
Eva  out  every  morning  when  the  weather  is  fine 
enough  for  her.  If  I  had  thought  that  yot 
Avould  object " 

"  Of  course  I  object,"  retorted  Sybil  impeii 
ously  ;  "  I  will  permit  no  interference  of  thi 
sort.  You  should  immediately  have  acquainte< 
me  with  this  caprice  of  Mrs.  Lamerly's." 

"  As  my  master  was  aware  of  it,  ma'am,  I  sup 
pose<l — "  commenced  the  female  functionary, 
anxious  to  justify  hci-self. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  your  master  was  aware  of  this. 


160 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


arrangement,  was  he  ?"  interposed  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer sarcastically,  "  and  does  he  also  undertake^ 
to  amuse  Miss  Eva  during  her  daily  absence  of 
two  hours?" 

"  I  am  sure,  fna'am,  I  cannot  say,"  answered 
the  nurse,  becoming  more  and  more  alarmed  at 
this  exhibition  of  displeasure,  succeeding  as  it 
did  to  so  habitual  an  iiidift'erence  to  the  move- 
ments of  her  charge. 

"  You  appear  to  be  strangely  ignorant  of  your 
duties,  Mrs.  Harris,"  said  Sybil  sternly,  "  and  I 
must  request  that  in  future  no  one  may  be  suf- 
fered to  interfere  with  the  arrangements  which 
I  see  fit  to  make  for  my  own  child.'" 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it,  ma'am." 

"  I  do,"  replied  Mrs.  Mortimer.  "  And  now 
go  at  once  in  search  of  the  little  girl,  and  bring 
her  here.     1  will  await  your  return." 

At  this  moment  a  clear  ringing  laugh  became 
audible,  and  footsteps  were  heard  ascending  th 


his  arms  for  tliose  of  the  anxious  Mrs.  Harris,  an 
attempt  in  which  he  had  only  just  succeeded, 
and  as  he  turned  he  met  the  meaning  eyes  that 
sought  his  own. 

"  Oh  !  your  cousin  1"  exclaimed  the  lady  with 
affected  jojousness.  "  How  very  nice  !  He  will 
initiate  us,  in  his  own  dear  satirical  way,  into 
the  latest  scandal  of  half  the  European  capitals, 
and  tell  us  all  about  Lady  Clara's  old  flame. 
General  O'Keefe,  and  Mrs.  Babington's  French 
marquis,  and  poor  Saviatti,  and  half  a  million  of 
our  old  friends." 

"  And  is  that  all  you  expect  from  his  visit  f " 
asked  Sybil,  more  and  more  provoked  by  the 
perfect  nonchalance  of  her  friend. 

"Oh!  no,  believe  me,  by  no  means,"  replied 
the  widow,  with  marked  emphasis;  "but  you 
do  not  say  a  word,  Mr.  Mortimer,"  she  continued 
addressing  Frederic,  who  had  remained  silently 
and  steadfastly  scrutinizing  the  M'ords  and  maik- 


«ide  stairs  which  led  to  the  nursery,  while  in  the  ner  of  his  wife;   "are  you  not  charmed  to  hear 

next  instant  the  lisping  voice  of  Mrs.  Lamerly     '  '  " 

exclaimed  in  accents  of  childish  amusement — 

"  Ah !  you  may  open  your  large  grey  eyes, 
Eva,  and  stare  about  you  with  astonishment! 
Yes,  you  fell  asleep  under  a  tall  sycamore,  and 
here  you  are,  you  can't  tell  how,  at  home  again, 
and  on  the  very  confines  of  your  own  domain  ! 
Oh,  fairy,  you  have  guessed  all  about  it  now ! 
And  have  you  no  kiss  for  papa,  who  made  so 
pretty  a  ci-adle  for  you  ?" 

The  words  had  scarcely  escaped  her  lips  when 
the  speaker  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  apart- 
ment, followed  closely  by  Mortimer,  about  whose 
neck  the  child  had  clasped  its  little  arms.  In- 
stantly, as  if  by  a  species  of  instinctive  fascina- 
tion, the  eyes  of  the  two  friends  were  riveted 
upon  each  other,  but  ere  long  those  of  Mrs. 
Lamerly  fell  before  the  fixed  and  almost  con- 
temptuous gaze  of  Sybil,  who,  after  a  moment- 
ary silence,  broke  into  a  forced  and  bitter  laugh, 
as  she  said  sarcastically — 

"  Truly,  Amabel,  you  are  becoming  matutinal  ? 
Harris  informs  me  that  you  have  elected  your- 
self head-nurse  to  Eva,  and  that  you  are  abroad 
with  lier  for  hours  before  I  have  finished  my 
morning  sleep.  You  are  really  too  good.  But 
I  fear  that  to-day,  at  least,  you  have  been  the 
victim  of  your  own  kindness,  for  I  perceive, 
what  I  had  not  before  remarked,  that  the  wind 
must  be  very  high,  as  it  appears  to  have  incon 


Teniencedyou  during  your  walk,  and  a  portion  of 
your  hair  is  streaming  from  under  your  bonnet." 

"  Tiiat  is  very  probable,"  replied  Mrs.  Lamerly 
with  imperturbable  composure,  "  for  Eva  has 
been  amusing  herself  by  inventing  for  me  a 
toiffure  a  la  sauvage.  I  am  sorry  that  you  do 
not  admire  the  eftect." 

"  She  had  seized  an  unfortunate  opportunity 
for  the  exiiibition  of  her  talent,"  resumed  Mrs. 
Mortimer  in  the  same  biting  accent,  "  but  per- 
haps you  have  been  too  pleasantly  engaged  to 
be  aware  that  not  only  has  the  second  breakfast- 
bell  rung,  but  also  that  your  friend  has  arrived." 

"  My  friend  ?  What  friend  ?"  inquired  the 
widow,  with  a  j)retty  assumption  of  innocence. 

"  Sir  Horace  Trevor." 

Mrs.  Lamerly  shot  one  quick  glance  towards 
Mortimer,  who  had  during  this  short  dialogue 
been  endeavoring  to  induce  the  child  to  leave 


that  our  party  has  received  such  a  delightful 
addition  ?" 

"Sybil's  relatives  must  always  be  welcoma 
under  my  roof,"  was  the  somewhat  cold  reply; 
*  although  I  confess,  that  on  the  present  occasion 
I  am  somewhat  perplexed  to  imagine  what  can 
have  procured  for  us  the  honor  of  a  gentleman'^ 
society,  who,  on  the  last  occasion  of  his  presence 
at  Westrum,  declared  it  to  be  the  ultima  thule, 
and  regarded  its  inhabitants  as  oidy  one  dcgre« 
removed  from  Hottentots." 

"Oh!  that  is  so  like  Trevor!"  said  the  widow, 
clapping  her  little  hands,  in  order  to  silence  the 
i-ejoinder  which  already  quivered  upon  the  lipg 
of  Sybil.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  him  praise  any- 
thing ?  He  is  such  a  spoilt  child.  Do  you  know 
he  is  a  perfect  skeptic,  does  not  believe  in  tha 
love,  nor  indeed,  I  am  afraid  I  may  add,  in  tlia 
virtue  of  our  sex.  Is  it  not  shameful  ?  Wiien 
evei-ybody  knows  that  women " 

"  Pray,  Amabel,  do  not  inflict  upon  us  what 
everybody  knows,"  said  Sybil  with  aff"ected  im- 
patience, "  but  ring  for  your  maid  to  dress  your 
hair,  or  you  will  not  be  fit  to  present  yourself 
at  the  breakfast-table." 

Mortimer  was  not,  however,  to  be  so  deceived. 
He  understood  the  expression  of  Sybil's  speaking 
features,  and  he  saw  at  once  that  no  mere  dread 
of  Mrs.  Lamerly's  disregard  for  appearances 
could  so  thoroughly  have  ruffled  her.  He  wa« 
conscious  that  although  the  two  persons  befbw 
him  had  ventured  upon  a  war  of  wit.which  they 
were  unable  to  control,  there  was  a  mystery  iu 
the  advent  of  Trevor  which  neither  was  anxiou* 
to  reveal  in  his  presence.  Resolved,  tlierefore, 
to  terminate  the  scene  at  once,  he  pointed  with 
a  smile  to  the  door,  exclaiming — 

"  You  are  dismissed,  you  see,  Mrs.  Lamerly, 
and  in  obedience  to  J'our  liege  lady,  have  onlyj 
to  withdraw,  although,  fortunately  for  all  Avho 
know  and  admire  you,  to  reappear  ere  long 
with  increased  attractions." 

"So  be  it,"  was  the  laughing  rejoinder;  "good 
bye,  Eva,"  and  she  tenderly  embraced  the  littla 
girl,  who  was  now  contentedly  playing  u]ion  the 
lap  of  her  nurse ;  "  your  frolics  have  entailed  a 
terrible  lecture  upon  me,  but  I  forgive  you" — 
and  playfully  kissing  her  fingers  to  the  child, 
she  bounded  from  the  room. 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


161 


CHAPTER  XLVI.  |  and  her  unceasing  demands  xipon  his  attention. 

•  "  After  all,"  observed  Lady  Clara,  M-ith  one 
of  the  dull  Btares  of  her  lack-liD^tre  blue  ej-cs 
for  -whieh  she  was  peculiar.  "After  all,  wliat?" 
the  reader  may  be  inclined  to  ask,  nor  can  Ve 
Batisfaetorily  reply  ;  suffice  it  that  this  mode  of 
expression — this  Incus  a  non  liicendo — was  a  fa- 
A'orite  with  the  lady.  "  After  all,  Sir  Horace,  I 
can  scarcely  imagine  how  you  could  make  up 
your  mind  to  leave  Italy,  where  all  is  so  nice, 
and  so  easy  going,  and  so  pleasant,  for  this 
nasty,  dull,  foggy,  cateh-cold  country." 

"  Fie  upon  you,  Lady  Clara!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Lamerlj'.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  our  dear  Trevor 
has  no  natural  afiections,  and  that  even  one 
III  flush  which  rose  to  her  cheek,  and  the  al-  j  glimpse  of  his  cousin  will  not  repay  him  for  the 
t  imperceptible  quivering  of  the  lip  Avith    sacritiee  ?" 

"■     '  '  "  His  cousin  I"   said  Lady  Clara,  doubtfully, 

"  why,  I  never  knew  that  you  were  his  eousinl" 

"  2s or  am  I.     I  allude  to  Mrs.  Mortimer." 

"Dear  me!"  ejaculated  the  peer's  dai;ghter, 
more  and  more  mystified  ;  "  I  cannot  understand 
it^  Let  nie  see.  Old  Sir  Reginald,  his  grand- 
father had  three  sons,  one  was  killed  in  the  ]3od y 
Guiirds  before  he  was  twenty,  another  mari-ied 
Lady  IJarbara  Dobson,  the  IS'abob's  widow,  and 
havir.g  no  family,  left  all  her  fortune  to  /vis  father. 
And  you.  Sir  Horace,  are  an  oidy  son." 

"  You  are  quite  correct,  arnica  bella,"  replied 
Trevoi',  biting  his  lips  to  suppress  a  laugh,  while 
his  ally,  Mrs.  Lamerly,  was  exhausting  all  her 
ingenuity  in  endeavoring  to  balance  a  tea-spoon 
upon  the  edge  of  her  chocolate-cup,  "right  as  a 
clerk  in  the  herald's  college — only— you  have 
foigotten  my  aunts." 


Sir  ITorv.veE  Tkevor  did  not  make  his  appear- 
iiee  mitil  the  morning  meal  was  nearly-  at  an 
;ul,  and  he  had  no  reason  to  repent  the  arrange- 
i.iit,  for  the  party  had  just  arrived  at  that  sa- 
iled and  complacent  point  when  all  which  fol- 
ws  is  rather  matter  of  idleness  than  appetite, 
iiil  each  member  composing  it  is  not  only  wil- 
iig,  but  eager  to  repay,  h\  the  most  assiduous 
li.ntions,  the  ample  return  of  news  and^ossip. 
Fortunately,  their  first  meeting  was  one"of  less 
iliarrassment  than  Sybil  had  anticipated,  for 
re  was  such  a  general  greeting  on  his  entrance 
lat  no  one,  save  her  husband,  i-emarked  the 


.vliich  she  received  him  as  he  made  his  way  to- 
iv.ii'ds  her,  or  the  constrained  "You  are  welcome, 
-ii'  Horace,"  Avhicli  was  hef  brief  response  to  his 
■ager  address.  This  partial  display  of  emotion 
ivas  nevertheless  by  no  means  calculated  to  alarm 
lini,  for  it  v%'as  no  more  than  every  delicateh'- 
>^  Tiinded  woman  might  be  disposed  to  feel  upon 
Tier   an   absence,  the  man  who  had 


neetu 

ance  ohered  lier  his  hand,  while  in  the  manner 
of  Trevor  Iiiuiseir  he  could  detect  nothing  more 
objecSionable,  as  it  gave  him  the  imj-iression  of 
ft  gi-aeelul  piece  of  acting,  rather  than  the  im- 
jiilse  of  deep  or  excited  feeling. 

Not  one  of  the  guests,  however,  came  to  the 
I'licf  of  her  hostess  so  efFectualI\-  as  Mrs.  La- 
merly, who.  with  one  of  her  childish  exelama- 
tii)i!s  of  delight,  extended  her  jewelled  hand, 
and   said,  half-laughing  and  half-pouting.  "So 


}  ou  have  remembered  your  old  friends  at  last, 
iiiy  dear  Trevor,  and  only  just  in  time,  I  can  as- 
rure  you,  for  both  Sj-bil  and  I  had  made  up  our 
ds  to  give  you  up  if  you  did  not  repent  your 


"  I  never  before  heard  that  you  had  any." 
"  Comment .'"  cried  Trevor  in  affected  astonish- 
ment;   "Did  you  never  hear  tiie  unfortunate 
liistory  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Hildebrand,  who 


ingratitude.  HoAvever,  you  need  not  look  up  eloped  with  her  coachman?" 
.'')  dismayed,  we  Avill  forgive  you,  but  in  I'eturn  I  "La!  how  very  horrid!"  shuddered  Mrs. 
y.iu  must  tell  us  everything' about  everybody  Babington,  settling  a  curl.  "So  low!"  she 
everywhere,  and  make  yourself  as  agreeable  as  '  whispered  to  the  Honorable  Theodore,  who 
vuu  can.     And  now,  when  you  have  done  shak-    loimged  beside  her. 

iiir  hands  with  Ladj- Clara,  come  here,  and  1 1  /' And  was  this  sporting  lady  the  ancestress  of 
^viil  make  room  for  you  betAveen  me  and  Lord  our  fair  Sybil?"  lisped  out  the  widow  innocent- 
J"Iin."     And  Avith  pretty  imperiousness  she  mo-  !  ly. 

Li'iied  to  the  mortified  lordling  to  advance  higher  !      "  Now,  all  the  fates  forfend  !"  said  Sir  Horace. 

lip  the  table,  Avhile  she  removed  her  own  seat ;"  No,  no,  I  had  another  aunt,  and  were  Mrs. 

iiieiently  to  enable  the  new  comer  to  occup\-    Delamere  in  the  room  she  could  answer  all  your 

'  place  assigned  to  him.  j  questions,  but  it  is  fortunate,  as  Ave  have  fallen 

>lie  was  not  however,  so  exclusively  occupied    upon  this  topic,  that  she  is  not  present,  for  since 

vi'.li  Trevor  as  to  overlook  the  pi-obable  anxiety  i  Ilonoria'slaj)se  she  is  always  extremely  distressed 

<'f  her  host,  and  more  than  once  she  raised  her  '  by  any  illusion  to  the  past." 

luavy  eyelids,   aiid   turned   upon   him   one   of  |      Mortimer   started.      Hei-e   then   was,  at  last, 

tlidrfe  rapid  ghmces  of  inquiry,  which  betray  so  '  one  tangle  of  .the  ravelled  skein  draAVU  out,  and 

li'ilo  and  iniplj- so  much.     She  wished  him  to  ,  once   moi-e   Sybil   stood   acquitted.      A   smile, 

iii;derstand  that  she  Avas  endeavoring  to  sci'een    Avhieh  Avas  almost  one  of  relief  and  gratitude, 

ii'T  friend   from   his  suspicions,  and  sacrificing    flitted   across  his  lip,  but  meanwhile  the   sensa^ 

Lor.xdf  for  his  peace  of  nund.  tions  of  Sybil  herself  Avere  infinitely  less  satisfae- 

Nothing  could  be  more  amiable  !     And  it  was  I  tory.     The  audacious  and  unblushing  effrontery 

beautiful  to  Avitness  the  perfect  good-will  Avith  ;  with  which  Trevor  had  thus  invented  for  him- 

which  the  generous  and  artless  JSlrs.  Lamerly  ,  self  a  supposed  family   connection  which   had 

executed  h.er  self-appointed  task.  Scarcely  would    never  in  reality  existed  ;  the  easy  complacency 

she  permit  Trevor  to  address  his  hostess,  who.90  \  Avith  Avhich  he  had  calumniated  the  character- 


tardy  ansAver  was  in  almost  every  instance?  antici- 
pated by  that  of  her  friend,  and  then  she  had  so 
many  questions  to  ask,  and  so  many  half-Avhisper- 
ed  communications  to  make,  that  Trevor  found 
ample  employment  betAveen  his  jniU  de  Fcrigord, 
11 


of  her  sex  in  order  to  make  his  tale  run  more 
glibly,  and  the  self-satisfied  look  with  Avhich  he 
turned  toAvards  her  at  its  comjdefion,  in  oj-dcr, 
as  it  seemed,  to  claim  her  gratitude  for  his  ex- 
ploit, rendered  her  more  and  more  conscious  of 


162 


THE   rJVAL  BEAUTIES. 


the  depth  of  the  abyss  into  \rbich  she  had  been; to  her  foi*  a  host  of  those  trifling  services  so 
plunged  into  bj-  lier  own  levity.  |  valuable  to  the  travelling  Sybarite,  and  had,  : 

Who  can  calculate  upon  the  bearing  and  re-  return,  vowed  to  her  one  of  those  everlastiin: 
Bult  of  a  first  deviation  from  the  high  and  holy  I  friendships  which  are  so  convenient  to  the 
principle  of  truth  f  To  extricate  herself  from  a  j  worldly  and  unscrupulous,  and  wherein  the 
momentary  difficulty,  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  volun-  give-and-take  system  forms  so  efficient  a  bond 
teered  what  she  believed  to  be  a  mere  inconse-  of  union. 

<)uent  falsehood,  and  she  now  felt  that,  at  the  j  jt  has  already  been  explained  that  Mortimer 
instant  of  its  utterance,  she  had  herself  attached  j^d  remorselessly  wounded  the  vanity  of  Mr« 
to  the  sword  of  Damocles  the  one  frail  hair  by  Lameriy,  and  embittered  her  feelings,  and  that 
which  it  was  hereafter  to  be  forever  suspended  ,..  i,at  at  first  had  oritrinated  in  mere  levity  and 
over  her  head.  Henceforward  it  was  indeed  idleness,  had  become^in  her  eves  an  imperative 
vain  to  hope  that  the  lie  could  ever  be  retract- 1  ^uty  to  herself,  and  as  she  m"entally  argued,  a. 
ed,  and  she  must  abide  its  consequences,  be  they  |j„st  ^^^  consistent  vengeance  apon^he  msolent 
what  they  might,  while,  as  if  to  augment  her  security  of  Sybil.  How  dare  Sybil  affect  at 
mental  torture,  Lady  Clara  continued  to  pour  times  to  question,  and  almost  to'sneer.  when- 
forth    her    suiprise    in    the    "  Dear   me  I"    and  gy^.,.  g^jg  allude 


ded  to  the  i>eriod  of  her  widow- 
hood ?  Was  Sybil  then,  so  faultless,  that  her 
past  life  had  woven  a  circle  of  light  around  her 
which  was  impassible  1 

As  .she  asked  herself  the  question,  the  thought 
of  Trevor  recurred  to  her — but  Trevor  was  at 
Venice.  What  tlien  ?  Could  she  not  summon  [ 
him  to  her  side  ?  And  she  did  so,  we  have  seen 
with  what  result. 


Well,  I  never!"  of  mindless  astonishment. 

"  You  must  tell  us  all  about  your  Aunt  Hil- 
debrand,"  interposed  Mrs.  Lameriy,  daring  a 
momentary  pause.  "  It  must  be  such  a  funny 
■affair !  I  can  understand  a  woman  falling  in 
love  with  a  prince,  or  a " 

"  Or  a  margrave,"  whispered  Trevor  in  her 
ear. 

"  For   shame !    you   are   really   unbearable," 
pouted  the  lady,  "  but  do  tell  us  the  .story.    Or, 
perhaps,"  she  continued,  interrupting  herself  ab- 
ruptly, "  now  that  we  know  all  about  it,  Sybil  a""!  f''"i'  «lly  a^'«"t  «  week  after  his  arrival  at 
will  give  us  the  details."  iWestrum,  as  he  found  hims<.'lf  alone  with  her  in 

"  You  are  too  obliging,  Mrs.  Lameriy."  was  the  morning-room.  She  was  bu=ily  engaged  in 
•the  indignant  response  ^of  her  hostess',  "  and,  knitting  a  silk  purse,  or  some  other  of  those 
juoreover,  I  pledge  you  my  honor  that  I  am  as  useless  follies  by  which  the  idle  and  opulent  st) 
-ignorant  of  them  as  you  are."  i  seriou.sly  injure  the  efforts  of  the  poor  and  t\ 

"  I  am  convinced  of  it,"  said  Sir  Horace,  with 


"  Do   you   know  that  you  are   a  species  of ' 
miniature  divinity?"  said  Sir  Horace  to  his  fair 


ingenious ;  while  he,  seated  on  a  low  stool  a1 


well  assumed  gravity.     "From  whom  were  3011 


her  feet,  was  amusing  himself  by  tujiing  and 
likely  to  hear  such  a  relation  ?  Certainly,  not  untuning  her  guitar.  '•  You  are,  in.leed  !  Bui 
from  your  mother."  '  ,come  now,  be  frank  and  honest.     You  do  ii 

"liow    very   improper  Mrs.    Lameriy  is   at 'expect  me  to  believe  that  you  had  no  ultei : 
times,"  remarked  Mrs.  Babingbon,  sotto  voce,  toiyi'^^  in  thus  bringing  me  into  contact  with  1,1, 
iher  neighbor.  improvised  cousin,  and  that  it  was  solely  aiiJ 

"  Wlmt !   because  Sybil's  aunt  ran  away  with  entirely  pour  ramour  de  mes  beaux  i/eux  that  you 
her  coachman  ?"  exclaimed  the  widow,  who  had  called  me  from  Venice  V 
detected  the  incautious  whisper.     "  Why,  what       "  ^^  '"^t  ^tli<-'i'  motive  could  I  have  ?" 
on  earth  had  I  to  do  with  it  V  |      "  ^'ay  !  that  is  precisely  what  I  seek  to  learn. 

The  pretty  inanity  of  this  lisped  expostula-  That  you  have  one  is  beyond  a  doubt,  and  tiiat 
tion  elicited  a  general  laugh,  and  to  the  great  lit  is  personal,  is  equally  certain  to  one  wlio 
relief  of  both  Mrs.  Mortimer  and  her  husband,  j  knows  you  so  well  sis  I  do.  Surely,  cara,  \><n 
the  subject  was  abandoned.  do  not  love   this  Mortimer?     Why,  child,  you 

No  man  could  be  more  what  the  French  ex-  had  better  bestow  your  atfeclions  upon  a  willi'w- 
pressly  call  facile  a  vivre,  than  Sir  Ibn'ace  bough  ;  satisfied  while  the  wind  blows  it  hit  In  r 
Trevor,  and  despite  all  his  resolutions  to  the  1  and  thither,  that  it  must  return  to  its  natiiral 
contraiy,  Jlortimer  soon  found  himself  with '  position  when  the  breeze  falls,  than  upon  such 
him  on  terms  of  intimacy,  which,  previous  to  a  human  girouette  as  S3-birs  husband." 
his  arrival,  he  would  have  declared  impossible.       "  What  an  absurd  idea  1" 

Trevor  was  in  fact,  in  a  few  days,  emphatically  "  What  is  it,  then  ?  For  that  I  am  no  desire.!, 
and  actually  at  home  at  Westrum.  An  hour  or  even  desirable  guest,  to  either  the  lady  nr 
had  sufficed  to  render  perfectly  evident  to  him  the  gentleman  is  perceptible  enough,  and  there- 
tlie  tolerating  indifference  of  Sybil  towards  her  fore  j'ou  ha«.i  some  reason  for  urging  my  pres-  ' 
husband,  whom  he  had  long  learned  to  despi.se  lence,  and  that  reason  I  must  know,  or  I  bid 
for  the  weakness  which  had  betrayed  him  into  adieu  forthwith  to  this  cave  of  Trophonious, 
the  power  of  a  woman  without' principle  or  with  its  two  solitary  gleams  of  sunshine.  I 
honor,  while,  had  he  needed  an  interpreter,  his 'love  to  commence,  as  Horace — wasn't  it  Horace  * 
Bworn  friend  Mrs.  Lameriy  was  ever  at  hand  to  I — says,  ab  ovo,  therefore,  I  must  be  initiated  ini- 
render  every  look  and  word  intelligible.  {all  the  mystery  of  the  springs  before  I  cons-e;, 

Between  the  Baronet  and  the  widow  there  to  set  the  machinery  in  motion." 
existed  no  secrets,      lie  was  aware  of  the  whole  i      "  Whv  will  you  not  be  guided  by  me  ?" 
of  her  past  career;  had  worsliipped  at  her  un-|      "Because  I  do  not  love,  to  walk  through  the 
righteous  shrine  when  she  pwayed  the  fortnnes  world  with   a   bandage  before    wy   eyes,    and, 
of  the  pigmy  court  of ;  had  bcin  indebted  moreover,  because  I  want  to  comprehend  lh« 


TUB   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


16S 


probable  extent  of  the  obligation  -which  you 
vill  owe  ine." 

"  ^Vell  then,  I  am  displeased  M'ith  Sybil,  et 
liour  cdtise." 

"ILi!  I  begin  to  understand.  You  have 
Bomothiiig  to  revenge?" 

"A  great  deal." 

"  But  when  you  have  so  mueh  in  your  own 
power,  vrhy  should  you  have  resource  to  my 
{issistance  ?  Make  the  nsan  love  you,  and  j'ou 
will  have  ample  moans  of  vengeance." 

"  And  what  would  that  avail  me !"  asked  the 
lady  with  some  asperity,  "  save  to  aflFord  her  a 
new  triumph  over  what  she  is  pleased  to  con- 
sider as  my  levity?  Xo,  uo,  I  will  adopt  no 
such  imperfect  policy.  So  long  as  she  continues 
under  his  roof,  and  is  i-ecognised  as  his  wife,  the 
contest  is  unequal." 

Trevor  smiled  and  struck  a  few  discordant 
chords  on  the  instrument  which  he  was  toi'tur- 
iiig. 

"  Now,  pray  do  not  make  that  horrid  noise," 
said  Mi's,  ikmerly,  "  but  tell  me  at  once  if  you 
uo  longer  care  for  Sybil." 

"  2so  longer  care  for  her!"  echoed  Sir  Horace 
with  sudden  animation;  "Impossible!  Why 
she  is  handsomer  than  ever."  * 

"  And  sick  to  death  of  her  humdrum  husband, 
Hud  her  old-fashioned  country-house,"  pursued 
the  ladj-  in  the  £am«  tone.  "  And  you  a  spark 
of  spirit,  you  would  need  no  prompting  from 
uie." 

A  second,  and  moi>e  intelligible  smile  gleamed 
over  the  features  of  the  Baronet. 

"  I  see  it  all  now,"  he  said  with  a  light  laugh, 
*' Sybil  once  gone — And  you  really  think  such  a 
thing  might  occur?" — He  was  answered  by  a 
sigiiitieant  gesture;  "The  willow  waiid  would 
require  a  proj),  and  who  could  he  so  pleasantl}- 
lean  upon  on  as  the  sympathising  friend  who 
would  be  upon  the  spot,  and  who  is  so  well  cal- 
culated to  act  as  a  second  mother  to  his  child?" 

"  And  suppose  it  were  so  ?" 

•"  Oh,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  it 
Kothiiig  could  be  better  imagined,  and,  as  a 
matter  of  coui-se,  it  would  be  an  immense  relief 
to  my  conscience.  But — but — I  must  venture 
one  more  question,"  and  Ti-evor  really  looked 
embarrassed  for  a  moment;  "As  I  should  be 
deeply  grieved  to  compromise  jour  pretty  self, 
without  some  prospect  of  fulfilling  your  i>ro- 
jects,  I  tell  you  frankly  that  1  believe  vou  have 
little  chance  of  becoming  the  nife  of  this  worthy 
squire." 

"  And  why  not?"  asked  the  lady  indignantly, 
*'Did  he  not  marry  Sybil?" 

"  He  did,  and  it  is  precisely  for  that  reason 
that  I  conjecture  he  will  just  have  wit  enough 
to  be  very  cautious  how  he  commits  himself  a 
second  time.  Xow,  don't  look  so  defyingly. 
You  know  all  that  I  mean,  and  you  are  quite 
aware  how  high  an  opinion  I  have  of  your 
Abilities,  as  well  as  how  sincerely  1  admire  your 
person,  but  nevertheless, " 

"Do  you  mean  to  insult  me?" 

"  Not  a  whit,  but  if  we  are  to  be  honest  con- 
federates, we  must  thoroughly  understand  each 
other.  1  thought  you  had  more  strength  of 
mind." 

"  Pray  leave  me  to  conduct  rav  own  affairs," 


said  the  widow  sullenly ;  "  I  flatter  myself  that 
1  am  quite  competent  to  such  a  task." ' 

"  I  never  doubted  it  for  an  instant,  but  still  I 
felt  it  my  duty  to  warn  you." 

"  Wait  till  1  am  in  danger." 

"  With  all  my  heart..  It  is  understood,  then, 
that  we  are  to  be  faithful  allies  f" 

"  Have  we  not  a  common  interest  ?" 

"  True,  My  question  was  an  idle  one,  and  I 
deserve  the  i-ebuke.  Our  mutual  undertaking 
is,  however,  by  no  means  easy.  Sybil  evidently 
shuns  me," 

"  She  fears  hei-self  more  than  you." 

"  That,  at  least,  is  encouraging,  and  I  will 
trust  to  j'our  penetration ;  car  vous  avez  passe 
parla.  Now  do  not  be  angry  again,  fi-owns 
never  become  you,  and  you  know,  by  experi- 
ence, that  they  are  wasted  upon  me,  'But  tell 
me,  for  whom  are  you  laboring  so  diligently  ?" 

"  For  Sybil,"  said  Mrs,  Lamerlj^,  with  a  sneer. 

"  What  a  graceful  attention  1" 

"  Is  it  not  ?     Let  it  serve  you  as  an  example." 

And  then,  having  accomplished  this  mutual 
understanding,  they  talked  of  other  matters  per- 
fectly irrelevant  to  the  subject  whicli  still,  how- 
ever, remained  uppermost  in  their  thonghts,  and 
worthy  colleagues  in  evil,  did  so  with  smiling 
brows  and  friendly  tones,  undisturbed  even  by 
the  intrusion  of  Mrs.  Babington  and  her  honor- 
able hanger-on,  despite  the  curious  and  some- 
what supercilious  looks  which  were  occasion-^ 
ally  riveted  u{X)n  them.  They  ha«l  so  much  to 
ask  and  to  tell,  so  many  dear  friends *to  be  can- 
vassed and  condenuied,  and  so  many  schemes  of 
pleasure  to  arrange,  that  they  both  continue<l 
apparentlj'  unconscious  of  the  espionape  to  whicii 
they  were  thus  unceremoniously  subjected. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

WiiF.N  Gertrude  awoke  on  the  following 
morning,  she  was  several  minutes  before  she 
could  collect  her  thougiits,  and,  as  she  cast  her 
eyes  round  the  desolat^t;  apartment  which  had 
been  allotted  to  her,  her  first  impulse  was  Im 
close  them  again,  in  order  to  shut  out  all 
surrounding  objects,  but,  in  the  next  instant, 
she  felt  the  utter  folly  and  weakness  of  thus 
shrinking  back  upon  "the  very  threshold  of 
her  task,  and  springing  lightly  from  her  com- 
fortless bed,  she  ha.stened  to  dress  herself,  and 
to  be  prepared  for  the  first.suiamons  she  might 
receive. 

The  dark  and  soot-laden  fog  still  hung  heavily 
over  the  street,  clung  to  the  dingy  window- 
panes,  and  made  its  way  througli  the  ill-fitted 
frames  even  into  the  chamber.  No  one  requires 
to  be  told  all  the  wretchedness  of  such  a  wak- 
ing, while  to  Gertrude,  totally  unajjcustomed 
as  she  was  to  a  London  atmosphere  in  anj' 
season,  it  seemed  as  though  her  very  breathing 
were  impeded.  Steadily,  however,  she  perse- 
vered in  her  purpose,  and  at  length,  closely 
folded  in  a  thick  shawl,  but  still  trembling  with 
cold,  she  made  her  way  down  stairs,  with  her 
writing-desk  in  her  hand,  to  the  little  parlor  in 
which  she  had  first  been  received.  The  shuU 
ters  had  been  thrown  back,  and  as  no   prepux*- 


164 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


tions  had  vet  been  made  for  tha  morning  meal, ,  heart,  and  I  hare  confideucR  in  your  consisten- 

she    found  herself   at    liberty    to    sit  down    at 

once,  and  commence  the  somewhat  difficult  fask 

of  exfilaining  to  Ernest  her  sudden  evasion  from 

Bletchley. 

Until  the  very  moment  in  which  she  prepared 
to  do  tliis,  she'  liad  never  become  tliorougldy 
conscious  of  the  delicacy  of  the  undertaking, 
for  one  look  lound  the  squalid  apartment  iu 
which  si 

that  slie  must  still  conceal  from  him  the  exact 
nature  and  situation  of  her  temporary  home. 
Undou>)todly  some  human  feeling  of  hurt  pride 
and  Avounded  personal  dignity  mingled  with 
other  and  less  selfish  convictions,  but  it  is 
nevertheless  certain  that  the  guiding-spring  of 
her  conduct  was  a  consciousness  that  she  had 
no  right  to  intrude  a  stranger  beneath  the  roof 
of  a  ruined  relative,  of  wliom  she  had  already 
seen  enough  to  be  well  aware  that  he  valued, 
at  even  more  than  their  just  price,  the  privi- 
leges of  which  poverty  had  denuded  hun,  and 
would  consequently  ill  brook  that  an  indifFcr 
ent,  and  perchance,  scrutinizing  ej'e,  shouki 
be  permitted  to  rest  upon  the  nakedness  of  the 
land. 

Such  a  position  was  very  irksome  to  Ger- 
trude, whose  nature  was  truthfulness  itself,  but 
she  was  compelled  to  admit  that  in  this  case  the 
withholding  of  the  whole  truth  was  part  of  the 
painful  duty  which  she  had  imposed  upon 
herself  when  she  obeyed  the  summons  of  her 
dying  uncle,  and  Avith  a  sigh  such  as  she  had 
thought   to    heave    on   sitting    down    to 


ey.  Do  not,  however,  believe,  that  iu  requiring 
j-ou  not  to  seek  me  out — you,  who  are  in  my 
thoughts  at  every  moment,  and  perhaps  even 
(for  1  know  little  of  the  great  wilderness  of 
which  I  am  now  an  inhabitant.^)  within  a  few- 
streets  of  the  very  house  of  which  I  have  be- 
come an  inmate— tJiat  I  do  so  without  an 
immense  personal  sacrifice.  You  will  at  once 
was  seated,  sufficed  to  convince  her  j  feel  this  to  be  impossible.  Never  had  I  greater 
need  of  sympathy,  but  I  cannot  on  that  aecouut 
add  another  pang  to  those  by  which  the  woimd- 
ed  spiiit  of  my  dying  uncle  is  evidently  crushed 
to  the  very  earth.  Bear  with  me,  then,  as  I 
would  cheerfully  bear  with  yourself  in  such  an 
extremity.  It  is  already  much  that  I  may  be 
with  you  in  thought,  and  that  I  am  enabled  to 
shelter  myself  from  the  present  in  the  future." 

Her  letter  to  Miss  Warrington  was  more  easily 
written.  To  her  she  had  only  to  announce  her 
safe  arrival  under  Mr.  Spencer's  roof,  and  to  ex- 
press her  wish  that  none  of  the  family  at  the 
Manor-house  should  be  made  acquainted  with 
her  ])lace  of  residence. 

"ile  may  linger,"  she  added,  "and  should 
such  be  the  case,  I  feel  convinced  that  Mr.  Arm- 
strong would  not  permit  me  to  remain  in  his 
house  ;  a  thousand  kind,  but  needless  apprehen- 
sions on  my  account,  miglit  induce  him  to  pre- 
vent the  accomplishment  of  a  duty  which  I 
consider  most  sacred,  and  of  which  I  sliould 
lament  the  omission  throughout  all  my  life.  I 
leave  my  fate,  therefore,  in  your  hands,  and  I 
am  assured  that  you  will  not'betray  me." 

Her  task  was  scarcely  accomplished  ere  Ger- 
trade  heard  a  stealthy  step  approachiiig  the 
apartment,  and  •  saw  the  staid  attendant  of  her 
uncle  enter  laden  with  the  meager  preparations 
for  breakfast.  The  astonishment  of  the  worthy 
woman  was  extreme,  on  perceiving  that  the 
young  lady  whom  she  had  been  fearful  of  awak- 
ening after  her  fatigue,  was  already  up  and 
occupied,  and  she  busied  herself  with  quiet 
alacrity  in  rendering  her  as  comfortable  as  cir- 
cumstances would  permit 

Nothing  could,  however,  remove  the  aspect 
of  cheerlessuess  by  which  the  orphan  was  sur- 
rounded ;  the  clinging  fog  looming  heavily  and 
luridly  through  the  window  and  obscuring  every 
!  object  without,  the  dusty  grate,  the  eurtainless 
cornice,  the  lime-stained  walls  within,  all  coih- 
spired  to  depress  her,  and  it  was  almost  with  a 
sense  of  relief  that  she  heard  the  dull  sound  of 
her  uncle's  cane  upon  his  uncarpet.  d  floor,  as 
he  knocked  to  announce  that  he  required  the 
presence  of  his  house-keeper. 

Mi's.  -Sharp  hastily  poured  out  a  cup  of  coffee, 
diluted  it  as  she  had  done  on  tlie  previous  eve- 
ning, and  then  placing  a  small  slice  of  thin  diy 
toast  in  the  saucer,  hurriedly  cfbeyed  the  sum-^ 
mons;  nor  did  she  return  till  tlie  frugal  meal  of 
Gertrude  was  accomplished,  when  she  announced 
that  her  master  would  sec  ^ii'ss  Mortimer  in  a 
few  minutes. 

"  lie  is  much  changed  since  hi.st  night.  Ma'am." 
many  long  years  of  hapjiiiiess  before  us,  while  added  the  woman,""  and  althougli  he  never 
his  days  are  already  numbered,  his  ho]>es  anni-  allu.lcd  to  it.  I  could  see  that  he  wis  very  anx- 
liilated.  and  his  gray  hairs  bowed  down  by  ious  from  the  time  he  wrote  to  vou,  lest  yon 
misery,  both  actual  and  mental.  I  do  not  fear  sliouhl  refiLse  to  come  to  him;  for  I  more  th.nn 
your  rej>jy  to  such  an   appeal,  for  1  know  your  j  once  heard  him  mutter  to  hiim»elf:   '  If  she  does 


address  Ernest,  she  commenced  her  task 

Slie  told  him  of  the  hasty  and  imperative 
call  which  had  been  made  upon  both  her  duty 
and  her  afioction  for  her  mother's  memory  ; 
of  the  slate  in  which  she  had  found  her  unfor- 
tunate relative;  nor  did  she  shrink  from  avow- 
ing tlir.t  he  had  sunk  from  affluence  to  poverty. 
And  tliou  she  besought  him  to  bear  with  her  if 
she  entreated  that  he  would  not  attempt  to  see 
her  until  lier  return  to  Bletchley,  and  not  only 
forgive  such  a  request  in  his  own  person,  but 
even  justify  her  in  the  eyes  of  his  ftimily  should 
they  appear  to  resent  the  step  that  "she  had 
taken. 

"  He  was  my  mother's  only  brother,"  sh«  con- 
tinued ;  "  astern  and  prosperous  man,  who  was 
regardless  alike  of  family  , ties  and  family  affec- 
tions during  the  greater  portion  of  his  life.  He 
existed,  consequently,  unloving  and  unloved; 
absorbed  in  large  financial  sfioculations,  and  en- 
grosso,!  hy  gol.i  Think,  Ernest,  what  mu.stnow 
be  the  bitterness  <)f  his  regret,  and  the  desolate- 
ness  of  his  position.  His  hard-earned  gains 
have  melted  away  within  his  grasp;  the  penury 
at  which  he  used  to  scoff  is  abiding  under  liis 
own  roof,  and  he  has  f  )und  no  other  source  of 
comfort  than  a  desire  to  j)()rscss  for  the  (I  fear) 
very  brief  remains  of  a  wasted  life,  the  society 
of  his  hitherto  unknown  niece.  Can  you  not, 
therefore,  easily  pardon  both  him  and'my.self? 
And  will   you  not  readily  do  so?      lUe  have  so 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


165 


not,  there  is  time  yet!  There  is  time  yet !' I  whisper,  ns  with  faltering  steps,  wliich  she  ia 
Ami  then  he  laughed.  You  have  hoard  him  I  vain  endeavored  to  render  steady,  she  ap- 
laugh.  As  for  me,  I  would  much  rather  hear jproaehed  to  his  bed-side;  "  Come— for  I  cau 
him  cry  at  anytime   tlian  laugh  that  friglitful  set  your  mind  at  ease.     I    shall    not   need  your 


laugh — it  ahv.iys  chills  my  blood.  But  I  am 
wrong  to  talk  of  this  to  j-ou.  ^la'am,  I  was  only 
jroing  to  say,  that  I  think  wheii  he  .<aw  you  at 
last  he  felt  a  great  deal,  though  he  was  too 
proud  to  let  you  see  it,  and  the  agitation  has 
been  too  much  for  him.  He  had  some  trouble 
to  swallow  his  coffee,  and  the  bread  he  could 
not  touch.  Poor  gentleman !  I  believe  that  his 
_J  troubles  are  ueai-ly  over." 

"  Then  for  pity's  sake,"  exclaimed  Gertrude, 
clasping  her  hands  entreatingly,  •'  send  at  once 
for  his  pliysieian.  Surely  you  can  procure  a 
messenger  somewhere  in  the  ueighborhood,  and 
I  will  pay  him  whatever  he  requires,  provided 
he  lose  no  time.  See  to  this  at  once,  Mr.s.  Sharp, 
and  I  will  attend  to  my  poor  uncle  during  your 
absence." 

The  housekeeper  shook  her  head. 

"I  dare  not,  Ma'am,"  she  said  timidly,  "j-ou 


annuity,  child  ;  what  remains  in  the  house 'will 
now  last  my  time.  Sit  down,  sit  down,  and  let 
us  talk." 

"  Shall  I  not  rather  read  to  you.  Sir  ?" 

"  How  can  you  f"  he  asked  peevishly  ;  "  I 
have  already  told  you  that  the  paper  never 
conies  until  t^ie  evening." 

"  But  in  your  present  state,"  again  asked  the 
orphan  timidly  ;  "  could  I  not  find  something 
more  appropriate,  more  comforting,  than  tha 
mere  news  of  the  day  ?" 

"  Ah !  I  understand,"  said  the  sick  man,  as  a 
sardonic  ."^niile  quivered  for  an  instant  over  his 
faded  lips ;  "  You  care  nothing  about  the 
money-market  —  You  do  not  condescend  to 
addle  your  brains  with  the  dull  concern  of  con- 
sols, and  foreign  securities,  and  all  the  great 
interests  of  a  commercial  eovmlrj.  I  am  sorry 
for  it,  child,  I  am   sorry  for  it,  for  such  indiffer- 


do  not  know  my  master,  but  if  you   authorize  ^nce  to  the  most   important  considerations  of  a 
me  to  venture  upon  It,  I  will  send  a  boy  for  Mr.        ....  ..... 


Jackson,  who  cau  come  as  if  by  accident  on  his 
way  somewhere  else,  and  then  he  cau  advise 
you  as 'to  what  is  best  to  be  done." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Gertrude  eagerly,  "  by 
all  means — now — this  instant.  I  could  not  incur 
so  terrible  a  responsibility  alone." 

Mrs.  Sharp  curtsied  and  left  the  room,  and 
when  the  orphan  hoard  her  open  the  house-door, 
and  close  it  gently  behind  her,  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  terror  which  she  could  not  overcome, 
that  she  remembered  she  was   alone  with  the 


djnn« 


i-ational  and  enlightened  kingdom  will  bring 
bitter  repentance  in  time.  ISo,  no,  I  want  no 
reading.  I  want  to  think,  and  to  speak,  and  I 
have  little  enough  time  left  for  either.  No  fear 
of  being  taken  at  your  word,  child,  the  annuity 
is  safe  enough!"  And  that  strange,  unnatural 
laughter,  deprecated  even  by  the  accustomed 
Mrs.  Sharp,  again  burst  from  the  parched 
throat  of  the  fevered  invalid,  but  on  this  occa- 
sion, not  with  impunity,  for  in  the  very  pa- 
roxysm of  this  forced  and  bitter  mirth,  a  gush 
of  blood    followed    the    sound,   and    streamed 


Dead,   she   woiild  perhaps   have  |  .jo^^  q^^,.  the   sheet  which  covered  the  breast 


feared  him  less,  for  there  is  a  mystery  and  a  ho- 
liness in  death  which  rebuke  the  weaknesses  of 
the  living ;  but  d^nng,  and  dying  thus — without 
a  thought  or  a  care  for  the  Great  Beyond,  to- 
wards which  he  was  ha.'Jtening,  —  without 
an  anxiety  on  the  subject  of  that  life  which 
must  endure  forever,  and  wiioUy  occupied  by 
the  cares  and  futilities  of  that  which  Wiis  so 
rapidly  to  close  upon  him! — It  was  very  fright- 
and  the  poor  girl  bent  down  her  head,  and 


rap: 
fnl. 


her  hands,  as  she  listened  tumbler  to  his  lips 


of  the  sufferer. 

Gertrude  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  as  she  flung 
her  arm  about  his  neck,  and  raised  his  head 
from  the  pillow.  It  was  a  fearful  moment  for 
the  solitary  and  inexperienced  girl,  but  the 
sick  man  soon  partially  rallied. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  he  murmured 
huskily  ;  "  and   now  give  me  a  drop  of  water." 

Gertrude  laid   him   down  softly,  and  held  a 


buried  her  fae 

breathlessly  for  the  return  of  her  messenger. 

It  was  not,  however,  the  welcome  footstep 
of  the  zealous  housekeeper  which  fell  upon  her 
ear  as  she  sat  there  in  her  terror,  but  tlie 
renewed  pounding  of  the  heavy  cane  upon  the 
boards  in  the  room  above,  and  starting  from 
her  chair,  she  swept  back  the  long  curls  from 
her  forehead,  and  hastened  to  obey  the  sum- 
mons. 

Even  prepared  as  she  was  to  see  a  change  in 
the  countenance  of  the  unhappy  invalid,  .she, 
nevertheless,  started  with  surpri.se  and  fear  as 
her  eye  first  fell  upon  him.  The  hectic  spot 
npon  his  cheek  had  deepened  into  purple,  his 
lips  were 
it  was  evident,  by  the  rapi 


"  Began  at  99,"  he  whispered  with  closed 
eyes,  after  the  silence  of  a  moment ;  "  and 
closed  at  101  3-8.  Better  times  are  coming 
better  times.  I  must  keep  my  ej-es  about  me 
Gertrude,  where  are  you  ?" 

"  I  am  here.  Sir." 

"  That  was  a  great  rise,  Gertrude.  A  great 
deal  may  be  made  by  such  a  rise  as  that.  I  used 
to  be  very  fortunate — very,  at  least  folks  said  so, 
though  I  never  believed  that  luck  had  much  to 
do  with  it  Gertrude,  if  you  should  ever  be 
rich — you  know  you  will  have  the  annuity 
which  you  offered  me  to  begin  upon,  and  many 
there  are  in  the  world  who  have  reared  a  good- 
livid,  and  his  brow  bloodless,  while  |ly  brood  without  such  a  nest-egg — if  you  should 
ent,  by  the  rapid  convulsions  which  [ever  be  rich,  watch  the  funds,  child— ^watch  the 


passed   over  his  features,  and   the    wild   fierce  1  funds,  and  remember  your  poor  uncle.' 
light  which  glistened   in  his  eyes,  that  nature       "  Pray,  do  not  excite  yourself.  Sir,"  said  the 
was  making  a  last    and  powei-ful    effort,  which  ;  anxious  girL    "  You  are,  just  now,  quite  unequal 
would   in   all   probability   utterly   exhaust  his  to  such  an  exertion.     You  need  rest." 
slight  remains  of  strength.  "  I   shall  have   enough    and   to  spare  before 

"Ah  I  come — come,"    he  said    almost    in  a  i  many  suns  set,"  was  the  reply  of  the  faint  and 


166 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIia. 


exhatiBted  voice.     "Leave  me  in  peace,  now. 
And  Gertrude — " 
"  I  listen,  Sir." 

"  Gertrude,  I  say,  do  not  forget  the  pocket- 
book,  and  if  Jackson  should  ask  for  it  when  he 
e,omes— for  he  must  come  after  I  am  gone,  you 
tiio-Nv — don't  give  it  to  him,  but  make  him  show 
you  his  accounts.  It  is  a  large  sum— a  very 
large  sum  for  a  poor  man  to  handle,  and — and  I 
want  to  be  quite  sure  that  it  will  be  well  laid 
out." 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed,  Sir." 
"  Good  girl  1  Good  girl !  Worth  a  score  of 
your  mother.  Sfie  married  for  love,  poor  fool, 
and  then  wanted  mo  to  pay  the  debts  of  her 
spendthrift  husband.  You  have  been  wiser. 
An  Armstrong  will  do,  child,  an  Armstrong  will 
do.  You  must  be  prudent  and  saving  for  a  few 
years,  and  things  will  come  round.  Take  care 
of  your  gold,  and — your — gold — will — take — 
care — of — you.     1 — " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  for  the  sick  man  was 
utterly  exhausted,  and  Gertrude,  drowned  in 
tears  of  mingled  fear  and  horror,  could  not  even 
attempt  a  reply,  when,  suddenly  rallying  once 
more,  the  invalid  panted,  rather  that  uttered : 
"  Why  do  you  close  the  shutters?  Kothing  can 
be  done  in  the  darkness.  Give  me  light.  I 
must  have  light — broad,  unblinking  sunlight.  I 
shall  be  robbed  in  this  foul  darkness.  Robbed  ? 
Who  shall  dare  ?"  and  he  clenched  his  dry  and 
withered  hand,  and  attempted  to  extend  it  in 
menace,  but  he  strove  in  vain;  his  muscular 
power  was  spent,  and  the  shrunken  arm  fell 
powerless  at  his  side. 

What  wild  and  conflicting,  and  bewildered 
visions  must  have  passed  over  the  brain  of  the 
dying  man  during  the  hour  which  succeeded, 
for  trulv,  throughout  one  long,  and,  as  she  be- 
lieved, interminable  hour,  did  the  miserable  girl 
watch  beside  that  unholy  death-bed,  unsupport- 
ed, alone,  aj^d  quivering  with  anxiety  for  the 
return  of  her  messenger,  who,  meanwhile,  hav- 
ing duly  fulfilled  her  mission,  had  not  ventured 
to  enter  the  sick-chamber  unbidden,  and  was,  in 
her  turn,  awaiting,  in  her  cheerless  solitude,  the 
advent  of  the  poor  humble  clerk,  who  was  to  be 
their  sole  support  and  comforter  throughout  the 
coming  trial. 

Strange  unconnected  snatches  of  thought 
were  incoherently  revealed  by  the  sick  man  in 
•lisyoined  and  faintly  articulated  sentences.  jS'ow 
it  was  a  fresh  and  far-otf  glance  at  his  green  and 
joyous  boyhood,  and  a  wild  smile  played  about 
his  lip,  and  the  vision  of  some  pilfered  orchard 
passed  before  him,  and  while  the  congenial  scene 
occupied  his  mental  vision,  he  clutched  the  bed- 
clothes with  a  convulsive  grasp,  as  if  fearful  of 
being  cheated  of  the  spoil  tliat  he  had  won.  But 
this  cornparativelj'  tranquil  waking-dream  soon 
vanished,  and  the  toil  and  tui-moil  of  more  manly 
struggles  were  enacted  over  again.  Like  one 
who  saw  before  him  tlie  open  pages  of  a  ledger, 
he  calculat-'d  immense  sums  with  an  accuracy 
which  tilled  liis  terrified  listener  with  silent 
astonishment,  ))ausiiig  at  intervals,  to  utter  stern 
denials,  as  it  bceme<i,  to  some  imp<jrtunate  pe- 
titioner, or  to  ciiuekle  over  some  successful  ven- 
ture, and  throughout  all  this  fearful  time,  what- 
ever might  be  the  broad  outline  of  the  mental 


picture  conjured  up  by  memory,  the  same  daik   ; 
sliadow  hovered  over  it ;  the  greed  of  gain  hung    i 
darkly  about;   the  pencil  of  avarice  polluted  all    I 
its  features.    He  was  the  breathing  embodiment   : 
of  a  solitary  idea.     No  reminiscence  of  affection, 
iw  soothing  consciousness  of  one  generous  deed 
done,  and  registered  for  hereafter,  flitted  like  a 
good  angel,  tlirough  the  memories  of  the  past 
His  horizon  was  without  light,  the   lurid  gleam 
of  gold  was  the  only  ray  which  had  power  to 
penetrate  the  gloom. 

Gertrude  thought  of  the  placid  and  prayerful 
death-bed  of  the  protectress  of  her  youth,  and 
averted  her  look  from  the  rapidly-working  fea- 
tures, and  endeavored  to  close  her  eyes  against 
the  mammon-worshipping  words  of  the  dying 
man  who  lay  before  her.  Her  heart  sickened  as 
the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  her  reason,  that 
beyond  fulfilling  the  mere  trifling  and  unim- 
portant duties  required  by  the  sinking  body, 
licr  care  could  here  be  of  no  avail,  for  the  voicea 
of  the  soul  had  become  clogged  by  the  base 
yellow  fluid  to  which  it  had  been  abandoned, 
and  it  no  longer  found  utterance  for  higher  or 
noliler  aspirations. 

Suddenly,  the  hoarse  murmur  ceased,  and 
then  came  one  of  those  deep  and  awful  periods 
of  utter  stillness  so  solemn  in  a  death-room.  All 
was  silent  and  chill,  and  the  wordless  prayer 
which  was  poured  out  by  the  stricken  spirit  of 
the  watcher,  arose  pure  and  untinged  with  one 
taint  of  earth ;  an  offering  for  him  who  cared 
not  to  supplicate  for  himself.  And  it  would 
seem  that  it  brought  a  blessing,  for  once  more 
the  wandering  mind  was  cleared  of  the  mist  by 
which  it  had  been  over-shadowed,  and  when 
next  the  sick  man  spoke,  he  had  regained  the  eiv- 
tire  possession  of  his  temporarily  suspended  fj»- 
culties. 

"  Gertrude,"  he  whispered  faintly,  "  I  have  no 
time  to  lose.  Listen  to  me.  Take  the  ke' 
which  you  will  find  in  my  pocket-book — bi. 
give  me  back  the  book.  1  like  to  feel  it  und. 
my  pillow,  for  then  I  know  that  it  is  safe.  G<'n 
girl!  Good  girl!  IS'ow,  open  that  chest,  an  1 
I  at  the  top — at  the  very  top,  mind,  you  need  ii' 
search  lower — you  will  find  a  packet  of  papn- 
Bring  it  here." 

Gertrude  silently  obeyed,  and  placed  in  tb 
eager  trembling  hand  the  sealed  envelope  which 
lay  ready  on  the  surface  of  the  chest. 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  murmured  the  failing 
voice  of  tlie  sick  man  ;  "  and  now  lock  the  box 
carefully  again,  and  give  me  back  the  key- 
There,  that  will  do."  And,  for  a  time,  he  turned 
the  well-secured  packet  over  and  over,  gazing 
at  it  with  a  fondness  incomprehensible  to  his 
companion.  Kow  he  clutched  it  closely  between 
his  open  palms,  as  though  he  sougiit  to  make  it 
grow  into  his  flesh,  that  thus  it  might  become 
inseparable  from  himself;  then  he  patted  it 
lightly  with  his  fingers,  as  a  playful  mother 
would  have  patted  the  rosy  and  peach-like 
cheek  of  her  nursling,  and  finally,  he  pressed  il 
to  his-  heart  with  a  sigh  so  deep  that  it  madt 
Gertrude  start. 

Soon,  however,  he  became  aware  that  he  wa» 
no  longer  equal  to  the  excitement  which  it  pro 
dueed.  and  drawing  the  orphan  closer  to  him 
until  her  head  was  bent  over  the  pillow,  ht 


'ijbiili    KlVAi.    iSJtVAU  ilJiSS. 


1«7 


•'meed  bis  wasted  finger  upon  his  lip  in  sign  of 
nation,  and  whispered  shrilly — 

■'  You  must  have  it — you  must  have  it — So 
:ike  it  now.     It  Aill  never  be  to  you  what  it 
IS  been  to  me,  but  there  is  no  help  for  that, 
;.re  is  no  help  for  that.     Little  as  I  have  to 
ave,  it  shall  be  yours.     Sell  the  furniture,  it 
.vill  pa  J- your  journey  home.     Jackson  has  the 
iuplieat€,"  send  for  him.     But  do  not  trust  too 
uueh    even  to   him,   Gertrude ;    I    know   what 
joemptation  there  is  in  gold,  and  we  liave  no 
[right  to  tempt  others.     Look  to  yourself,  girl, 
look  to  yourself.     Love  is  all  very  well,  and 
virtue  is  a  nughty  fine  thing  for  those  who  can 
tvtford  to  dress  it  out  in  purple  and  fine  linen, 
hut  it  will  not  go  far  in  a  money-loving  world, 
it'  it  stands  naked  and  shivering  by  the  way- 
side,  holding  out  its  hand  for  help.     jS'o,  no, 
proverbs   are  not  prooft,  except  when  they  are 
built  up  upon  the  wisdom  which  is  only  taught 
by   the    close    contact   of  conflicting   interests. 
Send  a  man  upon  'Change  with  his  head  cram- 
med  witli   stale   morality,   and  a   shabby   coat 
upon  his  back  before  he  has  purchased  the  right 
to  wear  one,  and  you  will  see  what  his  virtue 
jand  his  necessities  will   do   for   him.     Trash! 
Trash  ! — I  have  lived  long  enough  to — " 

The  voice  suddenly  ceased — the  unhappy  man 
had  fainted. 

The  scream  which  Gertrude  was  unable  to 
suppress  caught  the   anxious  ear  of  the  house- 
keeper, who,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  agitated 
girl,  entered  the  room,  followed  by  the  poor  old 
clerk,  whose   stealthy  step  gave  back  no  echo, 
as  he  rapitUy  approached  the  bed,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  breast  of  the  unconscious  invalid. 
,  His  first  impression  evideullj'  was  that  his  for- 
I  mer  patron  had   suddenly  expired,  but  he  at 
i  once  discovered  his  error,  and  a  few  drops  of 
I  etherized  water,  forced  through  the  clenched 
j  teeth  of  the  wretched  man,  ere  long  restored 
;  him  to  consciousness.    The  hard,  keen  light  had, 
I  however,  departed  for  ever  from  his  eyes,  which, 
I  during  that  death-like  swoon,  had  become  dull 
[  and  glassy ;   the  breath,   which  came  hot  and 
'  halting  from  between  his  Uvid  lips,  heaved  his 
'  chest  almost  to  suffocation,  and  beads  of  damp 
'  stood  upon  his  forehead,  and  dimmed  the  lustre 
of  his  grej-  hair. 

Jackson  shook  his  head,  and  a  moisture  stole 
to  his  eye.  He,  perhaps,  was  the  only  being 
upon  earth  who  loved  the  dying-man  then  lying 
punting  and  struggling  before  him,  but  the 
human  heart  is  strangel}'  constituted,  and  there 
iB  as  much  of  the  affection  of  habit  in  the  world, 
as  that  of  actual  sentiment.  Thus  tlie  poor, 
hardworked,  and  ill-requited  drudge,  who  re- 
membered when  he  had  been  promoted  from 
the  inviduous  position  of  errand-boy  to  the 
honors  of  tj^e  raised  desk,  and  the  dignified  ap- 
pellation of  junior  clerk,  that  he  should,  in  all 
probability,  never  have  attained  even  to  that 
dreary  pre-eminence  without  the  favor  of  the 
stern  and  exacting  principal,  (who,  having  re- 
iJiarked  his  economical  management  alike  of 
coal,  cinders,  and  writing  materials,  resolved  to 
profit  by  so  unusual  a  demonstration  on  the  part 
of  a  subordinate)  had  vowed  an  afi'ection  and  a 
fidelity  to  his  unendearing  master,  which  no 
teverity  or  after-meanness  had  power  to  weak- 


]  en,  while  time,  as  it  passed  by,  served  only  to 
rivet  the  iron  links  f'oiged  by  the  one,  and  woi-n 
almost  as  a  trophy  by  the  otlfer. 

They  had  grown  old  together  ;  their  hair  had 
silvered,  and  their  step  hceanie  less  elastic  from 
year  to  year,  and  each  had  noted  the  change  in 
the  other,  although  unconscious  of  it  in  his  own 
"person. 

Even  now,  as  Jackson  looked  upon  the  dying 
man,  worn  out  alike  by  worldly  anxieties,  and 
the  narrow  penury  to  which  he  was  liimself  con- 
demned by  his  slender  and  insufficient  means,  . 
the  tear  which  started  to  his  eye  Avas  impelled 
thither  by  no  reflection  upon  his  own  advanced 
pilgrimage,  but  felt  solely  for  the  sutterer.  Per- 
haps no  thought  of  the  dread  debt  which  all 
nuist  pay,  had  even  yet  connected  itself  with 
his  visions  of  the  future ;  he  had  no  time  for 
sickness,  and  less  for  death. 

Mr.  Spencer  had  withdrawn  himself  from  tha 
firm,  and  closed  his  ledgers  and  day-books  for 
ever;  his  hours  were  no  longer  purchased  and 
absorbed  by  business,  but  he  was  still  at  his 
post;  his  income  must  be  earned,  the  bread  of 
ins  family  must  be  won  before  it  could  be  brok- 
en ;  he  came  upon  earth  to  work,  and  so  he  la- 
bored on,  like  the  patient  ox  ti'eadiiig  out  the 
corn  of  others,  and  never  caring  to  look  beyond 
the  narrow  circle  of  his  daily  duties.  The  sab- 
[  bath  brought  him  rest,  it  is  true,  but  even  that 
I  was  the  merely  negative  repose  of  physical  and 
;  moral  idleness.  As  he  lay  back  in  his  slippery 
and  ill-cushioned  horse-hair  chair,  with  his  eyes 
closed,  and  his  lips  quivefing,  he  was  generally 
reviewing  in  thought  all  the  commercial  tran- 
sactions in  which  he  had  been  engaged  through- 
out the  previous  week,  or,  when  by  chance,  tha 
siuishine  wiled  him  out,  and  he  sauntered  forth, 
with  his  meek  and  spirit-broken  wife  upon  his 
arm,  to  bask  in  the  warmer  and  purer  air  of 
Tower-Hill,  or  the  Artillery-ground  near  Fins- 
bury  Square,  he  could  command  no  other  subject 
witii  which  to  beguile  the  way,  and  thus  the 
bewildered  woman,  whose  faded  shawl  had  seen 
its  seventh  summer,  and  whose  solitary  silk 
gown  had  beenchamelion-hued  by  time,  was  en- 
tertained, hour  after  hoiu",  by  the  detail  of  ope- 
rations involving  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  pounds,  and,  perliaps  taught  to  repine 
that,  of  all  the  mighty  mass  of  weatth  which 
was  yearly  poured  out  under  the  eyes  of  her 
labor-bowed  helpmate,  so  very,  very  minute  a 
portion  ever  passed  into  his  own  possession. 

It  may  be  thought  that  this  moral  portrait  of 
the  obscure  and  liardworking  drudge  of  com- 
merce is  overcharged,  but  we  know  that  siich  is 
not  the  case.  Even  in  the  present  day,  many, 
too  many  of  these  human  automata,  these 
breathing  machines,  set  in  motion  only  by  the 
peculiar  spring  adapted  to  their  avocation,  and- 
rusted  into  uselessness  for  all  beyond  their  own 
l>eeuliar  and  narrow  sjihere  of  compulsatorj-  ac- 
tion ;  men  in  whom  even  sense  of  plij-sical  en- 
joyment and  moral  dignity  have  alike  become 
deadened,  or  at  best  distorted  by  the  mindlesB. 
numotony  of  their  daily  tasks,  may  still  be-  .. 
found  in  all  great  cities,  but  more  esjiecially  in-  ij 
our  own  mammoth-like  and  all-absorbing  Lon- 
don. The  world-grasping  trader,  whose  argosies- 
encimaber  distant  seas,  and  to  whom  the  winde^ 


168 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


fome  from  CT-ery  quarter  of  the  globe  freighted  j 
-with  gold  ;  tiie  merchant-princes,  whose  ingots 
Bway  the  fate  of  empires,  and  -^-hose  occasional 
ruin  shakes  the  whole  fabric  of  commercial 
Europe;  these  ask  hands  ready  and  willing,  and 
obedient  hands,  to  work  out  the  design  of  the 
one  master-spirit  of  the  Pandemonium  of  gain, 
but  with  the  head  or  tiie  heart  of  the  salaried  j 
slave,  they  have  nothing  whatever  to  do,  so  | 
long  us  they  interfere  not  with  the  just  execution  , 
of  his  allotted  task.  I 

Bri<:hter  days,  as  it  is  hoped,  are  now  dawn- 1 
Ing,  nTi}',  have' already  dawned,  for  the  obscure  | 
but  important  class  of  laborers,  who,  like  the 
miner,  prepare  the  ore  of  commerce  for  the 
crucible,  but  it  will  require  time  to  awaken  i 
within  them  sufficient  moral  energy  to  send  ; 
them  forth  on  the  heart-gladdening  sabbath  free  ! 
from  the  heavy  cares  and  sordid  speculations 
of  their  daily  and  hourly  existence. 

What  refinement  of  intellect,  what  generosity 
of  sentiment,  can  rationally  be  anticipated  frona 
tlie  raw  and  almost  uneducated  youth,  who  i 
grows  on  to  manhood  in  the  close  and  stifling . 
atmosphere  of  gain? — Who,  year  by  year,  hears 
every  quality  of  the  head  and  heart  exposed  to  j 
the  test  of  wealth  ? — Who  learns,  and  who  never 
forgets,  that  the  "  best  man  on  'Change"  is  he 
who  buttons  his  snug  great-coat  over  the  largest 
amount  of  bank  bills  ?  Iluraan  nature  will  be  ; 
human  nature  still,  under  every  phase,  and  al-  i 
though  the  generous  spirit  may  for  a  while  con- 
tend, it  is  ultimately  sdenced  by  the  potent  spell 
of  self-interest  and  self-advancement. 

Yet  it  is  beautiful  to  reflect  how  comparative- 
ly few  of  these  slaves  of  the  lamp  wholly  de-  ' 
generate — how  steadilj'  they  toil  on,  surrounded 
by  what  they  hold  to  be  the  greatest  good  oi.  j 
earth,  and  yet  preserve  their  honesty.  Health 
and  hope  maj^  alike  fail,  but  their  task  is  before 
tliem.  and  they  perform  it  nobly  to  the  last,  re- 1 
joicing  or  sorrowing  as  tlie  coffers  of  tlieir  em- ! 
ployers  are  filled  or  emptied,  and  making  a  com- 
mon interest  of  what  they  have  almost  taught 
themselves  to  feel  as  a  common  cause. 

And  Jackson,  poor,  humble-hearted,  long-en- 
during Jackson,  was  one  of  these.  The  opulence 
of  the  house  to  which  he  belonged  was  his 
glory  and  his  pride,  and  almost  seemed  to  reflect 
Its  prospei-ity  upon  his  own  squalid  home.  He 
would  not  have  resented  a  personal  att'ront ;  his 
courage  would  have  failed  him  for  such  a  pur-  j 
pose,  but  a  syllable  which  reflected  upon  the  | 
credit  of  his  employers  would  at  once  have  j 
aroused  him  to  indignation  and  defiance. 

And  now,  as  we  have  said,  his  heart  was  full. 
His  world  was  a  narrow  one,  and   he   could  ill 
ntford  to  lose  one  of  tiie  objects  about  Avhich  it 
hud  closed  in.     He  spoke  to  the  dying  man — 
once — twice — in  a  meek,  low  voice,  which  fait-  i 
ered  with  feeling,  but  no  answer  was  returned,  j 
It  was  evident  that  the  little  strength  which  yet ' 
remained  to  him  was  expended  in  tiie  firm  clasp 
which  he  still  retained  of  the  important  packet.  | 

At  Icngtii  Ids  lack-lustre  eye  wandered  languid- ' 
ly  round  the  apartment  until  it  rested  upon 
(Jertrude,  who  sat  weeping  silently  apart.  For 
an  instant  an  ex])ression,  almost  of  fierceness, 
oonvuls  .'d  the  muscles  of  his  face,  but  it  passed 
away,  and  be  motioned  her  to  approach,     tjhe  , 


obeyed,  and  then,  with  considerable  difficulty, 
he  placed  the  papers  in  her  hand,  and  once 
more  closed  his  eyes  with  a  groan  which  no 
mere  bodily  anguish  could  have  extorted  from 
h^m. 

Despite  his  affliction,  a  gleam  of  satisfaction 
irradiated  the  hard  features  of  the  observant 
clerk.  He  even  nodded  his  head  significantly 
towards  the  agitated  and  bewildered  girl,  as 
he  murmured  almost  inaudibly,  "  It  is  done  at 
last.  It  is  done  at  last,  and  now  he  will  bo 
easier." 

Then  he  drew  still  nearer  to  the  sick-bed,  and 
bent  over  the  sufferer  as  if  to  compel  one  last 
look  of  recognition,  but  he  watclied  in  vain. 
Mr.  Spencer  had  resigned  his  most  cherished 
hold  on  life,  and  was  still  battling  with  the 
necessity  to  which  he  was  eomjjelled  to  yield. 
He  lay  for  a  while  still,  quite  still  and  motion- 
less, while  the  laboring  spasms  from  which  ho 
had  been  previously  suffering  were  subdued, 
and  he  breathed  lightly  and  almost  impercepti- 
bly :  nature  was,  however,  only  pausing  for  a 
brief  space,  in  order  to  rallj^  all  her  remaining 
energies  for  one  last  effort,  and  as  the  anxious 
watchers  stood  around  him,  he  suddenly  sat  up- 
right in  his  bed,  with  extended  arms  and  clutch- 
ing fingers,  as  he  shrieked  out : 

"  Give  me  back  my  gold ! — My  gold  !  I  have 
toiled  for  it,  fasted  for  it,  and  it  is  mine! — .\ll 
mine !  Give  it  back,  I  say !  Has  it  not  cost  me 
alike  body  and  soul !  Thieves ! — Thieves ! — 
Will  no  one  help  me  ?  Miserable  old  man  that 
I  am,  give  me  back  my  gold !  I  cannot  die  till 
I  have  counted  it  once  more — onlj'  once  more^ 
and  then " 

But  again  the  crimson  tide  gushed  from  hi» 
lips,  and  he  fell  heavily  back  upon  the  pillow; 
there  was  a  sharp  struggle,  a  low  sigh,  and  Mrs. 
Sharp  drew  Gertrude  from  the  bedside. 

"  You  had  better  leave  the  room,  ma'am," 
she  said,  as  she  supported  the  toitering  .steps 
of  the  orphan  to  the  door ;  "  You  can  be  of  no 
further  service  here,  for  the  poor  gentleman  is. 
gone." 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

The  poison  worked  at  Westrum.  It  was  in 
vain  that  ilortimer  sought  some  cause  of  quar- 
rel with  his  unwelcome  guest,  for  Trevor  was 
too  listless  and  too  well-bred  to  take  ofl'enca 
where  he  persisted  in  declaring  that  such  an 
intention  was  impossible,  while,  once  more 
thralled  by  the  beauty,  and  fascinate<l  by  the 
accoiuplisliments  of  his  brilliant  hostess,  he  be- 
came cautious  in  his  demeanor,  and  measured 
in  his  attentions.  The  master-spirit  of  Mrs. 
Lamerly  was,  moreover,  at  work,  and  the  pres- 
ence of  Mortimer  always  sufficcil  to  call  forth 
all  her  playful  and  pretty  coquetry,  addresse<l, 
as  those  around  her  sup]iosed,  to  the  fashionablo 
baronet,  but  Avhich  siie  tempered  by  such  a])- 
]>ealing  glances  towards  Frederic,  as  encourage<l 
him  to  believe  that  he  had  at  least  an  equal 
share  in  their  display. 

A  heart  cast  back  upon  itself  is  easily  awak- 
ed to  renewed  hajipiness,  and  we  alread}'  kn  ^ 
the  morbid  yearning  of  Mortimer  for  the  all-  o 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


169 


tion  of  those  ahout  Lim.  Much,  therefore,  as 
lie  despised  the  friend  of  his  wife,  he  could  not 
continue  insensible  to  her  evident  preference  of 
himself  True,  she  appeared  to  put  forth  all 
her  powers  in  order  to  dazzle  Trevor,  but  wlicn 
tliey  chanced  to  meet  without  witnesses,  the 
l)rilliancy  of  her  eyes  was  softened  by  an  ex- 
pression of  meek  and  womaidy  devotion,  which, 
ta  a  nature  so  sensitive  us  his  own,  was  infinite- 
ly more  attractive  than  the  most  radiant  smiles. 
All  her  coquetrj-  disappeared,  all  her  factitious 
ti;races  were  laid  aside,  and  her  very  voice  fal- 
ured  as  though  it  trembled  to  meet  his  ear. 
Yit  >~till  he  ili.j  not  love  her.  Even  slighted  as 
ho  \va-  I'V  >'\  1  il,  she  had  been  too  thoroughly  the 
ideal  of  his  fancy  to  fade  at  once  from  his 
luart,  and  a  gnawing  iinhappiness,  which  to 
liiiu  appeared  a  presentiment  of  evil,  clouded 
his  spirit. 

jNor  was  the  position  of  Sybil  herself  one  of 
less  constraint  and  ditficnlty.  The  unfortunate 
relationship  which  she  had  invented  between 
lierself  and  Sir  Horace,  naturally  invested  hini 
with  privileges  which  he  conld  not  otherwise 
have  claimed,  and  although  he  never  addressed 
her  in  the  language  of  gallantry,  th«re  was, 
nevertheless,  a  peculiarity  in  his  manner  of 
which  it  was  imjiossible  for  her  to  remain  un- 
conscious, while  they  had  so  many  tastes  and 
prejudices  in  common,  that  his  society  possessed 
a  eiiarm  in  her  eyes  of  which  she  could  not 
divest  it. 

Too  indolent  to  indulge  in  the  sports  of  the 
field,  utterly  unoccupied  by  business  of  any 
kind,  and  consequently  at  the  disposal  of  the 
circle  in  which  he  chanced  to  move,  Trevor 
found  many  opportunities  of  renewing  his  old 
•fi-iendship  with  Sybil,  and  of  profiting  by  the 
advantages  due  to  her  indiscreet  deception, 
while  Mortimer  was  engaged  in  the  superin- 
tendence of  his  estate,  and  attending  agricultural 
and  county  dinners,  and  it  was  singular  upon 
tJiose  occasions,  how  capriciously  Mrs.  Lamerly 
turned  all  the  battery  of  her  babj'-graces  upon 
Lord  John,  or  the  Honorable  Theodore.  Lady 
Clara  sneered,  and  Mrs.  Babington  raised  hef 
fine  eyes  in  horror,  but  the  widow  heeded  neither 
SJieers  nor  glances ;  she  was  accountable  to  no 
one  for  the  variations  of  lier  mood,  and  so  she 
wdmly  lisped  out  her  piquant  slanders,  and 
revenged  herself  by  an  inditfei-enee  to  all  com- 
ment which,  in  a  better  cause,  would  have  been 
fclinost  sublime. 

Meanwhile,  the  intimacy  between  Sybil  and 
Inr  old  lover  strengthened  with  every  succeed- 
ing day,  and  unconsciously  she  recovered  the 
elasticity  of  spirit  which  appeared  to  have  aban- 
doned her  since  her  marriage.  Every  sentence 
became  once  more  an  epigram,  and  every  im- 
ptdse  a  fascination.  The  calmer  temperament 
of  Frederic  had,  in  some  degree,  checked  the 
exuberance  of  her  nature,  but  with  Trevor  she 
was  once  more  her  former  self.  Her  vanity  was 
flattered,  and  she  soon  ceased  to  remember  all 
the  imprralenee  and  the  mortification  of  the 
past.  Eiicouraged  by  his  evident  admiration, 
and  the  delight  w^ithwhich  he  participated  in 
•tliose  sarcastic,  witty,  and  pungent  conversations 
in  which  she  felt  that  she  was  unrivalled,  she 
too  soon  forgot  that  he  cared  for  nothing  save 


the  gratification  of  the  moment,  and  gave  her 
self  up  Viniesistingly  to  the  spell  of  his  sym- 
pal  hy. 

With  the  most  intense  selfishness  did  Trevoi* 
watch  every  gi-adation  of  feeling  which  she  ex- 
hibited towards  him,  and  had  he  trusted  him- 
self to  speak  upon  such  a  subject,  he  would 
calmly  have  declared  that  he  was  neither  her 
mentor  nor  her  guide  ;  that  he  was  in  no  way 
responsible  for  her  actions,  and  that  past  experi- 
ence had  not  tended  to  discourage  him  in  his 
present  pursuit.  But  Sir  Horace  liad  few  friends, 
and  no  confidant,  save  indeed  the  diplomatist's 
widow,  and  even  she  had  volunteered  the  oftiee, 
and  was  endured  rather  than  encouraged.  His 
secret  was  therefore  safe,  and  the  self-deluding 
Sybil  left  free  to  shape  out  her  own  destiny. 

Surrounded  by  persons  who,  from  peculiar 
causes,  were  at  once  authorized  and  inclined  to 
be  indulgent,  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  no  one  near  her 
save  her  mother,  who  would  have  put  forth  a 
hand  to  lead  her  back  into  the  path  of  prudence, 
and  even  that  mother  appeared  wilfully  to  closo 
her  eyes  against  the  growing  evil. 

But  it  was  not  so.  No  change  of  place  or 
society  had  any  longer  the  slightest  effect  iipon 
Mrs.  Delamere.  Alwaj^s  languid,  listless,  and 
hypochondriacal,  her  days  succeeded  each  other 
in  the  most  insipid  monotony.  Scarcely  did 
she  appear  conscious  of  the  change  of  season, 
or  the  progress  of  time. 

The  boldest  flirtation  might  hare  been  carried 
on  in  her  very  presence,  and  she  would  never 
have  remarked  it.  Her  early  years  had  been 
those  of  indolence  and  inertness,  hy  which  her 
mental  faculties  had  been  enervated ;  a  period 
of  pain  and  anxiety  supervened,  in  which,  true 
to  her  acquired  nature,  she  weakly  resigned  her 
own  will  and  wishes — her  own  better  will,  and 
worthier  wishes,  into  the  keeping  of  her  daugh- 
ter, and  if  at  times  a  sickening  dread  of  the 
liltimate  result  of  that  daughter's  actions  bowed 
down  her  feeble  spirit,  she  no  sooner  saw  her 
doubts  removed,  and  her  terrors  terminated,  by 
a  marriage  which  surpassed  her  hopes,  than  she 
sank  into  a  moral  lethargy,  from  which  she  made 
no  effort  to  escape. 

Satisfied  that  Sj'bil  ivas  married,  she  never 
cared  to  remember  that  she  might  yet  have 
many  trials  before  her,  dangerous  to  so  vain  and 
ambitious  a  nature  as  hers,  and  as  her  counsel 
or  o2)inion  was  never  asked  upon  any  subject, 
so  neillier  did  she  seek  to  proffer  it. 

2vothing,  in  short,  save  actual  bodily  absence, 
could  have  created  a  more  eft'ectual  sej^aration 
between  motlrer  and  daughter,  than  the  system 
which  they  had  severally  adopted,  and  if  an  ap- 
peal was,  !)}•  some  strange  chance,  made  to  Mrs. 
Delamere  by  a  third  party,  the  never-failing  re- 
ply of,  "Sybil  knows  best,"  was  the  inevitable 
result  of  so  bootless  an  attempt  to  idenlify  her 
with  the  events  which  were  taking  place  about 
her. 

Nevertheless,  everj'  incidental  attention  or 
mark  of  aftection  which  she  received  from  lier 
cliild,  would  light  up  the  dull  eyes  of  the  old 
lady  for  a  moment,  but  these  gradually  made  a 
less  demand  upon  her  maternal  feelings.  ThB 
spirit  of  the  world,  with  all  its  exact  ii.g  follies 
and  engrossing  vanities,  had  fastened  upon  tha 


170 


TIIE   raVAL  BEAUTIES. 


heart  of  Sybil,  and  left  her  little  leisure  for  sym- 
pathy iu  the  whims  and  wishes  of  a  voluutury 
invalid;  while  so  perfect  was  her  power  ovei- 
tlie  weakened  nerves  and  failing  faculties  of  her 
mother,  that  after  she  had  once  or  twice  warned 
her  of  the  danger  of  betraying  the  falsehood  of 
lier  implied  relationship  to  Trevor,  poor  Mrs. 
Delamere  almost  succeeded  in  persuading  her- 
self that  it  really  e.visted,  and  when  Sir  Horace, 
half  in  jest,  and  half  in  scorn,  occasionally  ad- 
dressed her  as  liis  aunt,  she  replied  to  his  re- 
mark witliout  the  slightest  symptom  of  dis- 
composure. 

Thus  all  conspired  to  aid  the  projects  of  the 
vain  and  world!}'  baronet;  too  cautious  to  com- 
mit himself  in  the  presence  of  Mortimer,  by  word 
or  look,  he  had  made  good  his  footing  at  West- 1 
rum,  while  Mortimer  himself,  too  weak  to  declare  i 
and  enforce  his  will,  even  where  he  felt  it  to  be 
right  and  fitting,  lest  he  should  once  again  be 
made  the  scoff  of  the  idle  and  the  impertinent, 
and  cited  as  a  jealous  husband,  and  moreover 
somewfiat  engrossed  by  the  clever  coquetries  of 
Mrs.  Lamerly,  suflered  the  growing  intimacy 
of  the  soi  distant  cousins  to  progress  as  it 
might,  satisfied  that,  upon  the  first  legitimate 
occasion,  he  should  be  able  to  terminate  it  by  a 
word. 

Such  an  experience  is  at  all  times  hazardous, 
but  especially  so  with  persons  of  the  temuera- 
ment  of  Mortimer — men  who  are  contented  to 
live  on  aujour  lajouniie;  procrastinating  for  the 
sake  of  momentary  peace,  hedged  in  by  morbid 
prejudices,  and  never  glancing  beyond  a  certain  I 
and  narrow  range  of  vision.  Men,  moreover, ' 
who  have  been  reared  and  fostered  in  the  wor- 1 
ship  of  self,  and  who  must  be  injured  in  that 
precious  self  before  they  can  force  themselves 
into  energy. 

An  impnulence,  or  rather  be  it  said,  an  indis- 
cretion on  the  part  of  Sybil,  would  have  aroused 
him  on  the  instant,  because  it  would  hav;e 
touched  his  honor,  but  he  had  nothing  tangible 
to  work  upon.  The  whole  tone  of  his  wife's  so- 
ciety was  objectionable,  but  it  was  nevertheless 
considered  a  privilege,  even  by  the  most  prudent 
and  correct  of  their  country  neighbors,  to  be 
admitted  within  its  charmed  circle,  and  he  dared 
not,  therefore,  complain.  They  had  talked  of 
retrenchment  on  their  return  to  Westrum,  yet 
far  from  taking  steps  to  retrieve  their  former 
excesses,  they  were,  even  under  their  own  roof, 
and  in  that  comparatively  obscure  part  of  the 
country,  still  living  considerably  beyond  their 
means.  Yet  here  also  he  feared  to  remonstrate. 
Had  he  not  assured  Sybil,  when  she  formerly 
rejected  liis  liand  on  the  plea  of  her  own  ruined 
fortune,  tliat  he  could  so  amply  supply  her  every 
wish,  that  slie  would  never  have  cause  to  re- 
inemJ)cr  so  unimportant  a  circumstance?  It  is 
true  that  lie  liad  not  speculated  upon  the 'outlay 
requisite  to  gratify  all  the  elegant  caprices  and 
liigh-bred  exactions  of  a  vain  and  worldly 
woman  ;  that,  accustomed  to  the  quiet  and  un- 
ostentatious comfort  of  his  mother's  household, 
he  had  never  calculated  upon  the  amount  of  ex- 
pi'nditure  necessaiy  to  maintain,  in  proper  keep- 
ing and  consistency,  a  lai'ge  establishment,  with 
its  concomitant  equipages,  attendants,  and  table. 
lie   saw  himself  surrounded  by  guests   about 


;  who  m  he  cared  nothing,  and  who  returned  hia 
indilference. 

I     He  was  no  longer  at  home  in  his  own  house; 
he  had  no  interest  in   common    even  with   his 
wife,  and  yet  he   hesitated   to   break  the  spell 
which   was   darkening   about   him.      His   only   , 
hope    lay    in    the    attainment  of  the  office   for  ' 
l' which  he  was  still    soliciting,  but   hitlierto   he  ' 
had    merely    received    professions    which    had  | 
brought  forth   no  fruit.     Still,  the   ii/nii  fatma ' 
lured  him  on.     He  was  afraid  to  believe  that  he 
could  ultimateh'  fail,  and  when  he  ventured  to 
expostulate    with   Sybil   upon  the   subject,  slie 
coolly  dismissed  it  with  the  remark,  that  so  loi.ir 
as  they  continued  in  tlie  country  nothing  could 
be  anticipated  in  the  shape  of  definite   success. 
People  must  be  upon  tlie  spot  to  carry  a  point 
of  so  much  importance,  and  meanwhile  he  was, 
if  not  enlarging  his  circle  of  friends,  at  least 
binding  them  to  his  interests  by  hospitality  and 
kindness. 

Mortimer  listened,  and  [even  if  he  did  not 
quite  believe,  he  at  least  yielded,  and  Sybil's 
point  was  gained.  Her  days  passed  on  amid 
admiration  jiud  amusement ;  she  forgot  the  past, 
and  she  would  not  look  into  the  future,  and  thus 
week  after  week  went  by,  and  the  winter  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  her  party  rapidly  dis- 
persing; Lord  John  took  flight*  for  the  last 
month  of  the  dead  season,  to  dullify  dutifully 
with  the  duke,  his  brother,  at  his  old  castle  in 
the  Highlands ;  the  Honorable  Theodore  to  Ba- 
den-Baden, at  once  to  increase  his  debts  and  to 
distance  his  duns;  Sirs.  Babington  to  her  aunt's 
in  Dorsetshire,  to  try  the  efi"ect  of  her  matured 
charms  on  a -rich  cousin  recently  arrived  from 
India,  and  Lady  Clara  to  Paris,  to  make  her  an- 
nual curtsey  at  the  Tuileries.  Mrs.  Lamerly, 
however,  still  lingered ;  she  had  no  rich  cousins 
or  ducal  brothers — no  footing  at  the  .French 
court,  or  stake  at  the  rouge-ct-noir  XahXa,  and  she 
found  it  so  difficult  to  tear  herself  away  from 
her  little  pet  Eva,  and  her  comfortable  home  at 
Westrum,  that  day  succeeded  day,  and  she  still  ^ 
maintained  her  post. 

At  length,  however,  when  even  Trevor,  des-  ' 
pite  the  well-worn  privilege  of  his  cousinship, 
found  himself  compelled  to  depart  in  his  turn  ; 
as  Sybil  made  no  sign  wlieu  her  dear  friend 
more  than  hinted  tliat  she  was  ready  to  sacrifice 
herself  till  the  commencement  of  the  LondoQ 
season,  Mrs.  Lamerly  was  reluctantly  forced  to 
follow  his  example,  and  tlicn,  for  the  first  time 
since  their  marriage,  Frederic  and  Sybil  found 
themselves  alone  beneatli  their  own  roof. 

Much  as  Jlortimer  had  desired  such  an  oppoi»- 
tiinity  of  retrenclimeiit,  it  was  not,  however, 
without  something  like  regret  tliat  he  saw  the 
carriage  of  the  widow  drive  off.  She  had  amused 
his  idleness,  and  better  still,  she  loved  his  child. 
He  had  now,  moreover,  no  opportunity  of  escap- 
ing from  his  reflections,  and  the}'  were  far  from 
consolatory.  He  had  been  married  little  moiB 
than  twelve  months,  and  he  liad  already  ex- 
hausted three  years'  iiuonie,  lost  the  affections 
of  his  M-ife,  trifled  with  his  self-respect,  and 
compromised  the  future  pros{)ects  of  Eva. 

For  a  few  hours  he  felt  melancholy,  and  even 
the  carfsses  of  liis  little  girl  had  jiartly  lost 
their  charm,  but  as  the  evening  drew  iu  he  'be- 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


171 


niie  less  sad,  .and  more  irritable.  A  feeling  of  she  asked  petulantly:  "And  I — think  you  that 
iJiguatioa  mingled  with  his  self-reproaeh.  lie  I  have  not  also  had  to  contend  against  mortifi- 
gan  to  eonsider  himself  as  more  sinned  against  cation  and  disappointment?     Did   yoii  imagi 


than  sinning,  and  as  the  victim  of  ciix'umstance 
which  he  had  neither  possessed  the  power  to 
I'lresee  nor  to  prevent ;  while  at  intervals  some- 
thing  like  auger  against  the  supine  indifference 
(  f  Sybil  to  interests  wliieh  were  so  vital  to 
i.imsclf,  mingled  with  liis  musings. 

Tliej-  had  retired  from  the  diniug-ioom,  where 
they  had  partaken  of  a  tete-A-tete  dinner  almost 
in  silence,  a  nervous  attack  having  confined 
]^,lrs.  Delamere  to  her  chamber  for  the  day.  A 
.-single  lamp  burnt  upon  a  console  at  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  apartment,  while  a  small  reading-ta- 
ble  stood   beside    the    chair  of  Sybil,  who  lay 


tiiat  I  have  no  cause  for  regret?  Did  I  not 
frankly  confess  to  you  before  our  marriage  that 
I  could  never  bear  to  be  confounded  with  the 
common  herd  who  are  satisfied  to  vegetate,  and 
have  not  moral  energy  to  live?  Have  I  not 
subsequently  urged  you  to  escape  from  this  so- 
cial nullity?  And  how  have  you  responded  to 
my  appeal  ?  Discouraged  on  the  very  threshold 
of  success,  apathetic  where  you  should  be  reso- 
lute, and  looking  to  the  means  when  you  should 
care  only  for  the  end,  you  have  negatived  all 
my  previsions,  and  I  am  condemned  to  see  you 
fall    back   contentedly   into   the   insignificance 


ijtlessly  back  among  her  cushions,  with  closed  |  from  which  I  have  been  laboring  to  withdraw 
'Ves,  mechanically  passing  a  paper-knife   alon^ 
he  already  opened  pages  of  a  review.     Fron 
iiiie  to  time,  however,   she  looked  up  with  ill 
;aled  impatience  at  the  gorgeous  time  piece 


you. 

"Sybil!"  exclaimed  her  husband,  starting  to 
his  feet — 

"We  are  both,  it  would  appear,  unhappy  in 


upon  the  mantel,  as  if  to  chide  the  tardiness  of !  the  selection  of  our  subject  to-night,"  was  the 
|the  jevv'elled  hands,  while  Mortimer  occupied  [cold  response  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  to  this  involun- 
I  the  other  side  of  the   tire-place,  and  sat  gazing  j  tary  demonstration  of  indignant  anger,  "  but  we 


upon  the  mimic  pageantry  of  towers,  and  rock 
j  and  monsters,  presented  by  the  burning  mass 
I  before  him. 

j  A  cloud  was  upon  his  brow,  and  his  lips  were 
rigidly  compressed.  The  enclianti-ess  who  had 
wiled  him  from  himself  was  placed  so  near  to 
him  that  their  extended  hands  could  have  met, 
but  the  enchantment  was  nearly  over,  and  those 
bands  were  not  outstretched. 

As  he  arrived  at  the  last  phase  of  his  reilec- 
tions  Mortimer  suddenly  raised  his  head,  and 
looked  earnestly  at  his  wife.  Her  eyes  were 
once  more  closey,  and  this  fact  only  increased 
Lis  irritation. 

"  Perhaps,  Sybil,"  he  commenced  abruptly ; 
"I  shall  iind  no  better  opportunity  than  the 
present  for  endeavoring  to  impress  upon  you  the 
necessity  for  an  immediate  change  in  our  mode 
of  living.     So  far,  I  have  only  been  weak,  but, 


hall  do  well  to  understand  each  other.  My  good 
ofiftces  are  still  at  your  service,  should  you  care 
to  accept  them,  although  I  cannot  submit  to  be 
lectured  like  a  froward  child." 

jMortimer  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  burning 
forehead.  He  feared  to  trust  himself  with 
words. 

After  the  pause  of  a  moment  Sybil  again 
spoke,  and  it  was  with  less  asperity.  "Listen 
to  me,  Frederic,"  she  said  :  "  Let  us  not  forget 
the  respect  which  we  owe  to  ourselves  by  ban- 
d3'ing  reproaches.  You  know  the  ambition  of 
my  nature,  nor  have  I  to  learn  the  supineness 
of  yours.  I  cannot  forego  the  hope  that  I  shall 
see  you  assume  that  station  in  the  world  to 
which  you  are  entitled,  but  I  know  enough  of 
public  men,  and  of  public  life,  to  feel  convinced 
that,  without  some  effort  and  some  sacrifice  on 
your  own  part,  it  is  vain  for  you  to  anticipate 


upon  its  present  scale,  I  shall  become  dishonest.  I  quoted  your  child  as  a  reason  for  withdrawing 
^riie  subject  is  an  unpleasant  one  for  both  of  us;  jfrom  a  contest  in  which  the  attempt  itself  does 
it  must  be  so,  but  it  is  my  duty  not  to  shrink] you  honor,  and  now  I  quote  her  as  an  in- 
tromit.    The  unfortunate  delusion  into  which  jcentive    to    exertion.      A    brilliant  position    in 


1  was  betrayed  by  my  ambition,  has,  I  think, 
by  this  time  disclosed  its  utter  fallacy,  and  con- 
sequentlj',  the  immense,  outlay  which  was  in- 
tended to  further  its  success  must  finish  with  it. 
Mj'  fortune,  ample  as  it  is,  or  rather  was,  will 
no  longer  suffice  to  maintain  so  large  an  estab- 
lishment, and  we  must  also  remember  that  we 
have  a  daughter." 

'  You  have  chosen  a  strange  moment  in  which 


life  will  advantage  her  more  than  all  the  hoard- 
ed gold  which  you  could  ever  accumulate  in  ob- 
scurity." 

"  But  what  if  I  am  ruined  in  the  process  ?"" 
Sybil  shrugged  her  shoulders.     •'  You  talk  as 
though  yon  had  no  resources." 

"  They  are,  at  least,  not  inexhaustible." 
"  At  all  events,"  said  the  lady,  as  with  one  of 
her  most  sunny  smiles  she  extended  her  hand  to 


to  sermonize,"  was  the  calm  reply,  "nor  is  the  [her  husband  ;  "  They  will  suffice  to  renew  the 
tone  of  your  communication  calculated  to  recon- 1  trial.  The  coming  season  will,  bej'ond  all  doubt, 
cile  me  to  its  import.    One  would  imagine  that  I 'decide  the  question  of  your  success.     The  first 


■was  the  person  to  blame  for  the  outlay  of  whicl 
you  complain." 

"  I  had  no  intention  to  reproach  you,  Sybil, 
but,  even  as  you  have  shared  my  pleasures,  so 
did  I  believe  that  you  would  be  willing  to  bear 
j-our  portion  of  my  an.xieties,"  said  Frederic: 
"  It  is  but  another  disappointment  to  find  that  I 
have  been  deceived." 

Mrs.   Mortimer  raised    herself  proudly  to  a 


d  most  difiicult  step  is  already  taken.  Your, 
pretensions  are  known,  and  your  eligibility 
for  the  post  you  solicit  has  been  admitteti 
The  rest  is  a  mere  question  of  time,  and  the 
judicious  employment  of  private  and  jiowerful 
interest." 

"Sybil,"  said  Mortimer,  as  he  clasped  the 
proffered  hand,  and,  thoroughly  appeased,  look- 
ed fondly  in  her  face:   "that  smile   has  thrown 


more  erect  position,  as,  with  a  scornful  gesture,  I  me  back  upon  the  oast.      I  shall  not  seek  to 


172 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIE3. 


resist  it.  Only  encourage  my  endeavors  by  a. 
renewal  of  the  afi'ec-tiun  which  I  feared  that  1 
had  lust,  and  I  will  agaia  have  faith  in  your 
prophcev. 

]Sor  did  the  conversation  end  here ;  for  Sybil, 
far  from  wisliing,  as  she  declared,  to  owe  tlie 
concession  of  her  husband  simply  to  his  consi- 
deration for  her  opinion,  was  desirous  to  con- 
vince his  reason  ;  and  she  accordingly  proceeded 
to  do  this  by  tlie  very  effective  metliod  of  aliirui- 
iiig  him  with  the  fear  of  ridicule.  What  would 
tlie  world  say  sliould  he  return  into  obscurity, 
after  so  brilliant  a  d<'but  ?  What  could  be  said, 
save  that  his  ambition  had  not  extended  beyond 
a  momentary  ai)pearance,  destined  like  that  of  a 
wandering  ground-meteor,  only  to  gleam  for  an 
instant  with  a  cheating  light,  and  then  to  be 
once  more  absorbed  in  the  obscurity  from  which 
it  had  so  uselessly  and  idly  emanated?  Siiould 
he  now  retire  from  the  contest  moreover,  all  the 
expenditure  of  whieli  he  complained  would 
have  been  made  in  vain,  and  surely,  this  fael 
required  some  consideration.  And  she  urged 
all  this  so  gently,  so  placidly,  with  so  persua- 
sive a  smile,  and  so  convincing  an  accent,  that 
Mortimer,  already  dreaming  a  renewsxl  of  the 
halycon  days  of  their  early  marriage,  was  only 
too  ready  to  admit  the  feasibility  of  her  argu- 
ments and  too  eager  to  prove  his  assent  to  her 
proposiiions. 

And  so  the  town-house  was  once  more  engaged ; 
the  equijiages  retained;  the  club  subscri[);ious 
paid  up ;  and  the  land-steward  silenced  fur 
another  season. 


CHArTER  XLIX. 

Gertrude  had  scarcely  reached  her  room, 
when  the  solenm  promise  which  she  had  made 
to  her  departed  relative,  that  she  would  im- 
mediately after  his  decease  take  possession  of 
tlie  important  pocket-book,  recurred  to  her 
mind  ;  and  terrible  as  she  felt  a  return  to  the 
death-chamber  to  be  at  such  a  moment,  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  redeem  it.  For  an  instant  she 
paused,  however,  to  collect  herself,  but  only  for 
an  instant ;  and  then  with  a  calm  step,  she  re- 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  silent  apartment, 
and  approached  the  bed.  Beside  it  knelt  the 
meek  and  faithful  clerk,  holding  within  his  own 
the  hand  of  the  dead  man ;  and  as,  upon  hear- 
ing the  Ifght  step  of  Gertrude,  he  raised  his 
head,  and  looked  up  inquiringly-,  she  saw  that 
tliore  were  traces  of  tears  upon  his  pale  and 
witiiered  cheeks. 

Instinctively  she  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  and  smiled  a  sad  smile,  which  he  ap- 
peared instantly  to  comprehend;  for,  rising 
from  his  knees,  he  hastily  wiped  away  the  tell- 
tale moisture,  and  faltered  out  in  a  trembling 
whisper;  "1  know  it,  my  dear  young  lady,! 
know  it.  I  have  no  right  to  be  squandering 
time  upon  my  own  grief,  when  1  shoidd  be 
thinking  of  you.  Rut  Madam,"  he  continued, 
•with  a  fresh  and  irrepressible  burst  of  emotion; 
"  he  who  lies  there  was  my  first  friend  ;  almost, 
I  may  say,  my  f)nly  friend  ;  to  him  I  owe  the 
bread  by  which  I  live.  It  is  hard  to  part  from 
one's  only  friend — very  hard     The  happy  and, 


I  tlie  prosperous  cannot  understand  this,  for  they 
!  have  so  many  that  they  scarcely  miss  them  as 
they  fall  away  each  in  their  turn.  They  do  not 
1  know  what  it  is  to  have  but  one,  and  to  loso 
him." 

j  "  Sincerely  do  I  trust,  good  old  man,  that  he 
I  appreciated  your  attachment,"  murmured  Gei^ 
Itrude,  considerably  atiected. 

"  I  cannot  saj',  I  cannot  say.  Madam,"  was 
the  melancholy  reply,  as  he  stood  with  clasped 
hands  contemplating  the  rigid  features  of  his 
I  former  patron  ;  "  None  on  earth  can  ever  know 
I  what  were  his  real  feelings ;  lie  kept  his  own 
secrets,  just  as  he  worked  out  his  own  fortune^ 
He  always  stood  alone  in  tlie  world,  and  ha 
was  able  to  do  it,  lor  liis  will  was  strong,  and 
he  needed  no  help  from  others.  1  shall  never 
know  what  he  felt  for  me,  neither  shall  I  ever 
forget  what  he  did  for  me.  Rut  for  him  I  might 
have  been  a  beggar." 

"  Your  gratitude  must  have  brought  a  blessing 
to  his  death-bed." 

"  I  trust  it  may,  young  lady,  I  trust  it  may. 
Bless  you,  at  all  events,  for  uttering  such  a  liope] 
And  now,  madam,  Avhat  orders  have  you  to  givB 
me  ?" 

"  First,  Mr.  Jackson,  be  good  enough,"  whis- 
pered the  orphan,  while  a  slight  tremor  passed 
over  her,  and  she  clung  to  the  chair  near  which 
she  chiuiced  to  be  standing  for  support,  "  to  giv« 
me  from  beneath  the  pillow  of  my  poor  uncle  a 
pocket-book  which  you  will  find  "there." 

She  was  silently  obeyed. 

"  And  now,  if  you  please,"  she  pursued,  "  \vie 
will  go  down  stairs  to  the  sitting-room,  and  I 
will  explain  to  you  tlie  nature  of  the  services 
for  which  I  shall  intrude  upon  your  kindness." 

The  cli'i-k  bowed  respectfully,  cast  anothci 
long  look  towards  the  bed  of  death,  and  then 
opened  tlie  door  of  the  chamber  for  (iertrude  to 
pass  out,  but  she  also  paused  to  contemplate  for 
a  moment  the  countenance  of  the  dead  man. 
The  eyes  had  already  been  reverently  closed, 
and  the  luxuriant  masses  of  silver  hair  drawr; 
more  closely  about  the  pallid  brow;  the  outline 
of  the  face  was  strikingly  fine  and  intellectual, 
the  forehead  high  and  broad,  the  lips  well  set, 
and  full  of  firm  and  almost  harsh  expression,  the 
nose  perfectly  chiselled,  and  the  whole  character 
of  the  head  calni^  and  noble  ;  but  as  the  glance 
of  Gertrude  travelled  on  along  the  sheet  by 
which  the  body  was  covered,  she  shuddered  to 
perceive  that  even  the  pang  of  death  itself  had 
failed  to  relax  the  firm  clenching  of  the  bony 
hands.  There  was  something  frightful  in  this 
resolute  grasp  which  had  fastened  upon  nothing, 
when  life,  and  all  life's  possessions,  were  passing 
from  liim,  and  with  a  deep  sigh,  she  bent  for  a 
moment  over  the  corpse  while  she  breathed  out, 
a  silent  prayer,  and  then  slowly  left  the  room 
followed  by  her  deputed  counsellor. 

Oil  entering  the  little  parlor  she  found  thatthu 
shutters  were  already  closed,  but  that,  by  the 
active  and  judicious  zeal  of  Mrs.  Sharp,  a  com- 
fortable fire  had  been  kindled  in  the  grate,  wliila 
a  couple  of  candles,  placed  upon  the  table,  gava 
the  room  an  appearance  of  comparative  con* 
fort.  Thankfully  did  (iertrude  throw  herself 
upon  a  seat,  as  she  motioned  to  her  meek  ami 
silent  companion  to  follow  her  example,  aud 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


178 


.pn  gate  an  uii constrained  course  to  hor  tonv! 
hi  wept  for  awhile  in  silence,  until  tlie  awe  and 
.luuisl  ion  produced  by  the  scene  tlirough  wl 
1  ■  had  jiitft  jiassed  became  gradually  relie\ 
or  did  tlic  old  man  attempt,  either  by  word  or 
-iure,  to  check  this  overllowing  of  her  sur 
i.uged  heart.  His  respect  fortlie  idece  of  his 
lirou  was  too  profound  to  enable  him  to  offer 
n-  slightest  interference  Avith  her  feelings,  and 
IDS  he  sat  mutely  before  her,  with  his  dun,  but 
<\v  tearless  eyes  riveted  upon  the  dingy  alma- 
L -k  above  the  fire-place,  and  losing  himself  in 
•.uijitioiis  and  probabilities,  which,  although 
:iR'  of  them  might  point,  however  faintly  and 
ubtingly,  towards  his  own  interests,  were 
vertheless  mainlj'  directed  to  those  of  the  soli- 
I  y  and  evidently  helpless  girl  who  now  looked 
>  iiim  for  support. 

Perhaps  he  was  not  unthankful  for  this  tem- 
irary  pause.  It  is,  at  all  events,  certain,  that 
'  no  sooner  saw  the  orplian  wipe  away  her 
ars,  than  he  drew  towards  him  the  tattered 
riting-caso,  and  requested  her  permission  at 
ice  to  inform  his  employers  of  the  melancholj- 
,'eiit  which  had  just  occurred,  and  to  request 
leir  promised  permission  to  absent  himself 
cm  his  desk  until  !iis  i)resence  should  no  longer 
J  required  beneath  the  roof  of  his  late  master. 
Gerlrude  was  gi'ateful  for  the  suggestion,  and 
lis  nccessai'V  missive  written,  it  was  irarae- 
ately  despaiched  to  its  destination  b}'  a  trusty 
esseiiger,  while  a  second,  more  brief,  and  re- 
iiiriiig  less  i>recision,  was  at  the  same  time  eon- 
.Mod  to  the  post,  to  warn  the  wife  of  the  writer 
Kit  she  must  not  anticipate  his  return  until  the 
jiorrow. 

!  "And  now,  madam,"  he   said,  as   the   door 

|06ed  upon  Mrs.  Sharp,  and  they  were  again 

jloue,  "  you  have  only  to  inform  me  of  your 

'islies,  and  I  am  ready  to  obey  them.    The  poor 

L'ntleman   has,  without   doubt,   already  made 

ich  communications  to  you,  as  will  enable  us 

)  carry  out  his  instructions." 

••  lie  has  indeed  done  so,  Mr.  Jackson,"  re- 

lit-d  Gertrude,  as  with  a  trenddiug  hand  she 

:"liieed  the  pocket-book,  and  proceeded  to  un- 

'  it ;  "  this  case,  as  he  told  me,  contains  the 

which  he  wishes  to   expend  upon — "  slie 

■  d,  unable  to  proceed. 
••  1  understand,  madam,"    said  the  old   man, 

liile,  with  an  innate  refinement  which  did  him 
oiior,  he  withdrew  his  ej-es  from  her  face,  "  and 
have  onlj-  to  ask  if  I  can  be  of  any  service  on 
ic  melancholy  occasion." 

■  I  depend  tipon  you  wholly,  my  good  sir," 

d  Gertrude,  drawing  the  note  from  its  hid- 
!  iace;  "I  ana  so  utterly  inexperienced  in  all 
IS  of  business,  that  I  shall  be  unable  to  stir 
i>  in  this  melanchol}'-  affair  without  your 
Will  you,  then,  take  pity  upon   my  help- 

■  '  ss,  and  dispose  of  the  money  as  you  may 
-  •  best,  being  careful,  however,  to  expend  it 
I'r  this  one  ]nirpose,  such  having  been  the 

1  r.-ss  command  of  my  uncle?" 

■  You  shall  be  obeyed,  madam." 
"  IJut — that  is  not  all,"  pursued  Gertrude  after 
liainful   jiause,  during    which   her  check  and 

row  had  become  crimson,  "will  you  forgive 
!e,  Mr.  Jackson,  if  I  ask  you  to  let  me  see  the —    i 


the  precise  manner  in  which  it  was  disbursed  f 
Believe  me,  I  earnestly  entreat  of  you,  when  I 
declare  that  no  doubt  of  your  honor  induces  such 
a  request,  but  I  must  do  my  duty  to  the  end, 
painful  though  it  may  be." 

"Once  more  be  assured  that  I  understand  you, 
madam,"  said  the  htmible-minded  and  broken- 
spirited  clerk,  without  one  symptom  of  surprise 
or  indignation.  "  It  is  no  less  my  duty  thaa 
your  own  to  obey  his  will.  You  sludl  dulj'  re- 
ceive my  accounts,  with  which,  I  trust,  you' will 
be  satisfied." 

Gertrude  instinctively  extended  her  hand  to 
her  aged  protector,  for  such  at  that  moment  slia 
truly  fell  him  to  be,  but  if  her  inferential  dis- 
trust of  his  probity  had  failed  to  move  him  to 
emotion,  such  was  far  from  being  the  case  with 
this  exhibition  of  condescending  courtesy. 

]-Jverything  is  comparative  in  this  world,  and 
thus  the  niece  of  the  opulent  head  of  the  house 
of  Spencer,  Owen  and  Co.,  was,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  junior  cleric  of  the  firm,  so  august  a  person- 
age that,  for  ,a  moment,  he  doubted  the  evi- 
dence of  his  senses,  but  when, he  not  only  saw 
that  small  wliite  hand  remain  outstretched 
towards  him,  but  also  a  sweet  smile  of  confi- 
dence and  encouragement  pass  over  the  fair 
face  of  the  orphan,  he  rose  respectfully  from 
his  chair,  and  having  ventured  to  clasp  it  in  his 
own,  bowed  over  it  reverently,  and  then  burst 
into  tears. 

How  much  of  contumely,  and  harshness,  and 
injustice — how  much  of  hope  deferred,  and  sick- 
ening anxiety,  and  withering  privation,  had 
that  old  man  taught  himself  to  endure  unmoved 
during  along  life  of  drudgery  and  toil !  Hewoidd 
have  snnled  in  wonder  had' any  one  taken  sufll- 
eient  interest  in  his  fate  to  marvel  at  his  stoicism, 
for  he  had  long  ceased  to  feel  the  consciousness 
of  his  endurance  ;  it  had  become  matter  of  habit 
that  he  should  be  buffeted  and  browbeat  by  the 
world;  it  was  the  sure  inheritance  of  poverty, 
and  he  had  accepted  it  as  such.  But  to  the 
words,  and  looks,  and  tones  of  kindness,  he  was 
all  unused,  and  thei'cin,  at  least,  lie  was  no 
stoic.  It  seemed  to  him  almost  as  though  he 
were  robbin.g  another  of  those  signs  of  sympa- 
thy,— as  if  it  could  be  but  a  glimpse  into  some 
unknown  world  in  which  he  had  no  share.  And 
yet  that  world  of  love  and  peace,  even  transient 
as  was  the  glance,  appeared  so  beautiful ;  his 
self-respect,  although  in  his  toil-worn  breast 
such  a  feeling  could  endure  only  for  an  instant, 
was  so  awakened,  that  he  could  not  support  tlie 
shock,  and  thus  he  stood  before  the  distressed 
and  frightened  Gertrude,  weeping  like  a  child. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Madam,  it  is  nothing,"  he  at 
length  sobbed  out,  as  he  remarked  her  look  of 
dismay ;  "  I  am  better  now,  but  the  thought 
that  i  was  holding  the  hand  of  my  master's 
niece  in  mine,  and  that  she  was  sgiiling  so 
kindly  upon  me,  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 
It  is  an  lionor.  Madam,  that  will  go  down  with 
me  to  my  grave,  and  I  will  prove  that  I  am 
grateful  for  it.  There  will  not  be  many  such 
memories  to  cheer  the  death-bed  of  Thomas 
Jackson." 

'  I  entreat  you  not  to  talk  in  so  sad  or  erro- 
neous a  manner,"  said  the  orphan  gently.     "  It 


in  sliort,  to  acquaint  me  afterwards  with  |  is  I,  Mr.  Jackson,  who  am  the  obliged  person, 


IH 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


and  who  shall  have  much  to  remember  and  to 
thank  you  for.  And  now,  what  is  our  first 
duty  ?" 

"Ti-de,  my  dear  young  lady,  in  the  joy  of 
my  own  heart,  I  had' forgotten  "all  else.  But  it 
has  been  so  very,  very  seldom  my  fate  to  meet 
■with  kindness,  that  1  was  for  a  moment  beside 
myself.  ^o\v,  however,  I  will  lose  no  more 
time,  for  there  is  much  to  be  done." 

"Are  j-ou  going  to  let^ve  ine,  my  dear  Sir?" 
a«k<Hi  Gertrude,  as  with  irrepressible  alarm  she 
saw  him  take  possession  of  his  hat. 

"  I  must  do  so.  Madam,  for  awhile." 

"But  you  will  return,  and  share  my  melan- 
choly dinner,  will  you  not?" 

Again  the  old  man  raised  his  eyes  to  hers  in 
bewildering  increilulity,  but  there  was  no  mis- 
taking the  expression  of  tlie  sweet  face  that  was 
turned  towards  him,  and  staniiueriug  out  an 
answer  whicii  was  unintelligble  to  Gertrude, 
and  in  which  she  could  only  distinguish  the 
words  honor,  and  happiness,  and  (jratitade,  he 
bowed  more  profoundly  than  ever,  and  then 
hurriedly  left  the  room. 

It  Avas  a  relief  to  the  painful  feelings  of  the 
orplian  to  find  herself  compelled  to  withdraw 
her  thoughts  for  a  time  from  the  melancholy  .is- 
sociations  of  the  morning,  in  order  to  give  the 
necessary  instructions  to  JSIrs.  Sharp  for  the  pre- 
paration of  the  meal  to  which  she  had  invited 
her  late  uncle's  humble  dependent,  nor  was  it 
■without  an  expression  of  delight,  which  she 
vainly  attempted  to  suppress,  that  the  worthy 
housekeeper  received  her  orders.  Kever  before 
had  there  been  such  a  prospect  of  plenty  beneath 
that  roof  since  she  ha,d  been  its  inmate,  and  as 
Gertrude  put  tiie  small  sum  necessary  for  the 
purpose  of  providing  the  unaccustomed  luxuries 
into  her  hand,  slie  looked  almost  as  incredulous 
as  the  poor  clerk. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  give  you  this  additional 
trouble,  ilrs.  Sharp,"  said  the  gentle  girl,  "  but 
Mr.  Jackson  is  so  very  kind,  and  my  imcle 
respected  him  so  much,  that  I  could  not  bear 
that  he  shouhl  feel  himself  neglected.  Above 
all,  do  not  forget  the  wine,  he  will  have  much 
fatigue  to  encounter  to-day,  I  fear,  nor  will  you 
stand  in  less  need  of  some  additional  support." 

How  Mrs.  Sharp  longed  to  throw  her  arms 
about  the  neck  of  the  considerate  young  creature 
who  had  even  remembered  her  at  such  a  mo- 
ment! but  respect  restrained  her,  and  she  could 
only  falter  out  her  thanks. 

"  All  shall  be  done  as  you  desire,  Ma'am,"  she 
added,  after  an  instant's  silence,  "  and  sliould 
you  require  anything  in  my  absence,  the  nurse 
IS  already  in  my  master's  chamber,  and  her 
daughter  waiting  any  orders  that  you  may 
please  to  give,  in  the  next  room.  T  ventured 
to  engage  her  without  your  permission,  as  I 
feared  tlwt  you  would  feel  lonely  when  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  house." 

Gertr'.de  very  sincerely  expressed  her  thanks 
for  this  eonsiileration,  and  felt  considerably  re- 
lieved by  the  consciousness  that,  on  the  depart- 
ure of  the  housekeeper,  she  should  not  be  con- 
demned to  the  sole  eomj)aiuonshii)  of  the  deatli- 
room.  Moreover,  her  conversation  with  the 
worthy  woman,  inconsequent  as  it  necessarily 
•was,  had  tended  to  restore  her  to  composure 


and  accordingly  she  had  no  .sooner  withdraxrr 
than  Gertrude  seated  herself  at  her  desk,  to  iu 
form  both  Ernest  and  Miss.  Warrington  of  tlu 
near  cessation  of  her  duties  in  town,  and  ho 
approaching  return  to  Bletchley. 

She  eould  have  chosen  no  more  judicious  em 
ployment,  for  the  death  of  her  uncle  once  com 
municated,  her  imagination  bounded  into  th» 
future,  and  she  forgot  her  present  trials  in  th( 
contemplation  of  her  coming  happiness,  am 
thus  she  poured  out  her  whole  heart  to  hej 
lover,  and  confessed  to  him  that  now,  wiiei 
they  were  so  soon  to  meet  again,  she  felt  all  th< 
wretchedness  of  their  brief  separation,  but  sin 
should  return  to  him,  as  she  trusted,  a  wiser  an( 
a  better  woman,  for  she  should  be  more  thai 
ever  able  to  appreciate  all  the  blessings  of  hei 
destiny.  And  then  she  had  a  thousand  ati'ec 
tionate  messages  to  send  to  Mar}'  and  Eleanor 
a  thousand  things  to  ask  of  them  when  the}' 
were  once  more  together,  and  so  she  wrote  oil 
and  the  time  passed  a-\vay  unheeded,  until  i 
gentle  knock  at  the  door  announced  the  returi 
of  her  guest. 

This  was  succeeded  by  the  appearance  of  thi 
housekeeper  with  the  preparations  for  dinnci. 
i  and  although,  as  she  came  and  went,  Gertrud 
jand  her  new  friend  were  several  times  lef 
I  together,  Mr.  Jackson  carefully  abstained  froii 
any  allusion  to  the  b-asiness  upon  which  he  hm 
been  engaged,  nor  did  the  orphan  venture  t' 
question  him.  The  common  sense  of  the  ol 
I  man  taught  him  that  the  subject  was  not  on 
[likely  to  increase  either  the  appetite  or  tli 
!  spirits 'of  the  delicate  girl,  who  was  now  i 
some  degree  under  his  charge,  and  so  he  talkc 
I  respectfully  of  the  weather,  and  the  state  o 
the  streets,  and  endeavored  to  turn  her  thought 
ko  otlier  and  less  depressing  topics. 
I  He  was  repaid  for  his  care  by  seeing  a  fain 
'  smile  at  intervals  rise  to  her  lips,  and  as  th 
pleasurable  impression  produced  by  tlie  lettei 
which  she  had  just  been  writing  had  not  wor 
[off,  she  seated  herself  at  the  table  with  les 
repugnance  than  she  had  anticipated,  and  if  sh' 
did  not  profit  by  the  comfortable  meal  befor' 
,  her  to  an  extent  which  satisfied  the  anxioii 
jMrs.  Sharp,  she  nevertheless  com])elled  hersel 
to  partake  of  it. 

I  Meanwhile,  the  modest  old  man  who  shar^ . 
I  her  hospitality  -^vag  still  less  at  ease  than  hei 
[self,  for  even  his  feeling  of  regret  for  his  I05' 
master  could  not  overcome  his  sense  of  eonfi 
sion  at  the  strange  situation  in  which  he  foun 
himself  so  unexjiectedly  placed,  but  gradually 
!  as  he  saw  with  what  anxious  and  even  affd 
:  tionate  attention  his  young  hostess  suppliei 
and  almost  anticipated,  his  wants,  and  foiui, 
I  himself  cheered  by  a  glass  of  tavern  win' 
i  which,  questionable  as  might  be  its  qualit'l 
I  was  to  him,  nevertheless,  a  most  unaccustome' 
luxury,  he  resumed  a  certain  degree  of  sel 
possession,  and  was  able  to  partake  with  comfoi 
of  the  good  things  before  him. 

But  even  tiiis  dinner,  strange  as  was  such 
I  meal  in  tl-.at  abode  of  famine,  eould  not  endur 
for  ever,  and  when  the  cloth  w.is  drawn,  th' 
candles  snuffed,  and  the  fire  renewed,  Ge 
trude  and  her  companion  were  once  mor 
alone. 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


For  a  time  both  vrcve  silent.  Thoy  had  so 
fow  subjects  ill  common  upon  which  thej'  could 
converse,  and  even  these,  with  one  exception, 
wore  already  exhausted,  yet  still  the  old  man 
gliiank  from  renewing  that  one.  He  felt  that 
nil  he  had  to  tell  was  so  sad  and  so  harrowing, 
tliat  every  moment  gained  was  a  pang  spared 
to  the  inexperienced  and  sensitive  girl,  but  ere 
h)ng  he  began  to  feel  the  futility  and  even 
danger  of  any  further  dela3\  From  one  mo- 
ment to  another  he  anticipated  the  arrival  of 
diose  whom  he  had  summoned,  and  he  conse- 
quently rallied  his  courage  to  jirepare  Gertrude 
for  their  appearance. 

There  is  alwaj's  something  sad,  if  not  revolt- 
ing, in  the  visit  ot  thosg  unsympathising 
.SiTvitors  of  dissolution,  who  first  break  iipon 
iJie  stillness  of  the  house  of  death  ;  the  very 
nature  of  their  errand  is  fearful — they  come  to 
chiim  all  that  is  left  of  what  was  once  life, 
and  will,  and  action — to  tread  heavily  over  the 
floor  where  others  have  previously  moved  with 
,a  noiseless  step — to  talk  in  hoarse  although 
suppressed  voices  where  the  dull  echoes  have 
latterly  been  hushed — and  coldly  to  pursue 
their  avocation  in  the  very  presence  of  eternity. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  that  there  is  no  possibility 
of  delaying  this  first  trial,  for  where  the  ties 
of  love  have  been  rent  asunder,  who  would 
have  courage  to  sanction  so  unhallowed  an  in- 
trusion ? — Who  could  summon  to  the  bedside, 
so  lately  the  scene  of  agony  and  prayer,  the 
unsympathising  eyes  and  hands  of  mei-cenary 
stra^ngers  ?  Human  nature  is  ever  prone  to 
ii-sist  where  resistance  is  possible,  and  suffering 
(•••ftain  ;  happy  is  it,  therefore,  that  it  is  taught 
ill  so  solemn  a  moment  to  feel  its  own  impo- 
tence, and  to  submit. 

In  Gertrude's  case  the  greater  anguish  of 
suih  a  trial  was  spared,  but  still  it  was  not 
without  a  shudder  and- a  sickness  at  the  heart, 
that  she  learned  the  near  approach  of  her 
Ivigubrious  visitors.  Vainly  did  she  endeavor 
to  combat  her  emotion,  for  alas  !  her  tliouglits. 
Inverted  to  another  and  a  dearer  death-bed, 
and  she  I'cmembered  what  she  had  formcrl}' 
experienced.  IS'or  was  this  all  ;  for  memor}'  is 
;is  ingenious  to  wound  as  to  console,  and  as  she 
'iwelt  upon  the  loss  of  her  earliest  friend,  all 
the  sorrows  which  had  succeeded  that  bcreave- 
ni.-nt  came  freshly  before  her. 

The  sullen  tread  of  feet  in  the  narrow  passage, 
and  the  murmured  sound  of  strange  voices,  at 
I'-iigth  announced  the  advent  of  the  expected 
functionaries,  but  it  was  not  until  tlie  stairs 
had  ceased  to  creak  under  their  steps,  that  the 
kind-hearted  old  man,  who  had  averted  his 
eyes  from  Gertrude  as  he  saw  her  suddenly 
conceal  her  face  in  her  handkerchief,  and 
struggle  for  composure,  rose  silently  from  his 
seat,  and  followed  them. 

Poor  girl !  she  felt  very  wretched,  and  more 
thoroughly  alone  than  she  had  ever  yet  done. 
Fain  would  she  have  shut  out  every  sound,  and 
still,  with  that  morbid  yearning  to  the  terrible 
so  inherent  in  a  sensitive  nature,  she  strained 
her  ear  to  detect  their  movements,  and  fol- 
lowed them  in  fancy  through  all  their  gloomy 
ta.ak.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  her  when  they 
at  last  departed.     The  first  sad  act  of  the  drama 


of  death 
freely. 


176 

over,    and    she  breathed  more 


CHAPTER  L. 


"When  the  old  man,  Avho  was  now  her  sole 
support,  again  entered  the  room,  which  he  did 
a  few  minutes  subsequently,  he  was  even  paler 
than  before,  and  there  was  an  expression  of 
anxiety  upon  his  care-worn  face,  which  he 
could  not  conceal ;  he  however  seated  himself 
in  silence,  and  made  no  attempt  to  break  the 
stillness.  Some  time  consequently  elapsed  in 
dark  and  dreary  thought  on  both  sides,  until 
Gertrude,  more  and  more  convinced  by  the  un- 
easy working  of  his  features,  that  he  desired, 
but  had  not  courage,  to  make  some  necessary 
communicatioa  to  her,  resolutely  addressed 
him. 

"  Yon  have  something  to  say  to  me,  Mr. 
Jackson,  by  which  you  fear  that  I  shall  be  dis- 
tressed ?" 

"  Not  distressed,  I  trust,  my  dear  young  lady, 
but  you  have  already  suffered  so  much,  that  I 
cannot  bear  to  add  to  your  trial  by  telling  you 
that  you  have  still  a  painful  duty  to  perform. 
Mr.  Spencer  perhaps  informed  you"  that  he  had 
left  a  will  ?" 

"  It  is  in  my  possession,"  replied  Gertrude 
quietly. 

"  Are  you  also  aware  th.at  I  hold  the  dupli- 
cate ?" 

"  I  am." 

"  And  this  will,  Madam,  do  you  desire  at  once 
to  ascertain  its  contents?  If  so,  I  must  sum- 
mon Mr.  Collins,  by  whom  it  was  drawn  up,  a>' 
I  believe  that  it  would  not  be  legal,  and  cer- 
tainly, in  any  ease,  it  would  not  be  advisabU 
to  open  it  in  his  absence." 

"  We  will,  if  you  please,  defer  all  such  con 
siderations  until  after  my  poor  uncle's  funeral. 
Under  any  circumstances,  I  could  not  permit 
myself  to  exhibit  what  I  should  regard  as  a  dis- 
respectful anxiety,  by  suffering  its  contents  to 
j  be  investigated  at  an  earlier  pei-iod,  while  now, 
j  as  you  are  well  aware,  it  is  a  matter  of  no  con- 
sequence whatever." 

The  worthy  clerk  looked  up  in  the  most  pro- 
found astonishment,  but  he  made  no  comment 
upon  her  words. 

"  We  have,  fortunately,"  pursued  the  orphan, 
in  the  same  calm  and  unexcited  tone,  "  received 
from  his  own  lips  all  the  instructions  necessary 
to  enable  us  to  fulfill  his  latest  wishes  as  regards 
himself,  and  to  those  only  I  am  anxious  to  con- 
fine my  thoughts  until  they  are  scrujmlously  ac- 
complished. The  rest  of  our  task  will  thea  be 
reduced  to  a  mere  painful  ceremony." 

"  But,  my  dear  young  lady,"  urged  the  old 
man  deferentially,  "  would  it  not  be  well  so  to 
arrange  as  to  enable  you  to  conclude  all  your 
painful  duties  on  the  same  day'?" 

"  I  shall  be  most  grateful  to  you,  if  you  can 
accomplish  so  desirable  an  object." 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  leave  it  to  me,"  said  her 
companion,  flattered  by  the  confidence  which 
she  reposed  in  him.  "  My  present  pi'incipal, 
Mr.  Owen,  will  wish  to  be  invited  to  the  cere- 
mony, for  he  has  already  mentioned   the  matter 


174 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


to  me,  vrhile,  as  I  before  ventured  to  observe, 
vre  cannot  dispense  with  the  attendance  of  Mr. 
Collins.  Are  there  any  other  persons  whom 
'  you  desire  to  summon  ?" 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  London,"  replied  Gert- 
rude, gratified  to  find  that  her  uncle  would  be 
followed  to  the  grave  at  least  by  two  of  his 
former  associates,  "  but  you  may  probably  be 
aware  of  other  individuals  to  whom  the  atten- 
tion is  due." 

Jackson  shook  his  head.  "  He  lived  much 
alone,  Madam,  as  I  have  alreadj"^  told  you,  and 
made  few  friendships.  He  was  an  able  man  in 
his  office,  and  found  there  all  the  amusement 
tliat  lie  required.  I  believe  that  we  can  do  no 
more." 

"  So  be  it,  then,"  said  the  orphan,  "  I  leave 
everything  in  your  hands,  satisfied  that  you 
will  act  with  kindness  and  judgment.  And,  my 
dear  !Sir,  should  some  small  increase  of  funds 
be  necessary,  do  not  scruple  to  say  so.  I  have 
not  much  in  my  power,  but " 

"  Not  a  pound,  not  a  shilling,  yoimg  lady," 
was  the  rejoinder,  "  it  is  not  from  a  residence 
like  tlys  that  people  look  for  an  expensive  pro- 
cession. I  have  already  made  my  calculation  ; 
we  are  amply  supplied,  and,  in  accordance  with 
»my  poor  master's  directions,  have  only  to  assure 
ourselves  that  the  money  is  well  laid  out." 

Gertrude  sighed ;  to  her  it  was  so  difficult  to 
reconcile  the  idea  of  wordlj^  pruilence  with  the 
exigencies  of  the  death-room.  She  had  jet  seen 
too  little  of  life  to  be  aware  how  often  the  sub- 
lime is  merged  in  the  vulgar ;  how  small  in- 
teres'ij  jar  upon  lofty  duties,  and  how  tenacious- 
ly the  demands  of  every  day  existence  retain 
their  hold  under  the  most  solemn  circumstances. 

The  week  which  succeeded  was  a  trying  one 
to  the  lonely  girl.  The  shrouded  and  coffined 
corpse,  the  closed  windows,  the  measured  tread, 
the  suppressed  voices,  were  all  full  of  dark  and 
gloomy  association,  but  slowly  as  it  seemed  to 
wear  away,  it  at  length  terminated,  and  from 
her  narrow  window  she  saw  the  modest  proces- 
sion leave  the  house.  Her  tears  fell  abundantly, 
as  she  remembered  that  the  cold  corpse  which 
they  were  then  bearing  to  the  grave  had  once 
been  warm  with  life,  and  had,  if  not  loved  her, 
at  least  felt  for  her,  during  a  few  short  daj-s, 
tlie  interest  of  a  relative,  and  slie  was  thus  bound 
only  to  two  other  beings  on  earth,  while  even 
one  of  tiiose  two  had  ceased  to  admit  the  claim. 

Moreover,  the  house  of  death  is  always  deso- 
late when  the  one  object  of  all  tlie  thoughts  and 
cares  of  the  survivors  is  borne  from  it  for  ever, 
and  not  even  the  "unaccustomed  stir  and  liglit- 
someness  which  so  soon  succeed,  can  for  a  time 
disperse  the  sadness  by  Avhicli  it  has  been  so 
long  invaded. 

Wearily  and  heavily,  therefore,  did  the  time 
pass  l)y  until  the  return  of  tlie  funeral  party,  at 
which  period  the  orplian  was  aware  that  re- 
pugnant as  it  might  be  at  such  a  moment  to  her 
feelings,  she  must  prepare  to  meet  and  thank 
the  friends  of  her  uncle,  who  liad  thus  testified 
their  respect  for  his  memory. 

Beyond  this  consideration  Gertrude  never 
looked.  She  was  aware  that  the  will  of  her  de- 
ceased relative  was  to  be  read,  and  she  had 
been  warned  b}-  the  careful  old  man,  who  had 


superintended  all  the  Arrangements,  that  she 
could  not  reasonably  absent  herself  It  was 
therefore  a  duty  to  be  accomplished,  and  she 
prepared  to  fulfill  it,  only  marvelling  at  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  will  where  there  was  nothing  save 
the  squalid  remnants  of  poverty  to  bequeath.  It 
seemed  like  a  mockery  under  the  circumstances, 
and  a  mockery  so  solemn  that  it  could  produce 
nothing  but  pain. 

"  Would  that  my  poor  uncle  had  trusted  to 
my  good  feeling !"  she  murmured  to  herself,  as 
she  smoothed  back  the  glossy  braids  of  lierhair, 
bathed  her  swollen  eyes,  and  cast  a  last  languid 
look  at  her  mourning  dress,  which,  since  the 
I  death  of  Mrs.  Mortimer,  she  had  never  laid 
aside  ;  "  He  had  s^  little  to  leave,  and  the  two 
'faithful,  although  humble  friends,  who  liave 
tended  him  to  the  last,  have  so  richly  earned 
jthat  little,  that  he  had  only  to  express  a  wish, 
or  to  confide  in  my  sense  of  justice,  to  have  dis- 
pensed with  this  last  needless  ceremony.  But 
such  has  been  his  pleasure,  and  I  have  only  to 
obey." 

Calmly,  therefore,  although  affected  by  a 
nervous  tremor  which  she  could  not  co'ntrol,  as 
she  remembered  that  she  was  about,  after  a 
period  of  utter  seclusion,  to  meet  persons  to 
Avhom  she  was  totally  unknown,  she  awaited 
the  message  which  was  to  summon  her  to  tlie 
parlor,  and  when  the  gentle  tap  of  Mrs.  Sharp 
sounded  at  the  door,  she  rose  withoxit  a  word, 
and  followed  her  with  the  important  document 
in  her  hand. 

As  she  entered  the  little  sitting-room,  both 
the  gentlemen  gave  a  perceptible  start,  but  in 
;the  next  instant  they  bowed  profoundly  as  tliey 
[were  presented  to  the  pale  and  beautiful  girl, 
who,  in  her  close  mourning  dress,  and  with 
downcast  eyes,  stood  timidly  before  tliem.  A 
chair  was  ali'cady  placed  for  her  beside  the  tahh-. 
and  in  a  few  moments  she  recovered  her  soU- 
possession. 

The  common-place  condolences  exacted  by  tho 
occasion  were  courteously  uttered,  and  as  cour- 
teously received,  and  then,  as  if  aware  that  then' 
presence  must  be  rather  irksome  than  desiralile 
to  the  desolate  young  creature  by  whose  graco 
and  beauty  tliey  had  been  so  forcibly  impressed, 
tlie  two  gentlemen  exchanged  a  glance  of  intel- 
ligence, and  Mr.  Collins  respectfully  inquired 
whether  Miss  Mortimer  was  prepared  for  the 
reading  of  the  will.  Gertrude  replied,  by  plao- 
ing  in  his  hand  the  sealed  packet  whieh  liad 
been  delivered  to  lier  by  her  uncle,  while  tho 
old  clerk  at  the  same  time  deposited  upoii  the 
table  the  duplicate  which  had  been  committed 
to  his  guardianship. 

[  The  seals  were  broken,  and  the  man  of  law, 
already  aware  of  the  contents  of  the  parchment, 
commenced  reading,  in  a  calm  and  clear  voice, 
all  those  techjiical  preliminaries  whieh  betray 
'no  trace  of  what  is  to  succeed,  but  as  he  ad- 
jvaneed  in  his  task  his  accent  became  slightly 
'  animated. 

'  Mr.  Owen  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  with 
an  expression  of  genuine  satisfaction  upon  his 
mild  and  benignant  countenance,  and  the  kind- 
hearted  old  Jackson,  who,  during  the  last  few 
days  had  learned  to  love  the  orphan  as  he  had 
never  before  lovud  anything  on  earth,  bout  his 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIE& 


177 


''9fifed  head  upon  bis  breast,  and  rubbed  bis  thin 
btmds  togotber,  as  though  bis  delight  were 
almost  irrepressible. 

Suddenly,  however,  he  started,  and  a  vivid 
flush  rose  to  his  eheek.  He  could  scarcely  credit 
Uie  evidence  of  his  senses !  And  yet  it  was  so — 
bis  name  had  been  really  mentioned  in  the  will 
tif  his  first  pati'on.  There  could  be  no  mistake, 
;uid  tlie  kind  and  congratulatory  smile  of  his 
jn-esent  employer  assured  the  happy  old  man 
tJiiit  he  bad  heard  aright. 

Then  a  deep  stillness  fell  upon  that  narrow 
room,  and  for  a  short  space,  no  one  cared  to  dis- 
turb the  silence.  But  ere  long  the  genial  feel- 
ings of  the  warm-hearted  merchant  could  no 
longer  be  controlled,  and  extending  bis  hand  to 
(.Jertrude,  he  said  affectionately :  "  My  dear 
ycnnig  lad}-,  suffer  me  to  be  'the  first  to  congra- 
lulate  you.  My  poor  friend  could  not  have  dis- 
posed more  judiciously  of  a  noble  fortune.  Long 
may  you  live  both  to  enjoy  and  to  adorn  it." 


said  Gertrude,  for  the  first  time  breaking  si- 
lence, as  her  warm  heart  sympathized  in  tbe 
evident  bapjiiness  of  tbe  modest  dependant,  and 
once  more  her  hand  sought  that  of  the  old  man 
who  had  modestly  risen  to  reply  to  the  flattering 
expressions  of  Mr.  Owen.  '•  I  also  owe  you 
much,  very  much,  nor  will  my  claims  upon  your 
kindness  terminate  even  here,  if  1  can  prevail 
upon  this  gentleman  to  consent  to  your  beeom 
ing  my  escort  to  my  home.  May  1  trust,  sir," 
she  asked  timidly,  as  she  turned  towards  tlie 
smiling  merchant,  "  that  you  will  indeed  sparo 
our  old  friend  to  me  for  a  few  days?  1  am 
quite  alone,  and  so  shaken  by  the  trials  of  the 
last  fortnight,  that  I  fear  I  could  scarcely  have 
courage  to  encounter  the  journey  under  any 
other  escort." 

"  I  am  sure,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  may  safely 
pledge  myself  that  Mr.  Jackson  is  at  your  dis- 
posal for  whatever  period  you  may  require  his 
services,"  was  the  ready  reply.     "  He  certainly 


"  Very-  little  short  of  .£80,000,  Miss  Mortimer,"  does  not  look  an  objection,  and  I,  as  certainly 


Siiid  the  lawyer  with  a  courteous  bow,  "  exclusive 
of  a  case  of  jewels,  which  your  deceased  uncle 
has  declared  to  be  contained  in  a  chest  in  his 
sleeping-room,  and  of  whose  remarkable  value 
I  am  awai-e.  Give  me  leave  to  wish  you  all 
happiness  in  their  possession." 

Tlie  orphan  could  only  look  her  thanks,  for, 
bewildered  by  an  event  which  hud  been  bj-  her 
utterly  unforseen,  she  was  greutlj'  and  even 
painfully  agitated.     To  what  privations  bad  not 


cannot  advance  one.  But  may  not  I  also  be 
made  useful  ? — or  Mrs.  Owen,  who  would  be 
proud  and  happy  to  receive  you  until  you  leave 
town  ?" 

Gertrude  burst  into  tears.  Her  spirits  were 
exhausted,  and  she  could  scarcely  express  her 
acknowledgments.  There  was  no  possibility  ot 
mistaking  tbe  cause  of  her  en)otion,  and  accord- 
ingly both  the  gentlemen  rose,  talked  together 
for  a  moment  of  their  several  engagements,  and 


er  generous  relative — for  it  was  thus  that  she;  then,  warmly  shaking  hands  with  the  new-made 
cjiiisidered  his  conduct — to  what  privations  had  heiress,  left  the  room,  attended  by  the  happy 
lie  not  submitted,  in  order  to  enrich  her  beyond  old  clerk,  who  appeared  to  himself  to  have  sud 
lior  wildst  hopes!  And  he  was  now  in  bis  denly  entered  upon  a  new  existence,  and  to 
grave,  beyond  the  reach  of  her  gratitude ;  she  have  thrown  ofl:  the  weight  of  at  least  twenty 
oould  not  pour  out  before  him  all  tbe  warm  feel-  winters.  ^ 


ings  of  her  overcharged  heart — she  could  never  j 
rqiay  tbe  mighty  debt  by  which  she  was 
weighed  down, 


He  had  not  closed  the  door  after  him  as  he 
etreated,  and  it  was  fortunate,  for  when,  as  tlie 
last  carriage   drove   away,  he   returned   to  the 


jNo  thought  of  lier  increased  importance,  not  |  room,  he  saw  Gertrude  upon  her  knees,  and 
even  a  recollection  of  the  opportunity  which  forthwith,  retiring  with  a  noiseless  step,  he 
she  should  now  possess  to  repay,  in  so  far  as  made  liis  Avay  to  the  kitchen,  where,  in  an  em- 
wealth  could  do  so,  the  disinterested  affection  phatic  whisper,  be  related  to  the  wondering  and 
of  Ernest  Armstrong,  crossed  her  mind  at  that  delighted  Mrs.  Sharp,  and  her  temporary  as- 
nioment.     She  saw  onl}',  she  remembered  only,  sistants,  the  marvellous  events  of  the  last  Ijour. 


tlie  squalid  bed,  the  fireless  grate,  and  tbe  com 
fortless  desolation  of  her  uncle's  sick  room.  And 
be  bad  submitted  to  all  this  for  her  sake,  and 
tilie  could  not  even  tell  him  what  she  felt  I 

And  you  also,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  his  con- 


Poor  old  Jackson  !  He  even  looked  at  his 
thread-bare  coat  with  a  smile,  for  if  he  wore  it 
longer,  it  would  be  that  such  was  bis  good  will 
j  and  pleasure.     He  need  not  again  shrink  before 

shower,  as  he  remembered  the  dilapidation 


siderate  principal,  who  at  once  detected  tlie  ina-'  which  must  ensue  to  the  hat  of  many  wintora, 
bility  of  tbe  orphan  to  sustain  a  conversation,' that  be  had  so  long  fostered,  and  then  be  thought 
■I  very  sincerely   congratulate    you    also,  sir.  |  of  his  wife,  and  of  her  faded  Sunday  gown,  of 


Tbe  bequest  of  Mr.  .Spencer  is  honorable  to  you 
both.  1  was  well  aware  that  be  valued  you 
highly,  and  be  has  now  proved  it  to  yourself. 
A  good  servant,  sir,  will,  under  all  circum- 
cunistances,  as  you  see,  make  a  good  master." 

"  A  very  pretty  little  legacy  indeed,"  followed 
np  tbe  more  matter-of-fact  man  of  law.  "  I 
have  seldom  been  better  pdeased,  Mr.  Jackson, 
than  I  was  Avbeu  I  put  that  £1(J0  opposite  your 
name,  for  I  had  k-nown  you  well  for  years.  This 
young  lady  will  partlon  mo,  1  am  sure,  for  such 
a  confession,  as  I  bad  not  at  that  period  the 
honor  of  her  acquaintance." 

"  You  could  not  have  rejoiced  more  than  I  do, 
sir,  at  such  an  instance  of  my  uncle's  justice," 
12 


bis  home,  with  its  many  wants,  and  finally 
come  by  a  tide  of  feeling  which  had  never  be- 
fore been  unsealed  within  his  breast,  he  leaned 
his  venerable  head  upon  a  table,  and  wept  for 
very  joy. 

Life  lends  us  few  such  tears,  and  wiili^ 
the  hand  which  would  check  their  flow  ! 


be 


CHAITER  LL 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  exultation  of  Mr». 
Mortimer  upon  finding  her.self  once  more  in  Lon- 
don, and  in  the  midst  of  the  dissipation  which 


178 


TIIE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


ehe  loved.  All,  save  her  own  gratification  and 
amusement,  was  again  forgotten.  Scarcely  did 
siie  spare  a  thougiit  to  tlie  lonely  and  now  really 
suffering  mother,  u\m\  whom  the  lethargic  habits 
of  years  were  beginning  to  produce  the  baneful 
effect  of  premature  old  age.  Satisfied  that  during 
her  absence,  Mrs.  Dclamere  could  still  enjoy  her 
■well-cushioned  chair,  her  novel,  and  her  ether 
draughts,  Sybil  did  not  care  to  remember  that 
ehe  was  yet  susceptible  of  other  gratifications, 
and  the  "kiss  which  she  had  pressed  upon  her 
brow  when  they  parted,  had  been  too  cold  to 
elicit  any  demonstration  of  deeper  feeling  on 
the  part  of  the  forsaken  invalid. 

It  was  only  when  Frederic  affectionately  took 
her  hand,  and  entreated,  with  an  earnestness 
not  to  be  mistaken,  that  should  she  feel  herself 
more  dull  than  she  anticipated  in  her  solitude, 
or  that  her  health  required  greater  care  than 
usual,  she  would  immediately  inform  him  of 
her  wishes,  when  he  would  hasten  to  escort  her 
to  town,  while  Sybil  made  the  necessary  pre- 
parations for  her  reception  ;  it  was  only  then 
that  the  tears  gushed  into  her  eyes,  and  that 
she  was  aroused  for  an  instant  from  her  habitual 
apathy. 

She  protested,  however,  and  with  sincerity, 
that  she  could  not  encounter  the  fatigue  and 
discomfort  of  such  a  journey  ;  that  all  she  re- 
quired to  recruit  her  strength  was  perfect 
quietude,  which  the  departure  of  the  family 
would  ensure  to  her  ;  and  that  as  her  existence, 
under  all  circumstances,  had  now  for  some  time 
•  been  one  of  estrangctueiit  from  society,  she 
should  not  suffer  from  their  temporary  absence. 
With  this  assurance  Mortimer  was  compelled  to 
sati-sfy  himself,  and  he  did  so  the  more  readily 
that  Sybil  did  not  appear  to  share  in  his  appre- 
hensions. She  had  been  so  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed, and  indeed  encouraged,  by  her  mother 
herself,  to  consider  that  mother  during  many 
years  as  a  mere  cypher,  that  it  never  occurred 
to  her  as  just  possible  that  there  were  duties  in- 
cumbent upon  her  which  she  could  not  consci- 
entiously neglect. 

Thus  it  was  without  one  feeling  of  self-re- 
proach or  compunction,  that  she  drove  away 
from  Westrum,  to  recommence  the  existence  of 
expensive  folly  which  alone  enabled  her  to 
realise  her  ideas  of  happiness.  Moreover,  al- 
though she  was  probably  not  aware  that  this 
consideration  greatly  added  to  her  eagerness  to 
escape  the  wearisome  monotony  of  home,  Trevor 
■was  already  established  in  town  ;  nor  could  she 
doubt  that  his  time  and  his  services  would  once 
more  be  at  her  disposal. 

Trevor  was  the  fashion ;  and  fashion  was 
Sybil's  idol.  It  might  be,  as  she  shudderingly 
murmured  to  herself,  the  last  occasion  upon 
which  her  influence  would  be  sufliciently  power- 
ful over  her  husband  to  induce  him  to  renew 
the  eareei-  of  extravagance  in  which  she  had  in- 
volved him  ;  and  consequently  she  resolved  to 
fill  her  cup  of  enjoyment  even  to  overflowing. 

She  had  already  had  painful  experience  that 
Mortimer  wius  not  likely  to  remain  for  ever  the 
passive  tool  which  he  had  hitherto  shown  him- 
Belf  in  her  hands.  A  single  interview  had  suffi- 
ced to  pro-'e  to  her  th.it  her  power  was  already 
<Wi  the  want ;  and  therefore  like  a  skilful  general. 


she  determined  to  use  it  to  the  very  dregs,  while 
she  yet  possessed  the  opportunity. 

A  single  week  sufficed  to  settle  the  Mortinrers 
once  more  in  London,  and  to  collect  about  them 
all  their  former  circle.  Sybil's  opera-box  was 
such  a  convenience  to  her  female  friends,  and 
Frederic's  well-ordered  dinners  so  potent  an 
attraction  to  his  male  associates,  that  day  suc- 
ceeded daj-  in  one  endless  round  of  pleasure. 

There  was  no  leisure  for  thought ;  and  e\'^n 
Mortimer  himself  was  no  sooner  launched  for  the 

'  second  time  upon  the  sparkling  tide  of  London 
life,  than  he  entered  upon  it  with  a  zest  almost 

j  equal  to   that  «f  his  brilliant  and  selfish  wife. 

I  The  renewed  solicitations  which  he  was  induced 
by  her  persuasions  to  make  in  every  direction 
which  offered  a  prospect  of  success  to  his  diplo- 
matic speculation,  rapidly  enlarged  his  circle  of 
acquaintance,  and  either  filled  his  house  with 
new  and  equally  expensive  guests,  or  withdrew 
him  from  it  to  share  in  other  gaieties  equally; 
imprudent. 

ilortimer  had  fallen  into  the  dangerous  error 
of  believing  in  the  possibility  of  an  after-re- 
trenchnient,   which  would    enable  a   nnvn  who, 

j  instead  of  contenting  himself  with  the  ineon\e 
arising  from  a  fine  property,  lives  for  a  time  up 
on  the  principal,  to  redeem  his  past  imprudence. 
He  suffered  himself  to  forget,  or  at  least  to  dis- 
regard the  fact,  that  he  was  not  mei'cly  decreas- 

!ing  the  actual  amount  of  his  ancestral   fortune, 

I  but  also  crippling  its  future  proceeds;  or  if  oc- 

•casionallj'  some  such  startling  conviction  would 

'pertinaciously  intrude  itself,  he  made  a  eompro 
mise  with  his  conscience  by  resolving  that  thi.' 
should  be  the  last  occasion  upon  which  he  would, 

I  be  guilty  of  the  folly. 

It  is  so  easy  to  delay  until  to  morrow  what  il' 
is  unpalatable  to  undertake  to-da}'.  | 

I      Nothing  could   have  been  more  unfortunatti 

I  than  the  rapidly  increasing  estrangement  ofi 
Mortimer  from  his  home  ;  and  it  is  probable  that 
one  expostulation  from  Sybil  would  hav« 
awakened  him  to  the  fact ;  but  this  expostulu 
tion  was  never  uttered,  and  it  is  doubtfu 
whether  she  would  even  have  remarked  hiij 
constantly-recurring  absences,  had  it  not  beet, 
from  the  sense  of  relief  which  they  afforded.      , 

j  Desjjite  all  her  pride,  she  was  aware  of  a  ceM 
tain  restraint  in  the  presence  of  her  husband  ; 
for  with  all  his  constitutional  weakness,  Mortiniei 

I  was  upright  in  thought  and  word,  and  discoirr 
aged  by  the  gravity  of  his  demeanour,  and  evei; 

jat  times  by  objections  still  more  decided,  tlw 
witty  and  evenomed  persiflage  in  which  she  8< 
much  delighted;  and  by  which  she  reveng-f.; 
herself,  as  she  believed,  upon  a  world  that  hat 
undervalued  her.  It  was  only  with  Trevor,  ant' 
individuals  of  his  stamp,  that  her  brilliant  sal 
lies  and  piquant  sarcasms  were  appreciated  a' 
she  desired  ;  and  thus  it  was  pleasant  to  sd 
herself  surrounded  hour  after  hour  in  he, 
splendid  drawing-room  by  kindred  and  applaud 
iiig  spirits. 

The  relationship  of  Trevor — a  farce  whicl 
still  continued  to  be  enacted,  to  the  secre 
amusement  of  many  of  his  friends,  who  wer 
quite  conscious  of  ita  fallacj- — while  it  author, 
ized  a  degree  of  intimacy  which  encourage< 
him   iu   his   dishonorable   views,  tended  in  U' 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


179 


slight  degree  to  lessen  the  feeling  of  respect  I  which  they  consider  it  their  dutj-  to  prove  the 
which  some  among  them  might  still  have  hctMi  j  fallacy  upon  the  lir.st  opportunit}-  which  otFcrb; 
in.luced  to  concede  to   herself;  and   as  he   rode!  that  1  am  not  at  all  likely  to  blame  you.    Only, 


ith  her  in  the  park,  sauntered  with  her  amid  the 

iRible  shades  of  Kensington-gardens,  or  quietly 

established  himself  for  the  evening  in  her  opera- 
;  box ;  sundry  significant  smiles  were  exchanged 
[  by  the  initiated,  which  were  as  full  of  malice  as 
1  of  meaning. 

'  Still  no  word  or  look  had  ever  escaped  Trevor 
'  tending  to  put  his  victim  upon  her  guard,     lie 

had  but  limed  the  twig,  and  he  calmly  waited 
!  to  see  her  entangled  through  her  own  free  agen- 
j  cy.     it  sutHced  him  to  believe  that  the  moment 

would  come,  and  that  perhaps    at   no    distant 

period,  and  meanwhile,  he  was   aware   that  he 

was  an  object  of  envy  to  half  his  acquaintance. 

The  beauty  of  Sybil  was  so  radiant  and  queenly 

in  its  character,  her  wit  so   sparkling,   and    her 

fashion  so  undeniable,  that  her  intimacy  was  a 

privilege  to  be  coveted.  It  mattered  little  that 
I  she  had  forfeited  the  esteem  of  the  wise  and 
I  the  virtuous  ;  in  the  pursuit  of  mere  seliish  gra- 
i  tification,  men    do    not   require    to  respect  the 

i -women  whom  they  admire,  and  thus,  turn  in 
•whatever  direction  she  might,  the  beautiful  and 
courted  Mrs.  Mortimer  met  only  smiles  and 
plaudits,  and  that  tacit  encouragement  which 
vanity  can  always  invest  with  words,  and  second 
i  by  its  own  impulsive  force. 

As  time  wore  on,  however,  and  Trevor  felt 
more  secure  of  his  influence,  he  ventured  to 
try  the  force  of  sarcasni.  Sybil  had  already 
essayed  its  cft'ect  over  the  mind  of  her  husband, 

but  she  believed  that  she  was  herself  beyond  its  I  yond  your  strength.     1  no  more   believed  you 

than — " 


I  would  have  you  understand  that  1  was  not 
duped,  although  too  courteous  to  contend  th<» 
point." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer  evidently  an- 
noyed ;  "  You  have  no  mission  from  Govern- 
ment, and  need  not  volunteer  yourself  as  the 
Captain  Cook  of  your  acquaintance." 

"  Why  should  you  be  angry  ?"  asked  her  com- 
panion with  perfect  composure  ;  "  Surely  one 
may  look  back  for  a  year  or  two  without  giving 
ott'euee,  especially  when,  as  in  your  case,  the 
retrospect  can  afford  nothing  but  pleasure.  Do 
you  inuigine  tiiat  i  could  see  you — you,  Sybil 
Delamere, — whom  1  had  known,  courted,  fol- 
lowed, and  extolled,  by  all  that  was  brilliant  in 
London  society,  coldly  and  wilfully  settle  down 
into  the  LadyBountiful  of  a  country  town,  and 
become  the  victim  of  a  social  suttee  for  the  sake 
of—" 

"  Spare  my  husband,  if  you  please,"  interpo* 
ed  Sybil,  but  it  was  almost  with  a  smile. 

"  I  will — '  Hector  requires  a  demi-god  to  com- 
bat,'" said  Sir  Horace  with  quiet  insolence; 
"  But  to  return  to  yourself.  Did  you  really  be- 
lieve  that  with  all  your  art  you  could  impose, 
upon  me  ? — that  you  could  induce  me  to  sup- 
pose that  you  preferred  a  shady  lane  to  aa 
opera-box,  a  back-parlor  to  a  ball-room,  or — be 
it  said  with  all  respect — a  sighing  Strephoa 
to  a  man  of  the  world?  Fie  upon  you,  my 
fair  cousin  !     For  once  you  undertook  a  task  be- 


power. 

Nothing  renders  a  woman  more  blind  than  her 
vanity. 

"  How  sure  I  was,"  said  Sir  Horace,  on  one 
occasion  when  they  were   tete-a-tete,   an   occur- 


"  You  believe  in  our  relationship." 
"Oh,  excuse  me,  I  have  the  most  perfect  faith 
in  all  that  brings  me  nearer  to  you." 

"  i'l-ay  do  not  exert  yourself  to  be  absurd.    A 


rence  which  had,  moreover,  long  ceased   to  be  recollection   of  what  it  was  which   necessitated 

Bingular — "  that  all  the  pretty  pastorals  with  the  deception  should  suffice  to  keep  you  silent 

which    you    favored    me    when    1    visited   The   upon  the  subject." 

Grange,  were  mere  woi'ds,  very  sentimental  and       "Oh,   Mr.    Mortimer's   somewhat   precocious 

picturesque   if  you  will,  but    still    mere   words,    jealousy  ?      But    surely    you    are    not    unjust 

If  I  mistake  not,  you  then   told   me    that  you  enough  to  make  me  responsible  for  his  weak- 

■were  about  to  marry  a  countrj'  gentleman,  and  nesscs  ?" 

prattled    charmingly  of   his    tenants,   his    local       "  Enough,  enough,"  said  Sybil  hastih'.    "Why 

duties,  and  the  delights   of  a  life   of  rural    res-  do  you  not  marry  ?    That  is  the  best  step  which 

ponsibility  and  rural  leisure.      You  wanted  to  yoii  could  take.     You  are  now  at  the  vciy  apo- 

gersuftde  me  that  you  were  about  to  become  a  gee  of  your  fashion,  and  are  free  to  choose  where 

true  Baucis  to  your  rustic  Philemon,  and  you  you  will." 

looked  daggers  because  I  ventured  to  hazard  a       "  Thank  you,  I  never  felt  inclined  so  to  forget 

doubt.      ]Now,  perhaps,  you  will  admit  that  my  myself  but  once,  and  then *" 

skepticism  was  not  altogether  unfounded.     You|      "Well,   sir,"  said  Sybil  with   a  frown,  as  he 
have  been  a  wife  two  years,  or  thereabouts,  and  paused. 

I  find  you  once  more  in  town,  as  devoted  to  its       "  Why,  then,   the   folly  was  cured,  thanks  to 
pleasures  as  of  old,  and  as  able  to  increase  them  you.     1  felt  that  my  love  would  not  suffice  to  , 

win  the  only  woman  to  whom  I  would  willing 


ly  have  surrendered  my  liberty,  and  the  abortive 
I  trial  rendered  me  %t-iser." 


in  your  own  person. 

"  The  interests  of  my  husband — "  commenced 

Sybil,  biting  her  lip. 

"  Vetnme  mod'de !"  interposed  Trevor  witli  a  "A  poor  excuse,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  reso- 
I  emile,  "  but  hear  me  out.  I  know  well  that  Uttely  overcoming  her  confusion;  "You  must 
I    your  passion  for  the  world  was  far   from   being  j  find  a  better." 

r  extinguished;  that  you  were  playing  a  part — |  "  Be  it  so.  I  remembered  that  conjugal  lovo 
'  Nay,  don't  frown — unconsciously,  perhaps,  but i  has  no  wings — that  it  is  '  of  the  earth,  earthy,' 
'  Btill  playing  a  part  And  what  then?  1  am  ac-  — a  lingering,  grovelling  deity  of  habit,  rather 
',  quainted  with  so  many  charming  persons  who  than  of  taste,  only  fit  to  surmount  the  nioss- 
'  are  doing  the  same.  Pretty  women,  who  have  aj  grown  pedestal  of  a  cabbage-garden." 
'   Btore  of  admirable  maxims  upon  their  lips,  of )      "  Civil,  at  least" 


180 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


"  True,  if  not  civil.  Come,  confess,  what  can 
be  more  monotonous,  or,  if  not  monotonous, 
still  worse — what  can  be  more  oj)pres:iive  than 
such  a  yoke,  padlocked  by  a  priest,  riveted  by 
custom,'  logged  by  the  law,  wherein,  however 
you  may  be  separated  in  spirit,  you  are  chained 
m  fact.  "  I  would  rather  bind  day  and  night  to- 
gether, the  roses  of  June  with  the  snows  of 
January,  the  fiery  falcon  with  the  timid  dove — 
any  contrast,  however  monstrous,  for  none  could 
be  so  revolting." 

"  When  you  amuse  yourself  by  imagining  so 
extreme  a  case,  all  argument  is  useless." 

"  Can  you  confute  mine  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  but  I  am  not  in  the  humor." 

"  And  you  are  right ;  it  is  scarcely  worth 
■while  to  make  the  experiment  when  you  are 
forewarned  of  the  result" 

"  Do  j-ou  know  that  you  are  becoming  imper- 
tinent »" 

"  Tant  mimx — that  will  put  the  finishing 
stroke  to  my  reputation." 

Sybil  was  silent.  "What  would  she  not  have 
given  to  have  been  free  to  resent  the  insolence 
under  which  she  writhed  ?     But  she  dared  not. 

And  the  rubieon  once  passed,  these  conversa- 
tions were  perpetually  renewed ;  until  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  already  more  than  half  inclined  to 
consider  herself  a  victim,  became  superlatively 
convinced  of  the  fact.  What  had  she,  as  she 
asked  herself,  in  common  with  the  man  to  whom 
she  had  given  her  hand?  and  her  v.-uiity  readilj' 
and  promptlj'  answered,  "  Nothing."  Did  she 
sigh  for  his  society  when  he  was  absent,  or 
await  with  impatience  for  his  return?  Ko! 
Did  she  require  his  counsels?  Did  she  value 
his  affections?  Again  and  again.  No!  She 
stood  married,  as  she  had  stood  single,  alone  ! 
And  yet  not  quite  alone  ;  there  was  another 
thrall"  upon  her,  of  which  she  did  not  as  yet 
recognise  the  strength.  She  believed  that  she 
had  never  been  more  able  to  sutHce  to  herself 
than  at  the  very  moment  when  her  weakness 
was  ajiparent  to  all  around  her. 

How  idly,  how  carelessly,  how  unreflectingly, 
do  we  all  talk  of  the  London  season  !  Of  those 
few  months  of  mummery  and  madness  which 
absorb  the  means,  and  frequently  destroy  the 
morals  of  after  life, — Of  that  periodical  vortex 
which  too  often  swallows  up  prudence,  pro- 
priety, and  good  fame  ;  points  the  finger  of 
scorn  at  some,  and  prompts  the  withering  smile 
of  idle  and  inactive  pity  at  others.  And  yet 
those  two  little  weirds  contain  a  mighty  signifi- 
cance, they  involve  a  mighty  total,  in  small 
things  as  well  as  large  ;  they  e.vert a  strange,  and 
it  would  almost  ap]>ear,  an  insurmountable  in- 
fluence. The  opportunities  of  evil,  too  eagerly 
rendered  available;  the  small beginningsof  error, 
which,  like  the  grain  of  mustard-seedsown  in  a 
genial  soil,  are  fated  to  bring  forth  a  many- 
branclied  and  far-spreading  tree,  destined  to  over- 
shadow the  soul,  and  beneath  whose  boughs  the 
winged  vices  of  society  may  nestle,  and  amid 
whose  leaves  the  thorns  of  remorse  may  spring  I 
and  germinate. — Do  they  not  produce  all  these? 

Let  those  answer  who  have   reaped  remorse, 
disappointment,  and  ruin,  in  the  bitter  harvest 
of  imprudence  and  folly. 
The  embarrassed  squire,  whose  stately  dame 


has  dreamed  for  years  that  the  first  season  of 
her  pretty  daughters  in  town,  if  properly  man- 
aged, must  see  them  at  its  close,  if  not  marchio- 
nesses, at  least  millionaires,  and  who  has  conse- 
quently managed  to  sink  in  four  short  monthg 
the  savings  of  as  many  years — the  innocent  girl, 
whose  pure  heart  is  sullied  by  the  touch  of  false- 
hood, and  whose  young  affections  have  beea 
made  the  spoil  of  heartlessness — the  young  wife, 
who  panted  to  see  more  of  the  world  before  she 
gave  up  all  the  best  feelings  of  her  heart  to 
home-happiness,  and  who  returns  to  that  home 
onl}-  to  find  it  cold  and  dreary,  after  the  un- 
natural excitement  of  an  admiration  and  homage 
which  she  never  should  have  known: — let  these 
answer! 

But  what,  it  may  be  asked,  has  this  to  do 
with  Mrs.  ilortimer?  She,  at  least,  was  no 
novice  in  these  paths  of  danger,  she  biought  no 
unsophistication  to  lay  as  a  sacrifice  upon  the 
altar  of  the  world.  And  it  may  be  that  she  did 
not  But  still,  even  to  her,  the  London  seasoa 
was  not  without  its  perils.  It  absorbed  her 
husband  in  his  own  vain  and  futile  pursuits;  it 
left  her  comparatively  free ;  it  gave  her  oppor- 
tunities of  evil  which  slie  might  have  avoided 
beneatli  that  husband's  ancestral  roof  She 
learned  to  trust  herself,  because  the  very  errors 
of  her  nature  lent  her  a  factitious  strengtli ;  she 
learned  to  over-value  her  attractions,  because 
the  world  stamped  them  with  its  showy  coun- 
terfeit ;  in  a  word,  she  learned  to  look  on  life 
as  a  mere  showy  pageant,  in  which  she  was 
called  upon  to  enact  a  part,  and  to  put  forth  all 
her  enei-gies  in  order  to  render  that  part  strik- 
ing and  brilliant. 

Having  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  she  felt 
how  little  she  was  supported  in  the  struggle  by 
the  husband  whom  she  had  chosen.  h\  the  re- 
tirement of  the  country,  Mortimer  had,  to 
certain  degree,  maintained  some  sort  of  influ 
ence  over  her  mind  ;  she  despised,  but  never- 
theless she  feared  him,  weak  as  he  might  be ; 
she  was  compelled  to  respect  his  principles,  and 
to  admit  his  moral  worth  ;  but  in  town  he  had 
rapidly  degenerated  into  a  mere  frivolous  man 
of  fashion,  and  even  that  character  he  supported 
with  an  awkwardness  which  was  by  no  means 
lost  upon  her.  Conscious  that  he  was  laboring 
to  effect  a  purpose,  and  that  all  his  friendships 
and  courtesies  tended  to  the  same  end,  there 
was  no  freedom  or  spontaneit}'  even  in  his  fol- 
lies, and  he  was  aware  that  it  was  so.  Day 
after  day  he  saw  his  exertions  fail,  and  his  hopes 
wane,  and  consequently  the  worm  of  disappoint-  j 
ment  was  at  the  core  of  all  his  pleasures.  When 
alone  with  his  wife  he  was  morose,  and  some- 
times bitter ;  in  society  he  was  merely  reckless 
and  insignificant 

Here,  therefore,  the  ambition  of  Sybil  found 
no  answering  impulse,  and  thus  she  retired  into 
herself  to  gather  strength.  And  for  what?  She 
did  not  know — she  never  asked  herself  the 
question.  She  only  felt  that  she  was  like  the 
drowning  mariner,  who  clutches  at  every  pass- 
ing wave,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  bear  towards 
him  the  life-sustaining  plank  by  whose  help  he 
is  to  accomi)lish  his  jireservation. 

Mepliistophiles  never  murmured  a  more  slirew  J 
whisper  into  the  ear  of  the  devoted  Faust  than 


TIIE  RIYAL  BEAUTIES. 


181 


tflien  lie  suggested  the  wortlilessness  of  all  that 
ho  possessed,  aud  the  value  of  that  he  had  not 
al  tallied. 


CHAPTER  LIL 

Thus  were  things  situated  in  town,  -when 
wearied  by  the  perpetually-recurring  dinners 
at  -whieli  Mortimer  eolleeted  all  the  idle  and 
dissipated  men  of  his  set,  who  had  amused 
themselves  by  vaunting  their  interests  in  the 
very  quarters  where  he  had  been  so  long  solicit- 
ing the  constantly  delayed  appointment ;  Sybil, 
resolved  not  to  be  torn  for  ever  from  the  world 
in  which  she  delighted,  without  one  brilliant 
memory,  issued  without  consulting  her  husband 
upon  the  subject,  cards  for  a  ball,  in  which  she 
determined,  moreover,  to  excel  herself. 

It  is  true  that  her  list  of  female  associates  was 
sufficiently  limited,  but  as  a  stone  flung  into 
stagnant  water  not  only  creates  its  own  "circle, 
but  also  produces  other  radiations  beyond,  so 
she  at  once  perceived  that  she  might  simulta- 
Jieously  amuse  her  own  friends,  and  at  the  same 
time  afford  them  the  opportunity  of  obliging 
others.  Many  a  brilliant  ball-roo"m  is  filled  by 
the  same  device,  aye,  and  crowded.  Some 
attend,  as  they  declare,  merely  to  oblige  the 
person  by  whom  they  are  "bidden ;  others 
because  they  cannot  resist  pleasure,  offer  itself 
in  what  shape  it  may,  and  others,  again,  because 
they  are  curious  to  examine  an  i?itcrieur  of 
which  they  have  heard  so  much,  and  which 
they  never  intend  again  to  invade.  Moreover 
the  male  jjortion  of  the  guests  were  unexcep- 
tionable. Men  whom  every  body  knew,  or 
wished  to  know,  men  of  rank,  and  wit,  and 
fashion,  well-looking,  well-mannered,  and  well- 
bred. 

An  unlimited  order  to  the  most  eminent  up- 
holsterer of  the  daj-,  had  sufficed  to  render  the 
really  beautiful  mansion  of  Mrs.  Mortimer  a 
scene  of  light  and  splendor.  Turkish  tents 
opening  upon  miniature  gardens,  with  marble 
basins  flinging  up  their  slender  threads  of  water, 
which,  on  rising  into  the  perfumed  air,  parted 
ill  a  shower  of  silver  dust,  that  fell  like  dew 
upon  costly  exotics,  and  drew  out  all  their  per- 
fume; Moorish  chambers,   with  their  quaintly 

gilded  ornaments  and  velvet  ottomans;  a  vast 'nished  silver  lield  in  her  clasped  hands  tl 
conservatory  filled  with  tall  tropical  plants,  and' tremities  of  all  the  floating  draperies,  wliieli, 
only  lighted  at  intervals  by  painted  Chinese  forming  one  continued  iris  over  the  whole  dome 
lanterns,  which  left  all  in  a  voluptuous  twi-  of  the  roof,  were  ultimately  fastened  down 
light;  a  ball-room  blazing  with  tapers  of  pale  along  its  edge  by  a  slender  thread  of  the  same 
pink  wax;  a  staircase  garlanded  with  flowers,  glistening  metal,)  was  covered  with  the  traiis- 
and  bright  with  festoons  of  parti-colored  lamps  ;  'parent  folds  of  the  silken  cobwebs,  wliicli  tren>- 
enormous  mirrows,  cabinets  of  buhl,  japan,  and  ibled  and  heaved  with  every  breath  as  they  fell, 
ormolu  ;  vases  of  alabaster,  burning  within  their  j  tier  over  tier,  to  the  floor,  ])erfectly  unconfined, 
pi-ecious  cavities  the  most  subtle  scents ;  all,  in  while  on  the  carpet  of  white  velvet,  richly 
short,  which  luxury  could  invent,  or  wealth 'painted  with  groups  of  scattered  roses,  stood  a 
could  purchase,  was  lavished  for  one  brief  I  table  of  white  marble,  whose  pedestal  was  a 
evening  with  unsparing  hand.  Cupid  crowned  with  myrtle,  trampling  ujioii  an 

Probably  no  one  of  his  guests  was  half  so  I  hour-glass  and  a  scythe,  the  whole  artistically 
much  impressed  by  the  magnificence  of  the  1  wi'ougiit  in  silver,  as  was  also  the  lamp,  wrcat  lied 
■whole  scene  as  was  Mortimer  himself.  Sybil  [with  passion-flowers,  which,  with  a  few  newly- 
had  skilfully  availed  herself  of  his  temporary  j  gathered  roses,  and  a  coujde  of  fcatlu'r  fans, 
absence  from  town  to  accomplish  all  her  plans  shaped  like  wings,  were  arranged  upon  ita 
without  the  opposition  Avhich  she  foresaw  that  snowy  surface.  Two  chairs,  covered  wit,li 
they   would  otherwise  have  experienced,  and, silver  tissue,  in  the  form  of  couch-shells,  wer« 


thus  it  was  not  until  he  entered  his  own  house, 
after  a  quiet  dinner  at  his  club — which  his  wife 
had  forewarned  him  would  be  impracticable  at 
home — that  the  extent  of  her  vain  imprudence 
became  known  to  him. 

It  was,  however,  too  late  to  expostulate,  and, 
moreover,  no  where  could  he  find  Sybil.  He 
hurried  to  her  favorite  boudoir  with  a  cloud 
upon  his  brow,  but  after  having  with  some  dif- 
ficulty found  his  way  there,  so  "thoroughly  was 
the  interior  of  the  whole  mansion  metamoi»- 
phosed,  he  only  saw  himself  at  the  entrance  of 
an  Ottoman  tent  surrounded  by  a  low  divan 
covered  with  orange-colored  satin,  the  floor 
overlaid  by  a  gorgeous  carpet,  and  the  walls 
hung  with  white  Persian.  More  and  more  dis- 
concerted, he  retraced  his  steps,  resolved  to 
shut  himself  into  his  own  dressing-room  until 
the  arrival  of  the  guests  should  compel  him  to 
emerge,  but  in  such  a  hope  he  once  moi-e 
deceived  himself.  On  arriving  at  the  threshold 
he  discovered  that  the  door  had  been  removed, 
and  that  the  opening  was  now  veiled  only  by 
curtains  of  silk  gauze,  falling  one  over  the  other, 
and  all  differing  in  tint. 

Greatly  annoyed  on  finding  that  even  his  own 
peculiar  apartment  had  been  invaded — although 
it  need  scarcely  have  been  a  matter  of  surprise 
to  him  had  he  reflected  for  an  instant,  that 
Sybil,  who  had  suffered  such  an  intrusion  into 
her  own,  should  have  been  equally  unscrupu- 
lous as  regarded  her  husband — he  thrust  the 
gossamer  curtains  somewhat  roughly  aside  and 
entered,  in  order  to  satisfy  himself  to  what 
extent  his  personal  arrangements  had  suffered 
from  the  idle  folly  of  the  hour,  and  he  was 
almost  angry   to   find   that,   for  a  moment,  his 

itation  yielded  before  his  astonishmennt  and 
admiration. 

Never,  assuredly,  was  there  a  prettier  conceit 
The  idea  had  been  Sybil's,  and  the  fashionable 
artist  to  whom  it  had  been  imparted  had  worked 
it  out  to  perfection.  It  looked  like  the  airy 
realization  of  a  poet's  dream,  when  he  has  sunk 
into  slumber  with  passion  in  his  heart,  and  a 
song  upon  his  lips.  As  the  vapory  hangings 
fell  behind  the  intruder  into  this  nook  of  fairy- 
land, no  vestige  of  the  entrance  could  be  de- 
tected. The  whole  room,  from  the  cenli-e  of 
the  ceiling,  (where   a    winged   goddess   of  I)u»- 


TIIE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


placed  >  iside  the  table,  and  this  was  all.  It 
was  eviaent  that  no  ainuseinent  was  to  be  pur- 
sued in  this  uneai-thly-lookiug  temple  save  that 
of  conversation. 

Mortimer  stood  for  a  few  moments  entranced. 
He  had  sufficient  poetry  in  his  heart  to  appre- 
ciate the  calm,  luxurious,  dream-like  scene  be- 
fore him,  and  as  the  etherial  hangings  trembled 
beneath  his  breath,  he  forgot  for  a  few  brief 
instants  the  cost  at  which  they  had  been  so  skil- 
fully arranged. 

Soon,  however,  a  darker  reflection  crossed  his 
mind,  and  the  recklessness  of  Sybil,  as  it  forced 
itself  upon  his  memory,  recalled  him  to  other 
and  less  agreeable  sensations.  All  his  warnings, 
it  was  now  evident,  had  been  unavailing  ;  she 
was  coolly  preparing  his  ultimate  ruin,  in  order 

to  gratify  her  own  weak  vanity,  and  she  had, 'gratification  to  be  derived  by  the  mistress  of  a 
moreover,  condescended  to  take  advantage  of  stately  mansion,  on  seeing  her  spacious  saloons 
his  absence  from  his  home,  to  plunge  into  a  j  filled  by  a  glittering  crowd  to  whom  she  is  ut- 
vortex  of  extravagance  which  she  was  welLterly  unknown,  and  on  hearing,  in  her  very 
aware  that  he  must  disapprove,  and  would  have  presence,  the  insolent  criticisms  of  those  who 
forbidden.  have  thronged  her  rooms  to  feast  and   to  revel 

It  was  consequently  with  anything  rather  ( at  her  expense.  The  actual  pleasure  which  she 
than  a  smile  that  the  master  of  this  palace  of  |  experiences  on  being  presented  to  one  of  these 
pleasure,  which  was  still  loud  with  busy  voices  high-born,  and  hitherto  unknown  guests,  from 
and  hurrying  steps,  once  more  emerged  from  the  impertinent  stare  and  scarcely  perceptible 
what,  despite  its  beauty,  he  considered  as  his  bend  with  which  her  identity  is  recognised,  or 
d-secrated  dressing-room,  and  having  with  some  by  the  total  indifference  with  which,  when  they 
dittieultv  succeeded  in  finding  one  of  his  own  are  wearied  of  the  pleasure  that  she  has  gra- 
footmen,  was  conducted  to  a  small  apartment,  tuitously  afl^orded  them,  they  depart  one  after 
ipiMiing  from  the  servants' hall,  which  had  been  the  other,  reminding  their  personal  friends  of 


Lamerly  engaged  herself  for  sundry  German 
Grafiimen  iJiid  Italian  duchesses;  Mrs.Ba*bington 
was  strong  in  Spanish  donnas,  and  Iberian  fidal- 
gos,  and,  better  than  all,  the  diplomatist's  widow 
had  giddily  pledged  herself  for  a  foreign  ambas- 
sadress. 

As  regarded  the  male  portion  of  her  guest i^, 
Sybil  had  no   anxiety.     She  knew  her  powir. 
She  had  but  to  make  a  sign,  and  she  was  aware 
that  she  should   be  obeyed.     Were  her  friends    i 
only  faithful  and  zealous,  therefore,  her  proud-    > 
est  ambition  would  be  realised,  but,  neverthe- 
less, there  were  moments  in  which. a  feeling  of 
anxiety,  for   which   she   scorned   herself,   made    ' 
her  tremble  in  spite  of  all  her  self-possession. 

How  laughable  would  it  be,  were  it  not  so 
degrading  a  jest,  to  analyse  the  real  amount  of 


liiistily  prepared  for  him, 

His  valet  was  soon  in  attendance  ;  every  tem 


their  common  engagements,  making  social    ar- 
•angements     among    themselves,    and     final'" 


pnrary  arrangement  had  been  judiciously  made  sweeping  down  the  illuminated  staircase  to  their 
for  his  comfort;  a  cheerful  fire  blazed  upon  the  carriages,  without  even  the  courtesj-  of  a  part- 
hearth,  and  could  he  have  divested  himself  of  ing  salutation  to  their  exhausted  hostess, 
all  thoughts  of  the  future,  he  would  soon  have  And  it  was  to  secure  so  questionable  a  tri- 
reeovered  his  equanimity.  But,  alas!  the  most  umph,  and  so  equivocal  a  gratification  as  this, 
painful  reflections  are  always  the  most  intrusive  that  the  proud  Sybil  had  subjected  herself  to 
also,  and  as  he  seated  himself  in  his  accustomed  possible  mortification,  and  her  husband  to  in- 
chair,  and  took  up  a  book  in  order  to  conceal  his  evitable  embarrassment ; — to  parade  her  vanity 
chagrin  while  his  man  gave  the  last  finishing  for  a  few  hours  in  all  its  panoply  of  luxury'  and 
stroke  to  his  preparations,  the  words  danced  recklessness,  and  to  be  the  theme  of  gossip  for 
b.'fore  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  only  visions  of  un-  a  week.  Yes,  even  so  it  was ;  this  had  been  her 
paid  bills  and  enforced  mortgages.  |  empty    and    paltry  day-dream    from    the   very 

Sybil,  meanwhile,  was  radiant  with  happiness  period  of  her  marriage,  and,  despite  her  occa- 
and  triumph.  She  had  resolved  not  to  meet  sional  misgivings,  her  heart  beat  high,  andhor 
hi-r  husband  until  she  was  protected  from  his  cheek  flushed  with  excitement 
reproaches  by  the  presence  of  her  guests,  and  Even  little  Eva  was  forgotten,  and  not  once, 
Thus  she  had  the  whole  long,  glorious  night  be-  during  that  busy  day,  did  she  even  see  her 
fore  her.  "After  which,"  she  whispered  to  mother.  But  what  then  ?  Had  not  that  mother 
lierself  with  a  smile,  as  she  turned  from  her  been  fully  engaged  in  her  domestic  duties  ?  Had 
l<n)king-glass  to  examine  more  minutely  than  she  she  "not  unweariedly  superintended  every  ar- 
h.'ul  yet  done  the  snowy  dress  which  "her  maid  rangement,  and  regulated  every  movement  of 
had  spread  out  in  all  its  graceful  amplitude  the  anxious  and  noisy  crowd  bj-  which  her  house 
upon  the  bed  ;  "  Advienne  yue  pourra  ;  the  deed  was  invaded?  Certain  it  is,  that  as  the  last 
will  be  done,  and  I  shall  have  shown  the  envi-jlamp  was  lighted,  the  last  workman  dismissed, 
ous  women  who  affect  to  scorn  me  that  they  and  she  stood  before  her  Psyche  in  a  snowy 
have  not  indulged  their  prudery  without  a  i  dress  of  white  crape,  looped  with  clusters  of  the 
sacrifice  !"  wild   apple-bloom,  and  her  high   smooth  brow 

And  for  whom  and  what  had  the  selfish  and  cinctured  by  a  garland  of  the  same  graceful 
heartless  woman,  who  thus  exulted  in  her  own  (blossoms,  no  feeling  of  compunction  for  any 
improvidence,  committed  so  disgraceful  a  folly  ?  dutj'  unfulfilled  dimmed  the  lustre  of  her  ejes, 
Slie  scarcely  knew  herself  It  is  true  that  her  j  or  blenched  the  glow  upon  her  cheek, 
intimates  had  glibly  run  over  a  long  list  of  well-  It  was  fortunate  for  the  poor  child,  whose 
sounding  names,  and  announc<'d  to  her  guests  loving  heart  was  already  susceptible  of  neglect, 
of  no  common  station.  But  would  this  promise  that  Mortimer  even  amid  his  annoyance  and 
be   fulfilled f     Lady  Clara  was   rich   in  French   anxiety,    had    been    more    considerate,   and    he 


:K)untesse3,  baronesses,  and  marchionesses:  Mrs.  J  could  have  chosen  no  better  antidote  to  his  ex- 


THE   RIVAL  BE.\UTIES. 


nspCTated  feelings  than  the  visit  which  he  payed 
to  the  nursery  before  he  commenced  his  toih-tte 
for  the  evening.  Eva  was  asleep  whee  he  en- 
tered, and  tears  were  hanging  upon  her  long 
eyelashes.  As  he  bent  over  her,  she  looked 
like  a  eherub  which  had  wept  itself  to  rest 
over  the  follies  of  the  world. 

'^  ;Miss  Eva  has  been  crying  for  you  and  her 
mamma,  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Harris  officiously,  as 
fihe  heard  her  master  sigh  on  detecting  the 
tell-tale  tears;  "  1  thought  I  should  never  have 
got  her  to  sleep.  However,  she  is  fast  enough 
now,  and  it  will  be  all  right  when  she  wakes 
to-morrow." 

"  And  did  not  Mrs.  Mortimer  see  her  this 
evening  ?"  asked  Frederic  in  an  unsteady  accent ; 
"  not  see  her  for  a  moment  before  she  was  put 
to  bed  ?" 

"  Laws,  no,  Sir,  my  mistress  hasn't  had  a  mo- 
ment of  time  all  day.  Poor,  dear  lady,  such  a 
deal  as  she  has  had  to  look  after!  Jso  wonder, 
Sir,  that  she  couldn't  come  up  stairs  to  Miss 
Eva,  for  she  hasn't  even  had  her  drive." 
•  "That  is  conclusive,"  said  Mortimer  with  a 
bitter  smile. 

"  In  course.  Sir,"  was  the  ready  reply,  "  and 
I  tried  to  explain  this  to  the  dear  child.but  she 
is  too  young  yet  to  understand  such  things." 
"  Probably." 

"  And  so  poor  dear,  she  would  fret,  but  as  I 
.Bnid  before.  Sir,  she'll  be  all  right  to-morrow." 

"  I  wonder,"  murmured  Mortimer  to  himself, 
"  whether  the  dreams  of  children  of  this  tender 
age  are  troubled  by  the  sorrows  of  the  daj-." 

'•  That  they  are,  Sir,  for  sure,"  exclaimed  the 
quiek-eared  nurse ;  "  only  to  hear  how  Miss 
Eva  has  sighed  in  her  sleep  to-night,  you  would 
Jjnow  it  directly." 

"Ha!"  said  the  fond  father  with  a  start, 
"•then  she  sliall  have  no  more  such  dreams.  ' 
Eva!  My  darling!  Will  you  awake,  and  bid  | 
good-night  to  papa  ?" 

The  little  girl  opened  her  large  blue  eyes, ' 
gazed  for  a  moment  around  her,  bewildered  by 
tlie  glare  of  the  candles,  then  smiled,  and  ex- 
tended her  dimpled  arms  to  her  father.  Morti- 
mer caught  her  to  his  breast,  but  as  he  clasped 
her,  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  came  over  the 
only  half-awakened  child,  and  she  burst  into  a 
passionate  fit  of  grief. 

"  Papa,  dear  papa,"  were  the  only  articulate 
sounds  which  slie  uttered  amid  her  sobs,  but 
they  were  all  that  the  heart  of  Sybil's  husband 
coveted  at  that  moment.  His  child  loved  him  ^ 
— clung  to  him — wept  over  his  absence — joyed 
at  his  appi'oach.  Life  was  not  yet  a  blank.  He 
forgot  his  gilded  saloons,  his  vanished  hopes. 
Lis  gnawing  anxieties,  and  in  five  minutes  he 
■was  deep  in  play  with  the  now  happy  Eva  upon  , 
his  knee,  smoothing  down  her  glossy  curls,  and  ] 
Bunning  himself  in  her  large  eager  eyes.  j 

An  hour  passed  by,  and  as  the  child  had  be- 
trayed no  symptoms  of  weariness,  Mortimer  i 
still  lent  himself  to  all  her  pretty  caprices,  and  ^ 
listened  with  delight  to  her  clear  joyous  laugh- 
ter. It  might  be  a  weakness  thus"  to  lose  all 
memory  of  the  pomp  and  pageantry  which 
awaited  liim  below  stairs,  but  certain  il  is,  that  i 
he  had  never  bestowed  a  thought  upon  the  i 
matter,  until  a  discreet  signal  at  the  door  warn-  [ 


ed  him  of  tlio  presence  of  his  valet,  who  r.'^ 
jK'ctfully  suggi-stcd  the  necessity  of  his  nol. 
furtlier  delaying  the  duties  of  his  toilette.  Eva 
pouted,  but  slie  no  longer  wept.  When  her 
fatlier  iej)laeea  her  in  her  little  bed,  she  obedi- 
ently witiulrew  her  clinging  arms  from  his 
neck,  and  with  a  last  low  murmured  "  Dear 
papa!"  and  a  long,  long  kiss,  suffered  him  to 
leave  her.  ^ 

Ere  long,  carriage  after  carriage  OTove  to  the 
door,  and  deposited  a  bevy  of  pretty  women 
and  fashionable  idlers  in  tiie  illuminated  hall. 
The  rooms  filled  rapidly,  and  as  Sybil  stood 
near  the  entrance  of  the  principal  saloon,  and 
received  her  guests  with  the  higli-bred  self-pos- 
session for  which  she  was  remarkable,  many  a 
haughty  eye  rested  upon  her  for  an  instant  in 
wondering  curiosity.  For  the  moment  she  had 
disarmed  criticism.  The  elegant  simplicity  of 
her  dress,  rendered  the  more  conspicuous  by  the 
magnificence  with  which  she  was  surrounded, 
astonished  those  who  came  to  smile  or  to  sneer 
at  the  parvcnue  who  filled  her  rooms  by  the 
agency  of  her  acquaintance,  for  it  was  evident 
at  once  that  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  no  novice. 
There  was  even  an  affectation  of  indifference  to 
the  eonuuents  of  all  around  her  in  the  studied 
plainness  of  her  attire,  to  wiiieli  no  single  orna- 
ment of  any  description  had  been  appended, 
and  a  consciousness  in  her  whole  deportment  of 
the  uselessness  of  such  adjuncts  to  heighten  her 
superlative  beauty,  which  betrayed  the  perfect 
woman  of  the  world,  careless  oV  disdainful  of 
the  empty  sarcasms  of  the  impertinent. 

Surprise  followed  upon  surprise.  No  incon- 
gruity was  perceptible  in  the  splendor  of  her 
princely  saloons ;  no  paltry  expedients,  no 
Ignorant  deficiencies  could  be  detected  ;  all  was 
perfect,  and  a  low  murmur  of  admiration,  re- 
luctantly extorted,  and  therefore  the  better  ap- 
preciated, ere  long  met  h<5r  ear  on  all  sides. 
Noble  and  sonorous  names  were  declaimed  in 
her  ear ;  jewels  flashed,  and  feathers  waved  be- 
fore her  eyes ;  that  sweet  and  subtle  perfume 
with  which  a  crowd  of  fair  and  fashionable 
women  always  freight  the  atmosj)here  about 
them,  mingled  deliciouslj-  with  the  breathings 
of  flowers  and  the  stream  of  costly  essences, — 
and  still  Sybil  remained  calm  and  unmoved  ;  no 
heightened  color  flushed  over  her  cheek,  no  tii- 
umphant  light  danced  in  her  largo  dark  eyes. 
She  was  only  realising  the  vision  of  3-ears,  iind 
not  a  pulse  quickened  as  her  smile  greeted  eaeli 
new  arrival. 

At  length  her  first  duty  was  fulfilled;  the 
strains  of  music  were  audible  from  the  ball- 
room; the  confusion  bad  in  some  degree  disen- 
tangled itself;  there  were  groups  of  talker.-, 
solitary  gazers,  smiling  couples  e.stablislie. I  ujiou 
sofas  in  confidential  tcte-a-trte  ;  gray-liea<l(d  no- 
bles and  overdressed  matrons  establislied  al  the 
card-tables;  in  short,  the  skein  was  unravelled, 
and  Sybil  had  time  and  opportunity  to  think 
only  of  herself. 

Some  scores  of  her  guests  had  no  sooner  made 
their  bow  to  their  hostess  upon  the  tlii-esliohl, 
than  they  had  utterly  forgotten  "  what  manner 
of  woman"  she  was,  and  umong  tlies<'  were  mo- 
thers, who  had  brought  their  young  and  beuuli- 
ful  daughters  under  a  strange  roof,  simply  b«>- 


184 


THE   RIVAL  BILiUTIES. 


cause  they  knew  that  there  they  would  meet 
once  more  with  a  timiJ  or  undecided  admirer, 
and  that  as  the  season  was  drawing  to  its  close, 
every  opportunity  of  collision  had  consequent- 
ly become  tenfold  more  desirable  :  young  wives, 
weary  of  home,  and  greedy  of  admiration,  and 
fair  girls  whose  hearts  beat  high  and  whose 
eyes  souglit  the  floor,  at  everj-  name  which  was 
announce<|^  while  caring  only  to  distinguish  ^ 
one.  I 

To  tiiese,  and  such  as  these,  the  donor  of  the 
fete  was  a  personage  too  unimportant  to  occupy 
their  thoughts  beyond  a  moment  They  had 
doeper,  or  at  least  more  personal  interests,  and 
thus,  as  Sybil  glided  through  her  costly  rOoms, 
slie  did  not  escape  the  penalty  of  her  weakness. 

"  Wliat  improvidence !"  said  a  portly  old 
ladv,  beside  whose  chair  she  was  compelled  toi 
pause  for  a  moment,  the  pressure  of  the  throng 
rendering  it  impossible  for  her  to  advance;! 
"And  I  understand  these  people  are  nobodies ! 
It  is  really  a  practical  impertinence.  What 
would  they  saj-  to  this  in  your  belle  France, 
Madame  la  Baronne  ?" 

"  Ma  foi,  ma  chere,"  replied  a  small,  meagre, 
copper-colored  figure  beside  her,  as  she  inhaled 
a  huge  pinch  of  snuflf  from  an  enamelled  and 
diamond  studded-box ;  "  It  is  only  your  own 
England  of  liberty  which  can  show  such  anom- 
alies as  tliis.  Le  chcr  Etnpereur  was  roturier 
enough  in  one  sense,  but  even  then,  in  order  to 
elbow  nous  autres  so  familiarly,  it  was  needful 
to  be  a  celebrife  of  some  sort.  Noblesae  dc  robe, 
or  d'  ipee  or  artiste,  or  something  more  than  a 
mere  rentier;  Ah  bah!  the  good  old  daj's  are 
over." 

"With  some  difficulty  Sybil  at  last  passed  on. 

"  But  should  I  be  presented  to  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer, mamma,"  said  a  lovely  girl  deprecatingly, 
as  tlis  hostess  was  once  more  stopped  by  the 
broad  shoulders  and  jewelled  turban  of  a  volum- 
inous dowager ;  "  What  am  I  to  do  !" 

"  Be  civil,  Honoria,  of  course,  but  no  more. 
You  did  not  come  here  to  form  an  acquaintance 
with  this  person,  but  to  meet  Lord  Alfred. 
Once  for  all  I  tell  you,  child,  that  there  is  some 
strange  storj'  about  her,  and  that  is  enough. 
All  tiiat  you  have  to  do  is  to  remember  why  I  \ 
brouglit  you  here,  and  to  make  a  better  use  of 
the  opportunity  than  you  have  done  of  others 
which  I  have  given  you.  Recollect  that  this  is 
your  second  season."  j 

Once  more  Sybil  moved  on.  I 

"  And  Saviatti  really  told  you  this  story,  and 
vouched  for  it  ?"  were  the  next  articulate  sounds  '„ 
wliich  met  her  ear,  as,  partially  concealed  by 
the  di-apories  of  a  window,  she  stood  behind  a 
group  of  young  men.  "  Upon  my  conscience, 
tliejest  was  a  good  one!  And  so  Trevor  was 
done  ?" 

"  Aye,  thoroughly,  but  he  only  lost  his  money. 
Wliat  say  j'ou  to  tiie  simple  D.imon  who  lilce  a 
silly  sheep  as  he  was,  stepped  into  the  breaeli?" 

There  was  a  light,  mocking  chorus  of  laugh- 
ter. 

"  Nevertheless,  she  is  a  monstrous  fine  wo- 
man," remarked  one  of  the  party. 

"Glorious!"  was  the  ready  response,  "In- 
comparable for  a  wife  a  la  Regence,  but " 

"Suffer  me  to  pass,  gentlemen,"  said  Sybil j 


haughtily,  as  she  emerged  from  her  conceal- 
ment, and  stood  before  them.  "  My  duties  as  a 
hostess  compel  me  to  disturb  your  conversa- 
tion." 

A  general  but  silent  bow  succeeded,  and,  as 
the  group  made  way,  Mrs.  Mortimer  passed 
through  it  with  the  air  of  an  empress. 

Iler  comparative  solitude  was,  however,  now 
over,  and  even  although  her  spirjt  burnt  within 
her  at  the  insults  to  wliieh  she  had  been  subject 
ed,  she  was  too  thoroughly  mistress  of  iier  emo 
tion  to  suffer  one  trace  of  displeasure  to  become 
apparent. 

And  still  the  revel  progressed,  the  lights  shone 
brightly,  the  music  swept  like  speaking  odors 
tlirough  the  vast  apartments;  fond  vows,  and 
manj-  false  as  fond,  were  whispered  in  tiie  dim 
conservatory;  hundreds  exelianged  owners  at 
the  card  tables ;  the  luxurious  supper-rootli  was 
perpetually  filled  and  emptied  of  its  votaries, 
and  daylight,  at  length,  struggled  to  penetrate 
through  the  satin  folds  of  the  jealous  curtains. 


CHAPTER  LIIL 

Mortimer  had  staked  and  lost  heavily.  He 
dreamt  for  several  hours  t  liat  he  had  found  a 
couuter-inflyence  to  that  of  his  wife,  but  he  de- 
ceived himself;  her  eyes  liad  never  beguiled 
him  more  surely  to  his  ruin  than  did  the  cards* 
that  night.  Eager  to  forget,  and  equally  eager 
to  enjoy,  he  had  readily  fallen  into  a  snare,  and 
surrounded  by  a  bev\'  of  his  friends — those 
friends  wlio  are  ever  ready  to  fool  to  the  top  uf 
his  bent  Vamphytrion  oii  Von  dine — he  iiad,  alt  or 
a  score  of  desperate  plunges,  become  their  prey 

In  vain  did  his  brow  burn,  and  his  eye  flash. 
Upon  whom  could  he  revenge  his  defeat  ?  Those 
about  him  were  honorable  men,  a  sliade  or  two 
more  skilful,  perhaps,  than  himself  with  the 
cards  and  the  dice-box,  but  still  lionorable  men, 
and  above  suspicion. 

Eva  was  asleep  in  her  little  bed  above  stairs 
— asleep,  with  a  happy  smile  upon  her  lips. 
Occasionally,  as  a  louder  strain  than  usual  burst 
from  the  orchestra,  and  came  sighing  along  the 
staii'-cases  and  passages,  even  to  tlie  remote 
nursery  whose  door  had  been  flung  back  by  the 
undernurse  during  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Harris, 
(who  had  abandoned  her  cliarge  in  order  to  se- 
cure her  share  in  the  dissipation  of  the  house- 
keeper's room,)  and  stole,  like  a  wandering  spi^ 
rit,  to  the  snow-cuitained  couch  of  the  slumber- 
ing oherub,  she  stretched  fortli  iier  dimpled 
arms,  in  a  pleasant  dream,  and  niurniunng : 
"Papa,  dear  papa,"  again  sank  to  rest. 

Sybil  had  left  the  ball-room  on  the  arm  of  Sit 
Horace  Trevor,  and  was  listening  witli  delight 
to  the  enthusiastic  encomiums  which  lie  lavisheti 
upon  her  taste,  and  the  jierfeet  harmony  of  all 
her  arrangements.  It  soothed  iier  to  liear  tiiat, 
by  one  at  least  of  her  guests  slie  was  ajipreciat/ 
ed,  but  the  one  spot  of  flame  still  burned  ami 
festered  upon  her  spirit.  No,  she  had  not  i-t> 
venged  herself  upon  a  world  that  she  despised 
Even  bencatii  her  own  stately  roof,  among  the 
flowers  that  she  had  wreatheil,  the  luxiiiy  that 
she  had  created,  the  haruiony  that  she  liad  in- 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


vnkod,  she  knew  that  the  world  which  she  had 
r.solveil  to  subjugate  paid  hor  back  scorn  for 
sooru,  but  this  conviction  had  not  humbled  her, 
it  bad  only  made  her  desperate. 

"  Wealtii  is  a  wizard,"  she  answered,  with  a 
ccfntemptuous  smile,  to  one  of  his  remarks. 
"Tlie  wife  of  a  soap-boiler  could  have  done  all 
this,  aj-e,  and  more,  had  her  resources  served 
her;  biit  come  this  way,  and  I  belio\e  that  I  can 
show  you  something  which  no  mere  gold  could 
liave  created,"  and,  as  she  spoke,  she  led  him 
towards  the  gauze-screened  cabinet  which  has 
be^  already  described. 

"Just  as  I  could  have  wished,"  she  said, 
rather  speaking  to  herself  than  addressing  her 
I  companion.  "  The  giddy  fools  have  not  hitlierto 
i  discovered  this  retreat,  and  yet  it  is  the  pearl 
i  of  the  huge  oyster  which  I  have  opened  for  their 
I  mnusenient.  What  say  you  to  this  fairy -nook, 
i  Sir  Horace  ?" 

I  "  What  can  I  say  ?"  murmured  Trevor  afler  a 
]  momentary  pause,  during  which  his  quick  eye 
liad  glanced  from  floor  to  ceiling.  "  What  can  I 
say?"  he  repeated  as  they  advanced  towards  the 
table,  followed  in  tlieir  progress  by  a  moving 
vapor  of  gauze,  which  floated  above  and  about 
them,  as  the  tinted  clouds  undulate  beneath  the 
i  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  "  save  that  the  shrine 
!  16  worthy  of  the  goddess  ?" 
i  Sybil  smiled  as  she  took  possession  pf  one  of 
\the  vacant  chairs,  while  Trevor  established  him- 
self in  the  other,  after  having  drawn  it  to  her 
lelde. 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  poetical,  more  dream- 
like," he  pursued,  lifting  one  of  the  light  fans 
'.  from  the  table.  "  AVljy  should  it  be  but  the 
mere  vision  of  a  night,  to  be  subjected  to-morrow 
to  the  rude  hands  of  hirelings,  and  desecrated 
by  vulgar  intrusion?" 

"  Learn  like  me,"  said  his  companion,  "  to  live 
4n  the  present,  to  leave  the  future  to  its  own 
developments.  Do  you  know,  Trevor,  that  the 
consciousness  that  you  would  appreciate  this 
graceful  phantasy  siifliced  to  me,  and  I  cared 
little  though  it  should  be  overlooked,  as  you  see 
It  has  been,  by  the  soulless  beings  who  have 
passed  it  by  to  bask  in  light,  and  to  bewilder 
themselves  by  noise." 

Ab  she  ceased  speaking,  Sybil  turned  with  one 
df  her  most  radiant  looks  towards  her  listener. 
She  anticipated  some  acknowledgment,  but  for 
a  moment  he  made  no  reply;  his  e}-es  were 
riveted  upon  the  pretty  plaything,  composed  of 
marabouts,  and  dusted  with  silver,  which  lie 
was  twirling  in  his  hand. 

Tlie  silence  was  only  temporary,  however,  and 
it  Tvas  abruptly  broken. 

"  Sybil,"  murmured  the  baronet,  without 
changing  his  position,  or  abstaining  from  his 
Inconsequent  occupation,  "  I  had  no  idea  that 
Mortimer  had  either  taste  or  nerve  for  high 
play." 

"  And  has  he  ?"  asked  the  worldly  wife  in  au 
accent  of  the  most  supreme  indifference. 

"  His  prowess  of  to-night  would  seem  to  imply 
as  much.  Wlieu  1  left  the  card-room  he  was  a 
heavy  loser." 

"  He  should  not  have  ventured  beyond  his 
depth,"  was  the  quiet  retort,  and  the  words 
once  u1  tered,  Sybil  began,  in  her  turn,  to  amuse 


herself  by  collecting  and  clustering  the  scatter- 
ed roses  wliicli  Avere  strewn  over  tlie  table. 

Trevor  glanced  at  her  as  she  leaned  forward, 
and  never  liad  he  thought  her  so  beautiful.  The 
opaque  white  of  her  dross  contrasted  in  a  strik- 
ing manner  with  the  glistering  silver  of  the  chair 
on  which  slie  sat.  A  slight  languor,  the  result 
alike  of  physical  fatigue  and  concealed  mortifi- 
cation, hung  upon  iier  eyelids,  and  softened  the 
whole  expression  of  her  face.  Her  very  move- 
ments were  subdued.  The  moment,  as' he  felt, 
was  propitious. 

"  Mortimer  was  rash,  at  such  a  time,  and  in 
such  company,  to  tempt  fortune,"  he  continued, 
as  he  drew  one  of  the  roses  from  her  hand,  and 
after  pressing  it  to  his  lips,  placed  it  in  his 
bosom  ;  "  but  some  men  arc  fated  to  commence 
every  undertaking  with  the  left  iiand.  If  you 
do  not  exert  your  influence,  he  will  soon  under- 
mine his  fortune." 

"  What  if  no  such  influence  existed!" 

"  Coiite  des  Fees — Impossible  !" 

Sybil  playfully  shook  her  head.*" 

"  Is  not  tlie  man  human?" 

"  Very — I  must  not  sufl'er  you  to  wrong  him, 
even  by  a  doubt.  Does  he  not  live?  breathe! 
move?  frequent  his  clubs?  and  pay  his  trades- 
men's bills?" 

"  But  should  the  ruin  come,  Sybil  ?" 

"  Once  more,  I  say,  leave  the  future  to  its 
own  resources.  Where  do  you  spend  the  sum- 
mer?" 

"  In  Italy,  or at  Wcstrum." 

"  Oh,  not  at  Westrum,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mor- 
timer, startled  out  of  her  habitual  composure; 
"  we  are  to  have  maison  close  during  the  next 
nine  months." 

"  Then,  decidedly,  it  must  be  Italy." 

"  And  who  are  your  party  ?" 

"  I  am  weary  of  joint-stock  tours,  where  the 
sum-total  is  composed  of  insignificant  units.  I 
covet  a  single  companion,  and  will  admit  no 
more." 

"  Be  wary,  then,"  said  Sybil,  almost  with  a 
sigh;  "you  do  not  know  the  misery  of  an  ill 
chosen  and  enforced  companionship  with  one 
solitary  individual." 

"  I  can  imagine  it." 

"  Ko  doubt,"  was  the  rejomder,  as  the  eyes  of 
Trevor  flashed  witli  a  sudden  light ;  "  but  imagi- 
nation is  not  experience." 

"  I  shall  not  tempt  that  experience.  I  shall 
act  upon  sure  grounds." 

"  We  are  all  wise  in  our  own  conceit' 

"  I  know  it,  but  the  wisdom  rarely  extends 
itself  beyond  that  conceit.     I  will  be  wiser." 

"  But  why  leave  England,  wiicre  you  have  so 
many  resources?" 

"  Because  I  am  sick  of  the  folly  and  selfish- 
ness of  all  about  me.  I  jiave  lived  for  pleasure 
lone  enougli,  and  will  henceforward  live  only 
for  nappiness." 

"  Then,  after  all  your  disclaimers,  you  are 
really  going  to  marry  ?" 

"  You  are  epigrammatic,  Mrs.  Mortimer." 

"  But  is  it  not  so?" 

"  And  what  if  it  were?" 

"  You  will  make  a  bad  husband,  Trevor." 

"  Do  jou  think  so?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 


186 


TUE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


"  And  why  ?" 

'•  Because  you  detest  coercion,  and  were  you 
mated  with  an  angel,  jou  would  quarrel  with 
her  wings  because  she  bad  allowed  you  to  clip 
them." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,"  conceded  Sir 
Iloi-ace,  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon  her  face  ; 
"  perhaps  1  inight  despise  her,  when  1  remem- 
bered that  she  had  weakly  resigned  the  beauti- 
ful and  glorious  prerogative  of  freedom,  and 
meanly  chained  herself  to  the  steps  of  the  altar 
Oil  winch  she  should  have  towered  as  the  idol ; 
that  she  had,  for  a  mere  puerile  clinging  to  the 
convictions  of  a  society  which  possessed  no  right 
— and  perhaps  as  little  inclination— to  dictate 
Iier  actions,  tamely  scattered  upon  the  earth  the 
leaves  of  tlie  roses  with  which  she  should  have 
cj'owned  herself." 

"  You  justify  yourself  like  a  libertine." 
"  The  word  is  sufficiently  comprehensive,  at 
all  events."  v 

"  Is  it  not  applicable?  What  can  I  under- 
stand, but  that  you  contemplate  the  companion- 
ship of  a  mistress?" 

"  You  take  strange  liberties  with  our  barba- 
rous vernacular  to-night,  fair  Sybil.  However, 
in  one  sense,  I  admit  the  term,  unpoetical  as  it 
is.  Yes,  the  partner  of  my  wanderings  beneath 
the  blue  skies  and  flowery  bowers  of  Italy,  and 
wheresoever  else  her  good  pleasure  may  direct 
iny  footsteps,  even  though  it  should  be  beyond 
tlie  cataracts  of  the  Nile,  or  to  the  sandy  deserts 
of  mysterious  Africa,  shall,  indeed,  be  the  very 
mistress  of  my  soul — the  supreme  sovereign  of 
my  destin}'.  I  will  have  no  will,  no  wish,  no 
existence,  save  in  her." 

'•  Beware  of  such  utter  self-abnegation ;  she 
may  deceive  you." 

"  I  have  no  such  fear :  I  am  fore-armed." 
"  Bj'  what  occult  power?" 
"  By  my  love — my  claim — my — I  will  echo 
your  own  words — my  perfect  self-abnegation.    I 
could  have  no  better  safeguard." 

"  You  are  a  happy  man,  even  in  your  vplun- 
tary  delusion." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  am  not  deluded — or — should 
it,  indeed,  be  so,  Sybil — " 

Mrs.  Mortimer  started,  and  her  cheek  burned, 
fthe  turned  away;  she  would  have  spoken,  but 
^e  could  not  control  her  voice. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Sybil,"  said  Sir  Horace  gain- 
ing courage  from  her  visible  confusion,  and,  as 
ho  spoke,  he  grasped  her  hand,  and  retained  it 
despite  her  struggle  to  free  herself  from  the 
clasp;  "you  are  not  happy.  Remember  you 
are  not  the  acquaintance  of  yesterday,  and  that 
our  hearts  sjioke  audibly  years  ago.  I  love  you 
— I  know  all  the  paltry  and  pitiful  restraints  of 
your  present  position.  To-night,  you  are  the 
queen  of  a  biilliant circle — tlie  admired  and  the 
envied  mistress  of  a  fairy  palace,  but  tlie  night, 
■wiredraw  it  as  jou  may,  can  only  last  some 
three  liours  longer,  and  then  comes  to-morrow — 
to-morrow  with  an  irritated  and  reproachful 
liusband,  who,  forgetting  his  own  imprudence 
at  the  gaming-table,  will  visit  upon  you  the  re- 
sults of  an  improvidence  to  which  his  fortune  is 
by  no  means  adequate.  Look  at  the  floating  of 
th<'  liglit  draperies  which  are  heaving  about 
jmi  as  your  struggle  to  escape  my  hold ;  to- 


morrow the  hammer  of  the  workman,  a  fcT 
nails  withdrawn,  and  a  few  sturdy  blows,  wil 
reduce  all  their  gracefulness  into  a  heap  of  ragt 
You  will  be  once  more  alone  with  an  angry  am  « 
resentful  husband,  in  a  noisy  and  ungenial  home 
and  after  that — for  more  remains  behind,  Sybi 
— after  that  you  have  a  long  and  dreary  per 
spective  before  you,  to  which  you  cannot,  yoi 
shall  not  tamely  yiold.  Westnim,  with,  as  yoi 
have  already  confessei.  closed  doors,  a  dream 
ing  mother,  and  a  sulking  husband  !  And  i 
this  to  be  the  end  of  all,  Sybil?  Was  it  to  fulfi 
such  a  destiny  as  this  that  nature  made  you  ) 
mark  for  admiration  and  worship?  That  yoi 
were  gifted  with  talents  that  dazzle,  with  a  wi 
that  fascinates,  and  with  a  mind  which  can  ap 
predate  and  s}'mpathise  with  all  that  is  gram 
and  beautiful?" 

"  Enough,  Sir  Horace,  enough." 

"  Yet  must  you  hear  more,"  relentlessly  puf ; 
sued  her  tempter,  "  for  I  have  resolved  b 
convince  your  reason.  For  what,  and  why,  d( 
you  willingly  and  wilfully  bow  your  prouc 
neck  to  such  a  yoke  ?  To  gratify  the  prejudice; 
of  an  exacting  and  misjudging  world  which  yoi 
would  elevate  into  a  censor  ?  Nature,  natun 
has  been  your  benefactress ;  it  is  her,  and  he 
alone,  to  whom  you  owe  allegiance  ;  the  worh 
has  to  you  been  only  a  stepdame,  or  you  wouU, 
not  be  to-^ay  the  wife  of  Mortimer — of  a  mat 
who  cannot  comprehend  you,  but  who  wear 
you  as  the  ignorant  par  venue  wears,  her  diamon( 
necklace — not  with  an  appreciation  of  its  rea 
brilliancy,  but  with  a  vulgar  consciousness  tha 
it  is  an  object  of  envy.  What  have  tiie  refine(; 
and  town-bred  SybilDelamere  and  the  countr;  i 
squire,  whose  soul  is  in  his  acres — what  haV'  I 
they,  I  ask,  what  can  they  have,  in  common  I  I 
As  yet  you  have  blinded  yourself  to  this  trutbi  i 
for  as  yet  you  have,  not  been  utterly  flunij 
upon  his  insignificance  for  companionship  anr  i 
sympathy  ;  he  has  left  the  reins  loose,  and  th  r 
bit  has  not  galled  you,  but  you  are  ahead;' 
warned  that  the  scene  and  the  system  are  hot) 
about  to  change." 

"  Sir  Horace,  I  will  hear  no  more." 

"  Only  one  last  appeal — Sybil,  divine  Sybil , 
Be  at  last  just  to  yourself  You  once  love<: 
me,  and  there  are  yet  moments  in  which  I  fanc;J 
that  I  can  detect  some  evidence  that  you  lov 
me  still.  I  offer  to  you  the  devotion  of  a  life  ' 
the  resources  of  an  ample  fortune  ;  an  e.xistenci 
of  splendor  and  indulgence  ;  the  undying  ferv»', 
of  a  passion  which  you  alone  have  been  able  t 
awaken — S}bil,  do  I  indeed  plead  in  vain  ?" 

Mrs.  Mortimer  strove  to  rise,  but  her  con: 
panion  was  already  kneeling  beside  her,  aiv 
his  grasp  was  strong  upon  her  dress. 

"  Are  you  not  aware.  Sir  ?"  she  asked,  wit' 
flashing  eyes,  "  that  you  are  urging  me  to  dii 
honor  ?"  , 

"  Sybil,"  murmured  Sir  Horace  ;  "  your  ea 
is  quick,  and  your  eye  keen  ;  has  not  the  rev£ 
of  to-night,  held  in  your  own  saloons,  pi-ovida- 
by  your  own  gold,  created  by  your  own  tastt 
tauglit  you  to  despise  so  poor  a  cliimera ' 
There  are  noble  dames  yonder,  rustling  theii 
satins,  waving  their  plumes,  and  parading  tliei 
magnificent  nothingness — but  is  one  of  ther 
at  your  side  f     Has  one  of  them   claimed  com 


JTHE  RIVAL  BEAUTIE& 


187 


artionsliip  witli  you  ?  Have  you  met  respect, 
r  oven  consideration  from  one  of  the  haughty 
ves  wliieii  Imve   fastened  admiringly  upon  the 


."'■'t.raudv   toys 
'^'^f  littering  mc 


that  you  have  scattered  in  their 
you  not  aware  that  among  the 
illittering  mob  which  you  have  collected  about 
ou  there  are  friends  of  Saviatti,  and  that 
iiviatti  is " 

•  A    liend  I    a    demon  I"    fiercely  exclaimed 
■yl.il. 

•  You  help   my   argument,"   was   the   rapid 
ejoinder  ;  "  and    as  such   the    less  scrupulous. 

"''';;.  ji'ou  have  the  effects  of  his  idle  indiscretion 
iliJlji  |i>efore  you.  And,  mark  me,  Sybil — Mortimer, 
"■itlui  Iweak  as  he  may  be  on  other  points,  is  sensitive 
'liwrllnd  jealous  of  his  honor!  A  husband — the 
>'«§:«  [act  IS  proverbial — may  be.  and  generally  is, 
l!]ie  last  to  hear  that  by  which  he  is  the  most 
Itlosel}"  affected,  but,  trust  me,  he  is  evectually 
m»  anlightened.  Do  you  comprehend  your  position 
:^m\  ^w,  my  adored. Sybil?  And  do  you  believe 
iwkv,(  tliat,  loving  you  as  1  do,  I  can  coldly  abandon 
w  ptii  (rou  to  such  a  fate  ?" 

srejiifc  "  Trevor,"  whispered  Mrs.  Mortimer  hoarsely, 
'luth  {bs  her  head  sank  upon  her  bosom,  "  you  are  un- 
'tui  Imerciful !" 

aiiJk      Sir  Horace   still   knelt   before  her,   and  was 
iiews;  jllbout  to  soothe  the  wounded  dignity  which  he 
mw  Hjad  so  relentlessly  excited,  when   the    vapoury 
:.;    curtain  was  thrust  aside,  and  the   baby  face  of 
Mis.  Lamerl}-   protruded    like    some    frightful 
nsion   through    the    opening.      A  slight  shriek 
rj;-.  jeseaped  her  lips,  as  she   suffered  the  light  folds 
Kiii  tof  the    gauze   to  float   back    into    their  places, 
r:;.  jand   then  succeeded    a    ringing    laugh,  as    h^r 
lisping  voice  was  heard    exclaiming  imperiouslj- 
— ■■  >."o,  no,  you  shall  not  move  a  step  further! 
It  is  the  prettiest  place   you   ever  saw  in  your 
life  ;  all  white  and  silver,  like  a    moon    among 
tlie  clouds,  but  j-ou  shall  not  see  it.     We  should 
ill  be    de  trap  ;  for  Mrs.  Mortimer  is  there  with 
Sir  Horace  Trevor,  and    I    think    they    are    re- 
hearsing a  traged}-,  or  a    comedy,  or  something 
;,     Olf  that   sort,    for  he   is  on   his   knees,  and  she 
.looks — but,  upon  my   honor,   I   scarcely  know 
1  how  slie    looks  ! — it   would   have   been   so  in- 
discreet to  intrude  longer." 

Then  followed  a  deep  silence,  broken  only  by 
file  sound  of  retreating  footsteps,  and  the  ago- 
nised ear  of  Sybil  detected  that  they  were 
;i2  i  those  of  several  individuals.  The  thickly-piled 
\As  carpets  soon  muffled  that  light  sound,  and  then 
[gf  j  all  was  still  as  the  grave. 

jilji         "Sir  Horace  Trevor,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  as 

■f    i  She  arose  from  her  seat,  ghastlj-  pale,  and  with' 

•  !  a  quivering  lip;  "You  have   bought  me  at  ai 

■  i  1  fearful  price  !     Leave  me  now.     We  shall  meet 

again." 
,;  1      "  To-morrow,  Sybil  ?  " 
iij}  I      She  coldly  bent  her  head  in  token  of  acquies- 

f  cence. 
(V  j  "Farewell,  then,  till  to-morrow."  He  hastily 
J,,;  \  wised  her  cold  fingers  to  his  lips,  drew  back 
jjj  I  flie  curtains  of  the  door,  and  disappeared. 
;,{  )  'A  wild  and  acrid  smile  convulsed  the  fea- 
„  1  tures  of  Sybil  for  an  instant,  and  she  clasped 
g  i  her  forehead  in  her  spread  hands,  as  if  to  deaden 
!(•  I  the  throbbing  of  her  burning  temples.  Onej 
f.  ;  Vord,  and  one  onl^-,  escaped  her  as  she  stood 
^  ;   thei-e — the  word  "Eva!"  and  she  pronounced! 


it  with  a  shudder  which  shook  her  whole  frame, 
and  a  gasp  that  seemed  to  threaten  her  for  an 
instant  with  suffocation. 

It  was  the  last  whisper  of  her  guardian 
angel  ere  it  took  flight  for  ever,  and  she  had 
echoed  it  involuntarily. 

But  even  amid  her  anguish  the  proud  spirit  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer  scorned  to  bend,  and  after  a 
severe  struggle  she  succeeded  in  subduing  every 
vestige  of  emotion,  and  with  a  steady  step  and 
a  proud  eye  returned  to  her  guests.  She  saw 
Mrs.  Lamerly  surrounded  by  a  group  of  curious 
listeners,  who  were  all  too  earnest  in  their  at 
tention  to  detect  her  approach,  and  .towards 
them  she  firmly  made  her  way. 

"  Why  are  you  not  dancing,  Amabel  ?"  she 
inquired  with  perfect  composure,  as  she  reached 
her  side. 

The  diplomatist's  widow  started,  flushed,  and 
stammered  out  with  some  difficulty  ;  "  I  am 
fatigued,  Mrs.  Mortimer." 

"  Mrs.  Mortimer!"  echoed  Sybil,  raising  her 
eyebrows  in  affected  and  playful  surprise  ; 
"  Why  Amabel,  you  are  ceremonious  to-  night. 
Remember  that  you  are  in  a  simple  English 
drawing-room,  and  not  in  the  court  circle  of 
your  dear,  friend,  the  Margrave." 

"  I  do  not  understand — "  faltered  the  widow. 

"  What  I  understand,  ma  chire,"  broke  in  a 
little  German  Grafine,  who  had  been  one  of  her 
listeners  ;  "is,  that  you  have  betraj-ed  me,  and 
you  know  the  proverb,  '  Wie  gesdet,  to  geschnit- 
ten.'  I  shall  not  expect  you  to-morrow  evening 
Good  night."  And,  with  a  haughty  and  indig- 
nant bow,  the  ruflied  beauty  swept  from  the 
room. 

"  As  she  pleases,"  said  Mrs.  Lamerly,  with  a 
pout,  "  but  I  could  quote,  if  I  pleased,  the 
old  saj-ing  about  glass  windows  and  throwing 
stones.     However,  my  turn  will  come." 

Sybil  turned  away  with  a  haughty  mien,  but  ■ 
her  very  soul  was  sick  wnthin  her.  She  had 
heard  and  understood  all.  Tliere  were  other 
demons  in  the  world  besides  Saviatti,  and  how 
she  began  to  hate  and  scorn  that  world ! 
Trevor  was  right,  and  she  would  trample  it 
even  to  the  dust. 

Her  rooms  emptied  rapidly.  The  lights  were 
beginning  to  fail,  the  musicians  were  putting  up 
their  instruments  ;  group  after  group  passed 
her  by,  on  their  way  out  without  one  token  of 
observance  or  recognition.  At  length  the  very 
link-boys  dispersed — tlie  revel  was  over,  and 
Sybil  was  left  amid  the  relics  of  her  brief 
splendor  utterly  alone — alone  with  her  hopes, 
her  fears,  her  stifled  passion,  and  her  corrod- 
ing thoughts. 


CHAPTER  LIY. 

The  morrow  came,  and  with  it  all  the  dis- 
comforts usual  under  such  circumstances.  Sybil 
had  paced  her  room  until  wearied  nature  in  its 
turn  overcame  mental  disquietude,  and  through- 
out her  vigil  the  perpetual  coming  and  going  of 
the  servants,  who  liad  abandoned  all  idea  of 
seeking  their  beds  at  so  undue  an  hour,  and 
under  such  an  accumulation  of  duties,  had  fallen 


183 


THE   B.IVAL  BEAUTIES. 


npon  her  ear  utterly  unheeded.  "Vniat  -were  to 
her  the  Eounds  of  the  external  world,  when 
there  echoed  amid  the  depths  of  her  spirit  the 
hoarse  and  sullen  reverberation  of  a  more 
personal  and  absorbing  agitation?  She  had  not 
eeeu  Mortimer  since  the  departure  of  her  guests; 
the  avoidance  had  been  mutual,  for  both  had 
within  themselves  a  consciousness  of  error  to 
be  concealed,  and  of  weakness  to  be  expiated. 

Frederic  had  retired  to  his  room,  angered,  re- 
pentant, and  reflective  ;  Sj-bil  had  sought  hers 
fevered,  undecided,  but  nevertheless  desperate. 
The  husband,  boldly  looking  into  the  future, 
although  with  a  sick"  heart  and  a  stricken  spirit, 
had  passed  his  time  in  hasty  and  imperfect  cal- 
culations, and  those  vague,  but  passionate  reso- 
lutions of  future  prudence,  which,  like  snow- 
flakes  in  the  moonlight,  show  so  substantial  and 
so  brilliant,  but  which  require  only  one  touch 
of  heat  to  annihilate  them  altogether ;  the  wife 
had  sought  solitude  to  brood  over  the  past,  to 
deprecate  the  present,  and  to  defy  the  future,  j 
She  was  aware  that  previous  improvidence,] 
first  counselled,  and  ultimately  encouraged  and  I 
augmented  by  herself,  had  stricken  deeply  at  I 
the  root  of  her  husband's  prosperity.  It  was 
true  that  the  extravagance  of  a  couple  of  sea- 
eons  could  not  ruin  Mortimer,  but  she  was  aware 
that  it  had  sufficed  to  embarrass  his  movements 
and  to  cripple  his  resources.  Sybil  had  always 
loathed  and  despised  all  monetary  considera- 
tions, and  she  felt  that  she  could  never  brook! 
his  justifiable,  but  nevertheless  wearisome,  re- 1 
proaches  upon  such  a  subject.  If  she  had  sought 
to  become  his  wife,  it  had  been  from  no  blind 
attachment  to  himself,  but  in  order  to  regain, 
through  his  means,  the  social  station  which  she 
had  forfeited  by  her  own  levity,  and  to  share 
with  him  the  affiuenee  without  which  she  con- 
sidered life  to  be  but  a  mere  mean  and  paltry 
game,  to  be  played  out  to  the  end  only  by  mean 
and  paltry  spirits. 

And  all  this  purpose  had  failed;  she  was  still 
S  mark  for  the  insolent  comments  of  the  proud 
and  the  scornful.  The  memories  of  the  past, 
like  the  stones  cast  behind  them  by  the  twin 
heroes  of  the  mythology,  sprang  to  life,  armed, 
and  ready  to  do  battle,  but  it  was  against  her- 
Belf.  The  gold  which  she  had  lavished  to  pur- 
chase at  least  a  temporarj-  triumph,  had  melted 
as  she  scattered  it  around  her,  and  scorched  the 
hand  that  poured  it  forth. 

And  what  remained? 

Sybil  had  dismissed  her  attendant.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  though  everj'  eye  could  read  her  se- 
cret, and  as  lier  thoughts'fastened  upon  her  last 
interview  with  Trevor,  she  thrust  back  the 
dark  braids  from  lier  foiehead,  for  even  their 
•light  and  accustomed  pressure  appeared  to 
weigh  lier  <lowii,  and  then,  rising  from  her  chair, 
flung  open  one  of  the  windows  in  order  to 
breathe  more  freely. 

There  is  always  something  awful  in  the  return 
of  a  new  (lay ;  in  the  doubtful  light  which 
creeps  almost  reluctantly  across  the  sky,  as 
though  it  feared  to  hasten  on  a  mission  which 
condemned  it  to  look  for  so  many  houi-s  upon 
scenes  of  error  and  of  crime.  To  the  virtuous 
and  the  pure  there  is  a  sublimity  in  its  stealthy 
progress,  but  to  the  erring  and  the  guilty  its 


I  charm  is  lost;  to  them  there  is  a  sad  reproo. 
in  its  silent  advent,  and  it  is  the  hour  of 
others  the  most  difficult  to  fill  with  purely  s 
fish  thought.  Even  Sybil,  as  she  bared  I  • 
brow  to  the  chill  wind  that  heaved  the  curta: 
behind  which  she  stood,  and  looked  out  up 
the  desolate  garden  of  the  square,  where  t 
night-dews  still  hung  upon  the  branches  of  t. 
stunted  shrubs,  and  the  dense  vapors  wt! 
rolling  off  in  folds  of  dull  yellow  and  niur'; 
brown,  was  not  altogether  unaffected  by  its  : 
fluence. 

Where  were  now  the  light  and  the  revelry 
which  her  soul  delighted?  Where  were  nc 
I  the  glance  of  admiration  and  the  words  of  pi 
sion  which  to  her  was  as  the  day-spring  of  h 
I  existence  ?  She  stood  upon  the  dull  and  niysl 
rious  tomb  of  the  past ;  upon  the  vague'  ai 
shapeless  threshold  of  the  future,  and  both  we 
alike,  "  without  form  and  void."  She  heard  on. 
the  low  moaning  of  the  cheerless  wind;  s 
I  saw  only  the  gloomy  awakening  of  a  new  da 
]  disturbed  bj'  the  occasional  footstep  of  one 
I  those  rude  sons  or  daughters  of  toil  who  nev 
I  calculate  time  save  as  a  mean  of  gain,  or  of  tho 
'  still  more  enslaved  victims  of  vice,  wiio  fe, 
that  their  task  is  ended  when  that  of  virtuo' 
povertj'  begins. 

Sybil  closed  the  window  abruptly,  and  tlire 
herself  upon   the    bed.     Body   and   mind   we 
both    exhausted,    and    at    length    she    sank 
sleep. 

Did  she  dream  of  the  husband  who,  mueli 
he  was  injured,  still  confided  in  her  truth?     < 
the  child  to  whom  her  own   good  name  w.ni 
be  the  best  and  the  meetest  heritage  ?     ( if  t! 
man  who,  wronged,  deceived,  and  almnst    f 
gotten,  once   more   pursued  her  with  wcr 
passion  and  of   promise?      No,   she  dre;.:. 
none  of  these  things.     Her  heavy  head  ]:• 
the    pillow   like  a  thing  of   stone.     Her   ,-le< 
was  as  the  sleep  of  death ;  the  condemned  felo 
whose   rest  is  to  be   broken  on  the  morrow  1 
the   gibbet  and   the  rope,  sleeps  this  deep  m 
mysterious  slumber;  the  waveworu  mai'inn-  • 
the  raft,  the  only  link  between  him  and  et.  ;•; 
t\-;  the   soldier   in  his    bivouac    on   tlic<\' 
battle, — all,  in  short,  whose  nerves  have  1  •  ■ 
braced  to  the  uttermost  for  hours,  and  who  >u 
denly  find  themselves  alone  and  unsupported  1 
the  pride  which  has  sustained  them  beneath  tJ 
gaze  of  their  fellow  men,  have  experienced  tl 
same  deep,  and  dreamless,  and  death-like  sire 
save,  perhaps,  the  coward,  whose  fears  for  tl 
morrow    keep    him    waking,  but  Sybil  was  i 
coward.     She  had  suffered,  and  she.  slept 

It  was  long  past  mid-  day  when  her  ma 
ventured  to  enter  her  apartment,  and  her  re  ^ 
was  so  deep,  despite  her  undrawn  cuitains, 
the  disorder  in  which  she  had  flung  herself  npc| 
her  bed,  that  for  a  few  seconds  the  wonini 
looked  upon  her  almost  in  terror.  Her  lou; 
hair  fell  like  a  shower  of  jet  over  her  lace  an, 
shoulders,  her  hands  were  tightly  clasped  t 
gether,  and  there  was  an  expression  of  suj! 
pressed  but  terrible  agony  upon  her  countenanc 
that  mere  physical  fatigue  could  not  have  iu 
pressed  there. 

Ko  wonder,  therefore,  that    forgetful  of  th 
reprimand  which    her   unbidden    officiousne* 


THE   RIVAL   BEAUTIES. 


189 


right  draw  down  upon    lior,  the  toi'i'ilied  Abi- 
iiil  vt'iiturcd  to  awake  hor. 
"Ha!  is  it  iiiorning  so  soon?"  murmured  out 
jj1)il,  who  had  started  from  lior  sleep   at  the 
ii-st  whisper. 

I  beg  your  pardon,  Mii'ani,"  wastlie  respect- 
id  reply,   "  but  it  is  now  nearly   two  o'clock. 
ily  master  has  been  out  for  the  last  three  hours, 
ind  desired  me  to  say  that  ho  sho'ald  not  return 
lome  until  the  evening.     Miss  Eva  has  had  her 
valk,  and  Mrs?.   Harris  wishes  to  know  if  you 
viUsce  her  before  dinner-time." 
"  Ko,  uo,"  said  Sybil  hoarsely  and  hurriedly  ; 
I  am  too  much  fatigued.    There — look! — upon 
he  dressing-table  you  will  find  a  locket,  hung 
o  a  small   gold  chain.     You   know  the  one  1 
nean — with  my  hair  in  it,  at  the  buck  of  her 
ather's  ]iortrait.     Tell    Mrs.    Harris  to  give  it 
her  with  my   love,   and  to  let   her  wear  it 
ill  I  see   her  again.     Is   there   anything  new  ? 

ctters,  or " 

Ko,  ma'am,  only  Sir  Horace  Ti'evor  has  been 
lere,  but  when  he  found  that  my  master  was 
lut,  and  that  you  were  not  up,  he  left  word 
iliat  he  would  call  again  at  two  o'clock,  as  he 
wished  to  see  you.  Ma'am,  on  some  particular 
jusiness,  and  so  I  made  free  to  come  into  your 
•oom." 

You  did  right,  Symonds,  perfectly  right," 

>aid  Sybil  with  a  slight  shudder,  as  she  partial- 

y  raised  herself,  and,  sweeping  back  her  disiiov- 

fillcd    hair,    leaned    her   head   upon    her  hand. 

And   now  come   here,  Symonds,  here,  close  to 

''"i™  [hfiy  pillow.     Can  I  trust  you  ?" 

"  Try  me.  Ma'am,"  said  the  woman  stolidly. 
"  You  must  have  seen  that  I  am  not  happy," 
Bommenced  Sybil,  fixing  her  eyes  steadily  upon 
her  attendant. 

Tlie  Abigail  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"You  were  with  uie  when  I  married?" 
There  was  a  sign  of  assent. 
"  I   did  wrong,"   pursued    the   once  haughty 
mistress   after  a  short  pause ;  "  I  mistook  Mr. 
Mortimer,  and  it  is  probable  that  he  misunder- 
stood me.     Things  cannot  go  on  thus,  Symonds." 
"  Of  course  not.  Ma'am." 
"  It  is  possible  that  I  may  travel  before  long. 
Are  j'ou  willing  to  accompany  me  ?" 

"  Do  30U  take  Miss  Eva,  Ma'am  ?  I  can't 
nudertake  to  travel  with  children ;  it's  out  of 
my  line." 

Tlie  mother  for  a  moment  conquered  the  wo- 
man of  the  world,  and  Mrs.  Mortimer  turned 
a>;ide  to  avoid  tlie  fixed  gaze  of  her  liii'ed  menial, 
but  in  spirit  she  had  passed  the  rubicon,  and  she 
rallied  on  the  instant. 

"  Ko,"  said  she,  with  sojne  effort ;  "  I  go 
alone." 

"  Alone,  Ma'am?" 

"  Tliat  is,  neitlier  your  master  nor  Miss  Eva 
vill  accompany  me." 

"I  see,  Ma'am,"  was  the  reply,  uttered  with 
one  of  those  intelligently-confidential  .smiles 
■which  are  the  first-fruits  of  error,  to  a  j)roud 
spirit 

"  I  am  quite  at  your  service,  and  ready  to  ^jo 
wherever  you  please.  But  you  are  forgetting 
the  time,  Ma'am.  If  Sir  Horace  Trevor  should 
be  here  befoi-e  you  are  dressed,  is  he  to  wait,  or 
to  come  again  ?" 


"  Let  him  Avait,"  said  Sybil,  with  the  superb 
expression  of  disdain  by  which  the  haughty  lip 
so  frequently  conceals  the  secret  of  tlie  (piailii.g 
heart.     "  He  is  probably  not  in  luistc" 

Tiie  Abigail  pursed  up  her  mouth.  Had  lior 
mistress  given  her  a  printed  book  to  read,  know- 
ing that  mistress  as  she  did,  siie  could  not  havo 
guessed  the  truth  more  thoroughly. 

"Sir  Horace  was  quite  put  out," Ma'am,  when 
he  found  that  j'ou  were  not  up,"  she  ventured  to 
remark,  as  she  placed  the  velvet  slippers  beside 
the  bed. 

"  Indeed !"  said  Sybil,  with  affected  indifier- 
ence. 

"  And  then.  Ma'am,  he  inquired  for  my  mas- 
ter, and  I  told  him  that  he  was  gone  out  for  the 
day." 

"  You  told  him  so?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  did  I  do  wrong?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no  1  it  is  a  nuUter  of  no  consequence. 
By  the  bye,  Symonds,  you  will  not  mention  to 
any  one  that  1  think  of  leaving  England." 

"  Of  course  not.  Ma'am,  if  you  wisli  it." 

"I  do,  Symonds,  and  I  believe  that  I  can  trust 
you.     Is  my  bath  ready  ?" 

The  first  scene  in  the  drama  of  guilt  was  play- 
ed out,  and  Sybil  felt  that  she  was  in  the  power 
of  her  own  salaried  dependent. 

Sir  Horace  Trevor  was  once  more  beneath  her 
roof  long  before  Sybil  left  her  room.  He  knew 
the  spirit  with  which  he  had  to  deal,  and  lie  felt 
that  the  ball  of  the  preceding  evening  had  served 
him  well.  Her  pride  had  been  galled,  and  suffi- 
cient time  had  not  yet  elapsed  for  her  to  re- 
cover from  the  mortification  slie  iiad  experienced. 
To  profit  by  a  vulgar  but  expressive  plira.se,  the 
iron  was  still  hot,  and  he  was  too  good  a  tao- 
titian  to  suffer  it  to  cool.  Rejected  by  the 
woild,  and  estranged  fromherhutiband,  he  offer- 
ed her  a  refuge  from  daily  increasing  annoy- 
ance, and  although  he  had  long  ceased  to  be 
jealous  of  her  affection,  and  learnt  its  fallacy 
wliei'e  it  interfered  with  her  own  interests,  he 
was  still  thralled  by  her  beauty,  and  subjugated 
by  her  wit. 

Too  indolent  to  make  amusement  for  himself^ 
Sybil  M'as  precisely  the  woman  calculated  to 
supjily  the  occasional  void  produced  by  satiety 
His  taste  would  do  him  honor  in  tiie  eyes  of  his 
associates,  and  moreover,  perhaps,  he  also  had 
something  to  revenge.  Her  treacliery  had  been 
the  one  crushed  roseleaf  on  the  couch  of  the 
fashionable  Sybarite,  and  it  was  with  a  sensa 
tioii  of  triumpliant  complacency  that  lie  reflect- 
ed liow  soon  her  own  hand  would  be  employed 
to  smooth  it. 

For  her  improvidence  he  cared  nothing.  Ilia 
means  were  ample,  and  he  could,  moreover,  dis- 
engage himself  at  any  moment  from  a  tie  which 
must  sit  loosely  from  the  first.  A  man  does  not 
take  his  mistress  as  he  takes  his  wife  ;  there  are 
no  life-long  responsibilities  to  make  liim  pause; 
a  fancy  prompts  the  im|icrfcct  union,  and  a 
caprice  may  equally  annul  it. 

True,  this  is  a  feature  in  tlio  arrangement  to 
which  he  allows  no  promim-iice  in  tlu;  first  sea- 
son of  vanity  and  adulation,  but  still  the  fact 
exists,  and  it  is  foi-  the  ci-iiiig  woman  who  is 
atxiut  to  barter  her  honor  and  h<r  fair  fame 
against  the  temporary  indulgence  of  her  head 


190 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


etrong  passions,  and  flic  mortifications  of  proba-  and  gratified  vanity,  and  that  freedom  from  con 
ble  abandonment,  to  remember  it  in  the  hour  struint  to  wiiich  she  liad  so  long  been  aeeus 
of  temptation.  tomed,  that  it  appeared  to  her  to  be  as  indispen 

The  tiger  gives  no  warning  before  he  springs;  sable  to  her  existence  as  the  very  air  she 
it  is  for  the  traveller  to  be  wary.  The  serpent  breathed.  Trevor,  full  of  that  impassioned 
litters  no  threatening  before  it  springs ;  the  in-  egotism  which  lends  eloquence  even  to  a  bad 
tended  victim  must  defend  himself  against  the  cause,  believing  himself,  moreover,  enamored 
venomed  tongue,  and  thus,  in  like  manner,  the  of  the  first  love  of  his  manhood,  and  mistaking 
woman  who  sees  only  the  gorgeous  skin  or  the  the  sullen  murmurs  of  former  mortification  for ; 
gleaming  scales  of  vice,  and  wilfully  closes  her  the  whispers  of  re-awakened  affection, 
eyes  against  the  poison  to  which  they  lend  a  " 
niocking  and  a  worthless  charm,  finds  little  pity, 
and  excites  no  sympathy.  The  man  of  pleasure 
uses  his  natural  weapons  as  the  beasts  of  the 
forests  use  theirs,  with  as  much  carelessness  of 
consequences,  and  generally  with  as  little  com- 
punction. Selfishnessis  the  foundation  of  eveiy 
vice,  and  where  the  seducer  has  all  to  gain,  and 
his  victim  all  to  lose,  it  is  scarcely  to  be  antici 
pated  that  he  will  forego  his  own  purpose  in 
order  to  shield  her  from 'evil. 

The  antecedents  of  Sybil  were  perhaps  also 
calculated  to  render  Sir  Horace  Trevor  even 
less  disposed  to  shrink  from  the  treachery  which 
he  meditated  towards  a  man  whom  he  had  call- 
ed his  friend,  and  a  woman  whom  he  had,  once 
at  least,  sincerely  and  honorably  loved.  He 
knew  her  reputation  to  be  sullied,  and  her 
nature  to  be  essentially  egotistical,  but  she  yet 
remained  beneath  the  roof  of  her  husband,  and, 
weak  and  faulty  as  she  had  undoubtedly  shown 
herself  to  be,  the  one  great  crime  against  sO' 
ciety,  the  one  reckless  contempt  of  its  opinion 
which  finds  no  indulgence  even  with  the  most 
charitable,  until  it  has  been  bitterly  repented, 
was  still  uncommitted.  She  had  yet  a  place 
among  the  matrons  of  her  country — yet  a  chance 
of  redeeming  herself  in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
and  in  her  own.  And  he  was  about  to  over 
throw  this  last  bulwark,  and  to  render  her 
henceforward  dependent  upon  him  alone. 

Thus,  even  under  all  circumstances,  he  might 
well  have  paused.  But  wherefore  ?  These  were 
considerations  for  Sybil,  not  for  himself.  These 
were  the  self-evident  consequences  of  the  step 
which  she  meditated,  and  she  could  requir 
prompter  to  point  with  officious  warning  to 
the  fact.  Moreover,  this  was  the  price  which 
she  must  be  content  to  pay  for  luxury,  liberty 
and  love — for  her  escai)e  from  a  cheerless  home, 
an  estranged  husband,  and  the  trammels  of  en- 
cumbered mediocrity. 

What  wonder,  then,  that  the  worldly  baronet 
stood  fully  acquitted  in  his  own  eyes  ? 

It  were  idle  to  dwell  upon  the  scene  which 
ensued  when  they  met.  Sybil,  with  all  her 
meaner  passions  in  arms,  smarting  under  a 
sense  of  what  she  considered  as  her  wrongs, 
seared  by  the  consciousness  of  her  husband's 
well-grounded  displeasure,  devoted  to  self-in- 
dulgence, and  shrinking  from  a  future  of  mo- 
notony and  privation,  did  not,  and  would  not, 
pause  to  remember  that  she  had  not  even  the 
excuse  of  passion  to  offer  for  the  baseness  of 
which  siie  was  about  to  become  guilty  ;  that 
her  attachment  to  Trevor  was  merely  the  im- 
pulse of  gratified  vanity,  in  which  the  softer 
and  more  womanly  delusions  of  the  heart  had 
no  share,  and  that  she  saw  in  his  proffered  love 
only  the  prospect  which  it  held  out  of  atiluenee, 


How  could  such  an  interview  end  save  la 
error?  And  so  indeed  it  ended.  Sybil  forgol 
even  her  child  in  the  intoxicating  dreams  of  a 
future,  over  which  she  was  to  be  tlie  sole  and  ui+- 
questioned  mistress;  she  forgot  the  husband  who 
hadgiveu  himself  to  her  without  a  doubt  or  a  mis- 
giving, des])ite  the  warning  voice  which  would 
have  held  liim  back;  she  forgot  the  mother,' 
now  hovering  between  life  and  deatli,  whose 
whole  existence  had  been  one  unmurmurii.g 
vassalage  tc  her  single  will.  She  thought  only 
of  herself;  she  saw  a  new  votary  at  lier  feet,' 
a  new  jewel  east  upon  her  path  which  the  world 
had  so  lately  strewn  with  thorns  and  bram-  ! 
bles,  and  thus  she  listened,  believed  and  yielded. 

In  such  a  case  the   preliminaries  of  the  medi 
tated  flight  were  rapidly  and  readily  arranged,  ■ 
and  Trevor  had  no  sooner  left  the  house,  tlian 
the   twiee-perjuied   wife   ascended   to  her  own 
room,  and  summoning  her  maid,  busied  herself, 
with  a  calmness  whicli  in  a  holier  cause  would 
have  amounted  to  heroism,  in  making  such  ar 
rangements  as  she  deemed  necessary.     Ere  sun  ■ 
set  all  was    accomplished  ;  her  cari-iage  at  tlw ' 
door ;  the  imperial    freighted  with   her  jewels,  i 
and  a  few  indispensable  articles  of  apparel,  and  ' 
then,   and    then   only,  while    she   drew  on  her  i 
gloves  to  depart,  it  might  be  that  a  thought  ot ' 
her  suflering  mother  obtruded  itself,  as  she  sad-  ■ 
denly  desii-ed  Symonds  to  ascertain  if  any  let- 
ter had  arrived  for  her  by  the  late  post.     The 
active  and  watchful   Abigail  was  already  pre- 
pared  to   answer.     There   were   half  a   dozen 
awaiting  the  return  of  her  master,  but  none  ad- 
dressed  to  her  lady,  and  Sybil  asked  no  more.     • 

Perhaps,  even  in  that  last,  that  supreme  mo- 
ment of  her  destiny,  had  she  paused  as  she  ]i:i- 
sed  througii  the  hall  to  ghmcc  at  the  supers.-i; 
tion  of  tlie  letters  so  heedlessly  flung  down,  ^' 
migiit  yet  have   paused — yet  have   been  sav 
But,  no!     She    had   ceased    to    remembi 
she  was  a  mother ;  how,  then,  could  she  hii\ « 
lingered  to  remember  that  she  was  a  daughter ! 

Mistress  Symonds,  with  a  ready  wit  which 
equalled  her  cupidity,  had  found  an  easy  pic- 
text  for  the  unaccustomed  appendage  winch 
was  to  be  afTixed  to  the  carriage,  and  notliing 
occurred  to  delay  the  departure  of  Sybil  from 
that  home  whicli  she  was  never  again  to  enter. 
Assuredly,  the  path  of  vice  is  ever  a  smooth 
one,  and  if  something  like  a  pang  shot  to  her 
heart  as  she  passed  the  threshold,  and  if  she 
cast  one  backward  glance  to  the  windows  of 
the  nursery  in  which  her  only  child  was  at  that 
moment  either  slumbering  or  sporting,  un- 
conscious that  it  would  soon  be  worse  than 
motherless,  her  step  never  faltered,  her  will 
never  failed. 

The  place  of  rendezvous  had  been  arranged, 
and  on  her  airival  Mrs.  Mortimer  alighted  ;  the 


thai 


THE   RIVAL   BE^YUTIES. 


191 


mperifti  was  detached,  and  conveyed  into  the 
.ouse;  a  trivial  message  delivered  to  the  ser- 
luits,  and  the  carriage  dismissed.  All  this  was 
cry  commonplace  in  seeming,  but  not  so  in  fact. 
\.  gulf,  never  again  to  be  over-passed,  had  open- 
id  between  Sybil  and  her  home — between  the 
vife,  the  mother,  and  the  woman,  and  those 
acred  duties  which,  once  violated,  caunot  be 
ighteously  resumed. 

With  a  mortal  cowardice,  in  perfect  keeping 
vith  his  character,  Mortimer  had  delayed  to  the 
ast  moment  his  return  to  a  disorganized  house, 
ind  the  exertion  of  an  authority  which  he  was 
•(inscious  must  be  at  once  assumed,  if  he  would 
till  preserve  himself  from  ruin,  and  it  was  cou- 
•cquentl,}-,  late  in  the  night  when  he  once  more 
\iund  himself  under  his  own  roof  The  hateful 
ask  of  recrimination  and  reproach  was  thus  de- 
iiyed  until  the  morrow,  and  as  he  ascended  to 
lis  dressing-room,  already  restored  by  the  acti- 
.ity  of  his  valet  to  a  tenantable  state,  he  con- 
gratulated himself  upon  an  arrangement  by 
Iwhieh  he  had  secured  some  additional  hours  of 
itranquillity. 

I  His  onl}-'  inquiry  was  for  his  child,  and  satis- 
fied that  she  was  well,  and  sleeping  the  sweet 
l^eep  of  innocence  and  peace,  he  drew  on  his 
■dressing  gown,  and  seated  himself  at  his  writ- 
img-table,  resolved  to  bestow  a  few  hours  to  the 
ieareful  inspection  of  his  steward's  accounts  be- 
fore he  retired  for  the  night.  Upon  the  desk, 
jbowever,  lay  the  letters  which  had  been  men- 
i'tioned  to  Sybil,  and  he  opened  them  mechanic- 
ially.  The  tirst  which  came  to  hand  was  brief, 
jbut  a  shadow  darkened  over  his  brow  as  he 
.'read  it;  scarcely  did  it  comprise  half-a-dozen 
jlines,  yet  he  pondered  over  them  for  seconds, 
and  then,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  crushed  the 
ipaper  in  his  hand,  and  flung  it  impetuously  into 
[tihe  fire  which  was  burning  in  the  grate.  His 
icorrespondent  had  simply  and  courteouslj-  ac- 
jknowledged  a  check  for  900/.,  lost  by  himself  at 
{the  gaming-table  on  the  previous  evening.  The 
'next  was  longer;  the  writing  more  round,  stu- 
died, and  methodical,  and  treated  of  a  debt  not 
yet  discharged,  in  less  courtly  terms.  The  third 
was  a  civil  refusal  to  exert  the  interest  which 
he  had  stooped  to  solicit  in  furtherance  of  his 
favorite  project,  by  one  of  his  most  intimate  as- 
sociates and  most  frequent  guests,  and  a  bitter 
smile  convulsed  his  lip  as  he  laid  it  down. 
j  There  was,  still,  however,  a  fourth,  and  without 
(  even  glancing  at  the  superscription,  he  tore  it 
I  open.  In  an  instant  he  had  mastered  its  con- 
i  tents,  and  starting  from  his  seat,  he  rang  the  bell 
'  violently. 

In  another  moment  the  summons  was  obeyed. 
"  Howton,"  he  said,  in  considerable  agitation  ; 
"I  have  received  a  letter  from  Westrum  ;  Mrs. 
Delamere  is  dying,  and  not  a  moment  must  be 
lost  if  we  can  again  see  her  alive.  Send  one  of 
the  men  to  order  post-horses,  throw  together 
some  linen,  and  whatever  you  may  consider 
necessary,  and  let  the  carriage  be  at  the  door  i 
by  the  time  your  mistress  is  ready  to  start. 
Meanwhile  I  will  go  and  prepare  her.  We  must 
be  on  the  road  within  an  hour." 

"  1  fear.  Sir,  that  it  will  be  impossible." 
"  And  why  so  f     Nothing  should  be  impossi- 
We  at  such  a  moment." 


"  My  lady  is  from  home.  Sir." 

"  From  home  ? — where  ? — when  did  she  go  f" 

"  She  left  at  about  six  o'clock.  Sir,  accom- 
panied by  Mrs.  Symonds,  and  dismissed  the  car- 
riage after  alighting  at  her  milliner's." 

"  And  what  orders  did  she  give  ?" 

"  Merely  that  the  carriage  might  return,  and 
that  she  would  let  them  know  when  she  required 
it  again." 

"  Ha !  I  see  it  all  now — I  understand  it  all," 
said  Mortimer  in  an  accent  of  vexation  ;  "  your 
mistress  has  found  herself  inconvenienced  by 
the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  workmen,  and  has 
consequently  left  the  house  for  the  night ;  but 
surel}'  there  must  have  been  some  note  or  mes- 
sage to  explain  this  arrangement  to  me  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Sir,  or  I  should  of  course 
have  been  informed  of  it." 

"  Still  I  am  convinced  that  I  am  right,"  per- 
sisted Mortimer,  "  and  she  probably  determined 
too  suddenly  to  pursue  this  plan  "to  remember 
that  I  might  be  uneasy." 

"  I  scarcely  think  so,'sir,"  said  the  man  steadily, 
"  for  Mrs.  Symonds  had  the  imperial  of  my  mis- 
tress's carriage  taken  to  her  room  early  in  the 
day,  and  it  was  packed  when  she  left  home." 

"  A  convincing  proof  of  the  correctness  of  my 
suggestion,"  retorted  Mortimer,  without  one 
misgiving  ;  "  That  fact  alone  would  suffice  to 
satisfy  me  that  I  have  discovered  the  truth,  as 
it  was  impossible  that  she  could  pass  the  night 
out  of  her  own  house  without  some  preparation, 
but  as  it  is  equally  impossible  that  she  will  re- 
main at  her  milliner's,  and  as  we  do  not  know  to 
what  friend  she  is  gone,  I  do  not  feel  that  I 
should  be  justilied,  under  the  present  circum- 
stances, in  delaying  my  own  departure  until 
to-morrow.  Prepare  everything,  therefore,  with 
as  much  dispatch  as  possible,  while  I  write  a 
few  lines  to  break  this  melancholy  news  to  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  and  be  careful  that  another  set  of 
horses  are  in  readiness  for  her  to  follow  me  im- 
mediately on  her  return  home." 

The  man  bowed,  and  left  the  room,  and  if  he 
marvelled  at  the  blindness  of  his  master,  he  had 
at  least  the  discretion  to  remain  silent. 

Mortimer  assured!}'  felt  no  extraordinary  af- 
fection for  Mrs.  Delamere — hers  was  not  one  oS 
those  endearing  natures  which  command  attach- 
ment, but  he  respected  her  as  the  mother  of  his 
wife,  and  he  was  aware  that  the  absence  of  Sybil 
only  rendered  his  duty  to  that  mother  the  more 
imperative.  Hastily,  therefore,  but  considerate- 
ly, he  communicated  in  the  note  which  he  pro- 
ceeded to  write,  the  absolute  necessity  of  her 
immediate  appearance  at  Westrum,  urged  her 
to  fortitude,  and  even  to  hope,  and  informed  her 
of  the  arrangements  which  he  had  made  to  fa- 
cilitate her  jdurnej'.  Not  a  word  of  reproach, 
not  a  sentence  of  harshness  or  displeasure  es. 
caped  him  ;  he  respected  her  sorrow,  and  forgo, 
his  own  suffering,  in  order  to  soothe  hers.  And 
when  this  was  done,  he  stole  to  the  bedside  of 
his  slumbering  child,  not  to  awaken  her,  for  his 
moments  were  counted,  but  to  look  fondly  and 
silently  upon  her  clierub  face  before  he  left  her, 
and  to  impress  again  and  again  upon  the  obse- 
quious nurse  the  necessity  of  constant  vigilance 
and  teudernees. 

This   was    scarcely   accomplished,    when   bis 


/92 


THE   RIVAL  BEAUTIES. 


travelling  chaise  -was  announced,  and  five  minutes 
afterwards  the  portmanteau  and  carpet-bags 
"were  packed  away,  master  and  man  were  seated 
in  the  vehicle,  uiid  it  drove  off  iu  the  direction 
of  Westruni  at  the  best  speed  of  four  swift  horses. 


Gertrude  was  forgiven ;  thanks  to  the  eager 
zeal  of  the  honest  clerk,  who,  well  versed  iu  the 
jealous  captiousness  of  poverty,  at  once  and 
effectually  proceeded  to  exorcise  the  threatening 
spirit. 

A  messenger  was  despatched  to  the  Manor- 
house  to  announce  the  return  of  Gertrude,  and 
ere  long,  Ernest  Armstrong  bounded  into  the 
liouse.  Welcomes  and  reproaches  were  poured 
forth  volubly  from  his  lips.  Gertrude  had  no 
right  to  sacrifice  herself  the  to  selfish  caprices 
of  a  stranger. 

"  My  dear  mother's  only  brother!"  urged  the 
gentle  girl. 

"  And  still  a  stranger,"  persisted  the  young 
man  as  he  sat  beside  her,  clasping  her  liand,  and 
looking  anxioui^ly  into  her  face ;  "  And  have  j-ou 
reflected  on  all  the  results  of  your  ill-advised 
journey? — Upon  your  pallid  cheeks,  which  we 
had  tauglit  to  bloom  again  at  Bletchloy  ? — Had 
we  not.  Miss  Warrington? — Upon  a 'responsi- 


CHAPTER  LV. 

Bt  a  singular  coincidence  Sybil  and  Gertrude 
quitted  London  on  the  same  day.  The  one  to 
immolate  upon  the  altar  of  vanity  all  her  dig' 
nity  as  a  wife,  and  all  her  purity  as  a  woman, 
ttiid  tlie  other,  to  seek  in  the  bosom  of  an  at- 
tached familj'  the  reward  of  her  past  trials. 
The  one  impoverished  by  her  own  follies,  and 
burthened  with  the  ruin  of  her  husband  who 
had  confided  in  her ;  the  other,  rich  in  hope, 
and  about  to  seciire  the  happiness  and  prosperity 
of  all  wiiom  she  best  loved. 

We  cannot  follow  Sybil  and  her  seducer  on 
their  journey.  In  so  far  as  they  are  concei-ned 
our  task  is  ended.  Vice  ever  writes  its  own 
hi.story  in  blood  and  tears :  no  honest  pen  can 
fitly  chro!iiele  a  career  of  error  and  of  sin.  Angels 
bow  their  radiant  heads  as  the  dark  shadows 
pass,  and  they  bow  them  in  silence. 

Gertrude  left  London  as  she  had  entered  it, 
pure,  humble-minded,  and  gentle.  Not  even 
the  officious  congratulations  of  her  legal  adviser, 
nor  the  anxious  courtesies  of  her  late  uncle's 
partner,  had  sufficed  to  impress  her  with  a  con- 
viction of  her  increased  self-importance.  She 
oul}'  felt  that  she  could  now  repay  in  some  'de- 
gree the  disinterested  affection  of  Ernest,  and 
the  friendsliip  of  his  family.  Her  spirit  was 
still  saddened  by  the  remembrance  of  the  squalid 
death-bed  beside  which  she  had  stood  so  lately, 
and  she  almost  felt  as  though  it  were  a  sin  to 
exult  in  tlie  possession  of  wealth  which  had 
been  purchased  by  such  privations.  Yet  still 
she  smiled  as  she  remembered  that  she  had  left 

one  happy  heart  behind  her,  and  that  the  hum- ]  pretty  shrubberies,  and  fish-ponds,  and  bal 
ble  iNIrs.  Sli;n-p,  made  rich  be\'ond  her  hopes  by  jnies,  and  aviary,  and  flower-gardens.  I  havu 
tJie  ]i<iss(s-ion  of  the  scanty  stock  of  furniture  I  set  my  heart  upon  becoming  its  mistress.  Aio 
at  Walworth,  and  permission  to  follow  her  in  a|you  prepared  to  gratify  me?"' 
few  months,  in  order  to  be  established  under  i  The  orphan  quailed  for  an  instant  as  slie  saw 
her  roof  for  life,  had  blessed  her  as  they  parted,  ithe  light  fade  from  the  face  of  her  lover,  and  tho 
end  that  the  meek  old  man  who  now  sat  beside  '  smile  die  away  upon  his  face.  Could  it  be  that, 
her  in  the  chaise,  proudly  attired  in  a  new  suit :  even  for  one  brief  moment,  he  had  mistaken 
of  glossy  black,  was  rescued  from  a  drudgery  [her ?  But  no;  Ernest  rallied  ere  the  sound  of 
unsuited  to  his   years  by  a  slight  alteration  in  her  voice  had  well  ceased,  and  raising  iier  hand 


bility  to  which  you  were  unequal,  and  a  fati_ 
against  which  you  had  not  physical  strength  to 
contend  ?  You  smile !  Well,  tiien,  I  will  ask 
only  one  more  question  ;  has  it  never  occurred 
to  you  that  the  same  quixotic  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing which  took  you,  like  a  lady-errant,  to  London 
in  search  of  extraordinary  adventures,  and 
which  may  perhaps  prompt  you  to  delay  a 
marriage  already  definitely  fixed  at  some  six 
weeks  hence,  may  at  least  weary  out  my  fo»- 
beai-ance  ?" 

The  happy  girl  shook  her  head  def^-ingly. 

"  Do  not  be  too  confident  in  j'our  own  strength, 
Gertrude,"  said  Ernest  impatiently ;  "  Syden- 
ham vows  that  Mary  shall  keep  her  word,  and  I 
vow " 

Gertrude  playfully  laid  her  hand  ujjon  his  lijis. 

"And  the  villa?"  she  asked. 

The  young  man  looked  up  anxiously  and  ii>- 
quirir.gly. 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Armstrong,  that  you  hav« 
promised  me  that  villa  behind  tlie  hill",  with  its 


to  his  lips,  he  said  sad!}',  but  firmly, 

"  Alas,  my  sweet  Gertrude,  that  dream  at 
least  cannot  be  realised!  1  have  failed  in  my 
efforts  to  secure  personal  independence — misej> 
ably  failed,  and  j'ou  must  even  be  content  to 
accept  the  home  which  my  father  offers  to  ui 


her  uncle's  will,  which  had  exchanged  the  be- 
quest to  an  income  of  the  same  amount. 

How  cheaply  iuid  she  thus  purchased  two  grate- 
ful hearts,  aiul  liow  the  consciousness  that  she 
had  done  so,  Jiglitened  the  tedium  of  the  way, 
and  beguiled  her  of  the   memories  which   still 

cast  a  cloud  over  iier  young  brow,  and  how  her  I  under  his  own  roof  Will  you  not  do  tliis, 
pulses  bounded  as  tlie  woods,  and  streams,  and  dearest  ?" 

meadows  of  Bletchley  came  in  sight;  the  village  Gertrude  was,  even  amid  her  gentleness,  still 
street,  tlie  dingy  cottage,  and  finally  the  rigid  woman  enough  to  exult  in  her  power,  and  wliile 
figure  of  lier  aunt!  she  returned  the  fond  pressure  of  his  fingers,  she 

Miss  Wi'.rrington  looked  doubly  erect  and  whispered  softl\% — 
doubly  stern,  as  she  saw  her  niece  not  only  ^  "  JSIo,  I  must  have  the  villa.  It  will  require — 
alight  from  an  ex])ensive  travelling  conveyance,  i  will  it  not? — at  least  six  months  to  effect  all  the 
but  even  introduce  beneatli  her  roof,  and  with-  alterations  which  you  proposed.  Wlien  tiiesa 
out  lior  ]>eimission,  a  person  to  whom  slie  was  are  comjileted,  and  not  before,  I  will,  on  my 
a  stranger,  but  an  hour  had  scarcely  elapsed  ere  j  side,  fulfil  my  proiuise." 


V  x\j-i  i>i'^i.u  iir.r». 


ivn 


Widi  a  ^asp  of  ngony,  Ernest  Armstrong 
turtod  to  liis  li-et,  but  she  held  him  bfuk. 

"Listen  to  me,"  she  said  with  a  pale  cheek, 
lid  a  tioinbling  voice,  "listen  to  me,  and  for- 
ivemc! — I  have  returned  to  yon  rieli — fiibu- 
^Misly  rich — tliis  gentleman — my  aunt — will  tell 
oil  all !  Do  1  not  owe  respect  to  the  menioiy 
!'  liini  who  lias  enabled  me  to  give  myself  to 

■  u  witiiout  a   blush   at  my  own   penury?     1 

ive  played  with  your  feelings,  and  I  am  self- 
ondeinncd  ;  pardon  me,  therefore,  and  grant 
nv  last  recpiest:  defer  onr  marriage,  and  liere- 
ifter  I  will  iiave  no  will  but  vourf^!" 


miserably  eonscions  of  all  my  weakness,  nil  my 
inconsistency.  IJur,  my  niotiier — niy  nuil.lier— 
Gertrude,  loved  us  botii.  Listen  to  me,  for  her 
sake.  I  am  sitting  here  alone — alone  1  Do  you 
comprehend  all  the  meaning  which  may  be  con- 
densed into  that  solitary  word  ? — Alone,  in  the 
stately  saloon  of  one  of  the  stateliest  mansions 
of  London.  My  child  ia  above  stairs.  I  dare 
not  trust  niyseff  at  this  moment  to  see  her  near 
me.  1  liave  just  returned  from  Westrum;  from 
the  vault  of  my  family,  wiiere  I  stood,  as  an 


empty  niche  received  the  body  of — yes,  Ger- 
Itriule,  of  the  mother  of  my  wife,  which  I  had 

The  tale  was  soon  told,  and  even  the  lover  bid  them  place  beside  my  own, — and  would  you 
•s:is  convinced,  although  he  still  murmured,  know  where  that  wife  was,  at  the  vei-y  moment 
'lertrude  was  restored  U>  him,  and,  although  in  1  when  I  was  thus  engaged?  I  will  tell  you.  In 
the  first  joy  of  meeting  he  was  eomjiaratively  ithe  arms  of  a  paramour;  a  pretended  cousin; 
i.isensible  to  the  fact  that  she  had  returned  home  j of  a  perfidious  friend,  of  a  tiend,  whose  name 
a  wealthy  heiress,  an  instant's  reflection  sutliced  will  hang  like  a  curse  upon  my  lips  in  my 
to  convince  him  of  the  effect  which  such  a  cir-  death-agony.  Go,  sleep  amid  your  riches,  will 
cumstance  must  naturally  produce  upon  his  .you  say  to  me,  proud  in  your  virtuous  poverty, 
family.  The  flushed  cheek  of  Miss  Warrington,  i  You  do  not  know  Sybil.  8he  has  ruined  her 
the  proud  eye  of  Mr.  Jackson,  and  the  meek' child.  For  myself  I  care  n(»t.  What  have  I  to 
affection  of  the  orphan,  which  almost  Ecemed  to  regret?  Yet  Eva  is  young,  too  young  to  have 
;.sk  forgiveness  for  a  prosperity  that  rendered  been  contaminated  by  bad  example,  or  humbled 

r  his  equal  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  all  tended  by  coin])nssion.  Ah,  Gertrude  I  cannot  tell 
:>  awaken  him  to  a  perfect  consciousness  of  the  you  what  she  is  1  Her  glorious  beauty  may 
L'.-eat  and  unexpected  change  which  had  taken  peri-hance  be  the  reflection  of  lior  mother's,  but 
]^!ace  iii  her  fortunes,  and  yet  it  was  with  a  her  clinging  love,  hei- gentle  nature,  her  endear- 
hiiiigled  feeling  that  he  murmured,  as  he  released  ing  sweetness — these  are  all  your  own.  Will  you 
,  her  hand, —  I  reject  her?     England  is  no  longer  a  home  for 

■  •■  Gertrude,  I  rejoice  for  you — for  myself — for  me.  The  principles  which  I  ind>ibed  from  my 
all  I — and  still,  I  would  ask  you  never  to  forget  mother's  lips,  ill  as  1  have  employed  them,  forbid 
tliat  I  loved  you  before  this  strange  event  had  seH'-destruction,  and  I  will  live  on  as  some  ex- 
c^nie  to  pass.  piation  for  four  j'cars  of  weakness  and  of  folly. 

••  When  I  forget  it,  may  I  forget  myself"  But  I  cannot  endure  shame.  The  first  finger 
!"!rmured  the  orphan,  overawed  by  his  emotion,  which  was  pointed  against  me  would  .sear  into 
'Cut  why  should  you  look  so  coldly,  Ernest?  my  spirit  like  a  brand,  and  therefore,  from 
Is  this  gold  to  bring  distrust  between  us?"  |henceforth,  so  long  as  I  may  be  condemned  to 

Who  cannot  guess  the  answer?  And  who  drag  on  an  existence  which  has  become  weary 
reipdres  to  be  told  that  the  villa  was  ready  long  and  loathsome  to  me,  I  shall  remain  an  exile. 
eri  the  six  months  of  mourning  had  expired?  Yes,  Gertrude,  an  exile  from  all  that  I  have 
Was  (iertrude  happy  ?  Yes;  she  had  with  her  loved  ;  my  country,  my  home,  and,  aiiove  all, 
(ill  the  elements  ot"  happiness!  Her  empire  niy  child,  my  blessed  child!  ]3ut  let  me  not 
w.is  home — her  throne  the  heart  of  her  husband  ,  weary  you.  I  have  looked  my  partial  ruin 
— her  ambition  a  career  of  virtue,  purity  and  steadily  in  the  face,  and  I  have  ascertained  that 
atFection.  She  was  no  heroine,  as  roii'ianee-  it  may  be  repaired  by  time.  Eva  is  yet  an  in- 
'•■aders  understand  the  term,  but  a  gracious  and  fant,  and  thus  I  have  ventured  to  retain  a  sufli- 

:i-eful  woman,  strong  in  trial,  gentle  in  pros-  cient  income  to  secure  me  against  want,  which 

rity,  and  firm'in  right.  And  yet  she  had  one  will  be  remitted  to  me  by  a  confidential  friend, 
.  •>re  pang  to  suffer,  the  last,  but  the  keenest,      [who  will  know,  and  will  "faithfully  preserve  the 

It  was  a  fortnight  after  her  return  to  Bletch-  secret  of  all  my  movements.  When  these  re- 
I   v,  .ind  it  came  to  her,  as  sorrow  often  conies,  niittances   cease    to    be   claimed,  1   shall   be   at 

I  i. rough  the  most  common-place  medium — the  peace,  and,  meanwhile,  Eva's  prosperity  v,-ill  be 
j    -t.     When  she  rose  in  the  morning,  siie  found  securetl.     Gertrude  1  this  is  a  last  a]>peal.    .  Ile- 

II  1-tter  which  Hannah  had  laid  upon  her  dress-  ceive  it  as  a  request  from  the  grave.  I  shall 
ii'cr-table.  The  handwriting  had  been  long  un-  remain  in  England  until  I  ascertain  that  my 
b'-iTi,  but  never  forgotten.  i  child  is  happy  undtu-  your  protection— ha[)py  in 


i'hus  ran  the  letter : —  |  your  love — safe  in  your  example.     1  advance  no 

Gertrude, — I  used  to  shun,  but  I  now  wel-! claim  upon  your  pity,  your  cliarity,  your  for- 
e  the  idea  that  you  once  loved  me.     I  dare  Ibearance.      Again  1  say  that  1  dure  not.     Yet 


lat  you  once 
!•'<■  disbelieve  the  hope.  If  it  were  indeed  ajstilllhope — 
fact,  I  am  saved  ;  if  it  were  oidy  a  fiction,  strive, 
1  implore  you,  for  the  sake  of  one  as  pure,  as 
lovely,  and  as  loving  as  yourself,  to  remember 
that  we  were  bound  together  in  early  years  by 
the  ties  both  of  "clationship  and  affection.  I 
have  n  r-g'i*-  *o  f\py?al  to  you,  nor  do  I  arro- 
t'l'.te  «r»  '  "ii)  no'-even  seek  to  justify  myself 
ui  tl»e  ''.i-r'.-'-A':;  ',(  a'.othei-.  I  am  coascious,  too  I 
13 


FllEDKl 


M. 


irriMEiu 


"  Who  wns  (he  beautiful  woman  with  whonri 
you  were  conversing  just  now?"  asked  Lord 
Francis  Lorimer  of  his  friend  (ireville,  between 
the  pauses  of  a  quadrille. 

"Beautiful!"    echoed    Gfeville    wllli    cnLhu- 


104 


THE  RIVAL  BEAUTIESu 


sinsm.  "  Slie  is  .in  angel !  You  remember  llor- 
limer,  wiiose  wife  eloped  with  Trevor  about 
twenty  years  ago,  when  we  were  soinewliat 
younger'than  we  are  to-night,  and  were  daaeers 
instead  of  lookers-on.  "Well,  that  radiant  wo- 
man was  her  daughter — a  mere  infant  in  the 
nursery — and  see  her  now  I  One  of  the  most 
lovely  and  esiimable  women  in  England.     How 

proud is  of  her.     By  tlio  bye,  that  was  a 

glorious  speech  he  made  in  the  House  last 
night!  He's  a  rising  man,  depend  upon  it! 
There's  good  stutf  foi  A  minister  there.  And 
•uch  a  wiful" 


"  By  Jove  !  she  treads  like  an  empress,"  ex- 
claimed  his  listener. 

"  And  feels  like  a  woman,"'  retoi-ted  Lord 
Francis  ;  "  I  know  but  one  wife  or  mother  in  the 
kingdom  whom  I  value  more  than  herself,  and 
that  is " 

■"  Mrs.  Armstrong,"  said  Greville  with  an  ani- 
mated smile  !  "  And  ghid  am  I  to  find  that  even 
amid  your  admii-ation  for  younger  and  brighter 
b'-auty,  you  can  still  do  her  justice.  Had  I 
fift}'  sons,  I  would  strive  to  marry  thenj  all  to 
the  daugliters  of  Mrs.  Armstrong." 


TEE  E^'D 


THE  WIFE'S  TTtlALS. 


ly  have  been  defaced  ;  while  a  fair  stream,  which 
soon  swelled  almost  to  a  river,  flowing  through 
land  that  richly  repaid  the  tiller's  toil,  seemed  to 
defy  alike  distribution  or  disfigurement.  All 
around  was  beauty  and  fertility,  proving  tliat  if 
the  world-denying  monk  knew  how  to  select  hia 
residence  so  as  best  to  draw  tribute  from  wood, 
earth,  and  water,  he  looked  at  scenery  with  the 
eye  of  the  painter,  and  often  with  the  feeling  of  a 
poet. 

The  Priory,  though  still  so  called,  was  no  more 
the  Priory  of  past  generations  than  if  it  had  ac- 
tually been  razed  to  its  foundations  and  rebuilt 
— for,  except  the  foundations,  few  traces  of  its 
original  arrangement  were  left — passages  along 


CHAPTER   I. 

"Should  I  nnnther  love,  then  must  I  have 
Annlhtr  heart,  ll.r  this  is  full  .,f  her, 
And  evermore  >h;UI  he  ;  here  she  is  drawn 

Al  Uiiglh,  aud  whole '" 

Jlymen'a  Triumph. 

Seabrooke  Priory,  the  principal  theater  of 
our  tale,  had,  as  the  name  indicates,  originally 
formed  part  of  an  extensive  property  belonging 
to  the  Komish  Church.  In  the  reign  of  Henry 
the  Eighth  it  was  cut,  and  carved,  and  distributed 
as  best  suited  the  views  of  that  libel  on  kings; 
and  while  its  hundreds  of  acres  were  shared 
among  those  who  best  abetted  him  in  his  tyrannic 

sway,  the  Priory  itself,  and  the  rich  lands  in  its.}  which  many  a  holy  man  had  glided  with  thoughts 
immediate  vicinity,  were  bestowed  on  the  especial  fixed  on  sacred  subjects,  had  since  resounded  ^vith 
favorite  of  the  day,  or  rather  hour,  caprice  being  [  the  warlike  tread  of  him  whose  trade  was  slaugh- 
as  much  the  characteristic  of  this  monstrous  blot  ter.  and  whose  thoughts  were  of  deeds  of  violence 
on  history's  page  as  cruelty.  and  blood — the  spot  wliere  the  simple  cells  had 

Through  the  hands  of  various  masters  did  this  '  stood,  whose  walls  had  echoed  many  a  sigh  of  re- 
fair  specimen  of  u i  ure  and  art  successively  pass  j  gret,  many  a  groan  of  remorse,  many  an  agoniz 
— now  belonging  >;o  a  Papist,  when  matins  and  i  ing  cry  fur  pardon,  when  the  overburdened  spirit 
vespers  rang  out,  and  other  ceremonip«  of  popery  [  must  speak  or  die;  adoined  now  with  the  rude 
prevailed— now  owning  the  rule  of  i-  *-~*otestaiit  j  luxury  of  more  modern  times,  received  its  reeling 
courtier,  till  the  civil  wars  threw  all  ir:o  confu-  t  occupant  through  the  various  stages  of  de'bauch- 
sion,  and  the  stern,  uncompromising  Independent,  ery,  from  tip.sy  excitement  to  the  most  degraded 
denouncing  aH  who  differed  in  opinion  from  him,  i  state  of  drunken  insensibility,  and  resounded 
as  tares  fit  only  for  the  burning,  seized  upon  Sea-  J  with  ribald  jests  or  fierce  imprecations.  The  rery 
brooke  as  one  of  the  strongholds  of  the  scarlet  I  gardens,  with  their  fragrance  and  loveliness,  were 
abomination,  or    the   scarcely   less   hateful   pre-  \  less  fragrant,  less  lovely,  when  thronged  with  the 


latic  schism,  and  confiscated  it  to  the  uses  of  the 
Stat*. 

Afterward  came  the  Eestoration  ;  when,  sadly 
shorn  of  its  fields  and  pastures,  its  sweep  of  rising 
ground  to  the  east,  and  its  river  to  the  west,  it 
fell  into  the  hands  of  a  parasite  of  that  court, 
whose  profligacy  and  infamy  were  the  disgrace  of 
the  nation  which  permittetl  them.  Again  and 
again,  and  each  time  more  speedily,  did  it  change 
owners,  and  at  every  cliange,  like  the  bottle  con- 
taining the  imp,  fetch  less  ;  till,  when  the  South- 
Sea  Bubble  was  nearly  at  its  height,  one  who  had 
speculated  fortunately,  was  equally  fortunate  in 
realizing  before  the  explosion  occun-ed,  and  thrice 
fortunate  in  escaping  the  disgorging  process,  which 
fell  with  ruinous  effect  on  so  many,  purchased  all 
that  remained  of  the  Seabrooke  estate  for  a  sum 
which  furnished  its  late  possessor  with  funds  for 
discharging  a  so-called  debt  of  honor. 

"  Cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confin'd,"  as  were  the 
limits  of  this  once  almost  regal  property,  so  em- 
inently beautiful  was  the  situation,  that  had  it 
been  converted  into  some  huge  and  tall  chimneyed 
factory  town,  its  natiu-al  attractions  could  scarce- 


fallen  angels  who  were  occasionally  invited  to  the 
Priory  revels,  lor  "  the  trail  of  the  serjjent  was 
over  them  all." 

Thus  it  had  gone  on  with  a  downward  tendency, 
when,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  his  compeers 
of  the  Stock  Exchange,  Mr.  Ashley  became  the 
purchaser ;  nor  was  this  astonisliment  le.ssened 
when  they  found  that  he  not  only  intendeJ  to 
keep  his  bargain,  but  to  lay  out  a  considerable 
sum  of  money  on  its  improvement.  Tliis  was  car- 
ried on  with  a  good  sense,  which  showed  that  he 
had  well  understood  his  wishes,  and  calculated 
his  means.  Gradually,  by  advantageous  .'^ales  or 
exchanges  of  out-lying  patches,  anl  equally  ad- 
vantageous purcliases  of  alienated  land  near  the 
center  of  the  property,  he  possessed,  in  tiie  course 
of  a  quarter  of  a  century,  one  of  the  most  com- 
pact as  well  as  beautiful  estates  in  Enghind. 
Thrifty  but  not  penurious,  never  generous  but 
always  just,  for  years  and  years  af\er  his  deatli, 
he  was  cited  as  the  greatest  bemfa:;tor  tlie  Priory 
had  ever  called  master  ;  and  this  title  was  in- 
herited by  both  son  and  grandson,  who  (.•arried 
on  his  plana  without  attempting  to  extend  them. 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


Tha  building  itself  was  completed  by  his  grand- 
son, and  had  received  but  trilling  alterations  since 
his  time,  whun  deccuding  still  through  the 
Ashleys,  a  race  whose  enterprise  and  love  of  ac- 
cumulation seem  to  have  ended  with  the  origional 
purchaser,  the  Priory,  with  its  valuable  tene- 
ments, hereditaments,  etc.,  etc.,  became  the  prop- 
erty of  Horace  Ashley,  the  very  last  male  heir  of 
a  lamily  which  had  lately  boasted  of  six  sons, 
'ihe  father  of  Horace,  a  younger  son,  fell  in  bat- 
tle, leaving  a  widow,  and  their  only  child.  She 
Wiis  of  noble  birth,  but  poor,  and  on  the  death  of 
her  husband  gratefully  accepted  the  offer  of  a  rel- 
ative, that  at  his  expense  Horace  should  be  educat- 
ed for  his  father's  profession;  but  death  after 
death  among  the  Ashleys,  at  length  left  this  boy 
the  possessor  of  a  property  which,  at  his  birth,  had 
seemed  as  far  removed  from  him  as  a  kingdom. 

After  completing  his  education,  no  longer  as  a 
soldier,  but  as  a  wealthy  landed  proprietor,  he  set 
ofiF,  as  was  tlie  fashion,  on  his  travels ;  and  in 
France  was  introduced  to  the  family  of  Lord 
Westrough,  to  whose  daughter,  Lady  Frances,  a 
beautiful  girl,  he  became  passionately  attached. 
Horace,  from  early  delicacy  of  health,  had  been 
much  with  his  loving  and  true-hearted  mother — 
to  him  she  was  a  type  of  womanly  virtues  and 
excellences— a  model  of  all  that  was  lovely  and 
good ;  and  the  virtues  he  had  ever  found  in  her 
were,  by  a  poetic  and  chivalrous  temperament, 
believed  to  exist  equally  in  the  lovely  Frances. 

His  proposals  were  received  with  scarcely  con- 
cealed delight  by  the  noble  but  needy  parents; 
and  by  the  lady  herself  with,  at  least,  no  opposi- 
tion. He  returned  to  England  the  happj^  lover, 
and  w.as  making  extensive  and  costly  preparations 
for  the  reception  of  the  fair  fianrte,  wheu  he 
receivjil  the  dreadful  intelligence  that  she  had 
privately  married  the  handsome  but  profligate 
Captain  Templeton. 

Horace  never  recovered  from  this  shock  to  his 
best  and  tenderest  feelings ;  but  too  benevolent  to 
visit  on  his  fellows  generally  the  treachery  of  one, 
he  became  neither  a  misanthrope  nor  a  recluse; 
if  love  had  been  rudely  crushed  in  his  heart, 
other  feelings  still  beat  warmly  and  Idndly  to 
those  arounl  him— if  one  had  been  false,  he  had 
troops  of  friends  true  and  constant — and  though 
sad  h.mself,  he  had  the  blessed  privilege  of  bring- 
ing joy  to  others.  Ah !  why  had  not  this  noble 
nature  been  early  taught,-  that  where  respect  is 
lost,  love  should  not  be  allowed  to  linger ;  a  lesson 
which  is  still  unknown  to  some  of  the  best  and 
gentlest,  who  have  mistaken  the  glitter  of  tinsel 
for  the  luster  of  pure  metal. 

Doubly  endeared  by  this  trial  to  his  mother, 
who  sought  witli  all  the  ingenuity  of  real  affection 
to  mitigate  the  etYects  of  this  bitter  disappoint- 
ment, he  resided  henceforth  with  her,  chiefly  at 
the  Priory ;  and  when,  at  an  advanced  age,  she 
died,  he  spent  tiic  remainder  of  his  days  in  carry- 
ing out  their  joint  schemes  for  improving  and 
benefiting  all  around  him.  At  length  his  own 
career  of  unobtrusive  goodness  ended,  and  great 
was  the  curiosity  to  know  to  whom  the  large  and 
productive  property  at  Seabrooke  would  descend. 

It  then  appeared  that  lie  had  never  forgotten 
her,  through  who.sc  heartless  conduct  his  whole 
life  liad  been  clouded.  Captain  Templeton  had 
died  about  eight  years  after  his  marriage,  leaving 


t-a  son  and  daughter,  with  their  mother,  entirely 
dependent  ou  relatives.  The  daughter,  by  a  little 
management,  had  been  received  by  her  great-aunt, 
and  resided  with  her  in  Scotland  ;  but  as  Lady 
j  Annes  income  was  small,  poor  Laura  might  easily 
have  learned  how  hard  it  is  to  eat  the  bread  of 
'  another,  had  not  a  kind  friend,  whose  incognito  it 
was  easy  to  guess,  from  time  to  time  forwarded 
sums  of  money  for  her  especial  benefit. 

Lionel  lived  with  his  mother  and  an  unmarried 
uncle,  and  was  destined  for  his  father's  profession; 
the  silly  mother's  predilection  for  a  scaidet  coat 
and  gold  epaulettes  not  having  been  cured  by  her 
dearly-bought  experience,  that  they  may  cover  a 
heart  quite  poor  in  all  noble  sentiments  and  up- 
right  principles.  Petted  and  spoiled  when  a  child, 
!  insolence  and  selfishness  marked  his  boyhood,  nor 
1  was  there  any  one  circumstance  in  which  he  was 
placed  that  tended  to  root  out,  or  even  weaken, 
these  hateful  qualities ;  for  though  often  obliged 
to  conceal  them,  and  to  seem  humble,  because  he 
did  not  dare  to  be  overbearing ;  or  to  affect  cour- 
j  tesy  when  he  longed  to  insult,  because  self-interest 
)  counseled  restraint — these  fostered  vices  of  his 
:  character  broke  out  "with  double  violence  when 
I  they  could  do  so  with  impunity. 
I  At  the  death  of  his  uncle,  which  happened  when 
\  he  was  about  six-and-twenty,  he  and  his  lady 
mother  found  themselves  almost  destitute.  His 
I  uncle's  income  died  with  him,  but  the  little  he 
I  had  saved  purcha.sed  a  trifling  annuity  for  Lady 
\  Frances ;  while  other  relatives,  having  been  alien- 
ated or  estranged  by  the  exclusive  appropriation 
of  their  deceived  kinsman  and  his  means,  studi- 
j  ously  kept  aloof. 

Nothiug  so  mean  as  selfish  pride.  Lady  Frances, 
quite  unconscious  that  the  heart  she  had  wounded 
t  could  still  smart  at  her  touch  ;  quite  thoughtless 
I  or  regardless  that  in  referring  to  past  times,  and 
I  in  pleading  the  cause  of  her  son,  the  man,  child- 
i  less  and  solitary,  would  feel  doubly  desolate ;  she 
I  skillfully  alluded  to  some  service  he  had  recently 
'  rendered  government,  and  entreated  his  aid  to 
procure  for  Lionel  some  subordinate  appointment 
then  vacant. 

I  The  reply  was  distant,  cold,  almost  haughty. 
\  In  serving  government,  Mr.  Ashley  claimed  neither 
1  reward  nor  recompense ;  but  understanding  that 
[  Mr.  Lionel  Templeton  had  been  educated  for  the 
army,  he  placed  at  his  command  a  commission  in 
\  a  regiment  leaving  for  active  service  in  the  Penin- 
I  sula,  and  had  the  honor  to  remain  her  Ladyship's 
obedient  servant. 

Brief  was  her  remark — "  Unless  he  had  alto- 
gether refused,  he  could  not  have  done  less  nor 
worse."  She  knew  not  that  this  formal,  business- 
like letter  had  cost  the  writer  many  hours  of 
sharp  anguish.  "  He  is  a  regular  old  bore,"  was 
the  grateful  criticism  of  the  son  ;  and  he  also  lit- 
tle knew  that  this  very  commission  had  been 
procured  with  difhculty  and  great  cost,  at  a  period 
when  men  were  eager  to  distinguish  themselves  on 
the  battle-field,  for  the  express  purpose  of  remov- 
ing him  from  the  pernicious  influence  of  his  weak 
mother,  and  by  placing  him  among  men  of  honor, 
and  the  stern  realities  of  an  active  and  responsible 
duly,  to  afford  him  a  chance  of  becoming  wiser 
and  better. 

Though  taking  but  little  part  in  the  busy  hum 
of  men,  Horace  Ashley  was  not  entii-ely  ignorant 


THE  \v[ff;s  trials. 


what  passed  in  the  modern  Babylon,  and  lis- 
nedwitli  a  painful  interest  to  the  proceoilings  of 
idy  Frances ;  for  though  all  he  learned  proved 
ir  to  be  utterly  destitute  of  any  quality  that 
Ins  respjct  or  esteem,  by  him  she  was  remem- 
sed  as  the  beautiful  girl,  who  had  realized  his 
sions  of  the  fair  spirit  that  was  to  minister  to 
m  through  life.  Her  folly,  with  regard  to  her 
n,  he  greatly  deplored,  and  when  applied  to  on 
s  behalf,  responded  to  the  appeal,  as  we  have 
en,  ^vith  the  kindest  intentions,  and  in  the  most 
fectual  manner. 

At  iirst,  Lionel  vapored  and  gasconaded  about 
fusing  the  commission  ;  he  upbraided  his  mother 
ir  having  subjected  him  to  this  impe'rtinent  med- 
ling,  and  insinuated  that  Mr.  Ashley  had  taken 
lis  opportunity  of  showing  her  how  a  beggar 
iiould  be  answered,  though  at  the  time  she  pro- 
Dsed  making  the  application,  he,  with  the  hope 
:"  obtaining  something  more  agreable  to  his  notions 
;■  ease  and  enjoyment,  had  warmly  seconded  the 
fort.  With  the  next  post,  however,  a  change 
ime  over  him  ;  it  brought  a  convincing  argument, 
the  form  of  a  bill  for  one  thousand  pounds,  to 
rocure  the  outfit  and  pay  necessary  expenses ; 
18  donor,  as  it  appeared,  not  anticipating  a  refu- 
il  of  his  otier.  Lionel  then  took  another  tone ; 
isolence  was  exchanged  for  meanness,  bravado 
)r  fawning,  ungrateful  sneers  for  expressions  of 
Imost  servile  obligation. 

Happily  for  his  comfortable  estimate  of  himself 
lid  his  importance,  this  new-born  abasement  did 
ot  survive  the  touch  of  the  money  ;  this  singular 
mnility  vanished  at  the  sight  of  the  commission, 
nd  his  letter  of  thanks  was  manly  and  gentle- 
lanly — accompanied  by  one  from  his  mother,  an 
dd  mixture  of  platonism  and  sentimentality,  in 
hich  she  talked  a  good  deal  of  namby-pamby 
bout  former  friendship  and  days  long  past,  and 
inted  that  Lionel  was  most  anxious  to  express 
is  thanks  in  person,  to  one  who  had  been  so  kind 
friend  ;  but  as  no  notice  was  taken  of  this  sug- 
gestion, it  is  presumed  no  answering  anxiety  was 
felt  to  see  him ;  and  so  he  went  with  his  regiment 
0  win  battles  and  gather  laurels ;  to  try  for 
i.ame  and  fams  on  those  fields  where  liberty  and 
iie  are  both  so  often  lost. 

Lionel  was  not  deMcicnt  in  either  ambition  or  j 
jourage ;  and  though  the  discipline  to  which  he 
yas  subjected  was  galling  to  his  pride  and  opposed  j 
his   habits  of  self-indulgence,   he   had   sense  ' 
inough  to  know  that  during  the  stirring  times  of 
Tar,  he  who  aspires  to  high  rank  as  an  officer  ! 
aust  prove  his  claim  to  promotion  by  being  a  good  i 
soldier ;  and  promotion  did  follow  his  endeavors, 
or  his  name  was  honorably  mentioned   in   the 
aeneral's  dispatches,  and  friends  in  England  sud- 
ienly  recovering  their  memory,  began  to  call  on 
md  congratulate  Lady  Frances  ;  when  an  engage- 
ment took  place  in  which  his  regiment  sutfered 
38vei-ely,  and  he,  as  it  was  supposed,  fell  mortally 
■wounded — supposed  only — for  his  body  was  not 
found,  while  a  soldier  who  fought  near  him,  but 
who  escaped,  declared  he  saw  him  fall — struck 
from  his  horse  by  a  violent  blow  on  the  head. 
These  dreadful  tidings  and  the  harassing  sus- 
nse  were  fatal  to  his  mother ;  and  when,  more 
than  a  year  afierward,  he  appeared,  great  was 
the  astonishment  at  his  escape;  greater  still  at 
silence.     It  was  quite  true  that  he  had  been 


violently  struck  on  his  head,  and  he  supposed, 
while  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  he  must  iiavo 
been  ridden  over,  as  wiien  consciousness  returned 
he  suffered  acutely  from  various  contusions  and 
a  fractured  arm.  He  ascribed  his  escape  en- 
tirely to  the  intervention  of  a  priest,  whose 
religious  duty  led  him  into  the  ranks  of  friend 
or  foe  to  help  and  console — by  him  he  was  taken 
to  his  convent,  and  there  nursed  till  perfectly 
recovered— but  he  always  seemed  careful  to 
avoid  entering  into  any  particulars  connected 
with  his  long  absence,  and  was  equally  uncom- 
municative regarding  the  reasons  for  his  strange 
silence. 

To  his  wealthy  friend  he  wrote  announcing  hia 
return,  and  again  received  substantial  proofs  of 
his  favor  and  generosity  ;  and  the  gay  and  hand- 
some Lionel,  now  Colonel  Templeton,  became  tlie 
hero  of  various  fashionable  coteries,  while  the 
fair,  the  young,  and  the  wealthy  made  him  the 
hero  of  tlieir  romance. 

Among  those  who  combined  all  tliree  of  these 
gifts  was  the  Honorable  EUinor  Grantham,  to 
wliom  Lionel  contrived  to  make  himself  so  agree- 
able that  she  consented  to  give  him  herself,  and, 
what  he  by  no  means  undervalued,  all  her  rich 
belongings  also.  EUinor's  brother.  Lord  Gran- 
tham, who  was  not  the  least  in  love  with  the  all- 
conquering  Colonel,  reminded  her  that  Lionel, 
before  he  left  England,  had  established  for  him- 
self a  character  which  was  composed  of  several 
unattractive,  not  to  say  ugly,  features — that  it, 
was  hinted  he  was  dissipated,  whispered  that  he 
gambled,  and  openly  asserted  that  he  was  selfish 
and  false.  But  EUinor  did  not  believe  either  tlie 
hint,  the  whisper,  or  the  assertion ;  and  they 
were  married,  her  romantic  confidence  leadiiig 
her  to  place  the  whole  of  her  large  fortune  at 
his  disposal. 

A  few  months  after  their  marriage  they  went 
abroad,  and  traveled  about  from  one  place  to 
another,  during  which  time  two  girls  were  born, 
with  whom  Colonel  Templeton  and  his  wife  sud- 
denly returned  to  England,  summoned  by  the 
death  of  Mr.  Ashley — who,  to  the  breathless 
astonishment  of  almost  every  one,  had  left  the 
whole  of  his  beautiful  estate,  Seabrooke  Priory, 
to  Colonel  Templeton,  in  trust  for  his  son  ;  five 
tliousand  pounds  to  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton for  her  especial  and  independent  use — ten 
thousand  to  Laura  Templeton,  and  legacies  of 
greater  or  less  amount  to  his  particular  friend, 
the  Rev.  Charles  Vernon,  and  his  family,  who 
also  held  in  trust  a  handsome  sum  for  charities. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  'Tvvas  no  fantastic  ohjet-t,  but  a  truth— 
Thou  dumb  niagician,  ihat  willioul  a  charm 
Dulst  miik«  my  entrance  easy,  to  possess 
What  wise  men  wish  and  loll  lor." 

r7ie  City  Madam. 

By  some  it  is  thought  that  adversity  is  the  true 
touch-stone  of  character  ;  some,  on  the  contrary, 
maintain  that  prosperity  is  more  trying ;  but  tho 
truth  seems  to  be,  tliat  each  only  develops  those 
qualities  which,  but  for  its  aid,  would  have  ro- 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


mained  dormant  or  unobtrusive.  The  man  who 
with  cheerful  resolution  sets  his  shoulder  to  the 
wheel  which  adversity-  has  driven  lieej)  into  the 
mire,  and,  having  extricated  it,  will  iielpor  teach 
another  to  do  the  same,  is  very  likely  to  bear 
prosperity  with  equanimity,  and  a  generous 
sympathy  for  those  less  fortOnate;  while  another, 
who  has  shrunk  from  exertion  when  most  needed, 
and  submitted  to  a  paralyzing  dependence,  or 
degrading  pauperism,  would  be  very  likely,  were 
wealth  to  becnme  his,  to  overvalue  it  as  a  miser, 
or  squander  it  as  a  selfish  spendthrift 

«'  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  Colonel  Temple- 
ton  ':"  inquired  Mrs  Vernon  of  her  hu.-band,  as 
they  took  their  hitherto  privileged  walk  in  the 
beautiful  grounds  more  immediately  near  the 
Priory,  a  lew  days  before  his  arrival. 

"Nut  much,"  was  the  cautious  and  rather 
equivocal  reply,  even  to  his  beloved  wife— for  had 
he  finished  the  sentence,  it  would  have  been 
thus,  "  to  his  advantage." 

"  He  has  been  living  chiefly  abroad  since  his 
marriage,  has  he  not .'  I  wonder  whetiier  he  re- 
sembles Mrs.  Sinclair  ?  if  no,  he  must  be  very 
handsome !"' 

"  He  is  said  to  be  a  very  handsome  and  fas- 
cinating man,"  said  Mr.  Vernon  ;  "  but  owing  to 
their  early  separation  I  should  expect  but  little 
similarity  in  character  between  brother' and  sis- 
ter, whatever  there  may  be  in  looks.  This  oppor- 
tune legacy  will,  I  hope,  relieve  the  Sinclairs 
from  tiieir  dependence  on  Sir  Alan,  and,  by' 
reconciling  him  to  the  match,  induce  him  to  ex- 
ert his  influence  in  a  more  fatherly  way  tluui  in 
trying  to  banish  them  to  tlie  fever-giving  coast, 
of  Africa." 

"But  I  thought  he  gave  his  consent  to  the 
marriage,"  observed  Mrs.  Vernon. 

'•  So  he  did — but  he  then  believed  iliss  Tem- 
pleton  was  heiress  to  something  better  than  Lady 
Anne  Ferguson's  old  chairs  and  tables — even 
now,  I  believe,  he  resents  what  he  considers  a 
trick  much  more  than  the  loss  of  fortune." 

The  speakers  were  the  rector  of  Seabrooke  ami 
his  wife,  whose  characters  may  be  briefly  ex- 
pressed in  the  wish,  that  all  in  situations  of  sim- 
ilar responsibility  possessed  similar  excellence. 
He  was  an  intelligent  and  benevolent  looking 
man  of  about  thirty-five;  she,  a  gentle  reflec- 
tion, a  fev/  years  younger.  Mr.  Vernon  was  the 
nephew  of  the  late  Mr.  Ashley's  dear  friend  and 
traveling  companion — the  only  one,  except  his 
revered  mother,  who  knew  all  the  particulars  of 
liis  disappointment  and  its  trying  effects — and 
after  her  death  the  only  one  with  whom  he  could 
ever  revert  to  the  past.  When  the  event  which 
doomed  him  to  solitude  had  calmed  down  from 
the  sharp  agony  whicli  wrung  alike  mind  and 
body,  into  the  patient  endurance,  if  not  quiet 
resignation,  which  time  produces,  Mr.  Ashley 
turned  to  take  a  survey  of  what,  amid  this  gnat 
wreck,  ha<l  been  left — and  he  found  liis  mother 
and  his  friend— these  he  at  first  believ.d  to  be 
all— but  gradually  mother  and  friend  convinced 
liim  that  there  were  still  nolde  and  inexhausiible 
resources,  from  which  nuich  happiiu'ss — yes.  li;ip- 
piness,  so  they  snid^ — might  be  <lcrived.  He  was 
at  first  skeptical,  but  he  tried  them — tried  them 
well — and  they  were  not  found  wanting;  and 
Leuce  the  large,  but  judicious,  expenditure  of  his 


handsome    income    in    plans    which    slowly,   bu" 
I  surely,  did  lasting  and  extensive  good. 
I      Mr.  Vernon  it  was  who  gained  information  foi' 
,  him  of  Lady  Frances  and  her  children,  though 
]  neither  he   nor   liis   nephew  Charles   tliought   ii 
I  needful  to  enter  into  the  details  of  that  cliit-chal 
which  dubbed  her  ladyship  a  fool  and  her  soc 
a  vaurieii.     But  when  Mr.  A.^hley,  pleased  with 
what  was  publicly  told  of  Lionel,  and  e.-pecially 
with  his  marriage  into  a  family  so  much  respect- 
ed as  that  of  the  Granthams,  talked  of  makin" 
him  his  heir,  then  Mr.  Vernon  suggested  that  the 
property   should   be  entailed  on  a  ton.  arguing 
that  the  income  arising  from  it  was  so  ample  as 
to  admit  of  a  style  of  Jiving  not  only  generous 
but  lavish  ;  and,  in  short,  that,  unUer  any  cir- 
cumstances,   it    was    always    betier    to   restrain 
those  who  had  been  educated  in  such  thoughtless 
indulgence,  as  it  was  notorious  Colonel  Temple- 
ton  had  been.     Thus  then  it  was  settled,  and  lit- 
tle did  the  Colonel  know  to  whom  lie  was  indebted 
fur  the  clog  to  this  magnificent  bequest,  which  he 
so  often  found  iriitating  and  gaUing. 

On  Mr.  Vernon's  death,  which  occurred  shortly 
before  the  death  of  his  friend,  the  living  was 
given  to  Charles  Vernon,  who,  with  his  wife  and 
family,  took  possession  of  the  rectory,  and  en-. 
tered  zealously  on  the  performance  of  his  import-  ■ 
ant  duties. 

Both  church  and  rectory  had  been  repaired  by 
the  fiist  Mrs.  Asliley,  who  was  grieveU  to  think 
how  lung  the  work  of  ruin  musi  ha.e  been  al- 
lowed to  go  on  unchecked.     She  found  buih  in  a 
stale  of  decay  and  neglect,  only  too  sadly  typical 
of  the  minds  anvl  morals  of  the  people  generally. 
But  now  few  things  could  ofter  a  more  strikii'.- 
cuntiast  between  tlie  past  and  the-present.      1 1 
church,  one   of  those   rare  .^-pecimeiis  of  Goin; 
architecture  occasionally  found  in  England,  had 
been  restored,  uut  desuoyed  ;  wiiile  tlie  rectory,  ' 
built  to  harmonize  with  it  as  much  as  due  regard 
to  internal  cumlort  would  permit,  was  a  model  of 
taste  .-iiid  beauty — it  was  within  an  easy  walk  of 
the  church,  :iud  nearly  two  miles  from  the  Priory, 
of  wliicli  tliere  was  a  lovely  view  from  the  study  ' 
windows;  from  the  drawing-room,  over  the  gen-  \ 
tly-sloping  lawn,  the  sea  was  vjsihle;  toward  the  ■ 
north  u  was  sheltered  by  the  eminence  on  which 
stood  the  church,  and  by  a  well-contrived  plan- 
tation tf  hardy  trees.     But  oh!  the  rectory  gar-  ; 
den — let,   us  peep  at   it  over   its   shining  laurel 
hedge,  though  it  may  be  very  early  spring— for  " 
it  is  always  pretty  from  the  suggestions  of  taste  ■ 
which  the  mere  arrangement  called  up.     Look  at 
those  well-contrasted  evergreens,  keeping  watch 
over  the  bidden   treasuies,  till  suns  and  genial 
weather  shall  disclose  them — see  those  beds  of 
varied   and   fantastic  shape,  and   imagine   what  . 
they  iare  when  the  inhabitants  come  forth  in  all 
the  glory  of  their  gay  attire — hundreds  of  rosea  ' 
of  v.irioiis  hue  anU  form,  when  summer  comes, 
will  fill  the  air  with  tlieir  clear,  delicious  perfume   ' 
— and  then   rtiat  furnuil  piece  of  arabesque,  how 
dazzling  must  be  the  efl'ectwhen  the  ariissic  con- 
trasts of  color  shall  burst  upon  the  delighted  eye. 
But  all  iliis  time  the  Colonel  i.s  waiting,  and 
not  very  patiently  either,  for  it  may  be  whispered 
as  a  secret,  not  to  be  elsewhere  divulged,  that  at 
the  very  time  this  rich  inheritance  came  lo  him, 
he  was  meditating  uu  appeal  to  the  hoards  of  his 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


n?eon  benefactor ;  sickness,  increased  family, 
iifuresecn  expenses,  or  any  other  fabulous  plea 
0  might  have  invented,  would  have  been  used — 
;ul  lie  done  so,  certain  peccadilloes,  which  seemed 
Iways  to  dog  his  steps,  might  have  become 
iiown,  which  would  have  stood  between  him  and 
IS  bequest ;  but  all  was  safe — here  he  was,  again 
,  t  up  in  the  world,  and  once  more  going  to  start 
nr. 

'  "  I  think  I  must  quarter  you  and  the  children 
in  your  brother,  while  I  run  down  and  see  what 
bis  place  is  like,"  said  the  Colonel,  the  day  after 
heir  arrival  at  Dover. 

"Could  we  not  accompany  your"  suggested 
lis  wife;  "Cecil's  house  is  not  over-large,  and  I 
ear  we  may  incommode  them" — for  she  remem- 
lered  that  a  correspondence  had  passed  between 
ler  husband  and  brother,  which  had  not  been  of 
he  most  oily  character ;  and  that  when  the  last 
housand  pounds   of  her  fortune  had   been  de- 
iianded,  her  brother,  roused  from  his  usual  in- 
;.;    (lolence,  had  warmly  and  sharply  remonstrated. 
iBiit  it  suited  Colonel  Templeton  to  forget  this — 
"::   |n  short,  he  never  remembered  any  thing  that 
r    interfered  with    his    arrangements ;    besides,   it 
a    [ilao  suited   him  to   be  friendly  with  his  wife's 
;   [brother,  whose  station  and  character  reflected 
::    i^redit  which  wealth  alone  could  not;  and  he  ra- 
ther  piqued    himself  on    thus    maneuvering    to 
Jisend  EUinor  with  one  olive  branch  in  her  hand, 
i    land  the  other  in  tlie  nurse's  arms,  to  Lord  Gran- 
.    jtham,  Avho  wouM,   he  hoped,   receive    them    as 
;    ipledges  that  the  deluge  was  over,  and  that  sun- 
!    ^hine  might  be  looked  for. 

;  I  Lord  Grantham  was  a  good-tempered,  easily- 
;  jraanaged,  indolent  man;  who,  happily  for  him- 
.  .self  and  his  children,  had  married  an  amiable, 
(cheerful  wife,  possessed  in  abundance  of  the  en- 
.  iergy  and  activity  he  wanted.  Not  easily  repulsed 
;  lOr  abashed,  it  was  through  her  reiterated  solicit- 
lations  that  one  of  her  relations,  who  was  in  ofSce, 
.bestowed  a  snug  little  post  on  her  husband,  the 
ilate  lord  having  sadly  encumbered  the  family 
iestate;  it  was  through  her  laughing  but  perse- 
Ivering  entreaties  that  the  godfather  of  her  eldest 
;son  gave  him  a  cadetship;  and  she  was  so  deter- 
mined on  it,  that  an  Indian  director,  whom  she 
, besieged,  capitulated,  and  promised  to  give  the 
:8econd  boy  an  appointment  in  the  East ;  while 
^she  never  scrupled  smilingly  to  avow,  that  she 
ikept  her  hands  ready  to  catch  any  windfall  that 
.might  suit  the  youngest,  a  mere  babe;  and  all 
'this  was  done  so  heartily,  so  fearlessly,  so  frank- 
ly, with  so  complete  an  unconsciousness  of  de- 
parting in  the  least  from  the  strictest  propriety, 
that  tliose  who  looked  on  became  unconscious 
also ;  perhaps  the  more  readily  and  easily,  be- 
cause she  was  always  so  ready  to  help  others — 
when  she  had  helped  herself — that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  friends  to  censure  very  severely  that  by 
.  which  they  occasionally  profited.  Then,  she  was 
so  true  and  honest  in  all  she  did;  so  courageous 
in  suiting  her  expenses  to  her  husband's  income; 
so  judicious  in  training  her  boys,  by  early  self- 
denial,  bravely  to  meet  the  privations  they  must 
encounter  in  making  their  way  through  the 
world ;  that  every  one,  especially  men  ol  sen.se 
or  experience,  felt  a  pleasure  in  forwarding  her 
views  and  lessening  her  cares. 

In  person  she  was  exactly  the  woman  we  should 


expect  to  see— eminently  "  la  femme  dc  la  siht- 
ation/'  Tall,  well-formed,  promising  to  be  what 
is  politely  called  a  fine  woman — .iiiir/irc,  stout — 
her  clear  complexion,  bright,  well-opened  blue 
eye,  and  mouth  of  unrivaled  beauty,  all  gave 
tokens  of  a  genial,  happy  temperament. 

"How  I  ever  was  induced  to  marry  that  daw- 
dle Cecil,  1  can  not  imagine,"  she  remarked  one 
day  to  old  Admiral  Western,  who  had  been  laugh- 
in-;  at  her  naval  speculations  for  the  third  boy, 
and  had  pronounced  her  the  head  of  the  family. 

"  I  suppore,  my  love,"  replied  Lord  Grantham, 
quietly  looking  over  his  newspaper,  "  it  was  be- 
cause you  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  your 
superabundant  energy,  and  so,  in  pity  to  your 
overloaded  self,  bestowed  it  on  one  who  so  great- 
ly needed  it." 

"  Most  likely  some  such  charitable  motive  in- 
fluenced me  ;  though,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it, 
how  he  had  the  courage  to  ask  is  still  more  won- 
derful." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  leap  year,"  slily  suggested 
the  Admiral. 

"  And  you  would  insinuate  that  I  asked  him," 
she  replied,  laughing;  "  well,  even  that  is  not 
utterly  impossible." 

"  llight,"  retorted  the  old  sailor ;  "  there  is  no 
harm  in  asking,  you  know— eh.  Lady  Gran- 
tham .'" 

"  None  that  I  can  find  out ;  but  I  perceive  you 
are  thinking  of  that  phm  1  mentioned  respecting 
Alfred." 

"What,  Alfred  the  little,  dear  Etta?"  asked 
his  lordship ;  "  why,  the  child  can  not  speak 
plainly  yet." 

"  An  excellent  reason  why  his  mother  should 
speak  for  him  ;  and  Admiral  Western  has  kindly 
promised  to  use  his  influence  for  him,  when  he 
needs  it." 

"  You  take  time,  indeed,  by  the  forelock ;  and 
that  reminds  me,  I  have  ordered  the  man  to 
bring  up  the  pony,  which,  I  think,  will  match 
the  one  you  have.  He  should  be  here  by  this 
time." 

"  Indeed,  Cecil,  I  am  sorry  you  have  taken  this 
trouble,  as,  with  many  thanks  for  your  kindness, 
I  must  beg  leave  to  decline  the  gift." 

"  But  1  thought  you  said  you  would  like  n. 
pair;  and  the  truth  is,  I  do  not  like  you  to  drive 
only  one." 

"  You  are  quite  right  as  to  my  liking,  but  not 
quite  wise,  dear  husband,  about  your  own.  1 
must  have  a  governess  shortly  for  Cecilia ;  she 
can  no  longer  be  left  to  nurses;  and  it  is  clear 
how  it  will  be  decided  when  it  is  education  versiis 
two  ponies." 

"  She  is  a  capital  wife  and  mother,  too,"  said 
the  Admiral  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  house; 
"and  I  certainly  shall  not  forget  that  boy  when 
he  is  old  enough  to  need  my  aid." 

"  And  now,  Cecil,  1  must  talk  to  you  about  the 
Templetons  ;  they  will,  of  course,  be  coming 
home  to  take  possession  of  this  handsome  prop- 
erty, and  I  hope  that  any  little  asperity  which 
may  have  occurred  during  your  correspondence 
with  the  Colonel,  will  not,  for  Ellinor's  sake,  lead 
to  an  estrangement." 

"  If  it  should  suit  him  to  be  friendly,  it  cer- 
tainly will  not,"  replied  Lord  Grantham;  who, 
though  indolent  and  apathetic  generally,  bad  it 


THE    WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


nice  find  correct  apprecisition  of  character,  and 
hail  rightl}'  read  thut  of  liis  handsome  brother- 
iii-li-.w,  and  being  besiiles  a  most  affectionate 
man.  loved  his  sister  tenderly.  "  You  know  my 
opinion  ol"  Temple.ton.  and  tliat  I  always  consider 
It  an  evil  day  wliioii  bound  Ellinor's  fate  with 
hiH — her  large  furlune  is  eniirely  gone,  and  had 
it  not  been  ior  tliis  unexpected  bequest,  I  know 
no"'  what  they  would  have  done.  We  have  noth- 
ing to  jpare.  and  tliere  is  not  another  rich  aunt 
1(1  endow  my  sister  again  with  twenty  thousand 
pounds  " 

"  Ir,  is  useless  to  regret  Ellinor's  infatuation  in 
refusing  to  have  any  portiou  settled  on  herself; 
Buch  ri.iuance.  or.  as  I  read  it,  fully,  is  wholly  in- 
c..niiTehcnsibie  to  me,"  said  his  wife;  '•  but  1  un- 
der.-<(and  tliere  is  a  small  legacy  left  under  this 
will,  entirelj'  at  her  own  disposal :  let  us  hoj>e 
that  experience  has  made  her  wise,  and  that  she 
will  take  care  of  this— tliough,  of  course,  she 
will  nnw  iiiive  some  provision  made  for  herself 
and  children." 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,  Etta;  there  will  be 
none,  unless  the  will  enjoin  it ;  but  here  are  the 
letters  — Dover  post-mark,  doubtless  from  them — 
fi  om  EUinor.     Kead  it,  my  dear." 

"  Di;ar  C>cil: 

"  W'c  feel  so  sure  of  your  kind  welcome,  that  I 
purpose  Cuming  in  person  to  receive  it ;  therefore, 
if  ilei'.rietta  can  take  us  all  in,  babies  and  nuise, 
directly  I  receive  your  answer  I  shall  «tart  for 
town  The  interval  will  be  very  profitably  spent 
in  recruiting  niy  strength  by  needful  rest,  as  the 
letter  Avhich  summoned  us"found  us  at  Baden- 
Btden.  whicli  place  we  left  immediately,  and 
traveled  witiiout  stopping,  to  cross  by  the  first 
bniit.  Lionel  has  just  started  for  Seabrooke,  but 
thouglit  the  journey  too  much  for  me  and  the 
children,  and,  relying  on  j'our  ever-ready  hospi- 
tality to  receive  and  shelter  us  I  only  await  your 
reply.  This  all  seems  to  me  a  dream,  almost  too 
dflightful  to  be  true,  though,  to  make  it  com- 
plete, i  must  find  you  and  your  dear  ones  all 
well.  Bl'si  love  to  Henrietta  from  your  tired  and 
sleepy,  but  .lifectionate  sister, 

"  Elli.vor  Templeto.v." 

'•  t.'an  we  receive  them  .'"  asked  Lord  Gran- 
tham, turning  to  his  wife  with  an  anxious  louk. 

"  C;ui  we  .•  dear  Cecil,  what  a  question  !  EUi- 
nor will  take  one  spare  room,  the  nurse  and 
children  the  other;  and  Watkins  must  admit 
them  during  the  day  to  her  domains.  Shall  I 
write,  or  will  you  r" 

"  Oh.  you,  by  all  means,  and  say  we  long  to 
see  her." 

"  My  DKAn  Et-LiNon  : 

"  As  usual,  Cecil  m.ikes  me  amanuensis — I  sup- 
pose because  he  fears  lie  shall  not  make  you  un- 
deiBtind  how  rejoiced  we  shall  be  to  receive  yo;i; 
jieihaps  iiere  1  shall  also  fail,  so  let  it  pass  till 
our  meeting  tells  it  for  tis — a  ple;'.sure  which  we 
are  glad  Colonel  Templeton's  thoughtful  care  so 
carl}'  procures  us.  We  lioth  congratulate  you 
sincerely  on  your  accession  to  the  iSeabrooke 
property,  which  we  also  venture  to  hope  will  be 
a  frufticient  inducement  to  your  remaining  in  En- 
gland.    Jiu  rtvuir. 

"Henrietta  Grantham." 


"Thoughtful  care!"  repeated  ^frs.  Templeton, 
again  reading  the  brief  but  kind  note.  '-Oretch- 
en,"  she  continued,  in  German,  addressing  a 
healthy-looking  woman,  who  was  amusing  one 
pretty  little  girl,  and  singing  lullaby  to  another, 
"  we  shall  leave  immediately ;  collect  the  few 
things  we  have  unpacked — I  will  dress  Miss  Hel- 
en and  take  care  of  the  baby." 


CHAPTER,   in. 

"  Si  riiomme  s.ivoit  rougir  <le  soi,  quils  crimes  nnn  seule- 
mm  t-aoiifes.  niais  publics  et  conuus  ne  s'epurgnt-roit-U 

pus  ?■■— La  liRUYEEK. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  once  more 
was  Mrs.  Templeton  seated  in  the  very  comfort- 
able drawing-room  of  her  brother's  small  but 
well-appointed  house,  hearing  of  much  th.it  had 
occurred  since  they  had  parted,  thougli  evidently 
determined  that  they  should  hear  little  from  her" 
in  return. 

"  And  Cecilia,"  she  asked,  "  where  is  nhe .' 
Has  she  kept  her  promise  of  being  her  mother's 
image  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  is  with  my  sister  Lucy,  who  so  sadly 
spoils  her  thai  I  am  going  to  have  her  home  now 
for  a  permanency.  1  mean  to  engage  a  really 
clever  governess,  if  accomplished  all  the  better, 
but  not.  essential,  and  to  resign  Cecilia  to  her 
guid.auce  for  the  next  few  years ;  your  other 
question  is  not  so  soon  answered." 

"Merely,"  interrupted  Lord  Grantham,  "be- 
cause every  body  calls  Cepilia  a  very  handsome 
girl,  and  Etta  is  afraid,  if  she  acknowledges  the 
likeness,  she  may  be  called  vain ;  but  her  fear 
does  not  change  the  fact  of  resemblance. 

"For  shame,  Cecil,"  she  said,  justifying  his 
compliment  by  a  most  becoming  blush,  and  a 
smile  which  displaj'ed  the  beauty  and  wealth  of 
her  mouth;  and  turning  to  her  sister-in-hiw,  she 
added,  •'  but  I  wish  your  fairies  did  not  look  so 
delicaie." 

"  Helen  is  by  no  means  really  so.  nor  my  little 
Cous.auce  either,  but  our  journey  was  both  hur- 
ried au'i  fitiguing." 

"  Which  also  may  account  for  your  pale  cheeks," 
said  her  broiher ;  "  so  1  vote  that  you  seek  a  gi.od 
nigiit's  rest,  and  to-morrow  shall  bring  its  full 
shiire  of  news  and  gossip." 

"  1  really  shall  not  decline  the  prescription ; 
the  fact  of  being  once  more  under  this  roof  insures 
success,  and  so  good-night." 

"  Cecil!"  said  Lady  Grantham,  fixing  her  clear 
eyes  on  her  husband,  with  rather  more  than  their 
usual  sparkle  in  them. 

"  I  know,  my  dear  Etta,  all  that  your  indignant 
looks  mean,  but  it  is  evident  she  has  taken  her 
resolution,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  interfere,  especi- 
ally unasked." 

"  Quite  my  idea,"  she  replied ;  "  but  good 
heavens !  what  can  it  all  mean .'  Left  with  only 
a  foreign  nurse,  mth  scarcely  the  luggage  of  a 
lady's  nurse,  and  apologizing  for  a  shabby  toil- 
ette !     (Jh,  Cecil !  Cecil !  what  docs  it  all  mean  .'" 

"  Simply  this,"  he  answered  quietly,  but  in  a 
tone  of  deep  feeling ;  •'  EUinor  has  made  a  mis- 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


ike ;  whether  she  is  yet  aware  to  what  an  extent, 
know  not  :  but  I  repeat  it,  onr  course  is  plain." 
The  following  morning  Mrs.  Teuiplcton  an<l  her 
ress  looked  better,  though  still  both  looked  worn ; 
le,  however,  expressed  great  pleasure  at  again 
pending  a  short  time  with  her  brother  and  his 
dfe. 

I  have  a  few  words  of  business,  which  must 
ot  be  delayed,  to  say  to  you  and  Henrietta,"  she 
ather  abruptly  observed,  as  they  sat  at  break- 
ist ;  "  are  you  too  busy  to  grant  me  an  audi- 
nce  :"  turning  to  him. 

"  Ellinor,  you  are  satirical,"  said  Lady  Gran- 
ham,  "  or  you  are  ingenious  in  imagining  impos- 
ibilities.  Now,  my  dear  sister,  when  did  you 
ver  know  Cecil  to  be  either  very  busy  or  very 
lurried  .'" 

"  He  was  very  busy  when  he  was  trying  to  se- 
ure  you,"  replied  Ellinor. 

"  And  I  am  sure  I  was  dreadfully  hurried  to 
each  your  mother's  house  the  day  we  were  mar- 
•ied,"  he  remarked,  interrupting  her. 

Oh,  because  you  had  forgotten  all  about  it, 
md  were  behind  time,"  his  wife  maliciously  re- 
joined, with  her  merry  laugh  ;  "  but  what  is  this 
business  that  must  not  be  put  off.'" 

It  must  not,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton  ;  "  and  on 
hat  account  1  wish  to  name  it  to  you  and  Cecil, 
"ou  know  the  late  Mr.  Ashley  left  me  five  thou- 
md  pounds  entirely  at  my  own  disposal ;  it  was 
I  blessed  thought,  and  deeply  gratelul  do  I  feel — 
I  mean,"  she  said,  corr  jciiug  the  energy  of  her 
;one  and  manner,  "  that  it  is  pleasant  to  have  a 
Tew  pounds  at  one's  own  command;"  and  again 
'eeliug  that  she  was  on  self-forbidden  ground,  she 
boldly  plunged  in'^inedias  rts.'     "This  money 
mean  to  place  so  that  I  can  not,  under  any  cir- 
sumstances,  touch   the  principal,  which  I  shall 
settle  on  my  daughters,  the  interest  to  bo  used  as 
[  like.     Can  this  be  done,  and  can  it  be  done  im- 
mediately ':" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  will  send  for  my  lawyer  before  you 


And  I  propose  an  amendment,"  said  Lady 
iGrantham ;  "  drive  Ellinor  to  him  before  lunch- 
Icon  :  let  him  receive  her  insti'uction,  so  that  if 
Summoned  away,  it  may  still  be  dons  and  sent  to 
r  for  s  gnature,  or  any  other  legal  form.ality  " 
Bravely  and  stoically  bidding  back  her  tears, 
|and  denying  herself  the  pleasure  of  falling  on  hsr 
sisters  neck,  Mrs.  Templeton  said,  "  Thank  you 
for  the  suggestion ;  I  should  very  much  like  to 
have  it  done  at  once,  but  as  that,  perhaps,  can  not 
be,  we  will  avoid  all  needless  delay." 

And  I-ionel  ?"  asked  Lord  Grantham ;  ■'  what 
will  he  say  .'" 

He  must  be  so  astonished  at  his  unexpected 
wealth,"  she  replied,  "  as  not  to  think  or  care 
about  im'ne;  in  short,"  she  continued  emphati- 
cally, '■  I  have  decided  in  this  case  for  myself ^  and 
do  not  mean  to  have  any  interference." 

A  few  days  alter  this,  came  a  letter  from  the 
Colonel  to  his  "  dear  Ellinor,"  thanking  her  broth- 
er for  his  hospitable  reception  of  "  his  treasures," 
desiring  the  said  Ellinor  to  draw  upon  his  banker 
to  any  amount  for  replenishing  her  wardi-obe. 
("Not  before  it  is  wanted,"  mentally  remaikcd 
Lady  Grantham.)  To  be  ready  to  join  him  in 
the  course  of  a  week,  if  he  should  be  prevented 
fetching  her,  and  to  arrange  with  Lord  and  Lady 


Gr.antham  for  a  long  visit  to  the  Priory,  whenever 
it  suited  them  to  give  him  that  pleasure. 

'J'he  next  day  was  spent  in  making  the  neces- 
sary purchases,  amonj^j  which  Mrs.  Templeton  con- 
trived to  include  a  few  handsome  presents  for  her 
niece  and  nephews ;  and  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight 
came  the  summons  for  her  to  meet  the  Colonel  at 
the  Priory,  which  her  brother  and  sister  promised 
to  visit,  when  she  should  write  and  say  she  was 
ready  to  receive  them. 

No  one  who  had  not  been  well  acquainted  with 
the  change  which  a  few  years  had  wrought  in  the 
chaVacter,  feelings,  and,  above  all,  in  the  hopes  of 
the  trusting,  lo\ing,  inexperienced  Ellinor  Gran- 
tham, could  have  imagined  the  soothing  and  rest- 
giving  effects  of  her  short  visit  to  her  brother's 
house,  where,  for  the  first  time,  she  was  received 
as  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Templeton.  Three  years 
only  had  intervened ;  but  in  that  short  time  what 
lessons  had  she  not  learned!  thrice  blessed  are 
they  who  forever  remain  ignorant  of  them !  She 
had,  during  that  period,  learned  that  her  love  was- 
a  mistake;  that  her  confidence  was  a  mistake; 
she  had  dreamed  a  dream  in  which  she  had  ever 
by  her  side  one  with  a  noble  and  true  heart, 
one  who  gave  her  love  for  love,  who  was  generous 
and  honorable;  who  shielded  and  protected  her 
from  trial  and  sorrow,  by  bravely  interposing 
himself,  and  she  had  been  rudely  awoke,  never  so 
to  sleep  and  dream  again  ! 

The  journey  to  Seabrooke,  with  her  helpless 
companions — for  Gretchen,  though  a  most  valu- 
able aid  in  her  own  country,  was  certainly  a 
charge  in  England — was  e.Ktremely  tiring ;  and 
Mrs.  Templeton  was  anxiously  looking  for  the  last 
change  of  horses,  when,  on  arriving  at  the  inn, 
she  was  much  gratified  and  surprised  to  find 
Colonel  Templeton  awaiting  her  arrival. 

"  I  calculated  you  would  be  here  about  this 
time, '  he  observed,  "  and  therefore  drove  out  to 
meet  you  ;  Gretchen  and  the  childi-en  can  follow 
with  fresh  horses,  but  I  shall  like  to  drive  you 
myself  to  the  Priory." 

"  I  shall  greatly  enjoy  the  drive  in  an  open 
carriaga,  for,  truth  to  tell,  I  began  to  find  the 
journey  long." 

Is  it  really  true  that  she  will  never  so  sleep  and 
so  dream  again  : — Quite  true. 

I      "  I  see  you  have  not  brought  your  own  maid 

'  down  with  you;  does  she  follow  with  the  rest  of 
the  luggage  .'"'  asked  her  husband. 

I      "  I  have  not  engaged  any  one  to  attend  on  me ; 

j  you  did  not  mention  it,  and  our  luggage  is  in  the 

[  post  carriage.  With  re.-pect  to  the  children,  I 
prefer  looking  out  among  the  country  people  for 

>  some  one  to  assist  Gretchen,  and  Lady  Grantham 
will  kindly  supply  and  forward  any  thing  I  may 
have  neglected. ' 

'      "  Very  well,  then  give  her  carte  hlanchc ;  it 

I  will  not  do  for  you  to  want  any  thing  which  my 

I  position  demands :  for  I  can  tell  you,  Ellinor,  that 
it  is  ditferent  now  from  what  it  was  a  year  or  two 

;  ago." 

"  It  is  indeed,"  she  thought — not  said.     Three, 

I  four  years !  What  a  long  time  that  was — it  was 
the  whole  life  of  her  love — within  that  period  it 

\  had   been  born,    neglected,   ill-used,  had  pined 

I  away,  and  died  ! 

They  drove  along  several  miles  in  silence,  till  at 

I  length  the  scene  became  one  of  such  exceeding 


10 


THE   WIFE  S   TRIALS. 


beauty,  that  she  was  roused  from  her  listlessness 
and  revery,  and  exclaimed  with  something  of  old 
animation,  "  Oh  !  Lionel,  what  a  lovely  place  this 
is  !     I  hope  the  Priory  is  within  a  drive  of  it." 

"  We  are  now  driving  on  my  property,"  he  re- 
plied ;  and  checking  the  horses,  he  pointed  to  an 
opening  :  "yonder  you  have  a  peep  at  the  build- 
ing." 

"  Charming!  charming!"  she  murmured,  tears 
tilling  her  eyes  as  t^he  looked  on  the  peaceful 
beauty  of  all  aruund.  They  then  drove  slowly 
through  an  avenue  of  trees — and  such  trees! — 
through  which  she  caught  glimpses  of  meadows 
and  plantations,  stream  and  park,  all  in  a  state 
of  such  order  an  J  beauty,  as  showed  that  the  eye 
of  taste  liad  directed  the  hand  of  skill.  And  now 
they  suddenly  came  on  an  extensive  opening,  and 
the  whole  front  range  of  the  Priory  burst  on  the 
view. 

'•  There,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  his  handsome 
face  beaming  with  pride  and  pleasure,  "  there  is 
Seabrookc  Priory  ;  and  look  behind,  Ellinor,  there 
is  tiie  sea  in  the  distance,  and  the  little  bright 
stream  winding  through  my  property,  to  reach 
it." 

She  rose  and  looked,  while  a  throb  of  gratifica- 
tion stirred  her  heart.  Oh,  how  glorious!  how 
lovely !  it  was  not  sublime,  it  was  not  even  grand 
— but  it  was  nature  in  one  of  her  most  fascinat- 
ing forms — it  was  beauty  in  repose  and  at  peace. 
The  emerald  sea  with  its  life-like  movement,  the 
azure  sky.  the  silver  streain,  the  varied  and  i-ich 
tints  of  held  and  wood,  all  were  "  Lieder  ohne 
Worte ;"  and  then,  when  she  turned  to  the  gray 
and  majestic  old  building,  her  future  home,  whose 
folding  doors  were  flung  wide  open  to  welcome  the 
new  owners,  she  thought  that,  if  place  could  give 
peace,  here  it  must  be  found. 

"  Why,  this  is  quite  a  territory,"  she  said  with 
entliusiasm  ;  "  it  is  a  little  principality." 

"  By  Jove !  you  are  right  there,  Nelly.  I  won- 
der what  some  of  those  foreign  fellows  we  met  in 
Germany  would  think  of  this  place ;  it  would 
lower  their  paltry  pride  a  little,  if  they  could  see 
me  here." 

"  Heaven  in  its  mercy  forbid  that  desecration!" 
was  her  silent  ejaculation. 

"  15ui  liere  we  are  ;"  and  as  he  handed  her  out, 
he  s  iluted  her  cheek,  bidding  her  welcome  to  Sea- 
brookc I'riory — a  welcome  which  was  echoed  by 
several  servants  in  waiting,  and  improved  upon  by 
a  respectable-looking  woman,  wlio  introduced  her- 
self as  Mrs.  Ddw.son,  with  the  additional  wish  her 
station  permitted  her  to  make,  of — 

'•  Wei -ome,  madam,  to  the  Priory,  and  health 
and  liai>pini.ss  to  your  Hidyship." 

"Itlmnk  you,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  smiling 
her  usual  swoct  sm.le  on  them  all;  then  address- 
ing Mrs.  Dawson,  she  remarked,  "  Ouv  daughters, 
with  tlieir  nurse,  can  not  be  far  distant,  and  as 
the  latter  is  a  lorcigner,  let  them  be  brought  to 
me  directly  they  arr  ve.  ' 

"  Would  your  la  l3'.ship  like  to  see  your  apart-  , 
mcnts,  those  the  Colonel  has  ordered  to  be  pre- 
pared .'"  I 
"  Yes.  fori  am  weiry,  though  the  drive  through  ' 
this  beautiful  neighborhood  has  taken  away  half  I 
the  fatigue." 

Attracted  by  the  beauty,  gentleness,  and  grace 
of  her  new  laly,  and  quite  won  by  this  complc-  | 


ment  to  her  native  place,  Mrs.  Dawson,  in  high 
feather,  led  the  way  across  a  spacious  hall,  up  a 
flight  of  marble  stairs,  and  along  a  corridor, 
adorned,  seemingly,  with  rare  and  costly  works 
of  art,  to  a  suite  of  rooms  splendidly  furnished, 
which  she  said  the  Colonel  had  selected  :  "  And, 
indeed,  madam,"  she  continued,  with  a  smile,  "  he 
has  chosen  what  are  considered  the  best,  both  for 
convenience  and  pro.spect.  If  you  will  please  to 
step  here,  you  may  see  part  of  the  village — that 
house,  near  the  church,  is  the  rectory,  and  yonder 
you  can  just  see  Hurstwood  Hall — it  used  once  to 
be  a  very  gay  place,  but  since  the  death  of  Lady 
Blanche,  the  old  Lord  sees  no  company,  and  young 
Lord  Stanley  is  abroad.  Can  I  have  the  honor  of 
doing  any  thing  for  you  till  your  maid  arrives  ?" 

"  Nothing,  thank  you,  but  I  should  like  you  to 
accoii|pany  the  children  when  they  come.  1  must 
introduce  them  to  you,  and  bespeak  your  indul- 
gence for  any  spoiled  ways,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton, 
greatly  pleased  with  the  manner  and  countenance 
of  the  housekeeper. 

"No  need  of  that,  madam,"  was  the  reply; 
"  bless  their  innocent  little  hearts!  more  need  lor 
you  to  forbid  my  spoiling  them.  My  late  dear 
master  used  always  to  say,  when  the  beautiful 
darlings  from  the  rectory  came  here,  it  was  well 
there  were  no  children  for  me  to  spoil ;"  but  hero 
her  comely  and  sunny  face  was  overcast,  as  she 
turned  and  left  the  room. 

And  Ellinor  stood  alone — mistress  of  that  noble 
mansion — almost  all  she  looked  at  from  the  win- 
dows of  that  room  was  hers — hers,  as  well  as  her 
husband's,  and  yet,  not  once  had  he  associated 
her  with  himself  in  the  exulting  thought  of  own- 
ership. Was  it  only  a  careless  omission — or  was 
it  part  of  a  selfish  system  ?  ^ 

I 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  And  eyes  forget  the  arentle  rny 
Tht-y  wore  in  courtship's  sin|iin!r  flay, 
An  I  voi.-fs  lose  the  tone  that  .-heJ 
A  tenderness  rounil  kU  they  saiJ  ; 
Till,  fast  declining,  ow  by  om- 
The  Bwuetneeses  of  love  lire  gone." 

I.aUii  Rookh 

Brought  up  in  her  father's  house,  if  not  amid 
all  the  luxuries  of  vast  wealth,  at  least  with  all 
the  comforts  and  refinements  suited  to  her  ranJi, 
the  Honorable  Ellinor  Grantham,  though  ever 
ready  to  sympathize  with  sorrows  and,  as  far  as 
her  at  one  time  limited  allowance  permitted,  to 
help  and  relieve  poverty,  had,  hitwover,  no  very 
clear  idea  of  all  that  this  word  povvirty  implied. 
She  knew  that  at  many  aristocratic  houses  where 
her  father  was  ever  an  honored  guest,  there  was  a 
style  of  expenditure  which  his  encumbered  prop- 
er.y  forbade  his  imitating ;  and  also,  that  among 
many  families  she  highly  esteemed,  an  economy 
was  practiced  which  he  disregarded;  aiil  these 
formed  the  only  degrees  of  comparison  with  which 
she  was  actually  conversant ;  and  though  she 
must  have  been  both  stupid  and  selfish,  had  she 
ignored  the  extremes  of  destitution  and  misery 
which  sigh  and  die  in  the  holes  and  corners  of 
great  cities  ;  beyond  relief  through  some  deputy. 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


11 


she  knew  not  of  them — never  came  into  personal 
contact  with  them. 

This  knowledge  was  reserved  for  lier  wedded 
life— it  was  to  be  acquired  by  the  lion.  Mrs. 
Templeton— the  instructor,  her  husband — the  les- 
sons, his  vices.  From  Paris,  its  luxuries,  its  re- 
finements, its  Bal  Masqiii,  its  coulisses,  and  its 
gaming-houses,  she  took  her  first  lesson — she  read 
from  the  lives  of  faithless  wives,  of  betrayed  lovers, 
of  broken  hearts  and  ruined  fortunes,  whole  pages 
which  sickened  and  disgusted  as  she  read— from 
Germany,  with  its  sentimentalities  and  its  gross- 
ness— its  mouthing  patriotism  and  its  wearisome 
egotism — its  Cur^saal  with  a  rouge  et  nvir  table 
licensed  by  some  princely  pettiness,  and  its  im- 
morality reeking  of  beer  and  tobacco,  but  con- 
cealed by  song  and  poetry — she  learned  a  still 
sadder  and  more  peace-destroying  lesson ;  and  it 
was  there  she  buried  her  dead  love,  and  with 
weeping  eyes  and  trembling  hands  inscribed  on 
its  tomb— Ichabod — the  glory  is  departed  ! 

Shortly  before  the  birth  of  Constance,  she  found 
herself,  with  the  little  Helen  and  the  good 
Gretchen,  in  one  of  those  lonely  villages  so  com- 
mon toward  the  north  of  Switzerland.  Lionel 
had  been  absent  more  than  a  week,  and  her  anx- 
iety for  his  return  was  much  increased  by  her 
wish  to  seek  a  place  otfering  better  accommoda- 
tion, and  by  her  absolute  want  of  funds  to  meet 
daily  expenses.  She  knew  he  had  gone  to  receive 
a  remittance  from  England,  by  means  of  which  he 
had  promised  to  remove  her  to  Basle ;  but  day 
after  day  passed,  and  no  longer  daring  to  delay, 
she  sent  for  the  landlady,  and  frankly  stating  her 
embarrassment,  inquired  how  she  could  most 
advantageously  dispose  of  a  few  ornaments,  so  as 
to  defraj'  the  debt  already  incun-ed,  and  secure 
the  services  of  a  doctor. 

After  some  consultation,  during  which  she  met 
with  great  kindness,  Mrs.  Templeton  learned 
that  the  pustor  would  be  the  one  most  likely  to 
inform  her ;  and  to  him  she  sent  He  was  a 
Protestant,  and  to  the  active  benevolence,  so 
needful  in  the  discharge  of  his  duties,  united 
tlie  simplicity  and  straitforwardness  so  common 
aiuong  the  Swiss  clergy. 

Afier  satisfying  her  inquiries  regarding  the 
sale  of  her  trinkets,  he  advised  her  to  secure, 
at  once,  medical  attendance;  and  he  not  only 
recommended  an  attentive  and  skillful  man,  but 
offered  to  send  his  wife  to  see  lier — an  offer  most 
gratefully  accepted  ;  and  expressing  himself  real- 
ly grieved  that  he  could  not  do  all  he  wished, 
by  at  once  advancing  a  loan,  he  left  her  much 
quieted. 

Neither  doctor  nor  wife  arrived  much  too 
Boon  ;  and  in  a  sin;ill  Swiss  inn,  with  none  but 
foreign  eyes  to  look  kindly  at  her,  none  but  foreign 
tongues  to  cheer  her,  did  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton give  birth  to  her  little  Constance  Frauciska, 
60  called  after  the  lake  near  which  she  was  born, 
and  the  friendly  ^lad^nne  Kottlial,  the  .pastor's 
wife,  who  found  it  hoth  easy  and  pleasant  to  love 
and  assist  this  desol.ite.  beautiful  young  mother. 

At  length,  remittances  arrived  from  Lionel, 
who  desired  EUinor  to  join  him  at  Baden-Baden  ; 
but,  abis  !  for  her  generous,  grateful  spirit !  when 
just  debts  were  p:iid,  there  was  barely  enough 
money  U-ft  for  the  expenses  of  tiie  journey  ;  how- 
ever, a  few  articles  of  silver,  the  relics  of  a  ouce 


splendid  toilette  present,  were  tendered  as  keep- 
sakes, and  EUinor  vowed  the  first  opportunity 
she  had  of  showing  these  good  Samaritans  her 
grateful  remembrance  of  tlieir  kindness  should 
be  eagerly  seized  ;  the  few  very  trifling  orna- 
ments which  Lionel  had  left  of  her  costly  ca- 
dcaiix  de  manage  were  sold  to  procure  some 
needful  clothing  for  the  children  ;  and  after  an 
aflectionate  parting  from  those  who,  when  she 
was  sick  and  a  stranger,  had  visited  her,  she  set 
out  for  Baden-Baden.  Nor  was  it  till  she  ar- 
rived in  London  that  she  had  ever  had  any  thing 
like  the  sum  she  required  to  purchase  the  most 
trifling  tokens  of  her  gratitude  ;  and  then  she 
took  from  the  money  sent  for  dress,  a  portion, 
which  she  spent  in  useful  presents  to  her  Swiss 
friends,  and  which  were  forwarded  with  a  report 
of  herself  and  children. 

Now,  as  she  looked  on  the  fair  prospect  which 
lay  before  her,  she  thought  of  that  foreign  lake 
and  its  mountains — of  those  foreign  friends — of 
her  lovely  baby,  of  the  wayside  inn,  and  its 
scanty  appointments  ;  and  then  her  attention 
was  for  the  first  time  directed  to  the  luxurious 
details  of  all  around  her.  She  stood  in  the  sleep- 
ing-room of  a  suite  of  apartments,  which  seemed 
to  occupy  the  whole  length  of  one  wing— on  one 
hand  was  the  dressing-room,  beyond  the  bath- 
room— and  on  the  other  side  was  an  elegant 
boudoir,  magnificently  furnished,  leading  to  a 
conservatory,  from  which  a  flight  of  steps  led  to 
the  most  perfect  gem  of  a  flower-garden  that 
could  be  imagined.  She  had  just  glanced  at  all 
this  unwonted  luxury,  and  was  trying  to  banish 
painful  retrospections,  and  thinking,  that  if 
wealth  can  not  give  happiness,  it  may  still  give 
comfort,  and  that  she  would  henceforth  try  and 
be  contented  with  her  lot,  when  Mrs.  Dawson 
brouglit  Gretchen  and  her  little  charges;  and 
then  the  mother's  face  wore  a  smile,  and  looked 
almost  sunny,  as  she  listened  to  JNlis.  Dawson's 
honest  praises  of  the  children's  beauty. 

"  We  will  now  visit  the  nurseries,"  said  she. 
•'  Gretchen  will  be  glad  to  feel  at  home,  and  I 
must  apply  to  you  to  recommend  some  respecta- 
ble young  person,  who  will  be  able  to  help  her — ■ 
though  that  must  be  by  instinct,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile,  "as  Gretchen,  my  much-valued 
nurse,  can  not  speak  many  words  of  English." 

"  I  know  a  young  woman  whom  I  can  safely 
recommend,  and  who,  1  think,  will  suit;  she  hag 
been  very  often  at  the  rectory  with  the  young 
folks,  and  can  be  sent  for  at  once." 

"  To-morrow,  perhaps,  you  will  settle  her 
here,  and  to-morrow  also,  Mrs.  Dawson,  you  and 
I  shall  become  better  acquainted,  as  I  shall  pre- 
fer being  quiet  after  dinner." 

We  have,  most  likely,  all  read  the  tale  in 
Eastern  romance,  where  the  beneficent  fairy 
transforms  a  rude  hut  into  a  sumptuous  palace  ; 
in  which,  from  attic  to  cellar,  all  is  furnished 
with  ii  profusion  and  splendor  quite  marvelous. 
Some  such  fairy  seemed  to  have  furnished  Sea- 
brooke  Priory,  though  certainly  she  either  did 
not  know  Lionel  Temiiletoii,  or  never  intended 
such  as  he  to  profit  oy  her  gifts.  It  is  true,  it 
was  not  a  palace — true,  that  diamonds  and  pre- 
cious stones  were  not  used  instead  of  nails— but 
if  the  cliairs  and  t.-ibles  were  not  of  silver,  there 
was  an  immense  fire  proof  closet  full  of  silver 


THE   WIPES  TRIALS. 


articles  of  unusual  value  :  and  if  the  walls  were 
not  hung  with  cloth  of  gold,  in  the  state  drawing- 
room  were  pictures  selocted  with  the  eye  of  a 
connoisseur,  worth  lucre  than  a  hundred  times 
tueir  weight  in  that  precious  metal  — so  valuable 
indeed  were  they,  that  with  the  greater  part  of 
the  plate,  some  antiijues  and  articles  of  virtu, 
they  were  catalogued  as  heir-looms ;  this  re- 
.striction  was,  liowever,  for  the  present  forgotten, 
or  not  lelt  by  the  fortunate  man,  who  had  so  lately 
and  unexpectedly  had  greatness  thrust  upon  him. 

So  well  sati.>fied  was  he,  that  he  even  invited 
EUinor,  ilie  next  day,  to  walk  through  the  house 
with  )iim.  and  accompany  him  to  the  extensive 
and  well-arranged  gardens  ;  nay,  what  was  more 
extraordinary,  on  her  declining  a  further  walk, 
on  the  plea  of  fatigue,  he  promised  her  a  car- 
riage and  pony  for  her  own  use — and  still  more 
wonderful,  he  kept  his  word,  and  the  next  week 
she  had  it. 

Their  neighbors  gave  indications  of  friendly 
intentions ;  among  the  first  were  the  rector  and 
liis  wife  ;  and  to  her  great  delight,  EUinor  found 
Mrs.  Vernon  one  of  those  women  it  is  so  easy  to 
like,  and  this  feeling  was  soon  extended  to  her 
excellent  husband.  Two  fine  boys,  and  one  little 
girl,  rather  younger  than  Constance,  formed  their 
laiJiily  ;  and  when  their  other  neighbors  had  vis- 
ited and  been  visited,  Mrs.  Templeton  began  to 
feel  at  home — to  look  more  cheerfully  to  the  fu- 
ture—to be  tranquil  and  thankful. 


CHAPTER    V. 

"  II  faut  jiiger  des  femmes  depuis  la  chaussure  ju.squ'ii 
la  coiffeur  (-xclusivement,  i-peu-prus  eoiniue  on  uiesurele 
pois:on  cntre  quiue  et  tete." — La  Bruyere. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  Seabrooke,"  said  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  as  she  and  her  husband  were  seated  at 
breakfiist  in  the  handsome  drawing-room  of  an 
hotel,  looking  toward  Ediiiboro'  Castle.  "  I  see 
it  has  been  forwardetl  from  Craigalan  ;  Lionel 
wishes  us  to  visit  them  before  we  leave  England 
— read  it,  and  decide  on  the  answer — of  course, 
if  convenient,  I  should  like  to  see  them,  lor  his 
wife  is  still  a  stranger  to  me." 

"  Certainly,  then  we  will  go,  my  dear,  and  as 
I  have  not  yet  been  introduced  to  either  of  them, 
1  join  in  your  wish.  We  can  very  well  spare 
them  a  fortnight  if  we  start  at  once,  so  write  and 
say  all  that  is  ])roper." 

And  she  must  have  thought  "all  that  is 
proper"  was  a  very  comprehensive  term,  judging 
from  the  length  of  her  letter  ;  but  then  Mrs.  Sin- 
clair was  reputed  a  very  clever  woman,  and, 
perhajis,  one  proof  of  cleverness  is  the  ability  to 
write  long  letters. 

When  Lidy  Frances  Templeton  and  her  hus- 
band found  their  finances  in  that  state  of  debility 
that  the  gras-sliopper  becomes  a  burden,  it  is  no 
wonder  tluit  the  weight  of  two  fine  healtliy  chil- 
dren was  almost  unbcaralile.  So  her  ladyship 
wrote  to  a  childless  aunt,  the  widow  of  a  Scotch 
pentlpiiian,  to  inform  her  that  Lionel  had  acce))t- 
ed  an  invitation  from  Sir  Al.in  Sinclair,  to  p.iss 
a  few  weeks  iu  the  ilighlan<ls,  dui'ing  the  sporting 


'  season ;  and  that,  as  they  passed  through  Edin- 
boro",  they  would,  if  agreeable,  like  to  pay  their 
respects  to  her. 

Lady  Anne  Ferguson  was  old  enough,  and 
worldly  wise  enougli,  to  have  known  better  ;  but 

I  she  wrote  to  bid  tliem  welcome,  without  restrict- 

I  ing  them  as  to  number.     Lionel  the  second  was 

I  safely  hooked  to  his  uncle's-  purse,  therefore  it 
was  Laura  who  must  travel  and  be  introduced 
to  her  great  aunt.  Though  she  was  really  ii  very 
beafitiful  little  creature,  the  truth  must  be  told, 
th.at,  had  she  been   Medusa  and  all  her  snakes, 

;  Lady  Anne  could  not  have  felt  more  petrified 
than  when  this  fashionably  dressed  doll  was 
presented.  "  What  on  earth  could  she  do  with 
this  child  .'—who  was  to  take  care  of  her  .-"  in- 
quiries rather  intimated  than  expressed. 

"  Laura  is  so  independent,  she  gives  no 
trouble,"  said  her  mother,  in  answer  to  the  old 
lady's  thoughts,  "  and  she  was  so  desirous  to 
come  and  see  you,  we  really  could  not  refuse 

j  her  ;  one  of  your  nice  fresh-looking  Scotch  lassies 
will  easily  do  all  she  wants.     Doubtless,  Mrs. 

1  Margaret  knows  of  one."  Mrs.  Margaret  sug- 
gested her  own  niece.  '■  Nothing  can  be  better, 
such  recommendation  is  sure  to  be  safe,  and 
Laura  will  be  really  well  otF." 

But  the  difficulty  seemed  how  her  fond  parents 
could  be  really  well  off,  and  leave  her  in  this 
northern  elysium.  And  after  they  had  stayed 
so  long,  that  Lady  Anne  was  as  impatient  for 
their  departure  as  Sir  Alan  was  said,  to  be  for 
their  arrival.  Lady  F' ranees  protested  that  they 
could  no  longer  postpone  their  visit.  "  But  as 
we  shall  be  absent  only  a  few  weeks,  and  Laura 
is  so  happy,  so  improved  in  every"  respect,  it  is 
quite  cruel  to  take  her  away  ;  and  really,  aunt, 
1  think  you  have  bewitched  the  child,  she  is  so 
fond  of  you."  And  thus  flattering  Lady  Anne, 
who  had  long  ceased  to  bewitch,  and  adroitly 
propitiating  her  waiting- woman,  Mrs.  Margaret, 
or  scaring  her  by  hints  of  what  might  happen 
to  her  pretty  niece  in  a  house  full  of  sports- 
men, a  reluctant  consent  was  given,  and  Laura 
was  left. 

After  the  visit  to  Sir  Alan  had  extended  to  more 
than  two  months,  the  Templetons  reairn.^d  with  a 
large  party  to  London,  but  did  not  take  E  linboro' 
in  their  way — it  was  not  convenient,  therefore 
Laura  was  to  await  an  escort.  In  short,  for 
some  "  most  exquisite  reason"  or  another,  the  lit- 
tle girl  remained  with  Lady  Anne  till  her  father's 
death,  when  there  was  a  committee  of  ways  and 
means  held,  respecting  her  mother's  affairs  ;  and 
the  old  lady  having  become  strongly  attached  to 
Laura,  consented  to  keep  her,  "  at  least  for  the 
present,"  as  she  guardedly  expressed  it. 

Years  rolled  on,  and  Laura,  a  handsome,  clever 
girl,  won  the  love  of  Arcliibald  Sinclair,  the 
younger  son  of  her  father's  friend.  Sir  Alan,  who 
readily  consented  to  the  match,  for  Laura  was 
universally  considered  her  aunt's  heiress ;  and  as 
Lady  Anne  lived  in  good  stylo,  this  term,  to  him, 
signified  something  like  thousands.  The  many 
hundreds  which  had  been  received  from  the  in- 
visible friend.  Lady  Anne  never  alluded  to;  he 
evidently  shrunk  from  having  his  good  deeds 
known,  and  why  should  she  not  respect  both  his 
.secret  and   his  modesty .'  and   when   on  the  cn- 

I  gagement  being  made  public,  a  munificent  gift  of 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


a  thousand  pounds  reached  Laura,  it  was  still 
thought  needless  to  talk  about  such  fairy  gifts, 
aud  tfir  Alau  was  the  more  deceived  by  the  osten- 
tatious display  made  at  the  marriage.  But  when, 
three  years  after,  the  old  lady  died,  and  it  was 
d.scovered  she  was  but  an  annuitant,  having  sunk 
thvi  small  property  left  by  her  husband,  great  was 
the  wrath  of  tsir  Alan ;  he  felt  he  had  not  only 
been  nustaken  but  tricked,  and  a  suspicion  that 
his  handsome  daughter-in-law  was  cognizant  of 
the  truth  rendered  that  fair  creature's  presence 
so  Utile  desirable  that  he  plainly  intimated,  as 
Captain  Sinclair,  his  eldest  son,  was  expected 
from  Canada,  Archie  could  take  this  opportunity 
to  visit  his  wife's  relations  in  the  South. 

Before  doing  this,  there  were  a  few  gleanings 
from  Lady  Annes  property,  which  furnished 
them  with  the  means  of  living,  till  Archibald  as- 
certained the  result  of  an  application  he  had 
induced  his  father  to  make  in  his  behalf;  the 
reply  to  which  was,  the  offer  of  an  African  ap- 
pointment of  most  unpromising  aspect,  which, 
however,  would  be  kept  open  for  his  acceptance 
still  several  months  ;  and  he  was  in  correspond- 
ence with  some  really  sincere  friends,  respecting 
another  plan  which  looked  less  desperate,  when 
the  legacy  already  named  came  to  his  wife. 

Mr.  Sinclair,  an  honorable  and  energetic  man, 
immediately  decided  that  the  whole  of  this  money 
should  be  settled  on  Laura ;  but  though  in  most 
cases  she  was  a  cool,  scheming  woman,  she  did 
love  her  husband,  and  was  so  earnest  in  trying  to 
convince  him  that  at  least  a  few  thousands  left 
free  for  immediate  and  judicious  use,  by  at  once 
relieving  them  from  all  embarrassment,  would 
bring  the  best  return,  that  he  consented.  Exer- 
tions were  also  made  to  obtain  something  less  dis- 
mal than  the  coast  of  Africa,  and,  after  some 
difficulty  and  delay,  a  post  at  Calcutta  was 
promised. 

But  a  change  had  also  come  over  the  prospects 
at  Craigalan — Captain  Sinclair  was  drowned  on 
his  return  from  America,  and  now  Sir  Alan 
wished  his  only  son  to  remain  with  him.  This 
Laura  vehemently  opposed,  not  because  she  was 
resentful — she  was  too  calculating  to  give  Avay  to 
temper— but  she  saw  visions  of  wealth  and  splen- 
dor in  the  glowing  East,  such  as  the  wild  High- 
lands, with  their  bleak  extent  of  hill  and  valley, 
could  never  give ;  and  she  courageously  resolved 
to  try  whether,  by  a  temporary  expatriation,  she 
could  not  bring  the  treasures  of  the  former  to 
soften  and  gild  the  rugged  features  of  the  latter. 

This  plan,  so  consonant  to  her  husband's  active, 
independent  character,  met  with  his  ready  ac- 
quiescence, and  even  Sir  Alan  was  reconciled  to 
tlie  idea  of  his  son's  being  in  circumstances,  not 
only  to  keep  up  the  old  feudal  style  of  living,  but 
to  restore  the  property  to  former  splendor— a 
splendor  which  had  been  rather  dimmed  by  cer- 
ta.n  mortgages,  which  threw  a  vail  over  it,  an 
•  obscuration  never  pleasant  in  the  eyes  of  landed 
proprietors. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  Laurette  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Sinclair,  "  we  can  not  take  her  with  us  to  India, 
and  it  is  time  she  was  in  training." 

"  I  have  not  yet  decided,"  was  the  reply,  when 
luckily  arrived  the  invitation  to  hfeabrooke,  and 
Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  well  remembered  how  cleverly 
she  had  been  quartered,  came  to  the  conclusion, 


that  she  could  scarcely  do  better  than  imitate  so 
laudable  and  successful  a  scheme,  and  hence,  in 
some  measure,  the  lengthy  epistle  to  which  we 
have  alluded. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

'•  Instead  of  beginning  with  a  scene  that  discovers  some- 
thing of  the  plot,  I  begin  this  play  with  a  whisper.— ?%« 
Reluamal. 

"  I  SUPPOSE  that  is  Laura's  reply  to  my  invita- 
tion," said  Colonel  Templeton,  opening  the  letter 
bag,  which  he  always  did  when  at  home,  and 
handing  a  letter  to  his  wife ;  "  what  does  she  say  ?" 

EUiuor  opened  the  letter  and  read,  "  My  dear 
sister — " 

"  Stop,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  want  to  hear*  all 
that  long  rigmarole — ^just  tell  me  if  they  are  com- 
ing ;  I  rather  want  to  see  her  and  her  husband — 
the  latter  I  have  never  met." 

"  Mr.  Vernon,  who  is  acquainted  with  him," 
was  her  reply,  "  speaks  very  highly  of  him  ;  but 
in  order  to  satisfy  your  cui-iosity  as  to  their  com- 
ing, I  must  first  read  the  letter,"  which  continued 
thus :  "  We  had  unfortunately  left  Craigalan 
when  your  kind  invitation  arrived ;  this  will 
account  for  a  delay  in  replying,  which  we  both 
regret.  From  the  tenor  of  your  remarks  about 
Africa,  I  conclude  Lionel  has  not  heard  that  Mr. 
Sinclair  has  obtained  an  Indian  appointment, 
which  presents  so  hopeful  a  prospect  of  rendering 
him  independent  of  many  pecuniary  claims  on  the 
property,  that,  though  it  will  exile  us  for  some 
years,  and  though  Sir  Alan  wishes  us  to  relin- 
quish it,  we  both,  on  due  reflection,  prefer  going. 
The  chief  obstacle,  or  rather  difficulty,  is  my  little 
Laurette,  who  is  precisely  at  an  age  to  require  a 
mother's  care  and  a  mother's  guidance.  There  is 
no  one  here  who  could  in  any  way  supply  my 
place — Sir  Alan  wishes  us  to  leave  her  with  him, 
but  Mrs.  Effie  Sinclair,  who  resides  with  him  is, 
on  many  accounts,  unfit  to  undertake  the  charge. 
I  had  thought,  through  your  introduction,  to  have 
consulted  Lady  (Jrantham,  of  whose  excellent 
management  I  have  heard  from  many  quarters  ; 
for  my  own  experience  of  northern  education 
assui-es  me  it  does  not  afford  all,  I  think,  a  girl  in 
Laurette's  station  requires.  But  here  I  am  chat- 
ting to  you  as  if  we  have  been  friends  from  child- 
hood, instead  of  strangers — and  yet,  I  must  recall 
that  word — the  wife  of  Lionel  is  not  strange  either 
to  my  thoughts  or  my  affection,  and  though  he 
and  I  have  been  much  separated,  I  trust  he  has 
so  interested  you  in  favor  of  his  sister"  (he  had 
scarcely  ever  named  her  till  very  lately),  "  as  to 
have  secured  her  a  place  in  your  heart.  They  do 
say  we  are  so  much  alike"  (God  forbid  that  the 
resemblance  should  extend  to  character,  was  the 
silent  prayer  of  the  reader),  "  that  no  one  can 
doubt  the  pelationship,  and  therefore  hoping  he 
has  not  monopolized  all  your  love"  (a  sigh  so  deep 
that  even  the  Colonel  looked  up  from  his  papers), 
"  I  put  in  my  sisterly  claim  for  a  portion.  Of 
my  dear  husband  I  do  not  trust  myself  to  .'jpcak— 
those  who  love  goodness,  honor,  and  truth,  must 
love  and  respect  him.    Laurette — it  is  well  the 


14 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


paper  reminds  me  there  are  limits  to  it,  and  that 
there  ought  to  be  the  same  even  to  a  mother's  gar- 
rulity— in  brief,  like  herself,  for  she  is  petite,  I 
earnestly  hope  she  may  win  a  place  in  your  es- 
teem and  that  of  her  uncle,  as  readily  as  1  shall 
bestow  mine  on  your  dear  little  girls.  I  was  very 
nearly  verifying  the  old  censorious  remark,  that 
the  real  substance  of  a  lady's  letter  is  in  the 
postscript,  but  1  remember  in  time  to  escape  the 
charge,  that  we  shall  all,  Laurette  of  course  in- 
cluded, be  delighted  to  find  ourselves  your  guests 
on  Friday  week.  Laurette  has  just  come  in. 
'Well,  darling,  what  mes.sage  to  Seabrooke;' 
'  Oh  !  mamma,  a  thousand,  thousand  kisses  to  my 
cousins  and  my  beautiful  aunt  and  uncle.'  After 
that  Orientalism,  tame  English  can  furnish  nothing 
more  expressive.  With  love  to  Lionel,  adieu,  your 
alfectiQnate  sister.  Laura  Sinclair." 

"  What  an  interminable  letter !  but  Laura 
could  always  say  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing,"  was 
the  fraternal  remark,  as  Mrs.  Templeton  closed 
the  letter.     "  Do  they  come,  and  when  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  on  Friday  week." 

"  For  how  long  .'" 

"  Mrs.  Sinclair  does  not  say,  but  she  mentions 
an  appointment  to  India  instead  of  Africa,  which 
will  keep  them  there  for  years." 

"  To  India  !  with  Laura's  handsome  legacy  (it 
was  not  equal  to  half  the  amount  of  his  wife's  for- 
tune), I  should  think  they  might  have  managed  to 
remain." 

"  She  alludes  to  some  incumbrances  on  the 
property,  which  j\Ir.  Sinclair  wishes  to  clear  oflF." 

"  The  more  fool  he,  to  go  toiling  and  broiling 
for  such  a  purpose.  Why  can  not  he  help  hi. 
father  to  sell .'" 

"  Perhaps  they  may  have  strong  feelings  about 
family  name  and  old  inheritance.  I  like  the  idea 
of  working  to  retain  the  property,  it  shows  an  in- 
dependent and  unselfish  spirit." 

•'  What  nonsense  you  are  always  talking,  Ellin- 
or," — she  very  rarely  volunteered  an  opinion,  but 
something  in  this  letter  had  more  than  usually 
stirred  her—"  really  it  is  quite  wearying  to  be 
perpetually  listening  to  such  sentiment  and  ab- 
surdity ;  however,  it  is  not  my  affair  ;  I  only 
know  that  all  my  ancestrial  acres,  if  I  had  over 
possessed  any,  and  all  my  ancestors  too,  might  be 
sold  to  the  highest  bidder,  before  I  would  be 
chained  to  the  oar  in  this  manner."  And  after 
this  dignified  exposition  of  his  sentiments  he 
whistled  himself  out  of  the  room. 

The  Slnchiirs  came,  but  Mrs.  Sinclair  was  baf- 
fled in  her  scheme  of  leaving  Laurette  as  a  pledge 
of  her  confi  lence  in  her  brother's  affection.  And 
though  no  one  could  be  kinder  than  EUinor,  it  was 
not  po.'^sililc  to  persuade  her  tliat  Helen,  little  more 
than  thrci',  and  Constance,  scarcely  two  years  old, 
would  be  belti-r  attended  to  with  a  nursery  govern- 
ess than  with  tlieir  homely  but  sensible  tjermah 
nurse;  and  as  Lionel  never  once  responded  to  her 
hints,  tliat  in  h<)  large  a  house  as  Seabruoke  Priory 
a  few  rooms  c  pi.'cially  devoted  to  LauTa  and  a  gov- 
erness woul  1  never  bo  mis-xcd,  and  onlj'  aild  to  the 
cheerfulnc.«s  of  what  she  secretly  tliought  rather  a 
dull  parly,  she,  quite  unruflled  by  disajipointment, 
decided  that  Laurette  must  be  placed  with  some 
lady  near  London,  as  the  only  means  of  securing 
tlic  advantage  of  those  accomplishments  she  deem- 


ed indispensable;  and  as  Ellinor  had  requested 
leave  to  have  her  at  the  Priory  during  her  holi- 
days, a  request  which  was  readily  accorded.  Mrs. 
Sinclair  left  the  matter  there,  thinking  it  very 
likely  one  of  the  holidays  might  extend  to  a  per- 
manent residence. 

Happily  Mrs.  Sinclair,  though  like  her  brother 
in  personal  advantages,  and  with  something  of  his 
calculating  selfishness,  had,  in  most  other  re- 
spects, an  advantageous  dissimilarity.  She  was 
affectionate  and  grateful,  capable  of  understand- 
ing and  appreciating  honor  and  truth  in  others, 
and  of  practicing  them  herself,  when  no  sophistry 
led  her  to  fancy  they  would  injure  her  cause — 
faint  praise  this.  In  short,  she  was  one  in  whom 
dependence  and  narrow  means  had  developed  all 
that  was  paltry  and  mean ;  perhaps  wealth  might 
have  equally  bi-ought  about  the  same  result,  but 
it  would  not  have  been  so  glaring  and  contempt- 
ible. Be  this  as  it  may,  the  impression  she  made 
on  her  sister-in-law  was  decidedly  in  her  favor, 
whUe  to  Mrs.  Sinclair,  Ellinor  freely  accorded  the 
respect  and  trust  his  character  eminently  deserv- 
ed ;  and  they  parted  with  feelings  of  mutual  re- 
gard on  the  side  of  the  ladies,  though  Laura  was 
bitterly  disappointed  in  the  discovery  slie  made 
of  Lionel's  real  worthlessness,  and  his  conduct  to 
one  whose  goodness  and  gentleness  merited  a  far 
better  return. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  Sinclairs  had  left.  Lady 
Grantham,  with  her  characteristic  frankness,  vol- 
unteered a  visit,  which  to  Ellinor  Avas  particular- 
ly agreeable.  She  was  strongly  attached  to  both 
her  brother  and  his  wife ;  the  cheerful  acquies- 
ence  of  the  former  in  many  privations,  his  firm 
opposition  to  expenses  which  his  rank  seemed  to 
demand,  but  which  his  means  forbade,  Avere 
strong  bonds  of  union  between  them,  for  Ellinor 
shared  all  her  brother's  horror  and  hatred  of  debt 
and  dependence ;  and  never,  perhaps,  had  she  so 
thoroughly  valued  the  transparency  of  Lady 
Grantham's  unaffected  manners  and  candid  na- 
ture than  during  this  visit,  following  so  closely 
as  it  did  that  of  the  Sinclairs,  wlien  Ellinor, 
with  all  her  wish  to  feel  kindly,  had  sometimes 
been  oppressed  by  the  studied  manners  and  well- 
turned  phrases  of  Laura. 

The  Granthams  .spoke  in  raptures  of  the  Priory  ; 
the  beauty  of  the  situation  and  the  nMgnificence 
of  the  house  furnished  an  unfailing  topic  for 
praise  and  admiration,  while  his  lordship  thought 
sometimes,  with  a  sigh,  of  his  own  deeply-mort- 
gaged estates  when  he  beheld  Seabrooke,  not  only 
so  lovely  and  well-managed,  but  so  unencum- 
bered. 

It  happened  that  while  they  were  at  the  Priory 
some  races  took  place,  which  were  to  be  succeeded 
by  a  ball,  at  which,  of  course,  the  Templetons, 
Avho  had  been  generally  adopted  by  the  neighbor- 
ing families,  must  appear  ;  and  it  Avas  during  a 
discussion  about  the  mode  of  going,  that  Lady 
Grantham  inquired  if  they  should  be  expected  to 
go  rii  fr ramie  tcnuc? 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Lionel,  very  decidedly, 
"  it  will  be  our  first  appearance  in  public,  except 
at  the  races,  and  I  mean  it  to  be  said,  that  I  take 
two  of  the  best  dressed,  as  well  as  two  of  the 
most  beautiful  women  in  the  room." 

"  As  Colonel  Templeton  commands,"  slie  gayly 
replied,  "  to  hear  is  to  obey — easy,  perhaps,  as  to 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


16 


the  best  dressed — but  to  be  so,  I  must  ask  you, 
Cecil,  to  desire  Coutts  to  forward  my  jewel-case. 
Ellinor  described  all  hei-e  as  so  Arcadian,  that 
I  had  no  idea  of  full  dress.  I  suppose,"  she  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Ellinor,  "  you  will  wear  your 
pearls,  unless,"  with  her  charming  smile,  address- 
ing the  Colonel,  "  you  have  presented  her  with 
something  more  splendid." 

"  I  do  not  know^I  believe  not" — stammered 
Mrs.  Templeton,  blushing  to  the  very  temples. 

The  Colonel  struck  in  to  spare  her — no,  not  her 
— to  spare  himself.  "  By  the  way,  Ellinor,  has 
Storr  returned  your  set .'  they  were  rather  an- 
tique, according  to  present  taste  in  the  setting," 
he  added,  with  ready  wit ;  "  remind  him  by  this 
post,  that  he  must  hurry  and  forward  them." 

"  He  has  sold  them,"  said  Lady  Grantham,  to 
herself  only — she  had  not  made  many  remarks 
about  his  sister  even  to  her  husband ;  nor  was 
this  mental  assertion  withdrawn  or  weakened 
•when  Mrs.  Templeton, .on  the  appointed  evening, 
appeared  looking  very  lovely  and  wearing  a  pa- 
rure  of  pearls  of  great  price,  which  scarcely  en- 
hanced her  beauty.  On  Lady  Grantham's  admir- 
ing the  resetting,  Colonel  Teinpleton  carelessly 
remarked,  "  Diamonds  would  have  been  almost  too 
ostentatious ;  have  you  seen  Ellinor's  ?"  and  re- 
ceiving a  negative,  they  were  brought,  pronounced 
regal,  and  sent  back  to  the— jeweler. 


CHAPTER   Vn. 

"Quelles  intrigues  ce  prSsentent  &  nous  dana  les  his- 
toires!  quel  rpnversement  des  lois  et  des  moeurs,  quelks 
.  gui-rres  sanglantes,  quelles  nouveautfes  centre  la  religion 
quelles  r6v<ilutif)ns  cl'6iat  causees  par  le  dfireglcnient  des 
femmes !  Voila  ce  qui  prouve  rimportance  de  bien  61ever 
les  lilies."— Fenelon. 

Helen  was  now  eight  years  old,  and  though 
her  mother  had  hitherto  found  her  chief  pleasure 
in  teaching  her  children  herself,  she  began  to  find 
that,  as  Constance  put  forth  her  claims  to  atten- 
tion, she  could  not  give  so  much  time  to  this  duty 
as  it  required,  and  decided,  therefore,  on  having 
some  assistance,  without  relinquishing  the  superin- 
tendence— in  short,  to  engage  a  lady  who  would 
be  always  with  the  children,  and  relieve  Gretchen 
-from  that  constant  attendance  wliich  her  faithful 
love  so  willingly  gave,  but  which  was  no  longer 
needful  or  advantageous  to  the  little  girls. 

On  all  subjects  connected  with  her  children, 
Mrs.  Templeton  decided  and  acted  Avithout  refer- 
ence to  her  hu.sband  ;  she  never  yet  had  consulted 
him  in  any  of  her  arrangements;  there  seemed 
to  be  some  secret  compact,  that  here  she  was 
quite  independent,  though,  on  almost  every  other 
occasion,  she  was  passive,  waiting  merely  to  do 
what  he  proposed.  She  therefore  wrote  to  Lady 
Grantham,  and  the  result  was,  the  arrival  of  a 
lady-like  young  person,  who  had  been  well  edu- 
cated, but  who  from  the  death  of  relatives  and 
loss  of  fortune  was  forced  to  exert  herself  for  a 
maintenance. 

Thus  recommended  and  heralded,  she  was  re- 
ceived by  iSIrs,  Templeton  with  all  that  thought- 
ful kindness  whicli  adversity  teaches  the  benevo- 


I  lent  and  gentle-minded  how  to  practice.     A  set  of 
j  comfortable  rooms  was  prepared,  and  with   the 
ready  aid  of  Mrs.  Dawson,  who  loved  her  quiet 
lady  and    pretty    children,  every  thing  was  ar- 
ranged so  as  to  make  the  stranger  feel  at  home' 

Whea  tlie  Colonel  was  absent  in  town,  or  else- 
where, as  he  often  was,  Mi-s.  Templeton  would 
I  invite  Miss  Grant  to  walk,  or  drive,  or  sit  with 
her,  when  free  from  her  duties  witli  the  children  ; 
or  she  would  ask  leave  to  be  herself  a  guest  in  the 
study ;  and  thus  all  went  on  pleasantly  and  suc- 
cessfully for  more  than  a  year,  when  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton was  grieved  to  perceive  a  groat  change 
come  over  her  young  friend,  for  so  she  kindly 
termed  her.  She  at  first  thought  that  the  monot- 
ony of  her  duties  was  becoming  wearisome  ;  but 
Miss  Grant  applied  herself  more  assiduou.sly  than 
ever  to  their  performance,  frequently  declining 
invitations  to  a  drive  or  a  walk,  under  the  plea 
of  preparing  for  the  lessons  of  the  following  day. 
I  "  You  do  not  look  well,"  remarked  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton, one  morning;  "give  the  children  a  few 
!  days'  holiday,  and  let  me  drive  you  a  little  about 
this  charming  country.  I  am  so  indifferent  about 
change  or  variety  myself,  that  I  forget  you  are 
younger  and  less  sober  mimjed."  Then,  seeing 
tears  in  Miss  Grant's  eyes,  she  added,  cheerfully, 
"Come,  we  will  be  very  g;iy,  and  drive  over  t,o 
Seaport ;  the  children  want  a  few  playthings,  so 
we  will  all  go  en  famille.'" 

These,  and  many  acts  of  similar  kindness,  ap- 
pearing only  to  increase  tlie  depression  of  her 
companion,  Mrs.  Templeton  thought  she  had  made 
a  grand  discovery,  and  resolved  to  try  another 
remedy. 

"  Miss  Grant,"  she  said,  one  evening,  when 
they  were  alone,  and  kindly  laying  her  hand  in  a 
motherly  way  on  her  shoulder,  "  I  am  not  so  old 
as  quite  to  have  forgotten  my  youth,"  and  she 
bravely  kept  back  a  sigh.  "  I  think  I  have  found 
out  your  secret." 

"  Heaven  forbid !"  exclaimed  ]\Iiss  Grant,  shrink- 
ing from  her  touch,  and  looking  up  wildly. 

"  Nay,  nay,  this  excitement  is  wholly  uncalled 
for  ;  if  you  expect  to  find  a  severe  censor  in  me, 
you  are  mistaken,  I  have  no  doubt,  from  all  I 
have  seen  of  you,  that  any  one  you  love  is  quite 
I  worthy  of  the  distinction.  Am  I  not  correct  in 
{  my  guess .'" 

j      "  Oh  !  no,  no,"  almost  groaned  the  poor  girl. 
I      "  In  that  case,  there  is  the  greater  need  of  some 
friend  to  whom  you   can  unburden  your  mind; 
can  not  I  be  that  friend  .'" 

Miss  Grant  looked  earnestly  at  her  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  in  a  paroxysm  of  tears,  mur- 
mured, "  Oh,  never,  never  !  this  kindness  will 
kill  me  !" 

Mrs.  Templeton,  perceiving  her  efforts  at  pre- 
sent were  fruitless,  rose,  and  saying,  "  Well,  no 
more  to-night,  but  to-morrow  we  must  again  talk 
of  this,  when  I  think  I  shall  have  a  little  plan  to 
propose,  which  I  hope  will  please  you,"  left  the 
room. 

Then  did  Miss  Grant  indeed  give  way  to  the 
very  frenzy  of  grief,  when  she  found  herself  alone 
— then,  amidst  sobs  and  sighs  which  seemetl 
wrung  from  a  broken  heart,  did  she  utter  words 
of  strange  and  fearful  import ;  till,  worn  out  witli 
sorrow  and  weeping,  she  laid  her  head  on  her 
pillow,  and  fell  into  a  feverish  sleep,  from  which 


16 


THE    \V1FES    TRIALS. 


ebe,  however,  awoke  calmer,  and  better  able  to 
think  what  she  must  do. 

Tlie  next  niorning,  a  kind  inquiry,  which  Miss 
Grant's  heavy  looks  called  forth,  gave  au  ojipor- 
tunity  lor  renewing*  the  subject,  which  was  met 
So  calmly,  that  Mrs.  Templeton  proceeded  at 
once  to  tiay,  she  thought  a  short  visit  to  her 
friends  might  be  of  essential  benefit,  and  enable 
her  to  resume  her  duties  with  renewed  energy. 
Rather  to  Mrs.  Temploton's  astonishment,  tliis 
olTer  was  eagerly  accepted,  and  it  was  settled 
that  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  she  should  have 
a  holiday  for  at  least  several  weeks. 

She  went,  and  at  the  expiration  of  the  ap- 
pointed time,  Mrs.  Templeton  received  a  letter 
from  her.  in  which  she  said,  that  not  finding  her 
healih  equal  to  the  resumption  of  her  charge,  she, 
witii  deep  regret,  resigned  it. 

The  post-mark  of  the  letter  was  from  an  obscure 
place  ill  Wales,  but,  greatly  to  Mrs.  Templeton's 
vexation,  no  address  was  inclosed;  and  she,  who 
truly  regretted  the  termiuation  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, anil  especially  that  illness  was  the  cause, 
and  whose  kind  and  generous  heart  would  have 
pronqited  her  to  say  so,  was  obliged  to  keep  si- 
lence, ;ind  trust  to  some  future  letter  for  infor- 
mation wiiich  should  enable  her  to  express  this. 

An  interval  of  a  few  months  then  occurred,  and 
again  siie  busied  herself  with  her  children's  edu- 
cation, when  Lady  Grantham  paid  a  visit  to  the 
Prioi-3' ;  this  time  she  was  accompanied  by  Cecilia, 
a  sj'lendid  hoyden  of  fourteen,  but  whose  perfect 
tenipci-  ami  unselfish  habits  rendered  her  a  favor- 
ite with  every  one. 

Before  they  left.  Colonel  Templeton  returned 
fi'oni  one  of  those  absences  for  which  he  never  ac- 
counted by  tlie  most  distant  hint,  and  Cecilia 
quickly  won  him  to  humor  all  her  whims,  and 
laugh  at  all  her  tricks,  by  her  undisguised  admi- 
ration of  him,  and  her  fearless  attacks  upcn  what 
she  called  his  bad  habits.  She  influenced  him  as 
no  one  else  ever  had  done — she  made  him  put 
away  his  cigar,  because  she  hated  its  horribly 
vulgar  smell— -she  lectured  him  for  reading  his 
paper,  in.siead  of  making  himself  agreeable — 
lauglud  when  he  frowned,  because  it  made  him 
look  odd,  and  insisted  that  he  should  go  riding 
with  her  and  Ellen,  though  he  declared  she  dis- 
graced him  by  her  bad  horsemanship;  and  when 
Blie  alleged  that,  as  a  reason  for  riding  all  the 
more  frequently,  because  he  could  teach  lier  so 
Well,  lie  would  yield,  and  order  the  horses  to  be 
re.idy,  tor,  what  she  called,  a  good  scamper  be- 
fore luncheon. 

Siill,  with  all  this  harum-scarum  manner, 
Cecil!  I  was  never  betrayed  into  any  thing  like 
vulgarity,  a  soiijK^on  of  pride  and  command  in 
all  she  did  giving  it  a  piquancy  which  was  very 
attractive  to  her  uncle  :  while  her  high  principle 
and  daring  truthfulness  rendered  her  equally 
a.'reeablo  to  lier  aunt. 

Alter  this  short  inroad  on  their  quiet,  the  usual 
c.ilin  settled  on  the  majestic  old  Priory,  and  once 
more  were  the  children's  studies  resumed,  this 
time  under  the  direction  of  an  older  and  more  ac- 
complishei  governess  than  Miss  Grant— a  lady 
whose  family  were  friends  of  Mrs.  Vernon's. 
At  first,  Mrs.  Templeton  thought  slie  had  made  a 
I'listake  in  this  engagement.  Miss  Lee  was  much 
less  accessible  than  her  former  favorite  ;  she  kept 


the  study  more  to  herself,  and  madp  it  evident 
that  her  hours  of  leisure  were  strictly  to  be  such. 
Occasionally  this  reserve  was  laid  aside,  and  Mrs. 
Templeton  then  became  sensible  that,  if  she  had 
lost  in  youth  and  simplicity  of  character,  she  had 
gained  in  all  that  valuable  but  hard-earned  know- 
ledge which  experience  and  high  intellect  alone 
achieve  :    and  again  all  seemed  to  go  well. 

Col.  Templeton  also  was  more  at  home,  and  fre- 
quently proposed  excursions  and  drives  about  the 
neighborhood,  in  which- he  accompanied  them. 

Mrs.  Vernon  and  her  daughter  Caroline,  the 
latter  a  very  desirable  companion  for  the  Tem- 
pleton girls,  were  now  frequent  guests  at  the 
Priory  ;  and  when  Laurette  joined  them  during 
some  of  her  holidays,  and  above  all,  when  Cecilia 
Grantham  was  there,  the  mirthful  sound  of  young 
voices,  and  the  ringing  laugh  arising  from  cheer- 
ful young  hearts  made  pleasant  music,  and  broke 
the  customary  quiet  of  Seabrooke  Priory  very 
agreeably. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  Mrs.  Templeton  so  fully 
realized  this  sunny  change,  as  to  have  indulged 
in  the  hope  of  its  being  durable,  than  again 
clouds  darkened  her  domestic  horizon;  and  again 
they  collected,  lowering  and  threatening,  from 
the  same  quarter. 

Miss  Lee,  hitherto  so  unobtrusive  and  retiring, 
seemed  restless  and  uncomfortable  if  left  alone ; 
she  was  often  at  the  Rectory,  or  with  the  children, 
of  whom,  she  never  liked  to  lose  sight,  hovering 
about  Mrs.  Templeton,  in  a  manner  strangely  at 
variance  with  her  former  love  of  solitude  and  her 
I  remarkably  studious  habits.     One  evening— well 
[  did  Mrs.  Templeton   remember  it — after   a  day 
spent  in  a  social  picnic  with  the  Vernons,  to  whom 
the  Colonel    had    been    unusually   gracious,   and 
during  which  every  one  had  appeared  particularly 
j  happy,  she   had  retired  rather  earlier   than  was 
I  her    custom    to  her   rooms,  and    was  writing   to 
Lady  Grantham,  when  a  knock  was  heard  at  the 
I  boudoir-door.     Believing  it  to  be  her  maid,  she 
uttered  the  usual  "  come  in,"  and  Miss  Lee  pre- 
sented herself. 

"  I  fear  I  intrude,"  she  remarked,  glancing  at 
the  v.riting  materials,  still,  however,  advancing. 
"  Not  at  all,  my  letter  can  well  be  postponed, 
and  give  place  to  a  little  chat  with  you  ;"'  but 
I  raising  her  eyes  to  her  visitor's  countenance,  a 
foreboding  of  something,  she  knew  not  what,  but 
which  she  was  certain  would  be  unpleasant,  made 
Mrs.  Templeton  feel  faint. 

Miss  Lee  could  hardly  be  called  handsome; 
and  yet  there  was  so  much  character  in  the 
face  and  well-shaped  head,  so  muoh  intellect  in 
j  her  flexible  antl  eloquent  features,  that  no  one 
I  could  dispute  the  existence  of  mental  superiority 
j  — there  was  also  the  irritability  of  a 'sensitive, 
:  perhaps  a  hasty  temper,  in  her  quick  movements 
and  decided  action,  though  this  was  never  suf- 
fered to  appear  in  the  well- disciplined  tone  or 
,  word. 

j  By  an  evident  effort,  she  replied  to  the  friendly 
I  speech  of  Mrs.  Templeton,  saying  rather  abrupt.- 
'\  ly,  "  I  have  come  to  a  decision  which  is  very 
I  p.iinful  to  me,  ;ind  which  compels  me  to  say  that 
I  I  can  no  longer  discharge  my  duties  to  your 
I  dear  children  -that  I  must  leave  them  and  you — 
;  and  at  once  " 
I      '•  Is  it  so— and  is  it  ever  to  be  so  .'"  murmured 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


Mrs.  Templetcn,  more  as  if  to  herself  than  in 
reply  to  5liss  Lee"s  communication;  "but  will 
you  not  tell  me  why  j-ou  decide  on  a  measure  I 
must  so  deeply  regret  ?  is  the  place  haunted,  that 
some  unknown  evil  spirit  thus  drives  away  first 
one,  and  then  another  ?"  aud  she  tried  to  smile 
at  her  own  absurd  supposition. 

But  there  was  no  answering  smile  on  that 
resolute-looking  mouth,  no  mirthful  spirit  was 
it  that  sparkled  in  those  expressive  gray  eyes. 

"  Afadam,"  she  said  quietly  but  sternly,  "you 
have  unconsciously  spoken  the  truth — the  place 
is  haunted,  and  by  an  evil  spirit  that  knows 
neither  remorse  nur  pity — on  whom  the  sacred 
considerations  of  wife  and  children  have  no 
effect — wliose  touch  is  contamination — and  who.'^e 
words  and  looks  are  dishonor — need  I  proceed  ?"  I 

"  No — yes — Heaven  help  me  !  what  have  I  to 
hear — what  have  I  still  to  suffer  .'"  She  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands  for  a  brief  space,  then  by  an 
effort  crossed  the  room  and  fastened  the  door. 

"Now,  Jliss  Lee,"  she  said,  seating  herself  by 
her,  "  spe..k,  aud  tell  me  all — let  no  false  pity 
stop  you."  I 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Templeton,"  she  replied,  with  a  | 
voice  and  manner  whose  gentleness  contrasted  I 
forcibly  with  the  inflexibility  of  her  opening  ' 
words,  "  when  I  entered  this  room  such  was  my  ', 
intention ;  and  though  I  had  anticipated  a  diffi-  i 
cult  duty,  I  confess  the  tasl^  is  more  painful  i 
than  I  expected  ;  I  therefore  ask  you  neither  to 
pardon  nor  excuse  what  I  may  say,  for  if  you 
blamed  me  I  should  still  say  on.  Do  you  know 
any  thing,  since  she  left,  of  the  lady  whose  place 
I  supply  f" 

"  Only,"  replied  Mrs.  Templeton  in  a  husky 
voice,  "  tJirough  one  short  letter.  I  much  re- 
gretted her  departure,  especially  as  she  left  in  ill 
health,  and,  I  t'e-\r,  in  sorrow — but  this  you  have 
often  heard  me  allude  to." 

"  Yes  I  have,  but  j'ou  do  not,  then,  know  that 
she  is  dead  .'"  A  faint  shriek  burst  from  the 
horrified  and  unhappy  listener.  "  Slie  died  giv- 
ing birth  to  a  child,  who  died  also — the  father  is 
Colonel  Templeton !" 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  much,  too  much — my  burden 
is  greater  than  I  can  bear!"  groaned  the  mis- 
erable wife. 

Miss  Lee,  scarcely  less  nioved,  drew  near^  she 
took  the  passive  hand,  she  pressed  it  kindly,  and 
with  a  tremulous  voice  asked,  "  You  do  not  hate 
me  for  telling  you  this.' — believe  me,  nothing 
but  a  strong  sense  of  what  was  due  to  you,  to 
your  innocent  girls,  to  mj'self,  to  mj'  whole  sex, 
could  have  carried  me  through  this  distressing 
disclosure.  And  now  you  are  quite  overcome, 
shall  I  ring  for  your  maid,  or  will  you  permit 
Die  to  wait  on  you — or  shall  I  go  .'—only  say 
what  will  be  the  least  painful  to  you." 

"  Stay,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  endeavoring  to 
rally  lier  thoughts,  "  stay  ;  my  maid  never  sits 
up  beyond  a  given  hour,  which  is  past — but  you 
wdl  be  overtasked,"  she  added,  with  her  usual 
kindness. 

"Not  so;  if  T  might  choose,  I  would  prefer 
remaining,"  and  slie  did  so  ;  and  after  calming 
herself  by  a  powerful  effort,  Mrs  Templeton 
begged  her  to  relate  at  once  all  she  had  come 
prepared  to  say. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"  Tnrn  all  ymir  eyes  on  me  ;  here  st-nnils  a  man, 
The  falsest  :iii.l  the  basest  of  Ihia  worl.l. 
Set  swords  agiimst  this  breast,  some  honest  man." 
thila'ster. 

"  After  the  novelty  of  my  situation  had  worn 
away,  I  hope  I  need  not  tell  you  that  my  duties 
were  performed  with  punctuality  and  cheerful- 
ness ;  naturally  shy,  I  at  first  kept  myself  se- 
cluded, from  both  habit  and  choice.  1  felt  that 
if  your  kindness  allowed  more  familiarity,  I 
could  easily  throw  off  my  reserve;  but  I  shrank 
from  encountering  a  repulse  for  too  much  freC' 
dom.  Pardon  me,  if  I  say  that  it  was  irapossil^le 
to  be  many  months  domesticated  under  your  roof 
without  giving  up  all  my  energies  to  serve  one 
so  amiable  as  yourself,  and,  as  1  soon  perceived, 
so  unhappy.  You  remember,  soon  after  my  ar- 
rival, Colonel  Templeton  left  for  Paris — how 
pleasant  was  that  period  to  me — you  had  en- 
couraged me  to  emerge  from  my  shell,  and  I 
ventured  to  look  forward  to  the  time  when,  hav- 
ing oompleted  your  children's  education,  1  sliould 
be  remembered  as  your  friend — dear  Mrs.  Ver- 
non was  delighted  at  having  been  the  means  of 
introducing  me  to  such  a  home,  where  for  some 
years,  at  least,  the  future  to  me  seemed  sunny 
and  cheerful. 

"  It  was  then  that  the  Colonel  returned  ;  and 
again  I  would  have  withdrawn  to  my  privacy  ; 
but  this  your  kindness,  which  included  me  in  all 
your  parties  of  pleasure,  prevented.  At  first 
Colonel  Teinplcton's  equivocal  manner  perplexed, 
witliout  alarming  me;  and  though  1  could  not 
understand  the  meaning  of  various  circumstances 
which  occurred,  they  yet  uunle  me  uncomfortable 
and  uneasy.  I  really  did  feel  so  secure  in  my 
own  integrity  and  freedom  from  all  doubtful 
behavior  ;  so  sure  that  the  very  situation  I  filled 
wns  a  safeguard,  that  it  was  long  before  a  suspi- 
cion of  the  truth  dawned  on  my  mind,  and  very 
slowly  did  I  admit  it;  it  seemed  too  horrible — 
the  father  of  my  beloved  pupils,  the  master  of 
the  house  !  Again  he  left  lor  a  short  time  ;  but 
.since  his  return,  a  system  of  quiet  persecution 
has  been  commenced,  which  has  alarmed  me.  A 
Ibrtnight  ago  I  named  much  of  this  to  Mrs.  Ver- 
non ;  she  fancied,  or  hoped,  I  had  been  over- 
sensitive, but  *  ill  was  far  from  blaming  me,  and 
enjoined  the  utmost  caution,  both  in  my  own 
behavioi-,  and  in  speaking  of  what  might  lead  to 
so  much  domestic  misery.  To-day,  this  evening, 
the  study  has  been  intruded  on,  and" — she  paused, 
more  from  indignation  than  embarrassment,  being 
far  too  much  roused  for  the  latter  feeling — "  and 
Mrs.  Dawson  heard  me  order  Colonel  Templeton 
instantly  to  leave  the  room.  This,  after  fir.st 
rudely  refusing,  he  did  :  I  confess  that  I  was 
niuch  overcome  by  his  insulting  conduct,  and 
gladly  accepted  Mrs.  Dawson's  offer  to  remain 
an  hour  with  me;  from  her  I  learned  the  dread- 
ful tragedy  of  my  predecessor's  fate,  which  has 
become  known  through  the  gossip  of  the  Colonel'S' 
servant." 

Such,»in  brief,  was  her  statement  of  the  case  ; 
but  Miss  Lee,  as  much  out  of  pity  to  her  pale 
listener,  as  respect  to  herself,  had  suppressed 
many  things  which  marked  the  deep  depravity 


18 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


rf  hcT  persecutor,  and  invested  him  with  all  the 
eisirric '.eristics  of  a  hardened  proflijate.  ' 

Siie  finally  expressed  a  hope  that  Mrs.  Tern-  l 
pleton  would  approve  of  her  prompt  disclosure,  ! 
iind  equally  prompt  rcsulvu;  both  were  impera- 
tively CHlled  for  to  prevent  any  recurrence  in 
fu.-'ire  of  such  proceedimrs :  slie  now  placed  her- 
self entirely  in  Mrs.  Teinpleton's  hands,  being 
ni>)'i«t  desirous  of  acting  so  as  not  to  increase  her 
difiltulties. 

"  Your  course  is  plain,  dear  Miss  Lee  —you 
rnugf  '.cave  me.     Pained  and  humiliated  as  1  am 
ot  heving  this  disgraceful  history,  believe  me,  I 
feel  Ju^.nitcly  your  debtor  for  vi.ur  having  with 
Buch  lonor  and  cour-age  shown  me  ex:ictly  how  I 
am  phiced.     ^/y  path  is,  in  many  rfspects,  and 
for  man  7  causes,  neither  so  clear  nor  so  easy  to 
pursue.     But  after  what  you  have  learned,  and 
the  prudent  use  you  have  made  of  that  knowl- 
edge. c(  ncealmcnt  of  the  sad   mysteries  of  my 
lite  is  impossible,  as  well  as   needless;  though 
you  will  be  the  first,  j'es,  the  first,  not  excepting 
■even  my  dear  brother,  to  whom  I  have  ever  hint-  1 
•ed   at  my  situation   or  sorrows.     My  marriage 
was  a  love-match — on  my  .side — I  mean — Colonel  ! 
'Templeton  married  my  fortune ;  when  that  was  i 
gone,  he  liad  no  longer  a  wife      I  could  not,  if  it 
were  useful,  tell  you  all  I  have  sufftM-ed.  or  re-  ' 
Lite  to  you  all  the  infamy  I  have  passed  through  ;  ! 
it  was  no  arm  of  earthly  love  which  led  me,  un-  I 
contaminated,  through  these  horrors;  it  was  no  | 
liuibund's  honor.-ibie  solicitude  which  kept   me  I 
■from  falling  as  low  ;is  any  of  the  degraded  beings  1 
anmnjwhom  I,  a  young  wife,  ayoung  mother,  WaS 
tliruwn    God  was  very  merciful  tome,  and  remem- 
bered me  in  my  agony  and  trial ;  agony  and  ir  al 
to  b  .tly  and  mind.  He  led  me  safely  through,  and 
once  more  has  He  brouglit  me  to  the  shelter  of 
my  home  and  my  relatives,  and  for  this,  praised  t 
be  His  name."     She  paused,  and  for  a  few  min-  ■ 
utcs  seemed  lost  in  thought;  then   looking  up, 
and  seeing  Miss  Lee's  ej'es  fi.vcd  with  inquiring  ' 
sympathy  on  lier,  she  remarked,  "  You  look  as 
if  you  thought  1  had  redress  in  my  own  power; 
you  forget  my  children,  my  beiiutiful,  innocent 
gills;  had  1  separated  from  Colonel  Templeton, 
tiiink  you  that  they  wDuld  have  been  left  with  ' 
n<.e  .'  if  so,  you  know  nothing  of  the  cruelty  and  | 
revenge  of  which  a  base  and  depraved  nature  is  i 
cipiib'.e;  besides,  he  does  not  wish  me  formally  ] 
to  leave  his  house;  he  knows  that  one  step  taken 
in  th  it  direction  must  lead  to  another,  and    iy 
eywof  the  world  he  has  still  something  to  lo-^e, 
which  he  would  gladly  retain.     Thus,  then,  the 
iiiiiUer  stands  between  us.     1  consent  to  remain, 
having  entire  liberty  to  do  as  I  please  with  my 
chil  Irt-n.  for  which  an  ample  allowance  is  made; 
bill  beyond  this  I  am  feticred  ;  if  1  move,  so  will 
they,  iind  be  taken  from  my  loving  care  for  years, 
pel  Imps  forever  ;  and.  great  (lod  !  to  what  might 
tlicy  not  be  exfiosed  •  lor  if  once  an  open  rupture 
were  miide  1  have  every  thing  to  dread  from  liini. 
1  am  convinced   he  would   pause  at  nothing  by 
wliich  1  could  be  wounded.     No,  no,  mine  was  the 
mistake,  on  me  be  its  consequences,  but  oh  !  spare 
my  sweet  girjs !" 

Slie  burst  into  a  pa.'^.sion  of  tears,  which  were  as 
freely  shed  by  her  aii<litor,  btit  more  silently; 
then  raising  her  hea<l,  she  added,  "  \Vc  are  both 
too  much  agitated  and  excited  to  prolong  this  in- 


terview. To-morrow  we  will  he  guided  by  event 
in  the  mean  time,  if  you  can  think  for  me,  do  so 

Inexpressibly  touched  by  her  gentle  but  j^: 
looks  and  tones.  Miss  Lee  respectfully  rai,sed  1. 
hand  to  her  lips;  but  Mrs.  Templeton  kissed  h 
fondly  on  the  cheek,  saying,  "  Out  of  evil  w 
come  good,  if  from  this  bitter  trial  I  gain 
friend." 

And  with  strange  and  sorrowful  feelings  fiUii 
the  hearts  and  thoughts  of  each,  they  parted. 


CHAPTER,    IX. 

"  Give  sorrow,  words" ;  the  grief  that  does  not  gpealt,    ,. 
Whisptrs  the  oVrlrauglit  heari,  and  bids  it  brMuk." 

The  following  morning  every  thing  seemed 
proceed  as  usual ;  for  the  children  always  takii 
their  breakfast  in  the  study.  Miss  Lee"s  mann  ' 
could  cast  no  shadow  of  coming  events,  by  wh', 
their  shape  might  be  recognized  when  they  d 
arrive.     Had  Colonel  Templeton  taken  much  n 
tice  of  his  wife,  he  would  have  pi-rccived  that  sl|' 
lookcl  paler  and  more  thoughtiul  than  comnioi 
but  this  he  did  not,  and,  in  fact,  rather  rL-Ii' 
her,  by  planning- a  little  excursion  for  the  ■ 
day,  which  she  understood  as  a  proc^f  tli.at  ln' 
ignorant  of  the  disclosure  that  had  boon  mud 
in  which  she  was  correct. 

Quite  unable  to  enter  quickly  into  diifercnco 
character,  and  unobservant  of  the  quiet  diiri 
and  reserve  w^hich  marked  .^l:ssLee"s  behavii 
had  ranked  lier  among  the  sentimental  roin: 
class  to  which  poor  Miss  Grant  belonged  ;  a  1 1  < 
who  have  honor,  affection,  and  sense  enouini 
carry  them  through  life,  respected  and  lovcl, 
kept  from  temptation;  but  who  with  no  princij 
to  sustain,  no  strong  feeling  of  right  to  suj'j.i 
them  in  the  hour  of  trial,  when  that  time  c^nu 
fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  destroyer.  ,j 

Directly  she  was  at  liberty,  and  her  husbail 
busy  with  his  agent.  .Mrs.  Templeton  hastened  > 
the  study,  aud  sending  the  children  with  (ire  te 
en  to  the  Rectory,  where  they  were  ever  wcl  i.ii 
she  informed  .Miss  Lee  of  the  result  of  her  anxio. 
vigils,  !. 

"  It  is  evident  to  methat  I  can  not,  that  I  mi;J 
not  even  attempt  t^  carry  on  my  children's  cduc  I 
tion  under  this  roof,"  ] 

"I  agree  with  yon,"  said  Miss  Lee;  "  J'! 
woul<l  not  be  justified  in  making  the  attempt,"  I 

"But  what  then  can  I  do?  From  the  spci 
mens  which  I  have  too  often  met  with  of  seli. 
education,  I  have  contracted  a  very  strong  repu 
nance  to  exposing  either  Helen  or  C'onstam,; 
especially  the  former,  to  the  intluence  of  girls 
whom  1  myself  know  nothing.  1  am  not  objet 
ing  wholly  on  the  ground  of  diffjrence  of  stati* 
though  the  effects  of  that  arc  also  to  be  consider . 
— not  because  of  less  -nobility  or  less  wealth,  I 
because,  among  unsclectod  associates,  vulgar  opi 
ions,  low  sentiments,  and  paltry  feelings  are  to 
dreaded;  added  to  tliis,  I  own  to  a  very  decid 
prepossession  in  favor  of  home  inllu-nce,  wh( 
the  mother,  as  I  trust  I  should  be,  is  ready  to  i 
in  concert  with  an  iutelllgent  instructress," 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


19 


•*  My  opinion  entirely  coincides  with  yours," 
tBSwered  Miss  Lee,  "  and  I  know  not  why  any 
dread  of  being  misapprehended  should  deter  me 
from  trying  to  aid  you  ;  though  this  will  involve  a 
display  of  egotism  to  which  I  am  not  much  ad- 
dicted." 

"  Oh,  help  me,  if  you  can,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Templeton,  with  energy ;  "  and  give  all  false 
scruples  to  the  winds." 

".My  sister,  Mrs.  Loftus,"  said  she,  thus  ad- 
jured, "  is  the  widow  of  an  officer,  who  died  about 
eighteen  months  ago  in  India.  Her  right  to  some 
property  is  disputed,  but  we  are  assured  vexa- 
tiously  and  unjustly — still,  while  it  is  withheld, 
my  sister  is  reduced  to  a  vei-y  scanty  income. 
She  has  two  little  girls,  rather  older  than  yours ; 
and  it  is,  I  know,  her  earnest  wish  so  to  educate 
them  as  to  render  them  independent  of  any  .id- 
verse  circumstance  except  ill  health.  To  assist 
her,  by  pecuniary  aid,  I  am  here  ;  but  in  oi'der 
fully  to  carry  out  her  views,  she  is  very  desirous 
of  obtaining  two,  at  the  most  three,  pupds,  to  ed- 
ucate with  thero.  This  would  justify  the  expense 
ftf  engaging  superior  talent  in  various  accomplish- 
ments, and  it  would  make  all  the  children  feel, 
from  an  early  age,  that  they  are  not  to  measure 
excellence  by  their  own  attainments,  nor  limit  it 
by  their  own  powers;  superiority  will  thus  en- 
courage industry,  not  foster  conceit — and  inferi- 
ority will  not  depress,  but  keep  them  modest." 

'■  Snid  1  not  well  that  out  of  evil  comes  good  .'" 
eagerly  interrupted  Mrs.  Templeton ;  "  my  own 
vision  realized — except,"  she  added  with  a  sigh, 
*■  the  sepai-ation." 

'•But  that  only  for  a  short  time,"  suggested 
Miss  Lee. 

"  True ;  and  now  the  best  way  to  arrange  all 
this  ?  Put  me  immediately  in  correspondence 
with  ^Irs.  Loftus — tkat  appears  the  first  step  I 
have  never  yet  left  the  Priory  for  a  night  since 
my  arrival,  but  to  gain  this  great  advantage  I 
shall  not  hesitate  to  do  any  thing  that  is  needful; 
and  by  cheerfully  consenting  to  part  from  my 
darlings,  I  give  them  the  best  proof  that  my  love 
is  unselfish  and  wise." 

•'  1  think,  nay,  I  am  sure,  you  will  like  my  sis- 
ter," said  Miss  Lee;  "she  has  seen  much  of  the 
cloudy  side  of  hie,  and  I  have  often  felt,  when  you 
have  been  discussing  various  subjects,  that  you 
and  she  entertained  the  same  opinions." 

"  Khali  you  reside  with  her  ': ' 

"■  I  rather  think  not ;  I  have  an  unmarried 
brother,  whose  housekeeper  1  was  till  her  bereave- 
ment and  return  to  England,  and  when  I  came 
here  she  took  my  place.  But  if,  through  any  ar- 
rangements you  make,  she  can  succeed  in  her 
|»lan  regarding  her  children,  I  shall  again  resume 
the  reius  at  my  brother's  till  he  marries." 

"  Then  consider  that  quite  settled,"  said  Mr-. 
Templeton ;  "  and  now  about  yourself — what  are 
your  immediate  wi.shes  and  intentions  ?" 

'•I  was  up  very  early  this  morning,  and  have 
collected  and  packed  all  my  belongings,  purposing 
to  leave,  so  as  not  again  to  meet — in  sliort,  to  go 
at  once." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  "  Mrs.  Ver- 
non can  not  know  of  this  last  occurrence." 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Miss  Lee;  "she knows 
nothing  since  we  parted  yesterday  —  though,  as  1 
informed  you,  I  had  previously  consulted  her — 


and  no  one  here,  but  Mrs.  Dawson,  on  whose  dis- 
cretion I  can  fully  rely,  is  aware  that  any  thing 
unpleasant  has  happened." 

"  Will  you  object  to  remaining  a  few  days  at 
the  Rectory,"  asked  Mrs.  Templeton;  "  I  have  so 
often  heard  Mrs.  Vernon  urge  it,  that  I  am  sure 
she  will  be  delii;hted.  In  making  tliis  request  I 
am  rather  seltish,  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  have  you 
near  while  in  correspondence  with  Mrs.  Loftus;  it 
will  also  remove  any  suspicion  Colonel  Templeton 
may  entertain  as  to  my  being  in  your  confidence, 
a  fact  he  will  never  learn  from  me ;  it  will  also 
show  him  that  you  are  well  protected,  and  render 
liim  more  cautious  how  he  ventures  to  persevere 
in  his  insulting  conduct." 

"  1  shall  willingly  remain,  as  you  see  no  objec- 
tion, and  most  happy  shall  I  be  to  further  your 
negotiation  with  my  sister." 

"  Then  we  will  go  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton, "  for  I  have  decided  on  another  measure,  the 
result  of  our  conversation  last  night.  I  have  felt 
so  gi-cat  a  relief  from  having  in  this  slight  degree 
opened  my  heart  to  you,  that  I  shall  no  longer  go 
about  with  this  terrible  secret,  as  if  it  were  my 
crim.e  instead  of  my  misfortune,  and  deny  myself 
the  comfort  of  sympathy  and  advice.  You  look 
as  if  this  resolve  surprised  you." 

"  I  own  it  does,"  said  Miss  Lee,  courageously  ; 
"  the  good  sense  and  propriety,  no  less  than  the 
fortitude  of  your  conduct,  are  exactly  the  quali- 
ties in  which  society  at  large  are  so  deficient — I 
render  a  deep  and  voluntary  homage  to  the  char- 
acter of  those  who  can  say — 

'Thero  is  a  sil'  nt  sorrow  Ixtp, 
It  hujivt  s  no  sliifi,  it  sUeda  no  tear ;' 

but  perhaps  I  am  rather 'stoical ;  I  know  I  am  not 
very  fond  of  pity  on  my  own  account." 

"  I  must  try  and  make  myself  understood,"  said 
Mrs.  Templeton;  "otherwise,  though  I  think  we 
agree,  you  will  fancy  we  differ.  Colonel  Temple- 
ton is  my  husband — no  matter  what  else  he  is — 
his  conduct  will  not  affect  my  argument.  While 
I  consent  to  remain  .with  hiih,  1  th.iik  nolhii;g 
would  be  more  reprehensible  than  for  me  to  weary 
alike  friends  and  acquaintances  with,  his  faults 
and  my  sorrows — my  silence  does  not,  at  any  rate, 
make  the  matter  worse,  my  complaints  certainly 
would  ;  and  it  is  this  strong  conviclion  which  hiis 
hitherto  guided  my  proceedings.  But  events  may 
arise,  when  the  aid  and  counsel  of  sinother  may 
be  useful,  indeed  necessary — when  trials,  whicli 
are  never  purposeless,  may,  by  our  unwise  recep- 
tion, become  irritants,  leading  to  murmuring  and 
discontent,  instead  of  blcss.-d  instruments  for  cor- 
recting and  hallowing  all  our  /eelings.  I  am, 
therefore,  determined  no  longer  to  close  my  car  to 
the  voice  of  wisj  and  friendly  sympathy ;  nor  to 
infold  myself  in  an  iron  shroud,  which  buries  alike 
my  hopes  with  my  disappointment.  Am  1  now 
very  wrong.'  To  the  many  1  am  still  dumb— but 
do  not  forbid  the  over-racked  victim  to  groan— do 
not  say  the  sharp  pang  shall  force  out  no  cry." 

"  Far  from  it,  very  far  from  it,"  said  Miss  Leo, 
with  animation;  "you  are  fully  justified  in  the 
resolution  you  have  tJlken  ;  you  would,  imlcod,  Ijo 
wroug  if  you  refused  this  mearis  of  relief.  What 
I  meant  to  censure  was,  that  the  egoti.'^m  which 
I  perpetually  talks  of  itself  in  the  most  weari.some 
I  of  characters,  that  of  complainer— which  parades 


20 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


its  sorrows  before  erery  one,  and  collects  sympa- 
thy as  a  tax.  Not  that  I  ever  thought  it  possible 
you,  with  your  refinement  and  dignity  of  charac- 
ter, your  studied  avoidance  of  domestic  and  petty 
details,  could  ever  descend  to  this  level ;  but  1  was 
jealdU'?,  dear  Mrs.  Tcmpleton,  lest  you  should  not, 
in  every  respect,  fully  otfer  an  excuse  for  my  deep 
admiration  of  your  cliuracter." 

'•  But  you  do  not  suppose  me  proof  against  a 
little  delicate  fiat;ery,"  slie  observed  with  a  smile. 
"  Now  we  will  no  lunger  delay  our  drive  to  the 
Kectory,  where  I  shall  leave  you,  depending  on 
your  kindness  to  do  all  you  can  for  me." 

The  children  and  Gretchen  were  sent  back  in 
the  curring->,  which  was  to  return  and  fetch  Mrs. 
Tcmpleton,  who  was  happily  spared  the  feverish- 
ness  of  hesitation  and  doubt,  by  finding  Mr.  \^r- 
non  at  home.  With  him  she  had  a  long  and  pri- 
vate interview;  and  though  her  beautiful  face 
looked  very  sad,  and  tears  stood  in  her  loving, 
dark  eyes  :is  she  kissed  and  bade  farewell  to  Miss 
Lee,  she  whispered,  "  1  was  quite  right,  for  though 
you  must  go  away,  I  have  wise  and  warm  friends 
left  here." 

L'ulonel  Tcmpleton  expressed  no  astonishment 
when  informed  of  Miss  Lee"s  sudden  departure, 
though  he  felt  surprised  when,  through  his  pri- 
vate inquiries,  he  found  she  intended  to  remain  a 
week  at  the  iiectory ;  and  where,  in  spite  of  all 
liis  maneuvers,  he  never  could  see  her ;  but  unde- 
terred by  this,  he  took  effectual  measures  to  trace 
her  thence  to  London,  fully  determining  not  to  be 
baffled  in  his  pursuit,  by  what  he  thought  either 
prudery  or  deliberate  artilice. 

Helen  and  Constance  were  loud  in  their  com- 
plaints at  her  absence,  and  most  persevering  in 
their  inquiries  as  to  her  return ;  but  in  less  than 
two  months  the  negotiation  had  been  so  success- 
fully carried  on  with  Mrs.  Loftus,  much  facilitated 
by  her  .'^p  niding  a  few  days  at  the  Iiectory,  and 
saving  .Mrs.  Tcmpleton  a  journey  to  London,  that, 
avowjng  herself  weary  and  disheartened  by  these 
perpetual  changes.  Miss  Lee  having  decided  on  re- 
maining v;ith  her  family,-  she  now  intended  to 
place  Helen  and  Constance  at  school,  where,  for 
the  present,  (Jretchen  would  accompany  them  as 
the.r  personal  attendant. 

\'arious  were  tlic  comments  passed  by  various 
in  lividuals  when  the  plan'became  known;  but  as 
tjiese  parties  have  been  rather  disrespectfully 
kept  in  the  background,  leave  we  the  children  to 
acquire  as  much  knowledge  as  their  brains  will 
comfortably  bear,  and  to  gain  as  many  accom- 
plishments as  they  have  talents  for,  while  we  be- 
come enlightened  as  to  the  neighborhood,  or 
rather  the  neighbors  of  the  Priory. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"Si  on  n-  godlp  point  ce»  onranlircg,  je  m'en  fetonne;  si 
on  leu  gnaif,  Je  m'en  fe;oiine  lie  moiue."— La.  Bbuykuk. 

TiiK  Forresters  of  Forest  Ilill,  as  one  of  the  old- 
est county  families,  claim  pieccdeuce,  thougii,  as 
they  never  Blood  out  in  very  bohl  relief  on  any 
occasion,  not  even  during  an  election,  they  will 
*oon  be  dismissed ;  they  must,  however,  be  put  iu 
ihe  catalogue. 


Mr.  Forrester  had  married  late  in  life  a  lady 
of  suitable  age;  for  if  she  had  gained  but  little 
knowledge  of  life,  it  had  not  been  for  lack  of  time. 
By  the  death  of  her  brother,  the  handsome  estate 
of  Hargraves  became  hers,  and  though  this  ac- 
quisition was  by  no  means  the  reason  why  Mr. 
Forrester  thought  the  lady  suitable  as  a  wife,  it 
certainly  had  something  to  do  with  suggesting 
that  idea. 

Had  Hargraves  been  a  hundred  miles  off.  it  ia 
probable  he  would  never  have  cared  for  it  or  its 
owner;  but  Hargraves  joined  Forest  Hill,  and 
those  who  have  ever  noticed  the  effect  of  such  pro- 
pinquity on  country  gentlemen,  will  understand 
how  it  influenced  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
Mr.  Forrester.  Therefore,  if,  as  Miss  Hargrave, 
she  was  good,  as  Mrs.  Forrester  she  was  better  ; 
but  when  she  became  the  mother  of  the  future 
heir  of  i'orest  Hill  and  Hargraves  to  boot,  she  was 
decidedly  best.  Mr.  Forrester  was  proud,  pom- 
pous, and  cold,  very  kind  to  his  dependents,  among 
whom  he  was  extremely  popular ;  honorable  and 
just,  almost  to  sternness,  in  all  his  transactions  ; 
stately  and  repulsive,  well-bred  and  exclusive. 
His  wife  was  his  reflection  in  almost  every  respect, 
except  that,  while  the  father  Avas  prouder  of  Hu- 
bert as  his  heir  than  as  his  son,  the  mother  re- 
versed this,  being  fonder  of  her  handsome  boy,  her 
atiectionate,  her  beautiful  Hubert,  than  pi'oud  of 
him  as  the  future  representative  of  two  familie:^, 
which  had  been  known  and  respected  for  many 
centuries. 

Sir  William  and  Lady  Dallas,  with  their  numer- 
ous   but   youthful   family,  come  next   in   order. 
j  They  were  people  of  good  property,  who  inhabited 
I  the  Grange,  a  building  which  originally  merited 
j  that  name,  but  it  h.ad  been  gradually  so  change!, 
enlarged,  and  improved,  as  to  resemble,  in  puinr 
of  identity,  that  celebrated   stumbling-block  i 
metaphysicians.  Sir  Francis  Drake's  ship,  whj'  i 
I  had  been  so  often  patched  and  repaired,  that  im 
one  piece  of  the  original  remained.     So  with  ili 
I  Grange;  now 'a  handsome  mansion  sheltered  fii:. 
all   ungenial   influences,    anji    surrounded    wi 
beautitul  gardens,  rich  fields,  and  fertile  mea  I 
j  ows. 

Nearly  as  it  now  was.  Sir  William  received  it 
from  his  father,  the  first  Baronet;  and  haviiiL; 
j  married  a  lady  of  large  fortune,  good  connectiuu, 
'  and  fashionable  tastes,  the  Grange  became,  par 
i  ixcelteaci,  the  focus  of  gayety  and  amusement. 
I  Their  arrival  as  residents  had  been  previous  to 
i  that  of  the  Templetons,  between  whom  and  them- 
\  selves,  in  spite  of  many  impediments  to  stroug 
friendship,  there  sprang  np  much  kind  feeling. 

Sir  WilliitDi  was  a  frank,  amiable  man.  and  an 
indulgent  husband,  passionately  fond  of  country 
sports  and  agricultural  experiments;  exactly  the 
man  whose  active  habits,  intelligent  mind,  an! 
ample  fortune  enabled  him,  without  injury,  to  in- 
troduce those  scientific  measures,  the  failure  of 
which  would  be  ruinous  to  the  small  farmer,  l)ut 
which.  Avhen  hazarded  by  the  rich  and  enterpris- 
ing landed  proprietor,  eventually  lead  to  i-eal  im- 
provement and  final  success. 

And  Lady  Dallas,  what  was  she  ?  Miss  Lee  has 
already  alluded  to  one  of  her  habits,  as  being,  in 
her  opinion,  particularly  objectionable.  Her 
ladyship  was  a  complainer ;  it  was  not  exactly  from 
discontent,  lor  she  was  too  grateful  to  feel  that ; 


THE  WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


21 


still  less  was  it  low  spirits,  for  when  she  had  empti- 
od  her  tiny  vial  of  small  troubles  on  the  hvtul  of 
Kome  luckless  listener,  who  so  gay  as  she  ?  It 
cit'ten  reminded  a  spectator  of  the  little  man  and 
woman  in  the  weather-lwuse  ;  a-s  the  one  listened 
und  grew  weary  or  sad  from  sympathy,  so  she  be- 
came gay  and  cheerful,  and  fluttered  away,  ready 
to  chirp  and  sing  with  the  fii-st  merry  bird  she  en- 
countered. 

Kind  but  egotistical,  teasing  and  complaining, 
but  ever  ready,  nay,  eager  to  serve  othei*s,  it 
eeemed  as  if  she  realized  in  her  pretty  little  per- 
son the  John  Bull  character  of  her  countrymen 
— that  she  is  never  happj  but  wlien  grumbling. 
Quite  free  from  pride  and  envy,  she  was,  upon  the 
whole,  popular ;  still  she  was  occasionally  oppres- 
sive and  wearying,  for,  in  a  word,  tant  soit  pert, 
she  was  a  bore.  She  bored  about  her  servants, 
her  childi'en,  her  relations,  and  what,  in  Mrs. 
Templeton's  opinion,  was  most  inexcusable,  about 
ber  husband  ;  and  yet  all  this  was  the  result  of 
thoughtlessness  and  want  of  employment ;  it  gave 
her  an  opportunity  of  talking  about  herself,  and 
indirectly  pa3'ing  herself  a  compliment ;  she  would 
tell  of  her  trials — her  trials,  forsooth  !  and  then 
allude  t/9  the  magnanimity  with  which  they  were 
endured.  This  she  would  evince,  by  being  the 
very  butterfly  of  the  place,  driving  about  from 
house  to  house,  and  depositing  everywhere  her 
little  amount  of  boredom.  Added  to  this,  she  was 
essentially  without  tact,  utterly  insensible  to  the 
eloquence  of  the  tone,  the  look,  the  manner, 
which,  to  the  sensitive,  speaks  with  the  clearness 
of  a  trumpet,  and  tells  that  sympathy  and  polite- 
ness are  exhausted,  and  that  weariness  is  begin- 
Bing;  but  on  she  went,  humming,  drumming, 
complaining,  lamenting, "  and  inflicting  her  tedi- 
ousness"  on  all  who  would  permit  it.  As  to  com- 
prehonding  the  character  of  Mrs.  Templeton,  she 
was  no  more  capable  of  doing  that,  than  of  read- 
ing the  Arundelian  Marbles ;  and  not  having  the 
least  suspicion,  till  many  years  after  their  intro- 
duction, of  her  real  situation,  she  constantly  made 
her  the  subject  of  her  iadirect  animadyersions,  by 
canvassing  her  proceedings,  and  being  astonished 
at  her  doings ;  and  all  this  without  the  least  mal- 
ice or  ill  nature. 

Lord  Hurstwood,  in  point  of  rank,  should  have 
been  first  introduced,  but  as  age,  infirmity,  and  a 
severe  loss  in'  the  death  of  an  only  daughter,  ren- 
dered him  quite  a  recluse,  we  pass  him  oyer ;  his 
eon  being  a  bachelor,  and  an  absentee,  in  neither 
character  has  a  claim  on  our  notice,  and  will 
therefore  remain  unannounced  till  he  becomes  one 
of  the  recognized  inliabitants  of  the  county. 

Toward  the  seaward  side  of  the  village  was  a 
pretty  little  place,  claiming  and  meriting  no 
more  dignified  appellation  than  that  of  Seaview 
Cottage,  occupied  by  a  lady,  whom,  almast  sim- 
ultaneou.sly  with  tlie  arrisal  of  Miss  Lee,  Lady 
Grantham  had  introduced  to  the  notice  of  tlie 
Colonel  and  his  wife  as  an  early  friend  of  here, 
recently  a  widow,  in  fact,  a  distant  connection  of 
Lionel's.  Her  husband,  .Mr.  West,  had  held  an 
Excellent  appointment,  tlfe  income  of  whicli  he 
not  only  gpent,  bat  exceeded;  so  tliat  at  his 
death,  which  happened  unexpectedly,  his  widow 
had  nothing  but  a  small  annuity,  and  very  deli- 
cate' health.  Her  only  ciiihl,  a  boy,  was  most 
generously   adopted   by  an  unmarried  relative, 


the  next  heir  to  the  Westrongh  title  and  estates, 
the  present  Lord  having  only  daughters. 

Lord  Ernest  West  had  lost,  by  death,  the  lady 
to  whom  lie  was  passionately  attached,  and  since 
tiiat  event  had  led  a  very  secluded  life,  having 
withdrawn  to  the  solitude  of  Old  Court,  wliich, 
with  a  splendid  fortune,  he  inherited  from  his 
mother,  the  late  Lord's  second  wife. 

Xady  Grantham  shrewdly  suggested  that  in 
this  adoption  of  the  young  Reginald,  the  possible 
heir  to  the  title,  there  was  some  arrihre  prnsie  of 
contracting  him  to  one  of  his  lady  cousins  ;  .and 
perhaps  she  was  correct.  But  tlie  undoubted 
consequence  of  this  measure  was,  that  Reginald 
remained  at  Eton  at  Lord  Ernest's  expense,  and 
that  his  mother's  income  received  a  small  addi- 
tion, sufficient  to  insure  her  comftjrt. 

Under  these  circumstances,  Mrs.  West  received 
kindness  and  attention,  not  only  from  the  Tem- 
pletons,  who  readily  admitted  her  claim,  but 
from  the  whole  neighborhood,  whom  her  gentle 
and  ladylike  manners  could  not  fail  to  please ; 
while  Reginald,  a  handsome,  spirited  boy,  about 
fifteen,  mounted  on  liis  pony,  or  driving  liis  mother 
in  her  tiny  ciiaise,  was  quite  as  much  at  the 
Priory  as  at  the  Cottage,  or,  as  Cecilia  observed, 
as  he  was  on  the  road,  and  by  whom  in  allusion 
to  his  equestrian  tastes  he  was  laughingly  called 
the  Honest  Highwayman. 

"  How  beautiful  your  flowers  are,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Forrester  to  Lady  Dallas,  as  they  walked 
through  an  elegant  conservatory  recently  added 
to  the  Grange. 

"Yes,  they  are  »ery  pretty,  but  I  advise  you, 
Mrs.  Forrester,  never  to  have  your  conservatory 
opening  on  to  the  drawing-room — sometimes  I  am 
quite  overcome  with  the  perfume  from  the  cape 
jasmine,  orange,  and  other  scented  flowers." 

"  You  have  only  to  close  the  double  door  ;  be- 
sides, your  caution  is  too  late  to  me." 

"As  to  shutting  the  door,  that  is  useless;  Sir 
William  is  perpetually  going  through,  and  is  so 
thoughtless,  he  always  forgets — really  hie  new 
plans  and  inventions  keep  us  in  constant  confusion 
— only  imagine,  the  new-fashioned'  flues  were 
over-heated  last  week,  and  we  were  terrified  by 
the  cry  of  fire." 

"  But  I  was  told  you  were  quitte  pour  la  peur^^ 
replied  .Mrs.  Forrester ;  and  as  gardeners  will 
over-heat  even  old-fashioned  warming  apparatus, 
it  is  better  to  have  one  which  is  so  easily  man- 
aged," 

"  Oh,  you  have  no  idea  of  the  trouble  all  these 
things  are;  tliere  was  our  coachman  the  other 
day" — but  seeing  or  feeling  from  which  quarter 
the  wind  was  blowing,  Mrs.  Forrester,  as  she  had 
ofien  done  before,  shortened  her  visit. 

"  Is  it  quite  true,"  inquired  Lady  Dallas  of 
Mrs.  Vernon,  on  whom  she  was  calling,  "  that  the 
little  Templetons  have  been  Ijanished  to  a  London 
school .'" 

"  Perfectly  true,  that  they  are  being  educated 
near  London,  with  two  other  children,  but  not 
that  therefore  they  are  bnnishtxl." 

"  Happily,"  remarked  her  Ladyship,  "  I  am  not 
addicted  to  envy,  or  I  certainly  should  envy  Mrs. 
Templeton  the  perfect  control  she  has  over  every 
thing.  You,  who  c^n  so  easily  educate  your  only 
gii  1,  ha-ve  no  idea  of  the  trouble  I  have  with  mine 
— I  am  perpetually  obliged  to  ohange  governess  or 


22 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


nurse,  and  the  children  always  lose  with  every 
ciinnge — now  here  is  Mrs.  Templetoa  freed  from 
ull  iliis  trouble,  and  quite  at  liberty  to  go  about 
and  receive  lier  friends  as  she  pleases." 

'•  1  think,"  replied  .Mrs.  Vernou,  smiling,  •'  tliat 
you  do  not  seem  to  find  either  duties  or  imprison- 
ment very  severe  in  your  case,  fur  I  hear  of  you 
at  all  the  parties  near  and  lar." 

"  Oh,  tliat  is  because  Sir  William  can  not  bear 
to  go  anywiiere  witiiout  me — so  different  from 
Colonel  Templeton,  who  goes  about  as  if  he  had 
no  wife." 

Almost  provoked  at  her  folly,  and  yet  afraid  of 
opening  the  eyes  of  one  with  so  clapper-like  a 
tongue.  .Mrs.  Vernon  suggested  that  perhaps  Lady 
Dallas  was  quite  as  fond  of  being  with  Sir  William 
OS  lie  with  her  ;  a  truth  which  was  at  once  frankly 
and  laughingly  admitted. 

But,  unfortunately,  "her  Ladyship  had  not  yet 
exhausted  her  stock  of  astonishment  and  comment 
— a  portion  of  both  was  reserved  for  tlie  Priory. 
Thiilier  she  drove,  and  on  the  broad  terrace  was 
the  Colonel,  and  he  being  an  admirer  of  her  pretty 
face  and  fashionable  dress,  though  he  sometimes 
thought,  when  wincing  under  her  random  lashes, 
that  if  he  were  her  husband  he  should  infallibly 
strangle  her,  hastened  to  hand  her  from  the  car- 
riage. 

••  Really,  Colonel  Templeton,"  she  said,  as  he 
accompanied  her  through  the  noble  liall  to  the 
drawing-room,  "  I  hardly  ever  come  here  without 
xiiitiking  what  an  enviable  life  Mrs.  Templeton's 
must  be." 

"  The  same  idea  occurs  to  me  respecting  Sir 
"NVilliam's,"  was  his  insidious  reply,  '-whenever  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  Ladyship  ;  but 
she.  scarcely  hearing  him,  and  certainly  not  at- 
taching any  import  to  the  words,  went  chattering 
on,  as  if  lie  had  not  spoken. 

*•  I  tiiink  this  place  a  perfect  Paradise.  Ah, 
my  dear  .Mrs.  Templeton,  how  do  you  do  .'  I 
was,  as  usual,  raving  about  this  lovely  place — it 
is  a  real  garden  of  Eden." 

*'  But  there  was  something  ugly  even  there, 
»-;us  there  not .'  or  my  memory  deceives  me," 
boldly  cliimcd  in  the  Colonel,  with  a  laughing 
bueer  on  his  line  face. 

••  Now,  Mrs.  Templeton,  did  you  ever  hear  such 
unblushing  asking  for  a  compliment;  but  my 
real  object  in  coming  was  to  hear  how  your 
daughters  are— I  was  so  surprised  to  learn  that 
tiivy  were  at  school — 1  assure  you  I  have  been 
tiying  to  persua<le  Sir  William  to  send  our  two 
eidait,  but  he  will  not  listen  to  it." 

"  If  1  suggest  that  every  husband  is  not  like 
me,  1  fear  your  Ladyship  will  again,  though  with- 
out cause,  reprove  my  vanity ;"  for  he  saw  that 
Ellinor  could  scarcely  command  her  tears  from 
falling. 

"  Fear  nothing  of  the  kind,  for  it  is  exactly 
vliat  I  said  to  Sir  William,"  she  gayly  replied, 
'•  i  told  him  to  come  and  take  a  few  lessops  from 
you  ;  but  now  I  am  here,  I  hope,  Mrs.  Templeton, 
you  will  give  -Jie  your  recipe  for  governing  hus- 
baiid.s." 

"  1  believe,"  said  she,  trying  to  echo  the  b.adi- 
n:ige,  "  it  is  by  letting  them  have  their  own 
w.iy." 

'•  Now  I  nppeil  to  you,  Colonel;"  hut  he  was 
g  me.     Ellinor  had  answered  to  the  spur,  and  she 


might  be  ridden  or  baited  to  death,  just  as  her 
tactless  visitor  chose. 

And  suns  rose  and  set  on  Seabrooke,  and  the 
bright-gieen  tints  of  spring  were  exchanged  fur 
the  rich,  brown  hues  of  autumn,  but  they  brought 
little  variety  in  the  life  of  its  ruistress,  e.xceps 
that  afforded  by  visits  from  her  children,  every 
one  of  which  rendered  it  more  difficult  again  to 
part  with  them  ;  still,  the  evident  advantage  of 
her  plan  retidered  her  the  more  firm  in  pursuing 
it ;  and  as  she  beheld  what,  even  to  her  fond  eyes, 
had  been  faults  in  her  children's  characteis,  gra- 
dually disappearing  under  the  intiuence  of  judi- 
cious instruction,  sWe  decided  that  no  selfish  in- 
dulgence to  herselt  should  interfere  to  deprive 
them  of  its  benefit. 

She  perceived,  with  delight  and  gratitude,  that 
Helens  timidity  was  exchanged  lor  a  gentleness 
strengthened  by  firmuL'SS ;  her  original  indolence 
for  an  active  industry  in  pursuit  of  all  intellectual 
acquirements ;  her  dependence  on  others  for  au 
unobtrusive  self-reliance,  which  gave  an  irresisti- 
ble charm  to  her  touching  style  of  beauty.  Nor 
had  Constance  failed  to  profit  by  these  favorable 
circumstances  ;  her  vehement  temperament  was 
subdued  to  a  generous  warmth  and  energy,  which 
had  nothing  of  self-will ;  her  prejudices  and  pre- 
possessions were  more  under  control,  and  though 
she  was  still  impulsive,  the  impulse  was  better 
directed ;  the  rare  amiability  of  both  Kate  and 
Fdrmy  Loftus  had  very  much  modified  and  cor- 
rected her  almost  painful  love  of  the  beautiful, 
for  they  were,  as  regarded  regularity  of  feature, 
plain  children — and  this  had,  at  first,  affected  Con- 
stance disadvantageously  ;  but  as  she  learned  to 
value  their  beauty  of  temper,  and  subsequently 
their  beauty  of  intellect  and  talent,  she  felt  that 
she  could,  she  must  love  them,  though  they  had 
neither  the  loveliness  nor  grace  of  her  standard, 
Helen. 

The  ever-welcome  visits  of  Lord  Grantham  and 
his  wife  occasionally  interrupted  the  monotony  of 
Mrs.  Templeton's  existence,  still  further  broken 
by  the  joint  presence  of  Cecilia  and  Laurette, 
who  had  now  become  lady-lilie  and  intelligent 
companions  to  their  aunt.  Laurette  was  very 
ofceu  at  Forest  Hill,  the  Forresters  having  for- 
merly been  old  friends  and  guests  of  her  grand- 
father, for  Sir  Alan  was  dead ;  and  her  parents 
were  expected  by  the  next  ship,  bringing  with 
them  wealth,  honor,  and  what  they  seemed,  by 
their  letters,  to  value  still  more,  a  son  and  heir 
five  years  old,  and  a  little  baby  girl. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


^'(E'lter  SfiarkiK?!,  /u<itllfi(l.)—\{  I  can  but  meet  with 
her.  or  any  body  thai  bi-lmiiis  I'l  her,  tliey  will  fiml  me  a 
nialch  for  "t-iii.  '  If  the  chain pastm  iloes  not  liurt  my  eye- 
tight,  the  eiieoiy  is  marching  this  way." — Wvcukult. 


As  time  has  been  rather  anticipated,  we  will 
return  to  the  period  at  which  Helen  and  Constance 

I  left  their  home,  and  relate  a  triiling  event  whicli 
aflonled  a   little  diversion,   if  that  term  be  not 

'  thouglit  inappropriate  to  the  peaceful  revolution 

i  of  the  sciisons. 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


23 


About  six  months  after  the  children's  tleparture, 
,the  Colonel  announced  his  intention  ol'  leaving 
home  ;  this  was  nothing  uncommon,  only,  contrary 
to  his  usual  custom,  he  informed  those  whom  it 
might  concern,  that  his  journey  was  toward  the 
Highlands.  But  though  he  was  an  excellent 
horseman,  he  must  on  this  occasion  have  been 
riding  very  carelessly,  for  he  was  thrown,  had  two 
of  his  front  teeth  knocked  out,  and  his  handsome 
lip  so  cut  that  not  even  his  mustache  could  hide 
the  scar — nor,  till  time  the  healer  stepped  in  to 
cure  the  bruised  gums,  could  the  skill  of  the  den- 
tist hide  the  gap — in  short,  it  seemed  a  mercy 
that  it  was  no  worse. 

As  disfigurement  and  pain  are  72ot  counter-irri- 
tants, it  is  but  reasonable  to  expect  that  neither 
i  temper  nor  manner  would  be  improved  by  this 
accident,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  they  were  not ; 
and  though  all  within  his  influence  bore  testimony 
to  this  effect,  none  perhaps  more  so  than  the  ser- 
vant who  went  with  him  on  his  Scotch  expedition, 
and  who  being  his  personal  and  favoi-ite  attendant 
had  more  than  a  due  share  of  his  master's  ill  tem- 
per ;  indeed,  so  much  was  the  man  tried,  that  he 
in  his  turn,  as  was  but  natural,  revenged  himself 
wherever  he  durst ;  and  on  one  occasion,  when 
reproved  by  Mx'S.  Dawson,  and  reminded  by  her 
that  it  was  a  Providence  he  had  not  met  witli  the 
accident,  he  very  profanely  denied  there  having 
been  any  ProTidence  in  the  matter,  and  that  as  to 
mercy,  be  added  with  a  sneer,  there  had  been 
very  little  of  that ;  and  threw  out  hints  and  in- 
uendoes  which,  had  they  reached  the  ears  of  his 
worthy  master,  would  have  led  to  his  dismissal — 
that  is,  if  the  Colonel  could  have  ventured  on  that 
measure,  for  the  profligate  master  is  the  slave  of 
the  servant  who  knows  his  secrets.  But  not  to 
linger  on  the  rack  of  curiosity,  or  trust  to  fable 
and  fiction,  let  us  listen  to  the  voice  of  history ; 
and  thus  she  saith — 

Undeterred,  by  Miss  Lee's  departure,  from  per- 
sisting in  his  base  pursuit,  and  unconvinced  by 
her  proceecUngs  that  it  would  be  in  vain,  her  gal- 
lant admirer,  after  she  had  left  the  Kectory, 
learned  her  brother's  address  ;  and  when  she  took 
up  her  residence  with  him,  which  she  did  directly 
her  sister's  plans  were  arranged,  the  Colonel  be- 
gan to  arrange  his. 

Mr.  Lee  held  a  very  good  post  under  govern- 
ment, and  as  his  private  residence  was  a  short 
distance  from  town,  his  sister  would  have  been 
much  alone,  had  they  not  had  for  neighbors  the 
family  of  an  old  friend,  to  one  of  whose  daugh- 
ters Mr.  Lee  was  engaged.  As  Miss  Lee  was  one 
day  waiting  for  the  garden-gate  to  bo  opened,  a 
gentleman  slowly  passed  on  horseback,  who  was 
evidently  making  a  note  of  the  house  ;  she  felt 
annoyed,  alarmed,  for  though  not  quite  sure,  as 
she  did  not  see  his  face,  she  was  almost  certain  it 
was  Colonel  Templeton. 

For  several  days  after  this  she  moet  obstinately 
kept  at  home,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of 
Clara  Forbes,  who  delighted  in  going  to  meet  Ed- 
ward Lee  on  his  return  from  business,  but  hes- 
itated to  do  so  unaccompanied  by  Annie. 

As,  however,  nothing  further  liappened  to  war- 
rant alarm  or  caution.  Miss  Lee  hoped  she  had 
been  mistaken,  and  again  made  her  peace  with 
Clara,  by  resuming  their  afternoon  walks.  They 
had  both  set  off  on  one  occaaion  to  meet  Mr.  Lee, 


but  fancying  they  had  time  to  spare,  stopped  to 
make  some  purcliases ;  and  while  doing  so,  he 
passed  on  toward  his  home,  and  the  ladies,  when 
they  had  concluded  their  business,  walked  on. 

"I  begin  to  think  Edward  will  not  return  to 
dinner  to-day,"  said  Miss  Lee  ;  "  and  I  am  really 
quite  tired,  for  we  have  long  passed  the  usual 
trysting-place." 

"  Sit  here,  while  I  walk  to  the  turnpike,  and 
inquire  if  they  have  seen  him  :" 

As  Miss  Forbes  went  on  for  that  purpose,  a  gen- 
tleman on  liTseback  passed  her,  but  having  no 
motive  i'or  looking  after  him,  she  proceeded  to 
make  her  inquiry,  and  heard  that  Mr.  Lee  had 
gone  through  some  time  ago.  Retracing  her  steps, 
she  was  surprised  to  observe  Annie  in  earnest  con- 
versation with  a  gentleman,  but  something  in  the 
manner  of  both  induced  her  to  hasten  forward  and 
address  her  friend — on  doing  so,  the  strangei', 
tlnowing  the  bridle  to  his  servant,  walked  away, 
and  to  Clara's  surprise  she  found  her  agitated 
almost  to  tears.  '•  I  will  explain  all  when  we 
reach  home,"  said  Miss  Lee  in  answer  to  her  looks ; 
"  but  where  then  is  Edward  .'' 

"  At  home,  before  us,  I  hope — " 

"  1  hope  so  too,"  and  in  silence  they  hurried  on  ; 
but  what  was  Miss  Lee's  dismay,  when  she  saw 
Colonel  Templeton,  for  it  was  he,  boldly  ring,  and 
when  tlie  servant  opened  the  gate,  enter,  just 
pausing  to  announce  that  the  ladies  were  in  sight. 

The  brief  interval  which  had  elapsed  beiween 
her  seeing  him  and  their  own  arrival  at  the  house, 
had  given  Miss  Lee  time  to  recover  her  self-pos- 
session and  presence  of  mind ;  and  thougli  the 
measure  she  adopted  will  forever  incapacitate  her 
for  shining  as  a  heroine  of  romance,  a  character, 
it  is  true,  which  she  laughed  at  without  mercy, 
let  us  hope  vulgar,  common-sense  mortals  will 
think  she  did  right  when  she  whispered  to  the 
amazed  servant,  "  Quick,  quick,  fetch  a  police- 
man," andylosed  the  gate  herself. 

Colonel  Templeton  politely  raised  his  hat  to 
Clara  Forbes,  thougli  his  look  was  rather  imper- 
tinent, and  observed,  "  Miss  Lee  has  not  favored 
me  with  an  introduction." 

"  Nor  has  she  given  you  a  welcome,"  replied 
she,  with  spirit ;  "  Colonel  Templeton,  I  warn  you 
that  my  brother  is  at  home,  and  but  little  likely 
to  sutter  this  intrusion  quietly." 

"  With  two  such  fair  tipologies,  I  am  sure  he  will 
'  not  be  so  ungallant  as  to  pass  a  severe  judgment." 
'  "  He  will  not  only  pass  a  severe  judgment,  but 
inflict  a  severe  punishment,  on  any  one  who  is 
insolent  enough  to  molest  these  ladies,  or  intrude 
I  on  these  premises,"  exclaimed  a  well-known  voice, 
'  though  the  tone  was  raised,  and  Miss  Lee  saw  her 
brother  hastening  toward  them  from  the  side 
garden. 

"  Clara,  go  in,  and  you,  Annie,  also,"  he  said, 
as  he  strode  forward  with  looks  ominous  of  a  com- 
ing storm. 

"Then  I  shall  give  myself  the  pleasure  of 
accompanying  you,"  said  the  Colonel,  who  cer- 
tainly must  have  been  excited  by  wine,  or  even 
j  he  would  have  never  so  far  forgotten  himself  as. 
thus  grossly  to  outrage  every  gentlemanly  feeling. 

Miss  Lee  looked  along  tlie  road  ;  in  the  huiguago 
of  the  fair  Fatima,  she  was  ready  to  cry  out,  "  Do 
you  see  any  one  coming  ?"  and  happily  it  was 
I  something  more  uselul  than  dust  or  a  flock  of 


24 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


Bheep  which  she  described — it  was  that  phenome- 
non, a  policeman  tchtn  tra/ifed — who  was  hurry- 
ing on  as  fast  as  his  pinched  waist  and  strangling 
stock  would  permit,  listening  to  the  account  of  the 
Bersant,  who  gave  him  to  understand,  that  an 
oflfender  of  no  common  kind  was  going  to  carry  oflf 
the  plate  from  before  their  eyes. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  intruder  made  good  his 
threat.  He  entered  ;  but  just  as  he  was  follow- 
ing Miss  Lee  into  the  drawing-room,  her  brother 
rushed  forward  and  seized  him  by  the  collar,  not, 
however,  bcfure  the  riding-whip  carried  by  this 
Lrave  son  of  Mars  hnd  fallen  heavily  on  the  shoul- 
der of  Edward.  The  latter,  a  tall,  powerful 
young  man,  roused  to  furj'  at  the  touch,  wrenched 
the  whip  from  the  again  uplifted  hand,  and  with 
the  thick  end  gave  his  adversary  so  severe  a  blow 
as  to  cause  the  loss  which  has  been  so  pathetically 
lamented ;  and  following  up  the  attack,  hurled 
him  with  such  force  and  rage  toward  the  door, 
that  had  not  the  policeman  broken  the  fall,  it 
might  have  had  serious  results. 

"  Hilloa !"'  exclaimed  this  guardian  of  peace  and 
property  ;  "  a  pretty  go  this  is,  isn't  it .' — to  enter 
a  gen'man's  house  in  this  way,  and  I  at  hand — 
and  a  regular  swell  too,  I  declare,"  surveying  the 
dress  of  his  prisoner,  and  discerning  his  aristo- 
cratic look  and  air. 

"  Let  mc  go,  fellow !"  shouted  the  Colonel  as 
well  as  he  could  articulate,  and  struggling  to  free 
himself  from  the  ignominious  grasp. 

"  No,  no,  my  fine  chap— not  so  soft  as  that ;" 
and  then,  as  ^Ir.  Lee  advanced,  he  looked  at  him 
for  information. 

"The  scoundrel!  the  unmanly  ruffian!"  was 
his  ejaculation;  "drag  or  kick  him  out,  police- 
man, and  if  you  ever  see  him  prowling  about  this 
place,  remember  he  is  a  base  blackguard,  and 
treat  him  accordingly." 

"  You  shall  hear  of  this,"  menaced  the  Colonel. 

"  You  paltry  villain,  if  I  ever  meetj,"you,  you 
shall  feel  something  like  this,"  breaking  and 
throwing  the  whip  in  his  face.  "  And  now,  po- 
liceman, clear  my  premises  of  the  fellow;  and,  I 
warn  you,  keep  a  sharp  lookout  after  him." 

Miss  Lee  stood  in  the  hall,  quite  silent  during 
this  scene,  but  Clara  was  almost  in  hysterics,  and 
under  the  medical  treatment  of  the  cook,  who  had 
left  her  warm  regions  below  to  behold  the  hotter 
work  going  on  above ;  but  perceiving  that  the 
heat  of  the  fracas,  or  as  she  termed  it,  "  the  row," 
■was  over,  she  disappearetl,  muttering,  as  certain 
odors  saluted  her  olfactory  nerves — '•  Ah,  there's 
them  stupid  chickens  a  letting  themselves  be 
B-'orcho<l  to  a  cinder,  and  them  peas  a  biling  as 
yaller  as  guineas." 

Mr.  Lee  closinl  the  hall  door  as  quickly  as  he 
could,  leaving  the  policeman  to  manage  the  Colo- 
nel, who  bcin;,'  reminded  by  him  that  any  resist- 
ance would  oltlige  liim  to  summon  aid,  \vent  off 
with  that  public  .servant,  muttering  imprecations 
both  loud  and  deep. 

'■  He  is  gone,  dear  Clara,"  said  her  lover ; 
"  and,  James,  tell  cook  to  put  back,  if  she  can,  so 
0,8  to  give  us  time  to  wn.sh  this  out  of  our  heads — 
and  then  we  will  sit  down  to,  I  hope,  our  unin- 
terrupted meal.  Annie,  I  half  guess  the  meaning 
of  this,  but  now  I  must  know  all.  Why,  Clara, 
yen  little  coward,  a  pretty  aid-de-camp  you  make 
girls,  you  must  give  me  a  kiss  to  set  me 


to  rights,  and  then  go  np  stairs."  And  they  did 
give  him  a  kiss — each  of  them  did — the  first  he 
I  ever  had  from  Clara,  according  to  his  own  state- 
ment, and  this  he  said  should  plead  for"  that  fel- 
low," as  he  called  him,  if  they  ever  met  again ; 
but  they  never  did,  though  Mr.  Lee  for  some  time 
after  their  rencontre  at  his  own  house,  kept  a  little 
elastic  coil  in  his  pocket,  ready  to  do  good  service. 
But  sober  reflection,  his  dilapidated  mouth,  and 
scarred  visage,  however  they  might  exasporato 
and  tempt  the  Colonel  to  revenge,  all  counseled 
silence ;  and  in  this  case  he  Ustened  to  their 
counsel. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"Give  me  a  spirit  that  on  life's rouah  sea 
Liivts  t'  have  his  sails  wilb  a  lusty  wind. 
E'en  till  his  sail-yards  tremble,  his  masu  crack. 
There  is  no  danger  to  a  man  that  knows 
"What  Life  and  Death  is."  Chapkas. 

EETURTf  we  now  to  the  Priory,  which  wo  left 
bewailing  the  efforts  of  its  master's  bad  jockey- 
ship  ;  but  whether  that  comely  suflFerer  felt  most 
irritated  at  the  image  of  himself  reflected  from 
its  costly  mirrors,  or  at  the  friendly  condolences 
of  Lady  Dallas,  who  never  met  him  without  try- 
ing to  thrust  some  eminent  dentist  down  his 
throat,  spite  of  his  diminished  masticatory  powers, 
is  not  known ;  but  this  time  he  certainly  did  go 
to  Paris,  where  he  remained  some  weeks. 

During  his  absence  the  Sinclairs  arrived,  and 
were  received  by  Mrs.  Templeton  with  all  her 
usual  kindness.  Their,  long  exile  had,  in  ita  re- 
sults, surpassed  their  most  sanguine  expectations; 
the  Craigalan  estates  were  freed  from  all  incum- 
brances. Lady  Sinclair  was  liberally  dowered,  and 
a  handsome  fortune  was  ready  for  Laurette. 

Under  these  circumstances,  her  mother  de- 
cided that  they  should  both  be  presented ;  Lady 
Sinclair  herself  having  never  gone  through  that 
ceremony.  But  she  was  desirous  of  doing  so  un- 
der the  chaperonage  of  a  relatjve,  and  Lady 
Westroiigh  was  fixed  on  for  having  that  honor. 
Who,  indeed,  more  suitable  .'  she  was  the  wife  of 
her  mother's  first  cousin,  and  though  at  one  time 
Lady  Frances  had  been  shunned  by  the  elder 
branch  of  the  family,  and  her  children  never  no- 
ticed at  all,  Lady  Sinclair  was  too  reasonable  to 
take  ofi'ense  at  this ;  she  felt  that,  in  their  cir- 
cumstances, had  Lionel's  claims  once  been  admit- 
ted before  he  became  lord  of  Seabrooke.  they 
would  most  efi'ectually  have  frustrated  every  phm 
for  reinstating  the  Wesiroughs  in  their  just  poifi- 
tion.  "  Therefore,"  mentally  said  she,  whfto 
weighing  the  question.  "  let  bygones  be  bygones, 
and  now  fpr  Lady  Westrough." 

But  she  had  never  had  the  most  distant  ac- 
quaintance with  this  valued  or  valuable  relatives 
never  mind — Lady  Westrough  she  had  selected, 
and  Lady  Westrough  it  would  be.  , 

The  first  step  was  to  secure  a  house  in  to\jn — it 
w:is  now  quite  early  spring — time  enough  between 
this  and  the  London  season — so  calls,  acquaiut- 
uyce,  friendsliip,  were  soon  established  witii  Mrs 
West,  one  of  the  most  guileless  of  mortals,  who 


THE    WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


25 


was  won  to  finy  one  and  any  thing,  through 
praises  of  licr  son,  her  idolized  Reginald — he,  in 
Jiis  turn,  became  the  decoy  to  catch  Lord  Ernest, 
■who  was  to  catch  his  sister-in-law,  who  was  to 
introduce  Lady  Sinclaii*. 

A  profound  observer  of  cause  and  eifcct  says, 
first  catch  your  hare,  then  skin  it.  Her  ladyship 
was  also  a  profound  observer,  and  she  did  tirst 
catch  her  hare — namely,  Mrs.  West :  fortunately 
it  was  not  necessary  to  skin  her,  so  she  escaped 
that  process;  for  Lady  Westrough,  on  learning 
what  was  the  service  required,  was  glad  on  such 
easy  terms  to  establish  a  friendly  feeling  be- 
tween her  own  family  and  her  husb;iud's  rela- 
tions. 

Reginald  West,  though  received  everywhere  as 
the  adopted  son  of  his  uncle,  as  Lord  Ernest  chose 
to  be  styled,  was  much  more  witli  his  mother  than 
with  his  lordship  ;  for  though  the  latter  was  not 
only  kind  but  generous  to  his  young  kinsman, 
there  was  little  congeniality  between  the  tastes 
and  pursuits  of  the  secluded  man,  whose  pros- 
pects had  been  overcast  almost  before  their  dawn, 
and  the  energetic  youth,  who  looked  at  life 
through  a  glass  couleur  de  rose,  and  whose  ex- 
perience had  never  led  him  to  think  there  was 
any  other  hue  or  shade. 

From  a  very  early  age,  Reginald's  mind  had 
given  promise  of  unusual  power  and  activity; 
how  could  this  assimilate  with  that  of  the  man 
who  lived  only  in  the  past,  and  who  thought  life 
and  all  its  gifts  was  only  to  be  endured,  not  used 
— to  whom  the  future  offered  alike  little  to  hope 
or  to  fear .' 

"  Oh  !  who  can  bear  to  look  upon 
\  A  sky  wiihoat  a  cloud  ur  suu  ?" 

He  was,  however,  too  unselfish  to  wish  that  Regi- 
nald should  purchase  his  favor  by  the  sacrifice 
of  those  associations  and  pursuits  so  suited  to 
kis  age  and  character,  and  therefore  readily  per- 
mitted him  to  follow  where  his  aifections  most 
ruiturally  led  liim.  And  these  led  him  to  seek 
the  society  of  his  pale,  failing  mother,  to  whom 
he  was  most  tenderly  attached,  and  whose  style 
of  life,  necessitated  by  a  narrow  income,  pleased 
his  simple  and  independent  tastes  ;  above  all,  the 
society  by  which  she  was  more  immediately  sur- 
rounded, or,  as  he  called  it,  the  choice  treasure 
of  the  Priory,  his  favorite  Mrs.  Templeton,  and 
the  rich  and  rare  gems  of  the  Rectory,  presented 
attractions  of  unusual  interest  to  his  intelligent 
and  enthusiastic  mind. 

Ashley  Vernon  was  especially  his  beau  ideal 
of  worth  and  talent — they  had  been  together  at 
Eton,  whence  Ashley,  who  was  intended  for  the 
bar,  had  gone  to  Cambridge,  and  there  again 
Reginald  was  to  join  him. 

••  Mother,"  asked  he  one  evening,  after  a  day 
spent  between  the  Rectory  and  the  Priory,  "  what 
does  my  uncle  intend  me  to  be  ?" 

"  What  an  odd  question,  my  dear  boy,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  your  uncle  has  adopted  ytiu,  and  though 
there  is  an  impropriety,  which  I  am  sure  we  boih 
shrink  from,  in  alluding  to  the  future,  at  his 
■death  you  will  be  las  heir,  which,  as  he  inherits 
,the  whole  ot  his  mothers  fortune,  means  tha*  you 
•will  be  rich — and  then,  as  Lord  Westrough  has 
no  son — " 
jj    "  True,  mother,"  he  remarked  quickly,  inter- 


rupting her ;  "  I  have  often  thought  of  this— and 
I  hope,  as  you  say,  without  meaning  any  thin,!» 
wrong  or  paltry — but  only  in  connection  with 
you  and  me,  I  mean  with  our  plans.  Now  sup- 
pose my  uncle  Ernest  should  marry — and,  after 
all,  he  is  only  my  father's  cousin— I  should  then 
be  something  I  very  much  dislike,  and  no  way  of 
escaping  fmui  it.  As  to  Lord  Westrough,  I  as- 
sure you,  mother,  our  fellows  at  Eton  led  me  a 
r.'ire  life  for  some  time,  because  I  unluckily  once 
alluded  to  my  lieirship,  tlunigh  only  in  joke — 
they  effectually  drubbed  that  vision  out  of  my 
imagination." 

"  1  am  sure,  my  dear  Reginald,  you  make  me 
feel  very  uneasy  by  these  strange  remarks ;  on 
the  strength  of  Lord  Ernest's  promise,  you  know, 
or,  indeed,  perhaps  you  do  not,  that  after  p.aying 
every  debt,  1  purchased  an  annuity  with  the 
small  sum  remaining — so  from  me  you  have 
nothing  to  expect ;  and  I  fear,"  continued  she, 
tears  starting  to  her  eyes,  "  it  is  too  late  for  me 
to  retrench  and  save  up  for  you." 

"Nonsense!  how  you  talk,  you  deaf,  miserly 
mamma  ;  and  I  can  not  think  how  I  could  be  so 
selfish  as  to  torment  you  in  this  way — only  Ash- 
ley returns  next  week  to  Cambridge,  and  Ave  have 
been  talking  of  the  comfort  of  having  something 
to  turn  to  and  rely  on,  in  case  of  need — what  a 
croaking,  calculating  fellow  you  must  think  me. 
But  now  let  us  have  tea.  with  some  of  that  deli- 
cious cream  Mrs.  Templeton  sent.  Mother,"  he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  after  a  pause,  "  what  a  wom- 
an she  is— do  you  know  I  sometimes  dream  of  her, 
after  I  have  spent  an  hour  or  so  in  her  company 
— I  can  not  express  to  you  the  extraordinary 
feeling  that  comes  over  me  occasionally — some- 
times I  fancy  little  stories  about  iter,  in  the  style 
of  a  distressed  princess  and  knight."  And  his 
animated  and  handsome  face  looked  almost  fierce 
with  excitement,  and  any  kindred  spirit  that  had 
noted  the  broad,  noble  brow,  and  the  strange 
expression  of  the  dark-violet  eye,  that  seemed 
as  if,  for  the  moment  it  looked  on  another  scene 
than  that  presented  by  the  comfortable  cottage 
drawing-room,  would  have  said,  "On  that  is  en- 
throned genius — there  looks  out  the  spirit  of 
poetry." 

Tills  conversation,  however,  left  on  his  .moth- 
er's mind  a  vague  suspicion  of  realities  which  she 
had  never  before  contemplated,  and  though  but  a 
suspicion,  it  was  strong  enough  to  induce  her  to 
write  to  Lord  Ernest;  and  without  giving  her 
reasons  either  consistently  or  in  plain  language 
— she  was  too  cautious,  or  perhaps  too  much  per- 
plexed herself,  to  do  so— she  suggested  that,  as 
Reginald  was  fond  of  literature,  and  deliglitcd  in 
the  exercise  of  intellect,  whether  it  might  not  bo 
be  as  well  to  turn  his  attention  to  some  ol  ject  in 
life,  so  as  to  employ  and  stimulate  A  kind  reply 
was  returned,  but  a  negative  was  given  to  all  her 
wishes.  "  Reginald,"  she  was  told,  "  would,  at 
a  proper  age,  have  some  nf)poiiitiiient  given  him; 
but  both  army  and  navy"— his  lordship  appeared 
to  ignore  any  other  channel  for  superabundant 
miml — "  both  army  and  navy  were  nni)leagant 
ide:is  to  him.  Resides,  he  lioped  Reginald  did 
not  want  any  thing— if  so,  he  had  only  to  iisk; 
of  course,  when  he  went  to  college,  a  suitable 
allowance  would  be  made  him;  and  begging  Mrs. 
West  would  oblige  him  by  purchasing  any  oruu- 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


inent  she  might  like,  as  a  token  from  him,  of  his 
good  wifhes  on  the  lately  begun  year,  he  inclosed 
a  small  draft;"  it  was  lor  a  hundred  pounds,  and 
"remained,  hers  truly."- 

Poor  Mrs.  West  read  the  conclusion  with  ting- 
ling cheeks,  right  glad  that  her  son  was  not 
present.  She  felt  convicted  of  having,  indirectly, 
asked  for  the  inciosure,  though  nothing  hud  been 
further  from  her  thouglits,  and  yet  there  was  no 
way  of  explaining  away  the  fancied  imputation  ; 
80  she  aajuiesced  in  his  decision ;  reiterated  her 
thanks  on  lleginald's  account,  and  in  a  few  words 
disclaimed  tlie  extravagance  he  must  suppose  her 
capable  of,  when  he  inclosed  so  handsome  a  sum 
for  an  ornament. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

«« All  is  in  motion  ;  ring",  .ind  plumes,  and  pearls 
Are  bhiiiiug  eveo  wh.re.''  Doge  of  Venice. 

"Cecilia,"  said  Lady  Grantham,  one  morn- 
ing, to  her  daughter,  now  nearly  twenty,  "put 
aside  your  purse,  I  want  to  have  a  consultation 
with  you." 

"  Dear  mamma,  how  delightful,"  said  she, 
"  but  1  can  always  listen  better  when  my  fingers 
are  busy  on  work  that  requires  no  attention ;  so 
begin,  for  there  is  nothing  I  like  more  than  these 
little  confidential  chats.  I  always  think  they 
have  done  me  good,  and  made  me  feel  wiser  and 
older." 

"  Few  young  ladies  would  thank  the  mother 
who,  at  your  age,  added  to  their  years,"  she  re- 
plied, "  but  I  understand  what  you  mean.  And 
now,  my  treasure,  listen.  You  know  that  your 
dear  fuher  has  always  had  to  struggle  against 
the  difficulties  of  an  encumbered  estate,  be- 
queathed in  that  condition  to  him.  It  has  never 
been  a  secret  that  we  are  not  rich ;  to  my  chil- 
dren especially  this  was  made  known,  in  order 
that  they  might  early  learn  to  submit  cheerful'y 
to  privations,  and  to  prevent  the  encouragement 
of  chimerical  hopes  and  wishes.  Some  people 
have  thought  me  too  ready  to  look  out  for  the 
loaves  and  fishes ;.-i)Ut  years  ago,  I  lost  an  only 
and  beloved  lM(«rther,  fighting  for  his  country, 
while,  on  th«f  same  dreadful  occasion,  my  sister 
lost  her  noble  ynung  lover,  whose  memory  she 
hoa  ever  since  cherished  more  like  his  widow  than 
his  affianced  bride;  two  years  ago,  my  brave,  my 
beautiful  Cecil  was  offered  up  on  the  same  al- 
tar." Her  Voice  filtered,  while  the  tears  fell 
thick  and  fast  on  Cecilia's  trembling  hands;  for 
she  remembered  the  sorrow  which  had  stricken 
them  all  to  the  earth  when  this  calamity  befell ; 
she  recalled  also  the  figure  of  her  quiet,  secluded 
aunt  Lucy,  whom  s!ie  had  never  seen  out  of  deep 
mourning,  and  could  easily  imagine  all  the  sor- 
rowful recollections  which  now  tilled  her  mothers 
heart. 

She  drew  near  to  that  loved  mother,  and  silently 
kissed  her ;  the  caress  was  fondly  returned,  and 
wiping  away  her  tears.  Lady  (Irantham  resumed, 
"  Henry  is  now  shortly  expected  home,  and  well 
has  he  won  all  he  has  gained  during  his  long  so- 
journ at  Constantinople ;  and  as  he  is  of  ago,  he 


will,  at  once,  assist  your  father  to  free  himself 
from  the  pressure  which  has  weighed  upon  him 
for  so  many  years.  It  is  then  our  intention  to  go 
abroad  for  six  or  eight  months,  and  though  this 
will  be  our  first  outbreak,  we  are  not  going  to  for- 
get economy.  Therefore,  assuming  that  it  will  be 
agreeable  to  you,  1  have  accepted  an  invitation 
from  your  aunt  EUiuor,  for  you  to  spend  that  time 
chiefly  with  her;  not,  however,  excluding  the 
claims  of  other  friends  who  may  wish  to  see  you; 
and  now,  dear,  what  say  you  to  this :" 

"  Oh,  mamma,  1  shall  be  delighted.  I  always 
think  the  Priory  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places 
I  ever  saw — and  aunt  EUiuor  is  so  graceful  and 
kind,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  do  any  thing  for  her.  But, 
moiher,"  she  continued,  "  let  us  always  speak 
truly  and  openly  to  each  other.  1  can  not  under- 
stand my  uncle  Lionel.  At  one  time  I  though^ 
him  perfection,  and  though  he  is  still  always  very 
kind,  nay,  indulgent  to  me,  I  confess  I  have  quite 
changed  my  opinion  of  him — dear  mauiuia,  we 
with  our  small  lortune  are  richer  by  far  than  ho 
with  his  large  one,  for  love  and  union  are  with  us 
— while  there— but  mind,"  she  continued,  impres- 
sively, "  only  to  you  has  this  ever  been  breathed. 
I  can  not  take  salt  and  betray;  well,  then,  for  I 
must  say  it,  I  am  sure  that;  there  is  sorrow  in  that 
splendid  house,  such  as  we  have  never  known,  no, 
not  even  when  dear  Cecil  fell.  And  then  Helen 
and  Constance  separated  from  their  parents,  and 
educated  from  home,  a  thing  so  unusual  in  their 
station ;  why  is  all  this .'" 

"  I  can  not  very  well  tell  you,  even  if  I  would, 
my  dearest,"  said  her  mother,  very  gravely.  "  I 
do  but  guess,  and  if  I  am  right  I  most  warmly 
approve  of  your  aunt's  decision,  involving,  as  it 
does,  so  great  a  sacrifice  on  her  part.  But  it  is  of 
your  cousins  I  wished  more  particularly  to  speak. 
Constance  is  but  a  child,  though  they  both  look 
older  than  they  arc,  for  Helen  is  little  more  than 
fourteen." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  how  beautiful  they  are !"  ex- 
claimed Cecilia,  impetuously  interrupting  Lady 
Grantham;  which  do  you  admire  most.'" 

"  Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say,"  was  the 
smiling  reply.  "  Helen  is  more  like  her  mother, 
I  think,  in  character,  as  well  as  appearance;  but 
they  are  sweet  angels;  both  of  them ;  it  is  in  refer- 
ence to  this  beauty  I  am  about  to  caution  you.  la 
the  first  place,  your  papa  and  I  have  a  very  de- 
cided objection  to  a  marriage  between  cousins — 
do  not  open  your  really  fine  eyes  so  wide — second- 
ly, and  were  it  not  so,  the  rich  heiress  of  Colonel 
Tcmpleton  is  no  match  for  the  fu.ure  Lord  Gran- 
tham ;  but  as  I  have  frequently  remarked,  that 
serious  and  sad  mischief  is  done  by  a  careless  re- 
mark, an  unmeaning  joke,  or  even  by  ostentatious 
care  ;  do.  not,  by  any  of  these  means,  put  an  idea 
into  Henry's  head  which  would  otherwise  never 
have  entered  it— but  what  is  the  matter  .'"its 
Cecilia  turned  her  glowing,  and  evidently  indig- 
nant countenance,  full  on  her. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am  often  called 
abrupt,  or,  if  you  will,  rude,  because  I  can  not,  or 
will  not  be  false  ;  but  what  should  ever  have  loil 
you,  mamma,  to  suspect  me  capable  of  such  vul- 
gar conduct  or  conversation,  1  do  not  know ;"  ami 
she  was  really  angry. 

"  \Vhy,  you  passionate  lamb,"  said  Lady  Gran- 
tham, laughing  most  merrily,  "  what  a  Avaste  of 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


27 


heroics  is  tliis — surely  I  did  not,  even  by  implica- 
tion, accuse  you  of  vulgarity." 

"  By  wnrning  mo  against  such  acts,  and  forbid- 
ding them,  you  did,"  she  replied,  slightly  appeas- 
eii.  "  There  is  scarcely  any  thing  I  more  hate 
and  despise  than  the  very  fault  you  spoke  of. 
Jokes  about  love  and  lovers  are  quite  unsuitod  to 
a  lady ;  they  are  left,  with  their  old-fashioned 
clothes,  to  their  servants. ' 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  humbly  sue  for  peace — only 
in  my  own  vimlication  I  miay  be  allowed  to  re- 
mark, that  there  are  some — and  ladies  they  still 
are,  in  spite  of  it — who  do  not  adopt,  or  at  least 
do  not  act  on  your  correct  notion — so  smooth  your 
ruffled  plumes,  or  I  shall  think  you  sliglitly  a 
Bhruw — there,  take  and  give  the  kiss  of  peace." 

"  Mamma,  you  are  very  good  to  pardon  my 
pettishness,"  she  replied,  sunshine  again  settling 
on  her  polished  brow,  "  and  perhaps  I  am  over- 
sensitive on  this  subject ;  but  wliat  about  my 
uncle's  property — does  it  descend  to  my  aunt  and 
•cousins  ?" 

"  Only  by  their  father's  will,  who,  I  believe, 
could  dispose  of  it  otherwise,  as  he  has  no  son; 
but  on  this  point  I  am  not  quite  clear  ;  and  now,  to 
terminate  this  long  conl'erence  by  something  royal 
and  gay,  you  must  speedily  decide  on  your  court- 
dress." 

"  Oh,  here  you  must  help  me,  "  replied  Cecilia ; 
*'  you  have  your  o'wn  to  think  about  also.  It  is 
long  since  you  were  there,  mamma,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  I  have  never  been  since  I  was  presented  on  my 
mari-iage,  and  then  I  well  remember  it ;  1  am  old 
enough  now  to  allude  to  the  circumstance,  without 
the  risk  of  being  called  vain.  Lady  Blanche  Stan- 
ly was  the  same  day  presented  by  her  aunt,  the 
Dowager  Duchess  of  Isleford,  to  whose  son  she  was 
engage-l,  and  it  was  said  that  she  and  I  disputed 
the  prize  for  beauty." 

"  Ah  !  I  am  sure  you  merited  it,"  eagerly  de- 
cided her  daughter,  looking  at  her  mothers  still 
attractive  face ;  "■  but  I  thought  the  Duke  was 
never  married." 

"  He  never  was — a  few  months  after  the  town 
had  rung  with  accoimts  of  the  preparations  for 
her  marriage,  she  was  buried.  Lord  Iluistwood 
never  recovered  from  this  blow ;  and  though  a 
man  neither  liked  nor  respected,  every  one  felt 
much  for  him,  she  was  such  a  sweet,  lovely  girl." 
"  And  this  was  your  last  visit  to  Court ;  I  do 
not  wonder  you  remember  it." 

"  It  was,  for  our  finances  never  permitted  of 
Buch  costly  affairs ;  but  your  papa  now  ■n'ishes  me 
to  present  you,  and  aunt  Lucy  has  generously  fur- 
nished the  sinews  of  war,  so  do  not  let  your  taste 
disgrace  her." 

"  It  will  be  white — certainly  white,"  was  the 
prompt  reply.  '•  Laurette  is  to  pass  tlie  ordeal  on 
the  same  occasion,  and  I  had  a  note  from  her  yes- 
terday, touching  this  all-engrossing  affair." 

"  And  1  one  trom  Lady  Sinclair ;  if  she  can  not 
secure  the  services  of  her  relative,  Lady  Wes- 
trough,  she  claims  my  promise.  I  am  also  to  see 
her  diamonds  any  day  next  week  at  Storr"s." 

*'  I  hear  they  are  splendid,"  said  Cecilia.  "  and 
will  set  off  Lady  Sinclaii-'s  peculiar  style  of  beauty 
admirably.  1  wonder  whether  Laurette  will  be 
entirely  in  white  ;  she  is  very  fond  of  colors,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  Constance,  who  will  not 
■wear  any  thing  but  white  or  blue." 


"  You  may  be  sure  Laurette  will  be  dressed  in 
the  most  becoming  style— she  knows  her  complex- 
ion will  bear  a  skillful  use  of  colors ;  but  ilo  not 
let  any  whim  of  hers  iutiuence  yuu,  or  induce  yoa 
to  dress  like  her,  unless  her  choice  suits  you.  You 
are  both  likely  to  be  looked  at,  still  you  are  very 
different." 

"  Yes,  Laurette,  though  rather  short,  is  one  of 
the  most  elegant  girls  I  know." 

"  Stand  up,  Cecilia,"  said  her  mother ;  and  when 
she  obeyed,  and  Lady  Grantham  looked  at  the 
elastic,  well-proportioned  young  figure  before  her, 
and  glanced  at  the  stately  carriage  of  the  head 
and  shoulders,  the  mothers  pride  as  well  as  admi- 
ration was  excited,  ^as  she  imagined  the  effect  such 
a  figure  and  face  were  sure  to  produce. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


"Now  here  comes  in  a  scene  of  sheer  wif,  wiihoat  nny 
raixiure  in  the  whole  world.  First,  one  speaks  ;  llicii  pr-  s- 
i-nily  t'oiher's  upon  him,  slap,  with  a  repartee." — The  Re^ 
hearnal. 

And  the  effect  which  Lady  Grantham  had  pre- 
dicted, was  produced,  and  the  drawing-room  was 
over,  and  the  ladies  had  gone  home,  to  talk  of 
their  friends  and  their  conquests,  and  to  repose  on 
their  laurels  or  their  sofas,  as  best  pleased  them. 
At  the  club,  meanwhile,  a  group  of  fashionable 
critics  had  clustered,  to  discuss  beauties  and  dis- 
sect characters ;  to  speculate  on  the  Ibrthccmiiig 
on-dits,  and  fabricate  genteel  scandals  for  the  gul- 
ling and  gulled  journals ;  to  try  the  strength  of 
their  own  callow  wit,  and  to  kill  the  time  which 
hung  so  heavily  on  hand. 

"  Well,  boys  !  what  think  you  of  the  drawing- 
room  ?"  inquired  an  Adonis,  a  veritable  antique, 
cleverly  repaired  and  restored,  who  was  lounging 
on  a  divan. 

"  By  the  Lord,  Harry  !"  said  a  fair-haired  but 
gallant  guardsman,  point  device  in  all  the  pride, 
pomp,  and  circumstances  of  war,  "  it  was  splen- 
did—what a  lot  of  girls,  and  some  of  them  decid- 
edly fine  ones,  I  can  tell  you,"  caressing  his  mus- 
tache (gtntly,  for  it  was  false). 

"  Where  do  these  ancient  hens  hide  their  pretty 
chicks  .'"  inquired  another  ;  "  one  sees  nothing  of 
them  till  the  sovereign  calls,  and  then,  down  they 
come,  fluttering  their  feathers  with  a  vengeance." 
"  No  matter  where  they  are  hid,  it  is  really  a 
refreshing  sight  when  they  are  s'hown,"  remarked 
Adonis;  "such  an  assemblage  of  beauty  is  seen 
at  no  other  court." 

"  Why,  you  did  not  see  them,  did  you?"  inno- 
cently asked  a  black-eyed  and  espitgle-\ookii\g 
man. 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,"  was  the  reply ;  "  why,  my 
dear  fellow,  I  was  close  to  you  when  Lady  Gran- 
tham passed— you  remember  she  bowed  to  me." 

"  Yes,  but  I  thought  you  had  not  your  specta- 
cles on." 

A  roar  followed  this  honeyed  remark,  in  which 
the  object  of  the  sneer  faintly  joined. 

'•  But,  apropos  of  Lady  Grantham,  who  was  the 
queenly-looking  girl  slie  presented.'" 

"  Her  daughter,  the  Honorable  Cecilia  Gran- 
tham." 


28 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


"  And  'pon  honor,"  said  the  Guardsman,  "  I 
never  saw  such  lilies  and  roses  in  my  life  as  that 
girl's  complexion  was  composed  of.  I  was  close 
behind  her;  and,  marble  and  snow!  such  should 
ders !"' 

"  Mortimer  wanted  to  touch  them,  to  be  sure 
they  were  not  wax,"  interrupted  the  owner  of  the 
dark  eyes. 

"  By  Jove !  Sidney,  you  are  too  bad,"  exclaimed 
the  brave  blond. 

"  Oh,  I  was  told  you  threw  yourself  into  a  reg- 
ular attitude,  and  were  heard  to  whisper,  rather 
loud  by  the  way— 

"  '  Excellently  done,  if  nature  did«t  all, 

'Tis  beauty  truly  blent,  wliose  red  and  white 
Nature's  owu  sweet  aud  cunning  hand  laid  on.'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  another,  "  and  some  fellow  who 
had  never  read  the  original  went  about  telling 
every  body  what  a  poetic  genius  Morti  has." 

"  Laugh  as  you  like,  you  can  not  make  me  un- 
say my  assertion ;  if  she  is  a  Grantham,  she 
comes  of  a  good  stock;  my  lady  has  her  wits 
about  her,  and  has,  I  dare  say,  taught  the  lesson 
to  her  daughter." 

"  Hear !  lioar !"  was  the  rejoinder ;  "  he  is  mak- 
ing a  bargain  ;  he  brings  money,  she  sense;  each 
takes  what  the  other  wants;"  and  again  there 
■was  a  laugh,  in  which  Adonis  joined,  but  more 
heartily  than  before.  And,  rising  to  leave  the 
room,  he  sententiously  remarked — 

"  Lady  Grantham  is  both  a  good  wife  and  an 
excellent  mother ;  and,  what  is  of  much  more  im- 
portance, she  is  but  little  changed  since  I  met  her 
nearly  ten  years  ago,  and  I  can  tell  you  it  is  a 
capital  thing  to  belong  to  a  family  that  wears  so 
•well;"  and  having  uttered  this  sentiment,  with  as 
mucli  gravity  as  if  it  had  been  worth  remember- 
ingi  he  carefully  adjusted  his  hat  on  his  "  best 
substitute  for  your  own  hair,"  and  affecting  a 
slow  pace,  to  conceal  his  want  of  agility,  de- 
parted. 

"  What  an  artificial  old  fellow  Chilvers  is,"  said 
one. 

"  How  do  you  mean — bodily  or  mentally  .'" 
asked  Mr.  Sidney. 

"  Oh,  both.  Do  you  know  that  nothing  will  in- 
duce him  to  go  to  the  Zoological  Gardens— guess 
why— you  can  not .'  Give  it  up .'  Why,  for  fear 
the  elephant  should  roar  out,  '  Give  me  my  ivo- 
ries !'  "     A  laugh,  and  cries  of  "  Too  bad !" 

"  And  that  reminds  me  of  Templeton,"'  said  Sid- 
ney ;  "  what  is  that  story  about  his  accident .'  I 
have  been  so  long  abroad  I  am  quite  V)ehind-hand 
■with  the  choice  bits  of  news.  I  met  him  some 
time  ago  at  Versailles,  and  -was  at  once  struck 
■with  his  changed  appearance ;  he  looked  also  real- 
ly ill ;  but  when  1  asked  about  it,  he  gave  me  a 
fabulous  version.  1  know,  he  did,  by  the  look  of 
tlie  servant,  who  w:*b  neua;  enough  to  hear  all. 
Mind  you  look  at  a  cunfideritial  servant,  if  he  is 
by,  when  you  suspect  his  master  is  cramming  you; 
some  one  afterward  told  me  he  was  horsewhipped 
by  a  young  fellow,  ■whose  wife  he  was  trying  to 
carry  oft." 

"  No,"  sai9  the  fair  Mortimer,  "  it  was  a  sister; 
but  this  happene<l  ages  ago,  just  after  you  left 
England,  i  had  it  all  from  the  policeman  who 
caw  the  whole  transaction;  my  fi^low  triieed  it  up 
from  the  waiter  of  the  hotel  where  the  Colonel  was 


first  nursed,  as  I  wanted  to  learn  the  particulars 
for  a  reason  I  had ;  and  the  next  time  this  ma- 
rauding soldier  troubles  his  head  about  my  steeple- 
chases, and  tells  my  old  aunt  of  them,  I  will  cast 
this  in  his  teeth,  1  was  going  to  say ;  but  I  will 
expose  him,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Mortimer." 

"  Good  heavens !  Mortimer,  you  arc  excited  ;  he 
will  faint — fetch  the  salts !"  cried  Sidney. 

"  Cease  your  confounded  banter,"  said  Morti- 
mer, still  looking  hot  aud  angry;  •'  but  seriously, 
1  never  hear  of  that  hei^rtless  profligate.  Temple- 
ton,  without  envying  the  man  who  disligured  him. 
W'e  are  none  of  us  too  good,  though  Heaven  forgive 
our  odious  folly,  some  not  quite  so  bad  as  we  boast 
of  being ;  but  do  you  know,  some  years  ago,  this 
base  fellow  misled  a  poor  girl,  his  children's  gov- 
erness; and  had  it  not  been  for  my  sister.  Lady 
Wingrove,  she  would  have  been  destitute  in  her 
utmost  need.     As  it  was,  she  and  her  child  died." 

"  Poor  thing !"  was  repeated,  and  "  Brave  Lady 
Wingrove  !"  while  evci  y  hat  was  raised  in  honor 
of  her  ladyship;  but  the  mood  was  too  good  to 
last. 

"  But  I  say,  Morti,  you  who  were  in  the  very 
garden  of  beauty,  tell  us  ■who  ■was  that  magniti- 
cent  Sultana,  quite  a  blaze  of  diamonds .'" 

"  Why,  the  sister  of  this  very  Templeton — Lady 
Sinclair,  the  wife  of  Sir  Archibald  of  that  ilk : 
when  I  asked  her  name,  I  expected  to  hear  she 
was  the  Queen  of  Golconda — they  are  enormously 
rich,  and  that  dark-eyed  girl  in  white  with  her, 
was  her  daughter." 

"  Well,  geutletuen,"  said  the  Honorable  Sidney 
Stajdes,  who  wtis  reported  to  have  spent  already 
two  splendid  fortunes,  and  who  was  often  abroad 
when  looked  for  in  England — "  ■well,  gentlemen, 
you  seem  to  have  collected  and  catalogued  your 
spoil,  do  not  fall  out  while  sharing  it ;"  and  hum- 
ming "  If  she  be  not  so  to  me,  what  care  I  how 
kind  she  be !''  he  sauntered  away. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  II  y  a  dans  qtietqnes  femmes.  tine  grandeur  artifl -ifflle, 
attach6e  au  inouvement  des  yeux,  d  un  air  de  tete.     .    . 
II  y  a  dans  qiielques  aulres  une  grandeur  simple,  nalu- 
relle." — Buuvekk. 

Cecilia  and  Laurette  ■were  now  both  at  the 
Priory  ;  the  latter  having  expressed  her  wish  to 
defer  her  return  to  Scotlan<l  till  she  had  taken 
leave  of  her  numerous  and  kind  English  friends, 
and  the  Granthams  having  at  length  started  on 
their  long-talked-of  continental  visit. 

Mrs.  Templeton,  who  was  always  fond  of  tl-.e 
society  of  young  people,  on  this  occasion  laid  asiile 
her  habits  of  seclusion,  accepted  the  invitations  of 
her  neighbors,  and  threw  open  her  oivn  house  in 
return.  She  was  also  busy,  and  inierested  in  the 
study  of  two  characters  so  dissimilar  as  those  of 
her  young  relatives ;  nor  was  the  analysis  tho 
less  attractive  because  it  so  often  puzzled  her. 

Laurette,  though  not  beautiful,  was  extremely 
elegant  and  fascinating;  sometimes  Mrs.  Teuiple- 
tdu  fancied  she  remimled  her  of  her  husbiind;  but 
site  hastily  banished  tJie  idea,  as  cruelly  unjust  to 
the  young  girl ;  and  on  those  occasions  she  would 


THE  WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


29 


fitucTiously  endeavor  to  explain  mvay  the  conduct 
that  did  not  appear  straightforward  and  true. 
Laur<;tte  was  clever  and  accomplished,  but  she 
•was  not  original ;  she  talked  well  on  most  sub- 
jects, or,  rather,  she  made  the  hearer  fancy  she 
did ;  for,  when  remembered  and  examined,  what 
she  said  was  more  the  echo  of  your  own  senti- 
ments than  any  thing  new.  or  even  additional. 

'  In  order  to  understand  her  better,  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton  compared  her  with  Cecilia  ;  she  fouud  that 
if  she  asked  the  opinion  of  the  latter,  it  was  given 
at  once.  Laurette  tried  to  extract  that  of  the  in- 
quirer, while  with  the  utmost  tact  she  avoided  all 
subjects  that  might  involve  her  in  discussion. 
Cecilia  attacked  them  all,  evidently  desirous  of 
arriving  at  the  truth.  Laurette  was  a  most  skill- 
ful flatterer,  so  nicely  apportioning  the  dose  that 
it  was  iidialed  rather  than  swallowed ;  rarely  did 
slie  avow  a  dislike,  though  she  would  most  inge- 
niously hint  a  defect  or  insinuate  a  deformity. 

Cecilia  never  flattered ;  she  often  praised,  and 
openly  expressed  both  love  and  admiration.  Too 
kmd  to  censure  individuals,  she  made  it  a  rule  to 
avoid  personalities;  but  abstract  qualities,  wli-ich 
excited  her  disapprobatiou,  she  treated  without 
either  mercy  or  quarter. 

But  Laurette  was  the  popular  candidate. 

Lady  Dallas  quotetl  her  as  an  oracle ;  Mrs.  For- 
rester cited  her  as  a  high-bred  and  well-bred  girl; 
while  Mrs.  West,  whose  son  had  received  great  at- 
tention from  the  Sinclairs  during  their  residence 
in  London,  only  wished  Heaven  had  made  her  such 
a  daughter. 

Still,  after  much  wavering,  Mrs.  Templeton, 
though  owning  that  Laurette  was  charming,  found 
Ljrself  involuntarily  seeking  Cecilia,  when  she 
wanted  the  help  of  truth  and  openness. 

Caroline  Vernon,  though  considerably  younger 
than  either  of  Mrs.  Templeton's  nieces,  was  always 
received  as  a  welcome  addition,  and  often  came 
accompanied  by  Fanny  Loftus,  who  had  lately  re- 
covered from  a  severe  illness,  and  whose  rare  worth 
renderetl  her  a  great  favorite  with  the  Picctor  and 
Lis  wife.  Lady  Dallas  would  have  added,  and 
with  diaries  Vernon  also. 

This  spinster  party,  as  Laurette  called  it,  was 
occasionally  diversified  by  the  arrival  of  Henry 
Grantham,  between  whom  and  Hubert  Forrester 
a  mutual  good  liking  arose.  Henry,  though  young 
in  years,  being  hardly  three-and-twenty,  had  seen 
a  great  deal  of  life;  nearly  four  years  had  been 
passed  at  Constantinople,  where  his  first  lesson  in 
diplomacy  had  been  learned;  and  he  had  learned 
it  so  well  that  he  expected  before  long  to  be  sent 
on  a  duty  of  some  trust  and  responsibility 

Hubert  was  a  handsome,  gay  j-outh,  who  had 
just  entered  at  Oxford ;  he  was  the  idol  of  his 
parents,  the  favontc  of  fortune,  and  rather  the 
pet  of  Mrs.  Templeton,  who,  without  any  exagge- 
rated opinion  of  his  talents  or  attainments,  liked 
his  cheerful  light-heartedness,  whicli  to  her  had 
a  peculiar  charm  ;  and  as  she  looked  at  the  youth- 
ful group,  occasionally  increased  by  reinforce- 
ments from  other  families,  she  thought  of.  the 
time  when  her  own  girls  would  stand  in  their 
young  beauty  by  her  side,  and  wondered  how  it 
would  be  then. 

It  was  during  this  visit  that  Cecilia  first  be- 
came aware  of  some  points  in  Laurette's  charac- 
ter which,  to   her  upright   and  rather  haughty 


mind,  were  especially  unpleasant.  Till  the  ap- 
pearance of  Hubert  Forrester,  so  gracious  had 
Laurette's  manner  been  to  Henry,  who  was  evi- 
dently fascinated  by  her  elegance  and  accomplish- 
ments, that  Cecilia,  though  little  addicted  to 
castle-building  in  the  air,  had,  perhaps,  ventured 
to  erect  one  small  cottage,  in  which  her  brother 
aud  her  friend  might  pass  their  honeymoon  ;  when 
the  arrival  of  another  convinced  her  the  cottage 
was  en  espagne,  and  built  only  of  cards.  At 
first,  she  thought  her  anxiety  about  Henry  had 
njade  her  discover  what  was  not — it  seemed  so 
unlikply  that  Laurette  should  condescend  even  to 
coquette  with  lluliert,  so  unequal  to  her  in  ac- 
quirement or  intellect,  not  to  mention  his  being, 
at  least,  two  years  younger.  But  further  obser- 
vation convinced  her  that  Laurette  really  did  ad- 
mire Hubert,  or  that  she  was  playing  him  off 
against  Henry ;  in  either  case  Cecilia  lelt  indig- 
dant.  She  was,  however,  relieved  from  all  fear 
on  her  brother's  account— perhaps  his  eyes  were 
open,  as  well  as  hers — perhaps  he  had  never  cared 
more  for  Laurette  than  as  an  agreeable  compan- 
ion, and  her  friend ;  at  any  rate,  though  his  man- 
ner toward  her  was  altered,  he  was  as  gay  aa 
ever. 

'•  jNIy  dear  Mrs.  Templeton,  I  am  so  glad  to  find 
you  at  home  and  alone,"  said  La(iy  Dallas ;  "  I  do 
so  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"  I  hope  nothing  unpleasant  has  happened," 
politely  inquired  Mrs.  Templeton,  expecting  noth- 
ing worse  than  one  of  her  domestic  grievances ; 
either  the  lady's  maid  had  elqped  with  the  butler, 
or  the  butler  had  eloped  with  the  plate.  For 
though  Lady  Dallas  no  longer  envied  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton, or  thought  of  sending  Sir  AVilliam  to  take 
lessons  of  the  Colonel,  and  was  in  many  respects 
much  improved,  she  ■  still  cherished  a  talent  for 
making  discoveries,  and  for  letting  all  the  world 
benefit  by  her  acuteness. 

"  Oh,  no;  only  as  a  friend  and  looker-on,  per- 
j  haps  I  see  more  than  you  do,  who  are  one  of  the 
players.  It  is  about  your  young  ladies  and  their 
squires." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  in  a  freezing 
tone ;  and  then  reflecting  that  this  was  an  oppor- 
tunity she  ought  not  to  lose,  for  impressing  her 
visitor  with  her  own  feelings  on  what  she  promptly 
divined  was  her  object,  she  proceeded  more  gra- 
ciously ;  "  I  hope  the  squires  have  not  beenbirds'- 
nesting,  and  the  young  ladies  purloining  fruits 
and  flowers." 

"  Not  exactly  that,"  said  Lady  Dallas,  trying 
to  look  intelligent  and  arch;  '-but  the  young  la- 
dies may  be  purloining  hearts,  and  the  squires 
trying  to  do  the  same." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  either  of  my  nieces  are  car- 
rying on  a  flirtation  ."'  asked  Mrs.  Templeton ; 
"  for  though  the  word  is  one  I  dislike,  1  must  use 
it  to  express  conduct  I  despise." 

"  Oh !  nothing  so  naughty  as  that,"  was  the 
reply.  "  You  have  put  the  case  in  too  strong  a 
light." 

"  Then  place  it  exactly  as  you  mean  me  to  see 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  perceiving,  by  her  lady- 
ship's manner,  that  her  grave  reception  of  the 
badinage  had  its  effect ;  "  but  let  me  first  inform 
you,  that  so  much  do  I  disapprove  of  any  conduct 
by  which  young  ladies  lay  tliemselves  oficn  to  cen- 
sure, however  innocently  or  thoughtlessly,  that 


30 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


if-  they  are  conricted  they  leave  me  directly,  and 
Hubert  and  Henry  will  be  forbidden  my  house  till 
they  know  better.  If,  therefore,  there  is  talk  of 
this,  I  must  act  at  once  " 

•'  Kow,  my  dear  Mrs.  Templeton,"  cried  her 
ladyship,  rather  afruid  of  the  spirit  she  had 
evoked,  "  what  a  rigid  censor  you  are;  there  is 
only  a  little  harmless  love-making." 

"  Marriage  is  the  only  proper  termination,  or 
rather  result,  of  any  love-making;  and  I  appre- 
hend the  parents  of  tliose  under  discussion  would 
at  once  forbid  the  banns — but  even  this  supposi- 
tion is  impertinent  and  affronting.  May  1  ask 
who  is  your  informant. '" 

"  Tlie  truth  is — no  one— and  my  remark  to  you 
was  half  in  jest ;  I  had  no  idea  you  would  take  it 
up  so  warmly,  and  merely  meant  to  put  you  on 
your  guard." 

'■  1  I  hank  you  truly  for  any  friendly  intentions; 
and  you  will  much  increase  the  obligation  by 
avoiding  all  mention  of  this  topic,  even  in  jest — 
especially  to  the  high  contracting  parties  them- 
selves," said  she  v.ith  a  smile ;  and  rather 
alarmed  lest  she  had  already  done  mischief.  Lady 
Dallas  readily  made  the  promise — and  kept  it. 

Nearly  a  year  before  this  time.  Lord  Hurst- 
wood,  who  had,  for  a  very  long  period,  scarcely 
ever  left  his  own  spacious  grounds,  died.  His  son 
was  abroad  when  this  event  happened ;  and  du- 
ties, which  he  could  neither  delegate  nor  resign, 
had  prevented  his  return.  It  was  now  rumored 
that  Hurstwood  was  preparing  to  receive  its  new 
lord,  the  Lara  of  the  neighborhood,  as  Cecilia 
said  ;  and  while  she  openly  expressed  a  wish  that 
he  would  arrive  during  her  visit,  Laurette  said 
nothing,  but  became  a  little,  a  very  little,  more 
distant  in  her  behavior  toward  the  "  Squire." 

But  fate,  or  hjr  aunt,  hud  decreed  that  Cecilia 
ehould  not  be  there  when  my  lord  came ;  she  was 
invited  by  Aunt  Lucy  to  accompany  her  to 
lirighton.  and  Laurette  accepted  an  invitation  to 
Lady  W'estrough's. 

It  was  not,  however,  on  Lord  Hurstwood's  ac- 
count that  Jlrs.  Templeton  had  dismissed  her 
nieces  and  broken  up  her  youthful  coterie ;  for 
though  he  was  a  courtier,  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
one  of  wiiom  report  had  whispered  various  scan- 
dals— there  would  have  been  no  such  imperative 
reason  for  clearing  the  place  of  all  that  was  young 
and  attractive — the  cause  was  closer  at  hand  — 
the  danger  nearer. 

Colonel  Templeton  had  written  to  his  steward, 
announcing  hi.'i  approaeliing  return;  and  his  wife 
had  heard  from  Lady  Grantham  that  he  would  be 
accompanied  by  some  friends — and  as  these  were 
not  of  th.'  kind  or  character  she  would  willingly 
have  introduced  to  her  daughter,  she  had  ar- 
ranged so  iis  to  prevent  it— hence  Cecilia's  depar- 
ture. To  Henry,  her  ladyship  had  written  with 
lier  accustomed  frankness ;  exprc^^sing  his  fatlier's 
dislike  to  his  having  any  acquaintance  with  the 
persons  his  uncle  would  bring  with  him.  Won- 
uering  to  what  kind  of  association  she  was  now  to 
be  exposed — since  the  mere  mention  of  it  had  ban- 
ished all  the  in.iocent  and  liappy  spirits  which  liad 
lately  silrrouridcd  lier,  Mrs.  Templetcn  once  more 
found  herself  alone— alone  at  that  beautiful  Pri- 
ory, which  repo>c<l  in  all  the  quiet  and  touching 
loveliness  of  mid-autun;n,  wh'-n  its  master  and  his 
associates  broke  upon  its  stillness. 


They  arrived;   and  to  Mrs.  Templeton's  eyes, 
this  absence  of  a  few  months  had  produced  in  her 
husband's  appearance  the  wear  of  .years;    there 
was  an  expression  over  the  whole  countenance  dif- 
ficult   to   define,  but  plainly  and  painfully  felt. 
His  habits,  also,  were  less  like  those  of  a  gentle- 
man— liis  language  was  not  only  rude,  but  coarse 
j  ■ — his  foreign  guests  and  their   cigars  were  met 
1  almost  everywhere  ;    and  though  there  were  still 
I  some  rooms  free  from   its  vulgar  and,  we  were 
going  to  say,  its  profaning  effects,  it  was  enough 
'  that   this   disgusting   innovation  was  permitted. 
Late  and  noisy  revels  were  not  uncommon  ;  while 
j  billiards,  and  still  more  ruinous  amusements,  were 
stimulants  alternating  with  tipsy  carousals.     All 
order  and  sobriety  were  set  at  naught  by  a  crew, 
half- swindler,  half  gamliler. 
I      "  Thank  God,  my  children  are  safe  from  this 
I  den,  at  least  for  the  present ;  and  may  the  same 
I  mercy  prevent  its  recurrence  Avhen  they  do  re- 
turn." thought  Mrs.  Templeton,  one  night,  when 
the  sounds  of  revelry  rose  more  discordantly  than 
usual — and  she  almost  shuddered  when  she  re- 
membered, that  in  tlie  course  of  two  years,  per- 
haps less,  her  gentle  Helen  would  be  called  upon 
to  realize  life. 

However,  before  Christmas,  the  house  was 
cleared  ;  and,  as  Mrs.  Dawson  declared,  under- 
went a  thorough  purification. 
'  During  almost  the  whole  time  that  these  orgies 
.'were  going  on,  all  intercourse  with  their  neigh- 
bors had  been  suspended.  A  very  stately  and 
sumptuous  entertainment  had,  soon  after  the  Col- 
onel s  return,  been  given,  but  not  one  guest  had 
offered  any  invitation  in  return — on  the  contrary, 
this  Comus  crew  had,  as  by  magic,  made  the  place 
I  desolate.  The  Forresters  left  at  a  season  quite 
unusual  for  them  ;  Sir  William  Dallas  openly  de- 
clared he  would  not  introduce  his  pretty  wife  to 
such  a  set — and  as  Lord  Hurstwood,  whom  Colo- 
nel Templeton  had  met  abroad,  and  whom  he 
seemed  desirous  to  propitiate,  held  aloof,  though 
by  no  means  of  the  straight-laced  school,  it  is 
probable  the  Colonel  did  not  care  to  brave  such  a 
hornet's  nest.  Whatever  the  cause,  belbre  Christ- 
mas they  all  left  in  his  company — but  he  soon 
returned. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


"  Will  fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full  ?" 

Henry  IV. 
"  No  rose  without  thorns." 

Frfquent  and  long,  as  well  as  stormy,  were 
the  conferences  now  held  with  Mr.  Johnson,  the 
agent,  on  whom,  hitherto,  the  chief  management 
of  the  estate  had  devolved. 

Johnsiiii    had  held   this    ofRce   under  the  late 

Mr.  Ashley,  by  whom  his  judgment  and  integrity 

liad  been  so  highly  esteemed,  that  he  was  named 

Avith    respect   m    his  will,  and  strongly   rccom- 

:  mended  to  his  successor  ;  nor  had  his  conduct, 

\  in  any  instance,  siiown  that  this  opinion  was  ill- 

j  foumlcd. 

'      IJui  he  was  now  old,  and  lately  much  of  an  in- 
]  valid ;  his  son,  a  clever  young  man,  who  had  for 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


31 


some  time  assisted  him  in  all  the  more  fatiguing 
details  of  his  office,  and  who  seemed  to  inherit 
his  honesty  as  well  as  knowledge  of  business,  was 
now  his  dt'putyon  most  occasions,  and  was  gen- 
erally considered  secure  of  his  father's  situation, 
•whenever  the  lattev  died  or  resigned. 

When  Colonel  Templeton  took  possession  of  this 
property,  he  found  it  in  the  most  flourishing  con- 
dition; most  of  the  tenants- held  long  leases; 
some  had  within  a  few  years  expired,  and  been 
renewed ;  and  though,  on  several  occasions,  the 
Colonel  had  evinced  a  desire  to  drive  a  hard,  or, 
as  he  would  have  said,  a  good  bargain,  Johnson 
had  convinced  him  that  a  long  lease,  and  a  lower 
rent  regularly  paid,  were  better  than  a  high 
rent  and  uncertain  occupation. 

It  happened,  at  this  juncture,  that  several 
leases  had  fallen  in,  and  Johnson,  as  usual,  w;is 
desirous  of  acting  as  umpire  between  the  land- 
lord, who  demanded  a  much  higher  rent  on  ac- 
count of  increased  value  of  land,  and  the  farmer, 
who  asked  to  have  his  lease  renewed  on  former 
terms. 

But  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  Colonel  was 
obstinate  and  unguidable  ;  the  consequence  was, 
that  two  excellent  tenants  left. 

Johnson  was  vexed  and  mortified — indeed, 
through  the  whole  affair,  the  Colonel  had  treat- 
ed him  so  cavalierly,  not  to  say  rudely,  that  he 
took  it  greatly  to  heart ;  so  deep  an  impression  1 
did  this,  and  several  other  instances  of  dimin- 
ished confidence  and  unanimity,  make  on  the 
worthy  man,  that  he  never  quite  recovered  his 
usual  spirits;  this,  added^to  increasing  age  arid 
illness,  soon  unfitted  him  for  exertion,  and  be- 
foie  the  end  of  the  year  he  died. 

Young  Robert,  his  son,  applied  to  be  contin- 
ued in  the  cffice,  but  was  coolly  told  that  a  per- 
son from  Loudon  was  already  engaged.  On  the 
young  man  this  blow  fell  heavily  and  unexpect- 
edly— what  was  to  be  dune  ?  he  was  married  to 
a  niece  of  Mrs.  Uawsons,  an  active,  industrious 
woman,  and  had  three  children. 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  them,  Dawson  ."' 
asked  Mrs.  Templeton,  when  that  won  by  crea- 
ture, with  teais  in  her  eyes,  told  her  of  the  cir- 
cumstance. "  I  do  not  offer  to  speak  to  the 
Colonel  in  his  behalf,  for  if  he  has  engaged  an- 
other person  it  will  be  useless,  beside-," — she 
paused,  for  she  knew  that,  "  besides,"  her  en- 
treaty (or  any  one  would  be  unheeded. 

"  You  are  always  very  good,  madam,"  replied 
Mrs.  Dawson ;  "  the  only  thing  I  can  a^k  of  you 
is  to  write  to  the  Honorable  Mr.  Grantham,  who, 
when  he  was  here  last  autumn,  saw  a  goud  deal 
of  Robert,  and  asked  him  about  firming,  and 
such  like  ;  perhaps,  among  his  friends,  if  he 
would  condescend  to  remember  the  poor  fellow, 
something  miglit  be  found  to  turn  up." 

"I  will  do  it  immediately,  as  well  us  to  Sir 
Archibald  Sinclair  and  Lord  Grantham  ;"  and 
80  she  did,  and  to  her  great  satisfaction  received 
a  letter  from  her  brother,  or  rather  his  amanu- 
ensis, saying,  that  if  Johnson  did  not  require 
too  liigh  a  s.ilary  for  their  means,  Cecil  would  be 
really  thankful  to  have  an  hnnest  man  on  his 
property,  as  he  knew  nothing  about  its  manage- 
ment himself,  and  did  not  think  fivorably  of  the 
agent  at  present  engaged.  And  this  being  set- 
tled to  the  wish  of  all  parties,  by  the  time  his 


late  father's  accounts  were  prepared  and  passed, 
which  even  the  C(donel  could  no*  do  without  ex- 
pressing his  .satisfaction,  Robert's  new  employer 
was  ready  for  him. 

In  speaking  of  the  Priory  and  its  lands,  it  was 
said  that  the  first  Mr.  Ashley  had  endeavored  as 
much  as  possible  to  bring  the  property  into  a 
compact  form,  so  that  the  building  itself  should 
form  a  kind  of  center  ;  and  this  he  had  done,  not 
by  extensive  purchases,  but  by  judicious  ex- 
changes of  the  distant  for  tlie  near.  One  piece 
of  the  property,  however,  formed  an  exception, 
and  was  never  exch.anged;  it  was  on  the  side  to- 
ward the  sea,  and  is  perhaps  best  described  as  a 
kind  of  "chine."  as  similar  places  are  termed 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  only  that  here  the  height 
was  of  solid  rock,  it  being  the  commencement 
of  a  small  range,  if  that  word  be  not  too  am- 
bitious. 

Tradition  called  this  the  Hermitage,  a  name 
which  many  things  justified,  for  till  the  reign 
of  the  late  Mr.  Ashley's  grandmother,  it  con- 
sisted of  little  more  than  two  rather  large,  but 
sheltered,  excavations  ;  the  view  from  the  roof 
of  these  was  perhaps  as  fine  as  from  any  part 
of  the  estate,  and  offers  had  frequently  been 
made  for  its  purchase.  But  Mrs.  Ashley  was 
so  attached  to  the  spot,  that  though  a  strip  of 
ground  now  belonging  to  Sir  William  Dallas  sep- 
arated it  from  the  Priory  demesne,  it  was,  hy  her 
wish,  kept  in  the  family,  and  built  on. 

The  ancient  excavaiions  served  as  excellent 
celhnage  to  a  stone  house  built  in  strict  external 
accordance  with  the  old  architecture  of  the  I'rio- 
vy.  bui  within,  containing -rooms  the  snuggest, 
and  most  comfortable.  Here  there  were  no 
"  rich  windows  to  exclude  the  light,  and  pas- 
sages that  lead  to  nothing,"  fur  every  passage 
led  to  some  small,  but  cosy  nook  ;  and  the  stone- 
set  casements  let  in  a  ghirious  view  of  the  deep 
and  dark-blue  (.cean,  and  its  sparkle  , of  ever- 
restless  waves  ;  while,  on  the  only  side  which 
admitted  of  it.  was  a  window,  giving  rather  a 
tantalizing  view  of  the  Priory  and  church  steeple, 
which,  however,  by  ascending  about  a  dozen 
roughly  cut,  but  safe  steps,  burst  ou  the  sight, 
with  a  most  advantageous  effect. 

Tliis  place,  though  apparently  far  superior  to 
what  his  station  demanded,  had  always  been  in- 
habited by  Johnson;  but  then  the  agent  was  a 
favorite,  had  become  almost  a  friend,  and  had 
also  married  a  young  person,  who  had  been 
biought  up  as  a  companion  by  the  mother  of 
Horace. 

Determining  to  secure  a  permanent  residence 
on  the  property  for  his  faithful  and  respected 
superintendent,  and  yet  not  wishing  to  alienate 
this  favorite  spot  of  ground,  or  rather  rock,  Mr. 
Ashley  granted  Johnson  a  lease  of  tlie  liermitagc 
for  ninety-nine  years,  at  a  nomimil  rent. 

By  this  family,  celebrated  for  their  flower- 
loving  tastes,  it  may  be  almost  supeiflous  to  add, 
that  a  garden,  with  a  patch  of  meadow,  was  at- 
t.ached  to  the  hermitage;  and  here  Johnson  had 
lived  from  early  manhood  to  old  age,  and  here 
Robert  was  born. 

Colonel  Templeton,  though  in  most  things  a 
clever  man,  and  certainly,  in  all  matters  where 
self  was  concerned,  both  shrewd  ami  calculating, 
was  by  no  means  conversant  with  the  dry  details 


32 


THE  WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


of  business  as  they  related  to  landed  property  ; 
but  with  Johuson  continually  at  his  elbow  to 
prompt  him,  this  had  been  of  little  consequence, 
except  that  it  had  prevented  him  from  discover- 
ing his  need  and  his  deficiency.  Frequently, 
when  transacting  affairs  with  his  em])loyer,  John- 
son was  astonibheil  to  perceive  that  he  never 
fully  understood  the  real  position  he  occupied 
with  respect  to  the  Seabrooke  properly,  both  as 
regarded  hi;/  responsibilities  and  his  privileges; 
80  that  he  had  often  found  it  difficult  to  show 
him  what  he  might,  and  what  he  might  not  do. 
Kich  ]»rey  this,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
spoiler  ! 

And  now  that  the  village  had  wondered  and 
concerned  itself  about  young  Jolinson's  dismissal, 
till  it  was  tired,  all  stood  on  the  tiptoe  of  ex- 
pectation and  curiosity  to  see  the  new  agent ; 
and  after  various  false  alarms,  and  cries  of  "  he 
comes" — he  did  come,  but  so  quietly,  that  those 
on  the  lookout  felt  themselves  aggrieved,  swin- 
dled, defrauded.  "Scandalous,  after  all  the  ex- 
citement and  flutter  of  expectations,  to  sneak  in 
80  silently" — and  then,  when  he  was  seen,  it  was 
no  great  sight — and  this  is  true— for  there  cer- 
tainly was  nothing  in  his  Appearance  either  to 
attract  or  repel;  he  looked  like  a  man  who  had 
once  been  a  gentleman,  or  nearly  so — a  sort  of 
narrow  escape.  His  manner  was  self-possessed, 
neither  vulgar  nor  rude,  sometimes,  though  rare- 
ly, there  was  a  tinge  of  arrogance  and  presump- 
tion ;  his  langu.ige  indicated  a  man  of  educatiou, 
while  his  voice  gave  tokens  of  refinement.  But 
much  of  tliis  seeming  incongruity  was  explained, 
when  he,  as  if  by  accident,  alluded  to  a  military 
career  and  college  education. 

Mrs.  Templetou  Was  present  when  both  these 
antecedents  were  glanced  at — she  made  no  re- 
mark, it  was  not  her  custom ;  but  she  remem- 
bered this,  and  subsequently  named  it  to  the 
Hector,  now  Dr.  Veruon — ^who  ascertained  tiiat, 
as  regarded  tlie  university,  the  statement  was 
correct ;  though  a  few  circumstances  connected 
witli  his  college  life,  wliich  the  Doctor  at  the 
same  time  learned,  was  by  the  agent  either  for- 
gotten, or  not  thought  wortliy  of  being  mention- 
ed. But  a  burprise  awaited  the  Colonel  and  his 
family,  and,  indeed,  many  others,  though  the 
last  were  not  concerned  in  the  event.  Mrs  Tem- 
pleton  was  the  hrst  who  was  informed,  and  this 
by  Mrs.  Dawson,, that  Johnson  had  let  the  Her- 
mitage furnished,  to  a  gentleman  who  had  al- 
ready been  (-pending  a  few  weeks  there  before 
his  father's  death.  Dawson  added,  that  the  late 
agent  had  consulted  her  about  the  propriety  of 
Consenting  to  the  residence  of  a  lodger,  and  fully 
intended  to  have  named  it  to  the  Culonel,  but  the 
vexatious  ditl\;rences  between  them,  and  his  ill- 
ness, h.-id  almost  Ijunislicd  tiie  matter  from  his 
mind  ;  that  immediately  afier  his  death  the  ne- 
gotiation was  renewed,  for  hiring  the  Hermitage 
08  it  stood,  for  a  term,  and  that  llobcrt  was  too 
glad  of  tills  ofiportunity  to  increase  his  income, 
to  think  of  licsitating. 

Knowing  her  husband's  feelings  as  regarded 
any  intrusion  on  his  property,  tlumgh  the  Her- 
mitage was  at  the  extri-mity,  and  on  one  side 
separated  from  it,  .Mrs  'lomplolnn  was  certain 
that  fierce  and  loud  would  be  the  explosion  of 
bis  anger.     Nor  was  she  mistaken.     Directly  he 


'  heard  of  the  Hermitage  being  thus  tenanted,  he 
sent  Mr.  Cooper,  the  new  agent,  to  ascertain  the 
facts,  which  being  simply  what  his  principal  al- 
ready knew,  namely,  that  the  Hermitage  was  let, 
he  returned  with  little  to  impart,  except  that  tbe 

:  lodger  was  a  Mr.  Morton,  and  that  he  had  paid  a 
quarter's  rent  in  advance. 

I  Then  went  the  Colonel  himself,  in  a  towering 
rage,  breathing  threats  of  expulsion,  razing  to 
the  ground,  aud  sundry  warlike  denunciations 
of  learned  length ;  but  he    found   there  oidy  a 

i  middle-aged  negro,  and  a  respectable  female 
servant,  by  whom  he  was  told  that  their  master 
would  be  down  next  week,  and  from  \^hom  he 
received  his  address  at  a  London  hotel. 
.  Next  week,  again  went  Mr.  Cooper ;  perhaps, 
in  his  zeal  for  the  Colonel,  he  slightly  forgot 
himself,  an  obliviousness  to  which,  in  one  sense, 
he  was  never  prone — for  one  of  the  village  gos- 
sips happening,  by  chance — busy-bodies  always 
happen  by  chance  to  be  where  tliey  are  not  waut- 
eiJ — hiippening  to  be  going  by  the  Hermitage 
during  the  interview,  which  took  place  in  the 
garden,  heard  words  of  threatening  import  in  a 
strange  voice,  and  remarks  which  were  any 
thing  but  complimentary  to  Mr.  Cooper,  which 
when  the  Colonel  heard  of,  he  waxed  wroth,  and 
swore,  as  the  simile  says,  like  any  trooper. 

The  matter,  however,  for  the  present  waS  left 
in  peace  ;  first,  by  the  departure  of  the  intruder, 
who  left  only  his  sable  hostage — next,  by  a  strict 
investigation  of  liobert's  rights — and  lastly  by  a 
curt,  but  determimed  note,  from  a  respectable 
lawyer  in  town,  addressed  to  the  Colonel ;  which, 
while  it  by  no  means  stopped  the  ColoneFs  oaths, 
stopped  his  agent's  visit. 

But  lo  !  compensation  is  in  store  for  the  vexed 
and  excited  Seabrookians — and  this  celestial  and 
even-handed  visitant  arrives  in  the  shape  of  a 
comely  dame,  aged  about  five-and-thirty,  and 
her  charming  daughter  of  sweet  sixteen — and 
oh!  crowning  joy  !  her  juvenile  son,  some  years 
younger.  Sister,  niece,  and  nephew  to  the 
tlirice-blessed  and  sweet-voiced  Mr.  Cooper;  and 
rejoicing  in  the  name  of  Mrs.  Mordaunt — par- 
don the  omission,  one  the  lady  was  never  guilty 
of — Mrs.  Captain  Mordaunt — it  was  so  on  her 
elegantly  embossed  cards — Miss  Juliet,  and  Mas- 
ter Augustus. 

This  delightful  trio  had  come  purposely  to  su- 
perintend the  domestic  economy  of  Mr.  Cooper's 
Didce  Domum,  to  see  after  his  creature  comforts, 
and  to  help  him  to  gather  up  tlie  crumbs  whicli  fell 
from  the  Colonel's  table.  And  well  worth  tlic  gath- 
ering were  these  said  crumbs.  Hampers  of  wine 
from  the  cobwebby  cripts  ;  geese  from  the  larder, 
and  ducks  from  the  pcmd ;  fruit,  wliich  Saunders 
sent  accompanied  with  many  a  Gaelic  sigh,  and 
strange  sounding  words,  which  fell  on  the  ear 
like  a  Celtic  imprecation  ;  flowers  over  which  he 
muttered  incantations  in  Glasgow  classics,  which, 
had  he  known  how,  would  have  turned  them  to 
thorns  and  thistles — but,  ahis  !  curses,  like  chick- 
ens come  home  to  roost,  and  the  sorely  vexed 
gardener — in  the  main,  a  pious  Presbyterian — 
was  often  heard,  after  these  outpourings  in  un- 
known tongues,  to  groan  from  the  fullness  of  an- 
overloaded  conscience,  in  good  broad  Scotch, 
•'  the  gude  forgie'  us,"  or  "  the  gude  save  us, 
sirs  !" 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


33 


But  Saunders  was  not  the  only  one  who  some- 
times forgot  good  manners  ;  for  whispers  began 
to  arise  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  and  they 
rose  and  rose  till  they  might  be  heai-d  in  almost 
every  house  in  the  village — that,  if  the  Priory 
sent  its  good  things  to  the  agent's,  i-t  also  sent  the 
master  to  look  after  them.  He  was  almost  as  fre- 
quently seen  consulting  Cooper  down  at  his  house, 
as  the  latter  was  attending  him  at  the  Priory. 
Some  of  the  matrons  of  the  place  said,  the  Colonel 
came  to  look  at  his  image  in  the  youthful  Angus-  j 
tus  ;  others,  that  it  was  to  partake  of  the  delica- 
cies his  mother,  that  "  neat-handed  Phyllis."  pre- 
pared ;  while  a  third  set,  who  dealt  in  prophecies 
and  second-sight,  shook  their  heads  ;  not  the  me- 
morable Burlei^.;5h  shake,  for  they  spoke  out— 
and,  in  a  friendly  way,  vei-y  friendly  indeed,  ad- 
vised Miss  Juliet's  mamma  to  look  sharp  after 
that  innocent  maiden. 

However,  Mrs.  Captain  Mordaunt  proved  her 
right  to  that  warlike  epithet  bj^  her  clever  mili- 
taiy  tactics;  she  despised  them  all,  and  their  in- 
sinuations to  boot — she  braved  them  all — and  her 
gn,,(l-lookingface  outfaced  them  all — she  snapped 
the  fingers  of  her  mind  at  every  one  of  them  ; 
and  had  they  been  deeply  read  in  the  legitimate 
drama,  and  politely  inquired,  "  Do  j^ou  bite  your 
tliumb  at  us  .'"  trust  lier  for  the  reply— it  would 
have  been  ready, — "  I  do  bite  my  thumb  !" 

It  was  rather  a  singular  coincidence,  but  one 
tliat  was  fatal  to  tlie  efficacy  and  popularity  of 
Dr.  Vernon's  sermon,  albeit  he  preached  as  faith- 
fully and  as  eh^quently  as  was  his  custom,  that 
the  very  first  Sunday  Mrs  Captain  appeared  at 
church,  leaning  on  her  fond  brother's  arm,  and 
followed  by  the  two  pledges  of  her  departed  and 
martial  lord,  the  occupant  of  the  Hermitage 
m  ide  his  first  appearance  in  public  also.  Some, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  every  man  jack  of  them  wo- 
men, actually  half  rose,  to  look  at  him.  But  he 
enrered  the  Rectory  pew,  and  was  lost  to  their 
luii;j;ing  gaze  by  the  envious  curtains. 

Never  mind,  fair  daughters  of  Eve,  if  know- 
ledge at  one  entrance  is  shut  out,  let  it  pour  in 
at  iiigh-service  pressure  at  another  ;  and  true  to 
their  inquiring  nature,  they  did  ;  for  while  Mrs. 
Tfiiipleton,  Lady  Dallas,  or  even  any  stranger 
visiting  these  families,  miglit  have  escaped  no- 
tirc.  sharp  and  minute  was  their  criticism  on  the 
fair  ;\Irs.  Captain. 

"Good  heavens!  she  has  two,  four,  actually 
five  flounces!"  "And  how  many  breadths.'" 
'■  1  could  not  well  make  out ;  but,  never  mind,  it 
sots  nut  beautifully  beliind."  "  Is  it  whalebone 
or  buckram  ?"  "  That  is  of  no  consequence,  it  is 
exactly  like  the  last  fashion  picture."  Such  was 
the  oracular  fiat  pi-cmounced  by  that  learned 
judge,  tlie  village  liressmaker.  And  her  niante- 
lit,  trimmed  witfi  real  lace  !  And  the  tasty  hon- 
mt  and  its  becoming  ornaments  so  redolent  of 
Paris— and  the  youthful  Juliet,  and  her  pink 
rilibfins— and  the  elegant  simplicity  of  the  little 
dandy  sailor  son.  Well,  well :  though  some  of  the 
village  dames  lonked  as  if  they  thought  it  the 
rever.-e  of  "  wtdl,  well." 

But  what  can  keep  the  people  so  long  in  the 
church  .'  usually  the  organist  may  shuffle  over, 
or  omit,  the  last  half  of  his  jilaying  out;  but  to- 
day, what  are  tlify  waiting  for.'  However,  he 
sloses   the   organ   and   dismisses   the  exhausted 


bellows-blower — and  by  that  time  the  congregar 
tion  become  aware  of  the  aggravating  fact,  that 
the  Rectory  pew  is  empty  !  Yes,  there  is  the 
beadle  undrawing  the  curtains — "stupid  old 
dawdle,  not  to  have  done  it  before!"  and  the 
stranger  has  gone  into  the  vestry. 

And  how  provoked  were  all  these  loiterers  the 
neoit  day,  when  Mr.  IMorton  was  seen  quietly 
Avalking  through  the  village  with  the  liector, 
who  appeared  to  be  pointing  out  to  him  various 
views  and  sites  of  picturesque  beauty  or  in- 
terest. 

And  the  black  servant  who  had  been  a  sort  of 
bete  nuir  to  the  ignorant  rustics ;  and  even 
among  the  tradespeople  had  excited  a  nine-days' 
wonder,  proved  to  be  a  very  common-place,  mat- 
ter-of-fact person,  who  spoke  quite  enough 
English  to  be  pumped  for  information,  but  who 
said  little  tliat  repaid  the  trouble ;  for  all  he  told 
was,  that  his  master  was  a  widower,  was  rich, 
had  traveled  a  great  deal,  and  that  his  son,  Mas- 
ter Victor,  w.is  at  school  in  Germany. 

Received,  as  he  was,  in  a  most  friendly  manner 
by  the  Rector,  several  of  the  neighboring  gentry 
left  their  cards  at  the  Hermitage — but  though 
this  attention  was  returned,  and  Mr.  Morton 
frankly  expressed  his  wish  to  be  on  social  terms 
with  those  who  had  thus  honored  him,  he  smil- 
ingly alluded  to  his  limited  gar^on-like  quarters, 
as  a  reason  for  not  accepting  hdspit.'ilities  which 
he  could  not  return — but  he  owned,  that  when 
his  son  came  to  England,  he  should  covet  for  him 
all  the  advantages  their  society  offered. 

It  was  well  known  that  Colonel  Templeton  had 
rudely  opposed  his  occupancy  of  the  Hermitage  ; 
but  as  he  remained,  as  Cooper  never  ventured  to 
couple  his  name  with  any  remark  of  an  injurious 
nature,  and,  especially  as  tlic  Colonel  himself  was 
far  from  being  popular,  Mr.  Morton  was  allowed 
to  visit  or  not  as  he  pleased.  And  this  liberty 
was  the  more  readily  accorded,  as  subsequent 
acquaintance  proved  him  to  be,  in  every  respect, 
b(jth  the  gentleman  and  the  scholar.  lie  was 
one  who  had  seen  life  in  many  strange  lands,  and 
whose  conversation  was  enriched  by  that  know- 
ledge which  they,  who  have  traveled  and  thought, 
alone  can  possess. 

About  a  year  after  his  domestication  at  the 
Hermitage,  his  son  returned  from  one  of  the 
then  little  known  continental  colleges;  he  was 
another,  and  not  less  interesting  study  to  the 
Englisli  country  gentlemen  ;  and  apparently  not 
to  them  alone — for  as  the  handsome  youth  saun- 
tered along  the  village  high  street,  singing 
snatches  of  strange  airs  to  woi  ds  equally  strange, 
many  a  pretty  las.*?  peeped  over  the  little  curtain, 
or  I'an  to  the  door  to  look  at  him  and  Ins  foreign 
dres.s — the  blouse  and  leather  belt,  the  lay-down 
collar,  and  the  jet-black  locks,  displayed  a  little 
ostentatiously  from  beneath  the  small  gray  cap, 
that  seemed  scarcely  to  touch  the  well-shaped 
head — while  the  boys  .and  men  gaped  and  griiuied 
as,  by  the  skillful  use  of  his  Alpenstock,  lie  flew 
over  hedge  and  ditch,  and  cleared  at  one  bound 
the  rapid  and  silvery  Brooke. 

"  He's  a  rare  one,"  said  the  butcher's  jolly 
wife,  who  had  just  taken  his  orders  to  supply  his 
dogs  regularly. 

"  He's  an  impudent  young  dog  himself,"  re- 
plied  her    neighbor,   the   village    haberdasher, 


34 


THE    WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


shaking  her  head  and  laughing  ;  "he  came  to  ]  a  room  where  Mr.  Morton  sat  composedly  reading, 

choose  a  'kerchief  for  his  neck,  and  when  Betsy  I  "  I  have  seen  such  a  woman  !" 

turned  to  find  a  choice,  what  does  my  young  gen-  |      "  I  hope,  not  the  horrible  '  White  Lady,'  who 

tleniiin  do,  but  clear  the  counter  at  one  spring —    finds  her  way  into  so  many  of  your  German  le- 

and  who  but  he,  rummaging  among  the  ribbons  i  gends.'' 

and  tapes."  "  Oh  !  no,  quite  the  reverse."  he  replied. 

"  He  looked  very  handsome  though,  mother,  in        "A  black  one,  then.'  perhaps  Juba's  departed 
that  crimson  one  he  took,  and  made  me  tie  prop-    wife.'.' 
ly  for  him."  !      "  Nothing    like    her,    I   fancy,"    said   Victor, 

"  Ves,  yea.  and  took  a  kiss  in  return,"  remarked  greatly  amused  at  the  diflference  between  .Mrs. 
the  old  lady  ;  "  you  shall  keep  to  your  sewing  j  Templeton  and  what  he  supposed  the  defunct  .Mis. 
while  the  young  hermit,  as  he  calls  himself,  re-    Juba  might  have  been ;  "  no,  but  I  have  seen  .Mi  j. 


main.s  iiere. 

Ilowc-ver,  as  all  he  did  was  done  so  openly  and 
frankly,  and  seemc<l  so  entirelv  the  result  of  cxu- 


Templeton. 

"  So  you  did.  at  church." 

"  Hardly  ;  and  besides,  that  was  very  different 
bcrant  .spirits  and  happy  youth— for  many  a  good  I  from  looking  at  her,  and  talking,  and  shakn- 
looking  matron  had  to  complain  of  young  sauce-  |  hands  with  her.  as  I  have  done  to-day;  but  V'  u 
bos,  as  well  as  the  daughters— Victor  was  a  uni-  j  do  seem  surprised  at  last :  the  truth  is,  I  w:  n- 
vcrsal  favorite ;  all  welcomed  him  with  a  smile,  I  d3red  into  the  private  grounds  without  knov,!!!^ 

and  we  have  made  assignatii  as 


and  no  one  thought  there  could  be  much  to  blame 
in  one  who  was  so  often  the  companion  of  the  Doc- 
tor, and  the  guest  of  .Mrs.  West. 

It  happened,  one  day,  shortly  after  the  arrival 


it.     I  met  her, 

without  end,  at  Mrs.  Wests;  now,  fathiTr,  w'n-.o 

do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

"  I  think,  my  dear  boy,  that  you  mil  find  your- 


of  young  Morton,  that  Mrs.   Templeton,  having  '  S3lf  in  some  scrape  with  your  wandering  habii.'-;; 

been  to  Sea-View  Cottage,  was  returning  through  i  well  for  you  not  to  have  met  the  Colonel." 

tlie  grounds.     She  had  walked  on,  for  about  a  I      "'Mrs.  Templeton  hinted  as  much;  is  he  then 

quarter  of  a  mile,  lost  in  deep  thought — for  the  I  so  formidable  ?" 

inroads  that  illness  was  slowly  but  surely  making  !      "  I  do  not  find  him  so,  though  I  fally  expected 


on  Mrs.  West  had,  during  this  visit,  been  painfully 

evident — when  shew  as  roused  from  her  revery, 

by  hearing  tlie  words  of  a  German  song,  which 

recalled  to  mind  days  long  past;  a  remarkabl,y 

wveet   voice   sang  this  in   snatches,   leaving   otf 

abruptly,  to  whistle  to  the  birds;  the  sound  of 

approaching  steps,  also,  caused  her  to  look  back  : 

when,  within  about  twenty  paces,  she  saw  one  of  |  return  for  some  time 

the  handsomest  youths  she  had  ever  beheld ;  but 

as  he  is  already  known  to  us,  in  two  words  we 

introduce  Victor  Morton  to  Mrs.  Templeton. 

Respectfully  doffing  his  cap,  and  revealing  by 
the  act  the  fine  head,  and  its  glossy  ornaments, 
he  approached  her,  saying,  "  I  tear  I  am  uncon- 
sciously trespassing ;  but  I  am  almost  a  stranger, 
which  I  hope  will  .secure  my  pardon." 

"  You  are  within  tlie  precincts  of  the  Priory 
private  grounds,"  replied  .Mrs.  Templeton,  "  but 
never  mini  that,  we  shall  soon  see  some  on3  who 
will  guide  you  out,  and  meanwhile  you  are  very 
safe  with  me." 

"  That  I  am  quite  sure  of,"  he  returned,  bowing, 
and  glancing  at  her  gentle  dark  eyes.  ■'  My 
name  is  Victor  Morton." 

Pleased  with  his  manner,  though  startled  to 
think  that  the  son  of  one  who  had  already  in- 
ctirred  her  husband's  displeasure,  should  be  found 
intruding  on  his  strictly  kept  property,  she  said, 
very  decide<lly,  though  she  smiled  kindly, 

"  You  do  not  seem  one  I  should  consider  a  dan- 
gerous trespasser,  yet,  as  Colonel  Templeton  is 


it,  after  his  useless  opposition  to  my  resideiu 
here;  still,  you  had  better  keep  off  his  grounds 
till  invited." 

What  might  have  been  the  temptation  to  disre- 
gard this  warning,  had  Victor  remained  at  S  i- 
brooke,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  But  shortly  a-.'ter 
this  rencounter  he  and  his  father  left,  and  did  nn 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"Lonk  iipr.n  this  face; 
Examine  every  feature  and  proportion. 
Anil  yiiu  With  me  mii-t  ^rrant  llii.'*  rsr.-  piece  flaished. 
N:ilu  e.  fl.-S(i;iiriii^  rVr  lo  make  tin-  h\if. 
Brake  sii.l.ienly  the  mold  in  wlucli  'iwas  fashim'-d  " 
.Massi.ngks. 

Ever  since  Johnson's  death,  affairs  at  the 
Priory  hi  i  gone  a  little  crooked,  and  spite  of  the 
more  frequent  attendance  of  Cooper  at  the  hou.se, 
and  the  many  conferences  in  the  village,  where, 
doubtless,  the -wisdom  and  experience  of  Mrs.  Cap- 
tain were  of  great  use  to  the  Colonel,  scarcely  a 
day  passed  without  something  happening  which 
ruffljd  the  serenity  of  that  patient  martyr. 

Money,  which  had  hitherto  been  always  ready 
to  meet  every  expenss,  suddenly  became  scarce; 
and  it  was  remarkable  how  this  invariably  hap- 
rather  particular.  I  shall  at  once  warn  you  out.  i  pened  after  any  London  or  continental  visit,  so 
D.)  you  know  Sea- View  Cottage .•"  j  that  qven  during  Johnsons  management  he  had 

"  I  spen  1  half  my  leisure  time  there."  hinted  to  Mrs.  Dawson  his  fears  that  his  master 

"  Lo,)k  then,  between  these  oaks,  there  is  the  lost  large  sums  at  play;  apprehensions  wliieh 
roof  of  the  house;  keep  it  in  \iew,  and  you  will  I  were  confirmed  by  the  conduct  of  the  foreignoN 
find  the  gate  ;  and  as  you  visit  Mrs.  West,  we  shall  1  who  had  accompanied  him  to  Seabrooke.     Still,  .s.) 

ample  was  the  real  income,  that  these  diificultics 
had  been  but  temporary. 

But  it  was  different  under  the  new  n.r  nts 
reign;  the  halcyon  days  of  plenty  seemeil  r miiiir 
to  a  close,  so  frequent  were   the   lowerin--   aaJ 


be  sure  to  meet  again." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  was  the  frank  remark. 
She  smiled,  and  shaking  hands  with  him,  they 
parted. 

"Oh,  father !"  exclaimed  Victor,  rushing  into 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


35 


stormy  clouds  ■when  payments  were  required ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Templeton  was  once  driving  about  the 
property,  she  was  surprised  to  see  a  number  of 
trees  marked,  and  a  man  busy  doing  the  same 
thing  to  others.  "  What  is  this  for  :"  she  asl^ed, 
and  was  told  that  Mr.  Cooper  had  advised  the 
Colonel  to  thin  the  woods.  The  last  felling  of 
importiince  had  taken  place  under  the  direction 
of  Johnson,  only  tlu-ee  years  previously,  and  she 
remembered  he  had  then  said,  a  long  time  must 
elapse  before  cutting  to  any  extent  would  be 
again  proper ;  and  on  noticing  more  carefully 
those  marked,  she  thought  the  greater  part  looked 
much  too  young. 

Another  lease  also  fell  in,  of  one  of  the  best 
farms  on  the  estate,  and  again  there  was  a  dis- 
pute about  increased  rent — that  demanded  was 
plainly  declared  extortionate  and  unf\xir;  words 
arose — Cooper  interfered,  was  insulted  and  threat- 
ened, and  the  Colonel  was  compelled  to  listen  to 
some  very  unpleasant  truths  before  several  of  the 
s  n-vants,  who  had  been  summoned  by  their  furious 
master  to  eject  the  daring  ofiFender. 

The  woods  were,  however,  thinned,  under  the 
artistic  superintendence  of  Cooper ;  money  was 
ready,  and  again  there  was  a  lull. 

The  letter-bag,  one  morning,  unfortunately,  was 
the  means  of  destroying  this  calm ;  it  seemed  to 
be  a  very  Pandora's  bos  of  annoyances  -  so  much 
so,  that  Mrs.  Templeton,  astonished  and  half  ter- 
rified at  her  husband's  manner,  and  at  an  ejacu- 
lation of  surprise,  almost  of  horror,  which  burst 
from  his  lips,  inquired  if  he  had  received  any  ill 
news ;  a  large  packet  containing  various  papers 
lay  before  him,  while  his  trembling  hands  seeilied 
scarcely  able  to  hold  any  of  them  ;  his  face  wis 
as  pale  as  ashes,  and  perceiving  his  wife  was  ap- 
proaching, he  hoai-sely  desired  her  to  remain 
quiet;  by  a  powerful  effort  shook  off  his  emotion, 
and  collecting  the  contents  of  this  packet,  without 
another  word  withdrew  to  the  library,  whence  he 
'':d  not  emerfje  till  nearly  dinner-time.  His  man-  j 
M 'r  then  was  so  extraordinary  as  co  make  her  fur-  j 
lively  glance  at  him ;  and  thougli  he  scarcely  ' 
taste  1  any  thing,  he  di-auk  glass  after  glass  of  w'nj.  ' 
and  she  did  no'  again  see  h  ni  till  toward  noon 
the  next  day,  w'lon  lie  announjelhs  intention  of 
going  at  once  to  London,  and  gave  Cooper  various 
iiis'i-uctions,  inlica:;vo  of  n  prolonged  absence. 

Henry  Grantham  at  this  time  married,  and  chose 
for  his  bride  a  lady  who,  in  every  respect,  was 
agreeable  to   his   parents.     Cecilia  accompanied 
the  newly-married  pair  on  a  short  visit  to  Sea- 
brooke,   after    which   they    all    went   to    Italy, 
whither  he  was  sent  on  public  business.     Lau- 
rette  was  at  Craigalan,  but  had  promised  to  travel 
south  when   Helen   and   Constance  came  home. 
Charles  Vernon  was  engaged  to  Fanny  Loftus, 
and  Ashley  had  just  begun  his  legal  education  in 
London ;  while  Keginald  hovered  about,   ready,  i 
so  he  said,  for   any   mischief,  because  he   had  i 
nothing  to  do ;  therefore  his  kind  friend  Ashley  i 
invented  a  sort  of  literary  penance  in  expiation 
of  this  speech ;  and  to  prevent  the  prophecy  from 
becoming   true,   put    him,    in    jest,    through   a ' 
course  of  reading,  to  which  the  other  applied  in  | 
sober  earnest.  I 

Lady  Dallas,  thanks  to  a  sweet  temper,  which  ' 
never  took  offense  at  the  truths  that  were  uttered 
in  Idndness,  had  hstcued  not  only  to  the  hints  of 


Mrs.  Vernon,  but  to  her  plainly-spoken  advice,  and 
had  looked  at  her  own  character  so  courageously 
as  to  have  recognized  its  many  faults  and  weak- 
nesses. Some  she  corrected — some  she  tried  to 
correct — some  she  feared  were  incurable ;  but  the 
result  was,  that  to  a  very  great  extent,  she  enter- 
ed cordially  into  the  pursuits  of  her  kind  husband 
—found  by  comparing  him  with  ot hens— or  nne 
other— how  excellent  he  was;  and  instead  of  gos- 
siping about  im.aginary  or  trilling  grievances, 
looked  at  the  bright  side  of  every  thing  and  talked 
of  it  accordingly. 

And  so  the  sun  went  down,  with  a  promise  of 
rising  in  full  splendor  by  the  time  that  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton's  idols  came  home,  to  he  placed  on  the  pe- 
destals her  love  had  pi-cparcd  for  them. 

And  it  was-coming  ;  it  drew  near— that  happy, 
happy  period,  when  she  was  to  reap  the  reward 
of  her  patiently-endured  sacrifice,  and  welcome 
Helen  and  (Constance  home — for  they  were  to  re- 
turn together— such  had  been  the  reiterated  re- 
quest of  Constance,  that  her  mother  had  yielded. 
How  happy  their  lives  had  hitherto  been  !  how 
careful  had  their  worshiping  mother  shown  her- 
self, to  surround  them  with  all  that  was  wise, 
healthy,  and  holy!  how  she  had,  without  pity, 
analyzed  her  oivn  character,  tried  to  trace  each 
fault,  each  weakness,  to  its  cause,  so  as  to  banish 
it  and  its  baneful  influences  from  her  children  ; 
and,  to  a  great  extent,  how  successful  had  her 
plans  been — understood  and  improved  upon  aa 
they  were  by  Mrs  Loftus. 

Helen,  who  in  appearance  strongly  resembled 
her  mother— like  her,  also,  though  vei-y  gentle, 
possessed  strong  affections;  she  loved  her  doll, 
Gretchen,  her  bird,  or  Constance,  and  above  all, 
her  beautiful  mother,  with  an  intensity  which 
was  positively  distressing,  when  loss  or  separation 
came ;  she  had  now,  by  her  frequent  and  long 
absence  from  the  latter,  learned  to  bear  these  bet- 
ter, to  anticipate  them  cheerfully,  and,  when  they 
came,  to  meet  them  bravely. 

Constance,  beautiful  as  one  of  Raphael's  angels, 
was  like  her  father  ;  she  had  the  Templeton  eye, 
with  its  haughty  glance  when  offended ;  and  the 
brow,  so  noble-looking  in  repose,  could,  like  his, 
almost  startle  by  its  stern  and  determined  ccm- 
traction,  when  opposed ;  but  her  wilfullness  was 
softened  by  her  loving  nature— her  quickness  to 
resent  was  tempered  by  her  ready  candor  to  ex- 
cuse, and  her  generosity  to  forgive. 

Both  the  sisters  possessed  minds  of  no  vulgar 
stamp.  Colonel  Templeton,  having  an  idea  that 
his  d:uightefs,  his  heiresses,  must  marry  into  noble 
families,  was  carried  by  vaulting  ambition  a  little 
farther,  and  beheld  them  the  wives  of  ambassa- 
dors or  diplomatists  high  placed  in  foreign  courts 
— therefore  his  only  injunotion  had  been,  "  make 
them  modern  polyglots,  elegantly  bound  ;"  and  ;vs 
linguists,  they  both,  especially  Helen,  excelled. 

liut  neither  was  a  female  Crichton — they  yfcra 
both  well  informed  and  w*ll  educated— natural 
enough  to  think  with  pleasure  of  balls,  parties,  or 
dress — and  ready  to  accept  an}'  share  of  admira- 
tion, the  world,  in  its  goodness,  might  bestow. 

Neither  were  they  such  novices  to  that  world  aa 
girls  in  their  station  too  commonly  are  In  lepen- 
dently  of  their  occasional  long  visits  home,  when, 
if  they  did  not  see  much  society,  wh.at  they  did 
mix  in  was  good,  they  were  often  at  Lady  Grant- 


36 


THE  WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


ham's,  where  Reginald  West  and  the  two  Vernons 
were  frequent  guests  ;  and,  as  Constance  reported, 
they  liad  spent  one  whole  and  very  gay  month 
with  Lady  Sinclair  during  her  stay  in  town ;  so 
that  we  liope  it  is  proved  that  our  pets  are  not 
exactly  of  the  bread-and-butter  school. 

Mrs.  Loftus  had,  for  some  years,  by  the  suc- 
ceesful  termination  of  the  lawsuit  in  her  favor, 
been  in  circumstances  which  rendered  her  inde- 
pendent of  pupils  ;  but  she  did  so  love  these  sweet 
sisters  that  .she  never  would  part  with  them  till 
they  were  claimed  by  their  mother. 

Caroline  Vernon,  who,  wishing  to  share  some 
of  the  advantages  of  being  near  town,  had  spent 
nearly  a  year  with  them,  returned  also,  accom- 
panied by  Fanny  Loftus,  who  was  to  be  married 
80  soon  as  Charles  had  every  thing  prepared  to 
receive  her  as  his  bride. 

Tlie  Priory  was  so  extensive  in  its  internal  i 
arrangements  as  always  to  have  room  for  any 
number  of  guests  likely,  in  reason,  to  accept  its 
hospitalities;  and  a  charming  set  of  rooms,  termi-  ; 
nating  at  the  angle  of  the  conservatory  which 
completed  Mrs.  Templeton"s  own  apartments,  was  I 
fitted  up  for  her  daughters.  | 

Though  the  happiest  visits  the  girls  paid  to  the 
Priory  were  those  when  their  father  was  absent, 
Mrs.  Templeton  knew  too  well  what  was  right,  to 
think  or  even  to  wish  to  estrange  them  from  him ;  [ 
but  so  little  interest  did  the  Colonel  sliow,  that 
more  than  once,  when  his  daughters  had  been  ' 
summoned  home  for  the  express  purpose  of  being  ; 
with  him,  he  would  go  aw;iy  at  an  hour's  notice,  i 
and  perliaps  not  return   till  they  had  departed. 

But  wlien  they  did  meet,  he  was  invariably  | 
kind  to  them— generally  indulgent  and  generous 
— he  would  praise  their  beauty,  and  predict  that  j 
they  would  be  duchesses ;  but  here  all  stopped. 

'I'o  Helen  this  conduct  was  painful— she  would 
look  sad  and  weep — to  Constance  it  seemed  con- 
temptuous, and  her  eyes  would  spai-kle  and  her  fair 
brow  contract,  till,  catching  sight  of  the  gentle, 
beautiful  mother,  slie  would  rush  to  her,  press  her 
in  her  arms,  and  stamp  her  small  foot  or  clench 
her  little  hand  as  if  in  defiance  of  some  assailant, 
invisible  to  all  eyes  but  her  own. 

And  where  is  Gretchen,  that  brave,  true- 
hearted  German  nurse  .'  It  had  originally  been 
arranged,  Avhen  the  children  left  home,  that  she 
should  remain  with  her  "  Lieblinge,"  her  darlings, 
for  a  short  time  only  ;  but  that  short  time  had 
extended  to  witliin  the  two  last  years  of  their  re- 
sidence with  Mrs.  Loftus;  and  then  she  married 
one  of  lierown  countrymen,  a  watchmaker,  who, 
witli  her  savings,  and  the  help  of  her  attached 
mistress,  was  soon  placed  in  easy  and  prosperous 
circumstances. 

But  curiosity  is  still  unsatisfied  ;  "  What  now, 
thou  peeper  and  pryer  into  what  doos  not  concern 
tliee  ?"  "  Wlicre  is  Lord  lIur.stwood,  do  pray  tell 
us  .'"  He  is  at  St.  Petersburgh,  where  matters  of 
state  claim  his  attention  and  presence.  His  father, 
a  seltish  man.  wlio  disliketl  to  have  a  son  at  hand 
to  chrimicle  all  his  luxurious  indnlg'uiccs,  or  mur- 
mnr  at  his  se.iselcss  extravagance,  at  a  very  early 
age  liad,  with  Brutus- like  fortitude,  laid  that  son 
on  the  altar  of  his  country— a  species  of  patriot- 
ism not  so  uncommon  as  the  careless  observer 
tliinks;  he  had  bani<lie<l  him  to  foreign  parts; 
bad   made  him  secretary,  atlachi,  churg6-d-af- 


faircs,  or  any  thing — that  paid !  He  had  exiled 
him,  and  made  him  an  alien  to  suit  his  own  pur- 
pose, and  he  died  at  a  great  age,  without  being 
soothed  in  his  last  moments  by  the  voice  of  any 
one  he  loved  ;  and  he  was  btiried  ■without  any  one 
who  loved  him  weeping  over  his  coffin ;  for,  as 
already  related,  his  son  did  not  return  till  some 
time  after  his  death. 

Strong  and  conflicting  were  the  opinions  pro- 
nounced upon  him  by  his  fair  neighbors.  Mrs. 
Vernon,  with  her  accustomed  freedom,  called  him 
too  Chesterfieldian  to  please  her;  but  that  was 
equivocal,  and  miglit  signify  too  elegant  in  man- 
ner, or  too  lax  in  principle.  Mrs.  Forrester  was 
delighted  with  his  aristocratic  air  and  noble  as- 
surance, another  ambiguous  term.  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton  thought  his  manner  very  pleasing  and  his 
conversation  interesting,  but  she  rather  disliked 
the  expression  of  his  face,  though  that  face  Wiis 
really  fine  and  dignified ;  while  Lady  Dallar,  to 
whom  he  had  paid  great  attention,  wondered  how 
it  was  that  such  a  man  had  remained  so  long 
unmarried. 

But  their  liege  lords  said  nothing,  beyond 
hoping  that,  Avhen  he  came  again,  if  he  meant  to 
remain,  he  would  bring  a  Lady  Hurstwood  with 
him. 

And  now  the  day  dawns  which  is  to  bring  to 
the  mother's  loving  embrace  her  wished-for  treas- 
ures, Mrs.  Vernon  having  undertaken  to  escoit 
them  with  Caroline.  She  and  Mrs.  Dawson,  who 
almost  idolized  her  lady,  walked  through  their 
rooms,  to  give  the  finishing  touches  to  what,  tlie 
previous  day,  had  been  pronounced  perfect. 

A  light  tap — "  come  in,"  and  Kuth,  a  youn:; 
person  who  had  been  in  Mrs.  Dawson's  training  as 
their  maid,  entered  with  a  basket  of  flowers. 

"  Saunders,  my  lady,  sent  these  for  the  young 
ladies." 

"  Thank  you,  Ruth,  and  tell  Saunders  I  am 
obliged  to  him  for  remembering  their  love  of 
bouquets.  Can  you  think  of  any  thing  else,  Daw- 
son .'"'  she  inquired. 

"  Really,  madam,  that  seems  impossible,"  w:!  = 
the  reply;    "nothing  can  be  mor^  elegant  an' 
comfortable;    their  dressing-rooms    are   exac;l 
alike,  and   the  favorite  color   everywhere;    an 
then   this   beautiful   bed-room   an(l   the   Frein  : 
beds  so  pretty  ;  and  how  pleased  tliey  will  be  i 
see  your  sweet  face — pardon  my  boldness— lookin 
at  them  directly  they  open  their  innocent  eyes- 
This  was  said  in  allusion  to  a  copy  of  Mrs.  Tcm 
pleton's  portrait,  belonging    to  Lord   Grantham, 
and  winch  had  been  taken  at  his  request  before 
she   married.     This   copy  occupied   the  pier  be- 
tween the  windows  of  her  daugliters'  bed-room. 

And  now,  Dawson  ha\'ing  left  her,  again  she 
looked  round,  and  preparing  to  arrange  the  flow- 
ers in  the  luxuriously  furnished  sitting-room, 
she  pau.sed  before  a  half-lengtli  portrait  of  Colonel 
Templeton.  The  original,  a  splendid  full-length, 
size  of  life,  was  painted  for  the  uncle  who  brought 
him  up,  a  short  time  before  his  death,  and  when 
his  nephew,  about  five-and-twenty,  was  in  all  tlie 
pride  of  his  remarkable  beauty.  It  now  hung  in 
the  dining-room  of  the  Priory. 

Slie  looked  intently  at  the  gay,  smiling  face — 
long  and  intently,  till  her  gaze  became  linrd  and 
stern — slie  looked  at  it,  as  if,  in  imagination,  slie 
had  summoned  that  handsome  delinquent  before, 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


37 


the  bar  of  justice,  to  answer  for  the  desolation  he 
had  wrought,  and  to-listen  to  the  recapitulation 
of  her  wrongs.  She  told  of  the  love  she  had 
given,  freely,  unreservedly — said  how  it  had  been 
insulted,  ilung  back,  and  destroyed ;  she  num- 
bered up  the  weary,  lonely,  sorrowful  years  she 
had  passed;  recalled  the  indignity  and  cruelty 
with  which  she  had  been  treateii ;  then  she  sank 
on  her  knees,  and  fervently  prayed  that  her  chil- 
dren, her  innocent  girls,  might  be  saved  from  the 
consequences  of  her  great  mistake ! 

Mrs.    Templeton  rarely  wept ;    but  now  tears 
fell  fast,  and  when  she  rose,  she  was  calmer. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

"Well  (lid  Antiquitie  a  god  thee  deeme, 
That  over  mortal  minds  has  so  great  might, 
To  order  them  as  best  to  thee  doth  seeme, 
And  all  their  actions  to  direct  aright." 

Spksser. 

"Oh,  mamma!  and  are  these  indeed  our 
rooms?"  exclaimed  Helen;  look,  Constance,  at 
these  lovely  hangings — blue  and  white  muslin — 
our  colors — what  a  dear  mamma  you  are !" 

"  And  here,  Helen,  is  a  portrait  of  papa — how 
handsome  he  is  ! — and  oh  !  Nelly,  Nelly,  look  at 
the  blessed  angel  that  is  ever  watching  us,  even 
while  we  sleep — it  is  the  very  type  of  her  love  and 
care  for  us,"  continued  Constance ;  and  she  rushed 
toward  her  mother,  the  old  look  of  defiance  in  her 
countenance,  and  the  attitude  so  suggestive  of 
protection— though  both  seemed  at  this  moment 
quite  uncalled  for. 

"Dear  mamma!"  said  Helen,  kissing  her 
cheek.  "  that  is  worth  all  the  rest." 

"  ^^  by,  girls,  you  are  as  beautiful  as  Houris," 
said  their  father,  when  he  met  them,  for  the  first 
time  since  their  return,  at  dinner;  "though, 
hang  me  !  if  I  am  quite  sure  which  is  Helen  and 
which  Constance." 

"  I  am  Constance,"  said  she,  advancing  before 
the  more  timid  Helen  ;  "  you  will  know  me,  papa, 
because  I  am  like  you,  and  Helen  is  so  very  beau- 
tiful." 

"  Not  much  difference  as  regards  the  witchery," 
he  said,  playfully  tapping  her  cheek ;  "  but  I 
see,  Helen  has  dark  eyes,  like  her  mother." 

"  And  that  is  what  makes  her  so  beautiful,"  she 
replied,  unconsciously  increasing  the  resemblance 
to  himself,  by  the  flash  and  the  frown — it  was  but 
for  a  second — still  it  was  enough — he  never  after- 
ward mistook  them. 

The  first  time  the  .sisters  left  their  home  after 
this  return,  was  to  officiate  as  bridesmaids  at 
Fanny's  wedding  ;  and  a  very  splendid  affair  that 
was. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Caroline,  a  few  days  after 
their  return.  "  I  sadly  want  your  advice." 

"  Not  another  wedding,"  sighed  the  weary  ma- 
tron—to herself,  of  course.  "  What  is  it,  my 
dear.'"  she  asked  aloud;  "  if  I  can  not  advise 
you,  your  dear  father  can." 

"  But  it  is  a  secret,  and  not  for  papa's  ear." 

"  Mine  is  wide  open,  so  begin,"  said  Mrs.  Ver- 
non. 

"  I  can  not  go  so  direct  to  my  mark  as  I  gener- 


speaking 
I  believe 


you  may 


ally  do— for  it  is  not  my  secret— nor  am  I  sure  it 
is  any  one's,"  was  the  enigmatical  rejoinder. 

•"  Now,  Carry,  you  are  quite  trying,  and  have 
no  idea  how  my  nerves  are  suffering — but  se- 
riously, my  dear,  have  you  any  thing  to  reveal .'" 
"  Yes,"  said  Caroline,  desperately  ;  "  mamma, 
I  am  afraid  Mr.  West  is  in  love,  and, 
very  fast,  and  looking  very  flushed,  ' 
Helen  is  also !" 
"  Caroline!" 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  nodding  her  head  ;  ' 
well  be  surprised ;  I  was  at  first,  and  felt  as  if' 
something  had  stopped  my  breath — of  course  you 
are  the  only  one  to  whom  I  have  mentioned  it." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,  and  a  great  com- 
fort to  me,"  said  her  mother  fondly;  "I  some- 
times think,  when  I  look  around  me,  that  I  have 
more  than  my  share  of  earthly  blessings." 

"  But  though  I  felt  bewildered  at  first,"  re- 
sumed Caroline,  too  much  interested  in  her  dis- 
covery to  attend  to  any  thing  el.se,  "  when  I  came 
more  quietly  to  reflect  on  the  matter,  I  laughed 
at  my  folly,  for  thinking  there  was  any  thing 
either  alarming  or  uncommon  in  it.  Fanny  is  not 
yet  twentjs  and  she  was  engaged  two  years  ago 
to  Charles — Helen  is  nearly  eighteen,  and  Mr. 
West— I  shall  no  longer  venture  even  to  think  of 
him  as  Reginald — is,  I  believe,  twenty-two ;  so 
there  is  nothing  so  extraordinary  in  it,  is  there  r" 
"  Not  exactly  extraordinary,  my  love."  an- 
swered her  mother ;  "  still,  like  you,  the  idea 
makes  me  feel  breathless ;  and  yet — if  it  should 
be  true — I  think  we  need  not  dread  any  opposi- 
tion. Reginald,  for  such  he  must  still  be  to  me, 
is  heir  not  only  to  the  title,  but  he  is  the  adopted 
son  of  Lord  Ernest  West,  who  succeeded  to  the 
j  whole  of  his  mothers  large  property — besides 
;  being  distantly  connected  with  the  Templeton 
j  family." 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  took  courage  and  mentioned 
,  this,"  said  Caroline ;  "  I  hesitated,  because  I 
fancied  it  might  seem  treacherous  to  read  the 
looks  of  my  friends,  and  then  invent  a  history  of 
j  their  meaning." 

"  But  I  did  not  know  they  had  very  often  met — 
t  how  is  this  ?"  remarked  Mrs.  Vernon. 
I  "  They  have  been  a  great  deal  together  at  Lord 
j  Grantham's,  where  you  know  Helen  and  Constance 
I  often  went,  and  where  Ashley  and  Mr.  West  are 
great  favorites." 

•'  True,  I  quite  forgot  that,"  was  the  reply ; 
while  Mrs.  Vernon  was  secretly  thankful  that  her 
young  barrister  had  not  been  studying  the  beau- 
ties of  nature  in  Helen's  face  instead  of  the  beau- 
ties of  Blackstone  in  I'.ussia  leather. 
I      After  a  pause,  as  her  mother  was  too  busy  with 
this  idea  to  speik,  Caroline  asked  suddenly — 
j      "  Mamma,  do  you  like  Mr.  West .'" 
I      "Much,  my  d-ar- his  respectful  love  for  his 
:  mother,  his   honorable   sentiments   .and    conduct 
I  whenever  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing 
him,  have  quite  won  my  esteem." 

"  Ashley  thinks  he  is  very  clever,  and  has  often 
said  it  was  a  pity  tliat  he  liad  no  better  or  higher 
object  in  life  than  to  wait  for  government  patron 
age  and  his  uncle's  wealth.  But  then  Ashley  has 
such  lofty  and  noble  opinions— oh  !  there  is  not 
his  equal,"  she  continued,  enthusiastically;  ••  I 
have  often  looked  around  when  a  large  party  of 
us  boys  and  girls  have  met,  and  I  always  came  to 


3« 


THE    WIFKS    TRIALS. 


the  same  conclusion,  that  Ashley  was  the  hand- 
somest and  grandest  of  the  whole  set." 

"You  think  him  better-looking  than  Mr.  ^Ye?t.'" 
asked  the  proud  mother,  glancing  at  the  animated 
and  glowing  brunette,  the  gentle  image  of  this  be-  ^ 
loved  brother,  and  anticipating  with  certainty  and 
pleasure  the  reply. 

'■  Decidedly— though,  if  Ashley  were  not  my 
brother,  perhaps  I  should  hesitate."  | 

Her  mother  laughed  at  this  "  most  exquisite 
reason,"  and  said,  •'  Some  would  prefer  Hubert 
Forrester  or  young  Mr.  Morton." 

"Oh  !"'  was  tiie  reply,  with  a  slight  gesture  of 
contempt ;  "  they  are  mere  lads" — they  were  both, 
however,  nearly  twenty.  '•  What  Mr  Victor  may  , 
be  when  he  abandons  his  apologies  for  mustaches, 
cuts  his  hair  like  a  Christian,  and  dresses  like  an 
English  gentleman,  I  pretend  not  to  know." 

"  You  are  unmerciful.  Carry,  and  forget  that  it  I 
is  our  national  prejudice  which  remarks  these  pe-  i 
culiarities ;  and,  to  be  candid,  I  think  them  very 
becoming  to  him."  ^ 

"  Perhaps  they  are ;  and  as  he  ranks  so  high  in  j 
dear  papa"s  estimation,  there  must  be  some  sense  ' 
under  those  waving  masses,  dark  as  the  raven's- 
wing.  What  a  contrast  to  Hubert  he  is,  both  in 
appearance  and  character ;  for  though  my  former 
pbiyuiate  is  as  amiable  as  ever,  he  never  will  have 
the  energy  and  decision  of  his  new  friend.  But,  I 
mamma,  what  use  do  you  mean  to  make  of  my  ^ 
state  secret .-"  inquired  Caroline. 

'•  I  shall  feel  bound  to  tell  you  directly  I  hnve  i 
determined  ;  but  before  doing  any  thing  wliich  i 
can  not  be  undone,  I  must  see  the  parties  to- 
gether." 

"  You  have,  dear  mamma,  for  it  was  at  the  [ 
wedding  that  I  made  my  remarks." 

"  True,  child,  but  I  was  thinking  only  of 
Charles."  was  the  motliers  characteristic  reply. 

"  I  had  a  vague  fear  that  if  my  conjecture 
proved  tnie  it  would  in  some  way  interfere  with  | 
dear  .Mrs.  Templeton"s  pleasure  at  the  return  of 
Helen  and  Constance ;  and  that  is  too  sad  to  be 
quietly  anticipated."  | 

"Indeed  it  is,  my  love."  said  Mrs.  Vernon;! 
"  therefore  we  will  not  dwell  on  the  suppo.sition." 

"  I  never  think  of  Mrs.  Templeton  without  a  | 
kind  of  hu.slied  feeling ;  such  as  we  have  in  the 
prei^ence  of  great  suifering  or  sorrow." 

"  And  no  wonder,"  said  lier  motlier,  very  grave- 
ly: "it  is  the  shadow  of  the  skeleton,  which  so 
few  houses  are  without,  that  produces  this  effect ;  , 
happy,  hnppy  those,  where,  as  with  ourselves,  it 
reniiiins  buried  or  almost  unknown  ;  and  praised  | 
be  His  name  who  has  thus  blessed  us !" 

"  I'hcn,  mamma,  do  you  mean  to  say  that,  at 
the  Priory,  it  is  not  so  .'"  | 

"  Alas  !  my  child,  I  do;  there  it  is  visible  to  the 
eye  of  experience  in  all  its  hideous,  undrnped  de- 
formity—and startling  with  its  perpetual  pres- 
ence—it  is  this  which  casts  .so  sad  a  cloud  over  the 
face  of  our  dear  frii  nd  ;  it  is  this  which  is  heard  t 
80  often  in  the  touching  tones  of  her  voice,  which 
arrests  the  .smile  on  her  lips,  and  banishes  the 
light  of  joy  from  her  eyes.  Caroline,  when  she 
married,  she  omitted  to  assure  herself  that  truth  i 
and  honor  were  among  her  husband's  possessions. 
You  are  old  enough,  dear  child,  and  discreet 
enough  to  licar  of  these  things.  And,  oh  \  God 
grant  that  when  you  do  love,  it  may  be  one  you 


must  also  respect ;  or  you  had  better  be  wedded 
to  your  grave !" 

An  opportunity  was,  shortly  after  this  conver- 
sation, offered  to  Mrs.  Vernon  for  making  her  in- 
tended observations,  as  the  f'olonel  gave  a  large 
party  in  honor  of  his  daughters'  return.  Con- 
stance, who  was  not  quite  sure  that  she  was  to 
share  all  Helen's  privileges,  looked  upon  thispnrty 
as  a  kind  of  test,  and  therefore,  more  earnestly 
than  usual,  expressed  her  hope  that  she  might  le 
present.  This  happened  one  morning  during,' 
breakfast,  and  while  her  father  was  with  them, 
when  he,  much  more  promptly  than  was  his  cus- 
tom, replied,  "Certainly;"  and  on  her  referrini:; 
to  her  mother  for  her  sanction,  tlie  reply  again 
was,  "  Certainly,  if  j'our  papa  wishes  it." 

"  And  I  know  he  does;  ao  you  not,  dear  papa .-" 
said  she,  caressingly. 

"  Do  not  try  and  make  a  fool  of  me,  Constance," 
was  the  reply  ;  but  though  the  words  were  rough, 
not  so  the  tone;  and  Constance,  who  was  not  eiisi- 
ly  daunted,  replying.  "  No  easy  matter  to  do  that," 
jumped  up  and  kissed  his  forehead.  To  her  sur- 
prise, he  fondly  returned  it,  and  stroked  her  h;iir, 
saying,  "A  true  Templeton — but  mind.  I  govern." 

"Oh!  not  in  all  things,"  was  her  gay  retort. 
"  Does  he,  mamma  .'" 

"  Of  course  he  does,  my  love,"  was  the  gentle 
reply. 

"  And  do  you  not  try,  Con.,  my  beauty,  to  dis- 
pute my  wishes ;  for,  by  Jove !  if  you  do,  you  will 
be  beaten." 

"  Oh  !  fie !  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  and  t;i  1 
of  beating  a  lady  !"  she  merrily  observed  :  wlni 
looking  at  her  mother,  and  then  at  her  father,  s! 
was  suddenly  reminded  of  something  which  ag.i  i 
brought  back  the  look  and  attitude  already  un  i  • 
than  once  mentioned. 

"  Why,  you  beautiful  imp,"  said  the  Colonel, 
infinitely  amused  at  her  boldness;  "  what  do  y  \i 
mean  by  assuming  that  striking  attitude  ^     S>  v. 
only  want  a  sword  and  shield  to  look  the  very  in 
age  of  a  young  amazon." 

"  Really,  papa,"  she  replied,  laughing  nii-1 
blushing,  "I  can  not  explain  it.  I  think,"  mil 
she  immediately  becnme  very  grave,  "  1  think  it 
is  something  mysterious  and  supernatural.  \ 
long,  very  long  time  ngo,  wlien  I  was  quite  a  wee 
thing,  I  liad  a  very  remarkable  dream. ' 

."  Dear  Constance,"  interrupted  Helen,  "  what 
nonsen.se  you  are  telling  papa." 

V  Not  such  nonsense  as  you  think,  Nelly ;  but 
of  that  both  papa  and  mamma  shall  judge,  if  they 
will  lend  me  their  ears." 

"  Oh,  go  on,  pray!"  said  her  father,  eating  his 
breakfast  and  glancing  at  the  paper;  "it  can 
liardly  be  more  strange  or  wonderful  than  to  hear 
a  cheerful  voice  here." 

Scoffer  !  who  had  banished  the  cheerful  voice, 
and  trampled  on  the  happy  heart .' 

"  Proceed,  my  l(,vo,'  said  her  mother,  making 
an  effort  to  appear  insensible  to  the  sneer. 

"  It  is  this,"  continued  Constance,  closing  her 
beautiful  eyes,  as  if  better  to  see  with  those  of  the 
mind.  "  1  drenmed  that  I  was  playing  in  some 
grand  place-  verj-  grand  indeed — and  there  was 
some  one  exceedingly  beautiful,  singing — and  so 
sweetly— that  I  put  away  my  doll,  and  stood  at 
the  side  of  this  angel,  who  seems  to  have  remind- 
ed mo  of  mamma ;  but  all  at  once,  I  can  not  ex- 


THE   WIFF.'S    TIIIALS. 


3V 


plain  how — you  know  how  inconsistent  dreams  are 
— instead  of  mnsic  there  were  horrible  sounds,  1 
and  a  fierce  animal,  in  red,  lilce  flames,  flcAV  at 
the  angel,  and  brandished  some  weapon  to  kill  ' 
her.  when,  in  a  moment,  I  seemed  to  i'eel  that  I  ! 
had  wings,  and  I  darted  at  this  monster,  and  it 
disappeared." 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  as  if  they  waited  to 
hear  more ;  and  when  Constance  opened  her  eyes, 
she  saw  Helen  with  downcast  looks  and  burning 
cheek.s.  the  very  picture  of  disuiay;  while  Mrs. 
Templeton,  with  a  calm  expression,  was  collect:  iig 
a  few  scattered  notes. 

Constance  gazed  with  wonder  at  her  sister,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  making  some  remark,  for  her  [ 
father's  face  was  completely  screened  by  his  paper, 
but  a  hoarse  voice  broke  the  uncomfortable  silence 
by  saying,  "  There,  that  will  do — enough  of  this  ' 
stuff;"  and  again  the  meal  proceeded  in  quiet,  for  j 
Constance  felt  there  had  been  something  mal-a- 
projios  in  her  relation.  ' 

The  version — or  vision — which  Constance  had 
just  given,  thougli  quite  correct  as  to  In  r  impres- 
sion, was  only  a  kind  of  allegory  of  a  fact— one 
that  was  neither  mysterious  nor  supernatural. 
When  a  very  little  child,  she  was  in  the  grand 
drawing-room  vrith  her  mother,  who  was  playing 
and  singing  to  amuse  her,  when  the  Colonel,  } 
dressed  in  hunting  costume,  entered,  and  after  , 
some  violent  words— no  matter  for  what — proba- 
bly his  own  vile  nature  inciting  him,  had,  in  his 
unmanly  fury,  raised  his  whip,  v  hen  Constance 
shrieked  and  rushed  between  them.  \^  hether  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  the  child,  or  the  cour-  \ 
age  of  the  act,  made  him  ashamed  of  his  own 
cowardly  movement,  it  matters  not;  but,  as  she 
now  spoke,  the  whole  scene  was  belore  him ;  that 
gentle,  unresisting  wife,  and  the  brave  little  figure 
which  flew  to  her  protection.  Well  did  he  remem- 
ber it  all. 

But  would  he,  could  he  have  struck  her  .'  he — 
the  man  who  had  sworn  solemnly  to  protect  and 
cherish  her.'  Poor  thing!  poor  thing !  God  only 
knows  what  she  had  suftered ! 

"  I  fear  you  are  not  well,  dear  friend,"  said 
Mrs.  Templeton,  addressing  Mrs.  Vernon,  when 
the  ladies  assembled  after  dinner  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  My  head  is  not  quite  comfortable,"  she  re- 
plied, with  more  truth  than  can  iisually  be  said 
of  these  convenient  head  attacks — so  often  the  ex- 
cuse and    alias  for  ill-temper— but  in  this  case  , 
Mrs.  Vernon  had  seen  quite  ennugli,  when  added  : 
to  Caroline's  information,  to  make  licrfeel  anxious  l 
— for,  reason  as  she  would  alout  tlie  suitableness  ! 
of  the  match,  she  was  not  easy,  and  felt  that  it 
would  be  a  great  relief  if  she  might  impart  her 
thoughts  to  Mrs.  Templeton — but  all  was  at  pres- 
ent   too   vague,  resting,  as   her  impression    did, 
upon  those  uncertain  things — looks,  smiles,  and 
blushes ;    so  that,  when    she  examined    her    evi- 
dence, it  amounted  absolutely  to  nothing. 

"  How  handsome  they  all  look,"  said  she  to  Lady 
Dallas,  whose  good  temper  was  ever  ready  to  echo 
praise. 

"  Yes,  all  of  them,"  she  replied,  wi'h  pointed  and 
kind  emphasis;  "that  rich,  half  Span. sh  face." 
indicating  Caroline,  "contrasts  charmingly  with 
the  brown  curia  and  Hue  eyes  of  its  neighbor." 


"  We  require  a  Paris  to  assign  the  apple,'  faid 
Mrs.  Forrester,  who  was  looking  in  the  sa>->;  di- 
rection. 

"  And,  behold!  Mr.  West  very  aptly  represents 
him,"  was  the  smiling  reply  of  Lady  Dallas,  for 
several  of  the  younger  gentlemen  had  soon  fol- 
lowed the  ladies  ;  "  he  seems  to  have  no  doubt  aa 
to  which  goddess  deserves  it ;"  and  she  pointed  to 
Reginald  and  Helen,  who  were  conversing  at  an 
open  window. 

"  It  is  a  divided  allegiance  then,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Forrester,  "for  his  looks  are  oiten  cast  toward 
the  drive  leadin;;  from  Sea-View  Cottage.  I 
know  he  is  anxious  to  see  his  mother's  little  car- 
riage. Ah !  there  it  is,  I  can  tell  by  his  smile, 
and  they  are  going  to  meet  her ;"  for  Mrs.  West, 
whose  health  had  lately  visibly  declined,  now  ap- 
peared in  society  oidy  for  a  short  time,  and  was 
drawn  up  in  her  hand-chaise  to  the  terrace. 

"  How  stately  he  looks,  now  he  is  helping  her 
out — and  how  gentle — if  my  sons  resemble  liim," 
exclaimed  Lady  Dallas,  "  I  shall  not  care  how 
soon  1  grow  old ;  need  I .'"  appealing  to  Mrs.  For- 
rester. 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  replied ;  "  old  age  should 
be  the  repose  and  reward  of  the  aflectiouate 
parent." 

"I  have  a  fancy,"  remarked  Mrs.  Vernon, 
"  while  acknowledging  that  every  age  has  its 
blessings,  though  every  one  is  not  permitted  to 
taste  of  them  all — 1  fancy  that  age  especially  has 
them  in  rich  abundance — cf  course,  supposing  a 
well-spent,  thotigli.  perhaps,  sorely  tried,  youth; 
to  age,  the  past  is  a  book,  the  contents  of  which 
have  been  thoroughly  learned — whose  lessons,  ut- 
tered to  the  ear  of  experience,  teach  nothing  so 
forcibly  as  the  goodness  of  that  providence  wliich 
doth  all  things  wcU^while  the  present,  insteac 
of  being  busied  in  schemes  for  the  future,  whicl 
may  all  end  in  disappointment,  is  used  in  humbly 
but  calmly  resting  on  those  promises  which  fail 
not." 

"Thanks,  dear  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton, 
the  only  one  whose  disciplined  feelings  enabled 
her  to  reply ;  and  then  followed  a  brief  silence, 
which  was  broken  by  her  saying  in  a  cheerful 
tone,  "  But  do  look  at  Mrs.  West  and  her  escort ; 
Ashley  and  Hubert  will  certainly  dispute  her  with 
lieginald — we  shall  have  lances  shivered  before 
long." 

"  I  fear  there  is  sorrow  for  Reginald  written  on 
that  fading  face,"  remarked  Mrs.  Forrester,  who 
had  a  singular  regard  for  Mrs.  West,  quite  irre- 
spective of  her  connections. 

"  And  so  do  L"'  r.  plied  Lady  Dallas— she  was 
not  quite  cured  cf  all  marplot  habits,  or  she  would 
have  resisted  the  temptation  to  add,  "  but  I  hope 
he  will  find  consolation  in  the  fair  one  now  by  his 
side." 

"  iVh  !  indeed!"  said  Airs.  Forrester,  now  first 
roused  to  observe;  "  1  confess  you  are  more  clear- 
sighted tlian  I — but  it  is  what  Mrs.  Templeton 
must  expect." 

"  What  must  she  expect .'"  inquired  she,  ap- 
proaching, having  left  the  group  for  a  few  min- 
utes to  welcome  Mrs.  West. 

"  Oil !"  said  Lady  Dallas,  "  only  what  mothers, 
who  h'ave  beautiful  daughters,  are  generally  pre- 
pared for — to  lose  them." 

Mrs.  Templeton  turned  pale,  and  following  the 


40 


THE   WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


direction  of  her  ladyship's  eye,  saw  at  once  what 
she  meant ;  but  she  made  no  remark. 

^Vhen  her  company  had  gone,  and  she  was 
alone,  she  took  courage  to  examine  the  founda- 
tions on  wliicli  this  new  and  unexpected  terror 
rested— yes,  terror— for  in  lier  idea,  happiness 
and  marriage  were  by  no  means  either  synony- 
mous terms  or  inseparably  connected.  Hitherto 
she  had  blindly,  or  at  least  but  partially,  looked 
at  the  future  in  reference  to  her  daughters ;  she 
must  now  open  her  eyes  and  see  it  as  it  really  was 
— with  all  its  possible  accidents  and  perils — with 
all  its  certain  trials,  its  insecure  and  tieeting  joys 
— she  ai^kcd  herself  if  she  had  selfishly  speculated 
on  retaining  her  blooming  girls  by  her  side;  of 
making  them  sharers  in  her  dismal  and  hopeless 
lot;  of  ilesiring  them  to  be  dwellers  with  her, 
under  that  shroud- like  canopy  which  excluded 
both  peace  and  rest  ?  She  shuddered  as  sh^ 
looked  at  tlds  gloomy  picture ;  and  "  oh  no  !"  she 
exclaimed,  "  not  for  this  have  I  watched  and 
prayed  so  long  ;  the  same  love  that  enabled  me  to 
send  them  forth  from  me  before,  must  give  me 
strength  again  to  bid  them  depart ;  and  though 
this  separation  will  not  have  the  hope  of  reunion, 
which  then  consoled  me,  it  will  have  the  hope  of 
securing  their  happiness." 

She  then  calmly  passed  in  review  all  she  re- 
membered of  Reginald's  conduct  from  his  youth — 
his  devotion  to  his  mother — his  respect  and  grati- 
tude to  his  uncle — the  successful  struggle  he  had 
made  in  yielding  his  own  wishes  to  those  of  this 
relative— his  gentle,  yet  fearless  and  energetic 
character — and  she  felt,  that  to  such  a  man  she 
could  give  one  of  her  treasures,  as  sure  as  we  may 
be  of  any  thing  on  earth,  that  he  would  value 
and  cherish  the  gift ;  and  that  the  respect  which 
such  qualities  as  his  were  certain  to  excite  in  a 
kindred  spirit,  was  the  best  guarantee  for  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  love  which  for  the  first  time  she 
suspected  Helen  felt ;  and  she  smiled  to  observe 
that,  already,  she  had  become  so  familiar  with  the 
idea,  that  slie  was  hoping  it  might  be  true,  for  of 
her  husband's  consent  she  did  not  doubt ;  and 
thus  satisfied  on  a  matter  of  such  deep  import- 
ance, she  retired  to  rest,  after  having  commended 
all  her  dear  ones  to  the  care  of  that  Being  who 
never  slumbereth  nor  sleepeth. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


"There  is  no  life  on  earih.  biu  being  in  love  ! 
Tli.ro  lire  no  studies  no  (J.  lights,  no  business, 
No  inliTcoursf,  or  trade  of  sense,  or  soiii, 
Bui  wbiil  Is  love  !  B.  Jonson. 

"  Why,  what  a  sleepless  fellow  you  must  be." 
was  .\shley  Vernon's  moruing  salutation  to  l!e- 
ginald,  as  the  latter  hailed  his  friend  from  his 
bed-room  window. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  liecause  I  have  slept  so 
well,  that  I  can  afford  to  snutf  the  oarly  air,  and 
brusli  off  this  morning  dew.  I  have  come  on  a 
twolold  errand  ;  first  to  h.ive  a  talk  with  you,  and 
no.\t  to  change  tiiese  books,"'  pointing  to  two  of 
goo<lly  size  which  he  carried. 

"  What !  have  you  devoured  them  already  .' 
You  are  more  voracious  than  old  Chronos— but 


you  have  been  at  your  usual   tricks,  skimming 
them." 

'If  I  have,"  replied  Reginald,  laughing,  "I 
have  all  the  cream  safe  at  home,  in  my  old  com- 
monplace  book,  and  some  of  these  days,  perhaps, 
1  may  churn  it,  and  try  to  make  it  into  something 
solid.  But  I  must  not  stand  here  alarming  your 
peaceful  family — Ah!  good-morning,  Caroline; 
if  I  were  a  stranger  I  should  infallibly  perpetrate 
a  compliment — quote  Milton,  and  talk  of  Eve— but 
being  the  friend  of  many  years,  1  sliall  merely  say 
you  look  quite  beautiful." 

"  And  1  thank  you  for  remarking  so  common  an 
occurrence,"  she  replied,  gayly,  "  as  I  fear  it  ia 
often  left  quite  unnoticed,  till  I  go  to  the  looking- 
glass.  But  what  is  Ashley  loitering  at  the  win- 
dow for  .'  of  course  you  hsive  come  for  some  break- 
fast— and  how  is  your  dear  mother  .'  I  thought 
she  seemed  quite  in  spirits  last  evening." 

"  My  mother  I  have  not  seen  this  morning, — my 
hours  are  too  early  for  an  invalid ;  but,  like  you, 
I  noticed  how  gay  she  was.  I  remember  the  time 
when  a  visit  to  the  Priory  used  to  depress  instead 
of  cheer  the  spirits  ;  but  somehow  the  case  is  al- 
tered now," 

"  Ah !"  said  Ashley,  thrusting  his  handsome 
head  out  of  the  window,  "  now  play  the  hypocrite, 
and  pretend  to  be  ignorant  of  the  reason — but  do 
not  expect  me  to  imitate  your  duplicity — it  is  be- 
cause there  are  angels  there  now,  whose  visitings 
heretofore  were  short  and  far  between."' 

PLCginald  colored  crimson,  which  Ashley,  who 
was  still  looking  at  him,  observed,  and  quietly 
smiled — "  I  guess  what  he  has  come  here  to  talk 
to  me  about,  with  those  legal  quartos  under  his 
arm— I  suppose  they  will  open  of  their  own  accord 
at  the  chapters  on  matrimony,  wives,  and  mar- 
riage settlements" — then,  after  a  thoughtful 
pause,  he  added,  still  to  himself,  "  well,  he  is  a 
true-hearted,  noble  fellow,  and  may  be  safely 
trusted  with  that  gentle  girl's  happiness." 

"  A  penalty,  Ashley,"  said  his  father,  after  the 
usual  greetings,  as  he  entered  when  breakfast  was 
began. 

"  Here  it  is,  papa,"  said  Caroline;  "  ready  for 
him  in  the  form  of  a  cold  cup  of  coffee ;  he  has 
been  pursuing  his  studies  so  assiduously  before 
his  glass,  that  Time  fled  by  all  unheeded." 

"  Oh  !  1  leave  serious  literature  to  Keginald, 
while  I  pursue  only  the  beautiful  and  ornamen- 
tal," retorted  Ashley ;  "  look,  sir,"  addressing 
his  father,  and  calling  his  attention  to  the  thick 
quartos,  "  at  what  he  has  been  demolishing." 

"Ah,  indeed."  replied  Dr.  Vernon;  "points 
your  taste  that  way  .'  Avhy,  Reginald,  you  had 
better  enter  with  Ashley,  and  read  for  the  bar." 

"  There  is  nothing  I  should  more  gladly  do,  my 
dear  Doctor ;  but  you  see  1  am  not  my  own  mas- 
ter. My  indulgent  uncle  leaves  me  scarcely  any 
thing  to  desire — certainly  nothing  that  money 
can  procure.  I  have,  at  times,  hinted  my  wish 
to  do  something  for  myself;  but  he  silences  mo 
by  inquiring  what  he  has  omitted  to  do  lor  me. 
Still,  1  am  not  sure,  were  there  not  another  rea- 
son which  now  prevents  me,  if  I  should  not  ven 
ture  to  urge  my  wishes  more  strongly;  though, 
when  1  have  this  appointment  he  talks  of,  it  will 
perh;ips  make  me  bu.sy  enough." 

•'  A.sk  him  to  give  it  you  at  once,  my  dear 
young  friend,"'  replied  the  Doctor ;  "  emolument 


THE  WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


is,  to  you,  of  no  consequence,  but  employment 
is." 

"I  feel  all  that  very  deeply,  but  I  could  not 
now  accept  any  post  that  carried  me  from  Eng- 
land ;  my  dear  mother's  health  is  so  delicate" — 
and  a  look  of  intense  sorrow  came  over  his  bril- 
liant and  animated  countenance— no  one  could 
contradict  him,  all  felt  that  thore  was  but  too 
much  cause  for  apprehension,  when  every  week 
made  the  ravages  of  illness  more  and  more  appa- 
rent. 

"  Now,  what  have  you  to  say  to  me  ?"  inquired 
Ashley,  when  they  were  alone ;  "  but  to  spare  you 
embarrassment,  let  me  guess — it  is  about  Helen — 
am  I  right  ?", 

"  You  are,  but  how  did  you  make  this  discov- 
ery .'"  asked  Reginald,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Only  by  the  same  tokens  which  rendered  it 
tolerably  evident  to  all  who  had  eyes." 

"  Good  heavens !  you  do  not  mean  to  say  any 
indiscretion  on  my  part — " 

"  As  to  indiscretions,"  interrupted  Ashley, "  we 
will  not  allude  to  tliem.  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  I 
heard  Lady  Dallas  remark  on  it,  with  her  usual 
tact,  to  Mrs.  Forrester ;  and  to  crown  all,  in  the 
hearing  of  Mrs.  Templeton  !" 

"  Lady  Dallas,  of  all  people !  how  unlucky !" 
replied  Reginald,  looking  very  thoughtful ;  I  must 
go  at  once  to  the  Priory  and  see  Mrs.  Templeton  ; 
but  do  you  really  think  she  remarked  any  thing  ? 
I  thought  I  was  so  guarded—" 

"  What  she  remarked  or  heard,  I  know  no  more, 
for  certain,  than  what  she  thought ;  but  disregard- 
ing Lady  Dallas  and  her  troublesome  sharp-sight, 
what  was  your  intention  when  you  came  here  this 
morning .'"  inquired  Ashley. 

"  To  tell  you  the  whole  of  what  has  been  my 
thought  and  wish  for  a  long,  long  time — and  to 
consul^t  you  upon  what  was  best  to  be  done." 

"  And  Jlrs.  West .'" 

"  Oh !  my  dear  mother  heard  all  last  night— we 
then  settled  that  I  ought,  at  once,  to  see  Lord  Er- 
nest, of  whose  consent  I  have  no  doubt,  and  my 
mother  wished  to  know  your  opinion  before  I  set 
<rff." 

"  It  coincides  with  yours ;  on  no  account  must 
you  go  near  the  Priory  till  you  go  armed  with 
your  uncle's  approbation.  And,  Reginald,  let  me 
make  one  reuiTirk  :  bring  that  consent  in  writing, 
it  is  more  respectful,  and  on  every  account  desi- 
rable. In  short,  you  must  make  it  rather  a  mat- 
ter of  importance." 

•'I  then  start  without  delay — yet  there  is  a 
great  temptation  to  stay.  I  heard  them  all 
arrange  to  meet  here  this  morning,  and — " 

"You  will  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Ashley; 
"  away  with  you  immediately ;  you  a  lover  !  and 
delay  procuring  what  must  enable  you  to  win  the 
prize! — you  forget  the  sooner  you  go,  the  sooner 
you  return." 

"You  are  right;  but,  Ashley,  my  tried,  kind 
friend — "  and  Reginald  laid  his  Iiand  aflFection- 
ately  on  young  Vernon's  shoulder,  and  looked  full 
in  his  fine  face  — 

"  What  now  ?"  asked  Ashley,  with  one  of  his 
smiles,  so  frank,  so  gentle. 

"  Am  I  a  thoughtless,  selfish  old  fellow,  in  com- 
ing thus  to  you  r"  he  hesitated,  and  again  fixed  a 
searching  g:izo  on  Ashley. 

"  Be  at  rest,  Reginald,"  replied  the  friend,  so 


rightly  named  tried  and  kind ;  «•  you  have  no 
cause  for  fear  or  suspicion,"  and  he  met  his 
glance  steadily.  "  If  I  Avere  a  clergyman,  I 
would  now,  at  once  if  it  might  be,  perform  the 
marriage  ceremony  for  you  ;  but  not  being  such, 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  give  your  lovely  choice  to 
you  whenever  you  need  my  services ;  does  this 
declaration  satisfy  thee,  thou  doubter,  or  art  thou 
going  to  quarrel,  because  I  do  not  acknowledge 
thy  lady-love  to  be  peerless  .'" 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  was  the  reply,  as  he  warmly 
shook  Ashley's  hand;  "quite  satisfied,  quite 
happy,"  and  he  felt  as  if  relieved  from  the  weiglit 
of  a  dozen  milestones;  "  but  when  I  rciuember 
that  I  have  loved  Helen  for  years — yes,  years — 
for  it  began  with  my  deep  reverence  for  her 
mother,  when  I  was  a  boy  at  Eton ;  I  wonder  that 
you  do  not  the  same — but  now  adieu.  I  shall  not 
write,  but  bring  my  tidings  with  me." 

"  And,  pray,  where  is  that  loitering  Mr,  West, 
as  Cai'oline  has  set  the  fashion  of  calling  him, 
who  for  so  many  years  has  been  Reginald  to  ua 
all .'"  asked  Constance,  as  they  sat  round  the 
Rectory  luncheon  table. 

"  I  expect  he  is  many  miles  on  his  way  to  Old 
Court,"  answered  Ashley. 

"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  Caroline,  glancing  at 
Helen's  face,  and  trying  to  divert  attention  from 
her  glowing  cheeks  and  downcast  eyes ;  "  he  said 
nothing  of  this  during  breakfast." 

"  I  hope  Lord  Ernest  is  not  ill,"  said  Constance, 
who  seemed  influenced  by  the  very  spirit  of  in- 
quiry ;  "  Mrs.  West  says  he  is  a  sad  valetudina- 
rian." 

"  Lord  Ernest's  life  has  been  one  that  claims 
our  sincerest  sympathy,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  ;  "  it 
has  the  remembrance  of  one  dreadful  loss  thrown 
over  it — a  loss  which  to  some  natures  is  at  once 
decisive  in  casting  a  gloom  on  all  subsequent 
events." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Helen,  "  there  are  many  who 
have  trials  greater  even  than  his — though  that  is 
very  terrible — but  they  do  not,  on  that  account, 
seclude  themselves  from  the  world  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  mingle  in  it,  and  resolutely  perform 
the  duties  it  claims  from  us  all — from  tlie  sorrow- 
ful as  well  as  from  the  happy." 

'■  Perhaps,"  said  Caroline,"  their  circumstances 
will  not  allow  of  inactivity ;  sometimes  the  duties 
are  so  clamorous,  they  will  not  be  neglected." 

"  All  duties  are  clamorous,"  replied  her  mo- 
ther, "  if  we  did  not  persist  in  closing  our  ears  to 
their  importunity ;  and  though  all  can  not  say, 
'  at  your  peril  neglect  us,'  depend  upon  it,  if  they 
art  neglected,  they  will  be  revenged." 

"  Still,''  said  Constance. "  we  must  make  allow- 
ance for  difference  of  character,  for  bodily  health, 
for  early  discipline— do  you  not  think  so  .-" 

"  We  may,  but  the  neglected  duty  will  not— 
at  least,  so  I  believe,"  said  Ashley. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Helen,  raising  her 
gentle  eyes  to  his  earnest  ones. 

"  I  mean,  that,  in  speaking  of  the  vengeance, 
as  my  mother  rightly  calls  it,  of  the.se  ill-used 
duties,  we  do  not  consider,  that  punishment  is  as 
often  administered  bj'  witholding  lilessings  as  by 
inflictiiig  penalties.  Without  the  impropriety  of 
being  pcrsDU.'il,  let  us  imngine  a  man  who  has  neg- 
lected some  duty — what  shall  it  be  .'" 


42 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS, 


'•His  duty  to  a  dear,  self-denying  mother,"  ex- 
claimed Helen,  with  unusual  vehemence. 

"  Or  been  treacherous  to  his  friend,"  suggested 
Caroline. 

"  Or  to  his  sister,"  said  Constance  with  a  smile 
at  Helen. 

"  Very  well ;  in  either  case  he  would  lose  the 
delight  which  invariably  attends  the  perfor- 
mance of  these  duties ;  while,  I  may  add,  he 
would  gain  the  troubled  conscience  which  most 
vexatioubly  refuses  to  be  comforted." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  said  Constance,  shaking  her 
beautiful  head,  and  looking  very  serious;  "  but, 
as  Ellen  says,  it  must  be  very  dreadful  to  lose 
one  we  especially  love,  must  it  not  r" 

The  remark  was  not  addressed  to  any  one  in 
particular,  but  Ashley  spoke. 

•'  It  must  indeed !"  was  his  grave  reply. 

Mr.  Morton  and  his  son  were  so  uncertain  in 
their  movements,  and  the  business  of  the  former 
80  often  carried  him  from  the  Hermitage,  that 
the  Paul  Prys  of  the  village  had  long  ceased  to 
trouble  themselves  about  their  proceedings ;  es- 
pecially as  these  were  often  kind,  always  harm- 
less, and  wholly  devoid  of  that  soupqon  of  secrecy 
or  mystery  which  is  necessary  to  keep  curiosity 
alive. 

Colonel  Templeton  frequently  met  Victor,  dur- 
ing some  of  the  rambles  in  wliich  tlie  latter  in- 
dulged ;  but,  as  he  had  hitherto  always  been 
alone,  tiiere  was  no  excuse  for  accosting  one 
whose  air  and  manner  gave  no  encouragement  to 
freedom.  One  day,  however,  the  Colonel  was 
riding  in  company  with  Sir  William  Dallas,  when 
they  met  Victor,  and  as  the  Baronet  stopped  to 
speak  to  him,  he  and  tlie  Colonel  exchanged 
glances;  and  to  the  surprise  of  Sir  William,  who 
fancied  there  was  a  standing  feud  between  the 
tenant  of  tlie  Hermitage  and  ilie  master  of  it,  lie 
said,  "  Who  is  that.'  is  it  Mr.  Morton's  son  .'"  and 
before  the  rather  slow  Sir  William  could  reply, 
Victor  bowed  and  said  very  gravely,  "  1  am 
Victor  Morton." 

"  Tiie  son  of  the  gentleman  at  the  Hermit- 
age .'" 

"  The  same." 

"  Then,  by  George !"  said  the  Colonel.  "  he  has 
as  handsome  an  heir  as  any  man  need  desire  ;" 
and  quite  regardless  of  the  young  man's  cold 
looks  or  evident  anger,  at  being  treated  with  so 
little  deference,  he  said—"  Harkye,  young  sir, 
give  my  coiiipliiiients.  Colonel  Templeton's  com- 
pliments ti)  ymir  father,  and  say  I  shall  be  glad 
to  see  you  whenever  he  will  let  you  come."  | 

A  silent,  but  rather  haughty  bow  was  tlie  only  j 
notice  Victor  took  of  this  patronizing  invitation, 
while,  as  he  turned  away,  he  muttered,  "  The 
consent  of  two  must  be  obtained  before  I  come." 
But  on  naming  ihia  renc  unter  to  his  father,  the 
unexpected  reply  was,  "  Well,  if  he  should  meet 
you  again,  and  repeat  the  invitation,  accept  it, 
by  all  means,  if  you  like." 

And  they  iKd  meet,  and  the  invitation  was  re- 
newed, for  Colonel  Templeton  was  much  too  care- 
less, an<i  too  great  a  lover  of  ca^e,  to  trouble 
himself  about  what  never  interfered  with  him  or 
his  plans.  The  original  cause  of  the  quarrel  had 
lost  its  prominence.  , 

It  was,  therefore,  much  to   Mrs.  Templeton's 


amazement,  that  they  one  morning  entered  the 
luncheon-room  together. 

"  I  have  brought  a  stranger,"  said  the  Colonel; 
"  give  him  a  welcome." 

■'  Not  quite  a  stranger,"  she  replied,  shaking 
hands  with  Victor;  "  we  have  met  at  Sea- View 
Cottage,  where  Mr.  Victor  so  often  supplies  Re- 
ginald's place.  And  as  to  the  welcome,  that,  I 
hope,  he  is  sure  of." 

There  was  a  charm  about  Victor's  manners 
which  all  felt,  without  being  quite  able  to  explain 
in  what  it  consisted.  It  arose  from  the  freshness 
and  originality  of  his  feelings  and  opinions,  from 
his  frank  and  prompt,  but  nut  intrusive  confidence 
— from  the  absence  of  all  affectation  or  studied 
arts.  Quite  unconscious  that  he  differed  from 
most  other  youths  of  his  age,  in  having  a  range 
of  ideas  peculiar  to  his  foreign  residence  and  edu- 
cation, he  was  as  much  more  interesting  than  the 
made-to-order  lads  of  a  mere  classical  academy, 
as  he  was  superior  to  the  duelling,  smoking,  beer- 
quafiing  abominations  who  now  infest  every  Ger- 
man university  town. 

Colonel  Templeton  seemed  strangely  fascinated 
with  his  new  acquaintance,  and  as  he  himself 
could  still  be  a  most  agreeable  companion,  Victor 
Morton  thought  himself  in  elysium,  as  he  sat 
chatting  with  his  charming  hostess. 

"  What  a  glorious  place  this  is !"  he  exclaimed 
looking  on  the  noble  expanse  of  lawn  and  park 
which  gently  sloped  on  one  side  toward  the  spark- 
ling brook,  and  on  the  other  was  belted  by  some 
majestic  trees  which  threw  their  deep  and  re- 
freshing shade  over  the  graceful  deer  that  were 
seen  here  and  there  through  the  tall  stems. 
'•  Look  at  the  sun  on  tliose  gigantic  oaks,  it  has 
turned  them  into  gold  for  catching  its  rays, 
Why,  it  is  a  '  Herzogthum'  in  itself!"  and  his 
looks. still  lingered  on  the  varied  beauties  of  the 
scene. 

"  Yes !  here  I  reign  supreme !"  laughed  the 
gratified  owner. 

"That  of  course  you  do,"  was  the  quiet  reply  ; 
and  he  looked  at  the  noble  features  and  command- 
ing figure  before  him  ;  and  then  he  added,  as  if 
u  jiro/ios  to  the  remark,  "  And  there  you  are, 
reminding  your  vassals  of  you,  when  not  present," 
pointing  to  his  portrait. 

As  they  left  tlie  table,  Victor  approached  it 
nearer,  for  the  purpose  of  examining  it  more  ac- 
curately. "It  is  still  very  like  you,"  said  he; 
and  then,  in  a  simple,  ?iuive  manner  continued, 
"  you  must  have  been  very  handsome." 

"  You  are  quite  a  courtier,"  returned  the 
Colonel:  "  the  next  time  you  come,  I  will  showyoii 
a  ievf  choice  specimens  of  painting,  as  you  appear 
a  lover  of  art :  and  do  not  let  it  be  long  before 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

"  And  do  you,  Madam,  echo  the  Colonel's  kind 
invitation  to  come  again  .'"  asked  Victor,  respect- 
fully appealing  to  Mrs.  Templeton  ;  "  for,  with- 
out it,  I  must  resist  the  temptation  "  .And  as  she 
quickly  set  him  at  rest  about  her  sanction,  with 
a  volubility  which  seemed  part  of  a  sensitive  and 
impulsive  nature,  he  turned  to  Colonel  Templeton 
and  said,  "  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  at 
once  the  card  which  will  admit  me  to  Hurstwood 
Hall .'  I  have  heard  so  much  of  some  foreign 
paintings  which  are  there,  that  I  am  anxious  of 
seeing  them." 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


43 


And  the  Colonel,  -who  was  in  excellent  temper, 
really  pleased  with  his  young  guest,  gave  him  a 
note  to  the  housekeeper,  Avhich  would  procure 
him  admittance  at  any  time. 

These  visits  were  frequently  repeated ;  but 
Victor  found  that  one  of  his  golden  idols  had  a 
more  than  usual  ajloy  of  base  metal  in  its  compo- 
sition— which  was  always  evident,  wlien  it  was 
brought  into  contact  with  the  other— in  plain 
language,  Victor  discovered  that  the  Colonel  did 
not  treat  his  wife  well— and,  as  he  remarked  to 
himself,  "  and  such  a  wife !"  This  notable  dis- 
covery he  imparted  to  his  father,  at  which,  though 
he  showed  no  surprise.  Mr.  Morton  expressed 
great,  disquiet,  while  Victor  declared  he  was 
more  indignant  than  he  could  well  express,  mut- 
tering something  about  "  ceasing  his  visits  to  the 
Priory." 

"  1  must  sincerely  commend  your  warmth  of 
feeling,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mr.  Morton ;  "  but 
the  only  use  you  can  make  of  this  discovery  is  to 
avoid  in  youiself  the  indulgence  of  tempers  and 
passions  which  you  condemn,  for  you  must  not  be 
Quixotic  enough  to  make  a  feud  of  another's 
■wrongs.  I  believe  that  to  be  always  unwise — • 
generally  injurious  to  the  one  with  whom  we  sym- 
pathize ;  and  I  should  on  many  accounts  be  sorry 
that  you  ceased  to  visit  the  Priory.  I  think  it 
does  you  good  to  be  with  so  charming  a  person  as 
Mrs.  Templeton,  irrespective  of  the  advantage  you 
derive  from  the  society  you  often  meet  there ;  and 
I  am  truly  sorry  that  we  shall  be  leaving  England 
before  the  Miss  Templetons  return  from  this  wed- 
ding, which  has  prevented  you  from  becoming 
much  acquainted  with  them." 

"  And  so  ami,  for  1  suspect  that  before  our  re- 
turn, one,  at  least,  will  have  been  carried  off." 
"  Indeed !" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Templeton,  and  a  noble  fellow  he  is 
"who  wins,  if  I  do  no  mistake." 

"  Mr.  West  or  Mr.  Hubert  ?"  asked  his  father. 
Oh !  not  Hubert,  he  is  a  handsome,  generous, 
spoilt  only  son,"  said  Victor,  laughing  at  this  de- 
scription of  himself ;  "  but  no — no — he  is  not  for 
Miss  Templeton." 

A  very  few  days  after  this  conversation,  Victor 
Went  to  the  Priory,  to  pay  his  farewell  respects 
previous  to  his  leaving  England ;  and  addressing 
Mrs.  Templeton,  he  alluded  to  the  pleasure  his 
visits  there  had  afifordedhim,  and  expressed  a  hope, 
that  on  his  return  he  should  not  find  himself  for- 
gotten. 

"  No  fear  of  that,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  the  Col- 
onel, who  was  always  kind  and  friendly  to  Vic- 
tor, even  while  offending  him  by  his  conduct  to 
Mrs.  Templeton ;  "  and  pray  where  are  you  going 
now .'" 

"  For  a  few  weeks  to  Germany  ;  I  expect  after- 
ward to  meet  my  father  in  Spain." 

•'  In  Spain '."  repeated  the  Colonel,  with  an  ev- 
ident change  of  countenance. 

"  Yes,  have  you  any  friends  there .'  pray  tell 
me.  I  should  like  to  know  them,  and  give  them 
news  of  you  and  your  family." 

"Oh!  no,  I  know  no  one  there;  but  to  what 
part  of  Spain  shall  you  go .'" 

"  I  can  not  exactly  say.  We  shall  go  most 
likely  to  various  parts  ;  perhaps  you  do  not  know 
that  my  father  was  a  merchant,  and  has  corre- 
^ondents  almost  everywhere.     One  of  my  sisters, 


my  half-sister,  is  named  Inez,  after  some  Spanish 
I  lady." 

"Inez!  my  God!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  with 
I  a  start  that  made  his  wife  look  at  him  with  sur- 
I  prise. 

!  "  Yes,"  replied  Victor,  as  if  in  apology,  "  the 
I  name  does  sound  romantic  and  odd  here,  but  there 
I  it  is  common  enough." 

I  "True,  true,"  muttered  the  Colonel;  but  for  all 
I  that  the  name  seemed  still  odd  to  him. 

"  I  am  gazing  my  farewell  to  this  sweet  place," 
'  said  Victor,  as  he  turned  from  the  window  ;  and 
I  then  looking  intently  at  the  Colonel,  who  stood  by 
I  his  portrait,  he  asked  abruptly,  "  Were  you  ever 
in  Spain,  sir .'" 

"  No !"  boldly  replied  he  ;  but  catching  the  as- 
tonished look  of  Mrs.  Templeton,  he  quickly 
added,   "  Oh  !  yes,  with  my  regiment,  years  ago. 

"  Oh  !"  remarked  Victor,  "  as  long  ago  as  that. 
And  you  have  not  been  at  Seville  since  i" 
■  "  No— yes — no,  certainly,"  were  the  stammered 
and  contradictory  answers. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  said  the  youth,  as  if  musing 
on  something  not  quite  clear ;  "  but  about  two, 
say  three  years  ago,  I  saw  a  gentleman  so  very 
like  you  at  Constantina,  which  is  only  a  few 
leagues  from  Seville ;  the  resemblance  was  re- 
markable." 

"  That  is  extremely  probable,"  said  the  Colonel, 
speaking  quietly,  but  as  if  with  diflSculty  ;  "  I  am 
not  the  only  one  like  myself.  And  were  you  liv- 
ing there  at  that  time .'" 

"  Oh,  no,  we  were  merely  on  a  visit  to  an  old 
friend  ;  my  father  has  a  talent  for  finding  and 
leaving  friends  everywhere  ;  but  I  remember  that 
Englishman  well— lor  he  was  English — though  hid 
name  I  never  rightly  heard  ;  but  old  Dolores,  one 
of  the  servants,  drew  my  attention  to  him,  by 
sending  a  very  doubtful  blessing  after  him." 

Seville !  Constantina,  Inez,  Dolores !  why  did 
these  names  wake  a  host  of  recollections  in  the 
Colonel's  mind .'  Why  was  it  as  if  a  nest  of  ad- 
ders had  been  suddenly  roused  to  fury  in  his 
heart  ? 

Reginald  lost  no  time,  after  having  taken  leave 
of  his  mother,  in  reaching  Old  Court,  the  name 
of  the  estate  which  Lord  Ernest  inherited  from  his 
mother;  it  was  a  charming  but  secluded  place, 
situated  on  the  borders  of  Wales,  but  its  quiet 
and  seclusion  rendered  it  all  the  more  valuable  to 
her  son,  an  amiable  and  kind  man,  but  strong 
neither  in  mind  or  body 

Reginald  tliought  his  uncle  looking  unusually 
ill ;  and  remarked  that  a  nervous  restlessness  had 
taken  the  place  of  his  accustomed  apathy  and  in- 
ertness. He,  however,  listened  to  Reginald's 
statement  of  his  case  with  great  kindnis.-s ;  prumpt- 
ly  gave  his  consent,  and  talked  of  the  arrange- 
ments he  should  make;  but  expressed  a  wish  that 
there  should  be  no  haste,  remarldng  that  both  par- 
ties were  very  young. 

Reginald  thought  that  the  man  who  was  old 
enough  to  woo  should  be  considered  old  enough  to 
wed  ;  but  on  the  other  point  he  satisfied  his  undo 
that  there  could  not  be  any  hurry,  for  he  said  lii.s 
mother's  health  required  both  care  and  change  of 
residence,  and  that  directly  this  matter,  regai-d- 
ing  his  settlement  for  life,  which  was  so  important 
to  his  happiness,  should  be  concluded,  he  meant 


44 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


to  accompany  her  to  Harrowgate,  a  place  strongly 
recommended  by  her  medical  attendant. 

He  hinted  at  the  propriety  of  Lord  Ernest  writ- 
ing to  Colonel  Templeton;  but  this  his  uncle  so 
decide<lly  declined  doing,  and  appeared  so  startled 
at  the  mere  idea  of  such  an  effort,  that  Reginald 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  again  to  allude  to  it, 
though  he  well  remembered  that  Ashley  had 
thought  it  both  important  and  desirable. 

When  he  retired  for  the  night,  accompanied  by 
the  old  butler,  to  whom  he  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  returning  to  Seabrooke  the  next  day,  that 
worthy  man.  who  had  known  Reginald  from  a  boy, 
smilingly  hoped  he  was  not  taking  a  liberty  in 
wishing;  him  joy,  for,  he  added,  his  Lordship  had 
condescended  to  inform  him  of  the  cause  of  Mr. 
Reginalds  short  visit. 

"Thank  you,  Roberts,  thank  you,  old  friend," 
replie<l  Reginald,  "  but  the  battle  is  not  gained, 
the  prize  not  won  yet ;  to  have  secured  my  uncle's 
consent  is  but  the  fii'st,  and,  perhaps,  the  easiest 
step,  and  you  will  oblige  me  by  not  repeating  any 
information  you  may  receive ;  for  a  rejected  suit- 
or cuts  but  a  sorry  figure." 

"  Under  favor,  Mr.  Reginald,  you  can  never  be 
either  a  sorry  figure  or  a  rejected  suitor,*'  said 
Robert,  looking  at  the  handsome  young  man  be- 
fore him ;  and  adding,  with  a  smile,  "  young  ladies 
have  eyes.  But,  sir,  did  you  know  that  Mrs. 
Melville  is  here  .'" 

"  No ;  where  is  she  ?  But  I  really  have  not 
time  to  call  on  her  at  present ;  and,  indeed  I  do 
not  see  the  necessity  for  her  knowing  that  I  have 
been  here,  as  my  affairs  can  not  concern  her." 

"  She  will  not  learn  that  or  any  thing  else 
from  me,"  replied  Robert,  significantly  ;  "  but  she 
has  been  here,  on  and  off,  for  the  last  year,  and 
I  wonder,  sir,  you  did  not  know  of  it.  She  has 
taken  a  cottage  near  Oswestry,  and  she  and 
Miss  are  very  much  here." 

"  Well,  Roberts,  I  understand  what  you  mean; 
but  she  must  see  that  that  is  a  hopeless  scheme, 
and  I  suppose  she  is  now  legacy  hunting.  I  fear 
she  will  always  be  poor,  but  a  few  hundreds 
given  her  can  not  harm  any  one,  and  may  settle 
her  for  life." 

"  Very  true,  sir,  but  I  hope  you  will  soon  be 
here  again.  I  think  my  Lord  wants  you,  and 
to  my  mind  he  is  far  from  being  well  or  comfort- 
able." 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  to  have  made  the  same  re- 
marks on  his  health,"  said  Reginald  ;  "  you  may 
depend  ujion  my  return  as  soon  as  possible;  and 
now  gO(jd-uight,  Roberts  ;  my  uncle  has  my  per- 
mission to  tell  you  any  good  news  relating  to 
me."  He  recalled  these  last  words,  the  next 
morning,  as  he  slowly  rode  from  Old  Court  to 
meet  the  mail.  "And  will  there  be  good  news 
to  tell.="  asked  Reginald.  "  What  if  Helen  should 
not  love  me  .'"  and  he  felt  that  the  bare  thought 
made  him  shiver  and  turn  faint :  "  what  if  I 
have  been  an  egregious  coxcomb,  and  have  taken 
it  for  granted  that  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
a£k  and  recei\e — yet  Heaven  knows  that  is  not 
my  presumptuous  notion,  and  Helen  must  know 
it  also.  She  must  have  seen  how  I  liave  waited 
and  watclied  for  every  trifling  indication  that  I 
was  not  disliked  ;  and  she  must  surely  pardon 
me  if  I  have  hoped  and  prayed  that  I  might  be 
loved,  though  even  she  does  not  yet  know  for 


how  many  years  she  has  shared  my  love  with  my 
1  dear  mother.  If  I  have  mistaken  what  is  kind- 
ness and  gentleness  to  all  for  a  feeling  that  is 
more  exclusive,  God  forgive  me ;  but  if  so,  life 
has  but  little  brightness  left  for  me."  And  sm 
he  felt  more  and  more  the  necessity  of  ascertain- 
ing his  fate,  he  urged  on  his  -horse,  as  if  by  so 
doing  he  could  hasten  the  arrival  of  the  mail ;  it, 
however,  gave  hitu  time  more  calmly  to  antici- 
pate the  luture,  and  he  resolved,  instead  of  en- 
couraging gloomy  apprehensions,  to  brace  up  his 
courage,  and  meet  in  a  manly  spirit  what  might 
be  in  reserve  for  him. 

And  are  we  to  imagine  that  Reginald's  man- 
ner, which  drew  upon  him  the  sharp  eyes  of 
Lady  Dallas,  and  caused  Mrs.  Templeton  such 
I  deep  thought,  was  unnoticed  by  Helen  :  by  no 
means ;  though  to  her  it  was  nothing  so  uncom- 
'  mon  as  to  excite  any  thing  but  feelings  of  pleasure. 
If  Helen  had  been  asked  by  any  one  but  the  one, 
do  you  love  Reginald  West .'  it  is  probable  she 
would  readily  and  frankly  have  answered  in  the 
affirmative  ;  and  it  was  not  till  she  heard  at  the 
Rectory  of  his  second  visit  to  Old  Court,  so  im- 
mediately after  their  last  meeting,  that  she  be- 
I  came  conscious  there  had  been  more  than.usual 
'  tenderness  in  his  tone  and  manner,  and  that  from 
I  his  eloquent  eyess  he  had  received  lair,  speakless 
j  messages,  which  .'•he  now.  for  the  first  time, 
1  though  without  either  astonishment  or  appre- 
i  hension,  read  to  mean  love  !  But  when  a  thou- 
sand circumstances,  light  as  air,  came  thronging 
into  her  memory,  combined  with  this  unexpected 
absence,  Helen  began  to  think  more  seriously  of 
the  influences  the  last  few  months  had  left. 
During  that  time,  almost  every  day  had  brought 
her  and  Reginald  together  ;  till,  following  up  the 
examination,  she  found  the  days  that  had  not, 
had  never,  to  her,  been  so  happy.  She  now  saw 
this  state  of  affairs  could  not  last,  and  she  un- 
derstood immediately  why  he  had  gone  to  Old 
i  Court.  And  then  she  asked  herself  the  solemn 
I  question,  did  she  love  Reginald  enough  to  be- 
come his  wife — to  trust  him  with  her  happiness 
— to  share  his  fate  .'  and  her  heart  emphatically 
replied  that  she  did. 

Happy  Helen !  to  her  all  seemed  now  settled, 
and  she  could  peacefully  await  his  return:  for 
not  a  doubt  of  his  love  darkened  the  brightness 
of  her  trusting  affection.  And  as  io  distrusting 
his  worth,  there  was  treachery  to  him  in  the 
mere  surmise.  Oh,  no!  he  would- speedily  re- 
turn, and  then  their  happiness  would  be  shared 
by  those  they  both  so  truly  loved. 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,  congratulate  me," 
cried  Reginald,  kissing  with  extreme  tenderness 
the  pale  face  that  was  raised  on  his  appearance, 
after  his  journey,  for  he  had  preferred  being  his 
own  mes.'^enger  ;  "  so  far  all  is  well ;  my  uncle 
is  most  kind,  and  though  I  must  not  say  lie  was 
enraptured  at  my  request,  he  promises  all  I  can 
desire." 

"  Heaven  be  praised  for  that,"  replied  Mrs. 
West;  "and  now,  dear  Reginald,  what  is  the 
next  step.'  for  though  it  has  been  very  difficult 
to  do  so,  having  seen  so  much  of  them  all,  and 
received  hourly  kindness  from  them,  I  li.ive  faith- 
fully kept  your  secret." 

"  1  shall  go  at  once  to  the  Priory  and  learn  my 
fate  from  the  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Templeton,  and 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


43 


then,  oh  !  they  must,  they  will  consent ;   then, 
see  Helen,  the  most  important,  thougli  the  last." 

'•  Then  go,  my  son,  and  may  your  affection  to 
your  mother  be  reAvarded  by  your  winning  the 
love  of  that  dear  girl." 

llegiuald  set  off  at  once,  far  too  much  excited 
to  rest  till  he  knew  his  fate  ;  and  he  had  very 
nearly  reached  the  last  terrace  walk,  when 
til  rough  the  shrubbery  he  saw  a  lady's  dress 
fluttering.  Though  he  had  decided  on  first 
si'L'akiug  to  the  Colonel,  various  impressions 
wiiich  He  had  received,  and  many  well-known 
t.icts  he  had  heard  of  his  character,  now  made 
liiiii  hesitate  about  the  wisdom  of  paying  him 
this  mark  of  respect;  and  resolving  to  see  who 
tills  was,  and,  if  Helen,  ascertain  her  sentiments 
at  once,  he  followed  the  fluttering  drapery,  and 
saw  that  it  did  belong  to  her. 

His  lieart  beat  and  his  face  flushed  as,  quick- 
ening his  pace,  he  approached,  and,  as  calmly  as 
he  could,  greeted  her ;  but  something  in  his 
manner  was  contagious.  She  visibly  changed 
countenance,  while  her  agitation  deprived  her  of 
all  self-command,  or  assuredly  her  first  words 
wmld  not  have  been,  "I  thought  you  were  at 
Old  Coui-t ':" 

•1  have  been  there,  and  have  but  now  re- 
turned ;  and  oh  !  Helen,"  he  continued,  in  a  tone 
of  touching  entreaty,  "  if  my  errand  here,  at  this 
moment,  be  but  as  successful  as  my  mission  there 
was,  what  will  there  be  left  for  me  to  desire  ? 
Helen.'"'  he  said,  gently  taking  her  hand,  "I 
went  there  to  tell  my  uncle  that  I  love  you ;  he 
•was  pleased  to  hear  it,  and  gave  me  his  lolessing. 
I  now  come  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you — though 
how  deeply,  you  may,  perhaps,  never  know. 
Helen  !  dearest  Helen  !  what  will  you  do  ?" 

"  Do  the  same,"  she  whispered,  lifting  her  lov- 
ing eyes  ftarles.-ily  to  his  beaming  face. 

And  what  was  his  reply  ?  Why,  a  rapturous 
kiss  on  the  now  drooping  lids,  and  another  on 
the  sweet  mouth,  while  he  softly  said,  "  Helen  ! 
my  wife  .'" 

"  Yes !"  she  answered ;  then,  after  a  pause, 
which  neither  cared  to  break,  she  said,  "But, 
Reginald,  my  father  !" 

"  I  shall  see  and  speak  to  him  forthwith,  and 
Mrs.  Templeton  also.  I  leave  you  for  a  short 
time  for  that  purpose." 

And  proudly  did  the  young  lover  traverse  the 
terrace  and  seek  the  Colonel,  whom  he  fortunately 
found  at  home. 

-Colonel  Templeton  expressed  much  surprise  at 
the  object  which  had  led  to  the  interview,  for  he 
owned  he  had  never  once  thought  of  sucii  a  re- 
sult ;  he,  however,  very  readily  gave  his  con- 
sent, provided  Lord  Ernest  performed  his  prom- 
ise with  respect  to  settlements,  of  which  his 
nephew  had  not  the  least  doubt;  and,  in  his 
present  flow  of  good  temper,  he  wished  Reginald 
joy,  but  he  never  once  asked  whether  Helen  was 
likely  to  ratify  the  contract,  nor  did  he  allude  to 
his  wife,  and  under  these  circumstances,  Keg- 
inald  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  inform  him 
that  his  daughter's  consent  had  been  already  ob- 
tained. Allthe  Colonel  said,  was,  "There,  now 
go  and  see  where  they  all  are,  and  then  return 
to  me,  and  let  us  talk  over  the  matter  quietly." 

Helen,  after  Reginald  left  her,  crossed  the 
flower-garden  more  like  a  somnambulist  than  any 


waking,  thinking  being.  She  mechanically  as- 
cended the  stairs,  till,  on  reaching  the  corridor, 
the  voice  of  Constance  was  heard  accompanying 
the  piano,  by  which  Helen  knew  she  was  not  with 
her  mother. 

Quietly  passing  their  own  rooms,  she  stopped 
at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Templeton's  boudoir,  and, 
tapping,  entered.  She  glided  rather  than  walked 
toward  her  mother,  who  looked  at  her  very  anx- 
iously, attracted  by  her  strange  manner;  then, 
I  falling  on  her  knees,  she  took  her  hand,  saying, 
"  Mamma,  give  me  your  blessing." 

"  Helen  !  what  means  this,  my  love  .'" 

"Reginald  loves  me,  dear  mother,  and  I  lovo 
him,  oh!  so  much,  so  much,  and  so  long!"  and  a 
flood  of  tears  relieved  both  herself  and  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton. who  had  begun  to  feel  alarmed,  as  she 
had  no  idea  of  Reginald's  return  and  visit  to  the 
Priory. 

"  My  dear  child!  my  precious  Helen!  what  is 
it  all .'  tell  me,  tell  your  mother  !" 

"  Oh  !  send  for  Reginald,"  she  replied  ;  "  he  is 
with  papa — he  will  tell  you." 

"  Remain  here  quietly  till  I  return,"  said  her 
mother,  leading  her  to  the  sofa,  and  then  pro- 
ceeding to  Constance,  she,  in  few  words,  told  her 
suspicions;  and  before  the  latter  could  well  re- 
cover from  her  astonishment,  they  heard  the  door 
of  >the  library  open  and  close,  when  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton begged  her  to  seek  Reginald,  and  bring 
him  to  her  boudoir. 

"  Now,  Helen,"  she  said,  as  she  returned  and 
seated  herself  by  her  daughter,  "Reginald  will 
soon  be  here.  Shall  I  see  him  alone,  or  will  you 
be  present  ?" 

"1  will  be  present,  and  Constance,  too — all  I 
love  best,  come  togetlier.  Ah  !  dear  Constance," 
as  her  sister  entered,  leaning  on  Reginald's  arm, 
which  she  quitted  to  embrace  and  caress  Helen, 
while  he,  approaching  her,  said.  "  Helen,  your 
father  consents.  Dear  Mrs.  Templeton,  will  you 
take  me  for  your  sou  ?  Constance,  may  1  be  your 
brother  r" 

"  Oh  !  Reginald,  how  happy  I  am !"  she  replied, 
though  her  tears  seemed  to  contradict  her  words ; 
and  perceiving  that  her  mother  looked  pale,  and, 
as  if  struggling  for  words,  she  said  to  her,  "  Dear- 
est mamma !  you  hear  he  does  not  ask  you  to  give 
him  Helen,  but  to  accept  him.  Will  you  not, 
dearest,  and  let  me  henceforth  have  a  brother  to 
pet  and  love  .'" 

"  Very   readily,  indeed,  do  I   accept  you,  my 
dear    Reginald,  as   my  son,  and  may  we  all,  as 
long  as  we  live,  remember  this  hour  with  grati- 
tude.    But,  Constance,  we  must  now  seek  your 
father  and  thank  him ;"   and  both  having  affec- 
tionately shaken  hands  with  Reginald  and  con- 
'  gratulated  him,  they  left  the  two  most  deeply  in- 
i  terested  in  this  case,  and  turned  toward  the  stair 
head.     But  Constance,  gently  putting   her   arm 
round  her  mother,  led  her  into  her  own  pretty 
dressing-room,  and  placing  her  in  an  easy  chair, 
she  drew  a  footstool  close  to  it,  and  sat  at  her 
mother's  feet  in  perfect  silence. 
I      After  a  few  minutes  thus  spent,  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton asked,  "  Constance,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Mamma,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  advise  you  to 
'  seek  papa  ;  he  ought,  on  this  occasion  at  least,  to 
have  sought  you  ;  so  let  me  rule  this  once."' 
1      "  Be  it  so,"  was  the  assenting  reply  ;   for,  in 


46 


THE   AYIFE'S   TRIALS. 


truth,  when  Mrs.  Tcmplcton  proposed  seeking  her  1 
husband,  it  was  a  mere  excuse  for  leaving  the 
room,  as  she  correctly  anticipated,  that  though  I 
they  might  both  consent  to  tliis  marriage,  their 
reasons  lor  so  doing  would,  if  examined,  be  found 
widely  dissimilar.  She  knew  that  even  on  this 
interesting  occasion,  as  in  all  other  matters,  there  j 
would  not,  there  could  not,  be  the  least  sympathy  i 
between  them  ;  and,  therefore,  yielding,  very  rea- 
dily, to  the  wish  of  Constance,  they  sat  and  dis-  j 
cu.ssed.  what  to  Constance  was  a  most  unexpected 
event,  for  more  than  an  hour;  when  Helen  en- 
tered to  say  that  Reginald  wished  her  to  go  with 
hiin  to  see  his  mother. 

"  Dear  Helen  I"  said  Constance,  smiling  and 
embracing  her,  "  this  will  make  no  difference 
with  our  love  ;  it  will  be  as  great  and  as  strong 
as  evor ;"  but  there  was  a  tone,  a  very  faint  tone, 
of  sadness  in  her  voice. 

"  Quite,  sweet  sister  !  my  heart  is  very  large, 
and  has  plenty  of  room  when  love  knocks  and  in- 
tnxluces  a  guest.  Reginald  usui-ps  no  one's  place, 
dearest  mamma !"  and  she  threw  her  arms  fondly 
round  her  mother,  who  silently  pressed  her  to  her 
heart  in  a  long,  loving  caress. 

Ah !  how  happ3'  was  this  first  walk  taken  to- 
gether by  Reginald  and  his  Helen !  How  delight- 
lul  the  idea  that  the  cherished  one  by  his  side 
loved  him — was  his — about  to  be  his  wife — that 
he  was  now  taking  her  to  his  mother,  and  with 
her  would  receive  that  mother's  blessing. 

And  how  solemn  !  how  fervent !  how  loving  was 
that  blessing,  as  pronounced  by  the  mother,  on 
him  who  to  her  had  ever  been  the  first  of  earthly 
gifts  ;  on  him  who  had  so  richly  repaid  her  love  ; 
and  tlien.  when  she  turned  to  that  fair  girl  he  had 
now  brought  with  him,  scarcely  less  tender  was 
the  praj-er  for  her — for  her  who  was  heucetorth 
to  be  the  light  and  joy  of  her  son"s  existence.  She 
inew  full  well  that,  as  regarded  herself,  the  place 
that  now  knew  her  would  soon  know  her  no  more ; 
End  earnestly  did  she  entreat  that  they  might  be 
both  blessed,  when  they  went  out  and  when  they 
came  in,  and  that  love  from  on  high  might  sanc- 
tify their  union,  and  be  theirs  till  the  end ! 


CHAPTER    XX. 


-IIow  ihe  innocent 


"  Wht-n  all  the  bustle  and  excitement  previous 
to  this  welding',  and  the  wedding  itsAt'.  are  over," 
said  I>r.  Vernon,  a  few  months  after  the  engage- 
ment had  been  made  public,  "  1  think  1  shall  take 
tli((  ojipt)rtunity  of  having  some  needful  repairs 
done  to  the  church  and  the  Rectory  ;  my  diocesan 
has  given  me  six  months"  leave  of  aljsence.  I  shall 
procure  a  substitute ;  and  as  the  school-roon)s 
have  lately  been  put  to  rights,  service  can  be  per- 
forme<l  in  them." 

"  But  the  time  for  the  marriage  is  not  yet  fixed," 
observe<l  .\shley,  who  hail  been  one  of  the  earliest 
and  warmest  in  his  congratulations  to  his  friend  ; 
"  arid  I  can  not  lielp  wishing  that  Lord  Ernest 
were  a  little  brisker  in  his  movement?." 


"Hear  the  gentleman  of  the  long  robe  con- 
demning delay,"  cried  Caroline,  with  a  laugh ; 
"  why,  I  thought  delay  was  the  motto  of  your  pro- 
fession ;" 

'•  Prejudice,  my  dear  sister,  or,  properly  speak- 
ing, ^'ulgar  ignorance,  alone  says  that,"  replie<l 
Ashley  ;  ■'  the  injustice  of  some,  the  falsehood  of 
others,  the  unreasonable  expectations  of  a  third, 
in  short,  all  the  follies  and  vices  acting  on  a  liti- 
gious spirit,  array  themselves  against  speed  and 
progress,  and  then  accuse  the  law  and  the  law- 
yers. Who  and  what  make  lawsuits  .'  the  fraud 
or  avarice  of  clients,  not  lawyers;  and  I  will  no 
more  suffer  them  to  be  abused,  because  some  are 
knaves,  than  I  would  permit  the  clergy  to  be 
branded  as  h^-pDcritical  and  grasping,  because 
there  may  be  found  Tartuffes  and  Hai'pagons 
among  thtm." 

"  Well  said,  Ashley,"  exclaimed  the  Doctor : 
"  and  I  thank  you  ;  for  there  is  no  profession  oi 
trade  either  which  has  not  its  dishonorable  mem- 
bers; and  if  these  formed  the  majority,  they 
would  soon  destroy  it  altogether.  But  while  the 
good  and  bad  are  mixed,  though  the  former  ever 
preponderate,  let  us  be  mercitul,  and,  above  all, 
by  our  conduct  try  to  honor  that  profession  to 
which  we  respectively  belong." 

"  I  see  I  am  expected  to  cry  culpa  min"  said 
Caroline,  taking  her  brother's  arm;  "  an  1  1  !a 
most  humbly;  but  this  docs  not  hasten  L'  :  1  i.i- 
nest,  nor  accelerate  the  preparations  for  tU.  ^v.■  1- 
ding.  I  really  believe,  if  dear  Mrs.  West  had  hor 
way,  it  would  take  place  at  once ;  but  that,  of 
course,  can  not  be." 

"  I  fear,  my  dear  father,"  said  Ashley.  "  that 
Reginald  will  have  to  mourn  before  he  rejoices. 
Lady  Dallas,  who  has  recently  spent  a  few  days 
near  Harrowgate,  speaks  of  Mrs.  West's  case  ;!s 
quite  hopeless,  though  she  says  that  Reginal  I 
seems  strangelj*  blind  to  the  rapid  and  alarming 
change." 

"  Our  affections  are  most  deceitful  guides,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Vernon ;  "  sometimes  we  see,  or 
fancy  we  see,  virtues  and  excellences  which  have 
no  existence :  at  other  times,  we  appear  to  be  be- 
reft of  all  sense,  and  can  neither  see  nor  hear 
what  the  heart  shrinks  from  acknowledging, 
though  it  is  most  glaringly  the  truth." 

"  Have  you  heard  the  report  that  Lord  Hurst- 
wood  has  returned  from  St.  I'etersburgh,  loaded 
with  honors  ?"  asked  Hubert  Forrester  of  Lady 
Dallas. 

"  No !  when  and  where  did  you  hear  of  it :" 

"  I  called  at  the  Priory  this  morning  to  ask 
after  Mrs.  West,  about  whom  my  mother  is  much 
distressed.  I  there  saw  Mis§  Sinclair,  who  had 
received  the  news  from  one  of  her  corrcsiX)nd- 
ents.'' 

"  Did  she  say  whether  he  is  expected  at  tlie 
Hall.'"  inquired  her  ladyship. 

"She  said  it  seemed' doubtful;  the  report  is. 
that  he  intends  to  visit  hie  Irish  estates  first,  an  1 
the  same  report  goes  on  to  say,  he  means  to  re- 
pose on  his  honors,  and  marry." 

"  How  very  otld  of  liim  never  to  have  married 
before ;"  and  thinking  of  her  daughters,  La'ly 
I'allas  .said,  "  pray  how  old  is  he  r" 

■'  About  seven  or  eight  years  younger  than  tli 
Colonel ;  perhaps  forty-three  or  five,  perhaps  ntt 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


4T 


so  much,"  answered  Hubert,  to  whom  he  seemed 

quite  an  ancient. 

"  Oh  !  not  so  very  old,  after  all,"  said  the  spec- 
ulating mamma ;  and  she  quickly  did  a  little  bit 
oi'  mental  arithmetic  to  this  effect :  take  fourteen 
— the  age  of  the  eldest  daughter — from  forty- 
tliree,  we  will  say  three,  for  the  sake  of  the  argu- 
ment— how  many  remains  ?  answer,  twenty-nine. 
Tliere  is  no  disputing  figures,  they  are  so  obsti- 
nate, so  always  the  same ;  and  do  the  sum  as  she 
would,  the  answer  was,  twenty-nine  !  so  she  de- 
ciiled  that  there  ivas  a  difference  in  age — his 
Iiiidship  was  too  old;  and,  turning  to  Hubert,  she 
a.xkcd,  wliat  had  been  the  reply  to  his  inquiries 
alier  Mrs.  West  ? 

"  She  is  very  bad— no  hope — I  only  saw  Miss 
Sinclair,"  he  said. 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation,  the  rumor 
respecting  Lord  Hurstwood  was  confirmed  by  his 
appearance,  but  only  for  a  very  brief  period. 

••  Mrs.  West's  health,  I  understand,  will  prevent 
any  party  being  given  at  the  Priory  in  honor  of 
his  Lordship's  return,"  said  Lady  Dallas  to  Mrs. 
Forrester ;  "  but  Sir  William  has  an  invitation  to 
a  large  dinner  party,  of  gentlemen  only,  at  the 
Hall." 

"  So  has  Mr.  Forrester  and  Hubert.  Miss  Sin- 
clair told  me  yesterday  that  the  last  accounts  of  j 
Mrs.  West,  though  rather  better,  are  still  very  j 
disti'essing  ;  this  is  a  sad  interruption  to  prospects 
wliich  seemed  so  bright  and  happy." 

"  Of  course  all  talk  of  the  wedding  is  now 
stopped  ;  but,  in  the  event  of  her  death,  will  it  he 
postponed  for  the  whole  term  of  mourning  ?"  in- 
quired Lady  Dallas. 

'•  I  apprehend  not ;  but  my  informant  is  always 
either  .Miss  Sinclair  or  Constance,  for  poor  Helen 
is  sadly  depressed ;  and  Constance  told  me  that 
Mrs.  West  had  exacted  a  promise  from  her  son  that 
tlie  ceremony  should  take  place  quietly,  as  soon 
after  her  death  as  was  at  all  consistent ;  for  he 
is  now  quite  aware  that  recovery  is  hopeless." 

Poor  Reginald;  at  length  the  blow  fell— the 
silver  cord  was  broken — and,  one  sad  and  true 
mourner  sat  in  the  darkened  rooms  of  that  silent 
l.uuse,  feeling  all  the  bitterness  of  desolation; 
and  for  a  time  he  refused  to  be  comforted. 

Ashley  Vernon — that  true  friend— left  all,  and 
v.-.'ut  to  him.  Helen  wrote  to  him,  and  her  let- 
liTs  at  this  time  were  his  chief  consolation.  Mrs. 
ToinpLton.  Constance,  all  the  kind  hearts  at  the 
llectory  gave  him  the  full  tribute  of  their  sympa- 
thy ;  but  while  weeping  with  him  for  his  great 
loss,  his  old  friend.  Dr.  Vernon,  reminded  him 
tlia.t  he  was  not  to  sorrow  as  one  without  liope. 
and  recalled  to  his  memory  the  many  blessings 
still  left  to  him  ;  one  loan,  it  is  true,  had  been  re- 
claimed, but  how  rifany  were  still  left! 


CHAPTER,   XXI. 

"  When  sorrows  cnme,  they  come  not  single  spie". 
But  in  biittalions."  lluvdet. 

Ska-View  Cottage,  which,  before  Mrs.  West's 
death  had  been  occupied  by  the  gentleman  who 
was  to  supply  Dr.  Vernon's  place  during  his  ab- 


sence, was  now  engaged  by  him  for  several 
months  ;  for  as  it  was  clear  that,  at  present,  there 
could  not  be  any  wedding,  tlie  Rector  had  decided 
on  taking  his  departure  ;  and  preparations  were 
made,  about  a  month  after  the  death  of  Mrs.  West, 
for  the  whole  family  to  leave. 

They  meant  first  to  visit  Charles,  and  then  to 
see  other  friends,  who  put  forth  claims  of  many 
years'  standing;  and  as  their  absence  would  be 
for  six  months,  they  hoped,  on  their  return,  to 
find  that  peace  had  again  settled  on  the  hearts  that 
had  been  so  recently  and  severely  pained. 

Reginald  had  paid  a  hurried  and  unsatisfactory 
visit  to  Old  Court,  and  on  leaving  it,  his  uncle  in- 
sisted so  strenuously  on  his  taking  a  check  lor  a 
thousand  pounds,  in  order,  as  lie  said,  to  pay  any 
debts — though  Mrs.  West  had  never  exceeded  her 
income,  and  Reginald's  allowance  was  really  mu- 
nificent—that he  felt  quite  embarrassed  at  this 
new  proof  of  his  uncle's  generosity. 

A  fortnight  at  the  Priory  did  much  to  restore 
his  over-tried  spirit,  and  then  Ashley  and  he 
went  to  make  a  Highland  tour,  including  Craiga- 
lan,  to  which  place  they  had  been  most  cordially 
invited.  All  these  arrangements  were  sad  con- 
trasts to  the  gayety  wliich  had  been  anticipated ; 
but  amid  the  sorrow  and  desolation  which  he  so 
keenly  felt,  Reginald  had  the  inexpressible  com- 
fort to  find,  that  Helen,  she  whom  he  had  chosen 
as  his  partner  through  life — his  partner  in  woe 
as  in  weal — was  fitted  for  that  duty ;  it  was  her 
sweet  voice  that  spoke  of  submission,  of  resigna- 
tion ;  it  was  her  assurance,  that  his  she  was  and 
ever  would  be,  that  made  his  heart  open  to  happi- 
ness, and  sustained  him  in  his  deep  distress. 

Constance  was  at  first  vehement  in  her  expres- 
sions of  grief ;  but  when  she  looked  at  the  calm 
face  of  her  mother,  and  fancied  tliat  it  looked 
sadder  and  paler  than  usual,  she  sliuddered,  and 
the  thought  flashed  across  her  mind,  that  the  de- 
stroying angel  might  lay  its  icy  coU  iiand  on  that 
loved  head,  and  thus  rebuke  her  rebellious  spirit ; 
therefore  she  no  more  let  it  be  seen  that  she 
needed  consolation,  but  administered  it  to  those 
who  had  been  more  sorely  tried  than  hei'self. 

Colonel  Templeton  had  been  so  indifferent  about 
his  daughter's  marriage,  though  when  it  was 
alluded  to  he  always  expressed  his  satislaction, 
that  his  insensibility  now  was  nothing  remarka- 
ble ;  but  the  silence  and  sorrow  impressed  on  all 
around  seemed  sometimes  to, annoy  him  ;  and  then 
he  went  to  consult  Cooper — almost  his  shadow — or 
shut  himself  up  with  letters  which  seemed  greatly 
to  interest  him — or  went  to  town,  where  he  had 
business  with  Mr.  Sloper,  his  lawyer.  • 

Cecilia  Grantham,  who  was  still  in  Italy,  wrote 
to  say,  that  gay  or  sad,  in  black  or  white,  Helens 
bridesmaid  she  must  and  would  be,  and  desired  to 
have  timely  information  of  her  services  being  re- 
quired, so  as  to  settle  for  her  departure. 

Laurette,  who  had  been  visiting  the  Westroughs, 
remained  in  England  for  the  same  purpose,  as  it 
was  understood  Mrs.  West's  wisiies  would  be  re- 
spected as  to  hastening  the  marriage  ;  but  as  she 
had  no  taste  for  any  thing  dismal,  she  availed  her- 
self of  Mrs.  Forrester's  invitation,  and  made  For- 
est Hill  her  head-quarters,  in  preference  to  the 
Priory.  This  arrangement  answered  a  double  pur- 
pose— first,  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should 
eschew  society,  because  Mrs.  West  had  died ;  and 


48  THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 

secondly,  she  should  be  in  the  same  house  with  i  sent  on  to  Craigalan,  with  Helen's  daily  dispatch  ; 
Hubert  Forrester ;  whom,  though  younger  than  but  here  it  awaited  the  travelers  two  days,  their 
herself,  and  who  had  hitherto  been  strangely  in-  ]  progress  not  having  been  so  easy  as  they  had  ex- 
sensible  to  the  fair  Lauretta's  many  attractions,    pected. 

she  had  resolved  to  win.  That  his  parents  would  On  their  arrival,  after  receiving  a  most  cordial 
approve  of  the  match  she  did  not  the  least  doubt ;  welcome  from  the  Sinclairs,  Reginald  seized  his 
for,  in  every  respect,  she  came  up  to  the  standard  letters,  the  precious  ones  from  Helen  claiming' 
they  had  established  as  necessary  to  their  daugh-  I  precedence — yet,  with  a  lover's  jealousy,  receiv- 
ter-in-l.ifr — rich,  well-born;  connected  in  Scot-  ing  this  homage  in  private;  to  him  it  seemed 
land  with  names  of  historical  note  ;  in  England,  profanation  to  open  them  while  any  eye  might  de- 
all  her  relatives,  if  not  among  the  nobility,  were  1  tect  the  feelings  her  sentiments  of  love  and  truth 
not  far  removed  from  that  desirable  pale — Avhat  i  excited.  Having  read  and  carefully  laid  these 
more  could  they  look  for  ?  She  also  knew  that  her  aside,  the  traveled  letter  had  its  turn;  but  no 
manners  were  such  as  pleased  the  proud,  fastidi-  ;  sooner  had  Reginald  made  himself  acquainted 
ous.Mrs  Forrester — digni tied,  quiet,  elegant — with  ;  with  the  contents  than,  rushing  toward  Ashley's 
just  as  much  of  accomplishment  as  prevented  her  i  room,  he  burst  in,  with  a  face  as  pale  as  ashes, 
from  ever  being  overlooked — and  quite  as  much  \  and,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  anguish,  ex- 
information  as  enabled  her  always  to  command  claimed — 
attention.  I      "  All  is  lost — read  that  fatal  letter,  which  has 

Air.  Forrester  had  more  than  once  alluded  to  |  been  so  deplorably  delayed." 
hereditary  friendships ;  and  was  pointed  in  that  j      Ashley  did  so,  and  as  he  read,  and  compre- 
niecly-balanced  manner  which,  while  it  avoided    hended  the  importance  of  the  tidings  it  conveyed, 
marked  neglect  of  any  one,  showed,  toward  her,  j  he  rang  the  bell  repeatedly, 
particular  attention.  "  Post-horses  directly—detain  our  carriage — 

But  what  said  Hubert  ?  who,  all  unknown  to  [  four  horses  as  quickly  as  possible,"  he  said. — 
his  parents,  was  the  autocrat  to  whose  will — and  J  "  Reginald,  remain  here,  while  I  apprise  our  host 
to  whose  whims  also— they  bowed .'  At  present  of  this  news,  and  of  the  necessity  lor  our  imme- 
he  evinced  the  most  amazing  indifference  to  her    diate  departure." 

society  and  her  talents.  Certainly,  while  she  was  I  But  Reginald  seemed  stunned,  and  Sir  Archi- 
at  the  I'riory  he  rode  over  there  every  day,  but  bald,  whose  dismay  was  little  less  than  that  ex- 
this  he  continued  to  do  when  she  left.  pressed  by  his  two  young  friends,  hastily  entering, 

But  Laurette  had  not  read   one  of  our  most    said — 
clever  female  writers*   in  vain;    "Propinquity,        "Commandmy  whole  establishment;  a  carriage- 
propinquity,  my  dear  Laurette,"  said  she.  I  and-four  shall  be  immediately  at  your  service;" 

Hubert  Forrester  was,  in  truth,  a  very  danger-  I  and,  taking  Ashley  aside,  he  whispered,  pointing 
ous  young  man  as  companion  to  any  young  lady  |  to  Reginald,  "  He  must  be  roused,  Mr.  Vernon,  or 
who  had  a  heart  to  bestow ;  and  this  Laurette  [  he  will  destroy  the  faint  hope  that  still  remains.'' 
was  not  peculiar  in  discovering.  That  well-  i  "  I  see  the  necessity  for  exertion,"  replied  Ash- 
dressed  damsel,  about  whom  we  have  been  un-  ley,  with  a  face  full  of  commiseration;  and,  tak- 
silent,  the  lovely,  modest,  retiring,  I  ing  Reginald's  hand,  he  said; 


blushing  .Juliet  Mordaunt,  on  this  point  entirely  j      "For  Helen's   sake,   if  not  your  own,  rouse 
coincided  in  opinion  with  the  haughty,  aristocratic    yourself,  dear  Reginald." 

Laurette  Sinclair  ;  only  she  had  in  her  artless  1  "  Yes,  any  thing  for  Helen's  sake — but  no  longer 
way  improved  on  her  rival's  plan.  She  had  not  [  my  Helen — lost,  lost  to  me  forever,"  exclaimed 
pined  in  thought— no  green  and  yellow  melancholy  j  the  wretched  lover,  in  tones  of  agony.  "  Vet  why 
disputed  the  place  of  the  lilies  and  roses  on  her  |  should  I  struggle  against  my  fate .'  Leave  me — 
fair  cheeks,  and  she  did  tell  her  love,  as  plainly  as  let  me  die- since  all  1  love  are  taken  from  me ;" 
"  nods  and  looks,  and  wreathed  smiles"  could —  j  and  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and,  will  it  be  believed  .'  but  believed  or  not  it  is  "  You  must  struggle,  because  it  is  7iot  your  fate 
Btill  a  truth,  that  the  handsome  young  heir  of  all  1  yet,"  cried  Ashley,  roused  to  double  energy  in 
the  Forresters,  and  all  tlie  Hargraves  to  boot,  |  this  trying  emergency.  "  I  tell  you,  Reginald,  it 
carried  on  a  desperate  flirtation  with  this  gentle  is  not  too  late.  Heaven  grant  that  this  may  be 
Juliet.  He  was  at  the  pretty  little  residence  of !  true,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  to  himself. 
Mr.  Cooper  at  early  morn,  and  again  at  dewy  "  Look  up,  my  dear  friend,  and  listen  to  me ;  we 
^ve ;  he  called  there  to  leave  flowers— ah  !  beware  can  reach  Old  Court  in  four  days,  and  this  warn- 
of  the  thorns !  and  he  called  again  to  fetch  flowers  '  ing,  in  spite  of  these  vexatious  delays,  may  yet 
beware  lest  he  carry  away  all  the  heartsease,    have  arrived  in  time.    One  eftbrt,  my  dear  fellow. 


and  leave  only  rue!  But  as  her  matronly  and 
prudent  mother  was  cognizant  of  all  this,  why 
make  it  our  business— we  will  not. 

A  few   days   after  Ashley  and   his  sorrowful 


and  then  on  without  stopping.' 

"You  will  allow  me  to  accompany  you  one 
stage,"  said  Sir  Archibald,  kindly.  And  he  did 
so,  and  was  glad  to  perceive  that  the  excitement 
and  hurry  had  slightly  influenced  Reginald,  who 
friend  had  started  for  Scotland,  and  about  six  began  to  catch  hope  from  his  companions,  and  was 
weeks  after  Mrs.  West's  funeral,  a  letter  arrived  now  as  eager  to  push  on  as  Ashley  was. 
at  the  cottage  for  lleginald,  which  the  young  But  Sir  Archibald  showed  that  his  hope  was,  in 
clergyman  sent  up  immediately  to  the  Priory.  It  reality,  very  faint  indeed,  for,  as  he  pressed  Ash- 
was  directed  to  be  forwarded;  but  having  already  ley's  hand  at  parting,  he  said  : 
been  more  than  twice  re-addressed,  the  original  I  "  Look  after  all  the  English  papers,  and  keep 
post-mark  was  not  very  legible.  Again  it  was  !  them  from  Mr.  West  until  you  have  scanned  their 
•  Misii  Eugc-worth.  I  contents." 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


49 


But,  alas !  at  Carlisle,  Ashley  had  just  left  the 
ronui  to  hasten  fresh  horses,  when  the  landlord, 
>\ho  was  not  every  day  honored  with  guests  who 
traveled  in  a  carriage-and-four,  officiously  liauded 
lieginald  the  paper,  which  he  received  with  uiucli 
iijiathy,  and,  merely  glancing  at  it,  laid  it  down, 
vhen  a  paragraph,  headed  "Marriage  in  High 
Lite,"  arrested  his  attention.  He  read  one  line,  j 
;;ud  fainted.  , 

"Poor  young  gentleman!"  said  the  landlady;  ' 
"  he  is  over-tired ;  he  requires  rest  instead  of  four  , 
horses."     And  if  he  really  did  need  rest,  he  had 
it,  in  one  sense,  abundantly;  for  when  he  next  j 
'K'came  conscious  of  any  thing  but  eliaos  within 
liios,  of  a  sort  of  maddening  whirl  from  which 
!:  re  was  no  escape,  he  saw  the  kind  face  of  Mrs. 
\ \  ruon  by  his  bedside,  but  every  thing  else  was 
quite  strange.     Happily,  she  perceived  the  faint 
expression  of  recognition  in  his  heavy  eyes,  and 
said : 

"  Do  not  speak,  dear  Reginald ;  you  are  among 
friends,  and  are  much  better."  She  need  hardly 
have  prohibited  speech,  for  he  was  mucli  too  feeble 
to  make  an  effort;  and,  sighing  heavily,  he  again  • 
closed  his  eyes,  and  thinking  it  was  very  pleasant 
to  die,  fell  into  the  first  gentle  sleep  since  his  ill- 
u.'ss.  •  ' 

"  God  be  praised!"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  an  hour  ' 

:;l'ter  this,  as  she  still  sat  watching  him;  "he  is 

ir.dy  much  better,  at  least  out  of  danger,  doc- 

i" — as  a  neat  little  man  glided  in — "  ha  has  rec- 

ilzed  me,  I  am  sure,  and  we  may  now  hope — 
:ii  ;y  we  not .'" 

••  Yes,  I  think  .we  may,"  as  he  removed  his  eyes 

'■rora  the  wan  and  worn  face  lying  so  death-like 

I  're  ;  "I  trust  we  may ;  but  the  nervous  system 

-i  received  a  dreadful  shock— I  should  say  that 
.1^  has  been  hovering  over  him  for  some  time." 

•■  I  believe  you  are  quite  right,"  replied  Mrs. 
"cinon,  thinking  that  with  doctors,  as  with  cou- 
•surs,  there  should  be  no  secrets;  "  this  gentle- 

lu  was  fngaged  to  be  married,  when  his  mother, 

i^ui   he  loudly  loved,  died;    and   some  news, 

.ich  may  change  the  whole  of  his  prospects  in  a 
i.in<t  disastrous  way,  was  suddenly  communicated 
to  him,  when  quite  exhausted  with  fatigue  and 
Mixiety." 

■■  Ah  !  I  perceive;  a  series  of  adverse  circura- 
^tmces,  with  love,  of  course,  helping  to  aggravate 
ilicin.  Well,  my  dear  madam,  patience  and  ease 
will  do  wonders.  I  expect  these  will  now  be 
"■'ilefly  in  demand ;  and  With  such  a  nurse  as  you, 
;j  ud  such  a  friend  as  Mr.  Ashley  Vernon,  they  will 
not  fail ;  and  1  think  I  may  venture  to  say,  in  a 
!i'w  weeks  he  can  be  safely  moved  to  the  Parson- 
age." 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

"L'nsase  nrdinaire  de  )a  finesse,  est  la  mnrque  d'un  petit 
•prit;  el  il  airivi-,  presqun  touj  purs  que  celiii  qui  sVn  sert, 
'Ur  se  coiivnr  en  lui  endmit,  ^e  d6c(juvre  ea  uii  autre." — 

A.  EOCUEJ-OUOAUI-D. 

Mrs.  Mklvii-lk,  of  whom  incidental  mention 
as  been  made,  many  years  ago  was  a  young  lady 
ho  lived  by  her  wits,  giving  that  word,  not  the 


intellectual  definition  of  Sydney  Smith,  but  using 
it  to  imply  the  exercise  of  a  quality  which  is  com- 
posed of  intense  selfishness,  great  meanness,  and 
profound  cunning.  It  is  useless  for  any  one  to  re- 
mind us  that  she  was  poor— for  poverty  no  more 
justifies  conduct  such  as  hers,  than  it  does  lying, 
swindling,  or  stealing.  Tlie  trouble  she  took  to 
cajole,  wheedle,  and  dupe  some  foolish  but  un- 
tractable  victim  was  much  greater  than  if  she 
had  worked  hard  for  a  living ;  while  the  real  in- 
tellect which  was  wasted  and  degraded  in  bring- 
ing her  schemes  to  perfection  would,  if  honestly 
exerted,  have  securetl  for  her  a  respectable  posi- 
tion in  society,  and  gained  her  the  esteem  of  her 
associates.  Talk  of  the  humiliations  of  poverty, 
its  toils  and  its  privations !  Talk  of  the  watch- 
ing and  disappointment  to  which  talent  is  ol  ten 
doomed!  Why,  they  are  as  nothing  compared 
with  the  self-imposed  labor ,  the  self-imposed  abase- 
ment of  a  cringing  parasite!  At  length,  in  an 
evil  hour  for  the  family  of  her  patroness,  Rachel 
Tod  was  introduced  to  .Miss  Dormer,  the  lady  to 
whom  Lord  Ernest  West  was  engaged. 

Here  her  talent  for  intrigue  found  its  proper 
sphere.  She  speedily  embroiled  the  lovers,  and 
though  a  reconciliation  took  place,  the  feeble 
health  of  Miss  Dormer,  which,  during  the  estrange- 
ment, iiad  suffered  greatly,  evinced  symptoms  of 
decline,  which,  after  many  alternations  and  much 
patient  endurance,  terminated  in  her  death. 

What  had  been  iNIiss  Tod's  object  in  thus  risk- 
ing the  loss  of  one  who  was  a  mere  puppet  in  her 
hands.'  Surely  it  would  have  been  more  to  her 
advantage  had  she,  by  kindness  and  sincerity,  es- 
tablished a  claim  to  the  friendship  of  one  who  was 
so  easily  influenced  through  her  affections,  and  of 
whose  g  ;nerosity  she  had  received  so  many  sub- 
st.uuiai  i^roofs  .'  As  if  Miss  Dormer's  friendship,. 
or  the  patronage  of  Lady  Eiuicst  West  could  have 
satisfied  the  newly-roused  ambition  of  Rachel 
Tod!  No;  she  played  for  a  higher  stake;  she 
l)layed  fur  Lord  Ernest  himself,  whose  vacillating 
and  feeble  character  was  as  clearly  written  on  all 
his  acts,  to  her  keen  eye.  as  if  he  had  been  one  of 
those  preposterous  figures  who  go  about  incased 
in  advertisements;  fur  even  so  did  he  advertise 
his  weakness,  his  timidity,  his  irresolution  to  her. 

But  before  this  notable  plan  was,  or  could  be, 
perfected — for  hesitat;on  and  obstinacy  are  often 
companions,  and  Lord  Ernest  was  not  easily  to 
be  persuaded  or  even  advised  — Captain  Dormer 
returned  fi'om  his  cruise,  and  being  good-luuk- 
ing,  wealtliy,  and  heir  to  a  baronetcy,  !ip]ieared 
to  Rachel  a  much  more  proini.>iing  si>eculation 
than  the  dreamy,  sentimental,  and  by  no  means 
handsome.  Lord;  in  short,  she  made  a  misiake, 
which  peuple  engaged  in  schemes  should  never 
think  of  committing — she  iell  in  love  with  the 
Captain,  really  and  bona  Jidc  in  love  !  How  could, 
eiie  be  so  siiii|il«!  while  he  only  amused  himself 
with  her,  and  read  her  as  plainly  as  she  read 
Lord  Ernest.  She  therefore  entered,  con  amon, 
into  a  sentimental  flirtation  with  the  gay  sailor,. 
and  well  for  her  that  she  escaped  undamaged  ; 
but  Capt;un  Dormer  was  expecting  liis  biide- 
elcct  from  Malta,  and  was,  on  this  account,  more 
than  usually  careful  of  his  character ;  Iters  was, 
of  course,  no  concern  of  his;  let  iter  look  after 
it;  and  so  she  heard  of  his  engagetneitt  and  re- 
ceived her  own  dismissal  at  the  aauie  time. 


50 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


But  death  and  legacy-hunting  are  as  insep- 
arable in  the  minds  and  expectations  of  this  order 
of  dependents  as  extreme  unction  ;iud  a  bequest 
are  in  the  mind  of  a  Jesuit ;  and  what  wiih  pres- 
ents of  jewelry,  advances  in  money,  keepsakes, 
and  other  little  windfalls,  she  left  tlie  Dormers  in 
deep  mourning,  but  with  colors  flying. 

Lord  Ernest  went  abroad,  or  perhaps,  after  all, 
he  would  not  have  escaped;  for  obstinate  though 
he  be,  a  weak-minded  man  has  no  chance  with  a 
resolute  woman;  but  he  was  still  kept  in  view, 
probablj'  on  the  same  principle  that  induces  a 
thrifty  housewife  to  put  aside  odds  and  ends, 
with  the  prudent  remark,  "  they  may  come  in 
handy  at  some  time." 

People  may  relate  anecdotes  of  the  dexterity 
with  which  pickpockets  exercise  their  trade; 
they  may  tell  of  schools  or  universities  in  which 
pupils  graduate  till  they  become  first-class  men, 
and  senior  wranglers  in  the  science  or  mj'stery 
of  abstracting  and  adding;  but  this  is  vulgar, 
bungling  work  alter  all ;  for  the  police  are  some- 
times sad  marplots  to  these  nimble- fingered  gen- 
try, and  magistrates  do  sometimes  pass  a  just 
sentence  ;  but  there  is  a  skill  which  shows  itself 
by  never  coming  into  collision  with  these  hum- 
drum castigators  of  petty  larceny — the  skill  of 
Btealing  a  ring  from  your  finger,  a  br^icelet  from 
your  arm,  a  chain  from  your  neck,  and  leaving 
a  strong  impression  on  your  m'nd  that  somehow 
you  have  been  persuaded  into  giving  it ;  and  this 
is  tlie  legerdemain  which  these  lady  professors 
practice. 

M.  Robin,  come  and  take  a  lesson  !  M.  Hou 
din,  learn  how  to  make  a  dress,  a  shawl,  or  any 
other  elegant  trifle,  find  its  way  from  your  neigh- 
bor's wardrobe  into  tiiat  of  Madame;  and  so  wo 
may  go  on,  ti-sque  ad  ?iaust:am,  and  still  find  ex- 
posure and  contempt  useless,  for  "the  creature's 
at  her  dirty  work  again;"  and  to  it  she  kept, 
and  persuaded  young  Mr.  Melville,  the  grandson 
of  her  then  patroness,  to  elope  with  her.  But 
the  old  lady  was  revenged ;  unknown  to  Mrs. 
Melville,  slie  possessed  the  power  of  thwarting 
her  project,  and  she  exercised  it  to  the  full 
extent.  She  settled  a  moderate  income  on  her 
grandson,  which  was  to  cease  at  his  death,  and 
the  rest  of  her  large  property  was  distributed 
among  distant  relations,  Avilh  some  of  whom  she 
had  quarreled,  and  others  she  had  never  seen 

Thus  baffleil  in  her  matrimonial  speculation, 
she  paid  the  full  penalty — namely,  limited  means 
— wliich,  with  a  husband  and  child,  her  utmost 
ingenuity  could  not  increase  by  a  successful 
cour,«c  of  visits;  and  tied  to  a  disappointed  man, 
who  upbraided  her  as  the  cause  of  his  changed 
prospects,  slie  may  almost  be  pardoned,  if  his 
death,  which  liappened  when  her  daughter  was 
about  twelve  years  old,  did  not  leave  her  quite 
disconsolate.  It  is  true,  their  oidy  ostensible 
means  of  living  died  with  him  ;  but  even  this 
loss  could  be  endured.  Hhe  was  once  more  free 
— once  more  at  liberty  to  exercise  those  talents 
which  for  so  many  years  had  been  hidden  under 
a  bushel. 

She  now  appeared  in  the  interesting  character 
of  a  widow,  left  with  a  daughter,  both  wholly 
iinprovided  for,  and  in  tliis  cliaractcr  she  went 
from  house  to  house,  collecting  all  sorts  of  things 
from  all  Borta  of  persons,  till  she  had  fairly  wca- 


I  ried  them ;  when  she  fixed  upon  Lord  Ernest  as 
I  the  one  who  was  now  to  have  the  chief  honor  and 
i  merit  of  being  her  tool— henceforth  he  would  be 
Tto  her  the  great  nugget — her  California— her 
'  Australian  gold-field. 

She  first  tried  the  power  of  her  still  remainin;:: 
gQod  looks  on  him,  but  in  vain  ;  Lord  Ernest  s 
I  life  and  manner  plainly  said,  "Man  delights  not 
me,  nor  woman  either."  Slie  then  insinuated 
that  he  must  want  some  sympathizing  friend, 
one  into  wiiose  patient  ear  he  could  freely  pour 
all  liis  sorrows  ;  and  having  succee<led  in  making 
him  unspeakably  miserable  by  her  perpetual  ref- 
erence to  his  past  trials,  she  hoped  she  had  be- 
come necc-saiy  to  his  present  and  future  com- 
fort ;  but  she  was  disappointed  and  mortifieil, 
though  not  daunted,  by  finding  that  he  thought 
his  old  servant,  Koberts,  understood  what  was 
needful  in  that  respect  better  than  any  other 
person. 

Baffled  in  one  plan,  her  indefatigable  industry 
looked  out  for  something  else  on  whicli  to  exer- 
cise itself,  and  propitious  fortune  sent  Keginala 
— yes,  he  was  the  very  one  she  would  havechost-n 
for  a  son-in-law  from  thousands— the  very  hus- 
band she  would  have  selected  from  a  crowd  ibr 
her  dear  Ernesta. 

But  her  dear  Ernesta  not  being  very  talented 
— in    truth,   being  very  stupid— sadly    annoyed 
and   irritated    her    strong-minded    mother — lor 
I  what  can  be  more  aggravating  to  one  who  lian 
I  applied   all    the    energies    of    a    cofnj)relien^ive 
I  and  powerful  intellect  to  some  grand  mcasuie, 
-  !  than  to  be  perpetually  hindered  by  another  who 
is  silly  enough  to  have  aff'ections  and  feelings — 
Avho  is  influenced  by  little  touches  of  nature  nii  1 
truth,   always  so  dreadfully  in    the   way   wh.  ii 
;  some  extrordinary  maneuver  is  to  be  executed  : 
Such  was  the  vexatious  opposition  she  now  lia  1 
i  to  overcome;  for  it   happened   before  the  Be-- 
'  inald  scheme  liad  been  started,  that  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville, in  one  of  her  rasli  and  uuusu  il  #ts  of  de- 
I  spair— when  the  funds  were  very  low  indeed — 
li:id  permitted  her   daugliter  to   encourage   the 
'•  admiration  and  attention  of  a  very  young  man  of 
[respectable    family    and    moderate    fortune;  in 
1  short,  Mrs.   Melville  not  only   let   them    fall    in 
j  love,   but   actually   sanctioned    it,   so    far   as   to 
I  have  herself  beeu  propitious  to  the  young  man's 
j  suit. 

And  will  it  be  credited  that  now,  wlien  Er- 
I  nesta  was  to  change  her  manner  to  this  hithevt.i 
i  favored  admirer,  she  was  both  perverse  and  r  ■- 
]  bellious  .'     AVell  might  poor  Mrs.  Melville  qim' 
[  the  old  song:  "Oh,  what  a  plague  is  an  obsti 
nate  daughter!"  for   Ernesta   declared   that    i 
was  useless  to  direct  her  attention  to  Keginal  1'. 
superiority;  she  never   could,  never  would    a( - 
knowledge  it;  she  was  insensible  to  the  distinc- 
tion, "  lie's  but  a  (it-neral,  damsel,  I'm  a  King  ;"' 
and  the  quarrel  threatened  to  become  serious; 
when  Reginald  at  once.  l)y  the  indifi'erence  of  liis 
manner,  cooled   the  anger  of  Mrs.   Melville   to- 
ward iier  daughter,  but  drew  it  on  himself 

Ever  kind  and  courteous,  and  believing  that 
the  society  of  so  old  a  friend  as  Mrs.  iMelvillo 
re;)resented  herself,  would  bo  good  for  his  hypo- 
chondriacal uncle,  pitying  also  the  destitiit> 
state  of  one  who  told  a  harrowing  tale  of  fran  i 
and  ill-usage,  ho  prompted  Lord  Ernest  to  fre- 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


51 


quent  liberalities,  and  encouraged  her  -visits  to 
OM  Court ;  but  as  to  being  smitten  by  the  charms 
ot  the  silly  Ernesta,  alias  Charlotte,  that  would 
h-.wa  been  impossible. 

Now  with  regard  to  this. alias  also  thereby 
lunigs  a  tale,  lor  this  led  to  another  cause  of 
just  anger  which  Mrs.  Melville  I'elt  toward  her 
ilaughter.  During  Mr.  Melvillr's  lifetime  the 
girl  liad  been  called  Charlotte— by  him  frequent- 
ly Lotte — but  lately,  to  her  surprise,  she  found 
slie  had  another  name,  (jne  wliicli  she  had  re- 
ceived to  mark  the  long-!itanding  friend.ship  be- 
tween her  mother  and  Lord  Ernest ;  she  was 
now,  therefore,  to  be  called  Ernesta ;  but,  like 
Glendower's  spirits,  she. often  did  not  co^ie  when 
she  was  called — oh  !  she  was  so  stupid,  that  girl ! 
poor  thing!  she  was  only  foolish,  fit,  and  fair — 
Very  good-natured — rather  addicted  to  sweeties 
and  cakes,  and  had  a  sentimental  habit  of  crying 
when  bullied  by  her  mother  ;  and  then  she  pre- 
vented the  unsentimental  aspect  of  a  heavy- 
lurking  blonde,  with  red  eyes  and  fiery  nose. 

Lucky  was  it  for  her  indolent  character  that 
lu'r  mother  had  such  a  superabundance  of  energy 
and  determination  !  "  Once  more  unto  the  breach, 
one  more,''  was  her  cry,  and  the  attack  was 
against  the  gentle,  resistless  Lord  Ernest.  Is 
there  no  pity  .'  none.  No  quarter  .'  none  ;  and 
lleginald's  announced  engagement  sharpened 
bdtli  her  resentment  and  her  weapons.  It  was 
now  or  never ;  and  so  skillfully  did  she  com- 
mence the  war,  that  wounded,  feeble,  and  wea- 
)ifd  as  was  Lord  Ernest,  she  gained  the  daj'. 
She  called  his  attention  to  Ernesta's  changed 
Lmks,  evident  enough,  for  she  was  weeping  for 
her  dismissed  swain — the  girl's  stupid  inatten- 
tion to  her  recent  baptismal  change  her  mother 
a.'^cribed  to  deep  feeling  at  the  sound  of  ti  name 
nhich  reminded  her  of  another;  she  reproached 
him  for  having  destroyed  the  peace  of  her  art- 
K•^s  child — appealed  to  his  honor — poured  in 
ttars — blew  up  sighs — threw  down  the  imped- 
iiueiits  which  his  Lordship's  indifference  and 
indulfnce  cast  in  her  way,  and  seated  her  guile- 
l.-s  Ernesta  on  the  throne  of  Old  Court!  But, 
nil  !  the  sleepless  nights  and  the  weary  days  it 
all  cost!  for,  suspecting  tluit  Roberts  was  espe- 
ci.dly  inimical  to  her  measures,  she  had  to  be 
:-iueli  on  her  guiird,  besides  having  to  coax  and 
Hitter — to  snub  and  threaten  that  perverse  Er- 
ne:^! a.  ]\Iany  a  slap  and  box  on  the  ear  did  the 
1  idy  elect  receive  from  her  mother's  vigorous 
hand  ;  but  even  the  effects  of  these  were  made 
serviceable  to  her  plans — and  tears,  which  dis- 
figured the  pretty  but  unmeaning  face — the  re- 
sult of  recent  cuffs — were  ascribed  to  the  distress 
of  mind  her  sensitive  Ernesta  endured  while 
smarting  under  the  taunts  of  old  friends  and  ac- 
quaintance; for,  Mrs.  Melville  having  success- 
lolly  maneuvered  for  an  invitation  to  Old  Court, 
liad  then  asserted  that  the  acceptance  of  his  hos- 
pitalities had  caused  the  finger  of  scorn  to  be 
pointed  at  her  beloved  ciiild. 

Wearied  and  worn  out — perplexed  yet  hesitat- 
ing—still only  half  convinced  that  he  was  bound 
in  honor  to  repair,  hj  marriage,  the  mischief 
caused  by  Ernesta's  affectionate  and  susceptible 
nature — he  consented  to  make  her  his  wife. 

lie  never  was  quite  so  wetik  as  to  believe  him- 
self ia  love,  or  so  vain  as  to  think  Ernesta  dan- 


gerously in  love  with  him ;  but  he  pitied  the 
fancy  to  which  she  had  yielded.  He  still  intend- 
ed to  do  every  thing  as  generously  as  ever  for 
Reginald:  and  he  forgot  that  in  acknowledging 
the  preposterous  claims  now  made  upon  him,  he 
was  rendering  that  difficult  perhtips  impossible. 
lie  never  thought  liow  cruelly  and  flagrantly  he 
was  violating  she  sanctity  of  a  promise — imper- 
iling the  h.appiness  of  others.  He  was,  at  pre- 
sent, alive  only  to  tlie  necessity  of  freeing  him- 
self from  importunities  which  had  become  almost 
intolerable,  and  which  he  was  too  indolent  and 
timid  to  break  from  by  energetic  metisures;  and 
so,  witii  a  vague  idea  of  full  compensation  in 
some  way  or  another  to  Reginald,  he  permitted 
this  arch  schemer  to  triumph,  and  became,  at 
sixty  years  of  age,  the  husband  of  a  foolish  girl 
not  quite  twenty. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  this  transaction  Mrs, 
Melville  was  conscious  that  she  ran  a  risk — but, 
in  excuse,  it  mu,-t  be  alleged  that  it  seemed  inev- 
itable. Delay  she  knew  was,  to  her,  not  only 
danger,  but  ruin;  and  not  doubting  her  ability  to 
recti ly  the  omission,  she  left  it  for  the  present. 
But  there  had  been  no  settlement  for  Einesta 

'  of  any  kind,  scarcely  a  promise  of  any — and 
time  would  not  stand  still  while  Mrs.  Melville 
flattered  and  argued  this  out  of  Lord  Ernest ; 
this,  then,  was   tiie  risk,   and   here  she  felt  was 

'  the  danger. 

So  well,  so  secretly,  and  so  briskly  had  slie 
followed  up  her  advantages,  that  Roberts  knew 

I  nothing  of  the  precise  direction  her  maneuvers 

■  had  tiiken.  It  was  only  a  few  days  before  the 
one  fixed  for  the  marriage,  that  he  heard  of  it. 

I  His  habitual  respect  for  his  lordship  could  not 
prevent  his  expression  of  astonishment,  faintly 
tinged  with  distippiobation— he  even  ventured  to 
inquire  if  Mr.  Reginald  knew  .'  and  hearing,  as  he 
expected,  that  he  did  not,  suggested  the  propriety 

i  of  informing  him — to  which,  and  much  to  his  sur- 
prise. Lord  Ernest  made  no  objection.     Perhaps, 

[  poor  man  !  he  thought  Reginald  might  yet  save 
him. 

Therefore  it  was  that  the  letter  had  been  dis- 
patched by  old  Roberts,  which  would  have 
brought  Reginald    immediately,  had    it    reached 

'  him ;  and  this   letter  it  was  which    caused    the 

■  hurried  departure  from  Craigalan — still,  as  we 
know,  Reginald  came  not.  And  when  the  small 
bridal  train  returned  from  the  village  church, 
where    the   ceremony  had  been  unostenttitiously 

'  performed — Mrs.  West's  recent  death  furnishing 
ii  retisun — Roberts  felt,  as  he  told  the  housekeeper, 
as  if  he  had  received  his  deictli-tdow. 
'  Not  once  afterward  did  Lord  Ernest  allude  to 
!  the  event,  destined  to  have  sucii  ett'ects  ;  ami 
when  Roberts  mentioned  Mr.  Reginald,  and 
expressed  his  wonder  at  his  absence  or  silence,  or 
ventured  a  conjecture  as  to  his  future  prospects, 
he  received  no  reply.  The  old  housekeeper,  in 
speaking  of  her  master,  said  he  seemed  dazed  ; 
and  certainly,  if  ever  an  elderly  gentleman  had 
reason,  she  said,  to  be  dazed  at  his  own  state,  it 
was  Lord  Ernest ! 

And  now  was  to  begin  another  reign;  for, 
when  silly  daughters  marry,  strong-minded 
mothers-in-law  rule,  and  this  she  did,  in  one 
sense,  with  less  interuption  or  aid  than  she  quite 
liked— for,  except  that  Lord  Ernest,  on  her  giv- 


52 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


ing  indications  of  intending  a  complete  change  in  I 
the  ministry,  very  peremptorily,  and  in  the  pre- 
sence of  Roberts  and  the  housekeeper,  forbade 
the  least  interference  with  their  long-established  | 
duties  and  services — no  one  lielped  her  ;  and  the  t 
prohibition  was  something  like  tying  a  man  by 
the  feet  firmly  to  a  rock,  and  then  bidding  him  I 
run  ;  fur  as  the  authority  of  Roberts  extended  ' 
over  one  lialf  the  household,  and  the  housekeeper 
over  the  other,  meddle  where  she  would,  Mrs. 
Melville  found  she  infringed  on  their  preroga-  . 
tive. 

Lord  Ernest,  who  seemed  to  think  that  he  was  | 
now  exonerated  from  all  further  trouble,  sunk 
into  a  kind  of  apathetic  indolence.  Though 
•irged  by  Mrs.  Melville,  he  refused  to  write  to 
Keginald— so  she  did— for  him.  And  a  pretty 
Bpecimen  of  English  blarney  that  letter  was  !  It 
arrived  while  Reginald  was  in  all  the  horrors  of  j 
fever  and  delirium,  and  was  opened  by  Ashley, 
who  took  no  furtner  notice  of  it  than  to  write  to 
Roberts  for  more  correct  information,  and  briefly 
alluding  to  the  then  state  of  Reginald,  and  prom- 
ising to  let  the  attached  old  mun  have  good  tid- 
ings, if  such  were  mercifully  permitted. 

His  lordship  was  equally  refractory  regarding  , 
his  brother,  with  whom  he  had  declined  to  com-  i 
municate  ;  again  was  her  eloquent  pen  in  requi-  j 
sition.  this  time  not  withoi\t  a  result— for  Lord  ' 
\Vestrougli  kept  no  measures  with  her — there  Avas 
no  blarney,  either  English  or  Irish,  in  her  reply; 
80  she  burnt  the  letter,  and  put  his  Lordship's 
name  among  a  few  others,  to  be  remembered — 
when  convenient. 

But,  oh!  climax  of  perverseness !  Lord  Er- 
nest refu>ed  to  summon  his  solicitor  !  well,  never 
mind,  it  is  only  one  eifort  more,  and  she  made  it 
— only  one  letter  more,  and  she  wrote  it ;  but 
this  time  she  had  better  have  left  it  alone;  fov 
after  a  short  interview  with  his  client,  witnessed 
only  by  Hoberts  and  the  doctor,  who  had  for 
years  been  almost  a  daily  visitor,  the  lawyer  left 
without  replying  to  her  anxious  inquiries  as  to 
what  instructions  he  had  received,  or  noticing 
lier  indirect  attempts  to  learn  whether  will  or 
seiilement  was  in  contemplation.  Raiher  a  balk 
this  !  and  a  nice  life  it  was  for  her  young  lady- 
ship also — who  was  snubbed  by  her  mother,  neg- 
lected by  her  husband,  and  waited  on  by  the 
servants  with  secret  contempt.  Of  wh  it  use  was 
her  tiile?  there  was  no  one  to  be  dazzled 
by  it.  scirce'y  any  one  to  call  her  by  it — of 
what  use  the  large  and  magnificent  house  .' 
— she  occupied  no  more  room  now  than  in  her 
mother's  cheerful  little  cottage;  as  to  the  car- 
riages and  horses  always  at  her  command,  young, 
strong,  active — what  did  she  care  for  them  .'  and 
what  comparison  was  there  between  the  solemn 
grauleur  of  a  solitary  drive, or  accompanied  only 
"by  her  mother,  iind  the  delightful  rambles,  she 
still  remembered,  when  at  early  morn  the  earth 
was  fre-h  and  pay — when  the  binls  got  up  a 
concert  in  every  leafy  copse,  and  where  the  voice 
of  one  she  roally  loved  whispered  soft  nonsense 
in  her  charmed  car .' 


CHAPTER   XXIH. 

"  He  comes,  the  herald  of  a  noisy  world, 
Wiih  Bpaltered  ijools,  strapp'd  waist,  and  frozen  locks. 
News  from  all  naioos  luml>ering  at  his  back  ; 
.    .     Perhaps  to  thousands  messengers  of  grief." 

COWPES. 

CoN'STANCE,  who  was  always  fond  of  being 
busy,  or,  as  Helen  said,  of  being  invested  vrith  a 
little  brief  authority,  had  voted  herself  permanent 
chairwoman  at  the  breakfast-table,  where  she  and 
the  letter-bag  were  always  found  waiting  for  the 
other  members  of  the  family.  Since  her  engage- 
ment and  Reginald's  absence,  Helen  also  made  her 
appearance  with  the  arrival  of  the  post,  eagerly 
listening  for  her  father's  step — for  the  opening  of 
the  bag,  when  he  was  at  home,  was  a  prerogatiy© 
which  he  rather  jealously  guarded. 

"  Papa  is  late  this  morning,"  observed  Helen, 
wistfully  glancing  at  the  bag. 

"  I  think,"  remarked  Constance,  seeing  her 
sister's  impatience,  "  I  shall  propose  to  papa  that 
we  have  two  bags  now,  one  for  mamma  and  our- 
selves, which  we  may  open  without  his  aid  ;  it  is' 
really  too  tantalizing,  thus  to  have  unknown 
wealth  in  our  hands,  without  being  able  to  look  at 
and  enjoy  it." 

Constance  had  an  additional  motive  in  suggest- 
ing this  arrangement.  Some  weeks  ago,  Colonel 
Teinpleton,  in  turning  the  key  with  great  impetu- 
osity, and  rather  a  trembling  hand,  the  result  no 
less  of  impatience  than  of  the  last  evening's  wine, 
which  he  had  not  slept  off,  broke  the  key,  and  in 
trying  to  extract  the  piece  left  in,  the  lock  was  in- 
jured. 

This  Mr.  Cooper  undertook  to  have  carefully 
repaired ;  and  after  it  came  back,  the  first  time 
Constance  distributed  the  contents,  which  her 
father  often  permitted,  on  handing  a  letter  to  her 
mother,  which  bore  the  Grantham  post-mark,  she 
fancied  the  seal  looked  less  clearly  defined  than 
those  made  by  her  quick  but  skillful  aunt  always 
were.  On  another  occasion,  a  letter  to  herself, 
from  Mrs.  Charles  Vernon,  seemed  so  evidently  to 
have  been  tampered  with,  that  she  determined  to 
keep  watch  on  these  matters ;  for  it  brought  the 
indignaiit  flush  to  her  very  brow,  when  sh3 
thought  that  information  of  strictly  a  family  na- 
ture should  be  publi.shed,  to  satisfy  the  imperti- 
nent curiosity  of  persons  from  whom  she  instinct- 
ively shrank ;  especially  was  she  roused  at  the 
mere  idea,  that  Reginald's  letters  to  her  sister 
shoidd  be  pr>.faiied  by  the  vulgar  prying  of  the 
she-captain  and  her  bold  daughter,  or  furnish 
matter  of  conversation  to  those  who  were  wholly 
unable  to  appreciate  the  dignity  and  purity  of 
natures  such  as  Reginald's— this  alone  would  have 
been  sufficient  motive  for  the  request,  and  she  re- 
solved no  longer  to  delay  making  it. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  when  he  appeared,  and  very 
deliberately  turned  the  key,  "  1  think  I  shall  set 
up  a  little  private  affair  on  my  own  account ;  that 
bag,"  she  continued,  with  a  serio-comic  expres- 
sion, "  has  been  inflicting  tortures  for  the  last  half- 
hour— the  famous  bags  which  Ulysses  had  are 
nothing  in  comparison.  I  fancy  I  have  heard  the 
gentle  voice  of  Mrs  Charles  Vernon  crying,  like 
Sterne's  starling,  '  I  can't  get  out,'  while  an 
Italian  remonstrance  from  Cecilia  says, '  voi  che 
enlrate  qui,  lascialt  vgni  speranza.'  " 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


53 


"What  are  you  driving  at,  Constance;  what 
whim  now  ?"  he  inquired  ;  and  she  knew,  by  the 
tone,  that  the  moment  was  propitious ;  so  at  once 
replied :  • 

"  I  wish  you,  dear  papa,  to  let  me  drive  over  to 
Seabrooke  and  purchase  a  letter-bag,  which  will 
be  consecrated  to  female  tViendsliip  and  poetry — 
to  sentimental  effusions  and  aoco'ints  of  the  fash- 
ions—to harmless  tittle-tattle  and  stray  pieces  of 
news — in  short,  that  will  relieve  your  grave  and 
busine^-like  dispatches  from  a  degrading  partner- 
ship with  our  frivolous  missives.  Only  taucy  the 
indignation  your  lawyer's  bulky  bill  must  feel,  at 
being  kept  for  a  needless  hour  in  company  vdth  a 
flimsy  account  for  ribbons,  lace,  and  muslins." 

"  Very  well — just  as  you  like — only  no  tricks, 
no  clandestine  doings." 

"  IV ever  fear  me^  papa,"  she  replied,  her  haughty 
and  beautiful  eyes  fearlessly  meeting  his;  "  wlie'n 
I  do  that,  I  give  you  leave  to  lock  me  up  in  the 
bag  with  my  correspondence,  as  a  punishment ;" 
but  her  tone  was  grave,  though  her  words  were 
not. 

"  Depend  upon  my  doing  that,  or  something 
like  it,  with  your  leave  or  without,"  said  her 
father,  laughing  ;  for  this  girl  had  a  strange  and 
unusual  power  over  him — unconsciously  to  himself, 
he  wished  for  her  good  opinion — in  her  presence 
lie  would  make  an  effort  to  check  his  unmanly  out- 
breaks when  any  thing  annoyed  him,  more  especi- 
ally as  any  conduct  of  this  kind  shown  toward 
Mrs.  Templetou  called  forth  the  expression  of  her 
displeasure,  by  those  looks  which  were  too  true 
aud  eloquent  to  be  mistaken.  He  was,  on  her  | 
-iccount,  more  indulgent  and  generous  to  them 
all,  for  he  saw  that  Constance  would  not  allow  of 
any  thing  like  a  demonstration  of  partiality ;  and 
while  Mrs.  Templeton  and  Helen  were  too  timid  to 
ask,  and  especially  to  remonstrate.  Constance  did 
^loth — often  with  success,  and  without  in  the  least 
Mifiingingon  the  respect  due  to  the  Colonel  as  her 

1  he  very  same  day  she  ordered  a  letter-bag,  not 
;  om  Seabrooke,  but  from  London,  which  was  to 
i  ive  a  Bramali  lock,  and  when  it  arrived  she  her- 

If  carried  it  down  to  the  post-office,  and  consign- 
>•  1  the  duplicate  key  to  the  master,  with  an  in- 
junction that  it  should  never,  except  by  an  order  ' 
.'^igned  by  Mrs.  Templeton  or  her  daughters,  quit  I 
Ills  possession.  "  And  I  hope,"  she  said,  having  ' 
an  object  to  gain  by  the  remark,  "  that  Robin 
comes  himself  in  good  time  to  meet  the  mail."         I 

"  Why,  yes,  miss,  he  always  do ;  but  once  or  I 
twice  Master  Cooper's  lad  have  come  early  like, 
to  fetch  Colonel's  bag,  being  as  how  he  was  going 
up  direct  to  the  Priory  ;  shall  I  give  him  this,  miss, 
if  so  be  he  comes  first  r" 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied,  aloud.  "  So,  so,"  she 
«aid  to  herself,  "  I  was  not  wrong  in  my  sus- 
jiieions,  but  I  think,  as  regard  our  letters,  I  have 
c.mght  them ;  and  now,  if  Master  Cooper's  lad  be 
conuEg  up  early  like,"  and  she  laughed  merrily 
at  the  idea,  "  we  shall  have  the  benefit  of  his  | 
6peed." 

She  told  Mrs.  Templeton  of  her  little  device,  and  ' 
greatly  amused  her  by  imagining  the  sufferings  | 
that  her  counterplot  would  intiict  on  a  curiosity 
which  further  and  careful  examination  of  several 
envelopes  proved,  had  not  let  itself  burst  in  igno- 1 
ranee-  1 


We  must  now,  however,  take  a  short  walk  into 
the  village— but  as  it  is  to  perform  an  act  of  ju.s- 
tice,  and  will  not  take  long,  it  may  be  easily  i>*r- 
doned. 

There  is  a  gentleman— we  have  Hamlet's  author- 
ity for  thus  calling  him— who  is  represented  as 
being  perpetually  in  mourning ;  and  an  ancient 
and  kind  remonstrance  is  currpnt  against  paint- 
ing him  blacker  than  he  is,  Let  such  clemency 
be  awarded  to  Cooper,  for  it  is  very  unfair  toward 
his  delicacy  of  feelings,  to  suspect  him  of  reading 
the  correspondence  of  the  Priory  ladies— why 
should  he .' — what  would  he  gain  by  doing  so .' 
nothing — therefore  he  did  not.  He  read,  or  fan- 
cied he  read,  all  the  Colonel's  letters,  and  that 
sulficied  for  him. 

But  not  so  easily  satisfied  were  the  inquiring 
minds  of  his  sister,  we  mean  Mrs.  Captain  and 
the  fair  Juliet — hence,  but  with  his  full  conniv- 
ance, the  manufacture  of  a  third  key. 

"  Ah !  ah !  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  r" 
asked  Mrs.  Captain,  the  day  after  Constance  had 
established  a  private  bag;  "and  pray  what  is 
this  for  }  two  bags  for  the  Priory,  and  different 
locks.  I  wonder  what  next !  but  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton is  at  the  bottom  of  this  scheme;"  she  had  an 
especial  spite  against  the  mistress  of  the  Priory ; 
"  but  I  shall  find  away  of  settling  this,  and  many 
other  accounts  with  her,  one  of  these  days,  see  if 
I  don't." 

"  I  rather  think,"  interposed  Cooper,  who,  upon 
the  whole,  was  disposed  to  defend  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton, whose  uncomplaining  gentle  character  had 
touched  him — even  him — "  I  rather  think  that 
the  lovely  Constance  is  the  plotter  here." 

•'  I  hate  that  girl  even  worse  than  Helen,"  ex- 
claimed the  free  and  easy  Juliet;  '•  and  if  I  catch 
Hubert  Forrester  so  often  accidentally,  as  he  pre- 
tends, meeting  my  young  miss  at  Sea-View  Cot- 
tage, I'll  make  him  repent  it." 

"  Mind  your  own  conduct,  and  escape  the  need 
of  repentance  yourself,"  said  Cooper,  with  a  half 
threat,  half  sneer ;  "  I  can  not  think  what  you 
and  your  mother  mean  by  running  after  that 
young  chap,  who  is  only  amusing  himself  at  your 
cost;  you  had  better  bait  your  trap  for  that  scam- 
pering foreign  fellow,  young  Morton ;  he  is  much 
more  likely  to  bite  than  the  other." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that  as  you  seem  to  be ; 
but  suppose  I  set  my  trap  for  both,"  was  the  im- 
pudent retort. 

"  Yes,"  said  Augustus,  who  was  the  pest  of  the 
whole  village,  from  his  sly  and  mischievous  pro- 
pensities, and  who  had  listened  to  this  conversa- 
tion from  between  the  folds  of  the  curtain — "  yes, 
only  remember  that  between  two  stools—"  but, 
before  he  could  finish  his  elegant  proverb,  his  sis- 
ter flew  at  him,  and  administered  in  rapid  succes- 
sion sundry  cuffs,  which  were  so  unmeekly  taken, 
and  with  so  little  disposition  to  offer  the  other 
cheek,  that,  like  some  of  Homer's  heroes,  the  two 
parties  closed  in  angry  fight,  and  ]Mrs.  Captain, 
all  her  warlike  tendencies  roused  at  the  sight, 
gave  Juliet  such  a  blow  on  the  back  of  her  neck, 
that  the  offended  ivory  showed  black-and-blue 
tokens  of  anger  for  several  succeeding  days.  In 
the  midst  of  this  scene,  which  he  viewed  with  the 
most  philosophical  indifference.  Cooper  and  the 
bags  disappeared,  as  they  had  already  been  de- 
layed suspiciously   long.     But  his  boy  was  no 


64 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


longer  so  early  a  riser  as  to  precede  Robin  at  the 
puii-office ! 

One  morning  Helen,  who  was  deputy  key- 
keeper  to  Constance,  unlocked  their  bag,  and  with- 
drew that  letter  so  dear  to  her— so  dear  on  ac- 
count of  the  writer— that  directly  it  was  forced 
from  its  envelope,  it  was  pressed  again  and 
again  to  her  lips — so  sacred  in  her  eyes  that 
in  solitude  only  could  it  be  read  and  fully  enjoy- 
ed— so  she  walked  out  on  the  broad  terrace,  and 
casting  her  eyes  on  the  glorious  prospect  which 
met  them  eyerywhere,  "  tliis  bridal  of  the  earth 
and  sky,"  she  opened  her  letter,  and  eagerly  read 
words  of  love  and  coulidence,  which  tilled  her 
heart  with  thankfulness.  She  there  learned  how 
truly  she  was  loved  and  prized — she  there  found 
how  much  she  had  it  in  her  power  to  soothe  and 
comfort— and  already  her  affectionate  heart  sug- 
gested a  reply,  in  which  all  her  love  was  to  be 
told ;  and  Reginald  was  to  be  made  still  happier, 
by  learning  that  long  ago  he  had,  in  her  thoughts, 
symbolized  all  that  was  noble  and  true. 

Alas!  alas!  how  we  plan  and  decide  for  our 
whole  future  existence,  when,  if  even  the  great 
destroyer  be  not  by  our  side,  events  almost  as 
powerful  are  hastening  to  change  the  whole  course 
of  our  future  destiny  !  That  letter,  which  Helen 
read,  with  her  .speaking  and  lovely  countenance 
telling  of  happiness,  was  the  first  sent  after  the 
travelers  had  reached  Scotland  ;  and  at  the  very 
moment  she  put  it  reverently,  fondly,  within  the 
folds  of  her  muslin  dress,  Keginuld  was  journey- 
ing with  wild  haste  toward  Old  Court ;  but  she 
was  .spared  the  knowledge  for  a  brief  period  only. 

"  Helen,  dear,  have  you  heard  from  Keginuld  ?" 
inquii-ed  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  yes,  mamma,  and  here  are  a  few.  lines 
from  Ashley  addressed  to  you ;  but  it  is  evident 
they  are  really  meant  for  us  all,"  folding  down 
the  postscript,  and  handing  the  letter  to  Mrs. 
Templeton. 

"  Ashley  is  the  prince  of  friends,"  cried  Con- 
stance, reading  over  her  mother's  shoulder ;  "  he 
says  they  are  already  better  for  their  journey, 
and  on  the  eve  of  starting  for  Ci-aigahm." 

"  j^hley  is  one  of  the  kindest  and  best  I  ever 
knew,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  who  had  had  re- 
peated opportunities  of  understanding  the  supe- 
riority of  his  character  in  her  constant  and  inti- 
mate intercourse  with  his  family. 

"  That  he  is,"  warmly  echoed  Constance,  "  and 
I  sincerely  hope  he  will  find  a  wife  who  will  value 
him  as  he  deserves. 

Her  motlier  glanced  at  the  animated  face,  but 
it  said  nothing  that  the  tongue  had  not. 

"  Ah  !  now  there  is  papa,  and  the  tea  and  cof- 
fee are  ready  to  the  moment.  Here  is  a  lovely 
morning,  papa,"  she  said  ;  "  I  give  you  good-day, 
and  claim  your  promise  of  a  ride.  I  hope  you 
liave  not  business  t'liere,''  indicating  the  letters, 
*'  wiiicli  will  rush  out  and  detain  you  prisoner." 

•'  1  do  not  expect  .so  formidable  an  arrest,"  he 
replie<l,  carelessly  o])ening  the  bag,  and  taking 
out  the  contcrts  very  slowly.  "  So  we  will  go  to 
}lurstwood,and  perhaps  Helen  will  like  to  accom- 
pany us." 

•'  With  great  pleasure,  papa,"  she  quickly  re- 
plied, excessively  gratific<l  at  this  unwonted  mark 
of  attention  ;  "  it  is  just  the  day  for  seeing  Hurst- 
wood  Avenue  to  perfection." 


"  Here,  dear  papa,"  said  Constance,  handirg  " 
him  a  cup,  ■'  taste  this  coffee  before  you  begin 
your  feast  on  the  news ;"  but,  as  he  tasted,  he 
undid  his  papers,*  nd  reading  a  summary  of  pub- 
lic matters,  he  pushed  away  his  cup,  saying, 
"  Now,  Constance,  for  some  of  your  excellent 
tea  ;"  when  casting  his  eyes  on  a  paragraph,  ho 
struck  the  table  so  fiercely  as  to  break  a  saucer 
that  was  near  him  ;  and  while  every  one  in  breath- 
less terror  turned  their  looks  toward  him,  he 
rudely  threw  the  paper  to  his  wife,  and  looking 
thunder  at  poor  Helen,  who  trembled  she  scarcely 
knew  why,  with  a  fearful  oath,  he  said,  "  Read 
that,  madam,  and  see  what  your  tine  favorite  ia 
come  to  ;"  then,  from  extreme  rage  being  unable 
to  articulate  more,  he  sat  down  with  clenched 
hands,  every  feature  swollen  and  distorted  by 
intense  passion. 

Helen  hastily  rose,  but  not  before  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton, having  read  the  fatal  lines,  had  gasped  out, 
"  Oh,  Cod,  my  child  !"  and  following  the  direcMon 
of  her  mother's  eye,  she  read,  or  rather  devoured, 
the  adjoining  paragraph  :  "  Marriage  in  High 
Life.— On  Thursday  last,  privately,  at  the  parish 
church,  near  Old  Court,  Lord  Ernest  West,  second 
son  of  the  late  Lord  Westrough,  and  brother  of 
the  present  Marquis,  to  Charlotte  Ernesta,  only 
child  of  the  late  Stephen  Melville,  Esq.,  of  Can- 
terbury." 

But  the  Colonel  by  this  time  had  recovered  his 
voice,  and  while  Helen,  feeling  that  some  dreadful 
blow  was  about  to  fall,  but  not  comprehending  its 
full  weight,  clung  to  Constance,  he  exclaimed, 
"  A  pretty  beggar  this,  to  come  and  ask  for  one 
of  my  daughters — a  fellow  who  has  not  a  shilling 
—  a  needy  upstart — but" — he  continuetl,  as  if  col- 
lecting his  energies  for  "some  awful  denunciation, 
when  Mrs.  Templeton,  pale  as  her  dress,  said, 
"  Stop,  Lionel,  oh,  stop !" 

"Stop.-"  he  almost  shouted;  but  Helen,  who 
had  at  last  understood  all — all  that  involved,  nok 
the  present  only,  but  the  future — with  a  deep  sob> 
fell  into  her  sister's  arms,  fainting. 

"Mamma,  help  me,  help!"  cried  Constance; 
and  they  placed  her  near  the  window  :  "  hold  her 
while  1  letch  water."  The  father  ro.se  and  left  the 
room,  banging  the  door  violently  ;  they  sprinkled 
her  pale  face,  they  opened  her  collar,  and  Con- 
stance drew  away  the  letter — the  last,  last  happy 
letter  that  her  sister  was  ever  to  receive — for  sht) 
read  all  that  was  to  happen  in  her  father's  gloomy 
brow,  in  his  muttered  threats;  and  her  heart 
ached  as  she  anticipated  what  awaited  Helen. 

liut  this  was  not  the  time  for  dwelling  on  these 
glimpses  of  the  future;  and  flying  for  IJ.iwson,  iu 
preference  to  summoning  their  own  young  attend- 
ant, by  her  aid  Helen  was  partially  recovered,  and 
laid  on  her  bed,  and  a  messenger  dispatched  for 
Mr.  Curtis,  the  doctor.  Having  waited  till  ho 
came,  and  gave  his  directions,  some  hours  after- 
ward Constance  determine<l  to  have  an  interview 
with  her  father.  She  knew  that  he  was  alone,  for 
she  had  seen  Cooper  canter  toward  the  village, 
she,  therefore,  knocked  at  the  library  door,  and, 
receiving  permission,  entered. 

The  Colonel  lifted  his  head  and  prepared  to 
speak,  but  she  quickly  stopped  him  by  saying, 
"  I  thought,  papa,  you  would  like  to  know  hovf 
poor,  dear  Helen  is,  so  I  have  come  to  say  she  is 
asleep.     Mr.  Curtis  wishes  her  to  be  kept  quiet. 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


55 


find  means  to  call  again  this  evening.  This  is  a 
very  s;ui  circumstance, "  she  continued,  gently., 
and  determining  most  carefully  to  feel  her  way, 
lest  any  indiscreet  step  should  injure,  where  she 
was  so  anxious  and  resolved  to  serve. 

"Sad  aiiair,  Constance!"  exclaimed  her  fa- 
ther ;  "  it  is  an  infamous  piece  of  trickery — a 
most  dishonorable  cheat ;  but  I  have,  at  any  rate, 
given  my  opinion ;"  and  he  pointed  to  two  letters, 
addressed  respectively  to  Lord  Ernest  and  to  Reg- 
inald. 

Oh !  how  she  longed  to  withdraw  the  latter. 
Oh  !  how  she  wislied  she  might  plead  for  gentle-  ; 
ness  and  forbearance  toward  one  so  sinned  against.  ! 
But  prudence  said,  "  Silence ;"  patience  said,  j 
"Wait  and  see."  She  knew  that  Keginald  would 
be  so  crushed  beneath  this  load  of  accumulated 
sorrow  and  disgrace,  that  this  addition,  ungener- 
ous and  cruel  as  it  might  be,  would  add  but  little 
to  his  burden ;  therofore,  almost  to  her  father's 
surprise,  she  said,  alluding  to  Lord  Ernest,  by 
pointing  to  his  name,  and  without  remarking  the  i 
letter  to  Reginald,  "  About  him  there  can  be  but 
one  opinion  ;  henceforth  his  name  is  another  word 
for  dishonor ;  but,  oh,  papa  !  how  cruel,  how  base, 
thus  to  have  played  with  the  happiness  of  others, 
and  to  have  destroyed  it !" 

"  Constance,"  said  he,  much  more  gently  than 
she  could  have  ventured  to  hope  for,  •'  you  are  a 
sensible  girl,  and  I  do  not  mind  talking  to  you.  1 
confess,  when  I  first  saw  you  enter,  I  wished  you 
away,  for  I  expected  you  had  come  to  pester  me 
with  sentiment  and  whimperings,  which  1  detest ; 
but  I  see  your  good  sense  tells  j'ou  that  there 
must  at  once  be  an  end  to  this  matter." 

"  I  fear,  indeed,  there  must ;  for  even  if  you 
•were  disposed  to  waive  ail  considerations,  and  for- 
get changed  situations,  I  do  not  see  how  Keginald 
could  accept  your  generosity.  Poor  Reginald ! — 
dear  Helen ! — they  were  so  happy,  and  their  pros- 
pects seemed  so  bright  and  fair  :  I  hope,  however, 
papa,"  she  added,  "  that  you  fully  acquit  him  of 
any  thing  base  and  false ;"  and  her  face  kindled, 
ready  for  the  defense. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know  that  I  did  quite  take  that 
view  of  the  matter,"  said  the  Colonel,  sliding  his 
hand,  as  if  without  being  conscious,  toward  the 
letter  directed  to  Scotland  ;"  but  you  say  truly, 
he  could  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  disgraceful 
proceeding,  which  injures  him  materially ;  besides, 
it  really  is  not  like  him  ;  so,  upon  second  thoughts, 
I  shall  not  send  my  letter  just  yet." 

Constance  felt  how  gladly  she  could  have  thanked 
and  kissed  him  for  saying  this ;  but  lest  it  should 
seem  as  if  .she  took  it  for  a  concession,  which 
might  annoy  her  fathei-,  she  again  listened  to  her 
friend — prudence. 

"  I  am  sui-e  mamma  and  Helen  would  be  much 
relieved  and  gratified  by  a  little  message  from 
you,"  she  said,  and  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 
"May  I  say  you  are  very  sorry  for  this  sad 
trouble  V 

"  Do  as  you  will,"  for  he  did  not  feel  comforta- 
ble while  the  joyous  beauty  of  her  face  was  ban- 
ished; "but,  mind,  I  shall  not  like  to  dine  alone. 
1  hate  weeping  and  sighing,  so  say  what  you 
wilL" 

"  Thank  you,  dear  papa,"  said  she,  very  grate- 
fully ;  and,  stooping  down,  she  removed  his  still 
redundant  locks,  and  kissed  his  forehead.    It  was 


one  of  her  little  ways,  which  strangely  affected 
and  pleased  lier  father — so  much  so,  that  he  often 
returned  the  innocent  cai'ess.  He  did  it  on  this 
occasion. 

But  Constance  did  not  hasten  with  eager  steps 
to  give  this  message,  though  she  knew  that,  scant 
as  it  was,  it  would  be  welcome ;  she  turned  toward 
the  garden,  and  there,  with  nothing  but  nature 
and  her  own  heart,  she  held  earnest,  serious  com- 
munion. 

Constance  had  long  been  aware  of  the  state  of 
affairs  at  home ;  unlike  Helen,  who  had  been  gra- 
dually concentrating  her  attention  on  what  related 
to  Reginald,  slic,  "  fancy  free,"  had  watched 
events,  and  carefully  drawn  her  own  conclusions. 
She  saw  that  her  mother  was  unhappy — she  slow- 
ly discovered  that  her  father's  conduct  was  the 
cause ;  and  if,  at  one  time,  inexperience  and  lov- 
ing enthusiasm  had  allowed  her  to  dream  of  being 
the  means  by  which  asperities  might  be  smoothed 
and  difficulties  removed,  subsequent  knowledge 
had  awakened  her.  And  now,  here  was  this  new, 
this  dreatU'ul  trial.  How  would  Helen  bear  it.' 
and  if  slie  sorrowed  and  refused  consolation,  oh ! 
how  that  would  add  to  the  burden  of  her  idolized 
mother.  Therefore,  Constance  felt  that  to  prevent 
this  must  be  her  endeavor — this  must  be  the  mo- 
tive for  exertion  on  her  part.  She  saw  that  now 
was  the  time  to  prove  tlie  sincerity  of  her  love, 
and  solemnly  did  she  devote  herself  to  the  task. 

It  was  truly  a  beautiful  thing  to  see  how  tliese 
young  girls  ever  remembered  their  mother — in 
their  joys,  to  share  them  with  her — ii^  their  sor- 
rows, hitherto  little  more  than  those' of  childhood, 
to  hide  them  from  her. 

After  a  long  and  sorrowful  vigil  spent  by  Hel- 
en's bedside,  who  had  been  restless  and  feverish, 
though  she  occasionally  dozed,  toward  the  hour 
of  dinner  Constance  prevailed  on  her  mother  to 
seek  rest,  if  not  sleep — promising  soon  to  follow 
her  example;  and  scarcely  had  Mrs.  Templeton 
left,  when  Helen  opened  her  heavy  and  swollen 
eyelids.  "  Constance,"  said  she,  and  she  raised 
her  sad,  pale  face. 

"  I  am  here,  deadest,  but  lie  dawn." 

"  I  will  presently,"  replied  Helen;  "  but  I  have 
been  awake  ever  since  you  prevailed  on  dear 
mamma  to  go,  and  I  have  been  thinking ;"  and 
tears,  quiet  tears,  flowed  freely  down  her  cheeks. 

Constance,  in  her  heart,  thanked  God  for  this 
proof  that  Helen  was  more  composed,  and  said, 
"But  you  had  better  try  and  sleep  again,  darling, 
had  you  not .'  Thinking  will  not  suit  your  poor 
head  just  now,  will  it :" 

"  jS'o,"  replied  Helen,  "  nor  uncertainty  either; 
jnd  now,  dear,  you  must  tell  me  all  that  terrible 
history,  that  struck  me  as  if  for  death.  I  shall  be 
better  wlien  it  is  all  clear  to  me." 

And  Constance  began,  and  faithfully  told  her 
all— not  omitting  the  interview  with  her  father; 
and,  perceiving  that  Helen  was  calm  and  atten- 
tive, she  told  her  all  she  had  thought  of  in  the 
garden. 

"  I  am  thankful,  very  thankful,  that  pnpa  doea 
justice  to  one  who  so  truly  merits  it.  Cuuatance, 
did  you  take  a  letter  from  me  r" 

"  Yes,  dearest,  here  it  is."  Helen  took  it,  and, 
kissing  it,  placed  it  on  her  pillow. 

"  All  you  have  said  is  wise  and  good ;  all  your 
counsel  I  will  try  to  act  up  to.     Our  mother  must 


56 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


not  grieve,  when,  by  an  exertion  on  our  part,  we 
can  prevent  it.  Now  leave  me — I  shall  like  to  be 
alone  for  a  few  hours."  I 

And  Con.stance,  darkening  the  room  which  the 
fond  niotlier  had  made  so  beautiful  for  her  beloved 
ones,  went  to  speak  peace  to  her  who  was  scarcely 
ever  absent  from  her  thoughts.     Truly  was  she  a  ! 
ministering  angel,  that  fair  girl;  for  the  tidings  | 
she  brought  to  Mrs.  Tcmpleton  were  such  as  she  i 
had   never  ventured   to   hope   for.     That  Helen  j 
should  unselfishly  determine  to  wrestle  with  her 
grief,  was,  perhaps,  not  .so  strange  to  one  who 
knew  so  well  what  aftection  could  do;  but  that 
her  husband  should  so  fur  have  yielded  to  a  better 
influence  and  to  better  feelings,  as  actually  to 
■withdraw  a  letter  written  while  his  heart  was  full 
of  anger  and  disappointment,  because  convinced 
that  it  would  be  unjust  to  send  it,  that  did  aston- 
ish her. 

"  And  it  is  to  you,  my  brave  pet,  we  entirely 
owe  this  desirable  result ;  it  is  from  the  exercise 
of  your  good  sense  so  much  of  this  comes,"  said 
her  mother,  fondly  embracing  Constance  ;  "  and 
richly,  this  day,  have  you  recompensed  me  for 
many  and  many  a  lonely  year,  passed  while  my 
children  were  the  joy  and  delight  of  a  stranger's 
home." 

"  Dear  mamma,  but  you  felt,  you  knew  that 
our  love  was»ever  with  you,"  said  Constance. 
"  (Jh,  how  often  we  used  to  laugh,  and  say,  '  How 
mamma's  face  muse  burn,  we  have  been  talking 
60  long  of  her.' " 

And  then  the  conversation  took  another  direc- 
tion, and  they  spoke  of  the  event  which  had  in 
one  moment  dashed  aside  the  hopes  of  two  loving 
hearts ;  and  Constance  learned  from  her  mother 
many  particulars  of  Lord  Ernest  and  of  the  West- 
rough  family,  till  then  unknown  to  her.  Thus 
talking,  they  passed  the  time  till  shortly  before 
dinner,  when  they  were  surprised  by  the  entrance 
of  Helen,  looking  wan  and  languid,  but  evidently 
not  so  overcome  as  they  had  naturally  expected 
Bhe  would  have  been. 

She  held  a  folded  letter  in  her  hand.  "  I  have 
come,  mamma  and  Constance,"  she  said,  "  to  con- 
vince you  that  I  am  not  going  to  increase  the 
painful  consequences  of  this  day's  sad  news,  by 
giving  way  to  any  feelings  I  can  possibly  over- 
come. 1  have  thought  much  and  deeply  during 
the  last  two  hours,  and  the  result  is  in  this  letter. 
If  papa  will  permit  it  to  go,  I  think  it  will  be  bet- 
ter for  all.  Constance,  you  may  tell  him  the  sub- 
Btance  of  it,  which  is  this.  That  I  have  set  Regi- 
nald—" she  faltered  at  the  name,  but,  as  if  in 
puni.-hmcnt  for  her  weakness,  repeated  it — "  I 
have  set  Reginald  free ;  but  1  have  not  asked  to. 
be  set  free  in  return— that  would  be  useless;  I  do 
not  wish  it ;  and  to  him,"  she  resumed,  with  kin- 
dling looks,  "  it  is,  1  know,  only  useful  as  making 
hiui  feci  that  he  can  go  where  he  likes — do  as  he 
likes,  without  the  least  restraint,  but  such  as  his  ' 
never-ending  love  for  me  may  make  pleasant  to 
him.  1  love  him,  oh,  mother !  1  love  him  more 
than  ever ;  so  I  tell  him,  but  I  give  him  up  for  a 
time ;  and  whenever  he  can  claim  me,  and  1  know 
he  will  some  day,  then,  if  1  live,  1  am  ready  to  be 
his— his  wife;  but  this  once  1  must  be  permitted 
to  speak  my  own  words,  and  to  utter  my  own 
feelings;  after  this  I  shall,  perhaps,  never  ask 
more  than  one  other  favor — it  will  be  to  have  the 


reply.     Can  you  manage  this  for  me,  dear  Con- 
stance.-" 

"  That  I  will,  dearest  sister,  in  such  a  cause  I 
can  not  fail ;"  and  Helen,  who  had  nobly  made 
this  efibrt,  looked  faint  and  exhausted,  excused 
herself  from  appearing  at  dinner ;  but  Constance 
prevailed  on  Mrs.  Templeton  to  descend,  remem- 
bering that  her  father  had  rather  made  a  point 
of  their  being  present. 

The  meal  passed  in  more  than  usual  silence ; 
still  it  was  not  so  formidable  as  Mrs.  Templeton 
had  apprehended;  and  when  the  dessert  wa- 
placed,  and  the  servants  dismissed,  at  a  signal 
from  her  daughter  she  rose  and  walked  out,  us  ii 
to  fetch  some  flowers. 

"  Papa,"  began  Constance,  "  you  were  so  very 
kind  this  morning,  that  I  venture  to  prefer  a 
petition,  which  arises  partly  out  of  the  conversa- 
tion we  then  held,  and  which  1  repeated  to  Helen 
— who  at  once  saw  your  reasons'' — not  quite  ex- 
act, dear  Constance,  but  let  it  pass — "  so,  papa, 
she  has  decided  to  set  Reginald  free." 

"  Set  him  free!"  loudly  began  the  Colonel. 

"  Pray,  papa,  let  me  finish  before  you  con- 
demn; but,  very  naturally,  she  wishes  her  lettev 
to  go  at  once" — she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
say,  unread — "  and  this  is  the  favor." 

"  Oh  I  if  that  is  all,  send  it — but  remember,  ir 
must  be  the  only  one;  but  send  it,  it  will  save 
me  the  trouble  of  writing  another  letter  myself;" 
thus  giving  her  to  understand  that  the  offensive 
communication  would  be  suppressed. 

"  Thanks— a  thousand  thauks,"  she  said  aloud 
and  very  fervently  to  herself,  she  added,  '■  an  1 
thanks,  indeed,  tenfold,  that  that  terrible  epistle 
has  been  destroyed." 

So  Helen's  letter  went,  and  she  was,  to  all 
pearance,  wonderfully  calm. 

"  But  the  face  may  be  tingVI  with  a  warm,  sunny  smile 
Though  ihe  cold  heart  to  ruin  runs  darkly  the  whUe." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


"  They  grew  in  beauty  side  by  side, 
They  fiU'd  one  house  wiih  gUe." 

Mks.  Hemans. 

The  news,  of  course,  quickly  spread  througI\ 
the  house,  and  thence  equally,  of  course,  over  tlie 
village,  that  .Mr.  West  was  a  ruined  man — thaS 
his  prospects  were  blighted,  and  his  marriage 
with  Miss  Templeton  broken  off!  •£ 

By  the  more  intimate  friends  of  both  parties 
the  news  was  listened  to  wiili  the  kindest  ex- 
pressions of  condolence  ;  and  while  truly  sympa- 
tiiizing  with  Reginald  on  this  blow  to  his  love 
and  his  hopes,  every  one  felt  that  his  afliiction 
would  be  rendered  more  poignant  by  the  reflec- 
tions which  must  be  cast  on  Lord  Ernest's  want 
of  honor  and  justice. 

"  What  a  dreadful  disappointment  for  him,** 
said  Lady  Dallas,  her  eyes  actually  overflowing, 
as  her  kindness  pictured  his  distress. 

"Sad,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Forrester.  "I 
little  thought  1  could  so  soon  refer  to  the  lo.ss  of 
my  dear  friend,  his  mother,  with  such  resigna- 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


57 


tion ;  but  I  now  see  she  is  spared  this,  and  is, 
indeed,  taken  from  the  evil  to  come." 

"  Of  course,"  remarked  Laurette,  "  Mr.  West 
must  see  the  propriety — indeed,  the  necessity, 
of -writing  to  free  Helen — and  painful  as  it  may 
he,  I  hop  that  he  will  take  the  lead." 

"  1  am  quite  sure  that  Reginald  will  do  all 
that  is  honorable,  though  his  heart  should  break 
in  the  effort,"'  said  Mrs.  Forrester,  decidedly ; 
"  and  like  you,  my  dear  Laurette,  I  hope  he  will 
do  so  promptly." 

.  But  several  days  passed  without  any  letter, 
and  those  whose  friendship  gave  them  a  claim  to 
information,  looked  dilhppointed  and  anxious. 
At  last,  letters  came  from  Lady  Sinclair  to  the 
Priory,  and  to  her  daughter ;  to  the  latter  she 
gave  a  detailed  account  of  all  slie  knew,  express- 
ing her  strong  desire  to  learn  more,  and  espe- 
cially all  the  particulars  Laurette  could  send 
respecting  the  Templetons,  about  whom  she  and 
Bir  Archibald  were  most  anxious 

Her  Ladj-ship's  letter  to  the  Priory  was  by 
the  same  jiost  which  also  brought  a  few  lines 
from  Ashley  Vernon,  cautiously  informing  them 
of  Reginald's  illness,  and  promising  dail^'  reports. 
Then  it  was  that  poor  Helen  felt  there  might  be 
a  trial  in  store  for  her  too  dreadful  even  to  be 
thought  of 

Outwardlj'  calm  as  she  had  been  for  the  last 
few  days,  who  may  tell  all  the  agony  of  that 
bruised  young  heart — resigned  as  she  had  seemed 
— who  knew  through  what  an  ordeal,  in  silence 
and  in  tears,  she  had  passed,  before  slie  had  at- 
tained it — and  now — oh  !  it  was  too  bitter  a  sor- 
row to  be  possible  !  Was  she  never,  never  again 
to  hear  that  loved  voice.'  never  again  to  see  that 
dear  face .'  must  he,  indeed,  pass  away,  and  she 
not  have  the  sad  consolation  of  watching  by  his 
side  .'  Poor  Helen !  poor  girl !  and  her  heart 
was  heavy  with  its  sorrow. 

Neither  her  mother,  nor  Constance,  during 
this  agonizing  suspense,  attempted  to  comfort 
her;  they  could  not  bid  her  hope ;  they  felt  that 
she  needed  that  support  which  nothing  earthly 
can  give  ;  and  oh  !  the  prolonged  agony,  when, 
day  after  day,  letters  came  from  Ashley,  from 
his  mother  and  sister,  all  repeating  the  same 
fearful  tale — Reginald  lingering  between  life 
and  death.  Helen  at  last  gave  way ;  it  seemed 
as  if  she  had  no  longer  either  hope,  or  care,  or 
object  in  life. 

At  last,  blessed  tidings  !  are  they  true  .'  there 
is  hope  !  and  when  the  next  day  they  were  con- 
firmed, and  a  letter,  such  a  letter !  came  to 
Helen  from  Dr.  Vernon,  though  she  still  wept, 
they  were  no  longer  the  tears  of  despair. 

One  morning,  about  a  week  after  tliis  news, 
■which  daily  became  more  and  more  certain,  when 
Colonel  Templeton  came  down  to  breakfast,  he 
was  astonished  to  see  the  two  letter- bags  lying 
On  the  table  before  his  chair,  and  tiie  little  key, 
which  Constance  rather  ostentatiously  carried 
attaclied  to  her  watch-chain,  on  the  top  of  that 
belonging  to  her. 

"  What  is  tills  for  .'"  he  inquired  of  Con- 
Stance,  who  was  tlie  only  other  occupant  of  the 
room. 

"  When  you  gave  me  leave  to  have  that  b.ag, 
papa."  replied  slie,  "  we  all  little  tliought  of  the 
eloud    that  was  gathering  over   our   heads.     I 


then  laughingly  promised  you  never  to  let  it  bo 
the  medium  of  any  thing  clandestine  ;  to  myself 
I  solemnly  said,  it  sh:ill  never  be  the  means  of 
weakening  my  father's  confidence  in  me ;  till  this 
morning,  1  never  knew  the  strength  of  tempta- 
tion, or  the  extent  of  my  own  weakness ;"  she 
rose,  and  opening  the  bag,  drew  forth  a  letter 
addressed  to  Helen.  The  writin-,'  was  much 
changed,  evidently  formed  by  a  feeble  hand,  for 
the  characters  were  uneven  and  tremulous  ;  but 
still,  post-mark,  seal,  all  proclaimed  that  it  was 
from  Reginald. 

"  This,"  proceeded  Constance  gravely,  and 
firmly  retaining  the  letter,  "  will  either  be  given 
to  Helen  or  destroyed !"  she  did  not  add,  "  no 
one  else  shall  read  it,  nor  shall  it  be  insultingly 
returned  ;"  but  that  was  evident  in  her  tone  and 
look.     ••  Papa,  wliich  is  it  to  be  !" 

He  looked  up  at  the  young  ingenuous  face,  a 
slight  expression  of  entreaty  was  mixed  with 
a  tolerably  large  portion  of  decision,  and  gave 
even  more  than  usual  dignity  to  the  perfect  fea- 
tures. 

"  Constance,"  said  lie,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  he  had  steadily  looked  at  her,  "  you  are  a 
brave  girl,  and  what  is  more,  you  are  a  noble 
one.  There,"'  he  continued,  pushing  away  both 
bag  and  key,  "  henceforth  it  is  yours,  and  yours 
only;  so  never  fear  losing  my  confidence  ;  1  must 
be  a  demon  to  distrust  you.  But  wliy  are  you 
always  sent  on  these  matters .'  Wliy  does  not 
Helen  come  forward  herself.'  Upon  my  soul,  I 
am  sorry  for  this  affair,  I  am  indeed ;  and  she 
ought  to  be  quite  sure  tliat  it  is  so." 

"  Helen  is  not  "very  strong  or  very  well,  and 
she  has  been  sadly  tried,"  said  Con^tance ;  "  be- 
sides, I  think  she  is — "  she  hesitated  to  say, 
"  afi-aid  of  you" — but  he  did— "  you  think,  you 
know,  she  is  afraid  of  me— say  it  at  once ;"  and 
he  half  strangled  a  sigh. 

"  Helen  never  was  strong  as  I,  papa;  but  I  still 
feel  quite  sure  that  on  all  important  occasions 
she  has  strength  of  mind  and  principle  which 
will  carry  her  safely  through,  where  1  miglit, 
perhaps,  fail ;  and  1  am  sure  she  will  be  very 
grateful  for  your  indulgence,"  looking  at  the  let- 
ter, "  as  well  as  for  your  expressions  of  sympa- 
thy ;  but  are  tliere  no  means  by  whicli  V — she 
colored  and  stopped,  for  her  fatlier's  brow  grew 
dark. 

"  Constance,  I  tell  you  there  are  none ;  you  do 
not  know  exactly  how  I  am  circumstanced ;  per- 
haps— well — some  day  I  may  let  you  see  how  I 
iim  hampered — but  never  mind  that  now.  I  must 
look  at  my  own  dispatches." 

He  did  so,  and  held  a  letter  which  lie  had 
read  more  than  once,  for  a  few  minutes  in  his 
hand,  as  if  undecided  what  to  do;  at  lengtli, 
he  threw  it  over  to  Constance,  saying,  witli 
some  emotion,  "  Upon  my  life  this  is  too  bad — 
Vjy  heavens  !  he  is  too  fine  a  fellow  to  be  thus 
sacrificed  to  this  imbecile  old  rascal;  read  it, 
read  it." 

As  she  had  suspected,  the  letter  was  from  Reg- 
inald, written  directly  he  could  hold  a  pen  ;  it 
was,of  curse,  short,  but  the  tears  fell  fast  down 
the  face  of  Constance  as  she  read  the  quiet  resig- 
nation with  which  he  yielded  to  his  fate— nu  word 
of  reproach  or  complaint.  On  the  ci>ntr:iry,  he 
thanked  Colonel  Templeton  for  hia  forbearance  in 


58 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


not  having  upbraided  him  for  being  the  cause,  i 
though  the  innocent  one,  of  the  distress  which,  j 
he  -was  too  candid  to  conceal,  he  was  sure  had  , 
fallen  on  Helen.  He  also  accepted  the  Colonel's  j 
eilence  as  an  .assurance,  whicii  was  very  precious 
to  him,  that  he  cast  no  shadow  of  duubt  on  the  j 
integrity  and  honor  of  his,  Reginald's,  conduct. 

Glancing  at  her  father,  to  read  his  consent  to  ] 
her  retaining  tliis  letter,  she  secured  it  in  her  j 
bag,  and  then  seeing  that  he  was  at  leisure,  she 
said,  "  1  was  thinking,  papa,  that  if  Helen  and 
mamma  could  go  away  for  a  short  time — if  you 
will  let  me  take  care  of  you,  1  will  do  my  best 
to  make  you  comfortable — their  absence,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  might  be  a  good  plan." 

'•  The  very  thing,  though  it  never  struck  me 
till  you  proposed  it— but  you  must  all  march  off 
together.  1  shall  take  that  opportunity  of  run- 
ning up  to  town.  At  present,  however,  none  of 
us  can  leave,  for  Lord  Ilurstwood  is  expected; 
and  as  we  could  not  receive  him  when  he  was 
last  here,  we  must  now  liave  a  grand  affair  in 
his  honor.  Afterward,  you  shall  all  go  to  the 
Granthams,  your  mother  says  they  have  long 
wanted  yoxi ;  will  that  do,  you  dictatorial,  hec- 
toring little  puss .'"' 

"  Very  well,  indeed,  papa,  and  now  I  shall  leave 

you." 

Armed  with  letters,  which,  while  they  wounded, 
would  bring  healing  and  peace,  Constance  has- 
tened to  Helen,  who  was  breakfasting  with  her 
mother ;  and  having  dismissed  her,  to  read  and 
weep,  as  she  vrns  sure  to  do,  over  such  letters. 
Constance  astonished  her  mother  with  an  account 
of  all  she  had  done  in  reference  to  their  intended 
visit.  It  was  precisely  the  plan  Mrs.  Templeton 
most  desired.  To  escape  for  a  time  from  all  the 
recollections  of  the  Priory — even  from  friendly 
sympathies,  much  as  she  valued  these  last,  would 
have  been  a  boon  gratefully  accepted — but  when 
she  found  that  she  was  again  to  visit  the  scenes 
of  her  early  days — that  beautiful  Grantham, 
which  had  been  the  paradise  of  her  youth,  and 
from  which  she  had  been  exiled  ever  since  her 
marriage — it  seemed  almost  too  happy  to  be  true. 

Witli  her  brother  and  his  wife  she  had  always 
maintained  the  most  friendly  correspondence ; 
and  though  they  kindled  with  indignation  when 
they  thought  how  her  happiness  had  been  wrecked 
— the  system  from  Which  she  had  never  departed, 
effectually  prevented  all  interference — therefore, 
externally,  all  looked  well ;  for  Colonel  Temple- 
ton  was  always  included  in  the  many  and  pressing 
entreaties  to  visit  them — Grantham,  after  many 
years  of  alienation,  having  again  come  into  his 
lordship's  possession. 


CIL\PTER   XXV. 

•'•Sweet  wl  <>n  the.  winter  of  (ILciPiiiie  ig  pnst. 
Ami  (liu  eUd  8|iriiif;  nf  IichIiIi  r.  tiirrirt  at  Innt ; 
On  II  liiveil  chi-fk,  I'liii:  lilo  Ml. !(■»•<,  to  l)i'h"ld 
18  Ursl  faitil  lint,  ihc  lrciiiOliiij»  nm-  ur  lol.l," 

Dk.  BllOWN. 

In  the  mean  time,  terrible  were  the  days,  the 
weeks  of  suspense,  which  harassed  Reginald's  de- 


voted friends  in  the  north.  Though  his  medical 
attendant  was  correct  in  saying  all  danger  was 
voer,  and,  at  last,  gave  permission  to  remove  him 
to  Charles  Vernon's  comfortable  parsonage,  only 
they  wTio  have  watched  the  alternations  of  return- 
ing health,  the  hopes  which  a  breath  ofifeir  may  [ 
dash  to  the  ground,  the  appearance  of  amendment 
which  some  unknown  cause  proves  to  have  been  , 
false,  only  they  who  have  gone  through  this,  can 
understand  what  anxiety  there  was,  and  how  dif- 
ficult it  was  not  occasionally  to  despair. 

At  length,  symptoms  of  decided  and  permanent 
amendment  appeared,  and  again  he  was  welcomed 
by  them,  almost  as  on#  from  the  tomb.  But 
though  health  gradually  returned,  where  were  the 
hopes  which  had  rendered  life  one  long  blessing  ? 
they  had  departed  like  the  singing-birds  of  the  ; 
season— and  would  come  no  more!       • 

Directly  he  was  able  to  read  his  letters,  he 
asked  for  them.  Ashley  had  previously  seen  all 
that  had  arrived,  those,  of  course,  excepted,  which 
had  come  from  the  Priory.  Two,  one  from  Mrs. 
Templeton,  and  another  from  Constance,  Reginald 
put  into  Ashley's  hands  for  him  to  read;  and  as 
he  received  them  back,  he  said,  "  Terrible  enough 
to  be  separated  from  such  hearts  as  those,  what, 
then,  must  it  be  .'"—but  he  could  not  proceed,  and 
pointed  with  a  look  of  despair  at  Helen's. 

Lord  Westrough  wrote  to  him  very  kindly,  and 
in  another  letter  to  Ashley,  expressed  his  hope    ; 
that  when  Reginald  was  sufficiently  recovered,  ho 
would  prevail  on  him  to  spend  some  time  at  tlieir 
house  near  town,  politely  adding,  that  if  Ashley 
would  accompany  his  friend,  it  would    increase 
the  pleasure.     His  Lordship  also  hinted,  that  he 
would  use  all  his  influence  to  procure  him  some 
appointment,  when  he   ascertained   what   woull 
best  suit  him.    But  at  the  word  appointment,  A^l; 
ley,  who  was  happily  alone,  almost  uttered  a  ve: ; 
strong   expression — very   strong,   indeed — let   r 
hope  that  the  recording  augel  was  jxs  merciful  to 
him  as  to  Uncle  Toby,  in  similar  circumstances. 

Mr.  Morton  also  wrote  to  Dr.  Vernon,  expressiii,;; 
an  earnest  and  friendly  desire  to  learn  the  e.xact 
state  of  Reginalds  afl'airs,  so  far  as  the  latter 
would  honor  him  by  his  confidence,  frankly  plac- 
ing any  sum  of  money  at  his  immediate  dispo.sal, 
which  could  help  to  carry  out  his  intentions,  whoa 
he  was  able  to  form  any. 

But  after  the  letter  from  Mrs.  Melville,  which 
Ashley  told  Reginald  he  had  destroyed,  there  w;i.- 
no  information  from  that  quarter,  except  a  brief 
note  of  respectful  inquiry  from  old  Roberts,  who 
wrote  evidently  in  great  anxiety  and  alarm  on 
Reginald's  account,  and  whose  hints  and  insinua- 
tions were  so  extraordinary,  that  some  interfe- 
rence appeared  needed;  at  any  rate,  it  seemed 
desirable  to  ascertain  what  foundation  these 
strange  allusions  rested  on. 

"  \\  ill  you  object  to  my  visiting  Old  Court .'" 
asked  Ashley  of  Reginald,  when  they  had  one  day  , 
been  talking  of  the  singular  event  which  had  had 
60  wide  and  fatal  an  influence.  "  I  am  not  sure 
that  you  are  justified  in  thus  keeping  aloof.  Lord 
Westrough  will  not  move,  and  it  really  seems  to 
me  a  mistake  thus  tamely  to  permit  this  artful 
woman  to  triumph." 

"  iSo  far  as  1  am  concerned,"  replied  Reginald, 
"  I  very  decidedly  object  to  any  step  being  taken, 
lest  my  motives  should  be  misconstrued.     A  gulf 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


50 


is  open  .between  me  and  Old  Court,  but  I  have  no 
right  to  let  my  scruples  interfere  and  prevent 
■what  you  and  the  Doctor  thiuk  proper ;  it  is  hor- 
rible to  fancy  to  what  extremes  such  a  woman 
may  carry  her  machinations,  if  she  thinks  there 
is  no  one  to  protect  her  victim ;"  and  it  was, 
therefore,  decided  that  Ashley  should  go,  and,  if 
possible,  see  Lord  Ernest,  and  leu'-n  from  him  his 
real  wishes  and  situation  ;  and  to  this  he  was,  by 
Eeginald,  strictly  limited. 

To  follow  Ashley,  and  tell  what  then  and  there 
befell,  will  not  greatly  fatigue  the  pen  of  the  his- 
torian ;  for,  except  seeing  Uld  Court  and  Roberts, 
who  was  excessively  distressed  and  nervous,  Ash- 
ley saw  no  more.  He  was  civilly,  but  positively, 
refused  an  interview  with  Lord  Ernest,  on  the 
plea  of  indisposition.  It  was  said  that  his  Lord- 
ship himself  sent  this  message  ;  but  many  things 
are  said  which  are  not  all  true.  And  when  Rob- 
erts next  attended  his  Lord,  and  alluded  to  Mr. 
Vernon's  visit,  he  was  convinced  that  he  had  not 
known  of  it,  or  had  been  over-persuaded  to  decline 
seeing  him,  his  only  remark  being,  "  Never  mind 
now— never  mind  now  !" 

Though  his  mission  to  Old  Court  had  been  so 
fruitless,  Ashley  was  not  much  surprised,  and  still 
glad  that  the  attempt  had  been  made.  His  next 
journey  was  to  Seabrooke,  to  which  place  these 
unforeseen  events  had  made  Dr.  Vernon  desirous 
of  returning  But  church  reparations,  like  chui-ch 
improvements,  are  slow  in  progress,  and  those 
going  on  at  Seabrooke  maintained  this  character. 
Therefore,  having  made  what  attempts  and  ar- 
rangements he  could  to  hasten  piogress,  especially 
at  the  Rectory,  whose  state  seemed  hopeless  lor  at 
least  some  mouths,  Ashley,  who  appeared  to  have 
forgotten  his  own  affairs  in  his  zealous  and  un- 
tiring interest  in  those  of  his  friend,  accepted  .Mr. 
Morton  s  invitation  to  make  a  home  of  the  Her- 
mitage, and  proceeded  to  the  Priory. 

Alas !  how  was  all  changed  there,  since  that 
memorable  evening  when  Reginald's  manner  had 
betrayed  his  secret !  How  was  his  kind  and  manly 
heart  wrung,  to  perceive  that  the  shade  of  melan- 
choly had  so  greatly  deepened  on  the  brow  of  Mrs. 
Templeton,  while  the  lovely  face  of  Helen  was 
mournful  in  the  extreme !  Still,  how  delighted 
they  all  were  to  see  him — how  they  clustered 
round  him  — how  eagerly  they  listened  to  his 
woi-ds ;  and  though  tears  flowed  abundantly  at 
his  recital,  he  felt  quite  sure  that  his  arrival  had 
given  them  comfort. 

When  he  left,  charged  with  messages  of  love 
from  them  all,  Constance  said  she  would  accom- 
pany him  to  the  first  lodge;  and  frankly  linking 
her  arm  in  his,  as  if  he  had  been  a  beloved 
brother,  she  entered  more  fully  than  could  be 
done  during  their  agitated  interview,  into  accounts  , 
of  her  mother  and  Helen,  chiefly  expatiating  on  j 
her  dear,  sweet  Helen's  unselfish  triumph  over  this 
great  blow,  though  still  feeling  it  so  deeply.  8he 
said  that  she  was  sure  her  sister  perpetually  cher-  i 
ished  the  hope  of  fulfilling  her  engagement  with 
Reginald,  and  she  charged  him  to  impress  this  on 
his  friend,  so  as  to  rouse  him  from  an  apathy 
which,  to  her,  Ashley  owned  he  feared  was  not 
the  result  of  bodily  weakness  only,  but  a  listless, 
paralyzing  influence,  arising  from  a  hopeless  state 
of  mind,  and  which  would,  if  indulged,  bo  fatal 
to  the  future. 


I  "  And  you,"  said  Ashley,  as  they  were  parting, 
'  "  is  there  no  word  of  yourself.'" 

"  1 .'"  she  replied,  "  oli !  1  only  wish  I  could,  by 
sharing  Helens  sorrow,  diminish  its  burden  to 
her  !  As  it  is,  I  have  only  the  sorrows  of  others, 
and  it  sometimes  appears  to  me  that  I  have  no 
right  to  be  so  spared." 

"Heaven  grant  that  it  may  ever  be  thus!"  lio 
replied,  fixing  his  splendid  eyes  on  her  animated 
but  pale  face.  "  And  our  neighbors, '  he  contin- 
ued, "  how  are  they  .'  I  am  sure  they  have  not 
failed  you  at  this  time." 

"  Indeed,  they  have  been  every  thing  most  kind  ; 
Lady  Dallas  has  quite  forgotten  all  her  own  trou- 
bles"— and  here  she  gave  a  little  smile,  which  re- 
minded him  that  once,  either  in  lip,  in  eye,  or 
dimple,  a  smile  ever  lurked — "she  has  sent  little 
Minnie  to  amuse  us,  and  in  all  things  has  been 
so  sympathizing  Mr.  Victor  also  daily  brings 
kind  inquiries  from  his  father,  who,  according  to 
his  account,  has  quite  lost  his  heart  to  dear 
mamma." 

"  And  the  Forresters  ?"  he  asked  as  an  excuse 
for  lingering. 

"  Very  kind  ;  Laurette  is  still  there,  and — Mr. 
Hubert  often  comes  to  inquire."  Why  did  she 
hesitate  and  blush  ?  why  did  that  ping  at  the 
heart,  which  he  had  often  felt,  pain  so  very  much 
'  just  now  ?  But  ('onstance  felt  this  sudden  silence 
embarrassing,  and  her  quick  ear  catching  the  ap- 
proach of  a  horse,  she  held  out  her  hand,  and 
hastily  said,  "  Farewell  now — remember,  we  are 
to  sec  you  again  before  you  leave." 

He  slightly  touched  that  fair  hand,  but  instead 
of  going  the  direct  road  leading  to  the  Hermitage, 
he  proceeded  toward  the  horseman.  It  was  Hu- 
bert Forrester — but  Ashley  knew  this  before. 

"  Ah !  Vernon,  my  dear  fellow  !"  said  Hubert, 
"  how  delighted  I  am  to  see  you ;  why,  when  did 
you  come  among  us  '" 

"  Only  yesterday  evening." 

"  And  where  are  you  quartered  .'  not  at  the 
Rectory,  I  am  sure,  where  every  thing  must  smell 
of  paint,  and  taste  of  bricks  and  mortar.  Have 
you  swung  your  hammock  among  the  trees,  or 
pitched  your  tout  on  the  lawn  .'" 

"  Neither;  I  am  at  the  Hermitage.  Victor  has 
gone  to  Forest  Hill  to  bid  you  to  a  quartette  lun- 
cheon, for  I  was  anxious  to  see  you,  knowing  you 
would  like  to  have  news  of  Reginald  ;  but  I  have 
no  tima  to  spare  at  tliis  moment,  and  perhaps  you 
are  not  quite  at  leisure. 

"Thanks,"  said  Hubert.  "I  shall  be  there 
almost  as  soon  as  you  ;  but  I  have  now  a  little 
mes.'-age  from  my  mother  to  Constance — to  Mrs. 
Templeton — so  adieu  till  we  meet." 

Asldey  did  not  hasten  his  return ;  something 
had  matle  him  feel  .spiritless  and  weary  ;  but  he, 
however,  preceded  Hubert  by  nearly  an  hour — 
and  still  luncheon  waited  for  the  loitering  guest — 
and  when  he  did  enter,  flushed  witli  heat,  and  liia 
liandsome  countenance  radiant  with  happiness, 
Ashley  thought  him  one  of  the  most  glorious- 
looking  beings  he  had  ever  beheld  ;  and  then,  by 
some  strange  association  of  ideas,  not  easily 
fathomed,  Constance  presented  herself  to  his 
mind,  and  he  stifled  a  sigh. 

"  And  now,  tell  me  all  you  can  about  poor  Re- 
ginald,' said  Hubert ;  "  how  scandalou.-iy  he  lias 
been  used.     By  Jove !  that  old  uncle  of  hia  de- 


60 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


serves  to  be  executed.  What  could  such  an  owl 
as  that  want  with  a  wife,  and  she  a  mere  girl  ? 
it  would  be  a  charity  to  go  and  run  off  with  her — 
and  no  bad  idea  that." 

"  Nor  one  at  all  unlikely  to  be  unsuccessful  if 
you  attempted  it,"  thought  Ashley ;  and  forthwith 
he  proceeded  to  tell  many  particulars  relating  to 
Reginald,  whicli  he  knew  he  was  at  liberty  to  do, 
and  whicii  Hubert,  kind,  generous,  and  impulsive, 
listened  to  with  tlie  greatest  interest. 

"  And  what  will  Mr.  West  do :"  inquired  Vic- 
tor, whcse  admiration  of  -Mrs.  Templeton  had  been 
extended  to  her  daughters,  now  that  he  had  had 
an  opportunity  of  becoming  better  acquainted  with 
them.  "  1  Impe  he  will  become  rich,  and  then 
marry  Miss  Templeton." 

"  She  is  not  at  all  the  girl  to  make  such  a  ro- 
mance," said  Hubert,  "  or,  upon  my  honor,  I 
should  say  nothing  would  be  better  than  for  her  to 
elope  with  him." 

"  Nonsense,  Forrester,"  said  Ashley  ;  "  besides, 
how  could  he  maintain  her .'  at  least  at  present ; 
he  has  nothing  but  kind  friends,"  glancing  at  Mr. 
Morton;  '-and  Colonel  Templeton  is  quite  the 
man  to  disinherit  her,  if  she  took  such  a  step. 
No,  no,  on  every  account  that  has  not  my 
sanction." 

"Nor  mine  either,"  said  Mr.  Morton;  "few 
circumstances  can  justify  that  scandal." 

"  Very  fine  talking,  you  grave  and  reverend 
seigniors,"  said  Hubert,  with  sparkling  eyes ;  "  but 
I  know,  if  I  loved  a  beautiful  girl,  and  she  loved 
me,  and  any  dragon  said  nay,  1  would  carry  her 
off  without  a  scruple." 

"  And  work  for  her  and  yourself?"  asked  Ashley 
drily. 

•  "  Why,  that  is  a  sort  of  codicil  to  my  will  and 
intention  that  I  have  not  provided  for.  I  am  not 
fond  of  much  work,  and  very  fond  of  much  plea- 
sure ;  but  if — "  he  paused  and  colored. 

"  Happily,"  remarked  Mr.  Morton,  "  you  run 
little  danger  of  being  put  to  the  proof  in  either 
case — the  elopement  or  the  hard  work  ;  if  you  can 
make  sure  of  the  lady,"  he  added  significantly, 
"  there  is  no  fear  of  a  dragon  or  any  other  fabu- 
lous monster  interfering  to  say  nay." 

Ashley  at  this  moment  felt  the  room  so  close 
that  he  rose  and  opened  the  window,  and  address- 
ing Victor,  said,  "  How  much  better  you  see  the 
Priory  from  this  point  than  you  used  to  do — or 
have  I  foi'gotten .'" 

♦'Oh,  no,  you  are  quite  right,  for  the  Colonel 
has  been  thinning  the  woods — and  it  is  a  real  ad- 
vantage to  us,  as  it  gives  such  a  pretty  peep." 

"  1  liear  there  w.as  quite  a  row  about  that  cut- 
ting," remarked  Hubert ;  "  it  was  done  at  the  in-  | 
Btigatiou  of  that  i'ellow  Cooper,  who  is  a  bad  one."  j 

"So  are  all  who  belong  to  him,"  interrupted' 
Mr.  Morton,  with  a  meaning  look,  which  Hubert 
either  did  not  or  would  not  notice ;  for  he  went  on 
saying— 

"It  seems  Cooper  had  marked  right  and  left, 
without  much  reference  to  either  age  or  girth  ; 
luckily  for  hin*,  before  the  men  had  cut  very  long, 
down  came  a  message  from  the  Colonel  stopping 
jh-ogress,  and  lie  furious  with  the  agent  for  the 
toischief  he  had  already  caused." 

"  But,"  observed  Ashley,  "  this  sounds  very 
contradictory;  to  my  knowledge,  the  trees  have 
been  maiked  for  a  long  time — lor  1  remember  my 


I  father  saying,  he  was  not  quite  clear  as  to  the 
propriety  of  siich  indiscriminate  felling — so  the 

I  Colonel  must  have  known  it." 

I  "  And  Cooper  protests  that  he  had  the  Colonel's 
authority  and  order — if  he  had,  1  suppose  it  was 

j  some  after-dinner  order,  for  all  has  ''jen  counter- 
manded, and  men  set  to  work  to  plant  and  rtpair, 
as  much  as  possible,  this,  as  well  as  some  former 
injudicious  cleai-Lngs.  ' 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

"  So  the  bareain  was  struck  ;  with  the  liltle  god  laden, 
8hcj.\  fully  flew  to  her  thrine  iu  lli^-  grove. 
'  Farewell,' said  the  sculpt  .r;  •  jou're  not  th-  first  maiden 
Wlio  came  but  for  if'rieiidabip,  aud  took  away  Lov^-.'  " 
MooKE. 

After  Hubert's  departure  with  Victor,  Mr. 
Morton  and  Ashley  held  a  long  aud  interesting 
conversation  regarding  Reginald  ;  in  the  course 
of  which,  Mr.  Morton  evinced  a  srood  sense  and 
knowledge  of  business,  quite  equal  to  tlie  gene- 
rosity and  kindness  of  his  offers.  He  spoke  of 
Mrs.  Templeton  aud  Helen  with  the  deepest  re- 
spect, and,  knowing  the  long  standing  friendsliip 
which  subsisted  between  them  and  all  Ashley's 
family,  delicately  hinted  at  the  frequency  of  Hu- 
bert Forrester's  visits  to  the  Priory  ;  to  which, 
he  said.  Lady  Dallas  had  more  than  once  alluded  ; 
and  finished  rather  a  long  speech,  in  which  he 
had  no  interruption  from  Ashley,  by  fervently 
expressing  his  hope  that,  if  rumor  spoke  truly, 
the  course  of  true  love  might  flow  smooth  for  the 
fair  Constance. 

But  perceiving,  at  length,  that  this  subject 
had  no  interest  for  Ashley,  who  had  been  very 
busy  adding  up  some  figures  on  a  piece  of  paper, 
he  turned  the  conversation  to  the  state  of  repairs 
at  the  Rectory,  which  Ashley  found  he  must 
again  visit  that  same  day  :  therefore  suiting  his 
dinner-hour  to  his  young  friend's  engagements, 
Mr.  Morton  left  him. 

Very  slowly  indeed  did  Ashley  walk  toward 
the  church,  and  when  he  reached  one  particul  ir 
spot,  whence  there  was  a  most  beautilul  view  if 
the  Priory,  its  immediate  grounds  and  park,  he 
sat  down.  Long,  long  did  he  sit  there,  lost  in 
thought;  and  very  grave,  nay,  sad,  was  the  ex- 
pression which  was  impressed  on  his  countenance 
when  he  rose,  and  sighing  deeply,  prepared  for 
his  return  to  the  Hermitage,  Ah  !  he  had  lost 
so  much  time  idling  up  in  the  churchyard,  that 
he  could  not  fulfill  his  promise  of  again  seeing 
Mrs.  Templeton;  and  as  he  went  away  early 
the  next  morning,  he  left  a  note  of  apology  for 
his  omission,  and  took  leave  of  Mr.  Morton,  with 
an  increased  consciousness  of  that  gentleman's 
worth. 

Now  what  is  all  this  about  Hubert  Forrester's 
visits  to  the  Priory  .'  is  it  not  possible  for  him  to 
ride  over  there  with  "  little  messages  from  hia 
mother  to  Constance — to  Mrs.  Templeton,"  with- 
out rumor  detecting  some  other  motive  .'  Ru- 
mor has,  in  general,  so  bad  a  character  for  vera- 
city, that  when  she  is  true,  it  would  be  cruel  not 


THE   WIFE'S   TllIALS. 


CI 


to  own  it— and  so  when  she  said  that  the  gay 
young  heir  of  the  Forresters  was  as  much  at- 
tracted by  the  sweet  face  of  Constance,  as  by 
the  syuipiithj'  he  truly  felt  for  lier  sister,  the 
faithtul  historian  is  bound  to  admit  it  was  a 
fact. 

And  what  says  Constance  ?  is  the  next  inquiry 
— one  not  so  easily  answered. 

Shortly  before  Mrs.  West's  removal  to  Harrow- 
gate,  and  when  Hubert  had  just  returned  from  a 
continental  tour  he  had  made  with  young  Morton 
from  some  quarter,  and  by  some  means  which 
slie  could  not  distinctly  trace,  Constance  had 
received  a  vague  impression  that  Hubert  was  at- 
tached to  Laurette.  Now,  it  could  not  be  that 
this, whisper  had  emanated  from  Laurette  her- 
self; no  delicately-minded  lady  speaks  of  such 
tilings  till  the  gentleman  puts  them  beyond  a 
ti.iubt — above  all,  no  lady  so  proud  and  reserved 
as  Laurette.  Nor  had  she  spoken — .slie  had 
merely  insinuated,  and  this  so  dexterously,  that 
while  every  word  had  the  exact  effect  she  in- 
tended, it  was  difficult  to  remember  who  had 
spoken  them;  and  Constance,  not  caring  about 
the  truth  or  falsehood  of  the  report,  gave  herself 
no  trouble  to  investigate  it,  while  Hubert's  fre- 
quent visits  to  the  Priory  seemed  only  a  confirm- 
ation. 

But  when  Laurette  left  for  Forest  Hill,  and 
still  Hubert  came  daily,  and  almost  always 
alone,  Constance  thought  it  very  kind  of  him. 
Gradually,  however,  the  daily  visitor  began  to 
be  expected  .■"  she  was  disappointed  if  he  did  not 
come  at  the  usual  hour,  which  she  now  particu- 
larly marked,  and  during  which  she  did  not  like 
tu  lie  absent  ;  his  anxious  inquiries  after  Helen 
ought  to  be  answered  by  one  of  the  family,  and 
ns  her  mother  was  very  much  with  Helen,  who 
did  not  usually  see  visitors,  who  but  Constance 
could  receive  him  .' 

Perhaps,  had  all  gone  smoothly  and  happily 
with  Helen's  engagement,  Hubert  would  never 
have  made  the  impression  on  the  imagination  of 
Constance  which  lie  now  did.  At  least,  he  would 
never  have  had  the  opportunity  this  gave  him 
of  being  a  kind  of  consoler,  a  sort  of  confidant  to 
her — rather  dangerous  characters,  when  the 
heart  is  unoccupied  and  the  imagination  strong — 
when  tlie  consoler  is  eminently  handsome,  and 
the  consoled  atFectionare  and  enthusiastic. 

Constance  was  naturally  gay,  fond  of  society, 
and  possessed  herself  the  most  delightful  com- 
panionable qualities,  in  a  mind  richly  stored 
with  varied  information,  and  in  a  fancy  of  pecu- 
liar delicacy  and  vivacity. 

All  around  her  now  was  sad,  gloomy,  almost 
stern  ;  and  though  we  have  seen  how  she  shared 
and  lejsened  the  sorrows  of  her  loved  ones,  there 
was  no  sense  in  proving  her  sympathy  by  seeking 
sadness  and  reJL'cting  pleasure;  no  reason  why 
she  should  close  her  eyes  to  the  sun,  because  it 
did  not  shine  on  Helen.  In  short,  before  she  was 
aware  of  it,  the  joyous,  handsome  vision,  all  un- 
dimmed  by  care,  or  darkened  by  the  world's 
frown,  which  daily  met  her,  became  to  her  indis- 
pensable. 

His  voice  was  almost  the  only  cheer''ul  one  she 
heard  :  his,  almost  the  only  smile  tliat  greeted 
her.  He  alone,  in  his  gay  ignorance  of  their 
real  position,  talked  of  happiness  to  Helen  and 


her  mother,  or  ventured  to  predict  that  the  fu- 
ture would  richly  compensate  for  tiie  trials  of  the 
present.  And  tiien,  he  was  so  noble  in  his  proud 
bearing,  yet  so  graceful  ;  so  gentle,  so  tender 
in  his  care  and  solicitude ;  so  animated  and  elo- 
quent in  his  predictions  of  bright  days  and  cloud- 
less skies! 

Constance,  like  most  girls  of  cultivated  and 
poetic  feelings,  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  beauty 
in  every  thing.  Harmony  of  form,  tone,  or  color 
was  always  necessary  to  her  enjoyment ;  which 
was  always  diminished  when  discord  or  deConnity 
presented  itself  And  she  had  but  to  look  at  Hu- 
bert, or  to  listen  to  him,  and  eye  and  ear  alike 
found  pleasure.  And  so,  as  many  a  girl  not 
eighteen  has  done,  she  fell  in  love  with  him,  con- 
vinced by  all  those  tokens,  intelligible  only  to 
the  initiated,  that  this  love  was  fully  returned  ; 
and  it  was;  Hubert  loved  Constance,  as  he  be- 
lieved none  had  ever  loved  before — the  creed  to 
which  every  lover  subscribes— and  this  he  would 
have  told  lier  over  and  over  again,  but  ho  had 
already  spoken  to  his  father,  whose  consent  had 
been  conditionally  and  very  reluctantly  given. 

First,  Mr.  Forrester  insisted  that  nothing 
should  be  said  till  they  understood  each  other's 
characters  and  tastes  better.  Needless  cause  for 
silence  and  delay,  thought  the  son,  who  was  fully 
persuaded  that  on  these  points,  they  were  thor- 
roughly  informed.  Secondly,  he  argued  that, 
under  present  circumstances,  there  was  a  kind  of 
impropriety  in  such  an  avowal.  While  one  sister 
was  mourning  the  violent  dissolution  of  her  en- 
gagement, it  seemed,  to  the  stately  old  gentleman, 
indelicate  in  the  other  to  be  forming  one.  Fi- 
nally, and  he  might  have  said  chietly,  he  never 
had  liked,  never  could  like  Colonel  Teiiipleton  ; 
and  some  proceedings  of  that  worthy  oflScer's 
having  lately  reached  Mr.  Forrester's  e.ars,  this 
dislike  had  arisen  almost  to  contempt;  so  he  ne- 
gotiated for  delay,  and  trusted  to  accidents  ;  for, 
as  to  interfering  by  a  positive  prohibition,  that 
never  entered  his  mind,  where  Hubert  was  con- 
cerned ;  and  as  the  son  knew  this,  he  the  more 
readily  acquiesced  in  his  fither's  suggestions. 
Therefore,  so  far  as  silence  of  tlie  tongue  went,  not 
a  word  was  spoken ;  and  still  Constance  was  quite 
easy  and  contented  ;  and,  upon  the  whole,  rather 
respected  the  delicacy  which  restrained  Hubert 
from  speaking  till  Helen's  first  grief  should  have 
calmed  into  regret. 

But  Hubert  had  another  motive  in  submitting 
to  delay ;  he  hopeil  that  during  the  interval 
Laurette  would  return  to  Scotland  ;  for,  without 
being  exposed  to  the  charge  of  vanity,  he  had 
seen  that  she  was  not  only  the  favorite  of  his 
parents,  but  that  she  aspired  to  be  his  favorite 
also.  In  his  estimation,  however,  she  w.is  by  no 
means  likely  to  dispute  the  palm  successfully 
with  Constance.  She  was,  at  least,  three  years 
older  than  he,  a  seniority  fatal  to  her  views  on  a 
I'omantic  young  man  of  his  age ;  slie  was  too 
elaborate,  too  artificial  in  feeling  an  1  m.anner, 
without  possessing  the  beauty  of  face  and  figure 
which  had  peculiar  charms  for  him 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  silence  which  w.as  ob- 
served, an  instinct  that  rarely  errs  when  direct- 
ed by  love,  warned  her  of  what  was  going  on. 


Laurette  knew  his  secret- 


■11 


if  sho 


had  accompanied  him  in  every  one  of  his  daily 


62 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


visits,  and  seen  every  look  he  bestowed  on  her 
cousin.  Her  jilan  wns  therefore  changeil,  and  a 
new  one  arranged,  for  she  was  bent  on  conquest. 
She  did  love  Hubert,  and  this  gave  energy  and 
power  to  her  scheuies  While  Mr.  and  Mrs.  For- 
rester kept  sdeut,  she  carefully  avoided  all  that 
might  invite  confidence;  but  by  artful  lamenta- 
tions about  poor  Helen,  and  the  injurious  effect 
her  disappointment  might  have  on  her  sister's 
prospects,  she  led  the  minds  of  her  hearers  into 
the  train  of  thought  she  wished.  :ind  left  them  to 
Work  it  out  alone.  Their  pride  was  awakened, 
they  hardly  knew  why  or  how— let  them  find  it 
out,  if  possible— and,  in  order  to  make  them 
sensible  of  her  value,  at  this  critical  moment 
she  accepted  an  invitation  to  Lady  Westrough's, 
after  which  she  was  to  return  to  the  Priory  and 
finis^h  her  series  of  English  visits  by  going  to 
Forest  Hill. 

Laurette  hated  Scotland,  and  would  go  any- 
where; rather  than  to  Craignlan;  even  her  pride, 
•which  might  have  been  gratified  by  thi^  princely 
establishment  at  home,  was  offended  by  the  ex- 
clusive homage  rendered  to  the  young  heir ; 
and  as  all  her  early  associations  had  been 
formed  during  the  long  absence  of  Lady  Sin- 
clair, perhaps  it  was  only  natural  that  she 
should  cling  to  those  who  had  been  the  friends 
of  lier  childhood,  and  to  that  country  where  all 
she  most  cared  for  resided. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 


"  Das  schwere  llerz  wird  ukht  (lurch  Worte  leicht." — 
German  I'roverb. 

Reginald,  meanwhile,  had  fully  recovered  his 
health,  and  the  first  thing  now  was  to  decide  for 
the  future.  For  that  purpose,  a  consultation 
■was  held  with  his  friends,  the  Vernons. 

As  regarded  pecuniary  means,  he  was  almost 
destitute,  except  what  remained  of  the  sum 
which  Lord  Ernest  had  so  strangely,  as  it  seemed 
at  the  time,  forced  upon  him.  Sea- View  Cottage, 
to  his  great  surprise,  he  found  his  mother  liid 
purchased,  jit  least  for  a  long  term  ;  for  after 
the  conversation  between  herself  and  Reginald, 
which  has  been  related,  she  began  to  lay  by, 
and  the  hundred  pounds  sent  for  some  ornament, 
were  solemnly  set  apart  as  the  first  fruit  of  her 
resolve. 

Pretty,  but  small,  with  merely  enough  garden 
round  it  to  shut  out  pa.><sing  gazers,  the  sum 
needed  for  the  purchase  was  but  trifling ;  for  it 
belonged  to  Mr.  Forrester,  who  put  little  more 
than  a  nominal  value  on  the  place,  when  he 
learned  her  wishes. 

This  being  neatly  furnished,  would  probably 
"always  command  a  tenant;  but  the  rent  would 
not  support  Heginald.  and  piy  the  expenses  of 
his  professional  studies.  Lord  Wcsirough  had 
frankly  declared  his  inability  to  lielp  him,  ex- 
cept in  using  his  government  intiuL-nce,  and  to 
this  influence  Ashley  hated  liiiii  to  resort;  be- 
sides, unless  this  visionary  appointment  were 
held  irrespective  of  party  politics,  who  could  say 


how  long  that  to  which  his  Lordship  belonged 
would  remain  in  ofiioe  ?  Ashley  said  they  were 
by  no  means  as  firm  as  a  rock,  and  then  all 
would  have  to  begin  again;  just  so  much  time 
lost. 

"Reginald,  do  not  irritate  me  by  refusing  to 
share,  .as  far  as  you  want,  what  1  do  not ;  there 
is  all  that  money  which  was  left  me  by  my  god- 
father, and  which  my  generous  father  has  allowed 
to  accumulate,  till  it  is  a  fortune.  Let  us  enjoy 
it  together  ;  you  are  to  me  as  my  brother,"  said 
the  noble  Ashley ;  "  my  father  and  mother  love 
you  like  a  son." 

"  And  Carry  like  another  dear  brother,"  said 
she,  giving  him  her  hand,  which  he  pressed  with 
deop  emotion;  "now.  as  a  sou,  what  should  you 
do  wiien  a  father  advises  .'" 

"  Take  his  advice,  and  his  help  also,"  replied 
Reginald,  in  a  husky  voice,  fairly  overcome  by 
their  love  and  kindness. 

'•  Right,  my  son  Reginald,"  said  the  Doctor ; 
"  now  we  can  go  on  better,  and  see  our  way- 
more  clearly.  What  are  your  own  ideas  and 
wishes  V 

"  To  earn  my  living  honorably,  and  as  speedily 
as  may  be.  Had  I  been  permitted  to  have  ex- 
erted myself  years  ago,  I  should  by  this  time 
have  been  fi  ee  and  independent,  instead  of  just 
going  to  school.  Older  than  Ashley,  I  am  tit 
only  to  be  his  pupil ;  for  his  profession  will,  if  ic 
can  be  managed,  be  mine.  1  like  the  exercise  of 
intellect  which  it  gives.  I  like  the  demand  it 
makes  upon  the  attention.  1  like  its  facts,  dry 
though  they  be  ;  its  research,  its  quaintness,  its 
associations  with  the  past,  connecting  it  so  inti- 
mately with  the  present  ;  these  all  amuse  my 
fancy,  though  that  word  may  sound  inappro- 
priate ;  but  then,  when  I  think  of  the  time,  all 
this  is  visionary." 

"  It  need  not  be;  three  ye.ars  soon  pass  away, 
and  it  seems  to  me  this  may  be  arranged  even 
more  easily  than  any  other  plan;  what  say  you, 
Ashley  ?"  turning  to  his  son. 

"It  is  already  done,  my  dear  father;  while 
Reginald  was  talking,  I  settled  it  all;  he  is  ex- 
actly the  man  to  suit  Mr.  Turner;  and  we  shall 
yet  be  distinguished  characiei-s,  and  have  a  niche 
in  the  temple  of  fame." 

"  Yes,"  said  Caroline,  "and  both  of  you  may 
help  to  swell  the  ari.-tocratic  ranks  of  merry 
England,  which,  judging  Iruiu  the  supply  it  re- 
ceives from  your  profession,  would  be  '  tine  by 
degrees  and  beautifully  less,'  were  you  too  grand 
to  accept  its  honors." 

"  If  that  is  your  amende  honorable  for  some 
former  high-treason  speech,"  said  Ashley,  kiss- 
ing his  sister,  "  you  have  paid  the  debt,  and  with 
interest."  , 

And  it  was  settled  that  the  friends  should  pro- 
ceed to  London,  where  Ashley  was  to  give  the 
benefit  of  his  experience.  Reginald  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Mr.  Morton,  informing  him  of  the  deci- 
sion to  which  he  had  come,  expressed  his  grati- 
tude for  kimlness  received  and  intended  ;  prom- 
ising, that  if  lie  needed  his  help,  he  would  ask  tor 
it  as  frankly  as  it  had  been  offered;  and  con- 
cluded by  h(<pii!g  when  they  met  in  London,  he 
would  find  that  lime  had  been  profitably  spent. 

The  arrangements  for  Reginald  were  soon  per- 
fected through  the  zealous  efforts  of  the  Doctor 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


63 


and  his  son,  and  no  timo  was  lost  in  setting  off, 
for  Ashley,  now  that  his  services  were  no  longer 
required  by  the  side  of  a  sick  bed,  avowed  bis 
anxiety  to  renew  his  legal  studies,  and  read  hard, 
80  as  to  overtake  interrupted  time. 

They  were  to  meet  daily  at  the  chambers  of 
the  same  gentleman;  but  great  as  he  owned  the 
temptation  was,  Reginald  overruled  Ashley's  pro- 
posal, that  they  should  lodge  together.  He  frank- 
ly owned  his  reasons ;  he  could  not,  he  ought 
not,  to  live  at  an  expense  which,  though  quite 
Buitable  for  Ashley  with  his  mcms,  would  be 
absurd  for  him,  already  so  deeply  indebted  to 
to  the  whole  family.  Mrs.  Vernon  came  to  his 
support,  and  entirely  approved  of  his  decision,  in 
spite  of  her  son's  argument,  that  they  should 
both  actually  save  by  clubbing  their  expenses; 
and  she  further  proceeded  to  say,  that  Reginald, 
■whose  health  still  required  care,  should  seek 
some  comfortable  lodging,  removed  from  the  smoke 
of  London,  yet  within  walking  distance  ;  and  had 
arranged  for  him  thus  ftir,  when  she  suddenly 
remembered,  that  in  one  of  the  letters  she  hyd 
received  from  Mrs  Templeton  during  Reginald's 
illness,  she  had  mentioned  her  former  nurse, 
Gretchen,  as  one  whose  services  would  be  most 
valuable  should  he  much  longer  require  unre- 
mitting attention  ;  she  had  therefore  inclosed 
Gretchen,  or  rather  Madame  Stopsel's  address, 
at  Hampstead,  where  she  let,  a  part  of  what,  in 
her  former  letters  to  her  former  mistress,  she  de- 
scribed as  a  very  pretty  cottnge. 

Mrs.  Vernon  read  this  letter,  and  copied   che 


her  sweet  baby  eyes  opened  on.  And  pray,  sir, 
come  often,  it  will  do  you  both  good." 

And  oft«n  enough  he  did  come,  though  it  ia 
doubtful  what  good  it  did  him,  to  hear  tales  with- 
out end,  first  of  Helen,  then  of  Constance — 
chiefly,  it  must  be  confessed,  of  the  latter— for  he 
made  her  comprehend,  that,  as  there  was  not  the 
faintest  hope  of  the  engagement  ever  being  renew- 
ed, it  was  better  not  to  remind  Mr.  West  of  his 
loss  by  naming  Helen.  * 

Reginald  found  the  life  he  now  led  so  congenial 
to  his  tastes,  so  healthy  to  both  mind  and  body, 
that,  had  it  not  l)een  for  one  corroding  care,  "  one 
fatal  remembrance,"  he  would  have  called  this  the 
brightest,  as  well  as  the  most  profitable,  period  of 
his  life.  He  was  working  for  independence  ;  and, 
by  the  blessing  of  Providence,  he  felt  sure  that 
Re  should  attain  it.  There  was  every  inducement 
to  urge  him  on ;  the  expectations  of  his  valued 
friends  must  be  realized,  his  debt,  his  pecuniai-y 
debt,  must  be  repaid,  and  this  could  be  done  only 
by  unwearying  perseverance  ;  and  if,  sometimes, 
he  allowed  himself  the  sad  indulgence  of  thinking, 
that  years  hence,  when,  perhaps,  both  were  old,  if 
they  chanced  to  meet,  s/it  should  not  have  to  be 
ashiim^  of  him,  this  was  an  additional  incentive 
to  exertion. 

He,  therefore,  courngeously  looked  his  real  po- 
sition in  the  face ;  he  saw  its  difficulties ;  he  saw 
also  the  means  of  overcoming  them  ;  and  finding, 
by  experience,  that  occupation  was  in  every  case 
his  best  friend,  in  allowing  no  leisure  for  un- 
healthy and  useless  regrets,  he  sought  employ- 


address,  advising  them,  before  they  fixed  on  any  |  ment  on  this  account,  jis  well  as  for  emolument 
other  place,  to  see  what  accommodation  Madame  j  and  having  been  introduced  to  a  publisher  who 
Stbpsel  offered ;  and  she  added,  her  knowledge  of  was  able  to  appreciate  his  literary  acquire- 
Gretchen  made  her  certain  that,  as  regarded  care  .  ments,  busied  himself  in  exercising  his  really 
and  kindness,  Reginald  would  be  better  off  in  her  rich  imagination  in  light  literature,  after  the  dry 
simple  abode,  than  amid  all  the  liixuries  of  Mi-  and  severe  labor  of  his  adopted  profession  had 
vart" s  hotel.  |  been  performed. 

On  reaching  town,  Ashley  insisted  on  Reginald's  [  Ashley,  who  had  a  jealous  horror  of  any  pat- 
remaining  his  guest  for  a  short  time;  merely,  as  \  ronizing  interference,  rather  encouraged  Reginald 
he  said,  to  take  off  the  chill  of  the  place,  and  the  |  in  declining,  at  least  at  present,  the  very  kind 
worse  chill  of  solitude ;  and  in  a  few  days  they  {  invitations  sent  by  Lord  Westrough,  though  ]\e 
walked  out  to  see  Gretchen,  having  previously  had  ,  saw  the  value  of  preserving  his  friendship  ;  but  he 
an  interview  with  her  husband,  from  whom  they  j  took  every  opportunity  of  introducing  his  friend 
learned,  that  if  they  wore  satisfied  with  what  she  to  several  whom  he  valued  for  their  worth  and 
could  offer,  she  could  receive  one  as  a  lodger.  I  intelligence,  and  whose  acquaintance  was  likely  to 

Regpald  was  pleased  to  find  that  he  should  be  beneficial  to  Reginald  in  the  course  of  his 
here  breathe  a  purer  air  than  that  of  the  great  future  career :  so  that,  though  constantly  and 
Babylon,  and  on  arriving  at  the  cottage  was  |  usefully  occupied,  his  life  was  neither  monotonous 
charmed  with  the  combination  of  neatness  and  J  nor  solitary, 
comfort  that  every  thing  presented. 

Under  the  pretense  of  making  Mr.  We.st  rest, 
while  she  showed  Mr.  Vernon  the  view,  she  led  the 
latter  into  the  garden  ;  and  as  she  had  heard  only 
a  very  disjointed  account  of  all  relating  to  her 
sweet  lady  and  dear  child,  as  she  affectionately  call- 
ed Helen,  Ashlcv,knowin";  how  justly  she  was  val-        „„      ,  .■       u,    .u  .      r         .  u      J. 

,,     ,'  ,    ■','     ,        .■'^■,^  r   I,        *       1         ,„!,„„        "  Courts  fire  unquestionably  the  seat.s  of  Boofl  breedinff, 

ned  by  those  she  had  so  taithtully  served, gave  her  ,  ^„^  ^„,,  necossanly  be  s.;  otherwise  ihey  would  be  ihi 
as  detailed  a  history  of  wliat  had  occurred  as  time  ,  seats  of  violence  and  desolation."— IFo/W. 
Would  admit  of,  while  her  tears  and  exclamations 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 


sorrow  frequently  interrupted  the  narrative. 

"Never  fear  for  Mr.  Reginald,"  was  her  a.esu- 
rance,  as  they  returned  to  the  house :  "  I  shall 
cherish  him  for  Miss  Helen's  sake,  let  alone  old 
acquaintance  at  Sea  Cottage.  Ah  !  sir,  what  days 
they  were,  when  you  were  all  little  creatures — 
long  before  he  came;  and  Miss  Constance,  the 
laugliing  darling,  well  do  I  remember  the  sorrow 


Mrs.  Tkmplkton,  after  the  conversation  with 
Consttince,  which  had  reference  to  their  visit  to 
Grantham,  wrote  immediately  to  propose  it;  in 
answer  to  which,  a  most  cordial  welcome  had  been 
promised;  an  '  anxiously  did  she  await  the  perio<l 
when  the  '  /looel  would  set  them  at  liberty. 

Rut,  unfortunately.  Lord  Hurstwood's  ai-rival 
was  delayed ;    and  till  he  had  been  received  and 


64 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


feted,  they  knew  there  was  no  chance  of  their 
moving.  Besides,  the  Colonel  himself  had  lately 
been  strange  and  uic*)dy,  so  that  even  Constance 
lost  her  accustomed  freedom  of  manner  in  his  pre- 
sence; and  a  violent  misunderstanding  between 
him  and  Cooper,  relating  to  some  blunder  about 
felling  timber,  had  in  no  way  tended  to  make  mat- 
ters more  agreeable— and,  as  if  for  a  climax  to 
these  uncertainties,  without  any  previous  hint  of 
his  intentions,  he  one  day  gave  notice  that  he  was 
going  to  London,  where  he  should  probably  re- 
main a  week. 

Undyr  all  these  adverse  circumstances,  Mrs. 
Templeton  felt  it  wrong  to  keep  her  brother  and 
his  wife,  day  after  day,  in  a  state  of  suspense, 
which  might  perhaps  interfere  with  other  plan.s. 
She  therelbre  proposed  to  the  giils  that  the  visit 
should,  for  this  time,  be  relinquished.  * 

Had  Constance  spoken  with  her  usual  frank- 
ness, she  would  have  given  a  glad  assent  to  this  ; 
for  the  Triory  had  a  daily  visitant  who  rendered 
it  the  delectabla  land  to  her — but  remembering 
that  her  original  object  in  proposing  the  change, 
had  been  the  benelit  which  her  motlier  and  sister 
were  likely  to  gain  from  it,  she  preferred  leaving 
the  decision  to  them.  Helen  had,  at  first,  em- 
braced the  plan,  because  it  had  seemed  to  please 
her  mother ;  as  to  herself,  she  was  altogether  in- 
different about  place  or  change — the  one  who,  to 
her,  would  have  made  a  paradise  in  tli^  desert 
was  away,  and  what  cared  she  more  for  Gran- 
tham than  Seabrooke  ? 

Therefore  Mrs.  Templeton  stated  her  difficul- 
ties, and  declined  the  inwtation,  though  it  was 
with  a  pang ;  but  she  was  glad  she  had  so  decided, 
when  Lady  Grantham  wrote  to  say,  that  as  Cecil 
had  not  lately  been  vei'y  well,  they  should  go  to 
the  Pyrenees  for  baths.  Henry,  his  Avife,  and 
Cecilia,  Avere,  during  their  absence,  to  occupy 
Grantham ;  but  that  the  latter  would  lilce  to  visit 
the  Priory  bc-forc  settling  at  home,  as  she  so 
greatly  wished  to  see  them  all  after  her  long  ab- 
sence in  Italy.  Her  ladyship  concluded  with 
alfectionate  inquiries  after  Helen,  strongly  advis- 
ing Mrs.  Templeton  to  let  her  travel  with  them, 
as  she  was  sure  change  of  scene  was  desirable. 

"Oh,  dear  mamma!  1  can  not  leave  you  and 
Constance,"  exclaimed  Helen,  in  alarm.  "  I  am 
Tnuch  better  here  with  you,  than  anywhere  else 
without  you— you  are  all  to  me  now,"  she  added 
sadly. 

"  Then,  my  love,  I  shall  not  again  mention  it — 
except  to  thank  your  aunt  for  thinking  of  you." 

"  And,  mamma,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  see  Ce- 
cilia," said  Constance ;  "  she  is  so  right-minded 
and  kind." 

'•So  she  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Templeton;  "even 
her  occasional  want  of,  what  fhall  1  say  .'  not  re- 
finement—" 

"  Genll.ness,"  suggested  Helen. 

"  Yes.  gentleness,  is  pardoned — in  her  evident 
wish  to  oblige — besides,  she  is  so  free  from  arti- 
fice." 

"And  not  artifice  alone — but  art  or  artificial- 
ness,"  observed  Constance,  "  if  there  be  such  a 
word ;  I  prefer  her  rather  decided  and  brusque 
manner,  to  Laurette's  correct  but  cold  elegance — 
even  Cecilia's  figure,  and  her  commanding  style, 
are,  to  me,  more  pleasing  than  Laurette's  finished 
grace  and  slender  form." 


"  And  what  a  help  she  will  be  to  us,  mamma, 
when  that  formidable  Lord  Hurstwood  comes," 
said  Helen.  "  Cecilia  would  not  care  for  a  room- 
ful of  kings  or  emperors." 

"  Nor,  in  one  sense,  do  I,"  cried  Constance, 
lifting  her  graceful  head ;  "  all  I  should  care  for, 
if  a  really  great  king  came  here,  would  be  not  to 
incur  his  censure — merely  because  the  esteem  of 
the  good  is  always  valuable.  I  do  not  think  rank, 
however  elevated,  would  deprive  me  of  my  self- 
possession  ;  but  what  sort  of  a  man  is  Lord  Hurst- 
wood, mamma,  that  his  coming  excites  so  much 
interest — you  have  often  seen  him  V 

"  JS'o,  not  very  often,  my  dear.  When  we  first 
came  here,  his  fatlier,  the  late  lord,  was  living ; 
he  died  a  few  years  ago.  I  then  first  saw  his  pre- 
sent lordship,  who  soon  left  for  St.  Petersburg, 
where,  1  hear,  he  much  distinguished  himself  in 
the  management  of  some  difficult  and  important 
political  question.  He  is  now  expected  from  Ire- 
land, where  he  has  large  property,  and  it  is  said 
that  he  means  to  remain  in  England." 

"  Ah,  mamma,"  said  Constance,  laughing, "  how 
cunningly  you  think  you  have  evaded  my  other 
question— what  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?" 

"  How  do  you  mean,  my  child  .'" 

"  You  shall  not  escape,  you  maneuvering  moth- 
er ;  first,  is  he  handsome  ?" 

"  He  most  likely  was." 

"Was— ah  !  that  means,  I  suppose,  that  he  is 
so  no  longer,  and  that  he  is  old." 

"  He  is  some  years  younger  than  your  papa,  I 
imagine — forty-seven  or  eight." 

"  l3ut  then  papa  is  so  h:\ndsome— to  me  he  never 
looks  old,"  said  Constance,  musing;  "  if  he  re- 
sembled his  portrait,  I  think  there  never  could 
have  been  a  finer-looking  man." 

Mrs.  Templeton  very  calmly  replied—"  And  it 
is  an  excellent  likeness — but  1  have  seen  faces 
which  I  tliink  much  finer" — here  a  deep  sish  from 
Helen  almost  startled  her.  Mrs  Templeton  felt 
sad,  for  she  knew  her  child's  thoughts  were  of 
lleginald— though  her  own  allusion  included  Ash- 
ley Vernon— but,  as  if  she  had  not  remarked 
Helen's  interruption,  she  proceeded  to  say,  "  for 
instance,  Hubert  Forrester." 

Ah,  Mrs.  Templeton  !  you  are  bent  on  playing 
at  cross  purposes,  for  Constance  nearly  let  her 
watch  fall,  and  was  so  intent  on  fastening  it 
safely  that  she  was  silent,  and  it  was  Helen  who 
returned  to  the  charge. 

'•  Then,  mamma,  we  are  to  infer  that  you  do 
not  like  Lord  Hurstwood— Constance,  mamma  is 
in  the  trap  at  last— and  there  I  shall  keep  her  tiU 
she  fully  and  truly  replies." 

"  My  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  pleased  to 
see  her  sad  Helen  maldng  an  effort  to  be  clieerful, 
"  I  can  not  reply  by  a  yes  or  a  no— so  you  must 
allow  me  to  arrange  my  materials  and  separate 
good  from  indift'erent  and  bad.  I  think  Lord 
Hurstwood,  in  one  sense,  a  man  of  very  polished 
manners — those  manners  which  a  person  of  the 
least  taste  and  refinement  can  hardly  fail  to  ac- 
quire Avho  frequents  the  best  society — I  was  told 
that  he  long  and  sincerely  mourned  the  loss  of  an 
only  sister  Avlio  died  Avhcn  on  the  eve  of  marriage." 

"  Well,"  sloAvly  remarked  ("onstance,  "  though 
not  much  in  his  favor,  all  this  is  not  much  against 
him— and  my  knowledge  of  the  world  tells  me," 
and  she  laughed  at  her  ignorance,  "  that  this  is 


TIIK   WIFF/S   TRIALS 


65 


ot  to  be  despised — but  go  on  with  your  an- 
lysis." 
'  I  do  not  think,  if  he  were  to  marry,  his  wife 
[  be  unhappy — though  one  with  very  strong 
ffections  would  feel  disappointed.  I  believe,  also, 
hat  a  sensible,  totally  imromantic  woman  might 
e  very  happy  with  him — but  that  he  is  selhsh, 
nd  rather  heartless,  I  fear  is  true — and  nicely 
ceighed,  his  Lordship  is,  by  me,  found  wanting. 
Vhat  say  you,  Helen  .'" 

I,  mamma  !  he  is  precisely  one  of  that  species 
rhich  1  particularly  dislike,"  was  her  decided 
eply.  "  But  when  will  the  dear  Vernons  return  r" 
he  asked,  no  longer  caring  to  discuss  his  Lord- 
hip's  character. 

Oh,  not  for  two  months,  so  my  last  letter 
ays,"  answered  her  mother ;  "  they  have  been  in- 
ited  to  Craigalan,  but  probably  only  the  Doctor 
.nd  Caroline  will  accept— as  Mrs.  Vernon  wishes 
0  remain  with  Charles  and  his  family." 

"  Is  Mr.  Victor  Morton  invited  to 'meet  Lord 
lurstwood .'"  said  Helen. 

"  Certainly,  he  is  your  papa's  great  favorite  ; 
,nd  were  it  not  for  the  awkward  misunderstand- 
ng  which  attended  his  father's  possession  of  the 
lermitage,  and  his  very  stiff  reserve  since,  I  am 
ure  /le  would  be  included  also.  However,  he 
eems  much  pleased  at  his  son's  popularity." 

'•  Mamma,  I  think  I  have  discovered  a  secret 
jibout  Mr.  Victor,"  said  Helen ;  "  by  accident  I 
bund  out  that  he  wears  the  miniature  of  a  lady 
ound  his  neck !" 

"  Which  means,"  said  her  mother,  "  that  he  is 
n  love,  or  that  you  think  so — which  .'"' 
"  You  are  right — what  else  can  it  be .'" 
"  Well,  as  he  always  seems  very  merry  and 
ght-hearted — though  that  is  a  wrong  description 
)f  one  who  is  supposed  to  have  lost  his  heart^ — 1  con- 
lude  it  is  a  satisfactory  exchange  ;  and  thinking 
im  true,  and  his  father  kind  and  sensible,  I  wish 
jim  happiness." 

I  believe,"  said  Constance,  "  Helen  is  mis- 
aken — it  is  a  miniature  of  his  mother,  so  says 
arry.  Mr  Morton  is  a  merchant,  is  he  not  ?" 
"  Yes,  or  rather  he  was,  for  I  have  met  him  so 
ioften  at  the  Rectory,  that  we  are  quite  confiden- 
tial and  friendly,  and  chat  about  his  aifairs 
tVeely.  Then  he  is  so  generous  and  manly  in  all 
li's  opinions  and  deeds,  besides  standing  high  in 
the  Doctors  esteem,  that  I  hope  Victor  may  fulfill 
all  his  wishes— only  I  think  a  feAV  years'  more  ex- 
perience would  be  desirable  before  forming  an  at- 
tachment, if  Helen's  idea  be  correct." 

Constance  blushed  painfully  ;  he  and  Hubert 
were  so  nearly  of  the  same  age,  that  this  remark 
was  as  applicable  to  one  as  the  other.  Happily* 
for  her,  the  conversation  again  turned  on  Ce- 
cilia's expected  visit,  and  terminated  without  any 
mure  of  those  "  words  at  random  spoken,"  which 
ai  e  often  so  embarrassing. 

And  Cecilia  at  length  arrived,  amazingly  im- 
provrd  by  her  foreign  residence,  and  yet  without 
hiving  lost  any  of  that  sincerity  which  was  so 
very  refreshing,  or  that  courageous  love  of 
truth  on  which  those  who  knew  her  so  safely  re- 
ru.ed. 

'•  What  a  splendid  specimen  of  English  beauty 
nii'l  foreign  ease  Miss  Grantham  is!"  said  Lady 
Dallas  to  Mrs.  Forrester  after  Cecilia  had  duly 
renewed  her  acquaintance  with  her  Seabrooke 


friends.  "  Sir  William  calls  her  Juno  the  ma- 
jestic."' 
"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Forrester,  '-she  is  very 
,  handsome,  but  rather  too  demonstrative  fur  my 
[  taste.  1  own  to  admiring  the  elegant  rather  than 
i  the  magnificent — and  certainly,  in  the  former, 
Miss  Sinclair  excels." 

I  "Oh!  certainly,"  acquiesced  her  Ladyship; 
I  "  but  they  are  so  different,  we  hardly  ever  tliink 
1  of  comparing  them.  But  what  says  our  oi'acle, 
.Mr.  Hubert :  his  opinion  is  of  consequence  to  the 
young  ladies." 

I  "Oh!  Hubert,"  rather  stiffly  said  Mrs.  For- 
I  rester  ;  "  Hubert  would  never  admire  any  one  so 
I  ready  to  take  the  lead  as  Miss  Grantham.  He 
prefers  the  quiet  and  retiring — he  has  not  lost 
I  his  taste  for  an  English  blush." 

"  Ah !  and  no  one  blushes  more  beautifully 
than  tliat  sweet  girl  Constance  Templeton,"  was 
I  the  rejoinder  of  the  blundering  visitor,  never 
j  imagining  Mrs.  Forrester's  speech  had  reference 
to  Laureae,  who  hardly  ever  changed  counte- 
nance under  any  circumstances.  "  It  is  truly 
deliglitful  to  watch  the  color  deepen  and  fade  on 
her  eloquent  face — so  perfectly  feminine  and 
graceful  as  she  is;  and  yet  how  bravely  she  bore 
up  under  their  late  trial,  and  sustained  the  spirits 
of  both  her  mother  and  sister." 

"It  has  indeed  been  a  sad  disappointment," 
observed  Mrs.  Forrester,  "sad  to  all;  for  these 
events  often  leave  an  uncomfortable  cloud  on  the' 
j  prosjjccts  of  a  whole  family." 

Happily,  her  figure  of  speech  was  cloudy  also, 
I  and  by  no  means  clej^r  to  Lady  Dallas,  who 
would  never  have  imagined  how  sorrow  to  one 
member  of  a  family  could  involve  disgrace  to  tlie 
rest;  and  probably  thinking  that  tiie  lady,  of 
Forest  Hill  was  only  more  ihetorical  than  usualj 
she  still  went  on  pitying  Helen,  unconscious  that 
I  she  was  thus  injuring  Constance.  But  Lau- 
rette's  insinuation  had  not  been  lost  on  jSlrs.  For- 
I  rester,  who  soon  felt  its  effects  ;  for  tlie  more  she 
realized  it,  the  less  did  she  like  the  idea  of  Hu- 
bert's marrying  one  whose  sister  had  been  dis- 
appointed and  pitied.  A»d  yet  Mrs.  Forrester 
was  kind! 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 


"  I'm  the  strangest  person  iu  the  whole  world  ;  for  what 
care  I  for  money  1    I  wrilu  lor  reputation." — The  J{e/ieurt,al, 

!  Reginald  was  one  day  emerging  from  the 
Teinj)le,  deeply  plunged  in  thought  about  some 

j  legal  difficulty,  when  a  gentleman,  whom  he  had 
not  noticed,  but  whom  he  nearly  ran  against, 
exclaimed,  "Eyes  right,  young  Chancellor,  or 
there  will  be  an  action  for  assault  and  battei'y" 
— his  quick  sight  having  detected  some  papers 

I  which  the  other  carried — and  then,  as  Reginald 
stopped  to  make  an  apology,  he  shouted,  "  West, 
Reggy  West !  or  my  name  is  not  Charles  Stacey." 
"  Good  heavens,  Stacey  !  You  here  ?  how  glad 
I  am  to  see  you  !'' 

"  And  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say  so,"  re- 
plied the  new  comer;  "but  for  God's  sake!  do 


THE   WIPES  TRIALS. 


not  lose  sight  of  me  in  this  English  Cimmerium,  | 
or,  like  Uei»ut!ition,  you  will  never  see  me  again.  I 
I  am  gi>ing  to  transact  a  little  business  at  a  ' 
bankers  near  here;  come  -with  me,  and  then  I  I 
will  drive  you  home.  My  horse  is  too  aristo- 
cratic to  leiip  Temiile  Bar,  so  I  have  left  him  on  j 
the  other  side.  Now,  no  excuse,  I  am  deaf  to  | 
it,"  as  Reginald  began  with,  •'  I  am  afraid — " 

'•  You  liad  l)Ctter  go  quietly."  said  he  named 
Stacey,  "  or  I  will  call  the  police,  and  vow  you 
have  run  away  from  your  lodging  without  paying 
die  rent — and  a  good  joke  that  would  be,  too;" 
and  lie  laughed  heartily  at  the  idea. 

Nothing  loth,  Reginald  yielded  to  this  violent 
detention,  oniy  he  wished  to  inform  Ashley  of  it, 
as  he  had  proui.sed  to  meet  him  in  the  course  of 
an  liour  at  his  chambers.  But  his  companion 
Would  not  set  him  free  even  for  this  purpose,  so 
the  check  was  cashed,  and  away  they  rattled,  till 
theycime  to  a  very  jiretty  villa,  near  Kensington, 
wliure  I'leginald  was  introduced  to  a  very  pretty 
little  woman,  as  "  my  friend  Reginald  West,"  and 
Keginald  West  was  told  '■  this  is  my  little  wife." 

'•  And  now  you  are  here,  you  must  stay  and 
dine."  said  Mr.  Stacey  ;  but  this  Reginald  pos- 
itively declined,  alleging  a  previous  engagement 
to  Ashley,  at  which  uan'e  tne  other  ag.iui  shout- 
ed wiili  plea.surj;  and,  learning  the  address  of 
e.icli,  .-ind  being  pacified  witli  a  promi.se  that  the 
next  day  but  one  tliey  Would  boih  dine  with  him, 
Keginald  was  sutfered  to  depart. 

Ciiarles  Stacey  was  a  college  acquaintance  of 
both  Ashley  and  Keg  nald.  lie  entered  shortly 
af.er  the  former  dia,  and  being  a  young  man  of 
extraordinaiy  genius  and  most  amiable  manners, 
he  soon  won,  n  .t,  only  their  admiration,  but  their 
interest. 

.  By  birth  he  was  by  no  means  their  equal ; 
but  where  there  are  agreeable,  companionable 
qualitietf,  and  nothing  in  the  conduct  or  senti- 
ments ungentlemanly  and  oifensive,  frank  and 
open-hearted  youth  does  not  generally  care  for 
pedigree.  His  moilier  was  a  widow,  and  he  her 
only  child  ;  but  tlie  nobleman,  whose  Irish  agent 
hei-  husband  h:id  been,  and  who  had  di.'-chMrged 
his  soinec lines  unpleasant  duties  to  the  beiietit 
and  satisfac.ion  of  all  parties,  promised  to  look 
after  this  faiherless  boy.  and  had  faithfully  kept 
his  promise.  Stacey,  having  been  well  educated, 
was  sent  to  colb  ge  preparatory  to  his  taking  or- 
ders as  there  was  a  MUall  living  in  his  patron's 
gitt  which  was  destined  for  Jiim.  And  after 
beinn  thus  provided  for.  he  was  given  to  under- 
staiidthat  he  must  take  care  of  his  future  fortune 
him.self. 

'I'liis  provision,  though  perhaps  more  than  he 
would  have  obtained  bad  his  father  lived,  was 
one  very  little  admired  by  young  Stacey!  his 
ambition  or  imagination  liad  pictured  a  some- 
thing, though  he  might  have  been  puzzled  to  say 
what ;  liut  a  finale  to  his  academical  career  very 
diUereni  from  a  quiet,  modest  country  living, 
witii  lis  scanty  income,  its  incessant  and  abund- 
ant labor  His  first  impression  was  that  he  was 
a  very  ill-u.sed  person  ;  he  forgot  that  his  educa- 
tion, though  e.vcellent,  had  been  economically 
procured  at  a  hirge,  but  not  public  school;  that 
nothing  had  ever  bren  .sai«l  or  done  by  his  noble 
protector  to  justify  the  notion  that  he  meant  to 
educiiie  him  a"  '  '8  own  sons  were,  though  during 


the  holidays,,  and  on  other  occasions,  he  asso- 
ciated freely  with  them ;  this  permission,  thougli 
kindly  intended,  was  perhaps  a  mistake,  tendthg 
to  encourage  unfounded  pretensions;  nor  was  it 
the  only  one.  The  young  man's  own  wishes  had 
never  been  consulted  as  regarded  his  future 
destination  ;  had  they  been,  his  disinclination 
and  unfitness  for  clerical  duties  would  have  been 
discovered,  and  something  more  congenial  to  his 
tastes  and  talents  might  have  been  oflered  to  him. 
To  his  mother  he  hesitated  not  to  avow  his 
dislike  to  the  path  marked  out  for  him  ;  but  she 
was  a  silly,  vain  woman,  who.  though  she  thought 
her  clever  Charles  fit  for  any  thing,  and  nothing 
too  good  for  him,  had  distant  and  indistinct 
visions  of  church  dignitaries,  prebends'  stalls, 
lawn  sleeves,  and  perhaps,  in  her  ignorance  and 
folly,  even  of  the  pope's  triple  crown  ;  so  she 
talked  about  the  gentility  of  the  church  till  in 
her  mind  gentility  stood  next  to,  if  not  in  the 
place  of,  go'dliness  ;  and  drawing  largely  on  fable 
and  f.iiry  land,  she  so  filled  Charles's  imaginative 
brain  with  a  fashionable  congregation  listening  j 
with  rapt  attention  to  his  eloquence,  and  young  i 
ladies  in  love  with  the  h.indsome  clergj-man,  that 
these  dreams  jostled  and  drove  aw.ay  common 
;  sense  and  her  liomely  progeny,  and  had  the  field 
'  all  to  themselves. 

And  so  behold  the  future  "  conquering  hero" 
in  canonicals,  at  Cambridge,  where,  preparatory 
to  his  becoming  the  pet  of  the  congregation,  he 
became  the  pet  of  the  cothbination-rooms.  In- 
stead of  stealing  young  hearts  away  by  senti- 
mental s?rmons  and  good  looks,  he  said  and 
wrote  good-'things,  and  gave  a  welcome  to  the 
enemy  which  steals  men's  brains  ;  his  witti- 
cisms were  quoted  and  circulated  far  and  wide, 
but  the  heads  of  the  university  forgot  him,  or 
passed  him  unnoticed  ;  his  bon  mot  would  set  the 
table  in  a  roar,  but  his  neglect  of  lectures  and 
chapel  made  tutors  look  grave  ;  in  short,  he  waa 
the  life  of  his  party— but,  he  was  rusticated  ! 

Ashley,  who  was  more  constantly  at  Cambridge 
than  Keginald,  had  often  remonstrated,  but  in 
vain — be  had  threatened  to  withdraw  his  friend- 
ship, equ.dly  in  vain ;  the  threat  he  himself  found 
too  difliculi  for  performance,  for  Stacey  was  one 
of  those  troublesome  persons  called,  •'  no  one's 
enemy  but  his  own ;"  though  where  either  (Jie 
truth  or  the  appropriateness  of  the  designation 
lies,  it  seems  difficult  to  discover,  for  the  man  who 
is  his  own  enemy,  is,  directly  or  indirectly,  the 
enemy  of  all  who  have  any  dealings  or  association 
with  him. 

Stacey,  however,  left  Cambridge  generally  re-'' 
•grctted — those  who  condemned   his   conduct  la- 
I  montcd  this  waste  of  talent  andopportunity,  while 
his  thoughtless  associates  bewiviled  his  departure 
as  an  irreparable  loss — for  who  was  now  to  .supjtly 
the  place  of  this  prince  of  good  fellows  .'    He  left 
j  also,  indebted  to  almost  everyone  who  had  monev 
'  to  lend,  though,  in  justice  to  him,  it  must  be  .-^LiJ 
th.at  he  was  aghast  when  he  became  aware  of  the 
amount  of  his  liabilities — but  again  he  rallii  ',. 
j  for  when  his  disgrace  fell  upon  him  like  a  tin 
I  derbolt, "  Never  mind,  old  fellow !  we  will  sec  .1 1 1 
you,"  was  said  and  meant  by  many  of  his  U'  ' 
juid  wealthy  particulars;    and  some  kept  tin 
word. 
I      And  thus  did  his  clerical  prospects  close  )u. 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


G7 


tliese  he  did  not  much  regret  or  lament — he  had 
1.  iig  ago  discovered,  that  over-crowded  congrega- 
tions are  disagreeable  in  more  senses  tliau  one, 
and  that  girls  who  weep  over  their  prayer-books, 
invariably  have  colds  and  red  noses^but  then, 
this  news  killed  his  mother,  and  to  her  he  was 
tenderly  attached  ;  we  do  not  mean,  that  on  hear- 
ing of  his  disgrace  she  dropped  down  dead,  but 
she  never  recovered  from  the  ettects  of  the  shock, 
was  never  again  happy  or  well,  and  shortly  after- 
ward died."  * 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


"  I  rptnarked  with  what  justic!>  of  distribution  he  directed 
bis  talk  lo  a.  wide  circle — he  ainused<he  timid,  soiiened  tlie 
eupercilious,  and  opened  the  reserved." — De.  Johnson. 

How  often  do  we  say,'  speaking  of  pain, "  it  was 
as  bad  as  it  could  be," — or  of  sorrow,  "I  could 
not  have  gone  through  more." 

The  day  after  Cecilia's  arrival,  Constance  was 
so  much  indisposed  with  a  violent  cold,  that  Mr. 
Curtis  condemned  her  to  remain  a  prisoner  in  her 
room.  "  No  such  terrible  fate  after  all,"  as  he 
smilingly  remarked,  glancing  at  the  numerous 
accessories  of  comfort  and  lirsury  by  which  she 
was  surrounded. 

It  was  while  she  was  still  an  invalid,  and  before 
Colonel  Templetou  had  returned  from  his  unex- 
pected visit  to  London,  that  Lord  Hurstwood's 
arrival  at  the  hall  was  announced,  and  the  day 
after  the  report  he  presented  himself  at  the  Priory. 
Jlrs.  Temijleton  expressed  her  regret  at  her  bus- 
baud's  absence,  who  was  expected  that  same  eve- 
ning. His  Lordship,  however,  seemed  to  bear  the 
disappointment  very  philosophically^,  discussing, 
with  his  usual  grace,  various  topics  with  Mrs. 
Templeton,  Helen,  and  Cecilia,  to  whom  he  was 
1;  i\v  for  the  first  time  introduced.  Laurette  was 
must  provokingly  av.'ay ;  she  had  gone  to  look 
after  her  domestic  pet  at  Forest  Hill,  whom,  at.er 
all,  she  did  not  see,  and  on  her  return  had  the 
rnnrtification  to  learn,  that  she  had  missed  the  in- 
duction to  Lord  Hurstwood,  for  Laurette  was  a 
lough  coquette;  perhaps  also  she  meant  to  try 
;.ie  old  game  of  playing  oif  the  Peer  against  the 
inquire. 

Lord  Hurstwood  had  remained  some  time,  in- 
deed, rather  a  long  time  for  a  call,  when  he  sud- 
denly remembered  he  had  a  very  important  affair 
about  which  he  wished  for  the  Colonel's  opinion, 
and  whose  absence  he  seemed  to  find  so  inconve- 
nient, that  Mrs.  Templeton,  though  scarcely  sure 
that  she  was  doing  what  her  husband  would  ap- 
prove of,  invited  him  to  luncheon  the  next  day ; 
an  invitation  which  was  promptly  accepted. 

As  he  had  led  his  family  to  expect,  the  Colonel 
arrived  the  same  evening;  but  either  his  business 
in  town  had  not  proceeded  to  his  wishes,  or  he  was 
tired  or  bilious,  for  he  brought  with  him  a  tem- 
per, which,  had  not  the  presence  of  his  nieces  in  a 
great  degree  restrained,  would  in  some  shape  or 
other  have  Ijeen  displayed  to  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter more  offensively  than  it  was.  Even  the  arri- 
Tal  of  Cecilia  failed  to  chase  away  the  foul  fiend ; 
and  complaining  of  the  absence    of  Constance 


fatigue,  any  thing  which  furnished  thesemblnnco 
of  an  excuse  for  his  manner,  he  was  not  .<<een  by 
any  of  them  after  they  left  the  dining-room. 

"  My  uncle  is  amiable,"  said  Laurette,  sarcas- 
tically ;  "  I  hope  it  is  edifying  to  be  with  him 
when  he  is  in  these  moods ;  for  1  confess  to  feeling 
it  a  slight  discipline." 

"  I  must  own  that  I  do  not  think  him  improved 
either  in  manner  or  appearance,"  returned 
Cecilia ;  "  but  he  looks  evidently  fatigued  and 
harassed  this  evening;  he  most  hkely  feels  an- 
noyed at  Lord  Ernest's  unjustifiable  behavior. 
Poor  Helen !  how  admirably  she  acts.  Were  slie 
and  Reginald  West  much  attached .'  I  was  in 
Italy  during  the  greater  part  of  their  engage- 
ment, and  therefore  know  but  little  of  the  par- 
ticulars." 

"  They  were  very  much  attached,"  answeviMl 
Laurette.  "  it  was  quite  a  love  affair ;  and  1  shuuM 
not  wonder  if  Helen,  in  her  romance,  has  di'cidc  d 
already  to  renounce  lovers  and  matrimony 
forever." 

"  That  comes  of  having  what  is  called  une 
graiu/e  passion,"  remarked  her  companion; 
"  happily,  we  are  both  too  old  for  such  a  catas- 
trophe— which,  I  believe,  never  can  happen  after 
twenty — and  as  sentiment  was  never  my  forte,  if 
I  ever  should  marry— rather  an  unlikely  event, 
being  '  a  tocherlass  lass  ^vi'  a  lang  pedigree' — I 
shall  be  contented  to  receive  and  give  a  very  mod- 
erate portion  of  love." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  not  object  to  a  little  aver- 
sion just  to  begin  with,"  said  Laurette,  laugliing  ; 
"  but  I  agree  with  you,  that  at  our  age  a  marriage 
de  convc/tatice  is  the  most  sensible  arrangement." 
Had  she  forgotten  Hubert  while  she  said  this .' 
by  no  means ;  it  was  the  bitter  consciousness  of 
her  real  feelings,  and  the  dread  she  now  had  6f 
their  being  discovered,  which  induced  her  to  adopt 
this  bantering  tone  ;  she  had  begun  to  fear  that 
she  was  wrong  in  having  permitted  Hubert  to  sus- 
pect the  truth ;  and  was  doubly  careful  to  lii(^ 
from  all  others. 

The  next  day  was  a  sort  of  review,  preparatory 
to  the  grand  field  day,  when  all  was  to  be  stately 
and  magnificent.  Colonel  Templeton,  who  was 
anxious  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  his  noble 
neighbor,  and  much  gratified  to  find  that  the 
overtures  toward  intimacy  emanated  first  from  the 
Hall,  played  the  gay  and  courteous  host  to  per- 
fection ;  and  as  to  liis  Lordship,  if  he  had  been 
pronounced  "  really  very  agreeable"  during  his 
morning  crdl,  his  manners  and  conversation  at, 
luncheon  were  delightful — so  graceful  and  chival- 
rous in  his  attentions  to  the  young  ladies — so  re- 
spectful to  Mrs.  Templeton,  that  Helen  looked  at 
him  with  eyes  full  of  gratitude — so  full,  that  he 
noticed  again  and  again  the  look  and  the  eyes  too, 
and  perfectly  remembered  both,  even  after  he  had 
left  her  presence— and  then  his  conversation — so 
perfect  in  the  selection  of  subjects  sure  to  interest, 
proving  him  both  the  well-read  man  and  tlie 
accomplished  courtier  ;  Cecilia  and  he  played  ad- 
mirably into  each  other's  hands,  capping  anec- 
dotes of  foreign  courts  and  customs,  that  never 
once  allowed  the  conversation  to  flag. 

Unfortunately,  Laurette  was  not  in  her  usual 
spirits ;  she  complained  of  a  headache,  tluvt  con- 
venient malady  ;  but  the  truth  is,  she  was  morti- 
fied to  find  herself  a  nonentity  where  she  meant 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS, 


to  have  been  conspicuous.  Though  remarkably 
■well-informed,  endowed  with  a  ready  wit  and 
gracelul  flow  of  language,  she  knew  nothing,  by 
experience,  of  foreign  life,  and  hud  no  pjrsunal 
associations  with  continental  celebrities,  and  was, 
therefore,  condemned  to  be  a  listener  where  she 
had  anticipated  trophies  as  a  talker;  and  afforded, 
by  her  ill-concealed  inditterence,  a  marked  con- 
trast to  the  silent  but  evidently  gratified  attention 
of  Helen, 

Though  it  must  have  been  clearly  shown  that 
Seabro<^ke  I'riory  was  famous  neither  for  domestic 
happiness  nor  public  gayety,  on  such  occasions  as 
thai  now  about  to  take  place,  it  evinced  no  deiici- 
ency  of  splendor  or  perfect  appointment ;  and 
as  Colonel  lempleton  glanced  along  and  around 
his  table,  he  felt  that  even  Hurstwood  Hall  could 
not  outshine  the  wealth  and  beauty  which  he  had 
assembled  to  do  honor  to  his  lordly  neighbor. 

Mrs.  Templeton's  graceful  loveliness  was  still 
conspicuous;  and  being  desirous  of  supplying  any 
deficiency  of  animation  in  Helen,  with  her  very 
becoming  attire,  she  tried  to  put  on  cheerful  looks, 
and  succeeded  so  well,  that  even  her  husband  was 
pleased  as  well  as  surprised. 

True  to  her  promise,  Helen,  though  certainly  not 
gay,  was  by  no  means  ostentatiously  sad;  and 
-With  her  cousins,  each  very  attractive  in  her  own 
pu'culiar  manner,  assisted  her  mother  most  effi- 
ciently to  receive  their  numerous  guests. 

Constance,  to  her  infinite  disappointment,  was 
still  invisible  beyond  her  own  room — indeed,  by  ^ 
order  of  Mr.  Curtis,  Helen  -was  banished  from 
their  joint  sleeping  apartment  into  her  dressing- 
room,  adjoining  the  con.servatory ;  "  Precaution,"',, 
as  the  vjllage  Galen  oracularly  observed,  '•  being 
better  than  cure  ;  and  Miss  "Constance  had  symp-  , 
toms  of  fever  and  sore  throat,  -which,  though  at 
present  trifling,  required  care  and  attention. ' 

Lord  Hursiwood,  whose  popularity  was  still  in 
the  ascendant,  won  more  golden  opinions,  when, 
in  the  course  of  the  evening,  he  proposed  to  call  i 
a  council  of  ladies,  in  order  to  arrange  a  dejeuner 
at  the  Hall,  the  grounds  of  which  were  now  in  all 
their  bloom  and  beauty.  When  this  proposal  was 
received  with  smiling  approbation  by  the  fair 
hearers,  he  remarked,  that  such  a  bachelor  estab- 
lishment as  his  could  not  expect  to  be  honored 
wiih  the  presence  of  gentle  visitants  until  some 
lady  would  assume  the  temporary  hostess,  and  be 
there  to  receive  them  ;  and  addressing  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton,  he  ventured  to  hope  that  she  would  till  the 
oftice,  in  default  of  a  permanent  occupant— and 
La<iy  Dallas  with  her  usual  look  of  meaning,  de- 
clared, tliat  as  he  said  these  words,  his  eye  fell 
very  distinctly  on  the  unconscious  Helen ;  who 
certainly,  so  far  as  grace  and  beauty  went,  was 
very  likely  to  attract  him— a  professed  admirer 
of  loveliness;  since  it  was  imanimously  agreed 
that  rarely  had  she  looked  more  c.iptivating;  her 
■white  dress  of  rich  materials  was  relieved  by  no 
color  save  that  of  a  few  natural  flowers,  and  her 
graceful  head  and  pertVct  features  were  seen  to  ad- 
vantage by  the  classical  style  in  which  tlie  splendid 
dark  hair  was  arranged,  wliile  her  intellect  and 
feeling  which  gave  grace  to  her  movements  and 
music  to  her  voice  were  eminently  visible  in  her 
varying  countenance. 

Cecilia  Grantham  looked  queen-like  in  her 
rather  strange  foreign  fashion,  which,  however, 


became  her  admirably ;  and  though  Laurette 
perhaps  made  a  little  mistake  in  wearing  a  kind 
of  half  Spanish  costume,  it  nevertheless  suited  her 
dark  beauty  and  elegant  little  figure  better  than 
might  have  been  expected. 

Of  course,  where  all  the  principal  families  of  the 
neighborhood  were  assembled,  iliere  would  be  the 
Forresters;  and  though  Mrs.  i'orr^ter  admitted 
to  herself  that  as  Lord  Hurstwood  had  arrang.- 1 
his  party  at  the  Priory,  he  could  not  have  avoiaL-d 
nominating  MrsTXempleton  deputy-queen,  she  yet 
thought  that  distinction  should  have  fallen  on  her, 
as  due  lx)th  to  her  age  and  the  length  of  her  resi- 
dence in  the  county. 

Mr.  Forrester,  also,  was  not  quite  at  ease. 
Hubert  had  been  so  pre-occupied,  so  dull,  so  un- 
like himself,  that  his  father  could  not  but  ascribe 
the  change  to  the  absence  of  Constance ;  and 
began  to  tear  that  her  influence  on  his  sons  hap- 
piness was  stronger  than  he  had  anticipated.  He 
had  also  remarked  that  Colonel  Templeton  indulg- 
ed very  freely  in  wine— that  he  and  Lord  Hurst- 
wood had  talked  a  great  deal  with  a  foreign  gen- 
tleman, who  had  accompanied  a  neigii boring 
family,  of  gaming  and  gaming-houses  abroad, 
during  which  he  had  evinced  an  intimate  acquaint* 
ance  with  the  mysteries  of  the  said  places,  which 
greatly  shocked  the  aristocratic  prejudices  of  Mr. 
Forrester — a  man  whom  pride  alone  would  have 
kept  from  any  amusement  in  which  sharpers  and 
swindlers  were  almost  sure  to  be  his  associates ; 
even  had  not  his  habits  and  tastes  been  opposed  to 
speculation  and  risk.  In  short,  he  never  had 
hked  the  Colonel.  They  difi'ered  in  all  essentials, 
and  many  hints  which  he  had  collected  from 
various  quarters  acquired  strength  from  this  con- 
versation, and  reminded  him  of  the  exceedingly 
doubtiui  character  of  the  party  by  whom  the  Col- 
onel was  accompanied  some  years  ago.  on  his  re- 
turn from  the  Continent,  so  ihat  he  left  the  Priory 
with  all  his  prejudices  arrayed  more  violently 
than  ever  against  Hubert's  suit. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 


"  Ye  gods !  what  crime  had  my  poor  father  done, 
That  yuu  should  muke  a  poet  of  his  sun  ? ' 

Vanbbuoh. 

"We  left  Reginald  in  his  humble  but  peaceful 
retreat  at  llampstead  gradually  learning  what  was 
meant  by  the  words  labor  and  study.  Happily 
his  acquaintance  with  the  difiiculties  which  at- 
tended his  choice  did  not  daunt  nor  deter  himi 
from  steadily  pursuing  it.  Happily,  also,  as  nov- 
elty wore  ott",  inditfurencc  did  not  succeed ;  but 
he  went  on  day  by  day  finding  his  views  of  lifa 
and  its  respmsibilities  clearer,  more  enlarged^ 
his  self-knowledge  imperceptibly  leading  him  to  a: 
self-reliance  he  would  formerly  have  thought  al- 
most presumptuous — but  which  he  now  saw  was 
quite  compatible  with  the  conviction  that  there 
Avas  still  much  to  learn. 

As  he  realized  the  fact,  that  henceforth  he  must 
take  rank  among  the  sons  of  labor,  and  worki 
for  a  living,  the  charm  which  was  at  first  thrown 
over  the  notion  of  independence  ilid  not  dissolve. 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


69 


He  not  only  found  his  enertries  respond  cheerfully 
to  the  calls  for  exertion,  aud  furnish  a  supply  of 
industry  equal  to  the  toil  and  need— but  he  found 
that  he  was  really  happier — better  able  to  bear 
liis  trials  and  losses  with  resignation,  than  when 
condemned  to  inactivity  and  the  tnnui  of  unem- 
ployed leisure.  He  was  now  making  a  successful 
struggle,  and  this  assurance  gave  him  dignity  in 
his  own  eyes ;  he  was  laborin;.;  for  indep.Midence, 
and  the  thought  cheered  him  in  his  daily  task. 

It  is  true  he  never  forgot  that  she  wliom  he 
still  tenderly  loved  was  separated  from  him  for- 
ever. It  is  true  he  acutely  felt  the  great  change 
and  blight  that  had  f  illen  on  his  own  once  bril- 
liant prospects.  But  the  remembrance  was  not 
«ne  of  constant  and  unmitigated  bitterness.  Life 
lad  still  its  duties  for  him  to  perform,  and  in  the 
tithful  discharge  of  them  he  trusted  to  find  a 
iltting  recompense. 

His  new  course  of  study  at  first  entirely  occu- 
pied him ;  but  wlien  he  had,  by  the  help  of  tiie 
gentleman  with  whom  he  placed  himself,  arranged 
that,  and  judiciously  apportioned  his  time,  he 
found  there  was  still  enough  leisure  for  social 
purposes,  and  the  pursuit  of  that  literary  occupa- 
tion which  he  hoped  would  prove  remunerative, 
aud  relieve  him  from  pecuniary  dependence  on 
friends  whose  generosity  was  exceeded  only  by 
their  kindness  and  delicacy. 

Having  related  to  Ashley  his  unexpected  meet- 
ing with  Charles  Stacey,  and  the  engagement  he 
had  conditionally  accepted  for  both  of  them,  it 
was  agreed  that  Ashley  sliould  write  and  confirm 
the  accej)tance  ;  and  at- the  time  appointed  they 
made  their  appearance  at  the  villa,  the  elegant 
exterior  of  which  was  only  in  keeping  with  the 
st\ie  and  comfort  of  the  internal  arrangements. 

They  were  the  only  guests,  Stacey  saying  he 
anticipated  too  much  pleasure  in  talking  over  old 
times  to  have  their  confidential  chat  restrained 
by  the  presence  of  a  less  intimate  friend.  Rumor 
had  informed  him  of  K,eginald's  changed  fortune, 
but  there  was  still  much  of  which  he  was  ignor- 
ant, and  which  he  felt  a  kind  interest  to  learn  ; 
while,  as  Stacey's  spoke  in  the  wheel  of  fortune 
seemed  now  uppermost,  his  guests  felt  much 
curiosity  to  hear  how  he  had  fared  since  they 
had  all  parted  at  Cambridge. 

Mrs.  Stacey  joined  them  at  an  elegant  dinner, 
but  apologized  for  the  necessity  of  leaving  them 
hi  take  their  coffee  alone — she  was  engaged  to  a 
snirie  at  her  friend  Lady  De  Vere"s,  and  expected 
her  Ladyship's  carriage  very  shortly  to  fetch  her. 

'•  And  so  you  two  industrious  fellows  are  going 
to  graduate  at  Westminster  Hall  r"  said  Stacey, 
when  they  were  alone  ;  "  well,  success  attend 
you,  you  deserve  it,  for  having  the  courage  to 
make  the  attempt.  I  tried  it  after  I  left  Cam- 
bridge. A  solemn  old  fellow,  who  was,  however, 
very  kind  and  generous,  recommended  it,  but  I 
soon  found  the  life  would  never  suit  me." 

"  Why  not .'"  asked  Ashley,  anxious  to  learn 
what  time  had  made  of  this  "  no  man's  enemy 
but  his  own." 

"  Why,   my   dear  fellow,  the   atmosphere   of 
chambers  did   not  agree  with   my   constitution. 
The  dust  and  rust  of  legal  antiquities  and  curi-  i 
osities  would  have  been  fatal  to  my  genius.     j\Iy 
fancy  turned  every  deed  into  a  deed  of  horror ;  > 
and,  to  my  imagination,  parchment,  '  parchment  1 


I  was  and  nothing  more,'  when,  in  a  lucky  moment, 
I  met  Lord  Charlton,  who  was  so  shocked  at  the 
inroads  eating  mutton  liad  made  o«i  my  health, 
that  he  carried  me  off  to  spend  Christmas  at  the 
Uuke's  in  tlie  north,  where  tliere  was  a  house  full 
j  of  company,  all,  as  the  puffers  of  oil  and  cheap 
coats  say,  >  the  ^lite  and  haut-voli'  Well,  such 
a  glorious  time  as  we  had  of  it  !  Tableaux 
vivans,  private  theatricals,  balls,  flirtations, 
'  such  rousing  of  the  owls  in  a  niglitcatcli,'  for, 
I  promise  you,  my  mellifluous  voice  was  at  a 
premium — aud,  to  crown  all,  it  was  discovered 
tiiat  I  had  a  tolerable  gift  for  improvising !  so  I 
leave  you  to  imagine  how  1  was  courted  and 
ft  ted  /" 

"  And,  after  all  this  banqueting  at  Olympus, 
this  feasting  on  nectar  and  ambrosia,"  inquired 
Reginald,  "  how  did  your  genius  condescend  to 
fold  its  wings  and  bi"ood  over  the  earthly  matters 
of  the  law  .'" 

"  Oh  !  it  was  rebellious,  absolutely  contuma- 
cious !"  was  the  gay  reply  ;  "  flatly  refused  to 
soil  its  plumage  by  contact  with  such  dirty  litera- 
ture. An'd  when  I  called  on  my  good  old  quiz  " 
—  (this  good  old  quiz  had  paid  the  fees  and  pro- 
mised all  reasonable  help) — "  to  tell  him  juris- 
prudence was  not  my  element,  he  drily  retorted, 
'  Nor  any  other  prudence,  I  believe,'  but  con- 
gratulated me  on  having  so  soon  made  the 
discovery,  as  it  would  save  him  any  further 
waste  of  money.     Cool  that — was  it  not .'" 

"  Very,"  answered  Ashley,  almost  as  drily  as 
the  good  old  quiz  might  have  done. 

Stacey  continued,  "  My  nmther's  little  fortune" 
(her  fortune,  poor  old  woman  !  it  consisted  of  a 
few  hundreds,  saved  by  a  self-denial  that  would 
have  been  laudable,  had  it  been  for  a  better 
purpose  than  to  minister  to  her  son"s  extrava- 
gance)— "had  already  been  spent;  in  fact,  ii 
took  wings  and  flew  away,  during  a  short  visit  I 
paid  to  Paris  directly  I  left  Alma  Mater ;  but, 
luckily,  I  had  been  introduced  to  a  bookseller  by 
his  friend,  my  crusty  old  master;  to  him  I  now 
went — for  tiie  excliequer  was  low — in  short,  was 
empty.  I  knocked  off  a  few  songs  as  a  specimen 
— they  pleased  him,  he  paid  me,  and  really  paid 
well,  liberally — took  me  to  his  country-house — 
and,  by  Jove  !  you  should  see  the  style  in  which 
some  of  these  sliop-keeping  fellows  live.  I  w.-is 
inspired  by  green  fields  and  clear  sky,  and, 
presto!  there  was  soon  a  pretty  little  volume 
ready  for  the  discerning  public.  My  fortune 
was  made;  why  should  1.  with  a  mine  in  my 
head,  bury  myself  in  gloom  and  seclusion .' 
besides,  rank,  beauty,  elegance,  which  almost 
fought  for  the  prize — my  unworthy  self — were 
much  more  to  my  t.iste  than  blue  bags,  wigs  and 
gowns,  and  all  the  atrocious  masciuerade  of  bench 
and  bar.  My  dainty  muse,  my  delicite  Egeria, 
likes  them  not;  while  there  is  scarcely  a  coro- 
neted  album  in  tlie  land,  that  has  not  sonie  gos- 
samer contribution  fVuru  me,  inspired  by  the 
fashion  and  grace  which  fill  Kugland's  ncjide 
saloons." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Ashley,  with  a  comic  eini)liaHis, 
which  greatly  amused  Reginald,  who  believed  ho 
read  what  wsis  passing  in  his  mind — as  to  the 
value  of  such  inspiring  sources.  "  But  you  have 
not  told  us  your  love  episode,  and  it  is  treason  to 
Mrs.  Stacey  to  omit  that." 


70 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


"It  is  soon  said,"  replied  Stacey  ;  "1  lisive 
lately  iiiaiTied  a  nice  little  wife,  and — nie  voi/u." 

•'  And  a  very  couil'ortable  sight  you  present," 
rein.irked  lleginaM  ;  "  may  you  go  on  and  pros- 
per, and  yijur  shadow  never  be  less." 

"  No  fear  of  tiial, my  dear  fellow,"  said  Stacey  ; 
"  but  your  forbearance  has  made  me  detestably 
egotistical,  and  so  dismiss  we  this  subject ;  it  is 
now  your  turn  to  relate  your  adventures,  there- 
fore imitate  me,  and  give  tliein  in  full." 

He  had  lieard  a  good  deal  of  what  Keginald 
briefly  related  — and  listened  with  that  kindness 
whioli  was  one  of  his  characteristics,  for  kind  he 
was,  and  generous  also — so,  without  any  allusion 
to  llelen,  Reginald  told  of  his  present  pursuits, 
hopes,  and  wishes  —  but  when  he  said  he  was 
employing  his  leisure  in  atteuijits  at  miscellaneous 
authorship,  Stacey  eagerly  exclaimed,"!  know 
a  man  whom  you  will  suit,  and  who  will  exactly 
suit  y^u — can  you  meet  me  to-morrow  at  the 
Institution  .'  I  have  no  other  way  in  which  I  can 
show  my  friendly  interest ;  and  it  must  be  to- 
morrow, as  the  next  day  Susan  and  I  leave  home 
to  assist  at  a  few  theatrical  amusements  at  Roe- 
hampton;  and  when  these  will  be  over,  and  all 
the  invitations  to  which  they  are  sure  to  lead, 
neither  I  nor  the  genius  of  gayety  can  say — can 
you  come .'" 

iteginald  promised  to  be  punctual,  and  Stacey 
r('i)iMte(l,  "  1  will  introduce  you  to  the  very  man 
to  lurther  your  project." 

In  this  autobiogrjiphjs  as  in  every  other,  a 
few  chasms  need  filling  up;  the  brilliant  coloring 
of  the  self  painted  artist  requires  a  little  toning  i 
down,  and  the  elaborate  and  profuse  embroidery  j 
with  wliich  the  common  texture  of  the  material  [ 
is  concealed  must  be  carefully  removed.  At  no 
time  is  it  so  ilillicult  to  keep  strictly  to  truth  as  ' 
when  we  are  the  heroes  or  heroines  of  our  own 
story — and  (Jharles  Stacey,  a  poet,  a  man  of  im- 
agination and  fancy,  was  very  little  likely  to 
steer  clear  of  this  rock  a-head  to  all  biogmphers, 
who  ate  sure  to  tell  too  little  or  too  much— for 
inst:uice,  lie  did  not  tell  that  twice  he  had  been 
arrested  ;  (in  tlie  first  occasion  a  few  "  good- 
hearted  felh)Ws"'  subscribed  their  superfluous 
CMsh  and  set  him  free  ;  but  the  next  time,  he  was 
ol^liged  to  mortgnge  his  brain  before  he  was 
liberated —his  publisher  freed  him  from  one  sort 
of  imprisonment  to  inclose  him  in  another ;  and 
the  genius  that  pined  away  at  the  companionship 
of  rusty  and  dusty  legal  records,  that  spurned  a^l 
rule  and  all  law,  sold  itself,  pawned  itself,  hag- 
gled about  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  and,  for 
a  term,  bccMme  that  horror  of  intellect— that 
bane  to  tahut— th.it  mental  degradation — a  book- 
seller's hack  ! 

Stacey  was  happily  rescued  from  the  claws  of 
the  harjpy  who  flourished  and  grew  fat  on  human 
brain,  ami  furnished  his  country-house  luxuri- 
ously from  the  life-sjirings  of  genius  ;  and  found 
a  steady,  just,  and  liber.al  friend  in  the  gentle- 
man to  whom — free  from  all  petty  rivalry^ — he 
was  going  to  Mitroduce  Hegin.il^l.  lie  also  omit- 
ted to  s:iy  tiiat  his  wife,  a  guileless,  but  rather 
weak  little  body,  was  Lady  De  Verc's  prolif^er  ; 
the  word  is  l)y  no  means  synonymous  with  friend, 
an  explanation  not  so  iieeille^is  as  many  tliink. 
Her  Ladyshi])  hinl  permitted  her  to  give  a  con- 
cert at   lloehamptoii,  tu  which    she,  as  hostess, 


had  an  unlimited  supply  of  tickets  for  self  and 
fiieiuls,  besides  acquiring,  without  any  cost,  the 
character  of  being  a  liberal  patroness  of  art. 
There  Stacey  first  met  her  ;  they  sang  together, 
and,  by  the  display  of  their  varied  talents, 
charmed  the  noble  company,  by  the  greater 
part  of  whom  they  were  probably  forgotten  the 
next  day  ;  and  after  a  few  weeks'  acquaintance, 
married  on  the  strength  of  their  sweet  voices, 
and  for  the  same  cause  were  continually  in  de- 
mand at  one  aristocratic  riuniun  or  another, 
where  they  willingly  went,  under  the  delusion 
that  they  were  guests,  while  the  truth  is,  they 
wer(«  only  assistants  gratis  ! 

All  this  time,  and  while  they  were  leading  this 
butterfly  life,  Stacey's  poem,  which  had  been  an- 
nounced as  "  shortly  to  appear,"  had  reached  only 
a  few  hundred  lines- -he  himself  was  in  debt,  and 
his  little  wile's  wedding  finery  began  to  look  very 
shabby  by  daylight,  while  she  was  without  the 
means  of  supplying  the  deficiencies.  This  he  did 
not  mention;  but  his  memory  must  have  been 
very  bad,  or  he  would  not  have  forgotten  to  tell 
his  friends,  when  they  congratulated  him  on  be- 
ing the  owner  of  a  villa  so  elegantly  furnished, 
that  it  and  its  contents  were  only  hired  ! 

"  And  what  think  you  of  our  friend  Charles  ?" 
asked  Reginald  of  Ashley,  as  they  returned  to 
town. 

"  I  think  all  I  have  heard  and  seen  is  both  un- 
satisfactory and  painful,  except  his  frank  offer  to 
you ;  aad  that  proves  there  is  some  good  stuff  in 
him  still,"  was  the  reply.  "  Why,  my  dear 
Reggy,  it  is  eiisy  to  see  through  the  flimsy  life 
he  IS  leading ;  and.  unless  he  soon  becomes  con- 
scious of  the  rottenness  of  all  on  which  he  seems 
so  confidentially  to  lean,  he  must  fall.  Good 
God!  to  think  that  a  man  with  a  pair  of  hands 
and  a  well-informed  mind,  can  allow  himself  to 
be  juggled  and  cheated  as  he  is,  astonislies  me; 
and  because  he  is  admitted  to  the  society  of  lords 
and  ladies,  how  he  can  be  so  blind  to  tluir  mean- 
ness, as  well  as  his  own,  is  incomprehensible. 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  intend  to  say, 
that  a  man  of  inferior  birth  or  fortune  can  not 
be  received  hy  the  most  lofty  and  most  wealthy 
without  forfeiting  his  independence  and  self- 
respect  .'" 

"  By  no  means— nobility,  with  intellect,  will 
always  be  the  first  to  seek  and  honor  the  latter 
wherever  it  is  found  allied  to  real  worth— but  it 
is  the  degradation  of  patronage— the  paralyzing 
efforts  of  familiarity  without  respect,  which  I  so 
detest.  It  is  useless  for  Stacey  to  say  or  think, 
'  I  am  their  equal;  nay, in  learning,  in  talent,  in 
genius,  their  superior;'  for  he  is  throwing  him- 
self aw;ay  among  those  who,  having  little  or  none 
of  these  qualities,  do  not  value  them  in  him.  On 
the  contrary,  they  are  contented  to  take  his. tin- 
sel instead  of  his  gold — his  excitement  instead  of 
his  inspiration.  But  he  must  come  and  see  us, 
and  discover,  that  plodders  as  we  are,  we  ar6 
honored  with  the  companionship,  and  friendship, 
too,  of  the  leading  minds  of  the  day."  , 

"  And  no  bad  exchange  for  the  introduction 
which  he  has  so  kindly  promised  me,"  said  Reg- 
inald. _         ! 

This  promise  Stacey  redeemed  at  the  appointed 
time,  and  it  led  to  results  most  valuable  to  Regi- 
nald, who  felt  his  mind  and  power  of  application 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


71 


Btrengthen,  as  he  judiciously  exerted  and  worked 
them  both. 


CHAPTER   XXXn. 


"  But  you  are  no  such  man  ;  you  are  rather  point  device 
in  your  ai-coutrements.  as  loving  yourself,  tlian  securing  the 
love  of  any  other.' — As  You  Like  It. 

The  signal  for  gayety  which  Lord  FTurstwood's 
arrival  h;ul  given,  was  promptly  responded  to  by 
the  county  families  ;  and  after  iht  ft tc  at  thellall 
which  was  on  a  scale  of  unusual  magnificence, 
party  vied  with  party  in  receiving  and  doing  hon- 
or to  the  noble  giver  of  so  sumptuous  an  enter- 
tainment. 

It  was  very  mortifying  that  at  the  moment 
■when  Seabrooke  had  an  unusual  fit  of  hilarity, 
and  when  visiting  and  pleasure  seemed  the  order 
of  the  day,  Constance  Templeton  was  excluded 
from  all  participation  in  these  festivities.  It  is 
true  she  was  no  longer  confined  to  her  room,  but 
it  was  thought  more  prudent  to  keep  her  at  home, 
safe  from  the  fatigue  aad  excitement  of  large  par- 
ties and  crowded  rooms. 

AVhen,  at  length,  these  extraordinary  dissipa- 
tions were  over.  Cecilia  returned  to  Grantham  ; 
and  Laurette,  loving  dove,  hovering  round  the 
nest  which  contained  her  treasure,  accepted  an 
invitation  to  the  Grange ;  and  Seabrooke  once 
more  resumed  its  quiet  but  still  friendly  inter- 
course.  • 

During  the  whole  of  this  season  of  gayety,  in 
which  Constance  had  taken  no  part,  there  was  a 
frequent,  nay,  a  cunst.iut  visitor  to  the  Priory — 
one  whose  presence  to  the  convalescent  more  than 
compensated  for  the  privation. 

It  seemed  as  if  is  were  fated  that  Hubert  Forres- 
ter should  be  associated  in  her  mind  with  the  char- 
acter of  consoler  in  all  periods  of  sorrow,  or 
sickness,  or  lonelines-s ;  for  though  both  her  mo- 
ther aud  Helen  had  offered  to  give  up  any  en- 
gagement which  took  them  from  her,  Constance 
would  not  hear  of  the  proposal — and  this  most 
affectionately  "and  truly  on  her  sister's  account ; 
who  seemed  so  much  better  for  the  exertion  these 
parties  exacted,  that  Constance  unselfishly  in- 
sisted on  her  attending  them,  though  this  in- 
volved the  absence  of  Mrs.  Temi>letou,  without 
whose  chaperonage  she  could  not  have  gone. 
Sometimes  Constance  thought  that  she  ought  to 
tell  her  mother  of  all  that  was  passing  in  her 
heart — and  felt  that  it  would  be  a  great  comfort 
to  do  so — but  she  was  checked  V»y  the  reflec- 
tion, that,  till  Hubert  spoke,  she  could  not, 
with  propriety,  be  the  one  to  break  the  silence. 
Had  her  mother  been  less  engrossed  with  Helen, 
less  solicitous  to  support  and  spare  her,  she  sure- 
ly must  have  noticed  much  that  was  passing; 
but  there  was  no  one  whose  vigilance  (5ould  sup- 
ply her  want  of  observation. 

The  Forresters  had  decided  in  keeping  their 
own  counsel— the  fancy  might  die  away.  Lau- 
rette ignored  the  matter  from  the  same  motive, 
and  a  hope  that  such  would  be  tlie  case ;  and 
though  that  Argus  of  the  neighborhood,  Lady 
Dallas,  had  during  one  of  their  conversations 


alluded  to  Hubert's  evident  admiration  of  Con- 
stance, her  cousin  denied  the  charge,  >iud  sdi  lued 
if  she  did  not  convince  her  Ladyship,  by  assuring 
her  that  such  a  report,  if  it  reached  tiie  e.irs  of 
the  parents  on  either  side,  would  be  e.vtremely 
injurious — and  miglit  lead  to  great  mischief. 

It  happened  thai  one  day  Lord  Hurstwood  and 
the  Colonel  were  riding  through  the  woods  be- 
longing the  latter,  when  his  Lordship,  pointing 
to  some  trees,  remarked,  "  You  cut  very  young 
here,  do  you  not .'" 

*'  Cooper,  my  agent,  marks  very  j'oung  trees," 
was  the  reply — '■  but  thise  will  noi  fall  j-et :  in- 

'  deed,  he  involved  me,  or  ratlier  himself,  in  a 
scrape  about  several  hundred  he  cut  on  the  Her- 
mitage side — it  almost  ended  in  a  quarrel  be- 
tween  us — happily  I   interfered   in  time  to  save 

;  these,  though  they  still  bear  tokens  of  the  dangers 

I  they  ran  ;  they  are  now  safe  for  several  years, 
though  I  wish  they  were  not — for  in  conse- 
quence of  some  extensive  improvements  I  have 

I  been  making,  I  should  he  glad  to  turn  my  wood 

i  into  gold." 

'•This  is  a  splendid  property,"  said  the  Peer; 
"  and  it  must  richly  repay  you  for  any  outlay 
you  may  make — I  do  not  know  of  a  more  compact 
and  beautiful  place  anywhere." 

"  So  my  daughters  will  one  day  find  it,"  replied 
the  owner ;  "  hut  with  both  of  them  to  introduce, 
and  very  likely  soon  to  portion.  I  do  not  find  my 

I  expensive  outlay  come  back  quite  fast  enough." 
Expensive  and  extensive  as  he  represented  both 
outlay  and  improvements,  he  very  wisely  abstain- 
ed from  pointing  out  either — and,  indeed,  his 
Lordship  must  have  been  blessed  with  extraordi- 
nary power  of  vision,  to  have  seen  what  was  only 

'•  imaginary.       Ho,    therefore,    replied  with    naic'u 

I  gallantry,  "  I  should  think  witii  such  daughters, 
though  I  have  seen  very  little  of  the  younger,  and 
especially  with  this  noble  estate  to  divide  between 
them  eventually,  you  need  not  be  saving  and 
screwing  for  portions;  and  I  take  this  (>j)portu- 

1  nity  of  saying,  what  I  have  for  some  time  medi- 

j  tated  doing,  that  if  you  will  grant  me  the  elder,  I 
shall  consider  her  quite  gift  enough  without  so 
many  thousands  down — for,  on  my  honor,  I  never 
saw  a  more  lovely  creature  anywhere." 

I      Almost  speechless  with  amazement,  the  Colonel 

}  had,  however,  too  much  presence  of  mind  to  show 
it,  lest  it  would  seem  as  if  the  ofl'er  were  such  as 
he  had  no  right  to  expect ;  he  therefore  merely 

j  replied  with  a  laugh,  "  Oh  !  win  her  by  all  means, 
my  Lord,  you  have  my  con.scnt ;"  and  then  re- 
membering, that  when  his  Lordship's  offer  became 
known  in  the  county,  the  history  of  Helen's  re- 
cent cng.agement  would  be  told  him,  with  Heaven 
knows  how  many  historical  embellishments,  he  de- 

j  ter mined  to  be  beforehand  with  gossip,  and  to 
make  the  first  impression  ;  and  added  carelessly, 
as  if  the  affair  had  been  one  of  mere  nursery  fol- 
ly— "I  ought  to  tell  you,  that  Helen  is  rather 
romantic,  and  there  was  a  notion  of  affection  be- 

I  tween  her  and  young  Mr.  West;  play-companions 
they  were,  almost  from  the  cradle — but  the  h)lly 

I  of  Lord  Ernest  completely  extinguished  that  faint 

j  spark." 

j  "  Oh  !  I  think  nothing  of  these  childish  absur- 
dities," was  the  composed  reply  of  this  man  so 
well   read    in  foreign   courts ;  "  I  have  lived  too 

1  long   among  continental  manners  to  attach  the 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


least  importance  to  these  passaghes  fancies — and 
upon  the  whole,  either  custom  or  conviction  leads 
me  also  to  prefer  the  foreign  plan  of  letting  expe- 
rienced relatives  conduct  the  whole  of  these  ne- 
gotiations ;  in  this,  1  have  no  doubt  you  agree 
with  me." 

Of  course  he  did,  and  would  have  been  very  glad 
had  his  daughters  been  educated  on  this  system 
of  passive  obedience  and  non-resistance,  as  it 
would  have  prevented  much  of  the  trouble  and  in- 
convenience which  his  prophetic  mind  foresaw 
would  attend  his  proceedings. 

"  Dine,  then,  with  me,  tett-c-tete,  to-morrow," 
said  Lord  lluistwood.  '•  when  we  will  quietly  dis- 
cuss the  matter — but  consider  me  pledged.  I  am 
old  enough — or,"  correcting  himself  with  a  laugh, 
"  fatigued  enough  with  public  life  to  abandon  for- 
eign service ;  it  was  quite  my  intention,  on  my 
return,  to  marry,  and  this  fair  Helen  decides  alike 
my  choice  and  my  plans ;  so  aurevoir;"  and  they 
separated. 

Very  slowly  indeed  did  the  Colonel  ride  toward 
home,  thinking  over  the  unexpected  offer  which 
had  just  been  made.  To  do  him  justice,  it  was  a 
result  for  which  he  had  never  speculated  or 
schemed.  lie  /tail  felt  tor  Helen,  and  his  sympa- 
thy had  been  increased  by  the  uncomplaining 
dignity  with  which  she  had  borne  her  sorrow ; 
and  though  her  successful  etforts  to  appear  cheer- 
ful had  really  gratified  him,  he  had  never  so 
wholly  misundersioud  her  character  as  to  fancy 
she  ceased  to  remember  and  mourn ;  and  if  the 
thought  of  her  marrying  ever  crossed  his  mind,  it 
had  always  been  as  at  some  distant  period,  when 
time  had  done  its  usual  work,  in  destroying  the 
poetry  of  youth  aud  replacing  it  with  the  prose  of 
age.  I'erhaps  Lord  Hurstwood,  of  all  whom  he 
knew,  would  have  been  tlie  least  likely  to  have 
presented  himself  as  a  probable  future  son-in-law ; 
but  the  idea  having  been  started,  he  pursued  it 
keenly — becoming  move  aud  more  pleased  with  it, 
an!  more  aud  more  resolved  not  to  be  disappointed. 

But  he  had  much  to  do  before  this  successful 
result  could  be  attained.  Much  that  would  cause 
pain,  sorrow,  difficulty,  and— who  knew.' — per- 
haps opposition.  None  of  these  anticipations  and 
retlect.ons  moved  him— except,  indeed,  the  diffi- 
culty of  deciding  upon  his  plan.  Should  he  try 
conciliation— work  by  kindness .'  or  should  he  at 
once  clear  away  all  obstacles,  by  striking  terror 
iu.o  the  gentle  heart  he  meant  to  use  as  a  step- 
ping-s;oiie  to  his  own  designs.'  Yes,  tlius  it 
biiouH  be — this  was  the  shortest  and  surest  way— 
and  yet  there  was  a  dim  outline  of  one  figure 
standing  boldly  in  his  way,  and  not  to  be  driven 
tlience  by  threats  or  menaces ;  it  was  the  vision 
of  a  figure  of  great  beauty,  with  resolute  brow, 
with  upliftetl  and  advanced  hiind,  in  an  attitude 
equally  defiant  and  protecting— making  an  actual 
movement,  he  tried  to  wave  it  away,  and  passed 
bis  hand  over  his  eyes  to  shut  it  out,  so  that  he 
miglit  think  of  all  the  advantages  this  alliance 
ortored. 

No  fortune  required,  at  least  at  present- that 
suited  him  admirably— one  daughter  placed  in 
such  a  position  as  would,  pcrliiips,  enable  her  to 
raise  her  sister  to  a  simihir  eminence.  His  name 
uii.ted  with  that  of  Lord  Hurstwood,  whose  rank, 
woalih,  and  political  reputation  were  known 
ihiougliout  the  civilized  world.     And  was  all  this 


to  be  relinquished  by  yielding  to  the  fancies  of  a 
romantic  girl — preposterous!  Like  Pharaoh,  he 
hardened  his  heart.  It  was  too  good  to  be  re- 
jected or  thrown  away  for  a  whim — too  attractive 
a  picture  to  be  washed  away  by  a  few  tears  ;  and 
he  vowed  a  deep  vow  that  it  should  not.  Again, 
the  beautiful  face,  with  a  frown  on  its  brow  and 
its  bright  but  threatening  eyes,  was  faintly  visi- 
ble. But  setting  spurs  to  his  horse  he  rode 
quickly  on. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

"  ril  have  it  dispatched, 
And  suddenly,  my  lonl,  ili;u  I  may  say — 
My  honorable,  my  riglil  honorable  daughter." 

Ma^singeb. 

Constance  having  been  out  riding,  and  over- 

I  tired   herself,  by  her   mother's   ad-\ice   remained 

quietly  in  her  room,  therefore  Mrs.  Tempk'ton  and 

Helen   were   the    Colonel's  only   companions  at 

!  dinner. 

i  ^Vhen  they  rose  to  leave  after  desert,  he,  who 
had  been  quaffing  glass  after  glass,  rather  more 
j  quickly  than  was  even  his  wont,  called  out,  not 
very  gently, 

"  Stop !  I  have  so^ne  rare  news  to  tell  Helen." 
I  Little  expecting  the  thunder-bolt  tliat  was 
I  ready  to  fall,  they  both  obeyed ;  and  the  Colonel, 
I  replenishing  his  glass,  said,  "  I  have  been  riding 
With  Lord  Hurstwood,  and  I  can  tell  you.  Helen, 
he  has  a  discerning  eye — he  admires  you  prodi- 
giously." 

"  Me,  papa !"  said  Helen,  wholly  unconsciou; 
i  of  what  was  to  follow — not  so  her  mother — her 
j  sensitive  love  divined  all — her  apprehensive  heart 
j  anticipated  the  storm ;  and  fainc  and  giddj',  she 
I  rested  her  arm  on  the  table. 

"  Yes,  you — you  hypocritical  little  monkey, 
I  looking  as  if  you  did  not  know  this." 

Still,  not  comprehending  how  her  knowledge  or 
ignorance  of  this  unimportant  fact  could  signify, 
she   smiled   and   said  nothing — but  her   fatlier, 
sightly  provoked  at  recei\'ing  no  help  fi-om  excla- 
mation or  protestation,  procec<lcil  very  speedily  to 
enlighten  her,  by  adding,  though  his  voicj  slightly 
I  faltered,  "  He  admires  you  so  much  that  he  hai 
I  commissioned  me  to  offer  you  his  hand." 
;      "  This,  and  to  me  !"  said  Helen,  with  a  kind 
ling  look. 
I      "  Ah  !   you  may  well  be  surprised."  said  he 
wily  father,  seizing  this  advantage,  and  feignin- 
j  not  to  understand  all  that  the  tone  and  look  ver 
:  plainly  said  ;  "  it  is  an  honor  wiiich  does  not  fal 
j  to  every  one — this  laying  coronet  and  title  at  th« 
feet  of  a  little  girl,  and  you  may  well  look  prouti 
!  of  the  distinction." 

I  '•  Papa,''  began  Helen — she  paused,  for  his  fact 
looked  unpropitious — encouraging  herself,  how- 
:  ever,  as  she  became  aware  of  the  necessity,  she 
continued,  "  Papa,  I  must  still  suppose  you  jest." 
[  "Jest!"  he  repeated,  striking  the  table  fiercely ; 
"you  may  be  as  amused  as  you  please  with  the 
jest,  for  1  promise  you  that  it  will  prove  a  real- 
ity ' — then,  seeing  that  she  still  looked  bewildered, 
:  he  resumed  ;  "  Listen,  girl — attend  to  me,  Helen," 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


73 


as  she  drew  nearer  to  her  mother ;  "  this  mar- 
riage pleases  and  suits  me— and,"  with  a  dreadful 
imprecation,  he  added,  •'  it  shall  take  place  !" 

"  Mamma,  mamma,  ilid  you  hear  ? — what  does 
it  all  mean  ? — what  is  it  ?"'  she  inquired,  turning 
\  her  blanched  face  toward  her  father. 

"  It  means,"  he  sternly  replied,  "  that  I  have 
promised  you  shall  marry  Lord  iiurstwoocf,  and 
this  promise  I  will  keep." 

In  speechless  terror  poor  Helen  looked  at  her 
mother,  who  now  first  spoke. 

"  Lionel,"  she  said,  "  this  can  not  be ;  think  of 
aU  that  it  involves." 

"  Madam,"  he  replied,  "  it  -mil  be,  and  I  have 
thought  of  all  that  it  involves — it  involves  honor, 
wealth,  station,  power — it  frees  me  from  difficul- 
ties, and  it  pleases  me  that  my  daughter  should 
be  Lady  Hurstwood — and  now,  instead  of  encour- 
aging her  in  insensate  and  useless  resistance,  I 
advise  you  to  let  your  daughter  benefit  by  your 
experience,  and  learn  from  you  the  folly  of  at- 
tempting to  frustrate  mi/  will ;"  and  he  rose,  and 
before  Helen,  who  tried  to  stop  him,  could  find 
strength  enough  to  do  so,  he  rudely  waved  her 
away,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  said  the  miserable  girl,  sinking 
at  her  feet  and  sobbing  on  her  lap  ;  ■'  oh,  mam- 
ma, is  it  true — must  I  learn  this  dreadful  lesson 
from  you,  and  must  you  teach  it  ?  Speak,  moth- 
er," she  urged,  as  Mrs  Templeton,  faint  and  suf- 
focating, could  hardly  breathe.  At  last  she  said, 
"God  knows  whether  it  must  be  so,  but  if  it 
must,  I  feel  that  my  heart  will  break  in  perform- 
ing the  task." 

"  If.'  oh,  mamma,  you  said  if — is  there,  then, 
any  hope :" 

"  Alas  !  my  precious  child,  I  dare  not  say 
there  is— still — Helen,"  she  suddenly  exclaimed  ; 
«'  have  you  courage .''  can  you  be  true  to  your- 
self.'" and  then  tenderly  caressing  her  trem- 
bling hands,  she  mournfully  added,  "but  what 
•will  this  avail .'" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Helen  with  a 
look  of  tearless  despair ;  "  only  tell  me  what  I 
can  do,  I  will  try  any  thing  to  escape  this  dread- 
ful fate." 

"  And  I  scarcely  understand  my  own  mean- 
ing," replied  her  mother ;  "  we  can  neither  of 
lis  reason  or  think  to  much  purpose  at  present. 
Constance  must  be  told — but  not  to-night,  she  is 
still  very  delicate — but  early  to-morrow  we  will  | 
see  her,  and  take  counsel  together." 

"  Then,  for  her  sake,  dearest  mamma,  I  will 
make  an  effort ;  but  she  must  know  all  very  soon  ; 
she  is  my  only  hope  now  that  you  have  none —  j 
but  surely,  surely,"  she  added,  with  a  fresh  burst 
of  sorrow,  "  this  must  pass  away  like  some  fright- 
'ful  dream ;  I  can  not  be  asked  to  consent  to  any 
thing  so  monstrous." 

■  "  Listen  to  me,  my  dear  child  ;  all  that  can  be 
done  to  avert  so  terrible  a  doom  shall  be  tried, 
in  spite  of  a  voice  that  whispers  it  is  hopeless ; 
control  yourself  for  this  evening,  before  your  sis- 
ter ;  she  has  great  energy  and  courage,  quali- 
ties which,  I  fear,  my  poor  girl,  we  both  are  de- 
ficient in — and  we  know  no  effort  she  can  make 
will  be  wanting." 

And  so,  by  seeking  Constance  late  and  leaving 
her  early,  Helen  succeeded  in  not  exciting  her 
suspicion  or  curiosity  ;   while  Mrs.  Templeton, 


!  who  had  remained  the  whole  time  with  them,  by 
I  a  powerful  effort,  continued  to  talk  as  usual  on 
indifferent  subjects,  and  took  leave  of  her  for  the 
[  night  when  Helen  did. 

The  latter  was  seated  listlessly  before  lier 
dressing-table  wiien  her  mother  entered  the 
room,  which,  since  Constance  had  been  tlireat- 
ened  with  fever  and  sure  throat,  had  been  lior 
I  bed-room.  She  bent  down  to  kiss  the  poor  girl, 
who  raised  her  tearful  eyes  to  her  face,  as  if 
seeking  consolation  in  her  looks,  but  she  could 
not  read  it  there. 

"  I  have  just  remembered  that  you  are  ig- 
norant of  a  trifling  alteration  I  had  made,  but 
which  has  hitherto  been  useless  ;  to-night  my 
anxiety  for  you  will  find  it  serviceable,  but  you 
must  know  of  it,  or  my  unexpected  presence 
might  alarm  you.  Look  here,  Helen" — and 
going  toward  a  pie?"  glass  let  into  the  wall,' she 
1  removed  two  ornaments,  and  then  showed  her 
that  the  panel  was  a  door  which  opened  to  the 
conservatory  at  right-angles  with  the  door  of  her 
own  apartments.  Helen  looked  astonished,  and 
Mrs.  Templeton  proceeded  to  explain. 

"  When  you  and  Constance  were  coming  home 
— and  I  need  not  tell  you  how  I  thought  of  that 
time,  hoping,  as  I  did,  for  so  much  happiness 
from  your  dear  society — I  fancied  I  never  could 
be  too  near  to  my  treasures,  whom  I  longed,  as 
it  were,  to  hide  in  my  bosom ;  and  it  one  day 
struck  me  that  I  should  like  a  means  of  commu- 
nication by  which  we  could  at  all  times  meet 
quietly  and  freely ;  I  therefore  had  this  door 
made.  At  that  time  I  had  no  idea  of  conceal- 
ment, and,  of  course,  it  is  known  to  many  of  the 
workmen  then  busy  in  performing  my  orders. 
But  as  your  father  was  away,  and,  besides,  rare- 
ly visits  our  domains,  I  am  sure  he  knows  not  of 
it.  I  do  not  by  any  means  depend  on  your  maid 
Ruth;  Dawson  has  hinted  very  unpleasant  things 
to  her  disadvantage,  and  I  had  intended  her  dis- 
missal ;  but  Constance's  illness,  and  various 
other  events,  have  caused  me  to  delay.  She 
knows  nothing  of  this  ;  the  rooms  were  finished 
and  furnished  before  she  came ;  see  how  the 
opening  is  masked  ;"  and  she  showed  Helen  how 
a  common  blind  on  the  other  side  effectually  hid 
the  opening.  Helen  looked  surprised  at  the  sim- 
ple ingenuity  of  the  contrivance.  This  duplicate 
key  of  my  conservatory  door  will  enable  you  to 
find  me  without  crossing  the  corridor." 

"  Thanks,  dear  manmia;  though  I  can  not  ex- 
actly see  the  advantage  of  this  arrangement." 

"  I  fully  intend  to  use  it  to-night,  my  love,  for 
I  shall  keep  anxious  vigils  till  you  are  at  rest,  or 
comfort  you  with  my  presence  I  shall  come  this 
way  to  avoid  the  risk  of  disturbing  Constance, 
and  to-morrow  I  shall  be  able  to  see  you  as  early 
as  I  like.  And  now,  darling,  let  me  leave  you 
with  sometliing  like  a  hope  that  you  will  seek 
and  find  repose.  Let  no  morbid  indulgence  in- 
capacitate you  for  exertion  and  tliought ;"  anc. 
yielding  to  her  mother's  wishes,  Heleu  went  tc 
bed,  wliere,  two  hours  afterward,  lier  niotiici 
found  her  asleep;  and  though  the  flushed  cliei-k 
and  troubled  brow  spoke  not  of  calm  or  h:im<} 
slumber,  Mrs.  Templeton  knelt  in  thankfuUuw 
for  this  brief  respite  from  the  consciousness  of 
what,  her  boding  heart  said,  was  to  be  the  great 
trial  of  her  child's  life. 


74 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


It  Avas  Helen's  turn,  the  following  morning,  to  | 
av;<il  herself  of  tliis  newly-discovered  means  of 
cnieiiug  her  mother's  rooms  :  and  Mrs.  Teraple- 
toii.  ;ilter  .in  uiniost  sleepless  night,  was,  at  an 
eirly  hour,  thoroughly  aroused  by  her  entrance. 
iSite  assisted  her  mother  to  dress,  and  they  then 
talked  with  more  composure  on  Helen's  part  than 
Mrs.  Tcn)pleton  had  ventured  to  expect,  of  the 
whole  matter.  Still,  nothing  that  seemed  likely 
to  prove  successful  iu  averting  the  evil  presented 
itself,  and  Helen  sat  with  clasped  hands  and 
]iale  cheeks  while  her  mother  warned  her  against 
saying  or  looking  any  thing  that  might  rouse  her 
her  father  to  passion,  or  even  anger.  At  length, 
hojuug  to  find  Constance  awake,  and  recovered 
from  her  fitigue,  her  mother  entered  her  room, 
and  was  cheered  to  find  her  not  onlj-  dressed,  ' 
bur  declaring  her^elf  quite  strong  and  well — 
both  would  be  needed  when  informed  of  the  ex-  j 
tr.aordinary  scene  which  had  taken  place  the  I 
previous  day.  And  when  Constance  did  hear  of  ' 
tliis  fresh  trial  which  awaited  them  all — for  in 
ovory  thing  slie  rejoiced  and  sorrowed  with  her 
mother  and  sister— she  seemed  as  if  unable  to 
believe  it.  Slie  could  not,  at  first,  by  any  effort 
realize  it.  What!  while  Helen's  heart  was  still 
Ptill  filled  with  love  for  Keginald,  ask  her  to  wed 
another!  What!  threaten  her,  constrain  her  to 
utter  vows  which  her  affection  refused  to  ratify! 
Mon-iirous  !  impossible  !  and  Constance  paced 
backward  and  forward,  uttering  vehement  pro- 
tesis  .•lg;lin,>^t  it.        •  j 

'•  Helen,"  she  suddenly  said,  "  we  must  seek 
p  ipa.  Suppose  he  should  take  your  silence  as  a 
{iroof  of  acquiescence.  Mamma,  we  must  all  go 
down  to  breakfast.  Helen  must  not  absent  her- 
self—slie  must  try  to  be  firm." 

"  Constance,"  interrupted  Helen,  "  I  have  not 
courage  to  encounter  my  father." 

"But  you  must  summon  it,"  cried  her  impet- 
uous sister;  "think  what  is  at  stake,  Helen, 
not  only  your  happiness — almost  j'our  honor — 
b\Jt  the  happiness,  the  peace  of  poor,  noble  Keg- 
inald." 

••  Uh  !  sister,  sister,  name  him  not,  I  implore 
you."  said  Helen,  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  I  name  him — but  it  is  to  rouse  you,"  replied 
Constance.  "  Heaven  knows  it  is  done  neither 
unkindly  nor  heedlessly  ;  but  you  are  still 
stunned— still  unable  to  think,  or  j-ou  would  see 
as  clearly  as  I  do,  that  your  fate  is  greatly  in 
y.ur  own  power.  Kefuse — but  be  firm,  or  you 
are  lost." 

Heleu  fixed  her  large  dark  eyes  on  her  sister ; 
a  deep  glow  overspread  her  face,  but  was  quickly 
succeeded  by  a  deadly  pallor,  as  she  felt  how 
imp<.ssible  it  was  that  she  could  imitate  her  res- 
olution. 

"  .My  glorious  girl !"  said  her  mother,  gazing 
on  Tier  animated  beauty,  and  catching  courage, 
almost  liope,  from  her  dauntless  bearing  and 
word.s  ;  "  yes,  you  are  right.  Helen,  this  is 
something  of  my  meaning,  when  I  said  you  must 
be  true  to  ycurself  I,  1  your  mother,  say,  here 
you  ought  not  to  yield ;  Constance  and  I  will 
precede  you.". 

"  Oh  !  no,  dear  mamma  ;  oh  !  Constance,  do 
not  desert  me — I  never  can  enter  alone.  Go  you 
first,  we  will  quickly  follow."  But  when  she  en- 
tered tJie  room  it  was  empty. 


Constance,  however,  took  her  post,  and  was 
making  breakfast  when  the  Colonel  entered. 
She  glanced  at  him,  but  saw  no  signs  of  relent- 
ing in  that  gloomy  face,  a  gloom  which  the 
perusal  of  his  letters  did  not  tend  to  dispel ;  and, 
after  the  usual  greetings,  all  was  silence  till  he 
abruptly  said,  "I  dine  at  the  Hall  to-day;  I 
shallduform  his  Lordship  that  I  have  an  obe- 
dient daughter." 

•'  Uh  !  father,  have  pity  on  me  !"  exclaimed 
Helen,  feeling  that  this  was  perhaps  a  crisis; 
"  think  what  I  have  so  lately  suffered,  in  silently 
bearing  the  great  trial  that  has  fallen  to  my  lot. 
Do  not,  oh  !  do  not  make  my  life  intolerable,  by 
urging  me  to  a  step  I  never  can  consent  to — 
never  ought  to  consent  to." 

"  Helen !"  he  said,  quietly,  but  not  the  less 
did  his  words  stifle  all  hope.  "  Helen,  this  folly 
and  opposition  are  useless — it  must,  it  shall  be." 

"  Oh  !  papa,  be  merciful ;  mother,  entreat  for 
me  !"  turning  to  Mrs.  Templeton,  who  was  weep- 
ing. Alas  !  what  would  avail  her  entreaties 
with  that  selfish  man — and  her  tears  flowed 
more  abundantly.  "  Constance" — and  she  raised 
her  sorrowful  eyes  to  her  sister — •'  plead  for 
me  ;"  but  Constance  stood  silent  and  firm  by  her 
mother.  '•  Papa  does  love  you,  and,  perhaps — " 
but  she  could  say  no  more,  for  sobs  came  thick 
and  fast  and  stopped  her  utterance. 

And  did  he  not  love  her  then,  that  gentle,  un- 
offending girl .'  He  looked  sternly  at  her,  and 
then  at  her  mother,  and  slightly  shuddereti 
Constance  saw  the  look  and  the  movement.  What 
did  tliey  express  r — pity  .' — oh,  no. 

"  Dear  mamma,  take  Helen  away,"  she  said, 
for  she  perceived  that  the  latter  was  only  injur- 
ing her  cause  by  her  evident  distress  and  terror ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Templeton  complied,  leading  away 
the  passive  girl,  and  closing  the  door,  Constance, 
without  the  least  sign  of  trepidation,  though  evi- 
dently much  affected,  advanced  toward  her  father, 
and  said,  "  Papa,  I  have  but  this  morning  heard 
of  this  strange,  distressing  proposal.  I  am  not 
going  to  suppose  it  any  thing  but  a  horrible  f  ict, 
still  I  can  not  imagine  that  Lord  Hurstwood — 
that  any  man  with  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman — 
would  condescend  to  accept  an  unwilling  bride — 
no  true-hearted  man  could  think  of  inflicting  so 
much  cruelty  on  another  who  has  scarcely  the 
power  to  resist;  therefore,  this  can  proceed  no 
further." 

"  You  have  more  sense  than  any  girl  I  ever 
met  with,"  said  the  Colonel,  "but  in  this  case 
you  are  quite  wrong.  Lord  Hurstwood  knows  of 
Helen's  folly,  and  is  }"et  willing  to  marry  her — so 
that  argument  falls  to  the  ground." 

"  Then  he  must  be  a  degraded  and  dishonor- 
able man,"  replied  Constance,  without  the  least 
passion,  but  with  strong  contempt  both  in  man- 
ner and  expression.  "  Still,  his  being  regardless 
of  his  honor  is  not  to  make  Helen  forget  hers ; 
and  she  can  not  marry  one  man  while  loving 
another." 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Constance,  if  you  go  on  so,  I 
shall  believe  you  as  great  a  fool  as  the  others" — 
a  polite  and  manly  way  of  classing  his  wife  and 
daughter.  "  Ask  your  mother  what  comes  of 
love  matches — love  matches,  indeed,"  he  repeat- 
ed, with  a  sneer. 

"  I  can  not  ask  mamma  about  any  thing  which 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


75 


would,  when  known,  weaken  my  respect  for  eitlier 
of  my  parents,"  replied  Constance,  with  a  spirit 
and  dignity  wliich  so  pleased  her  father  that  he 
b;iid,  rather  mure  gently, 

'■  Why  make  all  this  opposition,  when  in  the 
end  she  must  yield,  for  J  will  not — she  will  be 
obliged  to  see  that  it  is  her  duty." 

"  But  she  must  not  yield ;   she  never  can  so 
misconceive  what  is  her  duty.     Listen   for  one 
moment  to  me,  papa,"  slie  said,  rendered  despe- 
rate by  her  secret  terror,  "  listen  to  me  indul- 
gently—  it  is  the  cause  of  my  dear  sister  I  am 
advocating.     Her  duty  to  you  is,  never  to  marry 
without  your  consent — your  duty  to  her — yes,  I 
repeat  it — your  duty  to  her  is,  never  to  compel 
her  to  take  a  solemn  oatli  which  she  can  not  keep.  , 
Helen  has  tacitly  promised  to  give  up  Reginald,  | 
not  because  he  is  unworthy,  but  because  he  is  | 
poor,  and  you  object ;  and  nothing  would  induce  l 
her  to  break  this  promise,  unless — "  she  slightly 
hesitated 

"  Unless  what  ?"  thundered  her  father. 

"  Unless,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  her 
proud  eyes,  "  unless  you  make  her.  by  trying  to 
compel  her  to  marry  this — this — man."'  She  ut- 
tei'ed  these  words  slowly,  and  as  if  sounds  could 
not  fully  express  the  depth  of  her  abhorrence 
and  scorn. 

"  Enough  of  this,"  he  said,  rising  ;  "  Constance, 
you  forget  yourself;"  and  she  felt  that,  perhaps, 
her  zeal  was  hurrying  her  too  far — so  she  made 
no  reply,  and  they  separated  ;  he  to  prepare  for 
his  visit  to  Hurstwood,  for  he  was  wholly  un- 
moved at  any  thing  that  had  been  said  ;  and  she 
to  destroy  all  hope  Helen  might  have  encouraged 
from  her  mediation. 

'•  Htive  you  done  any  thing  for  me  ?"  cried 
Helen,  eagerly,  as  Constance  joined  her  and  her 
mother. 

"  Alas !  no,  dearest — still  I  do  not  mean  to  give 
up ;  but  go  you  and  take  a  quiet  turn  in  the  gar- 
den, and  let  mamma  and  me  consider  what  is  the 
safest  and  best  course  to  pursue." 

"  Constance,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  when  they 
■were  alone,  "  do  you  despair  .'" 

"  I  do.  mamma,  unless  Helen  be  strong  enough 
to  asbcrt  her  rights ;  were  it  me,  nothing — no- 
thing should  tempt  or  terrify  me  into  compliance. 
33uc  dear  Helen  has  lately  been  so  overwhelmed 
•with  sorroM'S,  '  they  so  tread  each  other's  heel,' 
that  she  is  bowed  down  with  them  ;  and  to  think 
that  at  this  time,  when  they  are  so  greatly  want- 
ed, the  Vernons  should  be  away,  every  tliing 
seems  against  us.     Can  not  Ashley  be  sent  to .'"' 

"No!  no!  not  Ashley,  he  can  do  nothing 
here,"  replied  Mrs.  Templeton,  quickly  rising  as 
if  a  thought  had  suddenly  struck  her  ;  "  and  you 
fear,  then,  that  Ave  can  not  depend  on  Helen's 
courage  ?" 

"  I  fear  we  can  not !" 

"  Then,  my  darling,  leave  me  now,  and  seek 
Helen,  she  needs  comfort  and  support.  _  I  think 
it  very  likely  that  Mr.  Victor  may  call  this  morn- 
ing, as  he  talks  of  soon  leaving  for  the  Levant  ; 
if  you  meet  him,  send  him  to  me,  and  desire  the 
servants  to  do  the  same." 

"  I  fear,"  thought  Mrs.  Templeton.  "  that 
Constance  \b  right  regarding  Helen,  and  I  so  dis- 
trust my  own  judgment  in  a  matter  which  so 
deeply  affects  my  feelings,  that  I  tremble  lest  I 


should  be  misled  ;"  and  she  sat  for  some  time  in 
deep  reflection. 

It  was,  as  Constance  had  observed,  particularly 
unfortunate  that  the  Vernons  should  be  away  at 
this  juncture — their  friendship,  their  judgment, 
would  have  been  now  invaluable.  The  gentle- 
man who  supplied  the  Doctor's  place,  though  a 
most  amiable  young  man,  was  not  to  be  tliought 
of  as  his  substitute  on  this  occasion — the  (irant- 
hams  were  away,  and,  for  a  variety  of  reasons, 
Mrs.  Templeton  shrunk  from  consulting  either 
Mr.  Forrester  or  Sir  William  Dallas— not  from 
any  doubt  of  their  kindness,  but  she  felt  she 
could  not  make  them  comprehend  her  views  of 
the  case.  It  was  when  Constance  proposed  Ash- 
ley, the  idea  flashed  across  her  mind,  that  in  Mr, 
Morton  she  should  find  the  help  she  needed.  She 
was  convinced  of  his  integrity  and  honor — hia 
kindness  also  was  evident  in  all  his  proceedings, 
and  she  knew  that  his  warmest  sympathy  would 
immediately  be  roused,  when  he  understood  how 
deeply  this  matter  affected  Keginald.  To  him, 
therefore,  she  determined  to  apply — to  state  the 
whole  case,  and  frankly  submit  to  his  judgment 
her  desperate  alternative;  and,  having  arrived 
at  this  conclusion,  she  prepared  the  following 
note  to  him,  which  she  hoped  to  be  able  to  send 
by  Victor,  now  almost  a  daily  visitor. 

"  Mrs.  Templeton  takes  the  liberty  of  request- 
ing an  ii^erview  with  Mr.  Morton,  at  the  Her- 
mitage, this  afternoon  at  five  o'clock.  She 
depeudi  upon  his  usual  kindness  for  pardoning 
this  intrusion."  \ 

This  done,  she  felt  that  one  step  was  taktn — 
and  hoping  that  it  had  been  in  the  right  direc- 
tion, she  quietly  awaited  Victor's  arrival,  and 
trusted  that  his  father's  answer  would  signify 
that  he  could  see  her — for  as  the  Colonel  would 
be  absent  at  the  Hall,  it  was  an  opportunity  not 
to  be  neglected — besides,  time  might  be  most 
valuable,  as  it  was  impossible  to  conjecture  what 
would  be  the  result  of  this  dinner  at  Hurstwood. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


"  I  enti-rtnin  the  offer  of  this  match. 
Witli  piir|)08  •  to  conflriii  it  pri  senily. 
1  have  alreudj-  named  it  to  my  daughter." 

TOUBSEUB. 

"  And  what  says  my  sweet  lady  to  my  suit  ?" 
inquired  the  Peer  of  the  Colonel,  when  they  were 
relieved  from  the  presence  of  servants. 

"  Oh  !'  replied  he  gayly,  and  as  if  relating  a 
capital  joke  ;  "  she  gave  herself  airs,  treated 
Mrs.  Templeton  and  me  to  a  few  tragedy-queen 
graces,  and  angrily  refused  to  hear  of  any  thing 
so  shocking— it  is  clear  that  she  means  to  make 
you  enact  the  Amadis,  and  put  on  armor  before 
you  win  the  prize." 

"  rvlontiirs,"  cried  his  Lordship,  filling  hia 
glass  ;  "  let  us  drink  success  to  the  attack  ;  and 
very  beautiful  doubtless  the  fair  criielty  looked, 
while  playing  the  persecuted  princess." 

'•  Siie  will  probably  give  you  an  opportunity 
of  judging  of  that,"  laughed  her  father,  well 
pleased  to  see  how  hia  bait  was  taken. 


THE   WIFPrs   TRIALS. 


"  Then  that,  perhaps,  I  may  have  the  pleasure 
of  doing  to-morrow." 

'■  Pardon  me,  i\o.  The  truth  is,  that  Mrs. 
Templeton,  who  is  rather  romantic,  has  imbued 
her  daughters  with  a  few  exploded  sentimentali- 
ties, and  all  together,  t'liey  raise  such  a  chorus 
against  j-our  Lordship  for  having  employed  an 
ambassador  on  this  tender  occasion,  though  the 
unworthy  papa  performs  that  office ;  instead  of 
'ourself  coming  in  full  dress,  coach-and-six,  out- 
'iders,  and  such  torn-foolery,  that  Helen,  who 
has  a  pretty  little  pouting  temper,  is  in  the  angry 
heroics,  and  till  this  quiets  down,  whicli- it  will 
do  in  a  day  or  two,  ray  counsel  is,  to  let  the 
young  lady  expect  you  a  little  while  before  you 
appoir." 

"  But  suppose  she  should  mistake  this  absence 
for  indifference  ?     I  should  be  sorry — " 

"  Not  at  all— not  at  all  likely — it  will  only 
prove  to  her  that  you  are  not  disposed  to  en- 
courage her  romance." 

"  As  you  will  then,"  coolly  replied  his  Lord- 
ship, carefully  preparing  his  fruit,  with  most  un- 
lover-like  solicitude,  for  himself;  "  but  as  I  can 
not  have  an  audience  to-morrow.  I  fear  I  must 
postpone  that  pleasure  till  I  return  from  town, 
where  I  have  business  the  day  after,  which  may 
detain  me.  In  the  mean  time,  I  rely  upon  your 
good  offices,  for  I  shall  hate  much  courting,  as 
you  in  England  call  it ;  and  I  should  also  wish  to 
have  the  marriage  celebrated  with  as  little  delay 
as  possible.     Has  she  been  presented  ?"    • 

"  No,  it  was  postponed  in  order  that  her  sister 
might  accompany  her." 

"  Tant  mieux  !  then  I  ^all  have  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  that  the  most  beautiful  debutante  of 
the  season  is  my  wife.  My  relative,  the  Duchess 
of  Isleford,  shall  do  me  the  service  of  being  chap- 
erone.  Mrs.  Templeton  will,  I  hope,  be  satisfied 
with  introducing  her  other  lovely  daughter — we 
can  not  allow  her  to  monopolize.  Apropos,  I  was 
looking  over  some  gew-gaws  last  night,  and  sent 
off  a  box  of  these  toys  to  Storr's  to  be  reset.  I 
shall  now  delay  this  till  I  can  consult  him  in  per- 
son— and  I  hope,  by  the  time  I  return,  to  find 
Mrs.  Templeton  and  her  daughters  disposed  to 
judge  me  leniently,  and  to  pardon  my  foreign 
method  of  wooing." 

A  conversation  thfn  ensued  relating  to  settle- 
ments and  such  matters,  and  the  Colonel,  charmed 
with  the  success  of  hLs  schemes  and  hints,  and 
from  the  liberal  intentions  of  Lord  Hurstwood 
more  than  ever  bent  on  carrying  his  point,  passed 
a  very  pleasant  evening  with  his  well-bred  son-in- 
law  elect ;  and  parted  from  him  the  next  morning, 
with  smiling  predictions  of  success,  short  love- 
makings,  and  a  speedy  marriage. 

He  might  well  venture  to  foretell  all  this ;  for 
he  returned  to  the  Priory,  his  heart  stealed  to  all 
entreaty— armed  from  head  to  heel  in  iron,  so 
that  no  assailable  point  should  be  found— he  was 
more  invulnerable  than  Achilles — for  with  re- 
morseless hand  he  himself  had  cast  all  feeling 
into  the  petrifying  Styx  ;  and  he  rode  home,  re- 
solved to  crush  all  obstacles  to  his  wishes,  while 
he  availed  hFmself  of  every  thing  likely  to  facili- 
tate them.  With  this  view  he  determined  to  take 
advantage,  not  only  of  Helen's  gentleness  and 
timidity,  but  of  her  affection,  which  he  knew  was 
strong   and  uncalculating ;    this,  joined   to  her 


utter  ignorance  of  all  relating  to  the  details  of 
business,  he  thought  he  could  direct  in  his  own 
favor ;  and  for  this  purpose,  before  he  proceeded 
to  extremities,  he  very  ingeniously  arranged  a 
little  drama,  in  which  he  was  to  sustain  the  prin- 
cipal part,  that  of  the  parent  appealing  to  the 
daughter ;  in  other  words,  the  villain  of  the  piece, 
whose  difficulties  were  to  be  removed  by  the  misery 
and  degradation  of  his  child. 

In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Templeton's  little  plan 
had  encountered  no  obstacles.  Victor  came,  took 
the  note,  and  the  following  i"eply  quickly  reached 
her  :  "Mr.  Morton  will  be  happy  to  see  Mrs. 
Templeton  at  the  hour  indicated." 

She  therefore  set  out  with  Helen,  and  drove  to 
the  Hermitage ;  and  bidding  her  return  and  call 
for  her  in  an  hour,  she  was  conducted  by  Morton 
to  what  he  smiUngly  called  his  state  apartment — 
for  though  externally  the  Hermitage  was  much 
in  the  same  state  as  when  occupied  by  Johnson, 
it  had  undergone  gi'eat  changes  and  improvements 
within.  The  furniture  was  elegant,  apparently  a 
collection  from  distant  countries,  both  curious  and 
costly  ;  but  though  at  another  time  it  would  have 
attracted  Mrs.  Templeton's  attention,  from  its  nov- 
elty and  rarity,  at  this  moment  she  scarcely  re- 
marked any  difference  or  felt  any  interest  beyond 
satisfaction  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Morton,  on  whose 
aid  she  so  fully  relied. 

"  I  shall  not  waste  time  in  conjecturing  your 
surprise  at  my  note  or  conduct,"  said  she,  directly 
they  were  both  seated,  "  they  are  the  result  of  n.v 
firm  belief  in  your  kindness  and  honor.  I  knc 
also,  that  you  are  much  interested  for  many  a\  L 
are  very  dear  to  me,  and  in  my  sad  and  iomly 
need  I  come  to  you  no  less  for  their  sake  than  my 
own" — she  paused,  as  if  making  an  effort,  wliile 
Mr.  Morton  sat  silent,  but  evincing  by  his  look  and 
attitude  the  most  respectful  sympathy — she  tlun 
quickly  resumed  :  "  i\ly  daughter  Helen,  as  you 
know,  was  engaged  to  5lr.  West,  the  rest  also  vuu 
know;  but  though  engagements  may  be  broken 
off,  love  will  not  be  bid  hence;  the  memory  of 
former  associations  can  not  depart  at  the  fir.st 
command.  You  will  think  there  must  be  extraor- 
dinary circumstauoes  when  a  mother  speaks  cahii- 
ly,  voluntarily,  of  her  daughter  still  loving  where 
there  seems  not  the  least  hope  of  union.  I'.ut 
Lord  Hurstwood  now  seeks  her  in  marriage,  and 
Colonel  Templeton  has  promised  to  further  his 
suit." 

"  How !  when  so  lately  he  consented  to  her 
marriage  with  another,  and  while  she  yet  sor- 
rows for  his  loss  .■""  burst  forth  Mr.  Morton  indig- 
nantly. 

"  Wonder  not,  but  listen  to  my  plan,  to  my 
remedy,  inspired  only  by  despair,  and  to  be  used 
only  in  the  last  extremity.  With  my  consent, 
Helen  shall  never  be  forced  into  so  dreadful  a  fate  , 
—but  my  open  opposition  will  avail  nothing,  per- 
haps would  only  provoke  harsher  measures — I  do  ; 
not  even  expect  the  mercy  of  delay.  I  have  but 
one  other  step  to  take,  before  acting  very  decided- 
ly— it  is  to  appeal  to  Lord  Hurstwood  himself." 

"  Right,"  said  Mr.  Morton ;  "  report,  which  de- 
scribes him  as  a  thorough  man  of  the  world,  de- 
scribes him  also  as  a  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  to  that  character  I  make  my  appeal.  I  ' 
have  already  prepared  a  letter,  and  must  be  guided  ■ 
by  the  events  of  the  next  few  days;  should  my 


THE    WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


77 


letter  have  no  effect,  and  he  still  sliould  persist, 
then.  I\Ir.  Morton,  my  hope  is  iu  you." 

'•  And  it  shall  not  fail,"  he  exclaimed  with  en- 
orgy.  "  I  solemnly  promise  to  further  j-our  wisli- 
es,  and  aid  you  to  the  utmost :  say  on." 

"Then,"  she  said,  and  her  hps  were  pale  and 
trembling,  while  her  voice  shook  with  emotion, 
"  Kcginald  West  must  come  and  fetch  her  away ; 
yes,  he  must  condescend  to  steal  away  my  darling 
girl ;  and  her  unhappy  mother  must  not  only  con- 
nive at,  but  arrange  the  elopement— think,  think 
what  it  must  be  when  this  is  the  only  alterna- 
tive." 

"  Mrs.  Templeton,"  cried  Mr.  Morton  with  ve- 
hemence, "  I  honor  you — I  place  myself  entirely 
at  your  command  ;  you  have  but  to  say  what  you 
wish,  and  it  shall  be  done." 

"  Then  you  do  not  condemn  my  scheme,  you  do 
not  think  me  imprudent  and  rash  to  liave  imag- 
ined it — though  if  you  did,  I  should  still  act,  foi-  I 
am  resolved  to  save  my  child." 

"  Condemn  !  good  heavens,  condemn !  when  you 
are  snatching  your  innocent  child  from  a  fate 
worse  than  death ;  marriage  with  one  when  the 
henrt  is  devoted  to  another !  the  infamy  of  such 
proceedings,  no  matter  by  what  sophistry  they 
are  made  to  appear  sublime  and  heroic,  fills  me 
with  disgust,  and  heart  and  soul  shall  I  joyfully 
help  you  to  save  her.  Of  course,  the  first  thing, 
wlien  the  crisis  seems  near,  will  be  to  summon 
Jlr.  West.  Various  circumstances  prevent  my 
olfering  to  convey  her  to  him  ;  someday  you  shall 
know  them." 

"  There  is  no  one  w^ho  can  act  for  me  but  you 
and  Ileginald;  the  Vernons  and  my  brother,  to 
whom  in  this  emergency  I  should,  for  the  first  time, 
have  applied,  are  all  far  aAvay." 

"  And  Miss  Templeton,  herself,"  inquired  he ; 
'■  will  lier  resistance  be  useless  .'" 

•'  Alas  !  it  would,  even  if  I  could  depend  on  her 
maintaining  it ;  but  she  is  so  gentle,  so  unused  to 

intention,  and  from  recent  trials  so  unequal  to  it, 
;hat,  if  left  to  herself,  her  fate  would  be  sealed  ; 
110 — all  was  well  examined  before  I  became  hope- 
less and  desperate." 

"  I  see,  and  you  have  no  alternative  but  to  ad- 
here to  your  plan." 

"  I  fear  not ;  therefore  directly  you  again  hear 
from  me,  summon  him  ;  but  let  all  be  done  with 
the  utmost  caution — one  false  move  and  all  is 
lost;"  and  her  voice  ^ank  to  a  whisper,  as  she 
added,  "  were  my  agency  suspected,  not  only 
would  my  separation  from  my  children  be  certain 
— very  certain— but  my  liberty  would  be  scarcely 
secure.  Now,  adieu,  and  accept  my  most  grate- 
ful thankis."' 

AVhen  Helen  returned,  she  was  surprised  to  see 
the  excited  and  troubled  glance  of  Mr.  Morton,  as 
he  bent  his  eyes  with  almost  painful  pertinacity 
on  her  face,  while  respectfully  taking  leave  of  her 
mother,  whose  thoughtful  mood  continued  unbro- 
ken during  their  drive  home. 

"  The  villain  !  the  cowardly  villain  !"  said  Mr. 
Morton,  aloud,  as  he  traversed  his  garden  ;  "  and 
those  sweet  creatures  are  "his  victims;  but  unless 
Providence  sees  it  best  to  frustrate  me,  I  will  save 
this  gentle  girl. 

Meanwhile,  Constance,  whose  daily  vision  had 
beeti  sadly  interrupted  during  her  indisposition, 
met  Hubert  to-day  with  such  evident  pleasure, 


though  she  so3^  relapsed  into  sadness,  that  had  lie 
not  felt  bound  by  his  promise  to  his  fatlier,  he 
must  have  declared  his  love  during  this  interview. 
As  it  was,  his  manner  was  so  tender,  there  could 
be  no  doubt  of  the  nature  of  his  feelings,  as  gently 
taking  her  hand,  and  bending  his  tine  eyes  on  her 
distressed  countenance,  he  said  : 

"  Dear  Constance,  what  is  the  matter  .' — no  bad 
news  of  Reginald  West,  I  trust  ?"  and  she,  quite 
overtasked  by  her  grief,  and  overcome  by  the  sym- 
pathy in  the  look  and  tone,  burst  into  tears,  and 
could  only  reply  by  sliaking  her  head. 

"  Nay— nay,  tears!  thiAis  too  sad,  this  mu.st 
not  be ;  confide  in  me  as  one — ■"  he  paused  for  a 
word,  "  as  one  who  has  known  you  from  child- 
hood— come,  tell  your  old  friend  and  true  knight 
what  it  is  !" 

"Nothing  from  poor  Reginald,"  she  replied 
more  calmly,  soothed  by  the  irresistible  charm  of 
his  manner,  "  but  di-eadful  ncyvs  for  him.  Lord 
Ilurstwood  has  proposed  to  Helen,  and — but  I  do 
not  know  that  1  ought  to  tell  this." 

"  Surely  to  me  you  may  tell  any  thing — Helen 
has  not  accepted  him  .'" 

"  Oh,  no!"  she  cried,  now  roused  to  defend  her 
sister  from  wdiat  she  thought  almost  a  reflection 
on  her  delicacy.  "  Oh,  Hubert !  how  could  you 
imagine  such  an  indignity  of  Helen !" 

"  Merely  to  account  for  your  grief,  which 
seemed  hardly  justified  by  the  simple  fact  of  a 
proposal,  that,"  he  continued,  smiling,  "  most 
3'oung  ladies  would  consider  an  honor,  proceeding 
from  one  so  distinguished." 

"  Ah !  but  you  have  not  heard  all — only  think, 
Hubert,  only  think,"- she  repeated,  clasping  her 
hands,  "  papa  says  it  shall  take  place.  Oh  I  I 
know  it  will  kill  Helen  ;"  and  again  a  violent  flood 
of  tears  burst  forth. 

"  This  begins  to  be  indeed  serious,  I  fear,"  said 
young  Forrester,  gravely,  for  he.  as  well  as  all 
who  knew  Colonel  Templeton,  set  him  down  as  a 
domestic  tyrant ;  "  may  no  one  interfere,  Con- 
stance :" 

"  No  one,"  she  sadly  answered,  "  even  I  lose 
courage  and  hope — but,  of  course,  you  will  not 
mention  this — though,  soon  perhaps — "  she  could 
not  finish—  the  terrible  idea  of  the  whole  county 
discussing  Helen's  p;  ospects  was  too  much. 

"  Certainly  I  shall  not  name  it  while  you  en- 
join silence ;  but  might  not  my  father — "  and 
then  remembering  his  father's  avowed  dislike  of 
the  Colonel,  he  also  stopped.  "  Where  are  Mrs. 
Templeton  and  Helen  .'" 

"  Out  in  the  phaeton  ;  mamma  thought  a  drive 
would  do  them  both  good — and  hark  !  I  hear  the 
ponies;  mamma,  1  know,  will  like  to  see  you,  so 
wait  for  her;  but  Helen,  I  think  will  prefer  being 
alone."  • 

And  she  hastened  to  inform  her  mother  of  Hu- 
bert's visit,  wliile  he  remained  to  ponder  on  the 
startling  news  she  had  just  communicated,  and  tlio 
more  he  tliought  of  all  it  involved,  the  more  did  ho 
feel  sure  that  while  it  would  fill  the  hearts  of  Mrs. 
Templeton  and  Constance  with  soi-row,  it  would 
blight  to  the  very  root  the  happiness  of  Helen. 

The  next  daypassed  with  all  that  lieavy  dread 
which  suspense  everbiings;  and  yet  not  one  word 
from  Colonel  Templeton  by  whicli  his  wife  and 
daughters  could  guess  his  intentions. 

"  Had  he  relented  r"  asked  Helen. 


78 


THE   WIPES   TRIALS. 


To  which  Mrs.  Templeton  replie«l  by  a  mourn-    shrink  from  disgrace  and  dishonor !   -why,  they 
ful  shake  of  her  head — for  she  knew  he  had  not —  ;  were  epithets  affixed  to  his  name  by  those  who 
and  the  agony  of  doubt  began  to  tell  on  Helen's  ,  knew  him,  as  familiar  ashouseliold  words, 
looks,  and  in'her  languid  movements,  when  Mrs.  i      "  Speak,  Helen,  what  will  my  daughter  do  .•"■ 


Templeton  accidentally  learned  that  Lord  Hurst 
wood  had  left  the  Hall.  After  consulting  her 
oracle,  Constance,  she  decided  on  telling  Helen  of 
it;  it  was  better  that  she  should  at  once  know 


"  Oh,    papa."    she  replied,  with    tearless  (  •, 
but  in  an  agonized  tone,  "take  my  life  fi^ 
but  do  not  sell  me — ask  any  thing  but  this." 

"  Of  course,"' he  retorted,  beginning  to. feci 


this  was  was  only  a  lull,  in  order  that  she  might  ,  ritated  that  she  did  not  at  once  comply  ;  "  your 


be  prepared  for  the  storm  when  it  burst,  for  such 
her  mother's  experience  convinced  her  would  be 
the  case. 

And  so  the  wearyAhours  dragged  their  slow 
length  along,  till  a  few  days  before  that  on  which 
Colonel  Templeton  expected  his  Lordship's  return ; 
when,  as  the  sisters  were  in  their  pretty  .sitting- 
room,  Constance  reading  to  Helen,  the  latter,  who 
was  reclining  on  the  sofa,  started,  and  said  : 


life  is  useless  to  me,  so  you  offer  it—there  is  hut 
one  request  I  make,  therefore  you  promise  all  but 
that. 

"  Is  there  then  no  other  way  V  she  asked, 
greatly  terrified  even  at  her  own  terror,  and 
slightly  moved. 

"  None — but  1  give  you  three  days  for  reflection, 
and  will  do  my  best  to  hinder  Lord  Hurstwood  i 
from  coming  ;  in  the  mean  time,  and  if  you  con- ; 


"  That  is  papa's  step  ;  oh  !  sister,  he  is  coming  I  sent.  I  promii-e  also  to  postpone  the  marri.ige  as 
here— do  not  leave  me,  I  entreat  you,"  and  almost    long  as  I  can.  i 


before  she  finished  speaking,  he  entered  ;  for  the 
time  had  now  come  when  his  little  di-ama  was 
ready  for  performance ;  he  had  learned  his  part 
perfectly;  the  scenery  was  well  painted,  and  he 
hoped  the  traps  would  be  quite  hidden,  and  work 
eflfectually. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  almost  kindly,  "  I  want  to 
speak  with  you — Constance,  go  to  your  mother  ;" 
and  with  a  foreboding  heart,  Helen  heard  her 
close  the  door. 


To  Helen  this  concession  seemed  a  boon  beyond  I 
all  expectation.  "  Papa,"  she  said,  "I  am  notj 
very  well  nor  very  strong — perhaps  I  do  not  see ) 
my  path  quite  clearly  at  present— but  if  my' 
happiness  would  be  the  only  sacrifice,  I  think  I' 
could  freely  make  it  for  you— only — but  my  liead 
swims,''  and  she  fainted.'  j 

He  laid  her  on  the  sofa,  and  so  death-like  didj 
she  look  in  her  young  beauty,  that  for  a  moment: 
his  cruel  resolve  faltered  ;  but  muttering  '■  She 


"  You  seem  so  averse  to  this  proposal,  and  so  soon  will  recover,"  he  entered  Mrs.  Templetuu's 
insensiVile  to  the  honor  done  you,"  he  began,  "  that  ,  room,  and  told  her  that  Helen  was  not  well  ;  but  • 
were  I  like  some  fathers,  I  might  punish  you  by    when  Constance  attempted  to  follow  her,  he  held ! 

while  his  brow   was 


her  forcibly    back,  saymg, 
stern  and  lowering  : 

"  Folly  enough  there  already — you  stay — and 
mark  me,  if  I  find  you  influence  Helen  against  mv 
firm  determination,  tremble  at  the  consequeuc  - 

She  looked  at  him  till  even  his  angry  eyes  ! 
but  she  uttered  not  a  word;  and  as  he  descen  i 
the  grand  staircase,  he  heard  her  voice  askini^;    : 


humoring  your  folly — but  as  I  am  not  altogether 
disinterested  in  this  case,  I  shall  state  my  chief 
inducement  for  favoring  Lord  Hurstwood,  and 
appeal  to  your  better  feelings  and  your  sense  of 
duty  for  withdrawing  your  refusal.  You  proba- 
bly know,  or  at  least  have  a  right  to  expr-ct.  that 
at  my  death  this  handsome  property  will  descend 
to  you  and  Constance.     Well,  in  order  to  render  it 

as  complete  as  any  thing  the  county  can  boast  of,  Heleu'sdoor,  "How  is  she,  dear  mamma?"  and  tlic  ii 
and  also  to  be  remembered  when  I  am  no  more,  I  it  closed,  and  when  she  and  her  mother,  a  IV  w 
by  the  improvements  I  have  efl"ected  for  my  heir-  hours  after,  entered  the  dining-room,  Helen  sh  ]  t. 
esses,  I  have  lately  laid  out  very  large  sums  of  "  Ah,  there  is  ^Ir.  Victor  come  to  luncheon  : 
money  in  clearing  and  altering— some  of  this  though  I  am  always  glad  to  see  him,  how  I  wi-h 
money  I  have  borrowed,  and,  to  be  frank  with  it  had  been  Ashley  or  any  of  those  dear  Vernon-  ' 
you.  I  have  anticipated  my  income,  cramped  my-  '  exclaimed  Constance. 

self  for  the  benefit  of  my  children,  and  am  at  this  "  I  echo  your  wish  most  truly,"  replied  her  in  - 
moment  sorely  pressed  for  payment — indeed,  I  ther,  \)ho  was,  however,  thankful  to  see  a  mes-  : 
shall  l>e  held  disgraced  if  I  do  not  fulfill  my  en-  :  ger  from  the  Hermitage  now  a  daily  event ; 
gagement,  which  I  really  can  not,  unless  assisted.  '  ^Irs.  Templeton  found  her  beautiful  vision  in  V,  - 
Lord  Hurstwood  is  the  only  one  who  will  come  '  tor  Morton,  and  this  day  she  was  especially  g'. .  1 
forward  and  advance' to  any  amount,  and  save  me  to  see  him.  She  had  learned  all  from  Helen  ;  .in  I 
from  some  measure  of  dishonor ^but  then  you  '  though  she  herself  was  convinced  that  wh.at  lier 
must  consent  to  marry  him— will  you  do  this'for  ,  husband  had  so  plausibly  represented  was  a 
your-father,  and  spare  your  mother  all  the  anxi-  '  cunningly  devised  fable,  she  was  by  no  mems 


ety  which  must  follow  when  she  becomes  aware  of 
the  truth  .=" 

All.  poor  Helen!  he  has  you  in  his  toils,  the 
well-oiled  trap-door  silently  gapes  for  you— had 
the  arch -liar  been  able  or  forced  to  speak  the 
truth,  he  wouhl  have  said,  that  the  best  thing  for 
him  would  be,  that  his  memory  should  die  with 
himself— had  he  stated  the  rc<iilt  of  his  clearings, 
he  would  liave  nameil  a  hanlsome  sum  put  into 
his  hands,  at  the  expense  of  hundreds  of  young 
trees,  and  to  the  injury  of  the  estate  for  many 
.-■ears— money  which  was  soon  dissipated  in  gam- 
'ling  and  its  attendant  vices.     He,  to  aflfect  to 


sure  she  had  proved  this  to  Helen,  wlio  indeed 
seemed  so  completely  subdued  and  wretciied, 
that  jMrs.  Templeton  was  dreadfully  alarmed  both 
for  her  health  and  reason.  She  began  to  fear 
that,  tried  as  the  poor  thing  had  been,  she  would 
become  a  passive  victim  to  her  father's  wiles,  and 
she  resolved  no  longer  to  hesitate  about  attempt- 
ing her  plan — time  w.as  now  precious,  and  Helen' 
must  not  be  lost  through  her  vacillation. 

Her  letter  to  Lord  Hurstwood,  though  sent 
more  than  a  week  ago,  with  orders  to  be  forward- 
ed, had  received  no  reply— so  from  that  quai-ter 
she  had  no  hope  of  assistance.     Had  she  known  i 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


ror,  J  f 


that  the  worthy  Cooper  had  played  postman,  she 
might  still  htive  paused.  A  persoual  appeal 
would  have  been  hazarded,  and  all  might  have 
been  changed — hut  now  hours  and  minutes  were 
flying  by,  while  she  was  inactive ;  so  she  at  once 
passed  the  Rubicon,  by  giving  Victor  a  packet 
she  had  previously  prepared,  which  contained  the 
following  lines  to  Mr.  Morton  an^i  a  letter  to  Re- 
ginald :  "  The  die  is  cast — forward  the  inclosed 
express  to  Reginald — it  is  to  summon  him  to  us, 
and  without  delay,  or  all  will  be  lost.  Any  sug- 
gestions your  kindness  and  experience  may  offer, 
as  to  how  he  can  come  and  where  remain,  act 
upon,  and  believe  us  all  deepl3'  your  debtors." 

To  Reginald  she  wrote  thus  :  "  Read  my  letter 
to  the  end  before  you  presume  to  judge  me.  Reg- 
inald !  events  have  very  recently  occurred 
which  have  increased  our  difficulties  and  sorrow 
a  hundred-fold.  Unless  you  step  in  to  save  her, 
Helen  is  lost — lost  to  happiness  as  well  as  to  you. 
You  must  not  delay  an  hour  after  you  read  this, 
or  she  who  loves  you  only  will  be  given  to  another. 
Her  miserable  mother  implores  you  to  come — to 
come  clandestinely,  and  take  her  away.  Think 
how  imminent  must  be  her  danger — how  fear- 
ful her  peril,  when  I — I,  whose  only  pride  was 
my  children — whose  only  joy  was  their  pres- 
ence, entreat  you  not  to  desert  us  in  this  bitter 
extremity.  And,  oh,  Reginald,  my  son,  if  I  am 
wrong — but  surely  you  can  not  think  so — let  not 
my  error  be  visited  on  my  guiltless,  persecuted 
gii-1." 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 


"And,  by  my  word,  the  bonny  bin] 
In  danger  shall  not  tarry."  Campbf.ll. 

Mr.  Morton,  leaving  instructions  with  his 
servants,  on  whose  discretion  he  could  fully  de- 
pend, started  without  delay  for  Reginald's  abode 
carrying  this  precious  document  with  him.  He 
had  pretty  accurately  guessed  what  would  be 
required  of  him,  and  had  prepared  all  according- 
ly. He  had  money,  and  he  knew  how  to  spend  it, 
for  others  as  well  as  himself;  four  horses  met 
him  at  the  various  stages,  and  the  same  were 
ordered  for  his  return — and  thus,  traveling  all 
night,  the  better  to  conceal  his  movements,  by 
six  the  next  morning  he  reached  the  small  cottage 
occupied  by  Reginald. 

And  now,  as  he  drew  near  to  the  garden-gate.the 
horrible  fear,  suppose  he  should  be  away  or  ill, 
arose  in  his  mind,  which  had  previously  been  busy 
with  many  other  thoughts.  "Thank  Heaven!'' 
he  cried  aloud,  as  attracted  by  the  unusual  ap- 
pearance of  a  carriage-and-four,  Regin.ald,  ever 
an  early  riser,  and  now  busily  engageil  in  pre- 
paring a  paper  for  his  publisher,  looked  over  the 
blind.  Seeing  that  the  new  arrival  was  Mr. 
Morton,  his  tried  and  valued  friend,  lie  hastened 
out,  exclaiming,  "  In  the  name  of  all  that  is  un- 
expected, tell  me  what  brings  you  here,  and  in 
such  post-haste  style  I" 

"  I  came  because  my  horses  would  come,"  was 
the  cheerful  reply,  for  he  was  anxious  to  state  his 
real  object  without  alarming  ileginald,  wRo  still 
looked  as  if  he  had  b 'on  an  invalid;  "  but  will 
your  cottage  afford  a  cup  of  coffee  '" 


•'  Come  in  at  once  and  see,"  was  his  answer. 

"  First  let  me  give  my  ordf  rs  to  the  postillions," 
which  were,  to  secure  four  fresh  horses,  and  in 
ten  minutes'  time  to  have  them  ready  for  starting 
— he  then  followed  Reginald  ;  and  as  quickly  as 
possible,  Gretchen,  who  prided  herself  on  the  ex- 
cellence of  her  coffee,  had  a  comfortable  meal  pre- 
pared, and  having  stipplied  Mr.  Morton's  need, 
for  he  had  taken  scarcely  any  refreshment  since 
he  left  home,  Reginald  proceeded  to  ([uestion  his 
guest  about  Scabrooke,  though  the  name  perjiet- 
ually  hovering  on  his  lips  was  left  unpronounced. 

"  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Templetoa  yesterday,"  said 
Mr.  Morton,  taking  the  plunge. 

"  I  hope  she — that  all  of  them  are  well" — and 
he  stopped  with  a  sigh. 

"  Xes,  pretty  well— Miss  Constance  has,  I  hear, 
been  rather  an  invalid.  Victor  is  almost  a  daily 
guest  there,  or  at  Forest  Hill,  and  brings  news  of 
the  whole  parish.  The  truth  is,  I  have  a  little 
commission  from  ^Irs.  Templeton,  but  witliout 
your  help,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  succee<l." 

'•  In  all  things  command  me  freely — what  can,  I 
do  .'"  he  asked,  with  a  quivering  lip  and  beating 
heart. 

"  It  is  to  accompany  me  back  to  the  Hermitage, 
and" — but  Reginald  impetuously  interrupted  him, 
exclaiming — 

"  There  is  something  the  matter  with  Helen — 
tell  me — tell  me — but,  for  mercy's  sake !  do  not 
say  she  is  ill." 

"  She  is  not,"  replied  Mr.  Morton  with  empha- 
sis; "but  she  is  ill  at  ease— there  is  talk  of  a 
marriage — stop,"  he  added  gravely,  indeed  .'stern- 
ly,  for  Keginald's  looks  became  wild,  as  he  made 
a  passionate  movement — "  stop,  Mr.  West,  listen 
to  me,  and  do  not  by  any  mistimed  vehemence 
frustrate  what  her  friends  have  arranged — you 
are  summoned  by  her  mother  to  save  her — to  car- 
ry her  awaj'— to  marry  her — do  you  now  under- 
stand .'  but  you  do  not" — for  he  perceived  tiiat 
Reginald  by  no  means  comprehended  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  case — he,  therefore,  proceeded  more 
plainly — "  unless  you  can  resolve  to  do  this,  she 
will  be  given  to  Lord  Hurstwood,  without  delay  or 
pity- — do  you  refuse  .'" 

"Refuse!  Great  God,  no — refuse!"  and  he 
started  up,  "  why  do  we  lose  a  moment .' — sweet, 
dear  Helen— ^fuse  to  take  you  to  my  heart  as 
my  cherished  wife !  thus  called  for,  I  would  hasten 
from  the  other  side  of  the  globe — what  may  be 
going  on  even  now — why  delay  when  time  is  so 
precious  r" 

"  It  is  precious,  but  we  have  enough  for  our 
purpose — and  since  my  arrival,  another  idea  has 
presented  itself.  Your  good  landlady  is,  I  know, 
the  attached  nurse  of  this  poor  young  lady  ;  now 
the  step  we  are  deliberately  about  to  take,  re- 
quires very  strong  reasons  to  render  it  jtistifiable, 
and  an}'  thing  we  can  do  to  les.son  its  impropriety, 
ought  not  to  be  neglected.  She  must,  therefore, 
accompany  us,  and  return  with  you  and  tliis  sweet 
girl — for  your  marriage  must  be  delayed  till  the 
requisite  measures  have  been  taken— is  that  a 
good  amendment .'" 

"Good!"  said  Reginald,  wringing  his  hand, 
"it  does  you  honor;  and  I  know  she  will  go  if 
possible— so  that  must  be  a.scerlained  directly." 

But  Mr.  Morton,  seeing  that  he  Hcarcely  knew 
what  hfc  -id  or  said,  advised  him  to  pack  a  few 


80 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


Deedful  things,  while  he  consulted  Madame  Stop- 
?ell,  Nvhose  husband  -willingly  yielded  his  consent, 
?he  was  ready  for  her  short  absence  almost  as 
joon  as  Reginald.  Stopsel  was  told  to  have  all 
•eady  for  Helen,  as  Gretchen  would  not  suppose 
ailuVe,  and  he  was  also  to  inform  Mr.  Vernon  of 
vhat  had  occurred ;  and  again  they  sped  back, 
•caching  a  small  village,  a  few  miles  from  Sea- 
jrooke,  toward  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  when 
Reginald  took  care  not  to  be  recognized,  and 
reached  the  Hermitage  quietly  and  unnoticed 
in  Mr.  Morton's  carriage,  which  was  awaiting 
them. 

Vain  would  be  the  attempt  to  describe  Regi- 
nald's liorror,  indignation,  and  grief  on  learning 
the  mere  outlines  of  this  attempt  on  Helen's  hap- 
piness—the particulars  of  which  Mr.  Morton  did 
not  know.  Till  he  found  himself  thus  suddenly 
threatened  with  her  loss,  he  had  not  been  con- 
scious that  hope  still  lingered  in  his  heart— had 
not  been  aware  that  this  had  insensibly  given  him 
courage  and  patience;  he  now  felt,  that  were  any 
fatal  event  to  deprive  him  of  her — life  would  lose 
all  its  attractions,  and  that  he  would  thankfully 
close  his  eyes  on  it,  and  die. 

Again  and  again  did  he  peruse  Mrs.  Temple- 
tons  letter  of  entreaty  ;  and  again  and  again  did 
tie  to  himself,  and  aloud,  promise  that  slie  should 
lever,  never  repent  of  her  confidence  in  him. 

••Can  nothing  be  done  immediately.'"  he  in- 
quired, as  soon  as  they  reached  the  Hermitage. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  his  host ;  '•  very  early  to- 
morrow, Victor  will  see  Mrs  Templeton ;  he  will 
probably  breakfast  there,  for  he  is  of  necessity 
partly  in  our  conlidence,  but  he  has  been  well 
trained  to  discretion,  so  fear  not  him.  Let  us  act 
in  all  things  rationally,  so  as  to  diminish  the 
chances  of  failure.  We  now  need  refreshment 
and  rest ;  we  must  take  both.  To-morrow  night 
will  decide  all — and,  like  wise  generals,  we  must 
be  cool  and  on  the  alert,  to  meet  and  defeat  what- 
ever may  impede  us.  Miss  Templeton  will,  of 
course,  remain  with  her  nurse  till  you  are  mar- 
ried—you must  go  elsewhere." 

"  I  ought  to  be  transported  with  joy  at  this 
most  unexpected  iulfillnient  of  my  dearest  wish  ; 
and  yet  there  are  two  causes  which  oppress  me  to 
agony,"  said  Reginald,  and  lie  looked  melancholy 
and  dispirited.  "  First,  this  sweeta  injured  inno- 
cent is  driven  to  take  a  step  by  both  of  us  equally 
condemned,  alike  oppo.sed'to  our  feelings  of  pro- 
priety. And  then,  when  this  precious  gift  is 
mine — mine  to  love  and  cherish,  and  retain  while 
life  lasts — think  you,  Mr.  Morton,  I  am  not  pain- 
fully reminded  that  she  gives  herself  to  a  beg- 
gar— to  one  who  is  himself  living  on  the  generos- 
ity of  others .'  To  work  for  her.  Heaven  knows  ! 
would  be  one  continual  pleasure,  could  I  do  so  with 
success — but — "  He  stopped  and  hid  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

"  When  you  have  real  troubles  to  contend  -with, 
Mr.  West,  and  especially  when  you  need  all  your 
presence  of  mind  and  resolution  to  rescue  her  you 
love  from  misory,  it  sot-ms  scarcely  wise  to  conjure 
up  ideal  trials,  or  by  dwelling  on  them  to  incapa- 
citate yourself  for  unusual  exertion.  Permit  me 
to  conclude,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  seriously,  as  Reg- 
inald attempted  to  sijeak,  "  you  love  this  young 
lafly .'" 

'•  More  than  life,  more  than  life,"  murmured 


the  poor  fellow ;   disregarding  the  interruption, 
his  friend  continued — 

"  She  loves  you — a  frightful  danger  menaces 
her.  You  alone  can  save  her.  Not  only  that, 
youalonftcan  make  her  happy.  Young  gentleman, 
this,  then,  is  not  the  time  to  listen  to  the  sugges- 
tions of  a  foolish  pride.  You  are  now  called  upon 
to  stifle  every  selfish  consideration,  and  cast  aside 
all  these  artificial  impediments.  In  short,  my 
dear  friend,"  said  he,  kindly,  and  approaching 
Reginald,  "  you  are  to  take  this  book,  and  use  the 

j  contents  whenever  they  are  wanted  to  add  to  her 

I  comfort." 

I      Reginald  was   completely  overcome  with   this 

j  delicacy  and   kindness ;    he   tried  to   speak,  but 

1  could  not,  and  repeatedly  pressed   the  generous 

j  hands  that  came  thus  loaded. 

j  "  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  himself  much 
affected,  but  assuming  a  cheerful  manner — "  old 
as  I  am,  I  would  give  a  thousand  pounds  readily, 
eagerly,  to  save  her  loving  heart  from  the  least 
pang — but  you  have  the  privilege  of  protecting 
her  from  all.  And  now  we  understand  each 
other,  so  good-night." 

Whether  Mr.  Morton  slept  well,  we  pause  not 
to  ask^certainly  Reginald  did  not. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 


"  She  is  won  !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  sciur." 

Scott. 

Victor  breakfasted  at  the  Priory,  not  a  little 
wondering  at  the  brisk  correspondence  which  had 
suddenly  sprung  up  between  the  lady  there  and 
his  father.  For,  though  he  knew  that  it  was 
caused  by  some  fresh  trial  to  Helen, in  which  Mr. 
West  was  deeply  concerned,  he  little  suspected 
what  the  denouement  was  likely  to  be. 

The  note  he  brought  from  Mrs.  Templeton  was 
to  this  eft'ect :  The  Colonel  was  going  to  the  Hall, 
to  fix  the  next  day  for  Lord  Hurstwoods  visit,  and 
Helen's  acceptance  of  him  would  follow,  but  he 
would  return  to  dinner.  Mrs.  Templeton  would 
have  an  interview  with  Reginald,  before  twelve, 

;  at  the  Hermitage. 

'  The  intervening  time  was  passed  by  the  two 
gentlemen  in  settling  their  plan  of  operation, 
which  would  be  submitted  to  Mrs.  Templeton,  for 
the  underlined  words  in  her"  note  proved  that  she 
expected  no  respite  or  change. 

I  Punctual  to  the  time,  she  arrived,  and  terrible 
was  her  emotion  on  first  seeing  Reginald.  But 
she  soon  became  composed,  at  least  in  appearance, 
and  requested  that  Mr.  Morton  would  favor  them 
with  his  presence ;  for,  deeply  interested  as  his 
friendship  had  made  him  in  this  transaction,  his 
experience  and  calmness  would  materially  aid  in 
avoiding  all  danger  of  disappointment. 

Their  plan  was  this  :  Mr.  Morton  and  Gretchen 
were  to  remain  at  the  gate  leading  to  the  private 
garden.  She  knew  both  the  spot,  and  the  trick 
of  opening  the  spring,  should  th.-it  be  found  shut. 
Reginald  was  to  enter  by  the  upper  conservatory 
at  eleven,  and  there  take  Helen  from  her  mother's 
hands.     "  And,  oh  !  Reginald,"  said  tJiat  sad  but 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


tenvless  niotlicr,  "  cherish  my  child — never  by 
li)i  k  or  thdU'iht  rcjiroach  lier  fur  this  Jict,  of 
which  she  yet  knows  nothing  ;  but  remember  the 
aiteriiativo,  ni-d  th.-ink  God  for  permitting  these 
mesms  of  rescue !  Promise  me  this,  and  I  shull 
trust  you." 

"  I  swear  by  all  man  holds  sacred,  that  I  will 
be  her  loving-,  gentle  husband  to  tl\c  end  of  our 
days!"  and  a  sensation  of  joy  filled  his  heart, 
and  shone  out  in  lii-s  pale  face,  as  he  thought  that 
the  being  lie  loved  so  devotedly,  and,  till  lately, 
60  hopcles.-ly,  -would  be  his  own. 

Quite  satisfied  now  that  the  matter  had  pro- 
ceeded thus  far  -without  obstacle,  that  she  had 
remained  firm  to  her  purpose,  and  most  grateful 
for  the  delieate  thought  and  feeling  that  had 
secured  the  motherly  attendance  of  her  faithful 
Gretchen,  Avith  whom  she  held  a  short  conference,  I 
Mrs.  Templetou,  in  comparative  peace,  returned  i 
to  the  Priory. 

And  now  for  Helen,"  thought  the  anxious  ' 
mother,  so  completely'  roused  by  the  danger  of  her 
darling,  that  she  seemed  scarcely  to  fear  even  her 
husband.  She  cared  for  nothing  but  the  SMfety 
of  Helen  ;  and  to  secure  that,  was  prepared  to 
brave  every  thing.  All  else  was,  for  the  moment, 
jnditferenr  to  her:  and  gratified  with  her  success 
hitherto,  she,  with  almost  cheerful  looks,  joined 
her  daughters  at  luncheon. 

Constance  was  surprised  at  her  mother's  man- 
ner, for  knowing  the  cause  of  her  fathers  absence, 
she  was  half  wild  with  apprehension,  as  to  the 
efi^'ect  the  proceedings  of  the  next  day  would  have 
on  Helen's  destiny. 

As  to  poor  Helen  herself,  she  seemed  to  have 
sunk  into  an  apathy  that  was  more  alarming  to 
her  sisier  than  the  most  violent  demonstrations  of  j 
grief;  from  the  vehemence  of  the  latter  some 
resistance  might  be  expected — but  what  hope  was 
there,  when  she  seemed  unable  to  offer  any  oppo- 
sition .'  I 

Oh  !  ho-sv  long  did  the  day  seem  to  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton  !  how  inip.-itiently  did  she  sigh  for  the  hour 
v.hich  should  remove  one  of  her  idols  from  all 
danger  of  injurj'. 

At  lengtli  came  dinner-time  ;  at  first,  the  meal 
seemed  to  pass  as  usual.  Constance  had  lost  all 
that  sparkling  vivacity  which  brought  suns-liine 
among  them— and  all  were  now  silent  and  gloomy.  1 
Mrs.  Tenipleton  sat  lost  in  her  own  thouglits  ai.d 
anxieties:  Helen,  ms  if  unconscious  of  every 
thing — even  the  servants,  who  were  partly  cogni- 
zant of  what  was  pending,  moved  tibout  with  more  , 
of  the  solemnity  of  waiters  at  a  funeral,  than  with 
that  brisk  and  smiling  alacrity  which  generally 
characterized  them.  | 

Under  all  th.ese  circumstances,  it  was  perhaps 
to  be  expected  that  Colonel  Tenipleton,  when 
alone  with  them,  should  draw  their  attention  to 
the  present  time,  and  to  their  actual  position,  I 
which  he  did  by  remarking  with  a  sneer,  I 

"We  are  a  most  lively  set,  quite  an  agreeable 
family  party.     I  only  hope  Lord  Hurstwood  may  1 
not  find  our  spirits  too  overpowering  when  he 
lunches  here  to-morrow."  I 

Helen  mournfully  turned  her  face  toward  him,  \ 
and  sighed  deeply,  but  did  not  speak.  Constance 
felt  the  color  mount  to  her  brow,  and  courageously 
said, 

••  I  hope, -papa — " 


But  what  she  hoped,  none  ever  knew,  as  he 
rudely  interrupted  her  by  saying — 

"  1  have  neither  the  inclination  to  listen  to  dis- 
obedient speeclies,  nor  to  have  my  will  di-'^jiuted 
by  my  ill-directed  daughters;  this  evening  I 
sliall  hold  some  ci)nvcrsation  witii  you,"  looking 
at  Helen,  who,  however,  now  gave  no  signs  of 
attention. 

"Not  tliis  evening,  I  entreat  of  you,  Lionel." 
petitioned  Mrs.  Tenipleton  ;  for  her  heart  seemed 
to  die  within  lier,  as  she  glanced  from  tlie  statue- 
like countenance  of  Helen,  to  the  angry  one  of 
her  husband,  and  thence  to  the  decanters  by 
which  he  was  surrounded. 

"  Well,  to-iiiOi-row,  then,  and  directly  after 
breakfast;  I  have  a  little  information  to  give 
her  regarding  Lord  Hurstwood's  munificent  in- 
tentions and  plans,  -\\hieh  will  tell  greatly  in  his 
favor." 

Since  the  conversation  he  had  held  witli  her, 
when  he  made  up  a  sentimental  falile,  artfully 
appealing  to  her  feelings,  he  had  carefully  avoided 
the  sulyect.  His  policy  was.  to  take  her  silence 
as  consent,  and  to  hurry  her  into  a  promise  just 
before  his  Lordship's  arriv.-il,  so  as  to  leave  her 
no  alternative  but  to  ratify  it,  in  the  presence  of 
the  latter  ;  to-morrow  would,  therefore,  suit,  him. 
better. 

Constance  fondly  put  her  arm-round  her  sister, 
and  ISIrs.  Tenipleton  rising  without  making  any 
comment  on  her  husband's  speech,  they  all  left 
the  room;  the  Colonel  sootliing  his  irritation,  as 
well  as  he  could,  with  his  wine,  which  daily 
seemed  to  become  his  most  favorite  solace. 

"  We  are  all  looking  weary,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Tenipleton,  as  she  dismi.ssed  the  tea- equipage ; 
her  pulses  telling  her  that  t/ie  hour — the  import- 
ant hour — Avas  fast  approaching.  "  I  have  lately 
had  wretc  ed  nights,  and  so  has  poor  Helen  ;  we 
shall  be  obliged,  1  fear,  to  letive  you  very  enrly  to 
your  own  resources,  Constance — and  do  not  let 
Huth  disturb  your  sister;  when  you  dismiss  her, 
let  her  go  to  bed." 

Helen  languidly  rose  to  bid  them  good  night, 
and  left  the  room.  They  exchanged  looks,  and 
were  silent  for  a  few  moments,  when  Constance 
said — 

"  Is  she  to  be  lost  without  one  more  effort  ?" 

"  No,  dear  child,  while  there  is  the  least  chance, 
we  will  not  relinquish  the  task,  we  must  both 
make  one  more  trial  in  her  behalf;  but  it  is  cruel 
as  well  as  useless,  under  the  idea  of  sympathy, 
for  us  to  liarass  her  to-night  ;  so  kiss  me,  darling, 
and  early  as  it  is,  take  my  blessing  and  Avishes 
that  you  may  find  rest." 

"I'ou  must  let  me  be  your  physician  for  once, 
dear  mamma,  .and  I  slnill  take  upon  me  to  pre- 
scribe one  of  Mr.  Curtis's  infallible  draughts — 
you  may  safely  take  it,  as  1  know  of  what  it  is 
composed.  1  think  it  will  send  yoti  to  sleep — to- 
morrow,"she  said  with  a  shudder,  "  we  shall  need 
all  our  strength,  both  of  mind  and  body." 

Constance  ijad  a  little  plan  of  her  OAvn,  wiiicb 
this  early  separation  gretitly  facilittitcd.  She! 
had  resolved  to  Avrite  to  her  lather,  since  he 
would  not  permit  her  to  speak  ;  and  she  meant  so 
to  plead  for  poor  Helen,  that  he  must  relent---s]io 
intended  so  to  entreat,  that  he  could  not  refuse; 
and  encouraging  herself  to  hope  all  from  her 
affectionate    eloquence,   she    the    more    readily 


82 


THE   WIFES   TRIALS. 


allowed  Helen  to  retire  without  trying  to  comfort, 
her. 

Mrs.  Tcmpleton^  who  generally  dispensed  with 
personal  service,  and  rang  whenever  she  required 
it,  entered  her  boudoir  and  loclied  the  door,  to 
feel  safe  from  all  intrusion  ;  she  thence  passed  to 
the  conservatory,  and  opened  the  one  already 
descrihed  as  leading  to  llelen's  present  sleeping 
apartment. 

It  sef-med  to  her,  as  if  every  thing  she  heard 
and  saw  tended  to  deepen  her  resolve,  and  give 
her  strength  to  carry  it  out ;  and  when  she  looked 
ac  Hel(»n,  what  a  sight  for  a  loving  mother  met 
her  anxiou<  eyes  !  She  sat  on  a  hnv  chair,  lean- 
ing her  head  on  the  back,  her  arms  lianging  by 
her  side— her  eybs  were  open,  but  she  appeared 
unconscious  of  every  thing ;  even  her  uiother's 
entrance,  by  the  concealed  opening,  failed  to 
rouse  lier. 

Mrs.  Tcmpleton  approached,  and  gently  laid 
lier  liand  on  her  head;  a  slight  shudder  alone 
;gave  indication  of  >iensibility. 

"  Helen.  Helen  I"'  cried  her  mother,  really  ter- 
rified—still  Helen  took  no  notice. 

"  Mercilul  Heaven  !  what  new  trial  awaits  me," 
she  ejaculated,  kneeling  by  her  daughter,  chafing 
and  caressing  her  cold  hands. 

"Mother,  grieve  not,"  slowly  broke  from  her 
pale  lips,  but  the  voice  sounded  strange  and  hol- 
low— '•  it  is  good  to  die." 

"  Talk  not  thus,  my  darling,"  cried  her  mother, 
laying  her  head  on  her  bosom,  and  removing  the 
glossy  hair  which  hung  heavy  on  her  brow — 
then,  believing  that  she  required  some  powerful 
stimulus  to  enible  her  to  shake  off  this  frightful 
apathy,  slie  added,  with  a  deliberate  purpose 
very  abrupll}- — '■  I  bring  hope,  my  child — do  you 
hear  me ; — I  bring  hope  and  rescue  " 

"  Kescue  !"  she  said,  now  slightly  moved  ; 
"  rescue,  and  hope  ?"  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,  both,  if  you  will  but  rouse  yourself  to 
assist  me  " 

"  I  can  do  any  thing  to  escape  this  fate,"  she 
replied,  quite  able  to  listen,  and  with  a  look  of 
intelligence  in  her  eyes ;  "  but  how  can  so  great  a 
Ijlessing  be  gained  ?" 

"  With  Heginahl's  help,"  said  her  mother  slow- 
ly, "  all  could  be  gained." 

She  started — she  almost  screamed. 

'•  llu-h  !'■  whispered  Mrs.  Tcmpleton,  having 
now  to  lay  the  spirit  she  had  evoked  ;  "  yes,  lleg- 
inald  -  he  is  at  hand — will  soon  be  liere  tosaveynu, 
to  take  you  away;  rouseyoursclf  thoroughly,  and 
li«ten  to  me,  and  try  to  understand  mo."  As  she 
•said  these  words,  oh,  blessed  sight!  Helen  burst 
into  tears  and  wept  abundantly,  nor  did  hernioth- 
^cr  try  to  check  her  ;  but  when  her  sobs  became 
fainter  she  proceeded  to  say,  as  calmly  as  she 
•could,  "You  have  known  enough  of  me  to  be 
fiure  that  I  should  never  even  countenance,  much 
l^'ss  assist  in  or  advise  any  thing  that  would  re- 
flect on  my  children's  reputation  "  Helen  was 
rsilent,  but  evidently  attending  to  every  word  ; 
and  thus  encouraged,  her  mother  went  on.  "  Our 
duties  sometimes  seem  to  clash.  I  say  seem,  for 
i  much  doubt  whether  they  ever  do ;  it  may  be 
that  some  feeling,  half  revealed,  or  only  half  un- 
derstood, inclines  us  to  one  or  the  other;  or  be-  j 
cause  we  really  and  honestly  do  not  comprehend  | 
all  the  word  duty  involves.      Now  I  firmly  be-  | 


lieve  it  to  be  ni}'  dxtty  to  s.ave  you  from  this  con- 
templated marriage.' 

"  Dearest,  best  mamma,"  murmured  Helen, 
kissing  her.  And  seeing  the  success  of  her  rather 
lengthy  exordium,  on  which  she  had  purposely 
dwelt,  in  order  to  fix  Helen's  thoughts,  she  pro- 
ceeded more  rapidly  :  "  In  short.  I  never  will 
consent  to  it.  While  you  were  left  unmolested, 
I  never  should  have  thought  of  such  an  opposition 
to  your  father's  will  as  to  have  s.'incti()ncd  your 
marriage  with  Reginald,  much  as  I  love  and  re- 
spect him;  but  now  I  command  it.  And — hush  ! 
do  not  speak — and  this  night,  in  company  with 
our  faithful  Gretchen,  he  will  take  you  away, 
and,  directly  the  law  permits,  marry  you.  whit-h, 
however,  can  not  be  before  the  expiration  of  threo 
weeks." 

Breathless  with  astonishment  at  all  she  heard 
— almost  giddy  from  the  rapidity  with  which  she 
had  been  raised  from  the  depths  of  despair  and  ■ 
been  told  to  hope,  Helen  gazed  at  her  mother  for 
a  minute  before  she  could  find  words;  and  then, 
while  her  face,  lately  so  ghastly  pale,  became  ' 
crimson  from  some  hidden  thought,  she  said — 

"  Elope!  oh!  mother,  must  i  encounter  that 
disgrace  ?" 

'•  Yes,  elope,  or  what  word  you  please,  Helen;  ] 
either  submit  to  that,  or  consent  to  marry  Lord  j 
Hurstwobd."  J 

"  And  Reginald,  oh !  what  will  he  think  of  \ 
me  .'"  and  again  she  wept. 

"  He  will  think  that  you  are  an  ill-used,  help-  ; 
less  girl,  Avhom  he  is  bound,  by  any  method  that : 
is  not  disgraceful,  to  serve — and  tliis  is  the  otilv 
one — he  will  also  think  that  your  sorrows  ;  ' 
misfortunes  bind  him,  by  every  motive,  to  i  ; 
tect,  love,  and   honor  j'ou.     Yes,   Helen,   hn:. 
y<m;  for  where  is  her  purity  who  gives  her  han  1 
wlu-re  her  heart  can  not  accompanj'  it.'  wh'    • 
her  truth  who  swears  to  love,  when  she  has  al- 
ready none  to  give  r" 

'•  Dear  mamma  !"  said  Helen — and  again  i 
fixint  tinge  colored  her  cheeks—"  then  you  civo 
me  to  Reginald,  freely,  cheerfully." 

"  Yes  ;  freelJ^  cheerfully,  gratefully.  .And 
now,  lose  no  time  !  look  out  your  darkest  wr.i]i- 
per;  give  me  a  few  things  you  will  immediately 
require;  for,"  looking  at  her  watch,  "the  time 
draws  near." 

Helen  trembled  so  violently  that  her  motlv  - 
was  forced  to  do  every  thing  for  her;  she  h'  r 
self  was  firm  and  self-possessed.  But  even  wi 
fearing  lest  Helen's  nerves  and  courage  sh'  i, 
fail  them  at  the  extremity,  she  remarked  a  Hlm 
in  the  eyes,  and  a  movement  about  the  counte- 
nance, which  showed  that  the  name  of  Reginald 
h.iil  not  lost  its  talismanic  influence.  ; 

When  all  was  ready  she  took  her  mother's 
haml.  and,  kneeling  kissed  it  reverently,  saying,' 
"  Bless  you,  mother,  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me.  And,  oh  !  God  grant  that  this  last  crown- 
ing act  may  not  involve  you  in  greater  sorrow  ! 
if  I  thought  it,  I  have  courage  to  face  every 
thing." 

"Fear  not  for  me,"  replied  Mrs.  Temph'ton 
"I  am  sure  that  in  acting  thus  I  do  my  duty: 
but  now,  w.ait  here  courageously  alone,  one  min- 
ute," as  she  lieard  several  clocks  tell  the  hour: 
and,  going  into  the  consorvatorj',  she  opened  the 
garden  entrance  just  in  time  to  admit  Rfgiual'i. 


THE    WIFF/S    TRIALS. 


83 


He  -was  very  pule,  but  he  looked  resolved  and 
gtcrn. 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  he  whispered. 

"  Here,"  was  the  hushed  reply,  for  Helen  had 
glided  out  from  her  room  the  moment  she  heard 
ills  step. 

lie  lifted  his  hat  for  a  moment,  and  the  shade<l 
lisrht  fell  full  on  his  pale  face  and  g'itterino;  eyes. 
Helen  also  mechanically  raised  her  vail — and 
once  more  they  looked  in  each  other's  faces — 
both  so  young,  so  beautiful  !  both  so  worn,  so 
sad! 

"  Helen  !" 

'^Reginald." 

"  Pear  Helen  !"  opening;  his  arms,  and  she  fell 
on  his  bosom.  He  pressed  her  convulsively  to 
his  heart,  and  looking  at  lier  said,  in  a  low  l>ut 
solemn  voice,  "  mine  !"  then,  again  raising  his 
hat,  he  added,  with  deep  reverence,  "  mine, 
nhom  I  swear  to  protect  and  cherish  ;  and,  as  I 
dial  by  you,  so  may  God  deal  with  me  !" 

"  Amen  !"  said  .Mrs.  Templeton,  deeply  touched. 
"  Kneel,  my  children,  and  may  the  blessing  from 
n  high  be  with  you  now  and  forever.  Ileginald, 
)  trust  you  with  something  more  precious  than 
life,  but  I  have  neither  doubt  nor  fear.  Take 
this,"  giving  him  a  small  packet;  "  cnnsult  with 
Mr.  Morton  about  the  contents.  Now,  kiss  me, 
my  son — kiss  me,  my  daughter,  and,  farewell !" 
She  al«o  gave  him  the  small  hag  slie  had  filled 
Helen's  wardrobe,  watcliiel  them  till  tliey  were 
?o«t  in  the  gloom  and  windings  of  the  shrubbery, 
and  locked  the  door. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  a  reaction  take 
place.  She  had  strength  to  place  her  lamp 
safely  on  the  table,  and  then  she  must  have 
fainted ;  for  when  she  recovered  it  was  nearly 
one  o'clock. 

She  bathed  her  face  and  hands  in  cold  water, 
'  n  1  approaching  her  dressing-table   to  prepare 

:■  bed,  saw  a  vial  and  slip  of  paper  ;  on  the  lat- 

r  was  written:  "  Tiiis  i^  one  of  the  draughts 
'Ir.  Curtis  sent  me — it  will  be  of  use,  dearest 
mother,  and  send  you  to  sleep — tnke  it,  and 
pood-night.  C.  F.  T  "  And,  after  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton  had  undressed,  she  swallowed  the  draiiglit, 
simply  because  she  had  not  the  power  to  leflect, 
«r  the  strength  to  dispute  even  a  written  or- 
der; and  soon  after,  over-tasked  and  exhausted 
nature  sank  into  a  repose  which  lasted  fur  many 
hours. 


CHAPTER   XXXVn. 


How  n 

Twixt  hour  and  hnur 


"  Prythpp,  pppak  ; 

Iff  >>{  miles  may  we  well  ride 

Cijmheline. 


Mr.  Stops  EI.,  though  requested  to  communi- 
cate with  Mr.  Vernon,  when  lie  went  to  business, 
with  true  German  in'liftVrence  to  such  orders,  in- 
terpreted the  command  in  his  own  way. 

He  first  visited  his  shop,  to  see  that  all  there 
Was  right ;  and  finding  that  he  must  go  into  the 
city,  determined  to  call  in  the  Temvle  as  he  re- 
turr-r-^  ^ut  it  was  nearly  one  o'elck  when  he 
ha'.  -  o-xo.'  o  led  his  errand ;  and  during  the  whole 


of  the  morning  Ashlev  had  been  expectiiio-  to  see 
his  friend.  ' 

As  hour  after  hour  passed,  and  he  did  not  ap- 
pear, Ashley  became  rather  une.isy,  fir  Reg- 
inald was  always  so  punctual,  tiiat  he  fearc.l  he 
was  ill,  his  health  being  still  occasionally  del- 
icate. 

Twelve  boomed  out  St.  Paul's ;  twelve  was 
echoed  by  tlie  giants  of  St.  Uunstan's,  and  re- 
peated SLiprano,  contralto,  and  basso  from  iho 
numerous  clocks  all  around— half  past— still  no 
Reginald,  still  no  note  or  messenger 

Ashley  could  wait  no  longer— but  leaving  a 
mess:ige,  in  c  isc  they  should  pass  each  other  on 
the  road,  lie  set  off  to  see  after  him.  Arriveii  at 
the  cottage,  he  was  much  relieved  to  iiear  that 
Mr  West  was  well,  but  out.  In  reply  to  liis 
further  qtiestions.  Mr.  West,  tlie  serv.int  .said, 
with  a  slight  increase  of  dignity  in  the  flutter  of 
her  cap-ribbons,  had  that  very  morning,  before 
seven  o'clock,  gone  oflf  with  four  horses  ! 

"  Four  horses  V 

"  Yes.  sir,  four — and  my  missus." 

"Speak  plainly,"  said  Ashley,  rather  angrily. 

But  the  ribbons  this  time  waved,  imh-ed,  it 
may  more  properly  be  said,  tossed  with  insulted 
majesty. 

"Well,  sir,  I  cm  not  speak  more  plainer — 
four  horses,  my  missus,  and  a  strange  gentle- 
man." 

Hopeless  of  extracting  information,  he  ne.xc 
askecl,  but  more  gently — "  And  left  no  mes.-age 
for  me  .'"' 

"  Not  as  I  know  of,  sir." 

"  Nor  said  when  he  sh<tuld  return  .'" 

"  No,  sir — hut  missus  did — his  room  is  to  be 
clean  turned  out.  and  got  ready  for  a  lady,  and 
they  are  to  bring  her  to-nigiit." 

•'Well."  said  Ashley,  half  aloud,  "then  pa- 
tience and  w.-iit."  And  his  hand,some  face  re- 
sumed its  usual  expression  of  serenity,  .so  that 
the  otfended  ribbons  no  more  -vibrated  with  an- 
ger ;  and  the  wearer  told  her  confidant,  the 
young  lady  who  did  tlie  work  next  dnor — in  gen- 
teel parlance,  the  gi'ncral  servant — that,  "  not 
'aving  an  'art  as  'ard  as  hiern,  them  fine  eyes  of 
his'n  m.ade  sad  avick  of  it  " 

While  Ashley  was  thus  philosophically  sum- 
moning j)atience,  and  resigning  himself  to  ig- 
norance .and  his  fate  Ma'iame  Stop-scl's  German 
servant  made  her  appear:ince.  and  from  lie r  he 
received  a  confirmation  of  all  the  otlier  iiad  snid, 
with  the  important  additions  that  her  mister  iiad 
a  message  fur  him,  and  that  the  stranger  had  left 
a  card. 

Silently  denouncing  the  stupidity  which  rib- 
bons, afid  cap  too,  covered  tip,  ,\'hley  rushed  into 
the  sitting-ro'im,  and  seized  Mr.  Morton's  card, 
on  which  he  had  written  in  French:  "  Kxpect 
them  to-moiT(iw  morning — Miss  Tem]ileton  re- 
turns with  them — a  letter  will  tell  you  more." 

"  H<  len  here  !  Good  heavens  !  what  c  in  it 
mean  .'  A  letter — ah  !  that  will  explain,  and  it 
probably  now  lies  on  my  table"  — for  Mr  M^r- 
I  ton,  who  had  not  forgotten  any  thing,  had.  even 
while  traveling,  scrawled  a  few  lines  of  explaii.a- 
tion  to  Ashley,  which  he  posted  at  the  nearest 
place  he  piissed. 

.lumping  into  the  cab,  Ashley  was  whirled 
back  to  town,  and  had  the  mortiticaticn  of  hear- 


84 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


inj:  tli.it  Mr.  Stppsel  had  called  during  liis  nlj- 
SBuce  ;  but  there  lay  the  precious  letter  which 
wa.s  to  unravel  the  mystery  ;  for  though  of  ne- 
cessity sli-.rt,  -Mr.  Morton  gave  him  all  tlie  in- 
f.)rm.itioii  that  was  most  important  A  note, 
witli  little  more  tli:in  a  few  incoherent  words 
from  Keginald  lay  \>y  its  side,  adding  little  to 
his  knowledge,  but  a  great  deal  to  his  amaze- 
nieut. 

As  he  read,  Ashley  became  almost  dizzy  with 
wonder.  Helen  Hying  from  her  father's  house, 
and  at  her  mother's  command,  and  with  Keginald  ! 
was  a  picture  he  could  hardly  believe  real— but 
real  it  most  assuredly  was. 

Aud  niiw  what  could  he  do  to  help  them .'  for 
as  to  atieuding  to  business,  that  was  impossible 
— no,  he  would  dedicate  himself  and  his  time  to 
their  service — and  how  could  he  best  show  his 
ze:.l  ? 

First,  he  would  endeavor  to  see  Mr.  Stopsel, 
aud  lc;ii'n,  if  possible,  something  more  precise 
So,  fairly  yielding  tO'  his  impulse,  off  he  set  once 
more,  to  do,  he  knew  not  exactly  what,  except 
that  he  wa.s  resolved  to  be  at  Hampstead  to  meet 
the  travelers  on  their  arrival. 

He  then  remembered  that  Reginald  must  give 
up  his  lodgings  to  Helen,  aud,  of  course,  remain 
his  guest;  so  back  he  went  to  settle  for  his  ac- 
commod.-itiou,  and  once  more  en  route  tor  Stopsel. 
from  liim  he  learned  little  that  he  particularly 
cared  for,  beyond  the  information  contained  in 
Mr.  Morion's  letter,  except  that  Gretchen  had 
left  strict  injunctions  for  every  thing  to  be  done 
and  arranged,  that  could  tend  to  make  her  dear 
young  lady  comfortable. 

••  Is  there  any  thing  wanting  ?"  asked  Ashley, 
visions  of  furniture  and  upholstery  floating  before 
his  "  mind's  eye" — but  btopsel  assured  him  that 
every  thing  was  already  very  good  aud  complete, 
aiil  ih;it  iie  could  not  imagine  any  addition 
ueeiful. 

liut,  delighted  with  this  thought,  which  pro- 
mise i  him  occupation  for  the  remainder  of  the 
d.iy,  Ashley  for  the  second  time  started  for  the 
Cottage,  aud  was  charmed  to  find  various  de- 
licieiicies  which  he  should  be  so  happy  to  supply ; 
therefore,  a  luxurious  lounging  chair  for  the  sit- 
ting-room,  with  a  pre.ty  work-table.  Jind  some 
eiegint  chimney  ornaments,  being  all  he  could 
detect  as  wanting,  or  indeed  liud  room  for  there, 
he  beg.in  his  V(jyage  of  discovery  in  the  bed- 
room. It  looked  very  cheerful  and  very  pretty 
— c.iiiital  lor  a  young  bachelor  ;  but  where  were 
all  tlie  appliances  and  comforts  which  its  future 
lair  occupant  had  been  used  to  ?  and  how  could 
he  tell  what  these  ougiu  to  be  .'  Decidedly,  how- 
ever, lie  couM  improve  the  appe  irance  of  the 
toileite-tablt,' — and  so  he  did,  with  sover.il  costly 
triU'-s,  which  the  niau  who  supplied  the  other 
nriicles  was  so  oblig.n^  .as  to  sugi;est :  and  when 
this  was  done,  vexed  tliat  tliere  were  no  further 
improvenu-nts  to  m.ake— like  Alexander,  when  he 
wept  tliai  there  were  no  more  worlds  to  cimquer 
— As:dey  siglied  to  think  how  he  sliould  now  pass 
tlie  t.me,  beiore  he  could  expect  his  truant  f:  lend. 

To  the  sitting-room  he  again  descended  ;    and 

"  Siitan  fln'ls"  soiiio  mi*  hiof  Blill 
i'or  idle  haiuls  lo  <lo," 

uc  began   to   arrange   llcginald'a  writing  table, 


when  an  unfinished  sentence,  partly  illegible, 
owing  to  a  large  blot,  which  hsfd  fallen  from  a 
pen  hastily  thrown  down,  arrested  his  attention. 
He  guessed  directly  how  it  was ;  Reginald  must 
have  been  writing  when  interrupted  by  Mr.  Mor- 
ton's arrival — aud  he  was  right — it  was  part  of  a 
review  whicli  he  was  preparing  for  a  forthcoming 
number,  and  which,  in  the  hurry  of  his  depart-  | 
ure,  he  had  left  exactly  as  when  he  hastened  out  ' 
to  welcome  his  friend. 

"  This  sheet  is  precious,"  said  he,  indulging  in 
a  little  bit  of  sentiment — and  he  was  in  the  act 
of  withdrawing  it,  when  she  of  the  ribbons  enter-  ' 
ed — "  Lawk,  sir  !  pray,  pray  don't  touch  that — • 
none  of  us,  not  even  missus,  dares  to  meddle  with 
Mr.  West's  table." 

Respecting  her  scruples,  he  laid  it  down  ;  de- 
termined, however,  no  printer's  devil  should  ever 
defile  it  with  black  hands,  and  already  fancying 
he  saw  it  framed  and  preserved  by  Helen,  as  a 
family  relic,  connected  with  the  great  romantic 
incident  of  her  life  and  Reginald's. 

Still  there  were  many  wearisome  hours  to  I'm 
"Oh!    he  would  have  dinner,  he  really  net- i 
refreshment' — and  Mr.  Stopsel  returning  IV 
his  daily  duties,  Ashley  was  enabled  to  have  a  • 
chop  and  a  glass  of  wine.  1 

He  was  ignorant  of  the  time  when  Reginald  ' 
would   start   from  .Seabrooke.  even  if  ail   went ' 
right,  and  now  a  doubt  of  that  came  to  his  res 
cue  ;  yes,  it  really  was  a  relief  to  be  uneasy— 
hitherto  he  had  imagined  success   certain,   and  I 
that  idea  had  become  familiar  and  monotonous^] 
this   less  comfortable    supposition    excited    ;ui'l 
roused  him. 

The  philosophical  landlord  advised  him  to  g  • 
bed  aud  permit  himself  some  repose — he  hini>  . 
iniended  to  follow  his  own  advice — and  Mr.  Xw- 
non  could  be  called  at  four— three — any  liour  in' 
liked  ;  the  stranger  gentleman  did  not  arrive  till 
six  the  previous  morning. 

No,  lie  thanked  him — he  would  be  found  ex- 
pecting them  with  his  eyes  open — theconsequcn    ' 
of  which  was,  that,  spite  of  strong  resolution  ■ 
still  stronger  coffee,  aided  by  a  volume  of  Genu 
diablerie, — the   lounging   chair,    consecrated    i  > 
Helen's  use,  spre.id  its  arms  and  tempted  him 
about^four   o'clock,    to   sit   down   for  a   wink    - 
merely  a  wink  ;  and  at  eight,  when  they  arriv 
he  was  simud  asleep,  and  only  awoke  to  be  aw  . 
of  the  bustle  made  in  receiving  them 

He  sprang  up,  and  was  out  in  the  garden  ii 
moment — yes,  there  they   are — there  is  Heir 
Heavens,  how  changed  !  there  is  Reginald.  ]>■>. 
but  be.iming  and  cheerful;  and  there  is  Gretclu'n, 
like  every  Geriu.m  woman,  cramming  "  Ja,  ja," 
with  all  sorts  of  intonations,  into  her  conveis.i- 
tion   Willi    lur   husband;    her   kind,  round   fice 
looking  as  if  she  had  just  risen,  or,  more  proper-' 
ly,  just,  awoke — which  was  nearly  the  truth,  for, 
she  ii:id  slept  soundly  f  )r  many  hours. 

So  wlioliy  unexpected,  so  very  wonderful  and;; 
sudden,  had  been  the  change  in  Helen  s  destiny, 
1  that  it  was  not  surprising  if  she  failed  to  realize: 
it  immediately  She  ftdt  hke  one  in  a  dream  ;  ■ 
nor  was  it  till  .'ihe  beheld  Reginald,  and  heard  s 
his  voice,  th.'it  she  was  quite  convinced  that  whatj 
I  had  passed  between  her  aud  her  mother  was  a, 
I  certainty.  Perhaps,  indeed,  she  scarcely  com- 
j  prehended  the  whole  truth,  till  she  found  herself 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


85 


«lone  with  him,  the  cool  night  vir  blowing  fresh 
and  reviving  on  her  feverish  cheeks,  and  gently 
rustling  among  tlie  trees  in  tlie  slirubbery. 

With  every  sense  sliarpened  by  terror,  slie 
beard  the  key  turn  in  the  door  of  the  conserva- 
tory, though  they  Avere  several  paces  from  it ; 
lid  the  tiiuught  then  arose,  that  it  was,  perhaps, 
;  iie  signal  of  perpetual  exile  from  her  home — 
'ruin  her  mother — from  her  sister  ;  and  she  half 
'  urned  round,  as  if  to  retrace  her  steps — wlien 
iiemory  whispered  •'  to-morrow  !"  and  the 
hcught  of  what  then  awaited  her  made  her 
:o  lunger  hesitate.  Trembling,  so  a^  to  be 
-..'urcely  able  to  stand,  she  tottered,  rather  than 
walked,  spite  of  the  encircling  and  sustaining 
ftrm  of  Reginald,  who  did  not  venture  to  address 
to  her  one  word  of  encouragement,  even  in  a 
whisper,  so  greatly  did  he  dread  lest  any  im- 
prudence should  deprive  him  of  his  recently  re- 
covered treasure. 

"  All  safe,"  was  softly  uttered  by  each  party 
as  they  met :  and  then,  as  quickly  as  they  could, 
tbey  made  for  the  Hermitage,  to  which  they  were 
obliged  to  walk ;  and  though,  under  ordinary 
circumstanct-s,  the  distance  would  not  be  thought 
great,  all  lelt  they  had  never  before  found  it  so 
far.  Oil  their  arrival,  the  black  servant  alone 
awaited  them ;  for  Mi\  Morton  never  needlessly 
extended  his  confidence  ;  if  people  found  out  any 
thing,  he  could  not  hinder  it ;  but  he  did  not  help 
them  to  the  discovery.  Kefr^jhrnents  were  spread, 
and  sume  were  also  ready  packed.  The  carriage 
and  horses  the^'  would  find  at  the  village  already 
named,  where  a  person,  greatly  bound  to  Mr. 
Morton,  settled  this  part  of  the  business ;  a  heavy 
bribe,  and  one  still  heavier,  being  promised,  if 
all  went  right,  secured  silence  and  punctuality. 

"  I  shidl  drive  you,"  said  Mr.  Jilorton,  who  had 
entered  with  extra-ordinary  zeal  and  kindness  in- 
to the  matter,  "  and  see  you  safely  on  the  road 
to  Lundon.  Have  the  banns  published  directly," 
he  wliispered  to  Reginald,  "  and  send  cupics  to 
that  anxious  mother  the  instant  the  ceremony  is 
performed  ; — use  the  contents  of  the  pocket-book, 
and  another,  also  freely.  And  now,  dear  Miss 
Templeton,  we  may  not  linger." 

Helen  silently  entered  the  carriage  ;  her  com- 
panions followed,  and  they  speedily  reached  the 
spot  where  the  fX)st-carriage  waited. 

"  Let  me  have  early  and  consrant  tidings ; 
God  bless  y<m,  Miss  Templeton  ;  and  you,  too, 
my  brave  boy.  Take  care  of  that,"  directing 
Gretchens  attention  to  the  basket;  "  you  must 
not  stop  for  refreshmene,  so  it  will  be  very  use- 
ful." 

They  step  from  one  conveyance  to  the  other, 
the  door  closes,  and  they  are  oif,  as  fast  ae  their 
fresh  and  impatient  steeds  can  go. 

All  was  so  well  phiBned.  and  all  so  well  suc- 
ceeded, that  they  met  with  not  the  least  delay. 
Hftl^n  wept  iucessintly  and  silently  for  souk; 
time  ;  she  then  nestled  closer  to  Reginald,  and 
slept  heavily  and  motionhes  till  nearly  four  ; 
and  when  she  awoke,  Bhe  felt  refVeshed,  and  free 
from  headache.  Reginald  fondly  kissed  her 
brow,  and  on  her  inquiring  if  he  had  not  nlno 
elepr,  he  smiled,  and  protested  that  he  was 
ashamed  to  say  he  feared  he  had.  She  then  eii- 
treaccd  him  to  try  and  obtain  more  rest,  while  she 
kept  watch — but  this  was  impossible  ;  so  they 


agreed  to  talk,  but  gently,  so  as  not  to  awa,<on 
Gretchen;  for  those  who  had  just  met  alter 
having  been,  as  they  thought,  parted  forevor, 
were  not  likely  to  be  at  a  loss  for  subjects  oldccp 
and  engrossing  interest.  Thus  passed  the  re- 
maining hours,  till,  as  has  been  related,  they 
arrived  at  the  cottage,  when  they  were  mot  by 
Ashley,  who  was  thoroughly  awake  in  a  moment. 
He  ru.shed  forward,  and  juct  Reginald  with  Helen 
hanging  on  his  arm,  to  whom  he  was  saving, 
"  Welcome,  dear  one,  to  our  home  ;"  and  shaking 
him  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  drawing  Helen's 
disengaged  arm  through  his,  he  said : 

•'  Welcome !  welcome !  both  of  you — all  of  you 
— how  glad  I  am  you  have  come — what  an  age  it 
seems  since  I  have  been  expecting  you — every 
thing  is  ready  lor  Helen.  I  propose  that  Madame 
Stiipsel  at  once  see  her  safe  in  her  room— we  will 
then  have  breakfast,  for  which  all  is  prepared — 
and  by  that  time  we  shall  be  quieted  down,  and 
fit  lor  business -Mr.  Stopscl's  room  is  at  your 
service,  Reginald,  for  the  present ;  but  1  have  ar- 
ranged all  for  you,  with  me,  in  town." 

Glad  enough  was  Helen  to  lay  her  weary  Tmbs 
on  the  comfortable  bed,  and  after  she  had  taken 
some  breakfast,  she  slept — this  time,  the  sweet, 
bkvssed  .sleep  that  refreshes  both  mind  and  body  ; 
and  when,  toward  noon,  she  awoke,  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  security  from  trial  and  sorrow,  such  as 
she  had  long  been  deprived  of. 

At  length  Madame  Stopsel  entered  to  assist  her 
to  dre.ss,  and  Helen  was  quite  astonished  at  the 
gloAV  of  pleasure  with  which  she  heard  that  the 
gentlemen  would  both  return  to  dinner  by  five 
o'clock— she,  who  had  lately  been  so  very  misera- 
ble as  to  have  thought  future  happines.s  in'ipossible ; 
and  though  she  sighed  when  she  reflected  on  her 
very  peculiar  position,  and  could  scarcely  keep 
back  her  tears,  when  she  remembered  the  recent 
scene  of  her  parting  with  her  mother,  all,  all 
seemed  endurable,  except  the  fate  from  which  she 
had  fled. 

"  Ah !  Miss  Helen,"  said  Gretchen,  ae  she  was 
looking  for  some  toilet  adjunct  which  all  A^hlcy■s 
care  and  ingenuity  had  (ailed  to  .'-upply,  "you 
will  mi.'is  all  your  grand  things  here,  though  how 
Mr.  Vernon  remembered  half  he  has,  surprises 
me.  He  has  been  up  here,  they  tell  me,  routing 
about,  and  settling  the  things  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  very  well  that  is— look  at  those  beautiful 
bottles,  and  those  candlesticks— a  noble  creature 
he  is,  and  always  was." 

"Dear  (iretchen,"  replied  Helen,  kissing  her 
on  both  her  plump  cheeks,  a  mode  of  salutation 
Gretchen  particularly  affected,  "  what  signify 
grandeur  and  pomp  where  there  is  not  peace  .' 
Were  it  not  for  the  absence  of  my  dearest  mother 
and  sister,  much  leas  than  I  find  here  would  sullice 
for  mfi  happiness — so  never  again  allude  to  such 
trifles." 

While  Helen  liad  slept,  Reginald  gave  his  frieml 
an  account  of  all  that  had  hitely  happened  at  the 
I'riorj',  for  Helen  had  furnished  him  with  the  tie- 
tails. 

"  Think  what  a  villain  he  mugt  be,"  suid  .Ash- 
ley, vehemently;  "for  though  lie  is  to  lie  your 
father-in-law — I  nuist  say  it — li)  act  so  as  to  com- 
p  -1  such  a  woman  as  his  wife  to  decide  on  thi.'i 
measure — " 

"  But,  surely,"  rejoined  Reginald,  jealous  at 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


this  implied  censure ou  bis  two  idols,  "you  do  not 
Llaiiic  it?" 

'  ■  Blame  it,  my  dear  fellow !  that  would  be  an 
unmanly  thing ;  I  only  meant  to  say  that  he  must 
have  tyrannized  and  persecuted  to  the  utmost,  or 
she  would  never  have  done  what  I  have  repeatedly 
heard  her  censure,  unless  there  were  some  such 
desperate  causes  as  those  which  drove  her  on.  My 
firm  belief  is,  that  any  muther  is  justified  in  sav- 
ing her  daughter  from  the  degradation  that  men- 
aced Helen  -^  while  no  girl  of  delicacy  could  ever 
consent  to  it,  if  she  properly  understood  what  real 
delicacy  means.  Unfortuuijtely,  the  disgrace  and 
dishonor  are  so  jumbled  up  with  sentiniental  non- 
sense, of  sacritice,  and  heroism,  and  all  that  jar- 
gon, that  no  wonder  many  a  miserable  girl  is  be- 
wildered. Ilegiuald,  duties  are  never  antagonistic 
— it  is  impious  to  think  so,"  concluded  Ashley, 
echoing  almost  the  words  of  Mrs.  Templeton  to 
Helen. 

"  Why,  Ashley,  you  are  warm  on  the  subject ; 
one  would  think  you  held  a  brief  for  some  of  these 
gentle  victims." 

"  Am  I .'"  he  aslced  smiling  :  "  but  now  about 
your  marriage — before  we  go  to  town  we  must 
have  that  settled.  Here,  1  trust,  your  sweet 
bride  is  safe— no  chance,  I  should  think,  of  trac- 
ing her." 

Reginald  looked  disturbed.  "God  forbid!  — 
still  1  shall  be  anxious  and  wretched  till  we  are 
secure  from  molestation  and  danger — and  though 
you  wish  me  to  share  your  lodgings,  I  think  I 
must  settle  near  here,  where  I  am  sure  to  be  per- 
petually hovering." 

"  How  do  you  communicate  with  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton  .'" 

"  I  have  arranged  nothing — time  was  wanting 
— at  p-esent,  through  Mr.  Morton — and  I  shall 
avail  myself  of  this  channel  immediately — and 
look  here,  Ashley,  what  he  insisted  on  my  bor- 
rowing—using, was  his  generous  word."  But, 
suddenly  remembering  the  packet  Mrs.  Templeton 
had  given  him,  when  they  parted,  and  which  he 
may  be  pardoned  for  having  forgotten  till  now ; 
'•  let  us  see  what  this  is,  and  about  which  I  ought 
to  have  consulted  Mr.  Morion  " 

It  was  opened,  and  contained  several  papers; 
thu  first  had  the  address  of  a  solicitor,  well  known 
to  Ashley  as  a  most  respectable  man;  to  whom 
Reginald  was  referred  for  any  information  he 
might  require  beyond  that  Mrs.  Templeton  gave. 
She  told  him  of  the  manner  in  which  five  thousand 
pouniJs  had  been  settled  ;  that,  as  interest  had  ac- 
cumulated, it  also,  from  time  to  time,  had  been 
invested — so  that,  except  several  hundreds  which 
she  IukI  received  on  various  occasions,  when  she 
had  nut  thought  it  right  to  apply  other  money  to 
her  p'lrposes — it  had  remained  untouched  — the 
intei'cst  of  the  original  sum  she  now  wished  to 
SI  cine  to  him  and  Helen— the  accumulated  inter- 
est to  bostill  at  her  command.  How  business  like. 
Low  cautious  she  had  grown,  since  the  luckless 
day  when  she  had  given  liei-self  to  Lionel  Temple- 
ton, and  cast  iier  splendid  fortune  at  his  feet ! 

'•  And  so,  after  all,  you  have  run  away  with  an 
Iicire.ss,  you  lucky  fellow,"' cried  Ashley,  gayly; 
"  hut  you  look  as  if  you  hardly  knew  how  to  wel- 
come this  unexpected  wealth." 

"  Vou  are  right.  I  had  intended  using  Mr.  Mor- 
tous  offer  only  in  case  of  need,  and  had  Ujen  pleas- 


ing myself  with  the  idea  of  working  for  Helen — of 
letting  no  one  share  this  precious  privilege." 

"  And  so  now,  because  she  will  have  mauy  com- 
forts, without  the  pain  of  seeing  you  worn  to  a 
thread  in  procuring  them,  you  are  discontented. 
Upon  my  word,  you  romantic  fellows  are  hard  to 
please." 

Reginald  smiled  at  Ashley's  Mentor-like  lecture, 
but  owned  that  he  deserved  it ;  and,  leaving  strict 
injunctions  with  Gretchen,  which  she  was  sure  to 
observe,  to  let  no  one  enter  the  house  who  Avas  not 
well  known  to  her,  they  proceedeil  to  arrange 
about  the  marriage,  Ashley  slily  remarking,  that 
Miss  Lydia  Languish  would  pronounce  this  "  no 
elopement  after  all,"  it  w^as  so  bn.siness-like  and 
methodical ;  and  then,  with  a  look  of  irresistible 
humor  in  his  handsome  eyes,  he  reminded  Regi- 
nald of  the  basket  of  provisions  they  had,  by  Mr. 
Morton's  orders,  snugly  stowed  in  the  carriage, 
and  their  three  formal  and  tidy  little  carpet-bag.*, 
which  followed  them  as  they  descended,  so  thought- 
ful and  cosy,  till,  struck  with  the  anti-pathos 
which  had  mingled  with  their  romance,  almost  to 
the  utter  destruction  of  the  latter,  they  both 
laughed  heartily  : — "  From  the  sublime  to  tka 
ridiculous  there  is  but  one  step." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

•^Bat  wb')  the  chieftain's  rigp  c.nn  teH, 
When,  s'  light  irom  lowest  dungeon's  cell. 
To  highest  tower  Ihn  ciisllt-  round,  / 

No  Lady  Edilh  Ihtre  was  found  ?"  1 

L-jriJ  of  the  Idea.    [ 

While  Mrs.  Templeton  and  Helen  vere  having  • 
the  agitating  conversation  already  related,  Con- 
stance sat  down  to  compose  her  letter  of  letters, 
which  was  to  be  so  irresistible.  But  before  sh& 
commenced  her  task,  she  quitted  her  room  to  taka 
the  medicine  to  her  mother,  and  not  finding  her, 
she  left  it,  with  the  few  lines  found  by  it. 

Her  letter  was  at  length  finished,  and  almiist  to 
her  satisfaction.  This  done,  she  went  to  bed  ;  an  ' 
while  Helen,  with  faltering  steps,  was  quittinL; 
her  home,  Constance  slept. 

The  next  morning  when  she  tapped  at  Helen  .-* 
door  and  received  no  answer,  hoping  her  sister 
was  asleep,  she  descended  to  the  breakfast-roonu 
The  letter  was  in  her  bosom,  ready  to  be  given  to 
her  father,  when  she  judged  the  favorable  moment 
had  arrived.  He  was  much  later  than  usual; 
and,  glancing,  as  he  entered,  at  the  vacant  place, 
remarked,  "  Alone  .'" 

'•Yes,'  she  replied  ;  "  Helen  is  asleep,  I  did  not 
open  her  door  to  disturb  her ;  and  as  I  playoJ 
physician  to  mamma  last  night,  I  was  not  likely  to 
i-ouse  her,  and  destroy  the  effects  of  my  prescrip- 
tion. And  papa,"  she  continued,  in  a  changeC. 
and  faltering  voice,  "  as  this  is  the  last  appeal  I 
shall  over  make  in  behalf  of  Helen,  I  have  written 
it — my  courage  fails  when  I  attempt  to  speak,  and 
I  thought,  perhaps,  you  would  not  reject  it  on 
one  perusal  only." 

She  took  it  from  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and 
placed  it  by  him  ;  as  she  did  so.  the  mournful  ex- 
p-essioa  of  her   natiirally  bright  and  beaming 


THE   WIFE'S   TllIALS. 


87 


young  face  struck  hira — its  sad  beautj^  smote  on  |  But  short  time  was  llicre  for  the  indulgence  of 
his  heart — for  he  felt  he  had  brought  the  cloud  |  tender  or  grateful  thoughts,  as  his  voice  was  heard 
which  shadowed  its  radiance.  He,  however,  read  :  raging  high  and  loml  in  the  hall ;  and  pausing 
letter,  but  without  any  visible  emotion,  and    fervently  to  thank  tiodfor  this  especial  protection 

of  her  mother,  she  closed  the  dour,  and  h 


quietly  placing  it  in  his  breast-pocket,  continued 
Ms  breakfast  in  silence. 

Constance  felt  sick  and  faint,  as  she  beheld  her 
last  hope  so  remorselessly  destroyed,  when  sud- 
denly voices  were  heard  in  the  hall,  and  the  door 
was  hastily  opened  by  Mrs  Dawson,  closely  follow- 
ed by  Ruth— both  looking  pale  and  frightened. 
The  Colonel  glanced  up  astonished ;  but  before  he 
oould  speak,  Dawson,  in  a  trembling  voice,  said, 
f  Ruth  has  just  informed  me,  sir,  that  Miss  Tem- 
pleton  is  not  in  her  room,  nor  has  she  even  slept 
there !" 

Constance  clasped  her  hands,  and  wildly  shriek- 
ing, "The  pond!  the  waterfall!"  was  darting 
from  the  room,  when  her  father  forcibly  restrain- 
ed her, 

"  Stay !"  he  shouted,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
while  every  evil  passion  looked  out  of  those 
expressive  eyes ;  "  speak,  wench !"  seizing  and 
almost  shaking  the  terrified  Ruth ;  "  what  else  is 
gone  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  I  am  not  sure,"  she  quivered 
forth  ;  "  but  several  things — bonnet,  carriage- 
cloak—" 

He  needed  no  more — it  was  plain — Helen  had 
fled !  and  he  was  perhaps  baffled  !  And  utteiing  a 


stoned 
to  inquire  if  any  thing  fresh  had  been  discovered. 

There  was  nothing— but  orders  were  given  to 
various  individuals  to  institute  the  most  rigorous 
search,  and  i'requently  to  repoi-t  progress ;  whili.' 
the  Colonel  ordered  out  horses,  to  conlmeuce  the 
pursuit  of  the  fugitives,  the  moment  he  Ijad  tht 
least  clue  to  their  destination. 

London  never  entered  his  mind,  though  he  wa? 
pretty  sure  that,  by  some  means,  Reginald  had 
carried  her  otf— and  here  his  habitual  selfishness 
and  indift'erence  about  others  stood  in  his  way. 
Since  his  separation  from  Helen,  Reginald — his 
means  and  liis  plans — had  scai'cely  ever  been 
thought  of — never  inquired  after — and  thus  ho 
was  completely  ignorant  of  much  that  would, 
probably,  have  guided  his  search  successfully. 

Half-an-hour,  an  hour,  still  no  trace  ;  when, 
impatient  of  further  delay,  and  vowing  the  most 
signal  vengeance,  he  sent  for  Constance. 

"  I  believe  you  knew  nothing  of  this — there, 
there,  do  not  pester  me  with  heroics — ^I  believe 
neither  you  nor  your  mother  do — for,  by  heavens  ! 
if  I  suspected  either  of  you — well,  never  mind — I 
am  unable  to  think.  You,  however,  must  write  a 
note,  and  send  it  express,  directly  I  am  gone,  to 


dreadful  oath,  he  dashed  up  the  stairs,  closely  fol-    Hurstwood.     Put  ofi:'  his  Lordship's  visit — he  is 
lowed  by  Constance,  who  had  directly  read  his  [  expected  here — tell  him  the  truth,  or  invent  any 


suspicion,  and  dreaded,  she  scarcely  knew  what. 

He  almost  burst  in  the  panels  of  the  door  that 
led  to  their  bed-room,  in  his  wild  impatience 
making  for  the  most  evident  entrance,  and  s-wept 
through  the  apartments  like  a  raging  hurricane — 
but  he  found  nothing  except  confirmation  of  liis 
fears.  He  then,  with  hasty  strides,  approached 
his  wife's  sleeping-room ;  but  Constance,  brave, 
loving  Constance,  at  once  herself  when  danger 
menaced  that  worshiped  mother — and  unerring 
instinct  told  her  it  now  did — had  preceded  him ; 
and  as  he  entered,  the  demon  in  both  face  and 
heart,  he  was  arrested  by  the  sight  he  beheld. 

Constance,  like  some  bright  and  holy  angel, 
stood  by  her  mother's  bedside — the  old  look,  the 
old  attitude,  only  more  decided  and  defiant  than 
ever— with  one  hand,  she  warned  him  to  stiind 
aloof,  while  with  tlie  other,  she  seemed  to  shelter 
her  sleeping  mother  from  harm— it  was  as  though 
she  possessed  some  power  more  than  human,  for 
he  stopped  as  if  petrified.  She  softly  sfil, 
"Hush!"  and  changing  her  position,  pointed  to 
the  object  she  was  guarding  with  such  vigilant 
jfealousy. 

Mrs.  Templetou,  having  been  almost  worn  out 
with  anxiety,  and  soothed  by  the  draught  she  liad 
taken,  in  blessed  ignorance  of  her  danger,  was 


lie  you  choose — I  care  not ;"  and  he  set  out  on  his 
fruitless  errand. 

Constance  did  not  feel  herself  bound  to  tell  tlie 
truth,  nor  did  she  condescend  to  a  falsehood;  she 
merely  wrote,  "  That  circumstances  induced  Colo- 
nel Templeton  to  request  that  his  Lordship  would 
postpone  his  visit  tdl  the  Colonel  could  wait  on 
him." 

Letters  and  notes  were,  it  seemed,  not  destined 
to  go  s.ifely  from  the  Priory  to  the  Hall— the 
groom,  in  his  zeal  to  deliver  his  missive  without 
delay,  rode  so  furiously  that  his  horse  fell  and 
was  hurt,  when  about  half-way ;  and  the  man, 
having  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  distance,  arrived 
after  Lord  Hurstwood  had  set  out. 

And  here  occurs  one  of  those  miscalled  trifles, 
on  which  so  many  results  hang — we  miglit  pause 
and  moralize  a  little,  and  perhaps  we  ought,  only 
the  reader  would  be  sure  to  skip  the  page — we 
might  refer  to  the  celebrated  cup  of  tea,  to  .show 
our  historical  learning;  we  might  quote  Pope,  to 
show  the  extent  of  our  poetical  reading — we  .shall 
not  do  any  of  tliese  things,  which  are  often  done, 
only  to  fill  up  the  page— but  merely  observe,  that, 
had  his  Lordship  received  the  note,  not  oidy 
would  he  have  kept  clear  of  the  Priory  on  this 
d:iy — but  on  hearing  of  the  flight  of  hi.s*  intended 


sleeping  as  peacefully  as  an  infant— to  the  fond    bride,  he  might  have  been  too  much  mortified  ever 


eyes  that  now  guarded  her,  she  looked  unusually 
lovely,  for  the  habitual  melancholy  of  her  expres- 
sion was  changed  to  one  of  perfect  contentment — 
while  the  cheeks,  generally  too  pale,  were  tinged 
with  a  delicate  glow,  the  evidence,  perhaps,  of  in- 
cipient fever.  "  Jlother,  how  beautiful  th(ju  art !" 
hurst  from  the  lips  of  Constance,  as  she  knelt  and 
kissed  the  small  hand  which  lav  on  the  quilt— and 
when  she  arose  and  looked  round,  her  father  had 
<7onp. ! 


to  liave  called  again,  and  then — ah !  let  us  not 
anticipate,  but  regularly  and  soberly  go  on. 

Kooii  alter  eleven,  Dawson  entered  iMrs.  Tem- 
pleton's  room,  and  found  her  only  just  awake ;. 
but  looking  so  rei'rcshed,  that  the  kind  house- 
kcepcr  almost  hated  herself  for  being  the  mes- 
senger of  such  news  as  he  had  to  impart. 

"  You  have  slept  late,  madam,"  slie  remarket!, 
"  but  I  hope  you  feel  the  better  foi-  it." 

"  Much  butter,  thaiik  you,"  was  the  reply;  and 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


tlie  sound  of  the  first  voice  she  had  heard  since  the 
important  eyent  of  the  previous  night  brought  the 
whole  scene  before  her,  and  reminded  her  of  the 
necessity  of  caution. 

"  .Miss  Constance  was  my  doctor,"  pointing  to 
the  phial,  "  and  her  remedy  has  been  really  very 
successful." 

"  Then  you  heard  nothing  extraordinary  last 
night .'"  asked  Dawson. 

"  I  must  have  slept  the  moment  I  went  to  bed," 
was  the  evasive  reply  ;  "  but  I  shall  soon  rise,  and 
then  have  a  cup  of  tea." 

Now,  though  quite  against  all  precedent  and 
rule,  that  the  housekeeper,  in  a  family  of  their 
rank,  should  condescend  even  to  recognize  her 
lady,  except  when  receiving  her  daily  orders — 
eucii  was  not  the  arrangement  here 

Mrs.  Templeton,  before  the  permanent  arrival 
of  lier  daughters,  had  been  mucli  annoyed  by  the 
misconduct  or  fine-ladyisms  of  licr  waiting-maids, 
who  really  had  little  else  to  do  than  to  be  tire- 
some, owing  to  her  very  independent  habits. 
She  had,  therefore,  engaged  a  young  woman  for 
her  children,  and  readily  accepted  the  voluntary 
otfer  of  Dawson,  to  attend  her  for  the  trifling  ser- 
vices she  required,  instead  of  adding  to  her  trou- 
ble, by  having  to  keep  order  between  two  lad3''s- 
maids. 

There  was  a  bond  between  the  mistress  and  this 
kind  woman  which  nothing  could  sever ;  it  had 
sprung  up  at  their  first  meeting,  and  had  grown 
stronger  every  year.  Sweetness,  sorrow,  pa- 
tience, and  benevolence  on  one  side — on  the  other, 
attachment,  fidelity,  sympathy. 

"  The  Colonel  has  gone  off  in  a  hurry  this  morn- 
ing, madam." 

"  Has  he !"  she  neither  asked  why  nor  where. 

"  Miss  Templeton  has  gone  also,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Dawson,  with  a  quickened  pulse ;  but  no  remark 
or  start,  as  .she  expected — and  then,  no  longer 
able  to  bear  this  irritating  insensibility  on  the 
part  of  lier  mistress,  she  added, "  and,  God  foi'give 
me !  but  I  hope  he  will  not  overtake  her." 

Still  no  reply,  and  thoroughly  exa.spcrated,  she 
Bald,  sharply,  '♦  JMadam,  Miss  Templeton  is  gone 
— she  has  mn  away,  and  no  one  knows  where." 

Expecting  that  her  lady  would  now  be  sui-e  to 
faint  or  scream,  she  was  almost  frightened  at  ner 
silence,  and  looked  fixedly  at  her.  Their  eyes 
met— .she  read  it  all  at  a  glance,  as  if  in  a  book ; 
and  stooping  down,  she  respectfully  pressed  her 
hand,  and  said  stoutly,  as  if  to  assure  her,  "  The 
rack  ^hou^i  not  get  it  from  me." 

••  Tliaiik  you,  old  friend,"  was  tlie  reply ;  and 
tho  bi.ud  between  them  was  stronger  than  ever. 
"  Tell  Miss  Constance  that  you  liave  informed 
me— UDlliing  more." 

Constance,  meanwhile,  hud  been  liarassing 
herself  almost  to  a  fever  ;  dreiuling — yet  longing 
f.n- — tlie  moment  wlion  she  should  meet  her  mo- 
ther:  and  wlien  D.iwson  informed  her  that  her 
lady  had  a.^^ked  for  her,  she  addeil  : 

"  And,  Miss  Constance,  my  mistress  knows,  and 
•wishes  you  not  to  speak  of  it — at  least,  not  yet." 

So  with  'ilownjast  eyes  and  mortifit'd  lo(jks, 
Constance  met  iier  mother;  and  hiding  her  face 
on  her  bosom  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears. 

"  Wo  must  talk  of  this  another  time,"  said  Mrs. 
Tfmi'lcton,  with  what,  to  Constance  :ij)peared  un- 
heard-of composure ;    "  I  have    given  orders  to 


have  Lord  Hurstwood  admitted,  so  it  will  not  do 
to  give  way  now  ;  he  must  not  be  dismissed,  to 
hear  of  this  from  public  report." 

"I  have  happily  put  olf  his  visit,  by  papa's 
orders,"  said  Constance;  so  you  will  be  spared 
th.'it  trial — but,  oh  !  if  the  dear  Vernons  had  but 
been  here  now,  instead  of  waiting  till  next 
month." 

"  Let  us  be  thankful,  my  love,  to  have  them 
then,"  replied  her  mother;  and  Constance  won- 
dered more  and  more  that  she  said  nothing  about 
Helen  ;  till  thinking  that  she,  like  herself,  felt 
implicated  in  a  proceeding  so  at  variance  with 
her  ideas  of  propriety,  she  became  more  reconcil- 
ed to  the  implied  wish  of  keeping  silence,  and 
readily  permitted  it  to  be  an  interdicted  subject ; 
especially  as,  though  mortified  that  Helen's  con- 
duct should  be  publicly  canvassed  and  censured, 
she  could  not  be  consisttnit  with  her  well-known 
opinions,  now  one  she  loved  had  braved  them,  by 
truly  and  heartily  blaming  what  her  sister  had 
done. 

She  obtained  her  mother's  permission  to  write 
to  Cecilia  Grantham,  and  entreat  her  to  come 
immediately  to  them  ;  remarking  that  there  was 
no  one,  not  excepting  Caroline  Vernon,  whose  so- 
ciety Avould  do  them  both  so  much  good— an 
opinion  to  which  Mrs.  Templeton  very  cordially 
assented 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 


'  Duncan  Grey  cam  here  to  w( 
Ha !  ha  I  ihe  wooing  o'l." 


Burns. 


To   Mrs     Templeton's    surprise,    after    wha 
Constance  had  told  her,  about  one  o'clock.  Lor 
Hurstwood  was  announced — the  orders  for  his  ati 
mittance  not  having  been  countermanded,  as  she 
had  ceased  to  expect  him. 

After  the  usu.il  exchange  of  greetings,  and  a 
few  unimportant  remarks,  she  began  to  suspect 
some  mistake,  and  that,  after  all,  she  should  have 
the  p;iin  and  embarrassment  of  herself  telling 
him  what  had  occurred. 

"  1  fear,"  she  said,  "  that  a  messenger,  sent 
express  by  the  Colonel's  orders,  had  not  reached 
the  Hall  before  you  left." 

•'  Assuredly  not ;  I  left  rather  early,  having 
come  round  by  Forest  Hill  ;  but  I  hope  nothing 
painful  or  unpleasant  was  the  cause  of  such 
haste." 

"  Painful  to  ourselves  only,  I  hope,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "  though  the  news  will  be  unple.is;int,  I 
feai-,  to  your  Lordship.  Miss  Templeton,  who, 
from  various  circumstances,  was  averse  to  over- 
tures of  marriage  from  any  quarter,  having  failed 
to  convince  Colonel  Templeton  that  she  has  a  right 
1  to  be  consulted — has  decided  upon  using  this 
right — she  left  us  last  night." 

Believing  that  he  had  received  h(r  letter,  one 
which  she  fancied  no  man  of  refined  feeling  would 
have  withstood,  and  without  deigning  the  com- 
mon courtesy  of  a  reply,  except  by  persisting  io 
a  suit  which  site  had  plainly  told  him  was  dis- 
tressing, she  spokd  with  an  asperity  and  pride 
quite  unUke  her  usual  graceful  gentleness. 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


But  she  had  met  with  more  than  her  match,  as 
the  Peer  quite  cool  and  collected,  said,  withovit 
tlie  least  pique  of  maiinor.  but  a  soiip^on  of  a 
soeer  in  his  eye — the  single  word  : 

'•Elope<l:" 

"That,  I  fear,  is  the  proper  term,"  she  replied, 
and  wincing,  as  he  intended  she  should. 

"Egad!  a  girl  of  spirit,"  w:»s  the  courtier's 
spoken  remark,  and  he  actually  smiled.  "  A 
deuced  good  thing  it  was  before,  instead  of  after," 
was  the  unspoken  thought,  as  he  remembered 
Lord  Ogleby,  ami  smiled  again. 

'•I  grieve,"  began  poor  Mrs.  Templeton,  for 
she  felt  that  lier  meditated  attack,  like  Pyrrhus' 
elephants,  had  been  turned  on  herself;  but  tiie 
man  who,  during  his  diplomatic  career,  had  been 
Ujid  to  turning  tables,  and  such  political  jugglery 
— to  borrow  a  modern  phrase— promptly  took  the 
initiative,  and  said,  with  a  well  got-up  look  of 
sympathy,  "  I  deeply  grieve  on  your  account,  my 
dear  madam,  to  hear  this — as,  from  whatever 
cause,  prudential,  romantic,  or  heroic,  such  a 
stfp  is  sure  to  give  rise  to  unpleasant  remarks, 
ill-natured  censure,  or—" 

"  Pardon  me,  my  Lord,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton, provoked  at  the  dexterity  with  which  he 
had  seized  his  advantage,  and  indignant  at  the 
use  beseemed  disposed  to  make  of  it ;  "pardon 
me,  if  I  remind  you,  that  all  these  inconvenien- 
ces you  are  so  carefully  enumerating,  wouhl  have 
been  avoided,  had  you  noticed,  as  I  fully  expected 
you  would,  the  letter  I  judged  it  due  to  you  to 
send." 

"  To  me  !  1,  in  my  turn,  must  ask  pardon,  but 
I  have  never  had  the  honor  of  receiving  any  letter 
from  you." 

"  I  greatly  regret  this — since  its  loss  has  been 
the  cause  of  my  judging  your  Lordship  unjustly. 
I  can  now  only  repeat,  that,  knowing  my  daugh- 
ter wished  to  decline  any  oifer  of  marriage,  and 
entering  into  her  feilings,  though  her  father 
could  not,  I  wrote,  informing  your  Lordship  of 
this  disiucliuation.  trusting  both  to  your  delicacy 
and  liouor  as  to  the  course  you  would  take;  had 
Tou  received  this,  oh,  how  much  suffering  would 
have  been  spared  us  " 

"  I  sincerely  deplore  the  unlucky  chance  that 
I'vevented  it  from  reaching  me  ;  and  I  beg  you  to 
i'elievc,  that  I  deeply  sympathize  with  you  and 
ymr  fimily  in  this  unpleasant  occurrence."  He 
Wis  sincere,  and  she  felt  it — indeed,  she  began  to 
think  he  had  not  been  by  any  means  well-used 
ill  this  transaction,  and,  woman  like,  she  was  half 
disposed  to  comfort  him ;  therefore  wlien  he  con- 
cluded by  saying,  "  May  I  do  myself  the  honor  of 
Bending  and  calling  to  inquire  after  you  .'"  her 
reply  was  quite  cordial.  "  The  Colonel  will,  lam 
sure,  feel  flattered  by  this  proof  of  your  friend- 
sliip;  to  all  of  us  your  Lordship  will  ever  be  a 
welcome  guest"— so  he  bowed  respectfully  on  her 
extended  hand,  and  departed. 

"  I  think  I  managed  pretty  well  there,"  was 
his  remark  to  himself,  as  he  rode  away  ;  "  it  will 
n(jt  do  for  me  to  wear  the  willow — and  yet,  she 
is  a  beautiful  creature— very  like  her  mother — 
the  s.ime  ouiline,  so  delicate  and  graceful;  the 
same  gentle,  dark  eyes — and  so  she  thinks  she 
has  blimled  mine  '.—bur  I  see  it  all — she  approves 
of  this  flight,  that  I  will  swear  to  ;  nay,  more,  she 
knew  of  it,  perhaps  arranged  it.    After  all,  these 


women  beat  us  out  and  out — they  are  politicians 
and  intriguers  in  the  cradle.  Bah  !  wh.it  care  I 
how  fair  she  be — but  she  is  very  beautiful ;"  and 
he  rode  more  thoughtfully  home,  memory  recall- 
ing a  face  which,  in  his  young  days,  had  seemed 
to  him  even  fairer,  and  something  like  a  sigh 
arose. 

But  shaking  off  tliis  unfiimiliar  mood,  and  dis- 
missing these  painful  visions  of  the  past — he 
decided  on  the  line  of  conduct  to  be  pursued,  so 
as  to  spare  his  vanity  and  Ids  pride.  Happily, 
the  whole  affair  had  been  begun  and  terminated 
Avitiiin  so  short  a  space  of  time,  that  he  liciped  Ids 
own  share  in  the  performance  remained  unknown 
— or  so  imperfectly,  as  to  render  any  explanation 
he  chose  to  give  readily  believed.  It  would  not 
do,  therefore,  to  cut  the  Priory  all  at  once — no — 
lie  would  let  them  down  very  gently,  and  then 
leave  the  neighborhood  for  a  period,  perhaps 
negotiate  an  alLance  with  some  young  lady,  if 
aiii/  siich  thire  tvere,  who  had  no  invincible 
objections  to  marriage  from  any  quarter  ;  and  he 
smiled,  as  he  quoted  Mrs.  Templeton"s  words. 
Yes — that  would  be  the  least  embarrassing,  the 
most  dignified  and  sati.v factory  conduct  to  jairsue; 
and  having  thus  settled  the  question  to  his  liking, 
he  was  once  more  himself;  and  so  effectual  had 
been  the  indurating  eflects  of  his  worldly  and 
courtly  career,  that  meeting  the  fair  Juliet,  who 
profited  by  the  use  of  her  mother's  pony  chaise  to 
drive  beyond  the  limits  of  the  village,  he  entered 
into  a  half  lively,  lialf  sentimental  chat  with  that 
blooming  nymph,  which  ended  in  a  gallant  invi- 
tation to  her,  to  come  and  give  lier  opinion  of  the 
beauty  of  some  rare  exotics  he  had  in  tlie  hot- 
houses at  the  Hall,  an  invitation  which  was  at 
first  coyly  refused,  but  finally  accepted. 

Now,  Lord  llurstwood  Avas  neitiier  a  villain  nor 
a  wretch  ;  those  who  expect  he  will  turn  out  a 
Henry  the  Eighth  or  a  Blue  Beard,  a  Charles  the 
Second  or  a  Itochcster,  or  any  other  demon  in  a 
modern  dress,  are  destined  to  be  disappointed. 
He  was  not  even  a  very  bad  man ;  though  this 
avowal  may  be  fatal  to  his  claims  on  our  in- 
terest. 

It  is  true  he  had  been  dissipated,  for  he  began 
his  courtly  career  while  a  mere  youth,  when 
profligacy  and  intemperance  w^re  royal  favorites ; 
I  and  as  a  well- trained  courtier,  of  couise,  they 
j  became  his  also  ;  so  he  intrigued,  he  drank,  he 
I  gambled,  and  fell  in  and  out  of  debt,  according  to 
his  ill-luck  or  his  father's  generosity ;  and,  like 
many  of  his  compeers,  bade  fair  to  lead  a  short 
hie.  though  not  quite  sure  that  it  had  really  been 
a  merry  one;  wlien,  at  last,  after  much  hesita- 
tion, and  postponing  ihe  final  scene  of  the  farce 
as  long  as  possible,  fat  old  kings  did  die  and  their 
fat  old  mistresses  died  also— the  nation  cried, 
'■  Le  Jioi  est  nwrt,"  and  some,  who  interj.reted 
literally  that  crafty  quibble,  that  kings  can  not 
do  wrong,  put  on  black  ;  the  courtiers  shouted, 
"  Viae  It'  liui,"  and  dressed  themselves  out  for  a 
coronation. 

At  any  rate,  a  new  reign  began  ;  vice  no  longer 
stared  virtue  out  of  countenance  ;  was  no  longer 
so  fiishionable  as  to  be  praised,  admired,  imitated 
like  a  Parisian  nouvniuti — perhaps,  indeed,  there 
was  quite  as  much  of  it ;  but,  whetiier  from  })()licy 
or  police,  matters  not,  it  discreetly  kr)!  out  ('f 
sight — or  -when  it  did  appear,  was  no  longer,  liko 


90 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


some  antique  statue,  in  a  state  of  nudity,  but  put 
on  comforiable  and  decent  covering. 

It  was  no  longer  tliouglit  a  most  exquisite  wit- 
ticism to  run  in  debt,  clieat  tlie  wiue-merchant, 
and  become  more  gloriously  drunk  than  ever  at 
ids  expense,  perbajjs  his  ruiu — the  discover}'  had 
been  made,  that,  take  quant,  sulf.  of  impudence, 
ditto  meanness ;  and  auy  one  could  repeat  this 
true  swindlers  wit, — princes  no  longer  be- 
queathed their  debts  to  uduiiring  posterity,  with 
a  modest  codicil  recommending  prompt  payment; 
nor  did  great  men  leave  mementoes  of  their  pecca- 
dilloes iis  legacies  to  a  grateful  country,  to  be 
maintained  and  provided  for  at  the  said  country's 
expense.  A  change  had  come  o'er  the  spirit  of 
the  nation's  dream;  and,  happily,  it  was  for  the 
better. 


CHAPTER   XL. 


"  There's  beggary  i 


the  Love  that  can  be  reckoned." 
Antony  and  Cleopatra. 


It  happened  that  the  morning  after  Helen's 
flight,  Cooper  had  been  detained  by  business  con- 
nected with  his  duties,  till  an  unusually  late 
liour,  at  the  Grange  ;  and  when  he  arrived  at  the 
Priory,  all  was  such  bustle  and  excitement,  such 
astonishment  and  dismay,  that  no  one  seemed 
able  to  give  a  coherent  account  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. From  Kuih  he  obtained  the  best  informa- 
tion, but  even  she  could  not  tell  much ;  and  he 
was  very  closely  cross-examining  her,  when  he 
heard  tlie  sound  of  the  Colonel's  voice,  giving  his 
orders,  with  all  that  want  of  judgment  which 
extreme  passion  generally  evinces,  and  hastened 
to  him. 

At  the  moment  of  Cooper's  appearance,  Colonel 
Templeton  was  threatening,  not  only  Constance, 
but  every  member  of  the  family,  with  his  most 
direful  vengeance,  if  any  communication  should 
be  attempted  between  them  and  the  fugitive, 
whom  lie  denounced  in  langunge  so  wildly  fierce, 
as  to  justify  Cooper  in  reminuing  him  of  his 
daughter's  presence.  But  this  interference  in  no 
way  tended  to  allay  the  storm,  though  it  drew  it 
into  another  quarter,  namely,  on  himself,  with 
Buch  unprovoked  violence,  that  the  agent,  who 
hail  fully  intended  to  have  otfered  his  services, 
whic;i  iiiigiit  have  been  extremely  useful,  with 
an  otl'ended  air  kept  silent,  and  quickly  with- 
drew. 

"  And  what  think  you  of  this  news  .'"  he  asked 
Mrs.  Captain,  to  wliom  he  liad  related  the  scene 
whicii  he  had  just  witnessed,  and  a  few  particu- 
lars of  it^  cause,  tliiit  he  had  subsequently  col- 
lected— "  what  is  to  be  made  of  this  ?" 

•'  \\  iiy,  it  is  to  hriiig  grist  to  my  mill,"  she 
boldly  replied,  •'  as  every  tiling  else  th.at  happens 
up  llicrc  sliall,  while  I  have  inlliience  and  wit  to 
turn  it  to  firofit — there  is  now  one  less  mmy  way. 
And  what  s.iy.s  tlie  pnmd,  jiale  mother  at  this 
stolen  march  in  lier  prim  beauty — but  perhaps 
my  dignified  madam  knew  of  it." 

"  Kuliculous,"  said  Cooper  ;  "  as  if  such  a 
thing  would  be  at  all  likely  :  wliy,  1  hear  siie  is 
ili,  and  keeps  her  bed — though  the  Colonel  has 


been  raging  and  roaring  through  the  house  lil 
a  tempest.  By  George  !  if  she  liad  any  hand  in  it. 
and  he  knew  it,  1  beheve  he  would  murder  her."' 
"  And  serve  her  right,  a  poor,  tame-spirited 
creature.  If  he  dared  to  use  me  as  he  does  her,  I 
would  fire  the  house  over  his  head — 1  hate  her  for 
her  meanness." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Cooper,  with  a  sneer,  "this 
is  rather  too  bad — do  you  suppose  she  would  put 
up  with  it  and  remain,  if  it  were  not  for  those 
girls  ?" 

"  Ah  !  I  will  make  the  place  too  hot  to  hold  that 
other  scornful  minx.  1  have  not  forgotten  her 
impudence  about  the  letter-bag — oh  !  her  letters, 
truly,  must  be  kept  sacred — and  no  one  may  look 
at  them,  it  seems." 

"  Not  inside,  and  without  permission,"  he  re- 
torted, seemingly  bent  on  provoking  his  martial 
relative;  "  and  egad !  1  tliink  she  was  right — what 
was  it  to  you  and  Juliet  who  wrote  to  her,  or 
what  they  wrote  about :" 

"  It  signified  much,  if  I  could  find  out  any  thing 
to  help  my  purpose.     What  do  you  suppose  I  have 
come  down  here  for.'  burying  my.•^elf  alive  in  th 
detestably  dull  place,  and  am'ong  these  old-fa-' 
ioned  fools,  who  are  beginuing  to  fancy  themsclv 
too  good  for  us— I  tell  you  1  will  stick  at  nothiiiL: 
and  if  that  pretty  Jemmy  JeSvsamy,  that  darlii 
Hubert  Forrester,  thinks  to  escape  me,  he  is  mis- 
taken— 1  will  stop  his  philandering  at  the  Pri- 
ory." 

"  Now,  Maria,  you  are  too  absurd;  your  other 
schemes  are  wild  enough,  but  this  is  preposterous. 
I  tell  you  it  is  as  hopeless  for  you  to  think  of  in- 
I  ducing.him  to  marry  Juliet  as  if  you  had  fixed  on 
j  the  Kector  as  a  son-in-law;"  and  he  laughed 
heartily  at  the  idea  of  the  Doctor,  in  his  canoni- 
cals and  shovel  hat,  making  love  to  that  fair  im- 
pudence. 

"  You  leave  me  to  manage  these  matters  ni\ 
own  way.  Why,  there  is  that  sly  little  Miss  Sm"- 
clair  pilaying  into  my  hand,  while  trying  for  tlio 
odd  trick  herself.  But  what  is  going  on  at  the 
Hermitage .'" 

"Nothing,  except  that  Mr.  Morton  seems  di^- 
poscd  to  purchase  Bridgend.  I  begin  to  think  li. 
took  the  Hermitage  merely  to  be  on  the  spot  if  any 
property  he  fancied  oftered  itself;  for  I  know 
there  is  nothing  of  a  house,  beyond  large  farms, 
on  his  Norfolk  estate,  good  as  it  is;  and  I  think 
you  must  be  mistaken  as  to  his  ever  having  seen 
us  on  the  Continent.  Why  should  he  be  silent  if 
he  had .'" 

"  Very  true ;  still,  I  do  not  think  I  am  wrong. 
However,  he  does  not  interest  us ;  for  that  Geruniu 
boy  of  his  was  too  deep,  and  young  Forrester  is  a 
better  catch.  I  suppose  lluth  will  be  here  to- 
day .'" 

"  No,  she  has  nothing  to  tell.  I  saw  her  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  it  is  better  to  avoid  exciting 
suspicion  by  keeping  quiet." 

••8hc  is  a  poor  tool,"  observed  Mr.s.  Captain, 
"  and  pbrlnips  w.U  plague  us  alter  all ;  but  where 
do  you  think  this  wandering  damsel  is.'" 

"  Of  course  with  young  West— most  Lkely  on 
the  borders  by  this  time,  and  the  Colonel  in  hot, 
chase ;  but  if  all  is  as  well  arranged  as  the  be- 
ginning, he  wdl  have  his  ride  ior  nothing — and    , 
serve  him  right  for  snarbng  at  me  as  he  did." 
"  He  was  a  hot-headed  fool  for  that;  for  I  wUl 


TUK    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


91 


venture  to  say  you  could  have  suggested  some- 
thing better  than  he  will  imagine." 

"  i'es,  and  lor  my  own  satisfaction,  if  he  should 
return  unsuccessful,  I  shall  apply  myself  to  the 
task."  And  he  did  so;  and  proceeding  with  more 
coolness  and  method  than  his  principal,  tlirough  a 
skillful  emissary,  he  traced  Reginald  from  one 
etcp  to  another,  till  he  found  him  at  Ashley's ; 
thence  to  his  modest  lodgings,  where,  a  few  days 
before  the  marriage,  he  discovered  Helen ;  and 
then  held  council  with  iNIrs.  Captain  as  to  what 
use  they  should  make  of  their  knowledge.  Hap- 
pily, so  convinced  were  these  hateful  confidantes, 
ihat  not  only  was  iNIrs.  Templetou  guiltless  of 
having  aided  in  her  daughters  departure,  but 
that  she  was  deeply  wounded  at  the  remarks  to 
■which  it  exposed  her,  that  they  determined  to 
keep  this  discovery  to  themselves,  at  least  lor  the 
present,  so  as  to  prevent  the  Colonel's  interfer- 
ence, who  would,  and  they  knew  it  well,  have  toin 
Helen  away  even  from  the  altar ;  and  thus  their 
malice  was  made  a  means  of  furthering  Mrs. 
Templeton's  designs,  vvhile  they  thought  only  of 
more  deeply  annoying  and  injuring  her. 

But  to  return  to  Constance,  whom  we  left  sad 
and  anxious.  When  she  heard  that  Lord  Hurst- 
■WDod  was  with  her  mother,  and  this  in  spite  of  her 
note,  the  safe  delivery  of  which  she  had  never 
doubted,  she  began  to  fear  some  new  catastrophe, 
though  what  she  could  not  well  imagine,  it  being- 
difficult  to  lancy  any  thing  worse  than  the  scene 
they  had  lately  passed  through ;  so,  finishing  her 
letter  to  Cecilia,  she,  with  that  ingenuity  in  self- 
torturing,  not  uncommon  when  the  nerves  are 
over-excited  and  the  heart  ill  at  ease,  began  to 
torment  herself  with  conjectures  about  the  eltcct 
this  fresh  disaster  would  have  on  Hubert  and  his 
opinions.  She  then  wandered  into  Helen's  room, 
the  bright  thought  flashing  across  her  mind, 
♦'  Perhaps  there  1  shall  find  some  indication  of  her 
intentions,  which  may  tend  to  tranquilize  us, 
some  message,  some  farewell."  But  there  was 
none.  She  examined  the  drawers,  still  with  the 
same  ill  success ;  only  she  noticed  that  a  few  arti- 
cles of  dress  seemed  to  have  been  hastily  removed, 
while  the  others  were  left  in  great  disorder. 
Smoothing  and  arranging  these,  she  locked  away 
every  louse  or  stray  object  she  could  find,  and 
then  again  descended,  in  the  eager  hope  that  Hu- 
bert might  have  arrived — but  he  had  not.  Wan- 
dering about,  unhappy,  lonely,  and  with  a  slight 
feeling  of  being  neglected,  she  entered  the  garden ; 
but  to-day,  in  vain  did  its  rare  beauty  meet  her 
eyes— in  vain  did  the  loveliness  of  nature  call  her 
to  admire  it — she,  almost  an  enthusiastic  wor- 
shiper of  its  glories  and  its  infinite  variety  of  at- 
tractions, to-day  felt  them  not.  Suddenly  and 
hastily  she  ascended  the  stops  that  led  to  her 
mother's  conservatory,  and  rushed  to  a  particular 
plant  of  lud.an  origin,  under  the  broad  leaves  of 
which  they  all  three  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
leaving  little  notes,  containing  information  of 
their  movements,  which  they  did  not  choose  to 
leave  as  verbal  messages— still  the  same  result — 
there  wns  nothing  to  repay  the  search.  An  1  slie 
was  dil.geutly  employed  at  the  foot  of  these  same 
steps,  try.ngto  ascertain  whether  the  impression 
of  a  small  foot  could  have  been  just  m.ide  by  her- 
self, and  whether  it  was  in  the  right  direction, 
■when  she  cawght  sight  of  Hubert  in  the  distance. 


"  Yes,  it  is  he — certainly  it  is,"  as  he  drew 
nearer ;  "  how  would  he  meet  her .- — did  he  kmiw  ? 
—or  had  he  come  because  he  was  still  ignorant 
of  tliis  last  trial .' — if  he  knew,  would  he  think 
that  Helen's  flight  reflected  on  her  :  '  And  as  he 
approached,  she  was  thankful  to  perceive  that  hi.s 
look  and  tone  were  as  kind — nay,  why  conceal 
the  truth  .- — as  loving  as  ever.  I'oor  Constance  ! 
has  it  come  to  this,  that  thou  art  grateful  to  see 
kindness,  or,  if  thou  wilt,  love  still  on  that  coun- 
tenance, in  thy  eyes  so  glorious.'  Alas!  such 
was  the  case,  and  the  bright  color  rose  to  her 
beautiful  cheeks  when  the  thought  came — "  Per- 
haps he  docs  not  yet  know  of  the  blight  that  has 
settled  on  us  all ;"  and  she  felt  ready  to  weep ; 
for  this  was  no  prudery  or  afl^'ectatiou — no  morbid 
sentiment  or  overstrained  notion.  Constance  real- 
ly felt  as  if  she  were  lowered  in  general  estima- 
tion. 

His  first  words  proved  his  ignorance,  and  she 
felt  she  must  have  the  task,  of  telling  him. 

"Well,  dear  Constance,"  for  seeing  that  she 
looked  so  very  sad,  he  was,  unconsciously,  more 
tender  than  ever,  "  How  is  Helen.'  and  what  is  to 
be  done  ?" 

"  Alas  !  Hubert,  then  you  know  not  of  the  blow 
that  has  struck  us  almost  to  the  earth.  Last 
night—"  She  stopped,  biit  he  looked  so  anxious, 
slie  continued  hurriedly,  "  Last  night  she  left 
us!" 

"  Good  God  !  fled  !  where  ? — with  whom  ?  This 
is  distressing  news." 

"  We  do  not  know — it  is  so  unexpected,  so  ovcr- 
vhelming.  Papa  is  gone  in  pursuit.  Lord  Hurst- 
wood  is  now  with  mamma ;"  and  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"^"ay,  dear  Consta'nce,  do  not  give  way  thus." 
He  took  her  hand,  which  she  did  not  witlidraw. 
How  he  longed  to  tell  her  all — to  tell  her  that  he 
loved  her — he  fancied — it  was  not  vanity,  he  was 
above  that  weakness — he  fancied  he  should  tlien 
leave  her  less  sorrowful ;  but,  to  his  honor  be  it 
said,  he  remembered  his  promise,  and  was  still 
silent,  though  inwardly  vowing  this  s.lence  should 
not  last.  '•  Constance,"  he  proceeded,  •'  tell  me, 
can  1 — can  we — be  of  any  use  .'  You  know  you 
may  command  me  in  any  way ;  but  how  does 
your  mother  bear  this .'"  lor  he  began  to  fear  lor 
his  re.'^olution.  if  he  did  not  change  tlie  subject; 
and  while  her  grief  made  this  more  dillicult,  his 
chivalry  whispered  that  it  should  not  be  taken 
advantage  of. 

"Dear  mamma  has  so  much  to  try  her,  that  she 
bears  up  wonderfully  under  this,  though,  of 
course,  she  lejls  it  dreadfully ;  but  1  almost  doubt 
whether  she  has  yet  realized  the  lull  e.\tent  of 
this  last  catastrophe.  1  have  just  sent  I'or  Cecilia 
Grantham,  for  there  is  a  look  of  feverish  excite- 
ment about  mamma  which  makes  me  uneasy ; 
and  now  this  intei-view  with  Lord  lluistwood,  and 
the  suspense  t.ll  papa  returns,  may  be  too  much 
for  her  —and  I  dread  so  much  being  alone." 
"  Then  you  have  no  idea  where  llekn  is  .'" 
"  Yes,  1  have  a  strong  conviction  that  she  is 
with  Reginald  West;  in  short,  that  he  assisted 
hor  flight.  Uuly  think,  Hubert,  wliat  she  must 
have  sufl'ered  and  dreaded,  to  have  been  forced 
into  a  step  so  repugnant  to  her  primij)b's." 

'•  Poor  girl!  slie  must  indeed— not  that  i  blamo 
her ;    no  one,   knowing  all   the  circumstances. 


U2 


•THE   WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


could ;  and  I  wish  I  liad  permission  to  publish 
tlicse  at  once.  Do  you  still  refuse  to  grant  it  ? 
It  must  be  as  you  will,  then.  But  1  shall  not  now 
wait  to  see  Mrs.  Templeton,  who  would,  probably, 
rather  be  alone ;"  and  somewhat  abruptly  he  de- 
parted, leaving  Con.stance  with  much  to  think  of, 
and  scarcely  understanding  whether  she  was  com- 
forted or  not  by  this  interview. 

If  Cunstaiice'  thought  that  Hubert's  hasty  de- 
parture had  any  connection  with  the  tidings  he 
had  just  heard,  in  one  sense  she  did  him  injus- 
tice ;  it  wiis  not  bec:iuse  this  fresh  s-jrrow  made 
him  feel  less  fur  her,  but  because  he  so  deeply 
eympjitliized  with  her  grief,  that  he  resolved  to 
have  the  riglit  of  sharing  it,  and  trying  by  every 
means  iu  his  power  to  lessen  its  poignancy. 

He  was  now  determined  to  bring  matters  to  a 
termination  ;  therefore,  directly  he  reached  home, 
he  sought  ail  interview  with  ins  father,  nor  did 
he  leave  him  till  his  consent  was  given — with 
great  reluciance,  however — that  he  might  plead 
Jiis  suit  with  Constance,  his  father  promising  to 
accompany  hiiu  at  the  same  time  to  see  the  Col- 
onel. Conditions  were,  however,  aflixed  to  this 
concession,  that  nothing  should  be  done  till  they 
had  news  of  Helen's  marriage,  and  that  she  was 
safely  and  honorably  provided  for ;  it  was  use- 
less for  Hubert  to  entreat  on  this  point ;  his  fa- 
ther insisted  with  firmness  quite  unusual  when 
his  son's  wishes  interfered,  but  Mr.  Forrester's 
objections  were  increased  ten-fold  by  this  esca- 
pade of  Helen's ;  and  Mrs.  Forrester,  spite  of 
her  unbouuded  love  for  her  son,  could  hardly 
yield  to  his  entreaties,  and  give  her  consent  on 
any  terms. 

In  this  mood  they  met  at  dinner,  at  which 
Laurette,  using  her  privilege  of  being  almost 
i'ln/ant  de  lafaniUtc,  joined  them  without  invi- 
tation— for  by  tliis  time  the  news  had  reached, 
not  only  to  the  Grange,  but  had  spread  through 
the  wliole  village— though,  as  Lord  Hurstwood 
had  calculated,  no  one  but  Hubert  knew  how 
much  his  proposals  had  brought,  about  this 
crisis. 

Laurette's  quick  intelligence  soon  put  her  au 
fait  as  regarded  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  her 
three  companions.  Hubert  had  already  pro- 
posed to  Coustance,  without  waiting  for  his  fa- 
ther's sanction  ;  or  was  about  to  do  so  with  it — 
eitlier  supposition  readily  accounted  for  the  looks 
and  manners  of  them  all — and  in  any  case  she 
Would  try  and  contribute  her  usual  ottering  of  a 
few  drops  of  gall — if  one  did  not  swallow  them, 
anotlier  would. 

"  1  should  not  have  ventured  to  show  myself 
anywhere  but  here,"  she  remarked,  d  propos  to 
uotliing,  and  atfccting  deep  concern  ami  distress, 
tkiliruliy  mingled  with  a  little  reproachful  look, 
as  if  slic  felt  lU-used,  and  another  smaller  look 
of  iiumiliiition  ;  "  l)ut  though  not  one  to  paraile 
wiiat  1  can  not  but  feel  as  retlected  dit^grace — for 
1  do  not  forget  that  she  is  my  cousin — I  knew 
among  such  kind  friends  1  should  still  receive  a 
cordial  welcome.' 

•'  Why  should  you  or  any  one  else  doubt  that .'"' 
retorted  Hubert,  much  irritated.  "  Helen's  act 
is  lier  own,  and  reflects  on  no  one  else,  even  if  it 
do  on  iier,  p^ior  girl !  which  1  am  not  the  least 
di>posed  to  admit." 

"  Hubert !"  interpose*',  his  mother,  solemnly, 


"  we  can  not  excuse  tliis,  so  we  will  not  dis- 
cuss it— at  least,  just  now — though,  as  to  Lau- 
rette, I  do  not  see  how  the  censure  can  extend 
to  her." 

"  Nor  to  anybody  else,"  persisted  Hubert, 
looking  as  a  spoiled  only  sou  can  sometimes  look, 
and  thinking  Laurette  perfectly  detest  ible. 

'•  Now  for  arrow   the    second,"   thought    that 
clever    markswoman,    carefully    examining    her    ■ 
quiver  for  the  longest  and  sharpest,  that  should, 
if  possible,  like  a  skewer,  run  tliem  all  through. 

"  This  will  make  Constance  a  fine  prize,"  said 
she  carelessly,  "  and  bring  swarms  of  hitherto  , 
undecid'ed  swains  to  her  feet.  Nothing  like  its 
beaux  yiux  de  sa  cassette  for  that.  I  am  much 
mistaken  if  uncle  Lionel  do  not  make  her  sole 
heiress — she  was  always  his  favorite."  , 

Hubert  and  his  father  exchanged  glances.     The    \ 
arrow  must  have  passed  right  through  him,  for    i 
he  su'ldenly  started,  and  became  crimson  to  the    ■ 
very  brow.     It  also  found  its  way  sure  enough  to 
the  stately  old  father,  who  looked  indignant  and 
offended.     Nor  did  the  mother  wholly  escape  a 
slight  scratch,  quite   enough,   though,  to  bring 
tears  to  her  eyes. 

"  Well  done ;  it  has  hit  the  white,"  said  the 
amiable  Laurette  to  herself.  '■  It  will  be  tuo 
late  for  the  Priory  to-day,  even  for  me  to  be  ad- 
mitted ;  but  to-morrow,  like  the  slaughterinj; 
sparrow  so  famous  in  nursery  poetry,  1  will  go 
with  my  bow  and  arrow,  and  practice  a  litile 
archery  there  also." 

"  Hubert,"  inquired  his  father,  after  she  had 
gone,  '■  did  you  notice  Miss  Sinclair's  remark  :" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hubert,  angrily,  adding  very  dis- 
respectfully. '•  and  I  wish  .-he  had  been  at  Ji n- 
cho  before  she  thought  of  making  it  here.  Ln; 
no  once  could  ever  suppose  me  influenced  by  -^ 
paltry  a  motive;"  and  then  suddenly  remem- 
bering that  if  he  had  had  his  own  way,  and  luru 
allowed  to  propose  to  Constance  when  he  fir>t 
wished,  this  imputation  could  never,  bj*  any  po.-- 
sibiiity,  have  been  attached  to  hini,  he  pound 
out  such  a  torrent  of  reproaches  on  himself  i^r 
having  been  obedient,  and  on  his  father  for  hav- 
ing required  it,  that  Mr.  Forrester  was  effect- 
ually silenced  ;  and  his  mother,  not  knowing  of 
this  outl)reak,  having  ventured  to  hint  that  L'on 
stance  was  compromised  by  Helen's  proceeding,";, 
he  defended  her  so  vehemently,  mixed  witli  sot  i 
severe  reproaches  on  his  mother  for  her  unwom- 
anly cruelty,  that  she  burst  into  an  agony  oi 
tears;  a  result  so  unusual,  that  Hubert  was  at 
length  moved  to  ask  pardon,  kiss  and  be  friends, 
and  concluded  by  again  promising  to  delay  fur- 
ther proceedings  for  a  sliort  time. 

After  a  fruitless  s-'arch.  Colonel  Templeton  re- 
turned, and  le.irned  that  his  wife  was  ill  in  brl. 
Mr.  Curtis  said  it  was  a  nervous  attack  ;  and  he 
was  right,  for  many  days  elapsed  before  she  was 
able  to  leave  her  room. 

His  arrival  was  quicklj'  followed  by  that  uf 
Cecilia,  who,  witii  a  promptness  which  ever  ac- 
companies sincerity,  had,  immediately  on  the 
receipt  of  her  cousin's  letter,  started  off  for  ilu> 
Priory,  leaving  Grantham,  at  that  time  tlie  very 
focus  of  gayety,  for  the  house  of  mourning  — 
Constance  having  informed  her  of  their  distrets  V 
— and  urge<l  this  as  a  motive  for  her  coming  I 
which  she  knew  would  not  be  disregarded.  I   I 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


93 


Mrs.  Templeton  brid  kept  up  an  appearance 
of  compo.-iue  during  her  interview  with  Lord 
Hurstwood,  and  till  she  heard  that  the  fugitives 
had  reached  London  ;  and  then,  knowing  tliat 
weeks  must  elapse  before  she  could  be  quite  at 
ease,  she  fairly  gave  way  ;  and  her  illness  being 
attributed  by  the  Colonel  to  her  sorrow  and  au.\- 
iety,  was  mercifully  the  means  of  averting  all 
suspicion  from  her. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  presence  of 
Cecilia  was  a  general  advantage.  Her  uncle 
heard  from  her  ihai  Lord  Ilur.-stwood  had  seen 
Mrs.  Templeton  ;  and  though  the  particulars  of 
this  interview  never  transpired,  he  was  gratified 
to  find  that  all  communic.ition  between  the  two 
families  was  not  quite  broken  oft'.  He  spoke  to 
her  of  Helen,  of  his  still  unsuccessful  search — in 
all  this  she  indulged  him  ;  but  when  he  began  to 
niter  threats  or  invectives  she  invariably  signi- 
fied her  disapproval,  or  left  the  room.  She  did 
not  unwisely  defend  Helen  in  all  she  had  done — 
she  rather  souglit  to  excuse  her.  and  to  win  him 
to  pardon  her;  but  here  she  failed.  Gradually, 
htiwever,  her  influence  prev.iiled  so  far,  that  he 
resumed  his  usual  pursuits,  no  longer  harassing 
them  by  outbursts  of  anger  and  fury. 

One  morning,  when  he  entered  the  breakfast- 
room,  he  found  Constance  so  deeply  absorbed  in 
reading  a  letter,  that  she  did  not  notice  his  en- 
trance. 

"From  whom  is  that  .'"  he  asked,  with  a  look 
of  suspicion. 

"  From  my  aunt  Sinclair,"  replied  she,  not  no- 
ticing his  manner  cr  tone. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  he  said, rudely ;  "  I  shall  per- 
mit no  underhand  doings  with  you." 

Coloring  violently,  Constance  quickly  handed 
him  the  letter,  while  Cecilia  gazed  at  him  with 
asronishment  so  evident,  in  eyes  which  her  mother 
had  properly  called  fine,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
mistiike  her  thoughts. 

"  Prevention  is  better  than  cure,  so  says  Cur- 
tis," he  remarked,  with  an  awkward  attempt  at 
a  laugl),  and  too  much  ashamed  even  to  glance  at 
the  letter  ;  "  but  if  Constance  is  to  have  her  pri- 
Virte  letter-bag,  it  must  be  on  p.irol." 

"  'I  refu.se  to  keep  it  on  those  terms,"  said  Con- 
stance ;  "if  any  letters  came  whicli  contained 
news  from  those  I  love,  I  should  read  them.  I 
tiie>'efore  give  up  my  bag." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Cecilia,  "  I  need  not  remind  you 
that  I  rarely  interfere  in  what  does  not  stricily 
concern  me — but  this  does— and  I  appe.il  to  \ou. 
as  a  gentleman,  if  this  is  quite  Cun>istent  with 
that  clia^acter.  There  are  many  circumstances 
Connected  with  an  event,  which  I  am  sure  we  all 
regret,  tliat  I  trust  will  eveutually  plfad  in  be- 
half of  those  concerned  ;  and  it  is  an  error  to 
suppose  one  mistake  can  root  out  the  love  of 
years." 

"  You  have  said  more  than  any  other  would 
have  ventured  to  say,"  he  replied ;  "  you  have 
alluded  to  one  who  is  an  alien  and  an  outcast — 
one  who — " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  there  is  so  little  courage, 
then,"  she  said,  quickly,  seeing  to  wliat  he  was 
teniling  ;  "  but,  without  her  being  put  on  parol, 
I  know  you  do  not  mean  to  meddle  with  a  lady's 
lct;er-b:ig ;"  find  thus  the  matter  ended,  Con- 
stance being  wisely  deaf  to  the  pride  that  whis- 


pered, "  refuse  the  amnesty,"  hecause  she  really 
shrank,  with  sometliing  like  horror,  from  tlio 
idea  of  having  her  letters  once  more  at  tlie  mercy 
of  the  agent's  unscrupulous  lamily. 

She  had  not  spoken  the  wlnde  of  this  time, 
but  she  looked  steadily  at  her  father  when  he 
began  denouncing  Helen  ;  and  it  ia  remarkaldo 
that  from  that  hour  she  rarely  addressed  liim  na 
father,  never  by  the  more  childlike  epitliut  of 
"  dear  papa,''  which  had  often  fallen  like  music 
on  his  ear— nor  did  she  ever  again  pre.>-s  her  in- 
nocent lips,  with  the  caress  he  so  much  loved,  on 
his  brow.  Always  respectful,  she  was  never 
again  fond. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

' the  pure,  open,  prospcrnus  love, 

That  pleils'd  ou  eiirili.  and  8i  iil'd  alinvt?, 
Growa  iu  iho  world's  upproviug  eyes." 
J.alla 


Firm  to  his  original  purpose,  that  nothing  in 
his  manner  should  show  how  mortified  he  really 
was,  at  the  tiesperate  alternative  Helen  had 
adopted,  rather  than  marry  him,  in  the  course 
of  a  few  days  Loid  Hurstwood  again  presented 
himself  at  the  Priory,  and  found  that  no  tidings 
had  been  received  <jf  the  runaway,  nor  yet  from 
the  Colonel,  though  tiie  return  of  the  latter  was 
hourly  expected. 

This  he  learned  from  Cecilia,  as  well  as  that 
her  aunt  was  so  ill  as  not  to  be  able  to  leave  her 
room.  This  news  aft'orded  him  a  pretext  for 
another  visit;  and  from  one  cause  or  another, 
again  and  again  did  he  come — at  first,  to  the 
gre.it,  and  scarcely  concealed,  annoy.ance  of  Con- 
stance ;  but  as  he  was  always  courteous,  and  his 
intentions  apparently  were  both  kind  and  re- 
spectful, she  gradually  unbent,  and  received  him 
graciously — und  this  the  more  easilj",  as  her 
mother  had  told  her  of  the  fate  of  her  letter  to 
the  Hall,  a  fact  which  she  had  ascertained 
through  the  cautious  inquiries  of  D.iwson. 

Thus  cleared  from  what  had  seemed  tlie  most 
objectionable  and  least  pardonable  proceedings, 
Coii,«tance  jmlged  him  more  favorably — and  be- 
gan to  think  that  it  was  nothing  so  extraordinary 
that  he  should  .iilmirc  Helen — and  admiriug,  that 
he  sliould  then  dtsire  to  win  her. 

Laurette,  the  arrant  coquette,  was  constantly 
at  the  Priory  at  those  times  when  she  knew  he 
was  most  likely  to  be  there. 

He  had  had  one  interview  with  the  Colonel, 
during  which,  as  had  been  his  arranged  line  of 
policy,  he  gave,  instead  of  receiving,  sympatiiy  ; 
and  recollecting  the  few  hints  that  hail  escaped 
from  .Mrs  Templeton,  by  which  he  plainly  saw  that 
it  had  been  the  Colonel's  intention  to  make  liim  liis 
dupe,  and  not  finding  it  suitable  to  liis  dignity  to 
resent  tljis  openly,  he  lo.st  no  opportunity  of  ut- 
tering words  which,  to  one  not  cognizant  of  the 
truth,  seemed  to  have  no  special  meaning,  but 
which  yet  made  the  Colonel  smart,  as  it  stung 
by  a  cloud  of  musquitoes,  and  induced  him  in- 
wardly to  restjlve  that,  if  his  Lord.vjiip  di<l  liim 
the  honor  to  call,  he  should  not  ofteu  find  him  at 
home  to  receive  him. 


THE  WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


But  the  absence  of  the  master  of  the  mansion 
•was  borne  with  sufficient  philosophy  by  the  gal- 
lant noble  ;  when  one,  perlinps  all  the  graces,  as 
he  mentally  called  them,  received  him — at  least, 
with  extreme  politeness,  if  not  pleasure.  He  was, 
in  short,  deliguteJ  with  the  success  of  his  endeav- 
or* to  remove  any  unfavorable  suspicions  his  mat- 
rimonial C(//i//-<?twj9.  had  excited— charmed  also 
at  the  friendly  mode  of  calling,  which  he  had  es- 
tablished— above  all,  the  notion  of  still  playing 
the  amiable  to  three  such  damsels,  was  any  thing 
but  disagreeable  to  a  man  of  his  tastes  and  habits. 
Another  reason,  also,  ofien  drew  him  there,  which 
•would  have  deeply  wounded  the  self-love  of  Lau- 
rette,  could  she  but  have  suspected  it ;  he  was  ex- 
cessively amused  at  her  little  tricks — her  pretty 
maneuvers,  through  which  he  saw  as  plainly,  as  if 
she  had  been  a  raw  young  aiiachi  sent  by  his  op- 
ponent to  tell  some  pohtical  lie— diverted  him 
extremely ;  for,  in  fact,  her  utter  ignorance  of 
his  character  was  purpatually  betraying  her  into 
some  amusing  absurdity  ;  an  1  seemingly  bent  on 
blundering  her  part,  she  affected  a  little  air  of 
eentiment,  as  if  .she  took  him  lor  one  who  was 
struggling  to  hide  a  wounded  heart,  .and  needed 
the  Dalra  of  sympathy  to  effect  his  cure — she  cov- 
ertly offered  him  condolence  and  pity,  both  in  tone 
and  looks — and  all  this  to  him,  who  was  doing  his 
utmost  tu  prove,  to  all  who  knew  the  real  state  of 
affairs,  that  he  cared  as  little  for  the  loss  of  his 
mistress  as  for  his  glove  or  cane. 

Cecilia,  above  all  these  petty  arts,  and  quite 
free  from  design  of  any  kind,  had,  perhaps,  never 
appeared  to  greater  advantage  Poor  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton,  whose  nerves  had  been,  as  it  were,  laid 
bare  by  late  events,  was  the  only  one  who,  loving 
her  truly,  did  not  hail  her  appearance ;  but  to 
one  suffering  as  she  was,  from  bodily  weakness, 
and  the  greatest  suspense  and  anxiety  of  mind, 
Cecilia's  presence  was,  in  every  sense,  too  much. 
Her  digniliod,  but,  perhaps,  r.ither  decided,  step 
— her  musical  and  well-toned,  but  rather  loud, 
voice  ;  the  rus.le  of  hjr  rich  and  ample  silks  ;  the 
demons:rative  manner  in  which  she  placed  and  re- 
placed any  thing  about  the  invaLd,  sometimes 
made  her  aunt  shrink  ;  but  then  her  kind  and 
bright  face,  her  SL-nsible  remarks,  her  unltagging 
spirits,  were  such  valuable  counterweights,  espe- 
cially to  Constance,  who,  from  some  feeling  she 
had  not  tried  to  comprehend,  was  never  more  than 
friendly  with  Laurette,  that  when,  in  the  course 
of  a  week,  Mrs.  Templeton  admitted  the  young  peo- 
ple to  her  boudoir,  and  occasionally  accompanied 
them  in  a  walk  or  drive,  she  felt  that  Ceciliafs 
presence  was  aa  bright  and  cheering  as  sun- 
shiuc. 

Une  day,  very  shortly  after  her  recovery,  Mrs. 
Templeton,  being  alone  with  Constance,  said: 

•'  While  1  was  suffering  so  severely  from  my 
nervous  attack.  1  deliberately  refrained  from  allu- 
ding to  the  painful  circumstance  which  has  latelj' 
occurrel.  1  mig'it,  perhaps,  have  spared  you 
much,  as  your  d.sLrosse<l  Iook.s  and  manner  have 
not  been  unnoticed — but  I  really  feared  my  own 
•weakness.  I  have  heard  both  ot  and  from  Helen 
— she  is  quite  safe— in  honirable  security — and 
•we  shall  soon,  an  1  frequently,  by  some  meaus, 
which  you  must  not  seek  to  know,  hear  more." 

"  Dear  mamma,  liow  your  words  relieve  me," 
said  Constance,  only  kept  from  vehement  demon- 


strations of  joy  by  the  fear  of  agitating  her  mo- 
ther. "  One  question — and  Heaven  be  praised, 
first,  for  what  I  already  know— is  she  with  Regi- 
nald .' — are  they  married  '" 

"  Not  yet,  to  both  your  questions  ;  and  now  no 
more — though  I  see  a  whole  volume  of  inquiries 
on  your  face ;  when  I  have  any  thing  certain  to 
communicate,  be  assured  you  shall  hear  it." 

"  And  you  are  well  enough  to  dine  with  us,  are 
you  not,  dearest .'" 

'•  I  hope  so  ;  and  to-morrow  we  will  all  go  and 
look  at  tlie  Kectory.  both  within  and  without,  and 
jiass  judgment  on  Mr.  Morton's  taste,  which,  I 
hear,  has  been  at  work  there." 

"  Ashley  must  be  very  busy,"  remarked  Con- 
stance, "  to  delegate  so  much  to  our  venerable 
Ht-rmit;  but  I  suppose  he  ynW.  find  time  to  run 
away  from  his  duties,  at  least  to  meet  the  dear 
Rec tori tes— how  I  long  to  see  them  all." 

"  So  do  I,  dear  child,  though  we  must  not 
grudge  the  Doctor  this  almost  unexampled  absence 
— tlie  first  of  any  length  I  have  ever  known  him 
take.  Have  the  Forresters  called  or  sent  lately  .' 
I  have  a  very  kind  note  from  Lady  Dallas,  which 
Laurette  brought  yesterday." 

'■  Oh,  yes,  they  have  sent  every  day,"  said  Con- 
stance, coloring,  and  very  hastily  adjusting  her 
her  mothers  collar,  but  certainly  not  improving  it. 

"  Very  well ;  and  now,  dear,  1  am  tired — send 
Dawson." 

The  day  at  length  came  when  Mrs.  Templeton 
expected  to  have  all  her  fears  and  anxieties  put  to 
rest,  by  receiving  information  of  Helen's  mar- 
riage ;  she  had  been  so  much  excited  the  previous 
evening,  that  Mr.  Curtis,  at  the  earnest  request 
of  Constance  and  Cecilia,  had  been  again  sum- 
moned. Mrs.  Templeton  patiently  resigne<l  her- 
self to  composing  di;aughts,  solitude,  quiet,  an  I 
the  usual  remedies;  though  she  well  knew  tliut 
neither  psace  nor  quiet  would  be  her  lot  till  the 
important  packet  arrived  she  had  so  much  wishe  1 
for.  "  Canst  thou  minister  to  a  mind  diseased .- ' 
she  might  have  asked  of  her  kind  Esculapius — ■ 
"  canst  thou  compose  the  mind  of  the  mother, 
who  knows  that  this  day,  unsustained  by  a  mo- 
ther's presence,  unaccompanied  by  a  father's 
blessing,  her  beloved  child  will  pronounce  tlie 
V-.AS  that  bind  her  to  another  .'" 

And  the  next  morning,  having  ins'sted  on  ris- 
int;;;  to  breakfast,  in  sp.te  of  entreaties  that  she 
would  remain  quiet,  when  the  bag  was  opL-ned,  it 
was  with  a  feeling  of  faintness  that  she  •.lok  from 
Constance  a  letter  of  unusual  dimensions.  She 
opened  it;  "  Heaven  be  thanked  !"  was  her  half- 
uttered  exclamation,  as  she  unfolded  a  paper  be- 
fore breaking  the  seal  of  a  letter  which  accompa- 
nied it.  "  Constanc-e,  pass  this  to  your  papa;  it 
is  the  certificate  of  Helen's  marriage." 

"  Dear  aunt,"  said  Cecilia,  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  she  kissed  her — but  she  had  too  much  tact  to 
say  more  while  her  uncle  was  present. 

With  a  cry  of  joy  Constance  seized  the  precious 
document,  and  laid  it  before  her  father.  He  was 
opening  a  letter,  from  which  fluttered  a  paper  of 
similar  appearance — he  glanced  at  it — and  hia 
brow  grew  dark  as  midnight ;  with  a  muttered 
curse  he  collectcl  both  documents  and  the  letter, 
and  without  deigning  further  to  read  the  contents, 
he  held  them  in  the  flame  of  a  taper,  generally 
placed  at  his  side  for  the  convenience  of  sealing 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


letters  or  notes,  and  though  his  hand  shook  vrith 
passion,  lie  persevered  till  they  were  consumed. 

"  Uufle,"  said  Cecilia,  her  lace  in  a  glow,  and 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  indignation. 

But  not  a  word  from  Constance. 

"  They  are  but  copies,"  said  .Mrs.  Tenipleton,  her 
pale  face  Hushing  to  the  very  brow,  as  she  rose 
and  left  the  room,  carrying  her  letters  with  her. 
They  were  from  both  her  children,  as  she  fondly 
termed  them ;  and  when  Constance,  after  a  while, 
cntereil,  she  gave  them  to  her  to  read,  and  sat 
with  her  arm  round  her  remaining  treasure,  while 
the  tears  of  the  latter  fell  like  rain,  and  blinded 
her  so,  that  she  could  searcelj'  sec  words  of  love 
and  tenderness — expressions  of  regret  at  scpara- 
tiiin  from  them,  and  hopes  of  happiness,  in  the 
full  confidence,  the  lovely  writer  felt,  that  Regi- 
nald would  never  }iiake  her  repent  the  course  she 
had  pursued.  Slie  then  turned  to  Reginald's  let- 
ter. "  Ah,  mamma,"  said  she,  "  let  us  no  longer 
sorrow,  but  rather  rejoice;  it  is  far  better  as  it 
is;"'  and  tenderly  embracing  her  mother,  she 
went  to  tell  Cecilia  of  this  termination  to  their 
present  anxiety. 

How  happy  was  her  meeting  with  Hubert,  to 
V.  liom,  witliout  reserve,  she  told  of  these  dear  let- 
ters ;  and  though  he  left  her  after  a  very  brief 
interview,  so  deeply  did  she  love  her  sister,  that 
the  thought  of  her  and  her  new  duties  made  it 
delightful  to  be  alone. 

Hubert  hastened  back  to  Forest  Hill,  eager  to 
l)e  the  first  to  carry  the  news  of  Helen's  marriage, 
and  claim  from  his  father  the  fulfillment  of  his 
promise,  and  that,  immediately.  Having  con- 
vinced him  that  any  change  in  his  sentiments 
was  utterly  impossible,  he  obtained  his  consent  to 
accompany  him  on  the  morrow  to  the  Priory ; 
for.  though  far  from  using  the  exact  words,  ^ir. 
Forrester  began  to  think  that,  if  it  must  be  done, 
"  then  'twere  well  it  were  done  quickly ;"  and, 
accordingly,  the  next  morning  s  sun  shone  on  the 
s.ately  figure  of  the  father  and  the  hamlsome  one 
of  the  son  as  they  set  lorth  to  determine  the  fate 
of  the  latter. 

Constance  was  in  the  act  of  descending  the 
grand  staircase,  when  she  heard  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Forrester  inquiring  for  the  Colonel,  and  request- 
ing the  servant  to  inform  him,  that  he  had  ridden 
over  purposely  to  see  him. 

Divining  the  cause  of  his  visit,  she  flew  back 
into  her  now  k^nely  apartments,  and  almost 
breathless  sank  into  a  chair.  As  she  thus  sat, 
s  riving  to  regain  composure,  she  heard  the  rich 
voice  of  Hubert  singing  a  few  bars  of  a  trio  which 
til'  y  had  both,  months  ago,  practiced  witli  Helen 
Well  did  she  remember  that  evening  the  only 
cloud  then  resting  on  them  being  the  illness  of 
Mrs.  West.  Heavy  and  dark  enough  did  that 
thtn  seem — but  how  rapidly  had  it  increased, 
both  in  size  and  density —till,  lately,  it  had 
blackened  their  whole  horizon. 

iMrs.  West  was  now  dead— Reginald  w.aa  strip- 
ped of  all  his  brilliant  expectations,  and  was  toil- 
ing for  his  bread  — and  Helen,  her  dear,  her  beau- 
tiful sister,  was  forced  to  become  a  fugitive,  and 
an  alien  from  her  father's  house. 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  as  if  she  would 
shut  out  the  sad  pictures  which  memory  present- 
ed, when  again  the  voice  she  loved  came  floating 
upward  in  a  gay  refrain :   she  listened,  till  the 


cheerful  sounds  were  accepted  as  tokens  of  hap- 
pier days  ;  and  knowing  for  whom  Hubeit  linger- 
ed on  the  terrace,  she  descended  to  meet  liini. 

"  Ah  !  dear  ('(instance  !"  was  his  cheerful  greet- 
ing, '•  how  delighted  1  am  to  see  you  ;  I  was  half 
afraid  you  would  be  hid  somewhere  till  my  lather'* 
— he  paused — •'  in  short,"  he  said,  looking  unusu- 
ally grave  and  earnest,  "  1  must  learn  the  truth 
from  your  own  dear  self.  Am  1  mistaken  .'—  have 
I  been  giving  you  my  love,  my  idolatry  in  vain  .' 
— have  1  been  cherishing  a  blessed  hope  which  can 
not  be  realized  .'— Constance,  j'ou  know  that  1  lovo 
you,  but  3'ou  can  not  know  how  much — can  you 
give  me  hope— love,  in  return  r 

"  Oh  !  Hubert,  how  ungrateful  you  must  think 
me,  if  you  doubt,"  was  the  whispered  reply. 

"  It  is  not  gratitude  I  ask  for,"  he  quickly 
said,  "  it  is  love — your  love,  dear  Constance." 

"  And  is  that  all  r"  she  asked,  with  a  smile, 
which  he  thought  was.  that  of  an  angel,  giving 
him  her  hand. 

"All!  dearest;  what  more  can  I  wish  for.' 
and  with  this  precious  hand  you  give  it,  do  you 
not .'"  so  drawing  her  toward  him,  he  pressed  the 
kiss  of  affiance  on  her  blushing  cheek. 

"  My  father  is  with  the  Colonel,"  he  said,  after 
a  pause,  full  of  deep  emotion  to  both  ;  '•  but, 
Constance,  one  condition  he  insists  on,  in  spite  of 
my  enireaty  and  opposition.  In  a  short  time, 
Victor  Morton  will  leave  for  the  Mediterranean  ; 
he  has  long  wished  me  to  accompany  him ;  and 
though  he  is  the  king  of  traveling  companions,  I 
need  not  tell  you,  I  could  not  thiidc  of  it — nor 
why.  Well,  my  father  con^cnts  to  our  engage- 
ment, if  I  win  you  ;  and  1  have,  have  I  not .''  Of 
course,  ahso  supposing  neither  the  Colonel  nor 
Mrs.  Templeton  clisapprove ;  but  he  will  make  me 
set  oft"  on  this  rambling  expedition — what  think 
you,  dear  one  ?" 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,  dear  Hubert,"  replied 
Constance,  "  if  I  say  I  at  once  see  the  propriety 
of  this  plan.  Time  alone  can  soften  the  etVects  of 
our  last  misfortune  ;  and  when  we  meet  after  this 
parting,  perhaps  Providence  will  so  have  orderetl 
it,  that  our  troubles  may  be  lessened  ;  so  let  ug 
try  and  think  that  this  is  for  the  best,  though 
sadly  shall  I  miss  my  kind  and  daily  consoler — 
when  do  you  think  of  leaving  ?" 

"  I  belie\  2  Victor  starts  in  the  course  of  six 
weeks  ;  but  there  are  many  things  to  be  done  for 
us  before  I  go.  Hargraves  must  be  looked  after, 
and  a  thousand  other  matters  settled — but  here 
are  our  respected  fathers,  both  looking  any  thing 
but  dreadful;" 

They  did  not,  h'bwever,  look  very  cheerful ; 
and  Constance,  trembling  very  much  as  her 
father  drew  near,  and  feeling  that  if  the  scene 
were  prolonged  she  should  faint,  sat  down. 

"  Mr.  Forrester  has  been  asking  me  to  give  you 
to  his  son,  Constance,  and  I  have  consented,"  was 
all  he  said. 

But  .Mr.  Forrester,  looking  at  the  beautiful 
girl  who  was  thus  coolly  di.sposed  of  witlmut,  a.s 
it  seemed,  being  allowed  any  voice  in  the  matter, 
could  not  help  adding,  with  that  old-fashioned 
chivalry,  which  agreed  so  well  with  his  proud  and 
reserved  mnniu'rs  : 

"  Which  consent,  we  venture  to  hope  you  will 
make  my  son — will  make  us  happy  by  confirm- 
ing." 


96 


THE   WIFES   TRIALS. 


But  slie  could  not  speak,  for  her  father's  want 
of  courtesy,  not  to  say  kin'lness,  bad  deeply 
■wouuded  her;  and  Huoert.  seeing  she  was  much 
overcome,  and  willing  to  terminate  tlie  interview 
and  set  her  free,  added,  with  a  gratified  smile, 
"  1  hope  Constance  will  not  prove  inexorable ;" 
and  while  she  escaped,  shook  hands  with  the 
Ckilonel,  and  warmly  thanked  him,  as  well  as  his 
father. 

"  1  have  informed  Colonel  Templeton  of  your 
propo.sed  absence,  in  the  reasonableness  of  which 
Le  entirely  concurs  " 

"  And  Mrs.  Templeton .'"  asked  Hubert. 

"  Mrs.  Templeton  is  far  from  well,"  replied  her 
husband ;  "  to-morrow,  perhaps,  she  may  see 
you. ' 

IJut  though  to  the  father,  who  was  still  very 
indiflerent  about  the  whole  matter,  this  was  a 
sufficient  reason  for  not  urging  an  interview,  not 
so  to  the  son.  He  left  his  father  at  the  Rectory, 
and  rode  back,  requesting  by  note  to  see  Mrs. 
Templeton,  if  only  for  a  few  minutes. 

Directly  she  left  the  gentlemen,  Constance 
hastened  to  her  mother,  whom  she  found  in  her 
boudoir,  writing. 

"  M;imma,"  she  said,  kneeling  by  her  side,  no 
uncommon  attitude,  "  Mr.  Forrester  is  here,  and 
Hubert :"  she  paused,  but  the  smile  and  the  blush 
spoke  volumes — and  her  mother,  looking  at  the 
lovely  face  raised  so  fondly  to  her,  read  that  the 
hour  was  come,  when  she  must  give  away  this 
treasure  also.  Still,  it  was  so  wholly  unexpected 
— the  gift  asked  for,  was,  to  her,  so  inexpressibly 
dear,  so  exceedingly  valued,  that  for  a  minute 
she  was  silent  — perhaps,  also,  some  thought  or 
fancy  of  her  own  had  to  be  banished — but  it  was 
impossible  to  see  a  shade  of  anxiety  steal  over 
that  swjet  countenance,  and  not  hasten  to  remove 
it.  So  she  said,  very  tenderly  but  calmly,  '•  And 
they  have  come  to  ask  for  my  Constance,  and  she 
says,  yes— is  it  so  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  faintly  echoed  ;  "  and,  mother, 
bless  me." 

"  I  do,  my  child — I  always  have— and  the 
blessing  has  returned  a  hundred-fold  into  my  \ 
own  boiom,  in  both  my  children;  yes,  both — and 
you  love  this  gay  and  handsome  Hubert." 

"  Ah  !  mamma,  you  think  him  handsome ;  no 
wonder,  then,  that  the  foolish  Constance  does." 

"  Ni)t  foolish,  if  she  love  him  for  qualities  with- 
out which  there  can  be  no  reasonable  hope  of  hap- 
pine.'^s — but  like  me,  in  this  abo,  she  iuvcs  him 
because  he  is  true  and  honorable." 

"  Dear  mother,  how  good  you  are — how  well 
you  know  how  to  make  me  quite  happy.  I  some- 
times felt  as  if  L  must  be  almost  Avicked  to  have 
j  jy  in  my  heart  while  all  of  us  liave  lately  been 
so  wretched  ;  and  let  me  s;iy  this  now,  that  you 
can  not  think  how  greatly  1  wished  to  tell  you  all 
1  fancicl— but  I  could  not  very  well,  could  I .'" 

"  Not  very  well,  certainly,  till  Hubert  took  the 
first  step,  unl  -ss  you  had  doubted  the  return  of 
your  affection— and  then,  my  pet,  you  know  you 
must  have  avoided  him." 

"  But  that  W!us  not  tlie  case — and  so — but  we 
Hhall  not  part  very  soon,  dear  mamma  ;"  but  be- 
fore she  related  why,  tiic  little  no'.^  was  put  into 
Mrs.  T-mploton"s  hands,  and  much  f  ntified  at 
tlie  kind  and  delicate  feeling  it  evinced,  slic  order- 
ed Mr.  Hubert  to  be  inuuediately  summoned. 


Constance  was  still  by  her  mother's  side,  who  i 
on  Hubert's  entrance,  with  a  smile,  put  out  hei 
hand  ;  he  kissetl  it,  and  with  the  hands  of  motlni 
and  daughter  tenderly  clasped  in  his,  stooped  Li; 
graceful  figure. 

"  God  bless  you,  children,"  said  the  motl 
solemnl}'.     "Hubert,  you  have  won  her  l  > 
value  and  respect  the  gift,  as  you  hope  tor  h-. 
ness.     You  are  both  young — very  young  — tli 
fore,  I  am  glad  you  have  an  opportunity  ot! 
you  for  understiiuding  more  clearly  what  su.li   .: 
engagement  as  yours  really  means.     Murmur  uyi: 
at  a  short  delay — let  it  be  a  period  of  useful  pro-, 
bation;  and,  ttnder  all  and  every  circumstance  i 
be  true  to  yourselves,   be  true   to   each   other  | 
Now  go — and,  Hubert,  tell  Mrs.  Forrester  whai 
an  invalid  I  am— but  that  I  shall,  1  hope.   '" 
equal  to  receiving  her  to-morrow." 

Ah  !  how  proud  and  gay  he  was  as  he  i 
along  :  and  how  he  almost  succeeded  in  convinc- 
ing Mr.  Forrester  that  he  had  done  a  very  gooc; 
and  very  meritorious  day's  work — almost,  noil 
quite  ;  for  all  that  gentleman's  prejudices  agnirr  ' 
the  Colonel  had  been  strengthened  during  t' 
strictly  business-like  interview. 

The  master  of  Seabrooke  had  testified  notliinL 
like  a  due  sense  of  the  dignity  of  the  family  intcj 
which  his  daughter  was  to  be  received.  Th( 
Colonel  talked  of  nobility — Mr.  Forrester  of  an-j 
cestry  The  Colonel  dwelt  on  the  fortune  hisi 
daughter  would  eventuiilly  possess — iMr.  Forresteii 
of  the  Hargrave  estate  Hubert  would  at  once  h.ivc; 
assigned  to  him  ;  and  though  the  value  of  tii(| 
Seabrooke  property  was  ostentatiously  paraded  ' 
as  the  Colonel  evaded  any  precise  reply  as  to  thcj 
sum  he  would  immediately  lay  down,  Mr.  Forres-| 
ter  felt  sure  that  he  was  embarrassed  asregardec" 
ready  money,  a  conviction  which  gained  strength  ' 
when  he  remembered  how  often  report  had  saicj 
that  inimeu-e  sums  had  been  lost  at  play,  both  ir' 
London  and  abroad. 

However,   by   insisting  on  Hubert's  absci 
t  me  was  gained.     Hargraves,  also,  required  i 
pairs  and  alterations,  which  /le  should  not   ; 
bound  to  hurry  on;  and  though  it  would  bed 
injustice  both  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Forrester  to  ii,- 
uate  that  they  hoped  or  even  anticipr.tcd 
material  alteration  from   time,  when  their  < 
and  their  son's  honor  were  equally  concern    1 
the  proceeding,  the^-  were  glad  that  Hubert  ^ 
so  fir  reasonable  as  to  have  yielded. 

Laurette  was  duly  iniorme<i  the  next  day.  ^  i 
Forrester  called  at  the  Grange,  after  an  intew,, 
with  Mrs.  Templeton  and  Constance,  during  wi; 
she  saw  and  heard  so  much  to  admire  in  both,  i 
believed  there  were  so  many  caiises  to  ex 
sympathy,  that  the  good  old  lady  w;is  n(  . 
recnnciled  to  the  idea  of  having  so  sweet  a  ci' 
ture  for  Hubert's  wife — and  decided  that  she  ^v,;^ 
really  worthy  of  him. 

And  what  thought  Laurette  of  this  news .-  t. 
her  by  no  means  unexpected— fervently  asshe  hi  1 
iioped  some  chapter  of  accidents  would  at  le  :- 
h:ive  postponed  ihedi/niwu}  .-.7.     Laurette's  v- 
thoughts  were  not  always  "  for  ibms  to  peck  .i' 
and,  on  this  occision,  she  kept  them  to  hersvl  . 

But  she  tendered  her  congratulations  ve:  , 
warmly,  and  wrote  to  Cr.iigalan,  expressing  her 
e.irnest  wish  that  her  fither  an<l  mother  wo\ild 
make  an  effort ,  and  visit  to wn.     She  had  suddenly , 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


discovered  that  it  -was  very  long  since  tliey  had 
all  met  at  the  Priory — vfhere  she  was  sure  their 
presence  -would  now  be  so  serviceable,  as  well  as 
agreeable — dwelt  on  the  claims  of  other  old 
friends,  and  concluded  by  saying,  that,  if  they 
made  the  first  move  southward,  tliey  would  pro- 
bably persuade  her  uncle  Lionel  to  take  her 
aunt  and  Constance  to  return  the  visit ;  a  change 
which  she  suggested  would  be  of  much  benefit, 
after  all  they  had  lately  gone  through. 

She  then  called  at  the  Priory,  kissed  Constance 
with  an  affectionate  smile,  and  remarked,  that 
while  she  and  her  mother  were  so  unhappy  about 
Helen,  this  little  interlude  of  proposals  and 
acceptance  must  be  doubly  valuable — it  was  so 
calculated  to  concentrate  their  thoughts  on  affairs 
at  home — and  then  left  her  cousin,  with  cheeks 
tingling  at  her  implied  sensibility,  to  act  the  part 
of  comforter  to  her  aunt,  to  whom  she  accidentally 
remarked — "I  am  sure  the  feeling  that  Hubert  is 
pledged  in  a  serious  engagement,  anywhere 
among  their  own  circle,  must  be  a  great  relief  to 
both  his  parents,  who  have  been  greatly  annoyed 
at  his  folly  in  calling  so  perpetually  on  that  dis- 
reputable person,  Mrs.  Mordaunt,  and  her  equally 
objectionable  daughter  ;"  and  though  she  had  not 
the  gratifying  assurance  that  the  arrow  had 
touched  the  mark,  it  had — and,  spite  of  the 
unconcern  with  which  Mrs.  Templeton  had 
appeared  to  hear  this  inuendo,  many  a  painful 
hour  did  its  rankling  cause  that  fon^d  and  anxious 
mother. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 


"  Amaryllis  I  did  woo, 
And  Ic.  urted  I'hiilis  too."  "Withers. 

"  'Tis  well  to  be  off  with  the  old  love, 
Before  you  are  on  wiih  the  new." 

The  day  at  last  came  which  was  to  bring  back 
the  Vernons.  Constance  and  Cecilia  were  at  the 
Kectory  long  before  the  hour  appointed  for  their 
arrival — flying  from  room  to  room  to  see  that  all 
Was  in  order,  and  ever  detecting  something  that 
required  arranging.  They  had  come  accompanied 
by  a  servant,  loaded  with  flowers  from  the  Priory, 
which  Cecilia  declared  was  literally  "  sweets  to 
the  sweet,"  as  the  Rectory  garden  was  one  scene 
of  beauty — for  knives  and  scissors  had  been  doing 
sharp  duty  in  cutting  away  all  that  was  faded  or 
unsightly. 

The  house  was  filled  with  the  perfume  of  its 
fragrant  ornaments,  and  Constance,  having  just 
declared  all  perfect,  liad  risen  to  give  a  more 
graceful  effect  to  a  vase  of  choice  exotics,  when 
the  bells  pealed  forth  their  rustic  music,  and  the 
Bounds  of  welcome  from  many  voices,  in  a  loud 
huzza  from  the  parishioners,  who  had.  assembled 
to  greet  their  pastor,  reached  the  quiet  drawing- 
room. 

She  paused  in  her  arrangement,  and  sat  down, 
looking  very  pale.  Since  she  had  last  seen  them, 
how  much  had  happened  !  But  there  was  short 
time  for  sorrowful  retrospection ;  the  sound  of 
wheels,  a  rush,  a  cry,  and  they  are  all  kissing 
and  embracing  as  if  scarcely  knowing  what  they 


did — all,  for  the  Doctor  was,  for  a  minute,  as 
much  overcome  as  any  of  them. 

"  And  your  mother,  Constance,  where  is  she  ?" 
"  Coming— she,  or  rather  we.  feared  tlic  bustle 
and  first  excitement  for  her — but  tlic  bells  were 
to  be  her  signal — and  lo !  here  she  is."' 

She  bore  the  meeting  admirably — was  perhaps 
more  calm  than  Mrs.  Vernon ;  and  though  many 
painful  feelings  agitated  each  individual,  grati- 
tude and  pleasure  were  certainly  predominant. 

When  alone  with  Constance,  Caroline  wept  bit- 
terly as  she  listened  to  a  hasty  outline  of  what 
had  passed — for  no  letters  could  tell  what  five 
minutes'  conversation  did — and  they  tlien  speedily 
rejoined  the  rest  of  the  piu-ty,  when  it  was 
arranged  that  they  should  part  for  this  day,  and 
leave  the  travelers  to  settle  and  rest  themselves  ; 
and  that  Mrs.  Templeton  should  spend  an  hour 
there  the  next,  with  the  Doctor  and  his  wife, 
while  the  carriage  took  back  Caroline  to  tlie 
Priory,  there  to  meet  Laurette,  and  pass  the  day 
with  them. 

Meantime,  the  visits  of  Lord  Hurstwood  to  the 
Priory  were,  in  one  sense,  any  thing  but  angelic 
— that  is  to  say,  they  were  neither  few  nor  far 
between ;  on  the  contrary,  they  were  long  and 
frequent. 

Thus  it  happened,  that  calling  there  one  day, 
rather  earlier  than  usual,  he  was  informed  that 
the  young  ladies  were  in  tha  drawing-room  con- 
servatory, whither  he  proceeded  unannounced,  the 
servant  having  left  him  to  seek  his  mistress.  His 
entrance  was  quite  unobserved  by  the  cousins — 
the  I'oom  in  which  he  stood  being  darkened  by 
blinds,  -while  they  sat  in  the  full  light  of  their 
floral  apartment — and  certainly  he  may  be  par- 
doned for  pausing  to  look  at  the  picture  they  pre- 
sented. 

Constance,  in  her  simple  white  dress,  relieved 
by  one  bow  of  her  favorite  color,  blue,  her  rich 
brown  hair  wound  round  her  well-shaped  head, 
and  her  sweet  face  peeping  through  her  thick 
glossy  curls,  was  seated  on  a  low  divan,  profusely 
scattered  with  cut  flowers,  Avhich  she  was  arrang- 
ing. Laurette,  fashionably,  but  most  becoming- 
ly dressed,  had  her  somewhat  dark  style  of  beauty 
skillfully  brought  out  by  a  pink  Ixinnet.  remark- 
able for  the  absence  of  any  thing  like  showy  trim- 
ming, while  her  standing  position  gave  her  an 
opportunity  of  assuming  one  of  those  graceful 
attitudes  which  had  lost  all  appearance  of  being 
studied  from  lunnng  become  quite  habitual. 

Cecilia  sat  witii  a  half  opened  book  in  her  hand, 
from  which  she  seemetl  to  have  been  reading;  an 
animated  reply,  which  she  was  making  to  Lau- 
rette, displayed  to  singular  advantage  all  the  dig- 
nity of  her  manner  and  the  irresistible  charm  of 
her  mouth  and  smile. 

"  I  maintain,"  she  was  saying.  "  that  there  is 
not  the  least  resemblance  between  the  case  of  this 
sentimental  heroine  here,"  indicating  the  book, 
"  and  our  dear  Helen.  This  girl  runs  away  with 
a  worthless  lover,  after  having  had  proofs  of  his 
baseness— Helen  did  nothing  of  the  kind." 

♦'Certainly  not,"  said  Laurette,  with  a  sneer, 
little  conscious  who  was  approaching  so  slowly— 
for  his  Lordship  was  seized  with  sudden  cramp — 
"  she  ran  away  to  escape  '  the  dandy  of  si.xty,  wlio 
bows  with  a  grace.'  " 

"  What  a  caustic  little  devil  it  is !"  was   the 


98 


THE   WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


listener's  thought.     "  Hang  it !  I  am  not  quite 
forty-eight." 

'"Bat  had  she  not  loved  Reginald,  who  is  a 
noble  and  a  true  gentleman,"  replied  Cecilia, 
"  that  objection  would  not  have  excused  her  with 
ever^'  one.  .Most  girls  would  consider  an  offer 
from  one  of  his  rank  and  station  an  honor— and 
depend  upon  it,  Lauretta,  there  will  be  as  much 
scheming  among  mothers,  ay,  and  among  daugh- 
ters too,  to  se^-ure  him,  as  among  courtiers  to  get 
the  vacant  ribbon." 

••  What  a  complexion  that  girl  has,  and  what  a 
shapa,"  muttered  the  peer ;  and  having  recovered 
from  his  cramp,  which  still  prevented  his  moving 
in  double  quick  time,  he  gently  retraced  his  steps, 
but  not  before  he  heard  Laurette,  with  a  mocking 
laugh,  say—"  iShopherds,  have 'you  seen  my  love  .' ' 
and"  protesting  by  all  that  was  spiteful,  that  the 
little  dark  vixen  would  die  an  old  maid,  he  made 
his  way  through  the  hall  to  the  door  of  the  con- 
servatory which  faced  the  park. 

He  smiled  as  he  gracefully  saluted  the  ladies, 
and  thought  of  the  "  dandy  of  sixty  ;"  but,  true 
to  his  courtier  training,  he  was  careful  not  to 
show  the  least  trace  of  pique  in  his  manner  to 
Laurette,  except,  that  when  she  began  to  play  her 
airs  of  patronizing  sympathy,  he  replied  in  so  gay 
and  jesting  a  tone  as  to  throw  back  the  ridicule 
on  her 

This  time,  as  he  returned  to  Hurstwood,  he  was 
80  absorbed  in  thought  as  not  to  remark  whom  he 
passed  on  the  road  ;  such,  at  least,  we  must  sup- 
pose was  the  case,  as  so  polite  a  nobleman  would 
never  remorselessly  have  cut  a  pretty  acquaint- 
ance like  Miss  Juliet,  Avho  "  happened"  to  be  driv- 
ing the  way  that  l«d  to  the  Hall ;  indeed,  as  she 
had  more  than  once  remarked  to  Lord  Hurstwood, 
it  was  something  extraordinary  this  should  so 
often  "happen;"  to  which  he  would  gallantly 
rejoin  some  nonsense  about  attraction  and  sympa- 
thy. 

He  now,  however,  passed  her  so  qujckly,  that  she 
scarcely  heard  the  hoofs  on  the  soft  turf,  before 
his  horse  was  far  a-head.  throwing  the  dust  in  her 
face,  as  plentifully  as  his  master  had  pre-saously 
thrown  it  in  her  eyes :  the  groom  respectfully 
touched  his  hat— but  that  was  for  my  lord ;  he 
grinned  — and  tliat  was  for  the  lady.  Juliet  was 
ready  to  cry  from  rage  and  mortiiication — she  did 
not,  however,  but  went  home,  and  did  what  was 
more  often  the  case — she  was  saucy  to  her  mother 
jn.stead;  conduct  which  that  sensible  matron  was 
not  likely  to  permit ;  in.solence  followed  violent  rep- 
rimand and  the  result  was  one  of  those  outbreaks 
nicknamed,  by  some  who  had  heard  them  more 
than  once,  on  account  of  theii-  noise,  "  the  Coopers 
at  work  " 

A  few  days  after  this,  Laurette  and  Constance 
had  set  out  to  the  Rectory  ;  Mrs  Templeton  and 
Cecilia  were  to  follow.  In  her  stately  way,  the 
latter  was  pacing  the  terrace,  when  Lord  Hurst- 
wood appeareil  Irom  the  garden  wing,  and  as  she 
was  walking  from  him,  he  iiad  full  time  to  remark 
the  well-proportioned  and  springy  figure,  wliich 
was  surmounted  by  a  head  and  bust  tit  model  for 
a  Juno. 

"Hymen,  I  invoke  thee,"  said  he,  raising  his 
liat.  and  still  retaining  it  in  his  hand,  as  the  fig- 
uro  turti-d  and  showed  the  pleasant  face  bebug- 
ing  10  it. 


"  Good-morning,  my  lord,"'  she  said,  in  return 
to  his  silent  bow ;  "  Mrs.  Templeton  will,  I  believe, 
be  here  immediately  " 

"  1  hope  not  before  my  object  in  coming,  so  soon 
after  my  visit  of  yesterday,  is  stated;  and  were 
it  not  presumptuous  to  hope  for  a  very  great  hap- 
piness, I  should  venture  to  add,  not,  1  hops,  before 
my  object  is  gained." 

"  So  successful  a  statesman  as  we  all  know  your 
Lordship  to  be,  should  never  anticipate  failure.  I 
have  read  it  somewhere,  that  half  the  secret  of 
success  is,  to  believe  it  certain." 

"  I  wish  I  could  listen  to  you,  Miss  Grantham 
as  worshipers  of  old  did  to  their  oracles— wiiii 
implicit  faith  in  their  predictions — but  this  I 
have  not  the  vanity  to  do ;  in  any  event,  how- 
ever, you  will  decide  my  fate.  May  I  therefore 
crave  the  honor  of  your  attention  for  a  few  min- 
utes .'■' 

Cecilia  bowed,  slightly  agitated. 

"  With  mp  the  age  of  romance  is  passed— I  an: 
nearly  forty-eight" — he  said  this  to  let  her  kn  .. 
he  was  not  sixty,  and  to  spare  her  the  trouble  '  r 
consulting  the  peerage;  "  domestic  life,  and  tlu- 
happiness  it  brings,  have  been  long  enough  neg- 
lected for  my  public  duties  ;  but  till  I  saw  you,  I 
never  saw  any  one  with  whom  I  felt  sure  I  should 
find  it.  If  I  should  be  so  highly  favored  as  to 
have  obtained  the  least  interest  in  your  good  opin- 
ion, my  dearest  wish  will  be  gained.  Pardon  me. 
also,  if  I  seem  presuming,  or  too  eager  to  secure 
so  great  a  boon ;  but  if  you  can  make  me'  happy 
by  "at  once  replying  favorably  to  my  requfct,  I 
entreat  you  to  do  so.  If  I  ask  too  much,  or  am 
too  precipitate  or  hasty,  condescend  to  consider 
what  I  have  said." 

"  Lord    Hurstwood,"    answered    Cecilia,    now 
thoroughly   herself,   "  I   am   said   to   be  frank, 
almost  to  rashness ;  and  perhaps,"  she  continued, 
smiling,  "  you,  like  a  true  politician,  will  turn 
this  confession  to  your  advantage — be  it  so.  I  tru.■^t 
implicitly  to  your  honor;  " — he  bowed,  well  pleas- 
ed at  tliis  exordium — "  but   before  I   decide,   I 
'  should  prefer  that  you,  as  well  as  myself,  see  Lord 
I  and  Lady  Grantham,  who  have  but  just  returned 
j  to  Eni^land ;  on  which  account  my  visit  here  will 
tern)inate  in  two  days." 

I  "  Tlien,"'  he  said,  bowing  on  her  hand,  which 
i  she  readily  held  out,  in  three  days'  time  I  sliall 
have  tlie  hunor  of  seeing  Lord  and  Lady  Gran- 
tham, and  of  again  meeting  you  under  tlieir  roof; 
till  tlien,  thus  the  affair  remains  ;  I  now  take  my 
leave,  and  carrying  with  me  your  permission  to 
hope." 

"  Nay,  that  is  your  own  addition." 

"  Then  ratify  it  with  your  own  gracious  and 
sweet  consent— so  that  it  may  not  be  my  inven- 
tion ;  you  will  also  permit  me  to  communicate 
witli  you  by  letter,  should  I  have  forgotten  any 
minor  detail,  while  wholly  engrossed  with. 
thoughts  of  securing  the  crowning  blessing  of 
Ufe." 

To  this  she  readily  consented,  and  he  was  tak- 
ing his  leave,  when  he  said,  "  13ut  here  is  Mrs. 
Templeton;  I  will  merely  bid  her  good-morning, 
and  adieu.  Our  next  meeting  will,  I  trust,  be  ;> 
happy  one  at  Grantham." 

And  he  departed,  quite  reconciled  to  the  En-,'- 
lish  method  of  wooing — and  quoting  the  poet's 
I  advice : 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


9S 


"  Therefore  all  hearts  in  love  ns"  their  own  tongue ; 
Lei  every  eye  iieiiniiiile  for  ilself, 
And  trust  no  agent." 

The  following  day,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
■brought  a  note  from  the  Hall ;  to  obtain  some 
trifling  information  was  the  ostensible  reason ; 
the  real  one  was  to  have  an  answer  Irom  Cecilia ; 
but  as  siie  has  alreadj'  decided  on  accepting  him, 
there  was  no  need  for  any  little  finessing — it, 
however,  gave  her  the  opportunity  of  saying  that 
her  parents  were  the  first  to  whom  she  should  men- 
tion liis  wishes ;  her  love  and  respect  for  her  aunt, 
being  subordinate  to  her  strong  feeling  of  affec- 
tion toward  them. 

Mrs  Templeton's  interview  with  the  Doctor 
and  Mrs.  Vernon  was,  at  first,  painful  and  excit- 
ing; for  though  they  had  received  full  accounts, 
by  almost  the  last  post  from  Ashley,  and  were 
able  to  inform  her  of  many  tilings  which  were 
not  mentioned  by  either  Reginald  or  Helen,  yet 
the  history  of  the  sad  train  of  events  which  had 
led  to  this  most  unexpected  result  revealed  much 
■which  displayed  the  tyranny  and  hardness  of  the 
Colonel  more  evidently  than  ever.  But  enimgli 
■was  learned  to  fully  exonerate  both  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton  and  Helen,  in  Mrs  Vernon's  opinion;  even 
the  good  Doctor  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that,  much 
as  he  wished  they  had  been  at  hand,  to  comfort 
and  sustain  her  during  this  season  of  perplexity 
and  trouble,  he  was  very  glad  that  his  absence 
had  saved  him  from  the  difficulty  of  being  obliged 
to  decide,  where,  he  feared,  his  feelings  and  his 
his  sense  of  duty  might  have  been  at  variance. 

She  also  informed  ihem  of  the  engagement  be- 
tween Hubert  and  Constance,  as  well  as  of  the 
contemplated  departure  of  the  former  ;  and 
though  they  both  congratulated  her  in  the  most 
friendly  manner,  it  was  evident  they  thought  tiiis 
temporary  separation  a  wise  arrangement ;  es-  . 
peciidly  the  Doctor,  who  remarked  that  Hubert, 
whose  generous  and  affection-.ite  nature  none  who 
knew  him  could  deny,  had  hitherto  had  very  little 
oppor:unity  of  knowing  much  of  himself  or  of  the 
Woi  Id  ;  and  though  he'went  on  his  long  tour  with  ; 
one  not  older  than  himself,  still  Victor  Morton  ' 
•was  years  his  senior  in  experience  ;  was  used  to 
traveling  about  in  the  most  independent  niajmer, 
and  possessed  such  valuable  introductions,  that 
great  advantage  might  be  derived  from  this  plan. 

"  And  when  is  Ashley  coming,  Caroline .'"  ask- 
ed Constance,  as  they  sat  chatting  together. 
"  How  I  long  to  see  him— for  I  am  not  fully  in 
mamma's  confidence  yet— she  merely  tells  me 
briefly.  Helen  is  well,  or,  as  she  said  lately,  Helen 
is  married — but  there  is  so  much  warning — not 
that  I  for  a  moment  wish  to  learn  what  she 
thinks  it  best  to  conceal;  but  there  are  so  many 
gaps,  which  1  could  honorably  ask  Ashley  to  fill 

'*  We  expect  him  very  shortly,"  replied  his  sis- 
ter; indeed,  I  think  papa  and  m.amma  are  disap- 
pointed that  he  is  not  here  to  receive  us— but  you 
know  with  him  friendship  is  a  very  absorbing 
feeling  ;  and  while  he  can  serve  Reginald  and 
Helen,  he  will  not  leave  them,  even  for  us— whom 
he  can  only  pleane,  not  assist." 

"  What  a  lover  he  will  make,"  remarked  Con- 
stance, smiling  and  then  blushing. 

"  Yes,"  said  Caroline,  gravely  ;  "  ivith  him  it 
•will  be  once  and  forever." 


"  But,  suppose— though  even  the  supposition  \n 
very  shocking — but  suppose  the  lady  should 
die  .'" 

"  He  will  still  love  her  memory  more  than  any 
other  living  creature ;  '  to  live  with  them  is  I'ar 
less  sweet  than  to  remember  thee.' " 

"  But  if  unworthy  :"  persisted  Constance. 

"Ah!  that  is  supposing  an  impossible  case. 
My  brother,"  she  said,  rather  proudly,  "  never 
can  love  anything  unworthy — he  seems  intuitive- 
ly to  jivoid  all  such." 

"  You  are  quite  right  there,  dear  Carry — and 
this  has  always  made  me  feel,  tliat  the  friend- 
ship of  Ashley  conferred  more  honor  than  ranker 
station."  And  in  their  exalted  estimate  of  one 
who  richly  merited  their  praises,  neither  of  these 
beautiful  girls  seemed  ever  to  have  thought  it 
possible  that  Ashley  might  suffer  from  a  third 
cause — that  of  loving  without  meeting  a  return. 

After  Mrs.  Templeton  and  Constance  left,  Car- 
oline s.-it  down  to  write  to  this  beloved  brother. 
She  told  him  first  of  their  disappointment  at  not 
seeing  him — sent  him  news  of  the  Priory,  and  of 
the  village  generally  ;  and  as  she  was  closing  lier 
letter,  Mrs.  Vernon  entered. 

"  To  Ashley,  dear.'"  she  asked,  looking  at  the 
letter. 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  Did  Constance  tell  you  anything  of  Hubert.'" 

"  Nothing,  and  I  really  forgot  to  ask  of  him — 
though  I  suppose  she  knows  of  the  scheme  Victor 
mentioned  last  night.  But  I  have  told  Ashley 
how  wonderfully  the  traveled  young  hermit  is 
improved— really,  if  he  goes  on  so,  he  has  a 
chance  of  becoming  celebrated." 

"  Then,  my  dear,  you  must  tell  Ashley,  who 
can  scarcely  yet  know  it,  that  when  the  wan- 
derers return,  Hubert's  engagement  to  Constance 
will,  be  ratified,  and  they  -will  be  mairied."  How 
surprised  you  look  !" 

"  I  am  a  great  simpleton  to  be  perpetually  sur- 
prised at  these  love  affairs.  I  hope  I  shall  liave 
fair  warning  when  my  turn  conies — if  ever  itdo — 
but  dear  nianiiha,  1  am  surprised  still — though  I 
have  he:ird  of  it  for  these  last  two  minutes." 

"  And  yet  there  is  nothing  very  extaordinary," 
was  her  mother's  quiet  remark. 

"No — certainly  not,"  was  the  rather  hesitating 
reply  and  manner.  "  I  see  Constance  can  keep 
lier  secrets." 

"  No,  my  love,  she  can  not — for  she  particu- 
larly requested  her  mother  to  inform  us  of  tlie 
I  fact,  and  without  any  delaj' — are  you  pacified  :' 
j  '•  Oh  !  mamma— 1  am  sure  I  respect  her  feel- 
ings too  mucli  to  be  otherwise — but."  and  she 
looked  full  at  her  mother,  "  Hubert  is  not  my 
choice  for  Constance." 

"  Indeed  !  and  why  .'  or  on  whom  would  your 
perfect  approval  have  fallen  :" 

"On  no  one  I  know— but  Hubert  Forrester, 
amiable  and  charming  as  he  is,  has  not,  and  I 
fear  never  will  have,  the  deep  yet  lofty  feelin;;.s 
which  she  is  so  eminently  calculated  to  appre- 
ciate " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  can  not  contradict  ynn— for 
the  truth  is.  this  is  exactly  my  opinion — lau  time 
and  intelligent  society  may  greatly  improve  a  na- 
ture so  honorable  as  that  of  Hubert." 

Therefore  this  piece  of  news  was  added  in  i' 
postscript,  without  remark  or  comment.     Bui  )■ 


100 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


did  not  seem  greatly  to  have  interested  Ashley,  as 
he  never  noticed  it  in  his  reply,  which  contained 
a  long  account  of  himself  and  his  friends,  but 
merely  expressed  his  regret  at  not  being  able  to 
leave  town  just  then. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

"There's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has  told, 
Where  two  lliat  are  link"d  in  one  heavenly  lie. 
With  hearl  nevtr  chat  ging.  a  brow  never  cold. 
Love  on  through  all  ill,  and  love  on  till  they  die  !" 

MOOEB. 

Helen  has  been  left  a  long  time  to  recover 
from  the  fatigue  of  her  rapid  journey ;  so  long, 
that  if  she  had  h:id  nothing  to  do  but  to  examine 
her  new  abode  and  all  it  contained,  she  must  have 
wearied  of  the  task. 

liut  such  was  not  the  case — in  truth,  she  was 
60  much  occupied  in  realizing  the  change  in  her 
prospects,  which  had  been  so  une.\pectedly 
effected,  that  days  glided  into  weeks  belbre  she 
succeeded. 

She  sometimes  felt  as  if  she  had  been  suddenly 
cast  on  some  strange  and  uninhabited  island — so 
huslied  and  quiet  did  all  appear  ;  so  entirely  was 
she  removed  from  her  late  agitating  associations 
— so  completely  had  her  more  familiar  apprehen- 
sions given  place  to  others,  and  entirely  new  ones 
— still,  with  all  this  there  were  tranquillity  and 
peace  — and  she  felt  how  gracious  the  change  was. 

But  these  thoughts  and  feelings  occupied  her 
only  when  she  was  alone.  When  Reginald  and 
Asliley  came  in  tlie  evening,  sometimes  remaining 
to  tea,  at  whicli  jNIrs  Stopsel  always  made  one  of 
the  party,  it  was  then  as  if  some  beneficent 
genius  had  transformed  her  desert  into  something 
very  delightful — a  kind  of  real  happy  valley — 
where  she  could  hear  the  voice  best  loved,  and 
see  the  face  so  dear.  "  My  dear,  dear  mother, 
my  sweet  sister,  oh  that  you  were  here  !"  was  on 
tlie-c  occasions  the  only  desire  that  arose  in  her 
heart. 

Almost  every  day  did  she,  and  very  often  Regi- 
nald, through  Mr.  Morton,  write  to  tliis  mother, 
who  h;id  made  so  great  an  effort  fur  their  sakes  ; 
and  frequent  were  the  short  replies  sent  through 
the  same  channel ;  or  if  he  were  absent,  they  were 
posted  by  Mrs.  Templeton — so  well  had  she  learned 
out  of  the  book  of  old  experience.  And  wlien 
these  precious  tokens  came,  how  bitterly  did 
Helen  sometimes  weep — tliDugh  not  for  worlds 
wouhJ  slie  have  had  Reginald  know  of  her  tears — 
but  the  very  means  by  which  their  coiTe;'pondence 
was  carried  on.  seemed  perpetually  to  remind  her 
of  what  she  had  been  forced  to  do— and  the 
would  iisk,  "  Why  had  she  been  so  liarshly,  so 
unjustly  treated,  ilmt  the  only  escape  from  what, 
to  iier,  would  have  been  real  ignominy,  wis  to 
brave  whatmatiy  would  condemn  most  severely  .'" 

She  might  liave  niairied  amansliedid  niitlove, 
one  indeed,  whose  character,  tliough  not  exactly 
bud,  po.-ses>ed  no  quality  with  which  slie  could 
sympathize — she  mi^iit  liave  done  tiiis.  even  while 
hiving  another,  and  the  world  wouhl  liave  called 
her  a  sensible  girl,  who  had  not  weakly  yielded 


to  a  romantic  attachment.  Now,  though  hal- 
lowed by  her  mother's  sanction,  her  marriage 
would  be  called — odious  words— a  run-away 
match. 

But  here  again  the  good  genius  would  appear, 
and  his  arguments  were  so  conclusive  when  he 
named  Reginald,  that  she  dried  her  eyes,  and  met 
him  with  a  smile. 

It  is  astonishing  how  discontented  and  fastidi- 
ous Ashley  had  lately  become — the  rooms  whicli 
he  had  pronounced  so  comfortable,  while  Reginald 
was  the  sole  occupant,  were,  in  his  eyes,  strangely 
altered — for  scarcely  a  day  passed  without  some 
exchange  or  addition — and  he  was  now  racking 
his  brain  with  some  architectural  contrivance, 
which  would  enable  him  to  introduce  a  piano  into 
their  rather  limited  quarters  ;  when  Gretchen  and 
he  had  a  long  conference  together  one  evening, 
which  suddenly  put  a  stop  to  all  further  changes. 
Helen  received  a  small  part  of  her  wardrobe 
soon  after  her  departure — the  remainder,  with 
many  useful  articles  from  the  Priory,  which 
strictly  belonged  to  her,  were  forwarded  after 
her  marriage.  Mrs.  Templeton,  aided  hy  Daw- 
son, had  effected  this  transmission — there  was 
neither  leave  asked  nor  concealment  affected — 
but  they  were  packed  and  sent;  whether  the 
Colonel  knew  it  or  not,  did  not  transpire — per- 
haps to  have  interfered  with  this,  now  that  all 
interference  with  his  daughter  was  useless,  would 
have  been  a  petty  spite,  of  which  even  he  was 
incapable. 

A  few  days  before  that  appointed  for  their  mar- 
riage, "  Helen,"  said  Reginald,  when  they  wera 
alone,  an  unusual  event,  "  where  shall  we  go, 
dearest,  to  spend  the  first  week  of  our  honey- 
moon ?" 

"  Must  we  go  anywhere  away  .'"  she  asked. 
"  Not  must,  but  I  have  arranged  for  a  week's 
holiday — I  can  not  spare  a  longer  time." 

"  Then,  dear  Reginald,  let  us  go  to  that  pretty 
village  near  Hastings,  on  the  coast — I  remember 
driving  to  it  once  with  Mrs.  Loftus,  when  we  were 
all  there  for  cliange  of  air." 

*•  Be  it  so — and  we  will  start  from  the  church- 
door.  Helen,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  if  I  have 
said  but  little  of  the  circumstances  into  which 
very  peculiar  events  have  forced  us,  it  is  because 
I  feel  them  too  deeply  to  trust  myself  with  any 

I  allusion  ;  and  because  I  also  feared  to  do  or  s  ly 

j  any  thing  that  might  agitate  or  distress  you — you 

'  have  understood  this  V 

I      "  As    well   as   if  you  had  repeatedly  spoken, 

t  Reginald  — I  am  quite  reconciled  to  all  that  hits 
happened— why  should  1  hesitate  to  say  it?  for 

!  without  it,  I  never  should  have  been  your  happy 

I  wife." 

!  ''  Now  bles>:ings  on  your  dear  head,"  replied 
he,  much  touched  at  this  mark  of  confidence  and 
affeciion,  "for  that  sweet  avowal.  Ah!  Helen, 
if  health  and  life  be  granted,  how  joyfully  shall  I 
labor  to  show  my  gratitude  for  what  you  will  bo 
to  ine— and,  after  all,  we  are  not  so  poor  as  many 
— for  your  mother's  gift  supplies  all  that  we  shall 
actually  sjieiid,  and  my  generous  friends  will  not 
hear  me,  v.hen  I  talk  of  relinquishing  their  aid 
toward  my  legal  expenses." 

"  With  our  kind  Gretchen  to  teach  me,  I  shall 
soon  learn,  to  play  Madame  L'Econome,  so  as  to 
astonish  you." 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


101 


"  That  you  do  already— so  you  may  safely  re- 
main stationary  in  your  excellence,  for  I  cnn  not 
love  or  admire  you  more,  do  what  you  will." 
"  We  shall  see,"  she  replied. 
Mr.  Turner,  the  eminent  lawyer  with  whom 
Ashley  and  lleginald  read,  had  necessarily  learned 
much  of  the  latter"s  history ;  and  as  time  made 
him  better  acquainted  with  the  worth  of  the  two 
friends,  his  interest  in  their  welfare  increased,  so 
much  so,  that  he  seized  every  opportunity  forgiv- 
ing them  all  the  advantages  his  talents  and  posi- 
tion afforded. 

Considering  him,  as  he  had  every  right  to  do.  a 
sincere  friend,  Reginald  had  frankly  informed  him 
of  the  novel  circumstances  in  which  Helen's  claim 
had  placed  him. 

"  \Vell,  then,  your  first  step  will  be  to  marry 
this  young  lady  ?" 

"  Of  courss — directly  I  can." 
"  Do  you  think  she  would  like  to  receive  any  of 
your  fi-iends,  Avho  have  not  the  pleasure  of  yet 
knowing  her,  before  that  event  takes  place .'  If 
80,  my  sister — I  never  had  time  to  fall  in  love  and 
marry,  I  was  too  busy  ellx)wing  my  way  through 
life— but  my  sister,  as  iine  a  specimen  of  an  old 
maid  as  ever  was — but  you  are  acquainted  with 
her — worth  a  whole  zenana  of  silly  wives — will 
have  great  pleasure  in  calling  on  her." 

"Those  who  visit  you  are  not  likely  to  over- 
look jMiss  Turner.  As  to  Ashley,  I  believe  he  is 
half  in  love  with  her."- 

"  No — you  don't  say  so — the  sly  dog — and  if  he 
were  to  offer,  depend  upon  it  he  would  be  accepted 
— so  I  must  look  sharp  after  my  housekeeper." 

"  I  strimgly  ad\ise  it — but  though  I  thank  you 
for  your  kindness,  at  present.  Miss  Templeton 
shrinks  from  all  society ;  but  when  we  return — 
for  I  mean  to  steal  a  week — we  shall  feel  very 
much  gratified  at  any  attention  Miss  Turner  may 
show  us." 

"  And  who  gives  this  pretty  thing  away  ?  for 
pretty  of  course  she  is  ?" 

Reginald  smiled.  "  Ashley  claims  that  privi- 
lege." 

"  Very  well ;  and  now  that  you  have  won  her, 
my  young  friend,  be  kind  and  gentle  to  her  ;  they 
are  tender  and  loving  creatures,  and  God  help 
them  when  man  does  not." 

It  is  the  morning  of  Helen's  wedding-day,  and 
there  she  sits  in  her  room,  looking  so  beautiful, 
and  waiting  the  arrival  of  Reginald  and  Ashley. 
There  is  the  carriage  with  them,  and  Gretclien, 
half  smiles,  half  tears,  enters  in  her  appropriate, 
but  unostentatious,  dress  of  gray  silk,  Reginald's 
gift. 

"  Are  they  come  ?"  said  Helen. 
"  Yes,  my  darling,  and  I  am  here  to  fetch  you 
down." 

Calmly  Helen  followed  her,  and  on  entering  the 
parlor,  gave  a  hand  to  each  of  them ;  and  then 
taking  Reginald's  arm,  advanced  toward  the  car- 
riage, followed  by  A.shley  and  Gretchen. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  asked  Ashley  of  Reginald, 
"  one  day,  when  I  threatened  to  give  you  Helen, 
to  remove  some  of  your  odd  notions  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply ;  "but  though  very  dif- 
ferently placed  then,  was  I  half  m  happy  .'" 

The  ceremony  is  over — they  leave  their  tried 
friends  at  the  church-door,  so  it  had  i)eon  arranged. 
"My  wife,"  said  Reginald,  tenderly  embracing 


Helen.     "  My  dear,  dear  husband,"  was  the  quirt 
reply. 

"  And  now  Mrs.  Stopsel,"  said  Ashley,  when 
after  a  silent  walk  they  reached  the  cottage,  "  wo 
have  not  a  moment  to  lose,  if  wo  would  succeed  in 
carrying  out  our  little  surprise.  1  fwir  we  must 
limit  ourselves  to  white-wasliing  and  papering, 
but  with  some  simple  furniture  in  good  ta.sie  I 
am  sure  every  one  will  pronounce  the  idea  a  good 
one."  But  in  order  that  we  may  give  an  opiuion, 
it  is  necessary  to  explain. 

The  cottage  occupied  by  Stopsel  and  his  wife 
was  one  of  those  suburban  villus,  as  the  advertis- 
ing sheet  phrases  it — cottage  is  the  proper  term — 
with  which  the  envimns  of  London  abound ;  it 
stood  detached  in  its  own  small  garden,  with  rooms 
on  each  side  of  the  entrance.  On  one  side  was 
Gretchen's  parlor,  behind  that  her  kitciien  ;  on 
the  other  side  was  a  tolerably  sized  room,  looking 
back  and  front;  above  these  were  the  same  num- 
ber of  bed-rooms,  with  a  tiny  dressing-room  over 
tlie  tiny  hull. 

The  original  proprietor  had  probably  possessed 
that  luxury  of  ambitious  London  tradesmen,  a 
one-horse  chaise,  for  there  was  accommodation  for 
both.  The  last  occupant  had  been  an  artist— of 
course  the  stable  and  chaise-house,  as  such,  were 
useless  to  him  ;  but  he  had  turned  the  latter  into 
a  painting-room,  lighted  from  the  roof,  and  though 
the  change  was  done  economically,  the  result  was 
a  very  snug  and  cosy  scudio— but  the  access  was 
from  the  garden,  and  during  the  time  the  Stcipsels 
had  lived  there,  it  was  used  entirely  as  a  lumber- 
room. 

On  this  Ashley  had  cast  eyes  of  desire ;  a  door 
could  so  easily  be  opened  from  the  present  largo 
sitting-room  into  it — and  though  this  would  make 
a  sort  of  passage-way  of  the  former,  so  much  would 
be  gained  by  tlie  addition  of  another  apartment, 
that  that  objection  had  but  little  weight. 

This,  therefore,  was  to  be  dedicated  to  Helen 
and  her  piano — and  as  Ashley  spent  money  as  if 
he  had  found  Fortunatus'  purse,  when  cleaned, 
papered,  and  furnished,  it  looked  so  pretty  as  to 
bid  fair  to  become  a  great  favorite. 

And  so  Ashley's  wliim  was  indulged,  and  when 
the  absentees  returned,  he  was  richly  repaid  by  the 
unqualified  admiration  they  expre.ssjd. 

"  This,  dear  Helen,"  said  Ashley,"  is  my  railenu 
de  muriaf^e  ;  and  this,"  saluting  her,  "  is  my  re- 
ward." 

"  Oh,  Reginald,  oh,  Ashley,"  she  replied,  turn- 
ing her  sweet  face  from  one  to  the  other,  "  lunv 
rich  we  are  in  the  be.-<t  of  treasures  —dear  hus- 
band and  dear  brother,  in  gaining  one  I  have 
gained  both." 

And  how  eloquent  was  her  next  letter  to  her 
mother,  when,  speaking  of  her  happ!ne.s,s,  alloyed 
only  by  separation  from  her  and  Con^stance,  she 
dwelt  in  glowing  terms  on  .Vshl'.y  s  kindncs.?, 
Ashley's  generosity  ;  till  Mrs.  TemplL'ton,  who  re.ad 
the  letter  to  GonsUmce,  remarked,  "  Ashley, 
almost  aa  often  as  Reginald." 


102 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


CHAPTER   XLIY. 


"L"'  cipl  dont  nous  voyons  que  I'ordre  est  lout  piii.'sant, 
Pour  diirferrnis  fm|.|om  n..Uf  folir  q'lf  fii  naissaiil  ; 
Et  tiiui  e»|iril  nVsi  |.asc  mcosfe  li'uiie  fet  ff^-, 
Q'li  8e  irouve  laill6e  &  faire  uu  phil'>su|ihe. 
Lc  mien  est  fail,  ma  goeur,  pour  allcr  terre  &  teire." 

MOLIEEB. 

"  And  it  is  then  true  that  you  have  accepted 
*^ord  Hurstwoo"!  ?'  said  her  mother,  when  Cecilia 
told  her  .. f  his  ofiFer. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  and  I  hope  neither  you  nor 
papa  will  see  cause  to  reject  him." 

"  You  know  but  little  of  his  character  or  tem- 
per, Cecilia,"  said  lier  mother,  looking  unusually 
grave;  "and  1  own  I  have  been  accustomed  to 
rank  him  among  those  who  are  rather  lax  in  their 
principles  on  many  subjects." 

"  1  have  no  doubt  but  that,  while  he  was  young, 
he  was  led  by  the  fashion  ;  but  when  we  were  in 
Italy,  the  theater  of  his  early  diplomatic  career, 
he  was  always  spoken  of  with  respect — certainly 
not  as  free  from  all  vice— but  as  one  whose  con- 
duct had  never  given  rise  to  .any  one  of  those  ter- 
rible scandals  which  disgrace  the  lives  of  many  of 
his  cotemporaries.  As  to  his  temper,  I  sincerely 
believe  that  to  be  excellent — for  he  was  much  at 
the  Priory,  and  there  were  many  occasions  when, 
I  must  say,  I  think  uncle  Lionel  rather  tried  it." 

'•  Well,  my  dear,  you  have  plenty  of  sense,  and 
have  a  right  to  judge  for  yourself  in  this  matter. 
In  point  of  rank  and  wealth  this  is  beyond  our 
utmost  ambition ;  and  if  you  think  j-^ou  can  be 
happy,  you  have  our  consent  and  blessing." 

"  1  have  no  doubt  of  being  happy  as  Lord 
Hurstwood's  wife,"  she  replied,  confidently, 
"thou'jh  many  would  not  feel  so  secure.  I  am 
no*,  romantic — he  is  amiable;  for,  with  respect  to 
Eden,  I  think  he  was  shamefully  ill-used,  I  am 
no  longer  in  my  fii-st  youth — charming  sixteen  is 
now  seen  from  a  distant  point  of  view."  continued 
sue,  laughing  ;  "  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  dear 
mamma,  I  have  lately  thought  a  good  deal  about 
my  future  prospects.  Were  I  not  the  Honorable 
Miss  Gi-jinthprn,  it  would  be  very  ditferent,  for  I 
have  sufficient  sense  ami  moderation  to  reduce  my 
wants  to  my  means ;  and,  as  a  poor  man's  child, 
could  live  on  very  scanty  ones,  or  work  in  order 
to  increase  them;  but  a  poor  nobleman's  daughter 
is  8o  <lifferent — the  shackles  of  rank  interfere  with 
freedom  of  action,  turn  which  way  you  will;  and 
I  should  not  like  to  eke  out  a  slender  income,  by 
annually  visiting  from  one  relative  or  friend  to 
another,  till  1  become  a  new  kind  of  income-tax." 

"  That  is  true,  Cecilia  ;  and  though  Henry  has 
acted  most  gi-nerously.  and  never  forgets  either 
you  or  his  brothers— for  Alfred  still  needs  help— 
his  own  family  have  claims  upon  him  " 

"  Henry  is  a  real  nubleman,"  was  the  sister's 
energetic  reply.  "  You  sigh,  dear  mamma,  but  I 
assure  you.  without  cause;  I  am  neither  a  victim 
nor  a  sacrifice.  Think  how  much  better  off  I  am 
than  many  girls  in  my  station.  I  by  no  means 
dislike  Lord  Hurstwood — on  the  contrary,  I  be- 
lieve I  could  very  easily  love  him  ;  and  when  I 
think  how  often  I  have  seen  you  look  grave  and 
careful,  when  any  extraordinary  expense  has  been 
needful,  surely  you  must  bo  glad  to  know  that 
this,  at  least,  will  not  be  my  trial." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  certainly  do  not  wish  you 


to  have  the  anxieties  I  have  had  ;  they  have  some- 
times, perhaps,  made  me  over-bold  in  asking  favoi-s 
for  my  children  ;  and  your  affectionate  and  ener- 
getic character  will  find  a  more  suitable  sphere  of 
action  among  family  claims  than  in  single  blessed- 
ness ;  still  there  is  your  aunt  Lucy,  of  a  noble 
family  like  yourself,  and  yet  unmarried." 

"  The  cases  are  not  similar ;  aunt  Lucy  has 
fortune  enough  to  live  quite  independently,  in- 
!  deed,  to  spare  tor  others,  as  we  have  good  reason 
I  to  know ;  and  then,  from  the  fact,  that  she  has 
'  refused  several  excellent  offers,  preferring  to  re- 
I  main  fiiithful  to  the  memory  of  her  gallant  lover, 
'  she  has  become  a  sort  of  romance,  such  as  I  never 
could  become.  Now  I  firmly  intend  to  do  my  duty 
by  Lord  Hurstwood,  and  make  him  as  happj'  as  I 
can.  I  am  grateful  to  him,  and  I  shall  let  him 
see  it." 

"  Y'^ou  are  right,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother, 
stifling  a  sigh,  "  happy  you  must  make  any  one 
you  live  with ;  and  such  gratitude  as  yours  is  no 
bad  substitute  for  love." 

And  when  Lord  Hyrstwood  came,  he  was  very 
soon  most  favorably  impressed  with  all  he  saw  in 
the  family  of  his  bride-elect,  and  in  his  turn  was 
equally  well  received.  Under  such  circumstances 
his  suit  prospered ;  the  preparations  for  the  wed- 
ding were  hastened  as  much  as  possible  ;  and  in 
less  than  two  months  after  her  quiet  marriage, 
Helen  read  an  account  of  her  cousin's  splendid 
nuptials,  in  the  paper,  with  a  paragraph  especially 
dedicated  to  description  and  millinery — among 
the  list  of  company  were  the  names  of  the  two 
chief  bridesmaids.  Miss  Sinclair  and  Miss  Temple- 
ton,  relatives,  so  the  paper  said,  of  the  beautiful  ' 
bride. 

Mrs.  Templeton,  with  Constance  and  Lauretto, 
remained  for  a  week  at  Grantham  after  the  wed- 
ding. Lord  and  Lady  Hurstwood  went  to  a  small 
property  his  Lordship  had  in  Wales;  and  they 
meant,  on  their  return  to  the  Hall,  to  give  a  se- 
ries of  parties. 

In  order  to  be  ready  for  a  full  share  in  these, 
by  being  somewhere  at  Seabrooke,  Lauretto  took         i 
this  O23portuuity  of  spending  the  interval  with  tlie         i 
Westroughs.     It  was  further  settled,  that  they      '  I 
.should  all   travel  north  when   Hubert  departed,         J 
for  she  had  made  such  a  point  of  the  Templetons        f 
visiting  Scotland,  that  she  obtained   her  uncle's 
consent,  and  silenced  her  aunt's  objections  by  in- 
sisting so  much  on  the  benefit  they  would  all  de- 
rive, that,  at  last.  Mrs.  Templeton  was  induced 
to  think  it  her  duty  to  give  Constance  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  a  little  more  of  society  before  she 
married. 

This  visit  to  Grantham,  the  first  she  had  made 
for  years,  had  much  gratified  Mrs.  Temjileton ; 
and  coming  as  it  did,  when  her  health  had  been 
so  shaken  by  recent  trials,  its  beneficial  effects 
went  far  to  strengthen  the  arguments  Lauretto 
brought  forward,  and  reconciled  her  to  a  further 
journey.  Besides,  the  bustle  and  excitement  of 
Cecilia's  marriage,  which  forced  her  thoughts  into 
a  fresh  and  cheerful  channel,  were  of  permanent 
advantage. 

Lady  Grantham,  who,  in  the  midst  of  so  much 
to  claim  her  exclusive  attention,  never  forgot 
others,  learned  from  her  sister-in-law  many  par- 
ticulars that  deeply  affected  and  interested  her, 
and  though,  of  course,  the  part  Lord  Hurstwood 


THI-:    WJFE'S   TRIALS. 


103 


had  had  in  the  affair  -was  lightly  and  delicately 
elluded  to  ;  and  thougli  there  was  no  contidencc 
respecting  the  steps  she  herself  had  taken  in 
Helen's  flight,  this  was  so  evident  to  her  Lady- 
ship, that,  when  she  subsequently  fultilled  her 
mise  to  see  Helen,  she  frankly  alluded  to  it. 
jord  Grantham  oti'ered  his  services  as  mediator 
•ween  Colonel  Templeton  and  the  young  couple ; 
jut  his  sister  declined,  for  the  same  reasons  whicli 
had  induced  her  to  refuse  Doctor  Vernon's  inter- 
ference—namely, her  conviction  that  it  would  be 
useless,  and  might  be  injurious.  At  present,  she  | 
could  correspond  with  Helen —she  could  also, 
through  Mrs.  Vernon,  who  sometimes  took  a  peep 
at  Ashk^y  ;ind  London,  have  tliose  personal  re- 
ports which  she  so  pined  to  verify  with  her  own 
eyes ;  but  fierce  and  vehement  as  had  been  her 
husband's  denunciations  against  any  who  pre- 
sumed to  disobey  his  prohibition,  he  had  been 
contented  with  apparent  submission ;  and  with  a 
levity  which  characterized  him,  had  probably  \ 
C^sed  to  remember  or  care  for  the  chasm  which 
his  violence  had  made  in  their  small  circle,  j 
Therefore  his  wife  said,  "  Let  me  not  risk  what  I 
have  in  trying  to  obtain  more.  Helen  is  happy,  j 
and  I  am  learning  to  be  resigned."  i 

The  return  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  to  Hurstwood 
was  preparatory  to  a  series  of  such  gayeties  as 
had  not  enlivened  the  neighborhood  for  years. 
Lady  Dallas  said  she  was  ready  to  cry  because 
Ada,  her  eldest  daughter,  was  not  old  enough  to 
share  in  them  -  but  apparently  she  reconsidered 
the  matter,  and  enjoyed  herself  enough  for  botli. 

The  hall  was  filled  with  noble  and  fashionable 
guests,  ready  to  join  in  any  scheme  of  pleasure 
and  amusement,  and  amiable  to  exti'act  both  out 
of  all  that  was  ofF.Tel. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  polished  courtesy  of 
his  Lordship — nothing  disturbed  or  rufiled  the 
sweet  temper  of  her  Ladyship  or  banished  her 
charming  smile — they  both  seemed  as  happy  as 
their  best  friends  could  desire  ;  and  their  popu- 
larity lost  nothing  by  the  frank  condescension  of 
their  manner. 

The  Forresters,  careless  of  wealth  or  new  titles, 
■were  worshipers  of  old  nobility  ;  and  as  the 
Hurstwood  nil  me  had  become,  from  first  to  last, 
antique  enough  even  for  them,  a  feeble  ray  of  this 
splendor  fell  on  Constance ;  and  the  cousin  of 
L.idy  Hurstwood  was  allowed  to  hide  the  sister 
of  therun-away  Helen. 

Hubert  liad  made  various  excuses  for  delaying 
his  departure,  to  which  Mr.  Morton   had  kindly  | 
yielded  ;  but  when   he    saw  that  indulgence  led 
only  to  further  delay,  he  said  that  either  Hubert 
must  accompany  Victor  at  once,  or  the  latter  must 
sail  without   him.     This,  and  Victor's  profound 
remark,  tliat  the  sooner  he   left   the   sooner  he 
would   return,   decided    the  matter ;    and    a  few 
'months  after  their  engagement,  Hubert  and  Con- 
stance parted — but  not  before  arrangements  had  i 
been  made  fur  a  regular  correspondence — at  wliich  ; 
Mr.  Morton   laughed,   dryly  remarking,   that  in  ; 
addition  to  the  uncertainty  of  winds  and  waves, 
must  be  added  tliat  of  scarcely  knowing  their  own 
destination  till  they  reached  it — for  Victor's  ob- 
ject was  not  entirely  pleasure — he  was  intrusted 
with  some  important  commissions  from  Mr.  Mor- 
ton, with  which  his  mercantile  career  would  ter- 
minate. ' 


Cecilia  very  much  wished  that  Constance  would 
spend  a  short  time  with  her  after  Hubert's  de- 
parture, for  as  the  Hull  was  now  thinned  of  its 
late  gay  and  festive  throng,  she  could  devote 
herself  more  exclusively  to  iier  amusement;  hut 
she  never  could  be  persuaded  to  leave  hernioilier, 
though  tlie  latter  seconded  Cecilia's  kind  invita- 
tion. "  I  will  come  over  as  soon  as  you  like,  for 
the  day,"  said  she  ;  "  but  I  can  not  leave  mamma 
to  the  care  of  any  one  else — not  even. the  kind 
llectorites." 

Claiming,  therefore,  this  promise,  Cecilia  one 
day  drove  out  to  fetch  lier,  and  on  their  return 
noticed,  at  one  of  the  lodge-gates,  a  small  j.ony- 
ch.iise.  Supposing,  if  she  supposed  at  nil  about 
what  did  not  concern  her,  that  it  belonged  to  some 
one  there  on  business,  she  passed  on,  and  about 
five  minutes'  drive  brought  within  their  view  the 
figure  of  some  one,  very  smartly  dressed,  walking 
in  the  direction  of  tlie  flower-garden. 

"  Who  is  that,"  asked  Cecilia,  "  who  seems  t» 
know  the  place  better  than  the  regulations  .•" 

But  Constance,  who  did  not  recognize  the  gay 
shawl  and  tasty  bonnet,  shook  her  head. 

'•  It  is  Miss  Mordaunt,  my  Lady,"  said  the 
groom,  in  reply  to  iier  Ladysliip's  look. 

"  Ride  on  then."  was  the  order,  given  very 
coolly,  "  and  inform  her  that  this  is  private  prop- 
erty, and  show  her  the  warning  against  intruders, 
as  you  see  her  out.'' 

Juliet,  it  was  really  she  whose  artless  simplicity 
had  exposed  her  to  this  rebuff,  heard  the  order 
with  burning  indignation  ;  and  her  face  became 
crimson  as  she  also  heard  the  quick  canter  of  the 
groom  hastening  to  obey. 

"Beg  pardon,  Miss,  but  this  is  private  prop- 
erty," said  he,  civilly. 

And  tiiere  being  no  altcrnntive  but  for  her  to 
retrace  her  steps,  she  turned  to  do  so,  swelling 
with  mortification  and  rage  ;  and  thus  saw  who 
was  the  companion  of  the  Lady  Paramount,  and 
the  witness  of  her  humiliation.  If  she  could  have 
cast  Constance  under  the  wlieels  of  lier  cousin's 
elegant  equipage,  or  under  those  of  her  own  little 
vehicle,  it  was  evident  that  she  would  have  done 
it  with  tlie  pleasure  or  indifl'erence  of  a  Tullia,  so 
malignant  was  tlie  glance  she  darted — as,  closely 
followed  by  the  groom,  she  swept  by. 

Wholly  indift'erent  to  her  love  or  hate,  Lady 
Hurstwood,  without  vouchsafing  tlie  least  remark, 
calmly  drove  on— not  so  the  gentle  Juliet.  The 
pretty  pony,  a  great  favorite  with  Mrs.  Captain, 
was  made  to  feel  the  young  lady's  woes,  by  sun- 
dry lashes  and  switches,  till  lashed  and  switched 
beyond  even  a  pony's  endurance,  he  flew  along  so 
as  to  leave  no  c.iu.se  for  urging  ;  and  Juliet,  now 
rising  to  lash  out  tlie  fury  she  had  lashed  in,  and 
to  beat  him  into  a  sober  pace,  was  jerked  out — 
and  while  the  lad  wlio  was  with  her  kdl  into  some 
soft  mud,  and  escaped  with  a  whole  skin  but  torn 
habiliments,  she  not  only  spoiled  her  gay  attire, 
but  for  a  long  time  her  pretty  f  ice,  wh:cli  liad  an 
ugly  wound  on  the  cheek,  was  obliged  to  be 
eclipsed  by  a  prolusion  of  ringlets — too  profuse  lo 
be  becoming. 

Nor  was  this  all;  for  wliile  her  tender  mother 
was  busy  plastering  up  tlie  wound  and  bathing 
the  bruises,  she,  who  had  learned  from  her  muddy 
servant  what  had  happened, seized  the  opportunity 
of  administering  a  little  healing  to  the  mind  and 


104 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


feelings  which  were  evidently  ill  disposed  and  out 
of  order;  or  this  model  youug  lady  would  never 
have  exposed  herself  to  an  ignominious  ejectment 
as  a  trespasser ;  but,  like  medicine  invariably, 
this  was  so  unpalatable,  that  the  patient  was  re- 
fractory, and  refused  to  swallow  it  quietly ;  and 
was  then  threatened,  like  a  naughty  child,  with 
her  uncle's  displeasure — which  proved  no  empty 
threat,  but  a  very  unpleasant  reaUty,  so  that  for 
some  time  the  agent's  abode  was  not  wholly  ten- 
anted by  peace  and  love^for  while  mother  and 
daughter,  "  likesweet  ie//f « jangling  out  of  tune," 
tarried  on  their  wordy  warfare,  "  fell  discord 
reigned,  and  fury  dire." 

Juliet,  who.  by  some  process  of  ratiocination 
peculiar  to  those  who  are  pupils  of  the  green-eyed 
monster,  considered  Constance  as  the  cause  of  this 
disgrace,  secretly  vowed  to  visit  all  these  mishaps 
on  her  unconscious  head.  She  had  always  hated 
her  with  a  vindictive  and  peculiar  hatred ;  and 
now  this  rival — yes,  such  was  her  insane  pre- 
sumption— though  partly  Hubert's  fault — this 
successful  rival,  who  had  witnessed  the  insult, 
should  pay  dearly  for  all  she  now  suffered. 

Self-willed  and  daring,  however,  as  she  was, 
Juliet  would  hardly  have  ventured  on  such  a 
proceeding  as  that  of  intruding  on  the  Hurstwood 
grounds,  had  she  not  heard  that  the  noble  owners 
had  gone  to  spend  the  day  at  some  distance — for 
she  had  both  sense  and  pride  enough  to  avoid  his 
Lordship  after  the  unceremonious  stop  he  had  put 
to  their  floricultural  meetings — and  it  was  by  the 
invitation  of  the  head  gardener's  son,  who  gave 
her  the  information,  that  she  had  taken  this  occa- 
sion to  go  for  some  flowers  and  fruit  which  he  had 
also  promised  her.  But  Lord  Hurstwood  liad  gone 
alone — her  Ladyship,  as  we  see,  went  to  the  Priory 
for  Constance. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  indignity  the  roving  hab- 
its of  those  young  scions  of  the  Mordaunt  family 
brought  on  themselves. 

Augustus,  whose  education  was  carried  on  in 
France,  had  returned  to  Seabrooke  for  a  long 
holiday.  He  had  always  been  greatly  disliked, 
on  account  of  his  impudent  air  of  assumption,  his 
mischievous  propensities,  and  many  other  habits, 
the  result  of  his  mother's  foolish  indulgence. 

Gradually  Mrs.  Captain's  original  popularity 
faded  away,  and  there  were  now  very  few  in  the 
village  who  cared  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 
her.  But  as  she  often  had  very  tine  friends  from 
London,  whom  she  visited  in  return,  this,  she  did 
not  pine  about.  Augustus  soon  found  out  his 
sister's  secrets,  among  others,  her  clandestine  and 
frequent  drives  to  the  Hall ;  and  threatening  to 
tell  his  mother  of  this,  and  slyly  alluding  to 
Hubert  also,  she  fell  into  his  power,  which,  as  was 
to  be  expected,  he  used  like  a  tyrant.  He  made 
her  introduce  him  to  the  Hall,  meaning  the  lodges 
and  garden,  and  once  there,  he  was  soon  intimate 
with  the  stable-yard  and  its  inhabitants,  horses, 
dogs,  men,  and  boys. 

One  of  the  men  had  promised  to  give  him  a 
capital  little  ♦errier,  and  Augustus  was  fre- 
quently there  to  watch  and  overlook  the  edu- 
cation of  the  little  animal  ;  but  when  the  family 
returned,  he  received  a  hint  to  make  himself 
scarce. 

Now  ns  the  sisters  three  ordained,  a  few  days 
after  Juliet's  expulsion,  which  she  had  entreated 


her  mother  not  to  mention  to  him,  he  was  loung- 
ing along  the  Hurstwood  private  drive,  whistling, 
with   his  hands  in  his  pockets,  in  rather  a  low, 

I  r.iffish  style,  and  making  his  way  to>¥ard  the 
stables,  wlien  the  trot  of  iiorses'  fi'et  wjirned  him 
that  he  liad  chosen  an  uufavorabie  time  for  at- 
tending the  quadruped  school.  He  turned  his 
head  and  saw  her  Ladyship  s  htile  p.irk  phaeton 
advancing  at  a  smart  p:ice,  and  turning  :i  corner, 
which  would  bring  him  in  full  bight.  Quick  as 
thought,  he  darted  under  a  wide-spreading  tree; 
but  my  lady's  eyes  were  as  quick  as  his  feet — 
she  had  seen  him  ihroiigh  a  sudden  opening;  and 
really  thinking  he  was  sume  mischievous  boy  who 
had  come  after  the  bird;*,  which  she  had  given 
strict  orders  to  hfve  unmolested,  slia  drove  to 
the  spot,  where  the  supposed  delinquent  fancied 
himself  safely  concealed,  and  handing  her  whip 
to  the  servant  who  attended  her  desired  him  to 
make  the  offender  feel  her  verbal  commands,  as 
he  had  not  attended  to  tlie  painted  ones 

The  man  who  related  this  and  the  forn^r 
scene,  in  which  he  had  also  taken  part,  to  his 
fellow-servants  and  a  few  cliauce  listenei-s,  de- 
clared "  he  was  ready  to  burst  with  inside  l.iugh- 
ter  to  see  her  Ladyship  handling  the  rihtons  so 
coolly   and   cleverly,  while   he   turned   out   the 

[  agent's  fine-gentleman  nephew,  who  ran  like 
lightning,  when  he  cracked  the  wliip.  just,"  he 

j  said,  with  a  knowing  wink,  and  laying  Ins  fin- 
ger   along   his    nose,    "  to   obey  my   huly ;"  but 

I  some  knew  better — antl  that  he  was  not  .--nrry  to 
pay  an  installment  of  a  grudge  he  owed  the 
agent  for  by-gone  favors. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Augustus  took  to  his  heels, 
inwardly  vowing  he  would  never  be  so  caught 

j  again ;  while  still  all-unconscious  that  she  had 
offered  a  fresh  affront  to  the  Mordaunt  escutcli- 

!  eon,    Ladj'    Hurstwood   drove    abuut    park    and 

j  country,  looking  so  handsome  and  so  happy,  that 
many  who  had  shaken  their  heads  wiien  ihey 
heard  of  the  projected  marriage,  were  now 
among  the  loudest  to  declare  they  had  always 
thought  she  was  just  the  wife  to  suit  his  Lord- 
ship, and  he  the  husband  to  suit  her. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

"  Why,  how  now.  Madam  Flirt? 
If  you  must  thus  chatter. 
And  are  for  flingini;:  dirt, 
Let's  try  who  bt-s   can  spatter, 
Madam  Flirt '!" 

BtggarH  Opera. 

Now  Mrs.  Sims  kept  the  little  haberdashery 
shop  at  Seabrooke,  whence  emanated  almost  all 
the  finery  and  fashion  worn  by  those  of  the  fem- 
inine gender  in  the  village  who  ranked  below 
the  "  county  families."  ,  Mrs.  Curtis,  the  doc- 
tor's wife,  for  instance,  was  a  constant  custom- 
er ;  all  the  substantial  and  wealthy  farmers' 
wives  patronized  her  wares  ;  and  as  she  was  also 
mother  to  the  only  drossmnker  the  place  boasted 
of,  she  was  a  person  who  tliuught  she  had  aright 
to  hold  up  her  head  witli  the  best. 

Her  younger  daughter,  Betsey,  helped  in  the 
shop,  as  well  as  in  the  work-room.     Ann,  or  a« 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


105 


she  thought  proper  to  be  called  since  her  visit  to 
Loudon,  for  the  purpose  of  being  "  finished  oif," 
Miss  Annie,  'presided  over  the  millinery  and 
gown  depiirtmcnt.  and  altogether  they  ■\vere  an 
industrious  and  very  respectable  family. 

There  was  always  a  kind  of  deferential  man- 
ner observed  by  them  toward  the  housekeepers 
and  ladies'  maids  of  the  "families"  and  their 
guests ;  for  the  patronage  of  these  prin^  min- 
isters was  well  worth  securing — as  it  frequently 
gave  them  the  honor  of  a  visit  from  the  ladies 
themselves  ;  while  Mrs.  and  Miss  Vernon  and  the 
Priory  young  ladies,  who  often  spent  money 
there,  were  cited  by  the  whole  ftimily  as  "your 
real  nobility— none  of  your  uppish  sort,  who  are 
afraid  of  being  civil  to  those  of  a  lower  rank  than 
themselves  " 

When  first  j\Irs.  Captain  Mordaunt  and  all  her 
grand  silks  and  fashions  appeared,  she  created  as 
much  commotion  and  sensation  in  this  little  village 
sphere  as  the  discovery  of  a  new  planet  among 
savants,  and  as  her  aim  was  to  become  popular, 
80  it  was  her  cue  to  be  aifable,  gracious,  conde- 
scending, and  chatty.  She  occasionally  showed 
Ann  Sims  her  dresses  and  finery,  before  she  per- 
mitted the  profane  eyes  of  the  public  to  have 
that  pleasure ;  all  the  wealth  of  Juliet's  ward- 
tobe  was  also  spread  out  before  her  admiring 
gaze ;  and  in  return,  the  latter,  who,  though 
well  supplied  vnth  money,  never  had  any  to 
spare,  would  often  have  a  ribbon  or  neckerchief 
a  real  bargain,  now  and  then,  indeed,  a  present. 

Gradually  the  intimacy  increased — and  when 
it  reached  the  zenith,  like  other  more  movable 
things,  gradually  it  declined. 

Mrs.  Sims,  it  is  true,  kept  up  an  appearance 
of  civility,  quoting  a  proverb  to  the  butcher's 
wife,  her  great  crony,  about  "holding  a  candle 
to  somebody — "  the  rest  was  lost  in  nods  and 
winks,  which  the  butcher's  wife  seemed  fully  to 
comprehend.  But  she  no  longer  allowed  Betsey 
to  walk  about  with  Juliet,  nor  Ann  to  take  tea 
6(1  often  with  Mrs.  Captain  ;  adroitly  freeing  her- 
sidf  from  the  dilemma,  by  saying,  her  girls  had 
their  honest  living  to  gain,  and  must  not  be 
spoiled  by  associating  with  those  who  were  dif- 
ferent from  them  ;  all  which  excuses  were  gra- 
ciously accepted,  and  the  little  equivoque  inter- 
preted as  a  compliment— till,  after  a  long  absence, 
Mrs.  Captain  found,  on  her  return  with  Juliet, 
that  her  popularity  had  suffered — her  influence 
was  on  the  wane — she  was  no  longer  booked  to 
win  on  the  favorite — in  short,  people  looked 
askance. 

Various  causes  had  combined  to  produce  this 
effect — rumors  of  a  very  unfavorable  character 
were  rife  ;  and  Colonel  Templeton's  frequent  vis- 
its had  become  the  talk  of  all— the  agent  was 
disliked  for  his  conduct  about  the  farms,  and 
Other  acts  of  petty  tyranny  and  insolence.  Au- 
gustus, who  had  been  spending  his  holidays 
there,  was  the  very  head  and  front  of  all  the  low 
mischief  that  took  place.  Juliet  angled  too 
openly  for  Victor  or  Hubert,  and  was  pro- 
nounced a  bold,  confident  minx  by  all  prudent 
mothers,  in  the  hearing  of  their  daughters ;  and 
above  all,  and  to  crown  all,  Mrs.  Captain,  just 
before  her  departure,  had  had  some  very  fine 
friends,  very  fine  indeed,  staying  with  her,  and 
she  had  neither  called  on  any  one  with  them,  nor 


invited  any  one  to  call  on  them ;  though  Ihoy 
went  driving  about,  day  after  day,  who  but 
"they  .'  So  coolness  grew  to  silent  contempt,  and 
that  at  length  burst  into  speaking  impertinence 
— the  tongue  is  truly  an  unruly  member,  esjie- 
cially  a  woman's — and  looks  and  tossings  of  the 
head  spoke  with  an  eloquence  peculiar  to  them- 
selves; and  there  wanted  now  but  one  move  to 
cry  "  checkmate,"  and  open  a  breach  that  couM 
never^be  closed — it  was  the  few  last  grains  which 
broke  the  camel's  back  —  the  rose-leaf  which 
made  the  cup  run  over ;  and  when  things  arc 
thus  over-ripe,  the  gentlest  zephyr  shakes  them 
down. 

So  it  happened,  that  when  Mrs.  Captain  en- 
tered the  little  shop,  about  a  week  after  Augus- 
tus had  fled  from  the  crack  of  the  whip,  Mrs. 
Sims,  at  first,  hardly  recognized  her  ! 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Mordaunt,"  she  said,  at  length, 
looking  over  her  spectacles,  but  still  not  rising 
— but  that  might  be  because  Betsey  was  at  her 
post,  and  it  would  be  needless  for  two  to  wait  on 
one  customer.  "  And  what  can  we  possibly  show 
you?"  a  slight  emphasis,  in  a  very  dry  tone. 

Now  all  this  was  remarkably  ungrateful  of 
Mrs.  Sims,  for  Mrs.  Captain  had  come  for  some 
common  calico,  which  she  knew  she  should  find 
there  as  cheap  and  good  as  in  any  great  town — 
besides,  she  began  to  feel  that  the  loss  of  her 
popularity  was  not  an  affair  to  be  pooh-poohed 
as  if  she  had  mislaid  an  old  glove — and  she  de- 
termined to  see  what  she  could  do  so  as  to  regain 
it — at  any  rate,  in  part.  For  this  purpose  she 
had  arranged  a  round  of  shoppings  which  should 
bring  her  into  contact  with  many  of  her  former 
worshipers,  whom  she  resolved,  by  wheedling  or 
bullying,  by  flattering  or  frightening,  to  bring 
back  to  the  old  faith. 

She  therefore  had,  in  a  most  amiable  mood, 
entered  the  shop  of  her  once  most  bigoted  con- 
vert, Mrs.  Sims.  But,  alas  !  how  little  encour- 
agement does  virtue  receive  !  a  melancholy  truth, 
as  she  was  destined  to  experience ;  for,  justly 
provoked  at  this  unbecoming  behavior  in  a  paltry 
village  shopkeeper — she  cast  her  good  intentions 
to  the  winds  and  took  her  revenge  instead. 

"  I  dare  say  I  have  come  on  a  hopeless  er- 
rand," she  said  with  a  scornful  smile,  while  her 
large  bright  eyes  looked  disdaiulully  around, 
"  for  I  was  silly  enough  to  think  1  might,  by 
chance,  match  this  ribbon,"  daintily  touching  the 
strings  of  her  fashionable  bonnet. 

"  Betsey,"  said  her  motlier,  coloring,  and 
speaking  sharply,  "hand  down  those  ribbons  Ju- 
liet was  pulling  about  the  other  day,  though  she 
could  not  afford  to  buy  any." 

"  Do  you  mean  Miss  Mordaunt .'"  asked  Mrs. 
Captain,  with  assumed  indifference  and  calmness. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  your  girl,  your  daughter,  I  sup- 
pose, Juliet  f" 

"  You  are  more  free  than  welcome,"  was  the 
dignified  rebuke;  "the  day,  I  think,  is  long 
long  enough  for  Miss  Juliet  Mordaunt." 

"  1  do  not  know  that  it  is,  unless  I  choose  to 
think  so  as  well,"  was  the  tart  reply  ;  "  at  any 
rate.  Lord  Hurstwood's  grooms  do  not  think  so." 

"  Woman,  are  you  mad  .'"  cried  the  incensed 
half  of  the  defunct  hero,  lier  black  eyes  glaring. 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Sims,  half  closing  hers, 
pursing  up  her  mouth,  and  nodding  her  head 


106 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


with  short  and  quick  nods,  like  some  China  Joss 
in  a  pa'ssion — "  neither  mad  nor  bad  ;"  and  she 
tiieu  tossed  her  head  back,  and  drew  iier  breath 
with  a  signi'ticant  "hem!'  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  rhyme  lor  you  now,  presently,  if  you  provoke 
me,  you  shall  have  reason  ;"  and,  almost  restored 
to  her  usual  good  temper  by  the  discovery  ol'  this 
latent  talent  lor  poetry,  which  surprised  her  as 
much  as  .M.  Jourd.iin  was,  when  he  found  he  had 
unknowingly  been  talking  prose  all  his  life, 
she  repealed:  "Neither  mad  nor  bad — nor  my 
daughters  either.  Thank  goodness !  /  run  no 
risk  of  the  ducking-stool,  nor  my  girls  of  being 
horsewliipped  out  of  the  Hall  grounds,  as  your 
line  miss  was  one  day — and  your  nest-stealing 
boy  the  next." 

"  Now  this  passes  patience,"  began  Mrs.  Cap- 
^tain;  but  Mrs.  Sims,  to  use  her  own  expression 
*wheu  relating  the  scene,  was  up,  both  figura- 
tively and  literally,  as,  walking  from  behind  the 
counter,  the  better  to  confront  her  antagonist, 
she  said,  "  It  had  not  need — for  you  will  want  a 
jjretty  large  stock  of  that  same  commodity,  Mrs. 
Wliat's-your-naiue,  before  you  and  yours  have 
run  out  your  rigs — look  after  your  brazen  bag- 
gage at  home,  and  stop  her  from  looking  after  all 
lUe  men,  from  the  young  "squire  of  the  Hill,  to 
the  horse-boy  at  the  Hall— look  after  that  rogue 
in  the  shell,  your  impudent  varlet  of  a  son.  Ask 
■what  i.s  thought  of  you  and  your  master,  and  you 
will  need  plenty  of  patience — patience,  indeed" — 
the  very  word  was  s\iggestive  of  her  own  waste 
of  this  virtue—"  and  1  tell  you  what,  get  out  of 
wy  linucst,  decent  place  directly,  and  never  show 
yttur  imjiudont  face  here  to  an  honest  man's  hon- 
est widow  and  her  decent  girls,  or  111  send  for 
the  beadle  to  turn  you  out." 

It  would  be  impossible  for  words  to  convey  a 
just  idea  of  the  rage  which  literally  made  Mrs. 
Captain  i»peecliless  during  this  long  and  remorse- 
less harangue;  she  pressed  with  such  uncon- 
scious, but  uncontrollable  violence  on  the  top  of 
a  small  glass  case,  which  contained  some  choice 
specimens  of  the  trade,  that  she  crushed  it  right 
through,  severely  wounding  her  hand.  Then, 
roused  by  the  pain  to  recollection,  and  the  use 
of  her  tongue,  and  bursting  with  passion,  she 
glared  at  the  fiery  little  shoike-per,  and  shaking 
her  fist,  said,  with  a  look  that  would  have  struck 
her  down,  could  looks  ever  do  so — "  Bitterly  shall 
you  rue  this  insolence,  you  detestable,  trumpery 
old  woman  !  I'll  have  my  foot  on  your  neck 
yet ;"  iind  she  banged  the  door  with  such  fury, 
that  the  meek  little  bell,  which  rarely  emitted 
more  than  a  "very  humble  tinkle,  was  so  terrified 
at  iis  own  unu.sual  clamor,  that  it  shook  fur  more 
than  five  minutes  after  the  fierce  assault  it  had 
sustained;  during  which  time  the  roused  Ama- 
zon had  hastened  home,  and  vented  her  fury  on 
all  who  approached,  and  especially  on  Juliet, 
wiiom  she  considered  the  chief  cause  of  this  au- 
dacious attack. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

"  Till-  bl.ickest  Ink  of  Fale  w.is  sure  my  lot, 

'  ii'l  when  she  writ  my  uame,  she  o  ailc  «  blot." 

Tlw.  Jie/ii-urml. 

How  truly  might  Helen  tell  her  mother  that 


there  was  but  one  cloud  in  her  bright  sky,  and 
■  that  was,  that  they  never  met. 
;      How  industrious   was   this  sweet  young   wife 
about  her  small  domain — how  eager  to  become 
acquainted  with  all  the  mysteries  of  housekeep- 
ing— how    anxious    to    arrange    every    thing   for 
Reginald's  comfort — dear  Reginald !  how  was  it 
possible  to  do  too  much  for  him  ?   She  only  feared 
he  nemv  could  understand  how  deeply,  how  de- 
votedly she  loved  him.     And  then  the  pretty  little 
I  air  of  independence  with  which  she  transacted  her 
affairs,  and  the  look  of  experience  she  tried  to  as- 
sume while  supplying  the  household  wants — .-;ome- 
j, times,  spite  of  herself,  obliged  to  refer  to  Gretchen 
I  — and  above  all,  the  demure  matronly  sternness 
she  would  affect,  when  she  allowed  herself  the 
pleasure  of  walking  out  alone,  to  meet  that  hus- 
band  so  beloved,  when  he  returned  home  :  and  the 
handsome  face,  with  its  deep  loving  eyes  that  then 
I  met  her,  and  richly  repaid  her  all,  with  a  look 
I  and  smile  that  told  of  undiminished  affection. 
Ah  !   mother  !   ah  !   Constance  !  all  this  was  a 
loss  to  you. 

Ashley  was  their  frequent  guest— indeed,  he 
said  he  was  so  happy  when  with  them,  that  they 
must  turn  him  out  when  he  came  too  often. 

"  Too  often,  brother  Ashley  !"  said  Helen  : 
"  what  do  you  take  us  for,  that  you  talk  such 
nonsense  ?" 

"  Not  such  nonsense  as  Reginald  was  talking 
as  he  came  hither ;  but  of  this,  Helen,  you  shall 
be  judge.  You  need  not  look  ready  to  challenge 
me,'  he  continued,  as  Reginald  made  a  gesture 
of  impatience  ;  "  this  then  it  is.  He  has  receivei/ 
an  invitation  from  Mr.  Lester,  the  publi.'^her,  to 
meet  a  few  literary  men  at  dinner,  and  meditates 
a  refusal,  because  jou  can  not  accompany  him." 
"  It  is  rather  difficult,  dear  Helen,"'  said  Kcgi 
nald,  «■  to  make  all  this  quite  clear  to  you— bu 
Ashley  is  too  precipitate  in  saying  I  meditated  a 
refusal ;  I  merely  hesitated  till  I  could  consult 
you." 

"  If  you  hesitated  because  you  doubted  my 
cheerful  acquiescence  in  any  plan  you  think  right, 
hesitate  no  longer.  I  am  the  wile  of  a  profession- 
al and  literary  man,"'  she  said,  Avith.a  look  of 
pride  exceedingly  becoming,  so  thought  Reginald  ; 
"  and  it  would  be  as  absurd  for  me  to  think  of 
going  with  you  to  every  dinner-party,  as  to  go 
with  you  to  Westminster  Hall  or  the  printing  ot- 
fice.  No,  dear  husband,  let  me  help,  not  mar, 
your  prospects." 

'•  Help,  you  most  assuredly  do,"  Avas  his  reply, 
"  and  therefore  I  shall  go." 

True  to  his  promise,  Mr.  Turner  expressed  a 
wish  to  his  sister  that  she  would  call  on  Mrs. 
West,  a  wish  she  lost  no  time  in  gratifying  ;  ami 
on  her  return  gave  him  such  an  account  of  the 
vision  of  beauty  she  had  seen,  that  he  laughingly 
told  this  to  Reginald,  and  requested  permission  to 
pay  his  respects  to  this  fair  prize  also — a  permis- 
sion the  proud  husband  readily  gave  ;  and  as  the 
discerning  old  genflleman  was  as  much  pleased 
with  her  intelligence,  as  his  sister  with  her  beau- 
ty, a  most  friendly  succession  of  calls  followe<l  ; 
and  though  Helen,  on  many  accounts,  declined 
entering  much  into  society,  she  was  pleased  to 
have  secured  so  sensible  an  acquaintance  as  Mis> 
Turner  proved  to  be. 
The  Westroughs,  who  had  made  common  cause 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


107 


with  Reginald,  -vThon  Lord  Ernest's  marriage  had 
su  suddenly  blighted  his  prospects,  were  particu- 
larly friendly.  • 

AVheu  parliamentary  duties  required  his  Lord- 
ship to  be  near  London,  they  resided  at  Hendon, 
on  aecount  of  the  delicate  health  of  Lady  West- 
rough  and  one  of  her  daughters.  The  latter, 
good-tempered  girls,  often  drove  "ver  to  fetch 
Helen  to  spend  the  morning  at  their  pretty  villa, 
Trhence  she  always  returned  loaded  with  fruit 
and  flowers. 

The  youngest  was  the  invalid  ;  the  second,  with 
whom,  at  one  time,  it  was  hoped  Reginald  might 
be  smitten,  was  now  engaged  to  a  middle-aged 
but  wealthy  Baronet ;  the  eldest.  Lady  Louisa, 
rumor  said,  had  been  slighted  by  one  who  had 
professed  love— she  was  thirty  ;  but,  spite  of  her 
age  and  disappointment,  was  cheerful  and  ami- 
able, and  especially  disposed  to  show  Helen  any 
attentions  the  latter  might  find  agreeable. 
j  '•  1  have  had  a  visit  from  Stacey,"  said  Ashley, 
[one  day,  to  Ueginald,  when  the  latter  returned 
tfrom  an  interview  with  Mr.  Lester. 

■'  And  what  has  the  man  of  genius  been  doing 
all  this  time .'" 

"  You  remember  my  telling  you  that  I  called 
at  Kensington  a  few  weeks  after  we  dined  with 
him — but  he  had  not  returned  from  his  noble 
friends  house.  As  it  is  too  far  to  go  merely  for 
the  ceremony  of  leaving  a  card,  I  wrote  to  say  I 
should  be  glad  to  know  when  he  returned,  as  I 
had  a  fQw  friends  to  whom  I  should  like  to  intro- 
duce him ;  but  as  my  note  remained  unanswered, 
I  concluded  they  were  still  away — indeed,  your 
auaa-s  so  claimed  attention,  that  I  rarely  thought 
of  him.  This  morning  he  called ;  they  have 
changed  their  residence,  and  have  temporary 
lodgings  near  Portman  Square.  But  I  can  not 
help  fearing  that  all  is  not  right  with  him.  Stacey 
never  asked  me  to  call — seemed  dreadfully  out  of 
spirits,  and  when  I  asked  after  Mrs.  Stacey,  he 
replied,  '  Oh,  poor  Susan  is  not  very  well ;'  alto- 
gL'ther,  I  do  not  like  the  look  of  it." 

••  What  is  to  be  done  .'"  asked  Reginald. 

"  I  hardly  know ;  he,  however,  promised  to  call 
or  write  when  they  were  settled ;  but  I  have  a 
suspicion,  which  makes  me  uncomfortable  about 
the  gay,  thoughtless  fellow." 

"  I  shall  see  Lester  again  before  I  go  home," 
said  Reginald;  '-of  course  I  shall  not  inquire; 
but  he  may  say  something,  as  I  know  ."^tacey  | 
owes  him  several  articles  for  his  magazine,  and  i 
the  conclusion  of  a  poem  began  months  ago.  [ 
Stacey  has  had  the  money,  but  how  or  when 
Lester  will  have  the  rhyme  is  another  and  doubt-  j 
ful  matter  ;  and  I  know  he  is  rather  irritated  at 
having  so  often  to  apologize  to  the  public  for  a 
delay  in  the  conclusion  of  more  than  one  con- 
tribution." 

Ashley  was  quite  right  in  his  suspicions— Stacey 
and  his  wife  paid  a  round  of  visits  to  one  fa.shion- 
able  mansion  after  another,  till  both  felt  the  ne- 
cessity of  returning  to  replenish  their  purse  and 
renew  their  tinery  ;    though  how  this  was  to  be 
done,  neither  of  them  well  knew  ;  and  on  reaching 
the  villa  the  difficulty  was  rather  alarmingly  in-  '• 
creased,  for  they  found  a  man  in  possession,  and- 
another  ready  for  Stacey,  who  was,  in  a  summary  j 
manner,  conveyed  to  the  lock-up  house,  till  the 
debt  for  which  he  was  arrested  should  be  paid.       | 


The  landlord  had  wi'itten  several  letters  de- 
manding payment  of  the  rent,  of  v,fnch  now 
nearly  three  months  was  due ;  these  Stacey  said 
he  had  never  received,  though  it  was  ditliiult  to 
convince  a  man  of  regular  business  habits  that 
such  was  the  truth.  Probably  they  had  been 
forwarded ;  but  the  movements  of  the  Staceya 
were  so  uncertain,  that  even  that  was  doubtful. 
There  was  little  in  the  villa  that  did  not  already 
belong  to  the  landlord — tradesmen  all  round  now 
rose  en  masse;  the  livery-stable  keeper  was  furi- 
ous, and  poor  Mrs.  Stacey,  terrified  and  weeping, 
accompanied  her  husband,  till  some  other  shelter 
could  be  provided. 

He  wrote  to  some  of  his  friends  who  were  in 
town — to  this  appeal  some,  once  more,  responded ; 
a  compromise  was  etfected,  a  second  floor  engaged, 
and  the  rent  paid  in  advance.  They  had  been 
there  a  fortnight,  and  Stacey  was  now  really 
busy  and  in  earnest ;  ha%'ing  already  propitiated 
the  justly  angry  publisher  by  completing  one  of 
the  unfinished  articles. 

Such,  in  substance,  was  Mr.  Lester's  report, 
which  he  felt  it  no  breach  of  confidence  to  make 
to  Reginald ;  but  he  did  not  then  know  that  Mrs. 
Stacey,  ill  and  frightened  at  the  new  scene  of  life 
in  which  she  had  to  sustain  a  sad  part,  had  been 
confined  that  very  day,  and  so  unexpectedly,  that 
she  and  her  infant  were  but  very  scantily  sup- 
phed  with  what  both  so  much  needed. 
"  This  additional  information  Ashley  learned  the 
next  morning  from  Stacey,  who,  really  fond  of 
his  wife,  came  to  him  in  a  state  bordering  on  dis- 
traction. Ashley,  always  prompt  in  kindness, 
placed  a  check  in  Stacey's  hand,  went  to  Mr. 
Turner,  and  briefly  saying  that  Miss  Turner's 
help  was  now  sadly  needed,  asked  permission  to 
apply  to  her  in  this  emergency. 

'•  Go  to  her  yourself;  1  have  hardly  time  to 
speak  to  you  just  now,"  he  replied,  scarcely  rais- 
ing his  eyes  from  a  paper  he  was  reading. 

And  Ashley  did  go;  and  before  night  another 
room — it  was  but  an  attic— was  prcp.ired,  a  nur.se 
engaged,  and  several  other  comforts  supplied, 
"  till, '  as  Miss  Turner  said,  "  they  could  .  ee  their 
way." 

Stacey,  poor  fellow,  worked  unremittingly;  and 
though  he  said,  wit.i  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  .sorrow 
and  anxiety  left  no  room  for  wit,  he  proved  that 
the  two  former  -  unwelcome  guests  though  they 
be  in  a  man  s  bosom — could  spur  and  stimulate 
him  to  some  purpose ;  and  that  if  they  bullied  and 
hectored  so  as  to  scare  wit  and  hunior,  they  were 
rare  magnets  in  attracting  industry  and  perse- 
verance. 

Les'.er,  when  he  saw  the  results,  swore  a  round 
oath  that  it  was  a  shame  talent  and  genius,  which 
could  dehght  the  literary  and  intellectual,  sliould 
be  wasted  upon  empty-headed,  though  noble  fools; 
and  he  expressed  an  earnest  hope  that  Stacey  had 
at  length  discovered  his  real  strength,  and  the 
best  way  of  rendering  it  profitable. 

When  Helen  heard  this  sad  history,  she  imme- 
diately ort'ered  her  services,  which  were  aceepte<l, 
but  limited  by  Miss  Turner  to  such  help  as  her 
skillful  needle  afforded,  in  preparing  articles  of 
clothing  for  the  mother  and  babe. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  West,  your  present  can  do  no 
good  at  this  moment;  besides,"  ,'<he  continued, 
"  this  is  one  of  those  cases  in  whicn  we  are  in 


108 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


great  danger  of  allowing  our  benevolence  to  frus- 
trate its  own  designs — this  is  one  of  the  dilemmas 
of  genius — more  difficult  to  manage  than  a  case 
of  lunacy.  I  have  heard  the  whole  from  Mr. 
Vernon,  and  we  agree  admirably  as  to  what  is 
our  wisest  course.  Just  now."  with  emphasis, 
"  Mr.  Stacey  has  a  lucid  interval,  and  it  is  aston- 
Lshing  what  he  has  done.  Hiive  you  read  his  lit- 
tle poem,  '  On  my  First-born,'  and  the  exquisite 
manner  in  which  he  works  out  his  motto,  '  Born 
to  sorrow,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward .''  " 

"I  have,"  replied  Helen,  teai-s  springing  to  her 
eyes  as  she  remembered  it  well ;  "  it  speaks  many 
a  mournful  and  many  a  healthy  truth,  expressed 
with  a  terseness  and  vigor  which  alike  banish  all 
morbid  sentiment,  though  imagination  and  grace 
are  evident  in  every  line.  Surely,  from  a  mind 
capable  of  what  he  has  lately  done,  we  may  hope 
for  gre;it  things  still." 

"1  wish  I  had  a  little  more  of  that  animating 
feeling,  as  regards  the  stability  and  perseverance 
of  this  gifted  author,"  said  Miss  Turner ;  "  but — 
well,  we  must  wait  patiently.  Two  such  friends 
as  Mr.  West  and  Mr.  Vernon  are,  to  him,  worth 
the  whole  army  of  the  aristocracy.  Not  that  I 
have  any  disrespectful  prejudice  against  nobility; 
on  the  contrary,  it  contains  names  which  I  highly 
esteem.  What  I  mean  is,  that,  unfortunately, 
Mr.  Stacey's  acquaintance  with  title  and  rank 
will,  I  fear,  always  exercise  an  injurious  influence 
over  him ;  he  has  too  much  vanity,  and  too  little 
pride  and  self-respect  to  be  safely  trusted  among 
merely  noble  associates.  In  language,  he  is  self- 
sufficient  and  self-reliant;  not  so  inaction.  He 
has  not  enough  moral  independence ;  so  that  were 
he  to  mingle  with  the  most  learned  and  sensible 
of  those  who  adorn  our  peerage,  he  would  be  try- 
ing to  convert  them  into  patrons  and  bestowers 
of  that  place  and  fame  which  he  should  resolve  to 
owe  only  to  himself  But  while  I  have  been  ha- 
ranguing, you  have  been  making  up  a  most  useful 
parcel,  for  which  I  thank  you  in  the  name  of  those 
who  can  not." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


*'IIe  has  brought  wiih  him  such  an  iuclitiHtion  to  tale- 
bearing, lliat  h.-  d. Slurbs  bolli  himself  aud  all  Ihe  UL-ighbor- 
hood." — Spectator. 

Stacey  lionorably  kept  liis  promise,  and  worked 
bravely  at  his  duties,  till  his  wife  was  so  far  re- 
covered as  to  bear  removing  to  more  comfortable 
quarters.  Helen  proposed  that  a  small  house  near 
theirs  .'^hould  be  prepared  as  their  residence ;  and 
after  discussing  the  matter  with  Miss  Turner,  it 
was  agreed  that  Stacey  should  come  and  look  at 
it.  The  rent  was  very  moderate,  and  one  respect- 
able servant,  with  a  young  girl  for  the  baby, 
could  easily  do  all  tliat  their  scanty  means  re- 
quired. He  came,  and  was  delighted  with  the 
sweet  air  and  lovely  prospect ;  and  well  he  might 
be,  poor  fellow,  after  having  for  weeks  been  the 
a;cupant  of  a  London  attic,  which  had  been  both 
bidroom  and  study.  A  quarter's  rent  was  paid 
in  advance,  and  all  was  to  be  ready  lor  wife  and 
baby  in  the  course  of  the  next  day.  This  Helen 
undertook  to  see  after. 


"  Good  heavens !"  said  he  to  Ashley,  when  they  ; 
left  her,  scarcely,  even  in  her  presence,  able  to 
restrain  his  enthusiastic  admiration,  '•  what  a 
miracle  of  beauty  Mrs.  West  is !  She  shall  be  my 
Muse,  my  Inspiration ;  when  I  am  dull  and  stu- 
pid  I  shall  merely  go  '  and  gaze  upon  her  beauty, 
nothing  more.'  Her  eyes  will  serve  me  instead 
of  a  Pegasus,  to  set  the  streams  of  Hippocrene 
flowing  in  murmurs  sweet,  graceful,  and  pure  as 
herself.  I  hear,"  he  added  after  a  pause,  "  that 
she  has  a  sister — do  they  resemble  each  other .'" 

"  Only  in  being  both  beautiful — some  give  the 
preference  to  Miss  Templeton,"  replied  Ashley, 
briefly  ;  and,  changing  the  subject,  he  said,  "  l)o 
not  let  Mrs.  Stacey  delay  her  removal  after  the 
morning,  as  Mrs.  West  intimated  she  would  be 
there  to  receive  her." 

And  when,  in  accordance  with  this  injunction, 
they  arrived  early,  there  was  Helen  to  meet 
them ;  and  she  had  so  decked  and  arrayed  the 
little  parlor,  and  received  them  so  sweetly,  that 
the  poor  mother,  still  weak,  had  a  violent  fit  of 
weeping,  which  she,  however,  declared  had  done 
her  a  great  deal  of  good. 

Something,  at  any  rate,  had  done  good,  both  to 
her  and  her  delicate  nursling,  for  in  the  course 
of  a  few  weeks  they  looked  quite  bright  and 
healthy  ;  and  again  the  stimulus  of  vanity  being 
given  to  her  husband,  aided  by  a  few  pinches 
from  necessity,  he  worked  on  so  steadily  and  suc- 
cessfully as  to  encourage  his  friends  to  hope,  not 
only  that  he  would  easily  weather  this  storm, 
but  that  he  would  never  risk  encountering  such  I 
another. 

About  this  time  Ashley  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  going  to  Seabrooke;  they  had  been  ex- 
pecting him  so  long  and  so  often,  he  would  no 
longer  defer  giving  himself  this  pleasure. 

_"  Oh,  Ashley,"  said  Helen,  when  she  heard  of 
this,  "  just  to  fix  on  this  time,  when  mamma  and 
Constance  are  at  Craigalan.  Why  did  you  not  go 
before :" 

"  Because  I  could  not,"  he  replied  ;  "  and  be- 
cause, as  they  are  away,  the  stronger  reason  that 
I  should  go,  and,  by  my  humble  presence,  try  in 
some  degree  to  compensate  for  their  abseuco." 

And,  to  the  great  joy  of  all  at  the  Kectory.  he 
remained  there  several  weeks,  during  wliich  time 
he  heard  from  various  quarters  many  things 
which  gave  him  ample  materials  for  thought.  In- 
deed, the  very  day  after  his  arrival,  as  he  went 
to  call  on  the  families  with  whom  he  was  intimate, 
a  heavy  shower  of  news  fell  on  him. 

During  breakfiist,  lie  had  heard  from  his  father 
thiit  the  Pi'iory  estate  had  been  cleared  of  every 
bit  of  timber  that  could  be  cut,  and  that  lately 
the  Colonel,  it  was  whispered,  had  been  borrowing 
largely,  for  Avhich,  if  true,  the  Doctor  said,  he 
must  be  paying  dear,  on  account  of  the  tenure  by 
which  he  held  the  property.  Cooper  was  univer- 
sally disliked ;  and  from  expressions  which  Mr. 
iSlorton  had  repeatedly  let  fall  or  openly  used, 
there  was  no  doubt  but  that  the  whole  family 
were  disreputable  people. 

Caroline  added,  it  was  the  talk  of  the  village 
that  Juliet  and  the  boy  had,  by  order  of  Lady 
Ilurstwood,  been  threatened  with  a  horsewhipping 
if  again  found  trespassing  about  the  Hall;  and  • 
though  she  did  not  believe  in  the  report  of  the 
threat,  she  knew  from  Constance  that  her  ceusin 


THK    WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


109 


sent  her  groom  to  sco  the  girl  safe  out  at  the        "  Exactly  so ;  and  here  they  seemed  more  likely 

ge.  I  of  success,  from  the  character  of  their  intended 

Lady  Dallas  told  him,  as  a  great  secret,  that  it  i  prey.     Hubert  lias  absolutely  no  knowledge  of  life 

hmted  vei-y  broadly,  Hubert  Forrester  and  '  or  the  world.     All  he  has  seen  of  either  was  dur- 

leyoung  beauty  at  the  agent's  were  very  friendly !  j  ing  his  short  tour  in  Germany  with  Victor,  and 

Impossible,"  cried  Ashley,  his  handsome  face    his  equally  short  residence  at  Oxford.     You  know 

that  he  is  gay  to  giddiness — sweet  tempered — and 
easily  duped — and,  I  fear,  both  vain  and  irreso- 


,,.^or 
"ief 


ring  a  look  not  usually  seen  there — "  engaged 

to  another — it  is  impossible !" 

Perhaps  it  is,"  she  said,  and  then  went  on  to 

irove  that  it  was  not,  by  adding,  "  1  only  know 

hat  Mr.  Victor  Morton  expressed  a  strong  wish 

hat  Forrester  would  start  before  mischief  came 

if  delay ;  but  for  further  particulars  1  must  refer 

,ou  to  Caroline,  to  whom,  of  course,  he  would  be 

^ore  communicative  than  to  any  one  else." 

«ik|[  I*retty  pickings  there  for  one  day's  work — and 

they  are  not  all. 

He  called  at  Forest  Hill,  where  he  was  as  cor- 

lially  rect'lved  as  he  was  at  their  town  residence, 

rvlienever  Mr.  Forrester  felt  it  necessary  to  be 

here,  during  the  session  of  Parliament ;  but  here 

le  found   insinuations,   rather   than   assertions, 

igainst  Colonel  Templeton.     Mr.  Forrester  also, 

u  the  course  of  conversation,  intimated  that  he 

lisliked  early  marriages ;  in  this  he  was  consist- 

?nt,  for  he  had  waited  till  he  was  forty  before  he 

"liund  his  Eve;  and  he  now  declared  that,  much  as 

■e  and  Mrs.  Forrester  felt  at  parting  from  Hu- 

j.rt,  they  had  become  quite  reconciled   to   the 

■I'lration,  as  it  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  see- 

ug  life  before  he  settled  at  Hargraves. 

And  when,  with  his  wallet  full  of  these  scraps, 
Ashley  returned  to  the  Rectory,  he  resolved  to 
ivrange  his  fragments,  and  see  what  his  mother 
mu  Carolina  could  add  thereto. 

First,  he  had  a  very  particular  motive,  but  of 
this  he  said  nothing,  to  learn  all  he  could  that  re- 
lated to  Hubert's  conduct  -with  regard  to  Juliet; 
be  owned  that  he  could  not  believe  half  that  he 
beard,  still  there  was  enough  left  for  suspicion; 
ami  this  justified  him  in  desiring  to  know,  if  pos- 
-ilile,  ihc  truth;  and  he  related  the  contribution 
Lndy  Dallas  had  given. 

Caroline  blushed  violently  as  her  brother  re- 
puted the  inuendo — and  when  his  look  expressed 
iarprise  at  her  emotion,  she  drew  nearer  to  him,  I 
and  putting  his  arm  around  her,  laid  her  head  on 
Lis  shoulder. 

"  Pres-_-ntly,"  said  she;  "and  now,  mamma, 
tell  him  what  Mr.  Morton  said." 

■  He  told  us,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "that  soon 
•V  his  sou's  second  and  final  return  from  Ger- 


lute. 

"  Ah,  Constance !"  burst  from  Ashley's  lips. 

But  his  mother,  without  remarking  it,  proceed- 
ed :  "  Let  us,  however,  be  just ;  I  believe  that  since 
his  engagement  to  Constance,  he  has  rarely  been 
to  Cooptr's,  though  this  girl  has  constantly  been 
contriving  to  meet  him  ;  she  is  now  at  Paris  with 
her  mother — at  least,  so  it  is  said." 

There  was  a  long  pause ;  at  last  Ashley  said 
calmly,  and  Heaven  knows  what  it  cost  him  to  do 
so,  "1  can  not  excuse  Hubert,  even  assuming 
that  this  conduct  has  no  deeper  meaning  than  we 
are  disposed  to  give  it— still  it  is  mucli  to  know 
that  lately  he  has  become  aware  of  what  is  due  to 
propriety  and  honor ;  but,  mother,  do  the  For- 
resters really  approve  of  this  engagement .'" 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  reply  ;  bat  from  vari- 
ous observations  I  have  been  almost  Ibrced  to 
make,  I  fancy  not ;  Mr.  Forrester  has  never  been 
cordial  with  the  Colonel,  and  has  been  sadly  pre- 
judiced against  them  all,  since  poor  dear  Helen 
left  home." 

"  Helen,"  said  Ashley,  and  now  he  really  gave 
way  to  his  feelings ;  "  Helen,  poor,  persecuted 
girl !  why,  if  Reginald  had  been  away,  or  ill,  or 
by  any  means  unable  to  have  saved  her,  I  myself 
yould  have  snatched  her  from  Lord  Hurstwood 
rather  than  have  permitted  such  a  crud  daed." 

"  And  married  her  yourself,  my  son  .' " 

"  No,  mother,"  he  replied ;  and  the  tone  and  tha 
look  forbade  all  further  jesting. 

"  And  now,  what  is  this  about  our  dear  Carry  .'" 
and  the  brother's  voice  this  time  was  gentle  and 
musical,  and  the  noble  face  wore  a  touching  ex- 
pression, it  looked  so  fond  and  tender. 

"  Ah,  Ashley,"  said  his  sister,  "  can  not  you 
guess .'" 

"  Well,  I  will  try— the  young  hermit  has  fallen 
in  love,  and  taught  our  sister  to  do  the  same." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  papa  and  mamma  have 
given  their  consent ;  and,  Ashley,  you  give  yours 
also,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  Right  willingly ;  only  we  shall  not  like  to 
have  you  carried   all  over  the  world  with 


this 
iiy.  Cooper  had,  on  several  occasions,  met  him,    good-looking  rover— or  settled  away  from  us  on 
;  111  under  some  pretext  or  another — at  one  time  I  the  Norfolk  property." 

tij  show  him  a  foreign  curiosity,  at  another  to  ask  |  "  It  will  not  be  either,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  "and 
him  to  tr:iu.slate  a  German  letter— had  invited  that  assurance  removes  the  only  difficulty.  Mr. 
liini  to  his  house,  where  he  was  introduced  to  Mrs.  i  Morton  means  them  to  remain  here,  not  at  the  Her- 
Captain  Mordaunt  and  her  daughter.  That  some-  \  mitage,  so  you  need  not  laugh  at  the  idea  of  threo 
thing,  Mr.  Morton  did  not  say  what,  induced  Vic-  making  a  crowd;  buthe  thinksof  buying  Bridgend, 
tin-  to  mention  this  to  his  father.  The  result  was,  '  which  is  not  many  miles  oil",  and  there  they  will 
tliat,  by  his  advice,  he  ceased  to  call  at  Coopers.  ;  be  fixed-but  not  yet— Victor  will  be  away  at 
In  short,  Ashley,  to  quote  Mr.  Morton's  words,  \  least  two  years." 

there  seems,  no  doubt,  a  scheme  was  on  foot  to  en-  i  "  Then  this  induced  my  father  to  urge  me  so 
trap  Victor,  his  father's  reputed  fortune  being  the  strongly  to  come  d(jwn  wiiiiout  delay .'" 
temptation,  and  the  son's  open,  but  fearless  and  "  It  did— a  very  long  lettjr  from  Mr.  Morton 
r  ish  manners,  giving  hope  of  success.  What  I  j  will  explain  all  to  you;  last  night  he  could  not 
am  now  going  to  add  is  little  more  than  surmise,  enter  on  the  subject,  and  to-day,  at  Caroline's 
Failing  in  this  plot,  probably  Hubert  was  the  next  request,  it  was  to  have  been  delayed  till  evening; 
to  1.3  trie  L"  but  now  you  know  the  great  fact,  Caroline  will  like 

'•  Nothing  venture,  nothing  have,"  said  iVshley.    to  tell  you  the  particulars." 


110 


THE  WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


"  No,  mamma,  I  should  much  prefer  that  you 
Vroukl." 

"  Very  -well,  ray  dear ;  only  instead  of  Ashley 
having  a  story  of  the  true  orthodox  size,  in  three 
volumes,  he  will  have  a  very  slender  pamphlet. 
But  to  commence.  Not  very  long  before  Victor 
left  for  his  present  voyage,  both  the  Doctor  and 
myself  fancied,  that  unless  Caroline  felt  something 
more  than  kindness  and  friendship  for  him,  his 
departure  could  not  be  too  much  hastened ;  but 
as  tliis  drew  near,  we  became  a  little  anxious 
about  her.  Do  not  interrupt  roe.  my  dear,  your 
dignity  is  safe  in  my  hands.  At  length  Hubert  and 
Victor  set  otF,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Morton.  A  week 
ago,  a  long  letter  arrived  from  the  latter,  dated  Lis- 
bon ;  in  it  he  formerly  requests  us  to  sanction  his 
son's  addresses  to  our  daughter.  Victor,  it  seems, 
could  no  longer  keep  his  secret ;  he  began  to  fear 
all  m:inner  of  dangers,  and  in  a  letter,  inclosed  in 
his  father's,  he  tells  us  all  we  before  su^ected — ■■ 
and  tells  it  so  well,  that  I  believe — is  it  not  so, 
Caroline.'— we  shall  all  consent." 

"  But  why  not  propose  before  he  left .'" 

"  Because  he  heard  us,  as  well  as  his  father, 
express  ourselves  very  strongly  against  long  en- 
gagements, after  we  had  been  talking  of  Hubert 


then  fixed  for  them  to  come  over  and  lunch,  aiK 
when  this  was  settled,  Lady  Hurstwood  said, 
"  My  dear  Lord,  I  am  going  to  walk  with  Mr, 
Vernon  to  my  new  flower-garden — the  chaise  shaHJ 
follow  us,  and  then  he  can  drive  me  to  your  inge- 
nious device  in  rock  work.  Caroline,  take  care  of 
his  Lordship,  who,  in  return,  will  show  you  some 
beautiful  intaglios  and  mosaics  he  collected  when 
in  Italy." 

And  then,  arm-in-arm  with  Ashley,  she  gayly 
led  him  to  her  beautiful  garden,  and  made  him 
tell  her  all  that  the  time  would  allow  her  to  hear 
about  Helen,  for  whom  she  expressetl  the  most 
aflectionate  interest. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  when  he  had  conclu  I 
"  that  my  aunt  Ellinor  corresponds  with  her. 
still,  Mr.  Vernon,  how  dreadful  never  to  have  i:;  . 
for  so  many  months  " 

"  It  is  sad,"  he  i  eplied,  "  but  Mrs.  Templcton 
values  too  greatly  what  she  calls  this  connivoJ-ut 
exchange  of  letters,  to  provoke  a  prohibition  iiy 
grasping  after  more  ;  so  we  must  leave  it  to  tiiii,>  " 

'■  1  anticipate  some  favorable  result  from  (nn- 
stance's  marriage,  who  might  make  the  reconcilia- 
tion a  condition — what  think  you  .'" 

But  he  seemed  not  to  have  heard  her,  and  rc- 


id.li' 

nil 


and  Constance,  when  I  said  I  was  sorry  one  so  |  marked,  that  he  had  had  no  idea  the  views  i 


young  as  she,  and  who  knew  so  little  of  society, 
should  enter  it  so  shackled.  I  wonder  when  we 
shall   be   cured   of    making    rash    speeches,   for 


the  Hall  grounds  were  so  extensive  and  beau^ 

A  dinner  party  at  Hurstwood  gave  him  a  still 
more  favorable  impression  of  his  noble  host,  and 


behold  me,  voluntarily,  in  precisely  the  situation  ;  convinced  him  that  in  choosing  her  Ladyship  to 


I  deprecated 

"Caroline,"  said   Ashley, 
phased  with  the  brother-in-law  you  destine  to 
give  me ;  and  so  I  shall  write  and  tell  him." 

'•  Dear  Ashley,  how  kind  you  always  are ;  but 
I  shall  soon  be  coming  to  see  you  in  London. 
Mamma  will  take  me  to  Mr.  Morton's  sister-in- 
law  and  his  two  daughtei'S,  and  we  are  promising 
ourselves  the  great  delight  of  often  meeting  Helen, 
and  Mrs.  Loftus,  who  has  just  retui-ned  from 
visiting  Charles  and  Fanny." 

"  That  will  be  charming,  indeed,"  said  he;  and 
then  he  began  to  give  them  a  full  account  of  Reg- 
inald and  Helen,  their  sayings  and  do'ngs,  of 
which  his  hearers  could  not  have  too  much. 

"  Does  my  father  visit  much  at  Hurstwood .'" 
asked  Ashley,  turning  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  mother,  smiling  at  the  signifi- 
cance of  his  tone,  "and  so  must  his  son  Ashley. 
Nothing  can  be  more  kind  and  polite  than  they 
are,  and  Mrs.  Templaton  has  so  completely  exon- 
erated Lord  Hurstwood,  as  to  make  him  appear 
to  have  been  more  sinned  against  than  sinning — 
at  least,  it  is  evident  that  is  the  view  she  wishes 


I  wear  the  rejected  coronet  he  had  done  wisely  ;  and 
I   am  very  much  !  had  he  asked  either  of  them  a  question,  usually  so 
dangerous,  as  to  whether  they  could  confirm  this 
opinion,  both  would  have  replied  in  the  affirmative. 
Cecilia's  good  sense,  her  truth  of  character  and 
word,  became  daily  more  valuable  and  refreshing 
to  one  whose  life  had  been  spent  in  the  petty  ;it-  I 
I  paltry  intrigues  of  continental  courts— whose  in! 
had  been  taught  to  move  through  the  sinuosi 
of  diplomatic  labyrinths,  and  who  had  been  acr.: 
I  tomed  to  see  the  whole  drama  of  state-craft  ]m  :  - 
,  formed   by   complex   machinery,   secret  sprin_'  . 
I  hidden   agencies,    and   masked   actors.     He    iv: 
I  charmed  with  her   frank,  confiding   nature     1 
was  proud  of  his  handsome  .-md  dignified  w;;  . 
I  Nor  any  the  less  so,  for  having  won  her  easily— 
j  it  spoke  well  for  his  powers  of  conquest — while  his 
1  boundless  generosity    and  indulgence,  which  at 
first  won  her  ready  gratitude,  at  length  awoke  lur 
love. 

I      And  Ashley,  when  he  left  Seabrooke,  and  w:<-- 
once  more  stirring  his  tea  in  the  little  coti:i 
drew  from  his  store  various  stray  scraps  of  n 
which  made  them  all  glad — among  the  reft,  i 


her  friends  to  take  ;    and  1  own  that  1  should    picture  he  drew  of  Cecilia  and  her  future  w 


regret  h:iving  an  opinion  that  obliged  us  to  refuse 
their  friendly  overtures.  Cecilia  is  much  too 
excellent  for  us  to  be  comfortable  in  the  belief  that 
she  has  married  one  we  could  not  tolerate." 

"  I  nuich  more  than  tolerate  Lord  Hurstwood," 
said  <."arf)line  ;  "  lie  is  both  so  gentle  and  gentle- 
manlike to  his  wife — and  I  believe  the  wildest  wish 
she  could  imagine  would  be  gratified  with  pleasure 
and  eagerness— 1  think  she  is  more  charming  than 
ever." 

'•  To-morrow,  then,  we  will  ride  over,  and  you 
fchall  introduce  me." 

Tliis  w.as  done,  and  Ashley  saw  nothing  to  con- 
ti-overt  his  sisters  opinion.     An  early  day  was 


mented  on  with  real  pleasure. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 


"II  pet  aussi  f  cit"<1epe  trnmpersoi-mdmesanss'en  aper- 
oev.ir  qiru  est  diffl-ilt!  (1'>  tmiDper  les  autres  saiisqa'ils  s'tu 
ajjtrcoiveuu" — La.  Uochefoucauld. 

While  the  Templetons  were  in  Scotland,  where 
every  day  brought  some  fresh  scheme  of  plensiire 
and  amusement,  an  event  occurred  which  openly 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


Ill 


hi 


drew  the  attention  of  Reginald  to  a  subject  that 
often  secretly  occupied  his  thoughts — namely,  Old 
Court. 

For  months  it  had  given  no  more  sign  of  life 
or  movement  than  if  it  had  been  Tadmor  in  the 
Desert.  Occasionally  the  West  roughs  named  it 
to  Helen  with  no  vci'y  respectful  or  friendly  tone  ; 
for  Lady  Anne,  the  bride-elect,  considered  her- 
self defrauded  and  swindled  out  of  five  thousand 
pounds,  which  her  uncle  Ernest  had  always  prom- 
ised to  any  of  his  nieces  on  their  marriage. 
'•  Now."  she  said,  "  the  harpies  who  reign  there  will 
take  care  to  intercept  all  such  acceptable  waifs." 

Keginald  had  written  to  announce  his  marriage 
— but  no  reply  was  sent — not  even  a  line  from  old 
Roberts. 

And  now,  behold !  when  conjecture  had  grown 
weary  and  curiosity  faded  away,  on  returning 
f5rom  a  London  shopping  expedition  witli  one  of 
her  daughters.  Lady  Westrough  was  astonished 
to  find  cards,  "  Lady  Ernest  West,"  "  Mrs.  Mel- 
■ville,"  and  the  direction  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of 
the  metropolis. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  .'"  she  asked,  and 
learned  from  Lady  Ella,  the  invalid,  that  two  la- 
dies had  called,  and  hearing  that  she  was  at 
home,  had  sent  their  cards,  and  asked  if  they 
could  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her.  This,  on 
the  plea  of  ill  health,  she  had  declined ;  they  then 
left  cards  for  Lord  and  Lady  Westrough,  and 
having  inquired  when  her  Ladyship  was  usually 
at  home,  had  driven  away. 

"  I  am  always  out."  was  her  Ladyship's  com- 
mand to  the  servant,  as  she  pointed  to  tlie  cards, 
"  when  these  people  call ;"  which  they  did  a  few 
days  after. 

AH  this  was  duly  reported  to  Helen  when  they 
next  met,  embellished  with  various  piquant  re- 
marks, which  none  but  vexed  ladies  can  make; 
she  begged  for  a  card  to  show  Reginald,  not,  as 
she  laughingly  remarked,  that  he  miglit  call  and 
pay  their  debts,  but  because  she  thouglit  he  ought 
to 'inquire  whether  Lord  Ernest  were  with  theiu. 

Reginald,  after  naming  this  to  Asliley.  thought 
himself  justified  in  making  some  inquiries  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  ladies"  residence,  and  learned 
that,  except  servants.  Lady  Ernest  and  her  mother 
were  alone.  He  conjectured  that  her  Ladyship 
had  come  to  town  for  medical  advice,  as  she  was 
near  her  confinement. 

"  There  is  some  scheme  on  foot  here,"  said  Ash- 
ley ;  "  I  do  not  like  this  arrangement ;  let  me 
name  it  to  Mr.  Turner,  and  hear  what  he  says." 

"  If  not  troubling  him,  I  should  be  very  glad  of 
his  ojJ^nion." 

"  No  trouble  ;  I  am  sure  he  will  like  it." 

And  the  next  day  Ashley  sayl,  "  I  am  always 
intruding  my  affairs  on  you,  sir." 

"  Your  friends'  affairs  you  mean ;  which  of  them 
now  ?" 

"  Mr.  W'^est's." 

"  Ah  !  indeed— what  of  him  ?  and  how  can  I 
help  r 

"  It  is  a  long  story,"  said  Ashley. 

"  Then  begin  at  once,  while  I  have  leisure  to 
listen,"  said  Mr.  Turner. 

Thereupon  Ashley  entered  into  the  particulars 
of  Reginald's  expectations,  till  he  came  to  the 
arrival  of  Mrs.  Melville  and  her  daughter  in 
London. 


When  he  concluded,  Mr  Turner  remarked  :  "  It 
may  be  all  right— previous  circumstances,  how- 
ever, will  justify  you  in  acting  as  if  it  were  not ; 
at  least,  till  you  are  convinced  to  the  contrary. 

I  Will  Mr.  West  leave  it  to  us  ?  lor  I  expect,  if  wo 

I  take  him  to  our  councils,  he  will  be  refractory — 
what  say  you  .'" 

I      "  1    think  you  are  right,  so  I  shall  venture  at 

I  once  to  banish  him." 

j  "  Very  well— we  must  send  down  directly  to 
Old  Court.  I  know  the  very  man — next,  we  must 
learn  who  is  the  medical  man — and  what  sort  of 
an  establishment  there  is  with  the  ladies  in  town 
— here  again  I  can  help  you;"  and  almost  as  he 

I  spoke  he  had  written  two  short  notes,  sealed  and 

I  directed  them 

I      "  I  am  to  dine  to-day  with  the  chief  justice," 
said  Mr.  Turner;  "will  you  breakfast  with  mo 
to-morrow  at  eight  precisely  ?" 
"  I  will  be  punctual." 
"  Very  well — now  I  am  busy." 
At  eight,  Ashley  was  in  Bedford  Square,  scatcfl 
at  a  well-spread  breakfast-table,  the  pleasant  fig- 
ure of  Miss  Turner  presiding,  whose  eyes  were 
fixed  on  her  brother's  face,  as  he  conversed  earn- 
estly with  Ashley. 

"  Is  Mr.  Tebbat  here  .'"  he  asked  of  a  servant, 
whom  the  bell  had  just  summoned  ;  "  if  so,  send 
him  up  directly." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Tebb.at,  here  are  your  instructions," 
said  Mr.  Turner  to  a  person  who  had  very  quietly 
entered,   and    remained    standing.     Ashley   was 

j  puzzled  as  he  looked  «t  the  man,  and  felt  that, 
had  he  been  desired  to  describe  him,  it  could  have 

!  been  only   by    negatives— no    phrase   suggested 

I  itself  so  appropriate  as  this :  "  he  seems  to  be  not 

1  anything." 

!      "  You  will  not,  on  any  account,  be  tempted  to 

'  exceed  them,"  pursued  the  lawyer ;  "  there  is  quite 
scope  enough  for  your  ingenuity." 

The  negative  took  the  paper  and  rapidly  glanced 
it  over. 

"  Do  you  understand  .'" 

"  Quite,  sir  ;"  but  he  was  no  longer  a  catalogue 
of  negatives ;  both  voice  and  eye  were,  very  de- 
cidedly and  distinctly,  affirmative. 

"  Then  put  the  paper  in  that  book,  where  there 
is  money,  and  lose  no  time — good-morning." 
"  Has  Styles  been  here  this  morning,  Jolin  ':" 
"  Yes,  sir,  he  said  he  would  walk  round  the 
Square,  when  I  told  him  you  were  engaged  ;  but 
I  think  that  is  his  knock  ;  will  you  see  him  now, 
sir .'" 

"  Bring  him  up  at  once  ;"  and  enter  Mr.  Styles, 
a  dapper,  neat  little  man,  with  a  roguish  pair  of 
black  eyes,  and  a  pleasant  little  smile  ;  altogeth- 
er, a  little  fellow  who  looked  as  if  for  sixpence  ho 
would  make  love  to  half  the  houscnuiids,  or  cooks 
either,  in  the  Square — one  of  those  winking, 
smirking,  hat-on-one-side  men,  who  arc  regular 
incendiaries  among  the  combustible  hearts  of  the 
aforesaid  epecies. 

"  I  wish  to  have  tliese  questions  answered,"  said 
Mr.  Turner  ;  and  the  bright  eyes  of  this  Antiniius 
of  the  area  and  nur.sery  ran  over  the  list  beforo 

j  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson. 

1      "  Very  good,  sir  ;  give  me  a  few  evenings,  I  cao 

.  hardly  do  '\t  in  le-ss." 

I      "  Oh,  -'ou  may  have  a  week,  if  it  will  amuse 

!  y</a  more.  ■" 


112 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


•'  Very  good,  sir,"  laughing,  and  showing  a  fine 
set  of  teeth. 

"  I  always  breakfast  about  this  time,  so  you  are 
sure  to  find  me." 

"  Very  good,  sir.  I  wish  you  good-morning, 
sir  !"  with  a  bow,  which  included  them  all ;  and, 
with  something  like  grace,  he  withdrew,  but  not 
before  his  bright  eyes  had  taken  a  daguerreotype 
of  Ashley. 

"  He  was  an  actor,"  said  Mr.  Turner,  in  reply 
to  his  young  friends  look;  "  so  he  is  now,  when 
he  can  find  an  engagement." 

"  I  suppose  the  Lothario  of  the  piece,"  observed 

"  .M"ost  likely ;  he  is  not  a  bad  fellow— but  he 
is  vain  and  quarrelsome,  and  that  keeps  him  poor. 
He  will  sit  up  half  the  night  to  copy  old  Greys 
atrocious  hieroglyphics,  and  then  spend  the  money 
on  a  gay  waistcoat." 

"  And  the  other  r" 

"  Oh.  not  so  good  ! — but  he  owes  me  a  debt  for 
help  in  need,  and  is  grateful  when  he  is  not  drunk; 
even  then  he  is  trustworthy." 

Both  agents  succeeded  marvelously  well,  be- 
cause cacii  kept  to  his  usual  character — one  as  a 
lounging,  idle  rambler,  the  other  as  lover  to  the 
ladys-maid  and  two  house-maids.  The  cook,  an 
old'stager.  let  with  the  house,  knew  nothing  of 
her  employers  worth  learning,  and  was  not,  there- 
fore, left  like  Ariadne,  or  Dido,  or  any  other  of 
the  fair  deceived,  to  bewail  the  false  words  of  the 
false  man. 

The  report  of  Tebbat  t«is  to  this  effect :  He 
went,  as  ordered,  to  Old  Court,  and,  of  course, 
took  up  his  quarters  at  the  public-house.  He 
then  began  his  inquiries,  and  learned  that  Lord 
Ernest  had  remained  much  as  when  we  last  peeped 
at  him ;  even  the  news  of  Ueginald's  marriage 
had  failed  to  disturb  the  monotony  of  his  exist- 
ence. If,  however,  Iieginald  had  not  informed 
Ilobcrtsof  this  important  event,  it  is  very  unlikely 
his  uncle  would  ever  have  heard  of  it,  as  the  let- 
ter to  liim  had  never  come  to  hand — that  is,  to 
/lis  hand ;  it  had  probably  been  lost,  through  that 
dreadfully  careless  medium,  the  post-ofSce.  But 
Roberts  fetched  all  his  little  correspondence  him- 
self from  the  small  public,  and  secured  the  deliv- 
ery ;  and  there  it  was  that  Tebbat  became 
acquainted  with  him.  His  Lordship  drove  out  for 
about  an  hour  every  day,  and  sometiiues  saw  his 
own  doctor— sometimes  the  clergyman  dined  with 
him  ;  but  that  was  all  the  variety.  Now  it  must 
be  ailmitted  that  this  dull  and  dreary  life  was 
most  aggi-avating  to  a  young  person  like  her  Lady- 
ship, and  a  womin like  her  mother,  whose  talents 
80  eminently  fitte  i  her  for  an  active  and  bustling, 
if  not  a  useful,  ]X)sition  in  society ;  and  when  Mrs. 
Melville  hinted  to  her  noble  son-in-law  that  Er"- 
nesta  required  me  lie  il  watching,  he  said,  "  Send 
for  Edwanls :"  and  when  she  slightly  turned  up 
her  nose  at  Edwards,  he  .said,  "  Send' for  any  one 
you  like ;"  but  there  was  no  one  within  sending- 
distancc  whom  she  did  like,  for  this  was  not  her 
aim. 

In  short — but  thi«  she  dM  not  tell  him — Er- 
nesta  \\;v\  be^-n  rebellioii.s ;  she  had  threatened  to 
kill  herself — to  run  away — any  thing  but  endure 
this  horrible  s(yle  of  living  ;  and  her  mother  had 
only  been  able  to  pacify  her  by  promising  a  visit 
to  town,  where  she  proposed  that  slie  should  be 


]  confined ;  after  which  it  would  be  a  round  of  gay- 
I  ety,  parties,  and  dress. 

When  Lord  Ernest  was  made  to  understand 
;  that  his  wife  and  wife's  mother  wished  to  go  to 
London,  he  readily  gave  his  consent ;  but  when, 
for  the  sake  of  appearances,  she  hinted  that  he 
should  accompany  them,  it  was  another  matter. 
He  would  not  go  without  Old  Court ;  but  they 
;  could  not  take  Old  Court — eri;o,  he  could  not  go ; 
they  must  leave  him — and  they  did. 
I  Mrs.  Melville  had  many  reasons  for  indulging 
!  her  daughter  in  this  visit  to  London,  t^he  could 
I  not  be  blind  to  the  fact,  that  the  poor  girl  was 
I  looking  wretchedly  ill ;  it  was  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance to  the  furtherance  of  her  plans  that  lur 
expected  grandchild  should  be  strong  an  i 
healthy  :  she  hated  Old  Court,  as  a  residence,  us 
j  much  as  Erncsta ;  she  also  intended  to  try  if  she 
j  could  not,  by  a  roup  dc  main,  beat  down  the  re- 
j  serves  and  prejudices  of  the  Westrough  family 
and  their  connections,  as  well  as  beat  up  the 
quarters  of  former  patronesses  and  benefactor.^, 
some  of  whom,  she  had  good  reason  to  know, 
would  never  withstand  the  combined  force  ut 
!  title,  a  handsome  equipage,  and  a  fashionable  res- 
I  idence. 

j      But  the  Westroughs  presented  such  an  impen- 
j  etrable  front,  that  she  could  not  break  thronu'ii 
it — the  connections  had  either  a  title,  a  carria.' 
or  a  fashionable  house  of  their  own,  so  hers  wr 
of  no  avail ;  and  thus  discomfited  and  driven  fi  -  .. 
the  main  body,  she  fell  back  on  her  old  allies. 

And  here  her  plan  seemed  more  promising  for 
success.  Like  Sancho,  she  fancied  she  had  at  hist 
attained  her  government — is  there  a  Dr.  Snateii 
away  at  every  court .' — Wait. 

Among  the  odds  and  ends  picked  up  by  tli.  - 
sharp-sighted,  industrious  chiffoniers,  Mes?rs. 
Tebbat  and  Styles,  there  was  one  stray  atom  upon 
which  both  pounced,  as  if  well  worth  throwing 
into  their  basket. 

At  the  small  public  where  Tebbat  fixed  himself, 
as  he  said,  for  the  purpose  of  angling,  though  the 
trout-stream  was  miles  away,  a  young  man  iiad 
frequently  taken  lodgings  for  weeks  together ;  per- 
haps said  the  landlady,  from  whom,  in  the  coui  .-e 
of  gossip,  he  learned  this,  he  was  an  artist,  thousrh 
she  had  never  seen  any  of  his  drawings — or  a 
poacher ;  at  any  rate,  as  she  very  sagaciously 
observed,  he  must  be  something — and  he  seemel 
to  have  a  particular  .admiration  for  Old  Court.  IK 
had  first  appeared  when  Mrs.  Melville  and  her 
daughter  went  there,  and  had  been  in  the  neigh- 
borhood very  often  since  the  marriage  of  tiie 
latter. 

Here  Styles  stepped  forth  with  a  piece  he  Ir 
found,  and  dove-tailing  it  with  the  last,  it  assuin 
a  sort  of  shape.  From  the  lady's-maid  he  lean;'  i 
that  this  was  a  poor  relative  whom  her  lady  often 
helped  with  small  sums  of  money,  unknown  to' 
tlic  old  one — a  classic  soubriquet  by  which  Mrs.j 
Melville  was  designated.  He  was  now  in  town,, 
w.uting  for  some  appointment  Lady  Ernest  was  to 
obtain  for  him,  through  the  influence  of  her  pow- 
erful relations. 

And  is  that  the  nurse  .'"  asked  Styles,  alludi: 
to  a  woman  in  an  interesting  state,  who  was  do 
mesticated  at  the  hired  house. 

"  Yes,  she  expects  to  be  confined  shortly  before 
my  lady,  and  is  to  take  the  young  heir" — (heir,  oJ 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


113 


course,  said  the  inquisitive  little  man  to  himself) 
— "  from  its  birth — her  own  baby  will  be  brought 
up  by  hand,  out  of  the  house." 

"  And  the  other  nurse,  where  is  she  ?" 

"  Lor,  what  does  it  matter  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh.  nothing,  1  was  only  tliinking  when  we  are 
married — "  a  gentle  squeeze,  and  a  smart  slap  in 
the  face  for  liis  impudence,  administered  by  her 
fair  hand,  was  the  reply. 

And  the  next  day,  meeting  the  upper  liouse- 
maid  "  quite  promiscus,"  by  appointment,  he 
escorted  her  on  her  errand,  and  suddenly  discov- 
ering that  he  was  by  no  means  well,  asked  who 
atteuded  at  her  house,  remarking,  "  Of  course,  he 
is  one  of  the  nobs,  a  regularbig-wig  ?" 

"Indeed  he  is  no  such  thing,"  she  replied, 
with  a  disdainful  toss  of  her  floral  head  ;  '•  fur  a 
more  sneaking,  mean  little  fellow  I  never  saw,  and 
no  one  seems  to  know  where  he  comes  from." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  then  I  suppose  he  does  not  come 
often  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  he  does,  every  other  day,  as  punctually 
at  one  as  luncheon  does— but  I  did  not  come  here 
to  be  bothered  about  such  as  him,  with  his  dirty 
wristbands  and  sliabby  hat ;"  and  Styles,  finding 
he  was  not  likely  to  gain  more  useful  knowledge 
at  present,  soon  found  means  to  take  the  monkey 
I  oflf  the  bade  of  his  Dulcinea,  and  said — "  ^"ow  I 
must,  tliough  reluctantly,  say  farewell — but  first 
tell  me  wlien  we  are  to  go  to  the  play  together  ?" 

"  Oh,  when  you  come  to  fetch  me,"  she  replied 
coquettishly,  and  hurrying  round  the  corner. 

And  exactly  at  one  was  Mr  Styles  on  tiie  look- 
out, nor  did  he  cease  to  look  till  he  watched  the 
sneaking,  mean  little  fellow  in — and  out  too — nor 
was  he  satisfied  with  his  gaze  till  he  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  him  safe  to  a  shabby  little  place 
on  the  skirts  of  Loudon,  and  ascertained  that  he 
was  the  man  who  answered  to  the  name  on  the 
surgery  door. 

Tebbat  added  to  his  previous  information,  that 
lloberts  seemed  quite  ignorant  any  one  had  meet- 
ings with  tli^  young  lady.  He,  however,  com- 
plained bitterly  of  the  discomfort  Mfs.  Melville 
had  introduced  into  their  peaceful  household  ; 
and,  without  ceremony,  called  her  "  artful  old 
jade,"'  whenever  he  mentioned  her. 

"  And  what  do  you  make  of  this  :"  asked  Mr. 
Turner  of  Reginald,  when  with  Ashley's  help  he 
hud  arranged  all  his  information. 

"  I  fear,"  was  his  reply,  •'  that  Mrs.  Melville 
merits  Roberts'  ungallant  designation." 

"  That  I  think  is  pretty  clear,  and  we  must 
watch  her,  or  we  shall,  perhaps,  have  more  sons 
and  heirs  than  Providence  intended." 

Subsequent  discoveries  and  confessions  proved 
that  a  scheme,  somewhat  to  that  effect,  liad  been 
concocted  by  the  wily  mother,  who  knew  that  the 
birth  of  an  heir  couhl  alone  secure' lier  sway,  and 
probably  make  such  a  change  in  all  the  arrange- 
ments at  Old  Court  as  would  help  to  reconcile  the 
refractory  Ernest  a  to  her  fate. 

Accident,  however,  frustrated  all — "  the  best- 
liiid  schemes  o'  men  ami  mice  gang  aft  agley." 

Mrs.  Melville,  who  had  succeeded  in  part  of  her 
j  design,  that  of  dazzling  some  of  her  farmer  patron- 
[  esses,  but  who  was  prevented,  by  her  daughter's 
State  of  health,  fiom  making  much  display  at  her 
}  handsome  house,  in  compen.sation  for  tjiis  was 
I  never  weary  of  exhibiting  her  elegant  equipage, 


and  in  her  turn  assuming  airs  of  protection  and 
patronage,  would  frequently  call  in  state  and 
style  on  her  old  acquaintance,  and  condescend- 
ingly offer  them  a  seat  in  the  well-appointed 
carriage. 

She  was  one  day  indulging  this  benevolent 
feeling,  and  conveying  a  lady  to  Kensington, 
when  a  sudden  scream  from  the  latter  caused  her 
to  turn  her  head,  and  she  beheld  a  riderless  horse 
dasliing  furiously  toward  them. 

The  coachman,  wlio  would  have  been  quito 
equal  to  this  emergency  had  he  been  left  to  him- 
self, distracted  by  the  screams  of  the  ludy,  and 
the  contradictory  orders  of  Mrs.  Melville,  la-^iicd 
one  of  his  horses,  a  spirited  animal,  which  reared, 
as  she  was  standing,  and  threw  her  across  the 
carriage. 

Ernesta,  who  had  sat  pale  and  motionless, 
alarmed  at  this,  fainted  ;  and  when  all  danger 
from  the  runaway  horse  was  long  over,  she  was 
hastily  driven  to  the  first  doctor's  for  aid,  and 
scarcely  had  she  so  far  recovered  as  to  reach  home, 
than  she  gave  birth  to  a  little  girl,  wiio  breatlied 
for  a  few  hours  only  ;  while  the  young  motlier  lay 
for  weeks  in  a  most  alarming  state,  and  two- 
months  elapsed  before  she  could  be  removed  to- 
Old  Court,  where  her  husband  still  obstinately 
persisted  in  remaining,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Melville's- 
earnest  entreaties  that  lie  would  join  them. 

Instead  of  .attending  to  this,  lie  wrote  to  his 
lawyer  to  see  that  all  they  needed  was  abundiintly 
supplied,  to  pay  all  the  bills,  and  wiieu  Lady 
Ernest  was  able  to  travel,  to  arrange  for  her  re- 
turn home. 

News  of  this  disaster,  and  all  its  concomitants, 
was  brought  by  Styles,  who  added,  that  a  new 
actor  hail  appeared  on  the  scene.  This  was  one 
of  those  Ibul  blots  on  an  honorable  profession,  who 
never  find  any  job  too  dirty  for  their  unwashed 
consciences,  or  too  dishonorable  for  their  callous 
feelings. 

And  now  Mr.  Turner  himself  interfered,  lie 
called  on  the  respectable  gentleman  who  actetl  for 
Lord  Ernest,  and  lold  him  what  he  actually  knew, 
what  he  also  su.>-pected — but  he  was  very  plainly 
told  nothing  could  be  done  till  his  Lordship  was 
roused  to  action — only  it  was  wtU  to  watch  the 
enemy,  and  by  threats  terrify  her  from  plunging 
deeper  into  intrigue  and  danger ;  and  acting 
upon  tliis,  Mr  Turner,  in  the  ciiaracter  of  friend 
to  the  heir-at-law,  wrote  to  inform  Jier  that  her 
machinations  were  all  known  to  Lord  Ernest's 
family — her  plot  witli  the  p-ttifogger,  as  well  as 
that  witii  the  quMck.  But  in  relating  hi.s  inter- 
view with  .Mr.  Manning  to  Ashley,  Mr.  Turner 
remarked— •'!  suspect  that  1  did  not  tell  him 
much  news— and  more,  that  he  has  by  some  means 
got  this  Jezeliel  in  his  power." 

So,  back  went  Mr.s.  Melville,  fully  resolved  that 
the  next  heir  should  be  born  at  Old  Court  Hut 
Ernesta  was  long  before  siie  recovereil  either 
health  or  spirits,  while  the  sight  of  her  mother 
seemed  to  fill  her  with  dread  as  well  as  dishke;. 
so  that  she  often  asked  tlie  ancient  housekeeper  to- 
remain  with  her,  when  she  peevisiily  rcfu.-jcd  ad- 
uiiitance  to  her  mother. 


114 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 


"The  cluiins  of  earth's  immurement 

Fi-llfrMiu  lanihe's  Hpini; 
They  siini..k  and  brake  like  bacing.  sof  Btraw 

Benealli  a  wakeiiVI  L'l'in't  sireiigih. 
She  knew  her  glorious  cliaiige."  Siiellby. 

And  now  the  London  ?e;ison  approaches,  and 
the  papers  announce  a  drawing-room,  the  first 
that  has  been  heUl  since  Cecilia  s  marriage  ;  and 
Lord  and  Lady  Hurstwood  arrive  to  take  posses- 
sion of  their  town-house,  which  has  been  refur- 
nished, with  all  the  splendor  becoming  their  rank 
and  weilth. 

And  very  busy  they  both  are  about  this  draw- 
in"--ru nil— for  if  my  lady  holds  a  committee  of 
liiste  with  the  coui-t  milliner,  my  lord  does  the 
pame  with  the  jeweler;  and  very  important  he 
seems  to  think  the  subject,  judging  from  his 
regard liss-of-expeuse  orders. 

And  eminently  successful  did  the  result  of  his 
consultations  pruve,  when  his  bride  was  presented, 
by  his  stately  relative,  the  Dowager  Duchess  of 
L-ileford — for  Lady  Ilurstwood's  diamonds  were 
pronounced  unrivaled  both  for  taste  and  value. 

Nor  was  there  much  diiference  of  opinion  about 
the  fair  wearer,  who  was  voted  the  great  star  of 
this  courtly  performance,  to  the  infinite  satisfac- 
tion of  her  lord. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  you  had  a  loss,"  said  a  brother 
oflicer  to  Captain  Mortimer  ;  '•  the  drawing-room 
was  superb." 

"  80  every  one  says ;  but  I  was  detained  on 
business  at  the  Horse  Guards— not  that  I  cave 
much  about  these  things,"  said  he,  yawning,  and  1 
att'ecting  n,  b/a.ie  air;  "one  pretty  much  resem- 
liles  another.  But  they  all  report  that  Lady 
Hurstwood,  or  Lady  Hurstwood  s  diamonds,  out- 
heroded  Herod." 

"  It  was  both— upon  my  soul,  I  never  saw  a 
finer  or  more  dignified  woman.  Old  Hurst  has 
jockeyed  I'amously  to  have  won  this  prize." 

"  Halt,  there!"  said  a  fine-looking,  middle-aged 
man,  who  Avas  of  the  party.  "  What  do  you  lads 
mean  by  old  ?  Why,  a  fellow  is  not  of  age  till  he 
is  thirty,  iwv  does  he  come  to  years  of  discretion 
till  ten  years  later.  Hurstwood  is  my  junior,  and 
1  am  only  fifty." 

"Juvenility  is  a  matter  of  fancy,"  replied  the 
first  spcalcer,  with  a  laugh.  "  Sydney  Staples 
seems  to  like  a  long  figure  in  years,  as  well  as  in 
lortune — he  already  complains  that  he  sold  him- 
self a  dead  bargain." 

'•  Like  him ;  but  some  one  told  me  that  a  royal 
ncadcnucian  is  regularly  engaged  and  paid  to 
keep  Mrs.  Syd's  countenance  in  repair." 

"  She  is  right  to  put  a  good  face  on  her  mar- 
riage," WHS  the  retort ;  "  if  she  could  paint  out 
Sylney's  debts  as  well  as  her  wrinkles,  she  might 
take  out  a  patent.  I  am  sorry  to  u.se  such  a  word, 
but  it  was  absolutely  disgusting  to  see  this  made- 
up  old  Sycorax  daubed  like  some  hideous  figure- 
head on  a  Dutch  craft." 

"  Still,  she  is  to  be  pitied,"  said  Lord  Hurst- 
wood's  senior.  "  Sydney  Staples  has  neither 
principle  nor  mercy— and  he  will  soon  run  through 
iier  vast  property." 

•'  Well,  tliat  is  her  concern — she  married  him 
for  his  rank  and  good  looks,  which  will  last  longer 
^an  her  money.    Uut  what  la  this  .Mother  Bunch 


talc  about  Templeton's  little  girl !  do  you  know, 
Morty  .'" 

"  Oh  !  yes — old  Hurst — well,  then,  young  Plurst, 
it  seems,  went  prowling  about  the  country  for  a 
wife,  and  saw  this  little  creature,  whereupon  ho 
came,  saying,  '  fee.  faw,  fum,'  and  the  poor  child, 
with  her  pinafore  at  her  eyes,  and  her  mouth  full 
of  bread-and-butter — these  girls  are  everlastingly 
eating  it — ran  roaring  away  from  the  ogre,  in 
the  utmost  terror,  and  meeting  the  parish  clerk, 
or  something  of  the  same  kind,  went  slap  otf  with 
him." 

"  Quite  a  Templeton  trick,"  remarked  the  offi- 
cer; "her  grandmother  did  the  same,  only  she 
jilted  a  worthy  "squire  in  some  out-of-the-way 
place.  And  what  said  Templeton  when  the  young 
chip  started  oft" .'" 

"  Said .'  not  much — but  he  swore  awfully,  raged 
like  a  stung  bear,  beat  his  wife  and  theother  girl, 
broke  some  china  and  furniture,  drank  lots  of 
wine,  and  was  carried  to  bed." 

"  I  wish,  Mortimer,  you  would  condescend  and 
talk  sense,  when  you  converse  with  any  one  who 
can  understand  it." 

"  Ah  !  but  that  is  so  rare,  for  he  is  sadly 
addicted  to  soliloquizing,"  slyly  remarked  the 
brothcr-in-arms,  and  then  he  continued  :  "  Old 
Chilvers,  I  hear,  is  really  dying  this  time." 

"It  is  true — there  is  no  hope— and,  by  Jove!" 
said  Mortimer, "  when  one  thinks  of  the  miserable 
artificial  life  he  led,  it  must  be  almost  a  comfort 
to  him  to  have  any  thing  so  real  about  him  as 
death.  I  vow  when  I  think  of  him,  and  what  his 
vanity  and  selfishness  end  in,  I  am  ready  to  ask 
the  first  pretty  girl  I  meet  to  have  compassion  on 
me,  and  save  me  from  such  a  fate,  by  marrying 
me." 

"  Better  a.sk  your  fair  cousin,"  advised  the  el- 
derly speaker;  "  report,  however,  says  that  you 
have,  and  you  look  guilty.  Well,  if  so,  I  wish  you 
joy.  1  married  before  I  was  five-and-twenty, 
with  an  abundance  of  nothing  but  love  to  begin 
housekeeping  with — but  the  experiment  answered 
so  well,  1  mean  my  boys  to  do  the  same,  if  they 
like,  so  adieu." 

"All  very  fine  for  him  !"  said  the  officer ;  "  but 
such  women  as  his  wife  are  not  quite  so  plentiful 
as  blackberries." 

Greatly  as  both  Mrs.  Templeton  and  Constance 
had  enjoyed  their  visit  to  Scotland,  and  much  as 
i  they  felt  the  kindness  the  Sinclairs  had  shown,  in 
j  omitting  nothing  that  could  interest  them,  they 
both  felt  glad  when  they  left  Edinburgh,  where 
they  had  remained  with  some  other  friends  more 
than  a  monUi  ;  and,  accompanied  by  their  hos- 
pitable relatives,  set  out  for  England,  whither  the 
Colon"!  had  preceded  them. 
'      Though  to  Mrs.  Templeton  the  Priory,  spite  of 


the  beauty  with  which  both  nature  and  art  com-  f  |, 
biued  to  clothe  it,  had  few  associations  connected 
with  happiness  or  even  pi  >asure,  she  longed  to  re- 
turn to  it;   for  there  alona  coiiM  she  contrive  to 
correspond  with  the  banished  one,  as  their  uncer- 
tain movements,  while  in  the  north,  had  greatly  ||  ,j 
interfered  with  this  ;  and  she  felt  that  one  gratl 
fication,  at  least,  would  be  hers,  when  again  settled  1     jj 
at  Seabrooke. 

Nor  was  Laiirette  less  anxious  once  move  t3  be 
at  head-quarters,  to  see  what  could  be  done  with 
the  fragments  of  'aope,  which  had  been  so  ruth- 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


lessly  dasbed  to  the  earth  hy  TTubert's  engage- 
ment. It  had  been  arranged  by  her  parents  that 
6he  should  pay  a  round  of  visits  among  her  Eng- 
lish friends,  ending  with  the  marriage  of  (Vin- 
etance,  whicli  it  was  presumed  would  take  place 
Boon  after  Hubert's  return:  Sir  Archibald  frankly 
expressing  his  hope,  that  slie  would  then  choose  a 
husband  from  several  admirers  whom  she  co- 
quettishly  kept  in  suspense,  dismiss  the  rest,  and 
settle,  like  a  douce  lassie,  into  the  duties  of  a 
happy  and  sensible  wife. 

How  far  was  this  common-place  humdrum  finale 
—at  least,  as  her  father  meant  it— from  her  in- 
tentions !  as  if,  among  those  on  whom  she  con- 
descended to  bestow  her  smiles,  and  to  whom  she 
doled  out  barely  enough  graciousness  to  keep  their 
hopes  alive,  there  was  one  who  could  compare 
with  him  who  despised  the  love  she  had  unsought 
given  him. 

Hubert,  the  invincible  Hubert,  at  least  toward 
!ier,  was  still  the  idol  she  worshiped.  Hubert,  in 
love  with,  engaged  to,  Constance,  was  the  one 
she  yet  hoped  to  bring  to  her  feet;  and  difficult 
as  this  seemed,  she  resolved  to  neglect  no  means 
by  which  it  might  be  effected. 

Her  infatuation  had  in  no  degree  blinded  her 
to  his  faults— these  she  meant  to  render  subser- 
vient to  her  purpose — his  weakness  would  be  her 
strength  ;  his  irresolution  rendered  her  more  de- 
termined; for  these  gave  her  hope — she  remem- 

I  .Ted,  and  quoted  to  herself,  the  saying,  that  the 
;  'rong  udnd  governs  the  weak,  and  took  courage. 
)  I  ;id  she  known  more  of  the  world,  she  would  have 
^r^uld  that  this  is  very  far  from  being  always 
tiue. 

She  had,  besides,  been  so  much  at  Forest  Hill, 
aji'l  had  had  such  favorable  oi)portunities  of 
studying  and  becoming  acquainted  with  his  char- 
a,:tor,  that  she  fancied  she  knew  it  thoi-oughly, 
:va  1  that,  skillfully  managed,  the  materials  were 

II  Al  adapted  to  insure  success — especially  if  she 
:tlsa  levied  such  contributions  from  the  weaknesses 
ot  his  parents  as  she  possessed  the  art  to  exti-act — 
r.'rl  taking  this  view  of  her  case,  Laurette  decided 
tiKit  it  was  far  from  being  desperate. 

(  onstance  she  had  never  much  liked;  and  as 
Jier  extraordinary  beauty  had  at  one  time  excited 
her  envy,  so  now,  to  a  greater  extent,  did  her  su- 
)''rior  intellect:  it  was  rivaling  her  where  she 
l^a  I  thought  herself  most  secure — it  was  infring- 
iuir  on  what  she  felt  was  her  best  claim  to  admi- 
r  ition — it  was  therefore  unpardon-ible. 

When  Constance  had  so  earnestly  pleaded  for 
permission  to  return  home  with  Helen,  she  had 
made  the  girlish  promise  of  continuing  lier  studies, 
and  she  fully  intended  to  do  all  she  promised. 
But  events  soon  thickened  powerfully  and  closely 
around  her,  wliicb  rendered  all  the.se  fair  resolu- 
tions of  no  effect, — at  least  in  the  manner  she  in- 
tended. 

Constance  was  now  to  go  through  that  course 
of  instruction  which  none  may  altogether  escape. 
She  was  to  become  a  pupil  in  the  university  of  tlte 
world — she  was  to  listen  to  the  harsh  teachings 
of  circumstances — to  read  the  bitter  experiences 
and  learn  the  painful  lessons  of  life;  and,  in  re- 
compense, she  was  to  gain  self-knowle<lge,  self- 
guidance,  self-respect — she  was  to  acquire  a  con- 
sciousness of  lier  own  resources  and  powers,  and 
of  the  solemn  responsibility  for  the  use  she  made 


of  them;  to  find  that  trials  may  be  made  blessings 
and  losses  gains ;  and  feeling  that  her  own  fauhs 
and  failings  needed  forbearance,  to  be  ever  ready 
to  extend  this  to  others. 

This  was  the  training  and  discipline  to  which 
Constance  had  been  subjected  :  and  to  which  licr 
loving,  noble  heart,  her  imaginative  and  poetic 
mind  rendered  her,  at  first,  refractory. 

Her  sense  of  justice  was  wounded  and  roused, 
almost  to  passionate  impatience,  when  .she  under- 
stood the  situation  in  which  her  worshiped  mother 
was  placed;  her  brave  spirit  rose  in  rebellion 
against  the  petty  tyranny  and  overbearing  con- 
duct of  her  father ;  as  she  gradually  became  con- 
scious that  the  yoke  was  pressing  on  lierself,  she 
struggled  violently  against  it;  and  when  her  sis- 
ter, her  gentle  Helen,  was  so  sorely  tried,  nothing 
but  the  a.ssurance  that  open  defiance  would  only 
aggravate  the  evil,  restrained  the  strong  ex- 
pression of  her  indignation.  Happily,  however, 
her  love  and  good  sense  here  made  her  rc;isonable. 
She  felt  that  she  no  longer  loved  her  father,  and 
oh !  the  pang  this  conviction  gave  her ;  still,  in 
the  character  of  parent,  he  had  a  claim  on  her 
outward  respect,  and  with  her  mother's  beautiful 
and  consistent  behavior  ever  at  hand  to  guide  and 
strengthen  her,  she  resolved  that  no  word  should 
ever  escape  her  unbecoming  the  duty  of  a  child. 

It  was  in  this  stage  of  her  moral  tr.iining,  which 
had  made  her  "  older  than  her  looks,"  that  b'«e 
was  formally  introduced  at  Lady  Hurstwocd's 
wedding;  and  it  was  then  that  rlie  advantages  of 
associating  with  well-cultivated  minds  began  to 
influence  her  own.  She  li.-tened  and  learned  ; 
she  looked  around  and  look  in  ki.uwledge — as  her 
intellect  came  in  contact  with  tlie  intelligence  of 
others,  she  became  aware  of  her  strength,  and 
used  it ;  or  discovered  lier  deficiencies,  and  en- 
deavored to  supply  them.  Tlie  poetry  of  her  na- 
ture, which  had  hitherto  dwelt  solely  on  evident 
and  material  beauty,  now  lelt  it  where  the  cold 
j  and  passionless  never  can.  She  •'  heanl  the  voice 
they  did  not  hear,"  which  spoke  to  her  of  gran- 
deur and  sublimity — of  truth  and  ju.<tiee— (f 
duty  and  patience:  siie  "  saw  the  iiand  they  did 
not  see,"  which  beekoiied  lier  on  in  the  pursw't 
of  all  that  can  elevate  ami  ennoble.  To  her  there 
was  poetry  in  every  thing  great,  generous,  and 
unselfish — her  sympathy  was  kindled,  and  beheld 
heroism  in  patient  sutlVring— even  in  patient  toil ; 
and  as  she  yielded  to  all  iliese  stirring  influences, 
her  true  and  lovely  face  was  indeed  the  tablet  on 
which  might  be  read  thoughts  the  highest  and 
purest  that  humanity  owns. 

The  visit  to  the  Sinclairs  had  tended  greatly  to 
perfect  this  quiet  process  of  intellectual  and  moral 
advancement.  Nature,  in  her  grandest  and  most 
sulilime  aspect,  had  there  presented  herself  to  a 
fervent  admirer  ;  and  society,  which  sent  some  of 
its  most  cultivated  and  learned  members  as  ever- 
welcome  guests  to  Craigalan,  found  one  who  duly 
appreciated  their  worth,  and  its  advantage  to  her- 
self; so  tliat,  in  almost  every  respect,  to  her 
mother  and  lierself,  time  had  lately  shown  hi.s 
bird -of- paradise  wings,  as  hours  and  days  flew  so 
pleasantly  away.  Uut  there  is  ever  some  alloy  ; 
and  they  both  thought  of  Helen,  an<l  sighed  tli:.t 
slie  could  not  enjoy  all  tiiis  with  them. 

When  the  excitement  of  their  return  had  sub- 
sided, Constance  began  to  feel  a  little   uuxioua 


116 


THE   WIFES  TRIALS. 


nhout  the  arrival  of  letters  from  Hubert;  some 
time  liiid  clipsed,  and  no  direct  news  from  him 
had  been  received. 

Mr.  Morton  liad  accompanied  his  young  friends 
as  far  as  Seville,  when  they  had  left  him,  and 
proceeded  to  Naples.  Here  Hubert  met  with  some 
agreealile  English  acquaintances,  who  wished  to 
persuade  him  and  Victor  to  remain  for  a  long 
visit.  This,  Victor  would  have  been  quite  as 
■willing  to  do  as  Hubert;  but  he  reminded  his 
friend  that  he  had  business  of  importance  to  tran- 
sact for  his  father  in  Cyprus,  which  he  could  not 
postpone,  and  tiierefore  proposed  that  they  should 
return  to  Naples  when  this  was  over.  "  Business 
first,  pleasuie  after,"  said  he ;  and  he  was  much 
astonished  wiien,  after  having  delayed  some  days, 
Hubert  proposed  to  remain  where  he  was,  and 
there  await  his  companion's  return. 

Of  course,  to  this,  no  objection  could  be  made  ; 
and  young  Morton,  who  possessed,  perhaps 
rather  in  excess  the  qualities  Hubert  so  much 
wanted — decision  and  firmness— set  sail  that  same 
evening. 

In  his  letter  to  Caroline  Vernon,  with  whom  he 
had  obtained  permission  to  correspond,  and  of 
•which  he  had  availed  himself  very  liberally, 
■when  alluding  to  the  separation,  he  merely  said 
he  had  left  Hubert  at  Naples;  for  he  had  par- 
ticular reasons  for  avoiding  all  mention  of  aught 
beyond. 

But  every  one  was  not  so  scrupulous,  nor  is  it 
needful  that  we  should  be. 

Both  Hubert  and  Victor  had  quickly  obtained 
that  share  of  popularity  at  Naples,  which  good 
introductions,  good  fortunes,  good  looks,  and 
agreeable  manners  are  sure  to  obtain  for  their 
possessors.  If  Victor  were  the  cynosure  of  Eng- 
lish eyes,  Hubert  had  more  than  compensation  in 
the  almost  furor  his  peculiar  style  of  face  and 
figure  excited  among  tlie  Neapolitan  beauties, 
wlio,  like  most  people,  attached  a  factitious  value 
to  rarity. 

His  was  the  kind  of  complexion  we  should  give 
the  Apollo  statue,  if  we  ever  associated  it  with  the 
idea  of  color  ;  and,  like  that  glorious  inspiration, 
Hubert's  cast  of  features  was  slightly  effeminate, 
but  redeemed  from  this  defect  by  his  frank  and 
manly  bearing.  Elegant,  instead  of  noble,  was 
tlie  lerin  that  would  have  best  described  him  ; 
and  when  to  this  natural  beauty  we  add  the  fas- 
cinutiou  of  a  .smile  few  could  withstand,  and  a 
voice  of  exquisite  harmony  and  modulation,  it 
will  not  be  wrong  to  call  him  rather  a  dangerous 
fellow. 

Such,  at  any  rate,  many  a  lovely  daughter  of 
Italy  thought  him — sucii,one  found  him.  And  it 
was  not  without  a  sigh  for  her,  for  Hubert,  for 
Constance,  whom,  ils  Caroline's  dearest  friend, 
Victor  greatly  esteemed,  that  he  sailed  away 
alone. 

Thih  wdl,  perhaps,  explain  why  Constance  had 
lately  been  anxious  fur  a  letter  from  Italy  :  she 
knew  that  Hul)ert  wa.s  no  longer  himlered  by  the 
(litHcully  of  writing  while  at  sea;  he  was  now 
stationary — or,  at  most,  only  going  to  Rome,  and 
yet  Ills  correspondence  was  any  thing  but  regular 

lengthy.  He  seemed  to  encounter  epistolary 
.iipfilinients  on  land  which  Victor  never  met 
vith  on  water — for  lie  wrote  when  Hubert  could 
Hot.  or,  most  certainly,  did  not. 


I  **  Constance,  have  you  heard  from  Italy  lately  ?" 
inquired  Laurette,  about  a  fortnight  aftel-  their 
I  arrival  at  the  Priory. 

"  Not  very  lately,"  was  the   reply,  and    she 
blushed  to  think  such  was  the  case;  "perhaps 
the  letters  have  not  been  regularly   forwarded 
from  Scotland,"  she  added,  in  the  desperate  hope 
J  that  Laurette  would  tiiink  the  same. 
j      "  Mamma's  and  mine  have  all  arrived,  and  so 
I  have  papa's,  as  1  saw  him  take  a  goodly  number 
away  redirected  only  this  morning;  besides,  we. 
have  been  here  a  fortnight  or  more,"'  she  contin- 
ued, maliciously,  and  determined  that  this  sub- 
terfuge  should   not  save   her  cousin.     "  But   I 
thought  you  could  not  have  heard,  or  you  would 
have  mentioned  it,  that  Hubert  had  joined  a  party 
in  an  exploring  visit  to  Sicily." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Constance,  now  thoroughly 
surprised  ;  "  how  did  you  hear  that .'" 

"  A  friend  of  mine,  who  has  lately  married,  has 
been  traveling  with  her  husband  in  Italy.  At 
Naples  they  were  introduced  to  Hubert,  and  from 
her  account  the  handsome  Englishman  is  making 
sad  havoc  among  Italian  hearts." 

"  Nonsense,  Laurette  !  how  you  rattle  on,"  said 
Constance,  laughing,  and  too  unsu^iicious  to  be 
wounded  by  this  arrow. 

*■  Nothing  like  credulity  and  incredulity,"  re- 
plied Laurette,  *'  for  I  have  constantly  remarked 
that  they  usually  walk  hand-in-hand ;  so,  my 
dear,  let  them  both  console  you,  till  you  discover 
for  yourself  that  this  gay  Hubert  is — now  do  not 
be  angry — a  sad  flirt." 

"  Nay,  Laurette,  that  is  an  odious  word." 

"  Odious  or  not,  it  is  the  true  and  proper  one 
here.  Why,  Hubert  would  have  flirted  with  mo 
if  1  would  have  permitted  it ;  and  when  he  found 
that  I  did  not  think  this  suitable  amusement  for 
a  lady  and  gentleman,  he  would  flirt  with  any  of 
the  village  girls  rather  than  be  out  of  practice." 

Constance  was  too  angry  to  reply  to  this  ;  but 
really  wishing  to  hear  about  the  Sicilian  expedi- 
tion, she   checked   any   display   of  feeling,  and 
asked,  with  affected  composure,  '•  Did  your  friend 
I  join  this  party  ?" 

"  It  has  struck,"  thought  Laurette,  noting  the 
shade  on  that  ingenuous  tace,  and  the  pointed  dis- 
regard of  her  censure.  "  No,  she  could  not,'"  she- 
replied,  "and  much  regretted  the  impos.sibility, 
as  a  Neapolitan  family,  with  whose  daughter  she 
had  tormed  an  acquaintance,  were  the  promoters 
of  the  party  in  which  Hubert  was  included.  I 
dare  s;iy,"  she  added  carelessly,  "  you  have  heard 
Lady  llurstwood  speak  of  the  Duca  di  St.  An- 
gelo :" 

•'  No,"  said  Constance,  thoughtfully  ;  but  she 
was  not  now  likely  to  forget  the  name. 

Another  week,  still  no  letter— at  last  a  very 
hurrietl  one,  dated  Palermo — but  no  mention 
made  of  having  joined  any  particular  party  ;  nor 
did  he  find  time  to  say  wliere  her  answer  would 
reach  him. 

Pained,  she  scarcely  ventured  to  ask  herself 
why,  Constance  was  too  just,  too  generous,  to 
dwell  upon  what  seemed  injurious  to  Hubert's 
character,  especially  as  he  was  absent.  She 
therefore  busied  herself  as  usual  in  any  thing 
that  needed  her  help,  and  sent  for  little  Minnie 
Dallas,  who,  since  Helen's  departure,  had  been 
frequently  for  weeks  her  companion  and  amuse- 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


117 


ment,  and  who  was  will  with  delight  at  hearing 
of  the  summons.  She  assisted  Mrs.  Vernon  and 
Caroline  in  their  village  duties,  and  was  as  the 
apple  of  her  eye  to  her  fond  motlicr. 

Caroline  was  now  preparing  for  her  visit  to 
London,  as  Mr.  Morton  had,  w-ithin  the  last  few 
days,  returned  to  the  Hermitage,  for  the  purpose 
of  escorting  her  and  Mrs.  Vernon  to  his  town- 
house.  . 

"  Oh,  Caroline,  how  I  envy  you  !"  sighed  Con- 
stance, having  walked  to  the  Rectory  to  bid  her 
farewell.  "  You  look  shocked  at  my  speech,  but 
you  can  see  our  darling  Hch'U,  you,  and  Mrs. 
Vernon  ;  and  mamma  and  I  can  not,"  and  tears 
rushed  to  her  eyes  at  the  thought  that  this  hap- 
piness was  forbidden  t-o  them  by  whom  it  was 
most  prized. 

"  Dear  Constance,"  replied  Caroline,  gently  and 
soothingly,  "  I  know  this  is  your  sad  trial  ;  but 
dear  friend,  it  must  work  out  its  use,  and  tlien 
God  will  remove  it ;  do  not,  therefore,  lengthen 
your  probation  by  repining." 

"  I  try  not,  Carry,"  she  said,  sadly  but  hum- 
bly ;  but  you  never  had  a  sister." 

"  No  ;  but  I  have  two  brothers — one  lost  to  us 
by  marriage,"  she  answered,  trying  to  impart  a 
ray  of  lier  own  cheerfulnesss — "  and  the  other 
swallowed  up  by  law." 

"  Yes,"  said  Constance,  determined  not  to  talk 
of  her  sorrows,  though  she  could  not  forget  them; 
"  and  that  reminds  me  I  have  a  message  to  send 
to  Ashle}'.  Tell  him,  I  shall  not  forgive  him  for 
taking  sur;h  ungenerous  advantage  of  our  absence, 
and  making  his  visit  then,  till  he  comes  and  sues 
for  it  humbly  ia  person.  And  mind,  Carry,  you 
send  us  drawings  of  all  you  see  at  Helen's  ;  the 
inside  and  outside  of  their  cottage,  a  sketch  of 
dear  old  Gretchen,  and  pray  take  notice  how  she 
looks  when  you  give  her  my  copy  of  mamma's 
sweet  face ;  and  send  us  portraits,  morally,  in- 
tellectually, and  physically,  of  all  their  friends,  I 
and  in  short  telLus  all  you  can  of  them — dear  Keg- 
ginald,  and  thrice  dear  Helen." 

"  You  will  not,  then,  refuse  to  pay  the  postage 
of  these  bulky  descriptious  .'" 

"Certainly  not;  they  will  be  worth  their 
weight  in  gold." 

And  when  Mrs.  Vernon  returned,  having  left 
Caroline  with  the  Mortons,  by  whom  she  was 
lodged  and  feted  like  a  princess,  it  is  wonderful 
how  she  managed  to  answer  all  the  questions 
Constance  poured  forth. 

"Dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  "let  our 
kind  friend  take  breath  ;"  but  she  looked  very 
happy  herself  to  hear  the  replies,  though  tears 
■were  still  on  her  cheeks. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  punish  you  by  being 
obedient,  mamma.  You  pretend  to  stop  me  and 
yet  sit  there  urging  me  to  go  on — yes,  you  do. 
What  does  your  d^jar  contented  face  say,  but  '  (lo 
on,  Constance,  let  mi  hear  something  else  that  will 
make  us  happy  .'  " 

"  I  believe,  then,  that  you  can  scarcely  ank 
any  thing  to  which  my  reply  would  not  be  satis- 
factory," said  Mrs-  Vernon,  cheerfully.  "  A-h- 
ley  says,  that  if  ever  he  is  inclined  to  feel  dull, 
he  goes  to  Kegin;ild"8,  and  comes  away  almost 
happy — why  he  should  not  say  quite,  1  can  not 
tell." 

"  He  studies  too  hard,"  said  Constance.     "  You 


must  insist  on  his  coming  here,  and  tliat  will 
cure  him." 

"  And  so  the  little  Mortons  are  sweet  birds, 
you  say.'"  asked  Mis.  Templeton;  "and  Caro- 
line's introduction  to  Victor's  relatives  pleases 
you.'" 

•"  Very  much.  They  have  a  noble,  well-ap- 
pointed house  ;  Miss  Newman  is  very  amiahle— 
older  than  Mr.  Morton,  and  already  Helen  has 
won  her  interest.  While  I  was  in  town  I  was 
also  introduced  to  Mr.  Turner  and  his  sister 
— both  of  them  studies  in  intelligence  and  kind- 
ness— and  to  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stacey,  of  whom  more 
hereafter." 

'•  What  a  delight  this  visit  has  been,  dearest," 
said  Constance  to  her  mother,  as  they  drove  home  ; 
"  Helen  seems  to  have  quite  a  list  of  friends,  and 
all  of  them  people  we  should  like  to  know — clever 
and  intellectual,  all  more  or  less  celebrated  ;  and 
then,  if  t^he  and  Reginald  do  not  mind  giving  up 
pomp  and  lu.xuries,  how  much  better  off  are  they 
than  manj'  others !" 

"  Does  Minnie  Dallas  still  occupy  your  dress- 
ing-room, Constance  .'"  inquired  Mrs.  Templeton, 
as  if,  during  this  remark,  her  thoughts  had  been 
far  away. 

"  Yes,  mamma  ;  I  have  taken  Helen's  ever  since 
she  left,  and  keep  it  sacred  from  any  one  else." 

"Then,  come,  my  dear,  and  have  a  chat  with 
me  to-night,  instead  of  going  to  your  room." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  mother  !  1  shall  enjoy 
that ;  it  is  such  a  pleasure  to  feel  I  am  your  friend 
as  well  as  your  child- — there  is  nothing  better." 

Had  she  forgotten  her  vexation  about  Hubert .' 
In  truth,  this  looked  and  .^souncled  ^-ather  like  it ; 
and  yet  it  was  only  the  firm  trust  that  love  and 
respect  bring,  which  mjide  her  so  contented  and 
happy.  She  was  sure  he  had  a  sufficient  reason 
for  acting  as  he  did  ;  he  must  not  be  judged  hast- 
ily ;  and  her  noble  and  truthful  nature  had  its 
reward  in  being  spared  the  agony  of  fear  and 
doubt. 


CHAPTER,   L. 

"If  Misfortune  comps, she  btings along  • 
Th\j  bravLSl  virluea."  Tiiomsoh. 

"  And  now,  mamma,  that  we  are  so  snug  and 
comfortable,  what  have  you  to  tell  me  .'"  inquired 
Constance,  as  she  sat  in  her  mother's  bopdoir. 

"  Several  things,  my  dear,  but  first  come 
here — "  and  she  showed  Constance  the  door 
through  which  Helen  had  passed  on  tliat  memor- 
able night,  and  repeated  the  explanation  she  had 
then  given- 

"  I  see  it  a]),"  said  Constance,  with  a  look  of 
intelligence,  and  a  sigh  which  seemed  as  if  a  load 
had  been  removed  from  her  breast — •'  ami  that  I 
should  never  liave  thought  of  it — but  we  must  not 
speak  of  it,  1  suppose." 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  Mrs.  Templeton,  pleased  to 
find  that  Constance  had  divined  what  she  wi.shed 
her  to  know,  and  yet  had  hesitated  to  avow.  "  1 
show  you  this  simple  contrivance  because  I  liave 
still  the  same  su.^-picions  regarding  Ruth  that  I 
then  h:id  — Dawson  does  not  hesitate  to  say  that 
she  is  not  trustworthy. ' 


11) 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


"  If  you  distrust  Ruth,  why  not  dismiss  her  ?" 
nskeJ  Constance. 

"  Because  I  do  not  like  to  act  upon  mere  sus- 
picion— for  1  might  do  her  a  serious  injury.  No 
one  could  have  been  more  attentive  or  useful  while 
we  were  at  Grantham,  and  during  our  Scotch 
visit  She  seems  attached  to  us— and  yet  1  doubt 
her." 

"  Is  Dawson  prejudiced  ?" 

"  I  believe  not — but  she  asserts  that  she  has 
often  found  Kuth  lingering  about  this  corridor, 
after  she  has  been  dismissed,  as  if  listening  or 
spying — that  once  shij  heard  her  shut  a  drawer 
hastily  in  your  dressing-room,  and,  on  entering, 
she  smelt  the  peculiar  scent  of  that  Indian  box 
in  which  you  keep  your  letters,  and  which  1  know 
you  lock  up  in  your  dressing-case.  Dawson  at 
once  recognized  the  scent.  ^Vhat  do  you  keep 
there  :     Hubert "s  letters,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Constance,  with  a  smile 
and  a  blush,  "  they  live  by  themselves.  In  that 
bo.^  there  are  only  letters  and  notes  from  my 
general  correspondents." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that — we  must  be  careful ;  and 
directly  I  can,  without  injury  to  her,  I  shall  dis- 
miss Kuth  :  but  my  greatest  objection  to  her  is 
still  to  be  told — 1  know  that  she  is  intimate  at 
Cooper's ;  and,  Constance,  believe  me,  that  man 
is  a  rogue,  and  all  his  party  good  for  nothing. 
But  I  have  not  yet  done  with  my  revelations- 
come  here." 

The  rooms  which  especially  were  called  Mrs. 
Templetons  consisted,  as  we  have  said,  of  four, 
the  last  being  a  bath-room. 

One  day,  years  ago,  Mrs.  Templeton  remarked, 
that  while  the  external  wall  ran  in  an  unbroken 
line,  this  bath-room  was  internally  much  smaller 
than  the  dressing- room  which  it  joined  ;  and,  on 
examining  it,  she  felt  sure  thac  there  was  either 
a  very  large  closet  or  some  waste  space. 

"  I  mentioned  this  to  Dawson,"  she  continued, 
"  who  was  amused  at  my  having  attached  any 
mystery  to  the  matter — the  wall  was  built  even 
outside,  to  preserve  architectural  symmetry,  but 
as  the  tireplace  of  the  bath-room  could  be  placed 
only  on  that  side,  a  double  wall  was  run  up— see 
this  projection  is  made  by  the  chimnc-y  and  fire- 
place ;"  and  Constance  followed  her  mother  into  a 
long,  narrow,  but  lofty  slip  or  closet,  the  entrance 
to  which  was  by  a  sliding  panel  neatly  contrived, 
but  apparently  with  so  little  desire  for  conccal- 
niL'nt,  that  it  was  surprising  every  successive 
housemaid  had  not  detectetl  it. 

"  1  show  it  you  because  it  gave  me  the  idea  of 
opening  the  door  I  had  made  from  your  rooms.  I 
often  think  of  that  communication — "  she  sud- 
denly stopped  and  became  pale  and  agitated. 
"  Constance,"  she  continued,  solemnly,  "  I  have 
sometinjcs  trembled  at  the  thought  that  if  ever 
your  father  should  learn  the  particulars  of  Helen's 
flight,  in  his  anger  he  would  hesitate  at  nothing." 

"  Good  heavens  !  mother  ;"  and  Constance  cast 
her  arms  round  her,  as  if  to  protect  hor  from 
hann. 

"  Well,"  snid  Mrs.  Templeton.  after  a  pause, 
'•  I  am  glad  that  this  is  t<jld— and  now,  my  child, 
I  am  about  to  incur  further  risk,  and  1  want  you 
to  help  me — I  mmt  s'c  Helen." 

"  .NIamma,  you  really  terrify  me." 

"  1  hope  not,  for  1  rely  on  your  presence  of 


mind  and  energy.  Helen  expects  to  be  confiued 
in  a  few  months.  I  must,  I  will  see  her—  but,  if 
I  delay,  perhaps  Reginald  might  object  to  my 
wish — indeed.  1  must  go  soon,  or  not  at  all, — ani 
I  repeat  it,  I  will  see  her — why  am  I  passively  to 
submit  to  this  :  all  else,  all  else — but  not  to  lose 
my  children ;"  and  she  laid  her  head  on  Con- 
stance's shoulder  and  wept  convulsively. 

Constance  spoke  not ;  tears  silently  rolled  dowa 
her  face,  but  she  pressed  her  mother  to  her  heart : 
and  repeatedly  kissed  her. 

"  I  believe  I  have  said  all  I  need,"  resumed  i 
Mrs.  Templeton,  making  a  successful  eflFort  to  be 
calm — "  forgive  me,  my  child,  for  having  laid  on 
your  young  heart  part  of  a  burden  1  sometimes 
tind   almost   too  heavy   to   bear    alone,   and   in  i 
silence."  '' 

"  Oh,  mother  !  dearest  mother  !  God  knows  I 
willingly  accept  it -and  how  willingly  I  would, 
if  I  could,  take  it  all  from  you.  Mother,  is  good 
to  come  from  this  also  .'" 

"  I  firmly  believe  so,"  was  the  reply;  "if  not 
in  the  way  we  wish,  in  a  way  that  will  be  nine' 
better  for  us.  And  now  listen  ;  my  plan  is  tlr 
The  Sinclairs  leave  us  for  a  week's  visit  at  Hui  - 
wood.  In  a  few  days  your  father  is  going  t ;. 
I  toYim  on  bvLsiness.  I  know  this,  as  Cecilia  puts 
'  off  her  party  in  order  that  we  may  all  be  there — 
for  she  is  kindly  bent  on  keeping  up  a  friendly 
appearance.  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Vernon  are  in- 
formed of  my  intentions — the  latter  will  accom- 
pany me — we  shall,  or  rather  she  will,  ostenta- 
tiously leave  in  the  evening  early — we  travel  all 
xiight,  and  breakfast  with  my  darling  girl — a 
short  rest,  again  a  night  journey,  and  home.  Yuu 
may,  if  you  like,  take  Dawson  into  your  con- 
fidence." 

"  jVnd  what  can  I  do  .'" 

"  Show  lights  in  my  rooms — moving  lights,  a3 
if  I  were  there — disarrange  the  rooms  as  though 
tliey  had  been  occupieil,  to  avert  suspicion — but 
above  all,  lights  at  night — I  know  there  are  spit's 
without,  1  believe  there  is  one  within.  Be  especi- 
ally on  your  guard  against  Ruth.  Are  you  equ;il 
to  all  this  .'  the  pier-door  will  enable  you  to  do  it. 
without  crossing  the  corridor." 

"  Trust  me,"  replied  Constance ;  "  in  this  car- 
I  am  strong  and  vigilant." 

"  And  now,  my  precious,  receive  my  thank 
and  good-night — but  stay,  I  have  one  trifle  nvw 
to  tell  you  ;"  and  she  informed  Constance  of  tlie 
income  she  had  secured  to  Helen,  and  how  si" 
had  been  enabled  to  do   so^ — '-and  should  a; 
thing  have  occurred  which  you  wish  me  to  le  i 
directly  I  return,  if  we  can  not  meet,  do  not  in 
get   our  broad-leaved  letter-lx)x ;"    and  lea'lii 
her  through  the  glass-door  she  again  kissed  h. 
and  they  separated. 

When  Constance  readied  her  own  room,  late  !v.s  , 
it  was,  she  sat  down  to  think  over  all  that  her 
mother  had  told  her — how  thankful  she  was  th;' 
Helen's   disappearance  was   sanctioned   by  tli 
mother  ;    for,   to   her,    there   had   always   be 
something  painful  and  degrading  in   the   susp  - 
cion  that  Helen,  even  in  the  desperate  circum- 
stances in  which  she  was  placed,  should  havo 
arranged  and  carried  on  a  clandestine  correr<- 
pondence — or  that  while  her  mother  and  sister 
were  sorrowing  and  suffering  with  her,  she  should 
have  planned  an  escape.    From  all  this  Helen  now  i 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


stood  quite  exonerated — as  well  as  Ki-ginald,  who 
had  shared  in  the  secret  censui-e  which  Constance 
could  not  lielp  pronouncing. 

How  her  mother  had  carried  the  matter  suc- 
cessfully through,  Constance  knew  not ;  but  it 
was  an  infinite  relief  to  believe  that  the  whole 
respon.sibility  rested  on  her. 

The  ini'ormation  relating  to  Helen's  pecuniary 
matters,  gave  her  also  great  pleasure.  1 1 ow  often 
had  she  looked  at  the  luxuries  which  everywhere 
em-rounded  her,  and  thought  that,  perhaps,  the 
strictest  economy  could  hardly  make  their  pres- 
ent means  suffice  —  for  she  knew  that  Reginald 
had  scarcely  any  thing  of  his  own  beyond  the 
rent  of  Sea-View  Cottage — now,  she  could  picture 
them  comfortably  oif;  and  this,  added  to  the 
charming  description  Mrs.  Vernon  had  given  of 
them  and  their  society,  made  her  feel  quite 
happy. 

But  then  suddenly  rushed  into  her  mind  the 
dread  of  discovery  ;  and  Constance  shuddered  at 
the  bare  idea  of  what  her  father's  rage  would  be,  j 
and  of  what  it  would  lead  to.  She  knew,  tliat  ^ 
though  he  connived  at  her  mother's  hearing  from 
Helen,  perhaps  only  because  he  could  not  possibly  [ 
kelp  it,  his  anger  was  not  at  all  abated — on  tlie  i 
contrary,  Cecilia's  mari-iage  had  but  served  to  | 
sharpen  his  indignation  against  Helen,  for  having  j 
scorned  those  advantages  he  now,  more  plainly  | 
than  ever,  saw  would  have  attended  the  match —  [ 
while  some  rnnoying  arrangements  about  money, 
which  he  had  recently  been  forced  to  make,  would 
have  been  unnecessary,  had  he  had  the  wealthy 
peer  for  his  son-in-law, 

Constance  dreaded  also  this  fresh  risk  her 
mother  was  going  to  encounter,  though  slie 
sighed  to  think  that  such  danger  should  ever 
attend  a  parent's  visit  to  her  child.  How  she 
now  wished  for  Hubert !  his  presence  would  so 
cheer  and  encourage  her.  Gay,  happy  Huliert, 
who  always  brought  sunshine  with  him.  "  J'er- 
haps,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  have  a  letter  to-mor- 
row ;"  and  with  that  hope  she  retire<l  to  rest. 

"  I  expect  Mrs.  Vernon  to-morrow  morning, 
to  breakfast  with  us,  Helen,"  said  Reginald,  try- 
ing to  speak,  as  if  this  were  an  every-day  occur- 
rence. "  I  have  told  Gretchen,  and  she  is  already 
as  busy  as  a  bee,  preparing  quite  a  banquet  of 
coflFee  and  cakes." 

"  When  did  she  arrive  .'"  inquired  Helen ;  "  I 
hope  tliey  are  all  well." 

"  Very  well — but  she  has  not  yet  arrived  ;  her 
visit  will  be  truly  a  flying  one— for  they  imitate 
us,  and  travel  all  night." 

"  What  an  odd  arrangement — does  tlie  Doctor 
accompany  her  :" 

"  No,"  he  said,  and  he  felt  anxious,  as  he 
knew  what  a  few  more  questions  would  re- 
Teal  ;  "  she  brings  a  lady  friend  to  see  us— to 
tsee  you." 

"  Oh,  Reginald  !  Reginald  !"  and  she  fixed  her 
expressive  eyes  wildly  on  his  face. 

"  But  they  will  not  be  admitted,  if  my  little 
wife  is  not  quice  composed  ;"  he  put  his  arm 
round  her,  for  she  looked  pale. 

"  It  is  mamma !  my  darling  mother  !"  and  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Yes,  my  love,  it  is — but  do  not  make  us  re- 
pent having  planned  this  pleasure,  or  it  must  not 
take  place." 


"  Dear  husband,  let  me  weep— it  docs  mo 
good,"  said  Helen  ;  and  after  a  few  minutes' 
quiet  indulgence  in  this  luxury  of  tears,  she 
raised  her  head  from  liis  slioulder,  and  .•<aid, 
"  How  kind  of  you— 1  have  so  pined  for  tlii.-. 
'  you  can  not  think — and  it  will  make  me  bo 
I  happy." 

"  1  know  it,  dear  Helen,  and  therefore  I  have 
j  urged  it ;  and  now  let  us  talk  it  over  composedly, 
;  and  let  this  dear  inannna  see  tliat  my  wife  is  n"l- 
,  most  more  beautifid  than  ever,  and  tis  happy  as 
she  is  fair ;"  and  he  looked  fondly  at  the  sweet 
face  which  raised  its  grateful  eyes  to  his. 

And  when,  the  next  day,  she  rose  earlier  than 
usual,  he  was  delighted  to  find  tliat  instead  (jf 
[  exciting,  the  expected  interview  had  almost  (jui- 
eted  her.     Her  great  wish  was  ahout  to  be  grunt- 
ed, and  Helen  felt  sootiied  and  tliankful. 

And  the  breakfast  was  jirepared  in  grand 
style,  for  Gretchen  had  seen  after  that;  and 
Helen,  in  her  simple  dress,  was  looking  .si 
charming,  that  Reginald  forgot  lost  wealth  and 
station,  and  felt  there  w:is  nothing  wanting  to 
complete  liis  happiness  but  a  reconciliation  with 
her  family. 

But  here  is  the  carriage — Helen  turns  faint 
and  pale — in  a  minute  she  is  in  her  mother's 
arms — how  it  was  all  managed  she  does  not 
know,  but  there  stands  Reginald,  looking  so 
proud  and  so  handsome,  and  tliere  was  her  moili- 
er's  smiling  face,  while  her  arms  were  still  round 
her,  and  Mrs.  Vernon  and  Gretchen  deep  in  tiio 
mysteries  of  the  breakfast-table. 

"  We  have  usurped  your  throne,  dear  Helen." 
said  the  former  ;  '•  but  your  mother  and  1  have 
traveled  all  night,  so  we  both  require  breakfast. 
And  the  sound  of  the  well-known  voice  com- 
pletely restored  Helen  to  consciousness,  for  a 
strange  feeling  of  swimming  liad  prevented  her 
from  fully  understanding  all  that  had  so  sudden- 
ly ha]ipened. 

"  .^lamnla  !''  and  a  shower  of  kisses  fell  on  the 
dear  form  she  had  so  longcil  to  sec — she  kissed 
her  hands,  her  hair,  her  very  dress,  in  an  ecsta- 
sy of  rapture  ;  and  then  followed  question  upon 
question,  till  Mrs.  Vernon  called  "  Order,  order," 
and  set  tliem  an  example  of  what  she  termed  sen- 
sible behavior,  by  commencing  her  breakfast  in 
good  earnest. 

And  a  strange  meal  this  breakfast  was  ;  nor 
was  Gretclien's  conduct  the  least  extraordinary 
part  of  it;  siie  came  in,  for  at  least,  tlic  tenth 
time,  apropos  to  notliing,  except  to  look  at  Mrs. 
Templeton.  touch  lier  bonnet,  or  shawl,  or  some- 
thing that  belonged  to  her;  but  wlien  her  mis- 
tress again  put  out  her  hand,  au<l  once  more 
tlianked  her  for  all  siie  had  done  for  Helen, 
Gretchen  could  stMud  out  no  longer — she  pres.sed 
tlie  hand  with  deep  reverence  to  her  lips,  and 
in  her  own  language  uttered  a  prayer  over  it, 
tliat  the  good  Lord  would,  one  day,  see  fit  to  let 
ills  face  shine  on  her  and  liers,  even  in  this  life; 
and  having  thus  relieved  lier  jient-up  feelings, 
she  quietly  resumed  her  household  iluties,  and 
busied  herself  in  preparations  for  her  unexpected 
but  cherished  vi.siiors. 

"Now,"  said  .Mr.s.  Vernon,  "  I  think  half-an- 
hour's  walk  on  your  beautiful  heath  will  refresh 
me  more  than  any  thing— so,  if  Mr.  West  will  ac- 
company me,  I  am  ready." 


120 


THE    WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


"  Will  you  not  lie  down  in  preference  r''  asked        "  Another  mercy  to  return  thanks  for,"  Sfii'd 
Helen  ;    "  there  is   a  room  quite  prepared  for    Constance,  solemnly. 


you." 

'•  Not  till  after  my  walk  ;  then  I  may.  per- 
haps, doze— at  present  1  could  not;  now  adieu 
for  an  hour." 

80  mother  and  daughter  were  again  left  alone; 


"  You  are  right,  it  is  indeed — but  has  all  gone 
well,  here  r" 

"  Quite  well — Dawson  has  helped  me — you 
were  not  missed  till  last  evening,  when  Ruth 
wanted  particularly  to  see  you — but  1  told  her 


for  the  first  time  since  that  eventful  night  when    her  business  must  wait  till  this  morning.     I  was 


one  had  braved  so  much  to  save  the  other.  And 
amply  was  this  now  repaid— there  sat  Helen,  no 
longer  pale,  broken-hearted,  desperate,  and  de- 
spairing—but blooming,  happy,  joy  dancing  =- 


up  long  before  any  one— put  your  room  into 
'  most  admired  disorder,'  and  when  Huth  enters 
mine,  she  will  find  that  1  have  flown — and  as  we 
return  together,  may  suppose  that  we  both  rose 


her  eyes  and  smiles  on  her   lips ;  and  as  Mrs.    early  for  a  walk.     1  was  sadly  afraid  Lost  night, 

Templeton   looked   around   and  saw,  not  indeed    for  the  clouds  threatened  rain,  and  then  my  plot 

luxuries,  but  comfort,  and  marked  the  love  that    would  have  been  a  failure." 

spoke  in  every  tone  of  Reginald's  voice,  she  felt        "  And  the  lights  .'" 

that  she  had  done  well  to  secure  such  great  bless-        "  Most  ostentatiously  displayed — especially  last 

ings  for  her  child.  I  night — for  I  fancied  when  1  entered  the  conserva- 

Ashley  rode  up  for  half-an-hour  toward  the  !  tory  that  I  heard  a  step  on  the  gravel." 
middle  of  the  day;  he   fancied  that  this   inter-  I      '•  Had  you  a  light  then  .-" 

ruption  would  be  a  relief  to  the  continued  in-  j  "  Of  course  not — or  my  means  of  access  would 
dulgence  of  feelings  which  were  almost  painful  have  been  discovered,  had  any  one  been  watch- 
from  their  intensity  ;  and  he  was  right — the  !  ing.  So  I  returned  to  my  room  and  rang  for 
thoughts  of  all  were  brought  down  to  a  more  Ruth,  who  was  a  very  long  time  before  she 
common  level,  while  conversation  was  diverted  came.  Dawson  declares  she  had  to  be  sought 
into  a  more  ordinary  channel.  for,  but  she  means  to  find  this  out,  in  her  own 

The  Staceys,  who  had   been  told  of  this    ex-  j  fashion." 
pected  visit,  of  course  kept  away  :  but  he  had        "  Well,  dear,  and  then  ?" 

worked  himself  up  to  such  a  state  of  excitement  I  "Then  I  undressed,  and  dismissed  her  ag 
in  imagining  the  scene,  that  he  struck  off  a  short  usual,  before  I  read  a  little.  I  again  entered 
poem,  which  described  so  much  that  had  really  your  conservatory — carefully  lighted  the  taper 
occurred,  and  this  with  so  graceful  a  flow  of  in  your  bed-room — the  boudoir  table-lamp  had 
language,  that  when  he  read  it  the  next  week  to  '  been  lighted  before,  so  that  the  oil  might  be 
Helen,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  which  he  pro-    consumed — and  then  I  paraded  from  your  dress- 


tested  was  tho  most  flattering  homage    a  poet 
could  receive. 

But  now  evening   is  come — and  they  must 
part,  who  have   so   lately  met.     Helen's    smile 


ing-room  to  your  bed-room,  as  if  going  to  rest 
— put  out  the  lamp,  and  left  the  night-light 
burning." 

Well  done,  dear ;  you  have,  by  your  courage. 


faded  away  as  her  mother  pressed  her  to  her  enabled  me  to  secure  a  great  and  permanent 
bosom.  "  But  we  will  soon  meet  again,  my  dear  :  pleasure,  one  that  Helen  also  largely  shares  in ;" 
girl ;  meantime,  let  us  treasure  the  remem-  and  then  she  proceeded  to  give  Constance  all  the 
brance  of  this  bright  day,  to  cheer  us  through  minutite  she  could  possibly  remember  relating  to 
any  gloomy  ones."  '  that  dear  banished  one. 

Mrs.  Vernon,  who   had  had   some  refreshing  '      Still  she    was   not   satisfied ;  but   smiled  and 


sleep  at  the  Cottage,  now  undertook  to  watch 
and  arrange,  while  her  exhausted  friend  re- 
posed. 

-As  they  approached  the  end  of  their  journey, 
which  had  been  arranged  on  Mr.  Mortons  plan, 
though  not  performed  quite  so  expeditiously, 
Mrs.  Templeton  began  to  be  nervous  and  un- 
Ciisy. 

Tliere  is  the  Doctor's  carriage  waiting  to  con- 
vey them  to  the  Rectory — here  is  the  Rectory — 
'•  And  see,  my  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  ;  I 
"  and  yes — it  is— there  is  Constance." 

"  All  safe,  dearest  mamma,"  were  the  first 
words 

"  Heaven  be  praised  for  this  mercy." 

"  Amen."  said  the  Doctor,  reverently,  "  we  do 
not  a.-sk  you  to  stay  and  breakfast,  my  dear  friend ; 
you  will  be  better  at  home — and  when  you  feel 

bJid,  remember  this  great  blessing,  and  praise  His    Helen — not  that  I  mean  this  as  a  reproach — per- 
nainc  for  it."  ;  haps,  to   the  majority,  it  would   sound   like  a 

•'  We  shall,  most  devoutly;  and  now  adieu."      '  compiliment.     Even  /have  sometimes  questioned 

"  And  Helen?"  cried  Constance,  looking  as  if  whether  the  possessor  of  great  delicacy  and  re- 
the  answer  must  be  returned  in  some  way  more  finement,  strong  aflfections  and  acute  sensibil- 
specdily  than  by  words.  ,  ities,  is  to  be  envied — whether,  in   short,  these 

"  Happy — happier  and  more  beautiful  than  [  are  the  fit  materi.ab*  with  which  to  go  through 
ever— for  she  looks  cheerful  and  contented."  I  this  work-a-day  world.     1  fear  they  cause  many 


shook  her  head,  remarking  that  she  feared  her 
mother  had  no  eye  for  the  details  of  a  picture,  as 
she  could  tell  neither  the  color  of  Helen's  dress, 
nor  give  a  catalogue  of  the  furniture. 

"  1  plead  guilty  to  this — but  in  compensation, 
I  can  tell  you  that  this  journey  has  relieved  my 
mind  of  a  host  of  apprehensions  and  fears.  I  now 
picture  Helen  well  and  happy— instead  of  fancy- 
ing her  still  the  pale,  dispirited  girl  who  fled  to 
avoid  all  but  dislionor." 

"  And  yet,  mamma,"  observed  Constance,  "  how 
happy  Cecilia  is" 

"  Yes — and  you  would  say,  in  the  very  situa- 
tion from  which  Helen  shrunk  with  dismay— but 
Cecilia,  though  she  had  no  decided  preference  for 
Lord  Hurstwood,  had  certainly  no  deciiled  ob- 
jection— nor  did  she  love  another.  Besides,  she 
is    altogether    a  very   dift'erent   character    from 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


121 


a  vround  and  bruise,  from  which  others,  who  pos- 
sess them  not,  escape:  and,  except  strong  affec- 
tions. Cecilia  is  not  much  troubled  wiih  tlie  rest 
— she  is  true,  honorable,  an  excellent  daughter, 
a  firm  friend,  and  will,  I  am  per!<uaded,  unless  it 
be  his  own  fault,  make  Lord  llurstwood  very 
happy.  She  is  one  whom  1  greatly-  love  and  re- 
spect; and  all  the  good  qualities  he  has,  and 
which  have  hitherto  been  perverted  or  warped 
aside,  ^vill,  by  her  invisible  management,  be  de- 
veloped and  confirmed  " 

"  Still,  mamma,  great  refinement,  though  it 
may  be  hurt  where  rouglier  natures  never  can, 
has  pleasures  which  these  can  never  know." 

"  You  are  right ;  for  I  never  yet  met  with  any 
one  who  possessed  it  that  was  willing  to  excliangc 
it  for  more  blunted  feelings,  though  they  might, 
at  the  very  moment,  be  smarting  from  contact 
with  the  rude  and  rough." 

"  And  now,  I  suppose,  you  will  try  and  see 
Helen  again .'"  said  Constance. 

"I  shall,  but  not  till  after  her  confinement. 
I  have  no  longer  a  feverish  anxiety  about  her.  I 
have  seen  that,  hitherto,  all  has  gone  well,  and 
this  I  hope  will  strengthen  me  to  trust  the  fu- 
ture with  One  who  does  all  things  wisely  ;  but, 
darling,  can  I  not  contrive  to  pleasure  you — can 
you  not  share  in  what  you  have  ably  helped  me 
to  enjoy  ?" 

"Me!  oh,  mamma !"  her  eyes  sparkling  with 
delight;  '-oh,  if  you  could  safely  contrive  it," 
and  she  began  eagerly  to  pace  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  Well,  we  will  accustom  ourselves  to  the 
idea,  and  then  think  and  consult  about  effect- 
ing it." 


CHAPTER   LI. 


"The  devil  knew  not  what  he  did  when  he  made  man 
politic ;  he  crossed  hirasell"  by  it,  and  I  can  noi  think  but, 
in  the  end,the  villainies  of  men  will  set  him  clear." — Tiinon 
of  AtJtens. 

The  dinner-party  at  the  Hall  comprised  most 
of  those  with  whose  names  we  are  familiar,  ex- 
cept the  Forresters.  A  ministerial  crisis  required 
the  presence  of  all  their  party,  of  which  Mr.  For- 
rester formed  one. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear,"  said  the  host,  ad- 
dressing Lady  Sinclair,  "  that  Lady  llurstwood 
has  prevailed  on  you  to  prolong  your  stay  and 
favor  her  with  your  company  during  my  ab- 
sence. I  am  going  to  London  to  morrow,  to  be 
at  my  post  in  the  house,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  Doctor  Vernon  ;  "  a  very  important  question 
is  pending,  and  if  the  ministers  are  beaten  on  it, 
they  must  resign." 

"  Then  there  will  probably  be  a  dissolution," 
observed  Sir  William  Dallas. 

"  No  doubt — this  is  the  sixth  year  of  the 
Parliament's  age — when  it  is  generally  pro- 
nounced superannuated,  and  receives  the  same 
fate,  as  I  have  read  the  Hindoos  inflict  on  the 
aged  and  infirm— namely,  is  killed,  to  spare  the 
pain  of  narurnl  death." 
,     "  I  wonder  your  Lordship  does  not  exercise 


your  privilege,  and  vote  by  proxy,"  said  Mrs. 
Templcton. 

"  So  1  would,  if  I  did  not  wish  to  show  very 
pointetUy  that  1  am  in  oj>position— 1  may  safely 
say  so— as  our  respected  memlier,  Mr.  Forrester, 
is  absent—  for  whom  no  one  has  more  regard  than 
myself,  though  we  are  political  antipodes." 

"  Oh  !  I  hope  they  will  be  beaten,  lor  then  there 
will  be  an  election,"  exclaimed  Lady  Dallas, 
whose  imagination  was  already  busy  with  bows, 
ribbons,  banners,  chairing,  and,  finally,  a  ball  at 
the  Grange,  tlie  usual  close  to  what  was  generally 
a  very  friendly  and  quiet  little  transaction ;  in 
the  course  of  which  Mr.  Forrester  would  be  nom- 
inated, seconded,  and  make  a  speech  about  Church 
and  Constitution — would  be  returned  in  the  most 
genteel  manner  possible;  make  another  speech 
about  Constitution  and  Church,  assure  his  friendly 
supporters  that  Britannia  was  still  very  busy  rul- 
ing the  waves — return  thanks  in  a  somewhat 
lengthy  wind-up,  and  dismiss  them  to  a  plentiful 
dinner,  where  they  might  eat  and  drink  as  long 
as  they  could 

"  Ah !  those  ivere  glorious  times  for  country 
gentlemen— there  was  no  Carlton  with  its  snug- 
gery— no  gallant  officer  with  his  A.S.S.  signature 
— or,  suppose  there  were — there  was  no  '  Times' 
to  drag  the  convenient  arrangements  before  the 
public — to  tear  the  lion  mask  oft'  the  honorable 
initials  and  show  that  he  signal  truly — there 
was  no  rude  violation  of  the  Eleusinian  mysteries 
performed  in  little  dark  rooms,  and  the  hocus- 
pocus  doings  of  tlie  presiding  priest — no  inquisitive 
and  prying  election  committee,  vailgarly  troub- 
ling themselves  with  their  neighbors'  affairs— oh, 
no ! — "  a  fellow-feeling  made  them  wondrous 
kind"— they  remembered  their  Latin,  aijd  as  they 
themselves  lived  in  glass  houses,  forbore  to  throw 
stones — there  was  no  cross-ques»tioning  of  "  frail" 
witnesses  and  agents,  whetlier  Black,  Brown,  or 
Grey— but  when  a  gentleman  was  returned,  his 
friends  congratulated  him,  and  wished  his  country 
joy  of  .so  honorable  a  member. 

The  day  after  this  party,  Colonel  Tcmpleton 
mentioned  the  rumor,  of  a  probable  dissolution,  to 
Cooper — for  it  was  no  secret  to  all  wlio  took  an  in- 
terest in  politics,  that  it  was  expected  there  would 
be  a  struggle,  a  mustering  of  forces,  and,  per- 
chance, a  defeat. 

Cooper,  when  he  returned  home,  in  his  turn 
named  it  to  .Mrs.  Captain,  as  an  event  likely  to 
excite  her  attention,  on  account  of  the  festivities 
and  amusement  even  this  peaceful  election  cause<l. 
He  forgot  how  trities  light  as  air  are,  by  a  strong 
will,  made  powerful  instruments  to  serve  a  cher- 
ished purp)se — perhaps  he  had  never  rcjad  the 
court  gossip  of  how  Abigail  Masham's  best  silk 
gown  was  spoiled,  and  the  disasters  it  caused 
— but  it  was  too  late  if  he  had.  for  the  words  were 
spoken,  iind  dauntless  Mrs.  Captain  grappled  at 
once  with  a  new  idea. 

"  I'ut  Colonel  Templeton  in  opposition,"  said 
this  brave  and  patriotic  dame. 

"  Good  fJod !  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?"  ex- 
claimed Cooper. 

"  Of  myself,"  was  the  sublime  reply. 

"  Return  Colonel  Templeton !"  ga.'^ped  the 
amazed  agent. 

"  Who  spoke  of  return  ':"  withering  .scorn  on 
her  bold  but  handsome  face.     "  1  said,  put  him  in 


222 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


opposition,  and  I  mean  what  I  say.  How  will  that 
stately,  pompous  old  empty  head,"  such  was  her 
irreverent  way  of  mentioning  Forrester  of  Forest 
Hill  and  llargrave  likewise — "  how  will  he  like 
the  man,  or  the  daughter  of  the  man  either,  who 
attempts  this?  for  I  know  it  will  be  but  an 
attempt." 

"  And  the  money,  where  is  that  to  come  from? 
for  I  know  he  is  hard  up." 

"  It  must  come  from  the  wood — it  needs  no  fairy, 
in  these  days,  to  turn  trees  to  gold — a  good  chop- 
per does  lliat." 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you,"  asked  Cooper, 
impatiently,  "  that  he  will  not  cut  any  more  ? 
You  know  he  almost  quarreled  with  me  about  that 
last  clearance.  Will  you  never  understand  the 
difference  between  trees  and  timber  ?" 

"  Pooh  !"  she  retorted,  with  infinite  contempt ; 
"  a  distinction  without  a  ditference." 

"  Maria,  I  told  you  then,  that  I  believed  he  con- 
sulted some  one  in  London  about  that  fall,  and 
found  he  had  done  wrong — besides,  if  you  put  this 
clearing  project  into  his  head,  I  would  not  give 
much  for  the  stability  of  any  thing  he  could  con- 
vert into  money;  and  I  fancy  it  would  not  suit 
your  schemes  to  have  only  the  bare  walls  of  the 
Priory  left  " 

"  Certainly  not  ;'*  and  she  laughed  a  little  merry 
laugh.  "  Well,  then,  he  must  borrow,  and  make 
those  about  him  more  economical ;  so,  send  him 
to  me ;  I  undertake  that  he  shall  come  back 
primed  and  loaded,  qifite  ready  to  take  the  field — 
there  shall,  at  least,  be  an  explosion,  and  a  little 
mischief." 

I  very  much  fear  that  the  old  king  who  said 
women  are  the  cause  of  all  the  disasters  that  hap- 
pen, had  reasoned  from  cause  to  effect,  and  from 
eti'ect  to  cause,  as  closely  as  any  Scotch  metaphy- 
sician^for  certain  it  is  that  from  Eve,  the  first 
mischief-maker,  down  to  the  last  little  miss  who 
encouraged  her  brother  to  steal  the  green  goose- 
berries, which  she  ate,  and  for  which  he  was  pun- 
ished, tliese  fair  creatures  are  perpetually  tossing 
about  apples  of  discord.  It  is  a  fact,  that  Colonel 
Templeton,  who  had  laughed  at  Cooper,  when  that 
wortliy  hinted  at  the  astonishment  Mr.  Forrester 
would  feel,  were  he  to  offer  himself  as  his  oppon- 
ent, and  who  had  subsequently  never  thought  of 
such  a  proceeding,  returned  from  the  village,  bent 
on  trying  his  chance  in  a  contested  election. 
"  Some  demon  whispered,  Colonel,  have  a  seat." 

When  this  determination  became  known,  it  is 
more  easy  to  imagine  tlian  describe  the  dismay  of 
his  wife  and  diuigliter,  the  sorrow  of  the  Vernons, 
and  the  indignation  of  Sir  William  Dallas ;  who, 
though,  like  his  father  the  General,  he  dilTered  in 
opinion  from  .Mr.  Forrester,  considered  him  so 
honorable  and  independent  a  man,  that  notwith- 
standing more  than  one  application,  both  had 
always  lieclincd  to  oppose  his  return. 

And  now,  i'lilnnel  Templeton,  a  man  not  liked 
even  on  his  own  property — a  man  who,  for  various 
reasons,  was  positively  disliked  in  many  other 
quarters,  a  man  of  no  particuhir  intelligence,  in- 
lluence,  or  weight — wlio  had  never  done  any  one 
act  likely  to  make  him  popular — he,  above  all 
others,  to  break  through  .ill  precedent !— it  Avas 
monstrouu ! 

It  is  true  that  the  Ashley  family,  who  had  I 


agreed  in  politics  with  the  Forresters,  had,  on 
one  or  two  occasions,  been  returned  instead  of  a 
Forrester- — but  this  had  never  been  on  account  of 
any  unfriendly  or  adverse  feeling — it  had  gont'V- 
ally  happened  when,  from  seniority  in  age,  an 
Ashley  had  the  advantage. 

"  My  dear  Cecilia,"  said  Lord  Ilurstwood,  a  few 
days  after  the  event  he  had  predicted,  and  helptnl 
to  eSect,  had  happened,  "  did  you  know  that  Col- 
onel Templeton  intends  to  oppose  Mr.  Forrester's 
return .'" 

•'  No,  indeed,  I  did  not,"  she  replied,  "  and  on 
every  account  I  am  sui'prised — for  one  reason,  very 
sorry.  How  will  this  affect  his  son's  engagement 
with  Constance .'" 

His  Lordship  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  a 
movement  which  plainly  and  expressively  said, 
"  that  is  his  aliair." 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  that  if  you 
do  not  object,  we  might  very  pleasantly  pass  four 
or  five  weeks  in  Paris.  You  have  never  been  then'. 
On  our  return  this  election  will  be  over,  and  Lady 
Grantham  will  then  ])erform  lier  promise  of 
spending  a  few  months  iiere." 

"  I  am  delighted  witli  your  plan,  my  dear 
Lord,"  she  answered — she  was  almost  always 
pleased  with  what  he  proposed,  wise  wife  ! — "  and 
I  presume  you  will  like  to  start  soon." 

So  to  Paris  they  went ;  his  Lordsliip  giving  his 
tenantry  to  understand  that  they  were  to  vote  as 
they  tliought  proper ;  for,  though  the  Colonel  was 
his  wife's  uncle,  and  on  his  own  side  of  the  ques- 
tion, that  was  no  reason  why  he  should  dictate  to 
them ;  in  short,  he  respected  Mr.  Forrester,  but 
not  Colonel  Templeton. 


CHAPTER    LII. 

"  Here  we  go  up,  up,  up, 
And  here  we  go  down,  down,  down." 

ii^<r«(,v(/  lihyrMS. 

Hubert  was  at  Naples  when  he  received  a 
letter  from  his  father,  summoning  him  immedi- 
ately to  England,  but  in  whicli  no  reason  was 
assigned  for  this  unexpected  though  peremptory 
call. 

Happily  for  his  character  as  an  obedient  son, 
this  arrived  at  a  juncture  when  his  father's  com- 
mand was  more  readily  attended  to  tlian  it  would 
have  been  a  few  weeks  earlier ;  for  the  Duca  di 
St.  Augelo  and  his  family  had  gone  to  visit  a 
relative  at  Tarento. 

Therefore,  with  some  undefined  idea  that  he 
would  return,  and  complete  his  term  of  probation 
in  that  delicious  climate,  Hubert  set  out  without 
any  needless  delay. 

ilad  any  one  told  him  that  his  love  for  Con- 
stance iiad  diminished  with  absence,  he  would 
have  repelled  the  accusation  with  indignation  ; 
because  it  would  have  been  equivalent  to  calling 
him  fickle,  false,  dishonorable,  lint  had  he  cx- 
amineil  his  own  feelings,  or  taken  a  just  view  of 
his  recent  conduct,  perliaps  these  oftensive  terms 
might  have  been  suggested  and  whispered  by 
himsell". 


adofi 
Mil 


TilK   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


123 


But  Hubert  never  did  examine  or  justly  view 
himself.  He  meant  nothing  dishonorable,  he  de- 
liberately planned  nothing  faithless  toward  Con- 
stance by  his  attentions  to  Beatrice.  But  was  be, 
therefore,  guiltless  ? 

His  fatiier's  letter  had,  however,  this  good 
effect :  it  awoke  recollections  of  liome  that  had 
lately  been  rather  drowsy  ;  it  recalled  one  fair 
image,  which  had  gradually  ceased  to  be  the  one 
most  prominent ;  and  the  reply  to  his  father,  an- 
nouncing his  prompt  return,  was  accompanied  by 
one  to  Constance,  so  full  of  joyful  anticipations  of 
their  approaching  meeting  and  of  expressions  of 
unabated  love,  that  she  was  vexed  to  remember 
how  she  had  sometimes  thought  his  letters  unin- 
teresting and  unsatisfactory,  rare  as  they  had 
generally  been. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  double  pleasure  she  read 
this,  which  told  of  his  return,  at  the  very  moment 
when  the  thoughtless,  the  selfish  conduct  of  her 
father  might  have  provoked  a  very  ditt'ercnt  tone  ; 
for  she  had  never  stopped  to  inquire  if  Hubert 
knew  what  had  occurred,  and  his  letter  had  led 
her  to  infer  he  returned  because  longer  banish- 
ment was  insupportable  ;  for  attaching  but  little 
importance  to  his  father's  desire  to  see  him,  he 
had  not  even  alluded  to  it. 

The  Forresters,  whose  proud  feelings  had  re- 
ceived a  wound  never  anticipated,  and  from  a 
quarter  the  least  likely  to  have  struck  the  blow, 
remained  in  dignified  silence  in  town,  '•  nursing 
their  wrath  to  keep  it  warm,"  and  meditating 
how,  in  a  way  most  consistent  with  their  family 
honor,  they  could  revenge  the  insult  it  had  re- 
ceived. 

Of  course,  nothing  was  neglected  by  the  Forest 
Hill  party  to  secure  the  defeat  of  the  intruder  ; 
and  though  this  seemed  by  no  means  a  difficult 
task,  the  zeal  of  Mr.  Forrester's  adherents  made 
them  most  desirous  that  his  discoujfiture  should 
be  so  complete  as  to  prevent  any  future  interfer- 
ence— at  least,  from  him. 

Nor,  to  do  him  justice,  was  Cooper  less  active  ; 
he  was  the  very  man  of  the  situation — unscrupu- 
lous both  in  deed  and  speech — confident  of  suc- 
cess, and  imparting  this  confiilence  to  others; 
supple,  and  accommodating  liimself  to  tlie  whims, 
prejudices,  and  ignorance  of  all ;  cajoling,  coax- 
ing, bullying,  as  any  of  these  means  seemed 
likely  to  succeed  ;  and  had  his  principal  possessed 
the  least  chance  of  success,  Cooper  would  soon 
have  inflated  that  chance,  and  made  it  a  man-to- 
man struggle.  How  miserably  was  all  this  talent 
now  wasted  !  Surely  such  as  he  must  liave  been 
in  the  mind's  eye  of  the  poet  when  h(?  lamented 
over  the  flower  that  blushes  unseen,  and  the  gem 
that  shines  unheeded.  How  would  a  man  like 
Cooper  have  been  hailed  and  feted  during  the 
progress  of  some  of  those  elections  which  have 
lately  become — we  were  gong  to  say— "so  fa- 
mous;" elections,  where  blarney,  bribery,  and 
bludgeons— priests  and  perjury — fighting,  rant- 
ing, and  calumny,  if  used  generously  and  boldly, 
are  sure  to  carry  the  day — elections,  where  it  is 
impudence,  meanness,  and  lungs,  versus  lionesty, 
reason,  and  brains.  He.  at  any  rate,  even  now, 
left  nothing  undone  ;  and  the  very  day  that  Hu- 
bert, not  knowing  his  family  were  in  London,  ar- 
rived at  Forest  Hill,  and  there  first  learned  what 
was  going  on,  this  faithful  and  zealous  adherent 


j  was  made  practically  to  learn    that   there   are 
I  other 


Before  Hubert  left  the  Continent,  the  English 
papers  had  informed  him  that  tliere  would  lie  a 
general  election;  and  as  he  approached  Sea- 
brooke,  the  name  of  "  Tcmpleton,  the  coming 
man,"  and  similar  placards,  had  astonished  anil 
greatly  annoyed  him. 

From  his  deserted  home,  where  he  was  in- 
formed by  his  f  ither's  steward  of  the  exact  state 
of  atiairs,  he  rode  immediately  to  tlie  Priory,  in 
order  to  understand,  if  pcissible,  wlnit  had  led  to 
this  extraordinary  opposition;  but,  alas!  for  his 
father's  cause!— his  father's  insulted  dignity! — 
the  first  person  he  beheld  was  Constance,  more 
beautiful  than  he  had  ever  thought  her,  more  be- 
witching than  he  had  ever  found  her. 

How  rapturously  he  gazed  on  her!  how  proud 

he  was  to  think  that  she  was  his,  by  promi.se — 

his,  by  her  own  free  will !     How  could  he  ever 

have  fancied  any  other  comparable  with  her.' — 

and  so,  with  a  brow  unclouded  by  self-reproach — 

I  for  really  he  felt  none — be  was  as  gay.  as  charm- 

I  ing,  as  handsome  as   ever.     And   when   Colonel 

Templeton  came  home,  with  a  very  grave  face  and 

I  in  no  amiable  temper,  the  sight  of  this  smiling 

j  vision  made  him  look  less  gloomy,  and  checked 

I  his  ill  humor,  especially  as  events  had  just  oc- 

j  curred  which  made  Hubert's  arrival,  evidently  in 

]  a  pacific  character,  most  opportune. 

Ah!  Mr.  Forrester  !  Mr.  Forrester  !  if  you  do 
not  legislate  better  for  the  nation  than  you  do  to 
I  gain  your  own  purposes,  your  defeat  would  be  no 
j  loss  to  your  country. 

I  Poor  gentleman !  he  had  blundered  at  every 
move.  None  the  less  enraged  because  he  refrain- 
ed from  an  open  demonstration  of  anger,  he 
thought  it  a  capital  stroke  of  diplomacy  to  sum- 
mon Hubert  without  giving  his  reasons,  lest  his 
son,  anticipating  a  rupture  with  Colonel  Temple- 
ton,  shoukl  refuse  to  return,  and  be  implicated  in 
the  quarrel. 

Had  he  told  Hubert  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
namely,  that  he  intended  to  withdraw  his  pro- 
mise, holding  himself  justified  in  so  doing  by  the 
offensive  conduct  of  Colonel  Templeton,  who 
knows  whether  that  exemplary  and  dutiful  son, 
with  the  lovely  face  of  Beatrice  di  8t.  Angeio 
fresh  in  his  recollection,  might  not  have  consent- 
ed to  relinquish  the  far  lovelier  one  of  Constance 
Templeton  .' 

Why.  also,  had  he  not  prevented  his  going  to 
Seabroike,  by  informing  him  that  liimself  and 
his  mother  were  in  town  .'  this,  to  say  the  truth, 
j  he  had  done,  but  the  letter  never  reached  Hubert, 

owing  to  his  quick  return. 
j  It  is  easy  to  imagine  why  Constance  was  re- 
;  joiced  to  see  Hubert ;  but  her  father  was  not  in 
,  love,  nor  did  he  usually  evince  much  pleasure  at 
I  seeing  any  one  ;  why,  therefore,  did  he  look  glad, 
:  and  say  so  ? 

;  It  is  all  very  easy  to  plan  a  great  and  glorious 
deed — the  next  thing  is  to  execute  it.  Indeed, 
some  common-sense  people  insist  upon  it,  tliat  tiio 
execution  is  tlie  all  in  all,  the  only  part  that  has 
any  merit.  They  quote  vulg.ir  jiroverlis— tho 
})roof  of  the  pudding,  belling  the  cat,  and  such 
like— but  then,  common  sense  ia  ho  low  ! 


124 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


Now  Colonel  Templeton  had  talked  both  largely 
and  loudly  of  representing  his  country — so  far, 
it  was  great  and  glorious.  In  aiding  and  abet- 
ting, as  before  said,  Cooper  was  not  slack ;  he 
composed  addresses  and  had  them  printed  — he, 
or  Mrs.  Captain,  inventeil  rude  and  insulting 
placards  about  dumb  orators  and  silent  speakers, . 
in  allusion  to  Mr.  Forrester's  being  generally 
satisfied  with  recording  his  vote,  without  wasting 
the  time  of  the  House  by  a  speech,  when  his  rea- 
sons had  already  been  well  expressed  by  those 
■with  whom  he  agreed.  He  was  contented  with 
being  recognized  as  a  consistent,  independent 
member— and  this  he  was,  without  having  re- 
course to  brogue,  bluster,  or  blunder,  insolence 
or  invective;  he  had  no  talents  for  becoming 
trumpeter  in  any  demagogue's  brass  band;  and 
was  too  much  a  gentleman  and  a  patriot  to  serve 
in  any  political  brigade,  either  as  officer  or  sub- 
altern. 

This  quality,  which  made  him  respected  by  all 
parties  in  the  House,  was  now,  by  the  broad  car- 
icatures of  Mrs.  Captain,  turned  into  ridicule ; 
and  the  g.iping  villagers  were  at  iirst  shocked, 
and  then  uuiused,  to  see  these  coarse  but  humor- 
ous jokes  stuck  in  various  conspicuous  places, 
and  freely  distributed  to  all  who  would  take 
them. 

Not  contented  with  collecting  all  the  worthless 
vagabonds  and  trampers,  who  sniff  the  ale  and 
beer  of  a  coming  contest  from  afar,  and  making 
them  drunk  and  quarrelsome,  Cooper,  embold- 
ened by  the  continued  absence  of  Mr.  Forrester, 
detcruiined  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
quarters,  and  ventured  to  the  village,  from  the 
public-house  of  which  hung  and  swung  the  For- 
resters" arms.  " 

Here  he  began  with  some  random  observations, 
till  a  little  group,  who  had  been  lounging  round 
the  green,  attracted  by  the  subject,  gathered  close 
about  him.  Charmed  with  the  apparent  success 
of  his  m.ancuver,  he  began  to  harangue  them, 
which  was  quietly  listened  to,  till,  coupling  Mr. 
Forrester's  name  with  some  impertinent  jest,  he 
was  at  once  made  aware  of  his  folly  and  rashness. 
For  suddenly,  strong  hands  pinioned  him,  strong 
hands  blindfolded  him,  as  securely  as  if  he  had 
been  Dame  Fortune  herself;  and  before  he  could 
well  understand  it,  he  felt  himself  literally  danc- 
ing on  notliing— but  air  !  for  kicking  and  strug- 
gling, up  he  went — s^houting  and  bawling,  down 
he  came — up  again — down  again — and  all  in  per- 
fect silence ;  ht  had  soon  no  power  to  cry,  his 
tormentors  no  intention — a  woman's  voice  alone 
was  heard  singing— 

■  An  old  woman  tossed  np  in  a  blanket, 
Scvi-niy  limes  as  high  as  llie  moon  ; 
AU'l  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  broom — " 

till  faint,  and  evincing  this  by  being  passive  in 
the  hands,  or  rather  Idanket,  of  his  a.ssailants ; 
sick,  dizzy,  but  carefully  kept  from  bone-breaking, 
he  felt  himself  laid  in  a  cold  bath,  and  after  a 
short  interval  heard  a  voice,  most  suspiciously 
like  the  one  that  had  sung,  exclaim — "  Lauk-a- 
day,  Mustei"  Cooper  !  be  it  you.  man  .'  deary  me  ! 
■what  be  you  a  doing  of  here  .'"  and  the  bandage 
being  removed,  he  found  himself  in  the  horse- 
trough  !  Too  .sick  and  sore  to  move,  he  was  lifted 
out  by  the  landlord  and  hostler,  who  grinned  and 
sniggered   at   each   other,  while   a  perfect  roar 


arose  from  the  tap-room,  as  he  was  carried  through 
it  up. stairs  to  bed.  where,  as  he  lay  sore  and  sav- 
age, he  heard  a  full  chorus  shout  out — 

"  Old  woman,  old  woman,  says  I,  says  I, 

Where  are  voii  cuing  sn  liigh,  su  h  sti  ?  , 

Tu  sweep  the  cobwebs  .,ui  of  the  skv,  / 

And  I  shall  be  back  again  by-aod-by."  ! 

There  he  remained  all  night,  and  early  the  next 
morning,  stiff,  bruised,  with  aching  head  and  fe- 
verish body,  he  was  conveyed  in  the  landlord's 
covered  cart  home,  where  he  remained  invisible  to 
all  eyes  for  several  days.  And  when  he  did  re- 
cover and  emerge,  so  crestfallen  and  yet  enraged 
was  he,  that  Colonel  Templeton  advised  a  week's 
absence  to  some  place  where  he  could  recover  his 
nerves  and,  if  possible,  his  temper. 

But  this  incident  decided  the  fate  of  the  elec-  . 
tion.  Colonel  Templeton,  who  had  never  compre- 
hended what  standing  meant,  had  already  stood 
till  he  was  tired  ;  and  he  was  now  glad  to  sit — if 
not  in  Parliament,  in  peace  and  quiet,  as  he  Lad 
done  before.  He  therefore  relinquished  the  mat- 
ter with  as  much  levity  as  he  had 'taken  it  up. 

To  him,  therefore,  Hubert  was  doubly,  nay,, 
trebly  welcome.  He  was  to  be  ambassador,  pleni- 
potentiary, any  thing,  so  that  he  did  but  make, 
peace  between  his  father  and  the  Colonel;  and  this 
he  confidently  promised  to  do. 

For  a  long  time,  however,  his  father  and  his 
mother  also  were  inexorable— they  declared  that 
such  an  unprovoked  insult  freed  them  from  every 
promise  ;  so  it  might,  had  Hubert  been  willing  t) 
consent  to  this;  but  he  insisted  on  keeping  ///^ 
plighted  faith,  and  talked  so  like  a  modern  B;iy- 
ard  of  the  dishonor  that  would  attend  a  failure 
on  his  part,  that  any  one  who  had  peeped  into  liis 
heart  at  Naples,  and  while  in  the  society  of  Bea- 
trice, might  have  asked,  "  Is  this  the  same  Hu- 
bert who  was  perpetually  haunting  her,  and  fol- 
lowing her  with  looks  of  love .'  or  is  it  only  bis 
exact  likeness .'" 

But  he  won  the  day — though  his  parents  were 
never,  after  this,  even  cordial  in  their  manner  to 
the  Templetons;  and  Laurette,  who,  ■with  her 
mother,  was  in  town  during  the  beginning  of  the 
rupture,  and  had,' in  her  indirect  way,  done  all 
she  could  to  widen  the  breach  and  strengthen 
their  objections,  now  protested  that  she  must 
accomj^any  dear  Mrs.  Forrester  to  Seabrooke,  and 
remain  with  her  a  short  time,  to  cheer  her  up 
after  this  very  painful  misunderstanding. 

"  Pray  spare  her  to  mc  for  a  few  weeks,"  said 
Mrs.  Forrester  to  Lady  Sinclair ;  "  she  -vvill  be 
every  thing  to  me  at  this  particular  moment;," 
and  her  ladyship,  who  loudly  and  openly  blamed 
her  brother's  conduct  to  the  family,  whose  son 
was  engaged  to  his  daughter,  easily  consented  to 
this  proposal. 


CHAPTER   LI II. 

"  Ne  eont-ce  pas  Ips  femmeg  qui  rulnent  ou  qui  goutien- 
nent  leg  maisons,  qui  rdglenl  tout  le  dfetail  df«  choscs  do- 
mestiquts '/"— Fenelos. 

"  How  your  needle  flies  through  your  work,  and 
how  beautifully  that  is  done!"  remarked  Mrs. 
Stacey  one  day  to  Helen,  as  she  sat  watching  her 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


125 


I  tion 

ABxpe 
■  but 


orogress  on  some  pretty  article  of  dress  for  her 

To  work  neatly  was  made  part  of  our  educa- 
tion," said  she";  "  Mrs.  Loftus,  ■who  for  many 
rs  was  kept  out  of  her  property,  found  from 
experience  that  this  was  a  resource  too  conmionly 
"  ut  improperly  neglected.  She  therefore  made 
completion  of  a  portion  of  useful  needle- work 
one  of  our  daily  duties.  How  gratef  id  I  now  am, 
for  being  skillful  in  this  despised  art,  I  can  not 
tell.  My  husband's  very  small  income  would 
sadly  sutler  if  I  could  not  hem  and  sew,  or  even 
put  on  buttons,"  and  she  smiled. 

Very  early  in  the  progress  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, -Mrs.  Stacey  had  made  the  di.scovery  of  Hel- 
ens  superiority,  and,  happily,  she  had  made  it 
herself  No  injudicious  friend  had  placed  Helen 
in  the  disagreeable  position  of  tiugel-woman,  so 
Mrs.  Stacey,  of  her  own  free  will,  and  because 
she  felt  a  pleasure  in  doing  it,  had  adopted  Helen 
as  lier  pattern.  The  homage  she  rendered  was, 
therefore,  the  deeper  from  being  self-imposed ; 
while  the  influence  of  Mrs.  AVest  was,  uncon- 
sciously to  either  of  them,  producing  a  good 
eftoct. 

Mrs.  Stacey's  self-love  was  never  wounded  by 
advice  being  offered  unasked  for,  by  censure  well 
meant,  but  useless,  because  it  was  unwise ;  but 
her  voluntary  admission  of  her  own  inferiority, 
when  she  compared  herself  to  this  kind  friend,  led 
to  a  knowledge  of  her  own  deticiencics,  and  to  an 
earnest  wish  to  supply  tliem;  and  when  self  is 
thoroughly  roused  to  useful  exertion,  it  is  aston- 
ishing how  it  clears  away  obstacles,  how  remorse- 
lessly it  tears  up  weeds,  roots  out  deep-seated 
prejudices,  and  cuts  •  down  the  tough  hedge  of 
long-indulged  habits.  To  be  convinced  of  this 
assertion,  nothing  more  was  requisite  than  to 
watch  Mrs.  Stacey;  while  silently  but  resolutely 
engaged  in  this  clearance  she  proved  herself  quite 
a  little  heroine. 

She  and  Helen  were  often  together  to  their  mu- 
tual advantage — they  generally  met  during  their 
walks;  and  sometimes,  whtn  .Mi.ss  Baby  was  quiet 
for  the  evening,  Htacey  would  bring  his  wife  to 
the  cottage  and  read  to  them,  and  to  that  Khada- 
manthus  of  critics,  as  he  called  Ashley,  the  results 
I  of  his  literary  labors. 

They  were  all  more  or  less  musical,  and  though 
Mrs.  Stacey,  during  her  troubles  and  illness,  had 
lost  her  voice,  she  almost  feared  i'orever,  as  she 
and  Helen  were  superior  musicians,  these  even- 
ings possessed  a  charm  which  was  often  remem- 
bered in  after  years ;  and  it  was  during  one  of  | 
these  meetings  that  Mrs.  Stacey  had  remarked  on 
Helen's  industry  and  the  beauty  of  her  perform- 
ance. 

The  next  morning  it  was  not  fine  enough  for  a  ' 
Tfralk ;  and  Helen,  knowing  the  "  wee  thing"  j 
would^detain  JNIrs  Stacey  at  home,  sent  a  little 
note,  in  which  she  said  that  she  should  brave  the 
weather  with  wrappers  and  strong  shoes,  and 
spend  a  few  hours  with  the  mamma. 

Of  course  she  was  welcomed  with  real  pleasure,  ' 
and  soon  seated  very  comfortably  in  a  large  chair 
by  tlio  fire.  I 

"  Now  do  not  faint  at  the  sight  of  my  thimble," 
said  she,  "  or  think  that  I  introduce  it  u  propos 
to  a  compliment." 

"  No ;  but  it  will  very  well  introduce  a  question  I 


I  have  to  ask,"  was  the  reply ;  "  if  it  becomes  you, 
Mrs.  West,  to  do  so  many  things,  because  you  arc 
!  not  rich— how  disgraceful  it  is  for  nie  not  to  imi- 
tate you ;  so  I  am  determined,  hencefurtli,  to  woi-k 
as  much  as  I  can  for  us  all.  And  I  blush  to  tliink 
how  many  useful  and  beautiful  things  uiy  baby 
owes  to  you,  while  I  have  been  little  better  than 
an  idle  looker-on." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Helen,  glad  to  hear  tliis,  and 
much  too  honest  to  compliment  away  what  she 
felt  convinced  was  a  goud  and  most  needful  resolu- 
tion ;  ''  you  have  been  very  busy  nursing  her,  and 
seeing  after  your  house,  and  very  comfortable  it 
always  looks." 

"  Even  that  is  due  to  your  example — you,  born 
an  heiress  to  great  wealth,  connected  on  every 
side  with  nobility,  liave  taught  me,  a  penniless 
,  girl,  brought  up  to  earn  her  living;  how  to  keep 
my  house  and  u.se  my  needle." 

"  Now  you  are  too  serious  and  too  severe,  espe- 
cially upon  faults  which  have  disappeared,"  re- 
plied Helen;  "  and  you  must  read  me  something 
merry  as  a  cure." 

I  "  1  would  much  rather,  if  you  will  have  tho 
goodness  to  allow  me  the  choice,  fetch  my  work, 
I  and,  spite  of  the  seeming  egotism,  tell  you  of  niy- 
I  self"  » 

I  "  Do;  I  shall  like  that  better  flian  any  thing," 
returned  Helen,  with  that  ready  and  true  sympa-' 
thy  which  was  so  beautiful  a  feature  in  her  char- 
acter, ancf  which  made  all  who  knew  her  so  im- 
j  plicitly  trust  her. 

I  "  Oh,  it  is  commonplace  enough,  and  soon  said," 
remarked  Mrs.  Stacey,  with  a  siglu  "  I  lost  both 
parents  when  I  was  very  young.  My  mother  I 
remember  as  a  pretty  woman,  always  fashionably 
dressed;  As  to  my  own  appearance,  it  was  the 
great  topic  with  almost  all  whom  I  met-.  My 
mother,  I  say  it  with  reverence,  treated  me  more 
like  a  live  doll  than  a  rational  and  responsible 
being.  I  was  perpetually  being  dressed  and  un- 
dressed, and  she  was  perpetually  bu.'^y,  making  or 
devising  something  elegant  and  becoming  for  me, 
which  foolish  friends  \vere  called  upon  to  admire 
in  my  presence,  till  I  began  to  confound  myself 
with  my  frock  or  bonnet ;  and  when  tliese  were 
praised,  to  receive  the  admiration  as  something 
personally  meritorious — of  course,  I  did  not  thin 
reason  in  this  way,  but  such  was  the  effect. 

'•My  nurse  would  any,  '  Be  good,  and  you  shall 
wear  your  pink  or  blue  sash ;'  and  when  I  was 
naughty,  I  was  punished  by  being  made  to  put  on 
a  shabby  frock. 

'•  1  was  about  eight  when  both  my  parents  died, 
and  then  went  to  live  with  a  relation.  I  must 
now  begin  my  education — and  hard  work  it  was. 
It  seems  tliat  I  early  showed  a  talent  for  music — 
this  must  be  cultivated;  for  I  had,  literally, 
nothing  i'rom  the  wreck  which  extravagance  and 
waste  had  caused,  so  1  must  be  taught  to  earn  my 
own  living.  My  aunt  could  barely  afford  the  sum 
necessary  for  my  instruction  ;  but  slie.did  manage 
it,  and  treated  me  with  great  kindness.  Vou  nmst 
remember  that  the  dre.sscd-out  baby  of  eight  was 
almost  entirely  ignorant.  1  could  read,  liut  very 
badly— to  compensate,  I  sang  a  numlier  of  .songs 
very  charmingly.  I  could  not  write  at  all ;  but  I 
had  a  remarkable  taste  in  arranging  colors — so 
think  of  the  labor  ! 

"  At  length  I  was  admitted  to  the  Academy  of 


126 


THE   WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


Music  ;  my  fear  was  good — my  voice  gave  promise 
of  being  very  fine — and  when  the  drudgery  of 
piano  \vas  nearly  over,  came  the  fatigue  of  singing 
and  learning  Italian. 

"  As  soon  as  I  could,  I  tried  to  relieve  my  kind 
.aunt  of  some  expense,  by  endeavoring  to  obtain 
pupils;  this  was  extremely  difficult— I  knew  no 
one  whose  influence  could  serve  me,  and  those  with 
whom  I  most  a.'.sociated  were  rivals,  each  seeking 
for  the  same  thing.  | 

"  At  length  1  did  succeed,  by  the  help  of  one  of  | 
the  profc-^^.sors-and  then— oh  !  the  weary  fag  of  ' 
going  fi-om  place  to  place,  through  all  weathers —  \ 
and  for  so  trifling  a  remuneration.  I 

"  However,  I  had  what  many  had  not — a  re-  I 
epectaMe  home  a^d  a  kind  relative;  for  these,  let  | 
me  hope,  1  was  truly  grateful.  But  when  I  was  ] 
alx)ut  nineteen,  this  dear  friend  died,  leaving  me  j 
all  she  had,  which  was  but  little,  as  her  income 
died  with  her.  Still  I  was  not  destitute,  for  I  had 
a  suijill  connection;  1  really  was  industrious— 
readily  took  what  was  ofFert^d,  if  it  only  paid,  and 
tried  hanl  to  please  my  employers — this  was  easy, 
where  my  pupils  were  clever  and  amiable — but 
as  they  were  not  all  of  this  description,  of  course 
then  I  failed. 

"  But.  not  to  weary  you,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
years  I  began  to  feel  that,  if  health  were  granted 
me,  I  had  taken  a  step  in  the  right  direction  ; 
when  the  mother  of  one  of  my  pupils  offered  to 
introduce  me  to  her  friend  Lady  L)e  Vere,  who, 
this  la<ly  saitl,  was  a  most  excellent  patroness 
where  she  took  a  liking. 

"  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  my  musical  career 
had  given  me  vei-y  little  knowledge  of  society  be- 
yond those  of  my  own  profession,  and  the  few  who 
employed  me ;  I  was  young  and  wholly  unpro- 
tected, and  had,  therefore,  been  rather  careful  to 
limit  my  acquaintance  to  an  unusually  small 
circle.  Still  I  had  heard  and  read  a  good  deal  of 
patrons  and  patronesses  ;  and  the  impression  left 
on  my  mind  was  not  favorable  to  the  idea  of  being 
dependent  for  more  than  the  recommendation  my 
talents  really  merited;  but  not  understanding 
very  clearly  the  limits  which  separated  the  re- 
ward of  merit  from  the  puff  of  patronage,  I  called 
on  my  old  master,  who  had  been  particularly 
kind  to  me,  and  stating  the  offer  and  my  own 
difficulty,  I  asked  his  opinion. 

"  '  How  are  you  doing  now  ?'  he  asked. 

"  '  Well,'  I  replied. 

"  '  Are  you  laying  by  ?' 

"  '  Very  little  indeed  .'' 

"  '  No  matter  how  little— ^it  is  in  favor  of  my 
opinion  ;  why  not  trust  to  your  own  endeavors .' 
gnidually,  as  you  become  known,  you  may  raise 
your  terms,  you  may  give  lessons  at  home.  I 
knowwliat  La<ly  De  Vere  will  propose — a  concert 
at  her  hou.^'e;  this  will  interfere  with  your  teach- 
ing, perhiips  give  offense  to  your  old  connections 
—and  if,  from  nervousness  or  cold,  or  any  of  the 
tho\isand  accidents  voice  and  fingers  are  subject 
to,  you  should  fail  to  produce  a  sensation^ — why, 
then  there  is  an  end  of  you  at  once.' 

"  '  But  if  I  succeed  .•" 

"  '  You  sui.'ceed— and  so  you  do  now.  You  may 
S'ly.  but  the  introduction  to  titled  and  noble 
pupils  is  a  chance  worth  securing;  do  not  let  that 
inliuenc"  you — in  the  long  run,  yoiir  present 
wealthy  pupils  will    be   the   best  for  you.     But 


think  well  of  it  before  you  decide.  I  see  yon  are 
a  little  dazzled.' 

"  I  was  very  much  dazzled  ;  and  the  more  I 
thought  of  the  offer,  the  more  brilliant  and  fasci- 
nating did  it  appear.  In  short,  you  know,  I  ac- 
cepted it.  The  concert  was  proposed,  arranged, 
and  came  off.  I  did  not  clear  five  pounds,  though, 
in  order  to  secure  a  dazzling  array  of  nobis 
names,  the  tickets  were  very  expensive ;  and  had 
not  Mr.  Stacey  come  to  the  rescue,  I  sliould  cer- 
tainly have  failed  altogether — for  I  was  faiut  with 
excitement,  fatigue,  and  anxiety  ;  but  he  kindly 
helped  me — he  joined  me  in  an  unexpected  duet, 
and  then  sang  a  song  of  his  own  composition, 
written,  as  he  said,  expre.ssly  for  the  occasion ; 
and  at  the  conclusion,  more  dead  than  alive,  I 
was  led  alx)ut  by  Lady  De  Vere,  to  be  compli- 
mented, feted,  and  forgotten ! 

"  Not  a  single  pupil  did  1  gain  by  that  first  ap- 
pearance in  public ;  but  the  time  needed  for  re- 
hearsing, organizing,  coaxing  rlN'als  to  put  aside 
rivalry,  and  be  generous  for  a  few  hours,  lost  me 
several  of  my  best  engagements — for  few  of  the 
parties  where  I  taught  were  on  her  Ladyships 
list,  and  were  consequently  affronted  at  my  pro- 
sumption,  and  kept  aloof;  and  the  high  bribes  1 
was  obliged  to  offer  the  avaricious  to  help  me,  and 
the  insolent  to  be  civil,  swallowed  up,  as  I  before 
said,  all  the  profit. 

"  Then  dear  Charles  married  me ;  and,  all  at 
once,  carried  up  by  his  genius  and  popularity,  I 
found  myself  m  such  society  as  1  had  never,  in 
my  -ivildest  dream  of  ambition,  aspired  to. 

"  We  sang,  we  acted  vaudeville  and  comedy,  till 
the  tragedy  came  in  earnest ;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  friends,  whom  God  reward  and  bless  for  their 
goodness !  1  know  not  what  would  have  become 
of  us.  May  the  terrible  experience  we  then  had, 
prevent  us  from  being  ever  again  misled  by  sucli 
senseless  ambition  !" 

"  If  that  be  the  result,  and  you  are  happy  an  I 
contented  in  your  present  circumstances,"  sail 
Helen,  '•  you  will  have  but  little  cauSe  to  sigh  that 
the  delusion  has  vanished." 

"  I  never  was  happier,"  replied  Mrs.  Stacey ; 
"  my  husband  is  gradually  working  himself  fi"ee 
from  those  pecuniary  difficulties  which,  ever  since 
our  marriage,  have  painfully  pressed  on  him— he 
is  becoming  known  and  esteemed  among  men  of 
intelligence  and  high  literary  attainments;  be- 
lieve me,"  she  added,  with  deep  feeling,  "it  is  no 
small  reward  to  have  won  the  regard  of  two  such 
characters  as  Mr.  West  and  Mr.  Vernon,  while 
you .  on  your  part,  kindly  permit  me  the  privilege 
of  calling  you  friend." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Helen,  "  you  greatly  over- 
rate this,  and  quite  forget  my  share  of  the  plea- 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

" WhHt  crime  to  me  unknown, 

t>ut-pM  me  in  iuliV  in>  part-ills',  or  my  own?" 

Pope. 

"  Mr.  Tur.v ru  wishes  to  be  introduced  to* you, 
Stacey,"  said  Keg  nald  the  same  evening,  "but 
you  must  waive  ceremony,  and  accompany  me  to 
town  some  morning — when  can  you  do  so  i" 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


127 


•*  To-morrow,  if  this  ^vill  not  seem  too  eager  to 
avail  myself  of  his  invitiition." 

"  Not  at  all ;  promptuess,  in  this  case,  is  a 
compliment." 

And  the  next  day  Stacey  -was  made  known  to 
the  old  gentleman. 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Tui'ner,  "  a  cele- 
brated scientific  man,  tliough  ratl\er  an  oddity — 
I  say  this  merely  Jo  prepare  you  for  some  of  his 
notions— has  papers  and  letters  relating  and  once 
belonging  to  a  man  who  formerly  made  a  little 
noise  in  the  world.  Mr.  Moore  thinks  the  time 
has  arrived  for  giving  selections  of  these  to  the 
public  ;  but  being,  in  some  sense,  no  more  fit  for 
the  task  himself  than  I  should  be  to  command  a 
fleet ;  and,  happily,  being  as  well  aware  of  his 
deficiency,  he  has  consulted  me  on  the  subject. 
Now,  I  should  like  you  to  meet  him,  for  I  think 
you  would  suit  his  purpose,  and  I  also  think  his 
purpose  would  suit  you.  Though  he  is  a  man  of 
rare  talent,  the  fame  which  follows  the  profession 
of.  what  is  termed,  elegant  literature,  would  be 
readily  relinquished  to  you ;  and  as  to  any  ar- 
rangement that  may  be  requisite,  you  may  depend 
upon  his  liberality  and  honorable  character." 

"  I  wonder,"  remarked  Stacey,  slightly  nettled, 
to  think  that  he  was  permitted  to  scramble  for  the 
crumbs  of  notoriety  and  fame,  merely  because 
another  scorned  them — "  I  wonder,  with  this  lofty 
di.sdain  of  light  literature,  he  should  condescend 
in  any  way  to  contribute  to  it." 

"That,"  replied  Mr.  Turner,  dryly,  "is  his 
concern,  not  ours — and,  perhaps,  I  have  not  well 
expressed  my  meaning.     In  this  case,  he  contrib- 


whom  'Mr.  Yernon  was  interested,  he  thought 
Stacey  might  be  exactly  the  man  to  help  his  friuiid 
with  his  project  ;  and  so,  as  he  {'(nu'luded  with 
"  here  is  my  card,"  he  did,  perhaps,  by  turning 
to  his  papers,  dismiss  the  votary  of  Apullo  rather 
cavalierly.  "  Mr.  Turner,  IJedibrd  Sijuare." 
muttered  Stacey,  and  looked  so  clearly  as  if  ho 
longed  to  ask  where  that  was,  that  this  shrewd 
reader  of  character,  glancing  sharply  at  him,  and 
saying,  "  Yes,  it  is  known  to  all  respectable  Lon- 
doners, you  wijl  be  sure  to  find  it— good-morning," 
was,  belbre  Stacey  reached  the  door,  deep  in  the 
mysteries  of  liis  brief. 

"  That  is  a  queer  old  governor  of  yours,"  was 
Stacey "s  remark  to  Reginald ;  "  you  have  no  idea 
how  small  he  contrived  to  make  me  feel ;  and  I 
was  so  provoked,  that  remembering  the  anecdote 
of  a  roj'al  duke — when  he  gave  me  his  card,  I 
longed  to  ask  where  Bedford  Square  was." 

"  I  hope  you  did  not,"  said  Kcginahl,  gravely. 

"  No,  faith,  he  looked  tof)  grimly  clever,  some- 
thing as  you  do  now,"  was  his  laughing  reply. 
"  I  saw  a  sly  devil  twinkling  in  the  corner  of  his 
gray  eye,  which  told  me  I  should  feel  the  sting  of 
his  answer." 

"  Then,  for  once,  a  demon  spoke  truly,"  said 
Reginald ;  "  but  do  you  think  the  task  one  likely 
to  interest  and  suit  you  :" 

"  If  it  be  as  I  suspect,  it  will  be  the  very  thing 
—it  is  true,  I  shall  be  but  little  more  than  tlio 
arranger  of  materials ;  but  as  precious  stones 
tcssed  in  a  disordered  heap  seem  neither  attractive 
nor  valuable  till  the  eye  of  taste  disposes  them  in 
forms  fit  for  the  arm  and  bosom  of  beauty,  thug 


red  at  ^Ir.  Turner's  comfortable  house,  and 


sible,  after  his  death,  the  evil ;  and  by  pointing  a 
moral,  warn  from  the  rocks  on  which  he  himself 
split.  However,  as  I  really  have  not  time  now  to 
eiUcr  into  particulars  and  discuss  them  with  you, 
dine  with  me  the  day  afcer  to-morrow,  and  meet 
Mr.  Moore  :  you  will  afterward  be  able  to  sec  each 
other,  and  make  your  ftnal  arrangements — here 
is  my  card,  half-past  six  punctually.' 


utes  the  materials,  which  originally  were  not  his  |  it  may  be  with  these  shreds  and  patches ;  and  it 
^and  the  money  to  insure  their  being  well  ar-  i  must  be  my  care  to  arrange  them  so  that  the  sil- 
ranged,  which  is.  In  this  undertaking,  which  ver  thread,  which  connects,  may  here  and  there 
mnso  lay  bare  the  deformities  and  weaknesses  of  peep  out." 
genius,  his  purpose  is  to  make  one,  who,  during  j  Arrivei 
his  life,  exercised  an  injurious  influence,  and  who  ,  seated  at  his  well-served  and  well-arranged  table, 
had  no  idea  of  honesty  or  morality,  repair,  if  pos-    Stacey  had  time  to  look  around  on  thegursts,  most 

of  whom  were  men  wliose  names  were  well  known  to 
fame,  and  respected  by  tliat  bestower  of  celebrity — 
the  public.  And  as  lie  glanced  from  one  intelligent 
countenance  to  another,  he  acknowledged,  that  not 
even  at  the  fashionable  and  recherche  diimers  of 
Basingstoke  House,  the  rallying-place  of  wit  and 
talent  among  the  aristocracy,  had  he  ever  seen 
heads  and  faces  that  promised  a  more  agreeable 
Stacey,  who  ha"d  inwardly  fumed  and  fretted  at  j  party. 
til?  business-like  manner  of  .Mr.  Turner,  who.  As  he  recognized  name  after  name,  he  knew 
during  their  interview,  seemed  wholly  unconscious  I  them  to  be  all  men  of  learning,  education,  and 
that  he  was  addressing  the  man  whose  ver.-^es,  just  energy;  many,  he  recollected,  must  liave  toile<l 
puolished,  were  at  that  very  moment  being  talked  their  way  up  to  eminbnce  by  the  most  indefatiga- 
of  by  young  lords,  and  by  ladies,  both  young  and  ble  industry.  Tliey  had  considered  notiiing  cle- 
old,  and  which  had  brought  the  author  something  grading  or  disgraceful  that  was  free  from  mean- 
very  substantial  in  the  form  of  a  check  from  his    ness  and  dishonor ;  and  by  reviewing,  revising, 

reporting,  and  all  those  mental  labors  which 
cause  men  to  rise  early  and  late  take  rest,  they 
had,  steadily  and  surely,  establislie  1  for  them- 
selves both  renown  and  station  ;  and  long  before 
dinner  was  ended.  Stacey  found  that  second-hantJ 
would  here 
attract  no  attention  ;  that  the  best  substitute  lor 
silver,  though  passing  current  for  tlie  n;.il  metal 
among  fine  ladylings  and  lordlings,  fell  liere  witli 
a  flat  and  leal-like  noise,  when  contrasted  with 
the  ringing  sound  of  the  pure  coin,  and  its  plastic 
rebound. 

"  Aud  so,"  said  a  titled  dignitary,  whose  ver- 


well-pleased  publisher,  hardly  knew  how  at  once 
to  descend  from  his  Parnassian  stilts,  and  walk 
■with  the  common-sense  companion  just  made 
known  to  him. 

The  truth  is,  we  blush  as  we  write  it,  Mr. 
Turner  knew  nothing  of  these  poems  but  what  his  repartee  and  well-turned  platitud 
kind  sister  had  occasionally  read  to  him,  when  he 
■was  tired  and  sleepy,  after  a  day  of  hard  intellec- 
tual wrestling  with  some  pro  tempo  rival ;  and  at 
those  times,  more  in  deference  to  her  than  from 
any  particular  impression  they  produced,  he 
murmured  now  and  then,  "  Yery  pretty,  very 
good;"  and  associating  the  author  with  one  for 


THE  WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


satile  powers  and  extraordinary  attainments  ren- 
dered him  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  his 
time,  addressing  Mr.  Moore,  "  it  is  whispered  that 
you  are  at  hist  goinp;  to  give  us  a  peep  into  the 
life  and  career  of  Hammond.  I  sincerely  hope 
that  Kumor  has.  on  this  occasion,  blown  through 
the  trumpet  of  truth." 

"i  think  she  has— I  have  long  been  contem- 
plating this  work.  So  many  years  have  elapsed 
since  his  death,  and  there  are  now  no  relatives 
whose  feeling>  can  be  wounded  by  any  disclosures, 
that  1  am  much  disposed  to  consider  this  a  favor- 
able moment." 

"  But  iis  he  was  so  intimately  connected  with 
the  most  celebrated  of  his  cotemporaries,  and  in 
brisk  correspondence  with  many,  whose  fime  may 
be  a  little  tarnished  by  a  revelation  of  these  pri- 
vate matters,  may  not  their  collaterals  wince. '' 

"  Certainly  not,  if  these  memoirs  are  published 
according  to  my  notion  of  what  is  due  to  the  liv- 
ing, as  well  as  to  the  dead  I  purpose  it  to  be  the 
'  Life  of  Hammond'— not  to  be  swelled  to  endless 
volumes  by  introducing  anecdotes  of  every  wit 
and  vaurien  with  whom  he  occasionally  associa- 
ted ;  so  the  vanity  of  their  descendants  need  fear 
no  wound,  nor  their  egotism  anticipate  much 
gratitication." 

"  But  the  letters  ?"  suggested  a  young  gentle- 
man, who  had,  as  he  said,  once  perpetrated  a 
tragedy. 

"  I  shall  most  scrupulously  insert  all  that  are 
necessary  to  place  the  character  in  a  true  light — 
neither  suppress,  nor  aught  set  down  in  malice  ; 
but  I  shall  not  repeat  the  dose  ad  naustat?!. 
There  is  also  much  correspondence,  whicli,  allud- 
ing to  the  political  and  public  events  of  tlie  day, 
is  in  one  sense  historical,  which  must  be  carefully 
gone  over;  and  here  I  mean  to  entreat  your 
Lordship  to  assist  me.  as  from  the  enormous  mass 
of  letters  sent  and  received,  few,  comparatively, 
will  be  published." 

"  I  am  right  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Mr. 
Turner  ;  "it  is  really  time  to  stem  the  torrent  of 
violated  private  correspondence,  which  threatens 
learning  with  a  second  deluge.  Men  now  write 
an  order  to  their  tailors  and  bootmakers,  with  the 
dread  of  publication  before  their  eyes,  or  the  in- 
quiry' of  'What  will  Mrs.  Grundy  say:' — and 
while  this  rage  for  rummaging  the  post-bag  fet- 
ters persons  of  sense  and  ability,  and  destroys  all 
tiie  ease  and.  freedom  of  confidential  correspond- 
ence, it  operates  as  injuriously  in  another  way  on 
men  and  women  too,  whose  little  coterie,  which  to 
them  represents  the  universe,  be-puflfs  and  be- 
praises  them,  till  they  no  longer  exchange  invi- 
tations without  writing,  as  Pope  is  said  to  have 
done,  with  one  eye  on  the  note,  the  other  on  pub- 
lishers and  posterity.  And  many  an  honest  soul 
who  went  re.-i)ectably  through  life,  becomes  after 
death,  by  the  foolish  toadying  of  a  friend,  the  butt 
for  a  spiteful  reviewer  or  wsispish  critic.  And  I 
am  truly  glad,  my  dear  Lord,  that  you  will  help 
in  this  selection.  ' 

"  1  could  hardly  have  been  asked  to  do  any 
thing  I  siial'.  more  completely  revel  in,"  replied 
his  Lordship.  "  1  accept  Mr.  Moore's  challenge 
C071  amore — when  will  tiie  pleasuro  commence  .'" 

•'  W,e  shall  settle  that  with  Mr.  IStiicey,"  was 
the  answer.  And  Stacey,  bold  as  a  lion  in  the 
Balons  of  mafiy  a  duke  and  marchioness,  perhaps 


never  more  painfully  felt  his  own  inferiority  than 
at  this  moment. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  having  found  such  a 
Plutarch,"  said  a  guest,  whom  Stacey  had  often 
met  at  Basingstoke  House;  "the  man  who  can 
send  us  such  sparkling  poetry  from  the  Heath, 
and  burn  the  midnight  oil  while  he  writes  so  acute 
an  analysis  of  Doctor  AVhite's  ethics,  is  the  very 
one  to  do  justice  to  poor  Hammond.  Good  heav- 
ens !  it  compels  us  to  serious*tliouglits  when  we 
revert  to  that  brilliant  but  brief  career,  and 
know  that  the  end  was  gloom,  darkness,  and 
misery." 

"  Yes,"  said  Stacey,  taking  courage,  and 
pleased  to  be  thus  recognized,  "that  will  be  the 
most  difficult,  the  most  painful  part  of  the  biogra- 
pher's task  ;  but  we  may  hope  he  will  do  it  gently, 
and  so  interest  all  the  kind  ami  better  feelings  ^  t 
readers,  that  they  shall  remember  the  fate  of  hli  . 
whose  memoirs  are  before  them,  and  •  be  to  L  ^ 
faults  a  little  blind.'  " 

"  And  what  says  Mr.  Moore  to  that  tender 
handling  ?"  asked  Reginald. 

"He  says."  replied  the  party  addressed,  his 
his  slrbngly  marked  but  benevolent  face  full  of 
expression,  "  that  thus  he  would  have  it,  nut 
only  toward  the  erring  sons  of  genius,  of  whom 
we  say  with  a  sigh,  '  How  art  thou  fallen,  oh 
Lucifer  !  star  of  the  morning' — but  in  all  our 
daily  and  ordinary  intercourse,  one  with  another, 
Mercy  always  holding  .Justice  by  the  hand — not 
one  inch  more  will  I  seek  to  '  draw  his  frailtiis 
from  their  dread  abode,'  than  I  think  necessary 
to  prevent  others  from  following  his  specious  but 
fatal  example.  Edward  Hammond  had  a  splen- 
did fortune,  and  his  sickly  child  was  supported 
by  the  charity  of  friends  till  death  closed  her 
brief  existence.  He  had  talents  of  the  highest 
order,  tiiey  were  applied  to  the  meanest  purposes 
— he  att.iined  to  extraordinary  eminence — he  be- 
came at  last  infamous,  and  was  avoided  as  a 
drunken  nuisance  by  those  who  helped  to  sup- 
port him  ;  and  though  he  showed  occasional 
glimpses  of  his  lost  glory,  he  was  generally  a 
mean,  dependent  sot.  But  enough  of  tliis.  And 
so  they  cut  you  up  famously,  did  they  :"  turnin:^ 
to  a  very  young  man,  who  gayly  replied — 

"  Infinitely  worse  than  any  surgical  dissecti' :. 
at  the  Hotel  Lieu— but  you  see  I  have  saved  tl, 
pieces,  aud  here  I  am,  ready  to  undergo  anotlu  i 
operation." 

"  Bravo  !  bravo  !"  said  Mr.  Turner  ;  "  at  any 
rate  you  will  not  die  of  a  review." 

"  No,  I  shall  print  again,  and  '  shame  the 
fools.' " 

And  then,  after  a  more  general  conversation, 
they  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  where  they 
found.  Miss  Turner  with  a  party  of  ladies  ;  for 
her  brother  did  not  choose  his  guests  fi  oni  talent 
or  station  of  that  coarse  kind  which  mates  with 
cooks  and  laundresses — worthy  as  these  may  be, 
when  wielding  the  spit  or  broom.  His  sister 
was  highly  cultivated,  and  delighted  in  good 
society  as  well  as  himself,  so  he  gave  it  to  her  in 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  his  own  associates 

Mrs.  West  and  Mrs.  Stacey  were  now  amonir 
those  who  formed  her  party;  and  with  some 
other  ladies  gave  such  music  as  is  not  often 
heard  out  of  the  concert-room,  while  Stacey,  now 
completely  in  hia  element,  charmed  them  with  his 


TIIK    WIFE'S   TlilALS. 


129 


impromptu  and  improvising  till  the  smixW  hours 
had  rung  out  twice  before  they  separated. 

"  What  a  delightful  evening,  and  what  glo- 
rious  fellows  those  are  !"   he  said  to  lleginaUl ; 

■by  Jove!  I  was  a  monstrous  fool  not  to  stick 
to  the  law  when  I  had  so  good  a  hold  of  its  robe 
—but  I  always  fancied  a  lawyer  with  a  pen 
i't'liind  his  ear,  a  blue  bag  in  his  hand,  and  his 
fiiiu-ers  and  wristbii^ds   stained  with  ink.      And 

iiiiy  think,  on  Saturday,  Mr.  Moore  and  I  dine 
with  that  Colossus  who  does  bestride  the  world 
3f  letters— is  not  that  something  to  talk  of.'"' 

"  I  am  sure,"'  said  Mrs.  Stacey,  "  we  never  can 
mfficientlj'  express  our  thanks  to  the  friends  wlio 
aave  done  so  much  for  us ;"  and  the  grateful  lit- 

le  creature  quietly  wiped  her  eyes — but  such 
tears  do  good. 


in    ^' 


CHAPTER   LV. 

"Vous  6Ioigner! — croyez  moi  mon  ami  c'est  nn  mau- 
moyen — I'absence  ne  fait  rien  sur  un  amour  vferitabli-. 
ous  lie  Toublierez  pas  el  vous  serez  plus  malheureux." 

■yALEElE. 

Hubert  remained  a  few  days  at  the  Priory,  as 
'orest  Hill  was  still  in  solitary  state  ;  and  seeing 
)onstance,  which  he  now  did  for  the  first  time,  as 
n  inmate  of  the  same  house,  he  was  more  in  love 
vith  her  than  ever ;  and  as  he  made  no  secret  of 
his,  there  can  be  no  treachery  in  telling  it. 

Constance,  perhaps,  less  demonstrative,  or  from 
Ki'ulenly  reserve  more  silent,  did  not  echo  him  on 
ills  subject ;  so  we  must  remain  in  doubt  whether 
•  !■  love  still  kept  pace  with  his. 

Shortly  after  Hubert's  departure,  her  mother 
injiosed  that  she  should  avail  herself  of  Doctor 

(I  lions  escort  to  town,  and  visit  her  aunt,  Lady 
^  iielair,  who  had  repeatedly  m-ged  it;  and  for 
lie  first  time,  Constance  consented  to  leave  home 


"It  will  be  only  a  fortnight's  absence,"  she 
;  lid  ;  "  and  during  that  time  it  will  be  odd  indeed 
t  we  do  not  drive  to  Hampstead  Heath — is  it  not 
:n.  mamma  .'"     A  smile  and  a  kiss  were  the  reply. 

At  Lady  Sinclair's  she  was,  therefore,  safely 

■  r  ;  and  found  no  diiEculty  in  gaining  her  assent 

hive  in  the  desired  direction.     Her  aunt  had 

lys  blamed  the  Colonel  for  forcing  Helen  to 

lud  extreme.     She  observed,   that   it   was   bad 

linough  lor  the  match  to  be  broken  off  Avith  Mr. 

'irVest — but  that  was  inevitable  ;  and  Helen's  sub- 

lussion,  in  this  case,  her   Ladyship   contended, 

liight  to  have  secured  her  from  any  persecution 

I  rising  from  other  offers. 

A  little  note  apprised  Helen  of  the  guests  she 
might  ex.pect,  and,  punctual  to  the  hour  named, 
they  arrived. 

(  onstance,  who  had  resolved  to  be  so  calm  and 
inllcctcd,  could  scarcely  repress  a  scream  when 
-lie  saw  this  beloved  sister  smiling  in  the  little 
[wrch ;  and  was  astonished,  as  she  looked  up 
[through  her  tears,  to  hear  Helen's  gentle  voice 
imurmur,  "  Dear"  Constance,  dear  sister,  you  are 
[Overcome— lean  on  me." 

i    The  contrast  from  what  she  had  pictured  to  her- 
self, in  which  she  was  to  act  the  heroine,  was  so 
9 


great,  that  she  was  roused  to  exertion,  ami  smil- 
ing, in  her  turn  she  exclaimed, 

"  So,  this  is  the  result  of  my  bravery  and  self- 
control!"  and  she  looked  lovinglj'  at  Helen,  wliom 
she  kissed  and  fondled  as  if  she  had  been  a  liLtlo 
child. 

"How  delightful  this  is,"  said  Helen;  "how 
kind,  how  very  kind  of  aunt  Laura  to  leave  iis  to- 
gether. Constance,  how  you  have  grown— and 
dear  mamma,  tell  me  all." 

These,  and  a  thousand  questions  and  remarks, 
were  poured  forth  by  both,  during  their  first  mo- 
ments of  meeting ;  "for  those  who  love  and  have 
1  been  long  p.arted,  .seem  scarcely  to  know  how  to 
make  the  most  of  their  happy  re-union. 

But  when  this  effervescence  of  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  had  subsided,  Constance  had  time  to  look 
about  her,  to  look  at  Helen ;  and  to  see  every- 
where, and  especially  in  her  loved  face,  tokens  of 
comfort  and  contentment.  She  then  undei'stood 
how  it  was  that  her  mother  had  brought  away 
such  a  treasure  of  peace,  collected  during  her 
hasty  visit. 

"  And  (iretchen,  I  scarcely  saw  her  in  my  de- 
light at  h.aving  you  once  more  in  my  arms ;"  and 
forthwith  .Madame  Stopsel  was  sunnnoued,  to  be 
thanked  and  chatted  with,  and  to  feast  her  affec- 
tionate eyes  on  her  two  nurslings,  seated,  with 
beaming  faces,  side  by  side.  "  Has  she  not  gro-.vn, 
Gretchen  .'"  said  Helen.     "  Stand  up,  Constance."' 

"  (Jrown !  du  Ilimmel !  she  has  grown  the  love- 
liest thing  I  ever  saw." 

"  Oh !  fye,  Gretchen !  I  shall  certainly  be 
jealous." 

"  No  need,"  was  the  cheerful  retort ;  "  Mr.  Reg- 
inald will  soon  set  that  to  rights,  and  supply  my 
deficiency —but,  sure  .Miss  Constance  will  stay  and 
sleep  here,  and  see  him." 

'•  Ah !  Constance,  if  you  could  but  do  that — if 
aunt  Laura  could  send  for  you  to-morrow."' 

"  I  never  ventured  to  hope  for  such  a  pleasure, 
but  now  you  have  reminded  me  of  it,  we  will  try 
our  united  eloquence." 

And  when  Lady  Sinclair  returned  from  her 
visit  to  the  Westroughs,  she  was  so  assailed  that 
it  was  impossible  to  refuse ;  and  Constance,  half- 
wild  at  this  prolongation  of  her  furlough,  tlew 
about  the  cottage,  looking  into  the  very  kitchen, 
and  astonisliing  the  staiil  (Jcrman  servant  with 
her  volubility  and  fluency  in  her  own  language. 

But  here  is  Reginald,  and  oh !  unexpected  joy, 
Ashley — and  while  (.'onstance  rushed  into  the 
arms  of  her  brother-in-law,  and  received  his  first 
kiss  of  welcome,  Ashley  happily  had  time  to  take 
breath— thougli  his  voice  shook,  and  he  was  very 
pale,  as  he  took  her  extended  hands,  and  muttered 
;  over  them  some  unheard  inquiry. 

Constance  had  not  seen  either  of  them  for  a  long 
'  time — lieginald,  not  since  he  departeil   for  .his 
I  Scotch  tour;  nor  Ashley, since  he  so  abruptly  left 
I  her  at   the  Priory,  during   the  absence   of   his 
family  ;  and  when  the  first  tumult  of  feeling  h.ad 
calmed  down,  how  difficult  it  was  to  keep  up  a 
connecteil    conversation— lor   memory    was    \i\iny 
with  all  of  them— and  loaded  with  filestores  wiiich 
I  had  accumulated  during  this  long  sepuration,  they 
;  were  poured  forth  with  a  prodigality  and  abun- 
dance wliich  made  silence  almost  a  pleasure,     it 
'  was  ti-uly  riinbarrns  ties  ric/irssi-s. 
i      Ashley  was,  perhaps,  the  one  most  conscious  of 


130 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


this  tendency  to  ponder  rather  than  to  converse ; 
for  he  made  the  most  vigorous,  and  at  length  suc- 
cessful, efforts  to  free  himself  from  this  dreamy 
influence,  when  his  sudden  eagerness  to  learn  par- 
ticular news  of  all  wlio  were  at  8eabrooke  drew 
on  him  the  playful  indignation  of  Constance — who 
a.«surcd  him  that  there  was  not  one  of  his  old 
friends  who  did  not  feel  hurt  at  the  indifference 
his  self-banishment  implied.  She  especially  sub- 
mitted whether,  in  her  case,  there  was  not  a 
marked  avoidance,  since  the  only  visit  he  had 
made  was  during  her  absence.  Nor  would  her 
justly-excited  wrath  be  appeased  till  he  promised 
to  take  the  first  opportunity  of  disproving  all  her 
allegations.  "  And,  mamma."  she  continued,  "to 
whom  you  vowed  fealty  —  oh !  you  faithless 
knight,  to  leave  us  all  deserted." 

"  This  is  too  bad  of  you,  Constance,"  said  Regi- 
nald, coming  to  the  rescue  of  his  friend,  for  Ash- 
Icy  was  uncommonly  tired  and  out  of  spirits  ; 
"  why,  he  left  an  excellent  deputy  in  Victor  Mor- 
ton, who  seems  to  h.ave  been  at  the  Priory  perpet- 
ually, when  he  could  escape  from  the  Hermitage." 

"  Yes ;  a  deputy  something  like  his  principal, 
especially  latterly,  who  started  for  the  Priory  and 
always  stopped  at  the  Picctory." 

"  Now,  1  will  punish  your  duplicity.  There  -was 
the  handsome  Hubert  Forrester — did  he  also  stop 
at  the  Rectory }" 

She  colored  crimson ;  but,  happily,  Helen  re- 
membered she  wished  to  know  about  Minnie  Dal- 
l.'is,  of  whom  her  mother  had  made  mention  as 
their  frequent  guest. 

Asliley  left  early,  and  declined  the  invitation 
t<j  breakfast  the  next  morning  on  the  plea  of  busi- 
ni.tis;  but  he  made  lleginald  imder.stand,  when 
th;'y  parted  in  the  garden,  that,  as  Constance  was 
limited  to  time,  Helen  might  prefer  having  her 
society  more  entirely  to  herself. 

But  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  return  to  town  after 
he  left  the  little  party ;  he  walked  rapidly  for 
more  than  an  hour  on  the  broad  road  at  the  top 
of  the  heath,  severely  examining  himself,  and 
unsparingly  taking  himself  to  task.  Was  this  the 
result  of  his  many  months  of  self-denial  ?  What ! 
had  li*  refused  himself  the  pleasure  of  joining  his 
own  loved  family  circle— had  he  condemned  him- 
self to  such  severe  and  unremitting  mental  occu- 
paticm  as  began  almost  to  affect  his  health— and 
was  iliis  his  recompense — this  liis  success .' 

Was  the  first  glance  at  that  lovely  face,  the 
first  sound  of  that  musical  voice,  to  show  him  that 
his  struggles,  his  resolution,  were  all  in  vain.' 
Was  the  enchantress  to  come,  and  with  a  touch  of 
her  hand  cause  his  shield  to  melt  away  and  his 
armor  to  become  useless  .' 

Ashley  loved  Constance — passionately,  hopeless- 
ly lovcil  her— loved  her  with  the  romantic  ten- 
derjiess  of  a  poetic  temperament — with  the  en- 
during intensity  of  a  faithful,  .affectionate  heart; 
he  had  loved  licr  childish  beauty  and  grace,  her 
girlish  tokens  of  intellectual  superiority,  her 
Ijravo  truthfulness  of  character  ;  and  as  her  early 
j)romi.se  of  --are  excellence  was  fulfilled,  so  did  his 
love  steadily  increase  and  deepen. 

They  liad  been  parted  by  sad  circumstances, 
and  fvs  Ashley  became  aware  of  his  affection  its 
f<ily  and  hopelessness,  they  had  been  kept  asun- 
der bj'  his  own  stern  determination  to  strive 
against  a  passion  which  her  splendid  prospects 


rendered  absurd,  and  which  her  subsequent  en- 
gagement to  Hubert  made  desperate,  and  its  indul- 
gence little  better  than  insanity. 

Unexpectedly  they  now  met ;  a  year  has  more 
than  realized  all  he  foresaw — ah !  much  more 
than  all;  for  though,  with  lover-like  credulity, 
he  had  prophesied  that  time  would  mature  and 
strengthen  her  mental  powers,  he  had  thought  it 
impossible  for  her  loveliness  to  grow  more  extra- 
ordinary. Yet  there  she  had  sat  before  him,  her 
old,  sweet,  playful  expression  chased  away  bj'  a 
look  of  such  deep  feeling  ;  and  now  again  the  smile 
returns,  to  yield  to  the  grave  intelligence  wdiich 
looks  out  from  her  eyes,  and  gives  dignity  and  ad- 
ditional beauty  to  every  feature.  And,  as  he 
gazed,  "  Constance,  Constance,  oh,  how  I  love 
thee !"'  was  the  simple,  earnest  language  of  his 
rebellious  but  worshiping  heart. 

"  But  I  will  no  longer  submit  to  this  ;  I  will  no 
longer  deprive   myself  of  intercourse  vrith   i :;■ 
own  family.     Why  should  I,  since  the  objeci   . 
this  sacrifice  is  not  gained.'     1  will  see  tlam 
will  see  her,  and  no  longer  tremble  in  LerprcM  n  •■ 
when  with  her,  nor  dread  it  when  away.     Abive 
all,  I  will  see  the7)i  together  ;  and  though  it  will  lie 
torture,  I  must.  I  will  endure  it.     Yes.  I  will  sif 
them  together  ;  I  Avill  see  her  happiness,  and-  hi,- 
also.     I  will  try  and  find  him  worthy  of  this  tre:i  • 
ure  :  and  if  so,  God  give  me  strength  to  bear  i 
part  in  silence,  and  With  calmness  !     IwillniK 
lay,  but  go  at  once."     And,  as  if  he  medic,     . 
walking  there  forthwith,  he  set  off  toward  town  at 
a  pace  which  few  could  have  overtaken  without 
running. 

Constance,  the  next  morning,  amused  her  broth- 
er and  sister  with  her  account  of  the  ignominious 
exit  of  the  intruders  at  Hurstwood — that  of  the 
boy,  she  said,  Dawson  had  told  her,  when  tl 
I  sat  together  the  night  of  Mrs.  Templeton"s 
sence  :  and  they  all  laughed  heartily  at  the  sai. . 
fruid  with  which  they  fancied  Cecilia  had  g.mi 
,  through  this. 

She  also  told  them  of  her  performance  whih 
keeping  watch;  but  here  Ecgin.ald  interru]i:i' 
her,  and  charged  her  very  earnestly  to  be  cai\lul 
if  she  or  her  mother  had  reason  to  fear  treachei  y 
he  informed  her  that  Cooper  and  his  relatives  wc . 
held  in  the  utmost  disrespect  by  the  villagers  <sv]\ 
erally,  who  were  quite  justified  in  entertaining 
this  feeling;  and  that  Mr.  Morton  strongly  m;- 
pected  Cooper  of  having  .some  deep  design  in  .il 
the  acts  of  mismanagement  to  which  he  advice 
her  father ;  and,  above  all,  he  strongly  recommend 
ed  that,  if  Ruth's  conduct  seemed  doubtful,  she 
her  mother,  and  Dawson  should  compare  notes,  anc 
dismiss  her  summarily  if  all  did  not  seem  clear. 

"  You  have  no  idea,  Constance,"  was  his  con 
eluding  remark,  "  of  the  dreadful  mischief  whicl 
may  arise  should  this  girl  be — as  from  your  ac 
count  I  think  very  likely — in  league  with  thi 
Coopers." 

To  all  this  she  promised  to  pay  attention. 

Though  the  Forresters  were  in  town  during  thi 
whole  time  that  Constance  remained  with  Ladj 
Sinclair,  and  though  Hubert  was  almost  a  dail^ 
and  welcome  guest  at  Sir  Archibalds,  the  senion 
kept  very  much  aloof,  on  the  plea  that  Mrs.  For- 
rester was  not  quite  well  enough  to  pay  and  receive 
visits. 

Whether  Constance  noticed  this  is  not  known 


THE   WIFK'S    TRIALS. 


131 


as  neither  by  -word  nor  manner  did  she  give  any 
imliciition  of  being  cither  hurt  or  disappointed. 
Not  so  quiescent  was  her  aunt. 

"  This  is  rather  odd  behavior  of  the  Forresters," 
she  remarked,  to  Laurette;  "they  have  called 
here  only  once,  have  declined  an  invitation  to  din- 
ner, ani  never  expressed  the  most  distant  wis^h 
tliat  Constance  should  sjiend  a  few  »hys  with  them ; 
not  that  I  wish  it ;  she  is  a  sweet  girl,  and,  I  hope, 
enjoys  herself  here  more  than  she  could  with  them, 
iu  tlieir  hum-drum  way ;  only,  I  repeat,  that  it 
is  very  odd ;  especially  as  Mrs.  Forrester  has  made 
such  a  point  of  your  visit  to  Forest  Hill  when  they 
return." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  understand  it  all  much 
better  if  you  had  been  behind  the  scenes,  as  I 
have  been,  both  at  the  Priory  and  at  Forest  Hill. 
Mamma,  I  am  sure  they  do  not  like  this  match." 

"  Not  like  it !"  exclaimed  her  mother,  looking 
both  angry  and  astonished  ;  "  and  why  not  .' 
where  can  they  expect  to  find  any  thing  bettei' 
—at  least  for  them.'  The  Templetons,  if  not 
originally  so  rich,  are  quite  as  respectable  as  the 
Forresters;  here  is  a  splendid  fortune,  for  I  sup- 
pose Constance  will  have  almost  all  the  Sea- 
brooke  property  ;  and  to  my  mind,"'  pursued  her 
Ladysliip,  proudly  drawing  herself  up,  "  she  is 
one  of  tlie  most  beautiful  and  accomplished  girls 
in  England." 

Laurette  had  a  tart  reply  at  hand,  but  she 
prudently  saved  it  for  another  occasion  and  an- 
other hearer,  so  she  said  quietly  : 

"  Mrs.  Forrester  never  forgets  Helen's  mar- 
riage"— but  she  did  not  say  she  took  very  good 
care  to  prevent  this  obliviousness — "  and  in  ad- 
dition to  former  indifference,  my  uncle  Lionel 
has  grievously  offended  Mr.  Forrester  by  this 
foolisti  election  business." 

"  I  grant  that  is  an  annoyance,"  replied  Lady 
Sinclair ;  "  only  as  he  permits  the  engagement 
to  continue,  it  would  show  the  good  politician  to 
ilo  so  graciously."  After  a  pause  she  asked, 
'•  Do  you  think  Hubert  is  very  much  in  love :" 

"I  believe  be  fancies  that  he  is,"  was  the  re- 
ply, with  a  scornful  laugh  ;  for  it  was  with  a 
jealous  pang  she  was  forced  to  admit  even  this. 

■'1  tliouglit  so,"  said  her  mother;  "there  is 
imt  enough  depth  of  character  in  him  for  any 
thing  strong  or  enthusiastic.  I  suspect  that  the 
last  speaker  is  his  oracle,  and  the  last  pretty  face 
his  idol." 

Lady  Sinclair's  judgment  here  was  correct ; 
and  tlioiigh  Laurette  liked  but  little  in  a  speech 
wiiich  retiected  so  severely  on  one  who  was  her 
divinity,  she  could  not  deny  that  her  motlier  was 
right.  But  this  very  weakness  in  her  Apollo  was 
to  he  her  assurance  and  means  of  success  ;  could 
.■•he  contrive  to  be  often  the  last  speaker,  could 
hers  become  frequently  the  last  fair  face,  slie 
thought  she  might  triumph;  and  hence  tlie  per- 
tinacity with  wliich  she  contrived  to  be  so  much 
domesticated  in  the  same  house. 

She  forgot  that,  to   Hubert,  hers  never  had 
been  a  fair  face.     Though  the  clever  and  the  in-  ' 
tellectual   might    see    much    to    admire   in    her 
speaking   black    eyes,  in   her    flexible    features;  ' 
and   truly  as  they  could   appreciate   her    culii-  j 
Tated    and    richly-stored    mind— this  to   Hubert 
Was    not   beauty — he   could   not  uu'lerstand   it,  | 
Talue   it,   or  sympathize  with  it.     His  gay  and  , 


thoughtless  nnturo  could  not  comprehend  her 
cutting  irony,  her  hliarp  ami  caustic  wit — lii-,  s>i- 
jjcrticial  observation  was  rather  startled  tlnm 
pleased  at  her  piquiint  remarks,  her  satir'cal  an- 
jilysis,  her  merciless  dissection  of  charnclcr,  while 
her  undoubted  superiority  of  intellect  frequently 
only  wearied  or  oppressed  him. 

Had  she  been  a  very  httle  prettier,  ami  a 
great  deal  less  talented,  Laurette  might  Ikivc 
W(.n  him  with  ease,  and  wouhl  most  likely  have 
found  that  her  faitli  in  tlie  power  of  propinquity 
was  not  misplaced.  But  as  it  was— well— she 
was  still  hopeful,  still  patient,  in  spite  of  tho 
French  sneer  at  the  last  quality,  "  la  jmtitncr ; 
c'est  la  vertii  dcs  uncs ;"  still  it  is  sometiiing  to 
admit  that  it  is  a  virtue;  and  as  a  proof  tlmt 
Laurette  posses.sed  it,  she  resolved  again  to  es- 
tablish herself  at  Forest  Hill,  in  defiance  of  what 
her  mother,  witfi  more  frankness  than  ])olite- 
ness,  termed  the  humdrummery  of  the  old  peo- 
ple— an  opinion  in  whicii  Hubert  seemed  fully  to 
concur,  who,  finding  the  society  at  home  more 
dull  than  usual,  and  his  father's  feelings  still 
ruffled  by  the  recent  behavior  of  the  Colonel, 
.availed  himself  freely  of  a  general  invitation  to 
the  Sinclairs,  where,  besides  the  attraction  of 
Constance,  there  was  always  some  amusement 
either  going  on  or  being  devised. 

Lady  Sinclair,  who  was  kindly  desirous  to 
vary  what  she  knew  was  rather  a  monoti»niais 
life  to  Constance  when  at  home,  determined 
that  this  short  visit  should  include  as  much 
jileasure  to  her  as  the  season  afl'orded  ;  and  as 
she  and  Sir  Archibald  readily  collected  round 
them  society  of  the  best  kind,  .she  fully  succeeded 
in  rendering  this  absence  from  home,  whicli  was 
prolonged  to  three  weeks,  one  of  the  golden  eras 
iu  her  niece's  existence. 

Here,  for  the  first  time,  she  beheld  Hubert 
among  those  who  were  distinguished  as  scholars 
and  men  of  literature  and  science.  Without  de- 
liberately contrasting  him  with  these  recognized 
leaders  of  intellect,  she  could  not  help  remark) ni^ 
ills  inferiority— his  want  of  information,  talon:, 
and  taste;  and  without  attempting  to  account 
for  this,  slie  decided  that  here  lie  was  not  in  his 
proper  sphere;  that  the  gay  vision  which  at  tlie 
i'riory  she  daily  expected  with  impatience,  was 
not  suited  to  a  London  converzatiunc  ;  yes,  tli:.t 
w.is  the  reason,  the  deficiency  must  be  caused  "ny 
place  alone,  for  Hubert  must  be  still  the  same ; 
and  so  he  was.  He  was  gay,  amiable,  kind  ; 
ever  ready  for  pleasure;  fluent  and  amusing 
about  trifles;  skimnung  all  that  was  elegani, 
and  using  it  adroitly — but  silent,  wearied,  boieii 
when  any  mental  labor  was  necessary. 

Still,  tliis  might  not  have  been  so  evident,  or 
have  made  any  permanent  impression,  liad  not 
Laurette  given  it  importance  by  her  invidious 
remarks.  And  thougli  she  almost  hated  herseii' 
for  speaking  in  disparagement  of  one  she  j>:ia- 
sionately  loved,  she  yet  determined  not  to  lu^c 
this  opportunity  of  enlightening  Constance. 

"  Mr.  Fergus  is,  doubtless,  a  very  clever 
man,"  she  remarked  to  her  one  morning,  "  l>ia 
1  own  he  is  quite  beyond  mc  ;  aipl  re.illy  my 
head  aches  only  to  think  of  the  load  liis  has  to 
carry." 

"  Uh  !"  said  Constance,  "  I  have  scarcely  ever 
been  so  deeply  iuterested  in  uny  one's  couversa- 


132  THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 

tion  and  descriptions,  and  I  quite  long  for  to-  1  attend-next  she  hinted,  the  wedding  parties  at 
morrow,  when  we  are  to  go  and  see  the  beautilul  both  H.U  and  Pnory-then,  with  a  knowing  nod, 
and  cuHous  collection  he  has  i.K.le.  He  has  the  chr.stemng  at  Hurs  wood  and,  perhaps,  a 
kindly  promised  me  some  engravings  of  the  mar-  lew  strays  and  waits  which  those  resolved  on 
bles  he  has  brought  home." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  1  perceived  that  he  was  wooing  you 
through  vour  love  of  beauty,  and  it  was  equally 
evident  tliat  he  ranked  Hubert  and  me  among  the 
dunces." 

'•  Hubert  has  no  tasto  for  antiques,"  said  ton- 
stance,  rather  ve.\ed  at  this  remark 

'•  To  say  tlie  truth,"  replie  I  Laurette,  "  1 
think  that  last  niglit  he  seemed  to  have  very 
little  taste  .for  any  thing  but  our  projected  g.y 
party  to  Richmond.  He  appeared  quite  ready 
to  excuse  liimself  from  joining  us  at  Lord  Lat- 
imer's to-day— though  his  Lordship  has  one  of 
tlie  finest  private  collections  of  pictures  in  the 
kingdom;  1  suppose,  during  his  intimacy  with 
the  St.  Angelo  family,  he  had  a  surfeit  of  the 
line  arts. ' 

Constance  had  often  been  on  the  point  of 
naming  this  family  to  Hubert  and  asking  about 
tiieiu— but  some  feeling  she  did  not  well  under- 
stand had  always  prevented  her— and  now  she 
felt  particularly  annoyed  when  Laurette  pro- 
ceeded to  ask,  ■•  Did  Hubert  ever  speak  of  them 
to  you  .'"  and  she  was  obliged  to  reply,  "  No." 

'•  Well,  that  is  odd,  so  intimate  as  they  were  ; 
ho\vf:Vor..  as  Hubert  has  his  secrets,  it  is  not  wise 
for  fneiids  to  pry  and  guess"— and  she  saun- 
tered away  to  dress— leaving  her  words  to  be 
remembered  or  forgotten,  as  the  case  might  be. 


amusement  would  be  sure  to  pick  up  from  all  this 
gayety. 

•'  Ada  is  wild  to  be  introduced,"  she  said  one 
day  to  Laurette,  when  they  had  been  talking  over 
probabilities ;  "  but  Sir  William  thinks  she  is  too 
young." 

"  And  so  she  is,"  said  Laurette,  remorselessly 
destroying  all  hope  of  help  from  her  opinion  ;  "  it 
is  bad  policy  to  bring  girls  out  too  early — I  was 
uineieen  before  I  was  presented." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  sighed  Lady  Dallas, 
who  longed  to  indulge  her  daughter;  "so  she 
must  give  up  the  idea — only  I  hope  there  is  no 
harm  in  her  occasionally  joining  a  quiet  little 
party." 

"  That  depends  on  what  the  quiet  little  party 
Is  composed  of,"  replied  the  referee  ;  for  she  folt 
that  Ada,  though  only  a  pretty  girl,  shy  and 
timid,  might   be   dangerous   to   such   a   flirt   aa 

Hubert,  and  tempt  him  from  his  allegiance  to 

her   cousin — not   to  mention   any  diminution  it 
might  make  in  her  own  chances. 

'•So  says  her  papa;  but  next  year  she  shall 
put  away  governess  and  pinafore,  and  see  what 
life  is,  before  she  settles  as  an  engaged  youn;j; 
lady,  or,  perhaps,  a  wife." 

"  I  wish  you  would  ride  over  to  Hargravos  with 
me,"  said  Hubert  to  his  father,  about  a  week  after 
they  had  all  arrived  ;  "  I  want  to  see  what  they 
are  doing  there." 

"  Willingly,"  replied  Mr.  Forrester,  who  knew 
very  well  that  they  were  doing  nothing  there,  but 
who  gladly  seized  this  opportunitj-  of  having  some 
conversation  with  his  son  regarding  his  own  vii  ^n 
and  wishes— a  conversation  which  something  h  . 
made  him  shrink  from  attempting  at  home,  a 
that  same  something  very  significantly  warned 
him  that  Hubert  would  most  likely  start  off  at 
the  opening. 

"  Your  mother  and  myself  have  been  lati ' 
talking  of  the  situation  in  which  we  find  oursclv 
placed  with  regard  to  the  Priory,  and,  to  be  ca. 
did,  we  find  it  rather  embarrassing." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  that,"  replied  IIubiM 
much  to  his  father's  amazement,  adding,  "  to  hk. 
it  is  very  annoying." 

"  That  is  precisely  the  term  I  should  have 
used,"  rather  hastily  interrupted  Mr.  Forrester, 
'•  only  I  wished  to  avoid  any  thing  that  might 
needlessly  hurt  your  feelings." 

■"Thank  you.  dear  father,  for  being  so  con- 
siderate— and  this  encourages  nie  to  proceed— 
for,  I  assure  you,  I  never  go  there  now  without, 
in  my  own  mind,  reverting  to  the  foolish  way  in 
which  the  Colonel  suffered  "liirasidf  to  be  so  ill-ad- 
vised, and  wishing  the  awkwardness  removed  by 
my  immoliato  marriage  with  Constance." 

"  (jood  heavens!  Hubert,  how  I  have  misun- 
derstood you.  1  was  in  hopes  that,  upon  mature 
reflection,  you  fully  entered  into  my  feelings  with 
regard  to  this  deliberate  insult,  for  suchi  con- 
sider it,  and  would  .so  far  sympathize  with  mo 
siim  of  gaycties  and  festivities  looming,  to  borrow  and  your  mother  as  to  see  the  propriety,  indeed, 
a  popul.ir  piii-ase,  in  the  distance.  First,  as  she  j  the  necessity,  of  withdrawing  from  your  engage- 
remarked  to  one  of  her  frien<ls,  the  election  ball,  mont  there  " 
that  would  be  given  directly  Mr.  Forrester  could  |      "  Withdraw  !"  broke  in  IlubtJrt,  '•  what !  when 


CHAPTER   LVI. 


"  WtTe'l  not  aff.'Clion  eh.iins  thy  tender  days 
T.i  the  8W-  et  lihinois  of  lliy  lionorM  love, 
1  rather  wi>uid  eiilreiit  lliy  Ciiiipatn, 
To  SL-e  the  woiuiura  of  llio  world  abroa<l." 

SU.VKSPKAKB. 

U.vLiMiTF.D  powers  had  been  given  to  Mr. 
Forrester's  bailiff,  with  regard  to  feasting  his 
tenantry  and  voters  who  liked  to  avail  them- 
selves of  beef,  pudding,  and  malt  liquor;  but 
Lady  Dallas  wore  a  disappointed  look,  for  she, 
and  all  who  had  fully  counted  on  it,  were  de- 
frauded of  tlie  ball,  without  which  no  election,  in 
the  memory  '■  of  the  oldest,  inhabitant,"  liad  ever 
terminated.  Sir  William  was  as  ready  as  ever  to 
indulge  lier  in  tliis  harmless  pleasure,  but  in  the 
first  i)lace  Mrs.  Foirester  was  far  too  poorly  ei- 
tiier  in  niin«l  or  body  to  attend  ;  and  next,  there 
was  a  little  ditUculty,  nntil  it  was  clear  how  this 
jU-advised  opposition  w<mld  affect  the  relative 
circumstances  of  tlie  two  rival  lainilies.  "  A 
plague  on  botli  y<nir  houses!'  was  her  Ladyship's 
ejaculation  wlienever  visions  of  dress  and  ball- 
room rosj  before  her. 

But  Hubert's  conduct  quickly  reassured  and 
comforted  her— the  ball  need  only  be  postponed  ; 
and  her  imagination  relieved  from  this  pressure 
once  more  ran  rather  riot,  and  boheld  a  succes- 


THE   WIFE'S  TIIIALS. 


133 


we  are  engaged,  pledged,  plighted  to  each  other— 
and  because  of  a  paltry  electioneering  squabble ! 
you  surprise  me,  sir." 

"  Not  half  so  much  as  you  do  me,  to  call  an 
affront  offered  to  us  a  petty  squabble.  I  sliould 
have  thought  my  son  knew  too  well  what  is  due 
to  a  Forrester  of  Forest  Hill,  to  hav«  spoken  so 
lightly." 

"  But  I  must  be  pardoned  for  asking  in  my 
turn,  what  notions  of  honor  a  Forrester  must 
liave,  wlio,  for  such  a  cause,  would  expect  his  son 
to  break  his  promise,  to  forfeit  his  word,  and 
that,  too,  to  one  he  loves  ?  I  thought,  sir,  we  had 
sufficiently  discusse<l  this  during  our  interview. 
Boon  after  my  return  ;  and  I  repeat  now,  as  then, 
that  nothing  shall  induce  me  to  give  up  Con- 
stance.    I  love  her  every  day  more  and  more." 

"  I  regret  exceedingly,"  replied  his  father, 
overcome  by  Hubert's  impetuosity,  and  yielding 
when  the  latter  insisted  so  strongly,  "  that  on  an 
occasion  such  as  this  we  should  have  any  differ- 
ence of  opinion.  You  know  that  from  the  first  it 
was  with  reluctance  I  consented  to  this  match.  1 
never  did,  I  never  can,  like  Colonel  Templeton ; 
toward  (.onstauce  I  can  not  possibly  have  any  ob- 
jection, though  I  may  have  wished  your  choice 
had  fallen  elsewhere — but  I  assure  you,  Hubert, 
that  this  recent  proceeding  of  her'father's  has 
increased  ten-fold  every  motive  for  dislike  which 
^your  mother  and  I  have  ever  entertained — and, 
'in  my  opinion,  fully  justifies  me  in  desiring  that 
further  intercourse  with  his  family  should  cease 
— his  conduct  releases  us  from  all  engagement — 
but  of  course,  if  you  insist  on  his  daughter's 
being  introduced  to  our  family,  we  submit — but  I 
feel  bound  to  say  she  will  not  be  cordially  wel- 
comed." 

Beautiful  Constance  !  has  it  then  come  to  this? 
thou  with  thy  wealth  of- loveliness,  thou  so  richly 
dowered  with  intellect,  with  a  loving  heart,  with 
thy  true  and  noble  nature  !  and  so  thou  art  not 
to  be  cordially  welcomed  ! 

Something  of  this,  perhaps,  Hubert  felt — for  he 
turned  his  handsome  face,  glowing  with  indigna- 
tion and  love,  to  his  father ;  but  happily  recol- 
lecting that  it  was  his  father,  he  rode  on  in 
silence.  j 

After  this  had  continued  some  time,  Mr.  For-  , 
Tester  said,  with  rather  a  hesitating  manner, 
"  As  this  subject  seems  ever  to  herald  something 
unpleasant  and  painful,  let  me  say  now,  that  if  1 
forbear  urging  any  further  objections,  it  is  on  the 
express  condition  that  you  complete  your  stipu- 
lated term  of  absence — indeed,  wliether  you  do  or 
not,  I  could  not  permit  the  marriage  at  once  to 
take  place,  as  Hargraves  is  almost  in  the  same 
state  as  when  you  left  I  have,  hitherto,  clung 
to  the  hope  that  it  would  never  be  needed  for  this 
purpose." 

"  1  then  only  leave  on  the  understanding  that 
Hargraves  shall  be  immediately  seen  after,  and 
that,  from  time  to  time,  a  statement  of  progress 
be  forwarded  to  me ;  and  this  very  day,  as  you 
and  my  mother  persist  in  your  singular  avoidance 
of  the  Priory — which  to  Constance  and  her  mother 
must  be  very  unpleasant — I  shall  speak  to  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Templeton.  as  well  as  explain  to  (Jon- 
stance  pretty  frankly  how  matters  stand,  of 
course  not  affronting  her  by  a  repetition  of  the 
whole  of  your  conversation." 


I  And  in  no  very  peaceable  mood  did  the  two, 
,  abandoning  the  useless  examination  of  Hargraves, 
I  separate— Mr.  Forrester  to  .seek  the  svnipatliy  of 
!  his  wife,  and  Hubert  riding  to  the  I'Viory,  when 
:  he  explained  to  the  Colonel'the  state  of  liis  future 
abode,  and  his  father's  wish  that  he  should  delay 
I  his  marriage  till  he  could  conduct  his  bride 
home. 

I  Colonel  Templeton  laughingly  told  him,  "  That 
I  delay  as  he  might,  he  would  still  hav  time  to 
repent  when  fairly  tied  ;"  and  added,  '•  You  must 
not  expect  me  to  hurry  the  bricklayers  and  car- 
penters, lor  what  we  shall  do  without  Constance 
1  do  not  know;"'  and  feeling  secretly  much  re- 
lieved that  "  that  confounded  election  blunder" 
had  not  produced  a  serious  quarrel,  he  wa.s  more 
than  u.sually  gracious  with  Hubert  and  the  rest 
of  his  family  when  they  met  at  dinner. 

Mrs.  Templeton,  hearing  tliat  Mr.  Forrester 
still  wished  Hubert  to  see  a  little  more  of  life, 
strongly  seconded  his  intentions  ;  but  she  recom- 
mended that  he  should  not  remain  permanentlv 
in  one  place,  but  avail  himself  more  of  his  excel- 
lent introducticns  than  he  had  done  during  his 
previous  absence.  She  remarked  that  lie  and 
Victor,  when  in  Germany,  some  time  ago,. had 
done  little  more  than  pay  a  hasty  homage  to  its 
attractions,  and  said  he  ought  now  to  examine 
more  at  leisure  the  beauties  of  both  nature  and 
art ;  and  she  added,  "  that  delay  would  have  been 
her  own  proposition,  even  had  it  not  emanated 
from  his  father." 

Bathed  in  this,  quarter,  he  sought  Constance, 
hoping  that  she  would  listen  to  his  murmurs; 
but  she  said,  how  delightful  it  must  be  to  see  so 
much  that  was  grand  and  lovely. 

"  But,  Constance,  we  could  see  it  so  much  bet- 
ter together— and  besides,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
do  not  think  1  care  much  for  these  things.  >«ow 
there  was  Morton,  when  we  were  at  Naples,  why. 
he  used  to  go  about  raving  of  the  beauty  of  effects 
— he  would  drag  me  about  to  look  at  the  sea.  one 
day  because  it  was  quiet,  and  the  next  becajise  it 
was  rough.  One  night  it  was  the  stars  that  kept 
me  from  sleeping;  another,  the  moon.  I  must 
wake  early  to  see  the  sun  rise,  and  go  dinnerless 
to  sec  him  set ;  and  then  he  went  poking  and  pry- 
ing about  after  associations  and  facts,  inuigina- 
tions  and  realities,  till  it  was  rather  a  bore." 

"  The  more  reason  you  should  go  and  complete 
your  education."  she  smilingly  replied;  "  for  I 
see  it  has  been  sadly  neglected  :  be.sides.  if  you 
took  me,"  she  added,  gravely,  "you  would  find 
me  quite  as  bad  as  Mr.  Victor— indeed,  1  may  as 
well  say  the  truth,  a  great  deal  worse." 

This,  of  course,  he  gayly  denied  being  possible ; 
but  the  result  was,  that  go  he  must ;  for  Mrs. 
Forrester  had  conununicated  part  of  her  hus- 
band's report  to  Laurette,  who  advised  firmness 
— at  least  as  regarde<l  Hubert's  absence 


CHAI'TKIl    LVII. 

"So  Imly,  and  co  porfeot  ig  my  Ion-, 
And  I'm  siicli  ii  piivrriy  of  prii'-f. 
That  I  shidl  think  it  a.  in<ml  |.1i-ii1.mii«  crop 
To  elenn  Ihe  hroken  cars  afior  lh<-  ni.oi 
That  the  main  )iarv(>«l  rrB|)»."  yiiAKHri:,\RB. 

And  dear  Helen  has  a  little  boy,''  said  Cou 


134 


THE    WIFE'S    TRIALS 


Btance,  as  she  sat  holding  her  mother's  hiiml 
"  .Mamma,  are  you  not  very  grateJ'ul  for  this  joy- 
ful news .'" 

"  Very,  very  grateful  indecfl,  my  love,"  was 
Mrs.  TfrnjiLiton's  energetic  reply.  "  You  shall 
have  this  luiter  from  Mrs.  Lofius,  and  read  it  to 
Caroline,  while  I  tell  our  kiuU  friends  the  good 
news;  so  prepare  for  a  walk  to  the  Hectory." 

"Do  you  know,  dear  mammi,"  said  Constance, 
n.s  tliey  joyfully  pur.sued  their  way  jilong  the 
beautiful  path  which  led  from  tlie  ground  toward 
t.e  church.  "  that  I  have  sometimes  had  a 
thought,  which,  after  all,  is  perijaps  hardly  just ; 
but  I  hive  ihought  the  marke  1  avoidance  of  all 
reference  to  Helen,  which  Mrs.  Forrester  shows, 
is  rather  unkind  Hubert  very  often  inquires, 
but  Laurette  sometimes  annoys  me  also  by  her 
nyiparent  indifference,  so  that  1  never  volunteer 
any  information  to  her;  thorefure  she  can  not 
repeat  much.  I  do  not  like  this  forgetfulness  or 
pointed  omission  And  then  Ln<ly  Dallas  is  al- 
ways so  kind  in  her  inquiries,  that  the  difference 
strikes  me  as  more  remarkable  Have  you  ever 
felt  this?" 

"  I  have,  dear  ;  and  I  have  tried  to  prevent  its 
having  any  influence  on  my  manner  or  feelings. 
1  advise  you  to  do  the  same.  Has  Hubert  fixed 
a  time  for  leaving  home?" 

••I  believe  the  end  of  this  month  ;  he  goes  at 
once  to  Naples." 

"  I  thought  he  purposed  remaining  some  time 
at  ^'cIlice." 

••  He  did  ;  but  Laurette  snya  he  has  some  par- 
ticular friend.s  at  Naples;"  and  as  Constance  said 
this  slie  was  conscious  of  blushing  deeply,  for 
Lame: to  ha<l  not  told  her  this  only,  but  had 
kindly  added,  "  It  I  wei'e  you.  Constance,  I  should 
forbiii  iliis  V  sit  Strange  rumors  have  made 
tliemselvcs  he.ird  about  a  certain  Italian  beauty, 
and  Master  Hubert's  conduct  when  he  was  there 
before  ;"  but  though  Constance  felt  vexed,  it  was 
more,  she  believed,  itt  Laurette's  manner  than  at 
Jier  matter,  lor  she  had  returned  no  answer  to 
lier  insinuations. 

•*  What  a  blessing  it  is  to  iiave  such  friends  as 
tlie  Vernoiis,"  said  .Mi-s.  'I'eiupleton,  as  they  re- 
turned from  the  Rectory,  wiiere  the  thankfulness 
and  congratulations  had  been  so  sincere;  "lan- 
guage fails  to  express  all  they  have  been  to  me. 
And  iiere  is  thatnol>le,  generous  Ashley  insisting 
on  m-iking  my  obligations  hereiiitary.  Sucli 
friends — such  rare  friends  to  me  and  my  children  ! 
God  i-eward  them  for  it !" 

••All,  manmia!"  said  Constance,  "I  think 
Ashley  almost  tiie  grandest  of  human  beings." 

"  1  tiiink  liim  quite,"  replied  her  mother,  ra- 
ther quickly.  But,  wiihout  noticing  this  inter- 
lujiti'in,  Con.stance  went  on: 

"  Vou  should  iiave  seen  Caroline  when  I  read 
that  part,  of  the  letter  in  which  Mrs.  Loftus 
Hpeaks  of  liini — she  made  me  read  it  twice:  and 
bhe  is  so  delighted  that  the  baby  is  to  be  called 
Reginald  Ashley  ;  and  the  tears  actually  sprung 
to  her  eyes  when  she  heard  that  almost  the  first 
words  of  our  darling  Helen,  when  s^e  knew  it 
was  a  boy,  were,  '  Let  me  see  my  little  Reginald 
Ashley.'" 

'•  it  is  so  like  the  grateful,  affectionate  charac- 
ter of  iltden,"  said  her  mother;  "and  so  like 
Mrs.  Loftus  to  notice  and  relate  it." 


"  I  have  been  making  a  little  romance  out  of 
this,"  said  Constance,  after  a  few  minutes'  si- 
lence. "  Suppose  Ashley,  now  he  sees  more  of 
Kate  Loftus,  should  fall  in  love  with  her  " 

"  Oh  !  you  are  not  half  romantic  enough,  child ; 
you  should  fancy  him  falling  in  love  with  Mrs. 
Loftus,  or  even  Gretchen  ;  either  is  as  likely  aa 
your  plan ;"  and  her  tone  was  rather  sharp  as 
she  said  this. 

"Oh,  mamma!"  and  she  laughed;  but  wholly 
insensible  to  the  evident  annoyance  the  subject 
gave  Mrs.  Templeton,  she  continued  :  "  I  have 
often  wondered  that  Ashley  does  not  marry — do, 
not  you  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear,"  was  the  short  reply  ;  and  as 
if  determined  to  banish  the  topic  she  said  :  "  you 
will  not  be  surprised  that  I  wish  to  see  Helen  and 
her  baby,  my  grandson,  you  know,"  and  her 
look  was  now  nearly  bright ;  "  therefore  you  will 
have  to  contrive  for  me  as  before — will  you  ?" 

•'  Oh  !  I  shall  be  delighted  to  help  you  to  se- 
cure this  great  pleasure — shall  you  go  soon  ?" 

"  1  shall  wait  patiently  till  Mrs.  Loftus  sends 
for  me.  Ah,  Constance!  it  is  not  thus  that  the 
son  of  Reginald  and  Helen  should  be  visited  by 
his  grandmother." 

"  True,  dear  mamma  ;  but  if  they  were  in  In- 
dia— " 

"  Right,  my  child !  alwaj-s  remind  me  of  my 
blessings'and  privileges  when  1  sigh  because  they 
are  not  greater  or  more  numerous." 

And  again  did  Mrs.  Templeton,  availing  her- 
self of  the  Colonel's  first  absence,  see  Helen,  and 
again  she  returned,  without  having  excited  any 
suspicion  that  she  had  been  away 

It  was  now  carefully  and  calmly  debated 
whetlier  an  attempt  should  be  made  to  effect  a 
reconciliation.  Helen  was  extremely  anxious 
that  the  birth  of  her  boy  should  be  the  cause  of 
so  desirable  a  result ;  and  on  her  account  her 
husband  yielded;  for  he  had  felt  deeply  wounded 
that  Helen's  entreaties,  accompanied  by  her  own 
avowal,  that  nothing  but  the  extraordinary  cir- 
cumstances in  which  they  were  placed  could  pal- 
liate their  disobedience,  had  received  the  most 
contemptuous  neglect  and  silence. 

Only  to  Ashley  had  Mrs.  Templeton  mentioned 
the  insulting  behavior  of  her  husband  when  the 
marriage  certificate  and  the  joint  letters  arrived  ; 
and  on  Jiearingof  this  violent  token  of  displeasure 
and  rage,  he  counseled  delaj-^  and  further  consid- 
eration. It  was  his  intention,  he  said,  to  spend 
the  next  week  at  Seabrooke,  and  while  there 
they  would  be  able  to  deliberate  and  avail  them- 
selves of  any  circumstance  that  would  seem  fa- 
vorable. 

Yes,  Ashley  was  going  to  Seabrooke;  he  had 
determined  to  see  Constance  and  Hubert  together ; 
after  that,  they  would  be  so  associated  in  his 
memory  that  there  would  be  no  excuse  for  think- 
ing of  her  without  him  ;  there  would  be  no  )iossi- 
bility  of  her  image  presenting  it.^^elf  unaccompa- 
nied by  her  accepted  lover — her  affianced  liu>band ; 
and  tlius  guarded,  Ashley  trusted  tiiat  time  would 
aid  his  own  honorable  and  strong  determination 
to  hide  this  love  in  his  heart,  so  that  none  sliould 
suspect  its'existence  ;  root  it  out,  he  believed,  nay, 
he  w,as  sure,  lie  never  could.  And  tlieii,  if  lie 
felt  certain  that  her  happiness  was  secured,  what 
mattered   it  ?    then    "  let   the  stricken  hart  go 


TiiK  \viff;s  trials. 


ms 


weep ;"  but  in  order  to  pass  through   this  silent  j 
martyrdom  he  must  see  tlieiu  both.  I 

"H.ipf>y,  well,  and  lovely!  so  that  is   Regi- ' 
Hold's  description  of  liis  wife.     I  should  not  won- 
der,   mamma,   if,    after    all,  he    fancies    he    has 
uiarried  perfection."  I 

"  Oh  !  he  has  not  the  least  doubt  of  that,"  re-  | 
plied  Mrs.  Templeton,  "  aud  Helen's  appearance  ! 
so  fully  warranted  his  description,  as  to  leave  me  j 
no  feeling  but  joy  and  gratitude  ;  and  till  I  looked  I 
at  you,  dear  girl,  I  thought  it  impossible  to  see  I 
any  thing  more  beautiful."  I 

"  Oh  !  m  iinmi,"  said  ("onstance,  with  a  grati- 
tieii  blush,  "  and  the  baby  !"  ] 

'•  Like  all  other  line  babies,  if  we  could  be  ra- 
tional enough  to  believe  it — that  the  parents 
should  think  it  a  prodigy  is  nothing  extraordi- 
nary— but,  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Loftus  never  rested 
till  she  made  me  say  it  was  the  sweetest  little 
thing  I  had  ever  seen." 

'•  Ah  !  and  you  thought  so,  you  rational,  philo- 
sophical grandmamma,  I  know,"  said  Coustancc, 
kissing  her  mother's  still  lovely  face,  and  smooth- 
ing her  silky,  dark  hair.  "  It  seems  so  edd  to  be  I 
nn  aunt;  but,  mother,"  and  her  gay  countenance 
was  suddenly  overcast,  "■  about  papa,  was  any 
thing  said .'" 

•'  Much,  and  we  have  decided  on  leaving  every 
thing  till  Ashley  comes — which  he  will  do  next 
week." 

"  Then  all  will  go  well,"  said  Constance,  with 
a  sigh  of  relief;  "  he  will  arrange  it  wisely  and 
ki'.idly — perhaps,"'  she  continued,  thoughtfully, 
••  this  may  do  papa  good — who  knows  .'" 

"  Who  knows,  indeed,  dear  child,"'  replied  her 
mother;  "•  Providence,  though  it  does  condescend 
smnetinies  to  use  human  means,  does  not  work  by 
the  aid  of  giants — its  most  striking  punishments, 
as  well  as  its  most  signal  mercies,  are  generally 
etl'ected  by  agencies  that  seem  the  least  fitted  to 
jiroduce  them  ;  and  to  that  Providence  we  must 
leave  this,  and  all  other  events." 

Ashley  came  as  he  had  promised ;  and  after  the 
joy  occasioned  by  his  arrival  had  a  little  subsi- 
ded, he  was  all  impatience  to  walk  to  the  Priory 
— for  under  his  acquired  calmness  there  lay  an 
impetuosity  which  it  sometimes  required  all  his 
good  sense  to  govern  and  subdue. 

"  Dear  Ashley,  give  me  time  to  bonnet  and  ; 
shawl,"  pleaded  Caroline ;  "  how  eager  you  are  to  ' 
open  your  budget  of  news !" 

•'  Yes,  I  am  very  impatient  to  tell  what  will 
give  so  much  pleasure ;"  but  he  did  not  add, 
'•  and  to  have  an  interview  over  which  will  give 
so  much  pain." 

And  it  was  with  a  pang  which  made  him  feel 
sick  and  dizzy,  that,  on  entering  the  drawing- 
room,  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  Hubert, 
us  well  as  of  Mrs.  Templeton  and  her  daughter. 
He  was  conscious  of  his  want  of  self-possession  ; 
but  as  this  was  his  first  visit  to  the  Priory  since 
Helen's  marriage,  he  trusted  his  embarrassed 
manner  would  be  ascribed  to  bis  recollection  of 
all  that  had  subsequently  happened. 

How  joyful,  how  almost  fond,  was  his  recep- 
tion. Mrs.  Templeton  declared  afterward  she 
longed  to  embrace  him;  and  Constance  told  Caro- 
line it  was  a  good  thing  for  her  character  that 
Hubert  was  present,  or  she  must,  in  her  delight, 
have  thrown  herself  into  Ashley's  arms. 


And  Caroline  told  him  what  they  "lad  .«ftid  . 
and  it  is  odd  how  soon  he  forgot  this,  and  she  had 
to  repeat  it  to  her  father  and  motlier,  and  tiuiill}' 
again  to  himsCif,  before  lie  understood  it.  as  tin 
excellent  joke,  at  which  they  all,  except  himself, 
laughed  right  merrily. 

After  a  long  tcU-a-ttte  with  Mrs.  Templeton, 
they  joined  the  rest  in  the  conservatory — the  very 
conservatory  wh;ch  hsid  helped  to  dicide  the  fate 
of  Lord  HurstwiM  d  and  Cecilia;  when  Constance, 
who.  witii  Caroline,  was  laughing  at  Hubert's  at- 
tempts to  arrange  a  nosegay,  deliberately  owned 
she  must  hand  Inm  over  to  her  mother,  to  l>o 
taught  tlie  A  b  ('  of  that  important  art.  while  .she 
learned  news  miich  more  valuable  to  her  th.m 
all  the  art  in  the  world. 

"This  is  the  vtry  first  time,"  she  said,  taking 
his  arm,  as  he  expressed  it  to  himself,  just  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  "  that  you  have  come 
among  us  since  our  great  trial.  Oh,  Ashley  !  you 
can  not  think  how  dear  mamma  and  I  have 
missed  you— how  often  we  have  needed  your  kind, 
wise  advice." 

"  H.ive  you  .'"  he  asked  mechanically  ;  fancy- 
ing some  remark  was  necessary — and  shrinking 
from  the  tone,  the  look,  the  touch,  which  all 
spoke  so  clearly  the  confidence  of  friendship, 
nothing  more — fool,  madman,  he  thought,  what 
more  were  you  wild  enough  to  dream  of? 

"Ah,  you  know  we  have  ;  there  is  no  one  on 
whom  we  more  rely — you  are  the  adopted  son  of 
mamma — the  dear  brother  to  Helen  and  me— even 
Caroline  consents  to  this  claim,  so  you  will  hardly 
refuse." 

"  Refuse  !  and  to  you  ?"  then  checking  himself, 
he  continued  calmly.  Heaven  knows  witli  what  an 
effort — "  yes,  let  me  be  so  to  you  and  Helen — and 
now  let  us  talk  of  her.  Your  mother  and  1  have 
been  considering  the  best  way  of  introducing  this 
little  stranger  to  your  father's  knowledge,  to  his 
affection— and  my  father  thinks  it  will  be  bettor, 
and  more  in  ticcordance  with  the  position  he  occu- 
pies here,  if  he  undertakes  to  inform  him,  and  at 
the  same  time  endeavors  to  plead  the  cause  of  its 
parents.  You  know  he  may  safely  be  trusted  with 
this  important  mis.sion." 

"  No  one  else  half  so  well,"  replied  she.  "  Doc- 
tor Vernon  will  be  so  gentle,  there  can  be  no 
danger  of  his  irritating  papa;  and  thin  he  is  so 
forbearing  himself,  that  there  is  no  fear  of  his 
temper  giving  w.iy.  Besides,  it  is  his  boundeu 
duty  to  try  and  make  peace,  and  counsel  forgive- 
ness." 

"Precisely  so,"  said  A.shley;  "and  for  these 
reasons  he  consents  to  become  mediator,  and  let 
us  hope  that  the  result  may  show  that  a  blessing 
has  attended  his  exertions." 

"  God  grant  it,"  she  lervently  ejaculated  ;  •'  for 
though  they  are  so  happy  with  each  other,  and  so 
contented  with  their  conditii  n,  1  am  sure  this 
state  of  things  must  be  tlic  perpetual  bitter  mixed 
with  their  sweets.  Not,"  she  continued,  "  that 
poor  Helen  knows  the  whole  extent  to  which  papa  s 
anger  led  him,''  and  she  trembled  and  turned  jialo 
as  she  sai^,  "nor  would  I,  under  any  circum- 
stances, ever  have  her  know  ;  and  oii  I  if  Doctor 
"Vernon  could  only  have  this  unsaid,  it  would  be 
an  unspeakable  relief  to  mamma  and  me  ;"  and 
then,  for  the  first  time,  did  Asldey  collect,  from 
her  look  and  manner,  that  some  dreadlul  maledic- 


136 


THE   WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


tion  must  have  burst  from  her  father's  lips  during 
the  paroxysm  of  rage. 

"  And  KeginaWs  law,  how  does  that  go  on  ?" 
she  asked,  niter  making  an  eifort  to  banish  the 
recollection  of  that  dreadful  scene. 

"  Nothing  can  be  better;  I  assure  you  he  rivals 
me  in  the  good  graces  of  Mr.  Turner — and  were 
not  Helen  to  sound  my  praise  now  and  then,  he 
would  do  the  same  with  Miss  Turner.' 

"  Miss  Turner  !"  repeated  Constance ;  "  is  that 
his  daughter,  and  is  she  beautiful :" 

"  No,  to  your  first  inquiry — she  is  his  sister. 
Yes,  to  your  last — for  she  is  one  of  the  kindest 
and  most  benevolent  old  ladies  I  ever  knew."' 

"  Ah !  I  understand  what  you  mean  by  that 
indirect  reply  and  that  covert  rebuke ;  but  I  am 
nearly  cured'  of  that  folly,  and  I — even  I — can 
now  see  beauty  in  mind,  in  feelings,  in  acts.  I 
have  learned  to  look  through  or  beyoud  the  ma- 
terial— and  you  will  not  now  hear  me  say,  with 
tiie  literal  meaning  I  then  attached  to  the  words, 
'  I  can  never  love  what  is  ugly' — though  in  anoth- 
er sense  I  may  still  feel  it — for  I  never  can  love 
what  is  wicked,  or  even  base  and  mean;  but  I 
have  seen  the  most  homely  features  beautified 
with  the  light  of  intellect,  and  the  plain  face  sud- 
denly ennobled  and  made  lovely  by  its  sympathy 
with  what  is  truly  great  and  heroic." 

And  as  Ashley  looked  at  the  enthusiastic  coun- 
tenance that  waii  raised  to  his.  he  thought  if  the.se 
feelings  beautify  the  homely,  and  give  tlignity  to 
the  ignoble,  what  will  mind  and  sentiment  do  to 
one  already  of  surpassing  loveliness.'  and  he 
sighed. 

"  But  you  doubt  my  good  report  of  myself?" 

He  shook  his  head — he  feared  to  speak. 

"  And  you — you  will  soon  be  called  ?  will  you 
not .'" 

"  Yes,  very  soon." 

"  And  then  you  will  not  study  so  hard,  but  you 
will  come  among  us  ?" 

'•  Yes— no— 1  do  not  know;"  but  feeling  that 
he  had  endured  enough  for  the  first  attempt,  he 
s.aid,  "  1  fear  that  Caroline  is  waiting  for  me."      I 

"  Then  she  is  in  an  unusual  hurry.  I  have  not  I 
asked  half  I  intended — but  you  both  dine  here  to-  j 
morrow — mamma  said  .so." 

'•  Yes,  I  promised  Mrs.  Templeton,"  for  he 
resolved  to  go  through  his  self-imposed  ordeal. 

And  the  following  day  he  met  Colonel  Temple- 
ton,  with  wlioni  he  had  always  been  a  particular 
lavorite.  Ashley  and  Victor  were  continually 
cited  by  the  Colonel  as  specimens  of  what  he  called, 
real  out-and-out  fellows— handsome,  spirited  lads  I 
who  had  a  will  of  their  own,  therefore  his  wel-  i 
coma  to  him  was  both  warm  and  sincere.  j 

Ashley  thought  him  much  altered ;  he  looked 
older  by  several  years,  though  little  more  than 
one  had  passed  since  their  la.st  meeting  -he  was 
lc.<s  naturally  cheerful,  though  at  times  loud  in 
his  mirlh — and  it  was  with  deep  regret  that  he 
perceived  how  he  indulged  in  wine— and  that  he 
did  not  accompany  llubjrt  an<l  himself  when  they 
joined  tlie  ladies. 

.Vshley  had  now  the  ojiportunity  he  sought;  for 
without  any  attempt  ou  his  part  to  draw  Hubert 
out.  Caroline  unconsciously  furthered  his  views. 

Associated  as  Hubert  and  Victor  had  been,  for 
.some  time  before  tlie  latter  left  for  Cyprus,  it  was 
n.itural  that  she  should  refer  to  various  events  of  I 


which  his  letters  had  subsequently  informed  her; 
and  this  naturally,  also,  led  to  discu.ssions  on  these 
subjects,  and  involved  an  expression  of  opinion ; 
from  which  the  tastes  and  liabits  of  the  speaker 
were  rendered  apparent.     Asliley.  who  hail  beeu 
in  Italy,  was  also  curious  to  learn  about  many 
changes  in  public  feeling  which  had  since  then 
taken  place;  but  Hubert,  finding  that  all  these  , 
inquiries  supposed  that  he  had  been  a  clo.se  ob- 
server, and  that  he  had  a  greater  knowledge  of 
j  the  progress  of  society  and  the  arts  than  lie  pos- 
sessed, candidly  referreil  them  to  Victor  Morton, 
j  who,  he  said,  gossiped  with  all  sorts  of  people 
I  about  all  sorts  of  things.     Arid  then,  thoroughly 
weary  of  the  conversation,  he  asked  Constance  to 
sing  one  of  the  pretty  serenades  he  had  brought 
'  home.  •' 

I  "I  see,"  said  Caroline,  opening  the  music,  ■'  that 
'  it  is  dedicated  to  Beatrice  di  St.  Angelo;  did  you 
j  not  meet  that  family  when  you  were  at  Rome :" 
'  she  asked  of  her  brother. 

I      "  Yes,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  met  them,  or  rather,  I 

should  say,  the  Duca  very  frequently — he  mar- 

>  ried  an  English  lady — his  only  child  I  never  saw 

!  — but  I  have    since    heard  she  has  grown  into 

a  celebrated  beauty.     The  mother  diet!  of  decliiu', 

[  and  at  one  time  there  were  fears  of  this  girls 

health  being  delicate.     The  Duca  is  a  man  grea  1 1  y 

esteemed.     But,"   suddenly   addressing    Hubert. 

"  you.  of  course,  have  been  introduced  to  him  .-■ 

j      "  Yes,"  replied  Hubert,  Uushing  to  the  templo, 

j  "  he  has  a  place  in  Sicily  ;"  then  tuining  to  Con- 

{  stance  he  said,  rather  abruptly,  "  If  you  dislike 

that  song,  try  this,"  substituting  another  in  place 

of  the  first. 

Why  .should  he  suppose  Constance  disliked  that 
particular  song.' — had  she  given  any  indicatinn 
of  so  doing  .'—none.  Had  he  any  reason  lor 
thinking  she  might .' — and  did  conscience  wake 
and  utter  a  whisper? 

Both  brother  and  sister,  on  their  return  to  the 
Rectory,  for  some  time  kept  silence ;  at  length 
Caroline  said,  "  1  hope  Constance  has  done  wisely 
in  choosing  Hubert." 

"  What  makes  you  have  any  doubt  about  it  ?" 
asked  Ashley  steadily. 

"  Merely  a  vague  feeling  that,  agreeable  and 
amiable  as  he  is,  he  is  not  exactly  the  person  I 
think  suited  to  her.  Circumstances  have  very  re- 
markably developed  her  character,  which  always 
gave  promise  of  great  superiority  ;  but  1  suspect 
that  Hubert's  mind  has  done  growing,  and  will 
never  be  taller  or  stouter."^' 

"  Hubert,"  said  her  brother,  "  has  hitherto  only 
played  with  life,  and  therefore  his  character  seems 
stunted — it  is  the  penalty  the  Sybarite  must 
always  pay — happily,  however,  very  few  are  al- 
lowed to  make  a  pastime  of  the  world,  and  wlun 
they  begin  in  good  earnest  to  straggle  against  its 
trials — lO  grapple  with  its  realities — to  find  that 
they  must  conquer  or  die,  then  men  show  of  what 
they  are  made ;  and  if  this  be  of  the  true  stutf, 
then  qualities  and  powers  undreamed  of  answer 
to  the  call." 

"  But  all  are  not  of  the  true  stuff— all  are  not 
great." 

"  No."  ho  replied,  '•  for  if  all  were  great,  none 
would  be  so;"  and  amused  at  her  puzzled  look, 
he  continued,  with  a  smile,  "  never  mind  the  par- 
adox just  now,  '  I  will  explain  it  when  1  have 


THE   WIFE'S   TKIALS. 


137 


time,^  as  Doctor  RochecliflFc  says.  In  the  common  ncss,  ho  having  never  allu(le<l,  even  the  most  din- 
•cceptation  of  the  term  great,  it  is  not  neccsinury  j  tnntly,  to  family  afl'air.s,  the  t'olmiel  led  tlic  way 
that  all  should  be  so,  tliough  there  is  a  moral  ^  to  the  library,  where  he  politely  waited  for  him 
greatness  which  all  may  achieve,  and  then  society  j  to  begin. 

would  be  much  benefited.  l!ut  with  reference  to  "  My  oflicc  and  calling  often  im)i(ise  that  upun 
gar  present  question,  what  1  mean  is,  that  a  life  me  as  a  duty  which  in  others  Wo\ild  be  imperti- 
of  ease,  with  no  aclmowlids^ed  duty  of  sufficient '  nent  and  oflicious.  I  come  to  you  fully  e>pectiiig 
""portance  to  rouse  to  exertion,  never  can  pro-  '  a  blessings  blessed  arc  the  peace-make's." 


duce  a  character  above  mediocrity;  but  Hubert 
mays  till  be  placed  in  a  position  that  will  devel- 
op qualities  for  which  we  now  scarcely  give  him 
credit.  However,  Caroline,  1  do  not  think  he  ever 
could  be  either  a  Heginald  or  a  Victor  Morton." 

"  Still  less    an   Ashley,"    she  replied,  fondly, 
pressing  his  arm.     Then,  after  a  pause,  she  added 


"  If  yo\i  come  with  acy  ide;i.  Doctor  Vernon, 
that  1  shall  consider  even  your  office  justifies  in- 
terference in  my  domestic  arrangements,  dismiss 
it  at  once,"  interrupted  the  Colonel  rising  and 
speaking  with  much  excitement. 

"  Nay,  call  it  not  interference,"  resumed  the 
Doctor,  mildly;  "remember,  you  have  a.ssumecl 


«'  You  can  not  think  how  happy  your  just  appre-  |  that.     I   do  not   admit    the    charge.     You    have 
dation  of  Victor  makes  me.     And  only  think  of   known  me  long  enough  to  be  sure  that  nothing 


my  ignorance  of  character,  for  I  once  used  to 
dismiss  both  him  and  Hubert  with  the  disrespect- 
fill  remark,  "  Two  thoughtless,  do-nothing  lads." 
Calmly  as  Ashley,  to  all  appearance,  had  dis- 
cussed Huberfs  character,  it  was  not  so  that  he 
felt  Too  noble  and  generous  to  seek  for  faults, 
even  in  his  rival,  and  to  rejoice  when  he  had 
found  them,  he  sighed  to  think  that  further  obser- 
vation had  only  served  to  confirm  his  previous  im- 
pressions. He  felt  sure  that  though  Hubert  did, 
must  love  Constance  for  her  beauty,  accomplish- 
ments, and  amiability,  he  was  quite  unable  to 


but  the  best  motives  could  induce  me  to  say  what 
might,  perchance,  annoy.  Helieve  me.  Colonel 
Templetou,  that  if  my  mi.ssion  succeed,  though  but 
in  the  smallest  degree,  yon  will  very  largely 
share  in  the  blessing— why  then  cast  it  from  you  .' 
— why  close  your  heart  so  that  peace  and' love 
knock  in  vain  for  admittance  r— if  you  can  not 
wholly  forgive,  remembering  that  you— that  all 
— need  forgiveness— do  not  cherish  bitter  feelings 
and  unhallowed  hate." 

"  Doctor,"  said  he,  resummg  his  seat,  "  as  I  am 
willing  to  believe  that  a  sense  of  duty  animates 


comprehend  the  real  elevation  of  her  mind,  the  re-  I  you,  and  that  you  have  no  intention  to  offend,  you 
fined  taste,  the  exquisite  sense  of  the  beautiful  in  j  must  give  me  equal  credit  for  the  absence  of  any 
feeling  and  morals  which  were  so  eminently  her  j  thing  like  disrespect  toward  you  when  I  assure 
characteristics.  And  Constance,  would  she  ever  j  you  that  your  attempt  is  useless.  15y  that  girl's 
discover  this  superiority  .'  and  would  this  want  of  conduct  I  have  been  place<l  in  circumstances  most 
sympathy  be  then  keenly  felt .'  But,  after  all,  !  irritating  and  mortifying  to  one  of  my  character ; 
what  was  this  to  him  }  All  this  thought  and  j  and  I  never  will  forgive  her— she  left  this  house, 
speculation  would  not  help  him  to  banish  Con-  j  and  while  I  live  she  shall  never  re-enter  it.  Do 
stance,  and  prevent  her  taking  so  prominent  a  I  not  interrupt  me,"  seeing  the  Doctor  prepareil  to 
position  in  all  his  dreams ;  and  yet  it  had  been  I  .speak.  "  In  my  just  indignation  I  pronounced  a 
his  firm  resolution  to  achieve  this,  "  at  least,"  he  !  male<liction  on  her.  This  1  withdraw  ;  but  any 
said,  with  a  sigh,  "  my  firm  resolution  to  attempt  further  concession  I  never  will  make  so  long  as  I 
it."  I  live — 1  never  wish  to  hear  her  name  pronounced 

■  The  same  day  that  Ashley  left,  Doctor  Vernon    — 1  care  not  what  becomes  of  her  nor  whe»e  she 
set  forth  on  his  errand  of  peace.     He  met  the  Col-    goes ;"  and  then  seeing  the  excellent  Ixector  quite  ' 
onel  in  the  grounds,  and  though   there  was  no    overpowered  with  emotion,  he  added,  witiv  rather 
friendship  between  men  so  dissimilar,  the  sacred  '  less  vehemence, "  This  unpleasant  interview  was 
character  of  the  Doctors  duties,  and  his  unaffec-  '  wholly  un.soliciteil  on  my  part— and  I  lx;g  you  to 


ted  piety  in  their  performance,  obliged  all  to  re 
spect  him;  while  his  Christian  sorrow  for  these 
who,  like  <"olonel  Templeton,  cast  away  their  hap- 
piness with  their  integrity,  imparted  a  gentleness 
and  kindness  to  his  maimer  which  was  not  alto- 
gether unfelt  by  the  most  hardened. 

"  have  come  to  crave  a  little  of  your  time  and 


believe  that  my  pleasure  does  not  prolong  it.' 

"  Colonel,"  said  the  Doctor,  rising  in  imitation 
of  his  companion,  "  for  the  withdrawal  of  wonis  so 
fearful,  and  which  no  offense  from  another  can 
ever  justify,  I  rejoice  on  your  account.  Curses 
injure  not  those  against  whom  thej*  are  hurled  be- 
yond the  .sorrow  they  cause,  when  we  see  that  ono 


indulgence,'  said  the  Doctor,  meeting  him  on  the  j  human  being  should  be  so  vimlictive  against  an- 
terrace  and  proceeding  toward  thehouse,  as  there,  other  ;  your  child  is  under  the  protection  of  that 
he  knew,  the  Colonel  could  not  abruptly  leave  or  Power  wlio  can  not  only  shield  her  from  evil 
dismiss  him;  "and  1  hope  I  have  cho.sen  an  op-  j  wishes,  but  cause  them  to  return  whence  they 
portunity  as  favorable  to  success  as  this  sweet  came.  If  the  day  should  ever  arrive,  ami  I  pray 
health-inspiring  morning  is  to  gratitude  and  kind  that  it  soon  may,  when  you  repent  of  having  cast 
"   ■■  away  the  blessing  I  brought  for  j-ou,  semi  for  mo 

— it  may,  mercifully,  even  then  not  be  too  late  to 
secure  it ;"  and  feeling  that  further  remonstrance 
would  only  more  deeply  exasperate  the  man  whoso 
suppre.Hsed  passion  spoke  in  every  tone,  every  move- 
ment, every  look,  he  Ixjwed  and  withdrew. 

Oh!  how  did  his  slow  step  thrill  through  the 
heart  of  Mrs.  Templeton  and  ConstJince,  whose 
impatience  and  anxiety  as  to  the  re.-ult  had  boon 
almost  agony — and  who  roftd,  in  the  sorrowful 


feelings. 

"  Ah !  you  must  not  expect  to  find  that  I  resem- 
ble that  placid  sky  or  these  gentle  zephyrs,"  re- 
plied he,  laughing. 

"  Oh  !  but  I  do  expect  it,"  rejoined  the  Rector, 
"  for  a  grateful  spirit  is  preci.sely  the  one  we  de- 
sire for  him  of  whom  we  are  about  to  ask  favors, 
and  you  have  many  causes  for  gratitude." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  of  that,"  he  answerc<l ; 
and  wholly  unconscious  of  Doctor  Vernon's  busi- 


138 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


expression  of  his  benevolent  countenance,  that 
tlieir  hopes  had  been  fallacious,  and  that  the  fa- 
ther s  heart  was  steeled  against  the  child's  peti- 
tion for  pardon. 

"  No  hope,  then,  dear  friend  .'"  murmured  Mrs. 
Templeton. 

'•  None— like  the  angels,  we  must  wait  to  see 
■why  this  mercy  is  still  withheld  " 

Constance  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears — but 
she  said  not  a  word. 

'•  The  Colonel  consents  to  withdraw  his  terrible 
denunciation— but  even  this  was  accompanied 
with  wo.ds  of  .such  cruel  indifference,  that  we 
have  scarcely  gained  by  their  substitution  ;  and 
as  poor  Helen  was  never  informed  of  the  extent  to 
whicli  passion  led  her  father— she  is  as  she  was." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  of  the  birth  of  her  boy .'" 

"  No— I  would  uot  risk  the  repetition  of  words 
evincing  such  cruel  apathy— and  shrunk  from 
associating  an  innocent  babe  with  an  interview  so 
very  puiuful.  Again  I  say  to  you  and  dear  Con- 
stance, wait— the  purpose  is  wise,  though  we  dis- 
cern it  not." 

"  Oh  !  mamma,  mamma,"  sobbed  Constance, 
•while  lier  mother  pressed  her  to  her  heart — "  this 
is  dreadful,  dreadful !" 

"  .My  child  it  is— even  I  have  not  learned  to 
bear  it  without  a  murmur." 


CHAPTER   LVni. 


"  Men'a  evil  manners  live  in  brass." — Shakspeakk. 

AVhen  Stacey,  according  to  appointment,  called 
tipon  Mr.  Moore,  he  found  the  old  gentleman 
seated  in  his  liandsome  and  comfortable  library, 
the  table  literally  covered  with  books  and  papers 
—the  latter,  some  tied  up,  others  looking  yellow 
and  worn — were  open,  and  seemed  as  if  they  had 
lately  been  pL'rused. 

•  Mr.  Moore  s  intelligent  countenance  had  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  and  serious  thought  as  he  rose 
and  kindly  greeted  Stacey. 

"  You  tind  me  here,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
opeiiet.1  letters,  "  seated  like  Marius  amid  ruins — 
tlie  ruins  of  the  Creator's  best  and  noblest  endow- 
ment— that  of  intellect;  and  it  has  saddened  me 
to  trace  the  decline,  decay,  and  total  downfall  of 
one  who  had  the  fatal  gift  of  genius." 

Stacey  was  no  less  touched  by  the  tone  of  earn- 
eat  regret  with  which  this  was  uttered,  than 
stung  by  some  remembrance  that  whispered  "  take 
warning  i '  but  shaking  oft"  a  mood  by  no  means 
habitual  to  him,  he  i-euiarked  that  it  was  painful 
to  be  forced  to  admit  that  the  term  "  fatal"  was 
here  only  too  justly  applied,  but  that,  happily, 
such  was  not  always  the  case. 

■'  It  is,  indeed,  but  too  properly  used  here,  and 
in  numijerless  other  instances,"  replied  Mr.  Moore ; 
"  but.  as  you  say,  liappily,  it  is  not  inseparably 
connected  with  genius  any  more  than  with  beauty, 
the  iiiimi.sc  alone  renders  it  appropriate;  and  this 
is  precisely  one  of  the  mistakes  or  fancies  which  I 
would  gladly  attempt  to  destroy.  Instead  of  im- 
prudence, extravagance,  and,  in  some  instances, 
vice,  being  thought  the  necc'^sary  and  inevitable 
uccumpaniments  of  genius — nay,  sometimes  wel- 


comed as  sure  indications  of  its  existence-  [  should 
like  to  show  that  they  are  its  disgrace,  its  uauj, 
its  impediments,  its  certain  destruction.  Good 
God  !  are  we  to  believe  that  the  power  which  ren- 
ders man's  efforts  imperishable  is  clogged  with  a 
condition  so  ruinous  and  hateful .'  Are  men  of 
the  highest  intellect,  of  the  richest  imagination, 
of  the  most  elegant  fancy,  to  pay  for  this  distinc- 
tion by  being  blind  to  moral  elevation,  and  inca- 
pable of  valuing  the  dignity  of  truth,  honesty, 
and  laborious  independence .'  It  is  monstrous  to 
suppose  it !" 

"  Kight !"  cried  Stacey,  carried  away  by  Mr. 
Moore's  warmth ;  "  we  must  no  longer  allow  them 
to  quote  the  hackneyed  '  Video  melior — '  and  so 
on,  as  an  excuse  for  their  inconsistency  ;  and 
though  it  will  never  be  as  easy  to  do,  as  to  know 
what  were  good  to  do,  it  will,  indeed,  be  a  grand 
victory  to  sweep  away  this  cobweb  w^hich  entangles 
the  judgment  and  obscures  the  moral  perceptions 
of  so  many." 

"  Yes ;  and  to  return  to  your  quotation — 
'though  I  can  easier  teach  twenty  what  were 
good  to  be  done,  than  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  fol- 
low my  own  teaching,'  let  these  master  spirits 
henceforth  no  more  neutralize  the  good  effects  of 
their  lessons  by  the  bad  effects  of  their  example." 
"  But  how  often  does  it  fortunately  happen  that 
this  evil  example  has  little  or  no  influence,  from 
the  ignorance  which  so  commonly  prevails,  as  \" 
all  that  personally  relates  to  authors,"  remarkc'l 
Stacey. 

"  I  grant  that,  but  only  in  part ;  the  author, 
let  him  be  as  personally  unknown  as  you  please, 
knows  and  feels  the  effects  himself ;  and  so,  un- 
happily, do  all  who  are  connected  with  him  ;  and 
this  alone  ought  to  be  motive  sufficient  to  make  us 
expose  this  fallacy  ;  but  when  he  is  not  unknown, 
but  courted,  sought  after,  imitated,  then  no  one 
can  be  insensible  to  the  danger  of  his  example. 
Besides,  unknown  as  he  may  be  during  his  life,  in 
this  biographical  and  autobiographical  ago,  he  i^ 
lucky  who  escapes  being  disinterred  and  draggci 
before  the  public,  either  through  his  own  vanity, 
the  folly  of  friends,  or  the  cupidity  of  a  publisher ; 
only  think  what  encouragement  folly  and  extrava- 
gance then  receive.  They  take  refuge  under  one 
name  of  literary  celebrity,  and  indulge  in  habits 
of  destructive  intoxication;  under  anotiier,  mean- 
ly take  from  honest  industry  to  support  their 
pampered  and  luxurious  habits ;  under  a  third, 
for  conduct  still  more  disreputable ;  and  so,  under 
cover  of  one  name  of  note  or  another,  tliey  jilay  off 
pranks  at  '  which  the  angels  weep,'  but  which 
they  and  the  foolish  public  call  vagaries  of  intel- 
lect, eccentricities  of  genius,  as  if  intellect  and 
genius  did  not  pay  the  penalty  of  folly  and  crime. 
But  you  Avill  think  me  a  hot-headed  old  fellow, 
perhaps  a  soured  one ;  only  take  these  packets 
I  home,  read  them  carefully,  and  before  you  judgo 
me  unfavorably,  remember  that,  if  1  speak  warm- 
ly, it  is  because  I  feel  warmly  and  kindly  toward 
j  these  children  of  genius,  who,  in  so  many  cases, 
'  never  cease  to  be  chiMren.  Ah !  why  should 
reason  and  poetry  be  antagonists ." — why  -should 
common  sense  and  talent  so  often  pursue  diftcrent 
j  paths  .'  And  now,  adieu  !— will  you  dine  with  me 
i  ttte-d-lele  this  day  week,  and  prove  to  me  that  I 
j  have  not  scared  you  ?" 
I      Pleased,  interested,  touched,  and  roused,  Stacey 


THK   WIFF/S   TRIALS. 


139 


{rarsued  his  way  home;  and  finding,  when  he 
reached  the  Heath,  that  he  had  still  food  for  medi- 
tation, he  walked  and  sauntered  about  for  a  full 
hour,  thinking  over  all  he  had  heard;  and  so 
deeply  were  both  judgment  and  imagination  at 
work,  that  before  he  entered  his  own  house 
he  had  collected  from  memorj',  and  occasional 
glimpses  at  the  papers  he  carried,  materials  for 
his  introductory  chapters  —  for  tlie  individual 
whose  memoirs  he  had  undertaken  to  write  was 
one  whose  name,  for  good  and  evil,  had,  during 
his  life,  and  long  after  his  death,  attracted  public 
attention,  and  was  even  now  often  quoted  as  a 
proof  that  talent  without  principle  is  a  curse. 


CHAPTER   LIX. 

"  0'  my  word,  tlie  father's  son— I'll  swear  'tis  a  very  pretty 

hi>\." — Coi-io/anus. 

Mkrrily  and  cheerily  rang  out  the  bells  at 
Hurstwood,  and  told  in  their  musical  tones  and 
laughing  voices  that  an  heir  is  born  to  the  Lord 
and  Lady  there.  Busy  figures  flit  about,  and  im- 
portant faces  are  met  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
announcing  that  no  common  every-day  occurrence 
has  taken  place — smiling  looks  and  happy  voices 
report  that  my  lady  is  doing  as  well  as  can  be  ex- 
pected, and  that  the  baby  is  the  finest  tliat  ever 
was  seen — "  the  very  model  of  my  noble  master,"' 
said  the  dignified  nurse ;  and  Lady  Grantham 
goes  about  with  a  more  stately  step  than  usual, 
oppres.sed,  perhaps,  with  the  weight  of  her  newly- 
blown  honor  in  being  grandmother  to  a  Lord. 

"  It's  u  very  grand  thing  to  bc>  mother  in-law 
To  a  very  niagniflcent  three-tailed  Biushaw." 

But  Lord  Hurstwood!— never  was  a  man  more 
elated — his  wife  was  safe,  and  to  do  him  justice, 
that  was  his  first  thought— the  child,  oh  !  climax 
of  joy,  the  child  is  a  boy  ! 

Already  he  began  to  doubt  whether  he  had 
done  quite  wisely  in  having  so  decidedly  retired 
from  public  life— he  had  certainly  been  rash  and 
premature ;  at  his  age,  it  was  rather  absurd  to 
suppose  that  his  country  could  not  benefit  by  liis 
wisdom  and  experience — and  he  comforted  him- 
self with  the  reflection,  that  statesmen,  like  other 
celebrated  performers,  may  have  more  than  one 
positively  last  appearance. 

He  commanded  the  steward  to  have  the  usual 
rejoicings  and  festivities  arranged  on  a  larger 
scale  than  ever;  so  that  directly  her  Ladyship 
could  appe;ir  to  receive  congratulations,  every 
mark  of  respect  should  be  ready  prepared— and 
he  presented  Lady  Grantham  with  a  splendid 
copy  of  Cecilia's  portrait,  which  had  lately  been 
added  to  the  family  picture  gallery. 

And  when  he  was  admitted  to  .see  his  lady  and 
their  fir.stborn,  his  expressions  of  joy  and  grati- 
tude were  so  reiterated  and  sincere,  as  to  make 
her  threaten  him  with  banishment  if  he  did  not 
moderate  his  transport.s — though  she  privately 
told  Lady  Grantham  that  that  wouM  be  puni.sh- 
ing  herself,  as  it  really  gratified  her  to  perceive 
how  much  this  event  had  added  to  his  happiness 
aa  well  as  to  her  own. 


Mrs.  Templeton  and  Constance  were  among  tho 
first  to  otter  their  congratulations;  and  it  will  not, 
it  is  hoped,  detract  from  the  character  of  the  for- 
mer, if  we  record  that  while  she  most  sincerely 
rejoiced  with  her  sister-in-law,  the  remembrance 
of  her  own  little  grandson  came  across  her  mind 
and  made  lier  sigh. 

It  was  impo.«sible  to  check  the  train  of  thought 
which  was  bu.'sy  in  drawing  contrasts  between  two 
very  similar  events.  Here  tlie  young  mother  was 
not  only  surrounded  by  every  comfort  and  luxury 
that  great  wealth  could  procure,  but  she  was 
cheered  atid  sustained  by  the  presence  of  her 
mother,  and  receiving  openly  tiie  felicitations  of 
her  nearest  and  dearest  relatives. 

There,  far  from  /ler  care  and  watching,  was  her 
beautiful  Helen ;  not,  it  is  true,  needing  one  com- 
fort these  she  could  readily  have— but  in  a  small 
and  liumble  abode,  attended  by  strangers,  an 
alien  to  her  kindred,  her  father's  blessing  refused 
to  her  innocent  babe,  and  her  mother's  caress  pro- 
hibited. 

But,  thanks  to  her  disciplined  mind,  here  Mrs. 
Templeton  stopped.  What  signified  all  these  con- 
trasts when  such  rich  blessings  had  still  been  be- 
stowed on  her .'  She  had  the  love  of  her  noble, 
true-hearted  husband;  she  had  her  mother's 
prayers  and  blessings,  though  denied  tho  comfort 
of  her  presence  ;  and  above  all,  as  with  tlie  noble 
Lady  of  Hurstwood,  Providence  had  sent  health  to 
her  and  her  child ;  and  with  a  chastened  mind 
and  self- rebuked  spirit  she  lifted  up  her  heart  in 
thankfulness. 

"  iMamma,  I  fancy  I  know  what  you  have  been 
thinking  of,"  said  Constance,  remarking  the  silence 
and  thoughtfid  look  of  her  mother — "you  were 
comparing  Helen  and  Cecilia." 

"  1  was  going,  dear  Constance,  to  plead  guilty  ; 
but  at  the  very  moment  you  spoke  1  wns  calling 
myself  strictly  to  account  for  indulging  ungrate- 
ful and  discontented  thoughts,  and  1  lu.pe  1  have 
succeeded  in  bidding  them  hence." 

The  little  Lord  Stanley,  the  son  and  heir,  par 
exce/l()ire',-wns  about  six  weeks  oM;  and  culls  and 
congratulations  were  nearly  over,  when  one  day 
Lady  Hurstwood  was  in  her  own  private  sitting- 
room,  into  wliich  she  often  had  a  beautiful  little 
cot  introduced,  with  its  still  more  beautilul  inmate. 
Such  was  the  case  now,  and  seated  by  it  she  was 
fondly  contemplating  her  sleeping  boy,  when  a 
gentle  tap  and  the  gently  opening  door  announced 
his  lorilsliip. 

Happy  man!  he  may  easily  be  pardoned  if  he 
stopped  for  a  iew  seconds  to  gaze  with  delight  on 
the  scene. 

His  handsome  wife,  dressed  in  a  costly  and  most 
becoming  nc^/igir,  was  bending  over  the  cot, 
holiiing  back  one  of  the  lacc-trimme<l  curtains,  so 
that  she  might  have  a  full  view  of  that  living  and 
breatliijig  picture  which  is  tlie  loveliest  and  best 
a  mother  s  eye  can  rest  on.  Hir  fact;,  always  at- 
tractive when  lighted  by  one  of  her  sweet  smiles, 
was  eminently  so  now;  fijr  mixed  w'.tli  her  look 
of  love  and  pride  tliere  was  an  expression  of  deep 
thought  which  harmonized  most  louciiingly  with 
her  occupation  and  attituile.  it  .seemed  as  if  siio 
were  trying  to  gaze  into  futurity,  and  .-^cc  there 
wliat  was  to  be  the  destiny  of  that  innocent  slum- 
berer;  as  if  she  were  endeavoring  to  raise  tho 
curtain  which  hid  the  history  of  hia  life  from  her 


140 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


eyes,  and  to  learn  from  it  all  that  the  feeble, 
helpless  little  being,  so  unconscious  at  present, 
was  to  do  and  sull'er  hereafter;  and  she  gently 
sighed  as,  dropping  the  muslin,  she  turned  to 
greet  her  husband. 

"  How  beautiful  he  looks,  Frederic,"  she  said. 

"  Very  beautiful,  indeed,"  he  replied,  always 
much  pleased  when  his  ynfe  addressed  him  by  his 
Christian  name,  which  she  occasionally  did  in  pri- 
vate. To  his  ears  this  was  especially  agreeable — 
it  sounded  affectionate— it  sounded  youthful  also 
— it  awoke  dormant  feelings  which  were  a  little 
romantic — it  united  the  happiness  of  the  present 
with  pleasant  recollections  of  the  past,  and  hopes 
of  pleasure  for  the  future;  above  all,  to  him  it 
whispered  an  assurance  of  his  wife's  love,  and 
this  he  had  learned  to  value. 

"  We  must  think,  my  love,  of  giving  some  earth- 
ly name  to  that  dreaming  Cupid,  and  if  you  are 
at  leisure  I  sliould  like  to  consult  you  about  it." 

"  My  opinion  is  soon  given,"  she  said,  softly 
touching  the  dimpled  little  hand  that  lay  on  the 
satin  coverlet ;  "  no  name  will  be  so  pleasant  to 
me  as  his  father's." 

"  My  dear  Cecilia,  you  will  positively  spoil  me ; 
but  to  be  candid,  I  intended  to  have  proposed  it, 
with  the  addition  of  Cecil,  which  will  be  a  com- 
pliment to  Lord  Grantham  that  I  shall  be  truly 
delighted  to  offer." 

"  Very  kind,  indeed,"  she  replied;  "but  when 
are  you  not .'  I  was  thinking,  just  as  you  entered, 
of  many  things ;  some  strangely  at  variance  with 
what  our  sleeping  infant  seems  likely  to  have  sug- 
gested ;  and  yet  he  was  the  most  prominent  figure 
among  all  the  various  groups.  But  with  other 
tilings,  my  dear  lord,  I  was  framing  a  little  re- 
quest I  have  to  make." 

"  You  have  but  to  speak ;  it  is  granted  if  in  my 
power." 

"  That  power  I  am  not  quite  sure  of;  but  as  I 
Icnow  you  have  influence  with  the  present  govern- 
ment, I  want  it  exerted  for  one  whom  I  am  certain 
you  would  esteem  if  you  knew  him." 

"  May  I  venture  to  guess .'"  he  asked,  with  a 
smile.  "It  is  Mr.  Reginald  West  whom  you 
mean." 

"  The  same — how  kindly  and  readily  you  read 
my  thoughts.  You  are  already  partly  acquainted 
with  his  unfortunate  liistory  ;  and  though  I  find 
from  Mr.  Ashley  Vernon  that  he  has  talents  of  tlie 
highest  order,  with  industry  and  perseverance  to 
render  tlieni  useful,  it  may  be  years  before  his 
profession  can  make  him  independent,  especially 
as,  like  you,"  she  added,  laughing,  "  he  is  bur- 
dened with  a  wife  and  son." 

"  1  have  more  than  once  thought  of  this  gentle- 
man, dear  Cecilia;  but  ]  felt  delicate  about  men- 
tioning him,  as  being  your  connection.  Your  usual 
good  sense  and  candor  now  set  me  at  liberty,  and, 
in  imitation  of  your  conduct,  I  may  say  I  actually 
have  a  commission  from  oificial  quarters  to  name 
a  gentleman,  such  as  1  believe  Mr.  West  to  be,  for 
employment  in  a  foreign  court ;  which  employ- 
ment may  contfnue  for  two  years — scarcely  less  ; 
but  if  performed  in  a  sati.-factory  manner,  it  will 
be  certain  to  lead  to  higher  duties  and  prefer- 
ment. Now  I  thought  you  would  like  this  to  be  a 
little  offering  from  us  both,  on  this  joyful  occa- 
'sion,  to  your  cousin — what  says  my  lady  .'" 

Jjut  my  lady  was  rather  overcome  for  a  brief 


space;  indeed,  she  wiped  her  eyes  before  she 
could  say,  "  Nothing  can  be  better — more  grace- 
ful— more  thoughtful ;  and  if  I  might  suggest  the 
best  Avay  of  opening  the  business,  it  will  be 
through  Mr.  Ashley  Vernon,  with  whom  you  are 
already  acquainted." 

Ah !  Reginald  and  Helen,  is  Preferment  coming 
with  a  thundering  rap-a-tap-tap  at  your  humble 
door  ?  and  have  you  no  presentiment  that  the 
great  personage  is  so  near  ? 


CHAPTER   LX. 


"  A  momentary  grace  of  mortal  men, 
Which  we  more  hunt  for  than  the  grace  of  God !" 

Richard  III. 

"  I  AM  not  quite  comfortnble  about  Stacey,"  re-  , 
marked  Reginald  to  his  friend,  some  time  after 
the  birth  of  his  son ;  "  his  little  mfe  looks  anxious, 
and  he  talks  of  changing  the  atmosphere,  and 
running  away  for  a  short  time  with  that  good- 
natured  but  silly  Lord  Chalton." 
"    "  In  that  case  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  atmos-  j 
phere  will,  indeed,  be  quite  changed ;  but  I  do  , 
doubt  whether  it  will  be  more  healthy  for  him.  : 
However,  he  has  really  worked  on  so  steadily  for 
some  months,  that  1  am  not  surprised  he  desires  a 
little  respite.     His  mercurial  nature  and  thought- 
less habits  require  a  holiday  now  and  then  to 
make  him  work   cheerfully  when  he  returns  to 
school ;  and  I  must  own,  the  rapidity  and  success 
with  which  he   produced   that  first  volume  of 
memoirs  fairly  took  me  by  surprise." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  satisfied,  I  have  no  reason  to 
croak  and  be  dismal." 

It  would  have  been  well  had  Mrs.  Stacey  been 
satisfied  also ;  but  such  was  not  the  case. 

Since  the  remarkable  success  of  part  of  tlie 
work,  for  the  appearance  of  which  public  curiosity 
had  been  raised  by  all  the  machinery  that  pub- 
lishers so  well  know  how  to  put  in  operation,  and 
which  from  its  own  real  merit,  both  as  regarded 
manner  and  matter,  had  produced  quite  a  sensa- 
tion in  the  reading  world,  Stacey's  mind  and  pen 
had  flagged.  Like  a  racer  that  distances  all 
others  till  near  the  goal,  and  then  drops  dead 
lame,  so  it  was  with  him  ;  instead  of  following  up 
this  success,  and  securing  for  himself  a  high  and 
permanent  place  in  the  temple  of  Fame,  he  acted 
as  if  that  were  certain,  or  already  attained — in 
truth,  he  seemed  to  have  made  an  cflbrt  he  had 
not  strength  to  continue ;  and  Ashley  was  partly 
correct  when  he  said  Stacey  wanted  a  holiday. 

Wie  all  want  a  holiday  now  and  then — a  kind 
of  change ;  Nature  herself  requires  it — she  works 
hard,  she  lays  in  her  stores,  she  prepares  her  vast 
laboratories,  and  silently  continues  her  labors 
without  giving  much  sign  of  even  the  faintest  ex- 
ertion. Spring  comes,  and  she  then  evinces  her 
taste  and  skill  in  making  evident  preparations  for 
the  beautiful  and  gorgeous  attire  in  which  she 
pranks  herself,  and  takes  her  holiday  amid  flowers 
and  fresh  perfumes  during  the  glorious  summer. 

And  so,  we  repeat,  we  all  want  a  holiday.' 
But  there  is  a  great  difference  in  the  Wiiy  of 
spending  it.     Some   make   it  a  season  of  over- 


'J 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


141 


fteding— too  much  plum  pudding — too  many 
mince-pios ;  tlien,  after  sundry  nnturul  punish- 
ments, conios  tbe  crowning  penalty  in  the  doc- 
tor, with  his  draughts  and  powders.  liy  some 
it  is  spent  in  over-pleasuring — and  though  a 
diflferent  process  is  gone  through,  still  there  is 
the  same  result — a  penalty  of  some  kind  to  be  paid. 

A  few  enjoy  it  rationally. 

But  Stacey  was  not  one  of  the  rational  ani-  i 
mals— so  he  flew  olT  with  his  rattle-brained 
friend,  and  soon  found  himself  more  than  ever 
the  observed  of  all  observers — tlie  petted — the 
feted.  Nothing  could  be  done  witliout  him  and 
his  direction — so  that,  if  he  liad  thought,  he 
might  have  asked,  "Have  all  these  people  been  ! 
in  an  enchanted  sleep  since  I  last  met  them  ? 
and  am  1  the  prince  who  alone  can  wake  them  .' 
How  have  they  done  without  me  during  this  long 
interval  ?" 

But  it  was  enough  for  him  that  they  offe'red 
incense  ;  he  asked  not  how  long  it  was  since  they 
had  burneil  it  to  the  cap  and  bells,  nor  how  soon 
tiiey  would  do  so  again.  He  was  once  more  on 
the  pedestal — what  mattered  it  that  some  creep- 
ing tiling  iiad  squatted  tliere  before  him,  or  that 
Bouie  bird  of  prey  would  alight  on  it  after. 

"  This  is  a  poor  substitute  for  the  second  vol- 
nme,  whieh  so  many  are  looking  for,"  remarked 
Reginald  to  his  wife  and  Ashley,  as  he  opened  a 
splendidly  bound  and  illustrated  book  of  poems, 
by  Charles  Stacey. 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  how  greatly  I  am  disap- 
pointed," replied  Ashley;  "not  exactly  in  tliis, 
which  is  a  fair  average  specimen  of  modern  poet- 
ry, but  I  am  sorry  that  a  man  who  possesses  the 
talents  Stacey  really  has — the  memoir  evinces 
that— should  allow  them  to  be  wasted  in  the  tri- 
fling, shallow  society  into  which  he  has  so  eagerly 
thrown  himself" 

"  But  they  are  not  entirely  wasted,"  observed 
Helen,  apologetically;  "witness  this  gay  little 
volume." 

"  Which  proves  nothing  for  your  argument, 
Helen,"  answered  Ashley;  "the  best  of  these 
poems,  as  you  may  see  by  the  dates  and  allu- 
sions, were  written  wliile  living  here — and  even 
■without  tliose  indications  I  would  undertake  to 
point  out  all  that  have  been  inspired— inspired, 
indeed  !  it  is  to  profane  the  word — composed,  un- 
der the  influence  of 

'The  music,  and  the  banquet,  and  the  wine, 
The  irarlind.  ihe  ruse  odors,  and  ihi-  fluwerg, 
The  sparkliiig  eyes,  and  flashiujj  ornaaieul?,' 

of  the  world  of  fashion.  It  was  not  at  Almack's 
that  the  true  poet  learned  to  '  give  to  airy  nothing 
a  local  habitation  and  a  name.'  " 

"You  would  insinuate,  then,  that  these  smell  of 
the  lamp  .•"  asked  Keginald,  laugiiing  at  the  oth- 
er's warmth. 

"  In  one  sense,  certainly.  Ah  !  how  inferior  is 
all  this  finery,  contributed  by  jijwelers,  uphol- 
sterers, and  mercers,  to  that  gentle  but  majestic 
beauty  which  is  imparted  by  liolding  converse 
with  Nature.  How  fre.sh  are  all  tlie  similes  bor- 
rowed from  her  ever-varying  a.spect— how  true 
and  life-like  all  the  images  drawn  from  her 
boundless  stores  !" 

"  Oh  !  Ashley,"  pleaded  Helen.  "  do  you  then 
forbid  us  ever  to  borrow  from  art .'" 


"Do  not  urge  him  just  now,"  an'nl  Reginald, 
"or  I  foresee  he  will  answer  rashly — we  siiall 
have  him  denouncing  art  itself,  and  branding 
poor  Stacey  as  one  of  the  miiltitmlo,  who  '  iudito 
much  metre  with  much  pains.'  " 

"  And  little  or  no  meaning .'"  asked  she. 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Asliley,  calm- 
ing down  ;  "  though  I  am  bold  enough  to  assert, 
that  the  more  we  copy  from  copies,  the  leas  shall 


e  tinc^of  the  real  spirit  of  poesic." 
"Still,"  " 


persisted. Helen,  willing  to  say  what 
she  could,  in  extenuation  of  Stacey.  whose  many 
amiable  qualities  made  her  lenient  to  his  follies, 
though  not  blind  to  them  ;  "  still,  you  sec,  these, 
poems,  artificial  as  many  confessedly  are,  sell 
well.  Mr.  Stacey  writes  for  his  patrons,  and  they 
buy  what  he  writes. 

."  Yes,  and  he  deiHcates  his  rhymes  to  a  woman 
who  is  quite  unable  to  comjirehend  true  poetry^ 
who  made  use  of  Irim.self  and  bis  wife  while  it 
suited  her — and  forgot  them  in  their  distress, 
when  the  remembrance  did  not  suit  her.  She 
now  again  coolly  invites  him,  because  he  is  tho 
literary  pet  of  the  day,  and  still  leaves  his  wife 
unnoticed,  as  if  she  were  not  in  existence.  It  is 
such  people  who,  under  the  name  of  patronage, 
are  the  vampires  of  intellect  and  true  genius. 
Happily,  a  man  of  real  talent  does  not  need  a 
patron  now — he  has  only  to  write  or  paint  up  to 
the  mark,  and  society  at  large  are  his  patrons; 
and,  reversing  the  old  order  of  phraseology,  are 
his  grateful  patrons  too." 

"  Ah  !  Ashley,  you  are  not  consistent— why, 
your  old  idols  would  never  have  lived  till  now 
had  not  their  inspirations  been  fostered  by  the 
warmth  of  p.atronage,  ay,  and  royal  patronage 
too.  Speak  up,  old  Chaucer,"  continued  Helen, 
"  and  say  how  your  patron  and  frii-nd  aided  and 
encouraged  you.  Faerie  Queenc,  bring  your 
own  true  poet,  and  bid  him  tell  us  of  his  brother 
bard  and  kindred  spirit,  the  gallant  Sidney. 
Why,  if  I  were  to  summon  them  all,  with  their 
queenly  and  noble  patrons,  '  and  they  did  come 
when  1  did  call  for  them,'  not  tliis  little  room 
only,  but  not  this  large  heath,  would  hold  them." 

"  Well  done,  Helen  "  said  Keginald  ;  "  jou  are 
fit  to  be  Solicitor-General  to  ilefunct  poets  and 
their  encouragers.  Mind  you  ask  for  the  ap- 
pointnu'nt." 

"  She  has  spoken  well,"  returned  Ashley  ; 
"but  she  forgets  that  when  John  of  Gaunt  so 
nobly  favored  Chaucer,  very  lew,  but  tliose  in 
the  learned  professions,  could  do  more  tlian  read 
tlie  scanty  range  of  religious  book"  then  in  .MS. 
— that  the  great  mass  knew  absolutely  nothing 
but  what  they  heard  read — that  even  in  the 
reign  of  Klizabeth,  learning  was  only  beginning 
to  be  diffused — and  that  directly  ])atronage  ema- 
nated Irom  the  mere  courtiers,  as  in  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second,  never  was  our  literature  so 
near  total  destruction — elegance  and  gnssnass 
went  side  by  side — the  most  nolde  sentiments 
were  contaminated  by  union  with  the  fdulest 
ideas;  so  that,  purified  as  it  is.  much  of  tlio 
treasure  bequeatlieil  by  the  lancy  ami  imngina- 
tion  of  that  age  is  as  useless  to  the  gentM-.il  read- 
er MS  if  the  benefit  of  a  rich  legacy  were  nega 
tived  by  the  condition  that  we  siiould  inhabit  i\ 
pest-house,  and  there  iilonc  enjoy  if." 

"I  entirely  agree  with  you,"  said  Reginald; 


142 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


"  and  then,  only  think  of  the  miserable  fawning, 
the  fulsome  panegyric,  which  the  man  with  brains 
so  often  paid  to  the  man  without." 

"  All  !  it  rejoices  me  to  think  that  we  have  at 
last  made  a  step  in  tlie  right  direction,"  said 
Ashley,"  his  fine  face  glowing  with  enthusiasm  ; 
"  the  man  of  letters  has  at  last  said  lie  will  also 
be  the  man  of  independence,  and  live  respectably 
and  honestly  by  his  labor." 

"  What  a  fellow  you  are.  Ashley  !"  exclaimed 
Reginald,  who  had  been  looking  at  him  with 
friendly  delight — "  I  wish  Constance  had  been 
here  to  have  caught  your  look,  and  transferred  it 
to  her  collection  of  celebrated  character  por- 
traits, about  which  she  talked  with  such  anima- 
tion when  in  town." 

Silenced,  at  least  on  this  subject,  Ashley 
walktd  toward  the  window,  and  iu  a  tone  com- 
pletely subdued,  turning  soon  after  to  Helen,  he 
said — "  When  am  I  to  have  that  portrait  of  you 

and  my  godson,  which  Mrs.  G promised  to 

send  home  last  week  .■" 

"  Oh  !  it  is  done,  all  but  the  hands,"  she  said, 
laughing ;  "  and  they  are  to  have  a  sitting  by 
themselves." 

"  And  I  promise  you  that  Constance  will  give 
you  no  peace  till  she  has  a  copy  of  this  your 
modern  Madonna  —  she  was  crazy  about  it, 
after  having  seen  it  when  only  half  done,"  re- 
marked the  mal-a-propos  Reginald  ;  and  again 
Ashley's  eloquence  forsook  him — when,  happily, 
Mrs.  Stacey  was  announced  She  apologized  for 
geeiuiiig.  as  she  said,  to  haunt  Mrs.  ^\  est,  hut 
the  temptation  was  very  strong;  and  the  latter 
assured  her  that  if  the  visits  of  ghosts  were  al- 
ways as  agreeable  as  hers,  no  one  need  dread 
them 

"  And  where  is  Mr.  Stacey  ?"  asked  Helen  of 
his  wife  when  she  came  alone  one  evening,  about 
a  week  afterward  to  see  her  ;  "  though  I  shall 
not  regret  his  absence,  if  it  be  the  cause  of  se- 
curing me  the  pleasure  of  your  company,  as  Mr. 
West  dines  to-day  with  Mr.  Turner." 

"  That  is  quite  an  unusual  event  for  him  to 
leave  you,''  remarked  Mrs.  Stacey. 

"  Our  visiting  list,  to  talk  fashionably,"  said 
Helen,  laughing,  "  is  so  limited,  that  he  rarely 
has  an  opportunity  ;  and  then,  you  know,  we 
are  not  rich,  so  that  want  of  money  and  want 
of  leisure  are  sufficient  reasons  for  our  quiet 
life." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  the  visitor,  "I 
am  a  wee  bit,  only  a  wee  bit,  out  of  temper ;  and 
what  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  it  is  partly 
with  Charles  r" 

"  If  it  is  only  part  of  a  wee  bit,"  replied  Helen, 
"  I  suspect  this  infinitesimal  dose  will  not  be  very 
difficult  to  swallow  ;  especially  as  I  cimclude  the 
other,  and  larger  part,  falls  on  yourself  for  in- 
dulging in  such  undutiful  conduct." 

'•  You  are  not  a  true  guesser,  Mrs.  West," 
said  her  friend,  usually  very  easily  mollified ; 
"  I  am  vexed  and  much  hurt  at  Lady  De  Vere's 
conduct — she  has  invited  my  husband  to  Roe- 
hampton  till  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  never 
sends  the  slightest  message  to  me  to  prove  that  I 
am  not  quite  forgotten  " 

"  Perhaps  that  shows  that  she  is  at  least 
truthful,  if  not  kind,  oi*  even  courteous.  But, 
ujy  dear  Mrs.  Stacey,  I  thought  long  ago   you 


had  taken  the  measure  of  her  Ladyship  s  regard, 
and  put  a  just  estimate  on  it.  Suppose  she  had 
invited  you,  could  you,  or  would_  you,  have 
gone  r 

"  Probably  not — certainly  it  would  have  been 
very  inconvenient ;  still  it  is  not  pleasant  to  be 
thus  ignored,  and  on  that  account  I  think 
Charles  should  not  have  accepted  when  I  was 
not  invited." 

Suspecting  that  her  little' friend  was  much  more 
hurt  at  her  husband's  going  than  at  her  Lady- 
ship's bad  memory  or  rudenoss,  Helen  saw  that 
she  must  act  the  peace-maker. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  when  a  man  occu- 
pies a  place  in  public  attention,  which  it  is  im- 
portant that  he  should  retain,  his  wife,  viewing 
him  in  some  sort  as  a  'servant  to  posterity," 
should  be  contented  to  share  his  society  with 
that  public — in  return  for  which  sacrifice  she 
has  the  pleasure  of  sympathizing  with  his  celeb- 
rity. I  can  scarcely  imagine  any  thing  more 
emharra.s.-ing  than  for  a  man  devoted  to  litera- 
ture and  the  arts,  to  feel  it  a  personal  slight  if 
his  wife  be  not  invited  wherever  he  is." 

"  But  do  YOU  not  think  this  exclusion  seems  as 
if  the  wife  were  not  considered  fit  society  for 
those  who  receive  the  husband  ?" 

"  I  think  the  wife  will  do  well  not  to  encour- 
age such  I^Iimosa-like  feelings,  or  she  will  pass 
througii  life  perpetually  suffering.  An  artist  is 
frequently  asked  to  visit  for  several  days,  in 
families  where  he  is  engaged  to  paint ;  but  it  is 
surely  no  aftVont  not  to  include  his  Avife." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  ]\Irs.  Stacey,  though  with 
rather  an  unconvinced  face;  "but  here  I  have 
been  a  visitor." 

"  Now,  dear  Mrs.  Stacey,"  answered  Helen, 
and  she  felt  that  she  must  be  that  disagreeable 
person,  the  teller  of  unpalatable  truths.  •'  have 
you  not  often  said,  that  the  terms  on  which  ymi 
w.'re  both  received  at  that  house  were  like  those 
of  persons  hired  to  amuse,  without  the  substan- 
tial equivalent  of  being  paid  r" 

"  You  are  right,  Mrs.  West;  and  I  blush  w!i 
I  remember  my  folly  in  believing  th.it  I  was  c  ■ 
sidered  any  thing  else  Still,!  wisli  my  husbm: 
shared  my  feeling — and  this  on  many  acconi 
— as  I  know  that  those  who  now  tempt  him  in 
their  charmed  circle,  do  so  because  he  anui- 
them,  or  because  they  like  to  show  him  off  as  i  * 
lion  of  the  day." 

Helen  so  entirely  agreed  with  her,  that,  wliii 
careful  not  to  own  it,  she  mentioned  this  conv 
sation   to    her  husband;  and  both  expresseil 
hope  that  when  Stacey  had  once  more  found  tli  ,o 
all  is  not  gold  that  glittjcrs,  or  when  he  had  tired 
of  his  friends,  or  vice-versa,  they  of  him,  that  he 
would   resume   his   industrious   habits,  without 
which   his   old   difficulties,   and   from  which    he 
was  not  even  now  quite  free,  would  again  close 
round  him  and  become  fetters  to  both  mind  and 
body. 

It  was,  however,  some  time  before  he  returned 
to  what  he  now  termed  the  drudgery  of  life ; 
while  Mrs.  Stacey  with  dismaj-  discovered  that 
during  this  effervescence  of  a  few  weeks,  more 
money  had  been  spent  than  Avould  have  maintain- 
ed their  frugal  housekeeping  for  double  the  num- 
ber of  months. 

As   regarded  wisdom,  Mrs.   Stacy  was  never 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


143 


»!),■ 


likely  to  rival  tho  Queen  of  Sheba ;  but  she  had  a 
remarkably  large  .share  of  that  vulgar,  though 
not  common  plant,  honesty;  and  this  throve  all 
the  more  vigorously  from  being  cultivated  by 
gratitude  and  aftection.  She  lovctl  her  liusband, 
and  was  very  proud  of  him — but  her  gratitude  to 
the  friends  who  had  come,  like  ministering  angels, 
between  them  and  misery,  amounted  to  enthusi- 
asm, and  slie  determined  that  no  etfort  on  her  part 
should  lie  omitted  to  prove  this,  and  to  secure  the 
intimacy  and  friendship  which  to  her  were  as  pre- 
cious as  light  and  air. 

To  Helen  her  society  had  been  extremely  useful 
since  the  birth  of  her  little  boy ;  and  when  she, 
on  one  occasion,  expressed  this  strongly,  Mrs. 
Stacey,  disclaiming  all  thanks  said, 

"  If  I  shall  not  weary  you,  I  should  be  glad  to 
consult  you  about  a  plan  I  have  been  revolving  in 
my  inind ;"  and  receiving  an  assurance  that  she 
should  at  least  have  a  true  opinion,  she  continued  : 
"  I  have  been  trj-iug  to  understand  the  position  in 
which  Charles  and  1  really  are  placed.  At  present, 
the  result  of  his  literary  labors  maintains  us ;  but 
since  we  moved  and  furnished  our  house,  it  does 
no  more ;  and  I  never  forget  that  we  have  pecu- 
niary debts  which  ought  gradually  to  be  discharg- 
ed. Now,  before  I  married  I  earned  my  own  liv- 
ing—why should  I  not  try  and  do  something 
now  ?" 

"  But  your  little  Isabel  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  that^ — she  must  on  no  ac- 
count be  neglected ;  but  if  I  had  any  success  I 
should  immedia,tely  engage  a  good  nurse — the  help 
of  one  I  even  now  often  need.  If  I  am  patient,  I 
have  great  hopes  also  that  my  voice  may  be  re- 
stored." 

"  And  Mr.  Stacey  .'" 

"  Oh  !"  she  replied,  coloring  deeply,  "  he  would 
not  object ;  but  now  j^our  opinion." 

"  I  approve  of  it.  provided  you  are  not  obliged 
to  live  in  London — for,  putting  aside  my  own  self-  ! 
ish  desire  to  retain  your  society,  it  will  be  bet- 
ter for  all  of  you  to  remain  here.'  ! 

"  ^Vhile  Charles  consents  to  remain,  /  will  not 
move,"  was  the  emphatic  reply  ;  "  and  he  has  ad- 
vantages here  for  which  nothing  in  the  heart  of 
the  great  Babel  could  compensate.  I  have  also 
ventured  to  think  you  would  name  mc  to  Lady 
Westrough  and  Mrs.  Loftus,  who,  as  they  both  re- 
side within  a  few  miles,  may  be  able  to  introduce  | 
my  cards."  ' 

"  I  shall  do  so  at  once,"  said  Helen.  "  I  pre-  ' 
diet  that  in  Mrs.  Loftus  you  will  have  a  most  effi- 
cient ally  ;  she  has  herself  lived  through  a  stormy 
day,  and  will  readily  give  you  her  sympathy. 
While  the  affairs  of  Captain  Loftus  were  unsettled, 
she  did  not  sit  waiting  the  result  with  foMed  hands ; 
she  knew  what  Jupiter  advised  in  similar  circum- 
stances, and  .she  put  her  shoulder  to  tlie  wheel,  and 
kept  it  there  for  many  years,  and  this  in  spite  of  the 
remonstrances  of  her  husband's  family.  But  she 
used  to  say,  that  if  poor  relations  are  a  burden, 
rich  ones  are  often  an  impediment ;  and  with  two 
children  to  maintain  and  educate,  impediments 
must  be  removed  or  jumped  over  :  she  did  botli, 
and  finally  proved  that  her  way  was  the  best. 
But  here  is  my  husband ;  wait  till  I  tell  him  of 
your  plan,  and  then  he  shall  see  you  safely 
home."  I 

"  Well  done,  brave  little  wife,"  he  exclaimed. 


■when  informed  of  it ;  "  and  may  you  succeed— for 
you  richly  deserve  to  do  so." 

And  thus  were  matters  at  the  Heath  when  tlio 
rap-a-tap-tap  came,  to  which  allusion  has  already 
been  made. 


CHAPTER   LXI. 


"  I  8nw  Bassnnio  and  Antonio  part. 
Tiirnine  his  liicc.  he  put  \m  han<l  h.  hind  him; 
And  with  afri-clion  W()nilri>iis  scnsjlilc. 
Ho  wrung  IJa.-sunio's  hand— and  so  ihoy  pnrtod.' 


"  It  makes  me  breathless,"  said  Helen,  when 
Reginald  communicated  to  her  the  result  of  an  in- 
terview he  had  had  with  a  government  member,  in 
consequence  of  Lord  Hurstwood's  proposition  ; 
"  St.  Petersburg !  and  perhaps  two  years'  ab- 
sence !" 

"But  you,  my  love,  would  not  object  to  accom- 
pany me .'" 

"  Object,  Reginald !  why,  you  would  never  think 
of  going  without  me  ?" 

"'Assuredly  not— while  we  could  struggle  on 
together  here— but  we  must  talk  this  over  wiili 
our  friends  when  we  have  quietly  considered  it 
ourselves.  After  all  tliey  have  done  for  me,  I 
am  not  at  liberty  to  accept  or  reject  till  I  havo 
heard  their  opinion  ;  and  then,  dearest,  there  aro 
mamma  and  sister  Constance." 

"  Alas  !  as  regards  them,  we  are  scarcely  fur- 
ther of  there  than  here.  If  you  accept,  so  do  1 — 
your  wife  shall  never  hinder  j'our  progress." 

"You  are  my  best  treasure,"  was  the  reply; 
•'  and  long  before  this  really  kind  ami  gracit'ul 
act,  Lord  Hurstwood  had  my  forgiveness— with- 
out him  I  should  sfill  have  been  witliout  you." 

When  Ashley  was  t.iken  into  their  counsel,  ho 
w.as  at  first  disposed  to  advise  rejection,  without 
weighing  all  the  reasons  for  and  against.  It  .-o 
completely  swept  away  all  the  visions  in  wliich 
he  had  indulgi-d  for  his  frien<l,  it  so  entirely 
broke  off"  that  daily  iiitercour.se  wliidi  was  so  val- 
uable to  him  tliat  he  could  scarcely  be  brought 
to  listen  patiently  to  all  tiie  advantages  it  offered  ; 
but  at  length  struck  witii  the  selfishness  of  his 
opposition,  he  promised  to  witlidraw  it  if  the  ma- 
jority were  against  liim. 

Mr.  Turner  said  it  would  spoil  a  capital  lawyer. 
But  when  Mr.  Morton  was  constilted,  he  strongly 
advise<l  Reginald  no  longer  to  hesitate — but  to 
accept  it  at  once — and  this  the  latter  was  much 
disposed  to  do. 

He  reminded  Ashley,  that  when  he  accepted 
the  help  of  his  friends  he  was  unmarried,  and 
firmly  resolved  to  continue  so  ;  but  tiiat  witli  his 
unexpeeteil  ha)>i)iness  came  additional  expenses; 
and  though  the  income  Helen  enjoyed  freed  them 
botli  from  serious  inconvenience,  he  owneil  that 
it  often  caused  him  grave  dis(|uii'lude  to  tiiink 
wliat  would  be  her  pT)sition  and  that  of  iier  boy 
if  illness  or  death  interfered  willi  his  emieavora 
to  support  tliem  ;  and  tiiat  his  utmost  exertions, 
even  if  ultimately  successful,  could  not  free  him 
from  debt  and  dependence  for  many  years,  where- 


144 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


"  Do  not  speak  those  odious  words,"  said  Ash- 
ley, infinite  disgust  expressed  on  his  fine  face. 

"  Let  us  spealf  the  truth,  old  friend,"  returned 
Reginald,  with  deep  emotion.  "  ^ly  debt  to  you 
and  Mr.  Morton  weighs  upon  nie  more  than  you, 
who  never  tliink  of  it.  can  imagine.  I  almost 
grudge  myself  the  least  indulgence,  and  some- 
limes  tear  Helen  must  think  me  a  dull  companion, 
^vith  my  everlasting  translations  and  originals ; 
and  yet' these  have  added  materially  to  our  com- 
forts. 

"  He  is  quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Morton,  who  had 
been  a  >;ileiit  but  not  unmoved  listener.  "  God 
knows  how  happy  he  would  make  me,  if  he  would 
accept,  as  a  son  from  a  father,  some  of  my  abun- 
dance— hut  I  have  cea.sed  to  urge  it.  This  office, 
it  appears,  is  one  for  which  he  is  peculiarly 
qualified  ;  and  Lord  Ilurstwood  says,  '  lie  will 
have  established  such  a  claim  upon  government, 
when  these  duties  are  performed,  as  must  insure 
his  appointment  to  an  equally  good  post  for  a 
ponnanency.'" 

"Tliat,"  said  Reginald,  "weighs  with  me  more 
than  any  other  advantage — without  this,  I  would 
not  drop  the  substance  for  the  shadow.  Helen 
has  also  heard  from  the  Priory  ;  and  though  re- 
luctant to  consent  to  our  exile,  her  mother's  good 
sense  decides  in  the  affirmative.  Constance,  wlio 
has  frequently  met  them  at  the  Hall,  speaks  in 
the  highest  terms  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Isle- 
ford  ;  about  the  former  she  has  sent  us  a  little  ro- 
mance, wliich  already  has  had  its  effect  on  Helen." 

■'  1  see  it  is  useless  to  stem  such  a  torrent 
against  me,"  said  Ashley  ;  "  when  are  you  to  go  r" 

'•  In  a  couple  of  months  ;  and  in  a  note  which 
Lady  Hurst woodsent  my  wife,  with  a  most  splen- 
did outfit  for  your  godson,  she  informs  her  of 
their  intended  arrival  in  town,  the  week  after 
next.  It  is  clear  they  do  not  anticipate  a  refusal, 
and  I  conjecture  that  I  am  expected  to  call  on 
them." 

"  No  doubt,"  replied  Mr.  Morton  ;  "  and  greatly 
do  I  rejoice  that  thus  all  difficulties  will  be  re- 
moved in  that  quarter.  I  wish,  also,  that  you 
au<l  Mrs.  West  would  establish  yourselves  with 
my  sister  in  town ;  it  will  save  much  time  and 
fatigue,  while  making  your  preparations." 

And  Helen  did^jartly  accept  of  this  thoughtful 
invitation,  to  tlie  great  sorrow  of  Mrs.  Stacey, 
thougii  she  said  she  was  quite  angry  with  herself 
for  indulging  regret  at  wliat  was  so  useful  to  her 
friend.  As  to  Gretchen,  she  hovered  about  Helen 
like  her  shadow;  and  when  the  parting  came, 
and  they  were  really  gone,  she  shut  herself  up  in 
the  little  room  which  had  served  for  a  nursery, 
and,  at  first,  was  deaf  to  words  of  comfort. 

Ashley,  who  felt  their  departure  quite  as  much 
as  .she  did,  took  pity  on  her  distress,  and  resolved 
himself  to  occupy  the  now  deserted  apartments. 
He  therefirc  offered  to  supply  the  place  of  Regi- 
nald, and  good-n.aturedly  asked  if  that  would  not 
be  some  equivalent — "Ja!  ja!  yes,  for  Mr.  Regi- 
nald he  wouM  be — but  who  was  to  comfort  her 
for  the  lo.'-s  of  .Miss  Helen  .' — no  one  but  Miss  Con- 
stance; she,  indeed — "  but  Ashley  waited  for  no 
more,  and  happily  no  one  was  present  to  witness 
his  precipitate  exit. 

It  is  thc.ilay  fixed  for  the  departure  of  the 
Wests,  and  Constance  was  waiting  for  her  mother 
10  join  her  in  a  drive  to  the  Grange. 


Some  refreshing  showers  w^ich  had  fallen  after 
a  long  drouth,  h.ad  given  additional  beauty  to 
the  ever  lovely  scenery  of  the  Priory.  The  air 
was  full  of  odors,  distilled  alike  from  the  bosom 
of  the  earth  and  the  masses  of  flowers  with  which 
the  gay  parterres  were  adorned. 

Constance,  whose  eye  for  the  graceful  and 
beautiful  was  always  open,  whether  in  the  ar- 
rangements of  drapery,  the  suitableness  of  orna- 
ment, or  the  contrasting  of  colors,  had  herself 
superintended  the  forming  and  laying  out  of  these 
flower-beds;  and  now,  while  she  was  viewing  the 
result  of  her  taste,  her  ear  was  also  gratified  by 
the  joyous  songs  which  were  being  poured  forth 
from  slirub  and  tree.  A  rival  and  rural  opera- 
house  seemed  to  have  established  itself  in  that 
sweet  spot — the  notes  of  the  happy  birds  making 
themselves  heard  with  that  delicious  clearness 
which  is  the  usual  effect  of  a  recently  refreshed 
atmosphere  ;  and  as  Constance  watched  the  little 
musicians  winging  their  IJiglit  from  tree  to  tree, 
she  thought,  "  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove  !" 
— and  tears  silently,  almost  unconsciously,  fell 
from  her  eyes  as  she  remembered  that  her  be- 
loved sister  was  now,  perhaps  at  that  very  mo- 
ment, leaving  England.  Should  they  ever  again 
meet  on  that  broad  terrace .'  should  they  ever 
again  watch  together  those  white  sails  steering 
clear  of  the  coast,  and  yet  approaching  near 
enough  to  add  all  those  attractions  the  prospect 
needed  to  make  it  perfect  in  beauty  and  poetry  ? 
~^ll,  Constance  ?  did  it  need  no  gay  vision,  once 
thought  so  essential  ? 

But  as  this  question  suggested  itself,  the  face 
of  the  fair  girl  was  more  deeply  overcast  with  a 
look  of  anxiety  as  well  as  sorrow— for  Hubert  had 
been  away  some  months,  and  his  letters  liad  not 
been  numerous.  He  had  been  told  of  this  new 
trial  which  she  and  her  mother  had  gone  through. 
in  bidding  adieu,  by  letter  only,  to  the  travelers, 
and  no  word  of  sympathy  had  arrived,  wliile  Mr. 
.and  Mrs.  Forrester  since  his  absence  seemed  to 
have  become  more  stately  and  chilling  than  ever. 

They  were  now  in  kScotland,  having  returned 
with  the  Sinclairs ;  but  before  they  went,  Lau- 
rette  found  means  to  instill  into  their  minds  a 
greater  dislike  than  ever  to  their  son's  union  with 
Constance ;  while  to  the  last  she  did  not  fail  from 
time  to  time  to  enlarge  on  Hubert's  want  of  punc- 
tuality in  writing — a  fact  she  contrived  to  learn, 
by  pretended  inquiries  from  Mrs.  Forrester,  re- 
specting her  son's  movements  and  occupations,  of 
which  she  expected,  of  courtie,  Constance  could 
inform  her,  and  of  which,  by  the  way,  Laurette, 
through  her  friends  in  Italy,  learned  more  than 
any  other  person. 

All  tliese  reflections  crowded  into  the  mind  of 
Constance  and  made  her  feel  very  sad — a  sadness 
she  tried  to  ascribe  wholly  to  the  departure  of 
Helen,  wlio  had  gone  without  having  again  seen 
either  Mrs.  Templeton  or  her  sister.  This  had 
been  impossible— for  the  Colonel  had  never  been 
long  enough  away,  and  a  growing  conviction  that 
Ruth  was  in  some  way  a  spy  on  herself  and  daugh- 
ter made  Mrs.  Templeton  more  cautious  than 
ever. 

Constance  at  last  saw  her  mother  approach; 
and  trj'ing  to  banish  all  traces  of  discomfort  from 
her  countenance,  she  hastened  to  meet  her.  Mrs. 
Templeton  looked  very  pale,  and  as  if  she  had 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


145 


^f^en  wocpiiiff;  nw]  wisliing  to  drnwher  nttcntion 
Tiin  s:ul  tli<>ii<rlit<,  she  forced  a  smile  as  slie 
jcinteil  to  tlu'  si'i  in  all  its  calm  miijosiy,  wliilo  a 
tinj' speck  of  sail  in  the  distance  was  tlip  only 
sign  of  life  on  its  Iwundless  expanse.  But,  as  is 
!:!o  often  the  case,  she  produced  the  very  effect  she 

111  wished  to  avoid. 

■•Yes,  darlins,"  said  her  mother;  "by  this 
.iiae  our  beloved  Helen  has  left  us— I  realize  it 
ill." 

"  But  she  writes  in  such  good  spirits,  dear 
mamma,  and  Reiin.ild  is  so  pleased  with  the  ap- 
pointment— and  then  it  may  not  be  so  lonp;  as  two 
years — and.  you  know,  you  have  often  told  Caro- 
line, when  she  spoke  of  Victor,  that  they  soon 
p;iss." 

"  Another  proof,"  replied  Mrs.  Tenipleton, 
"  that  we  are  very  philosophical  in  bearing  the 
trials  of  others  Still,  dear  child,  I  am  not  going 
to  repine — and  ■nss  thinking  less  of  the  length  of 
lime  than  of  the  many  events  that  may  happen  in 
a  very  short  space — and  then  I  fancy  I  could  so 
mucli  better  h;ive  borne  it  had  I  been  able  to  have' 
t'iiMen  my  childrtn  God-speed — but  tie  knows 
!iest — yes.  surely  lie  knows  best." 

A  few  days  aftpr  tliis,  Caroline  called  to  tell 
them  very  agreeable  news  from  Victor.  He  had 
joined  a  party  of  intelligent  French  travelers, 
and  was  visiting  the  wonders  of  Egypt  and  the 
Xile. 

"Only  think,"  said  Dr.  Vernon,  when  Mrs. 
Templeton  alluded  to  this  at  their  next  meeting. 
"  what  a  book  of  travels  the  young  hermit  will 
be;  we  shall  read  him  over  and  over  again." 

"  No  difficult,  matter  to  read  Victor,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Templeton,  on  whom  his  frank,  true  charac- 
ter had  made  a  most  favorable  impression  ;  "  the 
ivriting  is  always   legible,   and    the   style   both 

0  ir  and  happy — but  when  will  he  return?" 

■'  Ah  !  not  yet,"  replied  Caroline,  with  a  sigh, 
"High  she  colored  with  pleasure  at  Mrs.  Temple- 
ion's  speech— -'he  fears  that  some  troublesome 
busine.'^s  will  oblige  him  to  visit  Smyrna  before  we 
fee  him  in  England." 

She  longed  to  hear  Constance  say  something 
of  Hubert;  but  though  they  loved  each  other 
dearly,  and  frequently  conversed  of  the  absent 

•■1  the  loved,  Caroline  always  hesitated  to  in- 

lire  about  him— she  had  a  vague  and  unsatis- 

■tory  feeling  that  between  them  there  was  not 
the  same  confidence  nnd  truth  as  between  her  and 
Victor;  though  so  cautious  was  she  not  to  say 
any  thing  lo  draw  fortli  an  expression  of  Con- 
stance's sentiments,  that  Laurette  wasted  several 
choice  pieces  of  malice  on  Caroline,  in  the  mis- 
taken hope  that  tliey  would  find  the  mark  at 
v.hich  she  shot — and  many  and  many  an  iSnkind 
hint  or  in  iirect  anecdote  was  carefully  kept  in 
licr  friendly  bosom  which  the  narrator  intended 
j-hould  wound  the  heart  of  her  cousin. 

At  length  came  the  long-expected  letter  from 

Italy.     But,  instead  of  sending   condolence  and 

\vnipatliy.  Hubert  siw  nothing  in  the  departure 

■  :'  ;lie  Wests  but  a  subject  for  congratul.-ition.     He 

illy  wished  he  had  had  such  an  offer — a  post  of 

iiioluni'^nt  and  confidence — one  leading  also  to  cer- 

ttiin  promotion  and  employment — he  really  envied 

Ilt'grnald.     At  first  Constance  was  so  provoked 

I  hat  she  was  ready  to  weep — then,  as  she  again 

read  this,  and  much  more  to  the  same  purpose, 

10 


she  remembered  these  were  the  very  arguments 
all  tlieir  sensible  friends,  anil  Reginald  himseU", 
had  used,  in  order  to  reroncUe  them  to  tiio  pain 
of  separation;  and  she  thought  it  was  kind  and 
wise  of  Hubert  to  dwell  upon  the  advantages  of  an 
inevitable  event,  rather  than  by  useless  sentiment 
and  foolish  pity  render  them  unli.ippy  and  dis- 
contented; and  as  she  rend  an  animaied  account 
of  a  visit  to  Vesuvius,  and  a  ib  scrii)tioii  of  .some 
curious  specimens  of  carved  lava  he  had  packed 
up  for  herself  and  Mrs.  Templeton,  lier  spirits  re- 
sumed tiieir  even  tone— tliough  it  was  .••till  with 
something  of  (lis  ippointraent  that  she  fohled  and 
locked  away  the  letter. 

Had  she  judged  it  impartially,  she  would  have 
said  it  was  commonplace  and  nn'nterosting — per- 
hap.s  she  might  have  added  cob  1  anl  indifferent; 
and  had  Helen,  during  the  halcyon  days  of  her 
short  courtship,  been  in  the  habit  of  parading 
Reginald's  letters,  which,  of  course,  she  was  not, 
Con.stance  might  have  been  still  more  un.>-paring 
in  her  criticisms. 

At  any  rate  she  had  heard — and  heard  that  he 
was  well,  for,  lately,  that  anxiety  had  begun  to 
harass  her ;  she  could  also  tell  her  mother  that 
Hubert  had  ascended  .Mount  Vesuvius ;  and 
liitle  as  that  was  it  was  something— for  she  had 
fancied  that  Mrs.  Templeton,  though  imitating,  in 
one  sense,  Hubert's  silence,  had  thought  it  more 
extraordinary  than  that  gay  youth  himself  seem- 
ed to  have  done. 

A  visit  from  Miss  Newman  and  the  little  Jlor- 
tons  to  the  Vernons  was  a  pleasing  interruption  to 
the  monotony  of  their  present  life.  Hurstwood 
was  left  to  the  servants  ;  the  Forresters  were 
away— not  that  the  Priory  missed  them  much  ; 
Lady  Dallas  was  at  the  sea  with  all  her  family, 
except  Minnie,  who  was  left  with  Constance  at 
their  united  request ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  more 

floomy  shadow  than  ever  had  fallen  on  Colonel 
empleton.  He  was  often  much  occupied  with 
his  solicitor  from  town,  and  under  the  plea  of 
busness  frequently  absented  himself  from  tho 
morning  meal,  so  that,  as  far  as  his  presence 
went,  both  his  wife  and  daughter  might  have 
spent  half  their  time  with  Helen  had  she  been  in 
England. 

j  it  may,  therefore,  be  imagined  how^  the  arrival 
of  the  Rectory  guests  was  haileif  by  Constance, 

I  whose  love  of  children  was  excessive,  and  wlio  ha/l 
more  than  once  called  on  Miss  Newman  while 
visiting  her  aunt ;  and  her  mother  was  delighted 
to  perceive  that  the  briglit  eyes  were  brighter, 

j  the  musical  laugh  more  frequent,  and  that  her 
Constance,  who  had  lately  looked  so  droop'ng,  was 

I  once  more  the  cheerful,  blithe  creature  who  had 
returned  from  scho(d  so  full  of  gay  hopes,  almost 
every  one  of  which  had  been  destroyed.  And 
when  letters  were  at  length  forwarded  from  .Ash- 
ley, announcing  the  arrival  at  St.  Petersburg  of 
all,  even  the  new  nurse,  safe  and  well,  Mrs, 
Templeton  uttered  grateful  thanks  for  mercies 
vouchsafed,  and  endeavored  not  to  think  of  thc?e: 
which,  she  fancied,  were  withheld. 




THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


CHAPTER    LXII. 


• Ollenlimcs,  to  win  iw  to  our  harm, 

Tue  iiiairuiueuts  of  ilurkuess  leli  us  irn  h»  " 

SllAKSPEARK. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  procure  me  a  copy  of 
old  Ashley's  will  ?"  a-'ikeJ  Mrs.  Captain  in  her 
usual  disrespectful  style  of  conversation  when 
alone  with  Cuopcr.  .    . 

••  No  doubt  1  can,"  he  replied ;  "  but  what  is  in 
the  wind  now  ?— what  dodge  are  you  up  to  r" 

"  Never  you  mind/'  was  tlie  courteous  reply  ; 
"  perhups  1  have  no  motive  but  curiosity.  You 
let  me  have  a  sight  of  this  will,  and  I  shall  then 
know  better  what  1  want." 

Accordingly,  as  a  copy  of  the  will  was  among 
the  Colonels  papars,  and  quite  easy  of  access,  it 
was  borrowed  by  the  agent  and  conveyed  to  Mrs. 
Captain  .Mordaunt,  who,  after  several  futile  at- 
tempts to  come  at  the  plain  English  meaning,  en- 
veloped as  that  was  in  the  "technicalities  of  the 
law,  was  fain  to  ask  Mr.  Cooper  s  assistance  re- 
specting a  few  sentences  wiuch  seemed  particular- 
ly to  interest  her. 

"  If  you  think  to  wheedle  him  out  of  more 
money  just  now,  you  will  find  your  mistake — he 
has  been  bothered  lately  in  many  ways,  and  tliat 
annuity  to  you  swept  off  a  cool  five  thousand  and 
odd." 

"  And  what  of  that .'"  she  retorted,  with  a  con- 
temptuous laugh  ;  "  I  can  put  him  in  the  way  of, 
perliaps,  repaying  himself  with  interest,  and  a 
handsome  present  to  tlie  gold-iinder,  besides  " 


it.     I  have  often  warned  him,  since  we  have  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it— but  I  believe  he  is  some- 
times mid  after  the  dice.     And  now  I  think  of  it, 
what  is  Mits  Ruth  doing,  or,  rather,  what  has  she  i 
done  lately  .''" 

"Oh!  slie  says  every  one  suspects  her,  and 
that  she  is  miserable,  and  talks  of  leaving,  and 
being  sorry,  and  such  stuff." 

"  Ah !  she  must  do  a  little  more,  and  be  a  little 
more  sorry,  bclbrc  I  have  done  witli  her,  and 
then  she  may  leave  and  go  where  she  likes  ;  she 
must  have  acted  like  an  idiot  to  cause  suspicion — 
and  serve  her  right." 

"  Well,  this  is  good,"  cried  Coop?r ;  "  why,  you 
have  tempted  tiie  girl  to  watch  and  betray  her 
employers,  and  now  you  upbraid  her  with  haviiij: 
drawn  upi.n  herself  suspicion.  That  old  dragon, 
Dawson,  I  am  sure,  has  set  them  against  her,  and 
I  owe  her  one  for  that  trick." 

"  And  I  owe  her  many,  for  several  tricks,"  said 
she ;  "  but  it  will  be  odd  if  I  do  not  pay  her,  and 
another  old  witch,  wJK^n  my  turn  comes — but 
even  he  is  besotted  about  her  honesty  and  man- 
agement, forsooth." 

The  "  //e"  thus  unceremoniously  alluded  to 
came  that  eT:'n".ng,  on  a  little  business  connected 
with  Augustus,  who  was  expected  from  Paris; 
but  from  whom  his  mother  had  that  day  received 
a  letter,  dated  London,  in  which  he  said  that  he 
should  be  detained  there  for  a  few  days. 

Two  or  three  words  must  here  be  espscially  de- 
voted to  Master  Gussy  and  his  doiuj^s  :  for  the 
truth  is,  he  was  absent  without  leave — he  had 
I  absconded,  deserted — in   short,  run   away  from 


What  stuti'  you  talk,  Maria,"  exclaimed  Coop-  j  gcbool.     He  had  there  been  detected  in  so  many 
er,  angrily ;  "  whenever  you  get  on  that  hobby  j  discreditable  pranks — among  others,  frcqnentinj; 


you  remind  me  of  a  beggar  on  horseback 

"  Vou  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  hoad,  or 
when  I  am  lady  paramount  you  may  look  for 
your  profitable  agency  some  fine  day,  and  find  it 
gone. ' 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry  !"  he  replied,  pale  with 
sp!te  and  rage,  "  if  you  go  on  so,  I  will  blow  your 
fine  scheme  about  your  ears,  and — " 

"  Be  buried  yourself  under  the  fragments. 
Dare  but  to  threaten  me  again,  and  see  if  I  do 
not  rout  out  that  Palais  Eoyal  affair." 

"  Fool  and  fury,"  he  began— 

"  Keep  the  first  title  to  yourself,"  she  retorted, 
interrupting  him;  "why,  you  are  quarreling 
with  your  bread-and-butter,  you  great  gaby — 
and  now  tell  me,  what  is  that  man  from  London 
domg  up  yonder  .-' — what  plot  is  hatching  there  .' ' 

"  1  do  not  know,"  he  replied,  sullenly  ;  '•  and 
if  I  did  I  would  not  tell  you.'' 


estaminets,  gaming  and  smoking  with  the  soldiers 
stationed  al  Versailles,  where  bis  school  was^ 
that  the  hoad  master,  at  length,  determining  t" 
impose  some  severe  penance  on  him,  ordered  him 
to  solitary  confinemeui  till  he  could  think  of  what 
was  most  likely  to  cure  him.  But  Augustus  did 
not  relish  the  idea  of  waiting  till  this  salutary 
measure  was  arranged ;  he  contrived  to  escape, 
made  his  way  to  Paris,  where,  among  a  few  pro- 
fligate acquantance  he  had  picked  up  during  hi9 
mother's  sojourn  in  that  city,  he  was  concealed 
and  encouraged — till,  every  franc  spent,  and  a 
handsome  watch  and  appendages,  with  his  clothes, 
all  gone,  he  wrote  for  a  remittance  to  enable  him 
to  cross  the  water,  as  he  positively  refused  to  re- 
turn to  school ;  and  by  threatening  his  mother  to 
do  something  dreadful,  obtained  at  once  the  re- 
quisite sum.  Arrived  in  London,  he  jo'ned  Juliet 
at  the  house  of  one  of  his  mother's  friends,  wisely 


Yes,  you  would,"  she  replied,  with  a  concilia- i  waiting   till   the  storm,  which   he   knew  raged 

'       against  him  at  Seabrooke,  had  passed  over. 

"  What  is  this  about  Augustus  .'"  asked  the 
Colonel ;  "  what  is  he  doing  in  town  .'  and  where 
is  he  staying .'" 

Prudently  avoiding  an  answer  to  the  first  two 
questions,  Mrs.  Captain  tliought  it  enough  to  re- 


tory  laugh  and  patting  his  back;  "there,  the 
monlcey  is  off— and  do  not  play  these  tricks  with 
me.     Are  we  not  both  in  the  same  boat .'" 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  that,"  said  he,  begin- 
ning to  be  controllable  ;  "  but  you  make  me  mad 
when  you  go  on  so  absurdly.     I  know  no  more 


■than  you  about  this  business  with  Mr.  Sloper ;  I    ply  to  tlie  third 


only  suppose  they  are  trying  to  raise  the  needful 
somehow,  though  how  be  spends  liis  income,  puz- 
tlcs  me." 

"  If  he  meets  that  set  in  town,  it  is  easily  un- 
derstood—renu-mltcr  what  he  lost  one  night  -n 
Paris— why,  that  German  alone  would  strp  th*- 
very  skin  off  you,  if  he  could  make  any  thing  of 


lie  is  staying  with  the  Lawfords." 
"  Well,  1  hope  they  will  be  able  to  keep  him 
out  of  mischief— his  last  visit  cost  me  a  pretty 
penny,  and  I  promise  both  him  and  you  that  I 
have  neither  pence  nor  farthings  to  spare  just 
now." 

«'  Why,  Juliet  is  there,  and  it  is  very  natural 


TFIE  WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


147 


■f'.icy  sl'.ould  like  to  take  a  Utile  pleasure  to- 
;:etiier  " 

"  As  much  as  they  like,  provided  that  I  have 
Jiot.  to  piy  the  piper;  f.r,  to  ^peak  ti-uly,  I  have 
>io  more  the  will  than  the  mi'^iiis  " 

"  Oh,  you  never  want  the  will  to  be  kind  and 
CMien/us  when  you  hnve  tlie  power,  that  we  all 
know,'"  slie  artfully  replies  I,  «'t  noticing  the  ill 
Jcinp'T  with  whicli  ir  was  evideut  he  was  anima- 
ted ;  "  and  what  will  you  give  ihe  person  who 
biiall  sliow  you  where  a  snug  little  sum  is  buried, 
and  onjy  waiting  for  you  to  dig  it  up  r" 

"  Why,  I  sliall  say,  when  that  happens,  that  I 
believe  in  the  Philosoplier's  stotie."  lie  repli»'d, 
iilighily  clearing  his  stormy  brow;  "  but  where 
is  Co>iper  r" 

'•Never  mind  him.  Colonel,"  flic  answerc<l, 
•'  but  attend  to  me  now.  Praj'  did  you  ever  read 
tlie  whole  of  the  will  under  which  you  inherit  the 
Seabrooke  property  .-" 

•'  Ever  read  the  whole  ?"  he  said,  with  a  fal- 
tering voice,  and  turning  pale.  "  Good  God  ! 
wh.it  do  you  mean  ?" 

*'  Why,  one  wouhl  think  from  your  manner  that 
it  was  forged,'  she  remarked,  but  s:ill  uncon- 
scious of  the  depth  of  his  agitation,  or  she  would 
not  I'ave  hazarded  a  jest. 

"  1  am  in  no  mood  for  trifling.  You  have  a 
motive  for  asking — what  is  it  ?  speak  out,  and  at 
once."  And  there  was  something  in  his  look 
which  reminded  her  that  even  she  had  better  obey. 

"  Siaply  this,"  she  replied;  and  without  fur- 
tiier  pailey  siie  handed  him  an  extract  she  had 
made  for  that  purpose. 

•'  Also  to  Ellinor,  the  wife  of  the  said  Lionel 
Temiileton,  I  give  and  bequeath  the  sum  of  five 
thou-and  pounds  for  her  sule  and  j^eparate  use  ;' 
and  blie  stood  watching  him  as  he  read,  and  saw 
the  look  of  intelligence  that  gradually  spread 
ever  liis  face;  then  she  knew  that  the  poisoned 
drop  wo\ild  fall  and  torture  where  she  so  bitterly 
h.ited. 

When  he  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  paper  he  en- 
countered hers  fixed  full  on  him.  Neither  spoke 
a  Word  for  a  few  minutes,  till,  unable  to  bear  the 
sdence  and  suspense,  she  asked, 

"  And  where  is  that  sum  ?" 

"bpent— I  believe— I  suppose,"  he  stammered. 

"Believe — suppose — had  you  not  belter  make 
-lire  t" 

"  And  for  what  purpose,  except  to  disclo.se  to 
lier  and  others  that  1  have  so  greatly  exceeded 
-::iy  income  ?  I  have  no  power  over  this  money — 
it  id  left  expressly  f  )r  her  use." 

'•  You  have  power  over  her,"  .sneered  this  shc- 
d'-vil,  "  and  her  cypress  use  will  be  ex.actly  such 
•  IS  you  dictate — what  business  has  any  woman 
with  such  a  sum,  in  addition  to  tiie  money  with 
which  you  so  liberally  supply  her  .'  Why,  the 
interest  alone  of  this  would  make  her  independent 
of  you  " 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  tlie  tempted. 

'•  And,"  pur.-ued  the  tempter,  aiming  at  ran- 
dom, but  uiiliappily  hitting  riglit.  "  who  can  tell 
whether  that  gallant  young  Lovelace  h:i3  not  had 
a  slice  of  this  comfortable  little  leg  icy  ?  I  advise 
you  to  borrow  the  remainder  before  you  have  an- 
other Gretna  green  iiflf.iir  ;"  but  she  paused,  for 
the  cloud  had  returned  with  double  iritensity  and 
gloota 


I      "  Once  for  all,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  concen- 

'  trated  rage,  '•  name  not  /irr  ;  angels  only  should 
spcMk  of  her;  and  I  swear  if  you  disobey  mo  I 
will  keep  no  teims  with  you  ;  do  not  try  mt>  too 

■  much,  or  you  may  tind  the  strengtli  does  not  lie 
where  ynu  fancy." 

Inwardly  boiling  with  rap«,  and  vowing  deep 
vows  ot  venge  ince,  when  she  had  the  0|  portunity, 
Mrs.  Captain  was  obedient— for  this  was  not  the 
fiist  lime  lur  tpite  against  Cotist.ance  had  hccn 
hurletl  back  up(m  herself;  but  she  again  reverted 

I  to  this  sum,  and  by  plausibly  representing  that 
it  could  be  easily  borrowed,  and  by  bringing  be- 
Ibre  him  his  need  of  money,  which    was  hardly 

j  requisite,  inasmuch  as  the  recollection  perpi-tu- 

j  ally  annoyed   him,  she  sent  him  home  fully  le- 

!  solved  to  liave  this  money — by  fair  means,  if  pis- 

j  sible— but — to  have  it. 

Tliat  day  the  Colonel  had  no  opportunity  of 
carrying   out    his    magnanimous   intention ;    for 

,  Constance,  who  ,>-eemed  uncomfortable  when  slio 
had  not  her  u«ual  post  by  lier  mother's  side,  never 

j  left  her. 

The  next  morning  was  n^ore  propitious  to  his 

[  design,  as  he  heanl  little  Minnie  IJal!  is  talking 
with  Constance  in  her  own  room,  and  knew  that 
his  wife  was  cither  in  or  near  the  upper  conserv- 
atory. Thither,  therefore,  he  rep.oired,  ra\'\  found 
her  in  the  boudijir,  occupied  in  making  a  reduccl 
copy  of  the  portraits  of  her  daughters,  intended 
as  a  present  to  Mrs.  Vernon  :  fov  Mrs.  Templetou, 
like  Constance,  excelled  in  this  charming  art. 

The  beautiful  llehe  ftxceof  Constance  was  ail- 
mirably  finished,  and  she  was  now  completing 
that  of  Helen,  with  its  touching  ami  Madonna- 
like expression;  but  some  associations  and  rtctl- 
lections  were  busy  at  woik  in  the  minti  of  the 
fond  mother  and  impeded  her  look  of  love,  for  as 
she  raised  her  eyes,  on  the  entrance  of  her  hus- 
band, they  were  filled  with  tears. 

She  started  when  she  saw  who  it  was,  and  her 
first  movement  was  that  of  trying  to  hide  the  na- 
ture of  her  employment — but  this  theatate  of  tlio 
oils  prevented ;  and  before  she  could  even  quit  the 
easel,  he  stood  by  her  side. 

'■  A  very  successlul  copy  indeed,"  he  remarked 
graciously;  "though  as  to  any  one  ever  satisfy- 
ing me  in  representing  that  girl's  bewitching 
face,  I  bilieve  it  inipossdile;  even  you  have  given 
it  a  pensive  cast,  wlixh  does  not  naturally  belong 
to  it." 

Surprised,  half  8tartle<l  that  he  should  evince 
any  thing  like  interest  in  her  pursuits,  .Mrs.  Tcm- 
pkton  replied,  "  IJui  it  is  one  whicli  her  awoet 
countenance  ha.s  lately  worn,  ami  1  own  to  think- 
ing it  does  not.  in  tlie  le:ust.  diminish  its  beauty." 
"  Oh  !  pray  do  not  encourage  Coastance  to  dis- 
figure herself  with  dismals  and  sentiment,"  he 
said,  sharply  ;  "she  has  every  thing  a  girl  c^m 
want  now,  with  Forest  Hill  and  Hargraves,  when 
she  marries." 

How  the  mother  longed  to  direct  his  attention 
to  the  other  charming  face,  which  .seeimd  so 
touchingly  to  appeal  to  all  of  gentle  and  kind  that 
might  yet  linger  in  his  nature  —  but  theie  was  a 
scowl  on  his  brow  which  warned  her  to  besili'iit. 
'*  I  have  always  forgotten  to  name  to  you  a 
legiicv  to  which  you  are  eniiilcd  by  the  will  of 
tlie  late  Mr.  Ashley,"  he  said,  f.-eling  that  h« 
should  be  glad  when  this  matter  was  over. 


148 


THE  WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


Tremblinw  at  the  storm  which  she  knew  im- 
peii'l.'J.  and  wliich  slie  also  knew  she  could  not 
avoid,  she  replied,  as  calmly  .-u;  she  could  :  "  ily 
trst  net  on  possessing  it  was  to  invest  it  for  the 
children." 

"Tlie  devil  you  did!"  he  retorted  sharply; 
"  and  pray  who  were  your  trustees  in  this  pre- 
ciou.s  whim  r" 

"  My  brotlier  and  his  solicitor." 

"Upon  my  sail  I  a  pretty  conspiracy,  under 
the  sanction  of  Lord  Granthiim,  and  a  very  hon- 
orable tiling  this  interference  with  my  property." 

Aware  that  to  resent  this  insulting  mention  of 
her  brother,  or  to  remind  him  that  it  was  not  his 
property,  woul  1  only  draw  down  his  fury  the  soon- 
er, she  w.is  s  I  mt. 

"  I  presume  that  these  honorable  counselors  in- 
vested it  so  as  to  bjar  interest — you,  probably, 
know  sjmsthing  of  that  ?" 

"  The  iiite.est  I  have  generally  drawn  for  va- 
rious pur^rosijs  such  as  my  1-ttle  charities — or  in- 
dulgences to  the  girls  while  with  Mrs.  Loftus." 

"  Charities  !  to  the  tune  of  nearly  two  hundred 
a-year !  upon  my  word,  madam,  you  have  noble 
ideas— pity  they  did  not  prevent  you  from  defraud- 
ing your  husband." 

"  It  w.is  no  fraud  upon  yoii,  Lionel,"  she  re- 
plied. "  I  was  given  to  understand  that  this  leg- 
acy was  so  absolutely  mine  th.at  I  could  at  once 
have  given  it  away." 

"  .\ud  confourfled  fools  they  are  who  allow  any 
woman  to  have  this  power.  However,  henceforth, 
I  slinli  controli,he  interest,  and  also  soe  what  I 
can  do  about  the  prlnciral.  At  a  moment  when 
every  hundred  is  mjst  valuabla  to  m3,  to  be  coolly 
toll  by  you  that  you  have  alienated  five  thousand, 
is  intolerable.  Where  are  the^e  papers  .'  and  give 
me  the  address  of  this  rascally  lawyer." 

"  I  have  no  papers,"  she  repliel ;  "  but  you  can 
have  the  address  "' 

•'  No  papers!  by  heavens,  madam,  you  arc  a 
fool  I- — what  aocurity  have  you  for  the  income  ."' 

"  I  gave  them  up  when  Helsn  was  forced  from 
her  home,'  she  said,  slightly  roused  ;  "  thz  couhl 
not  be  left  peuniless — and—"  but  he  broke 
forth— 

"  She  should  not  only  have  been  left  penniless, 
but  to  starve— she  richly  deserved  it  for  her  d>o- 
bcdience,  and  in  which  I  now  find  you  have  been 
encouriiging  her — but  I  will  tear  this  from  them 
— her  and  tier  beggar  husbanl.  By  the  heavens 
above!  I  w  11  make  you  all  repent  of  this  combi- 
nation—p'nuiless,  in  lejd— and  to  give  it  to  them 
wlien  /  wauu  ini>n  jy  !" 

"  1  am  really  sorry  that  you  shoixld  noed  money 
— though,  wit!i  <  ur  ine  me,  it  can  only  be  for  a  I 
short  tinij,"  returned  Mi-s.  Templeton  ;  "  but  we 
can  economize  in  some  way,  or,  perhaps,  you  can 
borrow."  I 

"  Borrow  ! — how  am  I  to  borrow .'"  he  said,  sav- 
agely ;  "  I  am  tied  hand  and  foot  by  this  cursed  re-  I 
striction — but  tell  me,  wlnre  is  this  thief  who  firsb  i 
steals  my  daughter  and  th-'n  my  money  .'" 

"  At  St.  Petersburg  ;"  an  1  there  was  a  joy  in 
her  heart  wliich  unconsc'ously  communicate  1  itself 
to  her  tone,  at  the  thought  that  let  what  might 
,     oie  to  her,  these  dear  on\s  were  safe. 

"Now,"  said  Colonel  Temple  on,  approaching 
ier,  while  she  instinct. vely  recoiled,  "  you  have 
not  forgotten  that  no  one,  you,  especially,  can 


escape  my    vengeance— you    must    revoke    thi 
deed." 

•'  But  it  is  impossible,"  gasped  she,  pale  wit! 
extreme  terror. 

"It  must  be  done.  Helen— out  on  her!  tha 
I  have  to  name  her — must  consent.  Do  yoi 
hear .'" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  rejoicing  to  think  that  sh( 
knew  so  much  better  than  he  the  nature  of  tbi 
trust,  as  to  be  certain  it  could  not  be  annulled. 

"  And  now,  as  you  have  frustrated  me  by  this 
arrangement,  you  must  be  prepared  to  submit  t( 
mine.  Probably  we  shall  all  go  abroad,  an  1  let 
this  expensive  place — and  as  my  need  for  everj 
guinea  is  pressing,  I  must  have  your  pearls  " 

The  bare  threat  of  living  abroad  so  overpowerec 
Mrs.  Templeton  that  she  lost  all  presence  of  mind, 
and  rais'.ng  her  voice  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh !  not 
abroad  !  not  again  abroad  !" 

He  also  spoke  in  louder  tones,  swearing  that  if; 
she  thwartel  him,  their  exile  should  begin  with-; 
out  delay — and,  stamping  his  foot,  bade  her  fetcti 
the  pearls  immediately.  ' 

She  left  the  room  for  that  purpose  just  as  the 
door  opjned  which  led  to  the  corridor,  and  gave 
admittance  to  Constance,  who  having  heard  hei. 
father's  voice  from  that  quarter,  a  most  unusual 
occurrence,  entered  her  mother's  boudoir. 

Her  father  stood  with  his  back  toward  her,' 
quite  unaware  of  her  entrance ;  her  mother  soon! 
returned,  and  placing  the  jewel-case  on  the  table, 
she  sank  pale  and  trembling  on  a  chair. 

"  Dearest  mamma  !"  was  the  cry  that  brx)kc  the 
ominous  sibnce,  and  Constance  rushed  forward—. 
"  Mamma,  you  are  ill,"'  she  continued,  not  noticingi' 
her  father;  "  what  is  the  matter ."'  • 

"  Nothing,  child — leave  me,  leave  me,"  she  said 
faintly;  but  Constance  twk  no  heed  of  tliis  re- 
quest— for  kneeling  down,  she  began  to  chafe  the 
cold  hands,  repeatedly  kissing  them. 

"  Your  mother  and  I  have  business,"  said  the 
Colonel;  "  leive  us," 

'•  Not  while  mamma  is  ill  and  fainting,"  re- 
plied she;  "no  om  can  desire  that;  and  then 
her  glance  falling  on  the  jiwel-cisj,  she  at  oncej 
suspected  that  threats,  perhaps  violence,  had  beer, 
used,  and  rising,  she  said—"  It  must  be  evident 
to  you,  papa,  that  she  can  not  enter  into  business! 
details  at  present ;  perhaps  it  will  not  inconven-j 
ienc3  any  one  if  it  be  delayed  ;"  and  she  main-' 
taincd  her  post  so  as  to  intercept  all  approach  tei 
her  mother,  while  it  was  difficult,  with  those  flash-, 
ing  eyes  fixed  on  him,  for  the  Colonel  to  toucl:; 
the  case;  so  turning  his  fierce"  looks  on  his  wife! 
he  said,  "  Hemember,  I  will  not  be  thwarted!' 
and  left  the  room. 

Constance  quickly  locked  the  door  after  him 
and  then  returned  to  her  mother,  soothing  am 
caressing  her,  as  if  they  had  exchanged  charac-i 
tors,  and  i\Irs.  Templeton  had  been  the  child 
neeiiing  a  mother's  care  and  protection  A'i 
length  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  tear' 
flow  abundantly,  while  her  mother  sobbed  out— 
"  My  darling  child!  my  guardian  angel !"' 

"  Now,  mamma,  lie  down,  while  I  remain  here !' 
and  C(mstance  felt  that,  more  than  ever,  she  mus 
keep  watch  over  this  beloved  parent;  she  was 
again  roused  to  a  sense  of  her  mother's  helpless' 
unprotected  state ;  and  fervently  did  she  nov 
thank  Mr.  Forrester  for  the  various  impediraonti' 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


149 


he  had  interposed  to  her  speedy  mnrrinjic  ;  indeed, 
in  her  enthusiasm,  she  doubted  whetlicr  she  ought 
ever  to  leave  her — and  began  seriously  to  think 
she  never  would. 

"  How  is  your  mother  now  ?"  asked  the  Colonel, 
when  they  mot  at  luncheon,  where  she  had  hoped 
toseo  him- lor  Constance  had  no  fear. 

"She is  better,  thank  you." 

"  Anyone  would  think  I  had  been  trying  to  kill 
her,"  he  said.  '•  It  was  alwut  money ;  and  whin 
I  wanted  thousands,  you  mother  is  foolish  enough 
to  offer  her  jewels." 

Willin<i  to  accept  any  overture  that  sounded 
pacific,  Constance  quietly  r^plie<l,  '-Perhaps  mam- 
ma thouglit  it  would  please  you,  to  see  that  she 
wished  to  help  you  " 

"  No  sign  of  tliat  in  her  aggravating  folly,  to 
have  locked  up  five  tliousand  pounds,  or  handed 
it  over  to  her  disobedient  dauglitcr. 

"  Mrs.  West  is  my  sister,"  s.aid  Constance,  with 
the  flash  and  the  frown. 

"  Anl,  truly,  a  great  honor  that  ie,"  he  replied, 
half-amused,  half- provoked  at  these  well  known 
signals ;  "  wandering  over  Europe  in  search  of  a 
living." 

"  That  want  is  not  her  fault ;  and  as  to  wan- 
dering, it  is  a  disgrace  or  an  honor  in  which  her 
husband  has  the  company  of  the  Duke  of  Isle- 
ford." 

But  he  did  not  trouble  Lord  Grantham  with  his 
insulting  opinion  respecting  trusteeship,  for  on 
consulting  his  lawyer  lie  found  nothing  could  be 
done.  Fortunately  there  was  no  attempt  made  to 
investigate  the  account,  or  there  would  have  been 
found  a  handy  little  sum  arising  from  income 
which  had  been  gradually  added  to  the  capital, 
which  would  have  paid  a  few  bills  that  Mrs.  Cap- 
tain and  Co.  hsjd  contracted — for  both  .Juliet  and 
Augustus  were  quite  capable  of  having  little  out- 
staniling  accounts  ;  indeed,  the  latter  never  was 
known  to  spend  a  guinea  in  the  way  ordered,  if  he 
once  handled  it — and  a  small  misjippropriation, 
or  it  would  be  more  genteel  to  say,  mistake,  of 
this  kimi  having  occurred.  Mrs  Captain  Mordaunt 
listened  to  the  Colonel  s  defeat  about  his  wife's 
legacy  with  double  vexation. 


CH.U'TER   LXIIL 


"  Tnirr«titnde  is  a  monrter,  Carolo. 
To  be  Hlraoglud  iu  the  birih,  nol  C>  be  chcrithoi^." 

Massihorb. 

Another  unpleasant  event  followed  this. 
Nothing  less  than  a  quarrel  in  the  lower  regions  — 
an  outbreak  among  the  servants— which  lei  Mrs. 
Daw.stjn  to  tliink  it  was  now  time  to  d  scharge 
Rutlu  One  of  the  women  servants  declared  that 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  skulking  down  sUiirs  at 
night  and  listening  at  the  door  of  .Mrs.  Tenipleton 
and  her  young  lady's  rooms  :  and  thit,  moreover, 
ehe  had  keys  which  enable*^!  her  to  examine  their 
desks  and  ^vriting-table-s. 

To  one  part  only  of  this  did  Ruth  deign  a  reply 
— she  boldly  challenged  an  invc't'galion  <if  her 
young  lady's  property,  who,  kIk;  nuid,  would  not 
find  pa  ohi  ribbon  m-fln'oig.     The  otlier  charges 


flhe  flatly  denied — and  even  demnnde<l  lliat  slio 
sliould  be  allowc<l  to  appeal  to  Mrs.  Tcmplettm. 

Kuth  presented  herself  in  a  state  of  painful  ex- 
citement ;  and  though  Constance  bnre  tcatiniouy 
to  her  honesty,  .so  f.ir  as  rogarilc<l  her  property, 
she  frankly  owned  that  she  believed  Kuth.  f<ir 
some  bad  purpose,  was  in  the  habit  of  opening  her 
desks  and  several  other  places.  "Why,  or  for 
whom  you  seek  to  gratify  this  dishonest  curiosity 
is  not  your  .secret  only,"  said  Constance,  impres- 
sively ;  "  but,  Huth,  in  yielding  to  tliis  wicked 
inlluenec,  you  are  perhaps  not  aware  iiow  you 
may  injure  one  to  whom  gratitude  should  so 
so  strongly  bind  you." 

To  this  there  was  no  reply ;  but  the  girl  stood 
with  an  cxprcs.'-ion  on  her  rather  pretty  face 
which  it  was  diflicult  to  read— it  was  defiant,  sor- 
rowful, irresolute. 

"  It  pains  me  much,"  said  the  gentle  voice  of 
Mrs,  Templeton,  "  to  say  that,  under  any  circum- 
stances, it  will  be  better  you  should  leave.  Where 
do  you  propose  going .'  your  father's  home  is  not 
fit  for  you." 

"  My  father  is  as  respectable,  in  his  way,  as 
many  who  are  rich,"  was  the  saucy  retort;  "  but 
I  have  very  kind  friends  in  the  village,  who  arc 
bound  to  give  me  welcome." 

"  If  so,  I  am  glad,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  really 
grieved  that  a  motherless  girl,  to  whom  she  had 
been  hind,  .•should  prove  .so  heartless. 

Still,  the  departure  of  this  woman  wns  a  relief, 
and  various  disclosures  now  made  convinced  Mrs. 
Dawson  that  her  kind  lady  had  long  had  a  epy 
in  the  house. 

The  mine  had,  however,  been  sprung  before  all 
was  readj';  for,  on  going  to  Mrs.  Captain's.  Kutli 
heard  that  she  hail  set  otV  that  morning  to  London  ; 
and  though  Mr.  Cooper  proposed  that  she  should 
remain,  this  seemed  scarcely  expedient— it  would 
oaly  confirm  the  slanders  which  had  been  hissed 
into  Ruth's  car.s  from  more  than  one  quarter. 

Before  .she  had  been  taken  by  Mrs.  Templeton 
into  her  daughters'  service,  she  had  been  lor  a  few 
months  with  .Mrs.  Sims,  to  acquire  a  finish  in 
needle-work,  nnii  to  liJirn  those  trifling  duties  her 
new  situation  would  render  necessary.  For  a  hing 
time  after  this  a  very  friendly  feeling  subsisted 
between  her  and  the  SiuiH  family  ;  but  it  is  almost 
proverbial— 

"  Ilnw  •lieht  A  riin«e  ■«  iH  mnv< 
I)i«8  11  loll  \>(  iwcvii  luiirln  Ilia'  lo*'c — 
A  wor.l  uukui'l  "-r  wroi.tjl.v  lukrii," 

the  pf)et  tells  us,  in  enough ;  what  chance,  then, 
of  its  en'luring  where  there  are  many  unkind 
words  .'  Thus  it  ensued  between  Huth  and  her 
friends  the  haberdashers — who  scrupled  not  to 
hint  at  very  paw-paw  doings— high  treason  against 
her  kind  nlistress,  and  other  misdemeanoi-s  ;  and 
in  proportion  as  the  intimacy  between  Ruth  and 
the  Coojiers  rose  to  boiling  heat,  w»  did  her  friend- 
3hip  with  the  Simses  sink  to  below  zero. 

However,  it  w.is  with  Kuih  now,  Hob^on'* 
choice;  hO  laying  aside  iier  pri<ie.  of  wliich  him 
had  a  fair  jiroportion,  she  presenteil  licrself  at 
the  smart  simp  with  the  rniiibow  winilow— and 
luckily,  as  she  thought,  found  MIhs  Annie. 

'•I  have  come,  Annie,"  said  siie,  "to  ack  if 
vou  can  receive  me  for  a  short  linie.  till  I  cnn 
see  my  way  clear,  for  1  have  lefi  the  I'nory  ?" 


150 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


"  Left  the  Priory?''  repeated  Mrs.  S'.ms,  wlio,  I 
lieai  iiig  her  voice,  had  opened  the  Utile  parlor-  | 
door  ;  "  indeed  !  and  why  ?  if  I  may  be  bold  to 
nsk." 

'•  0:i !  it  is  so  wretchedly  dull  up  there,  and 
Mrs.  Dawson  has  lately  bueii  so  very  Uis  igreeable, 
tliat  really  I  cuuid  not  put  up  with  it." 

•'  Mis.  D.iwsou  is  a  highly  respeotable  person," 
remarked  Mrs.  Siius,  "anl  I  fi-ar  that  ttiey  who 
tiud  f.iulc  with  her  will  uot  be  over-pleased  witii 
me  ;  we  both  dislike  treacherous,  sh;viiieles.i 
young  wonijn — besides,  you  will  find  it  inconven- 
ient to  be  here  wiiile  all  your  things  are  at  Coop- 
ers yonder,"  for  she  had  heard  something  from 
the  Priory,  aud  seen  Kuth's  boxes  received  at 
Cooper's  cott^ige. 

'■  Oh  !"  Slid  lluth,  trying  to  laugh  oflf  the  sting 
contained  in  this  speech,  '•  I  h.id  a  message  there, 
and  the  siupid  boy  followed  with  my  things." 

"  Ah  !  then  you  had  not  heard  that  the  woman 
there,  and  thai  dreadful  boy  of  iiers,  set  off  to 
town  this  morning?  But  take  my  advice,  Ruth, 
and  go  to  your  old  lather's — ;ie  is  not  always  dead 
drunk;  wiule  the  Coopers,  if  that  is  the  name, 
are  always  up  to  some  wickedness." 

"  Mother,"  interposed  Annie,  "  Paith  can  have 
a  shakedown  here,  till  she  turns  about." 

'•  No.  she  can  not,"  replied  the  s'ern  old  dame; 
"  I  harbor  no  tale-bearers — we  want  neither  to 
make  mischief,  nor  be  a  cafs  paw  to  mischief- 
njHkers  ;  if  Ruth  had  honestly  lost  her  place,  and 
come  here  at  once  for  shelter,  she  sliould  have 
had  it — as  it  is,  the  less  we  see  of  her  the  better. 
Young  woman,"  she  continued,  '•  my  advice  to 
you  is,  make  Cooper  give  you  a  right  to  be  at  his 
home  as  soon  as  you  can— before  liis  fine  mad.im 
comes  hack,  if  possible— or  it  may  be  too  late  ;" 
and,  regai-dles.s  of  the  crimson  flash  of  shame  and 
r.ige  whicli  overspread  the  unfortunate  girl's  face, 
she  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  with  painful  significance. 

Without  another  word,  Ruth  flung  out  of  the 
shop,  a  host  of  bitter  feelings  warring  in  her 
heart  and  giving  her  a  foretaste  of  the  wages  she 
was  to  receive  ;  nor  was  this  anticipation  lessened 
by  a  residence  with  her  father,  who,  while  fret'ly 
taking  from  her,  taunted  her  with  the  fine-lady 
habits  whioli  rendered  his  miserable  cottage  so 
unbearable,  that  she  decided  on  braving  all,  aud 
went  to  Cooper's. 

Here,  a  few  days  after,  Mrs.  Captain  arrived  : 
liiid  whether  her  temper  had  been  previously 
triad  by  the  unfilial  conduct  of  her  good-looking 
but  good-for-nothing  Augustus,  or  by  tlie  iuaDi- 
Ur  ill  niodo,  but  foitittr  in  re,  of  sundry  insig- 
nificant tradesmen;  or  whether  she  thought  Ruth 
seemed  moie  domi.'sticated  at  their  happy  fireside 
th;iu  suited  her  phin,  matters  not  -she,  however, 
lovked  very  coMly  at  lier.  and  liinted  that,  when 
Juliet  came  home,  tlie  house  would  scarcely  hold 
them  all — probably  because  she  intended  to  make 
it  loo  iiot  for  tliat  purpose. 

Ruth  soon  began  to  find  that  she  had  indeed 
sold  herself  to  hard  taskmasters;  but,  alas!  it 
was  too  late  tc  retrace  htr  -^leps,  tliougii  conscience 
wliispered  that  even  now  she  miglit  pause  and  go 
no  turther ;  but  inste.id  of  blaming  herself,  she 
blamed  those  she  h;id  so  wickidly  betrayed; 
an  i  believing  that  s!ie  had  a  bribe  with  wliich 
phe  could  still  propitiate  her  present  associates, 
she  determined  to  offer  it. 


Cooper  had  long  professed  love  for  her,  had 
promised  to  many  her — he  must  now,  ar  once, 
perform  this  promise;  and  having  raised  Mrs. 
Captains  curiosity,  by  hinting  at  an  important 
revelation,  and  extracted  her  solemn  as.suranco 
that  Cooper  should  have  no  rest  till  Huih  wag 
his  wife,  she  proceeded  to  state  particulars  which 
left  no  doubt  but  that  Mrs.  Templetoa  was  cog- 
nizant of  Helen's  flight— nay,  that  she  had  as- 
sisted it. 

Speechless  with  amazement  at  this  assertion, 
tilled  with  fiendish  delight  and  malice  that  the 
rival  whom  she  so  remorsde-sly  pursued  at  last 
was  in  her  power,  this  hateful  specimen  of  a  bold, 
bad  woman  m  ide  no  secret  of  lier  sarisfaction — 
scarcely  any  of  her  diabolical  intentions  ;  so  that 
Ruth,  like  Frankenstein,  trembled  at  the  devil 
she  had  helped  to  raise.  But  she  liad  sown  to  tin 
wind,  she  must  reap  of  the  whirlwind 

Two  days  passed  witliout  any  communicatiir 
from  the  Priory,  but  on  the  third  the  Colonel 
came  for  ilie  express  purpose  of  "rowing"  Au- 
gustus, who  had,  very  impertinently,  attempted 
to  defend  himself  for  having  spent  money  which 
he  had  received  for  other  purposes. 

Nothing  irritated  Mrs.  Mordaunt  more  than 
for  any  one  to  blame  her  son.  He  was  the  plague 
of  her  life— perpetually  vexing  her,  ami  some- 
times to  such  an  extent  as  to  make  even  his  dar- 
ing spirit  quake  at  the  anger  he  provoked  ;  but 
so  sure  as  any  one  else  complained,  so  sure  did 
her  wrath  fall  on  the  complainer.  Aud  thus  it 
happened  how. 

The  groom  was  listlessly  standing  by  the  horses, 
when  loud  and  louder  rose  angry  voices  from 
within — the  open  wimlows,  sha<led  only  by  mus- 
lin curtains,  rendering  it  easy  to  hear  words,  ami 
whole  sentences,  very  distinctly.  ■ 'J'he  man  lis 
tened  with  but  little  interest,  heyon  1  what  tli 
whole  village  would  have  given,  to  a  sharp  tlire:u 
uttered  by  his  master  ag.iinst  that  young  scamp 
Augustus,  and  the  folly  <if  his  mother  who  at- 
tempted to  shield  him  from  correction  ;  when 
high  and  loud  were  heard  her  shrill  tones,  bid- 
ding the  Colonel  look  at  home  and  find  out  how 
his  runaway  daughter  escaped.  Here  ensued  a 
pause  :  and  Robin,  who  was  much  a'tached  to  his 
mistress,  strained  every  nerve  to  hear  what  would 
follow;  presently  his  master's  voice,  regardless 
of  caution,  told  her,  with  fierce  oaths,  not  to  pliy 
with  his  suspense.  Ami  then  distinctly  did  she 
relate,  that  on  the  night  Helen  left  home,  Rutli 
was  dismisseil  earlier  tlian  usual;  that  she  heard 
voices  in  her  room,  and  listened;  but  distin- 
guislied  nothing  but  an  opening  of  drawer- — that, 
while  undressing,  she  heard  steps  on  the  gravel, 
and  fancied  she  perceived  four  persons.  That  the 
ne.'it  n»orning,  on  discovering  tlie  flight  of  iier 
young  lady,  she  went  to  the  spot,  "And  see,  she 
picked  up  tills  glove." 

Of  course,  Robin,  whatever  he  heard,  saw  noth- 
ing, but  the  Colonel  seized  a  man's  glove,  which 
she  handed  him.  "  And  what  does  this  prove?" 
he  asked  in  a  hoarse  voice  ;  "  I  swear  that  if  your 
suspicions   are   true,  I   will  take  sucli  vengeance 

"    But  the  man  waited  to  hear  no  more — he 

knew  not  that  this  woman,  turning  to  the  inside 
of  the  glove,  pointed  to  R.  W.  very  plainly  writ- 
ten— for  Robin  felt  he  must  act.  not  listen — > 
wuruiiig   could   never  hurt,  though  it  might  Lo 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


151 


n«edless.  Gently  and  softly  leading  the  horses 
till  lie  readied  the  gate  opening  on  to  the  road, 
he  beckoned  a  lad  who  was  loitering  about, 
and  making  up  a  f.ico  as  itsutfering  great  agony, 
desired  him  to  stay  there,  and  s.ny.  if  he  sliouid 
be  inquired  for,  th.it  lie,  Robin.  "  was  suddenly 
tuok  b.iil,  and  liad  gone  to  Mr.  Curtis  for  a  little 
remedy."'  And  then,  once  out  cf  -iiiht,  he  lost  no 
time,  but  made  straight  for  Mrs.  Sims.  Without 
alighting,  he  called  out  the  good  woman,  who  was 
pcared  with  his  pale  face  and  anxious  look. 
••Never  luind  me,"  he  replied,  in  answer  to  her 
inquiry;  but  have  you  any  one  you  can  send 
like  lightning  to  the  Priory  .=— and,  for  God's 
sake!  write  me  a  few  lines,  for  I  tremble  in  every 
limb." 

"  I  can  send  our  Bill  up— luckily  he  is  at 
hand  ;"'  and  seeing  tliere  was  terror  in  the  man's 
whole  matiner,  unlike  most  people,  she  did  not 
hinder  him  with  q-iestioMs,  but  said,  "  What  am 
I  to  write  :" — "  '  Mrs.  Dawson,  tny  lady  is  in 
danger — it  is  found  nut  about  Miss  Helen— she 
must,  hide  or  run  without  losing  a  minute' — 
now  a  wafer -and  Bill,  give  that  directly  you 
arrive  to  Mrs.  Dawson,  and  see  what  o'clock  it  is 
by  the  stable  clock— there,  be  off  like  a  stee^ile- 
chaser,  and  if  you  are  there  before  ten  minutes, 
I  will  give  you  a  bran  new  shilling— now,  cut 
over  hedge  and  ditch,  and  run  for  tiie  bare  life ;"' 
and  aw.iy  flew  the  boy  like  an  arrow. 

"  I  will  come  down  and  tell  you  all— but  mum's 
the  word  now  ;"  and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse, 
the  groom  was  back  just  in  time  to  hear  the 
Colonel  swearing  furiously  at  his  absence,  which 
Kobin  assured  him  was  caused  by  a  dreadful 
pain  that  took  him  all  over  on  a  sudden. 

To  cause  a  little  more  delay,  Robin  had  slipped 
the  buckle  of  the  bridle;  and  his  trembling  liands 
and  p:ile  face  so  moved  Mrs.  Captain's  compas- 
sion, that  she  asked  if  he  would  have  any  tliino:; 
and  slightly  reprimanding  the  Colonel  for  liis 
impatience,  she  graciously  fastened  the  buckle 
herself. 

At  last  they  are  off— and  Robin's  terror,  lest 
they  should  overtake  his  messenger,  instead  of 
meeting  him,  was  absolutely  painful.  Some 
vague  notion  of  a  dreadful  scene  took  such  pos- 
f  ssion  of  him,  that  he  could  scarcely  prevent 
'limself  from  darting  past  his  master,  to  ascertain 
ii  )W  his  attempt  had  sped.  Nor  was  the  Colonel's 
manner  calculated  to  quiet  him — he  looked  deid- 
ly  pale,  and  rode  as  if  on  the  racp-course.  But 
iiflp  came  again  by  means  of  the  refractory 
buckle;  which  had  not  been  fixed  in  the  lonp. 
This  time  his  master  alighted  and  secured  it.  and 
they  came  to  the  Priory  stables,  where  Robin 
cauglit  sight  of  Bill  just  coming  out  of  tiie  gate. 
An  intelligent  glance  was  exciiangod,  ajid  Robin 
was  so  overpowered  by  the  reaction,  that  it  was 
!iot  without,  help  he  alighted  an  i  stood  by  the  j 
Colonel,  who,  still  whip  in  hand,  with  rapid 
strides  entered  the  house. 

In  tlie  drawing  room  sat  Constance, dressed,  as 
usual,  in  her  white  muslin,  waiting  for  dinner  to 
be  announced. 

"Where  is  your  mother?"  he  asked;  and  the 
voice  was  so  hoarse  and  unnatural  that,  with 
startled  look,  she  rose. 

"  Mamma  is  up  stairs  ;  she  has  but  this  minute 
come  in." 


But  a  muttered  imprecation,  ere  he  ru.shed  out, 
made  her  hastily  follow. 

lie  t6re  up  the  stairs  as  if  pursued  l)y  Hie  fu- 
ries;  lie  burst  into  Mrs.  Tempk-toirs  room,  tlieine 
through  tiie  others  to  the  bat li-rooni,  overturn- 
ing alLthat  impeded  his  savagely-mad  progress. 
Ashe  returned  from  his  fruiih'.ss  search,  seeing 
her  bonnet  and  lace  scarf  lying  on  the  sofa,  he 
took  them  up,  and  fearing  them  to  fragment^, 
trampled  on  the  shreds;  in  the  ecstasy  of  his 
rage  he  struck  the  dressing-|able  and  shivered 
the  glass  bottles  to  dust;  an*  eatoliiiig,  in  tiio 
mirror,  the  reflection  of  his  own  dciiioa  face, 
hurled  it  to  the  ground. 

While  this  bedlam  tragedy  w,i.s  acting,  Con- 
stance, whose  presence  of  mind  never  failed  her, 
wiiere  lier  mother  was  concerned,  had  ascer- 
tained th.it  she  was  not  in  the  consi-rvatory ;  but 
convinced  that  she  could  not  be  far  off,  slij 
trembled  lest  she  should  have  taken  refogp  iu 
her  rooms,  and  hastening  thither,  was  qtiickly 
followed  by  her  father,  who,  like  a  tornado,  burst 
through  them. 

As  he  was  leaving  what  li.ad  been  the  joint 
bedroom  of  his  daugiiters,  in  which  there  was  a 
copy  of  his  wife's  portrait,  his  eyes  fell  on  it;  a 
blaze  of  uncontrollable  fury  shot  tortli  from  them, 
while  the  other  features  expressed  the  most  vin- 
dictive hatred,  and,  with  a  low  hiss,  he  lifted  his 
hand. 

Constance  read  all  in  that  look — that  sound. 

Quick  as  lightning  she  tlirew  herself  before  the 
portrait,  to  save  from  desecration  what,  to  her 
heart,  was  next  to  sacred. 

Once  more— once  more— only  once  more — be- 
hold !  the  old  attitude — the  protecting,  the  men- 
acing !  She  seems  to  have  grown  larger  within 
the  moment — the  floating  muslin  looks  cloud-like 
—she  raises  her  fair  arm.  Great  God  !  wdl  th.it 
madman  strike  her  .'  It  falls— the  p.ale  face  flush- 
es.but  she  flinches  not;  the  eyes,  severe  in  youth- 
ful beauty,  look  scorn,  contempt,  almost  rage — 
but  she  does  not  move;  and  a  crim.son  bracelet 
slowly,  slowly  encircles  that  round  and  still  up- 
raised wrist.  It  was  the  work  of  a  moment; 
and,  let  us  be  just,  he  meant  not  the  blow  for 
her,  though  had  it  fallen  with  its  first  violence 
it  might  li.ive  broken  the  perfectly-molded  limb. 

Brave  girl !  still  firm  at  her  post,  she  moves  no 
more  than  if  she  had  been  an  exquisitely  carved 
statue.  Fathe;-  and  daughter,  both  terrible  in 
their  beauty,  gaze  on  each  otlier  ;  and — coward  ! 
— lie  is  the  first  to  quail.  Following  him  with 
her  stern,  reproaclilul  glance,  she  never  falters 
till  he  wiiiidraws  ;  and  she  hears  his  retreating 
step  descending  the  stairs. 

Then  Constance  sank  on  the  carpet  and 
fainied. 

When  slie  recovered  consciousness  she  found 
Dawson  kneeling  by  her  side.  "  Thank  God  !" 
.said  tiie  aftVctionate  creature,  as  Constance  looked 
at  her. 

"  .Mamma  ! — my  mamma  !" 

"Safe;  but,  hush!"  anil  hiding  her  hoad  on 
her  kind  bosom,  Constance  burst  n\U)  refreshing 
tears. 

"  But  my  precious  Miss  Constance,  wliat  is 
the  matter  r" — the  movement  she  made  dis- 
closing her  wrist,  frightfully  swollen  and  still 
bleeding. 


152 


THE    WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


'*  Tt.  is  nothinfr ;  it  only  pains  me  :  but  arc  you 
eni-e  all  is  sale  ?" 

"  Quite  sure.  I  have  sent  for  Mr.  Curtis  ;  you 
had  better  undress  bvlore  liccomes." 

"Dear  Dawson,  1  can  nor,  do  any  thing  till  I 
know  all  about  my  dear,  suffering  mother.." 

"  Hush,  Mit^s  Constance  !  you  shall  see  her,  but 
you  must  first  be  fit  to  do  so." 

'•  Why,  you  are  pi.le  and  trembling  yourself, 
kind  old  friend  ;  liow  selfish  of  me  to  keep  you ; 
send  Betsey  to  me." 

At  this  moment,  Botsey,  who  supplied  the 
place  of  Hufh.  came  to  inquire,  from  her  master, 
how  Miss  lempieton  was. 

'•  Miss  Temjik'ton  is  better,  but  declines 
leaving  her  room,"  was  the  brief  reply.  And 
when  tlie  fussy,  but  renlly  skillful,  little  doctor 
canie,  he  at  once  ordered  bed  and  a  composing 
draught. 

"But  what  have  we  here?"  looking  at  the 
bruised  arm. 

"  An  accident,"  said  Constance,  now  feeling  a 
pain  wliich  made  her  sick. 

"A  blow,"  he  rejtlied,  gently  and  carefully 
examining  it.  "  My  dear  young  lady,  it  is  well 
it  was  on  this  side,  though  the  bone  is  badly 
hurt;  but  on  the  other,  among  all  those — well, 
well — do  not  faint ;  let  vis  be  thankful,  when  tlure 
is  an  accident,  that  it  is  not  worse.  You  must 
be  very  particular  to  see  that  the  fomentations 
are  carefully  applied,  so  as  not  to  toucii  the 
•wound,  Mrs.  Dawson.  But,  bless  my  heart  ! 
■what  is  the  matter  with  you  all .'  You  are  as 
pale  as  death,  and  as  shaky  as  if  you  had  seen  a 
ghjost ;  and  ihcie  is  that  strong  chap,  Kobin, 
Bays  I  must  send  him  something  for  the  shakes. 
I  hope  our  g(jod  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Templeton  are 
not  touched  with  the  contagion — quite  a  house 
of  shakers  ;"  and,  smiling  at  this  joke,  the  little 
man  went  on  giving  his  directions,  till  Constance 
thought  she  must  use  the  uninjured  hand  and 
lead  him  to  the  door.     At  last  he  went. 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 


"  I  have  hcaril,  sir," 
or  men  in  debt  that  chngo,  for  .siinctiarv, 
Their  lodging  uiulcintfaih  ihyir  crcdtto  s'  noses." 

Duke  of  Milan. 

Whrn  Bill  look  the  note  from  Mrs  Sims,  it 
was  with  an  undefined  notion  that  there  was 
danger  in  delay,  but  with  a  very  clear  convic- 
tion that  there  would  be  reward  in  speed.  Tlie 
bran  new  shilling,  as  we  have  seen,  sent  him  ofl' 
like  an  arrow. 

"ThP  willing  miiiil  u<Ms  fcithi-rs  f>  tho  hwl. 
And  inukes  llii;  clown  u  winged  .Mercury." 

And  Bill  certainly  lost  no  lime  in  reaching  the 
Priory — but,  alas!  that  tlie  demon  of  cupidity 
should  so  often  mar  our  best  projects.  On  ar- 
riving, inste.'id  of  seeking  Mrs.  Dawson  and  giv- 
ing her  tlie  precious  mis.nive,  lie  went  round  by 
the  stables  to  note  the  exact  hour  by  the  clock; 
and  when  he  had  ascertained  tiiis.  and  decided 
that  it  was — it  must  be — it  should  be— a  few 


minutes  too  fast,  he  began  his  inquirie.'',  still, 
however,  insisting  on  delivering  the  note  into  her 
own  hand. 

Fortunately,  Mrs.  Dawson  was  crossing  the  en- 
trance to  the  servants'  hall,  and  heard  Bill's 
assurance  that  he  could  deliver  the  note  to  Mrs. 
Dawson  only;  and  catching  sight  of  her,  he  darted 
after  her  into  a  small  room,  in  which  they  wero 
alone. 

"  Please,  marm,  Eobin  bid  me  give  this  to  your 
own  hands,  and  you  wor  please  to  see  what  o'clock 
the  stable  is,  though  I  think  it  too  fast." 

"  The  stable  clock  !  what  does  the  lad  mean  r* 
as  usual,  looking  at  the  paper,  and  not  opening 
it;  "  Have  you  any  parcel  lor  the  ladies .'" 

"  No,  marm,  only  from  Itobin  — and  he  bid  me 
cut  and  run,  for  the  love  of  a  new  shilling." 

But  by  this  time  the  note  was  opined,  and  she 
sank  into  a  chair,  for  Mrs.  Templeton,  she  knew, 
was  s;iil  out.  But,  hark!  a  b.dl;  Heaven  be 
praised  !  it  is  hers  ;  and  she  was  hurrying  away, 
when  the  boy,  repeating—"  Please  to  say,  marm, 
what  is  the  s-table  clock."  placed  himself  in  her 
path;  but  almost  knocking  h.m  down,  in  her 
haste  and  excitement,  she  ran  up  the  back  stairs, 
and  without  ceremony  burst  into  the  room  whero 
Mrs.  Templeton  was  calmly  taking  off  her  bonnet 
—  and  "  Haste  !  haste ! '  cried  Dawson,  pale,  and 
her  very  voice  shaking;  "here  is  not  a  moment 
to  lose." 

"  I  know,"  replied  her  lady ;  "  I  mistook  the 
dinner  fur  the  dressing  bell ;  the  Colonel  has  not 
yet  returned." 

"  But  he  will  be  here  directly — hark  !" 

"  What  is  all  this  ? '  asked  Mrs.  Templeton 
catching  the  alarm. 

"  It  is  discovered— Miss  Helen— master  knows ' 

"  Then  I  am  lost  indeed!"  exclaimed  she.  clasp- 
ing her  hands,  standing  motionless  and  power-- 
less. 

"  No,  no— the  slip,  the  slip,"  for  the  heavy  but 
quick  step  of  anger  was  heard  at  this  moment  on 
the  marble  hall. 

They  ficw  to  the  panel.  Mr.?.  Templeton's 
trembling  fingers  were  useless;  and  pushing  her 
aside,  Dawson  s  powerful  pressure  made  it  yield. 
Almost  carrying  her  mistress  she  entered  with 
her,  and  as  the  door  of  the  boudoir  was  rud«ly 
flung  (ipen,  had  a  Fine-ear  been  there,  he  might 
have  heard  ix  sharp  click  from  the  dressing-room. 

Terror  had  so  completely  mastered  i\lrs.  Tem- 
pleton that  she  seemed  unable  to  control  herself; 
and  as  the  sounds  of  destruction,  with  the  terrible 
threats  of  her  husband,  approached  her  hiding- 
place,  she  w.as  on  the  point  of  shrieking  in  the 
extremity  of  her  fear,  had  not  Dawson,  heedless 
of  form,  covered  her  mouth  with  part  of  her  dress, 
while  she  softly  motioned  her  to  sit  on  the  floor — • 
the  slip  being  quite  destitute  of  furniture — and 
then  crouching  by  her,  the  kind  old  lady  put  her 
arms  round  her  and  laid  her  head  on  her  shoul- 
der. 

But  by  this  time  the  frightful  storm  of  passion 
had  rolled  into  the  other  room,  whence  no  voice  was 
heard  but  that  of  the  Colonel;  soon  that  subsides 
— they  hear  him  descending  the  stairs  Dawscm 
gently  rises,  and  very  cautiously  opens  the  pam-l : 
the  rooms  arc  deserted  ;  she  seizes  the  caraffe  an  ; 
tumbler,  and  with  about  a  spoonful  of  cau  (le-(^ 
logue  still   left  in  the  shivered  bottle,  swii'tl;,' 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


153 


pushes  tliem  In  to  her  mistresn,  and  then  swallow- 
ing a  ihauglit  of  water,  ha;  tens  to  the  young 
ladies'  rooms. 

It  was  now  her  turn  to  feel  how  ilifficult  it  is  to 
control  terror  ;  for  she  had  nearly  ruined  all  by 
a  scream,  which,  proceedinj;  from  that  quarter, 
•would  infallibly  have  drawn  fortli  the  mother— 
for  there,  lying  i:ke  a  corpse,  v' v*  Constance. 

"The  innocent  child,  he  has  killed  her— the 
monstrous  villain  !"  and  ringing  the  bell,  she  or- 
dered a  messenger  to  be  sent  for  Mr.  Curtis,  while 
she  busied  herself  in  applying  such  remedies  as  j 
■were  near;  and  after  a  long  interval,  during  I 
which  slie  had  lavished  all  manner  of  tender  epi- 
thets on  her  swoet  flower,  her  beautiful  bird,  Con- 
stance opened  her  eyes  and  spoke. 

Having  then  resigned  her  to  the  care  of  Betsey, 
she  returned  to  Mrs.  Templeton,  and  carefully 
locking  the  doors,  was  unspeakably  relieved  when 
she  found  her  so  far  recovered  from  her  alarm  as 
to  be  anxious  about  her  daughter. 

•'  Miss  Templeton  is  quite  safe — but  like  you, 
Badly  terrified  -so  I  have  s?nt  for  Mr.  Curtis,  and 
directly  he  is  gone,  she  shall  come  and  see  you." 

«'  Poor  Constance  ! — kind  Dawson !" 

*'  Hush  !  madam,"  said  that  steady  ally ;  and 
thinking  a  little  exertion  would  be  of  use.  siie 
handed  her  a  few  articles  of  furniture,  which 
were  not  Lkely  to  be  missed ;  and  remarking  that 
they  must  not  mind  dust,  though  to  her  tidy 
habits  the  least  speck  was  offensive,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  render  the  slip  available  as  a  hiding- 
place. 

"  It  is  clear  to  me  madam,  that  here  you  must 
remain  till  the  hue  and  cry  is  over ;  so,  now  for 
this  little  table ;  there,  sit  down,  and  put  your 
feet  on  that  stool,  and  this  low  chair  for  our 
beauty.  Oh!  we  will  have  it  all  so  snug;  three 
taps  on  the  panil  will  be  .Miss  Constance  or  me. 
Now  I  must  go  and  collect  the  news — can  you 
spare  me .-" 

"  My  kind  old  friend,  I  must ;  but  return  as 
Boon  as  you  can." 

And  away  she  trotted,  to  hear  that  dinner  w.as 
all  spoiled  ;  but  no  matter,  there  is  no  one  to  eat 
it,  for  the  Colonel,  directly  he  received  the  an- 
swer from  Constance,  had  mounted  in  fiery  haste 
and  galloped  to  the  Rectory,  feeling  convinced  that 
there  aluiio  sliciuld  he  find  lii.s  wife. 

"  \Vhere  could  she  be .' '  he  asked  of  himself,  as 
he  returned  from  this  fruitless  errand.  He  com- 
niande^l  every  nook  to  be  searched — he  himself 
once  more  visited  all  the  rooms  ;  and  then,  remem- 
bering tlie  bonnet  anl  scarf  he  had  torn  to  at- 
oms, he  was  convinced  by  the  conservatorj'  alone 
could  she  have  escaped.  Still  no  one  had  8,'en 
her. 

Having  ascertained  that  all  was  safe,  Dawson 
opjned  tlie  pier  door,  and  led  the  trembling  Con- 
stance to  thj  panel.  Three  taps  were  the  m  iscmic 
signals,  the  open  Sesame,  and  mother  and  daughter 
were  in  each  other's  arms.  She  left  them  together 
whil  •  she  collected  a  few  materiala  for  Mrs.  Tcm- 
pljton's  bed. 

"  Thank  Heaven !  dear  mamma,  that  you  are 
Bftfe,"  sobbed  Constance. 

"  And  you.  my  treasure,"  said  the  mother,  press- 
ing her  1  ps  on  the  pale  cheek  that  nestled  m  her 
bosom  ;  an  I  there  was  .a  long  silence.  ■"  And  now 
that  wo  liiiio  sjjn  each  other,  we  must  separate ; 


there  is  much  to  think  of— much  still  to  endure 
and  do  ;  let  us  trj'  and  regain  our  scattered  Hi.iu>ea 
by  sleep — our  excellent  Dawson  insists  upon  our 
taking  some  refreshment.  1  am  going  to  obey 
her ;  do  you  the  same,  and  to-morrow  wo  will  all 
take  counsel." 

And  Daw.son  was  right  ;  for  though  all  really 
genteel  heroines  can  fast,  and  do  without  rest  «</ 
libitum,  we  op.ne  they  would  always  do  better 
with — and,  like  Dawson,  we  recommend  them  to 
eat  and  sleep  while  they  may. 

"  Send  Mrs.  Dawson  here,"  was  the  Colonel's 
order  wiieu  he  found  that  his  daughter  did  not 
appear  at  breakfast.  "Have  you  seen  .Miss Tem- 
pleton .'■'  when  she  obeyed  the  summons ;  and  on 
her  replying  in  the  affirmative,  he  continued, 
"  How  is  she  V 

"  Very  far  from  well,  sir — she  can  not  move  ono 
of  her  arms,  which  is  dreadfully  hurt  by  .some 
accident.  I  ventured  yesterday,  on  my  own  au- 
thority, to  send  for  Mr.  Cur, is.' 

"  You  have  done  quite  right,  and  I  thank  you  ; 
let  me  see  .Mr.  Curtis  myself  to-day  ;"  for  his  color 
changed  when  he  heard  that  Constance  had  met 
with  so  severe  an  accii/ent — "  and  as  to  this  busi- 
ness," he  added,  walking  away,  "  I  shall  not,  of 
course,  be  long  baffled  in  my  search." 

"  I  have  locked  the  rooms,"  she  said ;  "  they 
were  in  great  disorder — perhaps  I  had  better  see 
to  them,  and  keep  out  the  rest. ' 

"  Certainly,  I  leave  that  to  you;"  and  curtsey- 
ing herself  out,  away  trotted  the  diplomate  in  pet- 
ticoats—no rare  character,  by  t..e  way — to  feed 
and  comfort  her  two  pets. 

Constance  when  she  awoke,  was  suffering  acute 
pain  from  her  arm,  which  was  so  frightfully  swol- 
len as  to  hinder  any  attempt  to  dress  herself  be- 
yond a  loose  wrapper  ;  but  a  cradle  having  been 
adjusted,  she  hastenel  to  her  motlier,  who  had 
been  apprised  by  Dawson  that  she  had  hurt  her 
arm. 

'*  Mamma,  you  are  not  to  fret  about  it,"  said 
she,  parryihg  her  mothers  anxious  inquii-ics; 
"  some  day  you  .shall  know  all.  ' 

"  And  thou  wert  struck  for  mo  .'"  sighed  Mrs. 
Templeton,  unconsciously  repeating,  if  not  tiie 
words,  the  idea  of  Macduff. 

"  And  now.  dear  mamma,  have  you  any  plan .'" 

"None  till  I  am  free — except  that  it  is  to  the 
Hejtory  Imust  manige  toescapj;'  and,  after  care- 
I  ful  deliberation,  Cunstance  tlecided  on  trying  to 
I  walk  there,  even  in  her  disliabille,  directly  her 
farhcr  left  the  house,  wliich  he  was  pretty  sure  to 
I  do.     In  this  she  succeede<l,  and  came  back  so  com- 
forted that  she  declared,  if  her  arm  were  but 
•  well,  she  was  equal  to  any  thing,  fur  she  was  com- 
I  manded  to  tell  her  mother,  their  doors  would  bo 
open  for  her,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day. 
I      It  was  not,   however,  till  .Mrs.  Templeton  had 
I  been  concealed  three  whole  days,    that   it    waa 
I  thought  safe  for  her  to  emerge  from  her  hiding- 
place,  fur  Cooper  seemed  to  be  pc  rpetuaily  liover- 
j  ing  rouud  the  place  ;  an  I  Mrs.  Daw.son,  who  fan- 
cied she  had  seen  him  play  hide-und  s-ek  in  Iho 
'  shrubbery,  entered  the  garden  very  la  o  ono  cvon- 
I  ing,    from    .Mrs.    Templeton  s   rooms,    ani,    sure 
,  enough,  there  he  was,  and  had  it  b'cn  her  mis- 
tress, this  dirty  myrmidon  would  have  raised  the 
alarm,  and  probably  have  seized  her. 
i      "  Dear  me,  Mr.  Cooper,  is  it  you .'    1  thoaght 


154 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


it   was  a   thief,"  she  remarked  with  wonderful 
coolness. 

"  No,  it  is  only  I,"  he  repliid. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  all  the  same,"  was  her  ambiguous 
rejoinder  ;  "  but,  dear  me  !  what  are  you  doing 
here  at  this  hour  r" 

"  I  may  ask  the  same  of  you,"  was  his  very 
natural  retort. 

'•  Why,  I  h:ive  been  so  occupied  lately  with  Miss 
Tenipleton,  and  tlie  dreidlul  doings  here,  that  I 
really  want  a  little  fresh  air." 

"1  should  have  thought  the  breezes  in  the 
liou.oe  might  have  satislied  you,"  replied  lie,  try- 
ing to  c  'iiciliate  her  with  a  jest ;  "  but  I  will  now 
Bay  g.iod  night." 

Oonvinueii  by  this,  that  the  utmost  caution  was 
uec^•^s  iry ,  .Mrs.  Tenipleton  still  remained  hid  ;  but 
on  the  thud  evening,  Dawson,  having  ascertained 
that  Cooper  was  wuh  the  Colonel,  strongly  ad- 
vised tliat  the  opportunity  should  not  be  lost. 
She  voluuteerel  to  see  her  safe,  and  bring  back  a 
message  to  poor  Constance,  who,  when  she  felt 
her  nioilier's  leirs  and  kisses  on  her  clieeks,  was 
struck,  for  the  fiist  time,  with  the  dreadful  idea 
that  this  was  no  ordinary  partiiig  ;  and,  scarcely 
able  to  bear  the  thought,  she  w.is  on  the  point  of 
rushing  altt^r  her,  wlien  she  remembered  that  this 
selfish  indulgence  might  compromise  the  safety 
of  her  she  bO  devotedly  love  i. 

Dawson  returned  with  a  smiling  countenance  ; 
she  had  w.iited  till  her  lady  had  been  received, 
unnoticed  by  the  servants. 

Tears  ll^wed  ahuiidantly  as  Constance,  accom- 
panied by  D.iwson,  p.issed  through  her  mother's 
rooms.  How  duf-olaie  they  looked — though  that 
was  but  iniMginary,  for  all  traces  of  the  devast.i- 
tion  caused  by  the  progress  of  passion  thrc.ugh 
them  had  been  removed,  nnd  there  was  now  the 
same  order  as  if  .Mrs.  Tenipleton  had  left  them 
for  merely  a  few  huu's;  and  yet  both  felt  there 
was  a  dill'erence.  as  they  stood  looking  around. 

"  Miss  Templeton,'  said  Dawson,  alwavs  keep- 
ing in  mind  the  need.'ul  and  the  comfortable,  "I 
took  to-night  a  very  small  parcel  f  .r  my  lady's 
immediate  use.  I  advise  that  we  p.ick  up  and 
arrange  all  we  can,  and  while  we  can,  in  cise  we 
liave  an  opportunity  to  f  irward  more  :  it  is  bet- 
ter, my  de  ir  young  lidy,  to  be  busy  when  we 
have  trials— so,  as  early  as  you  like  to-morrow, 
we  will  begin  " 

"  Dear  Mrs.  D  iwson."  said  Constance,  con- 
vinced o(  the  gooil  sense  of  this  couns- 1,  ■'  all  this 
is  sidly  cncroachitig  on  your  kindness." 

"You  never  mind  me.  Miss  Cons  ance,  I  will 
rest  when  all  is  done ;  the  Colonel  shall  not  find 
me  negligent  in  my  housekeeping,  and  this  is  my 
uffiir.  ' 

"Ah!"  she  .said,  when  she  went  at  night  to 
bathe  the  arm  now  mueh  reduced  in  size,  "  litile 
did  I  ever,  think  this  house,  once  so  peaceful, 
would  be  so  ctiaiiged." 

"  A  m^rry  pJHCP.  'li^cnd  in  <lnvn  i  f  ynre. 
Bal  8  .meliio.K  iii  •«  i    ii-w— li'    |,l„r,-  i-  ciirse.l," 

was  the  menlai  comment  of  Constnnce. 

"  My  dear  m.ister."  continue  i  Dawson,  so  lov- 
rnz  anil  gi'iiile— St  kin  1  to  all  about  him— I  did 
think  that  perhaps  an  .\shley  might  again  dwell 
here,  when  you  all  firsi  (•.•une— .-iml  since  then  I 
have  fancied— b  t — no  matter;  only  it  gave  mo 


great  pleasure  to  hear  that  the  little  innocent, 
lately  born  has  that  name,  to  my  ears  the  sweet- 
est ever  pronounced. 

"  Ah,"  said  Constance,  small  chance  of  my  in- 
fant nephew  ever  reigning  here.  But  if  an  Ash- 
ley ever  does,  he  shall  take  all  our  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  you  on  his  shoulders,  and  pay  it  too,  still 
leaving  us  your  debtors  for  kindness  through 
many  long  years. 


CHAPTER   LXV. 


" The  flend  looked  up,  and  knew 

Jlis  uiounled  bc.ilf  aloft;  nor  ni.ire;  bui  fled 
Murni'riag,  aud  with  him  fleU  the  sbaaes  of  iiieht." 

MiLTO.I 

The  result  of  a  long  consultation  at  the  Rec- 
tory was,  that  Mrs.  Templeton  should,  early  the 
next  morning,  set  off  to  town,  in  company  with 
Miss  Newman;  Mr.  Morton  was  in  Pans,  so  that 
impediment  to  her  accepting  this  friendly  offer 
was  removed,  and,  as  it  had  been  by  some  contriv- 
ance that  her  arrival  had  been  concealed  from  the 
servans,  the  sooner  she  left  the  better. 

Circumstances  must  now  quickly  decide  Mrs, 
Templetou"s  future  proceedings,  for  all  felt  that  a 
crisis  had  arrived.  Lord  Grantham  w.as  the  only 
one  who  could  move  in  the  matter;  to  his  wile 
she,  therefore,  wrote,  informing  her  of  what  had 
happened,  and  entreating  that,  till  ihey  heard 
furtlier  from  her,  no  step  might  be  taken.  She 
felt  that  Constance  was  held  as  a  hostage,  and  on 
this  account  she  strongly  insisted  that  her  brother 
I  should  remain  passive. 

The  Doctor  wrote  to  stop  Ashley,  who  was  on 
the  eve  of  starting  lor  the  Continent,  liaving  half 
promised  tiie  Wests  that  he  would  spend  all  of  th( 
long  vacation  he  could  at  St.  Peteisburg. 

Dut  the  play  was  not  yet  played  out. 

On  the  third  morning  after  her  mother's  de- 
parture, Constance,  still  leeling  l.mguid  and 
dreadfully  depressed,  was  seated  in  the  small 
diawiug-room,  listlessly  turning  over  the  pages 
of  a  book,  but  thinking  of  the  even.s  of  the  last 
two  years,  and  of  the  share  her  f.ther  had  had 
in  all  their  soirow,  when  the  butler  entered,  so 
closely  followed  by  another  person  that  he  could 
hardly  prevent  her  entrance  as  he  stammered  out, 
•'  It  is  a  mistake,  I  will  send  Mrs.  Dawsou— this 
person.  Miss  Templeton,"  koking  at  his  young 
mistress.  But  "  this  person,"  thus  ambiguously 
(lesgnated  confidently sle})ped  forth  to  announce 
heiself,  saying,  with  a  sneer,  "Miss  Templeton 
will  do  as  well ;  and  made  Constance  aware  that 
she  was  in  the  presence — in  the  same  room,  with 
the  wretched  creature  who  h.ad  worked  ail  their 
woe. 

She  rose,  deliberately,  haughtily,  and  without 
look  or  word  passed  out  by  the  window. 

Knitting  her  brows  tdl  they  met,  the  shame- 
less intruder,  provoked  to  have  had  a  servant 
witness  her  discomtitiirc,  turned  her  fierce  looks 
on  the  man.  who  stood  with  the  door  in  his  hand, 
and  tliat  expression  of  civ.l  impertinence  on  his 
face  which  nis  class  find  so  ea>y  to  .assume.  She 
threw  a  c  ird  un  the  table  rudely  bidding  him  give 
that  to  his  master. 


Till-:    WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


155 


"  Am  I  to  be  subject  to  this  .'"  cried  Constance, 
when  slie  reached  her  room,  her  cheeks  burning 
with  inlign.ition  ;  "  is  there  no  one  to  protect  me 
from  this  insult  ?" — an'i  then  there  rushed  across 
her  mind,  almost  for  the  tirst  lime  lor  many  days, 
80  fully  had  sorrow  and  anxiety  occupit-d  lier, 
that  tl.vre  was,  there  ouglit  to  be,  one,  able  and 
willing  to  save,  protect,  and  skelter  them  both. 

Hubert  Forrester,  wliere  art  thou  .= — while  she 
to  whum  thou  arc  affianced  is  in  grief  and  peril. 
Art  thou  impatieutly  hoping  to  hear  good  tidings 
from  htr.-— art  thuu  eagirly  anticipating  tlie 
time  when  thou  shalt  return,  to  cbiim  ber  as 
ttiiue  own — thy  loved  and  loving  bride .'  or  art 
ihou  gazing  on  one  not  more  fair,  and  in  her 
b4iiiles  forgetting  her  whose  heart  is  heavy  with 
Borrow  ? 

And  while  thinking  of  Hubert,  of  Helen,  of  all 
those  who  ouglit  to  be  near,  but  were  so  far  away, 
Constance  sat  and  wept. 

One  step  she  resolved  to  take:  to  appeal  to  her 
father  fur  security  agninst  this  insulting,  this 
degrading  inti'u.sion;  for  she  was  well  aware  of 
the  discreiit.ible  rep  )ris  wli.ch  prevailed  regard- 
ing her  recent  visitor,  and  for  ttiis  purpose  she 
now  was  ;is  liesirous  of  an  interview  with  him  as 
hhe  had  previously  sliunued  it. 

This  w.i.-;  not  quite  so  easy,  as  Colonel  Temple- 
ton  w.is  still  continuing  his  search.  At  length 
they  met,  at  dinner. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Constance,  to  see  you  look  so  ill," 
was  his  Cool  remark,  '-and  still  more  sorry  your 
arm  is  hurt.  Vou  must,  of  course,  know  that  it 
was  accidental." 

'•  I  am  better,  thank  you,"  she  replied  ;  "  but 
an  excet'diugly  unpleasant  event  his  occurred, 
which  I  must  appe.il  to  your  s-ense  of  propriety  to 
prevent  in  future  ;"  and  she  pointed  to  the  card. 

A  singular  expression  passed  over  his  f  ice,  and 
there  was  a  short  pause  before  he  replied, 

"  You  must  not  expect  me  to  mount  gu  ird  at 
the  hall-door.  Your  plotting  iiioiher  has  seen  fit , 
to  abandon  tier  home,  and  during  iier  absence  you  1 
must  protect  yourself."  i 

'•  I  shall,  tlien,  endeavor  to  do  so,"  said  she, 
fully  resolved  on  a  measure  wh'ch  every  loving 
impulse  pioii.pted.  and  which  Inrlher  e.\posuie  lo  , 
BO  intolerable  a  degiadation,  she  fully  believed,  | 
would  quite  justify.  | 

The  next  liay  she  met  her  relentless  persecutor  , 
in  the  park  ;  an  1  though,  by  the  Colonel  s  exjuess 
commands,  the  sirictt-sc  privacy  was  preserved,  j 
Constance  was  not  going  to  make  the  open  deli-  i 
ance  of  these  a  casus  btlli. 

The  following  day,  matters  were  brought  to  a 
climax.  Constance  was  arranging  some  flowers 
in  the  same  room  she  had  occupied  when  before  ; 
intruded  on,  and  which  opened  to  the  terrace;) 
Dawson  was  with  her,  anil  tial  just  arr.inged  her  | 
sl.ng  when  both  were  startled  by  a  shadow  at  the  | 
open  window,  and  a  voice  .«ayiiig  :  i 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Templelon;  I  cime  to 
speak  to  the  Colonel  jibout — "  when  D.iwson, 
wliose  presence  seennd  to  have  been  quite  over- 
looked, sepped  briskly  forw.ird.  and  Constance, 
trembling  with  indignation,  quitted  the  room 

'•  0 1  !    Mrs.    Dawson,"    co  dly    observed    the 
dauntle.ss  Mi>.  Captain,  for  ^he  it  really  was,  "  I  ' 
came  up  to  see  about  a  pmy  carriage  the  Colonel, 
last  night,  said  he  no  longer  wanted,  and  which  . 


he  promised  »o  lend  me.  I  bad  no  idea  I  should 
have  the  pleasure  of  finding  any  of  the  ladies 
here,  having  utuierstood  they  had  iuaoduced  the 
fashion  of  running  away. 

"  1  have  heard  Air.  Curtis  s.iy,  it  is  quite  pro- 
per to  do  so  when  there  is  danger  of  fever  and 
contagion,  or  of  encountering  any  other  tlrcadtul 
thing;  it  is  bad  to.  be  near  what  may  infect  in 
any  way." 

Without  noticing  this  retort,  valiant  Mrs.  Cap- 
tain, as  if  pursuing  her  speech.  Wtiit  on  :  "  So  I 
came,  expecting  to  find  the  poor  Colonel  a  widower 
bewitched." 

'■  As  to  a  wido\j-er,"  replied  the  seemingly-lit- 
eral housekeeper,  "  with  such  a  sweet,  honorable 
lady  for  his  wife,  we  all  hojie  he  will  never  live 
to  be  that;  but  as  for  being  bewitched,  some  of 
our  counti-}'  folk  believe  in  the  power  of  an  evil 
eye;  and  at  present,"  added  she,  demurely,  and 
looking  full  at  the  female  inilitaire,  "  I  confess  I 
am  of  that  number." 

•'  Very  likely,"  was  the  cavalier  reply  ;  "  old 
.and  uiuducated  persons  often  ha^e  strange  ideas 
and  ways." 

"  Respectable  and  reputable  ways  arc,  indeed, 
so  strange  to  some  people,  that  they  do  not  know 
how  to  behave  to  those  who  maintain  iheiii ;  so  I 
must  go,  but  I  refer  you  to  the  stablemen  ;  they. 
peihaps,  will  understand  you  better  than  I  can  ;" 
and  thus  saying  she  quickly  stepped  back  and 
closed  the  window  on  the  enemy,  whose  tactics 
being  thus  circumvented,  walked  away,  treasur- 
ing up  ihis  new  atfront  ag.iinst  the  great  pay-day 
which  she  hoped  w.as  near  at  hand. 

"  All !  this  is  very  dreadful,"  s  id  Dawson,  to 
herself  as  she  retreated,  after  gaining  the  victory; 
"  something  terrible  will  come  of  it :  to  think  of 
allowing  his  innocent  daughter  to  be  insulted  by 
this —  Ah!  it  is  too  bad;"  and  she  wi  nt  in  pur- 
suit of  Constance,  whom  she  found  wr.ting,  while 
t  le  crimson  spot  of  outraged  leading  buiued  on 
each  cheek. 

"  My  dear  old  friend."  said  she,  turning  to- 
ward her,  '•  this  can  not  be — 1  have  been  told  to 
protect  myself  1  shall  obey  ;  and  in  j  lining  my 
dear,  ill-used  mother,  I  shall  alone  he  sale  " 

"  Dear  Miss  Constance,"  cried  D.iw.-on,  '•  have 
you  thought  well — paidon  me — but  would  it  not 
be  better  to  consult  the  Doctor.'  E.scusc  my 
freedom,  dear  }Oung  lady,  but  Mr.  Foirester — " 

'•  Would  he  the  last  to  recotnnn  n  1  iIk-  endu- 
rance of  this."  interrupted  she,  wiih  impetuosity 
"  I  shall  tee  Dr.  Vernon,  to  claim  his  l.-mporary 
protection,  i  sh;i|l  certainly  not  add  to  the  list 
of  terrified  runaways,  but,  in  a  few  da_\  s,  I  shall 
le.ive  this  place,  perhaps  lorever.  One  by  one  we 
have  been  driven  forth,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  sadness :  "  even  you  leel  that  1  have  no  al- 
tern.iiive,  in  order  to  avoid  the  r.sk  ot  lieing  do- 
mesticated with  such  infamy  ;"  and  she  ro.ve  and 
rapidly  paced  the  room.  Then,  sto]iping  beloro 
her  mother's  portrait,  and  remembii  ing  what  had 
so  lately  haj)(iened,  she  s.iid.  "  This  must  be  re- 
moved and  secured  from  all  chance  ot  |)iolanati<in  ; 
it  shall  be  taken  from  the  frame  and  placed  in 
the  slip.  I  know  you  will  be  sure  lo  keep  it  Iroui 
harm.     To-morrow  1  sli.ill  see  the  Hector  " 

Constance  had  >lone  well  to  trust  her  eau.se  to 
the  Vernoiis;  at  first  the  excellent  Doctor  would 
not  bear  of  thestep  she  coniemplaietl,  but  .aiisttd 


156 


THE  WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


that  she  should  remain  with  them.  But  Mrs. 
Vernon  ojtpDsed  this  iia  strongly  .as  Constance. 
They  both  reminded  him  of  the  Colonel's  unbend- 
ing nature,  of  his.instnsibility  to  any  appe.ils  the 
Uucior  could  make,  iind  ilie  impropriety  of  al- 
lowing Conitance  to  be  :ig  liti  exposed  to  insult. 

"JVlrs.  Templeton,"  she  said,  '•  has  at  last  m.ide 
a  move,  and  iliose  who  know  what  she  has  Suf- 
fered must  own  that  to  advise  her  return  would 
be  most  cruel  nnd  unwise.  He  will  never  allow 
Constanci;  lo  be  here— perhaps  carry  out  his 
threat,  and  take  her  abroad.  How  unfortunate 
that  Hubert— that  the  Forresters  should  be 
away." 

"  Were  they  here,  nothing  would  induce  me  to 
npply  to  theui,"  answered  Constance,  so  decidedly, 
that,  tliougli  Mrs.  Vernon  made  no  remark,  the 
manner  and  tone  startled  her.  '•  jS^either  could  I 
have  ajplied  to  Cecilia.  No;  much  as  I  shrink 
from  intruding  another  fugitive  on  Miss  New- 
man's hospitality,  there  1  sliall  go;  for  there  I 
shall  find  uiy  dear  mother.  Tiie  difficulty  is,  how 
to  reach  her  so  as  not  to  be  traced." 

"Alas!  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon,  looking 
at  tlie  sweet,  care-worn  face ;  "  this  indeed  is 
difficult,  or  1  myself  would  see  you  sale  in  your 
mother  s  arms." 

"  Try  and  forget  that  I  am  scarcely  nineteen — 
fancy  tliat  1  have  already  been  accustomed  to 
rough  it ;  you  do  not  know  how  strung  and  brave 
I  am  " 

"  But,  dear  Constance,"  said  Caroline,  tenderly 
embracing  her,  "  what  will  Hubert  think  of 
this  .=" 

"  Hubert's  opinion  must,  on  this  occasion,  coin- 
cide with  mine,  or  it  wuuKl  be  disregaided  ;"  and 
a  slight  color  tinged  lier  pale  cliei.-ks  as  she  added 
Biguificautly,  "he  has  been  long  e.\pected  in  Eng- 
land, but  tiiis  does  not  carry  me  to  London." 

•'  1  see  but  one  w;iy,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon  ;  "  you 
can  not  go  alone — none  of  us  dare  accompany  you, 
but  Miss  Goddard  can  ;  I  will  take  the  responsi- 
bility of  this  plan,  and  also  of  Lucy  and  Inez 
Morton,  till  her  return." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Vernon — "  said  Constance,  start- 
ing up. 

•'  btop  and  listen  ;  you  must  both  walk  to  the 
place  from  wliicli  your  mamma  and  I  set  out;  it 
is  several  miles  liistant,  and  it  will,  at  once,  try 
your  boasted  strength." 

"Oil!  if  Mss  (joddard  will  kindly  disregard 
it,"  retui;ned  Constance,  anxiously. 

"  I  will  answer  for  her;  she  is  a  most  experi- 
enced traveler,  and  quite  old  enough  to  be  con- 
sidered a  sufficient  escort.  I  will,  to-day.  arrange 
that;  now,  dear  child,  have  you  money  .'" 

"  Yis,  quite  enough  for  the  journey." 

We  linger  not  on  ihe  parting  with  Dawson,  nor 
on  the  struggle  that  arose  in  the  mind  and  heart 
of  Constance  .is  she  1  oked  her  last  look  on  all 
familiar  obj.cts;  but  she  faltered  not  in  her  re- 
solve ;  and  tlius,  without  disg^i^^e,  and  apparently 
without  fear,  dnl  she  take  her  first  independent 
etep  into  the  world. 


CHAPTER   LXVI. 

"  Whnt  sacrifice  of  reveronce.  duly,  walching, 
Alihoiich  I  •DuM  put  ■ifl'  ilie  usu  ".f  t.l.-e|>. 
Wiiul  (latigiTS.  iliuUih  III  iieVr  si  h>irriil  stia'es, 
Can  I,  aua  With  a  Ihanklul  willingness,  snffcr." 

MASsisGza. 

Miss  Godd.\rd  would  not  admit  that  this  hasty 

departure  could  the  least  inconvenience  her  ;  and 

I  by  gradually  calling  the  attention  of  Constance 

from  lier  own  troubles,  saved  her  from  finding  the 

journey  very  tedious. 

They  arrived  so  late,  that  Mrs.  Templeton  was 
preparing  for  bed ;  but  scarcely  had  Miss  New- 
man announced  the  new  comer,  before  Constance 
was  on  her  bosom.  No  matter  what  had  brought 
her,  ji.y  was  tlie  result.  Slie  asked  no  questions 
then  ;  it  was  enough  that  slie  looked  on  ner  trea- 
sure and  felt  her  warm  embrace.  "  My  pale 
darling,"  she  murmured,  and  again  she  showered 
kisses  on  that  sorrowful  young  face. 

"  Uut  Miss  Goddard,  who  has  been  so  kind, 
dearest  mamma,  throw  on  your  shawl,  and  let  us 
thank  her,  and  send  messages  to  the  friends  wlio 
so  truly  and  steadily  cling  to  us.  Ah  !  Misd 
Newman,"  as  that  lady  entered,  "you  have  an- 
other claimant  on  j^our  goodness." 

"Not  one  too  many,  my  dear;  Miss  Goddard 
will  leave  directly — she  is  used  to  eating  and 
sleeping  in  a  carriage  ;  bid  her  adieu,  and  then  1 
shall  order  you  some  refreshment  and  bed." 

"  Let  me  share  mamiua's  room,  may  1 :"  And 
after  having  informed  them  both  of  the  event  that 
had  driven  her  forth  a  wanderer,  sweet  was  the 
sleep  that  fell  on  her  fair  lids. 

Not  so  her  mother,  who  complained  of  violent 
headache,  which  increased  so  much,  that  being 
accompanied  with  feverish  symptoms,  their  k;ml 
hostess  sent  for  the  fam.ly  doctor,  whose  fears  of 
illuess  were  soon  ver  fied. 

A  month  of  danger  succeeded,  with  several  day:^ 
of  agoniz3d  suspense,  during  which  Mrs.  Tempk-- 
ton  seemed  haunted  by  the  terrible  sounds  of  her 
husband's  frantic  outbreak  in  her  rooms  at  the 
Priory. 

At  last  a  gracious  Providence  sent  a  blessing 
with  the  remedies;  fever  subsided,  and  the  danger 
was  over.  But  so  much  had  she  been  enfeebled, 
and  so  greatly  had  the  nervous  system  been  over- 
tried  and  shaken,  that  still  the  greatest  care  w  .rf 
needed. 

And  Constance— who  can  tell  what  a  dreadful 
time  that  had  been  to  her .'  the  whole  respcnsi- 
b.lity  of  decision  rested  on  her.  Friends  might 
suggest  and  advise,  but  she  could  alone  dictate 
and  decide. 

This  time  the  Colonel  redoubled  his  endeavors  1. 1 
trace  them,  for  he  knew  Constance  was  with  hi 
mother ;  he  had  never  doubted  but  that  she  could 
at  once  have  intbrmed  him  where  Mrs.  Templeton 
was;  and  now,  could  he  but  find  her,  his  ven- 
geance would  be  doubly  gratified.  Alter  many 
days  of  u.seless  search  and  inquiry,  the  Colonel 
and  Cooper  proceeded  to  town,  that  wily  cmitsary 
suggesting,  that  at  no  place  were  thty  so  likely  to 
be  found  as  at  thtit  which  had  afFordeil  shelter  U> 
Helen,  and  hinted,  as  it  from  a  sudden  thought, 
that  this  was  a  very  good  idea;  and  calling  on  l.ia 
lawyer,  whom  he  took  with  them,  thither  the  Col- 
onel drove. 


THE    WIFE'S   TKIALS. 


157 


Ashley,  'wlio  now  occupied  Madnmc  Stopscl's 
apartineuts,  had  not  felt  ut  liberty  to  name  any 
part  of  his  mother's  news  regarding  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton  to  her,  therefore  she  was  ignorant  of  all  late 
events 

Thus  was  the  state  of  matters,  when,  on  his  re- 
turn home,  alter  having  received  a  most  disheart- 
ening report  of  .Mrs.  Temple  ton-,  he  was  met  by 
Ml".  Stopsel,  and  informed  of  a  v.sit  his  wife  had 
that  very  day  received. 

Gretchen  was  seated  quietly  and  happijy  at  her 
work,  humming  a  German  song,  an  especial  fa- 
vorite of  Reginald's;  and  occasionally  glancing 
around,  where  every  thing  reminded  her  of  Helen  ; 
for  Ashley  had  been  particular  in  retaining  all 
exactly  as  the  \Vests  had  left  it,  and  slie  was  in 
his  silt  ng  room,  when  a  ring  at  the  house-bell 
was  promptly  answered  by  the  servant,  the  only 
one  who  was  at  home. 

Before  (iretclun  reached  the  door,  attracted  by 
voices  and  the 'sound  of  approaching  steps,  it  was 
violently  burst  open  "oy  Colonel  Tenipleton,  who, 
closely  Ibllowed  by  two  others,  rudely  entered  the 
p.irior,  exclaiming,  "Woman!  tell  me  instantly 
wiiere  is  your  mistress  r'  and  seeing  the  door 
opjn  which  led  to  what  had  been,  by  courtesy, 
termed  Helen's  boudoir,  he  darted  forward,  his 
quick  glance  detecting  many  objects  which,  to 
him,  were  proofs  that  at  last  he  was  right.  So 
thought  Cooper  and  the  lawyer,  and  both  trem- 
bled at  what  might  be  the  consequ'.-nce  of  success. 

Gretchcn,  quK-k  as  lightning,  umicrstood  it  all 
— at  last  then,  what  she  had  for  years  expected, 
and  wondered  that  it  could  have  been  so  long  de- 
layed, hud  come  to  pass.  Mrs.  Templetou  had 
Iv.'cn  dr.ven  fniu  her  home! 

Throwing  down  a  large  easy  chair,  and  tearing 
aside  two  curtains,  which  only  concealed  a  book- 
case, Well  tilled  with  volumes,  that  Mr.  Sloper  saw 
at  a  glanee  were  law  books,  he  rushed  out  of  the 
room  up  stairs,  uttering  oaths  and  threats  in  Wild 
fury. 

lie  burst  into  Ashley's  bed-room,  where  he  saw 
'traces  cf  a  gentleman  s  apartment  only;  thence 
into  Gretcheus  room,  and  that  belonging  to  the 
servants,  but  nothing  here  met  his  glance  that 
justified  his  conduct.  At  last  he  entered  the  little 
room  which  had  served  for  a  nursery  ;  and  here  | 
the  pretty  cot,  .Mrs.  Vernon's  gift,  met  his  eye;  | 
he  .started,  he  paus'jd— but  the  evil  .^jiirits  in  his  | 
heart  whispered,  "  Sjek  her,  she  is  liere;"  and 
again  he  descended  to  the  parlor. 

Jiut  Gretchen  was  now  ready  for  l.im. 

"  Woman !"  he  thundered,  '•  where  is  my  wife .'" 

'•In  Gods  keep.ng,"  she  replied,  "and  there 
ycru  can  never  go  to  find  hLr." 

"  Bandy  not  words  with  mc;"  his  fury  passing 
all  bound,  he  advanced  toward  her,  a  .'imuU  cane 
vibrating  in  his  grasp. 

But  she  wa's  thoroughly  roused,  and  quite  as 
much  excited  as  he.  "  Touch  me  at  your  peril, " 
she  almost  .shr.ekud,  ralh-r  than  spoke;  'if  you 
lay  a  fiug>  r  on  me  1  will  fell  you  to  the  ground- 
yes,  and  men  .•■purn  you  :  the  strength  of  n  giant 
is  in  myi.rm;"  anl  to  look  at  herwell  made  mu.s- 
cul.ir  fjrm,  this  did  not  seem  an  empty  boa.«t ; 
«>  and  it  shall  strike  not  for  myself  only,  but  for 
the  trembling  young  wife,  and  pay  you  ^s•ith  in- 
terest the  blow  that  bruise*!  her,  poor,  unprotect- 
ed angel.     Coward  and  ruffian,  it  shall  pay  you 


for  tearing  your  innocent  babj  p^rl  frohi  ber  arms, 
to  pawn  her  to  one  of  ymir  inlainous  paramours, 
till  money  was  raisjil  by  the  sale  of  our  clothes- 
yes,  ours,  for  mine  went  as  well." 

"Devil!  stop!"  roared  ihe  Coknel,  almost  l)c- 
side  himself  at  this  goading;  '-once  hr  all,  tell 
me  where  is   my  wile? — where  is  t'cjiisiance?" 

"  .\nd  my  other  darling  gone — miudri  ed.  per- 
haps,"' screamed  the  frcuzied  woman;  " '/ook  at 
him,"  she  said,  pointing,  "  he  has  been  a  thief— it 
is  easy  for  him  to  be  a  murderer." 

"  Answer  me,"  he  repeated,  in  a  low  tone,  that 
sounded  ominous. 

"  This  railing  is  u.«cles3,"  interposed  Mr.  Shiper. 
"It  is  not,"  she  burst  forth,  terrible  in  her 
fearless  vehemence;  "  ask  him  what  he  did  with 
the  pearls  he  stole  from  her  dre.s.sing-case  while 
she  slept,  llannchen, '  she  cried,  p.irtly  opening 
the  door,  "  look  after  a  policeman,  and  it  I  scream, 
call  him.  and  give  these  fellows  in  charge;  tlioy 
have  no  businel-s  here." 

"We  have.  Mis.  Stbpscl,"  said  Cooper,  for  the 
first  time  speakii  g. 

'•  And  who  are  you?"  she  asked,  as  if  now  she 
only  noticed  him.  "  Oh  !  you  are  the  agent — the 
man  who  lives  1  y  the  shame  of  his  sister — the  spy 
— the  informer— the  cheat— a  pretly  set  you  are, 
to  break  into  a  defenseless  woman's  house.  I 
wish  my  gentleman  lo  Iger  had  been  here ;  ho 
would  have  horswhipi>od  that  unmanly  fellow 
there,  and  kicked  lum  cut;  nor  wouKl  it  have 
been  the  first  time  he  met  with  his  deserts," 
touching  her  lip  with  a  most  insulting  and  irritat- 
ing laugh.  The  cane  fell,  but  so  gently,  for  she 
saw  it,  as  scarcely  to  touch  her,  while  her  vigor- 
ous hand  dealt  a  slap  that  sounded  wiili  fearful 
distinctness.  A  loud  scream  rcse  from  her  at  the 
same  moment,  and  llannchen,  literally  obeying 
her  orders,  bawled  for  the  police 

"  Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  cried  the  Colonel, 
struggling  to  free  himself  from  the  gra.sp  of  his 
alarmed  companions ;  "  I  shall  murder  her." 

"No  you  won't,"  she  replied,  der.sively,  "  there 
are  witnesses  ;  where  have  you  put  my  dear  mis- 
tress and  her  child,  you  wretch  ?  Du  liimntCl !" 
she  exclaimed,  a  national  ejaculation  which  was 
habituul  to  her  when  excited;  "  t!iy  innocents 
suffer — and  that  monster  lives ! '  And  as  a  po- 
liceman now  actually  appeared,  she  said,  "  Clear 
the  house  of  these  fellows  ;  they  have  come  after 
no  good,  and  one  has  struck  me— that  one,  he  pro- 
tind.'j  he  has  come  here  fqr  his  vlfe " 
•'.Mis  .Stopsel,"  began  Cocpjr. 
"  Be  off  every  one,  or  I  will  give  you  in  charge 
if  y<)U  come  prowling  about  here,  and  send  you  all 
tj  the  It;  8.'>haus." 

"Tliere  i.s  no  lady  here,"  said  the  policeman; 
"what  is  it  all  about?"  as,  marshaled  by  him, 
they  went  out,  she  double-locking  the  door  after 
th.-m. 

"  ,[o  are  seeking  a  lady  and  her  daughter,  who 
have  lately  lef.-  tueir  home."  said  .Mr  Sloper, 
heart  ly  disgusted  with  the  whole  muter. 

"  Not  here, '  replied  the  mm ;  "  the  hnlger  is  a 
gentleman— and  these  are  very  re-poetablc  peo- 
ple ,"  and  convinced  that  they  were  wnjug  in  their 
conjectures,  the  d.scomtited  party  regained  the 
carriage  and  drove  off. 

Meanwhile,  Gretchen,  no  longer  sustained  by 
her  hatred  and  anger,  was  paying  a  gcn'.le  penalty 


158 


THE  WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


for  the  mclul;;once  of  these  ngreoable  feel'iigs,  and 
a  violent  flood  of  tears,  in  wliicli,  from  sympathy, 
Ilann^lien  jo  n  iil,  ende  1  in  an  attack  of  hysterics ; 
and  when  8.oiisel  came  home  he  found  his  house 
in  most  adm  red  disorder. 

In  answer  to  his  reiterated  inquiry,  "  What  is 
all  this  r"  sh2  tol  i  him  what  had  happened.  Even 
his  somewhat  p'iL-gma:ic  nature  was  stirred  as  he 
listened,  the  nu>re^'asily,p.'rhaps,  as  he  perceived 
the  effect  this  unwarr.in  able  intrusion  had  had 
on  his  wife,  to  whom  he  was  truly  attached  ;  anl 
thongh  hs  sympithy  was  expressed  as  strongly 
as  she  could  possibly  desire,  he  concluded  by  ex- 
horting her  to  try  and  calm  herself,  adding,  "  My 
•wife,  it  is  not  guod  for  thee  to  be  so  angry. ' 

"  It  is  good,  my  Franz,  to  be  angry  in  tuch  a 
caus(^,'  was  her  encrLT'-'iic  reply. 

'•  Hut  thou  art  suff  ring,  and  that  grieves  me," 
■was  his  piiilosophical  remark. 

•'  Ah  :  thy  good  and  true  heart  can  not  ima- 
gine the  baseness  and  wickedness  of  his ;  but, 
!■  ranz,  we  must  be  up  and  doing.  I  shall  have 
noith  jr  rest  nor  peace  till  1  know  what  has  become 
of  my  lambs." 

Anl  the  worthy  pair  were  discussing  all  prac- 
ticable means  lor  ascertaining  the  facts,  when, 
by  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Vernon,  they  learned  all. 

ilelieved  of  her  worst  fears,  but  alarmed  at  his 
account  of  Mrs.  Templeton's  state,  Ciretchen  so 
earnestly  implored  permission  to  go  and,  at  least, 
look  at  them,  that  Ashley  seconded  her  entreaties; 
and,  accompanied  by  him,  she  set  off. 

Ashley  8  heart  beat  with  unusual  violence  as  he 
waited  Wilh  Gretchen  in  the  dining-room,  where 
Miss  Newman  left  them  to  fetch  Constance.  The 
door  opens,  and  a  fi  -ure  like  an  angel,  all  in  white, 
glidei  in.  "  Liebes  Multerchen!' — "Thou  most 
precious  darling!"  and  she  is  folded,  almost 
wrappcl  up,  in  a  Ibnd  embrace.  Ashley  turned 
away  half  unmanned ;  the  movement  made  Con- 
stance start. 

"  And  you  here,  dear  Ashley  :"  she  said.  "  Ah ! 
true  and  unwearied  friend,  always  near,  always 
ready  ;  and  she  held  out  her  hand,  which  he  took 
in  his  trembling  grasp,  and  for  the  first  time 
looked  in  that  lace  ^v.nicli  to  him  seemed  as  if 
made  to  give  us  an  idea  of  heaven.  But,  oh  how 
changed  !  and  yet  how  touching  in  its  pale,  sad 
lovehness  !  The  eyes,  usually  sparkling  with  m.rth 
anl  inlelligenee,  were  now  heavy  and  dim  with 
tears ;  the  dimpled  mouth  wore  an  expression  of 
intense  anxiety  ;  and  the  graceful  elastic  form 
was  bowed  down  with  the  heaviness  that  lay  at 
her  heart. 

Ashley  felt  as  if  he  longed  to  fall  at  her  feet 
and  worsiiip  iier  with  the  enthusiasm  of  an  idola- 
ter, since  to  him  was  denied  the  richer  bless.ng  of 
taking  iier  to  his  heart,  and  drying  her  tears  with 
his  loving  kisses. 

"  And  the  mistress,  my  dearest .'"  asked  Gret- 
chen. 

"  Poor  mamma  is  the  s.ame,  certainly  not  bet- 
ter !"  and  tears  IjII  abun  iaatly  but  quietlj'. 

"  M.iy  1  not  help  to  nur.se  her  .' ' 

"  Ah  !  (Jrctihou,  that  would  be  a  comfort ;  hut 
already  we  have  intruded  beyond  all  bounds.  ' 

There  is  a  g.ntle  rustling  of  silks,  an  1  then  the 
kind  face  of  M  ss  Newman  was  se -n  at  the  door. 
"  It  will  be  an  unspeakable  relief  to  my  responsi- 
bility, my  dear  Constance,"  she  said,  "  it  your 


valued  friend  can  share  our  vigils.  If  you  coul(3 
but  think  this  house  quite  at  your  disposal,  you 
would  make  ms  feel  more  at  home." 

And  tiretchen,  made  happy  by  having  seen  onf 
of  her  innocent  lambs,  as  slie  called  them,  return- 
ed to  ask,  and  obtain,  It-ave  of  absence  from  hei 
indulgent  husband. 

Frequent  were  the  calls  of  Ashley  :  hut  except 
when  he  wished  for  any  particular  direction,  ho 
never  saw  Constance.  He  hardly  knew  whsthei 
he  repined  at  tliis ;  for  every  interview  only 
s.Tvcd  to  deepen  his  lov; ;  and  though,  if  left  to 
himself,  he  would,  perhaps,  never  have  denied 
himself  th.s  dangerous  privilege,  he  trieJ  to  be- 
lieve that  the  disappointment  was  good — that  ho 
even  wished  it;  and  by  all  those  talla.ies  with 
wh.ch  men  cheat  themselves,  he  fancied  he  proved 
his  firmness  and  consistency. 

H«  one  day  called  when  Mrs.  Templeton  was  in 
imminent  d.inger,  and  it  was  a  qui-jition  about 
informing  Helen.  Only  a  week  before  this,  let- 
ters had  been  received  IromSt.  Petersburg,  filled 
with  accounts  of  the  very  satis-factory  position 
lleginnld  occupied,  and  ot  the  health  and  li:ippi- 
ness   of  them  all.     "  Besides,"    said   Constance, 

with   quivering   lips,  "  oh  !    Ashley,  Dr.  C 

says,  before  they  would  he.ir" — but  she  cnuld  nol 
proceed,  and  fur  a  brief  moment  hid  her  lace  ou 
his  shoulder,  .'is  if  to  shut  out  the  terrible  imagi;. 

And  how  felt  Ashley  .' 

"Litrh;  was  tht-  l<m.  b,  l>iH  it  tlirille.l  to  the  b  me, 
Ami  never  did  da-p  of  one  »,  <1.  ur, 
tslrike  on  ihe  pul;e  wiili  siicli  leeliug  of  fear." 

lie  stood  motionless,  almost  breathless— it  wan 
but  for  a  moment ;  she  then  raised  her  tearless, 
colorle.'ss  fice  and  continued  more  calmly,"  With 
regard  to  my  uncle,  I  shall  delay  only  till  to- 
morrow ;  and,  till  then,  farewell ! — take  my 
th.iuks  and  ble.'?sing."  And  he  stood  alone, 
scarcely  comprehending  any  thing,  but  that  ho 
was  alone. 

But  Heaven  was  merciful,  and  Mrs.  Templeton 
lived  ;  and  when  amendment  once  began,  her  ex- 
cellent constitution  regained  strength  rapidly. 
Siie  was  soon  able  to  see  her  friends,  to  discues 
the  future,  and  to  listen,  with  grate-tul  delight, 
to  the  letters  from  St.  Petersburg,  and  irom 
other  quarters,  which  reached  her  through  Mr.^. 
Vernon. 

She  herself  wrote  to  Lord  Grantham,  promising 
to  summon  him  to  a  consultation  directly  her 
strength  permitted  ;  and  finally  it  was  settled 
that  site  and  Constance  should  take  Ashley's  place 
at  the  btupseb. 


CHAPTER  Lxvn. 

"  Knob  line  an  1  liii-ament  of  it  in  the  drawing, 
So  luiicliiallv  obaerveil,  thai,  had  ll  mo  i  'ii, 
In  no  uiu.  b  'iwere  htri,t;il.'  Massikokb. 

••  Ar  e  these  all  the  letters  that  have  arrived  ;" 
inquired  the  Colon  d  when  he  returned,  after  an 
absence  of  more  tli.in  a  week. 

"  All,  Colonel,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Tiien  send  .Mrs.  Dawsou." 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


150 


"Well,  sir,"  s.iid  sTie,  as  she  inado  her  nppear- 
nnce,  tiding  to  make  the  two  words  souud  as 
auxiouH  as  she  could. 

"  Wk-11,"  lie  replied  ;  "  unless  you  have  discov- 
ered soiuetliiiig.  there  is  nothing  to  tell.  I  am 
harassed  to  deaih,"  and  lie  looked  ill  and  weary. 
'•  I  suppose  yuu  will  he  leaving  me  next,"  ho  ob- 
served, with  a  kind  of  half  laugh, 

'•  No,  sir,"  she  replied  ;  "  so  long  ns  you  please 
to  keep  me,  I  shall  never  go.  Here  I  was  born, 
and  here,  or  near  here,  1  hope  to  die."' 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  feeling  that  it  was  the 
plnce,  not  respect  for  him,  that  kept  her,  hvit  still 
glad  she  remained,  as  her  services  were  more  than 
ever  needful—"  then  that  is  settled;  and  now,  I 
hope,  we  sh.ill  go  on  properly." 

"  So  f:ir  MS  1  am  concerned ;  but,"  she  said, 
drawing  up  her  ne  itly-dressed  figure, '"  I  must 
beg  you,  Mr,  to  see  that  my  character  is  pro- 
tected." 

"  Why.  you  old  fool !"  said  her  master,  smiling, 
in  spite  of  his  pre-occupation,  at  what  he  culled 
her  goosey  gander  prudery,  "  who  is  going  to  in^ 
jure  your  character  ? — you  are  surely  not  afraid 
of  me :" 

'•  Oh  no,  sir  !"  replied  Dawson,  demurely  ;  "  it 
is  not  bad  [lenple  of  yciur sex  I  fear  ;  but  a  woman 
is  never  s.ife  from  improper  people  of  her  own  ; 
and  I  must  take  the  liberty  of  saying  that  1  never 
can  go  on  comfortably  if  all  sorts  of  disrespecta- 
bles,  iuid  such  like,  from  ihe  village,  come  about 
the  premises." 

"  Wh.it  is  tlie  woman  driving  at .'  Speak  out. 
■^Vhat  do  y<iu  mean  to  insinuate  .'" 

"1  insinuate  noth  ng,  Colonel;  I  only  believe 
what  all  Seabrooke  rings  with." 

"  By  heavens !  you  must  also  believe  you  are 
dealing  vviili  Job.     AVhat  do  you  mean  .'" 

'•  2\o,  sir,  1  do  not  mistake  you  for  Job;  he 
was  a  good  man,  and  a  righteous,"  was  her  aggra- 
vating rej  ly.  "What  I  nie:ni  is,  that  if  ihat 
^voman  fr..m  C-  oper"s  is  to  siiow  lier  brazen  face 
liere,  1  must  decline  the  situation." 

"It  is  well  the  woman  with  the  brazen  face 
(Iocs  nnt  hear  you,"  lie  observed,  tickled  at  the 
ilea  such  a  rencounter  suggested,  *■  or  there 
would  be  a  leguhir  row." 

"  Very  1  k.-iy,  sir,"  was  the  cool  rejoinder ; 
"  hut  if  "-he  caii  8  ly  six  words,  I  have  always  an 
old  h;ilf-(luzen  to  spare  in  return." 

••  Well,  1  will  see  about  it,"  was  his  concluding 
remark  :  f  .r  though  he  h.ad,  in  the  afFiir  with 
<'ons:ance,  seemed  very  indifferent  while  she 
."poke,  such  was  not  his  real  feeling,  and  conjec- 
tuiing  What  had  led  to  her  departure,  he  had 
fully  resolved  not  to  have  his  wishes  regarding 
Mrs.  Captain's  absence  from  the  I'riory  a  matter 
(if  doubt;  f(n-  this  purpose  he  at  once  rode  down 
to  the  village,  secretly  hoping  that  she  wouhJ  see 
the  necessity  (jf  quiutly  yielding  to  his  rcpresen- 
t.i;ions;  for  he  wns  not  yet  quite  prepared  to 
mike  her  see  how  far  she  had  injured  her  own 
cause  by  having  driven  Constance  to  such  an 
extremity. 

"  U  hen  Greek  meets  Greek,  then  come''  the  tug 
of  war,"  is  almost  a  proverb  ;  and  when  twosuch 
bpirits  as  the  Colonel  and  Cajitain  encounter  in 
Strife,  it  is  war  to  the  knife;  and  certainly  they 
now  proved  that,  neither  in  word  nor  deed,  were 
they  fitted  for  members  of  a  peace  society.    Pro- 


I  hibition  was  met  by  open  rebellion — reproach 
roused  recrimination;  when,  happily,  Augustus 
came  tearing  in,  and  brought  the  dispute  to  an 
abrupt  terminal  ion. 

"  .Viid  now  let  it  be  understood,"  said  the  Col- 
onel, as  he  rose  to  depart,  •'  that  we  have  no  more 
visits  at  the  Priory,  and  in  the  course  of  tiie  day 
I  shall  send  down  the  pony-carriage  you  have  set 
your  heart  on." 

And,  to  the  great  scandal  of  the  village,  the 
elegant  little  chaise  belonging  to  Mrs.  Templeton 
W!is  seen  driving  hither  and  thither  with  Mrs. 
Captain  and  her  young  Jehu,  the  ne'er-do-weel 
Augustus. 

But  though  the  possession  ofthiswasa  triumph, 
proving  her  ascendency  over  the  tyrannicul  mas- 
ter of  the  Priory,  it  was  a  poor  substitute  for 
that  which  had  been  for  years  the  oliject  of  all 
her  plans,  «nd  lor  which  she  had  lately  played 
so  desperate  and  destructive  a  game 

To  become  mistress  of  the  Priory,  either  legally 
or  illeg.dlj',  she  would  hazard  and  compromise 
much  more  than  she  had  ;  and  iuiving  succeeded 
in  driving  away  those  whose  just  cl.iin.s  had 
dr.iwn  on  them  her  most  vindictive  hostility,  it 
WHS  irrit.iting  in  the  extreme  to  meet  with  such 
determined  opposition  from  one  whom  she  had 
hitherto  generally  ruled  with  despotic  sw.-iy. 

I      About  a  week  after  this,  and  when  Cooper  had 

[  returned  from  a  fruitless  expedition  to  Craiga- 
I'ln,  Mrs.  Dawson   presented    herself  before  the 

I  Colonel  with  maiks  of  real  distress,  both  in 
countenance  and  manner. 

I  "  Betsey,  sir,"  said  she,  "  has  been  arranging 
those  rooms  up  stairs,  and  on  lifting  a  portfolio 

:  this  w.is  found  behind  it." 

j  It  W.IS  the  note  of  farewell  which  Constance 
liad  written  to  her  father,  and  which  in  the  ngi- 
tatiim  of  departure  she   liad    forgotten    to  give 

'•  Dawson  ;  it  had  been  accidentnlly  thrown  aside, 
and  was  discovered  only  tliat  morning.     Laying 

j  it  on  the  table,  she  wiihdrew. 

I  It  iL'a.t  then  as  he  suspected  ;  Constance  had 
been    driven    forth    by    an    intrusion,  which    ho 

1  owned,  too  l.ite,  he  should  have  prevented.     He 

I  had  never  intended  that  she  should  so  liter.ally 
have  construed  his  peevish  refusal  to  protect  her  ; 

!  now,  but  for  this  outrageous  insult  she  at  least 

I  might  have  bien  lelth.m;  and  in  proportion  as 
he  Constantly  felt  her  loss,  so  did  liis  imger  rise 

]  against  the  imjiudent  cause  of  it,  and  feelings  of 

!  indifference  and  annoynnce  which  had  long  been 

'  siiMildering  toward  the  whole  crew  at  the  tottago 
were  now  exasperated  to  fury,  none  the  less 
strong  (or  being  sirppressed ;  wliile  he  firmly  re- 
solved that,  in  some  way,  they,  or  rather  she, 
should  smart  for  what  he  now  suffered  through 
her  insolent  interference. 

"This  must  be  seen  to,"  he  muttered,  as  with 
a  lowering  brow  he  again  read  his  innocent 
cliild's  letter;  it  was  only  a  few  line-*,  but  those 
seemed  to  sink  into  his  lieart  as  if  a  bran'ling 
iron  impressed  him  there ;  even  tlie  haughty 
tone,  evident  throughout,  failed  to  rouse  liis  an- 
ger ;  the  total  tibsence  alike  of  tender  <.r  re- 
proachful expressions  s'rangely  touched  him  ;  ho 
fancied  the  pn/ud  look  on  that  beamilul  lace,  ns 
she  wrote  iliese  few  words,  and  almost— almost  a 
feeling  (d' sorrow,  a  pang  of  remor.se  smote  him. 
Then,  suddenly  thinking  that,  as  this  j.aper  had 


160 


THE  WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


been  so  unexpectedly  found,  there  migbt  be  oth- 
ers in  which  he  might  find  a  clue  to  direct  his 
re.-earches,  he  rang,  and  ordered  all  the  portfo- 
lios to  be  brought. 

He  e;igerly  examined  the  contents;  but  a  few 
spirited  sketches  of  t«cenery,  some  half-finished 
copies  of  various  lieads  fruiii  the  antique,  and  at- 
tempts .-It  original  portraits  were  all  lie  found  in 
one.  in  another,  tliere  was  a  more  choice  col- 
lection ;  again  and  again  a  copy  of  Mrs.  Temple- 
ton's  portrait  in  crayons,  and  water-color — again 
Mrs.  Templeton,  an  original  sketch,  much  later 
— another,  mure  highly  finished,  in  which  there 
was  an  idea  borrowed  from  Muiillo's  "  Assump- 
tion of  the  Virgin,"  where  this  beloved  mother 
was  still  the  prominent  figure,  while  charming 
beids,  represi-ntiiig  Helen,  Constance,  the  ani- 
mated brunette  bemty  of  Caroline  Vernon,  with 
one  or  two  other  faces  unknown  tow  him,  looked 
forth  from  wings  and  clouds. 

But,  good  heavens  !  what  is  this  1  for  as  a 
prudent  to  the  rich,  glowing  complexion  of  Mis.s 
Vernon  was  a  face  which,  as  he  looked,  caused 
his  own  to  blanch  with  amazement  and  fear,  and 
which  seemed  to  stop  the  cuirent  of  circulation. 
It  furnied  a  striking  and  effective  contrast  to 
the  joyously  bright  countenance  of  Constance, 
on  wliose  snowy  throat  the  soft,  dark  ringlets 
that  adorneil  its  exquisite  head  rested.  But  how 
came  it  here  .'  by  what  magic  was  that  face, 
w.'jich  h.id  long  been  shrouded  in  the  grave,  made 
to  turn  its  luving  eyes  on  him  ? 

With  a  trembling  hand  he  laid  it  aside;  and 
again  minutely  looked  over  every  scrap  of  paper 
or  ivory  he  found.     On  the  former  were  attempts 
at  the  same  head,  and  on  one  large  sheet  an  ex- 
tremely clever  crayon  copy,  including  the  bust 
and  h.-inds.     He  was  still  more  perplexed  when 
on  the  finger  he  saw  a  ring  of  peculiar  but  well- 
remembered   fashion;  and   in  the   han  1   one    of 
those  Spanisii  fins   so  celebrated  in  the  toilette  I 
details  of  the  graceful  Andalusians — here,  also, 
the   mantilla   and    n.ational   costume    were    pre-  i 
served,  the   whole   bringing    back    to   him   the ' 
memory  of  d:iys  long  past — of  love  betrayed,  of 
h;ippiness  and  life  destroyed. 

But  wliere  was  the  original  painting  ?  and 
how  had  CtJiistance  ever  seen  it .'  for  this  was  no 
fmcy  of  hers,  hut  a  copy,  the  beautiful,  living 
original  of  which  seemed  now  once  again  before 
him. 

The  more  he  thought  and  looked  the  more  was 
iid  agitated  and  bewildered;  and  then  to  know 
tiiat  when  lie  would  freely  have  given  thousands 
to  obtain  authentic  intelligence  of  any  thing  con- 
nected witli  the  history  of  tliat  portrait,  this  ex- 
iraordin.iry  discovery  should  be  made  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  one  who  could,  perhaps,  have 
enlightened  him  was  gone. 

Here  was  a  key  to  th.at  mystery  which  for 
years  had  been  his  hindrance  and  torment,  actu- 
ally in  his  hands,  and  yet  the  ."ecret  itself  was  as  i 
impenetrably  locked  up  from  him  as  ever  ;  and  he 
paced  up  and  down  the  library  devising  fresh 
j)lan3  for  relieving  himself  from  a  state  of  sus- 
jicnse  and  thrall  wliich  had  Img  been  almost 
unbearable;  and  had  his  eagerness  to  trace  his 
wife  and  daughter  suffered  diminution,  this,  this 
alone  would  have  revived  it  with  additional 
force. 


One  morning  a  larger  supply  of  letters  than 
usual  filled  the  bag ;  the  fii  st  the  Colonel  drew 
forth  bore  the  Grantham  seal,  and  was  addressed 
in  the  free,  tirm  writing  of  her  Ladyship;  and 
though  the  contents  purported  to  be  from  her 
Lord,  it  was  evident  that  they  were  finished  off 
and  pointed  by  my  Lady's  sharp  pen,  and  as  he 
read  the  severe  and  cutting  recapitulitiou  of  hia 
meanness  and  tyranny,  his  falsehood  and  dis- 
honor, it  made  him  writhe,  while  conscience 
whispered  that  tiie  castigation  was  scarcely  equal 
to  his  deserts;  but  rousing  himself,  and  tossing 
aside  the  letter,  he  remaiked,  •'  This  is  my  active 
Lady,  not  my  lazy  Lord ;  only  let  me  catch  my 
pretty  Constance,  and  I  will  show  them  what  I 
can  and  will  do;"  for  though  he  knew  his  wife 
could  set  him  at  defiance,  he  also  knew  he  should 
then  have  the  power  to  paralyze  her  every  move- 
ment. 

Another  letter— ah  !  and  in  -that  well-knowa 
hand  which  of  late  years  had  ever  made  the 
strong  man  tremble  like  an  infant!  AVliat  now  ?, 
and  he  opened  it  with  desperate  courUge.  An- 
other prohibition,  and  just  as  he  was  exulting 
over  what  success  would  enable  him  to  do.  How 
can  his  domestic  afi'airs  interest  the  writer  and 
call  forth  a  threat  that  strikes  more  home  than 
any  of  the  former  ?  why  must  he  stop  further 
search  for  his  wife  and  daughter  .'  He  sat  lost 
in  thought,  half  afraid  of  again  bringing  to  light 
the  contents  of  a  bag  which  had  already  fur- 
nished f6od  for  such  bitter  reflection,  when  Cooper 
knocked  and  obtained  admittance. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say.  Colonel,  that  Von  Stein- 
burg  has  sent  down  about  that  odd  five  thou- 
sand, which  has  been  standing  for  some  time." 

"  And  must  stand  for  some  time  longer,  and 
so  you  may  tell  him;  1  am  paying  more  than 
double  interest,  and  that  ought  to  satisfy  the 
swindling  rascal." 

"  I  expect  it  is  because  others  also  have  found 
out  that  he  is  a  swindling  rascal,  that  he  is  in 
such  a  deuced  hurry  ;  the  fact  is,  he  must  cut 
and  run." 

"Well,  the  sooner  the  better;  he  must  wi' 
my  convenience." 

"  But  he  says  he  will  not ;  he  is  at  my  hou.s.;. 
I  had  great  difliculty  in  persuading  him  not  to 
come  up." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  and  you  know  it,  I  have  not 
the  money  ;  there  have  been  enormous  payments 
lately,  and  to  pay  more  I  must  make  tremeudoua 
sacrifices." 

"1  know  it;  now  I  think  he  has  come  to  try 
what  compromise  he  can  make,  for  I  really  be- 
lieve he  has,  in  some  way,  committed  himself; 
and  1  think  if  you  could  make  him  a  reasonable 
otfer,.he  would  readily  take  it  as  payment  in 
full." 

"  Any  thing  to  get  rid  of  him,  but  how  to  do 
this  immediately  is  difficult." 

•'Let  me  have  Kyecroft  as  a  security,  and  I 
will  do  my  best :  peihaps  Maria  can  help — " 

"  Raise  it  as  you  will,  only  send  that  fellow 
away." 

And  the  so-called  Baron,  .who  felt  the  hot 
breath  of  justice  in  eager  pursuit,  and  who  had 
a  little  pet  plan  which  he  was  desirous  to  make 
sure  of  before  he  left  the  hospitable  shores  of 
"perfidious  Albion,"  had  sneaked  down  to  sea 


Tin:    WIFK'S    TKIALS. 


ICl 


what  he  could  do,  and  snonkcd  back  with  n  thou- 
sand pounds,  as  full  discharge  for  a  gambling, 
cheating  debt  of  live  thousand  ! 


CHAPTER   LXVill. 

••What!  keep  a  week  away?  scyen  days  and  nights? 
eight  scoro  eisriu  hours?  and  h)vi!'4  absent  houn?  Oh! 
weary  reckoning."' — Suakbpeak& 

"Mamaia,"  said  Constance,  when  they  were 
quite  settled  in  tlieir  snug  retreat,  and  Mrs.  Teni- 
pleton's  pale  cheek  began  to  show  a  little  tinge 
of  color,  •'  if  it  will  not  weary  you,  1  should  like 
to  talk  about  myself." 

"  It  can  not  tire  me,  darling,  when  you  and 
Helen  occupy  very  nearly  all  my  thougiits." 

"  Then  read  that  first,  and  you  will  perceive 
the  cause  of  my  request;"  and  placing  a  letter  in 
her  mothers  liaiid  she  left  the  room,  but  not  be- 
fore Mrs.  Templeton  perceived  that  her  eyes 
looked  red  with  recent  weeping. 

"  Constance  to  Hubert. 
'•Whether   you   are   informed    of    the    events 
which  have  bitely  occurred,  or  not,  I  am  igno- 
rant, but   in  either   case  various   circumstances 
n-nder   the  course  which  I  ought  to  pursue  no 
longer   doubtlul.     More   tlian  two  month's  have 
.    ijised    since   I  heard  from  you,  and   grievous 
iiiges  htive  happened  since  then.     My  liearest 
ther  and  myself  are  no  longer  at  our  beauti- 
1  Priory.     1  can  not  bring  myself  to  enter  into 
ails — suffice  it,  that  all  our  best  friends  ac- 
luwledge   there  was  no   alternative.     In   this 
1  anged  stare  of  affairs,  Hubert,  I  give  you  back 
ur  promise,  not  because  I  am  now  portionless — 
,:tiow  and  honor  your  character  in  this  respect 
>  well  to  suppose  for  a  moment  that  that  would 
iuence  you — neither  do  I  allude  to  the  de^p 
-  M  row  which  has  so  changed  me — this  your  gen- 
erous kindness  would  seek  to  lessen — but  1  have 
long  felt    that  our  marriage  would  never  have 
been  pleasant  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Forrester.     Tiieir 
marked  neglect,  their  systematic  avoidance,  con- 
vince me  of  this  ;  and  though  out  of  their  great 
love  for  you  tliey  have   consented,  it  has  been 
with  reluctance.      Is  not   this   true  .'  ah  !   you 
know  it  is.     Nor  is  this  all  :  I  fear  I  shall  pain 
V(jU,  and  wiilingly  would  I  avoid  it — but  1  ask  it 
:  you  as  a  favor,  I  demand  it  of  you  as  a  duty — 
imine  your  own  couduct — question  ycjur  own 
irt^— and  tell  me,  have  you  really,  truly,  con- 
K.iued  to  love  me  a.s  when  you  asked  me  to  share 
nur  lot?     Let  no  filse  notions  of  honor  betray 
yuu    into    a   mistake  ;  no    unsolicited    and   mis- 
called comi)assion  lead  you  to  conceal  the  trutii ; 
the  hap|jiness  of  both — perhaps  of  a   third — is 
invofved  in   a  strict  investigation  of  your  own 
feelings;   sophistry  hire  would  not  only  be  dis- 
honorable,  but   cruel ;  if  you    have   learned   to 
love  another,  I  conjure  you  tell  me,  and  let  me 
be  no  obstacle  to  your  happiness ;  my  best  wishes 
— my  most  friendly  interest  will,  1  trust,  ever 
be  yours.  C.  F.  T." 


And 


it  has  come  to  this  at  last,"  thought 
11 


Mrs.  Templeton  with  a  sigh,  but  as  if  greatly  re- 
lieved. "  How  needles.->ly  have  I  disquieted  my- 
self! His  reply  1  anticipate;  for  weak  though 
he  be,  he  is  too  honorable  to  withstand  this  ap- 
peal. I  must  still  be  patient,  and  w.iit  ;"  and  Ibr 
6ome  minutes  she  sat  as  if  again  reading  the  let- 
ter, though  her  thoughts  were  now  far  away. 
At  length  Constance  returned,  mid  went  up  lo 
her,  asking,  "  Is  it  yes,  mamma .'" 

"  Yes,  quite  yes,"  was  her  emphatic  answer  ; 

"  I  entirely  approve  of  wiiat  you  have  done  ;  let 

this  go  at  once,  for  I  think  you  will  agree  with 

me,  that  we  must  suspend  our  final  opinion  till 

i  we  have  the  rejily." 

I  "  Perhaps  you  are  right;  I  wish  we  could  have 
it  soon.  1  will  add,  that  the  answer  must  be  sent 
to  the  Rectory,  for  we  can  not  run  any  risk  of 
being  discovered." 

"  Do ;  and  then  we  must  hold  a  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  meeting." 

"  And  who  will  form  the  Opposition,  mamma  .=" 
asked  she,  unwilling  to  check  h.r  mother's  cheer- 
fulness by  indulging  in  gloom  about  herself. 

"  Oh,  Asldey  is  the  leader,  and  a  formidable 
one,  too,  for  he  leads  his  father,  who  has  written 
Mr.  Morton  over  to  his  will,  having  previously 
talked  over  yottr  uncle  Cecil ;  however,  in  spite 
of  this  formidable  array,  we  will  have  our  own 
way,  and  with  economy  and  management  I  foresee 
great  doings." 

"  Yes ;  and  you  must  accustom  yourself  to  see 
mo  out  of  my  expensive  white  muslins,  even  in 
I  summer;  but,  in  spite  of  that,"  she  said,  laugh- 
i  ing  at  the  remembrance  of  her  childish  lancies, 
1  "  1  shall  be  incorrigible,  for  I  shall  wear  good, 
strong,  warranted  to  wash,  blue  " 
I  Ashley  arrived  as  expected,  armed  with  his  fi- 
nancial statements ;  and  though  he  tried  haril  to 
;  persuade  Mrs.  Templeton  that  she  ought,  she  must, 
I  permit  his  father  to  advance  her  a  few  hundre<ls, 
I  she  observed,  that  facts  and  figures  were  stubborn 
I  things,  and  that  she  had  already  not  only  enough 
I  for  their  wants,  but  for  their  whims,  glancing  at 
,  Constance,  and  making  .Xshley  smile  at  the  idea 
'  of  the  true  blue  in  which  she  meant  to  become 
;  famous.  "  And,"  continued  site,  "  1  am  so  little 
'  a  candidate  for  the  honor  of  heroineship,  that  .1 
I  shall  not  have  the  least  hesitation  in  reclaiming 
'  the  small  income  I  allow  Keginahl,  directly  their 
present  handsome  salary  is  regularly  paid.  Con- 
stance fully  enters  into  my  views." 
I  "Fully,  mamma:  and  though  you  so  disdain- 
fully repudiate  heroineship,  I  am  not  quite  sure 
that  I  do  not  still  cling  to  a  romantic  vision,  in 
which  1  am  shown  working  at  something  to  eke 
out  our  .scanty  means ;  and  perhaj'S,  after  all,  I 
may  turn  out  an  imlu-trious  .sj)eeimen  of  one  who 
has  seen  better  days,  and  had  lo.s.ses." 

Alter  interviews  such  as  these— ami,  alas!  for 
Ashleys  peace,  tliey  were  frequent— he  invariably 
returned  to  his  solitary  chambers  out  of  .sort.s,  out 
of  spirits  !  What  can  Hubert  Forrester  be  about  ? 
was  his  constant  thtmght;  surely  every  event  that 
happens  only  the  more  evidently  sliow.s  the  nec<l 
of  liis  presence.  Uliy  does  he  not  give  Coiistnnco 
a  home  where  she  can  fcarle>sly  j)roiect  lier  sweoi 
mother  .'  (iood  heavens!  why,  in  his  j)lace,  1  "— 
i  but  he  would  stop — not  always  to  lecture  himself 
I  — not  always  to  condemn  Hubert — for  he  would 
remember  with  a  feeling  of  agony  thai  his  arrival 


162 


THE    WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


■would  take  from  him  what  wis  his  daily  delight, 
till*  cberJHiied  privilege  of  watdiing  over  aud 
guinling  both  of  these  defens  Joss  l>eings. 

Lord  Grantliam  and  his  wife  came  at  the  very 
hrso  summons,  and  nobly,  gcnjrously  did  they  en- 
troit  Mrs.  Tompleton  to  let  them  openly  espouse 
her  cvuse. 

'■  No,  0^3:1— no,  Henrietta,  it  must  not  be. 
The  c:\lm  1  now  enj'jy  has  been  unlcnown  to  me 
ovsr  sm".  I  m;n-r.cd.  Look  at  nu,  in  spite  of  that 
v  olmt  illneiw  fi-om  which  I  have  not  yet  quite  re- 
covered ;  1  am  batter  th;in  I  have  b3en  for  years, 
and  my  spiri!.s  arc  recovi-ring  their  elasticity.  It 
w:is  alw.iys  my  inlention,  d:rcctly  my  girls  mar- 
ried or  attain,*  I  tiie.r  majority,  to  insist  on  a  sep- 
aration ;  be-'ilos,  were  my  retreat  discovered  by 
your  in:ervcn:.on,  what  would  become  of  Con- 
8t.iu3c  .-    So,  \o:  us  wait." 

"  And  the  Forresters :"  asked  Lady  Grantham. 

"  Of  thorn  1  can  not  yet  spoak — a  few  weeks 
must  dtcdo  that  matter;  till  then  I  leave  Con- 
stance to  her  own  reflections." 

"  EUiujr  is  right,"  said  Lady  Grantham,  as 
they  returned  from  this  interview ;  "  already, 
out  of  theso  frightful  events,  gjod  seems  arising." 

*'  Yes.  and  most  sincerely  do  I  rejoice  that  she 
i.*,  by  almost  any  means,  fraod  from  that  detesta- 
bl;  rascal's  power — but  what  on  earth  could  have 
m:iio  a  girl  Lke  Constance  fall  in  love  with  Hu- 
b.'rt  Forrester  .-"  inquired  Lord  Grantham ;  "  he 
h  IS  nothing  but  good  loolvs  and  goad  temp::r  to  rec- 
o.uiujnl  h.m." 

■'  Anl  j'ou  count  those  nothing  .'"  she  replied, 
mush  amusod  at  the  unwonted  energy  Avith  which 
hi  made  this  remark;  "most  g'.rls  would  think 
tliem  quite  ouough,  without  his  being  encumberel 
w.'Ai  Fo.^t  Hill  and  Ilargraves  as  inevitable  ap- 
pendages." 

"  Most  girls!  yes — but  Constance  is  not  like 
most  girls :  she  is  one  of  the  most  intelligent  as 
Wvill  as  most  beautiful  creatures  I  ever  saw ;  she 
wauld  be  lost  on  that  pompous,  proud  old  man  as 
well  as  on  his  empty-headed  son." 

Something  like  this  thought  his  wife  when 
she  said :  '•  Ah  !  there  are  few  Reginalds  or  Ash- 
leys." 

Hubert  duly  received  Constance's  letter,  which 
hxinl  .him  still  idling  aw  y  Lis  time  at  Niiplas. 
.\  liostof  diri.-n.ni  feelings  rose  tumultou.-^iy  in  his 
licart  r.s  he  read  it :  shame  at  his  own  coninct — 
inortiticalion  at  the  seeming  ease  with  which  Con- 
Rt.nnce  absolved  him  from  his  promise;  but  with 
both  was  mixed  a  throb  of  scarcely  acknowledged 
exultation  at  the  tliougiit  that  he  was  free; 
though  fur  this  his  g.merous  nature  reproached 
him  as  he  road  the  simple  allusion  to  her  changed 
and  saddened  position.  How  nobly  she  had  done 
him  justice!  Could  he  tjike  advantage  of  this 
and  accopt  the  freedom  she  otfared  .'  and  then  of- 
fended vanity  suggested  that  she  did  not  write  as 
if  this  were  a  sacrifice ;  but  conscience  here  re- 
m'nded  him  of  one  to  whom  lie  had  already  whis- 
pered wards  of  love,  spite  of  his  solf-roproaches 
at  this  double  treachery;  and  the  thought  that 
be  might  now  do  so  (ip.^nly,  fearlessly,  honorably, 
(hcid'vl  him ;  and  even  had  it  not,  the  sight  of 
tint  young  face  which  brightened  at  his  approach 
wmild  sn.edily  have  settled  the  question;  and 
l.m:;,  Ini't  I). 'fore  lie  ri>plicd  to  Constance  he  was 
the  iuivopljd  lover  of  Beatrice,  though  the  Duca 


'  positively  insisted  on  receiving  his  father's  sanc- 
'  tion  before  he  would  consent  to  their  marriage. 

This  consent  Hubert  confidently  reckoned  on 
i  gaining,  but  weeks  passed  in  all  the  happiness  of 
i  his  recent  betrothment  before  Hubert  could  re- 
I  solve  to  tear  himself  from  Beatrice;  ami  alas! 
alas  !  for  man's  constancy  that  so  it  should  be, 
'  but  it  was  not  till  he  was  arranging  his  desk, 
preparatory  to  traveling,  that  he  remembered 
!  he  had  not  replied  to  Constance  !  that  must  be 
j  done  at  once,  and  he  wrote  — 

"  From  your  letter  I  received  the  first  intima- 
tion  of   ciianges,  to   which   you   do    but  nlluile. 
This  you  must  believe,  or  my  silence  under  the 
suppo.sed   knowledge    must  have    aroused    your 
I  well-merited    indignation   and   contempt.      Cnn- 
I  stance,  in  one  resj^ect  you  do  me  but  strict  jus- 
tice ;    no   altered    circumstances,    no   saiidtuing 
I  events,  would  have  had  any  effect  on  my  ff clings; 
!  but  with  your  solemn  appeal  before   my  eyis  [ 
dare  not  venture  to  disobey  you  ;  forgive,  l»iit  li) 
not  despise  me  when  I  confess  that  you  have  di  - 
covered  the  truth.     I  have   nothing  to  urge  in 
justificition    of  my  conduct.     I   take   back   t'ne 
promise  which,  pardon  the  remark,  you  so  stern- 
ly, so  cal.mly  return ;  but  1  accept  with  j.iy  and 
gratitude  the  friendship  and  interest  you  offer  in 
exchange.— H.'F." 

This  dispatched,  and  bis  remaining  prepara- 
tions completed,  Hubert  set  out  for  En^l^iud, 
having  iniormed  his  family  of  his  speedy  return. 
The  news  reached  them  at  Craigalan,  and  thoy 
now  claiined  Laurette's  promise  to  return  with 
ibem,  and  remiin  till  Lady  Anne"s  marriage. 

Not  till  their  return  to  the  Sinclairs  did  they 
hear  of  the  fresh  catastrophe  at  the  Priory. 
Laurette"s  policy  had  been  to  keep  them  and  Hu- 
bert in  ignorance  as  long  as  possible  ;  for  she 
dreaded  lest  the  impetuosity  of  the  latter  should 
bring  him  home  directly  and  hasten  his  marriage, 
as  she  knew  enough  of  his  generous  character  to 
feel  sure  that  he  would  consider  what  liad  h^ip- 
pened  as  only  giving  Constance  an  additional 
claim  to  his  love  and  protection.  Faint  :is  it  w.is. 
there  remained  hope  so  long  as  he  continued  un- 
married, and  she  resolved  that  her  most  strenu- 
ous endeavors  should  be  used  with  his  parents  to 
cause  sucii  a  rupture  between  them  and  her  un 
cle,  as  would  mike  the  last  play  her  same,  bv 
means  of  his  authority  over  her  cousin. 

Slie  omitted  no  opportunity  of  adding  frr- 
fuLd  to  the  tire  which  the  Forrester  pride  li  , 
kindled  ;  and  while  affecting  to  exonerate  Con- 
stance, she  contrived  to  throw  the  ignominy  of 
the  whole  affair  on  her ;  and  she  so  fir  succeeded, 
that  by  the  time  they  reached  home,  a  coinnumi- 
cation  was  all  but  written  to  Colonel  Tenipleton, 
formally  declining  further  intercourse  between 
the  two  families. 

But  the  first  letter  opened  was  me  from  Hu 
bert,  dated  Paris,  in  which  he  said  it  wouid 
quickly  be  followed  by  his  arrival ;  and  thouga 
Laurette  urged  this  as  another  motive  for  prompt 
measures  on  the  part  of  his  father,  so  that  the  in- 
itiative might  be  taken  before  he  came,  Mr.  Fbr- 
rt  ster  thought  the  matter  one  in  which  his  dig- 
nity was  so  ileeply  concerned,  that  every  move  ojI 
his  side  should  be  performed  with  due  delibera- 
tion and  care. 
While  the  honor  of  the  Forresters  was  thus 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


IfiS 


woif^hcd  in  one  ?calo  ngainst  tlic  finesse  of  Lau- 
r.'tfo  in  tlie  otluT,  Huberts  hnste  in  performing 

I  •  journey  brought  him  in  time  to  prove  tluU 

II  '  iher  of  tlicsc  lijul  any  weight  with  him;    and 
■';■.  Forrester  felt  inex])re?sibly  relieved  when  lie 

Ttiiined,  from  n  few  sentences  Huhert  let  full, 

t  nothing  having  reference  to  Constance  had 

fenced  his  return  ;  and  before    ihe  day  was 

r  he  received  the  astounding  intelligence  that 

vas  free — free  by  the  act  of  Constance  herself"! 

was    thunderstruck — rejected  !    his  son  !    the 

tract  "broken,  and  with  his  heir!  and  by  her  ! 

ver  was  elderly  gentleman,  to  borrow  a  nauti- 

u  phrase,  so  taken  aback.     And  then  the  astou- 

i-iiiiig,  the  incomprehensible  indifference  of  Hu- 

i'  rt  :    or    was   this  merely   assumed   to  hide  the 

i:nd  Avhich  his  love  and  his  pride  had  received  ? 

i  uhcrt's  gaj'ety  was  indeed  a  riddle  to  them  all ; 

hough  on  hearing  a  few  particulars  C(mnectcd 

I   the  departure  of  Mrs.   Templeton   and   her 

uhter  he  was  much  shocked,  there  was  nothing 

';  s  manner  that  indicated  the  rejected  lover's 

■ncholy. 

16  evening  of  his  return  Laurette  was  seated 
ne  and  pondering  over  this  anomaly,  when  IIu- 
:  entered. 

■  -Vh  !  Laurette,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  a  hap- 
•  ss  to  find  you  alone;  and  taking  a  seat  he 
:-;xl  so  intently  at  her,  and  ^vith  so  strange  an 

I'vession,  that  her  heart  beat  violently.     Is  it — 

M   it   be?  was  the  unfinished  mental  inquiry, 

i'.e    his    own    embarrassment    and    continued 

;iLe  increased  her  agitation 

Laurette,"  he  at  length  said,  and  his  whole 

.liter  betokened  deep  feeling,  "  j-ou  have  alwaj's 

It  my  friend;  when  1  was  a  boy,  and  you  an 

laplished  woman  ' — Lanrette  shivered — "  you 

ned  or  explained  away  my  follies;  help  me 

-  time,  and  you  bind  me  to  you  indissolubly ; 

me  alone,  but  us."     She  felt  faint,  but  the 

ng  will  overcame  the  feeling.     "  I  am  captive, 

It  and  soul,  to  a  lovely  girl  in  Italy,  Beatrice 

;.  Angelo — you  turn  away ;  I  sea  you  are  dis- 

"  t!o  on."  she  gasped,  with  an  emotion  which 
1"  iiappily  ascrib-jd  to  condemnation  of  his  fickle- 

fjtais. 
"  V/ell,  my  dear  friend,  she -blessed  angel! — 
'dvcs  me;  her  father  consents,  provided — mind, 

■  videdminsdoes.  This,  I  assured  him,  he  would 
.  lily  do ;  and  at  the  time  I  believed  all  I  said. 

during  my  solitary  journey  I  have  had  leisure 

'   ivfiect;  and  though  resolved,  firmly  resolved, 

liver  to  give  up  Beatrice,  I  begin  to  dread  my 

,1  her's  opposition.     His  prejudices,  his  peculiar 

.     ;  ns  and  views,  will,  I  fear,  start  up  in  formid- 

■  array  again.<t  my  wishes.     My  dear  mother 

res  all  these,  but  1  can  soon  persuade  her  to 

.  ■!  1,  and  so,  in  time,  I  can  my  father :  but  the 

liiaa  will  brook  no  hesitation,  tor  his  Italian  pride 

•(Hials  our   Engli.sh  ;  and  (iod   knows  what    the 

•  iKcquence  might  be,  for  my  sweet  Beatrice  is 

A'K  Strong." 

This  long  explanation  had  given  Laurette  an  op- 

.'•tunity  to  rally,  though  her  cheek  was   ashy 

'  :1  ■,  and  her  voice  faUered  a.>»  she  said  :  "  Hubert, 

Jit  have  made  mc  giddy  with  your  confession. 

.  •til  otfer  you  no  hope,    (iivc  me  time  to  consider, 

ml  to-morrow  let  us  talk  of  it." 

'•  Thanks  for  your  interest,"  replied  he,  taking 


her  hand  and  looking  so  kindly  at  her  she  could 
scarcely  bear  it,  "  a  thousaiul  thanks.  1  trust 
all  to  you  ;  but  you  are  tired." 

"  Rather  ;  and  rather  overcome  also."  she  said, 
with  truth,  and  she  hastened  to  her  own  room. 

The  next  day,  by  her  advice,  lie  mentioned  the 
matter  to  his-father. 

"  Hubert,  are  you  mad,  or  do  you  believe  me  to 
be  so  .'  What! — a  Pap'st! — a  foreigner  I  — a  resi- 
dence abroad  ! — impossible !  Name  it  no  more,  for 
I  never  will  consent." 

"  I  am  deeply  grieved  to  hear  this,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "  but.  my  dear  father,  my  happiness,  my 
honor,  arc  equally  cenccrned.  1  had  no  doubt 
of  your  consent,  and  therefore  acted  on  this  as- 
surance." 

"  ^Vhat  yon  have  done,  you  alone  must  answer 
for ;  for  me,  I  shall  Lc  bound  by  nothing  of  the 
kind." 

"  But,  sir — " 

"  But,  Hubert,  I  desire  that  there  may  be  no 
more  arguing.  I  never  can  consent  to  receive  a 
foreigner  as  the  future  mistres.<  of  my  property." 

'•  I  confidently  h(  pe  you  will  relent,  sii-,  or  I 
really  can  not  answer  for  the  consequences." 

"  The  consequences  can  not  be  worse,  when  al- 
ready my  son  threatens  mc." 

"  Nay,  father — " 

"  Do  not  interrupt  me ;  let  this  interview  be 
final.  I  forbid  you  to  proceed  in  this  matter ;  and 
now  leave  me." 

Judging  by  past  experience  that  he  had  bet- 
ter not  urge  too  much,  Hubert  obeyed ;  and  to  say 
the  truth,  not  much  daunted  by  this  commence- 
ment, laid  his  plans  for  a  second  attack,  in  which 
his  hopes  represented  him  as  victorious.  How 
could  it  be  otlierwise .'  Was  he  not  an  only  son 
and  heir .' 


CHAPTER   LXIX. 

"  Elln  6ioit  de  ce  monde, 
OC  li-s<  |>lii8  belles  cliuses 

Out  l<-  pire  dt-siiii ; 
El  rosf,  elle  ii  v6cu 
Ce  que  vi\cn'.  !<•»  rogeo. 

LiVciiace  d'uii  iiiulin." 


Oxt,Y  son  and  heir  ! — ah  !  bow  much  error  and 

misery  do  these  words  cause ! 

I  Hubert  not  only  had  the  rich  properties  of  For- 
j  est  Hill  and  Hargraves,  with  the  largo  fortune  h  3 

father  had  accumulated,  but  he  was  also  the  last 
I  of  two  old  and  honorable  families  ;  but  Mr.  and 
I  Mrs.  Forrester  forgot  thiit  society  could  not  un- 
!  derstand  the  overwhelnnng  importance  whieh  l/nij 
I  attat^hcd  to  tliis  f  osition.  In  the  world,  Hubert 
,  was  only  oiieof  the  many  ;  his  sickness,  his  health. 

his  joys  or  sorrows  excited  no  interest  beyond  lua 

own  circle — a  circle  whose  dianieterwas  unusii;;!- 

ly  small,  owing  to  the  proud  exclusivcness  or  shy 
j  fastidiousness  of  his  ptirents. 
I       Hubert  wished  to  go  to  a  public  school ;  no,  ho 

must  he  educated  at  home,  where  his  ai.qtiainlunco 
]  was  limited  to  the  v^cry  few  country  families  who 
I  were  neighbors;  Buls.qucntly  Keginald  We.s:, 
i  and,  later  still,  Victor  Morton,  wore  h.s  co)np:in- 

ions ;  and  though  between  him  and  the  latter  the 


164 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


contrast  was  evident  in  almost  every  respect,  a 
strong  friendship  ever  united  them. 

Then  came  the  contest  about  the  University. 
Hubert  preferred  Cambridge;  there  Ashley  and 
Reginald  would  have  been  his  associates  ;  but  his 
father  decided  for  Oxford,  at  which  place  Hubert 
remained  little  more  than  a  year ;  and,  in  spite 
of  extraordinary  indulgences,  it  seemed  as  if  a 
system  of  opposition  had  been  regularly  organized 
by  both  fatlier  and  son ;  there  was  always  some 
compromise— some  feeble  medium  measure,  which 
destroyed  the  grace  of  yielding  in  both. 

Happily  the  refinement  of  Hubert's  taste  and 
feelings  k.^pt  him  from  all  low  and  ignoble  pleas- 
ures, even  his  love  for  the  beautiful  was  in  his 
case  a  protection  ;  vice,  to  him,  was  always  coarse 
and  repellent,  and  never  lost  its  hideous  mien. 
But  his  taste  wanted  elevation;  his  character, 
firmness  and  decision— his  life,  an  aim.  Hitherto, 
all  had  been  harmony  with  him,  and  his  handsome 
exterior  and  fascinating  manners  were  types  of 
his  intellect  and  feelings ;  but  there  was  nothing 
grand,  ni;ijestic,  sublime;  and  on  seeing  and 
'watching  him  you  were  tempted  to  ask,  "  Is  the 
beginning  of  such  an  existence  to  be  the  reflex  of 
a  similar  end  .'" 

It  is  said  that  a  celebrated  foreign  musical 
amateur,  and  one  also  well  versed  in  human  na- 
ture, after  having  listened  to  a  young  dehutantc, 
vhose  singing  was  generally  much  admired,  was 
asked  his  opinion.  In  his  idiomatic  way,  he  re- 
plied, "  She  has  the  fine  organ,  but  she  v.uit  vone 
grand  disappointment  before  she  louch  the 
heart !" 

Before  the  fruit  attains  perfection,  it  must  be 
watered  by  the  i-aiu,  as  well  as  shone  on  by  ilie 

BUQ. 

Poor  Mrs.  Forrester,  when  informed  by  her 
husband  of  all  that  had  passed,  felt  he:»rt-sick  at 
the  discord  which  she  foresaw ;  and  fully  enter- 
ing into  all  his  objections,  anticipated  with  dread 
the  result  of  lier  dear  Hubert's  fruitless  appeals. 
Laurette  could  give  her  no  comfort;  for  though 
she  Siiid  it  was  a  sad  entanglement,  slie  was  so 
shocked  at  the  idea  of  popery,  that  she  outdid 
Mrs.  Forrester  in  her  expressions  of  horror  ;  and 
then  her  objections  to  foreigners,  and  Italians  es- 
pecially, were  equally  in  excess;  besides,  as  she 
failo«l  not  to  observe,  to  think  that  Hubert  would 
bo  expected  to  reside  chiefly  abroad!— it  was  too 
bud  of  the  St.  Angelo  family — they  quite  forget 
what  was  due  to  an  Englishman  of  birth  and 
station. 

Left  to  himself,  the  father  had  time  to  view  the 
proposal  in  all  its  most  objectionable  aspects.  If 
ho  did  not  think  of  the  Pope  as  always  lighting 
fires  to  burn  heretics,  he  believed  him  very  often 

fircsiding  at  some  other  diabolical  performance. 
f  he  did  not  consider  every  foi-eign  title  a  fiction, 
and  every  Duca  or  Conte  a  myth,  lie  had  some 
uotion  that  they  all  dealt  in  wine,  maccaroni,  and 
olives  —  modern  antiques,  original  copies,  and 
plaster  casts;  and  to  think  that  he  should  be 
asked  toiKiite  his  son  with  one  of  their  daugh- 
ters! impoa^ible— .and  thrice  impossilile  ! — and 
this  time  he  felt  reilly  strong  in  the  goodness  of 
his  cause.  Then,  also,  came  the  recollection  of 
the  beautiful  high-bred  girl,  whom  he  had  so  un- 
kindly slighted  ;  the  Knglish  girl  of  noble  de- 
scent, whom  he  had  not  thought  wortliy  of  his 


son  — the  son  she  had  since  rejected!     There  wc 
bitterness  in  this  reflection. 

Hubert,  after  a  second  and  more  peremptor 
refusal,  left  Forest  Hill,  and  went  in  sullen  dis 
appointment  to  the  discomforts  of  Hargrave; 
wliich  was  so  far  altered  as  to  be  stripped  of  ,il 
farm-like  comforts,  and  yet  not  sufficiently  ac 
vanced  to  compensate  for  this  by  its  mansion-lik; 
elegancies.  After  a  week  of  solitary,  self-in' 
[losed  exile,  Hubert  wrote  to  his  father,  annoum 
ing  his  determination  to  brave  his  displeasui 
and  follow  his  own  idea  of  what,  as  a  man  o 
honor,  he  was  bound  to  do.  He  deeply  lamentC' 
any  thing  like  disunion  where  all  had  formerl 
been  peace  and  love  ;  but  he  indirectly  reproache 
his  father  for  the  vacillation  wliich  had  constantl 
marked  his  conduct  when  he  had  beenconcernetj 
and  by  the  help  of  a  little  sophistry  proved  thr: 
Mr.  Forrester  was  answerable  for  his  passion  fc 
Beatrice  by  having  bani.shed  him  from  home. 

And  the  result  was  a  surrender,  but  still  not 
frank  or  complete  one,  for  it  was  some  days  b( 
fore  Hubert  obtained  such  a  consent  as  he  kne : 
would  alone  satisfy  the  scruples  of  the  Duca,  or^ 
of /those  few  relics  Italy  yet  possesses  to  remin 
her  of  the  noble  in  nanie  and  deed,  of  whom  sh, 
once  had  many.  This  was  wrung  from  him  b| 
the  almost;  frantic  vehemence  of  Hubert  after  bi 
had  received  a  letter  from  Beatrice,  which  rouses 
him  as  nothing  before  h;id  ever  done. 

She  spoke  of    her   anxiety    to   see  him,  an   , 
hinted,  though  very  slightly,  at  her  increased  ii 
disposition,  which  still  kept  them  at  Naples. 

Hubert  was  changed — no  indecision  now  ;  thei 
was  command  in  liis  look,  in  his  voice,  as  he  ha: 
tened  the  preparations  for  starting,  without 
minute's  unnecessary  delay.  And  never  di' 
Laurette  forget  that  not  one  word  of  farewell  Wi 
left  lor  her,  not  one  evidence  that  she  was  eve 
remembered ;  there  was  no  room  for  her — tl 
heart,  the  thoughts,  were  filled  by  the  image  c 
another. 

Ami  now  Heaven  grant  that  he  may  find  quic 
passnge  across  the  water;  he  does;  night  an, 
d.iy,  night  and  day,  the  then  fatiguing  journej 
was  pursued.  His  servant  gave  up  at  Florence^ 
but  with  Hubert  it  was  on.  on — stop  not;  nor  di 
he  till  he  reached  Naples— reached  the  Palazzo  c 
the  Duca.  A  horrible  foreboding  of  ill  had  foi: 
bidden  him  the  rest  another  might  have  found 
he  was  helped  out  by  the  servants,  who  quickl 
summoned  the  Duca,  for  he  had  fainted. 

His  first  word  on  recovering  was  "  Beatrice  .'' 

'•  Is  very  ill,"  was  the  sorrowful  reply;  "hi 
your  arrival,  which  she  has  so  pined  for,  will  t 
a  restorative." 

'•  Infinite  mercy  now  be  praised!"  said  Huber 
who  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  tc  take  mucl 
needed  rest  and  refreshment  before  he  saw  he  i 
And  when  lie  did— merciful  powers!  can  it  be- 
is  this  to  be  the  end.'  for  his  quick  eye,  wliid 
had  hist  seen  her  in  comparative  heiilth,  perceive 
a  clu.nge — and  oh  !  such  a  change  ! 

He  pressed  her  to  his  heart;  he  kissed  h< 
flusliel  cheek,  now  painted  by  that  insidious  ei 
eiiiy,  which  also  sent  the  sparkle  to  her  beMUtif 
eyes  and  g;ive  her  a  treacherous  and  decepii' 
strength.  With  anguish  that  can  not  be  tol' 
Hubert  read  it  all ;  his  love  rendered  him  ouV 
more  coguzaut  of  the  truth — and  he  had  thf' 


TlIK    WIFKS    TRIALS. 


165 


won  her  but  to  lose  her  !  nnd  liis  heart  seomed 
breaking  as  it  echoed  buck  liis  list  wonis. 

Ah  !  how  he  cursed  the  delay  that  hud  deprived 
him  of  all  those  precious,  precious  hours  he  might 
have  spent  in  w.itchiiiji  and  cariiij;  fur  her;  how 
he  execrated  those  prejudices  whicli,  by  prohmg- 
ing  his  absence,  iiad  perhaps  increased  the  dan- 
ger and  needles-^ly  p  lined  her  b^  <inxiety. 

After  this  uieetini;  he  sought  tiie  Duca ;  and 
though  it  was  with  d  fficulty  he  brouglit  himself 
to  give  words  to  his  fears,  the  very  iinmiiiencc  of 
the  danger  made  him  desperate,  lie  named  his 
■wish  for  further  advice,  for  the  father  sei-mcd  not 
yet  sensible  of  the  truth.  And  when  fresh  opin- 
ions corroborated  Huberts  dread,  even  then  he 
could  not,  would  not,  believe  such  misery  was 
awaiting  him  ;  and  as  day  by  day  brought  ita 
false  but  flattering  fluctuations,  he  would  appeal 
to  Hubert,  and  ask  him  if  eyes  so  bright,  if  a  face 
BO  animated,  could  have  the  icy  touch  of  death 
so  near .' 

But  Hubert,  hopeless  and  heart-broken,  did  not 
share  in  his  disbelief;  every  day  some  fresh 
symptom  alarmed  him,  for  the  remembrance  that 
the  mother  of  Beatrice  was  an  English  lady,  and 
had  died  young,  filled  hiiu  with  the  most  agoniz- 
ing fears. 

About  ten  days  after  his  return  he  was  with 
her,  listening  to  her  expressions  of  pleasure  at 
again  seeing  him  after  her  anxiety  during  his 
absence :  '•  But  that  is  past — and  you  are  here 
once  more — not  soon  again  to  leave  us." 

"  My  beautiful  I  my  own  !"  he  murmured,  "  we 
part  no  more  ;"  but  as  he  said  so,  he  shuddered 
to  think  no  voice  from  his  heart  repeated  his 
words,  while  the  ravages  of  disease  on  that  loved 
form  were  more  than  ever  perceptible. 

Beatrice,  fondly  laid  lier  head  on  his  bosom, 
saying:  "  Thanks,  dear  Hubert,  for  that  assur- 
ance, for  you  can  not.  after  this,  again  leave  me." 

"  Never,  never,  my  beloved !"  again  kissing  i 
her  fair  brow  ;  and,  as  if  worn  out  with  fatigue, 
she  soon  fell  asleep  with  his  arm  round  her,  and 
his  face,  to  her  so  glorious  in  its  beauty,  bent  over 
her,  and  his  loving  eyes  watching  her— and  so, 
she  died ! 


CHAPTER   LXX. 

"  And  thf-reforp  is  Love  sa'd  to  be  n  phiM. 
Because,  in  choice,  he  la  M>ofi  btgniUMl." 

SlIAKSPEilBB. 

As  days  changed  to  weeks,  and  still  no  reply 
came  from  Hubert,  Mrs.  Templeton  fouml  it  diffi- 
cult to  adhere  to  her  resfdution,  that  they  would 
not  talk  of  the  matter,  especially  a^  she  saw  that 
Constance  was  looking  anxious  and  haras.scd.  She 
was  restless  before  the  arrival  of  the  pfjst,  and 
evidently  depressed  and  disappf>inte<i  afterward, 
though  nothing  could  be  more  unwearie*!  than 
her  efforts  to  hide  this  from  her  mother. 

Stacey  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  intoxi- 
cating effects  of  hi.s  one- volume  great  8ucce.ss,  or, 
as  Mr.  Moore  patiently  remarked,  had  not  yet 
got  to  the  end  of  his  tether ;  and  though  this  sud- 
den falling  off  had  greatly  disuppointe<J  him,  as 
he  was  was  really  much  interested  in  the  complc- 


I  tion  of  the  memoirs,  he  goo.|  natnrcdly  hopwl 
I  that  Stacey,  of  whoso  talents  he  hnd  a  high 
j  opinion,  woifld,  in  the  end,  justify  h;.s  vpecta- 
tious. 

At  present,  Iwth  to  Mr.  Turner  nnd  .Ashley, 
this  seemed  very  unlikely.  He  was  gayjy  JlutUT- 
ing  about  sahions  ami  drawing-rooms ;"  hV  was  the 
loader  in  all  private  theatricals— managed,  wrote, 
sang,  and  played;  and  thus,  at  once  the  I'roteiia 
of  fashionaiile  s^iciety,  and  the  lion  of  fiddle- 
I  faddle  literary  coteries,  there  was  no  chance  of  hid 
voluntarily  quitting  them  to  become  the  laljo- 
rious  author  or  the  tlomestie  man. 
1  He  had  at  first  been  enthu.-iastic  in  his  ad- 
miration of  Mrs  Templeton  and  her  daughter, 
but  sotm  even  they  failed  to  attract,  when  per- 
fumed notes  from  Lady  Hose  or  Lady  lUancho 
entieetl  him  within  the  charmed  circle  of  fashion- 
able life  and  its  attendant  gayeties. 

•Though  all  this  unprotitabie,  indeed  injurious, 
adulation  turnetl  Stacey "s  head,  happily  it  did 
not  destroy  his  kindness  or  affi-ction  for  his  wife. 
True  it  is,  she  was  perpetually  left  at  home  to 
work  hard  for  the  necessaries  of  life,  while  ho 
was  working  hard  to  amuse  his  noble  and  titled 
friends;  true,  the  money  he  made  by  an  occa- 
sional contribution  to  a  magazine  or  some  g.iy 
volume  of  songs  was  soon  ui)sorbed  by  the  ex- 
pense which  attended  this  association  with  wealth 
ami  luxury ;  still,  when  he  had  money,  he  never 
failed  to  make  her  some  present,  which  though 
perhaps  too  costly  to  wear,  being  offered  with  tho 
intention  to  please,  was  as  such  accepted  with 
thanks. 

When  at  home,  he  was  happy,  and  made  her 
so,  and  was  oxceedingly  amusi'il  at  her  profes- 
sional industry,  calling  her  an  absurd  little  bee, 
a  money-loving  little  miser — wondered  what  she 
could  possibly  do  with  the  sixpences  she  was  so 
busily  collecting,  and  talked  like  a  dreamer  or 
poet  of  the  life  they  would  lead  when  he  obtaini-d 
his  appointment ;  for.  in  addition  to  all  the  other 
causes  which  helpe<l  to  bewilder  him,  some  friend, 
more  than  usually  indiscreet,  had  liintcl  at  a 
snug  little  sinecure,  and  promisefl  to  name  him 
to  Lords  A,  B,  C,  and  all  the  lord^  to  the  end  of 
the  alphabet,  some  of  whom  would  be  sure  to 
give  it. 

Stacey  was  a  poet ;  had  he  never  read,  or  had 
he  forgotten,  Spjnser's  experience,  which  ho  so 
forcibly  tells  as  a  warning  to  all  expectants  for 
place  and  preferment  > 

At  last  the  expected  letter  from  Italy  arrive*!, 
after  Constance  ha<l  be.ome  weary  with  waiting 
and  Kus[>ense.  Mrs.  Templeton  felt  a  shade  of 
disappointment 'steal  over  her  as  she  noticed  tho 
eagerness  with  which  it  was  received,  tho  trem- 
bling anxiety  with  which  it  was  re  id  ;  it  was,  a.s 
she  fcareil.  and  Constance  was  weeping  over  this 
pr(M)f  of  Hubert's  fickleness. 

Silently  she  drew  near  and  attompte  1  to  re- 
move her  hand  from  her  face. 

"It  is  not  sorrow,  mamma,"  siid  Comtaneo; 
"  but  I  have  waited  so  long  for  this,  that  1  at  last 
began  to  dread  what  it  might  contain  when  it 
did  come.  Kead  it  ilear ;"  and  .-ihe  put  tho  brief 
reply  into  Mrs.  Templeton's  hand. 

"I   sec  that   Hubert  accepts  hi.-!  relea.sc,"  wn^ 
the  reply  ;  "  but  still,  dear  child,  1  do  not  undei 
stand  all  this  emotion." 


THE   WIFE'S    TRIALS. 


"  Neither  do  I— that  is— quite,"'  answered  she ; 
"  but  if  you  have  patience  to  listen  lo  my  confes- 
sion, perhaps  between  us  we  ui:iy  nialie  it  clear." 

"  I  shall  not  bj  h.ippy  till  we  do— .so  begin  at 
once  ;  here,  sit  on  this  otioin  in  close  by  me.  And 
now — volume  fiisr,  chapter  one  ' 

"Oh,  mamma!  you  are  already  laughing  at 
nii;  but  never  mind,  with  you  for  my  only 
critic,  1  shall  not  tremble  veiy  violently.  You 
know  how  much  we  went  through  during  Helen's 
terrible  trial ;  there  was  no  one  to  help  or  com- 
fort us.  At  this  time  Hubert  came  very  often; 
he  wa^  so  kind,  so  cheering,  and— well,  1  may  as 
well  say  it— so  handsome^  that  1  learned  to  expect 
his  appearance  as  almost  the  ouly  happy  thing.'" 

"  .My  poor  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  smooth- 
ing her  rich  curls. 

••  And  this  went  on;  I  could  not  trouble  you 
with  all  my  an.\ieties  while  you  had  so  many  of 
your  own  :  but  Herbert  listened  so  patiently,  and 
encouraged  me  so  kindly  to  hope  for  better  days, 
that  somehow  ho  himself  becasue  associated  with 
those  future  and  brlghte.-  times.  At  last,  having 
taken  his  share  of  my  grief,  he  proposed  to  take 
me;  and,  to  my  feeling,  there  was  something  so 
ungrateful  in  the  idea  of  not  returning  his  love, 
that  I  believed  I  did— that  I  mu.st,  or  ought,  or 
eome  fancy  of  that  kind— and— but  you  know  the 
rest.  Then  we  went  to  Craigalan,  and  there  for 
the  lirst  time  1  saw  what  society  could  leally  pro- 
duce. At  Gran;ham  also,  after  Cecilia's  wedding, 
I  h  id  an  o]tportun!ty  of  associating  with  many 
not  older  th:in  Hubert,  who  had  in  some  honorable 
pursuit  won  credit  and  renown;  and  I  came.home 
with  my  uiiul  in  a  very  dilFerent  state  from  that 
in  wh.ch  it  had  been  a  few  mouths  earlier.  Hu- 
berts letters  also,  though  kin  J  an  1  cheerful,  after 
a  time  invariably  disappointed  me;  besides,  I 
could  njl  but  be  struck  witli  the  difference  be- 
tv.'een  ii;s  long-delayed  and  brief  ccrcspondence 
and  ih\t  const.int  interchange  of  thought  and  IV e!- 
ing  which  e>:.3;cd  during  tlie  shcrt,  happy  period 
which  followed  Helen's  engngement.  I  was  neither 
.so  v.iin  nor  so  feo'.ish  as  to  faney  that  1  could  ever 
inspire  such  an  affection  as  our  de.ar  Helen  co  1?, 
St  11— -c:  that  pass.  By  degrees,  however,  I  began 
to  duubi  whe  h;r  Hubert  really  did  love  me — and 
here  Liureue  helped  to  open  my  eyes.  Then  Hu- 
bert returned — and  now,  dear  mamma,  comes 
my  confeshlon.  You  have  no  idea  how  changed 
he  seemed  to  me — so  different  from  what  I  had 
fancied,  in  short,  so  unlike  what  I  believed  I  loved; 
and  yet  1  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  really 
liked  him  very  much — only  I  was  so  conscious  of 
his  deficien.ics,  that  I  scarcely  felt  that  respect 
which  1  had  been  romantic  enough  to  think  it  es- 
sential to  enlert.iin  t.)ward  my  husband." 

•'  No  romance,  dear  child,  no  romance  is  this 
requirement — no  love  is  secure  that  is  not  based 
on  it." 

••  But  I  must  try  and  be  concise :  this,  and  a 
neglect  which  I  f  It  very  keerdy  in  the  conduct  of 
bo:h  .Mr.  and  Mrs.  Forrester — hints  and  insinua- 
tions from  more  than  one  person — our  changed 
pi).-^ition — his  scarcely  pardonable  silence — induced 
me,  after  deep,  an  I,  I  must  say,  painful  reflection, 
to  write  the  hitter  of  which  you  approved." 

••  But,  my  love,  wliy  are  you  .so  anxious  for  a 
reply,  and  why  so  Cvcitcd  when  it  came.'" 

"  Because,  after  1  had  taken  that  decided  step, 


I  feared  I  had  misjudged  Hubert ;  I  thought,  if 
he  still  really  loved  me,  how  I  must  have  pained 

,  )iim.     And  above  all,  I  feared,  yes,  that  is  the 
feeling — I  feared  he  might  refuse  to  take  back  liiaJ       lern 
promise — might,  from  some  of  those  terrible  mis-}       f-'.; 

I  takes  which  cause  so  much  sorrow,  feel  bound, 
now,  more  especially,  to  continue  oui*  engage" 
ment." 

j      "  .And  then,  Constance  ?"  . 

I  "  Then,  I  should,  I  suppose,  have  married  him  ;| 
and  though  with  Hubert  s  amiability  and  gener-i 
osity,  that  would  never  have  been  a  very  puiablo 
lo:,  I  greatly  prefer  my  freedom — and  the  blessed 
privilege  of  devoting  myself  to  you,  and  of  mak- 
ing your  happiness,  instead  of  his,  the  great  ob- 
ject of  my  life,  particularly  as  he  has  found  what 

j  he  considers  so  good  a  substitute." 

!      "  Much  that  you  have  said  hardly  surprises 

j  me,"  replied  .Mrs.  Templeton;  "the  estim:tie  you 

'  have  only  lately  formed  of  Hubert  s  ch  iractcr 

;  has  always  been  mine.  Constance,  darling,  1 
was  disappointed  that  you  had  given  yourself  to 
him ;  but  doing  him,  as  you  have  done,  full  jus- 
tice, I  had  no  objections  that  sufficiently  author- 
ized my  interference,  and  believed  it  was  the 
mother  s  vanity  which  pronounced  him  not  quite 
equal  to  my  own  noble-minded,  intelligeut  girl 
But  1  can  scarcely  express  to  you  the  indignation 
I  have  felt  at  the  behavior  of  the  elder  f'orres- 
ters — unkind  and  disrespectful  in  the  extreme, 
as  it  has  uniformly  been — yet  I  have  always 
thought  that  they  were  weak  enough  to  be  iutiu- 
enced  by  an  interested  party — by  Laurette  t'in- 

I  clair ;  you  look  surprised — did  it  never  occur  to 
you  that  she  loves  Hubert .'" 

"  You  surprise  me  still  more  by  that  question. 
Laurette !  the  fastidious  Liurette  !  wlio  used  to 
take  a  tiresome  pleasure  in  jwinting  out  Hubert's 
faulrs  and  failings  ?" 

"  To  me  this  is  not  so  extraordinary  as  to  you. 
However,  tiie  result  of  this  measure,  which  you 
have  had  the  moral  courage  to  take,  is  to  me  nio.^t 
satisfactory,  as  I  began  to  fear  you  had,  in  a  fis 
of  romantic  generosity,  or— do  not  be  offended— 
of  jealous  pride,  made  a  greater  sacrifice  than  you 
were  aware  of.  Henceforth  Hubert  will  be  le- 
tnembered  as  one  whom  we  both  admire  for  much 
that  is  good,  but  with  no  deeper  feelings." 

"Exactly  so;  I  should  at  this  moment  rejoice 
to  see  him,  and  could  honestly  congratulate  him 
on  his  marriage  with  another  ;  so  now  I  hopeyi>u 
are  at  rest  on  my  account.  And  you  really  think 
Laurette  has  been  playing  a  part .'" 

"1  do ;  .1  detect  her  agency  in  many  things, 
-•^nd  now  that  we  fully  understand  each  otiier,  I 
may  say  I  rejoice  truly  that  you  are  neither 
bound  by  promises,  the  performance  of  which  1 
could  never  have  sincerely  rejoiced  at,  nor  bro- 
ken-hearted at  the  fickleness  which  has  set  you 
free.  It  is  evident  that  gratitude  on  your  part 
and  sympathy  on  Hubert's  were  mistaken  for 
that  affection  without  which,  I  do  not  s:iy  mar- 
riage is  misery,  but  which  is  necessary  to  render 
it  a  state  of  re  il  h.ippiness." 

"  But  though  i^ou  judge  me  so  leniently,  dear 
mamma,  I  feel  deeply  liumiliated  when  I  think 
what  people  generally  will  think  of  me;  you  just 
now  spoke  of  Hubert's  fickleness — is  not  that  the 
word  thi-y  will  apply  to  me  ':" 

"  Some,  probably,  may  ;  not  so  those  who  beat 


THK    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


167 


know  you ;  but  better,  far  better,  tlmt  friends 
should  join  in  condiyiining  you,  than  that  any 
morbid  dread  of  their  censure  should  have  de- 
terred you  from  taking  this  step.     To  have  per- 
sisted in  your  engagement,  after  the  knowledge 
you   had  obtained  of  your  own  feelings,  would 
];:ive  been  to  encounter  sorrows  much  more  poig- 
nant than  the  condemnation  of  all  vou  most  love. 
1  almost  tremble  to  think  how  near  you  were  to 
tliat  gi-eat  evil,  a  mistaken   marriage.     Better, 
I  veu  at  the  altar  itself,  to  pause  and  turn  back, 
.11  to  run  the  risk  of  passing  a  life  of  misery 
r  botii." 
■  But  so  inany  reasons,  mamma — " 

•  I  anticipate  all  you  would  urge,  and  yet  I 
■    ;  eat  what  I  have  said ;  it  m.-iy  seem  an  encour- 

i  inent  to  rash  engagements;  it  may  appear  to 
weaken  the  solemnity  of  a  promise;  it  may  sound 
i live  an  excuse  for  indifference  to  the  feelings  of 
:  ;i  ithcr;  but,  again  I  say,  turn  back  even  from 

•  altar,  if  your  further  acquaintance  with 
1 '.self  or  the  character  of  another  should  lead 
I  10  see  you  have  been  mistaken." 

Alter  a  pause  Constance  said  :  "  As  there  is  no 
ossity  to  revert  to  this  correspondence,  1  should 

■;<.r  no  allusion  being  made,  even  to  our  best 
Uiv'uds." 

•'  Certainly,  my  love  ;  you  have  a  right  topre- 
M,Tibe  in  this  matter." 

Laurette  had  scarcely  alluded  to  Hubert  during 
the  single  interview  she  had  with  Caroline  before 
slie  went  to  Lady  Westrough's.  Her  engagement 
there  she  determined  to  fulfill,  tliough  even  her 
powers  of  dissimulation  were  unable  to  hide  the 
change  so  apparent  in  her  looks  and  manner.  Nor 
did  she  give  way  when  she  heard  of  Hubert's 
drcauiul  loss  and  of  Lis  subsequent  dangerous 
iilucss.  Sae  had  a  part  to  play,  a  secret  to  keep, 
and  pride  gave  her  strength.  Like  Calantha,  she 
could  say,  •'  On  to  the  dance." 

And  when  the  wedding  and  its  subsequent  gay- 
ety  was  over,  she  returned  to  Craigalan,  which 
for  a  long  time  she  never  left. 

Caroline,  when  she  wrote  to  Ashley,  named 
Hubert's  return ;  and  as  he  daily  expected  his 
appearance  at  the  Heath.  Ashley  kept  away  till 
tiie  news  came  that  Hubert  had  again  left  Eng- 
land. 

Had  he  seen  Constance  .'  if  so,  why  had  it  never 
been  mentioned  .'  why  any  need  of  concealment  ? 
surely,  and  he  felt  humbled  at  the  thouglit,  surely 
Mrs.  Templeton— Constance,  liad  not  read  the 
'^  :t!i  in  any  inadvertency  of  manner  and  wished 
-  to  spare  him  pain.'     And  so  much  did  this 

:  torment  him,  that  it  was  long  before  he  re- 
red  that  external  serenity  wliich  he  had  so 

eiully  tried  to  maintain. 


CHAPTER   LXXr. 


"  Our  rcmrdies  oft  in  ourwlvcg  < 
Which  we  asTibe  to  Heaven." 


During  all  this  time,  nothing  could  be  more 
gloomy  than  tlie  interior  of  the  Priory.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  old  monastic  silence,  wliich  had  so  long 
been  banished,  had  returned  ;  and  iliat  the  spirits 


of  those  who,  ages  ago,  had  abjured  nil  cliccrlul- 
ness  and  i)leiisure  still  haunted  it.diflusing  cvery- 
'  where  tiie  inlluence  of  their  solitary  an>i  :is -L-tic 
lives.     Whole  suites  of  rooms  were  dismaniUd ; 
;  ranges  of  windows  were  closed  ;  and  by  the  Col- 
onel's express  desire,  ^Irs.  Dawson  made  great 
j  reductions  in  all  connected  with  her  department, 
while  a  similar  plan  of  economy  was  extended  to 
the  out-door  arrangements.     Doctor  Vernon  alone 
j  called,  but  he  never  obtained  an  interview.     Kx- 
I  cept  on  business,  the  Colonel  rarely  left  the  limits 
!  of  his  estate,  in  the  details  and  improvement  of 
which    lie    was    unusually    interested.     Fits    of 
'  glooiu  were  succeided  by  uiicontrolb.i.lc  reslless- 
^  ness,  and  the  habit  of  indulging  in  wine  seemed 
I  now   confirmed,   though    there  was,  apparently, 
method  even  in  that.     Mr.  Sloper  was  now  often 
closeted  with  him,  to  the  exclusion  of  Cooper,  with 
whom,  ou  several  occasions,  the  Colonel  liad  been 
very  short  and  peremptory,  so  much  so,  that  the 
worthy  agent  carried  his  complaints  to  the  foot 
j  of  the  throne— namely,  to  Mrs.  Captain,  who  in 
I  her  wisdom  recommended  patience ;  and  as  this 
'  Was  by  nil  means  what  she  iierself  ever  practiced, 
unless  sjme  great  and  certain  reward  was  in  view, 
he  was  disposed  to  be  guided  by  her. 

But  a  blow  fell  on  her  which  demanded  all  her 
I  stock  of  this  most  excellent  virtue.  This.was  the 
!  marriage  of  Juliet  with  Steinberg,  for  as  to  the  Vou 
;  or  the  Baron  they  were  equally  apocryphal.  lu- 
j  stead  of  leaving  Engbind  with  the  money  he  had 
j  procured  from  Cooper,  he  remained  till  he  had 
^  persuaded  the  ill-regulated  girl  ihat,  as  Madame 
la  Baronne,  she  would  at  once  assume  a  rank  that 
would  dazzle  her  n:otiier  into  compliance;  and 
one  fine  day  he  and  Juliet  were  united  for  better 
and  worse — or  for  worse  only. 

The  rage  of  Mrs.  Mordauut  defies  description  ; 
her  bitter  disappointment  might  almost  have 
moved  pity,  for  she  really  was,  in  her  way,  very 
fond  of  her  children,  and  no  one  knew  better  than 
she  the  delusion  under  which  Juliet  had  acted — 
none  foresaw  more  clearly  the  fate  that  awaited 
her ;  the  past  life  of  her  swindling,  infamous  son- 
in-law  was  no  mystery  to  her ;  she  was  as  well 
acquainted  with  his  various  offenses  as  he  with 
the  various  prisons  to  which  those  offenses  had 
led  him;  and  she  s.iw  the  vain,  silly  Juliet  at 
once  the  dupe  and  the  victim  of  one  little  better 
than  a  felon. 

Another  disgrac?  also  was  near.  Ruth,  who 
had  been  flattered  and  bribed  into  the  commis- 
sion of  the  basest  treachery,  was  in  her  turn  to 
be  betrayed.  No  longer  needed,  she  was  to  bo 
thrown  aside — driven  from  the  roof  of  her  sctlu- 
cer  when  her  stata  most  require  1  compassion. 

Thus  were  affaii-s  when  the  Colonel  one  evening 
came  to  Cooper's  house,  and  after  some  conversa- 
tion, which  arose  out  of  a  meeting  they  had  had 
that  morning  with  Mr.  Sloper,  Colonel  Templeton 
remarked : 

"  I  am  more  than  usually  an.cious  to  free  my- 
self from  that  debt  which  Sloper  lias  continued 
to  stave  off  so  long,  and  to  do  so  would  m.ike  al- 
most any  sacrifice,  though  to  raise  money  on  the 
property  is  almost  as  bad  as  to  owe  it.  1  wish  to 
God  some  one  would  take  it  and  sot  mc  free  of 
all  incumbrances." 

"  Vou  need  not  bo  long  wishing  that,"  quickly 
observed  Mrs.  Captain ;  "  why,  you  might  Pu..so 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


double  what  you  want  by  making  some  one  with 
plenty  of  ready  money  your  heir ;  anJ  1  wonder 
old  81oper  was  not  sharp  enough  to  make  the  pro- 
posal." 

"  Perhaps  he  would,"  replied  the  Colonel,  laugh- 
ing, "  if  I  had  given  him  any  encouragement ;  for 
he  anticipated  your  scheme,  and  named  a  good 
round  sum  which  many  would  be  ready  to  otfer  as 
an  equivalent." 

'•  iUen  why  did  you  not  close  with  the  bargain .'" 
asked  she,  her  face  flushing  with  eagerness. 

"  Because,"  answered  the  Colonel  drylj- ,  "  they 
might  not  be  those  I  mean  to  let  reign  after  me  ; 
one  year  s  income  would  very  nearly  clear  me — 
your  annuity,  let  me  tell  you,  cut  out  a  good 
shce." 

"  And  suppose  I  let  you  have  that  back,  and 
Cooper  used  his  endeavors  to  free  you,  how  would 
that  help  you  ':" 

"  ilow  .'  why,  if  he  procured  me  efi5cient  help, 
and  1  resold  that  annuity,  with  the  next  two 
years'  rents,  1  should  be  comparatively  free ;  for 
never  again  will  1  touch  cards  or  dice — never 
again  lose  a  year's  income  with  a  set  of  sharpers." 

'•  And  what  will  you  give  to  the  one  who  helps 
so  quickly  to  set  you  free  '" 

"  A  deed  of  gift  of  the  property— provided  I 
like  the  offerer  as  well  as  the  oti'er." 

"  Ah !  but  you  might  live  to  be  as  old  as  old 
Parr,  and  then  who  would  gain  :" 

'•  1  shall  never  Lve  to  be  old,"  was  the  gloomy  re- 
ply, and  there  was  a  silence ;  but  he  broke  it  by 
saying,  •'  Of  course,  you  expect  that  at  my  death 
juu  will  find  something  wortli  picking  up  ;  talk  this 
over  with  Woop^T,  and  if  a  gift  of  part,  or  even  the 
whole,  will  put  me  to  rights,  why,  then,  let  me 
know." 

And  so  effectually  was  it  talked  over  with 
Cooper,  thit  iu  a  very  short  time  the  annuity  was 
rcass.guea,  and  a  sum  so  large  ottered  as  filled 
the  Colonel  with  amazement  as  to  how  it  had 
been  procui'ed,  till  su.spicion  suggested  that  he 
was  only  enjoying  his  own  again,  and  the  Sea- 
brooke  properly — the  property  which  had  de- 
scended tlirough  many  generations  of  the  hon- 
Oi-ed  and  honorable  Ashleys— was  made  the   in- 

h-ritance   of  (J   teiiipora  !    O  mures  !   "  to 

what  base  uses  we  may  return." 

Throughout  this  wholesale  disinheriting,  the 
only  token  that  Colonel  Templeton  gave  of  re- 
taining tlie  least  recollection  of  those  whose  claims 
upon  liim  were  of  the  holiest  and  most  sacred 
kind  was,  that  he  most  strictly  limited  this  gift  to 
the  property  as  entailed  by  the  late  Horace  Asli- 
ley.  Lvery  thing  else  he  bequeathed  to  his 
daughter  Constance  Franciska. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  as  he  signed  this  import- 
ant docunieut,  whicli  had  been  drawn  up  with 
great  secrecy  by  a  legal  friend  of  Cooper's,  "  my 
mind  is  relieved  of  a  load  ;  and  though  I  am  in  no 
hurry  to  make  way  for  you,  1  wish  you  joy  of  your 
line  inheritance  wlien  it  becomes  yours" 

And  on  his  return,  iu  uncommon  spirits,  he  in- 
formed .Mrs.  Dawson,  to  whom  he  had  become 
much  attached,  that  he  had  that  day  done  what 
would  make  the  hair  of  all  stand  on  end  when  it 
was  known ;  and  added,  that  it  had  given  him 
more  pleasure  than  any  thing  since  he  had  be- 
come master  of  Seabrooke. 


CHAPTER  Lxxn 


'•My  wife!  my 


ife?     I  have  no  wife." 
OUielU), 


'"  I  AM  presenting  myself  at  a  very  unreason- 
able hour,  dear  Mrs.  Templeton,"  said  ^\shley,  as 
he  one  morning  entered  while  'shcy  were  taking  : 
breakfast,  •'  but  read  that,  and  you  will  see  that 
I  have  no  alternative." 

"  And  while  mamma  does  so,"  said  Constance, 
looking  so  happy  and  so  lovely  in  her  dark-blue 
autumnal  dress,  that  he  for  a  minute  forgot  him- 
self, while  his  eyes  rested  on  her  with  dehght, 
"you  shall  have  a  cup  of  our  most  excellent  cof- 
fee ;  for  I  expect  you  have,  as  usual,  furgottea 
youi-self  while  thinking  of  us ; '  and  he  felt  there 
was  more  truth  in  this  remark  than  she  was 
aware  of. 

"  Your  mother  will  tell  you  there  was  no  time 
for  much  thought  of  either  coffee  or  tea ;"  and 
turning  to  Mrs.  Templeton  he  continued,  "  1  have 
already  seen  Mr.  Turner,  and  he  advises  no  d'^- 
lay." 

"  Here  is  the  note,  Constance,"  said  her  moth 
handing  it  over  to  her. 

"  To  Ashley  Vernon,  Esq. 

"  Sir :  My  honored  Lord  desires  me  to  inform 

you,  that  if  Mr.  Reginald  is  still  from  Eughmd, 

he  hopes  you  will  not  lose  any  time  in  coming 

here.     My  Lady  has  gone,  but  Mrs.  ^lelville  will 

not.     By  my   Lords  desire  1  write  also  to  .Mr. 

Manning.     Please  to  see  liim,  and  come  together. 

"  Honored  sir,  your  most  obedient  servant, 

•'  Robert  Robekts." 

"  Lord  Ernest's  servant .-"  a^ked  she. 
"  Yes ;   1  think   there   is   no  doubt  of  what  I 
should   do.     Still,  in  Reginald's  absence,  I  did 

j  not  choose  to  act  Avithout  referring  to  you."' 

"  1  agree  with  Mr.  Turner  ;  go  at  once.     And 

I  what  a  terrible  catastrophe  the  note  alludes  to," 

'  remarked  Mrs.  Templeton. 

]  "  Terrible,  indeed  !  Mr.  Turner  says  he  ex- 
pected this  long  ago.     To  hear  him,  you  would 

'  think  him  the  veriest  cynic  you  ever  met ;  and 
yet,  to  watch  him  act,  there  is  not  a  kinder 
heart  beating." 

'•  I  think  Mr.  Turner  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful old  men  I  ever  saw,"  said  Constance ;  "  he  and 
Mr.  Moore  between  tliem  share  my  bust  affections, 
and  I  am  puzzled  how  1  shall  settle  it  when  they 
both  propose."'  iVnd  then  remarking  her  mother  s 
coVert  smile,  she  blushed  violently,  and  gave  Ash- 

1  ley  so  much  sugar  in  his  coff'ee  that  he  was  obliged 

I  to  cry,  '■  Hold'." 

:  '•  You  must  contrive  to  let  me  see  these  equally- 
favored  rivals,'"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  who  never 
felt  at  liberty  to  visit. 

i      At  Old  Court,  affairs  were  in  so  complicated  a 

'  state  that  Ashley  was  truly  glad  to  have  the  help 
of  Mr.  Manning ;  and  they  learned  from  Itoberta 
that  Lady  Ernest  had  made  no  mystery  of  her 
departure,  and,  in  a  letter  left  for  her  husband, 
had  attempted  to  justify  her  conduct  by  remind- 
ing him  of  his. 

"  What  a  wretch  must  this  mother  be !"  ex- 
claimed Ashley,  indignantly  ;  "  she  knew  this  girl 

I  loved  another— she  must  have  known  the  kind  of 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


1G9 


life  to  which  she  wns  dooming  her,  ami  yet  no' 
compassiou  withhoM  her."  I 

And  still  this  indeiiitig.able  intriguer  was  try-  | 
ing  to  maintain  her  position  and  still  laying  her 
plans.  She  .^eonRNl  disposed  to  carry  matters  with 
a  high  hand,  having  decided  on  assuming  the 
character  of  an  ill-used  woman ;  but  .Mr.  Man-  I 
ning  quickly  reduced  her  from  iii-r  tragcily  stilts  I 
and  imitation  heroics  to  a  more  suitable  level,  that 
of  petitioner  for  favors. 

The  conduct  of  tlws  mean  termagant  had  made 
an  enemy  of  every  individual  in  the  house.  The  ' 
housekeeper  insinuated  that  before  her  luggage  | 
was  allowed  to  go.  it  had  better  be  examined,  and  j 
Lady  Ernest's  waiting-woman  insisted  on  the  ne-  I 


oessity  of  some  one  helping  her  to  find  various 
articles  of  value  belonging  to  her  mistress,  which 
had  gone  since  her  ladyship  had. 

But  the  first  thing  toward  restoring  order  being 
her  absence,  Mr.  Manning  decline<l  all  inspection 
of  her  effects,  and  even  persuaded  Lord  Ernest  to 
send  her  titty  pounds,  which  he  however  kept  till 
she  and  her  movables  were  safely  lodged  in  a  post- 
chaise,  which  at  length  carried  her  off. 

"  Congratulate  me,"  said  he,  returning  to  Ash- 
ley ;  "  and  remember,  I  deserve  a  laurel  crown, 
for,  believe  me,  it  is  no  despicable  victory  that 
which  is  gained  over  such  a  virago." 

"  And  what  do  you  now  mean  to  advise  ':" 
"  A  divorce,  if  possible  ;  this  fellow  with  whom 
she  is  gone  was,  it  seems,  her  accepted  lover  before 
the  nefarious  plot  of  offering  her  up  here  entered 
the  head  of  her  Jezebel  mother ;  let  him  now  be 
enabled  to  marry  her." 

••  But  why  am  I  summoned  ?"  asked  Ashley,  an- 
noyed to  find  himself  where,  apparently,  he  was 
not  needed. 

"  I  suppose  Lord  Ernest  identifies  you  with  Mr. 
West;  and,  upon  the  whole,  it  is  well  that  he 
should  have  some  one  to  represent  him." 

For  the  first  time  Ashley  now  saw  his  Lordship, 
a  gentlemanly,  but  nervous,  weak-minded  man, 
precisely  the  character  suited  to  Mrs.  Melville's 
views,  who  committed  a  great  error  when  she  re- 
linquished her  scheme  of  marrying  him  herself. 
*'  She  would  have  succeeded,  with  a  little  more  pa- 
tience and  a  good  deal  more  bullying,'  remarked 
Mr.  Manning  when  afterward  talking  over  the 
matter  with  Ashley. 

"  And  now,  my  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Manning,  in  a 
cheerful  tone,  and  after  he  had  introduced  Mr. 
.Lshley  Vernon,  "  as  you  are  once  more  master  of 
your  own  castle,  I  presume  you  are  ready  to  pro- 
ceed to  business.  Mr.  Vernon's  time  is  valuable, 
and  he  wishes,  if  possible,  to  leave  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  Do  not  let  us  be  in  a  hurry,"  replied  Lord 
Ernest.  "  I  hope  Mr.  Vernon  will  contrive  to 
make  himself  comfortable  here.  Tell  IJobcrts  to 
see  to  it.  And  do  you  not  think,  then,  that  Lord 
W  estrough  will  come  .'" 

"  1  imagine  not;  he  .=pokc  of  l)cing  much  occu- 
piei with  his  daughters  marriage,  and  the  incon- 
venience of  being  absent  just  now." 

"  Ah  !  that  reminds  me  I  always  promise*!  Lady 
Anne  a  wedding  present;  sec  that  it  is  done  at 
once.  It  was  to  be  five  thousand  pfjunds,  I  be- 
lieve; and  uppose  I  add  a  hundred  for  a  trinket 
or  some  fancy — see  to  it  at  once." 

««  Deoend  on  me,"  said  Mr.  Manning  ;  "  perhaps 


you  will  draw  the  chock  now,"  for  he  ihonght  that 
was  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  see  about  it. 
Then,  with  evident  uneasiness,  glaring  at  .\sh- 
ley,  he  asked,  "Poor  Reginald!  What  will  ho 
say,  Mr.  Vernon  .'" 

"  Nothing  but  what  is  kind  and  generous,"  ho 
answered. 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course  ;  but  this  is  a  sad  affair ; 
they  never  should  have  come  hero.  .\nd  now 
about  Reginald — (lod  forgive  me  for  the  mis«ry  I 
have  cau.sed  !  But  1  did  not  intend  it,  p<ior  follow  ! 
.Vnd  now  sent  out  to  Russia,  with  his  pretty  wife 
and  child !  Mr.  Vernon,  do  you  think  they  can 
forgive  me .'" 

"  I  bt'licve,  sir,"  said  Ashley,  "  that  Reginald 
has  never  once  thought  such  a  thing  neic-sary. 
He  is  too  noble-minded  to  harbor  resentment  ;  and 
as  to  any  step  you  took,  with  a  view  to  add  to 
your  own  happiness,  he  would  have  been  the  first 
to  rejoice  at  it." 

"  Ah  !  but  it  never  did  add  to  my  happiness  ;  it 
brought  always  misery,  and  now  shame  and  ruin. 
See  to  it,  Mr.  Manning.  Remember,  he  is  my 
heir ;  he  must  come  back  and  take  care  of  me. 
Will  his  wife  forgive  me,  Mr.  Vernon  .'  She  must 
have  suffered  a  great  deal ;  it  all  comes  to  my 
mind  now  ;  other  terrible  events  made  me  forget 
it.     How  has  Reginald  managed .'" 

"  He  has  workeil  hard  for  his  living,  sir,"  re- 
turned Ashley,  his  hand.some  face  glowing  with 
friendly  enthusiasm ;  "  he  has  toiled  early  and 
late  ;  he  has  made  himself  a  name  which  will  not 
soon  be  forgotten  among  men  of  talent ;  he  has 
gaineil  friends,  of  whom  any  one  might  be  proud  ; 
and  he  has  a  beautiful,  loving  wife,  frho  would 
make  him  happy  anywhere." 

"  Now  Gwl  be  praised  !  Go<l  bless  them  !"  ex- 
claimed Lord  Ernest,  tears  coursing  down  his 
cheeks.  "  Write  to  him  for  me  — 1  can  not ;  and 
tell  him  every  thing.  Tell  him,  also,  that  1  have 
given  him  all  I  have.  See  to  it  immediately,  Mr. 
Manning." 

Order  and  quiet  having  been  restored  to  Old 
Court,  the  following  day  the  two  gentlemen  de- 
parted. 

"  My  first  business  shall  be  to  prepare  the  deed 
in  Mr.  Wests  favor,"  said  Mr.  Manning,  "then  I 
shall  be  able  to  broach  the  delicate  matter  of  the 
divorce,  for  the  neces.-iity  of  which,  at  present. 
Lord  Ernest  appears  quite  unconscious.  You  per- 
ceive Mr.  Vernon,  the  character  we  have  to  deal 
with.  After  this  luckless  marriage,  when  I  was 
most  urgent  with  Lord  Ernest  to  make  the  best 
reparation  he  could  to  .Mr.  West,  I  was  repeatclly 
put  off  with  the  most  flimsy  excuses." 

When  .Ashley  arrived  at  Chambers,  he  found  a 
Voluminous  packet,  franked  by  the  ambassador, 
from  Russia.  This  was  eagerly  opened,  it  being 
the  first  that  had  arrive<l  since  the  last  sad  news 
of  Mrs.  Templeton's  illness  had  reached  St.  Peters- 
burg. He  found  a  letter  to  himself,  in  which 
ReginaM  declared  that  nothing  would  lie  thought 
a  sacrifice  if  Mrs.  Tenipleton  wishc><l  for  their 
presence  in  England.  Inclo.sed  were  letters  to 
Mrs.  Templeton,  which  Ashley  decided  on  taking 
him.self  when  he  went  to  make  his  rejKjrt  of  pro- 
cee<lings  at  Old  Court.  The  next  letter  w.as  from 
Caroline:  she  informe<l  him  of  the  sudden  di-par- 
ture  of  the  Forresters  for  Italy,  whither  they  were 
hastening  in  consequence  of  bud  news,  but  of  what 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


nature  she  could  not  inform  him,  as  Mrs.  Forrest- 
ers  note  to  her  mother  saemci  to  assume  that  they 
knew  more  th:in  they  really  did,  and  referred 
Uieni  to  Laurette  for  particulars.  She  entreated 
him  to  see  Mrs  Templetou  and  Constance  immedi- 
ately, fancying  that  the  latter  must  be  in  great 
sorrow,  as  slie  could  think  of  nothing  less  than 
that  Hubert  was  ill. 

Ashley  was  astonished  and  perplexed  beyond  all 
cspression.  Only  two  days  ago  he  had  seen  them, 
and  remarked,  not  only  that  Mrs.  Templeton 
seemed  daily  to  be  exchanging  her  depression  for 
the  most  gratifying  cheerfulness,  but  that  Con- 
atanci,  who  had  lately  looked  both  anxious  and 
ill,  was  in  the  most  charming  spirits. 

lie  looked  at  the  date  of  Caroline's  letter  :  the 
news  must  have  reached  the  Forresters  before  he 
left  for  Lord  Ernest  s  ;  strange,  therefore,  that  in- 
Ibrmation  had  not  been  sent  to  Mrs.  Templeton ; 
for  Ashley  never  for  a  moment  supposed  that  the 
Forojit  11:11  family  were  not  informed  of  all  relat- 
ing to  her  and  Constance. 

'"  Poor  Constance!"  sighed  Ashley,  "  the  sweet 
smiles  with  which  your  dear  face  was  decked  when 
1  last  saw  you,  will  be  sadly  changed."  But  as 
his  tidings  from  Russia  were  so  satisfactory,  he 
determined  that  no  wish  to  avoid  the  pain  of  be- 
holding her  distress  should  delay  his  giving  the 
comfort  the  last  was  sure  to  impart. 

But,  good  heavens  !  can  he  see  aright .'  there  is 
Constance  Hying  out  of  the  boudoir,  and  greeting 
him  with  a  voic3,  look,  and  manner  more  suited  to 
soKij  Euphrosyne,  than  to  her  who  had  received 
bad  news  from  the  one  beloved. 

"  Uh,  nKimma!  here  is  Ashley  again;"  and 
linking  her  arm  in  his  she  led  him  to  her  mother. 

•'  No  one  more  welcome,"  was  the  smiling  re- 
ply ;  "  but  yuu  are  tired  ?  you  have  bad  news  .'" 

'•  No,  the  contrary,"  he  replied,  making  a  pow- 
erful effort;  "I  have  in  my  hands  what  I  know 
you  will  think  the  best  that  ever  were  written, ' 
handing  her  the  ilussian  packet. 

"From  Helen!  from  Reginald!"  she  cried, 
turning  pale  with  emotion ;  and  tearing  off  the 
envelopes,  she  gave  part  to  Constance,  while  she 
herself  wept  tears  of  pleasure,  and  kissed  the  sig- 
nature again  and  again. 

•'  I  shall  go  and  call  on  Mrs.  Stacey,"  said  he, 
feeling  they  were  best  left  alone  with  their  let- 
ters ;  and  when  in  about  an  hour  he  returned,  he 
found  that  Madame  Stopsel  had  been  called  in  to 
share  with  them  the  joy  at  the  account  the 
"  blessed  darlings"  gave  of  themselves. 

"  'Ihese  letters,"  said  he,  "  have  arrived  quite 
u  prujitif  to  the  changes  at  Old  Court ;'  and  he 
proceeded  to  give  the  result  of  his  visit  there. 

"I  oppose  Keginalds  return,"  she  said,  Avhen 
this  was  namcJ  as  Lord  Ernests  wish  ;  "  he  is  no 
longer  alone.  He  hints  at  the  probability  of  their 
absence  being  shorter  than  itwasatfir.st  expectel, 
and  seems  tu  th  nk  that,  in  any  case,  his  position 
i.i  fixed  ;  and  spjaks  wi;h  pride  of  the  friendship 
the  young  Duchess  of  Isleford  has  formed  for 
Helen.  Happy  mother  that  I  am,"  said  she,  her 
eyes  bright  witu  tears,  and  kissing  Constance,  who 
had  glided  to  her  side.  "  So  you  see,  dear  Ashley, 
I  am  worldly-wise  enough  to  prefer  that  Reginald 
should  hold  fast  what  his  own  worth  and  exertion 
have  gained." 

"\^ud  now,"  he  said,  hesitating  and  looking 


strangely  confused,  "  if  you  could  spare  me  a  few 
minutes." 

But  Constance  was  gone  even  before  he  conclud- 
ed ;  and  as  she  slowly  ascended  the  stairs,  a 
strange  thought  flashed  across  her  mind,  while  a 
kind  of  spasm  seized  her  heart  and  made  her  feel 
faint.  "  Ashley  is  going  to  be  married !"  and  she 
i  sat  down  trembling  and  sad.  Instead -of  again 
reading  Helen's  letter,  as  she  had  intended,  she 
!  remained  lost  in  meditation,  scarcely  consuious  of 
the  contradictory  and  conflicting  nature  of  her 
thoughts,  but  with  a  keen  siJnse  that  they  were 
painiul,  when  she  was  roused  by  Gretcliens voice, 
who  came  with  hungry  and  thirsty  ears  for  fur- 
I  ther  news  from  St.  Petersburg — and  Constance 
proceeded  to  gratify  her. 

I  But  hush !  there  is  a  step — the  garden  gate 
\  closes — Ashley,  then,  is  gone. 
j  Left  alone  with  .Mrs.  Templeton,  he  silently  put 
his  sister's  letter  into  her  hand  ;  he  watched  the 
j  expression  of  gravity  and  sorrow  which  overspread 
I  her  face;  but  though  she  said,  "  This  is  very  sad, 
1  I  grieve  much  for  them — poor  Hubert  I"  there 
was  not  the  least  reference lo  Constance — strange! 
what  could  it  mean  ?  At  last,  after  reading  it 
partly  through  again,  she  observed,  "  How  very 
j  sorry  Constance  will  be  to  learn  this." 
1  "I  had  expected  that  you  both  already  knew, 
I  perhaps,  even  more  than  CaroUue ;  but  my  first 
'  glance  at  you  convinced  me  that  I  should  be  the 
I  earliest  to  bring  tidings  of  this  sorrow." 

"  It  is  indeed  sorrow,"  she  replied ;  "  for  though 
we  can  only  imagine  or  guess  the  truth,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  no  trifling  cause  could  have  taken  either 
Mr.  or  Mrs.  Forrester  to  Italy." 

"And  without  writing  to  you?"  he  remarked 
abruptly  ;  and  then  added,  "  pardon  me  but — '" 

'•  But  you  can  not  understand  it,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Templeton  ;  "  it  will,  however,  be  clear  to 
you,  my  dear  Ashley,  when  I  tell  you  that  Con- 
stance has  returned  his  promise  to  Hubert,  and 
that  he  accepted  it." 

"  Good  God  !  it  makes  me  giddy,"'  he  replied, 
turning  very  pale.  But  affecting  not  lo  remark 
his  emotion  she  proceeded;  "Various  Events  have 
j  long  been  leading  to  this." 

"  And — and  Constance  .'"  he  asked,  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  speak  with  a  steady  voice. 

"  And  Constance,"  she  calmly  continued,  "  vim 
the  one  to  propose  it  to  me.  Let  me,  however, 
exonerate  Hubert ;  before  our  changed  circum- 
stances occurred,  to  her  this  step  seemed  desir- 
able ;  it  is  not  the  result  of  any  indifl'crcnce  on 
his  part  since  she  became  portionless.  The 
measure  had  my  entire  concurrenc?,  and  with  the 
result  1  am  perfectly  satisfied.  Having  said  this 
much,  though  Constance  is  morbidly  sensitive 
about  having  it  known,  I  feel  that  j'ou,  as  one  of 
our  dearest  friends,  have  a  right  to  learn  more ;" 
and  she  proceeded  to  give  him  an  aci-ount  of  the 
various  reasons  which  had  induced  Constance  to 
come  to  this  decision. 

Ashley  thanked  her  for  this  mark  of  her  confi- 
dence ;  though  as  to  the  reasons  she  gave  he 
scarcely  remembered  one — the  result,  the  unex- 
pected, the  astonishing  result,  was  what  alono 
tilled  his  mind  ;  he  mechanically  took  his  hat,  but 
left  his  sister  and  Reginald's  letters,  and  without 
further  adieu  departed. 

Instead  of  being  offended  at  this  unpoliteness, 


THE    WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


171 


Mrs.  Templeton  smiled  as  she  went  to  seek  Con-  ,  liberty  to  relate  the  startling  disclosure   Mim. 

Btance,  aul  iiuplore  her  pardon  lor  her  breach  of  Templeton  had  made  to  liiui,  rightly  conjectur- 

trust.     By  her  mothers  look  she  knew  tliat  some-  ing  that,  if  she  wished  it  published,  slie   would 

tiling  unusual  had  been  communicated,  and  still,  do  so  ;  and  by  the  time  several  otlier  matters  of  :i 

with  this  strange  apprehensive  feeling  predomin-  professional  nature  had  been  transacted,  he  felt 

ftnt,  she  longed — yet  dreaded— to  hear  the  first  himself  at  liberty  to  think  uninterruptedly  over 

words.  what  he  had  heard. 

"  Ashley  has  been  telling  me  what  I  am  greatly  Constance  free  !  no  longer  the  airianced  of  an- 

surprised  at."  she  remarked,  "  and,  indeed,  what  other  !  was  the  idea  that  seemed  to  banish  all 

grieves  me  also."  ,  others  ;  and  even  when  he  partly  recovered  from 

•'  Dear  mamma,  why  should  it  grieve  you  r"  the  tumult  of  feeUng  into  which  this  unexpected 

asked  Constant-e,  impressed  with  the  correctness  news  had  thrown  him,  tlie  recollection  that  the 

of  her  own  interpretation.  ;  ties  which  had   bound  her  to  Hubert  were  sev- 

"  How  should  it  do  otherwise .'  and  you,  I  am  cred.  mixed  and  interfered  with  all  his  tliought.'j. 

sure,  will  be  grieved  as  well ;"  and  almost  to  her  At  first  a  bounding  sensation  of  joy  showed 

daughter's  relief,  she  proceeded,  without  interrup-  him  but  too  plainly  how  vain  had  been  hi.s  be- 

ti  n.  to  relate  all  that  had  passed,  pleading  the  lief,  tliat  tlie  hopelessness  of  his  love  had  enabled 

ii:ipos^;bilty  of  concealing  the  real  state  of  the  liim  to  conquer  it.     Then,  as  a  check  to  some- 

L-;se  from  Ashley.  thing  very  like  pleasure,  came  the  question,  what, 

'•  Oil !  mamma,  what  must  he  think  of  me !"  was  tliough  she  had  rejected  Hubert,  did  it  follow  tiiat 
her  first  remark;  pardon  her  egotism,  pardon  she  could  love  him?  perhaps,  after  all,  she  had, 
her  selfishness,  her  insensibility,  all  you  who  woull  from  a  feeling  of  womanly  pride,  released  him, 
have  acted  differently — for  her  second  was,  "  I'oor.  while  she  herself  retained  all  her  old  affection; 
dear  Hubert !  ill,  and  very  ill,  I  fear,  or  his  p.v-  and  his  noble  heart  felt  sad  at  the  thought ;  sup- 
vents  would  not  have  been  sent  for.  And  Lau-  pose  she  also  should  be  the  victim  of  an  unre- 
•ette.  how  ai-e  we  to  learn  from  her!  for  lately  quitedlove.' 


she  has  never  written  to  us." 


Distracted  with  all  these  conflictinn;  emo'.ic 


must  patiently  bear  this  suspense;  we    poor  Ashley  bitterly  reproached  the   talse  reli- 


are  always  laying  Asliley,  and  Ashley's  time 
much  under  contribution,  that  I  hesitate  to  en 
crouch,  or  I  would  entreat  him  to  call  at  the  West' 
roughs,  where  Laurette  now  is." 


ance  he  had  had  on  himself  in  having  lately  so 
much  sought  her  society.  Where  was  his  con- 
sistency .'  where  his  self-government  .'  and  he 
determined   henceforth    that   these   meetings,  so 


'•  Oh,  di3 — he  is  always  so  kind ;"  and  the  first  precious,  should  be  interdicted;  that  the  de- 
question  was  now  again  the  last.  "  What  will  lie  [  lightful  evenings  spent  at  the  Heath  should 
think  of  me  ?  how  fickle  I  must  appear — and  he,  l  cease.  And  tiien,  with  the  contradiction  so  nat- 
of  all  people,  to  know  it."  !  ural,  he  asked,  wherefore  this  stern  denial  of  his 

"  But  why  so,  Constance .'  the  truth  must  be-  only  pleasure .'  besides,  his  duty  as  a  friend 
come  generally  known  before  long;  and  I  confess  [  called  liim  there,  and  let  the  conseciuence  be  fatal 
that  I  think  our  old  friends  may  hold  themselves  j  as  it  might  to  his  peace,  tliere  he  would  go  ;  and 
slighted  to  be  informed  of  the  fact  from  a  third  happily  for  liis  overtired  state,  with  this  mag- 
party."  !  nanimous  and  really  happy  resolution  he  retired 

"  In  that  case,  mamma,  use  your  own  wise  1  to  rest,  and  rose  tlie  next  morning  with  a  half- 
judgment.  I  give  it  up.  And  after  all,  I  believe  j  saddened,  half-joyous  anticipation  tliat  he  should 
I  did  not  fear  any  one  so  much  as  Ashley.     You  |  soon  again  be  obliged  to  see  .Mrs.  Templeton. 

Slie,  in  the  mean  time,  at  once  made  use  of  tho 
permission  Constance  had  given,  and  wrote  to  iu- 


have  no  idea  how  strict  and  stern  he  is  about 
promises.  Caroline  says  she  is  sure  he  never 
could  love  a  second  time ;  therefore  he  would  be 
▼ery  severe  on  all  caprices  and  fancies.  Perhaps 
he  may  despise  me  for  my  conduct." 

'•  Dismiss   all   these  imaginary  apprehensions, 
my  dear  child:  Ashley,  I  am  sure,  will  not  be  so 


form  Mrs.  Vernon  of  the  exact  state  of  matters 
between  Constance  and  Hubert,  expressing  at  the 
same  time  the  anxiety  they  both  felt  to  hear  fur- 
ther news  of  the  Forresters. 

But  time  passed,  and  still  no  direct  informa- 


unjust.  A  girl  of  s:;venteen  may  be  allowed  to  tion  reached  them.  From  one  of  Mr.  Morton'.s 
mistake  gratitude  .and  sisterly  kindness  for  a  deep- I  numeinus  corrL-spondimts  lliey  learned  the  sad 
er  feeling  without  being  condemned  as  fickle  and  '  history  of  the  death  of  Beatrice — of  Hubert's 
capricious.     I  hope,  dearest,  that  you  may  still  {  alarming   illness— the  summons   to  liis  parents. 


some  day  tell  me  you  agree  with  those  who  disbe 
lieve  in  seccmd  love,  even  while  asking  my  bless- 
ing on  your  more  experienced  choice." 

'*  No.  no,  mamma,"  said  Constance,  shaking  her 
head  and  still  lookingljoth  grave  and  troubled ; 
while,  contrary  to  her  usual  anxiety  wlien  her 
daughter  showed  symptoms  of  depression,  Mrs 
Templeton  was  rather  well  pleased  to  perceive 
that  such  was  now  the  fact. 

It  was   well   ior    .Ashley   that,   on   returning 


and  their  arrival ;  but  no  news  reached  them  that 
at  all  relieved  their  anxiety. 

Again,  but  indirectly,  they  heard  ;  this  time 
from  Victor  Morton,  who  was  on  his  return  to 
England,  after  what  he  termed  his  lengthened 
banishment.  He  had  stopped  at  Naples,  and 
hearing  of  the  .sorrow  that  had  fallen  on  tlio 
family  of  the  Duca,  he  felt  sure,  from  remarks 
which  he  had  made  two  years  ago.  tliat  Hubert 
must  bo  in  some  degree  a  sharer  in  this  grief 


home,  he  found  business  of  importance  awaiting  |  Victor  said  that  though  better,  Hubert  would 
him;  still,  before  he  did  any  thing  else,  he  an-  i  not  listen  to  any  propo.sal  for  his  leaving  Naples, 
Bwered  Carolines  letter,  entreating  her  to  obtain  j  his  greatest  comfort  being  the  society  ol  the  be- 
all  the  inlormation  she  could  from  Laurette,  and  I  ro.av«l  Duca;  that  at  first  he  almost  fuiiou.ily 
to  let  him  know  the  result.     He  did  not  feel  at  I  refuatC  to  see  his  parents— but  happily  the  tears 


172 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


of  his  mother  and  the  entreaties  of  his  father  had 
prevailed.  His  letter  concluded  with  an  intima- 
tion that  he  hoped  to  be  in  England  shortly  after 
Christmas.   " 

This  sad  account  was  very  distressing  to  those 
who,  while  aware  of  Hubert's  failings,  loved  him 
for  his  many  amiable  qualities;  and  when  Ashley 
looked  at  the  tearful  countenance  of  Constance 
it  was  with  a  sharp  pang  he  said  to  himself: 
"  Ah  !  she  deceived  herself,  and  little  knew  how 
much  she  still  loves  him ;"  while  his  manner, 
which  had  unconsciously  become  graver  and  more 
reserved,  was  to  her  a  proof  that  he  classed  her 
among  the  frivolous  and  changeable,  perhaps  the 
cold-hearted  ;  and  so  it  sometmies  happened  that 
Ashley  came  and  departed  without  seeing  her, 
and  ascribed  her  absence  to  her  wish  to  conceal 
the  distress  she  felt  about  Hubert. 

Constance  had  now  no  difficulty  in  deciding 
that  she  had,  at  last,  clearly  and  truly  under- 
stood her  feelings  toward  Hubert.  She  had  dis- 
covered that  her  dread  of  Ashley's  contempt  had 
a  deeper  source  than  she  had  at  first  imagined ; 
it  was  neither  pride  nor  self-love  which  had 
shrunk  from  his  expected  censure,  and  with 
something  like  terror  she  acknowledged  to  her- 
self that  she  loved  Ashley  Vernon  ! 

Ah !  how  could  it  be  otherwise  .'  was  he  not 
the  constant  theme  of  praise  with  Mrs.  Stacey 
and  Ciretchen.'  did  not  her  mother  regard  him 
and  speak  of  him  as  one  of  the  noblest  of  human 
beings  ?  were  not  the  letters  they  received  from 
St.  Petersburg  eloquent  in  his  praise  ?  and  did 
not  her  own  heart  echo  back  again  and  again  all 
that  others  spoke  and  thought .' 

How  diiferent  was  the  value  .she  set  upon  his 
approbation  from  any  thing  she  had  ever  before 
prized,  and  oh !  how  infinitely  superior  did  he 
appear  to  any  one  she  had  ever  met. 

"  But  what  will  he  care  for  my  thoughts  of 
him  .'  Beyond  the  kind  and  friendly  manner  so 
habitual  to  him  in  his  general  intercourse,  what 
can  I  expect  ?  nothing.  Perhaps  he  has  already 
given  his  love ;"  and  at  this  thought  Constance 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  wept. 


CHAPTER   LXXIII. 


"Sho  is  mine  own  ! 
And  I  as  rifli  in  having  siicti  a  jewel 
As  iweniy  seas,  il"  all  llieir  band  were  pearl." 

SlIAKSPEABE. 

At  length  Laurette  heard  from  Mrs.  Forrester, 
who  gave  her  a  long  and  melancholy  account  of 
all  that  liad  happened.     Sorrow  had  broken  down 
the  barriers  which  pride  and  reserve  had  raised, 
and  the  terms  in  which  she  spoke  of  Laurette,  I 
and  expressed  her  fear  that  all  hope  of  Hubert's  I 
early  return  to    England  was  vain,  opened   the 
floo'l-gates  of  that  grief  which  she  had  so  long  ! 
and  so  stoically  repressed.     She  copied  all  of  Mrs.  I 
Forrester's  letters  which  could  interest  Caroline,  I 
merely  saying,  as  regarded  herself,  that  the  dis- 
sipation and  giiyety  attending  Lady  Anne's  mar- 
riage rendere<l  the  quiet  of  Craigalan  qiute  need- 
ful ;  and   assuming  that   the  Vernons  were   in 


correspondence  with  her  aunt  and  cousin,  she 
sent  a  very  kind  message  to  them  both. 

Ashley  took  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Templeton  with- 
out delay,  as  he  believed  that  Constance  was 
spending  the  day  with  Miss  Turner,  which,  how- 
ever, proved  a  -mistake.  His  manner  was  so 
unlike  his  usual  self-possession,  that  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton, who  had. lately  watched  both  him  and 
Constance  with  no  little  anxiety,  and  who  saw  in; 
his  looks  to-day  something  that  betokened  a 
change  of  feeling  or  thought,  expressed  her  fears 
that  he  was  ill. 

"  No,"  he  said,  faintly  smiling,  "  not  ill,  but. 
ill  at  ease  in  mind — restless  and  unhappy  ;"  and 
perceiving  the  concern  her  looks  plainly  ex- 
pressed, he  abruptly  added !  "  1  have  resolved 
that  this  shall  terminate  one  way  or  the  other. 
Dear  Mrs.  Templeton,  you  must  see,  you  must 
know,  that  Constance  is — that  I  love  her — have 
loved  her  for  years — have  never  ceased  to  do  so — ; 
that,  hopeless  as  her  engagement  rendered  it, 
still  I  could  not  free  myself  from  her  influence — 
that  even  now,  while  watching  with  agony,  that 
can  not  be  told,  her  distress  for  another,  I  think 
only  of  her — dream  only  of  her.  Heaven  help 
me  !  her  very  sorrow  makes  me  love  her  the 
more ;"  and  overcome  with  emotion  he  turned ' 
away  and  shaded  his  face. 

Mrs.  Templeton  sat  pale,  and,  at  first,  speech- 
less ;  she  was  not  sure  of  the  state  of  Constance's 
feeling  ;  she  could  but  guess. 

How  she  longed  to  say  "  hope''  to  the  noble, 
generous  heart  whose  deep  and  enduring  love  had  , 
been  shown  to  her  ;  how  she  longed  to  say, 
"Take  her— to  thee  I  give  her  freely,  fearless-  ; 
ly ;"  but  if  she  had  mistaken  the  nature  of  the ' 
sentiments  of  Constance,  what  additional  sorrow  ' 
might  she  not  cause. 

'•Ashley,"  she  at  length  said,  very  quietly,  and 
the  friendly  tone  fell  soothingly  on  his  quivering 
nerves,  "  why  not  tell  all  this  to  Constance  her- 
self.'  what  makes  you  think  your  love  so  hope- 
less ?" 

"  Because."   he   replied,   with   something  like 
asperity,  '-she  still  loves  another.     She  has  mis- 
taken herself,  or  why  this  distress,  this  anxiety  ' 
about  Italy .'" 

"  You  are  in  an  error  regarding  all  this.  I 
am  convinced  that  though  a  friendly  concern, 
natural  to  a  kind  and  aftectionate  nature,  makes 
Constance  sympathize  with  the  Forresters,  there  ' 
is  no  other  feeling ;  nay,  I  am  convinced  that 
from  the  very  first  there  has  been  nothing  be- 
yond deep  gratitude  for  attentions  and  services 
when  suft'ering  and  sorrow  were  under  our  own 
roof;  if  I  were  not  fully  convinced  of  this,  how 
do  you  suppose  I  could  rejoice,  as  I  truly  do,  at 
the  dissolution  of  this  engagement  ?  Listen  calm- 
ly to  me,"  observing  that  his  face  flushed  and  his  , 
looks  became  more  animated;  "much,  and  by 
far  the  greater  part,  of  the  depression  you  have 
remarked,  arises  from  the  dread  my  darling  felt 
that  what  she  persist»  in  calling  her  fickleness 
and  indecision  had  sunk  her  in  your  estimation — 
that  you  must  henceforth  think  of  her  as  one 
infirm  of  purpose  and  incapable  of  understanding 
her  own  feelings ;  the  great  value  she  sets  on 
your  approbation  makes  her  dread  its  loss." 

"  And  Constance  could  fancy  all  this!"  he  ex- 
claimed,  impetuously.     "  Good  heavens !  how  I 


THK   \Y1KKS   TllIALS. 


have  been  misunderstood.  Constance,  whom  I  all 
but  worship — what  liave  1  said  or  done  to  cause 
this  mistake  ?  Oh !  tell  her  so.  dear  Mi-s.  Tera- 
pleton ;  let  me  no  longer  appear  a  liarsh  censor, 
when,  I  vow  to  jou,  1  think  all  she  docs  perfect— 
yes,  perfect." 

"  Vou  must  tell  her  this  yourself,  my  dear 
Ashley  and  receive  it  as  a  favorable  omen  that 
here  she  is,  and  that  you  have  my  best  wishes  for 
your  success  ;"'  and  before  he  could  rejny  or  pro- 
test, she  went  to  meet  Constance,  who  had  been  out 
with  Gretchen.  leaving;  him  in  the  little  boudoir. 

"  There  is  a  letter  waiting  you  from  Caroline," 
said  her  mother,  motioning  to  the  sitting-i-oom, 
•while  she  went  up-stairs  to  hope  and  pray  that 
the  long-cherished  wish  of  her  heart  might  be  on 
the  eve  of  accomplishment ;  for  Ashley's  love  had 
been  discovered  by  her  even  before  Hubert  pro- 
posed, and  it  was  the  superior  estimation  in  wliich 
she  held  him  that  had  made  her  feel  keenly  dis- 
appointed when  young  Forrester  was  accepted. 

Hastily  discarding  bonnet  and  cloak,  Constance 
went  forward  and  opened  the  door.  There  stood 
Ashley  :  what  made  Constance  feel  faint  and  wish 
herself  far  away  .'  Surely  not  the  siglit  of  that 
hamisome  face  and  form — surely  not  the  expression 
of  those  splendid  eyes  :  But  quickly  rallying,  she 
said.  "  .Mumma  told  me  there  was  a  letter  from 
dear  Caroline;"'  and  eagerly  taking  it  from  him, 
as  he  silently  handed  it  to  her,  she  began  the 
perusal. 

How  he  noted  the  changes  of  her  beautiful 
counienance  as  she  road — how  critically  he  ob- 
served that,  though  sad,  she  did  not  look  wretch- 
el— and  what  a  sigh  of  relief  did  he  give  when, 
t'olding  up  the  letter,  she  remarked  :  "Poor  Mrs. 
Forrester,  my  heart  aches  for  her— and  Hubert, 
too.  to  have  his  happiness  thus  overcast  at  its 
early  dawn.'  This  did  not  sound  like  the  lan- 
,2;u;ige  of  a  blighted  heart,  nor  did  the  sympathy 
ot  her  mann.r  betoken  any  exclusively  personal 
feelings;  and  hop?,  wliich  had  first  awoke  wlicn 
Mrs.  Templeton  spuke,  was  now  felt  in  every  pulse, 
itather  astonished  at  his  silence  she  looked  up, 
ai.d  the  eloquent  features  she  gazed  at  told  the 
whole  liistory  ;  the  treasured  secret,  the  jealously 
guanled  feelings  of  years,  were  there  written  as 
plainly  as  in  a  lx)ok.  He  took  the  trembling  hand 
that  offered  h.m  the  letter,  and  gently  retaining 
it,  said,  while  his  rich  voice  shook  with  emotion  : 

•'  Constance  I  have  loved  you  for  years;  I  still  i 
love  you— must  ever  love  you  ;"  and  growing  j 
bolder,  as  somcihing  in  her  attitude  and  tace  en- 1 
couraged  his  fast  inereasing  hop-',  he  <lrew  her 
toward  him — "  tell  me, '  he  continued,  and  tiiere 
was  almost  a  solenm  earnestness  in  his  whole  man- 
ner, "  tell  nic ;  buL  oh,  tell  me  not  that  it  is  hope- 
less .'" 

For  the  second  time  in  her  life  the  sweet  face 
was  lud  on  his  siiouller-but  not  now,  as  in  the  | 
exT.mity  of  her  dcsol  ition,  to  be  wiliidrawn  pale  ; 
and  so.  r.jw-stricken  ;  oh  no!  n^it  .so— .she  was  fold- ' 
ed  in  a  luving  embnaca  to  his  tricl  and  true  heart, 
while  a  distinct  but  gentle  "  .No,"  burst  from  her 
lips- -and  Tims  and  his  minutes  passed  unheeded 
by- 

"Fi>r  who  with  plpnr  nrcorint  ritnark) 
Th- .■!)!. inc. .r  lii:i  Kla-. 
Wli'-ii  all  ii-  »^ii.|narr-  (Iiiunonil  fpaiks, 
Wuicli  dazzle  u  ibcy  puaa?" 


Poor  Mrs.  Templeton,  meanwhile,  was  agitated 
by  the  alternations  of  fear  iiml  hope,  the  latter 
gaining  strength  as  her  watch  told  that  an  hour 
had  passed  since  Constance  had  entered  ;  fur  she 
justly  conjecture<l  that  a  refusal  need  not  occupy 
more  than  a  few  minutes. 

At  lengtli  she  descended,  and  the  first  look  at 
the  perfectly  radiant  countenance  of  Ashley  told 
the  tale  of  successful  and  accepted  love. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Templeton,  congratulate  mo,"  said 
he,  leading  Constance  forward. 

"  And  who  is  to  condole  with  me  :"  she  asked, 
trying  to  conceal  her  emotion. 

"  You  shall  never  be  allowed  to  need  condolence," 
was  his  animated  reply. 

"  I  believe  you  — 1  know  that  you  say  well.  For 
years  I  have  hojied  for  this,  even  wiien  hopo 
seemed  almost  madness;  I  have  long  read  your 
secret,  my  son,  and  siglied  to  know  that  you  were 
not  happy  ;  ah  !  when  shall  we  learn  to  wait  and 
trust  ^     This  blessed  day  coiiipeasates  for  all." 

'*  May  I  come  again  this  evening  ':"  he  In- 
quired, a  bright  smile  lighting  up  his  face  as  ho 
looked  at  Constance,  whose  arm  was  affectionately 
thrown  round  her  mother. 

"  If  you  feel  inclined — only  if,"  was  her  cheer- 
ful answer  ;  "  but  now  farewell." 


CHAPTER   LXXIV. 


Must  lay  her  baiaix 


by,  anil  u»o  Iut  .iKnr.l." 

iMASSL-fOKB. 


"  I  AM  sorry  to  disturb  and  trouble  you,  air," 
said  .Mrs.  Dawson  to  the  Colonel,  "  but  really  my 
conscience  will  not  allow  me  to  keep  silent  any 
longer." 

'■  And  what  has  made  your  conscience  so  desir- 
ous of  hearing  you  talk  just  now  .'" 

'•  Why,  sir,  it  is  rather  a  long  and  unpleasant 
story;  but,  if  you  have  time,  I  really  should  bo 
very  glad  if  you  would  listen." 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied,  scarcely,  however, 
removing  his  eyes  from  his  papers  ;  "  begin  ;  only 
remember  that  /  am  not  your  constience,  nor  so 
determined  to  make  you  break  silence;  therefor© 
be  brief." 

'*  I  sliall  do  my  best.  Colonel,  as  I  always  do ; 
no  one  can  aceuse  me  of  chatter  and  gossip" — and 
as  he  discreetly  made  no  reply,  she  proceeded. 
"  Vou  remember  Kiith,  sir,  the  young  ladys-maid" 
— he  nodded—"  well,  sir,  long  hefore  troublecame 
upon  us  so  fast  and  heavy,  there  were  suspicions 
of  her  honesty  :  1  do  not  mean  that  she  stole,  but 
there  was  no  doubt  of  her  being  leagueil  with  the 
low-born  enemies  of  this  house,  and  tiial,  tlirough 
some  bribe  or  another,  slie  was  induce  1  to  carry 
down  to  that  den  of— of  iniquity — all  the  news  she 
could  collect  here  " 

"  And  you  arc  not  far  wrong,"  ho  remarke<l, 
recollecting  that  it  was  through  her  that  traces 
of  Helen's  tlight  had  be -n  di.-covered.     "  (io  on.'' 

*'  Well,  sir,  before  the  last  dreadful  blow  waa 
struck — " 

"  Woman !  are  you  mad  .'"  ho  exclaimed,  with 
blazing  eyes  and  pale  face.     *'  How  dare  you  ?" — 


174 


THE  wiff;s  trials. 


but  reading  in  Mrs.  Dawson's  astonished  and 
alarmed  manner  her  total  ignorance  of  the  literal 
meaning  he  attached  to  her  words,  he  more  quietly 
repsitrd  -"  go  on  !  go  on !" 

"  Vec,  'dr,  only  I  am  so  fluttered-like.  So,  sir, 
just  heOre  the  last  blow  lell  she  was  dismissed; 
she  cheQ  openly  went  ^o  those  people,  and,  to 
8hor'.,eri  iny  story,  waj  turned  out  by  the  women 
there  in  disgrace  and  shame,  and  took  refuge  in  some 
placj  provided  for  her  by  >,)ie  kindness  of  Mrs.  Sims. 
You  remember  Mrs.  Sims^  Colonel,  the  milliner  .'" 
— he  assented.  '•  lluth's  wretchel,  drunken  old 
father  would  have  killed  her  had  she  gone  home. 
I  myself,  angry  as  I  was,  could  not  let  the  misera- 
ble girl  perish,  so,  without  consulting  you,  sir,  I 
have,  parily  at  my  own  cost,  but  chietly  at  yours, 
helped  her."'  Another  nod.  "Mr.  Curtis  has 
applied  to  Cooper,  but  ha  is  as  hard  and  brazen 
as  possible,  and  the  woman  with  him  the  same ; 
they  will  do  nothing  fov  her  or  the  child,  but  taunt 
and  insult  her  without  mercy.  The  whole  village 
is  astir ;  the  Revercnl  Doctor  has  even  interfered ; 
and  to  say  the  truth,  1  expect  mischief  will  hap- 
pen if  those  people  do  not  in  some  waj'  right  her, 
or  leave  tl.e  place.  Cooper  promised  her  mar- 
riage, and  tjc  poor  fcol  believed  him,  and  so  sold 
herself  to  (vork  their  dirty  work  and  help  their 
base  sch-.;ire,s;  for  I  am  bold  to  say.  with  the  rest 
of  our  folSj  it  is  mainly  through  them  that  these 
evil  days  ii-^.ve  fallen  on  the  Priory," 

"  And  what  do  you,  and  the  rest  of  our  folk, 
expect  me  to  do  .''  I  can  not  make  him  marry  this 
wench." 

"  Dismiss  him,  sir,  and  get  rid  of  the  whole 
crew,"  she  said,  almost  surprised  at  her  own 
courage. 

"  Soon  said,  but  not  so  soon  done." 

"  E  IS}'  enough,  sir,  if  you  do  but  resolve  on  it ; 
besides,  if  they  care  for  themselves,  they  will 
re.illy  be  glad  of  a  hint  to  dep.irt." 

"  In  tli:it  case,"  he  remarked,  as  if  he  mused 
over  her  alternative,  "  I  will,  perhaps,  see  about 
it.     And  so  this  girl  was  the  tale-bearer  .'" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  through  her  tales  that  woman 
ventured  up  here,  and  by  her  insolence  drove 
away  ihat  blessed  angel ;"  and  tears  started  to 
her  eyr s  as  she  recalled  the  mournful  indignation 
of  Constance  at  this  insult. 

"  Then  she  d"^serves  all  she  meets  with,"  was 
his  fierce  reply  ;  "  and  you,  I  forbid  your  sending 
her  a  scrap;  give  it  to  the  hounds  rather.  Let 
her  starve  and  die  !" 

'•  No,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  spirit;  "you must 
forgive  me  for  being  disobedient.  Visit  in  the 
right  quarter  the  mischief  and  misery,  and  I  shall 
be  gild  ;  she  is  now  paying  the  penalty  of  Aer  sin, 
and  wliy  should  tliey  escape."' 

"  Porhiips  you  are  right;  but  they  shall  not 
escape."  he  said,  uttering  a  terrihle  oath  and  vio- 
lently striking  the  taljle.  "  Send  Robin  with  the 
horses  " 

And,  followed  by  the  groom,  he  rode  toward 
tlie  village,  his  brow  more  gloomy,  and  he  him- 
self evidently  more  irritable  thfin  usual,  though 
he  called  at  several  places  before  he  paused  at 
Mr.  Cooper's. 

Wliat  then  and  there  befell,  Ilohin  never  heard, 
it  bi'ing  now  cold  cnougli  for  closed  doors  and 
v,-in<h)\vs;  nor  is  it  well  to  clironicle  the  wicked 
Words  of  wicked  doers — wlien  thre;itroused  threat 


— when  fury  opened  the  prison-house  and  brouglit 
to  liglit  crimes  long  ago  suspected — when  r.ige 
grew  careless  and  gave  word  to  deeds  that  liud 
hiilierto  been  carefully  concealed — and  when  un- 
hallowed wishes  for  evil  were  loudly  and  fiercely 
expressed. 

But  the  result  of  this  was  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Sloper — the  departure  of  Cooper  and  Augustus, 
and,  after  a  while,  of  Mrs.  Captain  also,  though 
the  house  was  still  kept  ready  for  the  latter,  w!io 
occasionally  re-appeared  on  tlie  scene. 

A  respectable  man  now  assumed  the  manage- 
ment of  the  property  ;  planting  was  continued  on 
an  extensive  scale,  and  such  timely  changes  made 
as  materially  benefited  th<»  *.enantry,  so  that  the 
faithful  old  housekeeper  uegan  to  think  that  it 
was  not  yet  too  late  for  sunny  times  again  to 
shine  on  her  cherished  Seabrooke,  and  that  the 
faces  she  loved  might  once  more  smile  there. 

Even  her  master  came  in  for  his  full  share  of 
her  benevolent  wishes — 

"  O  wail  ye  t,ak  a  thouglit  an'  men', 
Ye  uiblins  might," 

was  often  the  tenor,  though  not  tlie  words,  of  her 
meditations  ;  and  vigilantly  did  she  watch  for  any 
indications  that  a  cliange  had  come  over  his  feel- 
ings toward  her  beloved  lady  and  the  two  fair 
daughters,  but  alas  !  in  vain  ;  while  with  grief 
she  perceived  tliat  the  habit  of  indulging  in  wine 
became  gradually  stronger  and  stronger. 

"  There,  dear  nianinia,  you  will  not  have  to  com- 
plain of  your  comp.anionless  state  any  longer," 
said  Constance,  as  she  collected  numerous  loo.^e 
sheets  of  manuscript;  "my  task  is  over,  I  hav.' 
just  written  the  last  word  of  my  translation  ;  ai  1 
it  only  remains  to  be  proved  wh.at  was  truth  aii  1 
what  flattery  in  Ashley's  criticism." 

"  How  so  .'"  inquired  her  mother, 

"  If  the  editor  should  black-ball  my  contribu- 
tion, I  shall  certainly  charge  him  with  having 
lured  me  on  with  false  pretenses.  ,And  now,  iis  a 
reward  for  j'our  kind  help  in  copying  my  blotted 
pages,  and  your  patiently-endured  curiosity,  I 
shall  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do  with  the  pro- 
ceeds— always  provided,"  she  added,  laughing, 
"  that  I  am  not  the  girl  who  reckoned  her  chick- 
ens too  soon — 1  mean  to  buy  little  Is.ibel  one  of 
those  pretty  dresses  I  saw  when  I  went  to  town 
with  Miss  Newman  ;  next — or  first,  perhaps— I 
mean  to  buy  a  capital,  easy,  self-adjusting  spring 
chair  for  dear  old  Gietchen." 

"  And  so  it  is  this  you  have  been  toiling  for  :" 

"  Yes,  but  it  has  been  really  a  labor  of  lov  •. 
Oh!  there  is  a  pleasure  even  in  poverty,  when  it 
leads  to  these  little  acts  of  self-denial." 

"  Dear  Constance,  you  make  me  laugh,  andy.t 
you  are  very  absurd  ;  poverty,  my  child,  whatiio 
you  know  of  poverty  .'  why,  we  are  ricli — we  rank 
among  the  wealtliy  classes— our  little  ecrnomies 
do  us  good  in  every  way.  Oh !  no,"  .site  added, 
gravely,  "  in  real  poverty  there  is  no  pleasure ; 
there  may  be,  there  often  is,  contentment,  and  the 
reward  which  honest  industry  ever  brings;  but 
these  spring  not  from  poverty,  but  tlie  successful 
struggle  against  it.  When  you  were  born,  my 
treasure.  J  knew  what  poverty  was ;  many  a 
restless  night,  many  an  anxious  day,  many  a 
heart-ache,  did  it  inflict  on  me.  When  you  first 
saw  light,  on  the  border  of  that  lake  after  which 


TITR    -^VIFI-rS   TRIALS. 


176 


you  are  nnmed,  strnngers  tninistcreJ  to  my  wnnts, 
and  I  with  scarcely  a  fuint  hope  of  ever  being 
able  to  repay  them;  so  I  left  it  to  Him  who  has 
said,  •Cast  tiiy  bread  on  the  waters."  " 

Too  much  moved  to  speak.  Constance  sat  look- 
ing with  fond  reverence  on  her  motlier,  who  con- 
tinued :  "  It  was  the  recollection  of  ihc  ignorance 
and  helplessness  against  whicli  I  had  then  to 
struggle,  the  results  of  my  aristocraticeducation, 
that  made  me  so  anxious  you  and  lIcKn should  be 
taught  many  things  not  usually  carul  for  by  the 
wealthy.  To  Helen  this  has  been  of  the  greatest 
use.  And  you,  my  love,  in  marrying  .\shley,  do 
not  marry  a  man  of  large  property,  though  his 
profession  and  private  resources  will  make  him 
quite  independent." 

"  But  Asidey  will  not  listen  to  me  when  I  tell 
him  he  will  have  a  portionless  bride." 

''I  do  not  wonder  at  that,"  returned  her 
mother,  quietly;  "you  and  Helen  are  wealth 
enough  for  any  reasonable  man — now  do  not 
laugh  at  your  mother's  partial  folly.  Do  you 
expect  Mrs.  Stacey  this  evening  r" 

"  Yes.  Mr.  Stacey  promised  to  accompany 
her  ;  he  has  compo.sed  a  graceful  little  song  wliicii 
she  has  set  to  music,  and  dedicated  to  her  friends. 
I  also  expect  that  he  will  bring  some  chapters  of 
tiiat  second  volume,  at  the  very  name  of  which 
Mr.  Turner  always  makes  a  wry  face." 

"  He  is  very  hard  on  Mr.  Stacey,"  remarked 


consulting  another,  by  all  moans  let  us  use  the 
privilege;  if  not,  let  us  silently  bear  it;"  and 
this  remark,  coming  as  it  ilid  from  one  who  en- 
forced it  by  the  example  of  her  whole  married 
life,  was  not  lost  on  the  hearer. 

Spring  had  long  set  in,  and  though  many  cir- 
cumstances kept  Constance  from  sharing  very 
largely  in  its  gayctics,  there  wore  still  so  many 
opportunities  for  availing  herself  of  exhibitions, 
concerts,  and  the  society  of  two  or  three  valued 
friends,  that  to  her,  whose  life  hail  been  so  quiet, 
it  seemed  now  very  much  like  di.xsipation. 

Mrs.  Vernon  and  Caroline,  whose  deliglit  had 
been  unbounded  when  Ashley  carried,  in  person, 
the  news  of  his  unexpected  happiness,  spent  3;)nie 
weeks  at  Mr.  Morton's,  where  Victor's  arrival  in 
Juno  completed  their  joyful  party.  Of  course 
Mrs.  Templeton  could  rarely  accompany  her 
daughter — -she  knew  not  that,  to  t!ie  grcit  sur- 
prise of  all  around  him,  her  iiusband  hail  sud- 
denly, soon  after  her  depirture,  ceased  all  further 
pursuit  or  even  inquiry,  so  that  the  dread  of  him 
and  his  emissaries  still  peipctually  haunted  her; 
but  the  peaceful  life  she  now  enjoyed,  the  hapjiy 
prospects  which  .seemed  opening  to  her  children, 
and  the  seeing  society  so  much  in  accordance  with 
her  tastes  .and  wishes,  made  her  leel  that  a  hap- 
py calm  had  suddenly  succeeded  the  many  years 
of  storm  and  gloom  which  had  followed  her  mar- 
riage. 


Mrs.  Templeton;  "  and  because,  under  the  in- |  The  more  she  saw  of  Ashley,  who,  no  longer 
fhience  of  an  unusual  enthusiasm,  he  once  wrote  burdened  with  feelings  it  was  so  difficult  and 
more  in   a  few  months  than   most  others  couUl    painful  to  conceal,  was  the  life  and  soul  of  these 


ive  dene  in  treble  the  time,  he  expects  him  to 

I:^rp  up  that  pace.     I  sometimes  think  that,  sen- 

I'le  and  intelligjnt  as  he  is,  he  makes  no  allow- 

uicelbr  the  peculiar  temperament,  which,  I  sup- 

iMj,~e,  ever  accompanies  much  imagination." 

'•  I  think,  dear  mammae  you  rather  mistake 
Mr.  Turner,  who  is,  on  the  contrary,  always 
ready  to  make  extraordinary  concession  to  poetic 
influ.nce,  and  to  grant  it  great  indulgencies.     It 


happy  parties,  the  more  was  she  certain  that  witjj 
him  the  happlnes.s  of  Constance  was  secure.  His 
enlarg?d  views  on  all  subjects,  his  extensive  and 
rare  intormatinn,  his  disp.i.ssonate  judgment  and 
refined  taste,  all  rendered  him  a  lit  guide  to  one 
whose  quick  percepticn  of  the  beautiful  and  fas- 
tidious rejection  of  all  that  was  not  perfect,  re- 
quired the  help  of  his  philosophical  analysis — 
one  who  needetl  his  comprehensive  views  to  teach 


Mr.  Stacey's  infatuation  for  his  present  style  of   her  to  see  order  and  iiarmony  where  lier  impa 
1  fe  which  lie  ccn.sures  as  well  as  laments;  he  |  tient  glance  had  failed  to  discover  them. 


siys  that  a  fashionable,  frivolous  life  of  mere  gay- 
ety  destroys  all  that  is  majestic  and  sublime  in 
t::ought  and  feeling;  bethinks  that  its  influence 
les;ructivc  to  his  fine  imagination,  as  well  as 
.iijarii.us  to  his  pecuniary  prospects." 

"  Probably  he  is  correct,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton; 
"  and  as  we  do  not  come  under  the  head  of  frivo- 
li  us  or  fasliionable,  I  may  conscientiously  enjoy 
i.i,^  ple.isuro  of  his  society,  especially  as  his  ex- 
e  Uent  wile  will  be  gratified  by  having  her  share 
ii  it  also. 

"  I  so.metimes  think,"  said  Constance,  *•  it  must 
be  rather  a  trial  to  Mrs.  Stacey  to  visit  so  little 
ill  those  circles  where  her  husband  is  so  much 
courted." 

"  It  shows  her  rare  good  sense,"  replied  her 
mother,  "  that  her  friends  can  only  guess  at  her 
f  clings.  Nothing  is  more  dangerous  or  undigni- 
lii  d  than  for  a  woman  to  make  her  husbands  con- 
'  act  the  subject  of  her  complaint  and  conversa- 
i  n.  I  believe  that  people  who  introduce  their 
^  rrows  or  vexations  at  every  visit,  end  by  cntire- 
the  sympathy  of  thsir  best  friends 


And  spring  went,  and  summer  brought  its 
we.ilth  of  swe.'t  scents  and  beautiful  lluwers;  and 
in  its  turn  gave  place  to  autumn's  rich  and  glo- 
rious sun-.sets  and  magnificent  tints,  wh..n  cnco 
more  Reginald  c;:rnestly  pressed  Ashley  to  visit 
them  at  St.  Petersburg. 

"  Go,"  s.aid  (.'oastanco  ;  "  last  year  we  hinder- 
ed you— and  this,  I  hope,  will  be  your  final  op- 
portunity, for  Helen  confidently  talks  of  a  return 
next  spring." 

"  Besides.  I  want  your  impartial  opinion  of 
my  little  liu-^sian  granddaughter."  urgetl  Mrs. 
I'emple'.on.  "  which,  according  to  Helen's  descrip- 
tion, is  the  most  extraordinary  child  ever  born." 

"  And  she  only  three  daj's  old  when  that  dis- 
covery was  made,"  remarked  t^'onstance ;  '•  poor 
little  thing!  I  hope  he  will  not  find  her  crushed 
Ijeneath  the  load  of  names  which  her  courtier- 
like pirents  and  ducal  spon.sors  think  it  necessary 
to  give  her  " 

"  As  you  both  evidently  want  to  get  rid  of 
me,"  said  A.shley,  "  I  really  tliiiik  I  .sliall  take 
this  opptjrtunity  of  seeing  a  city  not  quite  so  ac- 


bluntin__,  ^     .        .  . .  .  .^  .  .. 

lile.  by  be'n':^  dwelt  upon,  and  by  coitstaut  rep-  cessible  as  Paris,  and   have  tli-   l)"n' lit.  al."o,  of 

Lion,  these  trials  acquire  an  imaginary  promi-  seeinf>;  it   undi-r  suiiL  iJiYtirable  auspices.     But  I 

uce  and  intensity.     If  we  can  cure  an  evil  by  mw.i  t.ill  ytJii  of  a  circiiuja^tote  which  occurred 


176 


THE    \YIFE'S   TRIALS. 


last  night  at  Basingstoke  House,  wbere  I  dined 
witli  several  agreeable  and  distinguished  guests — 
among  others,  Lord  and  Lady  Hurstwood,  and 
our  Iriend  Stacey.  But  my  anecdote  is  for  you, 
Constance,  not  lor  mamma,  whose  mantle  is  so 
large,  she  throws  it  over  the  follies  and  weak- 
nesses of  every  one. 

"  Mamma's  cars  will  be  shut  as  long  as  you 
desire— and  as  to  the  width  of  her  mantle,  be- 
vfare  lest  it  be  too  scanty  to  cover  the  keen  satire 
of  Ashley  Vernon,"  was  Mrs.  Templcton's  cheer- 
lul  reply. 

'•  Now,  Ashley,  begin— I  am  all  ready  and  at- 
tentive," said  Constance. 

'•  I  was  seated,"  said  he,  '•  nearly  opposite  to 
Stacey,  who  had  on  one  side  of  him  Lady  Hurst- 
wood,  and  the  conversation  had  turned  on  several 
parties  which  had  been  lately  given  in  the  noble 
and  fashionable  world,  when  some  one  happened 
to  remark,  that  he  had  recently  dined  at  the 
Marquis  of  D.'s,  and  there  had  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  Professor  Soames  and  Dr.  Weaver,  both 
men  of  note  in  the  scientific  world,  but  who  ha^ve 
attained  that  eminence  solely  by  their  own  talent 
and  exertion.  Upon  which,  Stacey,  with  the  most 
insufferable  petit  maitre  air  of  affectation  imagin- 
able, drawled  out,  '  Good  God !  what  will  the 
world  come  to  next .''  and  as  this  exquisite  and 
becoming  ebullition  of  disdain  was  apparently  ad- 
dressed to  Lady  llurstwood,  fancy  her,  with  her 
undemonstrative  manner  and  irresistible  smile, 
replying,  quite  unconscious  of  saying  any  thing 
sarcastic,  '  Perhaps  you  may  be  invited  to  meet 
them  !'  I  caught  Stacey's  eye,  and  assure  you  I 
found  it  difficult  to  keep  my  countenance  as  I  did 

60."' 

"  Excellent,"  said  Constance;  "  I  can  imagine 
Cecilia  saying  this,  and  without  the  least  idea  of 
having  said  any  thing  severe.  Mamma,  are  you 
listening,  or  are  you  still  pretending  deafness:" 

"  I  not  only  hear,  but  I  see  the  whole,  nor 
could  any  one  make  Cecilia  comprehend  that  she 
had  made  any  thing  but  a  polite  remark.  Her 
good  sense,  high  notions  of  propriety,  and  affec- 
tionate nature  make  me  love  and  respect  her 
greatly,  but  as  a  child,  and  to  this  moment 
she  never  could  readily  understand  any  thing 
that  was  not  literal;  and  the  way  in  which  Laii- 
rctte  used  to  perplex  her,  by  her  witty  allusions 
and  satirical  remark.-,  often  made  me  smile." 

"  But  this  is  not  all,"  resumed  Ashley ;  "  im- 
agine her  coming  to  Stacey  and  me  and  telling 
us  that  tliesc  very  gentlemen  were  to  be  at  the 
Dowager  Duchess  of  L-^leford's  soiree  next  week, 
and  offering  to  have  tickets  sent  to  us.  Of  course 
I  accepted  with  delight,  and  so,  in  fact,  did  Sta- 
cey, tliough  I  reminded  him  that  the  consequence 
would  piobably  be  an  introduction  to  these  scien- 
tific celebrities. 

"  '  It  is  on  that  very  account  I  am  desirous  you 
should  be  there,'  was  her  ladyship's  naive  I'eply. 
'  I  tiioiight  Mr.  Stacey  would  be  pleased  to  be 
acquainted  with  two  literary  gentlemen  whom 
the  Duchess  so  greatly  respects.'  Stacey  was  as 
ready  to  laugh  at  liis  folly  as  I;  he  is  too  amiable 
ever  to  be  ill-tempered  or  disagreeable;  but  all 
this  only  convinces  me  that  he  must  take  liis  own 
course.  I  wislicd  him  to  accompany  me  to  St. 
Petersburg,  but  he  toll  me  of  so  many  LaJy 
llobcrts  and  Lord  Johns  who  would  die  of  ennui 


during  the  autumnal  months,  spent  in  the  coun- 
I  try,  without  his  aid,  that  I  could  not  run  the 
risk  of  having  such  a  hecatomb  of  illustrious 
victims  lying  on  my  conscience. 
I  "  We  shall  yet  see  Mr.  Stacey  take  that  place 
I  among  men  of  genius  to  which  his  superior  tal- 
I  ents  entitle  him,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton.  "  At  pre- 
'  sent  he  is  not  aware  of  his  responsibility  to  him- 
self or  society.  He  perpetually  reminds  me  of  a 
cliilil  playing  with  diamonds,  unconscious  of  their 
value  and  regardless  of  their  injury  or  loss ;  but 
'  there  is  a  strain  of  honorable  feeling  through  all 
1  his  levity,  and  a  generosity  with  all  his  selfish- 
I  ness,  which  make  me  hope  that  the  day  will 
I  come  when  those  who  have  borne  with  his  folly 
i  and  imprudence  will  be  fully  repaid." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Templeton,  your  candor  and  char- 
ity make  me  ashamed  of  my  severity. 
j  '•  Xot  so,  Ashley,  I  also  censure — but  it  is  the 
thoughtless,  shallow  society  who  lure  him  on ;  let 
him  but  once  be  convinced  of  their  heartlessness, 
let  him  find  that  the  promises  of  a  snug  little 
place,  to  quote  his  own  Avords,  are  of  no  worth, 
and  we  shall  see  him  lean  on  his  own  resources, 
I  and  then  only  become  aware  of" their  strength 
I  and  value." 

I  But  A  shlcy  did  not  tell  all  the  reasons  he  had 
for  wishing  to  draw  Stacey  out  of  this  destruc- 
I  tive  vortex,  which  was  turning  his  head  and 
hastening  him  to  ruin  :  he  was  desirous  to  keep 
I  him  from  running  deeply  in  debt,  and  again  in- 
volving Mrs.  Stacey  in  the  difficulties  which  beset 
them  a  few  years  ago. 

"  Another  dispatch  from  St.  Petersburg  .'"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Templeton,  as  Constance  eagerly 
opened  her  letter;  "Ashley  now  relieves  both 
Helen  and  Reginald  of  all  labor  in  the  home  de- 
partment of  correspondence. 

"  (Jh  !  mamma,"  said  she,  scarcely  lifting  her 
eyes  from  the  well-covered  paper,  while  a  smile 
and  a  blusli  spread  over  her  animated  face,  •'  it  is 
really  very  kind  of  Ashley  to  send  us  such  frequent 
and  long  accounts,  and  I  must  not  have  you  un- 
grateful to  him." 

"  And  if  I  could  be  so  wicked,"  replied  her 
mother,  "  you  seem  always  quite  ready  to  supply 
my  deficiencies,  though  why  I  am,  by  my  grati- 
tude, to  pay  your  debts  for  what  is  exclusively 
your  own,  I  do  not  clearly  comprehend." 

"  Because  incurring  the  debt  ^pakes  me  so 
happy." 

"  1  am  answered,  dear  child ;  but  when  you  do 
come  to  any  information  that  p:trticularly  "con- 
cerns me,  let  me  know,  that  is  all ;  perhajis  by  the 
time  I  have  written  to  Lady  Grantham,  you  may 
have  reached  that  insignificant  portion  of  your 
pamphlet." 

'•  Now,  mamma,  you  are  malicious  this  morn- 
ing ;  so,  to  punish  you,  I  shall  carry  my  letter  and 
myself  away." 

•'I  suppose  that  is  called  turning  the  t.ables," 
!  said  she,  laughing ;  "  give  me  a  kiss  for  furnish- 
I  ing  you  with  the  excuse  for  picking  a  quarrel,  and 
run  away." 

And  so  she  did,  with  her  precious  letter.  No 
comparisons  now  between  herself  and  Helen — no 
reference  now  to  rtcginald  as  the  complete  letter- 
writer— he  was  entirely  eclipsed,  and  Ashley  in 
the  ascendant.  "  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?" 
she  asked  herself—"  who  could  write  such  delight- 


THE   WIFF/S   TRIALS. 


ful  letters  as  he  ? — so  affectionate,  so  intellectual 
—so    gracelul— so" — Lut    Vfords    aro    wuutiug. 

Ih'.ppy,  liappy  Cons.anco. 


CHAPTEIl   hXXV 


Ihiis  sh«»  stofwl  — 

lif:  111  iii:ijcM>  ^«.^rMl  lif-. 

siuuds;  »Utii  Urol  i  wmiM  h^r. 


WiNTKR  h;id  set  in,  with  ifcs  gloom  and  cheer- 
fulness— its  cold  and  tiros.  Melancholy  winds 
howled  and  niounjU  aruun  I  and  aLuu;,  but  were 
BL-arcely  lizard  audd  the  sound  otuurry  voices  and 
pleesoiue  l.iughter  which  arosi  tVoui  ni.iny  a  hright 
tireside.  But  Chr  stmas,  with  its  scc.al  pari.es 
.lud  I'amdy  galhcnngs,had  pass.'d  away,  an  1  chil- 
dren wiio  were  overcom  ng  the  cffjc  s  of  turkey 
.ind  twefth  cake,  now  begin  to  count  the  days 
tliat  Wore  Ldt  of  iheir  hol.Uays ;  winle  the  scn.ors, 
liavlng  recruited  from  the  fat;gue  of  d.nu  «r  giv.ng 
■■■Aid  dune  ng,  b.g m  to  count  tae  cost  tliereot,  and 

lue  of  ilum  10  ch.nk  they  had  pa:d  too  dear  tor 
ir  wiiisdj  when  vJun^ur  and  ilowoll  sent  in 
ilielr  b  lis. 

At  th  J  I'riory  all  this  was  unknown ;  there  were 

Tio  hoUdays— an  ill  sp  n.  life  njver  h  is  tlum — no 

'imdy  ga  her;ugs,  lor  ev.l  passions  hi  1  driven  ail 

way,  and  soleuiu  silence,  gloom,  anl  unhappiness 

:  ■  gn  in  ihe  vasi  uuJ  splendid  roou^s  of  Sjaorooke 

i-ory. 

Mrs.  Diwson  conSJentially  assured  Mrs.  S'nis 
''lat  slie  re-.illy  did  nj;  think  she  coul  I  s:auJ  th  s 
'  ate  of  tii.ngs  anot.ier  L'hris.mas.     Tn.s  was  the 

•oud  wh.cn,  according  to  her  es;.mat3.  hal  been 

i  thrown  away — lost,  i.ke;  an  I  nothing  could  be 
.  .ji-e  dismal  than  the  Lfe  her  master  lei;  slio  de- 
■   arcd  he  seemed  melancholy  mad,  lell  off  .n  li:s 

od,  ani  attenied  to  nothing  but  the  improve- 
M.ent  of  the  p.oper^y  ;  thougu  that,  she  sa.d,  was 
'^.1  quite  rigU:. 

"  It  is  my  opinion,"  remarked  Mrs.  S!ms,  "  that 
i-  is  all  along  of  these  Coopers;  why,  she  was 
.\vn  hjic  ouiy  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  \\h:it  for,  1 
.  ould  I.ke  to  Know  .'     No  gooU,  1  am  sure." 

"No,  indeed,'  replied  iMrs.  Dawson.  "And 
tliink  of  the  assurance  of  madam  — she  c.inie  up 
t  J  the  I'liory,  and  1  saw,  by  the  Colonels  man- 
!i'jr,that  he  was  all  in  a  secret  rage  I.ke;  she 
wanted,  fuiiooth,  to  sje  the  house! — but  belore  1 
would  have  unlocked  the  d(;ors  for  that  puipiwe,  1 
nould  have  thrown  the  keys  down  the  well  and 
1  It  the  pLice  forever,  though  that  would  be  lieart- 
1.1  caking  for  me.  but,  lor  once,  my  master  w:us 
.  i -ar  r.glit  :  he  said,  '  No  !  she  must  wait ;'  and, 
ull  in  my  hearing,  went  on  to  say,  but  very  quiet- 
ly, '  1  adv.se  you  to  be  patient '  " 

"  Why,  goodness  me.  Mrs.  Dawson  !"  exclaimed 
I;  r  friend,  "  sure  there  is  no  mean  ng  in  tho.se 
^  '.rds:'  anl  she  looked  so  express. vi-ly  at  her, 
'hat  liie  old  l.dy  f.lt  s'.ck  an  I  fa  nt,  na  a  vague 
t   rror  po-s^SjC  I  her  witli  a  {'.limpsc  of  the  tru  h. 

"  Oh,  no; '  she  said,  in  a  vo.ce  that  shook  w.th 

Tidignation  and  alarm;    "he  never  could  b«  so 

,.;i.se  as  all  that.    If  1  thought  it— but  it  is  impoi- 

^;l,lu  !"_and  sac  fell  into  a  lit  of  musing  that  wa3 

U 


not  dispelled  when  Mrs.  Sims,  heaving  a  deep  sigh, 
or  railior  groan,  remarked,  "  Well,  well,  ihoao 
who  l.vc  the  longest  w.U  .see. 

Daw^ons  account  lell  lar  short  of  the  reality. 
Colonel  Teaipieton  had  said,  '•  Kv.l,  be  ihoii  my 
good!'  amine  must  abide  by  his  choice  I'lov- 
idencj  ever  v.nd.cates  its  ways,  though  m.n  .a-o 
olteu  too  11  nd  to  see  it. 

'■  Have  you  any  idea  whetlier  Mr.  Morti  n  Is  at 
the  Ucrmiiage .'  he  inquired  one  duy  of  the  houoo- 
keper. 

'•  1  rather  think  he  is,  sir.  Robin  saw  his  black 
servant  yesterday,  and  he  said  h.s  master  was  e.\- 
pected,  1  buppo;;e,s.r,  you  know  that,  young  .\lr. 
Alor.on  is  to  many  .M.ss  Vernon  this  spring  .■•  it 
has  been  a  long  engagement.  ' 

*'  1  heard  oi  it  some  time  ago.  Will  they  live 
here .'" 

"  At  Bridge-end,  I  .am  told,  sir ;  Mr.  Morton  is 
having  the  puce  laid  out  in  grand  order.' 

"  On  :  he  IS  the  purchaser  of  Bridge-end  .'"  ob- 
served the  Colonel. 

"  i  OS,  s;r ,  an  1  I  am  told  that  the  young  ladies 
are  com.ng  to  the  llectory  in  the  course  oi  a  lew 
weeks,     iou  never  saw  inein,i  th.nk,  s.r." 

"  No  ;  it  w.is  altogether  a  s.upid  mat.er,  man- 
aged oy  ihal  scoun  a-cd  Cooper,  lor  the  pu)p(.,se,  I 
boi.eve,  of  muk.ng  a  quarrel.  However,  i  must 
break  ihe  ice  now  myself,  as  I  want  to  turn  tao 
road  by  the  Uerniiiuge,  and  change  a  p.cce  of 
gioun  ;,  whth,  1  tind,  1  can  not  Uo  w.u.ou.  iho 
consent  of  ihe  otcupan. — always  some  coiUouudod 
impediment  iii  my  way  ! '  he  mut.ercd. 

.And  .11  lurdier.inLe  of  h  s  oljecc  he  set  cut  to 
make  his  hist  visit  at  the  Hermitage  s  u.e  .Mr. 
.Morten  iia  1  oeen  ilie  tenant. 

Un  arr.v.ng.  he  was  ush.red  into  a  em  ill  room, 
com. or  .ably  arn^ngM  as  a  library,  wnere  he  was 
Lf-  to  remark  at  leiburo  the  many  s  n-ulir  and 
foreigii-.ti^lving  tbj  c  s  which  loiined  p.i.tof  the 
lurn.iure,  all  ev.cknJy  choice  and  rare.  Lngaged 
I  in  the  &ui  Vey,  wh  cli  in.orested  h.iii,  ana  made 
!  h.in  unions. .ous  of  the  tlight  of  time,  he  walked 
fiom  one  oLjc^  to  ano  her  till  he  ajpioaJiel  a 
door,  wh.ca,  he  icuKniber.d,  led  to  ine  largest 
room  thelleiiiii.ag;  conta.ned.  Th.sstood  already 
more  haa  half  open;  anl  though  really  too  well 
bred  to  have  intiuded,  under  oidinary  c.icum- 
stanccs,  he  may  be  pardoned  for  now  pus.i.iig  it 
Wide  open,  as  tne  part.ai  glance  sliowea  tiie  lur- 
niture  of  th.s  room  to  be  cos. ly  and  cur.ou.i  .n  .l.o 
ex.rcme.  lire  wliole  arrangemeiu  was  so  un  i.n- 
gl.sh,  it  so  vaguely  anl  fa.n  ly  rem.nded  h.m  if  a 
shadowy  something  connected  with  ycais  Icng, 
long  gene  by,  that  nc  so  far  forgot  him -.elf  as  lO 
en.er. 

D.rctly  opposite  the  wide  b.ay  window,  an  im- 
proveincn;  oi  .\lr.  Mor.on  s,  hung  a  large,  (juaint- 
ly-carveU  fr.ime,  cvidcndy  encircling  a  pa  n..ng; 
but  though  the  general  etiect  of  the  lumKurc  uaa 
gay,  as  well  as  ricli,  and  the  chintzes  and  hang- 
ings of  a  cheerlul  hue,  this  was  covered  w.ili  a- 
black  velvet  turta.u,  heavy  with  deip  Lull.oa. 
fringe. 

Urged  on  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  with  a  faco- 
from  wh.ch  every  vestige  of  color  had  tie  I,  wi.h  a 
step  that  desperation  had  remlered  lirm,  l.u.  with 
a  irembLng  hand,  he  drew  aside  the  thick,  black 
folds. 

A  cry,  as  from  one  in  the  extremity  of  tLnor 


178 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


and  agony,  burst  from  his  lips ;  the  velvet  dropped 
from  liis  nerveless  grasp,  and, like  one  who  collects 
all  his  strength  for  some  great  cllort,  he  stagger- 
ed into  the  adjoining  room,  and  fell  heavily  on  the 
carpet. 

\\  hat  ghastly  object  had  met  his  view  .'—what 
hideous  and  appalling  semblance  had,  as  it  were, 
Idasted  his  sight  ?  Could  that  lovely,  smiling  face 
Strike  terror  .'  Could  those  loving  eyes  dart  dag- 
ger-looks .'  Could  those  young  lips,  '•  parted  with 
virgin  breath,"'  utter  words  so  fearful  that  the 
listener  would  stop  his  ears  and  pray  for  deafness  ? 
Ah  !  no  ;  but 

"  Cniiscieno-  lialh  a  thousand  ceveral  tongues, 
Ami  fvery  tongue  brings  in  a  st-veral  i:iIh, 
Ami  eviry  toli;  cuiiilenius  nu;  for  a  villain!" 

When  Colonel  Templeton  recovered,  he  was  in' 
the  small  library ;  and  glancing  fearfully  around, 
as  he  struggled  to  recall  his  recollection  of  what 
had  passed,  he  was  relieved  to  see  that  the  door 
of  the  room  which  contained  an  object  so  full  of 
terror  to  him  w.is  shut,  and  the  Af-ican  servant 
^f  Mr.  Morton  engaged  in  bathing  his  hands  and 
temples. 

"  Ah  !  he  do  now — ^he  look  round,"  remarked 
the  sable  nurse  to  another  person,  the  woman  who 
had  admitted  him,  and  wtio,  thinh.ng  that  her 
master  was  still  at  home,  had  gone  in  search  of 
him,  and  thus  given  time  for  the  Colonel  s  survey. 

"  1  am  quite  well  now,"  he  said,  having  listened 
to  this  explanation,  without  understanding  a  word 
that  was  uttered.  '•  A  sutlden  dizziness  to  which 
1  am  subject — that  is  all — I  will  see  Mr.  Morton 
another  t;me." 

"  Strange — unaccountable— what  brought  it 
there  :'  he  half  audibly  muttered  as  lie  wal'cxl 
.home.  "  Yet  it  is  not  the  original  painting  — can 
I  be  mistaken .'  I  can  not — 1  can  not — the  same 
<i;ingular  sort  of  frame — the  ring,  the  fan.  Great 
Vlodl  what  does  it  all  mean  .'  alive,  yet  dead — ^in 
England — fool,  coward  that  I  Avas  not  to  know 
oiore  !"  and  he  paused,  as  if  to  retrace  his  steps, 
but  the  shiver  that  shook  him  from  head  to  lout 
forbade  the  effort,  and  as  he  walked  on,  the  clear, 
sharp  air  revived  both  body  and  mind. 

"  After  all,"  and  he  tried  to  call  up  a  scornful 
smile  at  his  own  weakness,  but  the  attempt  was 
ineffectual  — after  all,  it  may  be  but  a  copy  prized 
ior  its  exquisite  lovehness — as  well  it  may  be,"  he 
addjJ  with  a  groan;  "it  must,  it  shall  be  so — 
anl  thosj  sketches  in  the  portfolio  arc  copies  of  a 
■ci.py  ;■'  and  endeavoring  to  reassure  himself  by 
this  supposition, his  first  act,  when  he  rea'.hed  the 
i'riory,  was  again  to  examine  the  portfolios,  with 
the  ■contents  of  which  he  had  become  well  ac- 
quainted. 

Vcs,  there  it  was,  that  most  lovely  face  ! 

All  day  the  remembrance  of  what  he  had  seen 
rose  vividly  before  him;  at  night,  the  portrait 
haunted  his  dreams :  yet  not  this,  but  one  fuU- 
lenyth,  which  he  scorned  so  plainly  to  recognize, 
tha^,  the  very  room  iu  which  he  had  first  beheld  it 
was,  as  it  were,  aroun  I  him — and  there,  in  one 
partieuTar  spjt,  is  the  portrait.  No,  not  so,  it  is 
alive,  it  moves— it  looks  at  him,  and  he  feols  him- 
self shudtl'jr  before  the  steadfast  gaze  of  those 
large  mournful  eyes— again  it  changes — it  fades 
— it  is  gone  -and  the  frame  contain.s  u  blank,  over 
which  slowly  falls  a  heavj'  black  pall,  and  he 
awakes.     Heaven  be  praised  !  it  is  but  a  dream ! 


It  is  one,  however,  from  which  he  is  not  rei 
freed  ;  in  the  broad  daylight,  it  is  there— it  Vialks 
by  his  side,  it  sits  at  his  table— it  mingles  with 
his  every  thought — it  interferes  with  all  his  occu- 
pations— it  never  leaves  liim. 

Worn  out,  excited,  and  feveri.sh,  driven  half 
mad  with  the  perpetual  presence  of  this  specter  of 
his  consciencq,  wliich  had  haunted  him  during  the 
whole  day,  he  hoped  to  find  relief  in  sleep,  and 
drained  glass  alter  glass  to  insure  its  soothing  iu- 
iluencc. 

At  length  he  ascended  the  stairs  to  gain  his 
room ;  but  as  he  raised  his  eyes— there,  at  the 
top — in  the  corridor,  stands  this  smiling  terror ; 
it  seems  to  pause  at  the  door  of  his  daughter's 
sitting-room,  which  he  had  never  enteretl  since 
Constance  left  him  ;  and  here  he  loses  sight  of  his 
shadowy  persecutor.  Kendered  desperate,  he 
bursts  open  the  door,  but  recoils  with  a  loud  cry, 
for  there,  in  the  space  which  he  well  remem- 
bered— ah !  had  he  not  cause — there,  where  the 
portrait  of  his  ill-used  wife  stood — now  in  her 
j  place,  was  this  mysterious  visitant ;  once  more  a 
loud  cry  resounds  through  the  desolate  htmse,  and 
is  heard  by  the  alarmed  Mrs.  Dawson  and  his  own 
j  servant. 

They  hastened  toward  him,  and  found  him  like 
1  one  entranced,  gazing  with  looks  of  horror  on  the 
,  blank  pier  from  which  Constance  had  removed 
I  her  mothers  portrait,  having,  however,  left  the 
frame. 

Mrs.  Dawson  was  the  first  to  rally ;  she  took  the 
candlestick  from  his  trembling  and  unresisting 
j  hand,  and  beckoning  to  his  servant  to  follow,  led  the 
way  to   his  looin ;    then   desiring  to  be  fetched 
,  when  he  v.'as  in  be<l,  she  gave  him  a  composing 
j  draught,  and  quietly  took  her  station  by  tlie  fire, 
t.'omrary  to  Iks  usual  custom,  he  was  passive  un- 
j  djr  this  treatment,  and  veiy  soon  fell  into  a  re- 
[  freshing  sleep,  ivhich  lasted  till  late  the  next  day. 
when  he  arose  calm  but  languid,  and  ple.'iding  fa- 
tigue  declined  an  incervicw  even  w.ln  his  agent; 
I  and,  under   one  pretext  or   another,  kciit  .Mrs. 
'  Uawson  with  him  the  greater  part  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER   LXXVI. 

"  Jaffier.  Now,  tlianlc  IIo;iven  ! — 
I'ieire.  'I'liauk  ll.iivtn!  tdrwiiat? 
JaJJUr.  That  I'm  iiui  worm  a  .nod 


Preserved. 


"  This  is  very  painful  news,  Constance,"  said 
Mrs.  Templeton,  handing  her  a  note 

"  Very  sad,  indeed;  what  can  be  done  .'" 

"  Go  at  once,  my  dear,  and  see  if  Mr.  Stbpscl 
be  still  at  home  Hark!  I  hear  his  voice ;  run 
and  ask  him  to  step  here.'" 

"  We  have  had  very  bad  news  from  our  friend 
Mrs.  Stacey,"  she  said  as  he  entered  ;  "  a  seizure 
for  debt,  and  we  can  not  tell  what  we  had  better 
do.  Vou  would  greatly  oblige  us  if  you  could 
call  there  before  you  go  to  business." 

"Of  curse,  madam,  I  will." 

"  Thank  you ;"  and  having  hastily  di.sniissed  him 
with  the  message,  she  and  Constance  looked  at 
each  other  for  a  few  minutes  in  silent  dismay. 


THE    WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


17» 


"  Can  you  asccrtnia  fic*m  the  note  wlicre  Mr. 
ijtacey  is  ?" 

"  lin'.oed,  mamma,  it  is  so  incoherent,  I  can 
r.iit,  but  I  expect  he  is  at  home,  and  that  it 
■i  her  alarm  on  his  accouat  which  has  so  excited 
.jr."  • 

"The  best  tliina;,"  said  Airs.  Templeton,  "  will 
•  '  for  me  to  go  with  Cuotchcn,  and  see  how  m.attcTs 
ivilly  are.  ,So  far  as  1  can  help  tliem,  it  shall 
'  ■  done  at  once;  but  J  fear  the  little  1  can  im- 
.L'diatcly  otter  will  be  of  no  use;  let  us  hold  a 
lusultation  of  ways  and  moans  witli  Grctchen. 
I  here  is  no  doubt  but  that  we  CJin  give  coni- 
lurtable  shelter  to  Mrs.  !:>tacey  and  her  little  girl."' 

"Oh!  easily,  dear  mamma;  there  is  Helen's 
c  >t  will  do  beautifully  for  Isabel,  and  a  small  bed 
'  lu  be  contrived  in  the  same  room  for  her  mother ; 
liut  you  may  leave  that  to  me,  while  you  go  and 
.'.  e  what  funds  you  have." 

But,  alas  !  the  funds  were  low,  for  this  was  to- 
ward the  middle  of  February  ;  and  Mrs.  Tcniple- 
;i  n,  for  the  first  time  since  she  leXt  the  Priory, 
i'Ai  lh;it  islie  was  p)or. 

When  she  reached  the  Staccys,  she  found  all 
fh'?re  distress  and  confusion ;  poor  Mrs.  Stacey 
!  ked  the  very  picture  of  woe,  nor  did  he  look 
luch  better;  while  to  all  the  sorrow  that  liis 
V-  I'c  felt,  was  added,  in  h's  case,  the  coiwcious- 
i:  ss  that  Lis  imprudence,  follj-,  and  vanity  had 
J .'  1  to  this  catastrophe.  I 

Mrs.  Templeton  had  soon  ascertained  that  her 
;i  1  would  scarcely  lessen  the  ditli.-ulty ;  for  if  the 
!u;it  were  paid,  other  claimants  would  become  im- 
lortunate,  and  press  forwawl  with  bills  to  a  very 
I  uinous  amount. 

The  landlord,  who  was  by  no  means  one  of  those 
'Irauiatic,  stony-hearted  roonsicrs  who  seU  the  bed 
t.'id  turn  the  wife  bonnetless  and  .shocle.«.s  out  of 
'iuors^  li.stened  respectfully  to  Mrs.  Teiupleton's 
)  .oposals  that  lie  should  take  that  part  of  liis  debt 
.  ;iich  her  me&us  cnaLled  her  to  di.si-harge  at 
lice,  and  wait  till  an  arrangement  could  be  eifect- 
'  I  by  which  all  could  be  ck-ared  off.  ' 

'•  I  am  really  very  sorry,  raaam,  to  seem  harsh, 
'i.ut  I  and  my  family  depend  chietty  on  my  rents. 
Upward  of  half-a-year  is  due.  Mr.  .Stacey  will 
<i-.vn  that  I  have  always  been  patient."  • 

"  I  do,''  said  Stacey,  thus  api).;aled  to.  "  My  dear  ' 
>\rs.  Templeton,  let  the  law  take  its  course — it  is 

It  j^l^t;  and  were  I  the  only  one  punlKhed.  I 
lould  say  no  matter  how  s.vere  the  penally.     But 
/     really  dues  cut  me  U>  the  heart  to  sec  mjj  Wife 
.•.;il  child  liomelcss  throu:^'!  my  folly." 

•■That  they  shall  not  be  for  one  moment,"  in- 
terrupted slie  :  '•  all  is  ready  for  them  at  our  cot- 
I  ige ;  my  daughter  expects  tliem,  and  Isabel  will  at 
I  .ICC  return  with  Ciretchen.  I  shall  remain,  and 
^■•e  how  I  can  serve  Mrs.  8tjxcey." 

Quite  overcome,  he  buricl  lii.s  face  in  hi.'^  hands 
•.iid  sobbe'l,  while  his  wife,  attempting  to  comfort 
liim,  wept  aloud.  Mrs.  Templeton  and  the  land- 
)(!i-d  left  them  together. 

"  Unfortunately."  she  said,  "this  gontleman'a  ' 
b  -M  friend  is  out  of  town,  and  probaldy  will  be 
-inay  for  two  or  t!:rec  days.  UuJcss  others  come 
forward,  what  will  be  the  consequLuce .'"  | 

"  Why,  if  otiiers  press  for  tlieir  money— and  I 
'■/  hear  it  is  to  the  tune  of  some  hundreds— my 
.1  Ivice  would  be,  go  at  once  to  prison."  Mrs. 
r.;iJiploton  started.     "  Why,  'yon  see,  madam,  =t 


will  be  much  better  than  to  .r.vur  tLo  expense  of 
a  lock-up  house." 

Disheartened  at  this  prospect  she  returne<l.  and 
found  Mrs.  Stacey,  woman-like,  still  engaged  in 
the  task  of  consolation. 

"  I  have  decided  on  taking  the  only  cour.=<o  now 
left  me,"  said  .Stacey ;  "  1  give  myself  and  all 
up." 

"  But  not  before  you  have  applied  to  j'our 
friends.     Ashley  will  be  in  town  in  a  few  days." 

"  And  were  he  now  here,  not  with  my  consent 
should  ho  be  involved  ;  there  is  no  one  to  wlnm, 
■\vith  the  least  propriety  or  self-respect,  I  could 
send.  Lister  has  already  advanced  mo  upward 
of  two  hundretl  pounds;  .Mr.  Moore  has  been  so 
annoyed  and  vexed  at  my  procrastination,  that  to 
him  I  could  not  turn,  if  I  would  :  no,  this  time  1 
must  take  wliat  1  have  earned.  y\y  poor  Susan, 
do  not  look  so  sad.  I  know  ii)tliing  is  loss  to  bo 
depended  on  than  n.  promise  made  in  my  circum- 
stjiiices,  but  I  feel  very  strongly  that,  only  let  me 
work  myself  out  of  this,  and  it  shall  be  my  last 
scrape.  '  I  have  seen  at  last,  1  hope,"  he  added, 
with  bitterness,  "  that  I  was  not  courtefl  for  my 
sense— but  for  my  folly  ;  not  for  my  wortli  — but 
my  worthlessncss ;  the  draught  is  unpalatable,  but 
if  I  swallow  it  bravely,  it  will  prove  wholesome." 

And  the  next  day,  bidding  his  wife  clieer  up 
and  hope  for  a  perfect  cure,  this  imprudent  man 
of  genius  folded  his  gay  pinion.s  for  a  while — f  »r 
of  what  use  would  they  be  in  a  prison  ? 

This  time  Stacey  learned  what  the  in.sidc  of  a 
prison  really  was. 

Ashley,  who  wa.s  unexpectedly  dctaine<l  at  Cam 
bridge,  wrote  to  Mr.  Turner,  requesting  him  to 
act  for  him,  and  frea  .Stacc}' ;  but  he  received 
such  a  letter  in  reply,  as  convinced  him  that  that 
rigid  respecter  of  cause  and  effect  would  not  ii- 
terlere  with  the  natural  course  of  wiiat  he  called 
a  beautiful  arrangirncnt ;  and  though  at  first 
vexed,  and  inclined  to  h'i  anijry  r.t  the  Oato-like 
severity  of  the  ol  1  law  ycr,  on  rc-perus-ng  his  letter, 
Ashley  felt  that  Mr.  Wrncrwas  right ;  indeed,  it 
was  useless  to  think  oth'rwise.  for  till  he  could 
personally  interfere,  he  knew  that  he  must  per- 
force remain  pas.<ive. 

Directly  he  returned  he  went  to  the  Heath, 
and  from  Mrs.  Tempi '.ton  loarne«l  ::11  particulars. 
.Stacey  had  given  a  list  of  his  debts,  and,  withnut 
including  Mr.  Listers,  they  amoun'.ud  to  nearly 
SIX  hundred  pouii  Is. 

"  .Mr.  Turner,"  .said  she,  "  who  has  in  ft  very 
friendly  manner  callcl  here  abotit  the  affair,  h.i.s 
convince<l  me  that  his  seeming  harshness  is  I  ut 
kindness  in  d.sgul-«;.  Mr.  Moore  ai.-irces  with  1  iiu 
— though  I  really  I.eliove  tliat  if  a  thou.s:.Md 
ponnds  would  at  ouce  and  jicrmanontly  bring  Mv. 
Stacey  to  his  s.^nse8,  it  would  be  clK-orfully  given. 
The  latter,  at  first,  would  not  hear  of  the  sale  of 
his  effects,  but  his  sturdier  friend  says,  let  the  law 
tajce  its  course." 

"Just  like  him."  sjiid  Asldoy ;  " /e  roy  fr 
veult ;  and  yet  I  know  tliat  he  is  thinking  how 
he  can  be  kind  as  well  as  wise  at  the  same  time; 
but  still  I  shall  try  and  break  a  lance  witli  hin.." 

And  Ashley  did,  1)ut — was  lieaten. 

"Now  listen  to  good  sens!,"  said  .Mr.  Turner; 
"  this  is  the  second  time  since  his  marriage  that 
he  hiis  been  in  a  similar  lifliculty ;  nov/  lot  him 
suffer — thi"  ia  his  own  view  of  the  uia.ier.     It  \a 


180 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


from  no  morbid  spirit  of  martyrdom — from  noth-  | 
ing  uiigratetul  or  ungracious,  but  at  prasant  he  , 
decidjJiy  d-cl.ncs  the  lulp  ot  his  irlenas.     I  h we 
eejn  h;iu,  an. I  lor  the  tirsc  timu  he  has  impressed  i 
rae  with  a  favorabL'  opiu.on  of  his  sonse.     1  IJnd, 
also,  tha;  ha  has  n^j  coiucuipabb  store  of  what  | 
lie  calls  fragments— these  he  is  now  busily  ar-  | 
ranging.     Lcc  him  tiul  how  tar  he  can  help  him- 
self,  it  will  sirengtueu  sellu-cspect  and  self-re- 
liance." 

"  1  own  that  you  are  quite  right ;  but  I  own, 
also,  that  I  shrink  from  tiic  idea  of  this  bright 
8Jij;.ng-bird  shut  up  in  so  dark  a  cage." 

"Tuoh!  nonsense!  he  will  sing  all  the  better 
and  the  stronger  when  he  coaus  out;  besides, 
he  will  have  grown  wiser,  an. I  will  not  suffer  him- 
self to  be  caught  so  agam.' 

As.iley  laugaed,  and  then  went  to  visit  Stacey; 
and  liad  he  felt  any  sentimental  grief  on  his  ac- 
coun:.  the  appearance  anf   conversation   of  the 


prison  J 


wouii  have  cured  him. 


Not  because  S:acey  was  gay,  or  callous  to  his 
degradation.  On  the  contrary,  he  lamented  his 
cuuiition,  but  in  an  honest,  manly  tone,  reserv- 
ing all  his  sympathy  for  his  wile,  of  whom  he 
spoke  widi  the  most  respectful  alfection,  and  re- 
ferred, almost  wuh  tears  of  grat.tude,  to  the 
kindness  of  his  real  and  stcrl.iig  friends.  lie 
alsj  talked  of  the  coUecaon  he  was  makmg  of  his 
patcii-work  p.eces,  hopiuj  by  their  sale  to  realize 
a  gum  that,  by  lessai.ng  his  l.ab.litics,  would 
eneourage  h.m  to  p..'rjevere  and  resUiiie  the  great 
work— tae  complet.on  of  tiie  memoirs,  lie  frank- 
ly avowed  his  uisl  ke  to  his  present  situation,  but 
decl.n.!d  ail  attempt  to  free  lum  by  any  help  but 
his  own.  And  Aihley  left  him,  with  a  s-rong 
conv.ci/.on  r.sing  in  h.s  mind,  that  this  w  .s  the 
crisis  in  tjtaeey  s  moral  and  mental  health,  and 
an  abnost  equally  strong  hope  that  he  would 
come  out  of  it  luliy  cureil. 


CHAPTEIl   LXXVII. 

"  The  giwl*  are  jii"!.  ami  nf  o;ir  pleHSiint  viei  o 
M.iku  ii.slrmiieiilj  lo  scou  ge  uo."  Lear, 

Two  days  were  passed  by  Colonel  Tempbton  in 
a  state  of  inactivity  an, I  d.pression,  quite  contrary 
to  hiS  general  habits,  bur.ng  that  time  iMrs. 
Dawson  was  frequently  witli  him;  she  brought 
lier  knitting  at  his  desire,  and,  altjr  she  had 
prepared  his  evening  cilLe,  rema.ned  for,  per- 
liapi,  an  hour,  oaeoi.r.ige  I  by  him  to  chatter  on 
the  thenij  most  pl.-as.iui  ti  her — lorinjr  days  at 
the  I'r.ory,  when  all  wi.o  so  happy,  and  when  the 
master  was  so  gond.  ooinetuiies  he  appeared 
really  to  listen  to  her,  a^  o  hers  lie  was  cviden.ly 
lost  m  his  own  tliougli.s;  anl  when  she  was  not 
with  him,  s  le  conjeutuiod,  from  various  remarks 
made  by  h  s  new  agent,  that  hj  was  occupied  in 
lo<.ikii)g  over  and  arraiig  iig  h.s  pipjrs. 

On  the  third  mjrn.ng,  alter  breakfast,  during 
which  he  scarcely  tioic  more  than  a  cup  of  cotfce, 
Mrs.  D.iwson  reiuiikcJ,  "I  fear,  s.r,  you  are 
not  very  well— perhaps  u  little  advice  from  Mr. 
Curtis—" 

15 at  he  stopped  her,  saying,  "lie  must  advise 


an  opiate,  then,  for  I  liaTe  not  closed  my  cyei; 
the  whole  night;"  nor  was  it  likely  that  s^lrep 
could  have  visited  him  wdien  his  mmd  was  agi- 
tated by  the  many  harassing  recollections  in 
>Yliicii  he  had  voluntarily  indulged;  for  a  sud- 
den thought  had  tlie  previous  evening  struck 
him— he  had  followed  it  up,  till  it  led  to  a  deter- 
mination of  great  iiuport.ince.  ; 

lie  felt  sure  that,  liy  >onic  me.tns,  Con.stnnco  ' 
could  give  him  a  clue  liy  wiiicli  a  strange  inter- 
tereiice,  of  many  years'  duration,  could  he  traced 
to  its  source — by  which,  perhaps,  he  could  freo 
himself  from  the  trammels  that  had  hiinpered 
almost  all  his  niovemenis  and  |din.s  He  would, 
therefore,  write  to  Lord  Gram  ham — put  himself 
in  his  hands — so  that  he  niiglit  agiin  have  Con- 
stance witii  him,  if  not  j  erpetu.iUy— tliai  per-  ■ 
h-ips  was  e.\pect.ng  too  much— but  as  an  ouc:i- 
sioiial  gUfSD.  as  a  couip.mion,  as  a  comforter. 
Tills  purpose  it  w.is  thai  had  driven  away  both 
sleep  and  rest;  and  as  a  good  prepiration,  ho 
said,  the  next  time  Dawson  entered,  "  I  should 
like  that  piinting  wliicli  hangs  over  the  piano  in 
the  west  su.te,  removed  to  my  bedroom  i"  but 
but  he  did  not  lift  his  eyes  from  a  hook  which  he 
held  — '•  have  it  done  at  once,  if  you  please." 

"  Ceita.iily.  sir.'  .she  repl.ed,  while  her  mental 
remark  was,  •'  now.  giodiie.-s  lie  prai>ed  fur  that 
—  who  knows  what  ii  niny  lead  to  ?  and  if  these 
two  beautiful  faces  are  not  reaily  to  look  at  liiin, 
the  iie.Kt  time  he  g..es  into  his  room — my  name  ia 
not  Elizibeth  Dawson." 

And  in  imisu  ince  of  this  prompt  obedience, 
the  frame  containing  the  portraits  of  his  daugh- 
ters Was  removed  ;  liut  as  he  had  not  said  whera 
it  w;is  lo  he  hung,  she  had  it  carefully  placed  on, 
a  portfolio-stand  looking  toward  the  head  ol  iho 
bel. 

While  this  was  being  done,  he  had  ordered  hia' 
horse,  resjlvctl  to  go  .at  once  to  the  Hermitage,' 
and  try  to  learn  how  it  was  that  a  painting, 
wliicii  had  so  teaifuliy  e.Kcited  him,  had  come 
into  the  posses-ion  of  i\ir.  Mortun.  Though  soiuo 
days  had  passed  ."-inoe  that  memorable  evening, 
when  the  s-orpi(m  siings  of  conscience  and  re- > 
morse  had  driven  him  almost  mad — and  though' 
there  had  been  no  return  of  iliar  frightiiil  pirox- 
y.~m  — iliere  h  id  been  hut  little  peace  of  mm  1  for 
liim.  He  w.aild  n.iw  seek  every  means  of  solving; 
the  mystery  which,  not  now  f  r  ihe  tirst  tiine,^ 
had  loroieiued  him,  but  wiiich,  for  t<-n  or  twelve 
J  ears,  had  iiiet  and  ojipcs  d  him  ,at  every  turn. 
Let  the  consequences  t>e  what  they  might,  he 
Wi.uld  br.ive  and  endure  iheiii — nothing  could  be 
to  iiisupporiabh!  as  ihs  hiuiuing  secret 

If  IVlr.  Morton  shoul  I  prove  unable  to  inform 
him  of  any  t.iing.  he  mg.it,  from  liis  e.xiensive' 
acquaintance  atul  kno.vleilge,  he  able  to  help  his 
r.searcli.  Bat  whetlier  ;ii  home  or  n<)t — once' 
more  he  would  see  that  portrait — would  look  at 
it  quietly,  if  that  were  puss. hie,  anil  noie  nil  the' 
p  .WKS  of  resemblance,  so  as  to  feel  sure  that  it 
was  actually  a  copy  of  one  which  he  well  re- 
membered. 

"  It  is  very  coM,  sir,"  siid  Mrs.  Dawson,  who 
must  have  sotue  hii>g  to  watch  over  and  take 
care  of ;  "  and  you  h.ive  Hot  your  great-coat  oa.", 

"  All  !  I  forgot  it — you  are  ri'4lit,  it  is  verj 
cold,"  he  replie  I  ;  and  sue  noticed  that  he  sliiv- 
ered  and  looked  deadly  pale  as  she  Jielpcd  him  tc 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


181 


j;tit  it  on,  while,  spife  of  the  d'AFerence  which  ex-  I  "  Send  to  the  Rectory,  and  on?  of  you  start  off 
pressii'n  alw.iy.s  givc^,  there  wns  ii  i-oiiu-iliing  in  for  Dr.  G.  I  must  hav'.-  hjlph.TC, '  were  tiielirst 
the  e.vejj  and  >t3le  of  tlie  face  that  piiufully  re-  j  directions  of  Mr.   lurtis.     Furth.-r  cxam'.natioii 


tainted  her  of  Cuiistanee. 

*■  Mr.  Morten  is  not  at  home,  sir  ;  we  expect 
him  ihis  evening, '  said  the  servant. 

"  In  th  it  ca.se  1  will  alight  and  leave  a  note  ;" 
and,  precedeii  by  the  womaii,  !;e  oiico  more  tn- 
tered  the  small  Suok-room — when  mIic  began  ofli- 
ciou.sly  to  anange  wni  ng  materials. 


proved  that  his  sk  llfiil  eye  had  not  exaggerated 
the  cas2,  and  when  Dr.  <i.  arrived,  he  looked  u5 
grave  and  anxious  as  his  coaijutor. 

In  reply  to  Dr.  Vernon  he  answered  :  "  It  is 
impossible  to  say  at  onjo  what  is  the  extent  of 
injury — or  the  imminence  of  the  danger.  As  Col- 
onel Templeton  is  unable  to  give  direction.s,  you 


It  is   rati.er  d^irk  here,"  lie  observed;  and    had  better  do  all  that  is  requisite— and  be  pre- 
she,  e.iger  to  pay  him  respect,  opened  the  door  \  pared  lor  any  emergency." 

of  tiie  uext   room — i/iat    room — uud   wheeled   a  I      And  as  Dr.  Vernon  thought  the  mo-st  requisite 
writing-t:ible  iu  o  the  w.de  buy  step  was  to  .•summon   Mrs.   'I'empleton  and  Cou- 

•'Tii.iuk  you,  1  will  leave  the  note  here  •,"  and  I  stance,  he  immediately  rcqucstetl  his  wife  to  uii- 
he  proceeded  to  wme,  and  actmdly  continued  to  '  dertake  the  painful  ta.sk  of  bringing  them,  while 
do  BO  :ifier  she  had  left.     The  note  w.ks  very  con-  j  he  remaine  1  to  wa'ch  over  the  sutlercr. 
cise;  he  folded  it  carefully — lighted  a  taper,  and  j      A  fracturel  limb  was  at  once  dLscovcrcd  ;  but 
firmly  pressed  his  siguet-nng  on  the  w.ix.  i  it  was  feare<l  that  other  and  more  dangerous  in- 

*•  And  now,'  he  .said,  wiiile  liis  heart  beat  [  juries  had  bsen  received,  which  they  could  u  )t  yet 
loudly  an  1  painfully.  He  had  never  once  turned  ascertain  ;  for  ho  never  spoke,  but  deep  groans 
Lis  eyes  low.nd  the  pbice— but  he  knew  that  ir  ]  broke  forth  when  any  attempt  was  made  to  movo 
was  there!  He  s  epiie  1  forward,  and  w.is  con- J  him.  Before  the  next  morning,  however,  internal 
pas-ed   over    his 


6C10US  that  a  ciMii-e  pas-ea  over  ii;s  i.iee,  as 
slowly,  but.  w.th  a  tirm  h.iud,  he  removed  the 
velvet  foils. 

Yes— glorious  in  its  almost  girlish  beauty 
there  it  w  is — and  the  ant. que  ring  on  the  l.iper 
finger — and  the  fm,  look  !  it  is  the  same.  Aii  ! 
anu  that  smde,  not  .ihout  liie  mouth  oidy,  liut 
over  the  whole  oi  the  faultless  tace.  He  wrung 
his  h.iuds  m  agony  ;  he  pi  es.^ed  them  over  his 
eyes,  to  shutout  tne  leniembrance  td  the  injured 
origiual- still  the  sweet  smile  was  theic— he 
shed  scalding  testis,  and  it  smiled  on.  *'.My 
God!  my  GoJ .'"'  he  cried,  '•  she  is  dead,  and  my 
cruelty  killed  her! — wrelcii  !   luouster  thit  I 


hurt  was  discovered  :  and  the  joint  opinion  was, 
that  the  worst  rc.-^ult  was  to  be  apprehended.  .\a 
consciousness  returned,  so  did  sensibility,  so  did 
sutfering,  for  every  breath  seemed  to  be  drawn 
with  agony. 

Mrs  Vernon,  who,  during  her  rapid  journey, 
had  had  time  to  think  of  all  that  iiad  better  be 
don?,  ('.■■eided  upon  trying  to  secure  the  attcn  lanoa 
of  one  of  the  first  suigeons  of  tlu'  day.  This  she 
was  iiappily  enabled  to  do ;  sj  that,  before  she 
saw  Mrs.  Temideton.  .she  had  the  satisf  ictitn  of 
knowing  thnt  he  and  his  a.ssistant  were  already  on 
their  way  to  the  Priory. 

The  d  stress  of  Constance,  on  learn'ng  thu 
but  ihuu — thou  art  bitterly  avenged;"  and  dreadful  cause  of  Mr.s.  Verneus  visit,  was  at  first 
again  lie  gazed  at  it,  till  his  eyes  saw  nothing  for  overwhelming;  how  often  ha'lshe  and  her  mother 
the  tears  tnat,  bl  n  led  iht-m — an  I,  leveiMitly  i  talked  over  the  past,  and  s<jmetinies  ven'.ured  to 
closing  the  curtain,  he  bowei  h.s  head,  and  leit '  tpoculate  on  the  time,  when  some  of  its  bitter  of- 
the  TiMUi !  fects  having  passed  away,  the  .spirit  of  repentance 

The  servant  appeared  to  receive  his  message;  m=ght  alight  on  one  heart,  and  agan  p.-rmit  of 
but  the  Colonel  w.is  so  deeplv  plunge  1  in  thought  I  forgiveness  and  peace ;  and  when.onei-  more,  they 
that  she  d.d  not  hl;e  to  .-pe'.k;  and  slowly,  and  j  might  see  their  loved— their  beautiful  home,    llow 


with   a. 


:ult\ 


Ijis    horse,   he    lode 


away. 

ilis  mood  MfAi  so  striinge,  that  P.obin,  more 
than  ouee,  rode  by  his  s.de,  w.tiiout  being  rep- 
rimanded;  and    thus    they   proceeded    till    they 


were  they  now  summont-d  .'     Not  by  the  holy  spirit 
of  peace  and  love,  but  because  the  angel  of  death 
was  hover.ng  ovtr  it.  and  bjcauae  piin  racked  the 
body,  and  ev.l  passions  the  m  nd,  of  its  owner. 
Mrs.  Templeton.  though  pale  wh  le  listmng  to 


reaciiea  a  genie  sh.pe.  wli.eh  terminated  very  I  the  recital  of  this  f  jarful  accident,  was  c  ilm  and 
ni;ar  to  the  I'riory  t.rr.ice.  At  t..i.s  (oint.  Hobin  collected— CLipable of  making  all  thenecesiary  ar- 
eaw  nis  master  pre-s  his  ban  is  together,  and  rangcments  lor  their  iinmed. ate  d.  pirtnre.  How 
then  wddlv  to-s  iheui  above  i.is  hea-J,  wliile  a  '  could  it  Ijc  expected  that  she  should  fed  niitcra- 
cry  broke  irom  him  Tlie  bridle  fell  an  I  tou.hed  blc,  and  incapable  of  l.stening  to  re:  son  •'  For 
the  horse.  Which  started  aU'l  ^tumbled,  for  the  years  her  heart  h:id  been  cru>h.d—tran.pled  on— 
ground  was  slippery  tiom  a  Febru  iry  frost,  and  |  till  nothing  remained  for  the  cherished  iMil  cf  her 
the  C^loiul.  withi.ut  the  It-iusi  atciopt  to  save  I  youth  but  the  sentiments  of  humtuiity  which  would 
himself,  fell  heavily  on  the  haid  ground.  have  been  rouswl  for  almost  any  sullcrer  ;  and  not 

"Help!  help!'  shout,  d  the  gr<x*m.  at  i  lie  for  a  moment  did  she  hesitate  about  obeying  Dr. 
pitch  of  hiS  voce;  hapjulv  he  was  heard  by  two  '  Vernon  s  desire  for  her  presenee. 
men  Working  in  the  grounds.  "  .Mr.  (  urtis  !  .Mr.  |  Painful  as  it  wius  to  her,  under  circumstances 
Cuts!  l.tch  him  ai  once,  mount  my  horse!"  was 'so  shocking,  :o  make  even  a  mental  allusion  to 
th-;  .-ens  ble  onier  of  Kob.n,  to  one  of  them.  His  |  past  scenes,  she  felt  that  she  must  trust  hor  caiwe 
uiasler  lay  mo.ionlei's  '•  ^uiek  !  f.-i.  h  a  sofa,  a  !  to  Ccnstunce,  unles.s  repiils  -d  :  and  this  she  hardly 
niatiress  any  thing  we  en  lay  him  on;"  he]  expected;  her  jdaee  was  by  hr  father's  be<Lside, 
stooped  to  move  h.ni,  a  groan  gave  a  sign  of  life,    and  she  wept  to  think  that  a  pn 


ihibiti 


die  did 


pan  of  his  dress  was  loo.-ened,  and  by  the  time  not  e.vpect  was  almost  certain  to  await  lier  mother, 
they  had  gently  and  carefully  raised  him,  Mr.  I  When  they  arrived  they  were  met  by  Da^-^.n. 
-    -^  'who  received  them  with  the  first  cheerful  look  which 


Curtis  came. 


182 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


had  shone  on  her  kind  face  since  the  Colonel  was 
brought  in.  The  medical  men,  after  an  examina- 
tion, were  in  consultation;  after  which  the  Lon- 
don surgeon  saw  Dr.  Vernon,  and  candidly  admit- 
ted that,  unless  most  unexpected  .succe:<d  attended 
the  measures  agreed  on,  there  was  no  hope.  All  had 
been  skillfully  done,  but  the  injuries  were  of  a 
na.ure  that  soL'mjd  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
remedy  ;  a  few  days,  even  less,  might  decide  the 
case.  The  patient  was  now  dozing,  and  must  not 
be  disturbed. 

"  Oh,  Dawson  !  has  papa  asked  for  me  ?"  in- 
quired the  weeping  Constance. 

"  Till  witliin  the  last  few  hours,  my  poor  master 
has  been  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  dreadful 
pain,"  was  the  reply,  for  she  could  not  bear  to 
Bay  that  he  had  not. 

"  Do  the  doctors  give  hope  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Tem- 
•pleton. 

"  I  fear  not,"  she  answered  ;  and  then  proceed- 
ed to  tell,  as  well  as  she  could,  how  the  accident 
happened. 

And  in  the  room  of  suffering,  what  was  there 
going  on .'  Had  sleep  shed  its  balmy  influence 
there .'  Alas,  no  !  The  eyes  were  closed  and  all 
was  still  and  motionless  :  but  who  may  tell  the 
pangs  which  memory  and  remorse  were  inflicting  : 
memory,  that  in  rapid  succession  brought  back 
the  scenes  of  his  past  life ! — remorse,  that  remind- 
ed him  of  his  evil  deeds  !  How  they  rise  and  dis- 
appear, these  phantoms  of  his  brain! 

Where  is  she.  the  fond,  trusting  girl  who  had 
loved  him,  and  died  because  she  had.'  In  the 
grave,  to  which,  in  her  young  beauty,  his  treach- 
ery had  consigned  her  !  And  his  gentle  wife,  and 
hor  two  innocent  girls.'  Gone,  gone! — and  he 
thought  of  the  last,  whom  his  harshness  had  driv- 
en forth — should  he  no  more  see  that  graceful 
figure  by  his  side.' — never  again  feel  her  innocent 
kiss  on  his  burning  brow  .'  But,  as  he  tried  to 
turn  and  shake  off"  the  waking  nightmare  which 
had  tortured  him,  his  feverish  hand  was  gently 
pressed  by  the  cool,  soft  touch  he  so  well  remem- 
bered. 

•'  Dear  papa,"  said  a  gentle  voice ;  and  the  eyes 
he  had  so  often  dreamed  of  were  bent  afi'ection- 
ately  on  him,  as  he  lot)ked  up  with  astonishment. 

A  faint  smile,  a  feeble  return  of  her  caressing 
pressure,  and  Constance  knew  that  she  was  wel- 
come. 

••  Now  God  be  praised  for  this  mercy  !"  was  her 
silent  ejaculation ;  and  tenderly  removing  the 
hair  from  his  hot,  throbbing  foi-ohead,  once  more 
ho  felt  her  kiss  of  love;  an!  as  he  looked  at  her,  ' 
she  scmed  an  angel  sent  to  chase  away  the  bu.sy  1 
demons  who  had  lately  allowe  I  him  neither  rest 
cor  peace ;  for,  again  trying  to  press  her  hand, 
ho  fell  asleep  — a  sleep  which  lasted  nearly  two 
hours,  and  which  was  calm  and  refreshing. 

An  1  she  sat  by  his  side,  for  the  first  time  real- 
izing all  that  had  happened,  and  waiting  with 
trembling  eagerness  for  the  slight  signal  which 
fihould  justify  her  in  sending  for  her  mother,  with- 
out the  terrible  danger  of  her  presence  being  for- 
bidden. 

And  still  Constance  remained  in  deep  and  solemn 
thought,  scarcely  moving,  except  to  raise  a  warn- 
ing hand  when  any  one  ai)proaclied  tlie  door,  till 
her  father  awoke  refreslied,  but  very  weak. 
"  Curtis,"  was  all  he  could  say,  and  to  him  she 


j  resigned  her  plase,  only  again  to  resume  it  when 
the  surgeon  had  helped  to  change  the  piitient's 
j  position.  ••  The  Colonel  will  be  easier  now,"  he 
I  said  ;  but  she  remarked  that  his  countenance  was 
I  very  grave.  And  thus  in  silence  and  suffering 
[  passed  another  hour,  when  again  Mr.  Curtis  ap- 
peared, to  give  him  the  refreshment  of  change  of 
2)osition  and  some  restorative;  he  then  adminis- 
tered an  opiate,  and  sent  Constance  to  take  the 
rest  slie  so  greatly  neaded. 

'•  Oh,  mamma  !"  she  said,  bursting  into  an 
hysterical  fit  of  weeping,  for  she  was  worn  out 
with  anxiety  and  fatigue  ;  "  is  there  do  hope  .'" 

"  Constance,"  said  Doctor  Veruou,  for  Mrs. 
Templeton  could  not  speak  ;  "  i  fear  tliere  is 
none— but  will  he  see  me,  will  he  see  us  .'" 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied,  observing  that  her 
mother  looked  eagerly  up ;  "  but  he  seems  much 
pleased  to  fiud  me  here  " 

"  Now  try  and  take  something,"  said  Mrs.  Ver- 
non, '•  and  then  lie  down  ;"  wliich  she  did,  ami 
slept — till  her  mother  roused  her,  saying  her 
fatlier  had  asked  for  her. 

"  Life  is  fast  ebbing,  but  pain  is  ceasing,"  said 
Mr.  Curtis  to  the  Doctor;  "God  grant  that  he 
may  yet  wish  to  see  you  and  Mrs.  Templeton. 
He  rambles,  and  asks  for  persons  whom  I  never 
heard  of" 

When  Constance  again  entered  the  room,  her 
father  put  out  his  hand.  "Dr.  Vernon  is  liere, 
dear  papa,"  she  said ;  "  would  you  like  to  see 
him  .'" 

"  No.  you — only  you,"  taking  her  hand  as  if  to 
secure  her. 

"  The  portfolio  I"  he  said  ;  and  seeing  the  puz- 
zled expression  of  her  face,  he  added,  •'  Diwsun." 

Slio  was  summoned — '•  The  portfolio" — and  the 
exertion  made  him  faint. 

"  What  does  papa  mean  .'"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  your  portfolio,  Miss  Templeton, 
with  all  those  portraits — here  it  is;"  and  as  he 
revived,  his  looks  lighted  uj)  for  a  moment,  vhen 
tliey  laid  it  on  tlie  bed.  He  glanced  at  Constance, 
but  seemed  too  feeble  to  say  more,  and  lioping  it 
was  her  mother's  likeness  he  wanted,  she  sought 
for  it — and  came  to  tlie  one  surrounded  by  so 
many  cherub  faces.  He  laid  hi.s  finger  on  ilieone 
that  seemed  now  to  mingle  with  every  iliought, 
and  a  faint  "more!"  was  heard.  At  last  her 
spirited  outline  of  the  full-sized  head  appeared — 
he  put  out  liis  hand  to  take  it. 

Constance  gave  it  him;  he  looked  at  her  with 
an  expression  that  brought  tears  into  her  eyes, 
and  made  Dawson  sob  aloud  ;  but  he  could  not 
articulate;  she  tried  to  read  wliat  that  exiraor- 
dinary  expression  meant — but  still  keeping  the 
paper,  he  lool^ed  from  one  to  the  otlier — so  anx- 
ious, so  eager,  so  piteous  was  tlie  look,  that  Con- 
stance felt  faint;  at  last  he  riveted  his  eyes  on 
the  paper,  and  fre.-h  feelings  seemed  to  arise  in 
his  heart;  for  the  gaze,  though  intent,  was  soft, 
tender,  loving,  and  a  calm  stole  over  the  hitcly 
agonized  countenance. 

•'  Fetch  mamma,  quick,"  whispered  Constance ; 
in  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Templeiou  appeared  sit  die 
door  ;  but  without  removing  his  eyes,  and  n.aking 
a  powerful  but  unav.iiling  elfort  to  speak,  he  laid 
his  hand  gently  on  the  smiling  face,  and  with  a 
deep  sob  expired  !  : 

Mrs.  Templeton  advanced,  and  gazing  mourn- 


THE   WIFE'S  TRIALS. 


183 


fully  on  the  inanimate  form  of  her  husband, 
raist'd  the  weeping  Ci>nstauce,  who  had  sunk  on 
her  kuees — and  consigning  hei'  to  Dawson's  care, 
closed  the  door  after  them,  and  remained  for 
some  time  alone  with  the  dead  ! 

When  slie  descended,  traces  of  deep  feeling 
were  on  her  face.  "  1  shall  not  leave  this  place," 
she  said  to  Doctor  Vernon;  and  requesting  him 
to  settle  with  Ashley,  who  was  hourly  expected, 
all  that  was  proper,  again  Mrs.  Templeton  pre- 
pared to  sleep  under  that  roof  from  which  vio- 
lence and  terror  had  once  driven  her.  The  voice 
which  had  sent  her  forth  was  forever  silent — the 
heart  which  had  harbored  such  ungovernable 
passions  had  ceased  to  beat — he  had  gone  from  : 
this  World— let  him  be  remembered  by  those  who 
remain,  with  sorrow,  pity,  and  forgiveness.  j 

And  soon  the  news  spreads  that  the  master  of  1 
the  i'riory  is  numbered  with  the  dead;  and  soon  ] 
the  funeral  procession  tells  that  be  is  being  car-  j 
ried  to  his  last  earthly  resting-place  ;  aslus  to 
ashes !  dust  to  dust ;  and  is  this  the  end  of  all 
things  .'     On  earth,  it  is  the  end. 

Reginald  was  far  away  ;  Lord  Grantham  de- 
clined to  attend  ;  but  Mr.  Morton  and  Victor  was 
there — some  said,  as  their  representatives,  for  I 
they  took  precedence  of  Ashley. 

Constance  was  re.-illy  ill.  Poor  girl !  how  she  | 
wept !  how  dreadful,  how  stunning  seemed  the  | 
events  of  the  last  fortnight !  Her  father  suddenly  j 
summoned  away  in  so  dreadful  a  manner,  appa- 
rently to  the  last  implacable,  unforgiving  to  tliose  | 
she  best  loved;  but  her  mother  should  never 
know  this — she  came,  believing  that  her  husband  i 
bad  sent  for  her;  and  Const.ince  determined  not  | 
to  deprive  her  of  the  consolation  this  belief  gave 
her. 


CHAPTER,   LXXVIII. 


"  O !  my  gentle  brother, 
Have  we  thus  lu.  I'v"  Ci/>nlcline. 

The  following  day  came,  ushered  in  with  all 
the  glory  of  the  infant  spring.  The  clear  atmos-  | 
phere,  the  sparkling  stream,  the  bright  sunsliine, 
and  joyous  songs  of  the  birds  seemed  painfully  j 
out  ot  keeping  with  the  sorrow  which  lay  so 
heavily  at  her  young  heart — for  Coustunce  had 
once  loved  her  taiher  dearly. 

She  and  her  mother  were  taking  their  break-  ' 
fist  in  their  room,  which  Dawson's  kind  and 
prompt  attention  had  made  so  comfortable,  when 
the  sound  of  wheels  disturbed  them. 

"  .Mr.  Sloper,  of  course,  has  every  thing  provi- 
ded for  him  .-"  asked  .Mrs.  Templeton. 

"  Certainly,  madam,  and  1  bring  a  message 
from  him,  appointing  twelve,  aa  arranged  between 
him  and  the  Doctor  yisterday,  for  an  interview." 

"We  will  be  punctual,"  said  her  mistress; 
"but  who  was  that  who  arrived  so  early  '" 

"  A  stranger,  wlio  li.is  ahked  for  Mr.  Slnper." 

Again  wheels  ;  but  this  time,  that  was  not  the  , 
only  Sound;  thuugh  happily  Mrs   Templeton  and 
her  dauirhter,  who  had  just  gone  to  the  sitting- 
room  of  the  latter,  heard  nothing  of  it. 

Perhaps  the  first  in  the  village  who  knew  of  the 


Colonel's  death  was  Mrs.  Captain  Mordaunt ;  but 
it  would  be  offensive  to  relate  all  that  passed  be- 
tween her  and  her  man-confidant  when  the  con- 
sequence of  this  was  discussed.  Hardly  could 
the  female  hatefulness  refrain  from,  at  (Hice,  pro- 
claiming her  rights;  but  her  less  interested 
associate  persuaded  her  that  this  would  be  but  a 
needless  provoking  of  popular  indignation,  of 
which,  though  she  professed  to  despise  it,  she  was 
not  wholly  regardless. 

But  the  morning  after  the  funeral  her  impa- 
tience would  brook  no  further  delay.  Without 
the  Womanly  decency  of  mourning,  even  in  garb, 
for  him  by  whose  will  she  inherited  so  rich  a  pos- 
session, she  drove  in  lull-blown  pride  and  arro- 
gance to  the  grand  entrance.  Here  she  was  met 
by  the  butler,  and  one  who  was  an  entire  stranger 
to  her.— the  gentleman  who  had  just  preceded 
her. 

Without  announcing  herself,  she  attempted  to 
pass  at  once  into  the  house ;  but  the  former  civilly, 
though  ett'ectually,  barred  the  p.issago. 

"  Make  way !'  she  said,  imperiously. 

"  I  must  first  know  for  whom,"  was  his  quiet  re- 
mark, "  as  none  but  the  friends  of  the  family  can 
bo  admitted." 

"  Fellow !"  she  said,  "  make  way  for  the  lawful 
possessor  of  the  place." 

"That  I  shall  readily  do,"  replied  he;  "but 
till  then,  I  have  strict  orders  to  prevent  all  in- 
trusion." 

"  You  are  pleased  to  bo  insolent,  but  you  will 
change  your  tune  and  tone  too,  when  you  know 
what  I  bring  with  me.  Stranger  as  you  think  me, 
1  will  soon  make  all  here  feel  who  is  mistress : 
once  more,  make  way,  and  let  me  pass  into  my  own 
house !" 

At  these  words,  the  butler,  who  had  effectually 
aided  the  strangers  evident  intention,  to  keep 
Mrs.  Captain  from  obtaining  an  enirance,  started. 
and  changed  color,  for  her  words  fearfully  corrob- 
orated a  rumor  which  lie  had  heard  in  more  than 
one  quarter,  and  she,  attempting  to  take  advan- 
tage of  his  surprise,  quickly  moved  toward  tho 
entrance ;  when  Mr.  Morton,  in  deep  mourning, 
and  looking  pale  and  ill,  appeared  from  the  inner 
hall. 

"  What  is  all  this  unseemly  altercation .'"  he  in  ■ 
quired,  addressing  the  stranger. 

"  Only  sir,"  he  replied,  ••  that  this  woman  who,  I 
think,  must  be  mad,  wants  to  effect  a  violent  en- 
try, and  raves  about  her  rights." 

"An  insolent  Ja;;k-in-ottice !  what  do  you 
mean  : '  she  began. 

".S.lence!"  said  the  calm,  resolute  voice  of  Mr. 
Morton  ;  "  what  do  you  mean  by  this  conduct .' 
what  do  you  want  at  this  house,  to  which  your 
plots  and  iniquity  have  already  brought  soriow 
enough.  Woman,"  he  said,  sternly,  '•  go  back, 
leave  this  place  at  once,  and  forever,  you  and  your 
infamous  partner." 

But  though  she  quailed  at  first,  her  dauntless 
character  did  not  disj  o.se  her  so  readily  to  fly  tho 
field;  backed  as  she  was  ly  that  imp  irtant  docu- 
ment, a  copy  of  which  she  had  with  licr. 

"And  who  are  you,  to  dict.ito  to  mo.'"  she 
asked  ;  •'  go  away,  indee  1 !  this  pLice  is  m  no,  and 
licre  1  slay — remove  me  who  d.ires.  \\  liy,  long 
ago,  it  was  given  to  me  ;  and  1  have  proofs,  to  con- 
vince all  who  venture  to  dispute  it.    Go  uwayl 


184 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


never!  it  is  mine— and  let  mc  sec  wLo  will  dare 
to  contest  it  vrAh  uie. ' 

"  Look  at  rue  then.  I  dipputo  it ;  look  nt  me,  and 
remember  the  scone  uliich  occurred  ;hat  night  at 
Paris,  when  one  of  your  dupes  lost,  at  a  thiow,  the 
epl  jndid  ncome  of  one  yeai-,  and  -when  you  were  the 
decoy;  yes,  look  at  me— bui  bstcn  aiio — 1  know 
your  whole  career—  the  whole  infamy  of  it ; 
wretched  woman  !  if  I  can  not  make  you  feci  for 
the  sorrows  of  those  you  have  so  foully  wronged, 
I  will  at  L-ast  prevent  the  intrusion  of  your  hate- 
ful presence  en  ihcm.  Listtn  to  me,  wh.le  1  tell 
you  that  he  whom  you  lured  on  to  ru  n  has 
avenged  both  them  and  himsjlf.  If,  as  you  say, 
you  have  a  paper  which  gives  you  a  claim  here,  1 
tell  you  it  js  of  no  effect — there  Avas  no  power  to 
alienate,"  —  she  turned  pale— "  I  repeat,  no 
power  to  alienate." 

'•I  do  not  believe  it;  tut  she  evidently  spoke 
according  to  her  wish,  not  her  conviction,  for  her 
•whole  manner  was  chang&l ;  "  for  the  present 
enjoy  j-our  victory ;  my  turn  will  come  next ;" 
and  With  these  words  she  entered  her  chaise,  the 
dhver  having  been  a  hearer  of  the  whole,  as  well 
as  Mr.  Sloper,  who  had  been  attracted  by  the 
loud  altercation,  and  who  evidently  viewed  the 
conduct  of  Jlr.  .Morton  with  aston  shment. 

"  Had  you  any  idea  of  this  claim  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Morton. 

«'  None  whatever ;  on  the  contrary,  I  have  in 
my  possess.on  a  document  which  at  once  invali- 
dates it,  unless"— and  he  s;opp2d,  as  if  sa-uck 
■with  a  ncjw  thought — "  but  all  this  had  better  be 
deferred  till  we  assemble  for  business." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Morton :  "  but  I  have 
come  for  the  express  purpose  of  se.3ing  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton  and  her  daughter  ;"  and  send.ng  up  a  few 
lines,  requesting  an  )nterview,  thcsjrvanc  brought 
an  aiTirmitivj,  and  he  remained  with  them  till 
they  were  told  Dr.  Vernon  and  Ashley  had  ar- 
rived. ; 
The  latter  met  them  on  their  entrance,  and  ' 
seated  himself  between  the  inother  and  daughter ; 
when  Mr.  iSloper  proceeded  to  unfold  what  pur- 
ported to  hi  the  last  will  of  Lionel  Tcmple-cn,  by 
which,  in  very  f>w  words,  h^  bequeathed  all  the 
law  permitted  him  to  bequeath,  to  his  dear  daugh- 
ter (Jonstance  Franciska.  , 

He  ihcn  follel  the  brief  do3umeat— and  sat 
without  rais'ng  his  eyes,  ^ir  there  was  tha  neg- 
lected, forgotten  widow  present.  At  length,  he  j 
added,  •'  1  can  not  pinu.t  this  occasion  to  pass  , 
without  stating  that  I  ventur.Kl  to  remonstrate 
against  tliis  largj  boqueit.  knowing  well  that 
Miss  Templeton  would  thank  me  /or  having  done 

BO." 

"  S'ac  does,"  said  Ashley  ;  nnd  Constance  raised 
her  te.irful  eyes  to  him  with  an  expression  of 
grateful  love. 

"  I  beheve,"  said  Mr.  iMorton,  who  alone  pre- 
seJTfod  his  sdf-posscssion,  "  that  we  are  all  sure 
of  your  honorable  feelings— and  it  is  but  proper 
you  should  be  informed  that  tlie  estate  goes,  by 
entail,  to  the  hci--at-law.  The  late  (  olonel  Tem- 
pleton ha  1  a  son  by  a  first  marriage,  and  that  son 
lives— my  nephew,  the  son  of  my  half-sister,  Inez 
Dormer — Victor  Templeton,  known  as  Victor  Mor- 
ton !" 

"  Good  heavens !  and  my  lat«  client  then — " 

"  lias  known  of  the  existence  of  this  son  for 


many  years— Avh en  I  first  interposed  to  prevent 
the  was.e  and  ruin  of  the  pi'cpjr.y  ;  bi,t  he  never 
knew  who  and  where  the  boy  was — reasuus,  which 
I  hope  all  will  thmk  justily  my  couduot,  having 
decided  mo  to  preserve  this  secret. 

'•  Loth  the  ladies  are  aware  of  the  claim  I  make 
— my  friend  Dr.  Vernon  was  partly  iulormo\l  be- 
fore his  daughter  s  engagement ;  but  Victor  and 
Mr.  Ashley  learned  the  wUole  only  two  days  ago — 
as  Mr.  Templeton  would,  of  course,  des.re  to  take 
his  place  at  ihe  funeral." 

Asnley,  leaving  his  father  with  the  other  gen- 
tlemen, led  away  Mrs.  Templeton  and  Constance 
to  their  rooms  ;  and  whisper.ug  to  the  latter, "  Vic- 
tor," disappeared  to  fetch  him. 

Quite  overcome  with  emotion,  he  folded  them 
alternately  to  his  heart — wh.le  the  endear. ng 
words,  "  Mother  !  sister !"  accompanied  hiS  affec- 
tionate kiss. 

'•  Dear  Victor,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  "  how 
wonderlul  all  this  seems,  and  how  gracious  is  that 
Providence  who  brings  as  master  and  owner  of 
our  former  home  one  we  so  truly  love  and  re- 
spect !" 

"  iSay  not  former  home,  dear  mother !  dear  sis- 
ter !— let  it  be  our  home,  our  common  home,  wdien 
we  all  have  others.  Helens  home— Ueg.nald's 
home  — Ashk-y  s  home — it  is  quite  large  enough, 
but  still  not  so  large  as  my  heart,  where  long,  very 
long,  you  have  all  dwelt -even  belore  I  knew  I 
hau  a  claim  on  your  love  in  return.  I  have  never 
known  a  real  mother,  though  I  have  never  want- 
ed a  mother  s  care  and  affection— and  now  1  havo 
such  wealth  of  relatives,  as,  1  believe,  none  ever 
had  belore." 

Caiol.ne  was  there  to  remain,  if  agreeable;  and 
who  can  doubt  the  reply?  and  m  the  evening, 
wh.le  Mr.  Morton,  at  the  llectory,  was  tcll.ng  his 
strange  tale,  Victor  was  relataig  much  to  the 
same  effect  at  the  Priory,  to  Ashley  and  the  three 
ladies. 

"  An  Ashley,"  at  last.  Miss  Vernon,"  said  Mrs. 
Dawson, her  whole  frame  trembhng  with  jleasur- 
able  emotion,  lor  Caroline,  who  coul  1  more  calmly 
than  Constance  inlorm  her  of  the  e.»:tiaLrdinary 
discovery,  had  been  giv.ng  her  an  ou-hue  of  tho 
facts.  '•  An  Ashley,  she  repea.ed,  "  once  more 
to  reign  over  us,  lor  you  know,  Mi.ss,  that  he  is  to 
take  tiie  name — and,  to  make  the  blcss-ng  moro 
secure,  ouh  sweet  Miss  Constance  marries  your 
noble  brother — Mr.  Ashley  Vernon,  ah  !  1  ouco 
feared  there  was  no  hope  of  this— but  God  bo 
praised  for  all  his  mercies  !  Bright  and  happy 
aays  wiil  now  come  again  to  this  clear  old  place  ; 
buD  oh !  Miss  Vernon,  it  is  through  great  trials 
and  sorrows  that  joy  returns. ' 
"  li-  is  often  thus, '  said  Caroline. 


"  Amen  !"  said  the  kind  old  lady  ;  "  and  may 
His  peace  and  love  henceforth  dwell  among  us." 


THE   \YIFE'S   TRIALS. 


189 


CHAPTER   LXXIX. 

"  Where  sh»ll  ihi-  traitor  rest, 

Uf,  ilip  (it'i-riviT. 
Willi  oiiiild  Aiii  iUHiilcn'3  breast, 

Uuiii,  i.iid  l.<  V.'  iK-r'/ 
Sl.aiii.- ,111.1  .li.|i..n..rs;t 

H>  InsL'r.iv.t-Mr; 
B..8  ii.i:,  .^liHll  huUowi!,- 

Mf»iT,  <itj!  uivir:"  Maiinion, 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  astonislimcnt  of  the 
villagers,  except  their  incredulity,  when  the  won- 
drous tale  was  circulate*!  among  tlioin.  That  Mr. 
Morton  s  s^on,  as  they  still  persisted  in  calling  Vic- 
tor, should  be  the  heir  of  8eabrooke,  was  ridicu- 
lous; that  the  young  hermit  could  be  the  late 
Colonels  son,  was  impossible.  Nevertheless,  there 
lie  was  permitted  to  rule — there  he  was  received, 
and  there  acknowledged  as  ma^ster. 

One  among  them  there  was  who  would  gladly, 
most  gladly  have  believed  in  the  illegality  of  his 
chum — wlio  would  abuost  have  pawne*.!  her  soul 
to  have  effected  his  cUsmissal ;  one  who  stormed, 
and  ravetl,  and  threatened — but  in  vain ;  one,  who, 
•with  her  confederate,  was  met  and  defeated  at 
every  move. 

So  monstrous  seemed  the  idea,  that  ever  Colonel 
Templelou  cuuld  have  signed  away  this  magnifi- 
cent property  for  the  equivalent  said  to  have  been 
given  in  exchange,  that  many,  and  e?p»-ially  Mr. 
bloper,  believed  the  deed  a  torgery  ;  others,  that 
it  had  been  executed  after  dinner,  when  the  Colo- 
nel was  not  sober ;  and  these  opinions  both  re- 
ceived s:rength  from  the  fact,  that  it  had  been 
prepared  and  executed  by  a  man  who  was  avoided 
by  every  respectable  lawyer  as  a  disgrace  to  the 
profession. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Doctor  Ver- 
non to  Mr.  Morton,  when  they  were  assembled  in 
the  Rectory  drawing- i"oom,  "  give  us  the  account 
you  promised." 

It  wa.s  the  old  story  of  the  ungrateful  guest — 
the  old  story  of  love,  marriage,  and  desertion, 
ending  in  the  early  death  of  the  gcn:le  victim. 
Frequently,  during  the  recital  of  the  villainy  by 
which  a  belovc^l  s.ster  had  been  remorselessly  de- 
fitroyel,  Mr.  Morton"s  indignation  broke  forth— 
checked  ag.ain  by  his  deep  emotion  w.. en  detailing 
hfr  uncouiphuning  grief.  "  At  last,  Inez  gave 
liirth  to  a  boy;  ihe  event  failed  to  rouso  her, 
though  she  could  scarcely  bear  to  lose  sight  of  it ; 
but  why  linger  on  all  this,  when  the  end  is  at 
hand  ?  Month  by  month— week  by  week  she  fad- 
id,  and  it  was  evident  to  her  poor  mother  and 
myself,  that  our  beautiful  darling— she  who  had 
been  to  us  as  an  angel  on  earth — was  soon  to  bo 
taken  from  us,  to  be  an  angel  in  heaven. 

" '  Carlos — mother,'  she  said,  a  few  weeks  before 
she  left  us  ;  '1  am  his  wife— Victor  is  his  lawful 
cliild — defend  my  memory,  defend  the  rights  of 
my  boy.  (Jh  !  Lionel,  it  is  very  cruel  of  tlice  to 
have  lor.s.akun  us  thus;  1  who  loved  thee  so  truly, so 
trustingly.  IJro'her  C'arlos,  promise  me  solemnly 
to  protect  tny  child — let  him  be  yours — only  yours 
— take  liim  now  in  your  arms— promise  to  bring 
Irira  up  as  your  son — receive  him  as  my  last,  my 
dying  gift— promise  to  keep  and  love  liim.'  Nee<l 
1  say,  1  swore  to  cherish  the  boy  as  my  own  lite.' 
and  wlicn  he  was  a  year  old,  by  his  mother  s  dying 
bed,  1  npcaiel  this  oath.  And,  oh  !  Inez,  wilncsa 
Low  well  I  have  kept  it." 


"  This  is  too  much,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Doc- 
tor Vernon,  rising,  and  pacing  backward  an  1  lor- 
ward,  in  his  excitement ;  '•  some  otlier  time.' 

'•  None  so  good  as  the  pre.scnt,"  rcphetl  Mr. 
Morton,  struggling  against  his  deep  emotion  ; 
"  permit  me  toproceed.  After  the  death  of  this 
cherished  sister,  this  idolized  daughter,  lu-r  moth- 
er lost  all  motive  to  exertitn;  her  little  grand- 
son alone  aroused  her  from  the  deep  melancholy 
to  which  she  yielded.  She  reproached  herself  as 
the  cause  of  all  our  misfortunes;  and  when  sho 
found  that  her  imprudent  confidence  during  my 
absence,  had  so  injured  (,ur  picperty  as  to  make 
it  necessary  that  1  slioul  1  almost  begin  life  anew, 
slie  would  not  be  comforted— but  endured  rather 
than  enjoyed  life.  Our  property  at  Seville  ami 
Constnntina  was  sold.     I  took  a  small  but  com- 

j  fortable  house  near  Seville  for  her,  Vic:or,  and 
our  good  Dolores,  and  then,  in  earnest,  set  about 
retrieving  our  affairs,  though  nmid  nil  this  my 
inquiries  were  not  suspended  as  regarded  the  fefl 
destroyer  of  our  peace.  But  with  the  uncertain 
information  I  had,  this  was  not  ea.^y  ;  .•sometimes 

I  I  iancie  I  the  name  had  been  assumed — then  s<  mo 

j  trace  would  appear  to  contradict  this  terrible  snr- 
m  S3.  I  always  had  an  impression,  that  in  Kng- 
land  only  would  my  researches  be  sue -cssful ;  but 
business  so  claimed  my  attention,  that  the  time 
ci.uld  not  be  spared.  Not  to  be  prolix,  three 
years  after  the  death  of  Inez  her  mother  died. 
Some  time  after  this,  having  been  eminently  buc- 

:  cessful  in  my  mercantile  tr.insactions,  1  married 
an  English  lady,  with  whose  family  I  had  become 
acquainted  at  .NLadeira.  She  was  an  heiress,  and 
according   to  agreement,   I   took   her  name;  and 

I  the  first  visit  1  paid  to  England  since  my  boy- 

'  hood  was  not  more  for  the  purpose  of  see  ng  after 
her  property,  than  to  state  the  olject  I  had  so 
much  at  heart  to  an  eminent  legal  authority,  and 

I  through  whom,  after  many  delays  an  1  dis;ipp<iint- 
nients,  I  tracetl  my  sisters  destroyer.  Every 
thing  corresponded — Lionel  Teniploton,  with  the 
EngiL--h  army,  dates — all  convinced  me  we  were 
right ;  and  wiien  we  came  to  follow  him  through 
the  details  of  private  life,  there  al.-o,  in  his  prof- 
ligacy and  extravaganee,  was  corrolx)rativo  evi- 
dence." 

"  I  must  interrupt  you,"  said  Mrs.  Vernon. 
«'my  intense  interest  will  not  longer  let  me  bo 
silent;  how  does  his  marriage  with  my  dear 
friend  stand  with  reference  to  his  first  wife's 
death  ?" 

"  Happily  for  the  present  Mrs,  Templeton, 
they  were  not  married  till  nearly  a  year  after 
my  poor  Inez  died;  he  is  thus  .saved  the  commis- 
sion of  a  crowning  piece  of  injustice,  while  thoso 
victims  of  his  late  ruffianly  v.oknce  are  ,save<l 
from  the  terrible  consequences.  The  knowledge 
of  this  fact  has  made  my  duty  more  easy  of  per- 
formance; for  it  would  greatly  have  increa.scd 
my  difficulties  had  1  constan'ly  had  the  feeling 
that,  in  supporting  and  ( nforc  ng  the  rights  of 
one,  I  neces.-4arily  inllicled  sorrow  .-in  1  ignominy 
on  three  innocent  and  helple.ss  beings. 

"  After  his  second  marriage,  we  traced  his 
career  abroad — Jind  the  infamy  of  that  mnn'.s 
conduct  almost  pa.'J.ses  belief.  We  tln-n  f<iund 
him  the  poK.ses.sor  of  a  .'splendid  pro|eriy.  with  ii 
restricting  cUuse  which,  at  one  •,  put  liini  in  oiir 
power.     He  was,  in  fact,  only  trustee  to  this  fiuo 


THE   WIFE'S   TRIALS. 


estate,  and  having  ascertained  this,  it  was  no  less 
my  duty  than  ray  pleasure  to  watch  his  proceed- 
ings on  behiilf  of  his  son.     But  this,  at  first,  1 
was  compelled  to  do  by  proxy.    My  wifes  health,  j 
always  delicate,  began  to  show  symptoms  of  that 
latal  disease  by  whose  ravages  she  had  been  left 
the   last  of  her   race— my   valued   friend,    Miss 
Newman,  being  her  elder  and  half  sister ;    and  I 
then  began  our  wanderings  in  quest  of  tbe  great 
blessing— health— to  Italy,  Greece,  and,  inally,  ; 
Madeira,  where  she  sleeps  among  so  many  of  her  , 
kindred  who  had  precetled  her  on  this  final  jour-  | 
ney.     As,  for  many  years,  1  had  no  means  of  as-  | 
certaining  that  Victor's  position  in  life  would  be 
any  thing  beyoud  what  my  means  would  place 
him  in,  his  education  and  pursuits  had  fitted  him 
for  the  future  merchant,  nor  were  my  plans  much 
altered  when  I  found  that,  ultimately,  he  had  a 
noble  inheritance  secured  to  him.     I  was  quite 
sure  that,  by  instilling  into  his  mind  principles 
of  honor  and  truth,  and  a  high  sense  of  his  re- 
sponsibility, in  any  condition  of  life  to  Avhich  he 
might  be  called,  I  was  qualifying  him  for  the  per- 
formance of  the  duties   which  would  devolve  on 
Lim'. 

'•  For  many  yeai's  my  reports  from  Seabrooke 
were  sucli  as  gave  me  no  pretext  for  interfering. 
But  as  I  had  made  arrangements  for  residing  in 
England,  I  resolved  myself  to  visit  a  place  which 
circumstances  ma/le  so  interesting  tome ;  and  after 
several  vain  attempts  to  find  a  suitable  residence, 
1  made  the  arrangement  with  Johnson  which  led 
to  my  taking  the  Hermitage.  It  was  singular 
that  my  coming  was  attended  with  events  which 
at  once  brought  mo  into  collision  with  tlie  man 
whom  I  had  such  bitter  cause  to  hate ;  and  need- 
less would  it  be  for  me  to  dilate  on  all  the  strug- 
gles I  had,  to  discipline  myself  as  never  to  permit 
my  just  indignation  to  betray  me.  The  very  idea 
of  seeing  the  wretch  who  had  so  remorselessly 
sent  to  an  early  grave  my  beloved  Inez  made 
every  nerve  quiver,  and  sent  the  blood  rushing 
through  my  veins  as  if  it  would  burst  them— I, 
who  felt  that  I  could,  with  pleasure,  have  felled 
him  to  the  earth,  and  then  have  spurned  him, 
sliould  now  be  oblige!  to  meet  him  Avith  an  ap- 
pearance of  calmness ;  yet  it  must  be  done,  or  I 
had  better  keep  away — for  as  to  risking  a  dis- 
covery, tlie  bare  thoi^ght  distressed  me  beyond 
measure  ;  for  if  he  once  learned  that  Victor  was 
his  son,  I  should  have  no  longer  power  to  retain 
him— besides,  there  was  my  solemn  promise. 
Shortly  after  my  arrival,  he  cut  down  a  splendid 
plantation  ;  this  I  was  advised  to  permit,  in  order 
to  justify  a  tlireat;  it  was  sent  — and  with  it 
were  inclosed  a  copy  of  tlie  certificates  of  his  first 
marriage— infiriuation  of  the  birth  of  a  boy,  and 
threats  of  exposure  if  he  continued  to  trespass 
on  the  rights  of  that  son;  but  nothing  further 
was  added — not  even  that  Inez  was  dead. 

"  Tlie  eft'ect  of  thi^  was  to  send  him  to  London, 
doubtless  to  consult  some  la^vycr,  as  preparations 
for  more  cutting  suddenly  ceasod ;  and  so  much 
importance  did  he  seem  to  attach  to  the  notice, 
that,  the  next  year,  lie  went  himself  to  the  scene 
of  his  diabolical  treachery— for,  singular  enough, 
1  was  at  Constantina  at  the  very  time  he  appear- 
ed there.  But  1  imagined  he  learned  little  be- 
yond the  death  of  Inez  and  the  birth  of  the  child. 
Of  late,  I  know  there  have  been  renewed  cllorts 


to  trace  and  discover  him ;  but  this  I  anticipated, 
for  I  was  certain  when  he  came  of  age,  his  un- 
principled father  would  require  him  to  adminis- 
ter to  his  reckless  selfishness  by  helping  him  to 
raise  money.  Anxious  to  obtain  all  tlie  informa- 
tion 1  could  of  this  man's  general  conduct  and 
pursuits,  so  that  I  might  know  how  to  act  in  case 
of  any  emergency,  by  means  of  my  extensive 
continental  correspondents  I  easily  obtained  all  I 
wanted;  this  also  involved  disclosures  respecting 
his  rascally  agent  and  his  female  associate,  both 
of  whom  were  too  well  known  in  Paris  to  remain 
there,  and  where  Colonel  Templeton  became  ac- 
quainted with  them  on  his  return  from  his  fruit- 
less inquiries  in  Spain.  He  had  stopped  in  that 
city,  and  there  had  involved  himself  in  gambling 
transactions  to  the  extent  of  more  than  a  year's 
income. 

"  From  these,  I  know  he  never  till  lately  be- 
came free  ;  for  he  was  caught  in  the  toils  of  a  set 
of  cheats  and  swindlers,  some  of  whom  polluted  this 
sweet  spot  with  their  unhallowed  presence.  After 
he  had  driven  his  wife  and  daughter  away,  I 
ventured  a  step  in  their  behalf,  and  warned  him 
to  desist  from  persecuting  them ;  and  this  I  en- 
forced, when,  through  the  bragging  vanity  of 
Cooper,  I  heard  of  the  so-called  mortgage  that 
worthy  held  on  Ryecroft,  and  which  the  Colonel 
knew  very  well  was  invalid. 

"  But  my  great  difficulty  rose  from  the  attach- 
ment Victor  vei-y  naturally  formed  for  your  fair 
daughter,  Mrs.  Vernon.  Happily  they  were  both 
so  young  that  you  were  the  first  to  propose  de- 
lay. Long  did  I  ponder  on  what  wns  light,  under 
this' fresh  aspect  of  affairs  ;  and  1  decided  on  tell- 
ing Victor  immediately  some  pai't  of  tiie  true  case,  ' 
and  the  whole  to  him  and  all  your  family  before 
the  marriage  took  place.  Nor  was  it  till  the 
tragic  termination  of  a  life,  in  wliich  we  were  so 
deeply  interested,  that  I  informed  him  who  hia 
father  really  was." 

"  This  is  an  extraordinary  case,"  said  Mr. 
Sloper,  who  was  present,  and  whom  professional 
habits  had  made  an  attentive  listener ;  "and  it 
at  once  enables  me  to  understand  the  leason  of 
various  questions  and  difficulties  which  wero 
submitted  to  eminent  counsel  by  the  late  Colonel. 
I  remember  well,  trying  to  negotiate  a  loan  of 
sixty  thousand  pounds — which  wms  effected  only 
by  means  of  heavy  life  insurances.  Nothing 
but  desperate  gambling,  and  the  mismanage- 
ment of  that  rascal  Cooper,  could  have  rendered 
sucli  measures  necessary  with  an  estate  like  that 
of  the  Priory." 


CHAPTER   LXXX. 

"Thon  let  the  merry  bells  rins  round, 
Au(J  the  jocuuO  rebecks  souuil:"' 

Of  course,  Victor  Templeton's  marringe'  wa3 
postponed,  and  before  it  took  place,  Reginald, 
Helen,  and  their  children  arrived  in  England. 
Pass  we  over  the  meeting  ;  such  can  never  be 
truly  described— words  are  useless  where  feel- 
ings deep  as  theirs  prevail.  Once  more  under 
one  roof — cuce    more   all   together,   for   Victor 


THK    WIFF/S   THIALS. 


^87 


would  have  it  so— there  was  not  one  who  did  not  '-Only  i'ov  joy  nn<\  sr'ititudo,  dear  Asliley," 
acknowlcilfre . '•  that  sorrow  may  tiuluro  fur  a  slie  said,  as  he  tumily  kissed  lier,  imd  Icrventiv 
night,  but  joy  Cometh  in  the  nioruinj;."  I  exuhiinied,    "God    grant,  sweet    wile,  iliut    vuii 

Alier  a  visit  to  Old  Court,  where  UeginaM  in-  may  never  shed  tliein  for  any  otlier  cause !" 
troduced  all  his  treasures,  in  July,  wlien  suiiiincr  I  And  so,  amid  the  beauties  and  iiiaj;nilicenco 
puts  on  her  gayest,  iiiost  gorgeous  dress  ;  when  ,  of  nature,  in  which  the  Vicarage  id' Charles  Ver- 
ihe  sky  with  its  glowing  liues,  and  earth,  with  non  was  placed,  did  his  brotlier  and  lovily  brido 
its  field  and  forest  of  refreshing  verdure,  are  spend  several  weeks,  before  they  set  out  for  Scot- 
rich  in  poetic  imagery  and  suggestion,  Charles  land,  on  a  visit  to  the  t^inclaiis,  who  were  jav- 
Ashley  left  his  quiet  "lakes  and  hills  to  perform  !  vented,  by  Laurette's  severe  illness,  from  being 
the  ceremony  that  united  Victor  and  Caroline,    present  at  the  wedding. 


Doctor  Vernun  was,  of  Course,  there,  though  vol 
to  assist,  for  Charles  Vernon  was  quite  equal  to 
the  dignified  discharge  of  his  duty  without  being 
atsUlcd  by  any  other  reverend  ;  though  her  fa-  , 


Last  wonis  are  proverbially  tiresome  ;  but  as 
we  hojie  the  reader  is  sealed  by  the  co.>^y  fire- 
side, or  under  the  greenwood  tree,  or  on  iho 
sofa    in    tlie   comlbrtable   dressing-room,   or,  in 


ther's  blessing,  when  given  in  the  ve>try,  made    short,  anywhere  most  favorable  to  tlie  exercise 


Caroline  feel  more  than  ever  the  solemnity  of  the 
duties  she  had  undertaken,  and  the  sacreduess 
of  the  jiTomise  just  made. 

Tiie  ceremony  was  very  quiet  and  private  ; 
iig  to  the  recent  events,  none  but  the  nearest 
;ives    were    present  ;   but   as    tlie    iiandsome 


of  good  teinper  and  kind  feeling,  we  shall  bravo 
the  proverb— for,  the  truth  is,  we  i.re  "  loth  to 
depart." 

Laurette  Sinclair  never  married— and  never 
revisited  Seabrooke. 

lltibert   Forrester  remained    abroad    till    the 


ng  master  of  Seabrooke  looked  around,  grat-    dea:h  of  his  father,  which  happened  about  two 


Iter  this,  brought  him  to  England  ;  but 
thou^.i  his  former  friendship  with  Vicior  was  re- 
newed, with  great  advantage  to  him,  it  was  lung 
before  he  recovered  any  thing  like  the  former 
happy  and  gay  feelings  once  so  natural  to  him 
But  when  he  was  more  than  thirty,  and  Minu.o 
Dallas  eighteen,  he  married  her. 

Lord  Ernest  lived  some  years  after  Heginald  3 
r3turn,  happy  in  the  happiness  of  his  adopted  son, 
and  rejoicing  to  sec  that  the  course  itegiuald  had 
marked  out  for  himself  was  one  tiiat  hail  led  to 
credit  and  honor — when,  at  Lord  ./e.stioiigh"s 
death,  Heginald  in  the  Uppjr  House  and  Asidey 
in  the  Lower,  were  distinguished  by  the  integrity 
aud  consistency  of  their  conduct. 

'J'he  ULXt  communication  which  pas-sed  between 
Mrs.  Melville  and  Lord  Ernest  was  about  a  year 


filled  his  heart  as  his  bright  eyts  rested  on 
I  ;  iiiy  fair  and  noble  forms,  with  all  of  whom  he 
:1  1  claim  kindred. 

'  ace  more,  and,  as  he  said,  for  the  last  tithe 
many  a  year,  he  and  his  bride  were  bound 
a  continental  tour  of  several  months.  At 
end  of  that  period  they  wtre  to  return  and 
liow   Mrs.    Templeton  had   kept  house    for 

iJiuing   his    absence,   Sea-View   Cottage    had 

u  enlarged  and  fitted  up  for  her,  though  siie 

..us  ibrbidden  to  entertain  the  preposterous  no- 

[lun  that  she  was  ever  quietly  to  reside  there; 

'<nt  she  liked  the  idea  of  having  it.     Victor  had, 

.    tlie    most   generous    manner,  secured    her   a 

ii  isome  income,  and  had  presented  each  of  his 

■  ly-fouad  sisters  with  a  noble  portion — it  was 

"ss  to  remonstrate  with  liim — "how  could  he  subsequent  to  her  daughters  divorce,  t^he  then 
1  (Caroline  .-peiiLl  all  they  had,  witliout  lielp  .'"  wrote,  soliciting  his  aid  in  establishing  a  board- 
\ii  1  tlie  following  April,  more  than  a  year  |  ing  house,  somewhere  toward  the  West  End. 
:•  her  fathers  death,  Constance  was  given,  by  I  This,  like  all  the  rest  of  his  correspondence,  waa 
proud  brother,  to  the  happy  Ashley  Vernon    forwardeil   to  .Mr.    Manning,  with  orders  Ibr  him 

to  act  as  he  thought  fit ;  and  he  did  think  fit  to 
remit  her  one  hundred  pounds,  at  the  same  timo 
strictly  prohibiting  any  further  application,  and 
making  her  understand  that  all  business  matters 
)vere  submitted  to  hiui. 

Alany  years  after  this,  when  Mrs.  Melville  and 

her  njaneuvcrs  were  among  the  things  that  havo 

been,  and   are  forgotten,  one  of  Mr.  Manning's 

'  clients  desired  him  to  oppose  a  claim  which  was 

made  on  the  property  of  h.s  aunt,  la.ely  deceased, 

by  the   person  with   whom  she  had  lodged ;  and 

Air.  Manning,  having  done  what    was    requisite, 

was  surpri.sed,  a  few  days  after,  by  the  appearanc  j 

of  a  person  in  widow's  weeds,  named  \\  liite,  who 

proved  to  be  the  party  claiming,  and  who  was  no 

other  than  the  ol  I  arch-intriguer,  .Mr.-;.  .Melville. 

She  had  passed  through  the  usual  grades  of  un- 

id  Constance.     Tliese  filled    tlic    iiouse  with    successful  trickery,  and  now  kept  a  lodging-houso 

■ty.  wliile  festivities  on  the  most  liberal  scale  ,  of  third-cla.ss  rate.     The   old   lady,  lat.jly   ilead, 

!  ■  prepared  for  the  tenantry  and  villagers.         .  came  to  lodge  with  her,  was  whimsical,  and  oa 

I    iiistauce  was    as    in  a  dream — her   mother's  .  the  strength  of  her  riches,  was  overbear  ng  with 

•  -ing  and  farewell  embrace  rou-ed  her— and    her  relatives,  and  after  her  residence  with  Mrs. 

|Vhen  seated   in   their  carri.ige,  witii   her   loved  ,  >Virite — (a  name  assumed  to  bailie  creditor.-.)  ^ud- 

ttnd  .loving   husband,  she  turned  her   beautiful  I  denly  estranged  herself  from  all  iier  lurmtr  ass<v 

ijyes  toward  him,  they  were  full  of  tears.  I  ciates.     The  paper  under  which  Mrs.  While  chum- 


-  Hid  the  Doctor,  being  quite  ready  to  assist  in 
u  iig  such  a  daughter,  marrieil  them. 
Such    a   wedding,    Mrs.  Dawson    and   the  de- 
fined Gretcheu  declared,  had  never  been  seen, 
iiiipleton  Ashley's  joyous  and  generous  nature 
1  tiiis  occasion  assembling  all  who  could  share 
1  and  understand  his  happiness. 
The  Hurstwoods,  the  Grantham.ij,  Mr.  Turner 
id  his  sister  ;  Stacey,  who  was  working  his  way 
iiough  his  diflicuhies,  and  his  now.happy  wife; 
II  .Mr.  .Moore  was  wiled  out  of  his  literary  cir- 
liy  the   entreaty  of  his    favorites,  Constance 
1    Ashley      Lady    Dallas,    always    kind,    and 
had  bei'n  peculiarly  so  during  the  season  of 
1.  with  her  pretty  Ada,  were  present — wiiile 
iiie  w.is  half  wild  with  pleasure  at  tiie  idea 
iiiing   one   of  the    bridesmaids    to   her   dear  j 


188 


THE   ^YIFE'S   TRIALS. 


e;l  the  five  hundred  pounds  and  all  the  personals 
loJgiJ  at  her  hous.',  was  disputed,  and  she  had 
now  come  to  S3C  if  shj  coull  m ikj  tjrms  through  , 
the  i MS ;ru mentality  of  her  former  antagonist. 

!S!ie  informed  Irnn  that  hsr  daugh:cr  was  mar-  I 
ricd,  :ind,  with  her  husband  anl  famly,  Kved  in 
America;  but  that  a  small    annuity,  which  her 
sonm  law  granted  her,  was  payable  only  wh.b  I 
she  kept  from  the  shorej  of  the  New  World.     Of  I 
course,  s.ie  cons.d.T.'d  hers.df  an  lU-usei  woman,  j 
and  bitterly  coinpla  no  I  of  her  daughter's  ingrat- 
itude;   buG  her  J  Mr.  Manning  stopped   the  tor-  | 
rent  of  hjr  eloquence,  and  recalled  her  to  the  case 
in  dispute.     He  strongly  advised  her  not  to  bring 
further  exposure  an  1  d.sgrace  on  herself  by  per-  , 
sisting  in  a  claim  which  was,  he  scrupled  not  to 
Bay,  a  barefaced  fraud.     The  only  thing  to  which 
he  would  pledge  himsjlf,  was  to  try  and  pjrsuade 
his  client  to  relinquish  all  claim  to  various  arti- 
cl.'s  Avhich  his  aged  r:'la;ive  had  with  her  at  the 
t  luo  ol  her  dei'h.    This  offjr  she  seemed,  at  first, 
gra-cfully  to  accept ;  but,  to  ke:p  up  the  farce, 
pi'otested  that,  be.ng  a  lone,  unprotected  female, 
she  was  shamefully  defrauded  of  her  legal  r  ghts, 
soh-nudy  assur.ng   Mr    Planning   that   this  five 
haiidrod  pounds  was  but  a  small  recompense  lor 


all  that  she  had  done  for  a  lodger  who  used  all 
her  time  and  given  her  infinite  trouble.  This, 
i\lr.  Manning  dryly  admitted,  was  very  likely, 
and  significantly  advised  her  never  to  take  such 
trouble  again.  The  result  was,  that  his  cl.cnt 
proved  tractable,  and  th  s  was  the  list  he  ever 
heard  of  cne  whom  he  called  a  singulirly  cLvot 
woman,  if  she  had  but  the  sense  to  use  her  talents 
alight 

Stacey,  freed  from  duns  and  debts,  occupied  the 
Hermitage,  and  declared,  that  with  such  adjuncts 
as  nature  there  presented,  and  the  real  excellen- 
ces of  character  and  intellect  by  which  his  fi-ieuds 
were  distinguished,  he  lived  in  the  very  Eldorado 
of  poetry — under  the  direct  influence  of  the  true 
d.vine  atiiatus.  St  11,  this  did  not  prevent  him  IVom 
running  up  now  and  then  to  London,  to  see  how 
prose  Avent  on  in  the  nether  world  ;  but  as  he 
never  failed  to  return  with  renewed  enthusiasm  to 
his  Paradise,  Eve  always  received  her  truant  Adam 
■with  a  smiling  face 

And  Mrs.  "Templetcn  .'  her  own  words  nre  i 
"  My  1  fe  is  a  perpetual  bymn  cf  praise  and  thank- 
fulness—and  a  striving  to  prove,  not  that  1  do- 
serve  such  goodness,  but  that  I  ever  love  the  gra 
cious  hand  which  has  hitherto  helped  me, ' 


THE     END, 


4\ 


THE 


rt03IAXCE  OF  THE  IIAPtE3I, 


CHATTER  I. 

Carimfil  Hanoum,  the  beautiful  young  wife  of 
Saifula  Pasha,  was  eick  even  unto  death;  and 
her  husband,  who  loved  her  tenderly,  became 
well  nigh  maddened  by  grief.  Long  had  the 
malady  hung  upon  lier ;  and  her  diamond  eyes 
were  huiguid,  and  her  small  hands  so  weak  and 
wasted  as  to  leave  iier  scarcely  strength  suffi- 
cient to  lift  her  feather  fan,  or  to  attach  the 
jewels  to  her  turban. 

What  was  to  be  done  f  It  signifies  not  of 
what  province  Saifula  Pasha  was  Governor ; 
suffice  it,  that  it  was  so  far  distant  from  Con- 
stantinople, and  so  little  visited  by  the  wander- 
ing giaours,  who  of  late  j-ears  have  overrun  the  j 
East,  that  there  was  no  hope  of  obtaining  the 
advice  of  a  Frank  ilakeeni,  or  doctor,  wiio  would, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  have  cured  the  Ilanoum  j 
on  his  first  visit;  and  the  wise  men  aud  tiie  j 
wise  women  of  the  province  had  long  fairly 
given  up  the  case  as  desperate.  j 

As  time  wore  on,  things  grew  worse  and  j 
worse  :  and  the  Pasha  waxed  more  moody  and  j 
melanchol}-.  The  Ilanoum,  wearied  alike  of 
her  diamonds,  her  birds,  her  slaves,  and  her  hus- ! 
band,  sighed  for  some  new  and  hitherto  untasted  ! 
pleasure ;  but  how  was  tliis  to  be  procured  ?  j 
Ilcr  apartments  had  long  been  filled  with  the 
rarest  flowers,  and  her  languid  palate  tempted 
by  the  choicest  fruits.  Every  satellite  of  the 
Pttsha  (and  they  were  many!)  lost  himself  in 
efforts  to  gratify  her  fancies  ;'  and  still  there  was 
no  satisfying  them. 

Carimfil  Ilanoum  was  a  Circassian,  lovely  as 
a  houri,  and  quite  conscious  of  her  power  over; 
the  Pasha;  gorgeous  in  her  beauty,  as  the  t\ilip 
after  which  she  has  been  named  ;  and  capricious' 
enough  to  have  supplied  all  tli«*  harem  of  the  | 
Grand  Seignio.ir  with  whims.  ''•  nic  of  her  wo-| 
men  even  went  so  far  as  to  sa,  that  their  fairi 
mistress  affected  more  indispow.don  than  she  | 
felt,  in  order  to  satisfy  her  love  of  power  and| 
change  ;  and  certain  it  is,  that  if  the  little  beauty  i 
poMessed  the  tact  to  do  this,  it  completely  an- 
swered her  hopes,  for  th«  more  exacting  she 
became,  the  more  the  Paaha  appeared  to  hang 
upon  her  smiles.  I 

After  this  explanation  of  the  state  of  affairs  in; 
the  palace  of  the  Pashalik,  it  may  be  believed 
■with  what  delight  the  intelligence  was  received  I 
that  a  travelling  slave-merchant  on  his  way  to, 
Btambov/1  had  halted  in  the  city;  and  that, 
among  bis  slaves  thers  vaa  a  Greek   girl   of  | 


incomparable  beauty  and  great  talent,  whom  h« 
hoped  to  sell  to  the  Sultan. 

The  Satrap,*  preceded  by  two  kava«3C8,f  and 
followed  b}-  four  of  liis  chaoushes,^  threw  a 
purse  to  the  pipe-benrer  who  brouglit  him  the 
news;  and  thrusting  his  feet  into  his  8lip|>er8, 
too  anxious  to  entrust  the  mission  to  an  officer 
of  his  household,  he  hastened  to  the  caravanserai, 
which  was  the  temporary  abode  of  the  merchant 
Tahiz.  An  idea  had  instantly  suggested  itself, 
which  lie  determined  to  realize.  What  were  a 
few  thousand  piastres  when  put  in  competition 
with  the  happiness  of  his  adored  Carimfil  ?  lie 
would  purchase  this  wonderful  slave,  and  her 
talents  should  serve  to  beguile  the  ennui  of  his 
beautiful  young  wife. 

The  merchant  prostrated  himself  to  the  earth 
as  the  shadow  of  tl>e  Pasha  fell  across  his  thres- 
hold ;  what  evil  might  not  this  unexpected 
visit  portend  to  his  fortunes  ?  But  he  was  soon 
reassured  by  the  bland  "  Khosh  Bulduk — well 
found,"  which  met  his  ear;  and,  after  having 
traversed  the  floor  on  his  knees  to  the  feet  of 
his  visiter,  and  pressed  the  hem  of  his  garment 
to  his  lips  and  brow,  he  meekly  crossed  his 
hands  upon  his  breast,  and  ventured  to  raise  his 
eyes. 

"  You  luivc  with  you  slaves  o£  price,  w  ii  not 
so  ?"  asked  the  Pasha,  as  he  took  possession  of 
the  low  sofa. 

"  It  is  so,  my  lord  ;"  was  the  reply. 

"  Whence  are  they  f  and  are  there  any  among 
them  who  are  worthy  that  1  should  look  upon 
them  f" 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  my  lord  ?  They  are 
from  many  lands,  and  some  of  them  are  worthy 
even  of  his  gracious  notice,  which  will  be  to 
them  as  a  light  from  Paradise." 

"  I  will  see  th'-m,"  said  Saifula  Pasha,  na  bin 
chibouque-bearer  knelt  and  nresente«l  to  him  his 
costly  pipe  of  cherry  wood  lipped  with  amber; 
while  his  cafeghe  approached  with  the  tiny  cup 
of  porcelain,  in  its  fillagree  stand,  redoleiit  of 
the  perfumed  mocha:  "'I  will  see  them — if  I 
may  find  pleasure  in  looking  on  them,  Allah 
bilir — Allah  only  knows.  Bakulum — we  shall 
see." 

"  Bashustun — on  my  head  be  it !"  replied  tlie 
merchant,  as  he  jierforuied  the  graceful  salum 
aleikum.g  and  left  the  apartment. 

One  by  one  the  veiled  beauties  were  led  to 
the  presence  of  the  Satrap.     There  were  gorg*- 

*  Oovernor  of  i  Prorince.      \  I'olice.      ;  Uilicer*. 
^  Kutcro  ialoUlion. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


♦U8  Georgians,  with  tlieir  large,  deep,  flasliiiig 
wee,  and  their  sparkling  teeth,  their  tinely- 
tnouUied  figures,  and  jett^-  hair;  languid  (Jir- 
tassians,  witii  tiieir  dreamy,  dove-like  glanees, 
Hu'ir  snowy  skins,  and  their  exquisitely  rounded 
liiuhs;  and  beauties  from  the  Islands,  with  their 
^languishing  listless  graec,  and  sweetly-toned 
'oices.  But  the  fair  Greek  girl  did  not  appear; 
a  d  as  the  last  of  the  bright  train  withdrew,  and 
liie  merchant  again  prostrated  himself  before 
the  Pasha,  he  asked  calmlj- — "  Are  there  uo 
more  ?" 

"  None,  may  it  please  my  lord.  Evallah  I 
there  are  a  few  Kurdish  women,  but  they  are 
bosh — nothing." 

"  Kiupek — dog !"  said  the  Satrap  sternly  : 
"  Do  you  lie  to  my  beard  !  Where  is  the  young 
Greek  whom  you  have  held  back?" 

The  affrighted  merehant  bent  his  head  to  the 
earth:  "Surely  my  lord  jests  with  his  slave — 
the  girl  is  a  giaour — an  infidel — a  haremzadeh 
— an  ill  born.     Nothing,  and  less  than  nothing." 

"Ouf!  ouf! — peace,  peace!"  said  the  I'asha, 
impatiently,  "  or  your  head  shall  answer  for 
your  presumption.  Is  it  for  you,  and  such 
as  you,  to  decide  upon  my  pleasure?  Tehapouk 
— quick — bring  hither  the  young  Greek,  or  the 
bowstring  shall  give  your  slaves  a  new  master." 

"  Astaferallah — Heaven,  forbid  !"  faltered  out 
the  merchant :  "  will  my  lord  hear  his  servant  ? 
The  young  giaour  has  already-  been  seen  by  a 
Yuzbashi — a  captain  of  soldiers,  who  is  now  on 
his  wa^-  to  the  capital,  and  who  has  promised 
to  talk  of  her  to  the  Kislar  Aglia*of  the  ISultan, 
(whom  may  Allah  prosper!)  How,  then,  can 
the  slave  of  my  lord,  who  is  but  as  a  dog  in  his 
siglit,  di.spose  of  this  Greek  woman  until  he  has 
learnt  the  pleasure  of  the  Padishah  ?"f 

"  Kelb — cur!"  e.vclaimed  the  Pasha,  enraged 
at  this  new  dilheulty  ;  "  do  you  dare  to  eat  dirt; 
and  to  pour  out  your  words  as  though  they 
were  the  words  of  wisdom,  when  they  are  but 
tlie  promptings  of  Sheitan,  and  the  instigations 
of  the  Evil  One!  I  spit  upon  the  grave  of  your 
father,  and  blacken  the  face  of  j-our  mother! 
Who  am  I  that  1  should  listen  to  you,  when  my 
foot  is  on  your  head  ?  Bak — see  !  the  slave  is 
mine  and  the  gold  is  ready — ^Ijring  her  hither 
with  speed  ;  or,  by  the  beard  of  the  Prophet, 
your  neck  shall  be  fitted  with  a  bowstring!" 

"  Allah  buyuk  der — Allah  is  great !"  murmur- 
ed the  merchant,  as  he  prepared  to  obey.  "Who 
can  withstand  his  fate  !" 

During  the  brief  interval  that  ensued,  the 
Pasha  smoked  on  in  silence;  his  curiosity  was 
aroused,  and  his  anger  e.xcited ;  and  yet  he 
enjoyed  the  scone,  for  it  had  afforded  liim  anew 
sensation,  and  restrung  his  nerves,  which  had 
latterly  been  terribly  shattered  by  his  an.xiety 
lor  Carimfil  llanoum.  Thus  he  was  in  no  un- 
gracious mood,  when,  with  much  parade,  and 
with  a  mostnnwillinge.N-pressionof  eounteiiaiiee, 
themerehan.  slowly  returned,  leading  in  a  figure 
ostentatiously  muflied  in  close  and  heavy  dra- 1 
pery. 

"  Ey  vah  !  this  pearl  beyond  price  is  at  least ' 
well  guarded;"  said  the  Pasha,  endeavoring  to 
conceal   his  interest  beneath   an  affectation  of 


Chief  of  the  Eunuchi.        f  Bovereign. 


scorn  ;  "  but  we  waste  time;  and  I  have  occupa- 
tion of  more  moment  than  sitting  to  witness  the 
unveiling  of  a  woman." 

"  Sen  ektiar  der — you  are  the  master ;"  replied 
the  merehant,  as  he  cast  aside  the  mantle  of  the 
female  :   "  be  it  as  my  lord  wills." 

For  a  moment  the  Pasha  was  silent;  for  it 
was  truly  a  vision  of  surpassing  beauty  which 
liad  been  so  suddenly  revealed  to  him.  The  fair 
Greek  was  scarcely  si.xteen  years  of  age,  slight 
as  a  willow  wand,  and  graceful  as  an  antelope. 
The  bewildered  Sai'fula  Pasha  had  never  beheld 
such  eyes,  save  in  his  dreams ;  and  then  only 
when  he  had  dreamt  of  paradise.  Of  the  deep- 
est blue  that  ever  caught  their  dye  from  heaven, 
they  were  fringed  witli  lashes  as  black  as  night; 
and  the  long  silky  hair,  which  fell  in  a  score  of 
rich  braids  about  her  ivory  shoulders,  was  of 
the  same  hue.  Her  slight  figure  was  habited  ia 
a  tight  jacket  of  emerald-colored  velvet,  laced 
with  gold;  and  the  eymar  that  veiled  her  throat 
was  white  as  the  bosom  upon  which  it  rested. 
Her  small  feet  were  partially  covered  with  em- 
broidered slippers  of  crimson,  sprinked  with 
small  pearls;  and  the  short  full  petti£oat  of 
white  linen  revealed  an  ankle  of  exquisite  sym- 
metry. 

The  Pasha  drew  a  long  breath.  What,  in- 
deed, was  gold,  when  weighed  against  a  houri 
like  this?  But  he  did  not,  in  that  moment, 
think  of  the  beautiful  Carimfil  —  his  idolized 
wife !  "  And  her  price  is — what  ?"  was  his  first 
question. 

"How  shall  I  answer,  my  lord?"  said  the 
merchant,  warily.     "  The  slave  is  his." 

"  Chok  chay — that  is  much  ;"  smiled  the  Pasha, 
as  he  removed  the  chibouque  from  his  mouth, 
and  threw  out  a  slender  thread  of  smoke :  "  but 
the  piastres  are  ready — how  far  shall  they  be 
counted?" 

"  The  slave  plays  on  the  zebee,  and  sings  the 
songs  of  her  own  land  ;"  was  the  reply :  "  nay, 
should  my  lord  care  to  listen,  she  can  tell  tales 
like  a  massaldjhe."* 

"  Allah  kerim — Allah  be  praised  1"  ejaculated 
the  Pasiia,  as  for  the  first  time  since  the  veil  of 
the  slave  had  been  withdrawn,  his  thoughts 
were  forced  back  to  his  absent  beauty ;  "  the 
Prophet  has  heard  my  prayer.  Once  more  I  tell 
you  to  name  your  price,  and  that  the  slave  is 
mine." 

"  Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say !"  replied  the 
merchant,  meekly  ;  "  I  have  given  much  for  her 
— ajaib  der — she  is  a  wonder  1  She  speaks  Turk* 
ish  like  a  daughter  of  paradise  ;  and  her  voice 
is  as  the  voice  of  the  bulbul  in  the  gardens  of 
Nishapor." 

"  Mashallah  !  there  has  been  enough,  and  too 
much  of  this;"  impatiently  broke  in  the  Pasha: 
"  For  the  last  time,  what  ask  you  for  the  girl  I* 

The  merchant  cast  down  his  eyes,  and  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment ;  but  he  had  been  shrewd 
enough  to  detect  the  effect  which  the  extrem* 
beauty  of  the  maiden  had  produced  upon  the 
Pasha  ;  and  he  con.sequently  summoned  courage 
to  name  a  price  which  he  could  never  hope  to 
obtain  under  other  circumstances. 

"  Y'  Allah— in  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  that 

•  Professional  story-teller. 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  TIIF.   IIARF.M. 


IS  much  i"  snid  tho  atnrtlod  Pnslia  ;  "  iMft y  thou- 
•and  piastres  !  A  liumlroil  pinsos  I  Lives  tliore 
a  wom-in  betwoen  Staniboiil  niul  Paradise,  wiio 
is  worth  a  hundred  purses  i" 

Tiie  nierehant  was  silent. 

"  Give  liim  sixty  thousand,  and  bring  hither 
the  araba  to  convey  tlie  shivc  to  my  harem  ;" 
pursued  tlic  I'nslia,  turnintr  to  Ids  principal 
chaoush  •  nnd  as  the  oftieer  withdrew,  he  shuf- 
fled otF  the  sofa,  resumed  Ids  slippers,  and  pass- 
ing tlie  juostrate  merchant  without  a  ghiuce. 
elowly  walked  out  of  the  caravanserai. 


CIIArTER  IL 

The  most  difRcult  portion  of  the  arrangement 
•was  yet  to  be  accomplished  ;  foi-  the  I'asha  could 
not  conceal  froni  himself  tliat  it  was  just  ])ossi- 
ble  that  ttie  beautiful  Cnrinifil  might  not  alto- 
gether approve  of  tlie  means  which  he  had  now 
adopted  for  her  gratitieation  ;  and  he  therefore 
resolved  to  take  her  by  surprise,  and  to  regale 
her  with  the  vaunted  minstrelsy  of  the  fair  slave, 
before  she  was  introduced  into  her  presence. 

The  morning  meal  had  accordingly  scarcely 
terminated  on  the  morrow,  ere  the  I'asha  found 
it  necessary  to  summon  the  j'oung  Greek,  who 
bad  been  kept  carefully  concealed,  in  order  that  I 
he  might  explain  to  her  the  suftering  state  of  iier 
new  mistress,  and  his  own  anxiety  for  her  amuse- 
ment. She  entered  slowly,  and  with  her  white  | 
arms  folded  meekly  upon  her  bosom  :  her  eyes  | 
were  heavy,  and  the  Pasha  saw  that  she  had  I 
been  weeping.  The  langour  of  grief  added  a 
new  charm  to  her  bea\ity  ;  and  as  she  bent  licr 
forehead  to  the  eaith  on  the  threshold  of  the 
chamber,  the  Satrap  welcomed  her  with  a  gentle 
"  Khosh  geldin — you  are  welcome." 

Her  prostration  performed,  the  slave  stood 
with  bent  head,  one  pace  within  the  room,  and 
awaited  the  orders  of  the  Pasha. 

"  Korkma — feai-  not ;"  was  his  next  address  ; 
"your  home  beneath  my  roof  shall  be  a  liapi)y 
one.     How  are  }-ou  called?" 

"  Katinka,"  murmured  out  a  low  soft  voice. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  Satrap  gaily  ;  "  yours  is 
but  an  infidel  name  for  sueli  a  liouri.  How  say 
you?  shall  we  call  you  Buyazl*  'Tis  a  more 
fitting  appellation  for  such  a  lily  I" 

"  Sen  ektiar  der,  .ngain — you  are  the  master, 
my  lord,"  was  the  reply. 

'•  Beyaz  be  it  then,"  pursued  the  Pasha:  "  and 
now.  hear  me.  Your  talents  have  been  extolled, 
and  I  doubt  not  that  the}'  are  worthj*  of  all  the 
praise  which  has  been  lavislied  on  them.  I  have 
a  fair  wife,  beautiful  cno:ig!i  to  have  been  the 
daufflitcr  of  a  peri,  and  born  of  a  sunbeam,  but 
she  languishes  beneath  a  crud  malady,  and  we 
cannot  restore  to  her  eyis  the  light  that  has  fled 
fi-om  them.  Be  this  task  yours;  it  will  require 
a  gentle  hand,  and  a  bi-ight  spirit," 

"  .My  lieart  will  be  in  the  task  ;"  said  the  fair 
Greek  softly,  "  even  now  I  am  rca<lv." 

'■  Taib,  janum — well  said,  my  soul !"  exclaimed 
the  Pasha  ;  "  you  shall  be  the  liakeem.  to  whom 
she  will  owe  her  recovered  bloom,  ai\d  to  whom 


Whiij. 


'  I  shall  be  indebted  for  a  renewal  of  the  happi- 
ness to  which  1  have  long  been  a  stranger. 
Khosh  geldin — you  are  welcome,  fair  BiJ}uz,  to 
the  harem  of  Saifula  Pasha." 

"  And  how  wills  my  lord  that  I  shouhl  enter 
upon  my  oiKce?"  demanded  Katinka,  somewhat 
hastil}- :  "  shall  I  take  my  zebec,  and  sing  to  the 
Hanoum  Etfendi  one  of  our  mountain  iiuli)diesf" 

"That  were  well  tlone,"  said  the  Satrap; 
"  but  I  would  not  that  she  should  sec  the  min- 
strel while  she  listens  to  her  voice  :  that  were 
too  much!"  and  the  Pasha  looked  palroiiizinglv, 
and  almost  tenderly,  towards  the  young  Greek. 
But  the  glance  fell  like  a  sunbeam  upon  niarbl« 
— the  maiden  did  not  raise  her  eyes ;  and,  after 
a  short  silence,  she  asked  humbly —  ' 

"  What  wills  my  lord  that  I  should  sing? 
Shall  the  strain  be  sad,  like  the  heart  of  the 
beautiful  listener;  or  jo\-ou8  aa  the  mood  in 
which  he  loves  to  see  her?" 

"Be  it  even  as  you  will ;"  said  the  Pasha; 
and  clapi>iiig  his  hands,  he  gave  orders  to  an  at- 
tendant that  Katinka  should  be  conducted  to  an 
apartment  contiguous  to  that  inhabited  by  the 
Buyuk  Hanoum,  where  she  could  be  heard  un- 
seen. 

This  command  uttered,  the  slave  awaited  no 
further  bidding  to  withdraw  ;  but,  once  more 
prostrating  herself,  she  performed  her  salfim 
aleikum,  and  followed  the  attendant  from  the 
apartment, 

Carimtil  Hanoum  sat  moodily  on  her  sofa, 
heedless  of  the  cttorts  of  her  maidens  to  arouse 
her  from  her  re  very.  She  had  ca.st  aside  her  costly 
tusbee*  of  gems,  and  flung  her  feather-framed 
aiittlif  from  her  in  disgust  Costly  pcrfumeg 
were  burning  in  a  vnse  of  silver  on  a  small  table 
near  her,  and  at  intervals  she  passed  her  hand 
through  the  scented  vapor  as  if  unconsciously. 
Jewels  of  price  were  scattered  over  her  cushions, 
and  a  few  flowers  were  strown  among  them  ;  but 
they  were  alike  ludiceded. 

Yet  it  seemed  not  like  the  languor  of  disease 
which  Aveighed  her  down  ;  but  rather  bore  the 
character  of  deep  and  settled  melancholy,  fed  by 
regretful  thought. 

Suddenly  she  raised  her  head,  as  a  low  strain 
of  music  broke  upon  her  ear:  it  was  a  wild 
gushing  melody,  half  hope,  half  sadness;  and, 
by  whatever  spell  it  wrought,  it  fastened  at 
once  upon  the  spirit  of  the  fair  Carimtil  Hanoum, 
who  sat  entranced  among  her  cushions,  and  lis- 
tened breathlessly  even  to  its  close. 

SONG  OF  THE  GREEK  SLAVE. 

Joy  is  a  bird  '. 

Cntch  it  ax  it  uprinijs  ; 
It  will  return  no  more 

WUr.if  oixce  it  spreads  its  wingi. 
I(a  i-ong  in  jay,  but  brief. 

The  voire  of  «unny  weather; 
But  ah  !  tlie  bird  and  leaf 

Vanish  botli  together! 

Joy  i«  a  flower  ! 

I'luck  it  in  its  bloom  ; 
Twill  cloiie  its  petals  up 

If  darker  skiea  should  gloom. 
It  in  a  lovely  thing, 

And  formed  for  sunny  weather; 
But  ah  !  the  flower  and  spring 

Vanuh  both  together! 


Rosary 


t  Hand-mirror. 


THE  KOiL^XE   OF  THE   IIAREiL 


Joy  is  a  cb  Id  ! 

Seize  it  in  its  mirth  ; 
For  soon  its  lip  will  know 

The  -withering  taint  of  eaxth. 
Its  eye  is  bright  as  truth, 

A  type  of  !.unny  weather  ; 
But  ah:    the  smile  and  youth 

Vanish  both  together! 


The  song  ceased,  but  for  a  long  interval  the 
beautiful  CircHssiau  remained  njotionless.  Tlie 
strain  had  evidently  awakened  memories  Avhich 
she  ought  not  to  dispel ;  and,  when  at  length  a 
deep  sigh  relieved  her  overcharged  heart,  she 
impatiently  commanded  that  the  invisible  musi- 
cian should  he  brought  Before  her. 

At  her  desire  the  curtain  of  tapestry  was 
raised,  and  the  Greek  girl  stood  on  the  threshold 
with  lier  zebec  in  her  hand. 

"  Ajaib — wonderful !"  broke  from  the  lips  of 
both,  as  tliey  gazed  earnestly  on  each  other; 
and  Katinka  had  bounded  half  way  across  the 
floor,  and  the  wife  of  the  Pasha  had  sprung 
from  her  sofa,  ere  the  slave  remembered  that 
she  who  had  once  been  her  friend  had  now 
become  her  mistress;  and  she  stopped  suddenly 
with  the  indignant  blood  mantling  her  brow, 
and  would  have  turned  aside,  but  the  delighted 
young  Hanoum  caught  her  to  her  heart. 

"  ttister  of  my  soul !"  she  murmured,  as  the 
first  rush  of  joyful  surprise  was  succeeded  by  a 
calmer  and  more  assured  delight :  "  Whence 
come  you  ?  "Welcome  are  j-ou,  as  the  first  roses 
that  gem  the  gardens  of  the  peris — dear  have 
you  ever  been,  as  the  memory  of  the  Idved  and 
lost!" 

"  I  come  from  your  own  fair  land — from  the 
mountains  where  we  were  wont  to  wander  to- 
gether;" was  the  reply;  "but  when  you  were 
gone  the  flowers  of  the  valley  hung  their  heads ; 
and  tlie  wind  on  the  hill-tops  murmured  only 
sadness.  But  I  have  found  j'ou  once  more,  and 
the  sorrows  that  have  fallen  upon  me  since  we 
parted  are  forgotten." 

"  Une  of  them  at  least  is  overpast ;"  hastily 
inteiposed  the  Circassian :  "  from  this  hour, 
beloved  of  my  spirit,  you  are  free."  And  as  she 
spoke  siie  led  the  maiden  to  the  sofa,  and  seated 
her  by  her  side. 

The  news  soon  reached  the  Pasha  that,  in  the 
person  of  the  Greek  slave,  his  wife  had  found  a 
long-lost  fiiond  ;  and  he  learnt  the  fact  with  a 
bewilderment  of  feeling  which  he  did  not  seek 
to  analyze ;  but  when  he  again  visited  t!ie 
beautiful  Hanoum,  and  saw  that  the  light  danced 
in  her  eye,  and  that  her  lip  was  wreathed  with 
smiles,  he  almost  persuaded  himself  that  he  was 
satisfied  with  the  event. 

Had  the  worthy  Satrap  been  more  conversant 
with  the  mysteries  of  a  woman's  heart,  he  might 
perchance  liave  suspected  that  even  the  meeting 
with  one  whom  she  liad  loved  in  her  own  land 
with  the  love  of  a  sister,  would  be  insufficient 
to  produce  so  sudden  and  so  great  a  change  in  ' 
the  temi)er  of  Ids  wife  ;  but  Saifula  Pasha  was  ! 
no  wizard  ii>  the  lore  of  love;  the  eflect  delighted  J 
him  ;  and,  sensible  as  he  liimself  was  to  the 
beauty  of  the  fair  Greek,  he  looked  no  deeper 
for  the  cause,  but  snicked  the  chibouque  of  ' 
content,  and  occujiied  the  divan  of  justice,  as 
well  satislicd  with  himself  and  all  that  apper- 1 


tained  to  him,  as  though  neither  mysteiy  nor 
jealousy  existed  in  the  world. 

It  was  on  a  fair  evening  in  summer  that  the 
two  friends  sat  together,  conversing  in  low- 
whispers  of  past  years  and  vanished  happiness. 
The  draperies  of  the  portal  were  drawn  back; 
and  beyond  the  thresliold  of  the  apartment 
stretched  away  the  garden  and  groves  of  the 
palace,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Fountains 
of  delicate  Avhite  marble  threw  their  sparkling 
waters  into  the  air;  and,  as  the  volume  de- 
scended, touched  b}'  the  colors  of  the  setting 
sun,  it  fell  back  upon  the  lotus  blossoms  in  the 
basin  like  a  tide  of  gems.  Birds  of  gorgeous 
plumage  were  suspended  in  golden  cages  from 
the  branches  of  the  tall  trees,  or  wandered 
among  the  rainbow-tinted  flowers;  while  the 
sweet  breath  of  the  lime-buds  and  the  Persian 
jasmine  came  soothingly-  upon  the  wind. 

It  was  a  lovely  hour  ;  but  there  was  a  sadden- 
ing influence  in  its  luxurious  calm  which  the  fair 
Circassian  felt  in  everj-  pulse ;  tears  stood  in 
her  deep  ej-es;  and  the  unbidden  sigh  rose  at 
intervals,  as  if  to  rebuke  the  effort  which  she 
made  to  smile. 

The  gentle  Greek  gazed  fondly  on  her  for  a 
moment ;  and  then,  flinging  her  white  arms 
about  her  neck,  she  said  playfully — 

"  Ai,  guzum— my  .eyes !  when'  Saifula  Pasha 
paid  sixty  purses  for  a  certain  slave  whom  he 
purchased  not  many  months  back,  it  was  in  the 
iiope  that  she  might  be  able  to  while  his  way- 
ward wife  fi'oni  her  sadness.  How  say  you  f 
shall  we  try  her  skill?  ily  first  tale  I  have1^)ld 
j-ou,  as  the  rose  avows  her  love  to  the  bulbul, 
in  secret — the  rest  may  be  more  openly  delivered 
— the  Prophet  grant  that,  like  the  bulbul's  an- 
swer to  his  blossom-love,  they  may  be  sweet, 
even  although  perchance  somewhat  sad.  Speak, 
Eftendiniou — my  mistress,  shall  it  be  so  ?" 

'•  Janum — my  soul !"  answered  her  companion ; 
"  I  live  but  to  listen."  And,  having  placed  her- 
self more  commodiously  among  her  cushions, 
and  possessed  lierself  of  the  fair  hand  which  was 
wandering  lovingly  among  her  tresses,  thi 
Pasha's  wife,  surrounded  by  her  slaves,  prepared 
to  hearken  to  the  tale  of  her  new-found  friend. 

The  Greek  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  with 
her  open  palm  pressed  upon  her  brow  in  deep 
thought  ;  and  then,  suddenlj-  smiling  u[)on  the 
young  beauty  at  her  side,  she  struck  a  few  notes 
upon  her  zebec,  and  commenced  her  narrative. 


CIIAI^TER    HI. 

\he  diamond  merchant. 

In  the  reign  •  of  Sultan  Mourad  the  Second, 
there  dwelt  in  Stamboul  a  young  man  whose 
name  was  Hassan.  His  father,  who  had  been  a 
merchant  of  some  reputation,  died  while  his  son 
was  yet  a  child ;  and  his  n-other  had  lived 
through  the  subsequent  years  of  her  widowhood 
without  an  interest  or  an  affection  which  did 
not  ccnire  in  her  boy.  "Well  had  the  youth 
repaid  the  loving  care  of  his  last  parent;  and 
often  did  the  aged  Yusnu-gul  bless  the  Prophet 


THE   llOMANCK   OF  Till:   HAUKM.  7 

who  had  spared  such  a  trcaeure  to  h«jr  gray  As  slio  Hung  liors.If  upon  a  pilo  of  ctishiom 
liiiii-s.  hosid.'  th.-  sofii  of  tlif  D.-ncr-.ljir,  an,l  l«...k.-l  i,p 

Hassan  EfFendi  was  ardent,  iinactiiiative,  and  t.-nderly  in  his  faor,  a  i'ol(liir«.s  f.'ll  tipon  Ii.t 
high-hearted,  and  was  as  reniarkal.le  for  his  heart,  and  slie  reinainod  for  a  wliile  silent ;  yet 
moral  qualities  as  f>>.'  his  personal  altraetions.  even  fliat  availeil  iier  nothing,  for  her  sii.n.-e 
As  he  is  the  hero  of  n-y  story,  1  must  heexeused  passfd  unheeded;  no  foud  f^aze  linp're.i  upon 
if  I  attempt  his  deserii>tion";  and  I  will  give  it  lier  beauty;  and  a  tinge  of  Itiller  an<l  regr.tful 
!n  as  few  words  as  possilile.  To  a  stature  so  surprise  iningled  with  the  sigh  that  Inave.l  li.r 
lofty  that,  had  it  not  been  tempeied  by  extreme  bosom,  as  she  stretelied  her  jewelh.l  band  t«- 
gruce,  it  might  have  been  considered  almost  as  wards  her  zebee,  and  swept  the  eliords  with 
H  defect,  ho  united  the  advantages  of  a  noble  lingers  as  light  as  the  breath  of  evening  among 
expression  of  countenance,  and  features  of  the    roses. 

most  classical  beauty.  His  dark  eyes  had  a  The  spirit  of  the  Deffer-dar  was  softened  by 
depth  whence,  in  moments  of  excitement,  the  the  strain,  and  he  sighed  in  bis  turn:  but,  alas! 
living  fire  tlashe.l  forth  with  meteorie  brilliancy  ;  tii.-  sigh  was  not  f»ir  Nef/.i  Sabali  ;  for  as  bis 
and  bis  lip  had  that  curve  of  iningled  .<eorn  and  troiibl.d  thougiit.s  resolved  tliemselve.-j  into  calm, 
softness  wliich  betrays  the  workings  of  the  spirit  be  reinemb.-ied  Hassan;  and,  while  the  boanii- 
without  the  aid  of  words.  The  turban  never  ful  (  irea-ssian  was  breathing  out  a  lay  of  love, 
bound  a  nobler  brow  than  that  of  Hassan  he  was  menially  expatiating  ou  the  delights  of 
Etfendi ;   nor  was  the  girdle  of  cacbemire  ever    frieiniship. 

folded  above  a  more  generous  heart.  '      "  Uf  what  avail,"   he  asked    himself,   "  have 

Constituted  as  I  have  here  described  him,  it  been  f be  toils  and  the  intrigues  of  years?  Of 
will  not  be  matter  of  surprise  to  any  that  Hassan  what  value  bave  been  the  false  vows  of  tin-  tinio- 
created  for  himself  a  surpassing  interest  in  tbe  serving  herd  wlio  have  followed  in  my  path? 
breast  of  the  Defter-dar,  or  Treasurer  to  the  The  toils  have  withered  me — the  intrigues  bavu 
Crown,  who  soon  felt  for  the  young  man  the  blighted  me — the  flatterers  have  proved  falsi- — 
affection  of  a  father.  His  love  was  gratefnlly  the  gaud  and  tbe  glitter  of  court  favor  were 
returned;  and  it  was  the  more  valuable  to  the  sunlight  in  whieh  they  basked,  and  tb.v 
Hassan  because  he  had  never  known  a  father's  have  no  time  to  siiiver  in  the  slinde  of  <li.«.i|i- 
fondness.  To  the  atfection  of  u  son  he  added  prtintment.  Now  is  the  moment  to  revenge  niv- 
the  reverence  of  aprotege,  and  thus  deepened  the  self  on  fate,  and  to  make  the  lure  of  ainbilion 
feeling  which  shed  a  glow  of  hapjiiness  over  his  :  yield  to  the  calm  impulse  of  friendship.  I  am 
existence  ;  while  his  brightest  moments,  despite  ,  no  longer  the  favorite  of  Mourad,  but  I  am  still 
his  youth  and  his  enthusiasm,  were  spent  in  the  the  friend  of  Hassan ;  and  what  is  the  possession 
Bo.iety  of  his  powerful  and  partial  friend.  of  power  compared  to  that  of  one  honest  herir'.  f 

Thus  were  things  situated,  when  one  of  those  When  the  storm  rages,  the  surf  is  scattered  upon 
diplomatic  avalanches,  which  descend  no  where  the  shore  ;  but  the  jewel  which  is  hidden  in  the 
BO  suddenly  nor  so  fatally  as  in  the  East,  over-  I  depths  of  ocean  is  unmoved  by  the  tumult  of 
whelmed  the  Deftcr-dar,  and  he  found  himsi-lf     the  billows." 

dispossessed  of  all  his  honors  at  a  ]>eriod  when  |  With  this  consolatory  reflection  the  Defler-<lar 
they  had  become  habitual  to  him.  Nor  was  liis  concluded  Ids  revery  ;  and,  as  the  smile  of  reeo- 
interest  at  court  the  oidy  loss  which  aceom-  |  vered  complacency  rose  to  his  lip,  N<-fzi-Sabah 
panied  his  dismission  from" office — true,  his  for-,  |  ccase.i  her  song,  and  smiled  in  her  turn  at  tlie 
tune,  which  was  am]>le,  remained  intact  ami 
UninTaded  liy  the  hand  of  power:  he  was  still 


ss  of  her  fond  experiment 
Nor    was   the    stoii-al    composure  of  the   ox- 
courtier  subject  of  surprise  to  those  around  him. 
lively  Turk  is  aware  that  the  same  band  whi<  h 
bi-ekons   bin   to  a  I'ashalik    can   also   twine   the 
bowstring  about  his  neck;  and  he  accepts  the 
one  with  as  murh  outward  composure  as  he  sub- 
mits to  tbe  other.      I'.veii   beggary,   8U<ideiily  an 
•  it  may  e<mie  upon  bim,  fails  to  wring  a  murmur 
I  from  his  li]>s.      H<'  looks  upon  worldly  advaiiee- 


Bnrrounded  by  luxury  and  indulgence  ;  but  1 
antechamber  wivs  n<>  long  .r  thronged  with  iho-e 
troops  of  fririuls  who  had  been  wont  to  irowd 
it,  and  whose  attendance  had  ever  been  eori- 
sidered  over|>:iid  by  his  smiles:  he  awoke  on 
the  morrow  after  his  dismissal,  wearied  bv  a 
night  of  fitful  and  uneas}'  dreams,  only  to  had 
himself  alone. 

Tliere  is  something  strange  and  startling  to  1  tneiit  and  worldly  jiossessions  as  mere  transitory 
one  who  has  been  accustomed  to  a  bevy  of  adu-  |  benefits,  and  the  grave  as  tbe  great  and  eeiluin 
lators — to  a  herd  of  Bupf>lianfs — to  a  throng  of    end  of  all ;  and,  unlike  the  theoretical  Europei 
obsequious  sycophants — in  finding  kis  altar  sud-    who,  admilling  th 
-     •       •        •         .  •^.    •  ,,,„„^,,    i,,^.^.   , 


denly  abandoned  by  the  incense-breatning  wor- 
shippers who  v'->Y-  wont  to  eiw-'-'e  it;  and  thus 
felt  the  I)efter-<iar.  lis  wanaered  listlessly  aiid 
sadly  through  his  sf»acious  apartments  ;  he  laid 
his  pipe  a8i<le,  and  left  his  coffee  untasted  ;  and, 
after  a  while,  he  passed  into  the  harem;  but 
even  the  smiles  of  Ncfzi-Sabah,  his  wife,  failed 
to  awaken  him  to  joy.  And  yet  she  was  the 
wife  of  only  a  few  short  months,  and  beautiful  as 
a  houri.  Gentle  as  the  "  Morning  Zephyr," 
whose  name  she  bore,  dark-eyed  as  the  gazelle, 
and  graceful  as  a  fawn,  Nefzi-Sabah  found  the 
•pell  of  her  lovcliucBs  for  the  first  Lime  powerless. 


:  same  belief,  neverthell•^r^ 
r'ere   tbe   8Uj)rerae   good — 
.Mpha   and   Omega   of  all    created    beings — 
.Muskclmaun,  instead  of  terminating  his  r<  ver 
with  a  |)islol  or  a  razor,  or  supporting  them 


lirst   with   a  dogged 
plaees  him   beyond  tl 


lid  sullen   d' 


•span 


rhirh 


pale  of  future  exertion, 
1  atrophises"  the  energies  of  all  who  are  de 
[teiident  on  bim,  <almly  rehii^iis  him-.elf  to  a  fate 
which  h.;  had  not  pow'er  to  eontiol,  ami  make* 
the  best  of  that  whieh  still  remains.  TIk-  Defter- 
dar  was  wealthy  ;  he  yet  pos.se8se.l  the  meant 
of  tranquil,  and  even  costly  enjoyment  ;  tbe 
substance    was   untouched,    it  was  the   »liiidow 


THE  ROMAKCE   OF  THE   IIAREM. 


only  which  had  passed  away  ;  and,  under  snch 
circumstiinees,  no  Turk  wonld  arrogate  to  liim- 
self  the  right  of  complaint ;  or  deeni  that  he 
could  be  an  object  of  comniisei-ation. 

It  was  a  time  of  festival,  the  Rainazan  was 
waning  to  a  close — the  morrow  was  the  feast  of 
tlie  Bairam;  and  the  Defter-dar  ere  long  quitted 
tlic  women's  apartments,  in  order  to  prepare  the 
presents  which,  at  this  period,  it  is  cnstomai-y  to 
distribute  among  the  members  of  the  household. 

As  the  ex-courtier  turned  a  hasty  glance  on 
the  many  gifts  that  lay  around  him,  each  enve- 
loped in  the  boksha  or  handkerchief  in  which 
the  offering  is  made,  he  could  not  repress  the 
j-ising  scorn  which  grew  out  of  the  memory  of 
past  yeai-s,  and  the  conviction  that  the  link  that 
now  united  him  to  those  who  were  about  to 
share  his  bounty,  was  one  of  interest,  not  love. 
]-5ut  the  feeling  passed  away,  as  his  eye  lingered 
on  the  costly  gifts  prepared  for  Hassan ;  and, 
with  unwonted  earnestness,  he  once  Triore  un- 
folded the  boksha  to  assure  himself  that  the 
present  was  worthy  of  his  love. 

A  shawl  from  the  looms  of  Caehemire,  whose 
price  would  have  ransomed  a  province  con- 
cealed amid  its  folds  a  Damascus  dagger,  and  a 
pail"  of  diamond-studded  pistols;  and.  as  the 
l)efter-dar  replaced  the  weapons,  and  refolded 
the  handkerchief,  he  put  into  the  hands  of  a 
trusty  slave  the  precious  offeriiig  of  fi-ieudship, 
and  turned  away  with  a  calm  brow  and  a  cheer- 
ful s])irit. 

But  the  cup  of  disappointment  was  not  j-et 
diained  to  the  dregs,  aud  the  Defter-dar  was 
"ated  to  imbibe  the  draught  even  to  the  last 
drop. 

Eager  to  expedite  the  work  of  bounty,  the 
slave  loaded  himself  with  as  many  packages  as 
he  could  conveniently  carry,  and  hastened  on 
his  errand.  Numerous  were  the  greetings  which 
awaited  him  as  he  passed  on  ;  and  each  chance- 
pa.ssengcr  whom  he  encountered  on  his  way 
grasped  his  hand  in  fellowship  and  congratula- 
tion, as  is  customary  atthis  solemn  feast;  can- 
non boomed  along 'the 'Bosphorus  ;  the  distant 
sound  of  music  came  upon  the  wind ;  and  the 
good  ilusselmaun,  excited  and  preoccupied, 
hastily  placed  in  the  possession  of  one  of  the 
impatient  expectants  the  sumptuous  gift  destined 
for  Hassan  ;  and  then  unconsciously  pursued  his 
way  to  the  dwelling  of  the  young  Effendi. 

Hassan,  meanwhile,  suffered  far  more  at  the 
niisfortunes  of  his  friend  than  the  Defter-dar 
himself.  The  ex-courtier  was  no  longer  in  the 
first  rush  of  youth  ;  he  had  attained  the  age 
when,  despite  all  circumstances,  a  certain  degree 
of  philosophy  is  forced  upon  every  man.  He 
had  sufficient  experience  to  perceive  and  to  ap- 
preciate the  hollowness  and  uncertainty  of 
worldly  honors,  and  a  mind  energetic  enough  to 
turn  to  nobler  means  of  consolation.  But^Has- 
Baii  was  yet  in  the  fresh  years  when  the  dew  of 
hope  fails  plentifully  on  tiie  wayside  of  exis- 
tence, and  cabs  up  a  thousand  bright  tints  from 
tlie  wilding  flowers  which  blos.«oMi  there.  He 
liad  not  yet  learnt  (he  usefid  and  care-taught 
lesson  of  self-examination  and  self-government. 
He  coidd  not  com|)rehend  tiie  possibility  of 
casting  aside  worldly  distinctions,  and  rcpl.acing 
"'•er  by  the  more  social  possessions  of 


fellowship  and  regard.  He  had  ever  looked 
upon  the  Defter-dar  as  upon  one  born  to  autho- 
rity and  trust ;  and  he  could  not,  in  the  first 
rusii  of  feeling,  disentangle  those  attributes 
which  had  so  long  been  blent  in  his  imagination. 
To  say  that  he  pitied  the  individual  were  an  er- 
ror— he  only  mourned  the  evil ;  for  he  regarded 
his  friend  with  the  same  honoring  eyes  as  when 
he  moved  in  pride  and  power.  "  The  sun,"  said 
Hassan,  in  replj'  to  some  observation  of  Yusnu- 
gul,  his  mother:  "is  still  the  sun,  though  clouds 
may  have  passed  before  it.  Who  shall  dare  to 
lift  an  irreverent  look  to  the  glorious  orb,  or  t« 
deride  its  want  of  light,  because  the  vapors  of 
the  morning  have  overshadowed  it?" 

"  The  Defter-dar,"  retorted  the  aged  woman, 
as  she  resumed  her  pipe,  and  deposited  beside 
her  cushions  the  bag  of  embroidei-ed  cacheraire 
containing  the  scented  tobacco  with  which  she 
had  just  replenished  it ;  "  the  Defter-dar  has 
still  the  heart  and  the  hand  of  a  prince;  and 
fear  not " 

"  What  should  I  fear?"  exclaimed  Hassan,  his 
dark  eyes  flashing  scorn  at  the  inference  of  his 
more  worldly-minded  mother;  "Mashallah!  have 
I  loved  him  only  for  the  riches  with  which  he 
has  loaded  me  ?  Have  I  been  bought  at  a  price  f 
Do  not  even  you  know  me  better?  I  tell  you. 
mother,  that  the  world  holds  not  the  being  who 
shall  ever  rend  away  my  heart  from  the  Defter- 
dar;  he  has  been  a  father  to  me  in  affection,  a 
friend  in  tru.st,  a  protector  in  munificence.  He 
only  can  undo  the  work  of  his  own  kindness; 
and  while  he  still  loves  me,  nothing  shall  part 
us,  though  all  the  ills  of  life  should  accumulate 
around  him." 

The  words  had  scarcelj^  passed  the  lips  of  the 
excited  young  man,  when  a  slave  of  Yusnu-gul's 
harem  stood  slipperless  at  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment, holding  in  her  hand  an  embroidered 
boksha,  which  she  laid  at  the  feet  of  Hassan  as 
the  gift  of  the  Defter-dar;  and  then,  retreating 
a  fev/  paces,  she  crossed  her  hands  before  her. 
and  awaited  in  silence  the  orders  of  her  lord. 

With  an  eager  hand  and  a  throbbing  heart, 
Hassan  prepared  to  unfold  the  handkerchief; 
and  Yusnu-gul  raised  herself  from  herrecumbent 
position  to  feast  her  eyes  on  the  costly  present 
which  her  son  was  about  to  reveal. 

It  was  not  the  expectation  of  acquiring  a  new 
and  valuable  possession  which  agitated  Hassan 
as  he  threw  back  the  folds  of  the  boksha :  it 
was  the  consciousness  that  the  gift  offered  on 
tiie  occasion  of  the  Bairam  is  always  in  propor- 
tion to  the  degree  of  regard  in  which  the  in<ii- 
vidual  to  whom  it  is  offered  is  held  by  the  donor; 
and  his- disimiy  may  consequently  be  eonceivcii 
when  the  handkerchief  delivered  up  its  contents. 
The  blood  mounted  to  his  brow,  and  the  fire 
flashed  from  his  deep  eyes,  as  he  discovered  their 
nature — a  shirtof  the  stuff'  worn  by  tlie  boatmen 
on  the  Bospliorus ;  pantaloons  of  the  conunon 
material  used  by  the  peasantry  ;  a  shawl  whose 
coarse  folds  Avere  meet  only  to' bind  the  forehead 
of  a  ghez-metkian,  or  domestic  slave.  Such  was 
the  present  which  had  been  tendered  to  tlio 
hitherto  favorite  friend  of  the  Defter-dar  I 

For  a  few  moments  the  young  man  remained 
speechless ;  and  that  brief  space  sufficed  for  a 
thousand  comments  from  Yusuu  guL     "  tjhekiur 


lilE  ROMANCE   OF   THE   IIAIIEM.  g 

Allah— Praise  be  to  God !"  she  exclftimcd  ;  "  we  |  still  unrcnt,  and  they  deem  that  all  men  irro 

truth— hut  Yam  undi'ooived.  Insliiillali— I  tniKt 
in  God  !  1  iiavo  drained  my  dinni^lit.  nf  hitter- 
noss,  and  the  cup  is  emptv.  Ill  int.  d  Hassan  I 
to  have  but  one  friend,  and  (o  los.-  him  tluisl" 

"And  what  avails  friendship  at  your  bright 
age,  Klfendim  ?"  murmured  out  a  low  voiee  elose 
biside  iiim,  as  a  small  haiul  was  laid  lighllv  on 
his  arm  :  "  Bosh  der— it  is  nothing.  Fri.-mfship 
is  for  the  grayd)eard  and  the  dotard  ;  but  your 
beard  is  yet  blaek  as  the  midnight  cloiul'and 
your  wit  keen  as  the  dagger  it)  your  girdle — 
friendship  is  but  the  dregs  wiiieh  life  oilers  to 
the  aged  when  youth  has  drained  the  draught) — 
friendship  is  the  eold  resting-plaee  of  satiety 
when  passion  has  extinguished  the  flames  of  it« 
tiery  ear,  and  swept  onward  on  dusky  wings  into 
irrecoverable  darkness.  You  are 'not  formed 
for  friendship — the  spring  sun  does  but  light  up 
the  flowers:  the  fruits  of  autumn  rcfpiire  a 
tiercer  beam.  You  are  like  one  who  hungers  at 
a  feast,  because  he  lacks  energy  to  stretch  forth 


are  not  yet  so  sunk  as  to  need  such  courtesy  us 
this!  Is  the  Defter-dar  become  a  divane,  an 
idiot,  or  does  lie  take  you  for  tlie  son  of  a  bagh- 
djee,*  that  he  sends  you  garments  titting  only 
for  a  slave  !  Sen  ehok  adam,  you  are  much  of 
a  man,  if  you  bear  this  wit  hout" complaint  1" 

But  Hassan  answered  not.  He  sat  with  his 
head  bowed  down  xipon  his  breast,  lost  in 
thought;  until,  as  the  tndignation  of  his  mother 
became  gradmdly  more  loud  and  less  measured, 
he  roused  himself,  and  replied  in  a  broken  tone: 
"  Enough  of  this,  1  have  read  tiie  meaning  of 
the  Defter-dar — he  is  lord  of  his  own  will,  and  1 
have  no  right  to  condemn  him  for  its  exercise. 
All  the  world  has  changed  to  him  ;  and  he  is 
free  in  his  turn  to  change  to  lue.  Jt  is  his  own 
fiat  which  separates  us.  May  he  fiinl  another 
heart  that  will  cling  to  him  as  fomily  and 
as  faithfully  as  that  of  Hassan  would  have  done 
had  he  not  spurned  it  from  him  !" 

A  gusli  of  tears  followed  the  woi-ds ;  and 
hastily  flinging  from  him  the  wadded  covering 
of  the  tandourf  beneath  which  he  had  been 
sitting,  the  young  man  folded  his  pelisse  about 
him  and  rushed  into  the  street  He  had  need 
of  the  keen  eold  air  that  was  blowing  from  the 
Bospiiorus  to  relieve  his  labored  and  painful 
breathing,  for  his  agony  sutioeated  him. 

"All  save  this,  1  could  have  borne,"  he  niur 
mured  to  himself,  "but  to  be  ranked  among 
his  menial  servants — to  be  put  upon  a  footing 
with  his  slaves — to  be  tacitly  taught  that  he 
holds  me  as  lightly  as  any  other  vailet  whom  he 
has  bought  with  his  gold — this  oidy  I  cannot 
bear,  lil-fated  Hassan  !  to  have  but  one  friend, 
Qud  to  lose  him  thus !" 

For  hours  did  the  joung  man  wander  about 
the  city:  he  heard  not  the  busy  hum  of  the 
streets ;  he  heeded  not  the  bright  eyes  wliieh 
flashed  upon  him  as  he  passed,  from  beneath  the 
jealous  yashmac  ;:^  he  returned  not  the  greetings 
tliat  were  addressed  to  him  by  his  acquaintance, 
nor  the  i<lle  jests  of  which  he  was  the  subject. 
His  mind  was  absorbed  by  one  engrossing  idea  ; 
and  at  intervals  he  mentally  repeated,  "Hl- 
fated  Hassan  !  to  have  but  one  friend,  and  to 
lose  him  thus !" 

In  this  dark  mood  of  mind  the  young  Effendi 
turned  aside  from  the  stieets,  just  as  twilight 
was  beginning  to  thicken  aroimd  him  ;  and 
entered  one  of  the  eerneteries  of  the  city.  The 
iiight-win<l  was  already  sighing  among  the  tall 
cyj)resses  that  overshadowed  the  graves,  an<l 
the  turbaned  head-stones  gleamed  eold  and 
ghastlj-  through  the  gloom.  In  the  distance  the 
illuminated  minarets  looked  like  {airy  palaces 
hung  in  mid-air;  the  world  without  was  bright- 
ened by  festivity,  and  loud  with  revel — Hassan 
felt  as  though  it  were  a  bitter  mockery; — and 
while  he  lingered  among  the  damp  graves,  he 
congratulated   himself   in   the    darkness  of    his 


spirit  that  he  was  alone;  and,  in  the  fervor  of 
the  feelii;g  he  exclaimed  aloud,  "Yes;  they  too 
must  run  the  same  career  of  cheating  affection  ; 
but  as  yet  they  are  happy — for  them  the  veil'is 

*  A  laborej-. 

t  A  wcjoJen  frame,  containin);  a  brazier  of  heated  char- 
ooal,  and  overlaid  \\  ith  Miken  o  verleu. 
I  Veil  worn  Ity  Turkish  females  in  the  ttreeL 


his  hand 

"  Who  are  you?  and  what  would  vou  with 
me?"  asked  Hassan,  gloomily. 

"  1  am  called  Fclech-so,"  was  the  rej.ly  ;  "and 
1  ask  of  you  only  to  be  just  to  yours'elf;  the 
bulbul  amid  its  sorrows  has  its  rose— it  murmurs 
not  to  the  winds  of  heaven  without  one  fond  ear 
to  listen  ;  there  is  a  charm  even  in  grief  where 
it  awakens  sympathy.  But  the  biightest  eye 
will  grow  dim  with  tears,  and  the  "smoothest 
brow  become  furrowed  by  bitter  thought ;  and 
thus  the  young  and  the  qiiick-heartcd  do  well  to 
trample  care  beneath  their  feet,  ere  it  beeomea 
too  strong  to  be  overmastered." 

"Yours  is  joyous  philosophy;  affiet  ollah— 
much  good  may  it  do  you  ;"  said  Hassan  with  a 
scornful  smile,  as  he  bent  down  to  take  a  closer 
view  of  his  companion,  interested  in  spite  of 
himself  in  the  singularity  of  the  adventure:  "but 
a  man  must  be  a  fop  or  a  stoic  who  professea 
it" 

-And  wherefore*?"  qsked  the  low,  soft,  but 
somewhat  mocking  voice:  "the  stoic  of  ihree- 
and-twenty  bids  fair  to  change  his  creed  at  fifty 
for  one  less  stern.  Hassan  Kll'endi,  if  you  could 
only  look  on  me,  you  would  believe  me." 

"  You  kimw  me,  then?"  said  the  young  man, 
wi«h  astoidshment 

Know  yon  ?"  was  the  laughing  rejoinder 
•'■who  in  Stamboul  knows  you  not  ?  Those  who 
may  not  gather  the  rose  are,  nevertheless,  not 
forbidden  to  look  upon  it." 

Hassan  listened  more  complacently.  "  I-hav« 
tracked  you  for  the  last  hour:  I  woiihl  fain  save 
you  from  yourself.  You  are  cursing  your 
feleeli,*  when  you  are,  in  truth,  y<>urown  worst 
enemy.  Move  a  few  jiaces  onward,  into  yonder 
spot,  where  the  reflection  of  a  cluster  of  bl.i/ing 
minarets  almost  cheats  the  eye  into  n  beli.f  of 
da\  light  1  will  detain  you  but  a  moment,  and 
you  shall  tlien  be  free  to* act  as  you  deem  best." 
Hassan  involuntarily  obeyed;  and.  as  lie 
followed  closely  on  the  footsteps  of  his  sfrango 
guide,  he  was  struck  with  the  lightness  of  her 
movements,  and  the  graceful  undnlations  of  her 
slight  figure;    but  when   they   had  ut  lengih 

*  Constellation. 


10 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


reached  the  spot  ■whicli  she  indicated,  and  that 
she  -withdrew  her  yashmac,  and  revealed  to  him 
the  loveliest  face  on  which  he  had  ever  looked, 
his  breath  came  quicker,  and  he  demanded 
hurriedly  :  —  "  How  said  you  that  you  were 
called  r 

"  Feleeh-so" — murmured  the  low  voice. 

"  And  j-ou  are  rightly  named  !"  exclaimed  the 
excited  young  man ;  "  for  your  constellation 
must,  indeed,  be  ever  in  the  ascendant.  Speak! 
What  would  j-ou  ?" 

"  Effendim,!  have  told  you  all  my  errand.  I 
would  fain  call  back  the  smile  to  your  lip,  and 
the  light  to  your  e\-e.  Our  mouUahs  may  prate 
to  you  of  prayer — our  Pashas  of  power — our 
merchants  of  gold — I  promise  you  all  these,  if 
you  care  to  mend  your  fortune.  And  now,  fol- 
low me  on  the  instant,  if  you  will ;  or  bid  me 
farewell  at  once,  for,  if  we  part  to-night,  we 
part  forever.  I  am  a  Turkish  woman;  the  sun 
has  set,  and  I  an:  yet  abroad :  none,  save  your- 
self, must  look  upon,  or  dog  me.  How  say  you  ? 
"Will  you  confide  in  me?  Can  my  smile  lighten 
your  grief?  sen  bilirsen — you  kno\^  best— it  is 
for  you  to  decide-,  will  you  trust  to  me?" 

"  Instantly — eternally." 

•'  It  is  well ;"  said  Felech-so,  as  she  re-adjusted 
lier  yash-mac,  and  drew  her  heavy  cloak  more 
closely  aV'out  her: — "I  shall  lead  you  by  by- 
paths and  unfrequented  streets  :  follow  me  at  a 
distance ;  and  when  you  see  me  enter  the 
dwelling  whither  I  am  about  to  conduct  you, 
the  door  will  be  left  ajar,  and  you  may  safely 
pass  the  threshold." 

"  Stay  j-et  a  moment,"  murmured  Hassan. 

"And  wherefore,  Effendini?  When  once  we 
have  left  the  public  streets,  and  that  the  same 
roof  covers  us,  shall  I  not  be  free  to  fill  your 
pipe,  to  linnd  your  slippers,  and  to  serve  your 
coffee?  Will  not  the  music  of  my  zebec  be 
softer  than  the  distant  murmurs  of  the  city?  and 
the  glances  of  your  slave  be  more  dazzling  than 
the  glare  of  man\-  torches  !" 

Hassan  insisted  no  farther;  and  in  the  next 
instant  he  was  following  the  short  and  rapid 
6tei)S  of  his  new  acquaintance  through  by-wa3-s 
hitherto  unknown  to  him.  At  times  he  caught 
glimpses  of  tlie  Bosj>horus,  basking  in  the  re- 
flection of  the  myriad  lamps  of  the  hill-seated 
city:  at  times  he  left  it  far  ])ehind  him,  to  follow 
tlie  ascent  of  some  steep  and  narrow  street — but 
he  hesitated  no  longer :  and,  after  the  hurried 
walk  of  an  hour,  during  the  whole  of  which 
time  he  never  once  lost  sight  of  his  mysterious 
guide,  he  saw  her  pause  an  instant  at  the  portal 
of  a  stately  building  whose  vast  shadow  lay 
long  upon  "the  eartii,  and  then  disappear  across 
the  threshold.  In  the  next  moment  he  stood  on 
the  same  spot:  the  door,  as  he  had  been  fore- 
warned, remained  ajar;  he  pushed  it  gently 
back,  strode  through  tie  portal,  and  found  him- 
Bi'lf  in  a  spacious  and  cov<;red  court,  lighted  only 
by  one  dim  and-fliikering  lamp. 

Hassan  stood  for  a  wiiile  in  some  perplexity, 
and  not  withfuit  a  passing  suspicion  that  treach- 
ery was  int»-nded  towards  him  ;  when  suddenly 
a  black  slave,  habited  in  a  rich  costume,  who  | 
had  evidently  been  awaiting  his  arrival,  seized 
him  by  the  hand,  and  dr<_-w  liim  forward.  Has-  1 
BOn  wjia  neither  of  an  age  nor  a  temperament  to  j 


yield  slavishly  to  fear,  yet,  as  he  was  hurried 
onward  through  dark  passages,  and  dragged  up 
one  flight  of  steps  and  down  another,  where  the 
deep  silence  was  broken  only  by  his  own  foot- 
falls and  those  of  his  conductor,  a  vague  appre- 
hension of  evil  grew  upon  him  ;  but  it  was  by 
this  time  too  late  to  recede,  for,  even  could  he 
have  escaped  from  his  companion,  and  had  no 
resistance  been  offered  to  his  retreat,  he  was 
conscious  that  he  should  be  totally  unable  to  re- 
trace his  path  :  and  under  these  eircumstancea 
he  resolved  quietly  to  follow  up  the  adventure, 
terminate  as  it  might. 

Having  come  to  this  decision,  he  bestowed 
undivided  attention  on  the  movements  of  the 
slave  who  conducted  him ;  and  soon  became 
convinced  that,  altliough  the  building  into 
which  he  had  been  introduced  was  extremely 
spacious,  he  had,  nevertheless,  trodden  the  same 
ground  more  than  once  :  a  circumstance  which 
proved  that,  whatever  might  be  the  motive  of 
its  owner,  the  intention  was  evidently  to  mys- 
tify him  as  to  its  formation  and  extent.  Not  a 
glimpse  of  light  had  he  encountered  since  he 
quitted  the  court ;  and,  as  a  door  immediately 
in  front  him  suddenly  fell  back,  Hassan  in  vol 
untarily  pressed  his  open  palm  upon  his  eyes  to 
shield  them  fi-om  a  glare  which  almost  blinded 
him.  Peals  of  ringing  laughter,  and  the  glad 
sounds  of  many  zebecs,  mingled  with  the  joyous 
voices  of  women,  burst  upon  his  ear  ;  and,  as  he 
hastily  withdrew  his  hand,  the  light  form  of 
Felech-so  detached  itself  from  a  group  of  young 
beatities,  as  fair  and  briglit  as  houris,  and  ap- 
proached him  with  a  bounding  step. 


CHAPTER  rV". 

THE    DIAMOND    MERCHANT CONTINTIED. 

Hour  after  hour  sat  Yusnu-gul  in  her  apart- 
ment, listening  to  the  footfalls  of  every  passing 
slave,  and  deeming  that  each  in  turn  heralded 
the  return  of  Hassan  ;  but  Hassan  came  not ! 

Daylight  had  passed  away  ;  and  the  illumin- 
ated minarets  shot  high  into  the  air,  like  fiery 
shafts,  their  graceful  columns  of  light,  while  the 
bosom  of  the  Channel  glowed  like  molten  metal 
beneath  the  blaze.  Music  was  soft  in  the  dis- 
tance, and,  at  intervals,  a  light  laugh  or  a  merry 
song  rang  upon  the  wind — and  still  Hassan 
came  not! 

As  yet,  however,  Yusnu-gul  rather  marvelled 
than  mourned  at  his  delay  :  all  the  youth  of 
Stamboul  were  abroad  in  the  glad  city,  and 
Hassan,  gentle  as  he  was,  ever  loved  to  be  the 
first  in  every  festival.  The  aged  woman,  there- 
fore, quietly  replenished  her  pipe,  and  sipped 
her  coffee,  and  lost  herself  in  conjectures  as  to 
the  motive  of  the  extraordinary  conduct  of  the 
Hefter-dar,  and  mental  repinings  at  the  unmerit- 
ed mortification  of  her  high-hearted  son. 

Another  hour  was  filtered  througli  the  lap  of 
time,  and  the  loud  cannon  boomed  along  the 
Bosphorus  in  rapid  succession,  while  the  flitting 
fires  of  the  festival  ran  skimmering  .ilong  tli« 
dark  face  of  night,  like  mimic  lightning;  glanc- 
ing over  the  tops  of  the  tall  cedars,  and  spread- 


THE   ROMANCK   OF  THE   lIAIiEAL 


n 


iug  in  sheets  of  transient  flnnic  a  numtU'  of 
golden  glory  about  the  city.  At  longlh  llie  cold 
grey  liglit  of  morning  broke  pule  and  oliilly  in 
the  east;  the  dusky  rocks  of  the  Asiatic  coast 
loomed  out,  stern  and  sterile;  the  wliite  build- 
ings of  IVra  gleamed  blank  and  bleak  in  the 
faint  sky  ;  and  the  distant  minarets  of  Scutari 
looked  like  giant-spirits,  as  iho  tirst  beams  of 
day  revealed  their  shadowy  outline,  it  was  the 
morrow  of  the  ISairam — and  still  llassan  re- 
turned not ! 

Yusnu-gul,  who  loved  her  son  with  a  devotion 
as  untiring  as  it  was  profound,  had  watched 
throughout  the  night  without  a  sensation  of 
weariness,  llassan  was  young  and  high-spirited, 
and  had,  doubtlessly,  been  detained  by  his 
associates;  and  the  lioart  of  the  mother  was 
soothed  by  the  belief  that,  amid  the  dissipation 
of  the  festival,  he  would  forget  his  reecut  mort- 
ification. But  with  the  chilly,  cheerless  dawn 
came  other  and  more  anxious  thoughts.  Alike 
to  the  pain-worn  patient  and  to  the  weary 
watcher — to  the  sick  and  to  the  sorrowing — 
there  are  no  moments  so  sad  and  so  depressing 
as  those  in  which  day  and  night  stand  together 
on  the  threshold  of  time,  as  though  each  were 
reluctant  to  j-ield  up  its  empire. 

When  the  light  broke  around  her,  Yusnu-gul 
began  to  fear  she  knew  not  what!  llassan  was 
impetuous,  haughty,  and  uncompromising;  of 
■what  rashness  might  he  not  have  been  guilty, 
in  the  first  rush  of  his  resentment?  True,  he 
had  loved  the  Defter-dar  as  a  father ;  but 
Yusnu-gul  was  woman  enough  to  be  aware  that 
outraged  affection  is  the  very  foundation  on 
which  may  be  erected  the  firmest  superstruc- 
ture of  hate.  His  attachment  to  the  Ex-Trea- 
surer had  been  divested  of  every  taint  of  world- 
liness  and  self-interest — a  spontaneous  out- 
pouring of  reverence  and  regard — but  it  is  ever 
the  most  generous  spirit  which  is  the  quickliest 
stung  ;  and  the  niotlier  found  no  consolation  for 
her  solitude  in  the  suggestions  of  her  awakened 
fancies. 

The  slaves  of  Yusnu-gul  removed  her  morning 
meal  untouched,  llassan  was  yet  absent ;  and 
the  tearless  eyes  of  the  gray  and  faded  woman 
burnt  with  the  fever  of  lier'throbbing  bruin. 

It  was  thus  that  she  was  found  by  >\ef/.i- 
Sabah,  the  favorite  wife  of  the  Dcftor-dar,  who, 
on  the  day  succeeding  that  of  the  Bairani,  en- 
tered the"  harem  of  Vusnu-gul,  followed  by  a 
couple  of  her  slaves ;  and,  easting  aside  her 
yashmac,  turned  towards  the  mother  of  llassan 
a  brow  as  moody  a-s  lier  own. 

"  Hai,  hai — so,  so,  you  are  tardy  with  your 
welcome,  Kffendiin;"  eomnicnced  the  beautiful 
Circassian,  for  the  aged  woman  had  uttered  no 
greeting  to  her  visitor;  "  nor  do  1  ask  from  you 
more  speedy  courtesy,  ilashullah  !  the  wrongs 
that  I  have" suffered  from' the  son  are  filly  fol- 
lowed by  the  coldness  of  the  mother." 

"  If  jou  are  come  to  tell  of  lUissan,  speak  1" 
said  Yusnu-gul,  earnestly. 

"If  lam  come  to  tell  of  llassan!"  was  the 
retort;  "  think  you  that  1  can  tamely  suffer  the 
rivalry  of  a  stripling  in  the  affeelions  of  the 
Defter-dar?  Are  my  eyes  dim,  or  my  cheeks 
faded,  that  I  should  be  overlooked  because  he 


'  has  a  smooth   tongue   and   a  ready  wilf     I«  htf 

not  a  sakil-siz — a  no-beard?" 
i      "Is    llassan    indeed    with     the    Dofler-darJ" 
asked  Yusnu-gul,  while  a  gleam  of  joy  lit  up  lur 
fadcil  brow. 

"What  avails  it  that  he  is  not;"  ileinanded 
Nef/i-.Sabah  peevishly  ;  "  when  even  the  ingra- 
titude and  discourtesy  of  his  absence  <luriiig  the 
festival  of  yesterday  have  not  yet  o|)ened  the 
eyes  of  the  Defter-tlar.  Ne  var — what  is  this! 
Am  I  to  listen  to  no  discourse  more  flattering 
to  my  self-love  than  repinings  of  the  nou-aj)- 
pearance  of  an  ingrate?" 

"Talk  not  of  ingratitude,  Effendim;"  said  the 
mother  indiginmtlv  ;  "  after  the  bokshalik*  with 
which  the  Defter-Jar  honored  my  son,  he  could 
scarcely  have  expected  thanks  at  his  hands — • 
Inshallah!   llassan  Elfendi  is  no  slave." 

"  Were  he  a  1'a.Hha  he  could  not  desire  one 
more  costly !"  exclaimed  the  Circassian  ;  "  but 
perchance  the  spoiled  favorite  forgot  the  friend, 
when  he  no  longer  looked  upon  the  Defter- 
dar." 

"  A  shirt  suited  to  a  cni<|uejhe  !"f  said  the 
mother  scornfully. 

"  Pistols  for  his  woman-hand,  of  which  the 
diamond-hilts  can  alone  be  valuable  to  the 
troubler  of  the  peace  of  harems — "  followed  up 
the  Circassian. 

"Schalvar,J  fitting  oid}-  for  a  peasant — "  pur- 
sued Yusnu-gul. 

"A  Damascus  dagger  whose  fellow  would  be 
sought  in  vain,  even  throughout  the  golden  city 
of  btamboid — "  persisted  Nefzl-Sabali. 

"  A  shawl — "  eonitneiiced  the  aged  woman. 

"  Worthy  to  have  covered  the  loins  of  the 
camel  which  carried  the  Prophet — "  broke  in 
her  companion. 

Yusnu-gul  clapped  her  hands  with  a  gesture 
of  contemptuous  indifference,  and  hastily  eom- 
maniled  that  the  boksha  of  the  Defter-dar  should 
be  unfolded  before  the  visiter;  when  the  sur- 
prise of  the  Circassian  was  extreme,  on  seeing 
the  coarse  and  unseendy  garments  which  liad 
been  tendered  to  Hassan  us  the  gift  of  his  pro- 
tector. 

llapidly    and    energetically    tlid    Nef/.i-Sabah 
enumerate  and  describe  the  contents  of  the  hutid- 
kerchief  which  had  been  prej)ared  by  the  hands 
of  the  Defter-dar  for  his  favorite  ;  and,  forget- 
ful   of   her  own    fancied    subject    of  coni|)laint 
against  Hassan,  she  was  soon   engaged  as  anx- 
iously as   Vusnu-gul   herself  in  a  thousand  con- 
tradictory and  im|)rol)able  conjectures  as  to  the 
cause  of  his  unwonted  absence,      lint,  alas!   in 
vain  did  they  surmist?,  and  consult,  and  explain 
— Hassan  returned  not  I 
I      Months  wore  painfull}-  away.     The   heart  <if 
Yusnu-gid    was   a    widowed    heart;  and,  as  she 
]  looked   upon  the  s|)urkling  waters  (jf  the   llos- 
I  phorus  during   the  sunny  days  of  summer,  she 
!  saw  not  their  beauty,  she  felt  not  their  eharm : 
to  her  those  waters  ever  seemed  to  be  the  grave 
of  Hassan. 

"  Yes,"  would  she  murmur  to  hersi'lf  in  her 
bereavement;  "there — beneath  that  smiling 
and  treacherous  wave,  lies  my  manly  boy — my 
only  one — the  light  of  my  eyes,  the  moon  of  my 


t  Uoauuan. 


I  T, 


12 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM, 


evening  sky,  the  bulbul  whose  voice  is  hushed  ;  '  into  the  deep  gloom  of  the  grave-forest,  an 
the  joy  of  my  old  age,  Hassau  the  high-  soon  stood  before  ihe  tall  stone  Avhich  liad  beei 
hearted!"  indicated.     At  its  base  was  one  of  those  snia. 

Kor  did  the  Defter-dar  mourn  less  deeply  the  reservoirs,  hollowed  in  the  marble  for  the  us< 
disappearance  of  his  favorite.  Of  his  death,  his  I  of  the  birds  and  the  wandering  dogs,  so  eoinnior 
violent  or  self-inflicted  doatii,  it  was  impossible  in  Tui-kish  burial-places;  the  little  basin  waf 
to  doubt,  as  every  endeavor  to  discover  his  fate  !  dried  up  :  and  in  this  spot  the  generous  fiient. 
had  proved  abortive;  and  the  tirst  anguish  of  deposited  the  sum  which  had  been  rec^uired  oi 
despair  had  slowly  yielded  to  the  calmer  but  no  I  him,    turned  a   long,    searching    look   into  the 

less  heartfelt  grief  of  resignation,  when  a  letter    -' -^    '="      --•  '    *'— •    -' — '"   ^ 

was  one   morning  placed  in  the   hands  of  the 


Defter-dar,  wlio  started  with  a  surprise  whicl 
almost  amounted  to  incredulity,  on  recognizing 
tlie  well-known  character  of  Hassan. 

"Bismillah  ! — In  the  name  of  the  most  merci- 
ful Allah;  such  were  the  contents  of  the  paper; 
"  I  am  lost  to  you,  and  to  the  world  ;  I  am  lost 
even  to  myself:  and,  having  told  you  this,  I 
dare  not  add  any  thing  in  elucidation  of  a  mys- 
tery which  must  have  bewildered,  and,  I  do 
even  hope,  have  grieved  you.  I  think  of  you 
often — fondly — your  memory  dwells  with  me 
as  the  remembrance  of  lost  light  lingers  with 
the  tenant  of  a  dungeon  ;  or  as  the  vision  of 
departed  liberty  comes  back  upon  the  spirit  of 
the  despairing  captive.  I  love  to  remember  that 
I  was  dear  to  you  ;  I  have  foigotten  all  that 
wounded  alike  my  pride  and  my  affection.  I 
retain  jealously  and  fondly  the  gentler  reminis- 
cences which  are  wound  about  mj'  heart  too 
closely  ever  to  be  rent  asunder  1  I  parted  from 
you  proudly  ;  all  the  kindness  that  you  had 
lavished  upon  me ;  everj-  token  of  affection, 
every  proof  of  regard,  had  been  the  spontaneous 
offering  of  your  own  generous  nature.  Alas  !  I 
now  appeal  to  your  memory  as  a  suppliant.  If 
you  ever  loved — if  you  still  love  me — if  you 
would  save  me  from  misery,  from  suff'ering, 
from  death — a  speedy  and  painful  death — cher- 
ish no  doubt,  admit  no  suspicion  ;  seek  not  to 
penetrate  a  mystery  too  dense  ever  to  be  fa- 
thomed. Do  not  despise  nor  refuse  me  ;  but 
remembering  only  the  loving  trust  of  our  earlier 
and  happier  communion,  bestow  out  of  the 
wealth  which  Allah  has  poured  into  j-our  lap 
sufficient  to  save  me  from  destruction.  Deposit, 
at  the  waning  of  the  moon,  a  purse,  containing 
twenty  thousand  piastres,  on  the  tall  tijrbaned 
head-stone  to  the  right  of  the  great  avenue  of 
the  Cemetery^  of  Scutari ;  one  will  be  there  to 
secure  it;  but,  as  you  love  me,  linger  not  to 
assure  yourself  of  this  fact,  nor  to  palter  with 
the  messenger.  In  doing  either  you  will  destroy- 
me.  I  dare  add  no  more — pity  and  pray  for 
tlie  lost  Hassan." 

The  Defter-dar  read  and  re-read  the  letter; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  hand- 
writing was  that  of  him  whom  he  has  loved  so 
well — of  the  son  of  Yusnu-gul ;  and,  although 
with  a  sick  heart,  and  a  throbbing  pulse,  he  he- 
Bitated  not  to  obey  tlie  bidding. 

The  dawn  was  spreading  faintly  in  the  sky, 
and  t.'ie  moor  was  waning  into  a  pale  and  sickly 
white,  wiicn  the  Dcfter-dai-,  leaving  his  caique 
at  the  pier  of  Scutari,  slowly  wound  his  way 
through  the  hushed  and  slumbering  city,  an'd 
thence  passed  alone  into  its  stately  necropolis. 
Long  sweeps  of  wind  were  heaving  the  heavy 
cypress  boughs,  like  s])irit-sighs ;  but  the  Defter- 


gloom   around   him,    and   then   slowly   moved 
away. 

But  it  was  difficult  to  depart  without  one  re- 
trospective glance  ;  and  the  Defter-dar  had  not 
progressed  more  than  a  few  yards,  ere  he  paus- 
ed, and  looked  back.  A  dusky  figu7-e  flitted 
across  the  path,  and  lingered  an  instant  beneath 
the  tall  tomb — a  deep  voice  murmured,  "  It  is 
well!"  and  then  the  ex-courtier  was  once  more 
alone  in  the  midst  of  the  deep  stillness. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  DIAMOND  MERCHANT CONTINIIED, 

A  YEAR  went  by — a  long  and  dreary  year— 
and  the  memory  of  Hassan  became  to  the  Defter- 
dar  like  the  indistinct  vision  of  a  painful  dream  ; 
but  the  mystery  was  j-et  to  deepen,  and  tlie 
fact  of  his  existence  was  once  more  to  ai'ouse  all 
the  pain-fraught  sympathies  of  those  who  had 
loved  him.  A  second  letter,  written  like  the 
first  in  agony  of  spirit,  was  placed  in  the  hands 
of  the  Defter-dar  at  the  expiration  of  that  period 
Ijy  one  of  his  slaves ;  and  the  bearer,  unmoved 
by  the  peril  of  his  mission,  had  east  off"  his  slip- 
pers on  the  threshold  of  the  Ex-Treasurer ;  and 
there,  awaited  a  reply. 

"  Once,"  thus  ran  the  missive  ;  "  once  I  was 
dear  to  you  :  you  were  to  me  as  a  father,  and  1 
loved  you  as  a  son.  That  I  still  hold  you  in  my 
heart,  be  this  my  witness!  I  may  be  forgottc  -i 
— maj'  have  been  so  long;  yet  1  pray  you  ii. 
mercy  to  recall  my  memoiy.  I  am  in  danger 
— imminent,  instant  danger — and  you  alone  can 
save  me.  You  are  wealth}',  you  are  generous 
— a  trusty  slave  will  deliver  this  letter.  Should 
you  deny  my  prayer,  or  detain  my  messenger, 
i  shall  soon  be  beyond  help.  If  however,  you 
would  once  more  save  me  from  destruction,  lot 
him  be  the  bearer  of  twenty  thousand  piastres. 
I  dare  not  doubt  that  you  will  preserve  mo  ; 
Inshallah!  you  are  the  fast  hope  of  the  miser- 
able Hassan  !" 

The  Defter-dar  summoned  the  strange  slave 
into  his  presence  ;  he  bribed  him  with  gold  and 
soft  words;  he  threatened  him  with  the  basti- 
nado and  the  bowstring;  but  he  could  extoi-t 
no  intelligence  of  the  present  position  or  the 
threatened  peril  of  Hassan. 

"Destroy  or  even  detain  me,  and  he  is  lost ;" 
was  the  oidy  answer  to  every  threat.  "  Dog 
me ;  and,  wlnle  I  am  eluding  your  pursuit,  his 
fate  will  be  accomplished." 

To  the  more  gentle  argument  of  bribe  and 
entreaty  he  was  equally  invulnerable.  "If  you 
grant  tiie  request  of  which  I  am  the  bearer,"  he 


dar  quailed  not  in  his  purpose.     He  plunged  j  said,  "  Hassau  is  saved ;  and  for  myself,  in  tb." 


THE   ROMANCE  OF  THi:   HAREM. 


IS 


case,  my  reward  is  sure.    ElTondim,  I  ask  of  yi/u 
notliiiig  save  des]>ateh." 

Without  tlie  hesitation  of  a  moment,  the 
Defter-dar  phieed  the  required  sum  in  the  linnds 
of  tlie  messenger;  and  aeeoinpanied  it  witii  a 
letter,  replete  with  friendship  and  anxiety,  to 
Hassan,  and  expressions  of  the  most  atfcetionato 
and  sorrowing  interest.  He  besought  iiiin  to 
•mveil  his  melancholy  mystery  to  his  best  friend, 
fi)r  inelaueholy  it  must  assuredly  be,  when  it 
conl.l  thus  sever  him  from  the  mother  of  liis 
youth  and  the  eompanion  of  his  nnudiood ;  he 
]>roniised,  should  he  have  plaeed  his  life  in  jeo- 
parily  bj'  some  aet  of  violenee  or  folly,  to  exert 
for  him  all  the  interest  whieh  he  yet  possessed 
at  eourt;  and  concluded  by  drawing  a  miser- 
able picture  of  the  wretched  Yusnu-gul,  wither- 
ing a\Tay  into  a  solitary  and  unregietted  grave. 

But  when  the  letter  was  concluded,  and  the 
money  delivered  into  the  keeping  of  the  slave, 
It  was  not  so  easy  to  suffer  him  to  depart  un- 
watehed  ;  and  a  trusty  servant  was  f)ui  upon  his 
tr.ii'k.  who  followed  for  houi-s  the  intricate  course 
of  the  stranger;  but  he  followed  in  vain — the 
inattention  of  a  moment  sufficed  to  render  abor- 
tive the  exertions  of  a  ar^-;  and  he  returned  to 
the  palace  of  the  Defler-dar,  defeated  and  baf- 
fled. 

Once  more  months  passed  away ;  and,  even 
as  it  ha<l  been  foretold  to  Hassan,  the  discon- 
solate Yusnu-gul  died.  She  had  mourned  her 
son,  when  she  believed  him  to  be  lost  to  her  for 
ever,  with  the  calm,  deep  grief  of  resignation  ; 
but  her  feeble  frame  and  excited  mind  could  not 
contend  with  the  irritation  of  this  new  mj-stcrv, 
this  unfathomable  secret;  and  she  bent  beneath 
the  shock  as  the  forest  tree  bends  to  the  tempest 
breath  ;  and  as  the  overstrained  brandies,  bow- 
ed beyond  their  power  of  resistance,  rend  the 
trunk  from  which  they  sprang,  so  did  the  feel- 
ings of  Yusnu-gul,  indulged  and  encouraged  in 
the  solitude  of  the  harem,  break  the  heart  that  | 
could  sustain  the  pressure  no  longer. 

There  were  moments,  when  in  thinking  of 
Hassan,  and  in  weaving  strange  fancies  on  his  j 
fate,  the  Defter-dar  almost  hoped  that  he  should 
dear  of  him  no  more.  That  his  letter  had  re- 
mained unanswered  ratlier  grieved  than  sur- 
prised him  ;  for  he  felt  that,  had  Hassan  been 
free  to  aet,  he  would  long  ere  this  have  returned  , 
to  his  home,  and  to  those  whom  he  had  loved 
from  his  boyhood  ;  and  he,  consequently,  visited  ' 
his  silence  upon  the  same  system  of  coercion  i 
whieh  had  forbidden  his  re-apjiearance  among 
nis  friends.  Could  he  have  disentangled  the 
ravelled  skein  of  secrecy  in  whose  meshes  the  poor 
youth  was  bound,  the  Defter-dar  would  have 
exerted  every  energy,  and  strained  every  nerve 
to  restore  him  to  the  world  ;  but  to  hear  of  him 
only  to  earn  the  miserable  privilege  of  knowing 
him  to  be  beyond  human  help,  was  a  torment 
rather  than  a  blessing  to  his  anxious  affection.  I 
His  mother  was  no  more  ;  his  former  associates 
had  almost  forgotten  him.  He,  alone,  remem- 
bered him  with  regret;  and  yet  he  would  have 
thanked  the  messenger  who  broutrht  the  titlings 
of  h's  death.  B'lt  this  was  not  to  l)e  :  a  third 
titc"  onme  »  sci-^'l  from  Hassan — a  voice  from  ' 
hi*  '  ~^  — "^^e — 1  record  of  his  jeopardy — an 
appeal  to  ■the  fne?d  who  bad  cherished  him  : —  | 


'  "  For  the  last  time."  he  wrote,  "Hassan,  the 
son  of  Said,  pours  forth  his  grief  before  tlio 
Defter-dar  of  the  Sultan  Mourail.  I  have  a 
vague  dream  that  a  shadow  had  jia.ssed  over 
your  brightness,  ere  from  me  light  was  allogo 
ther  shut  out.  It  may  have  been  so— I  know 
not  if  it  were — I  heed  it  not,  though  you  pio 
claim  it  to  be  truth.  The  sky  is  full  of  stars 
the  sage  alone  nmrks  tlie  quenching  of  those 
whieh  fade  from  the  g^ilaxy :  to  the  common 
ga/e  all  is  unchanged — I  shall  trouble  you  no 
more — this  is  my  last  appeal.  Save  me,  or  I  am 
lost — golil  alone  can  serve  me :  jou  have  gold, 
and  your  heart  is  large  :  to  none  else  can  I  ap- 
ply. I  write  to  you  like  a  madman,  but  it  is 
only  the  madness  of  desperation.  I  care  not 
what  may  be  the  consequence,  I  will  write  to 
you  no  more.  Friend!  father!  protector!  — 
save  me  again  on  this  occasion — place  the  samo 
sum  as  before  at  the  disposal  of  my  messenger , 
then  pity  and  forget  the  lost  Hassan." 

The  Defter-dar  replied  to  the  mis.siv6  by 
silently  putting  11  purse  of  gold  into  the  handd 
of  the  expectant  slave,  and  coldly  telling  him 
that  he  was  free  to  depart  when  he  listi-d.  The 
man  looked  steadily  in  the  face  of  the  courtier, 
made  a  respectful  obeisance,  and  withdrew.  As 
he  left  the  liouse,  he  glanced  stealthily  back  to 
note  if  he  were  pursued,  but  the  street  was 
empty;  and  the  numner  of  the  Defter-dar  had 
been  sufficienth'  indifferent  to  convince  him  that 
the  existence  and  well-being  of  Hassan  were 
rapidly  becoming  unimportant  to  his  former 
friend.  Thus  assured,  the  messenger  made  few 
digressions  from  his  direct  path  ;  and,  after  half 
an  hour  of  rapid  walking,  beat  U])on  the  iloor 
of  a  stately  mansion,  and  was  instantly  admit- 
ted. 

But  the  Defter-dar  had  learnt  a  lesoon  of  self- 
reliance  from  the  failure  of  the  attendant  whom 
he  had  on  a  previous  occasion  intrusted  with 
the  discovery  of  a  secret  which  he  was  morbidly 
anxious  to  unravel  ;  and  suffering  the  me.sseiH 
ger  of  Hassan  to  leave  the  house  by  the  main 
portal,  unnursTied  and  unimpeded,  he  hastily 
changed  his  turban  an<l  pelisse,  and  jmssed  out 
by  a  side  door  opening  into  his  own  ctarden.atid 
thence  into  a  cross  path  terminating  in  the  main 
street,  along  which  he  shrewdly  coiijeetured 
that  the  slave,  whose  ])erson  he  was  confiilent 
of  recognizing  on  the  instant,  must  ultimately 
pas.s.  Nor  was  he  deceivi.-d  in  his  conjecture 
for,  having  by  this  less  circuitous  route  arrived 
in  the  great  thoroughfare  before  the  jierson 
whom  he  was  anxious  to  observe,  and  having, 
moreover,  by  his  own  change  of  costnnn-.  pre- 
vented all  suspicion  save  that  whieh  might  bo 
created  by  his  subs<<)uent  want  of  caution,  ho 
had  ere  long  tin.'  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  slave 
turn  the  corner  of  the  lane,  and  make  hi*  way 
towards  the  great  scjuare  of  the  Atmei.lan. 

The  Defter-dar  was  careful,  as  they  .roMod 
the  large  open  space,  and  passed  beside  it*  state- 
ly columns,  to  shroucl  himself  among  th.-  crowd  ; 
and,  when  they  entered  the  street  beyoml  it,  to 
leave  such  a  distance  between  the  stranger  and 
himself  as  to  set  suspieion  at  deflanee.  lb?  ro- 
marked  that  the  slave  looked  ba.k  at  int.rTaln. 
like  one  who  cared  not  to  trust  altogi-lher  to  his 
seeming  impunity  ;  but  whenever  this  happen- 


u 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


ed,  the  Defter-dar  craftily  patised,  as  though  he , 
were  entering  some  house  beside  his  path;' or 
fairly  swung  himself  round,  and  made  a  few' 
backward  steps,  as  though  his  route  crossed  that 
of  his  fellow-passenger :    thus   preventing    the  [ 

Eerfect  view  of  his  person  which  would  have  [ 
etrayed  his  continued  identitj-. 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  Defter-dar  tracked 
the  messenger  of  Hassan  to  the  dwelling  which 
he  entered  ;  and  he  even  ventured  to  linger  for 
a  while  in  its  immediate  neighborhood  to  mark 
whether  he  would  i-eappear ;  but  he  came  not 
forth  again  ;  and  the  Defter-dar  finally  bent  his 
steps  homeward,  with  the  feeling  of  one  who  is 
just  awakening  from  a  perplexed  and  painful 
dream. 

On  the  morrow  he  caused  strict  but  guarded 
inquiries  to  be  made,  and  soon  learnt  the  history 
of  the  house  and  its  inhabitants.  It  was  the 
abode,  said  the  neighbors,  of  a  stern  and  pious 
matron,  Hemdoune  Hanoum  by  name,  whose 
harem  was  invisible  as  that  of  the  Grand  Seig- 
niour  himself:  who  gave  aim's  largely  to  the 
poor;  and  who  welcomed  with  courtesy  every 
wandering  dervish  or  fakeer  who  claimed  her 
hospitality,  and  deemed  her  cares  amply  repaid 
by  their  prayers  and  blessings. 

In  vain  did  the  Defter-dar  endeavor  by  subtle 
questionings  to  elicit  information  of  a  more  mys- 
terious and  exciting  nature  ;  the  whole  day  was 
spent  in  useless  efforts  to  shake,  or  at  least  to 
throw  a  doubt  upon,  this  well-connected  story  ; 
and,  when  evening  fell,  he  became  more  than 
ever  perplexed  as  to  the  measures  which  he 
should  adopt  to  penetrate  so  closely-woven  a 
mj'stery. 

The  hour  of  rest  came,  and  the  Defter-dar  re- 
tired to  his  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  He  lay  re- 
volving a  thousand  schemes,  each  less  feasible 
than  the  last,  until  suddenly  a  new  idea  burst 
upon  him ;  when,  with  a  prayer  to  Allah  and 
the  Prophet,  he  composed  himself  quietly  upon 
his  cushions  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips  and  slept. 


CHAPTER  YL 

*  THE   DIAMOND    MERCHANT CONTINUED. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  purse-bearer  of  the 
Defter-dar  bent  his  way  to  the  great  Tcharchi 
of  the  city,  and  was  absent  nearly  an  hour  ; 
and  during  this  time,  his  master  more  than  once 
removed  the  chibouque  from  his  lips,  and  leaned 
forward  in  the  attitude  of  listening.  When  at 
length  he  returned,  he  passed  at  once  to  the 
presence  of  the  Effendi ;  and,  having  made  his 
obeisance,  and  carefully  let  fall  behind  him  the 
heavy  screen  of  tapestry  which  veiled  the  door 
of  the  apartment,  he  drew  from  beneath  his 
ample  robe  a  handkerchief,  from  which  he  took 
the  flowing  garments  of  a  Bektachy,  or  Moun- 
tain Dervish.  There  was  the  wadded  cap  of 
cloth  with  its  binding  of  crimson  wool:  the  buf- 
falo-horn with  its  leathern  sling  ;  the  broad  belt 
of  untaiined  leather  clasped  with  a  clasp  of 
metal;  the  scarlet  slippers,  the  heavy  rosary, 
the  iron  lamp  suspended  from  the  girdle,  and 
the  ample  robe  and  mantle  of  serge. 


Tlie  metamorphosis  was  speedily  completed ; 
and  only  a  few  moments  had  passed  since  the 
return  of  the  purse-bearer,  ere  the  ex-courtier 
stood  before  him  in  the  full  garb  of  a  mountain 
devotee.  But  the  Defter-dar,  however  excellent 
he  admitted  the  disguise  to  be,  would  not  ven- 
tui'e  to  trust  it  to  the  prying  eye  of  day  ;  and  the 
garments  were  accordingly  laid  aside  until  the 
twilight  came  to  aid,  with  its  long  shadows,  the 
entei'prise  of  the  adventurous  friend. 

At  length  the  favorable  hour  arrived ;  and 
when  the  Defter-dar  passed  out  into  tlie  street, 
in  the  midst  of  his  own  slaves,  not  a  prostration 
was  made,  though  many  an  eye  turned  on  him  in 
wonder,  as  none  had  seen  him  enter.  Satisfied 
with  this  unceremonious  proof  of  his  successful 
transformation,  the  heart  of  the  Efi'endi  beat 
high  with  hope  as  he  pi-essed  forward  to  the 
dwelling  of  the  mysterious  Hemdounii  Hanoum; 
nor  did  he  allow  his  hand  to  falter  as  he  beat 
upon  the  well-remembered  door. 

A  weary  interval  elapsed  ere  his  summons 
was  answered ;  but  ultimately  a  sturdy  slave 
appeared,  who  seemed  desirous  to  veil  tlie  inte- 
rior of  the  dwelling  from  the  gaze  of  the  intru- 
der, as  he  scarce!}'  opened  the  portal  sufficient 
to  enable  the  suppliant  dervish  to  perceive  that 
the  hall  beyond  was  of  vast  extent  and  magni- 
ficent proportions,  although  scantily  lighted 
from  the  gallery  which  ran  round  its  lofty 
walls. 

The  Defter-dar  was  not,  however,  to  be  di- 
verted from  his  purpose  by  the  surliness  of  a 
porter ;  and  he  told  his  tale  of  travel  and  weari- 
ness in  a  tone  which  at  once  insured  to  it  the 
ample  credence  of  his  listener. 

"  The  Hanoum  Eft'endi  cares  not  to  open  her 
doors  after  sunset;"  said  the  slave  coldly  ;  "she 
is  a  widow,  and  deems  it  not  seemly.  But  you 
are  a  holy  man,  and  you  are  travel-spent;  I  will 
tell  her  of  your  arrival,  and  shall  be  speedy 
with  my  answer.  Bashustun,  upon  my  head  be 
it !  she  shall  know  that  you  are  at  her  thresh- 
old." And,  without  awaiting  the  reply  of  the 
Defter-dar,  he  hastily  closed  the  door,  and  the 
sound  of  his  rapidly  retreating  footsteps  soon 
died  away  in  the  distance. 

After  a  brief  interval  he  returned,  and  with 
civil  words  welcomed  the  stranger  to  the  roof 
of  his  mistress,  as  he  stood  aside  to  give  him  en- 
trance ;  and  the  Defter-dar  found  himself  in  a 
stately-hall,  paved  with  marble,  around  which 
ran  a  wide  gallery,  whence  opened  a  range  of 
apartments.  But  he  had  little  time  to  acquaint 
himself  with  the  locality,  for  he  was  hastily  hur- 
ried forward  a  considerable  distance  down  one 
or  two  dark  passages  ;  and,  finally,  into  a  second 
saloon  of  incomparable  beauty,  surrounded,  like 
the  outer  hall,  by  a  gallery,  whose  heavy  bal- 
ustrades were  richly  wrought  and  gilded,  and 
to  which  access  was  aft'orded  by  a  noble  flight 
of  marble  steps  that  swept  downward  on  either 
side  of  the  stately  apartment;  he  cast  ri  hasty 
glance  around  as  he  was  about  to  follow  his  con- 
ductor to  a  chamber  on  the  ground  floor,  when 
a  shuffling  of  slippers  was  heard,  and  the  slave 
paused,  and  bowed  reverently  before  a  tall 
muflled  figure  which  hastily  approached  him. 

"  Is  this  the  holy  man  f"  asked  a  voice  which 
would  have  been  harsh,  had  not  time  softened 


TUE   ROMANCE  "OF  TUE   UARKM. 


In  some  degree  its  asperity  ;  "  No  bilirim — whnt 
can  I  say?  Is  tins  the  dervish  who  olaims  shel- 
ter for  tlie  niglit  beneatli  my  roof  f"  Ami,  as 
the  question  was  utt«red,  a  lean  and  withered 
arm  emerged  from  the  mass  of  drapery,  and  a 
bony  hand  held  a  lamp  close  to  the  face  of  the 
pretended  devotee. 

The  Dofter-diir  bent  low  befor  ■  the  speaker, 
and  answered  humbly  in  the  artirmntive. 
if  A  shrill,  mocking  laugli.  that  rung  painfully 
.  in  his  ears,  was  the  result  of  tiie  assurance  ;  and 
ere  he  had  recovered  from  its  ett'ect^,  tiie  mantle 
in  which  the  female  was  enveloped  was  cast  off; 
the  lamp  that  she  held  transferred  to  the  slave, 
who  still  stood  silently  beside  her;  and,  as  she 
clapped  her  hands,  the  doors  along  the  gallery 
were  flung  back,  disclosing  a  glare  of  light  by 
which  tiie  Defter-dar  was  momentarily  bliiidcil, 
while,  like  a  flight  of  summer  birds  forth  flocked 
a  troop  of  maidens  as  fair  as  the  morning,  whose 
ringing  and  yet  musical  alughter  created  in  an 
instant  an  atmosphere  of  joy  about  them,  as 
they  rapidly  descended  the  marble  stairs  into 
the'hall. 

"  Ajaib — wonderful !  here  is  one,"  half-croaked, 
half  shrieked  the  withered  crone  who  appeared 
to  be  the  mistress  of  the  revels,  "  one  who  comes 
to  us  with  a  chaplet  of  beads  and  the  robe  of  a 
dervish,  and  thinks  to  cheat  us  intj  a  belief  of 
his  sanctity!  Look  to  it,  all  of  -.ou,  for  there 
must  be  treachery  here."  And  as  she  ceased 
speaking,  the  slave  put  the  lamp  into  the  hand 
of  the  foremost  of  the  young  beauties,  who,  with 
a  jesture  half  mocking,  half  curious,  raised  it  to 
the  face  of  the  merchant,  as  the  old  woman  had 
previously  done,  and  then  passed  it,  with  a  si- 
lent shake  of  the  head,  to  her  neighbor. 

When  each  had  played  her  part  in  this  singu- 
lar pantomime,  and  that  all  had  disclaimed  any 
knowledge  of  the  stranger's  identity,  he  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  group,  utterly  unable  to  con- 
jecture the  meaning  of  a  scene  such  as  assuredly 
he  had  never  before  witnessed  ;  and  so  bewil- 
dered were  his  senses  by  the  loveliness  around 
him,  tliat  no  fear  for  his  personal  safety  mingled 
with  his  surprise.  That  the  character  for  piety 
borne  by  llemdounti  Ilanoum  in  tiie  neigiibor- 
hood,  was  not  altogether  merited,  he  at  once 
perceived  ;  and,  as  he  glanced  toward  the  lean 
and  withered  beldame,  who  stood  glaring  at  him 
with  keen  and  eager  eyes,  as  though  sh*  would 
read  his  secret  on  his  bi-ow,  strange  thoughts 
and  fancies  crowded  upon  him,  and  be  olmost 
began  to  regret  that  he  had  undertaken  the  ad- 
1  venture.  iJut  repentance  came  too  late :  he 
was  now  utterly  in  her  power,  and  he  f«  It  that 
firmness  alone  could  Bare  him  from  its  effects. 

"  Our  holy  guest  faints  with  travel,"  onee 
I  more  burst  fortli  the  acrid  voice  of  the  old  wo- 
man; "  he  bus  toiled  all  day  beneath  a  hot  sun, 
and  there  is  neither  soil  nor  dust  upon  his  gar- 
ments;  he  has  left,  his  slippers  on  the  threshold, 
and  the  crimson  is  yet  unfadeil.  Let  him,  how- 
evei",  blow  >is  one  blast  upon  his  bufTalo-horn, 
and  we  will  crave  the  benefit  of  his  prayers. 
How  now,  ^ff'indim,  is  your  breath  spent,  that 
you  refuse  me  this  courtesy  f" 

It  was,  however,  no  part  of  the  Deft-er-Dar** 
pui-pose  to  refuse,  though  he  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment ere  be  complied,  being  perfectly  ignorant 


[of  his  own  capabilities  in  this  new  «cienco ;  and 
when  at  last  he  raised  the  priniitivo  instrnmant 
to  his  lips,  he  blew  so  discordant  and  unmea- 
sured a  blast  as  threw  the  laughing  maidens  into 
a  convulsion  of  merrimt^nt,  and  perfectly  satin- 
fled  IIemdouni>  Ilanoum  that  her  ordinary  saga- 
city had  not  forsaken  her. 

"  Gel,  gel — come,  come;" she  exclaimed,  "  we 
will  trouble  our  pious  guest  for  no  more  moun- 
tain music,  lie  has,  however,  done  his  best 
to  amuse  us,  and  we  are  bound  to  re|)ay  his 
Igood-will  in  kind.  Fclech-so,  my  daughter,  to 
j  your  care  I  contide  him;  show  him  the  wondei-s 
!of  our  fairy  palace,  and  tend  him  carefully  until 
jhe  has  o'ermastered  his  fatigue — I  will  be  with 
I  you  anon;"  and,  with  another  liendish  laugh, 
she  shuffled  from  the  hall. 

i  Felech-so  gazed  upon  the  stranger  for  an  in- 
stant, as  though  some  faint  and  far-off  memory 
j  were  shaping  itself  into  tangibility  in  her  mind; 
but  she  did  not  long  indulge  so  daniferous  u 
mood,  and,  in  the  ne.\t  moment  she  was  busily 
engaged  in  assisting  her  companions  to  replace 
the  coarse  head-gear  of  the  i)efter->lar  with  a 
turban  of  consummate  cost  and  beauty,  and  to 
!  throw  over  his  robe  of  serge  a  pelisse  richly 
j  lined  and  overlaid  with  sables.  When  this  waj< 
'done,  thej-  led  him  to  a  sofa,  and  established  him 
j  among  the  yielding  cushions,  whose  golden  em- 
broidery showed  gorgeously  on  its  ground  of 
pale  1  lue  satin;  and,  while  one  fllled  his  chi- 
boque  of  jasmin  wood,  and  another  handed  to 
I  him  oi  her  knees  the  mmute  cup  of  mocha,  in  its 
prccio  s  setting  of  lillagreed  gold,  lii)|)ed  with 
jewels,  Felech-so  established  herself  on  a  Persian 
carpet  .it  his  feet,  and,  with  her  graceful  zebec 
and  powerful  voice,  regulated  the  movements 
of  a  grouj)  who  had  range<i  themselves  in  the 
centre  of  the  floor,  to  dance  the  dance  of  tl>e 
harem. 

The  Defter-dar  was  daezled,  but  he  was  not 
blinded.  lie  felt  at  once  that  all  this  was  part 
of  a  system  intended  to  bewilder  and  throw  him 
off  his  guard;  but  he  was  no  longer  young 
enough  to  yield  up  his  reason  captive  to  the 
fascinations  of  the  moment.  Dark  eyes  were 
flashing  round  him,  white  arms  were  wreathing 
gracefully  in  air,  and  long  jetty  tresses  were 
fallmg  in  rich  masses  on  shoulders  as  white  and 
smooth  as  ivory.  The  Defler-dar  saw  all,  aii<l 
jfelt  its  beauty:  but,  as  he  gaziil  about  him,  he 
r<'membereil  a  tale  which  had  onee  been  told  to 
him  by  a  giaour,  of  one  of  the  diversioiiS  of  the 
far  West,  where  crowds  flock  together,  and  seat 
them.selves  Under  pavilions  of  crimson,  to  listen 
to  soft  music,  and  to  see  fair  women  and  grace- 
ful men  mimic  the  adventures  of  everyday  life, 
and  live  through  a  long  and  eventful  existence 
in  the  course  of  one  brief  night.  Even  thus 
looke<l  the  Defter-dar  on  the  scene  around  him. 
He  felt  that  it  was  a  hollow  and  deeeifiil  jm- 
geant,  which  must  ere  long  fade  before  nlerner 
and  cold  realities;  and  when  the  bright  shapes 
which  had  flitted  past  him  in  the  dance  iillj- 
mately  grouped  themselves  about  him,  as  if  to 
owait'  his  pleasure,  he  thanked  them  for  their 
courtesy  in  a  voi<'e  as  steacly  as  its  wont. 

The  dance  had  not  long  ceased  when  Mem- 
doune  Hanoum  entered  the  apartment,  and,  tia 
I  she  crossed  the  threshold,  every  fair  head  hitat 


16 


THE  ROMANCE  t)F  THE  IIAREM. 


low  before  her.  "  It  is  well,"  she  said,  as  she 
glanced  towards  her  visitor;  "my  lord  has  cast 
oli'his  disguise,  and  has  now  only  to  tell  us  his 
name  and  I'ank,  ere  we  devise  new  modes  of 
amusement  to  divert  his  leisure  hours." 

"  Ke  bilirim — what  can  I  say  ?  You  do  your 
slave  too  mucli  grace,  Effendini,"  said  the  Defter 
dar  quietly  ;  "  tliatl  am  not  that  wliicli  I  would 
fain  have  seemed,  is  true,  and  I  will  not  wrong 
your  sagacity  by  attempting  longer  to  conceal 
the  fact  But  neither  am  I  that  which  your 
courtesy  would  suggest.  Your  reception  has 
been  so  much  beyond  my  poor  deserts,  that  I 
am  bound  in  gratitude  to  tell  you  all — " 

As  the  Defter-dar  paused  for  a  moment,  he 
accidental!}-  caught  the  bright  eye  of  Felech-so 
fixed  engerly,  and,  as  it  seemed,  deprecatingly, 
upon  him  ;  but  it  might  have  been  only  fancy 
that  there  was  warning  in  her  earnest  gaze,  and 
he  had  no  opportunity  to  convince  himself  of 
the  fact,  as  her  head  was  hastily  averted  when 
their  eyes  had  met. 

•'  I  am  a  merchant,  Effendim,  trading  from  a 
port  in  the  Black  Sea  to  the  fair  city  of  Stam 
boul,  and  I  have  just  freighted  an  outward-bound 
brig  with  the  whole  produce  often  years  of  indus- 
try, leaving  myself  so  scantily  provided  as  to  be 
utterly  unable'  to  meet  the  daily  outlay  neces 
sary  to  my  existence,  until  the  arrival  of  a  bro 
fiier-merchant,  for  whom  I  am  anxiously  watch 
ing  from  hour  to  hour ;  and  who  has  promised 
me  a  share  in  a  venture  of  so  profitable  a  cha- 
racter, that,  should  he  hold  to  his  wo  'd,  my 
fortune  is  made.  In  this  strait,  being  \\r  \villing 
to  lodge  myself  in  a  khan  without  the  present 
means  of  paying  fairly  for  the  accomm  jdation, 
I  exchanged  my  usual  dress  with  a  dealer  in  the 
Tcharchi  for  the  costume  of  a  mountain  dervish, 
well  knowing  that  in  that  guise  I  should  be  cer 
tain  to  profit  by  the  alms  of  the  pious.  The  fame 
of  the  holy  and  charitable  Hemdoune  Hanoum 
reached  mo  as  I.  stood  in  one  of  the  great  tho- 
roughfares of  the  city,  uncertain  towards  which 
quarter  I  should  first  bend  my  steps,  and  decided 
me  at  once.  I  have  now  confessed  mj-self  to  be 
an  impostor,  Effendim,  and  should  you  put  me 
forth,  I  shall  submit  to  the  justice  of  your  fiat 
without  a  murmur." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  the  Defter-dar  glanced 
towards  Felech-so,  and  this  time  there  could  be 
no  mistake.  An  expression  of  unutterable  relief 
had  passed  over  her  features,  but  she  sat  with 
her  face  turned  slightly  aside,  and  her  hands 
folded  upon  her  bosom,  as  though  she  felt  no  in- 
terest ill  the  narration  of  the  stranger. 

"  And  you  are  then  really  too  poor  to  lodge 
yourself  in  a  jniblic  caravanserai?"  said  Hem- 
doune  Ilaiiouni,  interrogatively. 

"  You  have  said  it,"  was  the  concise  reply. 

"Do  you  not  rather  mock  us  with  a  new  fable  ?" 
a«ke«l  the  old  woman,  angrily,  "  when  you  amuse 
us  with  the  tale  of  your  poverty,  while  you  wear 
upon  your  finger  a  diamond  which  would  well 
lugh  ransom  a  province  I  Ey  vah  I  we  are  not 
to  be  cheated  twice." 

For  a  moment  the  Defter-dar  did  not  reply — 

f  lor  a  second  his  ready  wit  deserted   him — and 

the  blood  rushed  in  a  volume  to  his  brow,  as  he 

stood  self-convicted  of  a  carelessness  which,   for 

aught  he  knew,  might  perhaps  cost  him  his  life. 


Tliat  the  aged  fiend  who  sat  with  her  keen 
eyes  fixed  upon  him,  evidently  gloating  over  his 
discomposure,  would  suffer  him  to  depart  after 
having  laid  bare  before  him,  for  some  hidden 
purpose  of  her  own,  the  secrets  of  her  household, 
he  was  not  weak  enough  to  believe  even  for  an 
instant ;  and  that  she  would  not  scruple  to  rid 
herself,  by  the  most  effectual  means,  of  so  profit- 
less a  guest,  he  was  equalh'  assured  ;  and,  in 
this  dilemma,  he  resolved  to  make  one  more 
attempt,  ere  he  resigned  himself  tamely  to  a  fato 
at  which  it  was  not  difficult  to  guess. 

"  What  blossom  shall  be  hidden  from  the  sunf 
and  what  sand-rift  shall  resist  the  billow?"  ex- 
claimed he,  as  if  in  admiration  of  the  shrewdness 
of  his  hostess.  "  Is  it  not  in  vain  that  I  would 
conceal  even  a  portion  of  my  secret  from  Ilem- 
doune  Hanoum,  to  whom  it  is  given  to  know  all 
things.  This  ring,  Effendim ;"  and,  as  in  obed- 
ience to  a  gesture  of  the  old  woman,  he  with- 
drew it  from  his  finger,  and  placed  it  in  her 
hand,  he  remembered  with  a  pang  that  the  pre- 
cious jewel  had  been  the  gift  of  tlie  Sultan  in  his 
days  of  court  favor,  and  that  it  was  now,  m  all 
probability,  lost  to  him  for  ever! — "  this  ring  is 
a  portion  of  the  mystery.  Look  on  it  well,  and 
then  tell  me  if  it  be  not  a  diamond  of  surpassing 
beauty." 

The  aged  woman  readily  obeyed  :  she  passed 
the  glorious  jewel  on  her  own  bony  finger,  and, 
having  examined  it  near  the  light,  and  ascer- 
tained that  it  was  without  spot  or  blemish  ;  and 
that,  as  she  slowly  moved  her  hand  to  and  fro, 
it  gave  out  a  thousand  rainbow  tints,  she  with- 
drew with  it  into  a  far  corner  of  the  saloon,  and 
there,  shading  it  from  the  glare  of  the  tapers, 
she  admired  the  sparks  which,  with  every  move- 
ment that  she  made,  it  flung  out  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

"  It  is  a  rare  stone!"  she  said,  moro  blandly 
than  she  had  yet  spoken,  as  she  returned  to  the 
side  of  the  Defter-dar ;  "  the  Sultan  himself  hath 
not  a  finer.  I  would  fain  hear  its  history  ere  I 
restore  it  to  you." 

"  That  shall  you  not  do,  Effendim,"  replied 
her  crafty  guest,  "  if  its  possession  give  you 
pleasure — nay,  offer  me  no  acknowledgments,  I 
pray  you:"  he  added,  hastily,  as  his  hostess  was 
about  to  speak :  "  keep  the  bauble,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all.  I  have  already  stated  that  1  am 
awaiting  in  Stamboul  a  "merchant  of  my  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  I  played  you  false  when  I 
pleaded  poverty  as  an  extenuation  of  my  dis- 
guise. 1  am  about  to  confide  tq  you  a  secret 
upon  which  hangs  my  life,  but  you  will  not  be- 
tray me :  and  brief  shall  be  the  period  which 
intervenes  ere  1  i-epay  you  a  hundred  fold  for 
all  the  courtesies  that  you  have  lavished  on  me, 
Effendim,  the  trinket  on  your  finger  is  a  mere 
toy — the  jewel  is  counterfeit — I  came  to  the  city 
with  many  such  for  sale,  and  I  have  parted  from 
them  all  at  a  heavy  sum,  save  this,  which  I  re- 
tained in  a  weak  fit  of  sentiment,  because  it  had 
been  given  to  me  by  my  friend  ere  he  admitted 
me  to  a  share  in  his  adventurous  trafiic.  Many 
of  the  stones  with  which  I  came  laden  to  Stam- 
boul have  found  their  way  into  the  treasury  of 
the  Padishah,*  others  are  in  the  harems  of  our 


Sovereign. 


TUE   ROMANCE   OF  THE   HAUK.M. 


IT 


wealthiest  Pnslias,  while  a  few  of  the  meanest  CHAPTER  VII. 

are  at  this  uiomeut  the  boajst  aiul  wonder  of  tlie 
bezenstein.  Were  my  seeret  diseovered,  tlie 
bowstring  wouhi  bo  my  portion  ;  but,  mean- 
while, so  long  as  I  eontinue  iinbetraved.  I  eoin 
Diastres  faster  tlian  tlie  Turaf-hamN*  himself." 

A  deep  thougiitfiilnoss  settled  like  a  eloud  on 
the  stern  brow  of  ilenuloune  llanoum,  and  she  I 

did  not  immediately  reply  to  the  ooiiimiinioation  |  having  narrowly  9«'arched  iiis  ehambi-rto  ase« 
of  her  guest:  but,  after  a  while  she  looked  up,  |  lain  tiiat  he  eouid  not  be  intruded  upon  from 
and  said  anxiously  :  "  Do  I  understand  that  you  any  other  outlet,  threw  himself  upon  iiis  bod  to 
have  no  other  jewel  of  the  same  sort  iu  your    think  over  the  oecurrenoes  of  the  evening.  That 


THE    DIAMOND    MEKCIIANT CONTINUED. 

In  a  short  time  all  was  silence  in  that  house 
of  mystery.  The  Dcfter-dar,  greatly  to  his  satis- 
faction, found  himself  lodgod  in  a  mean  apart- 
nent  oj>eriing  beside  the  door  of  cnlratico  :   and 


possession  ?" 

"  At  this  moment,  none ;"  answered  the  guest, 
readily ;  "  but  my  friend  and  principal,  Meehmed 
Cadir6  Ishmael.  who  hiiuself  manufactures  them, 
should  arrive  in  the  city  to-morrow  evening  at 
the  latest ;  and  if  it  be  permitted  to  him  to  share 
in  the  smiles  which  have  lit  up  my  own  existence 


he  was  still  in  considerable  danger  he  was  fully 
aware:  for  he  comprehended  at  once  that  he 
was  hidcbted  to  the  cupidity  of  his  hostess  for 
even  the  (luestioiiable  ehanee  of  iseape  whieii 
now  offered  itself.  He  had  marked  the  sparkle 
of  her  eye  when  she  first  detected  the  jewel: 
he  had  observed  her  inward  struggle,  ere,  iu  the 


since  sunset,  I  will  answer  for  the  readiness  with  '  hope  of  greater  gain,  she  had  conipeiled  herself 
.      -  .       -  .        .     ^jj^.   ^^^.  K  .... 

I  liozen  I J 
lie  sale    li 


which  he  will  repay  the  debt  of  hospitality,  by  I  to  permit  his  departure;  even  yet  slie  might 
permitting  the  llanoum  Etfendi  to  select  a  dozen  I  pent !     And,  as  this  la 


I  of  the  stones,  ere  he  offers  them  for  pul 
in  the  bezenstein.  as  a  memorial  of  her  owu  cha- 
rity and  our  gratitude." 

•'  But  he  will  not  know  where  to  find  you;" 
-nggested  the  llanoum. 

•  Doubtlessly,  should  I  not  myself  seek  and 

conduct  him  hither,  he  will  pursue  me  in  vain  ;" 

I  replied  the  Defter-dar ;    "  for  he  will  scarcely 

I  look  to  find  his  comrade  Ibrahim  in  the  palace 

1  of  a  Pasha's  wife." 

"  You  shall  describe  the  good  merchant  to  my 
ti-usty  slave  Emin  ;"  said  the  old  woman  :  "  and 
you  can  write  a  few  words  of  greeting  and  invita- 
tion, which  will  be  his  warrant  with  your  friend." 
'•  You  say  well,  Elfendirn,"  was  the  ready  an- 
swer; "  but  I  know  not  the  color  of  his  vest,  nor 
tlie  tint  of  his  turban.     Meehmed  is  from  the 


last  fearful  reflection  crossed 
s  mind,  the  Defter-dar  became  uneasy  and 
restless — fearing  he  knew  not  what  ;  and  at  in- 
tervals imagining  that  he  detected  tlirough  the 
deep  stillness  the  stealthy  tread  of  feet  and  the 
rustling  of  drapery.  Hours  passed  over  liim 
thus — iiours  which  appeared  to  his  exei(ed  ima- 
gination as  interminable :  when  suddenly  he 
become  aware  tiiat  his  fancy  no  longer  cheated 
him,  but  that  some  one  was  beside  him,  whose 
deep  and  hurried  breathing  came  hot  and  troiib 
led  to  his  brow. 

The  Defter-dar  sprang  inst^intly  into  a  sitting 
posture,  and  would  have  spoken:  but  a  small 
soft  hand  was  pressed  heavily  upon  his  mouth, 
as  the  voice  of  Felech-so  murmured  in  his  ear: 
"  Khosh-buldiik  ! — well  found!  Be  calm! — be 
silent — or  you  are  lost — Hassan  is  lost — and   I 


iesert,  and  only  leaves  the  caravan  to  pass  over  |  shall  mjself  become  the  sacrifice  of  your  indis- 
to  the   Golden    Cit}'.     There   are  many  of  his    --   •=  -       ""'^    ' '-—    '-  '  i"^ ^  - 

I  name  in  the  bezenstein,  and  your  slave  may  miss 

j  him  until  his  fairest  merchandise  is  bartered  to 
the  dealers  in  diamonds,  and  he  has  no  longer  any 
stones  to  ofler  to  the  Hanoum  Effendi,  or  her 
ladies." 

"  It   is   true,"   said  the   crone,  after  another 
pause   of  thought  ;    -  I   would   have    kept   you 

here  as  a  surety  for  his  coming,  but  the  jewel  i  once  end  his  sorrows  with  the  bow-string:  and 
whieli  you  leave  with  me  convinces  me  of  your  j  I  need  not  tell  you,  KfTenilim,  that  the  grave  be- 
good  faith.  You  shall  depart  then  to-moirow  '  trays  no  secret.  He  is  one  of  many  who  are 
at  break  of  day,  and  at  sunset  I  shall  e.xpect  you  •  wasting  away  their  bright  youth  not  a  hundred 
b&ck,    accompanied    by    your   friend.       It    will ;  feet    beneath    the    spot    where     I    now    staiuL 

f (lease  me  to  see  his  merehandi.se,  and  to  hiari  Thrice  have  I  saved  the  life  of  Ha.ssan,  when  iiis 
"om  him  the  tllle  of  his  desert-pilgrimage."    She    hours  were  numbered  by   his  refusal   to  write 


cretion.  We  have  no  time  to  lose — listen  to  mo 
then  attentively.  Hassan  is  here,  bowed  by 
chains  in  a  loathsome  dungeon,  .where  he  will 
be  suffered  to  exist  until  his  friend  the  I)efler' 
dar,  to  whom  he  has  been  eompilled  to  apply 
for  vast  sums,  refuses  farther  to  assist  him. 
When  the  slave  who  bears  his  letter  first  returns 
empty-handed,  Saduk  and  his  comrades  will  at 


then  clapped  her  hands,  and  a  slave,  habited  in 
a  flowing  robe  of  crimson  and  gold,  hastily 
obeyed  the  signal,  and  prostrated  himself  to  the 
earth  before  her. 

"Saduk,"  she  said  with  peculiar  ompha.sis; 
"conduct  Ibrahim  Effendi,  my  honored  guest,  to 
a  chamber  near  the  hall  of  entrance.  At  day- 
break he  will  depart — hinder  him  not — I  have 
told  you  my  pleasure." 

"To  hear  is  to  obey" — was  the  brief  rejily ; 
but,  as  the  slave  glanced  towards  the  Defter-dar, 
he  could  not  wholly  conceal  the  astonishment 
which  the  words  of  his  mistress  had  elicited. 

•  Inepector  of  the  mint. 
2 


are  taugiit  to  make  our  iiiis,M-a- 
iieans  of  wiling  to  her  roof  tlie 


those  letters  to  his  friend.  The  accursed  love  of 
gold  is  the  im|)ulse  of  the  vile  mistress  of  thii 
impious  house.  We,  her  slaves,  the  eteiitures 
whom  she  has  bought  at  a  juiee,  and  tutored  in 

her  Wiekedne; 

ble  beauty  th, 

young  and  the  wialthy ;   and  iiere  tl 

polled  to  drag  on  a  di-spairingexistoriei',  so  hmg 

as  their  f»rayors  for  gold  are  answered  l>y  their 

friends.     Biit    Hassan!     Hassan!     can    you   not 

save    him    from    this    living    death?       I     Iibv# 

watched  over  his  existence   as   thoiigii    my  owe 

hung  upon  its  duration,  for  1  have  j.arnt  to  love 

him  in   his  misery.     I   it   wiu»   who   wile. I   him 

hither;  but  now,  now,"   she  coiiL:med,  im  her 


IS 


THE  ROilANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


roict  •ocaiae  elifled  with  agony :  "  now  I  would 
eladh  ty  iown  my  blighted  and  unhappy  life, 
to  kiic  w-  that  he  was  once  more  free." 

"  Tcna])ouk,  tchapouk, — Haste!  haste!  let  me 
know  all,"  urged  the  Defter-dar. 

"  I  trembled  for  j'ou  a  few  hours  back,"  pui*- 
Bued  Folech-so,  struggling  to  control  her  an- 
guish ;  "  I  know  not  why,  but,  from  the  moment 
of  your  entrance  here,  a  strange  wild  hope  grew 
in  my  heart  that  you  were  fated  to  save  Hassan 
— and  I  treuibled  lest  your  own  tale  should 
destroy  you.  But  j'ou  acted  wisely,  and  for  the 
moment  j-ou  are  saved.  Think  not,  however, 
that  I  am  duped  by  your  fiction  of  the  false 
diamond — trust  nov  that  Hemdoun^  Hanoum 
when  in  tlie  solitude  of  her  chamber  her  fiendish 
avarice  j-ields  to  her  fear  of  detection  and  ex- 
posure, Avill  not  also  awaken  to  a  conviction  of 
Its  falsehood;  and  suspicious  of  your  motive, 
place  you  at  once  bej'ond  all  power  of  treachery. 
Wait  not  for  the  dawn,  or  j-ou  will  never  see 
the  rise  of  another  sun.  I  have  drugged  the 
sherbet  of  Saduk  with  opium ;  he  should  keep 
the  door,  but  even  now  he  sleeps  a  sleep  as  deep 
fts  that  of  the  grave.  Take  the  key  from  his 
girdle,  and  fly — return  speedily,  but'be  it  with 
help  and  arms — away.  I  dare  not  linger  another 
moment — farewell,  and  remember  Felech-so." 

As  the  last  words  passed  her  lips,  the  Deftei-- 
dar  was  conscious  that  she  had  left  his  side ; 
and  an  instant  afterwards  a  cold  stream  of  air, 
entering  through  a  concealed  opening  in  the 
wall  of  his  apartment,  assured  him  of  her  de- 
parture. 

Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost,  and,  hastily 
seizing  the  turban  and  pelisse  which  lay  beside 
his  bed,  the  excited  courtier  strode  silently  into 
the  hall.  An  expiring  lamp  still  flung  a  dim 
and  uncertain  liglit  on  the  surrounding  objects, 
and  by  its  assistance  he  at  once  distinguished  the 
form  of  Saduk,  stretched  on  a  mat  in  a  heavy 
sleep.  For  one  instant,  and  but  one,  the  Defter- 
dar  hesitated.  Should  this  nocturnal  visit  be 
only  a  part  of  the  plot,  to  induce  him  to  exhibit 
suspicion,  and  thxis  afford  a  plausible  pretext  for 
violence  ?  but  immediately  came  the  reflection 
that,  if  violence  were  indeed  intended,  no  action 
of  his  own  would  be  required  as  an  apology  for 
its  exercise — and  had  not  Felech-so  told  him  that 
Hassan  yet  lived — in  rnisery,  and  suftering,  and 
chains?  The  Defter-dar  despised  himself  that 
he  had  yielded  even  momentarily  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  cowardice  ;  and,  bending  over  Saduk 
for  an  instant  to  assure  himself  that  his  slumber 
was  not  feigned,  he  possessed  himself  of  the  huge 
key  that  was  hidden  amid  the  folds  of  the  shawl 
which  bound  his  waist,  and  ere  long  found  him- 
self beneath  the  broad  moonlight  in  the  open 
street. 

The  Defter-dar  stopped  not  to  admire  the 
beautiful  effects  of  light  and  shade  which  pre- 
sented themselves  as  he  hurried  on,  but  hastily 
pursued  his  way  to  his  own  habitation;  feeling 
as  though  he  had  been  absent  h.m  his  home 
for  months;  so  much  had  he  be-;n  impressed 
by  the  rapid  and  extraordinary  events  of  t-c 
evening. 

Morning  was  just  beginning  to  break  over  the 
Asian  hills  when  he  reached  his  own  door,  and 
beat  loudly  for   admittance :  and  he   had  ti-a- 


versed  his  accustomed  chamber  more  than  om 
and  examined  minutely  the  rich  pelisse,  and  t 
costly  cachemire  that  composed  his  turban,  < 
he  could  quite  convince  himself  that  he  had  r 
just  awakened  from  a  troublous  dream.  As  1 
thoughts  unravelled  themselves  slowly  from  t 
chaos  of  memories  in  which  they  were  involvf 
the  Defter-dar  was  glad  that  he  had  retaim 
these  vouchers  for  his  story,  for  the  more 
nmsed  upon  the  night's  adventure,  the  more  ■ 
felt  its  apparent  improbability  and  romanc 
and,  conscious  of  the  imperative  necessity 
speedy  and  powei-ful  measures,  in  order  to  p: 
serve  the  life  of  Hassan,  he  knew  that  he  h 
but  one  line  of  conduct  to  pursue  ;  and  th 
painful  and  humiliating  as  it  was,  he  could  r 
hope  for  success  througii  any  other  means. 

Never  since  his  dismission  from  otflce  had  t 
ex-courtier  sought  the  presence  of  the  Sulta 
he  felt  that  he  had  been  wronged  for  a  m 
favorite,  and  he  had  too  much  self-respect 
expostulate,  where  he  was  conscious  that  exp 
tulation  would  avail  him  nothing.  And  no; 
when  yeui-s  had  gone  by,  and  it  might  be,  t\. 
his  very  name  was  forgotten  by  Mourad,  he  ■« 
about  to  present  himself  at  the  "foot  of  the  thro, 
as  a  suppliant — as  an  actor  in  a  wild  and  qu 
tionable  drama — as  a  mad  and  fool-hardy  adv* 
turer. 

The  resolution  of  the  Defter-dar  did  not  fal 
for  an  instant  but  his  pride  revolted,  and 
sickened  under  his  task,  as  he  bent  his  way 
the  Sublime  Porte  to  supplicate  an  audience 
the  Sultan.  Well  was  it  for  him  that  he  ca' 
in  a  fortunate  hour ;  for  the  court  astrnloi 
had  predicted  that  every  undertaking  nf 
Imperial  master  during  this  auspicious  im 
should  prosper  to  his  heart's  content ;  an.l.  :i 
chanced  that  it  had  hitherto  oft'ered  little  m 
satiety  to  the  high-hearted  monarch,  he  at  oi 
consented  to  receive  his  discarded  courtier,  a 
to  lend  a  favorable  ear  to  his  petition,  be  . 
what  it  might. 

But  Sultan  Mourad.  when  he  so  graciou; 
signified  his  pleasure,  looked  not  to  be  repi' 
by  a  tale  so  wild  and  strange  as  that  of  the  ]• 
Treasurer :  and  he  had  scarcely  heard  it  to  . 
end  ere   he  exclaimed   earnestly: — B6  heyl> 
what's  this?     Why,  it  surpasses  our  most  s:'- 
guine  hopes!     There  is  still   adventure   to   , 
found  in  our  good  city  1     Why  have  you  b( 
ao  long  absent  from  our  presence,  my  lord  1 
Treasurer?    We  have  always  respected  them: 
though  we  dismissed  the  minister.     And  \ 
are   to  return  to   the  haunts   of  these   yon 
Houri,  said  you  not  so  ?  and  your  friend  is  to 
admitted  on  your  responsibility  !" 

"  Light  of  the  World !"  replied  the  Defter-d 
as  he  still  remained  prostrate  before  the  Suit! 
"  I  was  compelled  to  the  promise  in  order  • 
save  my  life ;  for  myself,  I  have  resolve. 1 
keep  my  word  ;  and  it  is  to  crave  your  suMi 
appro-al  and  assistance  that  I  am  now  a  si 
pliant  :ii  the  dust  before  you — but  the  fahl' 
it  an  end :  the  rest  of  the  adventure  mu,=t 
achieved  by  force  ;  for  none  would  venture  ■ 
share  with  me  the  risk  of  further  deception." 

"  Bakalum — we  shall  see.  You  forget  ' 
whom  you  speak,"  said  the  excited  Moura, 
"  you  shall  yet  p.ay  your  part,  even  to  the  e  i 


' 


Tilt:   ROMANCE  OF  THK   IIARKM. 


19 


— yoQ  shall  still  bo  Ibrnlum  KfTondi.  nnd  I  will 
persoimte  MeclnuoJ  CadiiO  Ulunncl,  the  iimmi- 
facturei*  of  diiimonJsl  Maitlmlluli.  it  i*  *  Rood 
trade,  and  one  that  wore  \v«ll  wt<rtli  tli?  learn- 
uig !  We  shall  pave  oiir  jmlaees  with  g  dd-dtist 
when  we  have  mastered  the  niyi't<-ryl  And 
now,  withdraw,  Ktlendini :  we  have  of  lat<>  had 
some  defalealion*  in  onr  puhlu  trtiunry,  and 
you  bring  us  a  eooret  so  iiidookedfor  and  so 
■welcome,  that  we  owe  you  an  insttnnt  demon- 
stration of  our  gratitude:  retire  tlicn,  l>efter- 
dar,  and  at  sunset  return  hitlier,  for  we  shall 
look  for  you,  and  be  prepared  to  start  upon  our 
expedition." 

The  Minister,  reinstated  at  once  in  favor  of 
the  Sultan  and  in  his  long-forfeited  dignities, 
kissed  the  hem  of  the  sacred  garment,  and  with- 
drew from  the  presence  to  muse  over  his  un- 
expected gotnl  fortune.  It  was  to  Nefii-Snbah 
tliat  he  first  confided  it;  but  gradually  the 
happy  intelligence  spread  through  the  house- 
hold, "and  thence  to  the  world  beyond;  and  long 
ere  the  setting  sun  warned  the  restored  favorite 
that  the  lu»ur  had  arrived  when  he  was  once 
more  to  sei  forth  in  pursuance  of  an  adventure 
which  had  already  so  deeply  benefited  his 
fortunes,  his  ante-room  was  filled  with  long- 
oblivious  friends,  who  were  sud<lenly  seized 
with  eager  ami  earnest  anxiety  for  his  social 
and  bodily  welfare  1 

On  arriving  at  the  palace,  the  Defter-dar  was 
immediateU'  ushered  with  much  ceremony  to  a 
private  apartment,  whieh  he  had  scarcely  enter- 
ed when  he  pereeived  an  individual,  plainly- 
clad  in  the  conuuon  garb  of  a  merchant,  ailvaiu- 
ing  towards  him  ;  and  he  had  barely  time  to 
bend  his  forehead  to  the  earth,  when  the  Sultan 
exclaimed  gaily: — "  Rise,  Ibrahim,  my  brother; 
with  this  eoarse  and  somewhat  ineonvenient 
garb  I  have  for  a  time  dotTed  the  I'adishah.  We 
should  now  be  on  our  way ;  and  I  can  acquaint 
you  as  we  traverse  the  city  with  the  plans  whieh  1 
have  formed  to  ensure  suecess  of  our  undertaking. 
To  our  ta>ik,  then,  Ibrahim  I  The  sun  will  set 
ere  long ;  and  you  were  pledged  to  return  to 
the  hospitable  halls  of  lieuidoune  llauoum  ere 
nightfall." 

The  word  of  Mourad  was  law  ;  and  the  god 
of  day  had  scarcely  dipped  his  golden  hair  in 
the  blue  waters  of  the  liosphorus,  when  the  two 
di.^guiscd  merehnnts  beat  upon  tlie  door  of 
Ilussai  's  prison-house. 


together  in  the  ball,  while  ho  haRloned  to  «p|  ri«« 
liis  mistress  «if  their  arrival. 

If  they  had  been  detained  in  the  street,  they 
had  no  cause  to  eomplain  of  delay  on  tho  part 
of  the  old  woman.  Only  a  f«'w  seeond.*  Iiiul 
elapse.!,  ere  the  rapid  shuffling  of  h<T  «hp|>'r« 
was  heard  in  the  distance,  and  the  two  mer- 
chants bent  low  before  her,  as  she  emerged  from 
the  long  galh-rv,  anil  stocMl  beside  them. 

"Kliosii  gel.^in — you  arc  welcome;"  she  ex- 
claimed hastily. 

••Khoch  bdldak— well  found,"  was  the  ready 
reply  of  her  visiters,  as  they  repeated  tho  sal&m 
aleikum. 

"  Why,  this  is  well,  Ibrahim,  my  son  ;"  she 
••aid,  with  a  smile  whos««  fierceness  sne  eouldiiot 
wholly  eoneial  ;  "after  having  played  the  truant 
in  suc)i  unseemly  style,  m  to  give  us  room  to 
ilouht  at  once  yonr  truth  ami  your  honesty,  you 


reappear. 


niiiig  to    your   promise,  wlu>n  we 


CHAITUi    Vlll. 


THK    DIAMO.ND    MER<  IIANT— COXTIXCKD. 

TiiET  were  eviilently  not  expected  ;  for,  as  on 
the  occasion  of  the  I*efter-dar'»  fonner  vinit,  they 
were  detained  for  a  eonsidi-rahlc  time  ere  the 
door  was  caiitioii.Hly  o[Kned  ;  but,  at  sight  of  the 
■well-reiiieinbered  faee  of  the  merchant  lliraliim 
the  slave  hastily  lmd<'  them  enter,  and  an  haul ily 
closed  the  door  behinrl  them.  The  words  of  Ins 
greeting  were  courteous,  but  its  nianii<-r  struek 
both  the  Sultan  and  his  eom|>anion,  as  dark  and 
threatening ;  and  it  was  without  regret  tliat 
they  obeyed  his  bidding,  ond  remained  aluue 


had  aliandoiud  all  hope  of  again  reeeiving  you 
as  a  giiesl.  And  this,  then,  is  the  honorable 
merchant  your  friend,  .Meehined  t'ailire  Isliinaell 
lie  is  welcome  to  my  hous<> ;  and  the  more  m> 
that  you  are  his  eompanion.  Hut  come,  eonie  ;" 
she  added,  somewhat  impatientlj' ;  "  the  hall  is 
chilly,  and  we  waste  time."  Then,  a.sshe  moved 
slowly  on  before,  them,  attended  by  the  slave 
bearing  a  lamp,  she  mnttered  in  a  low  voi«e, 
whieh  distinctly  reaehed  the  ear  of  the  Sultan, 
who  was  imiiieiliately  tn-hind  her:  "  An<l  I  am 
to  seleet  a  score  of  stones — a  score  I  poor  fools, 
poor  fools — are  they  not  all  mine — ail/"  and  a 
fiendish  chuckle  and  a  el.-nehing  of  the  thin  bony 
hands  filled  up  the  iiu-asure  of  her  meaning.  ' 

'•  Hut  tell  ine,  Ktreiidiin,  tell  m.>,"  she  saiil,  a 
moment  afterwanis;  "  y»>n,  Ibrahim,  my  frieml, 
it  is  to  you  I  speak,  and  tli<'  exe<'llent  merehanl, 
your  asso<-iate,  will  pardon  me  that  1  negleet 
him  for  a  whiU- — tell  ine,  I  pray  you,  wherefore 
you  (led  from  my  ihvelling  last  night,  like  one 
who  apprehen«led  evil  f  Did  any  olfer  you 
insult  or  annoyance  f  I)id  any  wifd  suspicion, 
or  weak  alarm.  ]>rompt  your  flight  I  Tell  n>« 
honestly,  for  I  hate  mystery." 

"Surely  the  llanou'in  Klfendi  jest*  with  hot 
slave;"  wo-s  the  reply  of  the  l>efl«'rdar  ;  "  th« 
cause  was  too  simple  to  ne.-d  long  seeking.  I 
hatl  an  ill  dream,  whieh  somewhat  ruffled  me, 
and,  to  rid  myself  of  its  effectit,  I  passed  fn»m 
my  ehanilH-r  int<i  tin-  hall,  that  1  might  breathe 
more  freely,  when  1  was  attracted  l>y  the  sight 
of  the  slothful  Saduk.  I  knew  at  once  that  he 
shouhl  keep  the  door,  and  I  remembered  that 
tho  suf.ly  of  llemdiiune  llanoum  and  her  whole 
household  de|»<'nde>l  on  the  vigilam-c  of  this 
snoring  slave,  I  did  not  awaken  him,  for  the 
thought  struek  me  that  1  could  teaeh  him  a 
jesoon  more  I  kely  to  produce  amendment  than 
any  reproaches;  and  aeeordingly,  I  resolved, 
I  even  at  s<»ine  inconvenience  to  myiwlf,  to  depart 
,  with<uit  his  assistance,  in  order  to  prove  to  hint 
that  his  sluggishness,  might,  under  some  eircuin- 
stances.  have  be.n  the  eaiise  of  mi».-hiot  H 
I  did  wrong,  th.-  llanoum  Klfen.li  will  pardon 
me — as  to  the  slaves  who  sliimlM-r  when  they 
should  wat<-h.  what  are  they  »  hoivon  dcr— ihrj 

I  are  animals!" 
"  Twas  shrewdly   done,"  said  ihe  old    erono  ; 
"•deed  afl«r  my'owu   heart,     i   hore  myscU 


20 


THE  ROiL^'CE   OF  THE  HAREM. 


finished  the  work  which  you  began  so  bravely ; 
and  there  is  now  no  fear  that  the  slave  Saduk 
will  ever  sleep  upon  his  post  again." 

As  she  uttered  the  words,  the  party  emerged 
from  the  dark  passage  along  -which  they  had 
been  slowly  advancing,  and  found  themselves  in 
&  superb  saloon,  brilliantly  lighted,  and  occupied 
»y  h.ilf  a  score  of  young  beauties,  among  whom 
the  Defter-dar  instantly  recognized  Felech-so. 
But  ere  he  made  his  salutation  to  the  bright 
band,  he  gave  one  hurried  glance  at  the  old  wo- 
man, and  remarked  with  satisfaction  that  every 
shade  of  suspicion  had  vanished  from  her  hag- 
gard countenance. 

The  guests  were  soon  seated  on  the  sumptu- 
ous divan,  beside  their  hostess,  and  supplied 
with  chibouques  and  coffee  by  the  fair  hands  of 
her  attendant  maidens  ;  and  then  the  impatience 
of  Hemdouni  Hanoum  became  uncontrollable, 
and  she  abruptly  desired  the  merchant  Mechmed 
Cadir^  Ishmael  to  display  his  diamonds. 

The  Sultan  bowed  low,  and  thrust  his  hand 
amid  the  folds  of  his  girdle,  but  suddenly  with- 
drew it,  and  pressed  it  upon  his  brow  with  an 
expression  of  acute  pain.  "Air!  air!"  he  ex- 
claimed convulsively,  "  Ibrahim,  air,  or  I  faint!" 

"Quick!  quick!"  shouted  the  hostess  in  her 
turn ;  "  look  that  the  lattices  be  firm,  and  throw 
up  the  easement ;  see  ye  not  that  the  Effendi 
labors  for  breath." 

Felech-so  Avas  the  first  to  obey  the  bidding; 
she  sprang  upon  the  divan  with  the  rapidity  of 
lightning,  and  flung  the  wide  casement  back  to 
its  fullest  extent ;  and,  as  the  sweet  breath  of 
evening  came  softly  into  the  apartment,  the  mer- 
ehant  slowly  revived.  A  goblet  of  water,  ten- 
dered to  him  by  one  of  the  ladies,  completed 
his  recovery,  and  he  lost  no  time  in  gratifying 
the  curiosity  of  his  hostess. 

The  joy  of  Hemdoun^  Hanoum  amounted  al- 
most to  insanity,  as  her  guest  spread  before  her 
eorae  of  the  costliest  jewels  of  the  Imperial 
Treasury.  Her  wasted  fingers  opened  and  shut, 
as  though  she  were  already  clutching  them  in 
spirit ;  and  her  eager  eyes  ifastened  on  them  as 
if  she  feared  tly;ir  instant  disappearance,  and 
would  thrall  them  with  a  look. 

"  Gulu*— Zembrutf — Maitap:]: — Felech-so —  " 
8he  exclaimed,  addressing  the  individuals  on 
whom  h^r  glance  chanced  to  fall ;  "  we  have 
made  a  precious  harvest  to-night !  The  ransom 
of  an  En)perorl  And  now  we  will  waste  no 
aiore  time  upon  these  simple  idiots,  who  have 
brought  their  own  necks  to  the  bow-string;" 
and  she  was  about  to  clap  her  hands,  to  summon 
*ome  one  without,  when  the  Defter-dar  seized 
er  forcibly  by  the  arm,  as  .she  shouted,  "Fools! 
laniacs!  close  the  casement,  if  you  would  not 
have  the  kavashlirg  upon  us,  and  call  hither  j 
Memish  and  Fcrhat;  are  we  to  be  frightened 
by  the  impotent  violence  of  two  hair-brained 
madrnen  ?" 

One  of  the  maidens  sprang  to  the  window, 
but  she  was  held  back  by  Felech-so,  who  had 
already  stationed  herself  beside  it ;  and  the  pro- 
gress of  the  others  towards  the  door  was  arrest- 
ed by  the  Sultan,  who,  as  he  flung  himself  across 
their  path,  drew  a  pistol  from  his  girdle,  and 

•Rose.      t  Emerald.      }  Moonlight.      §  City  police. 


fired  it  through  the  open  casement  Tlie  repo 
of  the  shot  was  answered  by  a  shrill  cry  froi 
the  minaret  of  a  neighboring  mosque  ;  and  tt 
Sultan  had  scarcely  wrenched  from  the  hand  c 
the  fiendish  old  woman  a  dagger  which  she  ha 
aimed  at  him,  ere  the  room  was  full  of  arme 
men.  Thick  and  fast  they  poured  in  throng 
the  shivered  casements  on  all  sides  of  the  dwe 
ling ;  and  the  clatter  of  their  arms,  and  thei 
shrill  ci-ies,  as  they  pursued  each  other  throug 
the  intricate  passages  of  the  house  sounded  feai 
fully  through  the  silence  of  the  night. 

The  saloon  in  which  the  Sultan  stood  in  thi  ; 
dwelling  of  darkness  presented  a  singular  spec  ( 
taele  as  the  Janissaries  prostrated  themselve 
before  him.  Strown  over  the  rich  Persian  cat 
pet  were  the  costly  jewels  which  had  been  scatter 
ed  during  the  struggle  of  the  Defter-dar  with  th< 
old  woman  ;  in  the  centre  of  the  floor  stood  tb 
Sultan,  his  brow  dark,  and  his  eye  bright  witl' 
a  terrible  meaning.  In  one  corner  of  the  apart 
ment  were  clustered  together  a  group  of  lovelj 
girls,  splendidly  attired,  and  wan  -ttith  fear  , 
while  on  the  rich  sofa  of  gold  and  azm-e,  lay  th« 
graceful  form  of  Felech-so,  one  round^hite  arn 
falling  over  the  edge  of  the  divan,  and  a  slendei 
stream  of  blood  flowing  from  her  bosom  to  the 
floor. 

The  signal  shot  of  the  Sultan  had  been  fired 
in  haste,  and  the  ball  had  terminated  the  life  of 
the  fair  and  gentle  Felech-so. 

My  tale  is  almost  told.  The  wretched  Hem- 
doune  Hanoum  was  bow-strung  by  two  of  her 
own  slaves,  who  had  been  made  captive  by  the 
Janissaries.  Coldly  and  sternly,  Mourad,  asthey 
were  brought  trembling  before  him,  inquired  of 
each  his  name  ;  and  then,  selecting  from  their 
number,  Memish  and  Ferhat,  who  had  beendes-; 
tined  to  the  honor  of  terminating  his  own  ex- 
istence, he  stood  by  to  see  his  will  accomplished. 
The  victim  uttered  no  cry — made  no  supplica- 
tion— but  submitted  to  her  fate  with  a  reckles*- 
ness  worthy  of  her  impious  life  ;  and,  as  her 
quivering  body  was  flung  down  by  her  execu- 
tioners, the  Sultan  bade  them  conduct  him  to 
the  prison  of  Hassan. 

The  report  of  Felech-so  to  the  Defter-dar  was 
true  in  e\;ery  particular.  The  vaults  beneath 
the  house  had  been  converted  into  dungeons; 
where,  surrounded  bj- squalor,  filth,  and  wretch- . 
edness,  loaded  with  chains,  and  attenuated  by 
hunger,  the  Sultan  found  not  only  Hassan,  but 
a  score  of  other  victims,  all  young  men  of 
wealth  or  rank,  many  of  whom  had  been  lost  to 
their  families  for  years. 

The  joy  of  the  miserable  prisoners  may  be 
imagined,  when  they  recognized  their  deliverers. 
Hassan  fell  on  the  neck  of  the  Defter-dar  and  , 
wept,  and.  as  his  chains  were  struck  off",  he 
mingled  with  his  gratitude  an  inquiry  for  Felech- 
so  ;  and  his  tears  only  flowed  the  faster  when 
he  learnt  that  she  had  perished  in  the  sei'vice 
of  her  aff'ection. 

Of  the  fate  of  her  companions  there  is  no 
record ;  but,  as  they  were  Eastern  women  who 
had  come  under  the  ban  of  the  law,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  imagine  it;  while  it  is  certain  that, 
in  many  of  the  state  documents  subsequent  to 
this  adventure,  mention  is  made  of  a  certain 
Hassan  Pasha,  who  h^ld  a  high  oflice  of  Stato 


iiicj'j; 

file  4 
and  tl^ 

t. 


TIIK    ROMANCE   OF   THE   llAKIiM. 


21 


r.-igii  of  Sultiui 


during  the  lattor  part   of  th 
Mourad  the  SecouJ.'* 


PART  II. 


CIIAITER    IX. 

"Taib!  taib! — well  done,  well  done!"  ex- 
cloimed  Cnrinitil  llanouin,  as  the  fai^Massaldjhe 
ceased  speaking;  "Y'AUah!  'tis  a  wondrous 
tale,  and  my  ears  have  drunk  it  in  like  soft  inusie  ; 
but,  trul}',  asyou  forewarned  me,  it  is  somewhat 
of  the  saddest.  The  cahimf  whieii  traoed  it 
must  have  grown  beside  a  swift  river,  and  heen 
fanned  by  the  breeze  of  evening  ;  and.  ne  bili- 
rim — what  ean  I  say?  methinks  that  I  better 
love  a  tale  of  happier  issue." 

The  young  Greek  only  replied  by  lifting  her 
instrument  from  the  cushion  on  wliieh  she  had 
laid  it  when  she  commeneed  her  narrative,  and 
emilling  archly  at  lier  friend,  as,  with  rapid 
utterance,  she  poured  forth  the  following  ballad. 

THE  LOST  OXE 

"The  -vrinds  of  onr  mountains,  how  gladsome  they  are  ; 
But  the  voice  of  my  loved  one  is  sweeter  by  far, 
As  on  his  swift  Arab,  as  bright  as  the  day, 
He  comes  from  my  bondage  to  bear  me  away. 

"They  have  wreathed  my  dark  tresses  with  blossom  and 

gem. 
But  my  heart  has  no  fondness  to  lavish  on  them  ; 
I  was  sought  by  a  stranger — they  made  me  his  bride. 
And  my  free  spirit  pines  in  its  passion.ite  pride. 

"  Speed  1  speed  I  to  the  rider  who  comes  like  the  wind  I 
.Whom  no  peril  can  daunt,  and  no  fetter  can  bind  ;" 
Bo  sang  the  sweet  voice  which  we  welcome  no  more. 
For  the  bride  of  the  stranger  has  fled  with  the  giaour! 

"Enough,  khatoun— darling;"  said  the  fair 
Circassian  in  a  low  whisper,  as  a  deep  blush  man- 
tled her  brow  and  bosom;  "  I  like  your  ballad 
eyen  less  than  jour  history,  for  it  tells  a  tale  to 
which  it  is  a  sin  to  listen. ''^ 

"  I  have  done,"  smiled  her  companion,  "  and 
now  we  will  hearken  to  the  fall  of  the  fountains, 
the  murmuring  of  the  winds  in  tlie  mimosa  trees, 
and  the  song  of  the  caged  birds;  for,  truly,  they 
make  sweet  music." 

Not  long,  however,  had  the  fair  friends  re- 
eigned  themselves  in  silence  to  the  calm  beauty 
of  the  hour,  and  the  train  of  thought  which  it 
engendered,  when  a  slave  approached  witii  in- 
timation that  the  Pasha  purp<^>sed  paying  a  visit 
to  the  harem  after  the  evening  meal ;  and,  his 
wife  having  signified  her  readiness  to  receive 
him,  the  ladies  shortly  afterwards  removed  to 
another  apartment,  in  which  the  Bupper  had 
been  spread  by  their  attendants. 

Cushions  of  delicate  J)ink  satin,  sprinkled  with 


•  Wild,  romantic,  and  improbable,  &«  this  tale  will  ap- 
pear to  European  readem,  it  u  nevertheleim  strictly  true  ; 
having  befn  drawn  from  the  archives  of  theTurkmh  Km- 

,  pire.  and  related  by  Peroui»e  Hanoum,  the  lady  .Secretary 
of  the  Sultana  Aztni.  for  the  purpose  of  being  communi- 
cated to  r-e,  during    my   resilience  at  Constantinople,  in 

(the  year  KiO.  Mourad,  or  ai  he  is  styled  in  England, 
Amurath  II.,  was  a  prince  devoted  to  a<lventure,  and  of 

,  great  personal  courage. 

,      t  Pen  made  from  a  reed. 


golden  stars,  were  placed  bcfiido  the  nilvor  tray 
on  which  the  meal  was  to  be  served;  napkins- 
of  iiuislin,  as  white  and  fine  as  gossamer,  cx- 
<|uisitely  embroidercil  an<l  friiigiil  with  colond 
silks  and  silver,  were  laid  carclnlly  ucros.-*  tlnir 
knees  and  over  tluir  arms:  tepid  rose-wat«r, 
poured  from  a  richly  gild»'d  vase  into  a  ba.>.in  ••! 
the  same  material,  was  showered  upon  their 
white  una  taper  fingers,  and  the  repast  com- 
menced. 

A  line  of  slaves,  extending  from  the  low  tray 
to  the  dtior  of  the  a])artment,  |iaHsed  the  dishes, 
which  were  served  singly,  from  hand  to  hand; 
the  one  nearest  to  her  mistress  setting  it  down 
before  her  unon  her  knees. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  as  tlie  meal  proceeded, 
which  was  accompanied  by  the  voices  of  half-a- 
dozen  slave  girls  grouped  together  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  room.  There  were  the  delicate  kef- 
tas.  balls  of  highly  sea.-ioned  force-meat ;  t<-halva, 
a  dish  made  of  Hour,  honey,  and  oil;  kainmek, 
an  exquisite  preparation  of  thickened  cream: 
moalibe,  a  species  of  inferi«>r  blane  mange,  nuich 
prized  by  the  Orientals,  and  eaten  with  powder- 
ed sugar  and  rose-water  ;  kialuibs  of  lamb,  serv- 
ed up  on  skewers  of  jasmine  wood  ;  kubeh,  spiced 
meat,  minced,  and  rolled  in  vine-leaves,  baked 
crisp;  dolraas,  a  similar  preparation  stewed  in 
cream  :  tchorba,  or  s^nip  of  several  descriptions ; 
dried  beef,  prepared  with  garlic,  the  Turkish 
substitute  for  ham  ;  and  all  the  various  provoc- 
atives to  ajipetite  which  fill  up  the  measure  of 
an  Oriental  repast ;  and,  lastly,  the  national 
pillauf,  richly  colored  with  tomato  juice,  an«l 
flav<ired  with  quails.  Sherbets  and  cotl'ec  suc- 
ceeded :  and,  having  once  more  batlied  their  fair 
hands  in' perfumed  water,  Carimfil  Ilaroum  and 
her  Oreek  friend  returned  to  the  garden  saloon 
to  await  the  coming  of  the  Tasha. 

The  sun  was  just  setting,  and  the  tall  syca- 
mores which  bounded  the  view  were  gleaming 
in  gold  and  orange  ;  while,  as  the  rays  fell  u|h)ii 
the  noble  sheet  of  water  immediately  below  the 
casement,  they  shed  a  soft  pink  tint  ujwn  the 
marble  basin,  and  over  the  pale  blossoms  of  the 
lotos  flowers, 

"  How  fair  must  this  sweet  evening  close  upon 
the  mountains  of  my  beloved  land!"  sighed  «)ut 
the  beautiful  Circassian ;  "can  you  not  picture 
to  yourself,  Katinka  inou,  the  glory  of  this  rich 
ligfit  flung  over  tlie  blessed  valley,  wher> — " 

But  the  kadeun*  had  no  time  to  loeali/.e  h-r 
picture;  for,  as  she  was  sjieuking,  the  tap.  stry 
curtain  of  the  inner  d<Mjr  was  lifted  by  a  couple 
of  negro  slaves,  and  the  I'usha  entered  the  apart- 
ment 

"  Salam  aleikum,"  said  the  Satrap,  as  the  ladies 
rose  to  receive  him. 

"  Aleikum  Salam,"  replied  his  wife,  as  he  ad- 
vanced towards  the  sofa ;  while  the  (Jre.-k,  re- 
tiring a  few  puces,  stood  silent  in  un  attitude  ol 
deep  respect 

■'  Keifiniz  ayi  me — is  your  humor  good  f"  n^k- 
ed  the  i'asha,  us  liis  young  wife  bent  her  knefl 
and  pressed  his  haml  to  her  lips  and  brow. 

"Ouzel — good:"  was  theaiiftwer;  "my  lord 
has  brought  joy  to  the  heart  of  his  slave,  for  h« 
has  restored  to  her  the  sister  of  her  soul." 

•Lady. 


82 


THE  ROiLAJNX'E  OF  THE  nAIlE:SL 


The  Satrap  glanced  for  the  first  time  towards 
Katinka:  "Approach,  kizem — mj'  daughter;" 
he  said  kindly  ;  "  I  have  much  to  thank  you  for, 
^vlien  I  see  the  bloom  and  tlie  liglit  restored  to 
this  jewel  of  my  existence ;  you  have  been  a 
skilful  physician  ;  every  hake'em  whom  I  have 
hitherto  consulted  has  been  an  ass  and  the  father 
of  asses;  but  you  liave  brought  back  joy  to  my 
harem,  as  the  dawn  brings  back  liglit.  Who  lias 
taught  you  a  skill  valuable  as  the  precepts  of 
the  Koran,  and  sure  as  the  Paradise  of  the  Pro- 
phet? How  is  it  that,  while  the  wise  men  of 
the  land  liave  heaped  upon  my  head  the  dirt  of 
disappointment,  you  have  spread  for  my  feet  the 
carpet  of  content  ?" 

"  Allah  buyidc  der — the  Kadeun  Hanoum  has 
rejoiced  in  my  minstrelsy,  and  we  have  broken 
together  the  spiced  bread  of  memory,"  was  the 
reply.  "  The  heart,  when  it  is  sad,  ever  loves  to 
fall  back  upon  the  past;  the  river  may  flow 
through  many  valleys,  but  its  waters  have  all 
been  fed  from  the  same  source,  and  they  cannot 
change  their  nature." 

"  And  yet,  what  is  the  past  V  said  the  Satrap 
philosophically,  as  he  took  from  the  hand  of  an 
attendant  his  richly  ornamented  chibouque,  of 
■which  the  boudaka,  or  bowl,  was  curiouslj'  gilt, 
and  painted ;  "  is  it  not  bosh — nothing !  The 
song  that  has  been  sung,  the  tale  that  has  been 
told,  the  sherbet  that  has  been  drunk,  what 
avail  they?  Bashustun — On  my  head  be  it! 
They  are  even  less  than  nought — ^I  have  said  it." 

"  Otour,  janum — Sit,  my  soul ;"  was  his  next 
e;cclamation,  as  he  witlidrew  for  an  instant  the 
chibouque  from  his  lips,  and  turned  towards  his 
wife:  and  when,  profiting  by  this  gracious  per- 
mission, she  had  placed  Jierself  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  sofa  on  which  he  was  comfortably 
establislied,  a  motion  of  the  hand  implied  a  sim- 
ilar connnand  to  the  young  Gi-eek,  who  obej-ed 
it  by  taking  her  place  on  a  pile  of  cushions  at 
the  feet  of  her  friend. 

"  Beyaz  ;"  said  the  Satrap  a  moment  after  as 
he  looked  up  ;  "I  have  been  searching  for  the 
cause  of  your  vaunted  cleverness,  and  1  find  not 
in  the  chambers  of  my  brain  one  with  which  I 
can  feel  satisfied.  Hai — true,  you  are  a  Greek, 
and  the  women  of  }-our  nation  are  content  to 
turn  over  the  leaves  of  knowledge,  and  to  trace 
the  characters  of  eonununication  themselves, 
wliile  tlie  fair  inmates  of  our  harems — Alhem- 
dullilali — praise  be  to  Allah! — sit  quietly  upon 
their  sofas,  and  for  a  few  piastres,  purchase  the 
labors  of  others ;  but  you  do  more  than  this — 
you  are  as  a  daugliter  of  Frangistan — as  a  sister 
of  the  Unbelievers,  who  walk  the  streets  with 
their  faces  naked,  and  pour  dust  upon  the  heads 
of  the  karabashes,  the  wise  men  of  our  countrj-, 
•who  double  up  their  feet  upon  the  sofa  of 
science,  and  pour  the  sherbet  of  study  into  the 
goblet  of  learning.  Mashnllah  !  Frangi  domous 
— the  Franks  are  liogs — and  their  women  are 
the  sisters  of  Slieitan,  and  the  hand-maidens  of 
Eblis !"  and  the  Pasha  spat  upon  the  carpet, 
overcome  at  once  by  indignation  and  fatigue. 

"  The  women  of  the  Franks,  what  are  they, 
that  we  8lu)uld  talk  of  them?"  asked  the  Cir- 
cassian. "  Do  not  their  own  husbands  hold 
them  60  ligiitly  that  thej'  nujy  come  and  go  as  I 
they  list,  and  receive  strange  men  in  their  ha- 1 


rems,  and  sit  at  meat  with  them  unrebuked 
Are  they  not  giaours  and  unbelievers?" 

"Taib — well  said;  why  should  we  talk  of 
them,  guzum,  my  eyes!"  replied  the  Pasha; 
"  are  they  not  as  alme,*  wandering  from  house 
to  house  unveiled,  and  smiling  upon  every  bey- 
zadehf  who  smokes  from  the  chibouque  of 
their  husband  ?     Ajaib  ! — wonderful !" 

"  Have  you  ever  looked  upon  one  of  these 
unhappy  ones?"  asked  the  Hanoum  anxiously. 

"  But  once,  janum,  and  that  was  at  Stamboul, 
before  I  t§ok  possession  of  my  pashalik  ;  and, 
ouf !" — and  again  he  assumed  an  expression  of 
intense  disgust.  "  She  had  neither  turban  upon 
her  head,  nor  henna  upon  her  hands !  When  I 
peered  at  her  from  behind  a  curtain,  for  I  would 
not  enter  her  apartment,  she  had  a  Prankish 
calam  in  her  hand,  and  she  was  tracing  upon 
the  leaf  of  an  open  volume  a  knot  of  flowers  that 
was  Ij'ing  open  before  her;  and  I  swear  by  the  i 
Koran  tliat  I  could  scarcely  tell  the  precise 
blossom  to  which  the  prophet  had  given  life. 
Who  could  breathe  the  breath  of  peace  in  a  ha- 
rem where  his  women  could  laugh  at  himtohia 
beard!" 

"Mashallah!  who  indeed?"  murmured  the 
young  wife  ;  and  for  a  time  there  was  silence. 

Katinka,  whose  zebec  lay  beside  her,  wearied 
of  the  dull  common-places  to  which  she  had 
been  so  long  compelled  to  listen,  swept  her 
hand  across  the  strings  of  her  instrument,  and 
at  once  changed  the  current  of  the  Pasha's 
thoxights. 

"  Pekahi — very  well,"  he  said  smilingly,  "  be 
it  so — we  will  have  music."  And,  without  fur- 
ther bidding,  the  maiden  poured  forth  one  of 
the  wild  melodies  of  her  country. 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  you  as  you  sang;" 
said  the  Satrap,  as  the  strain  ceased,  and  the 
young  Greek  remained  with  her  head  bent  over 
the  zebec,  to  conceal  the  large  tears  that  were 
standing  in  her  eyes;  "and  as  I  have  no  more 
important  occupation  than  to  listen,  I  would 
fain  hear  your  history,  and  terminate  a  per- 
plexity of  which  it  fatigues  me  to  attempt  a  so- 
lution. Do  I  say  well,  Cai-imfil,  janum,  shall 
she  tell  us  the  tale  of  her  life  1" 

"  As  my  lord  wills ;"  said  the  Circassian  in  a 
low  melancholy  accent;  "she  lives  but  to  obey 
you." 

The  young  Greek  passed  her  hand  before  her 
eyes,  flung  back  the  clustering  braids  which  had 
fallen  over  her  face,  and  after  having  continued 
silent  for  a  moment,  turned  a  long  sjuaking  look 
upon  her  friend,  and  commenced  her  story. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  I  AM  a  native  of  Scio,  of  that  delicious  island 
which,  mirrored  in  the  clear  wateis  of  the 
Egean,  and  rich  in  all  the  prodigal  gifts  of  na- 
ture, appeared  to  have  sprung  from  the  blue 
depths  of  ocean  to  give  to  man  a  renewed 
glimpse  of  the  forfeited  but  unforgotten  Eden. 
1  dare  not  detail  to  my  lord,  as  my  Greek  heart 


'  Dancing  girls. 


t  Son  of  a  lord 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAUE>L 


ifould  dictate,  all  the  horrora  to  which  my 
birtli-place  bocuine  a  proy.  Again  the  sorpt'iit 
Btole  upon  the  oiiltn  happiness  of  innoooiioe;  and 
again  man  was  driven  out  into  the  wilderness 
of  the  world;  but  tiiis  time  it  was  witii  blood 
and  tears — " 

"  Mnshallah  !"  broke  in  the  Pasha ;  "  if  you 
put  so  many  words  to  the  tiring:  of  a  town  ami 
the  murder  of  a  few  thousand  revolted  Greeks, 
your  narrative  is  likely  to  last  to  the  next  Ha- 
mazan !  IJut  go  on ;  it  may  perelianee  mend 
BS  you  proeeed — Bakalum — we  shall  see." 

"  The  cry  of  blood  rose  to  heaven  ;"  pui-sued 
Katinka,  heedless  of  the  interruption,  and  rather 
speaking  to  herself  than  addressing  the  Pasha ; 
♦■  and  in  heav<.Mi's  good  time  it  will  be  answered  ! 
How  many  hap|>y  ones  did  a  brief  day  make 
orphans!  Shrieks  and  groans  rang  tlnougli  tlie 
groves  whieh  had  so  lately  resouinled  with 
luugliter  and  music  ;  and  the  graceful  limbs  that 
had  led  the  romaika  under  the  shade  of  the  tail 
sycamore  and  the  drooping  safsaf,*  lay  maimed 
and  bleeding  by  the  wayside.  All  was  terror 
and  dismay;  and  my  aft'righted  mother,  seizing 
with  frantic  liaste  my  brother  and  myself  by 
the  hand,  hurried  us  along  by-paths  little  fre- 
quented, and  quite  unknown  to  our  enemies,  to 
a  cavern  in  the  rock,  which  had  already  afforded 
refuge  to  a  score  of  other  fugitives,  ileanwhile 
the  flames  of  the  burning  villages  rose  into  the 
air  in  volumes,  and  the  occasional  discharge  of 
musketry  continued  throughout  the  nigiit.  My 
Qiother  sat  upon  the  ground,  with  her  head 
buried  on  her  knees,  my  brother  was  beside  her, 
and  1  lay  at  her  feet,  and  slept,  overcome  by 
fatigue  and  terror. 

"  Througli  the  agency  of  a  relative,  who  lost 
his  wife  and  children  during  the  massacre,  after 
four  tedious  and  miserable  days  spent  in  the 
cavern,  during  which  we  subsisted  on  shell-fish 
and  wild  berries,  collected  by  the  boldest  of  the 
wretched  companj-  during  the  night ;  we  escaped 
in  the  frail  bark  of  a  fisherman,  whom  the  hope 
of  gain  had  induced  to  hover  about  the  island, 
and  who  landed  us  ere  the  day  was  spent  on  a 
bleak  rock,  where  we  continued  until  we  could 
safely  transport  ourselves  to  Athens;  our  faith- 
ful fisherman  supplying  us  with  food,  and 
ultimately  informing  the  friends  to  whom  we 
were  anxious  to  be  convej-ed,  of  our  destitute 
and  miserable  condition. 

"  Landed  in  Greece,  we  were  in  comparative 
security;  and  the  uncle  of  my  mother,  a  wealth}- 
merchant,  without  any  nearer  relativ.s  than 
ourselves,  lavisheil  u[»on  us  every  luxury  which 
liis  ulfection  could  procure  or  devise ;  but  my 
poor  mother's  heart  was  broken:  and,  while  1 
was  yet  a  child,  she  was  laid  beneath  an  acacia 
tree  to  rcsL 

"  We  wore  now  wholly  dependent  on  Age  An- 
este,  our  uncle,  and  we  became  to  him  as  children; 
all  the  advantages  that  g<»ld  could  secure  he 
pound  forth  upon  us;  but  even  that  effort  would 
not  sati-fy  his  love.  We  were  about  to  be 
transported  to  Frangistan,  to  a  8ea-|)ort  of  the 
Gauls,  touehiiig  on  the  gulf  of  ( Jenoa,  and  there — " 

"  Y'  Allah  f — in  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  how 
•ay  you  i     Have  you  been  in  the  land  of  the 


Egyptian  willow. 


t  infidel  I"  exelaimed  the  Pn.slia,  Buddenly  aronspd 
from  his  indilVerenee  ;  "  know  you  not  that  iliu 
country  of  the  Uiilielievei-s  is  but  a  men/i 
khaneh,  a  post-house,  on  the  road  toJeliMnum  I* 
I  '•  Shekiur  Allah  !— heaven  be  pniis..!,  the  soU 
I  of  my  foot  has  never  been  j)olluted  by  treading 
I  the  soil  of  the  giaour;"  replied  the  young  Gre<'k, 
with  a  (liiiet  smile.  "  1  was  about  to  inform 
1  your  highness  that  the  felucca  was  at  anchor 
before  the  city,  when  n  Frank  stranger  r.rriv.d 
,  with  his  only  cliiM  at  the  house  of  one  whom 
Age  Aneste  loved,  and  in  who.se  compatiy  he 
I  passed  a  great  portion  of  his  time.  When  fh.y 
I  landed  in  Greece,  it  was  evident  to  all  who 
looked  u|>on  the  stranger  that  he  luuleomc  tlicre 
j  only  to  die.  His  eye  burnt  with  a  li<ree  light 
I  which  was  almost  dazzling,  and  there  was  a 
bloom  upon  his  cheek  better  suited  to  a  stripling 
tiian  to  one  whose  head  was  white  with  the 
'  siiow^  of  age.  The  Frank  was  devoured  by  the 
disease  whieh  is  the  plague  of  his  country  ;  and 
the  hakeems  of  his  own  laixl  iiad  sent  him  forth 
1  in  despair  from  the  fogs  an<l  snows  of  his  un- 
i  happy  clime  to  our  more  genial  Fast ;  he  had 
i  passed  rapidly  from  one  fair  island  to  anothir, 
I  with  the  restlessness  of  his  disease  and  of  his 
;  pet)ple  ;  until,  feeling  that  the  angel  Azratil  was 
i  rnpnlly  folding  his  wings  about  him,  he  resolveu 
to  visit  (ireece,  thougli  well  he  knew  that  it 
:  must  be  his  burial-place. 

"  I  have  spoken  of  his  child — it  was  a  daugh- 
ter, with  eyes  like  the  blue  heaven  that  floods 
the   world  with  beauty,  and  hair   as  golden  as 
the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun.     Alas!  she  ho- 
I  ped  on  to  the  last ;   and  when  Allah  at  length 
recalled  the  breath  that  he  had  given,  and  she 
I  was  left  alone,  slie  prayed  in  lier  anguish  that 
the  same  stone  might  cover  them.    She  lived  on, 
I  however,  for  the   prayer  of  the  bursting  heart 
I  was  set  aside  in  mercy ;  and  she  became  an  in- 
I  mate  of  my  uncle's  house.     P'rom  her  I  learnt 
;  the  lore  of  the  Franks,  and  when  she  at  length 
i  followed   her  father  to  the  grav. — for  the   poi- 
I  soned  shaft  wliich   had  struck  down  the  strong 
I  man    lurked    also   in    the  veins   of   the  goldeii- 
1  haired  child  of  his  love — we  mourned  for  her 
I  as  though  she  had  been  of  our  own  blood. 
I      "  Affairs  of  commerce  calling  Ago  Aneste  to 
Circassia,  he  determined,  in  order  to  remove  the 
melancholy    which   had    fastened    vampire-like 
ujjon  my  heart,  to  carry  my  brotlnr  ami  myself 
with  him  upon  his  inLnsling  exjx  ilition.     i'h.n 
and  there  it  was,  your  higliness,  that,  for  a  few 
brief  and  happy  months  1  enjoyed  the  friendship 
'  of  the  beautiful  Carimfil   llanoum.  whom  mnv 
Allah  long  jtrtserve   in   loveliness!     Wlieii  hfs 
affairs  were  settled,  my  uncle  pined  for  his  ov.n 
land,  and  tlie  familiar  comforts  of  his  own  ro<'f , 
j  but  my  brother's  bohhr  spirit  had  beeoini-  ena- 
moured of  the  mouniaiii  lif",  and  t!ie  g.-fierou* 
hospitality  of  ('ireas,-.ia,   and  In-  reMdvt-.l   to  fol- 
low out  his  fortunes  in  the  war  which  the  brava 
moiintaiiieei-s  wen-  waging  with  the  .Mu  ,.-ovit<«. 
Heaven    was    merciful,    for   on    oiir    nturii    to 
Athens,  our  felucca  was  lalon  by  a  'i'u;  kisli  \e-». 
sel ;  my  iinha|>py  uneli-  diiil  lik<-  a  brave  <;re.  k. 
with  his  weap(m  in   his  hand;   and,  for  m\»<  if," 
— and  the  voice  of  tin-  maidi'ii  lall«  r^  d.   anil  the 
bitter  tears  of  anguish  fell  upon  li.r  l.o.oin — •   I 
am  pursuing  my  destiny — nnrsiil  in   blooil,  and 


24 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  THE  ILiREM. 


reared  in  exile,  I  am  novr  wearing  a-way  my 
youth  in  slavery — " 

"  Xay,  not  6o,  Khatoun ;"  exclaimed  the  Cir- 
cassian, throwing  her  white  arms  about  her 
friend,  heedless  of  the  presence  of  the  Pasha ; 
"  your  sorrows  now  are  ended,  your  life  shall 
be  one  of  sunshine,  and  they  who  oppress  or  in- 
jure you  shall  be  the  enemies  of  the  Satrap." 

"  Taib — well  said  ;"  echoed  Saifula  Pasha ;  "  I 
will  pluck  out  their  beards,  and  fill  the  r  nos- 
trils with  ashes.  But  we  have  had  enoiigh  of 
grief — let  your  slaves  be  summoned,  EtFendi 
mou,  that  the  dance  may  dry  up  your  tears, 
which  are  pouring  out  like  the  fountains  of  the 
desert.  Inshallah!  I  would  rather  see  the  flow- 
ers when  the  sunshine  rests  upon  them,  than 
when  the  shower  falls  heavy  on  their  heads,  and 
bends  them  earthward." 

Carimfil  Hanoum  clapped  her  hands,  and  the 
dancing  girls  of  her  liarem  speedily  entered, 
greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Satrap  ;  who, 
when  he  commanded  the  narration  of  Katinka, 
had  by  no  means  anticipated  so  gloomy  a  his- 
tory ;  and  who  Avas  far  better  amused  by  the 
monotonous  twanging  of  the  wiry  Turkish  man- 
dolins, and  the  meaningless  movements  of  the 
slaves,  than  he  would  have  been  by  all  the  fa- 
bles of  the  wily  Scheherazade  herself 

To  the  dance  succeeded  a  shrill  chorus  of  voi- 
ces, sufficient  to  have  cracked  the  drums  of  any 
ears  save  those  of  an  Osmanli ;  and,  when  the 
musicians  had  performed  their  prostrations,  and 
tjuitted  the  apartments,  Carimfil  Hanoum,  anx- 
ious to  reinstate  her  friend  in  the  good  graces 
of  her  husband,  whose  favor  had  evidently  been 
much  lessened  by  the  saddening  nature  of  h 
story,  by  Avhieh  he  had  nearly  been  put  to 
sleep,  and,  at  the  same  time  to  diminish  its  efi"eet 
upon  her  own  spirits,  roused  herself  by  a  vio- 
lent effort,  and  said  laughingly — 

"  The  moon  is  as  bright  to-night  as  the  sword 
of  the  Padishah —  'tis  an  hour  for  a  love-tale  ; 
a3'e,  and  one  of  happy  issue.  Have  you  none 
such,  guzum  ?  Bak — see  !  you  have  biit  to  look 
at  those  threads  of  silver  flung  over  the  leaves 
like  a  net-work,  in  order  to  weave  a  thousand 
gladsome  fancies,  and  to  dispel  at  once  the  gloom 
of  the  Satrap,  who  has  done  nought  but  sigh 
since  the  singing  women  left  the  apartment." 

"_  Guzel ! — good,  goodi"  smiled  the  Pasha, 
"  'tis  a  good  thought,  janum — my  soul;  but  we 
will  have  no  more  revolts,  nor  pirates,  nor 
Frank  women  wandering  into  far  lands  to  die, 
instead  of  waiting  quietly  upon  their  sofas  the 
coming  of  Azraiil ;  as  they  would  have  done  had 
they  covered  their  faces,  and  not  eaten  dirt  from 
their  childhood.  But  first" — and  he  clapped 
his  hands,  and  said  gravely  to  the  negro  who 
answered  his  summons,  "  Chibouque,  cahveh 
getir— bring  pipes  and  coffee  ;"  ere  he  turned 
gaily  towards  the  young  Greek,  and  added,  with 
a  seff-gratulatory  chuckle  at  liis  own  wit.  "  First 
pass  the  sponge  of  oblivion  over  the  parchment 
of  memory,  and  fold  your  feet  upon  the  cushion 
of  delight;  for  if  you  fail  to  make  me  laugh  ere 
I  leave  the  harem,  I  will  condemn  you  to  pre- 
pare your  pillauf  with  green  rice  ;  so  let  j'our 
words  be  your  slaves,  that  they  may  make 
smiles  as  plentiful  in  my  harem  as  roses  in  tlie 
gardens  of  Nishapor." 


The  fair  Greek  bowed  her  head,  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  her  heart  and  lips;  and,  when  the 
cafejhis  had  retired,  prepared  to  obey  the  Pasha 
V)y  relating  the  story  of — 


CHAPTER  XI. 


TUE   SEVEN    DOORS. 


Not  above  a  hundred  years  ago,  there  lived 
in  the  city  of  Stamboul,  near  the  mosque  of 
Sultan  Bajazet,  a  shawl  merchant  named  Sulei- 
man, to  whom  the  prophet  had  been  auspicious, 
and  who  had  consequently  accumulated  im- 
mense wealth.  For  sixty-five  years  he  had 
been  content  to  see  his  harem  occupied  only  by 
his  very  aged  mother  and  her  slaves :  but  at  the 
termination  of  that  period,  as  he  was  one  day 
sitting  in  the  Shawl  Bazar,  his  attention  was 
attracted  by  the  stately  form  and  graceful  car- 
riage of  a  female,  who  paused  for  a  moment  be- 
side his  carpet  to  examine  a  magnificent  cache- 
mire  of  Lahore,  which  he  was  in  the  act  of  dis- 
playing to  a  Frank  customer,  and  then  hastily 
passed  on  attended  by  a  slave. 

The  Frank  purchased  the  shawl,  and  the  bright 
eyes  of  the  fair  pedestrian  had  so  far  favored 
I,  that  he  did  not  pay  above  a  thousand 
piastres  more  than  its  value  ;  Suleiman  having, 
in  his  temporary  bewilderment  of  spirit,  named 
to  the  Giaour  the  very  sum  which  he  wouM 
have  demanded  of  a  True  Believer ;  and,  when 
the  merchant  had  carefully  deposited  the  gold 
in  his  tobacco  purse  instead  of  the  more  legiti- 
mate receptiele  destined  for  his  gains,  and  had 
inhaled  in  silence  the  ai-oma  of  a  newly-replen- 
ished chibouque,  he  was  aroused  from  his  fit  of 
musing  by  the  voice  of  his  neighbor  Najib,  an 
Adrianopolitan  by  birth,  and,  like  himself,  a 
shawl  merchant  by  profession,  who  had  wit- 
nessed the  bargain  with  some  surprise  ;  but  with 
that  quiet  philosophy  of  non-interfei'ence  com- 
mon in  the  East. 

"  Allah  mouthy emmin  ^il^y^ — Allah  grant  that 
it  maj'  be  of  good  omen  to  you  :"  he  said  calmly. 
"The  dog  of  an  infidel  was  ready  with  his  gold, 
and  paid  it  fairly ;  but  j-ou,  methinks,  were 
somewhat  over-hasty  on  your  side,  or  you 
might  have  counted  it  up  to  a  heavier  sum. 
Even  the  light-footed  daughter  of  old  Abdullah, 
the  silversmith,  stopped  for  a  moment  as  she 
passed,  in  wonder  at  your  fair  dealing  with  a 
Giaour." 

"  Mashallah — Allah  be  praised — the  eye  must 
be  keen  that  pierces  the  folds  of  a  yashmac,"* 
retorted  the  other,  thoroughly  aroused  by  the 
subject;  "How  know  you,  Etfendim,  that  Ab- 
dullah has  a  daughter  ?  or  that  the  girl  wlio 
just  walked  through  the  bazar  was  his  child  ?" 

"  To  your  first  question,  I  answer  that  my 
wife  asked  her  for  our  son  Hafiz,  but  it  was  not 
his  kismet — his  fate — to  be  pleasing  in  the  ej'ea 
of  the  old  man  ;  and  to  the  second,  that  the  ne- 
gress  who  followed  her  was  reared  up  in  my 
own  harem,  and  bade  '  God  guard  me,'  as  she 
stepped  beside  my  carpet." 


by  Turkish  women. 


THE   ROiL\^-CE  OF  THE   1IAUK.NL 


Suleiman  smoked  on  after  this  eliort  dialogue 
in  silence  :  a  new  idea  had  sprung  into  existonee 
in  his  niiiul;  and  he  remained  quietly  resolving 
the  subject  until  an  hour  before  sunset,  at  which 
period  tlio  tcharchi*  closes;  wlien,  having  ex- 
\  hausted  his   last  pipe,  he  rolled  up  liis  carpet, 

i  secured  Iiis  costly  merchandise,  and  walked 
slowly  homeward. 
"  it  is  my  fekeh — my  constellation" — he  mur- 
mured to  himself,  as  he  cast  otf  his  slippers  at 
the  door  of  tlie  harem,  and  proceeded  to  pay  a 
visit  to  his  mother;  "  What  is  to  be,  will  be!" 
And  having  indulged  in  this  consolatory  and 
soothing  retleetion,  Suleiman,  the  shawl  mer- 
chant philosophically  resigned  himself  to  his 
fate!  "Allah  keriu'i — Allah  is  merciful!" — he 
said  quietly,  as  he  took  possession  of  a  cushion 
near  the  sofa  on  which  his  aged  and  widowed 
parent  sat  supported  by  pillows:  "  Allah  kerini 
— my  home  has  hitherto  been  one  of  solitude, 
and  the  hair  of  my  mother  has  grown  gray  with 
years;  and  as  3et  she  has  had  no  daughter  to 
pour  water  into  her  goblet,  nor  coffee  into  her 
cup — but  this  must  not  be  for  ever — I  have 
said  it" 

"  Allah  kerim !"  echoed  the  old  woman  in  her 
turn :  "  the  Prophet  has  heard  my  prayer.  I 
will  see  Ilumot  the  slave-merchant,  before  the 
set  of  to-morrow's  sun." 

"  Nay.  not  so  ;"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  have  heard 
that  Abdullah  tlie  silversmith,  he  who  wrought 
the  niangalf  for  the  Sultan's  new  palace,  hatli  a 
daughter;  men  speak  well  of  him,  and  his  beard 
is  white.     I  will  marry  the  girl." 

"  Pekalii — very  well,"  answered  the  aged 
crone :  "  then  will  I  see  the  Ilanoum,  her  mo- 
ther ;  the  Iniaum  shall  be  warned  ;  and  next 
•week  her  foot  shall  be  on  your  threshold." 

"  Abdullah  hath  refused  her  to  Hafiz,  the  son 
of  Najib ;"  observed  the  suitor  with  a  sudden 
misgiving. 

"And  what  of  that?"  asked  his  mother  sharp- 
ly ;  "  is  it  not  bosh — nothing  ?  Ilatiz  is  a  mere 
boy,  and  the  camel  is  not  yet  foaled  which  will 
carry  him  to  Mecca." 

Even  on  the  morrow  did  Gunduz  Ilanoura 
(for  thus  was  the  mother  of  Suleiman  called — 
Gunduz  signifying  Daylight,  though  the  sun  of 
her  mortal  sky  had  long  been  set,  and  her  exist- 
ence dwindled  away  into  a  mere  gloaming;  and 
Ilanoum  being  translated,  reading  as  lady  or 
mistress:)  even  on  the  morrow  did  she  set  for- 
ward upon  her  interesting  errand.  Nor  had  the 
aged  ambassadress  the  most  remote  doubt  as  to 
the  success  of  her  mission  :  true,  the  silvcrsniith 
had  refused  to  give  the  maiden  to  Hafiz,  the 
first-born  of  Najib,  the  Adrianopolitan  ;  but  Na- 
jib was  not  a  man  of  substance,  and  the  son  fed 
only  upon  his  father's  fortunes ;  while  Sulei- 
man  

It  was  at  this  point  of  her  musing  that  the 
araba,  or  latticed  carriage,  of  (iunduz  Ilanoum 
stopped  before  the  harem  of  th.;  moth«r  of  Ha- 
fiz; and  when  the  arabajhe  had  beaten  upon  the 
door,  and  it  ha<i  been  opened  by  some  invisible 
means  from  within,  her  slaves  slowly  lifted  her 
from  her  cushions,  and  bore  her  into  the  hull  of 

•Great  Exchange. 

t  A  brazier  lor  holding  heit«d  chaicokl. 


I  Abdullah's  house,  whence  she  was  supported  up 
stairs;  and,  having  traversed   a   wide  t-orridor 

I  surrounded  by  tha^women's  ajtartments,  she  was 
ushered  into  the  princi|)al  room  of  the  liarein, 
and  the  presence  of  its  mistress. 

"  IJouroum — you  are  weleonic  ;"  i*nid  the  lady, 
rising  courteously  from  her  sofa,  as  the  gu.st 
entered ;  and  she  motioned  the  (h  crepi.i  old 
woman  to  the  jtlaee  of  honor;  "  You  are  Wel- 
come, though  I   know  not  whence  you   are,  nor 

'  on    what   errand    you    come."     And   while  the 

I  visiter,  having  put  olF  her  slippers,  settled  her- 
self comfortably  at  the  upper  end  of  the  divan 
she  clapped  her  hands,  and  a  slave  entered  with 
coffee. 

!  Long  sat  the  two  women  side  by  side  in  si 
lence;  and,  when  the  coffee  had  disappeared, 
the  wife  of  Abdullah  prepared  a  ehiboiKjue  for 

,  her  guest,  and,  having  duly  placed  on  the 
summit  of  the  tobacco   a  small  piece  of  lighted 

I  charcoal,  she  offered  the  pij)e  to  lier  visiter  with 
her  own  hands,  who  received  it  with  a  cour- 
teous salam  aleikum.* 

"  You  are  the  wife  of  Abdullah  the  siver- 
smith" — commenced  the  old  woman  at  length, 
after  she  had  imbibed  the  aroma  of  the  tobacco, 

I  and  that  the   raised  circle  of  light  white  ashes 

1  had  formed  round   the  bowl  of  the  chibouque, 

j  which  betrays  that  the  virtue  of  the  "scented 
weed"  is  well  nigh   evaporated  ;  "  you   are  the 

j  wife  of  Abdullah  the  silversmith,  and  I  am  the 
mother  of  Suloimaii  the  shawl   merchant,  who 

I  lives  within  the  shadow  of  the  mosque  of  Sultan 
Bajazet — you  have  a  fair  daughter;  and  my  son 
is  one  who  can  well  atford  to  flavor  his  pillauf 
with  spices — do  I  speak  clearly  ?" 

"  Y'ou  speak  clearly  ;"  responded  her  auditor 
without  the  slightest  gesture  of  surprise,  and 
drawing  as  she  sjjoke  a  longer  stream  of  vapor 
through  the  slender  i)ipe  of  jasmin  wood  which 
she  was  herself  smoking. 

"  1  would  see  the  girl ;"  followed  up  the  old 
woman. 

"And  why  not?"  readily  rejoined  her  new 
acquaintance  ;  "  Alhemdullilah — I'raisu  be  to 
Allah — she  has  eyes  like  oysters,  and  lips  as 
ruddy  as  the  dye  of  Khorasan — why  should  I 
bid  her  hide  herself  when  a  mussafir — a  guest — 
desires  to  look  upon  her?" 

And  again  she  elanped  her  hands,  and,  on  the 
entrance  of  an  nttenuant,  bade  her  summon  llel 

i  niiLs  ilanoum  to  her  presence. 

The  maiden  obeyed  without  delay ;  and  even 

I  as  she  made  her  graceful  obeisance  at  the  thres 

j  hold,  ere  she  advanced  deeper  into  the  apart 
ment,  the   keen  eye  of  the  old  woman   ha<l  de- 

I  tected  in  her  intended  daughter-in-law  all  thf 
charms  which  she  had  silently  settled  in  her 
own  mind  to  be  imperative  and  indispensable  iu 
the  wife  of  her  son.  She  was  indeed,  as  her 
name  implied,  a  "  diamond"  among  women : 
she  had  the  height  and  grace  of  her  (Jeorgiac 
mother,  but  her  eye  and  brow  were  tliiw<!  of  her 
Turkish  father.  It  may  seem  somewhat  apo- 
cryphal to  dilate  on  eyes  which  Inr  own  parent 
had  just  likened  to  so  utterly  unc  iitimental 
an  object  in  natural  history  os  an  oyster;  but 
the   simile  will    nevertheless    bear   analvsia  aa 


*  £a<t«rn  i&luution. 


26 


THE  IlOMA^'CE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


well  as  most — her  eyes  were  full,  and  round, 
and  clear,  and,  moroover,  deeplj'  fringed  with 
lashes  as  black  as  night — s]^  was  pale,  very 
pale  ;  hut  ere  the  visit  of  Suleiman's  mother 
ended,  her  cheek  had  flushed  into  a  dye  that 
would  have  shamed  the  roses  of  Gurgistan  ;  her 
long  dark  hair  fell  in  masses  upon  shoulders  as 
white  and  polished  as  ivory;  and  she  moved 
with  a  grace  that  lent  a  new  charm  to  her 
beauty. 

"  In'shalhih — I  trust  in  Allah — she  is  no  Kurd ;" 
said  the  wife  of  Abdullah,  as  the  lovely  Helmas 
Hanoum  raised  the  withered  hand  of  the  visiter 
to  her  lips:  "she  is  worthy  to  be  the  wife  of  a 
True  Believer." 

She  is  worthy" — echoed  the  other  high  con- 
tracting party,  without  removing  her  sharp  gray 
eyes  from  the  countenance  of  the  fair  girl ;  "  she 
shall  be  the  wife  of  Sideiman,  even  of  my  own 
son." 

The  maiden  started  painfully,  and  raised  her 
downcast  eyes  with  an  expression  of  acute  suf- 
fering ;  her  lip  trembled,  but  she  did  not  ven- 
ture to  give  voice  to  the  words  that  quivered 
there  ;  and  she  almost  bounded  from  the  room 
as  her  mother  bade  her  retire. 

The  declaration  of  Gunduz  Hanoum  was  ful- 
filled to  the  letter;  one  short  week  beheld  the 
young  and  lovely  daughter  of  Abdullah  the  wife 
of  Suleiman  the  shawl  merchant.  She  wept  bit- 
terly as  she  was  borne  into  the  harem ;  and  she 
closed  her  ej'es  as  the  dancing  girls  moved  along 
before  her,  and  turned  aside  her  head  as  the 
singing  women  pealed  forth  her  bridal  song.  In 
short,  it  avails  not  to  mak.e  a  secret  of  that  which 
her  husband  was  not  slow  to  discover ;  the  peer- 
less Helmas  Hanoum  had  given  away  her  heart 
ere  the  aged  mother  of  Suleiman  went  on  her 
matrimonial  mission  to  the  harem  of  Abdullah 
the  silvei'smith. 

But  who  was  the  favored  lover?  Who  should 
say  ?  In  taking  a  wife,  the  worthy  shawl  mer- 
chant had  secured  at  once  a  misery  and  a  mys- 
tery. He  sought  to  win  the  secret  by  tender- 
ness ;  but  the  sentiment  of  sixty-five  long  years, 
written  in  wrinkles  on  the  brow  of  a  new-made 
husband,  is  no  key  to  open  the  heart  of  a  young, 
and  pretty,  and  preoccupied  wife.  The  Hanoum,- 
his  mother,  endeavored  to  gain  her  point  by 
taunts  and  menaces,  but  she  was  only  answered 
by  tears,  from  which  nothing  could  be  learned 
save  that  there  was  a  secret;  and  this  only  made 
the  matter  worse. 

How  many  sleepless  nights  did  the  unhappy 
Suleiman  pass  in  vain  endeavors  to  remedy  an 
evil  whose  exact  cause  he  could  not  even  fathom! 
And  how  often  did  he  swear  to  himself  by  the 
beard  of  the  Prophet  that  he  would  outmatch 
in  cunning  every  lover  in  Stamboul,  though  they 
should  bo  leagued  with  Sheitan  to  do  him  wrong. 

For  one  whole  weary  month  he  sat  in  the 
bazar,  apparently  gazing  on  the  passers-by,  but 
in  reality  with  his  eyes  turned  inward,  and  his 
thoughts  plotting  treason  against  his  liege  lady 
and  wife.  At  length  the  electric  spark  was 
struck,  and  the  luminous  atom  grew  into  breadth 
■  and  form — it  is  true  that  for  a  time  the  breath 
of  the  loving  husband  came  thick  and  hard  a<  le 
revolved  the  different  bearings  of  his  8ci.^3e, 
but  the  more  he  reflected,  the  more  he  became 


reconciled  to  the  idea :  and  when,  in  a  privat* 
conference  with  his  mother,  it  had  received  her 
sanction  and  approval,  he  hesitated  no  longer  to 
prepare  an  effectual  remedy  against  all  lover- 
like  stratagems  on  the  part  of  his  unknown 
rival. 

Beneath  the  house  of  Suleiman  was  excavated 
a  vault  of  some  extent,  which,  with  considerable 
labor,  was  fashioned  by  the  jealous  merchant 
into  a  spacious  and  comfortable  apartment,  save 
that  the  light  of  heaven  could  not  peneti'ate  its 
gloom  ;  and  this  subterranean  was  approached 
by  a  long  vaulted  passage,  along  which,  for  bet- 
ter security,  he  placed,  at  regular  distances, 
seven  doors  strongly  plated  with  iron  and  fas- 
tened with  locks,  each  different  from  the  other, 
and  to  be  opened  only  by  the  key  that  apper- 
tained to  it. 

The  surprise  of  the  young  wife  may  be  ima- 
gined when  she  was  introduced  into  this  living 
grave,  and  told  that  it  was  to  be  thenceforward 
her  abiding  place.  She  wept,  she  knelt,  she 
even  shrieked  in  her  anguish,  but  the  heart  of 
Suleiman  was  steeled  by  jealousy,  and  tardily- 
awakened  love.  Nor,  as  he  took  some  trouble 
to  explain,  would  she  be  so  much  to  be  pitied 
as  she  seemed  to  apprehend  ;  for,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  light,  liberty,  and  fresh  air,  nothing 
in  reason  would  be  denied  to  her.  But  the 
young  beauty  was  deaf  to  all  his  rhetoric  ;  she 
saw  only  in  the  subterranean,  in  which  she  was 
to  be  immured  with  the  faithful  negress  who  had 
followed  her  from  her  father's  house,  at  once  a 
prison  and  a  tomb  ;  nor  did  the  passionate  pro- 
testations of  her  liusband  reconcile  her  in  the 
slightest  degree  to  his  very  original  arrange- 
ment. Never  were  the  inconveniences  of  exces- 
sive attachment  more  strongly  developed;  and 
after  an  hour  uselessly  expended  in  sententious 
consolation,  the  merchant  was  fain  to  ascend  to 
the  level  of  the  earth,  leaving  his  lovely  victim 
bathed  in  tears  of  most  sincere  distress. 

Now  it  so  chanced,  that  the  house  adjoining 
that  of  Suleiman  the  shawl  merchant  had  long 
been  uninhabited,  and  was  likely  to  continue  so, 
for  the  window  panes  were  shivered,  the  roof 
had  fallen  in,  in  many  places,  and  the  suns  of 
summer  and  the  rains  of  winter  had  combined 
to  render  it  as  forlorn  and  uninviting  as  any 
tenement  could  well  be ;  and  the  merchant 
congratulated  himself  that  it  was  so,  for  the 
grief  and  terror  of  his  young  wife  had  been  more 
vociferous  and  demonstrative  than  he  had  antici- 
pated ;  and  he  felt  all  the  inconvenience  which 
might  have  acci'ued  to  himself  from  a  possible 
interference  on  the  part  of  a  neighbor. 

Were  this  the  time  or  place  for  moralizing,  or 
were  the  habit  of  so  doing  more  popular  than  it 
is,  I  might  be  tempted  at  this  period  of  my  story 
to  pause  a  little,  and  to  remark  on  the  proneness 
of  purblind  human  nature  to  exult  over  the  very 
circumstances  which  are  frequently  the  most 
inimical  to  the  success  of  its  projects ;  but  as  it 
is,  I  will  not  indulge  myself  with  digression ; 
and  this  resolution  brings  me  back  at  once  to 
the  prison-chamber  of  the  fair  and  ill-fated  Hel- 
mas Hanoum. 

^  "  What  care  I  for  my  beauty !"  she  exclaimed 
peevishly,  cutting  short  the  anxious  exhortations 
of  her  attendant,  who  sat  on  a  cushion  at  her 


THE  R01LV>'CE   OF  TIIH   IIARKil. 


27 


*se.;  "I  detest  the  very atniosplioro he brentlios. 
Tchirtut — wrcteli  !  Slinll  I  bniid  my  liiiir  for 
him,  and  stain  my  hands  with  henna  to  give 
him  pleasure  ?  If  I  am  mad,  let  liini  send  me  to 
the  Timernaz(i  ;*  tliore  at  loast  I  shall  foel  the 
breath  of  Heaven,  and  U>ok  on  tlie  blue  sky — 
and  soon,  soon  ;"  she  added,  with  a  fresh  burst 
of  passionate  grief;  "  I  shall  be  t^.tted  only  for 
sueli  a  home." 

Time  wore  on  heavily  enough  in  the  subter- 
ranean, though  Suleiman  rarely  failed  to  visit 
each  daj'  the  lady  of  his  heart,  who  met  his  affec- 
tion either  in  sullen  silence,  or  with  vehement 
reproach  ;  but  a  Turkish  husband  cares  little  for 
a  storm  of  words — it  is  only  a  woman — she  must 
be  suffered  to  say  all  that  she  lists — her  anger  is 
bosh,  nothing — she  is  better  when  she  has  poured 
forth  her  dissatisfaction;  and  upon  this  principle 
listened  the  husband  of  the  incarcerated  fair  one, 
without  swerving  one  iota  from  his  purpose  ; 
and  upon  this-  principle  he  bore  the  tempest 
meekly  ;  and  consoled  himself  by  double  locking 
laeh  of  the  seven  doors,  as  he  re-ascended  to  the 
light,  and  never  suffering  the  precious  keys  to 
he  deposited  elsewhere  than  amid  the  folds  of 
tJie  shawl  that  he  wore  about  his  waist. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

THE   SEVEN    DOOES C0^'T1^•UED. 

Six  weary  weeks  had  passed  since  Helmas 
Hauoum  first  be^me  the  tenant  of  the  vault, 
when,  as  she  sat  One  day  listlessly  passing  the 
heads  of  her  ehaplet  through  her  slender  fingers, 
she  detected  a  strange  noise  in  a  corner  of  the 
subterranean  ;  and  so  much  was  she  perplexed 
to  define  its  cause,  that  she  awoke  her  com- 
jninion,  who  lay  sleeping  peacefully  upon  a  mat 
thrown  on  the  floor,  not  half  a  dozen  paces  from 
her  sofa:  "Wake,  Zeinipl  wake,  I  say!"  she 
cried  impatiently;  "  Ne  var — what  is  that! 
Bome  one  is  in  the  apartment" 

"  Afiiet  oUah — much  pleasure  attend  you — 
we  shall  then  see  a  new  face  ;"  said  the  negress 
quietly,  as  she  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes, 
and  rose  to  a  sitting  posture ;  "  But  where, 
Effendim,  is  the  mussafir?f  IJir  chey  yok — 
there  is  nothing ;  we  are  still  alone  aa  when  I 
liiy  down  to  sleep." 

"  Yavash,  yavash — softly,  softly;"  whispered 
UiC  imprisoned  beauty,  pressing  her  finger  on 
her  lip  ;  "  hear  you  nothing  T* 

"  Nothing,  save  a  rat  which  has  lost  his  way 
in  the  dark,  and  would  take  a  short  cut  through 
our  under-ground  harem.  Hahi !  the  I'rophet ', 
pardon  you,  Effendim,  for  you  have  H|)oiled  the  j 
sweetest  dream  that  has  gladdened  my  sleeping  i 
hours  since — "  I 

"Hist!  I  tell  you,  'tis  no  rat;  now  Allah' 
shield  us  !  what  can  it  mean  f"  j 

The  slave,  seeing  the   terror  of  her  mistress,  | 
and  being  by  this  time  wide  awake,  listfned  in  | 
her  turn.     In  five  seconds  she  decided  that  her 
first  guess  had  been  a  eoiTect  one,  but  in  five 
minutes  she  confessed  that  such  could  not  be  the 


*  Luna.ic  Asyluc 


I  case.  And  in  truth,  it  was  not  wonderful  that 
I  the  two  incarcerated  women  should  instinctively 
draw  closer  together,  and  throw  th.-ir  whole 
souls — for  the  Turks  have  nlways  allowed  that 
I  their  women  /larc  souls,  whatever  it  may  have 
pleased  Europeans -to  declare  to  the  contrary 
! — and  throw  their  whole  souls  into  their  ears, 
as  the  mysterious  noise  continued  with  senrcely 
any  intermission.  It  was  not  precisely  a  knock- 
ing, nor  (^uite  a  scratching,  nor  altogether  a 
grinding;  it  was  a  strange  irregular  compound 
of  each  and  all  of  these;  and  the  only  decision 
to  which  Helmas  Ilanouni  and  her  ebony- 
colored  attendant  could  come  on  the  subject, 
was,  that  some  person  or  thing  was  striving  to 
make  a  way  into  the  vault. 

Ha\'ing  arrive<l  at  this  conclusion,  their  terror 
began  after  a  time  to  grow  into  curit)sity.  What 
could  it  be?  What  could  it  mean  ?  The  young 
beauty  looked  towards  her  slave,  and  miirin\ired 
out  "  If  it  should  be  my  father!" — and  the  slave 
in  her  turn  looked  towards  her  mistress,  and  in  a 
tone  as  low  as  the  last  whispering  of  the  wind 
on  the  ocean  ripple,  replied  to  the  suggestion 
.b}'  slowly  saying,  "  If  it  should  be  your  lover!" 

The  sentence  was  no  sedative,  for  the  cheek 
of  the  young  wife  crimsoned,  and  her  heart 
began  to  beat  painfull}- ;  and  meanwhile  the 
knocking,  scratching,  and  grinding  went  on 
with  an  indcfatigability  which  did  infinite  credit 
to  the  perseverance  of  the  operator.  Tlie  upper 
end  of  the  vault,  where  it  touched  the  subter- 
ranean of  the  adjoining  dwelling,  was  secured 
by  some  of  those  huge  blocks  of  stone  which 
are  frequently  to  be  seen  in  the  most  ancient 
quarters  of  Stamboul,  and  seem  to  have  been 
hewn  by  the  Titans;  they  were  moreover  united 
by  that  mysterious,  and  almost  indestruetiblo 
cement,  of  which  the  secret  is  now  supposed  to 
be  lost ;  and,  altogether,  no  jealous  husband 
could  possibly  have  devised  a  more  solid  or 
satisfactory  species  of  partition  between  his 
own  house  and  that  of  his  neighbor.  But  what 
avail  even  blocks  of  stone,  or  Roman  cement, 
against  the  resolute  determination  of  headstrong 
passion  ?  The  complicated  noise  went  on  day 
after  day,  until  the  two  prisoners  became  so 
thoroughly  accustomed  to  it,  that  it  was  no 
longer  a  cause  of  fear,  though,  amid  the  mono- 
tony of  their  existence,  it  still  remained  a  sub- 
ject of  curiosity  and  conversation. 

It  was  somewhat  remorkable  that  the  invisi- 
ble workman,  as  thongh  gifted  with  the  power 
of  seeing  through  the  stone  that  he  found  it  so 
difficult  to  penetrate,  never  continued  his  labors 
during  the  daily  visits  of  the  merchant;  the 
instant  thot  thekey  of  Suleiman  turned  in  the 
lock  of  the  seventh  door,  all  was  us  still  as  the 
grave;  and  perhaps  it  was  equally  strange,  that 
neither  of  the  women  ever  volunteered  to  the 
merchant  the  slightest  mention  of  the  circum- 
stance. It  might  be  that  in  the  excitement  of 
his  reception  it  escaped  their  memory:  or  it 
might  be  that  they  considered  the  incident  to 
be  altogethor  insignificant,  and  tiierefore  un- 
worthy of  attention,  lean  not  take  upon  my- 
self to  explain  their  motive,  but,  he  it  what  it 
would,  it  shrouded  itself  in  silence. 

It  will  readily  be  believed  by  those  who  have 
the  advantage  of  Suleiman,  anil  who  are  in  pot 


28 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


Bession  of  the  secret,  that  the  noise  became  grad- 
nally  louder  as  the  work  advanced ;  and  that, 
when  once  a  huge  stone  was  displaced  from  its 
legitimate  position,  the  two  trembling  women 
— for  they  did  tremble  more  violently  than  ever 
when  they  saw  the  loosened  mass  actually  yield 
to  some  external  force — were  "  all  eyes,"  as  they 
had  long  been  "  all  ears,"  to  discover  the  cause 
of  the  mystery.  Ilelmas  Ilanoum  was  the  first 
to  recover  from  her  panic,  as  a  very  handsome 
head  appeared  in  the  chasm,  which  was  quickly 
eucceeded  by  a  tall,  slight,  graceful  figure, 
that,  having  passed  the  narrow  space  with  some 
difiiculty,  started  suddenly  into  a  standing  pos- 
ture ;  and  then,  quick  as  thought,  was  prostrate 
once  more  at  the  feet  of  the  young  beauty. 

"  Hafiz  1"  murmured  the  low  voice  of  the  mei'- 
chant's  wife. 

"  My  fair,  my  loved,  my  long-lost  houril"  an- 
swered the  j-outh,  as  he  covered  her  small  hand 
with  kisses:  "Sultana  of  my  soul!  Was  it  for 
this  that  they  refused  you  to  me — to  bury  you 
beneath  the  earth  ere  the  Prophet  had  beckoned 
back  your  spirit  ?  Was  it  for  this  V  and  tears 
of  mingled  joy  and  bitterness  swelled  in  his 
large  dark  eyes. 

"  It  is  my  fate  1"  said  Helmas  Hanoum  mourn- 
fully: "it  is  my  fate:  and  you  have  done  ill, 
Hafiz,  to  seek  me  out.  Was  I  not  sad  enough  in 
my  loneliness  that  you  bring  me  a  deeper  grief? 
Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say  ?  You  are  a  mad- 
man!" 

"  The  nightingale  sings  to  the  rose  when  the 
Bun  has  set ;"  was  the  meek  reply :  "  I  have 
learnt  a  lesson  of  a  silly  bird ;  and  shall  I  be 
chidden  by  the  flower  which  has  won  my  wor- 
ship ?" 

"  If  I  chid  you  not  in  brighter  days ;"  said  the 
weeping  beauty  ;  "  how  could  I  chide  you  now  ? 
And  yet,  Hafiz — " 

"  Aiguzum!  janumi — oh,  my  eyes!  my  soul!" 
comme^iced  the  lover — 

"Enough,  enough  of  this;"  interposed  the 
slave  abruptly :  "  we  lose  time — you  love  each 
other — a  way  of  escape  is  open ;  let  us  fly  to  the 
mountains." 

"Peace,  Zeinip!'*  said  her  mistress  sternly: 
"am  I  not  the  wife  of  Suleiman?" 

"  You  are  a  child,"  retorted  the  negress  un- 
ceremoniously ;  " see  you  not  that  the  young 
Eff"endi  is  your  feleeli — your  constellation  ?  Will 
you  put  out  the  light  of  your  own  star?  Will 
you  blacken  your  face  because  your  father  sold 
you  to  a  greybeard's  gold?  and  eat  dirt  with 
him  when  you  may  share  the  pillauf  of  one  who 
loves  you  ?"  • 

And.  as  the  energetic  Zeinip  paused  for  breath, 
Hafiz  looked  up  at  the  trembling  girl,  and  whis- 
pered "  She  says  well — will  you  indeed  do  this  ?" 

"Listen  to  me  I"  said  Ilelmas  Hanoum,  who 
at  once  perceived  that  she  should  have  to  con- 
tend with  the  pleadings  of  her  own  heart,  as 
well  as  tiiose  of  both  her  companions;  and  who 
was  anxious  to  gain  time,  lest,  in  this  first  mo- 
ment of  happy  emotion,  she  might  be  induced  to 
take  a  step,  against  which  reason  and  propriety 
alike  revolted;  and,  with  the  ready  tact  of  her 
sex  in  all  countries,  and  under  all  circurhstances, 
she  adopted  at  once  the  tone  and  manner  best 
fitted  to  win  her  lover  to  a  compliance  with  her 


conditions.  Like  the  evil  enchanters  of  the 
East,  and  the  spoiled  beauties  of  every  land,  she 
insisted  on  the  performance  of  feats  which  she 
affected  to  believe  impossible,  but  on  whose  ac- 
complishment she  bound  herself  to  unite  her 
fate  with  that  of  Hafiz,  and  to  fly  with  him  from 
Stamboul  for  ever. 

In  vain  did  the  young  man  argue,  expostulate, 
and  plead ;  he  wasted  alike  his  time  and  hie' 
eloquence,  for  Ilelmas  Hanoum  was  firm.  "1 
have  said  it,  Hafiz,  and  thus  onl}-  may  you  hope 
to  win  me ;  remember,  too,  for  how  many  weary 
weeks  I  have  been  buried  here,  and  shall  I  nol 
be  revenged  upon  my  tormentor  ?  Between  the 
entrance  of  the  vault  and  this  apartment  there 
are  seven  doors,  and  so  many  times  must  you 
deceive  Suleiman  in  some  wise,  so  thoroughlj 
that  he  may  believe  himself  the  sport  of  a  fou] 
fiend  without  having  power  to  free  himself  froDC 
the  thrall ;  and  j'ou  must,  moreover,  so  conduct: 
your  machinations  as  to  make  me  a  party  ir 
every  plot.  You  need  not  doubt  but  I  shal 
play  my  part  well,  and  my  faithful  Zeinip  also — 'I 

"  Have  I  not  grown  up  with  him  from  a  child  !'■ 
interposed  the  negress;  "  and  will  not  my  heart 
be  with  him  while  he  walks  the  earth  ?  Inshal 
lah — I  shall  not  mar  his  plotting." 

After  a  time  Hafiz  became  more  reconciled  t< 
the  whim  of  his  mistress:  for,  with  the  sanguim 
and  joyous  spirit  of  youth,  he  anticipated  only  i 
successful  issue  to  each  adventure,  be  it  as  wiU; 
as  it  might;  and  the  two  thoughtless  and  happj 
lovers — happy  in  spite  of  all  the  dangers  am 
difiiculties  by  which  they  were  surrounded— 
laughed  heartily,  ere  they  parted,  at  the  mer< 
anticipation  of  the  discomfortthey  were  prepaf' 
iug  for  the  merchant.   , 

Prudence,  however  pointed  at  length  to  tht 
displaced  fragment  of  wall,  which  must,  to  insun 
the  success  of  their  schemes,  be  carefully  read 
justed  ere  the  next  visit  of  Suleiman;  and  tu 
Hafiz  prepared  to  depart,  Helmas  Hanoum  un 
clasped  from  her  slender  wrist  a  costly  bracele 
well  known  to  her  husband,  whose  bridal  gift  i 
had  been,  and  tendered  it  to  her  lover :  "  I  nee«' 
not  tell  you  how  to  use  it ;"  she  said  smilingly 
"  Zeinip  and  I  will  not  fail  in  our  parts — th. 
stone  shall  b«  sufliciently  loosened,  as  soon  a 
the  Eftendi  departs,  to  enable  you  to  remove  i ' 
by  a  slight  effort,  and  to  restore  the  jewel  er 
he  can  turn  the  keys  in  his  seven  locks ;  an< 
now,  farewell." 

Hafiz  obeyed,  and  left  the  vault;  the  ston. 
was  rolled  back  into  its  place ;  the  rubbish  tba 
he  had  flung  into  the  apartment  carefully  swep 
away  ;  and  then  the  wary  slave  stretched  acres 
that  portion  of  the  wall  the  silken  cord  on  whic! 
hang  the  embroidered  napkins  used  by  Turkis), 
females  in  their  ablutions  lifter  each  meal. 

They  had  scarcely  terminated  their  task,  whei! 
the  echoes  of  the  subterranean  vault  betraye<i 
the  approach  of  the  shawl  merchant,  who  cam. 
to  pay  his  daily'visit  ere  he  departed  forth 
Tcharchi.  He  found  his  young  wife  languidb 
reclining  on  heV  cushions,  and  complaining  Q 
indisposition,  which  she  attributed  to  the  ud^ 
wholesome  atmosphere  of  her  prison-chambei 
Suleiman  endeavored  to  soothe  her,  but  she  onl; 
became  more  silent  and  sullen;  and  he  left  he 
with  a  promise  that  she  should  not  be  muc. 


TlIE   ROMANCE  OF  THE   IIAUKM. 


29 


longor  an  occupant  of  this  gloomj-  nbodo,  since 
neither  the  luxuriousin'ss  of  its  arrnugi'iuonts, 
nor  liis  own  nrgiimonts.  had  power  to  win  her 
to  an  approval  of  lier  position. 

"  Masliallah!  what  liave  1  done?"  she  faltered, 
when  she  was  once  iiiore  left  alone  with  her  at- 
tendant; "should  he  indeed  now  yield  to  the 
frayer  to  which  he  has  so  long  continued  deaf, 
shall  have  ruined  uiy  own  cause,  and  broken 
the  heart  of  llatiz." 

"  Dry  your  tears,  Effondim,  and  assist  me  to 
remove  the  stone;"  answered  Zeinip  calmly; 
'*  bir  ehey  yok — there  is  nothing  to  fear — the 
Effendi  only  seeks  to  amuse  you  with  wonls ; 
and,  even  wore  it  otherwise,  the  son  of  Najib 
must  use  your  jewel  with  less  wit  than  I  tak 


"Wish  me  better  fortune;"  said  Ifafiz;  "I 
have  a  jewel  to  sell."  And  he  drew  from  !)e- 
neatli  the  fol.ls  of  tiie  sliawl  that  girdl.d  his 
waist  a  bag  of  golden.broidercd  eii.heniire, 
whence  he  took  a  small  parcel  containing  a 
bracelet.  The  ornament  was  a  peo\iliar  one  ;  it 
was  a  choin  of  tine  gold,  curiously  worked,  ito 
links  being  wrought  to  resemble  the  minnto 
scales  of  a  serpent,  and  eacii  at  its  p<unt  being 
tipped  with  a  ruby;  while  the  head  of  the  rep- 
tile was  fornied  of  one  large  emerald,  into  which 
two  brilliant  droj)s  had  been  introduced  to  re- 
present the  eyes. 

"  Mashallaii  I"  munuured  Najib,  fixing  his  gaze 
intently  on  tlie  eostlv  stone  that  elasjied  the 
jewel,   with   all  the    discriminating   admiration 


him  to  possess,  if  he  does  not  make  your  jealous  I  bestowed  in  the  East  on  gems  of  price  ;  "M 
jailer  look  closer  than  ever  to  the  locks  of  his  shallah !  'tis  a  drop  of  ligiit  on  a  si>ring  leaf! 
seven  doors."  'tis  a  gaud  for  a  Sultana  !"     And  without  a  mo- 

Satistied  of  the  truth  of  the  remark,  the  pretty  nunt's  deUy  he  stretched  the  haml  which  held 
prisoner  rose  from  her  sofa  to  aid  the  efforts  of  I  it  towards  his  neighbor,  saying  earnestly ;  "  J  low 

think  you,  Elfendim?      Is  it  not  a  noble  gem  J" 


her  more  far-seeing  companion,  and  they  readily 
rolled  back  the  friendly  stone  sutticiently  for 
their  purpose ;   and  then,   with  beating  hearts 


Suleinmn  received  th">  jewel  eabnly,  but  he 
did  not  long  look  on  it  with  a  plai-iil  brow;  the 


and  attentive  ears,  awaited  impatiently  the  ter-  blood  rushed  in  a  volume  to  his  cheeks  and  f< 


mination  of  the  tirst  adventure  of  llatiz  with  th. 
merchant 


head,  an<l  the  tire  tiashed  from  his  eyes;  ho 
thrust  back  his  turban,  and  gasped  for  lireath  ; 
"  You  would  sell  this  bauble,  young  man  ;"  ho 
said,  in  a  cold  deep  accent  of  coneonlrated  pas- 
CIIAPTER  XIII.  sion  ;  "  And  I,  perchance,  would  become  a  pur- 

chaser ;  but  honest  men  do  not  j>ay  away  their 
THE  SEVEN  DOORS — coNTixuED.  golu  lor  things  like  these  without  tirst  learning 

somewhat  of  their  history — I  would  fain  know — " 
ScLErsLW  was  squatted  on  his  carpet,  gravely  "  What  would  you  have  me  tell  you  V  asked 
knocking  the  ashes  of  an  exhaustea  chibouque  llatiz,  with  a  smile  which  roused,  as  he  believed 
from  the  bowl  of  moulded  red  clay  in  wliichjtiiat  it  nmst  do,  every  suspicious  pang  of  the 
they  had  burnt  away,  and  was  preparing  to  re-  Jealous  husband,  who  had  at  once  reeognize«l  tho 
new  the  luxury,  when  the  young  and  handsome  jjcwel ;  "Should  I  say  that  it  was  given  to  mo 
son  of  Najib,  the  Adrianopolitan,  who  occupied  I  by  a  woman,  were  it  not  bosh — nothing!  Yon 
the  adjoining  counter  to  that  of  the  worthy  hus-  must  see  that  it  is  a  woman's  toy,  and,  as  such, 
band  of  Ilelmas  Hanoum,  lounged  slowly  up  to  useless  to  me;  and  you  woulJ  hold  mc  aa  a 
the  station  of  his  father,  and  conversed  with  him  vain  boaster — a  sakal-siz,  a  no-beard." 
for  a  while  on  the  merits  of  some  merchandise  [  Again  Suleiman  gasped  for  breath.  "  I  will 
which  he  had  been  displaying  without  success  buy  the  jewel;"  he  said  hoarsely;  "  yos,  1  will 
to  a  departed  customer;  or,  rather,  to  one  who 'buy  it;  leave  it  with  me  for  to-niglit,  that  I 
he  had  hoped  would  have  become  such.  |nuiy  ascertain   if^  value,  and  to-morrow   I  will 

"I  have  tlone  nothing  to-da}-,  nothing;"  saiil  pay  you  the  gold." 
Najib,  in  reply  to  the  inquiry  of  his  son  ;  "  save  !      "  That  may  not  be,  Effendim  ;"  cahnly  replied 
fold  and  unfold  to  no  purpose.     I  must  surely  llatiz;  "I  wjU  trust  no  one  with  the  trinket  un- 
have  been  smitten  by  the  Evil  Eye,  for  the  Kis-  til   it  cea.ses  to  be   my  property.     Shall  I  heap 
lar  Aglia.  who  purchased  cachemires  of  me  last  dirt  on  my  own  lii-ud  f 

year  to  the  amount  of  two  hundred  and  sixty  I  "  Hut  1  have  not  wherewithal  to  purchase  it 
thousand  piastres,  passed  through  the  bazar  this  until  I  return  to  my  own  house" — urged  the 
morning,  without  turning  a  glanco  towards  me  ,meiehant. 

as  I  sat  among  my  merchandise;  and  when  his|  "To-morrow,  then,  I  will  treat  with  jou, 
pipe-bearer,  who  had  good  reason  to  remember  sliftuld  no  one  ease  in.-  of  it  meanwhile;"  and 
the  bargain,  approached  him  with  '  Effendim,  llatiz  htretched  forth  his  hand  to  resume  posses 
this  is  Najib  of  Adrmnopl.-,' — he  answered,  has-  sion  of  tho  braecKt.  For  a  moment,  however, 
tily,  '  What  of  that  f- do  I  owe  him  gold  that  liSub-iman  did  not  ivlaj  his  hold,  his  tingers  had 
am  not  free  to  pass  on  a*  I  list  ?' and  in  half  an  i  instinctively  closed  over  tiie  treasure  as  ho 
hour  I  saw  him  depart,  followed  by  tho  nephew  niarked  the  action  of  the  youth  ;  but  Hudib-nly 
of  Namik  the  one-eyed,  almost  staggering  under  a  thought  appeared  to  strlk"'  him,  ami  he  mir- 
tne  wight  of  his  fcurthen.  Tho  Cliibouquejho  I  rendered  it  ujiwith  a  mien  of  as  much  indilfer- 
gave  me  a  look  as  he  passed,  which  I  translated  ence  as  he  could  assume. 

easily  into  an  avowal  that  Namik  had  not  acted  I  "  I'ek  ahi,  pek  ahi — well,  well,  to-morrow  b« 
by  him  as  generously  as  I  had  done,  and  that  it  then — to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  <>r  at  tho 
he  was  by  no  m-ans  satisfied  with  the  change.  I  opening  of  the  coming  week,  as  may  bt  ti  suit 
But  what  do  1  say?  Am  I  a  woman  that  I  vent  your  leisure.  Nay,  how  know  I,"  and  he  forced 
mv  disappointmeni  in  words f  Is  not  my  beard, a  grim  and  a  ghastly  smile,  "  how  know  I  thai 
■white  I" 


10 


THE  ROilANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


I  may  not  have  outworn  my  fancy  \rhen  we 
next  meet?" 

"  Even  as  you  will ;"  replied  the  youth,  taking 
his  place  beside  his  father,  and  affecting  to  oc 
cupy  himself  with  a  mercantile  Alculation, 
while  he  was  in  fact  narrowh-  watching  every 
motion  of  his  excited  neighhor ;  "  I  shall  fold 
mj-  feet  upon  the  carpet  of  patience — what  is 
written  will  come  to  pass  I" 

Suleiman  filled  a  fresh  pipe,  and  strove  to 
be  composed,  but  the  effort  was  beyond  his 
strength  ;  there  was  a  nervous  quivering  of  the 
eyelids  and  twitching  of  the  upper  lip,  which 
betraj-ed  the  workings  of  his  spirit.  Turk 
though  he  was.  there  is  a  boundary  beyond 
which  even  a  Turk's  apathy  cannot  hold  out, 
and  at  length  he  reached  it ;  a  cold  dew  stood 
on  his  forehead,  a  chill  came  over  his  heart,  a 
thousand  frightful  phantasms  danced  across  his 
brain,  and  he  fairly  gave  up  the  struggle.  After 
uttering  a  few  hurried  and  almost  inaudible  di- 
rections to  the  lad  who  attended  his  commands, 
he  rose  slowly  from  his  carpet,  and,  carefully 
putting  aside  his  chibouque,  he  resumed  his 
slippers,  and  offered  his  farewell  greeting  to 
Najib  and  his  son.  "  I  have  business  with  the 
Algerine  Hussein,"  he  said,  as  he  slowly  moved 
away ;  "  the  bazar  is  dull  to-day,  and  I  will  pro- 
fit by  the  opportunity." 

Hafiz  returned  his  parting  salutation  with  an 
air  of  pre-oceupatiou  admirably  acted  ;  and 
■when  Suleiman  suddenly  stopped  at  the  distance 
of  a  hundred  paces,  and  looked  back,  there  still 
sat  the  son  of  Najib,  the  pen  in  his  hand,  the 
paper  resting  upon  his  knee,  and  his  head  bent 
down  over  his  occupation.  But  there  were 
eagle  eyes  under  that  ample  turban  which  were 
otherwise  employed  than  in  deciphering  the  in- 
tricate characters  of  the  scroll  before  them ;  and 
no  sooner  had  Suleiman  turned  into  another 
branch  of  tiie  Tcharchi,  than  Hafiz,  springing 
from  his  seat,  and  oversetting  in  his  haste  a  pile 
of  bright-patterned  shawls,  that  in  their  fall 
made  a  rainbow-like  confusion  on  the  narrow 
path,  rushed  hastily  round  a  neighboring  corner, 
and  flew,  as  rapidly  as  his  slippered  feet  would 
carry  him,  to  the  empty  house  adjoining  that  of 
the  jealous  husband.  He  had  not  been  deluded 
by  the  subterfuge  of  his  victim,  and  he  knew 
that  he  had  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Accordingly 
be  turned  the  key  which  he  carried  in  his  gir- 
dle, without  the  delay  of  an  instant,  in  the  half- 
rusted  lock,  and  drew  the  door  after  him,  threw 
off  his  encumbering  slippers  in  the  passage,  and, 
bounding  down  the  steps  that  led  to  the  vault, 
throe  or  four  at  once,  had  just  time  to  fling  the 
bracelet  through  the  aperture  in  the  wall,  and 
to  force  1)ack  the  stone,  ere  the  approach  of  the 
merchant  became  audible. 

The  young  wife,  on  her  side,  was  not  idle  ;  she 
hastily  clasped  the  jewel  on  her  arm,  and,  fold- 
ing herself  closely  in  a  shawl  that  enveloped  her 
head  and  shoulders,  laid  herself  along  the  sofa, 
like  one  suffering  from  indisposition  ;  while  Zei- 
nip,  as  expert  in  deception  as  her  mistress, 
squatted  on  the  floor,  busied  in  the  manufacture 
of  lemon  sherbet. 

As  the  merchant  entered  the  vault,  he  raised 
the  lamp  that  he  carried  above  his  head,  and 
glared  suspiciously  around ;  but  all  was  calm. 


and  still,  and  undisturbed ;  so  calm  and  so  stil 
indeed,  that  it  smote  upon  the  heart  of  Sidei 
man  fi'om  its  contrast  to  the  heat  and  hurry  ol 
his  own  emotions  ;  "  Khosh  geldin — you'  an 
welcome ;"  whispered  the  negress,  affecting  t 
deprecate  the  sound  of  the  husband's  approac* 
ing  step ;  "  but  tread  softly,  Efteudim,  for  st 
has  just  fallen  asleep." 

"  Sister  of  Sheitan!"  said  Jhe  merchant  in  re 
ply ;  "  what  treason  are  you  hatching  here  t< 
fit  your  neck  for  the  bowstring  f  Do  you  tak. 
me  for  a  divane — an  idiot  ?" 

The  imperturbable  Zeinip  only  answered  b'  • 
raising  her  ebony  hands  in  wonder,  and  roUinj 
her  eyes  until   nothing  save   the   whites  wer 
visible. 

"  Tell  me — "  persisted  Suleiman,  in  the  sam 
subdued  voice  in  which  he  had  before  spoken 
"  tell  me,  mother  of  a  dog,  who  has  been  here} 

"  Herei"  echoed  the  slave  stupidly. 

"  Ay,  here  in  the  boudroum — the  subterro 
nean  !  a  man — a  young  man — a  devil!" 

"  Holy  Prophet !  has  a  devil  been  here  ?"  es 
claimed  the  negress  in  her  turn,  with  a  look  an 
accent  of  horror;  "  and  a  young  man  too 
Did  they  come  together?" 

This  was  too  much — the  patience  of  the  mei 
chant  could  hold  out  no  longer — it  was  too  pa!. 
pable — his  suspicions  were  but  too  well  founde 
— lie  had  been  duped — he — Suleiman! — he,  wh 
had  even  buried  his  wife  in  the  bowels  of  th 
earth  from  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world — he  ha, 
been  played  upon — cheated  by  a  couple  of  fah 
plotting  women,  one  of  them  a  mere  child !  H; 
required  only  the  evidence  of  his  eyes  to  b. 
fully,  fatally,  convinced  of  his  misfortune — tb' 
sleeping  beautj%  whom  his  entrance  had  faile 
to  rouse  from  her  slumber,  no  longer  wore  th. 
jewel  which  he  had  clasped  upon  her  arm  whe 
he  had  welcomed  her  to  his  house — she  woul 
not  venture  to  tell  him  that  she  had  lost  it;  f( 
was  not  that  subterranean  her  world  ? — an 
thus  she  would  be  the  instrument  of  her  ow 
destruction.  For  a  moment  the  heart  of  tl^ 
merchant  quailed — she  was  so  young,  so  fair,  s, 
sad ;  but  he  remembered  the  half  exulting,  ha 
supercilious  smile  of  the  son  of  Kajib  when  1 
spoke  of  the  jewel,  and  he  hastily  approach^ 
the  sofa,  and  flung  back  the  shawl  in  which  si 
was  enveloped. 

Still  the  young  Ilanoum  slept,  or  appeared  t 
sleep;  nor  could  the  excited  merchant  satis) 
himself  of  her  treachery  without  awakenii 
her,  for  her  head  was  pillowed  upon  the  vei 
arm  that  should  have  worn  the  bracelet.  r< 
another  moment  he  paused;  and  it  was  n^ 
surprising  that  he  should  do  so,  for  a  pretti- 
picture  than  that  beneath  his  eye  it  had  nev<' 
been  his  lot  to  look  upon.  Her  arms,  fro 
which  the  long  open  sleeves  had  fallen  bac 
were  as  white  and  smoothly-moulded  as  marbh 
and  the  long  dark  hair  that  was  scattered  ov 
her  shoulders  formed  a  strong  contrast  from  tl 
pure  pale  beauty  of  her  complexion.  A  brig, 
crimson  spot  was  upon  her  cheek,  deeper  thi 
mere  sleep  would  have  called  up  ;  but  she  h« 
already  stifled  the  beating  of  her  heart,  and  si 
breathed  gently  and  calmly  like 'one  to  who 
slumber  was  indeed  repose.  The  various  tin 
of  her  gaudy  costume  sho-  ved  gaily  in  the  ligi 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAUEM. 


of  the  lamp;  and  the  little  naked  foot  that: 
peeped  from  boiioatli  llic  ample  tchalvn— or , 
DAntaluon,  of  prnty-oolored  chintz,  gleniued  out 
like  a  snow-tlako. 

"  Guzol — jiok  gu/.ol — prott y,  very  pretty  I" 
murmurod  tlio  inonhniit  involunturily  ;  but  at 
the  instant  tito  iiniig*>  of  ll:itiic.  and  his  ini«ultiiig 
triumph  once  more  rose  up  ()i  fore  him,  and 
steeled  his  heart,  *'  Wake,  llelmas!"  ho  cried 
etcrnlj' ;  "  wake,  'fi?  your  husband  call*  yon." 

"  Mashallali !"  cxolaimod  the  young  wife, 
opening  hor  diep  eyo8.  but  without  altering  iur 
position;  "are  vou  returned  f  you  had  been 
here  already  to-day,  and  now  yo\i  come  only  to 
awaken  me  fiom  a  dream  in  wiiieh  1  had  quite 
forgotten  you  and  3-our  tyranny." 

"  And  is  this  the  fashion  of  tour  reoeption  ?" 
demanded  tlto  enraged  mcrehanl ;  "but  1  will 
endure  vour  woman-whims  no  longer.  Witli 
your  childish  follies,  your  idle  tears,  I  eouM 
nave  borne  with  patience — I  have  borne  them — 
but  you  have  become  a  dog,  and  the  mother  of 
dogs — you  have  eaten  dirt — you  have  blackened 
your  face,  and  defiled  the  grave  of  jour  fa- 
ther I" 

"  Ne  bilirim  f — what  can  I  sayf  What  have 
I  done?"'  asked  the  young  llanoum,  who,  secure 
as  she  knew  herself  to  be  in  the  possession  of 
her  bracelet,  yet  quailed  beneath  the  deep  stern 
passion  of  the  merchant ;  "  How  can  I  answer 
npbi>aidings  that  I  am  unable  to  comprehend  i 
Tell  me  at  least " 

"  Rather  tell  me" — burst  forth  Suleiman,  goad- 
ed to  madness  by  the  placidity  of  the  culprit ; 
"  rather  tell  me,  sister  of  the  Evil  One,  to  whom 
have  you  given  the  jewel  that  I  jdaced  upon 
your  arm  when  I  was  fool  enough  to  take  you 
to  my  home?" 

"  Given  it  I"  said  his  wife  in  well-counterfeit- 
ed astonishment.,  as  she  calmly  withdrew  her 
arm  from  beneath  her  hea<l,  an<l  extended  it. 
encircled  by  the  bracelet,  towards  her  hiiHband, 
while  the  negress  raising  her  spread  palms  in 
the  air,  groaned  audibly  as  though  she  were 
mourning  over  tl>e  departed  mtellect  of  her 
master;  •' Agaib — wonderful!  (iiven  it  f"  «he 
repeated,  as  if  doubting  that  she  had  really  com- 
prehended the  question.  "  To  whom  could  I 
give  it,  even  were  1  dispo.sed  to  imrt  with  the 
pretty  batible,  save  to  my  fnithfnl  Z<'iiiip,  who 
baa  as  little  occasion  a.-*  myself  to  wear  gems 
where  no  one  can  see  them  V 

The  merchant  could  not  believe  his  eyes  ;  but 
yes — there  was  the  jewel — and  that  which  llati/. 
had  offered  for  sale,  clearly,  therefore,  could  not 
have  Ixen  his  wife's ;  he  to<ik  it  from  her  arm  ; 
he  examined  it  narrowlv--hk.  not  the  thing 
been  impossible,  he  could  li,  ?e  svorn — an<l  yet, 
he  should  palpably  have  been  a  perjurerl  man, 
for  he  ha>l  never  jiarted  from  hi«  seven  key« — 

tl>e    lotks    had    a.'isureilly    not    I ii    tatiipereil 

with,  and  there  was  no  "other  outlet  from  the 
vault  It  was  with  a  d<»ep  and  almost  hy-^terienl 
respiration  tiiat  Suleiman  one  more  fiu-ti'in-d  on 
the  ornament,  fully  jK-rsuaded  that  he  muni  have 
been  acting  uii'ler  s^»me  delusion  of  witchcraft, 
and  keenly  conscious  of  the  full  ridieule  of  his 
positioiu  At  that  moment  he  woubl  almost  have 
rejoiced  had  his  suspicions  been  confirmed,  for 
then,  at  least,  he  would  have  been  justified  in 


81 


his  own  eyes  for  the  violence  with  whieh  he  had 
acted  towards  his  young  ami  inno4M>nl  wile  ;  an 
it  was,  he  felt  that  he  must  iiiaki'  a  very  norry 
figure,  and  he  eonld  not  inuiKiliulelv  deeido 
upon  his  best  mode  of  action.  Nor  ilid  the  Ha- 
noum  and  her  handmai<l  afford  him  iiiueh  space 
for  rellection  ;  they  were  eonseions  of  their  ad- 
vantjige,  and  resolved  to  nvail  tliems.  Ives  of  it 
to  the  utnnist,  and  the  poor  shawl  nienliant  was 
conseqiieiitlv  assailed  with  such  a  t'-iiipest  of 
reproach,  vituperation,  ami  tear-",  as  had  well 
nigh  driven  him  mad,  ere  he  was  allowed  once 
more  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  and 
permitted  to  ponr  forth  his  regrets  for  an  intem- 
perance into  whieh  he  had  been  betrayetl  by 
circumstances  that  he  was  alike  unable  to  fathom 
or  to  explain. 

Peace  wiu»,  however,  ultimately  j>roelaimcd, 
for  the  females,  conscious  that  they  were  not 
altogether  so  blameless  in  <he  affair  as  they  w^ere 
now  believed  to  Ix-,   and  remembering  that  tho 


purgatorial  sufferings  of  the  ill-fated  merchant 
I  were  only  eomiiicn<-ing.  were  graciously  phased 
to  be  pacified  by  slow  «legrees,  and  to  aeeept  the 
promises  of  their  victim  that  he  would  never 
I  again  otfend  by  hinting  that  his  wife  was  a  fa- 
I  mily  connexion  of  the  Kvil  One,  or  polluting  the 
I  grave  of  her  unoffending  parent.  Enough  of 
doubt,  nev<-rtheless,  remaineil  upon  the  mind  of 
Suleiman,  though  he  could  not  have  shaped  it 
I  into  a  tangible  form,  amid  all  this  mystification, 
I  to  induce  him,  ere  he  departed,  to  steal  another 
;  long  wary  look  nuind  the  vault  ;  and,  after 
!  locking  each  of  the  seven  doors,  to  hold  his  lamp 
I  close  to  the  key-h<de,  and  to  examine  most  nar- 
I  rowly  the  mechanism  of  the  fastening,  about 
I  whieh  it  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  he 
knew  nothing  whatever;  but  it  is  a  satisfaction 
to  inv(!stigate  closely  and  carefully,  ami  to  form 
our  own  juilgment,  even  of  things  on  whieh  we 
I  are  profoundly  ignorant ;  and  so  the  iiierehant 
found  it,  as,  aft«r  closing  the  bKt  door,  he  retir 
'  od  to  his  own  ajmrtineiit,  perfectly  sutisfi.'d  o| 
;  the  utter  iiniMP-isihility  of  any  entrance  into  the 
I  |irison-eliaiuber,  save  by  means  of  his  own  pro- 
cious  keys, 

I  lint  one  un<1crtaking  had  been  auccessfiilly  ao- 
com|ilished,  and  Ilafiz  had  now  only  to  contend 
against  six  of  the  seven  doors  I 

It  needs  not  to  be  t<dd  that,  on  his  next  meet- 
ing with  the  merchant,  he  replied  to  his  in- 
<piirie«  by  a«serting  that  lu'  had  disponed  of  his 
jewid  to  anotlur  purchasi-r,  nor  tiiat  the  answer 
'  added  to  the  bewilderment  of  .Subiinan.  lie 
'  knew  not  why,  but  he  lia*l  assuredly  never  ex- 
I  pected  to  see  it  again  in  the  ban. Is  of  the  young 
man,  nor  to  be  urg<d  a  second  time  to  make  it 
I  his  own  property  ;  on  the  contrary.  In-  ha<l  felt 
a  most  unpleasant  presentiment  that  such  would 
,  not  be  the  case;  and  yet,  when  his  ex|>'<latiorm 
I  were  reiili/cd,  fre«h  doubts,  and  Jiangs,  nnd 
I  wonderiii!;-*  a«-ailed  him.  Ibit  be  it  at  it  mii^lit, 
what  eoiilil  ho  do  more  timn  In'  had  nlr<  udy 
donef  What  locality  eouhl  be  more  serur.- 
I  than  that  in  whiidi  he  had  immured  his  wil.  . 
1  Ergo,  he  iiiiist  forg.-t  the  mysterious  reseinbUne.- 
of  the  two  bracelets,  for 'it  could  of  course  be 
nothing  more  :  and  dismiM  the  subject  from  his 
mind  altogether. 

Now  this  was  perhaps  the  wisest  concluaMo 


82 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREiL 


to  which  the  worthy  aierchant  had  ever  come 
ia  his  life,  and  it  is  probable  that  in  time,  had 
nothing  occurred  to  renew  the  impression  of 
the  incident,  his  practice  might  have  rivalled 
his  theory;  but  his  kismet — his  fate — had  or- 
dained it  otherwise. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


■niE   SEVEN    DOORS CONTINUED. 

Suleiman  had  a  friend  who  was  perfume-mer- 
chant to  the  Sultan.  A  man  of  mark  was  Sai- 
domer  Nourren  Atem,  and  well  skilled  in  the 
composition  of  sweet  and  subtle  scents.  Every 
flower  of  the  East  had  in  turn  given  up  its  de- 
licious breath  in  his  crucibles  and  pipkins ;  but 
there  were  certain  secrets  whose  results  were 
reserved  for  the  exclusive  use  of  the  imperial 
harem.  Ko  slave  in  the  tcharchi  wore  a  gayer 
vest  or  a  more  elaborate  turban  than  the  Abys- 
sinian confidant  of  Saidomer  Nourren  Atem,  or 
filled  with  a  better  grace  the  minute  essence- 
boxes  of  ivory  into  which  the  more  costly  per- 
fumes were  compressed.  No  Musselmaun  smoked 
a  more  princely  chibouque,  or  cinctured  his 
brows  with  a  more  magnificent  cachemire  than 
Saidomer  Nourren  Atem  himself;  he  looked 
around  him  calmly  on  the  rival  establishments 
of  the  tcharchi,  and  defied  competition. 

Now  it  so  chanced,  that,  about  a  week  after 
the  adventure  with  the  bracelet,  the  skilful 
Bcent-merchant  made  a  discovery  which,  Turk 
though  he  was,  well  nigh  turned  him  mad  with 
delight.  Never  was  so  exquisite  a  perfume  as 
that  which  after  a  score  or  two  of  costly  experi- 
ments, he  succeeded  in  producing.  The  Attar- 
gul  itself  was  fetid  beside  it !  The  Abyssinian 
slave  who  had  assisted  in  the  work  flung  himself 
along  the  floor  in  a  paroxysm  of  ecstacy,  and 
rolled  his  huge  eyes,  and"  clasped  his  ebony 
hands  like  a  lunatic ;  while  even  the  stately, 
and  ordinarily  imperturbable  Saidomer  Nourren 
Atem  himself  apostrophised  Allah  and  the 
Prophet,  as  though  he  had  succeeded  in  con- 
verting all  the  Christian  raiahs  of  the  empire  to 
Mohammedanism. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Suleiman,  a  privi- 
leged person  at  all  times,  entered  the  spicy  la- 
boratory of  the  excited  scent-dealer ;  and  in  the 
first  moment  of  exultation,  nothing  could  be 
more  simple  than  that  Saidomer  Nourren  Atem 
should  introduce  to  his  friend  the  delicate  com- 

Eosition  which  he  was  at  that  moment  ready  to 
elieve  would  go  far  to  immortalize  him.  The 
Orientals  love  perfumes  beyond  all  other  luxu- 
ries; and  it  is  therefore  not  surprising  that,  as 
the  exquisite  aroma  entered  his  nostrils,  Sulei- 
man the  shawl  merchant  should  stroke  down 
his  beard,  draw  a  long  breath,  and  stagger  to 
the  sofa,  as  though  overwhelmed  bj'  its  sweetness. 
"  Y'allah  ! — in  the  name  of  the  Prophet, 
whence  comes  it?"  he  murmured,  when  he  could 
again  command  his  voice;  "  He  who  di.stilU-d  it 
must  have  been  born  of  a  rose,  and  nursed  in 
the  flower-garden  of  Paradise  I  I  would  give  a 
cachemire  of  Lahore  for  a  gilded  flagon  of  that 
surpassing  essence." 


""What  shall  I  say?"  was  the  reply  of  the 
flattered  Saidomer  Nourren  Atem ;  "  I  it 
was  who  caught  the  breath  of  the  Hourl, 
and  imprisoned  it  in  this  liquid  for  the  gratifi- 
cation of  our  imperial  master;  and  until  the 
Sultan  hath  quafted  it  in  his  sherbet,  how  may 
I  dispose  of  even  the  lightest  drop  to  one  of  hia 
slaves." 

"  And  when  he  shall  have  inhaled  ifs  match- 
less sweetness ;"  followed  up  Suleiman;  "  if  he 
does  justice  to  its  wise  inventor,  he  will  forbid 
that  it  should  be  purchased  at  will  in  the 
tcharchi,  and  thus — " 

"  You  are  right,  my  friend;"  said  the  scent- 
merchant,  and  you,  at  least,  shall  forestall  the 
prohibition.  Your  felech  hath  guided  you  here 
in  a  happy  moment — I  will  give  you  some  of 
these  drops  of  my  soul — Bacarac  ;"  and  the  at- 
tentive slave  bent  forward  to  receive  his  in- 
structions ;  "  give  to  the  Elfendi  of  this  precious 
perfume  as  much  as  will  fill  the  smallest  box  in 
the  fourth  drawer  on  the  right  hand.  Have  a 
care  that  the  wool  on  which  it  is  poured  be  of 
the  finest  and  softest  quality,  and  that  the  covet 
of  the  box  fit  to  a  nicety,  for  the  essence  is 
subtle,  and  I  would  not  that  he  should  perfume 
the  tcharchi  as  he  passes  along." 

The  slave  bent  low,  and  prepared  reverently 
to  obey.  The  box  indicated  Avas  most  minute, 
curiously  turned,  and  could  be  hermetically 
closed ;  the  wool  was  with  some  difliculty  in- 
troduced, and  the  precious  liquid  poured  slowly, 
drop  by  drop,  as  though  it  had  been  blood 
wrung  from  the  heart.  Suleiman  received  it 
as  it  beseemed  him  to  accept  so  costly  a  gift; 
and  while  the  delighted  Saidomer  Nourren 
Atem  listened  to  his  profuse  and  ln-[ierbolieal 
expressions  of  admiration,  and  gave  directions 
for  the  security  of  the  wondrous  production  of 
his  genius,  the  shawl-merchant  was  inwardly 
indulging  a  feeling  of  self-gratulation  at  the 
fortunate  chance  which  would  enable  him  to 
off"er  to  his  yet  sullen  wife  a  gift  that  must  at 
once  insure  his  favor. 

It  was  consequently  with  a  lighter  step  than 
usual  that  Suleiman  bent  his  waj'  homeward  on 
the  closing  of  the  tcharchi,  and,  when  his  even- 
ing meal  was  ended,  descended  to  the  subter- 
ranean. Helmas  Hanoum  laid  aside  her  zebec 
as  he  entered.  It  was  no  paj't  of  her  system  to 
allow  him  to  think  that  slie  passed  a  single  mo- 
ment of  the  twenty-four  hours  in  seeking  to 
divert  her  thoughts  from  his  tyranny  and  her 
own  misfortune ;  and  she  was  only  more  cold, 
and  sullen,  and  ungracious,  than  her  wont  when 
he  approached  her.  But  what  Eastern  woman 
would  not  have  been  melted  by  such  an  offering 
as  tliat  of  Suleiman  ?  A  new  and  delicious  per- , 
fume — to  be  forbidden,  moreover,  to  all  save  the 
imperial  family  !  How  doubly  charmed  was  the 
young  wife  of  the  shawl-merchant  when  she  had  ■■ 
learnt  the  history  of  her  treasure  I  Was  ever 
husband  so  assiduous  to  torment  himself?  This 
was  indeed  a  two-edged  scimitar  1  Nay,  so  glad 
and  gay  was  her  spirit,  as  she  deposited  the  es- 
sence-box carefully  amM  the  folds  of  the  shawl 
that  girdled  her  waist,  tnat  she  viclded  at  oncn ' 
to  a  desire  which  he  had  often  expressed,  and 
she  had  a»  constantly  refused  to  gratify,  by  re- 
suming her  instrument,  and  playing  and  sinf- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE   II A  HEM. 


ing  until  Suleiman  fancied  himself  in  the  seventh 
heaven ! 

In  a  few  hours  the  essence-box  was  in  the  pos- 
session of  llntiz. 

It  must  surely  have  been  through  the  agency 
of  some  imp  of  diirkuess  that  Niijib  the  Ailriuno- 

etlitan  and  tlie  husband  of  tiie  pretty  Helmas 
anoum  chanced  to  be  neiglibors  in  the  tchariHii, 
for  it  gave  to  the  plots  of  iiali?.  ^\'.  the  etfeet  of 
chance.  Nothing  could  be  more  simple  tlian  timt 
he  should  afford  to  his  father  the  opportunity  of 
shariug  his  enjoyments;  and  accordingly  there 
was  no  appeaiance  of  design  in  his  hturied  ad- 
dress, as  he  seated  himself  beside  Najib,  and 
drew  forth  his  new  trea-sure. 

"  Maliomet  be  praised!"  he  said,  smilingly; 
"  new  stars  and  new  flowers  spring  to  life  about 
UB  each  day  of  our  existence."   . 

"  Would  that  they  were  new  customers !  it 
would  be  more  protitable  to  the  merchants  of 
the  city  ;'  re]>!ied  Najib  drily  ;  "  stars  and 
flowers  are  pretty  tilings  enough,  but  they  will 
neither  turn  to  pillauf  nor  piastres," 

"  Of  the  stars  it  is  true  that  nothing  can  be 
made  ;"  pursued  the  young  man  in  the  same 
joyous  tone  in  which  he  had  commenced  the 
conversation ;  "  but  tlowers  boast  not  only 
brightness  and  beauty " 

*'  Pshaw  !  are  you  going  to  talk  in  verse,  like 
your  Persian  namesake?"  asked  his  father,  whose 
temper  had  been  somewhat  ruffled  by  a  morning 
of  idleness. 

"  Would  that  I  might,  do  I  exclaim  in  my 
turn  ;"  said  his  son  ;  "  but  I  am  simply  going  to 
prove  to  j-ou,  better  than  by  words,  that  flowers 
are  not  to  be  considered  as  mere  toys.  1  will 
not  talk  of  the  sighs  of  roses,  cauglit  and  changed 
into  atUir-gul,  nor  the  sweet  scents  of  jasmine, 
and  a  score  of  other  blossoms,  prisoned  in  minute  I 
flacons,  and  making  summer  wherever  their 
breath  is  sullVred  to  escape.  I  will  rather  eon- 
found  you  at  once  by  an  argument  into  which  is 
crushed  the  combined  perfume  of  a  world  of 
flowers — and  here  it  is — "  and  he  |daced  in  the 
hand  of  his  father  the  small  ivory  box  that  had 
been  confided  to  him  by  the  wife  of  the  shawl- 
merchant. 

"  Tiiere  is  but  one  Allah,  and  Mahomet  is  his 

Erophet !"  murmured  Najib,  slowly  swinging 
imself  backward,  as  he  inhaled  the  odor  of  the 
new  essence.  "  N.e  bilirim — what  can  I  say  ? 
This  it  18  to  live  in  the  country  of  tlve  True  IJ.-- 
lievers.  They  talk  to  us  of  Erangistan — is  my 
face  blackened,  that  I  should  b.  lieve  that  the 
dogs  of  Giaours  have  jojs  like  these  in  their  own 
lands,  where  they  never  see  the  sun?  H — a — a" — 
and  again  he  stroked  down  his  beard  as  he  drew 
in  the  sweet  savour  of  the  essenec  ;  "  what  are 
the  gums  of  Araby  or  the  roses  of  Gurgistan 
beside  this  f" 

So  well  indeed  did  the  worthy  Adrianopolitan 
appreciate  the  enjoyment,   that  he  <lid  not  ap- 

Sear  likely  to  offer  "a  portion  of  his  jiUawure  to 
uleiman,  who  sat  enveloped  in  the  scented 
fumes  of  his  Saloniea  tobacco,  apparently  quite 
unmoved  by  the  raptures  of  his  neighbor.  Sud- 
denly, however,  Najib  remembered  that  a  grati- 
fication, of  whatever  description,  is  greatly  en- 
hanced by  participation  ami  Bym|)athv ;  and 
1  upon  this  priuciple  b  j  bent  towards  tiie  rival 


shawl-merchant,  and  proffered  to  him  the  littl* 
box. 

"  Tchabouk,  tchabouk — quick,  (luick  I  close 
it  carefully  as  you  restore  it;"  cantione<l  llafis, 
with  an  air  of  extreme  anxiety:  "  I  would  not, 
for  all  the  riches  on  the  shelves  of  Saulomer 
Nourrem  Atem,  the  sultan's  scent-dealer,  that  a 
breatli  of  this  precious  comjiound  should  es<  ape." 

But  tiie  petrified  shawl-merchant  hei'ded  liifn 
not;  he  sat  gazing  from  Ilafiz  to  the  ivorv  box, 
and  from  the  ivory  box  baek  again  to  Ilati/.,  like 
one  who  is  not  quite  certain  that  he  does  not 
dream.  lie  unscrewed  the  lid,  he  bent  dowa 
liis  head,  and  hurriedly  inhaled  the  precioue 
jierfume,  and  again  he  fixed  his  large,  dark, 
flashing  eyes  on  the  son  of  Najib. 

"  Is  it  not  a  breathing  of  Paradise?"  asked 
the  young  man,  witii  a  self-gratulatory  smile. 

"And  you  obtained  it,  where  I"  gasped  oat 
Suleiman. 

"  Yok,  yok — no,  no — I  am  not  bound  to  name 
the  houri  who  paid  me  so  richly  for  a  light 
flattery ;"  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  this  much  I  may 
confess,  that  where  I  won  th^  bracelet,  there 
also  I  gained  the  essence." 

Suleiman  ground  his  teeth,  but  he  did  not 
articulate  a  syllable. 

"  Beware,  llafiz  ;"  said  his  father,  deprecating- 
l}- ;  "  where  the  rose  grows,  there  does  the  thorn 
flourish  ;  and  the  jewelled  hilt  ever  betokens  the 
keen  weapon." 

"  But  what  if  I  secure  the  gems,  and  defy  the 
blade  !"  asked  the  young  man. 

"  It  is  ill  making  your  hoi-se's  bridle  out  of  a 
bowstring;"  followed  up  the  anxious  parent; 
•■  let  this  gift  be  the  last." 

Ilafix  only  smiled  again,  and,  as  he  did  so,  his 
eves  met  those  of  the  agitated  Suleiman  ;  "  What 
sfiall  I  give  you  for  this  toy?"  he  demanded 
hurriedly. 

"  Ne  bilirim — what  cail  I  sayf  Not  all  the 
silks  in  the  tcharehi  of  Broussa  shouhl  buy  it  of 
me;  shall  I  fill  my  own  mouth  with  ashes?" 
and,  as  he  spoke,  the  youth  extended  his  hand 
to  regain  possession  of  the  treasure.     • 

"Only  let  me  show  it  to  Saidomer  Nourren 
Atem  ;"  urged  Suleiman  ;  "  I  know  not  its  name, 
and  I  would  fain  become  the  j)osscssor — " 

"  Hay,  hay! — so,  so!  Think  you  that  I  will 
suffer  it  to  be  hawked  through  the  bazilr  like 
some  villain  merchandise?"  asked  llafiz  angrily  ; 
"  Mashallah,  I  am  not  so  base." 

The  discomfited  Suleinmn  only  sighed,  and 
reliiKjuished  the  fairy  box  to  its  owner;  this 
time  there  coui<l  be  no  mistake — there  was  not 
its  fellow  in  Stamboul — he  had  been  too  slow  in 
detecting  the  first  artifice  of  his  jdotling  hel(>- 
mate  ;  but  now — now — ho  should  confront  her 
on  the  instant,  ere  she  had  time  or  opportunity 
to  dune  him  twice — he  was  bewildere.l,  mystifi- 
ed— there  must  be  witehcraft  in  it ;  but,  strong  in 
his  sense  of  wrong,  he  would  defy  thi'  Evil  <^no 
himself  to-day  to  cheat  him  with  a  lie  I  And 
with  this  laudable  conviction  he  shuffled  off  hia 
carpet,  thrust  his  feet  into  his  sii|>pers,  and, 
without  the  courtesy  of  a  parting  word  to  his 
companions,  hurrieuly  proceed.,d  towards  hia 
dwelling. 

But,  alas  for  the  worthy  merchant  I  the  Tcry 
precaution  which  should  have  secured  his  safety. 


doors  I 


CHAPTER  XV. 


U  THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IIAREJVr. 

proved  his  bane,  for  he  -was  so  long  engaged  in !  where  a  deep  bass  blended  ^vith  an  harmonion* 
unlocking  his  seven  doors,  that  the/  ivory  box, tenor,  ran  througli  the  subterr^mean. 
arrived  in  the  prison-chamber  before  him  ;  and,  j     The  joy  of  Hatiz  was  great — he  had  opened  a 
as  he  turned  the  last  key  to  the  accompaniment  of  second  lock — he  had  flung  back  two  of  the  seven 
the  high  clear  voice  of  liis  wife,  wlio  was  war- 
.  bling  out  a  love-ballad,  he  had  the  gratification 
of  finding  her  engaged  at  a  game  of  bull  with 
the  box  itself,  which  she  was  dropping  from  one 
hand  to  the  other  in  regular  time  with  the  strain ; 
her  delicate  little  fii.gers  closing  and  unclosiii 
over  it,  and  her  fair  round  arms  gleaming  out 
in  the  lamp-light  like  water-lilies. 

Suleiman  was  petrified  !  He  rubbed  his  eyes, 
and  p.inched  himself  to  ascertain  whether  he 
really  was  awake — he  darted  forward,  and  seized 
the  toy  from  the  hands  of  his  pre ttj;  captive,  for 
■which  he  was  rewarded  with  a  frown  and  a  pout 
— he  examined  it  nari'owly,  and  there  it  was 
the  rerj-  same — a  small  rose  in  the  centre  of  the 
lid,  three  rings  round  the  outside,  and  a  flaw  in 
tlie  ivory  about  the  size  of  a  pin's  head !  He 
had  seen  all  this  in  the  tcharchi — he  had  almost 
walked  himself  into  a  fever  to  prove  that  he 
had  been  played  upon  and  cheated,  and — here 
was  the  box ! 

In  the  agony  of  his  amazement  he  seated  him- 
self beside  the  young  Ilauoum,  and,  as  soon  as 
he  had  recovered  his  breath,  he  told  her  all. 
"When  the  tale  was  ended,  the  happy  husband 
was  glad  that  he  had  done  so,  for  never  were 
two  women  more  overwhelmed  with  wonder. 
His  wife  cast  up  her  bright  ej-es,  and  crept 
closer  to  him  as  she  murmured  something  about 
demons  and  magic ;  and  Zeinip  whispered  that 
the  victim  of  this  dark  sorcerj^  would  do  well  to 
summon  a  dervish  of  the  sect  of  the  Melavies, 
and  be  exorcised.  Suleiman  listened  to  the 
counselling  of  his  trembling  prisoners,  and  prom- 
ised to  think  seriously  of  their  advice.  Never 
since  their  incarceration  in  the  vault  had  they 
been  so  gentle  and  so*'courteous ;  and,  although 
a  pang  and  a  doubt  would  now  and  then  cross 
the  mind  of  the  merchant  as  he  lent  a  willing 
ear  to  their  surmises,  and  suffered  himself  to  be 
soothed  \fy  their  suggestions,  he  soon  banished 
all  mistrust,  for  was  it  not  worse  than  folly  to 
believe  that  a  jewelled  bracelet  and  a  box  of 
essence  could  escape  through  stone  walls  ?  and, 
more  absurd  still,  be  in  two  places  at  once  ? 

And  yet^ — but  what  availed  it  to  dwell  upon 
the  subject?  There  were  the  locks,  the  walls, 
and  the  doors;  and,  consequently,  however 
strange,  and  unaccountable,  and  bewildering 
such  coincidences  undoubtedly  were,  they  could 
be  only  coincidences  after  all  Suleiman  was  a 
wise  man  in  his  own  way,  a  man  of  forethought 
and  precaution,  with  an  energy  of  self-confi- 
dence which  always  made  hitn  wind  up  his  re- 
flections with  the  comfortable  and  seU-gratula- 
tory  mental  apostrophe  of—"  It  cannot  be  other- 
wise ;  I  am  not  the   person  to  bo  taken  in — I 


THE   SEVEN    DOORS — CONTINUED. 

Suleiman  denied  no  enjoyment  save  that  of 
light  and  liberty  to  his  young  wife.  Those  well- 
beloved  luxuries  of  Turkish  women,  shawls  and 
diamonds,  he  lavished  on  her  with  as  much  pro- 
fusion as  though  she  possessed  the  opportunity 
of  exhibiting  them  to  the  admiration  and  envy 
of  her  acquaintance:  and  it  was  but  a  few  days 
after  the  adventure  of  the  essence-box  that  he 
carried  with  him,  on  his  visit  to  the  vault,  a 
cachemire  of  a  new  and  rare  description,  the 
first  which  had  been  seen  in  the  tcharchi  of  Con- 
stantinople. 

All  shawls  of  price  in  the  East  being  woven  in 
pairs,  Suleiman,  as  he  made  the  purchase  of  a 
strangerwith  whom  he  had  never  before  traded, 
inquired  eagerly  for  its  fellow,  when  he  was  in- 
formed that,  the  pecuniary  means  «f  the  mer- 
chant having  become  impaired  by  a  long  and 
unsuccessful  speculation,  he  had  been  permitted, 
through  the  courtesy  of  a  friend,  to  possess  him- 
self of  one  of  these  costly  pieces  of  merchandise, 
although  he  was  unable  to  pay  down  the  sum 
necessary  to  make  him  the  owner  of  both ;  and 
that,  in  consequence  of  this  arrangement,  none 
could  be  found  in  the  city  of  the  same  pattern 
and  texture. 

Groups  of  minute  and  finely-wrought  flowera  ' 
were  scattered  over  a  groujid  of  faint  yellow, 
and  a  few  threads  of  green  wei'e  woven  into  a 
border  of  crimson,  of  so  rich  a  dye  that  it  looked 
as  though  the  wool  had  been  stained  with  the 
juice  of  the  pomegranate  blossom.     The  mer- 
chant added  his  private  mark  to  those  which 
were  already  impressed  on  the  paper  ticket,  r&-  ■ 
garded  in  the  East  as  an  additional  ornament,  ■ 
and  alway    conspicuously  displayed  in  token  of 
(he  freshness  of  the  shawl,  ere  he  irnfolded  it 
before  the  admiring  eyes  of  his  wife  and  her  at-  ■ 
tend  ant. 

The  pretty  Hanoum  smiled  her  thanks  for  the 
costh'  gift,  and  in  five  minutes  it  was  gracefully 
folded  about  her  waist ;  the  rich  crimson  border 
in  strong  relief  on  the  sky-blue  tchalva,  and  tho 
pale  yellow  centre  rendered  still  more  delicat.^ 
in  tint  as  it  contrasted  with  the  deep  pui']il<! 
vest'. 

The  interior  of  the  vault  would  have  been  nt 
that  moment  a  study  for  the  orientalized  pencil 
of  Pickersgill ;  the  languid  beauty  of  the  young 


have  lived  too  long  to  be  duped  by  fools:"  andi  wife,  whoW  upon  hei"cushions  on  the  groundj  | 
this  was  the  murmured  aecompaii'lment  to  the  beside  the  sofa  honored  by  the  occupation  of  th« 
echo  of  hii  footsteps  as  he  slowly  ascended  from  j  merchant,  in  his  flowing"  robes  of  ruby-colored 
the  vault  on  the  jiresent  occasion;  and  scarcely !  cloth,  ample  turban,  and  amber-lipped  diibou- 
could  he  have  extinguished  his  lamp  on  arriving'  que,  was  softened  into  deeper  loveliness  by  the 
ut  the  head  of  the  stair,  ere  the  stone  was  rolled  faint  ligJit  of  the  distant  tapers,  groupe'd  to- 
away  that  gave  ingress  to  the  prison-chamber  gether  on  a  small  stand  at  the  extrcniily  of  the 
of  the  pretty  Uanoum,  and  a  chorus  of  laughter,  apartment;  while,  immediately  iu  their  broadest 


TIIE   ROMANCF,  OP  TIIK   IIAREM. 


85 


glare,  squnUcd  the  ncgross  in  an  antory*  of 
white  cotton,  with  her  loii^  liuir  fiillini^  ovor  hor 
ehoiilders  ili  a  score  of  luiuuto  braij.s,  aiul  her 
large  eyes  fixed  eariiestl}'  upon  iior  misitross. 
The  sofa  glittered  with  goKl  fringe,  and  the 
cushions  were  gay  witli  embroidered  flowers; 
all  the  showy  toys  of  a  Turkish  hareiu  were 
lavishly  strown  in  every  direction  ;  and  ns  the 
lai^e  deep  eyes  of  the  Hanoum  wmulered  over 
the  chamber,  a  smile  rose  to  her  lip,  wiiieli,  by 
whatever  feeling  it  might  have  beeM  summoned 
there,  added  to  the  briglitness  of  her  pure  and 
pallid  beauty.  No  wonder  tiiat  the  merchant, 
as  he  gazcil  upon  her  ciiildlike  loveliness,  con- 
irratulated  himself  upon  his  sagacity  and  eau- 
•  II ;  no  wonder  that  as  he  looked  upon  her  lan- 
^'  ii  1  grace,  and  the  dove-like  drf-aminess  that 
j  dwelt  in  her  dark  eyes,  he  felt  at  once  the  folly 
j  of  his  passing  doubts.  She  had  not  energy  to 
',  plot  against  his  peace  ! 

It  was  with  a  somewhat  coxcombical  swing  in 
-  gait  that  Ilafiz,  a  day  or  two  subsequently 
I  ■  that  of  wliich  I  have  just  spoken.  a[>pniached 
the  husband  of  Helmas  ilanouni  as  he  sat  in  his 
usual  i^lace  in  the  tcharchi ;  and,  after  sail  ting 
him  with  infinite  politeness,  begged  him  to  take 
the  trouble  of  examining  the  cachemire  that 
formed  his  turbau,  as  he  had  been  desired  to 
purchase  a  similar  one  for  a  friend  who  WJis 
About  to  depart  for  Smyrna,  and  who  was  ready 
to  pay  down  the  price  which  miglit  be  agreed 
BpoQ  between  them. 

"  I  would  have  sought  it  among  the  bales  of 
my  father;"  pursued  the  young  man,  as  he  un- 
folded it  from  his  brow  before  the  fascinated  eyes 
of  the  astonished  Merciiant;  "  but  I  should  only 
have  wasted  time,  for  well  know  I  that  lie  hat'li 
not  such  a  cachemire,  though  it  might  be  paid 
for  by  all  the  piastres  in  the  imperial  treasury. 
'  No,'  said  I^  as  I  passed  the  threshold  of  my 
home ;  '  I  will  away  at  once  to  Suleiman  Ktten- 
di.  he  only  can  be  the  owner  of  sucii  a  shawl  as 
mine,  for  has  he  not  the  newest  and  tiie  richest 
.Tiods  in  the  teharelii?'  Have  I  said  well,  Kf- 
li  ndim  ?     Can  you  pair  me  my  cachetnire  ?" 

But  tlip  merchant  answered  not ;  his  gaze  was 
riveted— not  by  the  fine  and  delicate  texture  of 
the  costly  shawl — not  by  tiie  deep  ricli  tints  of 
its  gorgeous  border — but  on  the  little  ticket 
where  he  recognized  his  own  private  mark  I 

Sulcimaa  was  right  when  he  resolved  this 
lime,  whatever  miglit  be  tlie  consecjuence,  not  to 
'ore  the  shawl  tu  Ilafiz  until  he  iia<l  assured 
iself  beyond  all  jxishibility  of  deception,  that 
:  waif  not  his  own  property.  Yes — let  ihecon- 
Bcquenc*  be  what  it  mi^^hl !  he  armed  hini^ielf 
resolutely  against  reproaches,  threat.s,  aiiu  vio- 
lence, for  he  was  prepared  for  all  these;  ami. 
gradually  rc<T)vering  his  self-jKisses-sion  an  he 
formed  this  doughty  resolution,  he  atTecte<l  for 
a  time  to  be  carefully  examining  the  quality  of 
the  cachemire,  in  or^er  to  o<iIlect  his  idru«,  and 
to  determine  on  his  mode  of  action.     A  few  ino- 


"  Is  the  Effendi,  your  friend,  prepared  to  pay 
down  a  heavy  sum  for  the  gouLs  i" 

Havcit — ye-"';"  answered  the  youth  .alndy. 
"  Then  to-morrow  I  may  perchance  be  ready 
to  deliver  it  up  ;"  and  again  Suleiman  examin<''d 
the  ticket ;  "  Ky  vah  I  'tis  not  often  that  1  have 
seen  so  costly  a  shawl.  Did  you  purchase  it  in 
the  tcharchi)" 

"  Purchas.'  if !"  cehocd  IlafiK,  with  another  of 
those  mocking  smiles  which  ha<l  alrea.ly  mad- 
dened the  merchant  o.i  a  former  occasion ; 
"  where  was  the  son  of  Najib  to  rind  piastres 
enough  to  buy  such  a  caehemire  as  that  ?  Mash- 
allali!   I  should  be  long  in  counting  tiiem." 

"  But  it  is  your  property,  since  you  have  just 
untwisted  it  from  your  brow  V 

"Alhemdullilalil  jiraise  be  to  Allah  I  You 
have  said  well,  KHendim  ;  it  is  mine— but  that 
is  not  my  errand  ;  to-morrow  then  you  will  pair 
it,  and  tell  me  your  price?"  And,  as  he  sjmke, 
he  took  hold  'of  the  shawl,  and  would  have 
drawn  it  from  under  the  hand  of  the  merchant, 
but  Suleiman's  fingers  closed  over  it  with  a  firm 
grasp,  as  he  pre|)ared  himself  to  contend  with 
the  indignation  and  anger  of  its  declared  owner. 
Yavash,  yavash— softly,  softly,  Kffen.lim ;" 
he  said,  in  a  grave  and  stately  tone  ;  "  this  is 
not  a  question  of  matching  a  porcelain  cup,  nor  a 
■lay  chibouque-bowl ;  nmny  things  are  to  be  coa- 
•idcred  and  ascertained.  Learned  as  I  am  ia 
the  lore,  I  cannot  carry  away  with  me  the  exact 
texture  of  the  cachemire,  the  quality  of  the 
wool,  nor  even  the  intricacies  of  the  pattern, 
and  the  shades  of  the  dye.s — you  must  leave  the 
hawl  with  me,  in  order  that  I  may  compare  it 
ivith  that  to  \^hieh  1  have  already  likened  it  in 
my  mind  ;  and  to-morrow  I  will  bring  you  the 
two  together." 

Ilafiz  laughed  a  light  laugh.  "  You  jest  with 
me,  Ertcndim  ;"  he  said  .tauntingly  ;  "I  know 
you  to  be  a  rich  man,  and  I  believe  you  to  be  aa 
honest  one,  but  1  will  not  therefore  part  from 
mj-  property  as  though  I  cared  not — " 

"1  will  deposit  its  value  with  you  in  gold," 
interposed  Suleiman;  "  and  when  1  return  the 
shawl,  you  can  restore  the  piastres — otour — 
sit," 

"  Be  it  so  ;"  said  the  young  man  calmly ;  and, 
throwing  off  his  slippers,  he  seated  himself  b»- 
bitle  the  merchant;  and,  having  lighted  his  chi- 
bouque, smoked  on  in  silence,  while  the  more 
than  ever  bewildered  Suleiman  counted  out  tke 
de|)o.sit  money  on  tJic  e«ipct  between  them. 

••  I'ek  ahi— it  is  w.ll— '  were  the  next  words 
he  uttered,  as  the  giddeii  and  glittering  pile  of 
coin  was  transferred  to  his  purse;  •'  Fail  not,  I 
pray  you,  at  this  hour  to-morrow  with  the  fel- 
low-shawl, and  I  have  no  fear  that  we  sliall  cavil 
hu-  the  price."  Then,  shaking  the  a-slies  frota 
his  pipe,  he  put  nj)  the  money,  resumed  his  slip- 
pers, and  walked  away,  leaving  Suleiman  in 
possession  of  the  cachmere. 

J.ong  sat  the  merchant  gazing  at  the  rninljow- 


ments  sufficed   for  this;  and   keeping,  witlxiut  j  ^'ke  subject  of  his  new  mystification.     He  w 
apparent -design,  his  hold  of  the  prize,  he  nii«c,l    more  perplexed  than  ever.     He  could  vow  upon 


his  ej'es  to  those  of  the  young  man,  and,  slowly 
removing  the  chibouque  from  his  lips,  said 
^ictlj-. 


•  Outer  dre»«. 


the  Koran  that  this  was  his  own  shawl — the 
present  that  he  had  made  to  his  wife — the  cosily 
piece  of  merchandise  to  which  he  had  prrmdiy 
affixed  his  private  niurkf— and  there  ipan  the 
maik — there  was  no  mistaking  his  niisfurluuo — 


THE  ROMA^XE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


the  father  of  evil  was  assuredly  mixed  up  with 
tlie  transaction,  for  the  shawl  nuist  have  been 
conveyed  to  Ilafiz,  eitlier  through  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  or  on  the  bosom  of  the  air:  be  that 
as  it  might,  and  he  could  not  attempt  the  solu- 
tion of  the  problem,  he  now  held  the  shawl ; 
and  he  resolved  not  to  relax  his  grasp  for  a 
moment,  until  he  confronted  his  wife  with  her 
perfidy,  and  forced  from  her  a  confession  of  the 
ta-uth. 

Acting  upon  this  determination,  Suleiman 
carefully  folded  tlie  cachemire,  and  lodged  it 
Bafely  beneath  his  ample  robe  :  and,  having  seen 
his  uiei'chandise  duly  secured  by  his  attendant, 
bent  his  steps  homeward,  with  visions  of  bow- 
Bti'iugs,  sacks,  and  overwhelming  waters,  cha- 
sing each  other,  like  the  spectre-hounds  of  the 
Arabian  fiction,  across  his  over-heated  brain. 
It  is  a  singular  fact,  and  one  which  it  would  be 
difficult  to  explain,  but  it  is  nevertheless  true, 
that,  as  he  moved  slowly  through  the  crowded 
streets,  and  exchanged  salutations  with  his  ac- 
quaintance, he  could  not  decide  whether  he 
wished  to  prove  his  wife  unworthy  of  the  extra- 
ordinary indulgence  with  which  he  had  treated 
her,  or  not.  It  was  vexatious,  certainly,  to  lose 
the  idea  of  being,  if  not  quite  loved,  at  least 
reverenced  and  feared,  and,  above  all,  obeyed — 
■while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  provoking  to 
be  duped,  and  mystified,  and  pursued  by  con- 
stantly-recurring doubts.  This  day  must,  how- 
ever decide  all ;  and  he  magnanimously  resolved 
to  proportion  the  punishment  of  his  wife  to  her 
apparent  contrition,  and  to  his  own  convic- 
tion of  her  repentance  and  pr(^able  amend- 
ment. 

Kindly  thoughts  and  relenting  feelings  were 
creeping  over  him  as  he  descended  tlie  stair  to 
the  vault.  Helmas  Ilanoum  was  so  young,  so 
pretty,  and  so  graceful,  it  would  be  ten  thou- 
sand pities  to  drown  or  to  exile  her;  and  he  had 
arrived  at  a  firm  determination  to  push  his  for- 
bearance to  the  extremest  limit,  when,  on  arri- 
ving at  the  fifth  dooi-,  his  ear  caught  the  distant 
echo  of  a  female  voice,  and  he  became  conscious 
that  his  intriguing  and  false-hearted  helpmate 
was  actually  at  that  very  moment — that  awful 
moment,  freighted  as  it  was  with  the  chances  of 
life  or  death — when  he  held  iu  his  hand  the 
scales  of  severe  and  rigid  justice,  which  his  sin- 
gle breath  would  suffice  to  turn  against  i>er — 
actually  singing  to  her  zebec,  as  tliough  neither 
doubt  nor  danger  existed  in  the  world  ! 

This  was  too  much  even  for  a  Turk's  philoso- 
phy, and  he  accordingly  flung  back  tiie  two  re- 
maining doors  with  a  more  rapid  hand  ;  and  his 
brow  was  crimson  as  he  stood  befoi-e  tiie  pretty 
culprit,  ])repared  to  overwhelm  her  with  cutting 
reproaches,  and  indisputable  proofs  of  her  une- 
qualled guilt.  But,  ere  the  first  sentence  liad 
passed  his  lips,  liis  words  were  arrested  in  the 
utterance;  for,  as  the  young  Ilanoum  according 
to  custom,  laid  aside  lier  instrument  on  his  en- 
trance, he  at  once  discovered  that  her  waist 
was  girdled  with  ^Az-sliawl — the  shawl  that  was 
even  yet  hidden  beneath  the  folds  of  his  robe — 
the  shawl  whose  counterpart  had  never  been 
seen  in  iStamboull 

The  merchant  gasped  for  breath,  and  the 
lamp  fell  from  his  band  upon  the  snowy  Indian 


I  matting  that  covered  the  floor,  amid  the  laugh- 
I  ter  of  his  wife,  and  the  reproachful  ejaculations 
j  of  her  more  thrifty  attendant;  but'he  heeded 
I  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  as  he  rushed  for- 
j  wai'd,  and,  seizing  a  corner  of  the  cachemire, 
looked  eagerly  for  his  own  private  mark  upon 
I  tlie  ticket.  His  search  proved  successful :  there 
it  was — and  his  next  action  was  to  tear  the 
shawl  which  he  bore  about  him  from  its  hiding- 
place  ;  a  second  sufficed  to  draw  it  forth  ;  and 
who  shall  describe  the  astonishment  of  Suleiman 
when  he  found  himself  unable  to  distinguish 
between  the  two — they  were  alike  to  a  thread 
— to  a  shade — and  to  crown  all — his  mark — 
his  own  private  and  peculiar  mark — was  upon 
each. 

'•  WTiat  means  this?"  asked  the  young  beauty, 
as  she  possessed  herself  of  the  newly-arrived 
cachemire.  "  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  Stara- 
boul  held  not  the  fellow-shawl  to  mine?  And 
are  not  these  two  as  like  as  twin  roses  ?  Chak 
chay — that  is  much — do  I  speak  clearlj^  ?" 

"  You  say  truly — you  say  truly  ;"  gasped  the 
merchant :  "  they  are  alike,  quite  alike  ;  woven 
in  the  same  loom — d^-ed  in  the  same  copper — 
marked  by  the  same — but  no,  no ;  if  I  really 
live,  and  do  not  dream,  they  cannot  have  been 
marked  by  the  same  hand.  It  is  an  invention 
of  Satan — a  plot  hatched  by  the  Evil  One." 

"  Sen  ektiar  der — you  are  tlie  master ;  but 
what  new  mystification  is  this  V  demanded 
Ilelmas  Hanoum  pettislil}'.  "  Is  it  not  enough 
that  you  should  vaunt  your  own  generosity  in 
giving  me  a  shawl  of  which  even  the  Sultan 
himself  (may  his  shadow  never  be  less !)  might 
be  proud,  and  which  he  could  not  purchase  ih 
Stamboul — but  you  must  come  to  place  another 
precisely  similar  under  my  very  eyes,  to  prove 
that  you  have  made  me  an  easy  dupe?  Un- 
happy woman  that  I  am,  to  be  first  buried 
alive,  and  then  treated  like  a  wayward  child 
by  my  own  husband!" 

"Peace — peace,"  —  exclaimed  the  merchant, 
impatiently  :  "  Woman  I  you  do  noi  know — ^you 
cannot  guess" — 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know,  and  I  will  not  guess  T 
broke  in  his  wife  in  a  higher  key  :  "  Affict  oUoh 
— much  good  may  it  do  you — you  are  a  divan^ 
— an  idiot — you  do  not  speak  Turkish — your 
words  are  dark,  and  your  face  is  blackened — 
Who  am  I  that  you  should  have  made  me  your 
wife  ?" 

Suleiman  only  sighed ;  he  was  too  wise  to  an- 
swer the  revilings  of  a  woman ;  and  he  folded 
up  the  mysterious  shaAvl  with  a  steady  eye, 
though  his  heart  beat  more  tumult  uou.sly  than 
usual.  lie  stayed  not  to  apologize  for  his 
abruptness,  nor  to  explain  his  perplexity  ;  but, 
taking  his  lamp  from  the  hand  of  Zeiiiip,  who 
had  busied  herself  in  retrimming  it  after  its  fall, 
he  walked  silently  out  of  tlie  subterranean. 

Long  and  loud  was  the  laughter  that  followed  • 
closely  on  his  departure,  and  the  last  key  was 
not  turned  in  its  lock  ere  Hafiz  was  seated  at 
the  feet  of  his  mistress,  detailing   to  her  tlie 
scene  of  the  morning. 

"  I  would  have  given  a  thousand  piastres  to 
have  seen  him  when  you  so  readily  consented 
to  leave  the  cachemire  in  his  hands,"  said  the 
Hanoum  gaily :  "  and  to  watch  him  as  he  counted 


THE   ROMAXCE  OF  THE   llAHl:^^. 


87 


out  his  darling  gold,  ftnd  placed  it  before  you  I 
But,  now  tell  me,  Hiifiz,  how  your  friend  beenme 
possessed  of  this  rare  ehawl,  and  left  you  only 
the  task  of  counterfeiting  Suleiman's  mark  upon 
the  ticket." 

"  'Tis  a  simple  tale,  my  Sultana  ;"  replied  the 
youth,  as  he  looked  into  her  laughing  eyes ; 
"  and  requires  no  khoja — no  serih  ,  to  record  it. 
My  friend  Noureddin  fell  from  his  camel  as  he 
was  journej-ing  to  Stamboul,  and  was  grievously 
bruised:  when  a  certain  merchant,  wlio  travel- 
led in  his  company,  tended  iiim  like  a  brother, 
and  bore  with  him  through  all  hiii  hours  of  suf- 
fering. Noureddin  was  not  one  to  forget  such 
kindness:  lie  reads  the  Koriln  daily,  and  gives 
freely  to  the  poor;  how  much  more  readily  then 
did  he  open  his  hand  to  the  friend  of  his  sick- 
ness !  He  only  hesitated  as  to  the  means  of 
6erving  him,  wi»en,as«f  guid.d  by  the  Prophet, 
the  merchant  himself  suggested  the  methoa,  by 
thus  addressing  him  as  tiiey  rode  side  bv  side 
together  through  the  gate  of  Scutjiri : — 'i^flfen- 
dim,  said  the  merchant,  '  you  are  a  wealthy 
man,  and  a  pious  one :  you  are  ever  ready  to 
help  the  needy,  and  to  uphold  the  weak — I  pray 
you  do  me  a  grace — I  know  that  your  bales  are 
precious;  and  I  have  heard  tliat  among  your 
merchandise  are  shawls  of  so  fine  a  fabric,  that 
they  seem  to  have  been  woven  by  the  Ilouri. 
Sell  me.  I  pray  you,  one  of  these  at  an  easy 
price,  that  I  may  on  my  arrival  in  Stamboul  dis- 
]>ose  of  it  in  the  tcharchi,  at  a  rate  that  may  help 
to  defray  the  cost  of  my  voyage  ;  for  my  affaiis 
have  not  prospered,  and  I  am  loth  to  return  to 
the  house  of  my  father,  and  render  up  so  poor  an 
account  of  my  venture.' — '  Bfe  it  so,'  answered 
Noureddin  cheerfully  ;  and,  when  they  reached 
the  khan  where  he  had  resolved  to  house  his 
goods,  he  opened  a  bale  of  shawls,  containing 
among  otiiers  that  which  j-ou  now  wear,  and  tiie 
one  that  I  borrowed  and  carried  to  50ur husband. 

"  The  merchant  was  struck  with  the  splendor 
of  the  cachemircs,  but  e.ven  although  Noureddin 
offered  them  to  liiin  at  the  pri";e  that  they  had 
cost  in  the  loom,  Jie  3-et  wanteii  gold  to  make  »ip 
the  sum;  and  it  was  at  last  arranged  tiiat  he 
should  become  the  possessor  of  one  of  these  only, 
taking  with  the  remainder  of  liis  piastres  another 
of  inferior  value.  On  arriving  m  Stamboul  he 
disposed  of  it,  doubti<s*!y  with  gnat  advantage, 
to  Suleiman;  while  I  clianod  to  remark  iU  fel- 
low when  examining  the  merchandise  with 
which  Noureddin  propos<d  to  trad*-  at  Sevasto- 
pol, whither  he  was  bound  when  lie  had  ar- 
ranged his  affairs  in  tliis  country.  The  rest  of 
the  tale  is  not  worth  telling;  and  you  are  boun<l 
from  this  instant  to  eonfer,s  that  1  have  opened 
three  of  the  seven  doors !" 


CHAITF.Il  XVI. 

TIIE   %EVr.S    DOORS CO.NTINUED. 

Auori  a  week  elapsed  after  the  adventure  of 
the  shawls,  when,  as  Suleiman  was  one  morn- 
ing sitting  in  the  salemliek,*  or  man's  wing  of 


Literally, 


the  man  U  honored." 


the  house,  smoking  his  last  pipe  previously  to 
n-pairing  to  the  tviutrehi,  a  slave  infornie<riiiin 
that  a  negress,  who  refused  to  tell  her  errand, 
craved  to  see  him  for  a  few  moments.  The  mer- 
chant "  pished,"  and  "  pshawed,"  and  eoniract- 
ed  his  brows  with  impatient  annoyance,  for  ha 
hail  (juity  enough  to  do  to  arrange  his  own 
affairs,  without  interfering  in  those  of  others; 
but  he  nevertheless  consented,  after  a  moment's 
delay,  to  receive  the  ap|)licant,  be  she  whom  she 
might;  and  accordingly,  hiavinn  her  slippers  at 
the  extremity  of  the  passage,  the  stranger  ap- 
proached with  a  succes-sion  of  lowly  |irostrik- 
tions,  as  far  as  the  door  of  Suleiman's  apartment 
Every  one  knows  that  the  yashmac  worn  by 
the  Turkish  women  in  the  streets  conceals  the 
whole  of  the  face  save  the  eye.M,  and  that  the 
ample  feridjhe  of  cloth  envelopes  the  form  so 
closely  as  to  disguise  the  whole  of  its  outline; 
but  those  who  have  resided  in  the  f^ast  for  any 
I  length  of  time  are  quite  aware  that  it  is  pos8i- 
I  ble,  despite  all  these  preeatitions,  to  give  some- 
i  thing  more  than  a  guess  at  the  identify   of  the 

wearer:  and  thus,   as  the   negress  st I   lufora 

him,  the  merchant  started,  for  he  thouirht  he 
traced  a  singular  likeness  in  the  stranger  to  the 
slave  who  shared  the  prison-harem  of  his  wife. 
"There  is  but  one  Allah  I"  commenced  the 
intruder,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone  with 
the  merchant:  "Do  I  stand  before  Suleiman, 
the  son  of  Gunduz  llanoumf" 

"  You  stand  before  him  ;"  answered  the  host. 
"  I  have  a  message  for  Suleiman  Kffendi ;" 
pursued  the  slave;  "and  ekhi  kateti — there  is 
something  in  it ;  a  message  from  a  young  and 
anxious  beauty  who  craves  of  him  a  grace,  which, 
!  if  he  be  the  lu'yzadeh  that  men  deem  him,  he 
1  will  not  refuse." 

I  "  What  you  say  is  idle  ;"  interposed  the  mer- 
j  chant ;  "  bosh  deV — it  is  nothing  ;  1  am  a  grave 
man,  and  my  beard  is  white." 
I  "  May  it  never  be  t)lucked  out!"  said  the 
I  negress  solemidy.  "  What  shall  I  rejily  to  my 
mistress?    i>hall  I — " 

i      "Who  is  the   Ilanr-im   Effendi,   and  who  are 

I  you  yourself?"  demanded  the  irritated  Suleiman, 

I  whose  suspicions  were  strengthened  by  the  voice 

of  his  strange  visitor,  even  mufiled  as  it  wius  be- 

'  nealh  her  yashmac.     "  I   shall   give   no  ])ledge 

'  until  I  know  with  whom   I    have  affair.      ^Ia^l)r 

allah!    I  am  too  old  to  be  cheated  by  a  wofiiaiw" 

I      "May   my   face    be    blackened;"    urgc«l    the 

slave  earnestly,    using  in   her  energy  an  ejacu- 

latory    sentence    whiefi    savoured    strongly    of 

supererogation:   "may  my  face  be  blai'kened  if 

1  seek  to  deceive  so  pious  and  wortiiy  a  Mussil- 

rnann — Kiefiniz  ayi  im — is  your  humor  good  I 

i  Effendini.  I  was  told  not  to  b<'tray  to  you  the 

name  of  the  youmr  beauty,  nor  ^vcn  to  mention 

'my  own;   but  who  shall   disobey  your  bidding? 

Inshailnh!   I  am   not  so   bold,  when   my   foot  in 

on    your    fl<)or,    and    my   slijipers  are    at    your 

M.re;hold." 

"Speak  then  ;"  said  the  merchant,  "  I  listen." 
"  lia.Ksan  is  a  man  of  substanee  :"  coninnMie.il 
,  the  negress  ;  "  he  has  goo<ls  in  the  teharehi.  and 
■  gold  in  the  Miiendiek  ;  a  eai.jue  on  the  Ho-ph..ru\ 
and  an  araba  in  the  city  ntreelK  If  ntfeetion 
I  could  have  been  bouKl't  like  nnwroiiifht  nilk, 
1  and  fashioned  into  form   like  beulvn  bilver,  the 


S8 


THE  EOilANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


wife  of  Hassan  might  have  loved  him  ;  but  love, 
Effendim,  is  like  the  wind:  it  comes  and  goes  as 
it  lists,  and  no  man  can  buy  it  with  treasure, 
nor  fetter  it  with  bonds — nay,  had  Hassan  buried 
his  young  wife  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and 
robbed  lier  of  the  glorious  daylight  which  Allah 
gave  alike  to  all,  he  must  know  littleof  the  sex 
who  is  not  quite  aware  that  slie  would  have 
'  cheated  him  at  last.  But  why  do  I  say  this  to 
you,  Effendim?  to  you,  who  need  no  words  of 
mine  to  convince  you  of  the  fact?  Aqi  I  a 
divanu — an  idiot — tliat  I  talk  thus  to  Suleiman 
the  son  of  Gunduz  Hanoum,  who  knows  all 
things?     Ne  apalum — what  can  I  do?" 

Something  between  a  sigh  and  a  groan  es- 
caped from  the  merchant  but  he  did  not  utter  a 
syllable. 

"  Let  not  the  EfFendi  imagine,  however,"  re- 
sumed the  negress,  "  that  Hassan  did  so  bury 
his  fair  young  wife — Shekiur  Allah  !  he  was  too 
good  a  Musselmaun  thus  to  provoke  tlie  wi-ath 
of  the  Prophet ;  no,  no,  he  knew  better.  Are 
there  not  laws  in  Stamboul  ?  Is  there  not  a 
strong  cord  and  a  swift  current,  if  a  man  really 
wishes  to  sell  himself  to  Sheitan,  and  to  defile 
his  own  grave?  Wky  then  should  he  act  like  a 
madman,  and  be  laughed  at  to  his  beard  ?" 

"All  tliis  is  then  bosh — notliing:"  said  the 
merchant  angrily  ;  "why  do  you  tire  my  ears, 
and  devour  my  time  with  empty  tales;  say  your 
errand,  and  leave  me  to  my  thoughts  " 

"  You  are  a  wise  man,  Effendim ;  and  I  am 
but  a  woman,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  Allah  bilir — 
God  alone  knows ;  as  for  me,  I  was  only  en- 
deavoring to  explain — " 

"  A  wise  head  spareth  its  tongue  ;"  said  the 
host  sententiously ;  "few  words  make  wisdom 
— you  waste  time!" 

The  slave  folded  her  arms  before  her,  and 
bowed  her  head  meekly  on  her  bosom  as  she 
continued ;  "  Hassan  brought  a  wife  into  his 
harem,  but  She  never  gave  him  her  lieart.  How 
could  she  ?  Hassan  suspected  that  she  loved 
anotlier.  He  was  a  wise  man  in  this  at  least, 
for  she  did.  Why  did  the  Prophet  plant  roses 
in  the  gardens  of  Paradise,  save  that  they  should 
be  gathered!" 

"And  who  is  this  Hassan  of  whom  you  speak  !" 
again  demanded  the  merchant,  as  he  suffered 
the  smoke  from  his  chibouque  to  escape,  and 
roll  away  in  dense  curls  over  his  mustache : 
"  who  is  tiiis  Hassanwho  mated  himself  so  ill  ?" 

"  He  sits  on  the  fourth  carpet  in  tlie  Bezen- 
fltein  :"  said  the  slave,  "  and  he  is  kinsman  to 
the  Cadi." 

"And  liis  wife? — " 

"  Was  the  daughter  of  Hakif  the  sekeljhe,* 
near  the  Atmeidan ;  Gul-shyf  Hanoum,  the 
prettiest  girl  in  that  quarter  of  the  city." 

"  And  what  would  slie  ask  of  me  ?"  inquired 
the  merchant,  somcwliat  mollified  by  the  elabo- 
rate candor  of  hia  comj)anion. 

"  The  chiirl  her  husband  has  refused  to  give 
her  a  new  cachemire  for  the  feast  of  the  Bairam, 
because,  forsooth,  he  suspects  her  of — " 

"  Yok,  yok — no,  no  !  1  will  assist  no  plotting 
wife  to  cleceive  her  husbnud  I"  bi-oke  forth 
Suldiman  in  a  transport  of  virtuous  indignation. 


Confectioner. 


t  Rose  water. 


X  Parasol. 


"  Get  you  gone — there  are  easy  dupes  in  the 
tcharchi  who,  having  been  foo'led  themselves, 
will  be  glad  to  aid  in  the  good  work  of  hood- 
winking others  :  but  I  am  not  of  these — I  am  not 
of  these.  Return  to  your  light  mistress,  and  tell 
her — " 

"  Yavash,  yavash — not  so  fast,  Effendim,  not 
so  fast;"  interposed  the  pertinacious  slave  ;  "I 
have  as  yet  told  but  half  my  tale.  In  the  shawl- 
bazar  sits  a  woi'thy  merchant  named  Najib,  an 
Adrianopolitan  by  birth,  wlio  has  a  son  called — " 

"  Hafiz," — exclaimed  her  listener,  aroused  at 
once  into  attention. 

"  You  have  said  well,  Effendim :  he  is  indeed 
named  Hafiz,  and  it  would  seem  that  you  know 
him.  If  it  be  the  same  of  whom  I  speak,  lie  is 
a  tall  youth,  with  large  dark  eyes,  and  a  smile 
like  daybreak — " 

The  merchant  made  a^esture  of  impatience, 
and  knocked  the  ashes  from  a  pipe  which  was 
but  newly  replenished — "  And  what  of  this 
young  man?"  he  asked  peevishlJ^ 

"  He  has  seen  the  Hanoum  Ettendi,  and  loves 
her:"  was  the  reply  ;  "He  has  learnt  that  she 
desires  a  new  cachemire,  and   lie  has  offered  to 
procure  for  her  the  richest  shawl  in  the  city  if     ■ 
she  will  buy  it  with  a  smile." 

"Kiupek — dog!  and  the  son  of  dogs!  hia 
beard  is  not  yet  grown ;"  muttered  Suleiman 
beneath  his  breath ;  but  the  quick  ear  of  the 
negress  caught  the  words,  and  she  answered 
readily,  "  Even  so  said  mj-  mistress ; — '  Semsi,'|  [ 
whispered  she  as  she  spoke;  '  am  I  a  child  to  b'e 
won  by  a  stripling — shall  I  sell  mj-self  to  a  boy, 
when  i  have  only  to  ask  the  love  of  a  man,  and 
win  it.'  " 

"  She  said  well,"  murmured  Suleiman,  senten- 
tiously ;  "  the  wife  of  Hassan  is.  a  wise  woman,     , 
and  deserves  to  eat  her  pillauf  in  peace.     Bash- 
ustun  !  on  my  head  be  it !" 

"  She  has  set  her  heart  on  a  new  eacliemire," 
pursued  the  slave,  heedless  of  the  interruption; 
"  but  she  has  no  gold,  and  Hafiz  has  resolved  to 
tempt  her  to-morrow  with  tlie  choicest  in  tho 
tcharchi:  she  must  have  a  fikawl,  or  she  will 
fall  sick,  and   should   she   fall   sick  she  will  lose 
her  beauty,  and  then  the  brightest  carnation  ia 
Stamboul   will   be   withered   for  lack  of   a  few 
hundred  piastres;    unfess,  indeed,  the   Effendi     ' 
before  whom  I  stand  will  consent  to  receive  in     ■ 
exchange  some  jewels,  for  which  her  fancy  is     ^ 
outworn,  and  which  will  sell  well  in  the  bezen-     , 
stein."  ' 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Suleiman,  who  had     i 
forgotten  his  suspicious  in  the  joy  that  he  felt     ' 
from  the  hope  of  outwitting  Hafiz.     "Show  m«     j 
the  diamonds,  and  I  will  tell  you  at  once  if  I 
can  venture  on  the  traffic."  i 

"  Astaferallah — Heaven    forbid  !       Does    the    ' 
Effendi  imagine  tliat  the  young  Hanoum  would     ' 
intrust  me  with  the  jewels  before  she  learnt  his 
determination  !     Or  that  she  will  not  desire  to 
select  lier  own   cachemire  ?      ISo,    no, — if  the 
Effendi  consents  to  eft'ect  the  exchange,  he  will    I 
have  an  opportunity  of  making  his  own  bargain     ; 
with  the  fair  wife  of  Hassan,  who  has  already 
looked  upon  him  from  behind   her  lattices,  and 
selected  him  from  among  all  the  merchants  ia  j 
the  tcharchi,  because  she  saw  him  with  pleasure,  j  ' 
Shall  it  be  so,  Effendim  ?"  > 


THE  ROiLVXCE  OF  THE  UArJ'il. 


If 


The  fl  ittered  and  flattered  Suleiman  did  not 
immediately  reply — a  thousand  suspicions  of 
foul  play  rose  up  before  him  ;  and,  as  liis  loiijj; 
gaze  fastened  on  the  ncgress,  and  his  ear  drank 
in  her  accents,  he  could  not  divest  himsi-lf  of  the 
belief  that  it  wjis  really  Zeinip  who  stood  before 
liim,  or  Sheit^m  himself  in  her  lik-^ness  ;  but  then 
again  all  was  uncertainty,  and  Ilatiz — what 
would  he  not  give  to  circumvent  the  plottings 
of  his  arch-enemy  f  for  as  such  he  could  not 
forbear  cousidering  him — '"  Do  you  take  me  for 
a  fool? — a  madman?"  he. asked  quietly;  "that 
I  should  set  my  foot  in  the  harem  of  Hassan  the 
jeweller,  aiid  bring  my  neck  to  the  bowstring  f 
Am  I  a  boy,  like  the  son  of  ^'ajib,  that  I  should 
do  this  thing  ?" 

"  And  is  tlie  daughter  of  Hakif  an  idiot,  that 
she  should  share  her  pillauf  witli  dogs,  and 
blacken  her  own  face  V  asked  the  ncgress  in  her 
turn.  "  Are  there  no  harems  in  Stamboul  save 
that  of  Hassan  her  husband  i  Alinh  buyiik  der 
— Allah  is  great — the  Etiendi  is  as  a  man  who 
dreams." 

The  merchant  started.  He  had  never  com- 
mitted the  folly  of  compromising  his  personal 
safety,  even  in  his  youtli ;  and  that  he  should 
now  voluntarily  encounter  an  almost  certain 
peril  for  the  mere  gratification  of  tliwarting  a 
vain  and  froward  boy,  was  an  excess  of  rashness 
and  indiscretion  from  which  he  shrank  with  very 
natural  repugnance.  "  I  will  answer  j'ou  to- 
morrow on  this  point,"  he  said,  at  last;  "  let  me 
see  you  before  the  noon-tide  prayer  in  the  bazar, 
and  I  will  tell  you  my  decision." 

"  Ere  that  hour  the  sliawl  of  Ilafiz  will  be  in 
the  harem  of  Hassan's  wife ;  but  be  it  as  you 
will — "  and,  as  the  slave  spoke,  she  pressed 
lier  fingers  to  her  lips  and  brow,  and  moved  to 
depart. 

"Listen  to  me" — exclaimed  the  merchant 
'•■rnly,  as  he  rose  suddenlj'  from  the  sofa,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm;  "I  am  no  longer 
.1  be  cheated  like  a  child — you  are  Zeinip,  the 
^'.ave  of  Helmas  Uanoum  my  wife — how  jou 
ame  here  1  knovrnot,  but  it  must  have  been  by 
the  agency  of  some  devilish  magic  —  I  have 
watched  you  narrowly — djiny  it  not — you  are 
the  plotting  sister  of  slieitan  to  whom  I  owe  the 
miseries  of  months,  and  hence  you  depart  not 
•  ntil  I  have  visited  the  vault.  Should  mv 
-uspicions  be  coiTCct,  make  jjour  peace  with 
Allah  while  you  may,  for  you  have  not  long  to 
live — "  and,  a.-^  he  spoke,  he  pointed  with  his 
outstretched  finger  to  the  window,  through 
which  might  be  seen  in  the  di.stance,  the  bright 
ripple  of  tlie  Bosphorus  dancing  in  the  sunliglit ; 
"  but  if  1  have  deluded  myself,  {  shall  not  d>tain 
you  long;  and  I  swear  to  yo»i,  by  the  beard  of  the 
Prophet,  to  follow  you  withersoever  you  lisL" 

"  And  why  should  I  wish  it  otherwise  ?"  a.-<ked 
the  negress,  shaking  off  his  gra-sp ;  "  Am  I  not 
your  slave?  and  are  there  not  stdl  manj*  hours 
to  sunset  ?  I  have  told  you  that  m\-  name  is 
Bemsi,  and  that  I  serve  (iul-siiy  Hanoum,  the 
wife  of  Hassan  the  jeweller." 

"  And  I  have  told  you,  in  my  turn,"  retorted 
the  Merchant ;  "  that  I  am  no  longer  to  be  fool- 
ed.    Wliat  I  have  said  is  said." 

"  It  is  said  ;"  echoed  the  visiter,  as  she  calmly 
squatted  down  upon  a  cushion  which  chanced 


to  bo  near  her,  with  an  unmoved  gesture  of  ot- 
homeness,  that  more  tlian  ever  convinced  the 
angry  Suleiman  of  her  identity.  "  Hut  the 
EHendi  will  do  well  to  return  quickly,  im  my 
mistress  may  require  my  services;  mean  while, 
I  will  tell  my  tusuec,  and  wish  good  speed  to  hiii 
errand." 

The  mi'roJiant  did  not  vouchsafe  a  rejily,  but 
contented  himself  with  desiring  two  of  lifs  ser- 
vants, who  were  lounging  in  the  lower  liall  of 
tile  house,  not  to  sutler  the  negress  to  escape  ; 
and,  after  this  very  natural  precaution,  lie  light- 
ed a  lamp,  ami  proceeded  as  fast  as  his  agitation 
would  permit  to  the  |irison  of  his  wife. 

As  the  last  iloor  flew  back,  the  irritated  hus- 
band became  instantly  aware,  even  through  the 
unusual  gloom  of  the  subterraneiin,  that  it  waa 
tenanted  as  usual  by  t\vo  individuals.  On  the 
sofa  sat  Helmas  Hanoum  with  a  circular  mirror 
in  her  hand,  staining  her  eyebrows  with  the 
juices  of  a  nut  which  she  had  bien  bmning  on 
the  candle  that  stood  on  a  small  table  beside 
her;  and  immediately  beneath  the  lamp,  at  tike 
other  extrefiiity  of  "the  *ault,  expiring  at  the 
ver}'  moment  of  his  entrance,  as  it  appeared 
from  lack  of  oil,  was  spread  the  prayer-carpet 
of  the  slave,  who,  with  the  long  white  cloth 
twined  about  her  head  and  face,  without  which 
the  Musselmaun  women  never  repeat  their  ori- 
sons, was  devoutly  engaged  in  her  iiamaz.^ 
The  merchant  actually  trembled  with  nig<;  and 
mystification  —  there  she  was! — at  intervals 
pressing  her  ebony-colored  hands  upon  her 
knees;  and  her  naked  feet  showing  like  two 
lumps  of  charcoal  on  the  crimson  ground  of  the 
carpet;  piously  indifferent  tg  his  entrance;  and 
wholly  unconscious  of  the  absurd  error  into 
which  she  had  been  the  innocent  means  of  be- 
traying him.  So  earnest  was  her  devotion, 
moreover,  that,  as  she  bent  down  in  the  pauses 
of  the  prayer,  sundry  low  groans  escaj)ed  her, 
which,  had  she  been  otherwise  engaged,  would 
have  appeared  rather  to  be  hysterical  efforts  to 
subdue  a  movement  of  mirth,  than  conscience- 
stricken  demonstrations  of  holy  suffering;  as  it 
was,  however,  the  worthy  merchant  saw  at 
once  that  he  ha<l  committed  a  new  folly:  and, 
even  while  he  sustained  a  disjointed  and  unsatis- 
factory conversati<in  with  his  wife,  his  thoiiglits 
were  with  the  ca[»tive  negress  in  the  sah-inli.k: 
who,  on  her  return  to  the  harem  of  the  daugliter 
of  Hakif,  would  not  fail  to  make  merry  at  the 
expense  of  the  jeahnis  husband,  lb-  was  also 
eoiiHcious  of  having  betrayed  a  secn-t  not  alto- 
gether calculated  to  decrease  the  ri«riiiile ;  and 
thus  he  deemed  it  expedient  to  mak"-  a  hastv  re 
treat  from  the  prison-chamber,  in  oi-.l.r  to  liber- 
ate his  new  eajjtive.  whom  each  add<  d  moment 
of  restraint  could  notifuil  to  exa«i>erate  into  a 
resolution  of  more  determine<l  revengi'.  He  ac- 
cordingly informed  Helmas  Hanonm.  whose  eye- 
brows had  by  this  time  been  taught  t.>  form  a 
curved  line  all  across  h<r  for.li.ucl,  that  he  hiid 
pressing  business  at  the  teharelii ;  ami.  aft.r  bid- 
ding her  console  herself  in  her  eaplivily  with 
her  zebec,  an<l  leaving  beside  her  a  small  l)a^ket 
containing  a  piliaiif  inaile  of  quails,  In-  resumed 
his  lamp,  turned  another  last,  unloving  look  on 

•  DtTotioni. 


40 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


the  devout  npgrjss,  and  was  soon  on  his  way 
through  the  vaulted  passage  to  the  salemliek. 

The  key  had  turned  in  the  third  door  which 
parted  him  from  his  prisoners,  when  the  kneel- 
ing figure  sprang  lightly  into  an  upright  atti- 
tude ;  and,  flinging  aside  the  prayer-cloth  that 
had  bound  its  head,  stood  before  the  laughing 
Helmas  Hanoum,  at  least  a  foot  too  tall  for  the 
Degress  Zeinip.  The  shaven  skull,  with  its  one 
long  lock  of  silky  black  haii-,  was  soon  concealed 
beneath  an  ample  turban;  the  dye  washed  from 
the  face,  hands,  and  feet  of  the  impostor:  the 
trailing  antery  exchanged  for  a  tight  vest  and 
girdle  of  shawl;  and  the  prettj-  Helmas  Hanoum 
and  the  adventurous  Hafiz  busied,  amid  their 
merriment,  in  preparing,  over  the  glowing  char- 
eoal  of  the  brazier,  the  savory  pillauf  of  the 
mystified  Suleiman ;  who,  on  his  arrival  at  the 
apartment  in  which  he  had  left  the  negress, 
found  her  still  squatted  quietly  on  the  cushion, 
and  with  more  haste  than  courtesy  bade  her 
,  summon  him  on  the  morrow  to  fulfil  his  pledge. 
The  slave  rose,  bowed  humbly  before  him, 
and,  without  uttering  a  syllable,  passed  into  the 
street  But  she  was  conscious  that  she  was 
dogged  by  one  of  the  household  of  the  merchant ; 
and  it  was,  moreover,  so  long  since  she  had  en- 
joyed a  siglit  of  the  sun  and  the  bustle  of  the 
city  streets,  that  she  arrived  at  the  empty  house 
beside  that  of  her  master  by  as  many  turnings 
and  windings  as  a  Greek  pirate  in  the  Archipe- 
lago ;  and  the  pillauf  had  been  heated,  and  the 
fair  fingers  of  the  pretty  Hanoum  had  dipped 
with  those  of  her  lover  in  the  dish  so  often,  that, 
ere  the  entrance  of  Zeinip  had  been  effected 
through  the  agency  of  Hafiz,  the  feast  was  at  an 
end ;  and  the  fatigued  and  hungry  negress  was 
fain  to  content  herself  with  the  relics  of  the  yes- 
terday's meal.  But  this  was  no  misfortune  to 
one  who  had  so  merry  a  tale  to  tell ;  and  heartily 
did  the  three  plotters  laugh  ere  the  lover  de- 
parted, at  the  bold  device  by  which  they  had 
unlocked  the  fourth  door  of  the  prison-chamber. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


THE   SEVEN    DOORS CONTINUED. 

On  the  morrow,  Suleiman  was  seated  among 
his  merchandise  in  the  tcharchi  one  hour  before 
his  usual  time  ;  but  his  brow  was  dark,  and  his 
mood  more  than  oi-dinarily  taciturn.  He  re- 
membered, and,  remembering,  he  deeply  re- 
gretted, the  pledge  that  he  had  given  to  the 
negress.  He  had,  moreover,  passed  a  wretched 
night ;  he  had  dreamed  of  bright  eyes  and  ruby 
lips,  it  is  true,  but  he  had  unfortunatelj'  dream- 
ed of  them  in  conjunetion  with  dark-browed 
negroes,  and  darker  browed  husbands.  He  had 
enjoyed  a  a  ision  of  a  more  than  earthly  beauty, 
who'  iiad  welcomed  him  to  her  presence  with 
tlie  assurance  that  he  stood  before  the  favourite 
wife  of  the  Sultan ;  but,  while  he  gazed  in  won- 
dering admiration,  mingled  with  a  very  power- 
ful degree  of  respectful  terror,  he  had  been  sur- 
rounded by  armed  slaves,  thrown  on  the  ground, 
bowstrung  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  and 


finally  had  awoke  just  as  the  rapid  current  of 
the  Bosphorus  was  consigning  him  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  Black  Sea. 

iS'ow  Suleiman  was  not  a  man  of  prowess,  bat 
a  man  of  peace — he  despised  the  Jews,  and  hated 
the  Janissaries:  he  had  neither  taste  for  adven- 
tures, nor  affection  for  danger;  and,  when  he 
raised  his  head  from  the  pillow,  he  thanked 
Allah  and  the  Prophet,  from  the  verj-  depths  of 
his  spirit,  that  it  was  all  a  dream ;  and  a  mo- 
ment afterwards  he  shuddered  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  perils  to  which  he  had  actually  sub- 
jected himself  through  his  own  headstrong  and 
causeless  jealousy.  It  was,  consequently,  to  es- 
cape from  his  unquiet  thoughts  and  self-reproach, 
that  he  hurried  to  the  tcharchi  with  such  un- 
wonted diligence,  in  the  hope  of  finding  amuse- 
ment in  the  passing  scene  ;  but  ever  and  anon, 
as  he  saw  the  gleam  of  a  yashmac  in  the  dist- 
ance, a  cold  chill  crept  over  him,  and  made  his 
shaven  head  feel  for  an  instant,  as  though  it  were 
covered  with  bristles. 

Hour  after  hour  wore  on,  however,  and  he 
began  to  nurse  a  vague  and  timidly  indulged 
belief  that  the  wayward  beauty  had  repented 
her  bold  enterprise,  and  even  to  hope  that  she 
had  suffered  herself  to  relent  in  favor  of  Hafiz, 
and  had  accepted  his  offering;  when,  as  he  was 
carefully  readjusting  the  folds  of  a  shawl  which 
had  been  hastily  put  aside  on  the  previous  day, 
he  saw  the  son  of  JS'ajib  approaching  him  with  a 
rapid  step. 

"  Khosh  geldin — you  are  welcome  :"  said  the 
merchant,  as  the  young  man  stopped  beside  his 
carpet,  wishing  him,  at  the  moment  in  which  he 
uttered  the  greeting,  safely  deposited  in  the 
great  cemetry  of  the  city  :  "  affiet  ollah — much 
pleasure  attend  you  ;  can  I  serve  you  in  aught? 
or  are  you  only  whiling  away  the  time  until  the 
mid-day  prayer  ?  " 

"  Kay,  not  so  ;"  replied  Hafiz,  as  he  returned 
the  salutation.  "  I  am  hurried  even  more  than 
my  wont  on  this  occasion  ;  and,  therefore,  pray 
you  to  show  me,  with  what  speed  you  may,  all 
the  cachemires  of  Thibet  on  which  j-ou  can  lay 
your  hand.  My  father's  stock  is  exhausted,  and 
I  am  commissioned  to  make  a  purchase  for  the 
wife  of  a  rich  Bey." 

"  Of  a  Bey,  said  you  ?"  demanded  the  merch- 
ant, as  unconcernedly  as  he  could,  while  he  was 
in  the  act  of  taking  down  some  merchandise 
from  one  of  the  shelves.  "Ax-e  you  sure  that 
her  husband  is  a  Bey?" 

"  Haveit — yes  ;  she  is  the  wife  of  Hassan  Bey, 
who  served  for  several  years  in  Tripoli,  and 
who  now  inhabits  a  house  near  the  fortress  of 
the  Seven  Towers.  She  desires  a  new  shawl  for 
the  feast  of  the  Ba'iram." 

"  And  she  has  commissioned  you  to  select  it 
for  her — is  it  so  ?"  asked  Suleiman,  as  he  looked 
steadily  towards  the  youth. 

"  JIashallah  !  that  were  a  tale  for  a  massald- 
jhe"*- -laughed  Hafiz  ;  "  'tis  the  good  Bey  him- 
self who  has  charged  me  to  make  the  bargain  .- 
and  1  must  make  a  successful  one,  or  it  will  fare 
ill  with  me,  for  Hassan  is  not  a  man  to  trifle 
with.  He  has  been  so  many  years  accustomed 
to  have  every  thing  liis  own  way,  that  he  is  not 


*  Professional  story-teller. 


THE   ROiLVNCK  OF  TIIK   IIARKM. 


41 


particular  about  the  propriety  9f  the  niannor  in 
which  he  mnnifests  his  dispU'iisure.  1  never 
look  at  him  without  fancying  that  I  see  a  bow- 
string peeping  from  amid  the  fohls  of  his 
girdU'." 

Suleimau  actually  shivered  with  terror  as  he 
Bat 

"Just now,"  whispered  lintiz confidentially,  a^ 
he  bent  towards  the  merchant;  "all  gives  way 
before  the  beautiful  young  Gul-siiv  llanoum.  liis 
new  wife  ;  but  her  favor  is  preeamons,  for  it  has 
been  insinuated  to  the  Hey  "that  slie  is  not  so 
devoted  to  him  as  it  behoves  her  to  be.  Hul 
who  shall  say? "  and  he  looked  up  archly  into 
the  face  of  his  listener. 

"Wallah  billah— by  the  Prophet  I  are  we 
Musselmauns  that  we  thus  talk  together  of  a 
woman!"  murmured  Suleiman  depree.ilingly  ; 
"  what  is  it  to  you  or  to  me,  Efleudim,  if  it  be 
Tbo  or  not  ?" 

Again  Uatiz  laughed.  "  You  say  well  ;  to  us 
it  is  indeed  bosh — nothing.  So  now  we  will  ex- 
amine the  shawls." 

But  the  husband  of  Helmas  Hanoum  had 
heard  too  little  or  too  much — too  little  aa  re- 
garded the  unknown  beauty  herself,  and  too 
much  a3  it  regarded  her  husband,  for  a  man  who 
was  bound  hand  and  foot  to  risk  his  life  in  the 
furtherance  of  a  woman's  caprice.  Yet  how  to 
lead  back  the  discourse  to  the  point  at  which  he 
wished  to  arrive,  he  knew  not ;  for  the  Turks, 
even  among  themselves,  do  not  make  their  wo- 
men the  subject  of  conversation  or  comment; 
and  thus,  with  all  the  terrors  of  the  uncompro- 
mising Bej'  before  his  eyes,  coupled  with  the 
consciousness  that  he  was  about  to  beard  him  in 
his  very  den,  he  was  compelled  to  turn  over 
shawl  after  shawl,  and  to  expatiate  on  the  beau- 
ties and  qualities  of  each,  wliile  visions  of  fear, 
and  peril,  and  jeopardy,  were  crowding  across 
his  brain. 

"  What  have  I  to  do,"  he  asked  himself  almost 
aloud,  '•  with  the  light-headed  and  wilful  wife 
of  another  man,  and  that  man,  moreover,  a  Bey 
and  a  soldier?  avret  der — it  is  a  woman.  Have 
1  not  counted  nearly  seventy  years  since  the 
prophet  first  blew  the  breatli  of  life  into  my 
nostrils  ?  Is  not  my  beard  gray,  and  my  hand 
weakened  ?  Is  it  for  me  to  measure  myself  with 
boysf"  But  all  these  retlections  availed  noth- 
ing; and,  just  as  llafiz,  after  quarrelling  with 
the  quality  of  one  shawl  and  the  cost  of  another, 
had  flu!lg"a^i.le  tiie  last  with  a  dissentient  g.  s- 
ture,  declaring  that  he  should  not  dure  to  meet 
the  li.-v  if  he  made  no  better  bargain  than  those 
(jirered'to  iiim  by  his  futiier's  friend,  a  mgr.ss. 
whose  yashmac  almost  covered  her  eyes,  walked 
quietlv  up  to  the  merehant.  and,  without  noti- 
cing th«-  vicinity  of  llafiz,  said  in  a  calm  tone, 
'The  Ellendi  awaits  you  hard  by — I  am  to  con- 
duct voii  to  him."  And  the  jxiralyzed  Suhi- 
maii,  williout  a  word,  east  all  his  costly  goods 
upon  til.-  tloor  of  the  little  Htore-rooiii  behind 
him,  lo.k.d  the  door,  and,  shullling  on  his  clip- 
pers, pr.par.d  to  follow  his  ebony -colored  guide, 
like  one  under  a  spell.  t 

One  glance,  and  but  one,  passed  between  the 
slave  and  llafiz,  and  that  was  unnoticd  bv  the 
merehant,  who  was  absorbed  in  the  trembling 
discomfort  of  hia  own  terrors ;  and  in  the  next 


instant ,the  heavily-draped  t.'^Tc^?  jras  ihrpatj- 
ing  her  way  along  the  narrow  ct.<-<t.-  of  tiiti 
teharchi,  followed  at  some  distance 'hy  her 
victim. 

They  moved  onwards  very  slo-vly,  for  the 
pathways  were  throng<'d  with  pa.>wfngi'r» ;  but 
at  length  they  enierged  into  the  o|»('n  streeU  of 
the  city,  ami  Suleiman  remarkitl,  with  some- 
thing like  a  sensation  of  joy,  that  tinir  road  did 
not  lie  in  the  direction  of  the  .S.v.n  'lowers, 
wh.nee  it  was  evident  that  tiie  trouldesome 
beauty  eoiiM  not  purpose  to  receive  him  beneath 
the  roof  of  iier  husband  1 

On  turning  an  abrupt  corner,  the  nienhant 
fotmd  himself  suddenly  in  u  street  little  fre- 
quented, and,  as  it  chanced,  at  tiuit  moment  saw 
no  human  being  near  him  except  his  mysterious 
conductress,  who  was  standing  a  f«  \v  paces  from 
the  opening,  evidi-ntly  awaiting  ids  approach, 
lie  did  not  accelerate  his  pace,  however,  but 
rather  walked  nior>'  slowly,  for  he  dreaded  all 
comnmnii-ation  witii  the  dusky  y\'-<;^  of  mysti- 
cism will)  liad  ln.gnilf.1  him  into  hi- ju-sint  pre- 
dicament ;  wiiile  the  slave,  on  ht-r  side,  ap|>eared 
perfectly  inditferent  to  everything  save  the  ol>- 
ject  that  she  sought  to  attain,  ami  contented 
herself  by  excloiming,  when  heat  Kiigtli  reu<'lied 
her  side  ;  "  So  far,  so  well — ligiitly  falls  the  foot 
of  him  who  is  summoned  by  a  |iaj*ha's  wife  :  afe- 
i-in — well  done,  Elfendim';  the  llanoum  will 
n^oice  to  find  that  her  bidding  has  been  so  joy- 
ously obeyed." 

Acold  dew  rose  to  the  brow  of  the  worthy 
Suleiman,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  ask  a  quj-stion, 
as  the  slave,  having  uttered  her  extraordinary 
address,  again  moved  forward.  The  wife  of 
Hassan  the  jeweller  had  grown  into  the  favorite 
of  Hassan  Bey.  and  again  into  tin-  consort  of  a 

rmsha,  within  the  twenty-four  hours  sine^  he 
lad  first  h«.urd  of  her.  I'here  was  but  another 
step  to  take— he  had  now  only  to  learn  tlmtshe 
was  on  inmate  of  the  sultan's  harem,  and  hi« 
doom  would  be  seaUd  1  He  r<-membered  hie 
dream,  and  trembled;  and,  as  the  nogross  from 
time  to  time  looked  back  to  assure  licrseif  that 
he  followed,  he  each  moment  expected  to  have 
the  dreaded  intelligence  poure<l  into  his  iiuail- 
ing  eai-s.  But  no  sueh  misfortune  as  this  lufel 
him;  for  his  companion  never  addresscil  him 
again  until  they  reached  the  narrow  and  squalid 
street  wliich  "terminates  in  the  TchcrnberUi 
Tasch,  or  Burnt  Pillar.     This  celehratrd  column 

,  was  at  that  |M-riod  nearly  pt-rfeet;  the  figur.-  of 
Apollo,  oii<>  of  the  masterpieces  of  Phidias,  wlii.-h 
had    originally  crowned  it,   was  iiultad    gone : 

'  but  the  delieaU-  garlands  of  oak  leaves,  that  en- 
circled it  ot  rtgular  distances  from  its  hus*'  fo 
its  gummit,  were   yet   perfect;  anil   tin-    murbU 

I  was  but  slightly  stained  with  fire  marks. 

About  midway  of  the  street  tin-  n.gn-rs  pnusod 

!  before  till-  gate  of  a  dreary-looking  ho;i'.- ;  and 

;  having  fix<-d  one  long,  significant  gaz-  on  tli« 
nnrehant,  b.atupon  the  door,  and  wa^  in»tnnlly 
admit  till.  Sul.iman  took  8<-viTal  tiirn*  along 
the   rude  and    rnggid    paving,   and  d«lay>d  hb 

i  long  aa  hesuf.lv  .oiil.i,  ere  lie  reliietanily  fol- 
lowed her  .-xaiiml.-,  aii.l  then,  with  a  tr.ii.hlintf 
hand,  he  ruis.-d  the  ponderous  kno.k.  r,  and 
heard   iU  harsh   sound  slowly  die   uway  in  th« 

I  void  beyond. 


42 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


He  wns  not  tcpt  long  in  suspense.  The 
door  flew  back,  and,  as  he  passed  the  thieshold. 
closed  slowly  behind  him  ;  his  old  acquaintance 
Semsi  was  in  waiting,  and  he  obeyed  her  silent 

Sesture,  and  followed  her  through  a  long  and 
usty  passage,  which  looked  as  though  the  day- 
light had  never  penetrated  its  gloom.  There 
■was  no  matting  upon  the  floor;  and,  even 
Btealthily  as  he  moved  along,  the  unfortunate 
merchant  could  lu-ar  the  echo  of  his  own  foot- 
steps, and  almost  tlie  beatings  of  his  heart. 
Every  tale  of  terror  to  which  he  had  ever  lis- 
tened came  fresh  to  his  memory  ;  and  he  sub- 
mitted to  his  fate  unquestioning,  like  one  who 
felt  that  lie  had  gone  too  far  to  recede,  and  that 
escape  was  now  hopeless.  I 

The  passage  terminated  at  a  door,  before 
•which  hung  a  tapestried  curtain,  and  the  ne- i 
gress,  having  flung  it  aside,  bade  him  enter! 
■without  ceremony.  For  the  first  moment  he  | 
could  not  distinguish  any  thing,  though  he  was  j 
conscious  that  the  slave  Avas  still  beside  him ;  i 
but  in  the  next,  a  sti'ong  glare  burst  forth  from 
the  upper  end  of  the  chamber,  as  a  hand  flung 
upon  the  brazier  by  which  the  apartment  was| 
heated  a  quantity  of  aromatic  wood.  When  j 
the  smoke  cleared  away,  Suleiman  could  just  j 
discover  that  a  female,  whose  dress  glittered 
■with  gold  embroidery,  lay  reclined  upon  a  pile 
of  cushions  spread  upon  the  flooi- ;  and,  while 
he  was  yet  employed  in  endeavoring  to  obtain 
a  view  of  her  features,  she  clapped  her  hands, 
and  half  a  dozen  slaves  entered  with  lights. 

Suleiman  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  fancied  that 
he  must  be  the  sport  of  a  dream.  The  whole 
apartment  was  the  very  embodiment  of  splen- 
dor and  luxury.  It  was  like  awakening  in  the 
Prophet's  paradise  after  the  sleep  of  the  grave. 
The  floor  was  covered  with  Persian  carpets; 
the  sofas  were  sprinkled  with  embroidered 
flowers,  and  looked  like  a  petrified  parterre — 
draperies  of  gorgeously-tinted  silk  veiled  the 
latticed  windows — and,  in  the  midst  of  this 
Bcene  of  costly  comfort  reclined  its  unveiled 
mistress,  .in  a  vestment  so  resplendent  with 
gold  and  jewels,  that  the  dazzled  merchant  cast 
down  his  eyes,  like  one  who  has  inadvertently 
looked  upon  the  sun. 

But  he  was  not  long  sufi"ered  to  remain  in 
this  attitude  of  silent  wonder.  A  voice  which 
Bounded  strangely  familiar,  to  his  ear  bade  him 
■welcome,  and  invited  him  to  approach  ;  and,  as 
be  advanced  further  into  the  apartment,  his  eye 
fell  on  a  group  of  splendidly-dressed  slaves, 
who  were  standing  near  the  couch  of  their  mis- 
tress. Coffee  was  served  to  him  in  silence; 
and  then  a  ehibnuque  of  cherry-wood,  with  a 
mouth-|)iece  of  the  tinest  and  palest  amber,  was 
put  into  his  hand  by  an  attendant,  young,  beau- 
tiful, and  graceful,  wiio  bore  so  strong  a  resem- 
blance to  his  imjiri.^oned  wife,  that  he  started 
as  he  took  the  pipe,  and  almost  suiiered  it  to 
escape  his  clasp. 

"Yoti  have  done  me  much  grace,  Eff"endim ;" 
said  the  lady  of  the  revel,  as  soon  as  the  proper 
ceremonies  had  been  observed  towards  her  ; 
guest:  "kliosh  geldin — you  are  welcome;  and  I 
am  grntefi.l  to  you  for  "running  so  great  a  risk 
to  indulge  one  of  my  idle  caprices.  The  pasha, 
my  husband,  is  jealous  and  lynx-eyed,  and  we 


shall  be  fortunate  if  we  contrive  your  departnr* 
■without  exciting  suspicion.  But  we  will  not 
talk  of  him.  My  slave  Semsi,  by  whom  you 
were  summoned,  has  doubtless  told  you  that  a 
new  whim,  on  whose  gratification  1  am,  aa 
usual  detern)iuedly  b'ent,  has  compelled  me  to 
apply  to  your  generosity.  Bana  bak — look  at 
me — I  am  one  to  be'thwarted?  I  need  not  ex- 
plain more ;  I  will  merely  put  before  you  the 
toys  which  I  desire  to  give  in  exchange  for  one 
of  your  most  costly;  cachemires.  I  know  all  the 
risk  that  I  incur  in  oi'der  to  work  out  my  plea- 
sure,  and  I  am  grateful  to  you  for  having  so 
willingly  shared  it.  Joy  and  fear  are  not  mow 
opposite  in  their  eff"ects  than  in  the  feeling 
which  they  excite  towards  those  who  are  our 
partners  in  the  emotion;  in  joy,  we  find  the 
pleasure  doubled  by  participation  ;  while,  in 
fear — oh  Eff'endim,  you  know  not,  you  cannot 
guess  the  sensation  with  which  a  young,  and 
pretty,  and  idolized  wife  looks  upon  the  indi- 
vidual, who,  at  the  moment  when  he  pays  ho- 
mage to  her  beautj',  is  conscious  that,  should 
his  devotion  be  discovered,  he  can  save  her  by 
oft'ering  himself  up  a  willing  sacrifice  to  her 
off"ended  husband !  Could  I  not  at  this  instant, 
were  the  pasha  to  intrude  into  the  harem,  vow 
that  I  knew  not  your  errand,  and  had  never 
sanctioned  your  entrance?  Nothing  could  be 
moi'e  simple ;  and  as  the  result  of  such  a  decla- 
ration, it  were  vain  to  expatiate  on  it — Mashal- 
lah  I  Hassan  Pasha  is  too  methodical  to  leave 
anyone  in  doubt  on  such  a  subject.  'Gul-siiy 
Hiinoum,'  he  will  say  to  me,  '  you  are  the  light 
of  my  eyes,  and  the  sun  of  my  sky,  and  rather 
would  1  put  out  the  beam  of  the  one,  and  miss 
the  warmth  of  the  othei-,  than  know  that  they 
had  been  shared  by  the  Sovereign  of  the  world 
— the  Padishah  of  the  most  glorious  empire  of 
the  earth — '" 

The  merchant  wiped  the  gathering  damps 
from  his  brow,  and  only  groaned  a  reply. 

"  Korkma — fear  not;  what  care  I  for  all  these 
love-sentences?"  pursued  the  lady ;  "will  they 
buy  me  a  cachemire,  or  give  me  a  pleasant 
dream?  Are  they  not  mere  words?  Perhaps 
you  have  a  fair  wife  in  your  harem,  EtTendira; 
nay,  I  am  sure  you  have,  for  your  beard  is 
■white,  and  your  days  are  numbered,  and  you 
would  be  a  divane — an  idiot — not  to  se<k  some 
solace  for  your  age  in  bright  smiles  and  gentle 
words;  and  if  you  have  a  ■\vife,  young,  and  pret- 
ty, and  ready-witted,  as  women  will  be,  though 
all  good  Musselmauns  would  fain  see  them  other- 
wise, you  must  know  that  she  would  rather  have 
one  puise*  than  a  score  of  compliments — from 
you  at  least.  Yet  wherefore  ■waste  your  time 
with  idle  talk,  when  every  instant  may  be 
fraught  with  danger?  Diliram" — and,  as  she 
spok"e,  the  slave  who  looked  and  moved  like  the 
merchant's  imprisoned  wife,  advanced,  and  bent 
meekly  before  her  ;  "  show  to  Suleiman  Eff'endi 
the  toys  which  I  desire  to  barter  with  him." 

She  was  obeyed  on  the  instant;  the  attendant 
silently  withdrew,  and  in  a  moment  returned, 
bearing  a  tray,  which  she  deposited  at  the  feet 
of  the  visite;-.     It  was  covered  with  a  gold-eiiv 

*  Generally  containing  500  pia-^tres  (or  £5)  ;  all  impe- 
rial presdius  in  specie  are  made  in  "purses." 


THE   ROMANCE  OF  THE   IIAREM.  4t 

broidered  nnpkin,  which  waa  hnstily  thrown  .door  of  the  RorfjoousapArtmont,  jind  pnsgod  into 
aside,  and  the  first  object  that  met  the  eye  of  tlie  void  and  echoing  gallery  heyond. 
Suleiman  was  a  jewelled  bracelet,  whose  "form  But  no  othcious  S.insi  follow.'d  to  g\iid«  liim 
and  setting  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  tiie  pre- ithroiigh  the  dark  labyrinth— no  .•ompunionsliip 
cepts  of  the  Koran.  Beside  it  lay  an  essence- [save  that  of  a  iau.!  and  mocking  p.-al  ..f  laughter 
box  of  ivory,  small,  and  quaintly-fiL-ihioned  ;  and, from  the  partywliom  he  had  just  (piitic.l.  bo- 
both  were  pillowed  on  a  costly  eachcmire  of  pale 'guiled  the  difhculty  of  his  progress;  an<l  even 
yellow,  with  a  border  of  grjen  ai-J  crimson!  jthatdied  away  as  suddenly  as  it  had  burst  fortlu 
Let  those  who  have  writhed  under  the  visita-j Not  a  single  lamp  shed  it«  i)rotecting  light  to 
tion  of  the  nightmare,  picture  to  themselves  the  isave  him  from  yawning  staircases  and  gloomy 
sensations  of  Suleiman!  He  looked  loug  and  passages;  and  he  wandered  on  slowly  and  paia- 
earnestly  on  the  objects  of  barter  as  they  were  fully.Vith  fear  an.l  trembling,  bewildering hitn- 
spread  out  before  him— he  handled  them  each  in  self"  more  and  more  in  the  intricacies  of  the 
their  turn,  and  they  were  all  real  and  palpable  building,  in  silence  and  in  darkness,  until  after 
— they  were  otiered  to  him  for  sale,  and  he  could  the  lap.ie  of  an  hour,  when  he  distinguished  in 
Bwear  that  they  were  his  own!  In  his  bewilder-  the  distance  the  glimmering  of  a  sickly  light, 
ment  he  turned  towards  the  pasha's  wife,  and  towards  which  he  cautiou.sly  advanced"  in  the 
gazed  keenly  and  inquiringly  upon  fier.  The  hope  that  it  might  afford  him  a  means  of  escape 
haughty  beauty  bore  his  steady  look  unshrink-  from  his  malicious  enemies.  Not  a  sound  waa  to 
ingly :  not  a  blush,  not  a  word  escaped  her  ;  and  be  heard  as  he  neared  the  beacon,  save  the  dull 
it  was  strange  how  the  expression  of  those  large  echo  of  his  own  footsteps;  and  he  conse<iuently 
dark  ejes  added  to  the  mystitication  of  the  nier- ; became  sufficiently  reassured  to  quicken  his  pace, 
chant;  there  was  a  mocking  light  in  them  that  and  to  pass  without  hesitation  tlie  threshold  of 
withered  his  very  soul!  fie  had  seen  them  be-  the  vast  and  apparently  empty  apartment  in 
fore,  he  knew  not  where  or  when;  his  memory  I  which  the  lamp  was  burning.  But  he  had  no 
played  the  traitor,  and  his  senses  reeled:  and 'sootier  done  so  than  the  door  dosed  with  vio- 
meanwhile  there  lay  the  bracelet,  the  essence- jlence  behind  him,  cutting  off  all  hope  of  escape 
box,  and  the  shawl — the  ferocious  pasha  in  per-  by  the  gallery  along  which  he  had  passed,  and 
epective — the  imprudent  beauty  in  presence —  the  sickly  lamp  gave  out  one  strong  burst  of 
and  a  crowd  of  phantoms,  shapeless,  indefinite,  light,  an"d  instantly  expired.  In  that  brief  in- 
and  mystical,  writhing  and  winding  through  all  tcrval,  however,  momentary  as  it  was,  the  trena- 
the  intricate  angles  of  his  imagination.  There  bling  merchant  discovered  the  whole  extent  of 
too  stood  the  slave,  the  j-oung  and  mystical  slave,  his  misfortune  ;  nor  was  any  time  permitted  him 
who  looked  and  moved  so  like  his  own  wife  !  for  preparation  ;  in  an  instant  he  was  seized — 
The  merchant  instinctively  buried  his  hand  in  flung  on  the  ground — held  down  by  powerful 
his  girdle — this  at  least  must  be  a  delusion,  for  hands,  amid  low  and  mocking  laughter — and  ia 
there  were  the  keys:  and  hence  it  was  only  fair  | five  minutes  he  had  fainted  beneath  the  basti- 
to  infer  that  he  was  under  a  spell — that  the  Evil  nado. 

Eye  was  on  him — and  that  the  bracelet,  the  |  The  sun  was  bright  tipon  the  domes  and  mina- 
eesenee-box,  and  the  yellow  eachcmire,  were  all: rets  of  the  eity,  when  Suleiman  the  shawl-mer- 
phantoras,  engendered  by  the  fever  of  his  own  .chant  painfully  6tret<.'hing  his  limbs,  and  opening 
over-heated  brain.  his  haggard  eyes,  found  liimself  extendeil  on  a 

"While  he  was  yet  abandoned  to  his  bewilder-  marble  slab  in  the  Armenian  cemetery  of  Pera, 
ment,  the  slaves,  as  if  to  increase  it,  struck  up  a  beneath  the  light  shade  of  a  blossoming  acacia, 
wild,  shi-ill  concert  of  voices  and  zebecs,  which] He  might  well  hav.;  believed  that  all  the  scene 
rang  through  the  saloon,  and  whistled  in  the  ears  througli  which  he  had  lately  passed  was  but  a 
of  Suleiman  like  an  east  wind.  Well  nigh  mad- .hag-ridden  dream,  had  not  the  swollen  and 
dened  by  the  noise,  the  mystification,  and  the  smarting  soles  of  his  dishonored  fcut  assured 
terror,  which  grew  deeper  each  moment  from  him  to  the  contrary,  lie  could  not  doubt  the 
the  necessity  of  its  concealment,  the  unhappy  extent  of  his  wrong;  and  if  he  did  not  instant- 
merchant  began  hurriedly  to  off'.r  he  scarce  ly  lay  his  complaint  before  the  cadi,  it  was 
knew  what,  for  the  hated  objects  of  barter  ;  and  simijly  because  he  was  unable  to  make  his  way 
anxious  to  escape  from  the  scene  of  torment,  to  the  Bosphorus,  and  to  pass  over  to  Stamboill 
swore  to  the  dark-eyed   lady  of  the   revel   that[unassiste<L 

she  should  turn  over  every  bale  in  his  store,  and '  Severil  hours  were  consequently  wasted,  to 
select  the  shawl  which  pleased  her,  be  its  value  I  the  gre-it  di.sgust  of  the  merchant,  among  the 
hat  it  might  The  offer  was  accepteii  on  the  Christian  graves,  ere  he  was  gladdened  by  the 
instant;  nor  was  an  effort  made  to  detain  the  ajiproach  of  an  Armenian  jeweller,  who  cime, 
liberal  Suleiman  when  he  had  jdedged  himself  as  his  wmit  was  towards  sunset,  to  smoke  hit 
to  observe,  and  faithfully  to  ftillil  the  compact;  h-hibouque  bchidi-  the  grave  of  one  of  his  reliv- 
while,  on  his  part,  he  as  willingly  consented  toitives.  Suh-iman  knew  him  well,  as  he  had  often 
leave  behind  him  the  valuable  pledges  that  were  traded  with  him  in  the  bezenstein;  and  to  him, 
to  be  given  in  exchange.  He  lost  not  a  moment  therefore,  he  confided,  without  hesitation,  the 
descending  from  the  sofa,  and  shuffling  on  his  (history  of  his  discomfiture,  taking  care,  however, 
slippers;  and  having  made  his  obeisance  to  the  | as  he  subsequently  did  in  his  eomjilaint  before 
hostess,  who  was  sunning  herself  in  the  light  of  i  the  cadi,  to  conceal  the  fa<t  of  feminine  agency; 
her  own  eyes,  as  they  were  reflecteil  from  a  cir-' and  contenting  himself  with  the  declaration  thai 
cular  mirror  set  into  a  frame  of  ostrich  feathers,  he  had  been  decoyed  to  this  house  of  mystery 
he  lifted  the  tapestry  hanging  that  veiled   the  |  for  the  purposes  of  commerce. 


44 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


By  the  agency  of  Takotir-Oglou,  the  Armenian 
'eweller,  a  carriage  was  soon  procured,  in  which 
tlie  suffering  Suleiman  was  safely  deposited  on 
the  wooden  pier  at  Topp-hanne,  and  there  em- 
barked in  a  caique  for  8tamboul^  where,  on  his 
arrival  at  home,  he  lost  no  time  in  laying  his  case 
before  the  c&di  and  demanding  justice. 

His  description  of  the  house  was  so  circum- 
Btantial,  and  he  was  so  positive  as  to  its  ac- 
curacy, that  the  officers  of  justice  found  it  at 
once,  and  thundered  for  admittance  without  a 
moment's  hesitation ;  but  the  sturdy  strokes 
which  they  beat  upon  the  door  only  produced  a 
long-sustamed  echo  as  they  died  slowly  away  in 
the  distance  ;  and  when  at  length  their  impor- 
tunity excited  the  attention  of  the  neighbors,  an 
old  crone,  closely  muffled  in  a  scarf  of  blue  and 
white  checked  linen,  tottered  forth  from  one  of 
the  most  squalid-looking  tenements  of  the 
wretched  street,  and  delivered  up  the  key  of 
the  empty  house,  with  an  assurance  that  it  had 
been  long  uninhabited ;  and  that  her  son,  who 
was  pursuing  his  trade  in  one  of  the  Archipela- 
gan  islands,  and  whose  patrimony  it  was,  desired 
with  all  his  heart  to  dispose  of  it,  even  at  a  loss. 

The  followers  of  the  cadi  left  the  withered 
woman  to  pour  forth  her  information  to  the  half 
dozen  individuals  whom  the  outcry  in  the  street 
had  attracted,  and  rushed  through  the  entrance- 
court  into  the  desolate  gallery  beyond.  But 
they  discovered  no  object  in  any  one  of  the 
empty  and  mouldering  apartments  which  bore 
testimony  to  the  truth  of  the  merchant's  story. 

Weather-stained  walls — faded  frescoes,  peel- 
ing from  the  neglected  ceilings — doors  hanging 
loosely  upon  broken  hinges  —  and  casements 
from  which  the  perished  lattices  were  dropping 
in  fragments — were  about  them  in  every  direc- 
tion, but  not  a  trace  of  recent  inhabitation  was 
perceptible ;  and,  after  having  traversed  the 
whole  building,  and  searched  every  room  and 
gallery,  tliey  were  compelled  to  vacate  the 
premises  with  a  firm  conviction  that  the  mer- 
chant had  misled  them,  and  had  altogether  mis- 
taken the  locality  of  his  disgrace. 

But  it  was  not  so :  and  during  the  interval 
which  succeeded  ere  the  enraged  and  baffled 
Suleiman  had  regained  the  use  of  his  feet,  and 
was  once  more  enabled  to  visit  the  subterranean, 
many  a  jest  and  jibe  of  which  he  was  the  sub- 

i'ect,  had  lightened  the  tedium  of  the  prison- 
arem ;  and  more  than  once  had  Hafiz  twined 
about  his  head  the  costly  calemkier,*  in  which 
he  had  enacted  the  Pasha's  wife  ;  and  practised 
before  the  anali  (or  hand-mirror)  of  the  treache- 
rous Helmas  Hanoum  the  same  languishing 
grimaces  witli  which  he  had  favored  her  un- 
happy husband. 

Well  might  the  youtliful  lov£r  exult  over  the 
success  of  his  treacherous  artifices — for  five  of 
the  seven  locks  were  now  unloosed,  and  more 
than  iialf  his  adventurous  task  was  accom- 
plished! 


*  Painted  handkerchief. 


CHAPTER  XVTIL 

THE   SEVEN    DOORS CONTINUED. 

SuLEniAN  was  one  morning  descending  to  the 
vault,  when,  as  he  was  turning  the  key  of  the 
last  door  which  separated  him  from  the  prison- 
chamber,  he  was  startled  by  the  sounds  of 
violent  contention  ;  and  he  paused  for  a  few 
seconds  ere  he  entered,  in  order  to  acquaint 
himself  with  the  cause  of  the  outer}-.  High  and 
shrill  rose  the  voice  of  his  young  wife,  but  "higher 
and  shriller  still  were  the  tones  of  Zcinip  ;  and 
the  amazement  of  the  merchant  was  extreme 
when  he  discovered  that  that  the  gentle  Helmas 
Hanoum  was  actuallj-  in  anger  against  her  long- 
favored  attendant ;  and  that  the  pampered  ne-' 
gress,  forgetful  of  all  the  indulgence  and  kind- 
ness of  her  mistress,  was  casting  back  every  re- 
proach, and  retorting  every  injurious  epithet. 
Had  Suleiman  seen  a  purse  of  gold  upon  his 
path,  he  could  not  have  been  more  rejoiced!  A 
quiet  smile  played  about  his  lip,  and  he  stroked 
down  his  beard  with'a  gesture  of  complacency 
and  self-gratulation  truly  enviable.  Novi  every 
mystery  would  be  unravelled;  if,  indeed,  as  he 
was  still  sometimes  inclined  to  suspect,  the  ten- 
ants of  his  pretty  prison  were  privy  to  all  his 
annoyances.  A  quarrel  between  the  conspira- 
tors would  necessarily  involve  discovery;  for 
what  angry  woman  ever  kept  the  secret  of  her 
adversary  ?  Thus  the  merchant  listened  with 
all  his  ears ;  and  the  contention  continued  long 
enough  to  convince  him  that  the  belligerents 
would  show  each  other  no  quarter  when  his 
appearance  aftbrded  to  them  the  opportunity 
of  revenging  their  imaginary  wrongs. 

But  with  all  his  powers  of  hearing  on  the 
stretch,  Suleiman  could  not  gather  amid  the  vio- 
lence of  the  quarrel  a  single  sentence  tending  to 
throw  any  light  upon  the  subject  on  which  he 
was  anxious  to  be  better  informed;  and,  accord- 
ingly, making  a  great  rattling  with  the  stupend- 
ous bunch  of  keys  that  he  carried  in  his  hand, 
he  \iltimatel_y  threw  back  the  door,  and  stood 
befoi'e  the  flushed  and  furious  women,  who 
seemed  well  nigh  exliausted  by  the  violence  of 
their  contest. 

I  shall  not  stop  to  detail  the  torrent  of  words 
by  whicii  the  merchant  was  assailed  :  suffice  it, 
that  one  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  that 
the  other  twitched  him  by  the  robe — that  one 
pulled  him  one  way,  and  the  other  dragged  him 
the  other — that  one  screamed  into  his  riglitear, 
and  the  other  into  his  left. — that  they  teazed,  tor- 
mented, and  almbst  terrified  him,  ere  he  could 
produce  the  slightest  appearance  of  peace,  and 
make  himself  master  of  the  very  obscure  and, 
mystified  cause  of  contention. 

Strange  and  startling  inferences  had  escaped! 
both  fi-om  the  lady  and  her  .attendant,  as  th«' 
war  of  words  went  on  ;  and  ever  and  anon  th€ 
merchant  imagined  that  he  had  glimpses  of  a, 
mystery  which  he  would  fain  have  fathomed; 
biit  even  as  he  seemed  about  to  grasp  it,  it  eluded', 
him,  and  he  remained  fully  as  bewildered  as 
ever. 

In  vain  did  he  attempt  to  pacify  his  fair  and 
furious  wife — she  was  resolved — she  might  be  P; 
prisoner — he  might  deprive  her  of  the  light  o: 


TlIK   ROMANCE  OF  THE   HAREM. 


heaven,  and  the  free  air  which  was  the  heritage 
of  the  happy — hut  he  shouhl  not  coinpol  her  to  , 
ishare  her  dungeon  witi»  one  wiio  had  become  | 
Ihateful  to  her.  Nay  more — if  Suleiman  lursi.sted 
in  retaining  the  obnoxious  negrcas  in  iii*  service,  i 
fehe  determined  little  beauty  threatened  him  witii  ^ 
ber  enduring  and  unmeasured  wrath.  Siie 
should  be  sold — absolutely  sold  in  the  slave- 
market — -disposed  of  to  tlie  best  bidiler — banish- 
ed for  ever  from  all  chance  of  otl'eiuling  the  eyes  { 
of  her  irate  mistress  ;  and,  despite  his  better  | 
reason — for,  amid  all  the  declamation  and  vio- 
lenee  of  his  wife,  Suleiman  was  (juite  nnablc  to 
ascertain  of  what  crime  Zeinip  had  actually  been 
juiltj- — he  was  compelled  to  acquiesce  in  all 
that  was  required  of  him,  and  to  promise  that 
be  would  without  delay,  purchase  a  younger 
and  more  submissive  attendant  for  his  angry 
belpraate. 

With  some  difficulty  he,  however,  prevailed 

I  the  young  Hanoum  to  retain  the  uegress 
until  he  had  decided  on  her  successor ;  and, 
having  carried  this  point  as  an  especial  favor  to 
himself,  he  quitted  the  vault,  leaving  both  the 
women  silent  and  sulky. 

On  the  morrow  the  merchant  sauntered  to  the 
slave-market ;  his  brow  was  clouded,  and  his 
humor  dark  ;  for  he  was  too  full}-  convinced  of 
the  powers  of  elocution  possessed  by  Zeinip,  not 
to  feel  painfully  certain  that  his  prison-harem 
would  atford  a  fruitful  topic  for  verbal  display 
in  the  next  family  of  which  she  became  an 
inmate.  Suleiman  dreaded  ridicule  with  a  most 
holy  dread ;  and  he  actually  shivered  aa  he 
remembered  how  legitimate  a  subject  his  jeal- 
ousy had  supplied  to  the  discarded  negress. 
But  for  this  evil  there  was  no  remedy,  save 
retaining  the  delinquent  in  his  own  service;  and 
ere  he  reached  the  enclosure  appropriated  to  tlie 

le  of  Kurd  and  Abyssinian  slaves,  he  accord- 
ingly determined  to  effect  a  purchase  if  possible, 
ill  order  to  pacify  his  wife  ;  and  then  to  propose 
to  her  the  luxurious  alternative  of  retaining  both 
the  slaves  in  her  service.  The  more  the  mer- 
chant pondered  on  his  scheme,  the  more  feasible 
it  appeared  ;  for  he  deemed  it  oidy  probable 
that  a  storm  which  had  arisen  so  suddenly, 
might  as  suddenly  be  calmed ;  and  that  the 
morrow  miglit  see  the  di.-graced  favorite  rein- 
stated in  the  good  graces  of  her  mistress.  The 
thought  was  u  pleasant  one  ;  and  as  Suleiman 
moved  on  into  the  centre  of  the  market-court, 
he  passed  his  hand  caressingly  down  his  b'-ard  ; 
for  this  transient  tem|>e8t  had  at  hast  proved  to 
him  beyond  all  further  doubt,  that  the  extraor- 
dinary and  mysterious  annoyances  which  had 
lately  ruffied  him,  had  not  originated  in  the 
vault 

Slowly,  therefore,  and  complacently,  the  mer- 
chant stepped  into  the  midst  of  the  groiij's  who 
were  squatted  on  their  rugs  and  tnaU<  under  the 
broad  sun,  and  laughing  out  their  thoughtlefw- 
ness  as  they  waited  to  be  purchased.  Once  or 
twice  he  pause<l,  attracted  by  a  merry  face,  or 
a  bright  eye  ;  but  he  resolved  to  make  the  tour 
of  the  court  ere  he  conmiitted  himself  by  word 
or  sign  ;  and  accordingly  he  pursued  his  way 
until  he  stood  beside  a  solitary  negri-ss  ;  who, 
veiled  and  clad  more  decently  than  the  gener- 
ality of  those   by   whom  she   was  surrouuded, 


appeared  to  be  wholly  absorbed  by  her  own 
thoughts. 

Suleiman  started  as  his  eye  fell  upon  her — he 
paused  np<M»  his  path,  and  fastened  his  gaze  oa 
the  ajiparently  unconscious  negress  like  one 
fascinated — and  tlx-n  he  silently  bcckonecl  to  an 
aged,  coarse-looking  Turk,  who  was  (piietly 
smoking  his  chibouque  on  a  faded  rersian  carpet, 
a  few  paces  from  the  slave. 

"  She  is  yours  f"  said  the  merchant  inrpiiring- 
ly,  as  the  hoary  dealer  in  human  beings  dcliber 
atcly  obe3'ed  his  summons. 

"  She  is  mine,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"  1  would  sec  her,"  pursued  the  merchant 

"  Allahn  es  marladek — Allah  jireserve  you  I 
the  Etfendi  is  lord,  and  I  am  his  slave,"  said  the 
owner  of  the  negress,  as  he  pointed  to  the  yash- 
mac  which  she  wore.     "Musna,  unveil." 

Without  the  delay  of  a  moment  he  was  obeyed. 
The  woman  unwound  the  scarf  of  fair  white 
muslin  which  had  concealed  her  face,  and  stood 
before  him  with  a  smile  upon  Iier  lin!». 

"  Zeinip  1"  exclaimeil  the  excited  Suleiman; 
but  his  ejaculation  was  met  by  a  stolid  and  un- 
conscious look  from  both  the  slave  and  her  ma»- 
ter.  "  Answer  me,  sister  of  Sheitan !"  he  per- 
sisted, '*  answer  me  for  your  life,  how  came  you 
here  f"  • 

"Amanl"  groaned  out  her  owner;  but  the 
negress  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

"  Ajaib  chay — they  are  wonders  both  I"  cried 
the  furious  Suleiman,  turning  fiercely  on  the  old 
man.  "Dog!  whence  came  this  woman?  In 
what  hellish  plot  have  you  engaged,  that  you 
bring  her  here  to  laugh  at  me  to  my  beard  I 
Are  there  no  laws  in  Stamboul,  that  you  dare  to 
trifle  thus  with  one  who  trades  in  the  city,  and 
s|)reails  his  prayer-carpet  in  the  mosque  of  St 
.Sophia?  Am  1  a  giaour,  that  you  thus  defile 
the  grave  of  my  father?" 

"  Eh  vah — mercy  on  us  1  What  means  my 
lord?"  asked  the  slave  owner  in  his  turn  :  "Is 
not  the  woman  an  Abyssinian?  and  did  I  not 
buy  her  honestly  at  the  market  of  Adrianople. 
When  the  sun  rose  this  morning,  four  of  them 
occupied  my  carpet  :  the  day  i«  well  nigh  spent, 
and  Musna  alone  is  left :  the  rest  have  foniK, 
jnirchasers  among  the  Etfemlis  of  the  city.  Even 
she  herself  slumld  have  been  provided  with  a 
new  nnister  en;  this,  ha<l  I  not  demaialed  n  heavy 
sum  for  one  so  well  skilled  in  housewifery.  A 
young  gallant  ehenpened  her  only  an  hour  sine^J 
for  the  liarem  (»f  his  mother,  and  we  parted  for 
u  hundred  pitiful  piastres — Lo«jk  at  her,  EtVen- 
dim ;  if,  indeed,  you  lack  a  slave  to  tend  your 
daughters — and  surely,  my  lord,  whose  beard  is 
while,  hath  daughters — lor  you  will  scarcely 
meet  with  one  so  ekilfid  in  her  duties." 

"  llaif!  haif! — shame!  shame  I"  impatiently 
interposed  Suleiman:  "1  tell  yi>ii,  roiru.-  and 
juggler  as  you  arc,  that  the  slave  is  already 
mine,  ami  I  dare  her  to  deny  it." 

"  Aman  I  aman  ! — alas  !  alas  I"  sighed  the  old 
man  in  his  turn,  affecting  a  look  of  deei)  con- 
cern :  "  would  that  the  stricken  one  could  obey 
your  biilding." 

"  What  mean  you,  hoary  sinner?"  ihtnanded 
his  angry  listener:  "  ne  oldou — what  hus  hap- 
pened? I  am  wcory  of  this  folly,  i»ud  can  bear 
no  more." 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM, 


"  On  my  soul  be  it;"  answered  the  slave-dealer, 
\rith  a  gesture  of  deep  humility,  -wliile  the 
Degress  calmly' and  deliberately  readjusted  her 
veil :  "  Who  shall  murmur  against  the  decrees 
of  Allah,  and  the  -will  of  the  holy  prophet? 
Were  it  not  so,  the  piasters  liad  been  mine,  and 
I  had  long  ere  this  shaken  the  dust  of  the  city 
streets  from  my  feet — Musna  is  skilful  in  the 
harem,  and  ready  at  the  bath  ;  but  my  lord  bids 
her  speak,  and  she  cannot  obey  him — she  is 
Bwift  of  foot,  and  -willing  of  hand,  but  worsd 
are  denied  her — Musna  is  dumb  1 

The  merchant  looked  incredulous,  and  his  re- 
Bolution  was  taken  at  once.  "  Bosh  der — it  is 
nothing;"  he  said  hastily;  "even  thus  I  will 
purchase  her — name  your  price,  and  ifyou  be 
neither  a  Jew  nor  a  Giaour,  the  slave  is  mine." 

"The  Etlendi  will  pardon  me  that  I  intrude 
on  his  privacy;"  said  a  detested  voice  close  to 
the  elbow  of  the  exasperated  Suleiman  ;  "  I  come 
but  to  pay  over  to  Mustafa  a  few  hundreds  of 
piastres  for  an  Abyssinian  slave,  and  I  will  im- 
mediately retire.  Insliallah  !  the  purses  are  true, 
and  the  negress  is  mine,  is  it  not  so,  Mustafa  ?" 
And  llafiz  turned  to  the  old  man,  Avho  was  erf- 
gaged  in  counting  the  money,  which  he  had  put 
into  his  hand. 

"khe  is  yours;"  said  Mustafa  gravely;  and 
motLoning  to  the  negress  to  follow  her  new  mas- 
ter, he  was  about  to  address  the  shawl-merchant, 
when  he  was  interrupted  by  an  angry  exclama- 
'  tion,  as  Suleiman  flung  himself  across  the  path 
of  the  slave,  and  dared  her  to  follow  the  sou  of 
Najib. 

But  the  dumb  wdman,  apparently  unsuspici- 
ous of  his  meaning,  merely  moved  aside,  and 
made  her  way  to  the  gate  by  a  less  direct  line  ; 
while  Hafiz,  with  a  light  laugh,  affected  to  treat 
the  interference  of  Suleiman  as  a  jest,  and  said 
gaily  as  he  moved  away  ;  "  The  Ett'endi  may  be 
right  in  deeming  my  bargain  a  poor  one ;  but 
my  mother  hath  already  many  about  her  wlio 
have  the  gift  of  speech,  and  to  her  it  will  be 
little  drawback  that  I  bring  her  one  who  cannot 
add  to  the  outcry." 

The  shawl-merchant  literally  gasped  for 
breath  ;  he  dared  not  offer  any  open  violence, 
nor  detain  the  woman  by  force,  lest  he  should 
be  seized  by  the  kavashlir,*  as  a  disorderly  per- 
son, and  hurried  before  the  cadi ;  while,  mingled 
with  his  rage,  came  an  intrusive  memory  of  his 
former  mistake,  when  he  made  a  prisoner  of  the 
slave  Semsi,  who  had  doubtlessly  amused  her 
mischievous  mistress,  and  the  wliole  harem,  with 
an  embellished  version  of  his  jealous}-,  and  of 
the  hints  which  in  his  anger  he  hud  inadvertent- 
ly suffered  to  escape  him.  Under  these  circum- 
stances he  considered  it  more  expedient  to  per- 
mit the  departure  of  the  mysterious  negress  and 
her  purclwiser ;  and  to  endeavor,  tliis  time  at 
least,  to  entrap  them  ere  they  had  leisure  to  re- 
joice over  the  suceees  of  their  new  scheme, 
should  thcv  indeed  be  wound  up  in  the  web  of 
his  annoyances. 

But  tlic  felech — the  constellation  of  Suleiman 
was  adverse.  An  araba,  drawn  up  by  the  side 
of  the  street,  received  the  slave  ;  and  the  driver, 
having    bent    for   an   instant    towards    llafiz, 

*  PoUce  of  the  city. 


'  who  gave  his  directions  in  so  low  a  voice  aa  t« 
,  be  inaudible  to  the  bystanders,  drove  off  at  a 
pace  as  rapid  as  the  defective  pavement  would 
permit 

The  result  requires  little  explanation  ;  for  the 
speed  of  the  merchant  was  no  match  for  that 
of  the  carriage  ;  and  when  he  at  length  reached 
the  vault,  he  was  more  vexed  than  surprised  to 
be  half  deafened  by  the  peals  of  laughter  which 
resounded  through  the  subterranean  ^  and  to  find 
the  lady  and  her  attendant  in  the  full  flow  of 
confidence  and  hilarity. 

"  Effendim,"  commenced  the  merchant  stern, 
ly  ;  "I  have  purchased  for  you  a  new  slave,  who 
Avill  be  with  you  to-morrow  ;  and  I  have  trans- 
ferred Zeinip,  at  some  pecuniary  loss,  to  a  Cte- 
sarian  merchant,  who  has  been  "deputed  to  sup- 
ply the  wives  of  the  Fasha  of  the  Dardanelles 
with  four  attendants.  To-night,  therefore,  she 
will  remain  in  the  vault,  but  at  dawn  her  new 
muster  will  be  here  to  claim  her. 

"  Oghour  ola— heaven  speed  you  !  that  were 
a  tale  worth  telling ;"  laughed  his  wife.  "  Know 
j-ou  so  little  of  a  woman's  nature  as  to  believe 
that  she  will  nurse  her  wrath  for  so  many  hours? 
If  you  take  Zeinip  from  me  I  shall  fall  sick ;  I 
will  neither  touch  myzebec,  nor  sing  the  ballads 
to  which  you  love  to  listen.  See'then  if  you 
wish  to  part  \\s." 

The  merchant  ground  his  teeth,  and  all  his 
doubts  and  suspicions  came  back  upon  him — but 
he  was  powerless;  and  profiting  by  past  ex- 
perience he  resolved  to  affect  an  inditference 
which  he  was  far  from  feeling  ;  and  to  endeavor, 
by  appealing  unconscious  that  any  mystifica- 
tion was  intended,  to  throw  the  eonspiratora 
off  their  guard,  and  thus  take  them  in  their  own 
toils. 

Acting  upon  this  somewhat  tardy  resolution,' 
Suleiman  smoothed  his  ruffled  brow,  called  a 
smile  to  his  rigid  lips,  and  gave  a  ready  assent 
to  his  wife's  new  arrangement,  to  the  no  small 
astonishment  of  his  tormentors,  who  were  pre- 
pared for  an  obstinate  opposition.  Andsolong, 
indeed,  did  he  linger  in  the  vault,  that  the  pretty 
llanoum  began  to  fear  that  the  patience  of  llnfiz 
would  fairly  fail  him  ore  the  departure  of  her 
incomprehensible  husband  I 

At  length,  liowever,  Suleiman  departed,  quite 
unconscious  of  the  next  and  final  surprise  which 
awaited  him ;  and  when  he  was  out  of  liearing, 
llafiz  sprang  laughingly  through  the  chasm,  and 
bounded  into  the  centre  of  the  floor. 

'*  Joy  I  joy  I"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  young 
beauty  rose  from  the  sofa  to  receive  him  :  "six 
of  the  doors  are  conquered — six  of  the  locks  are 
shivered — six  of  the  keys  are  lost — and  for  the 
seventh,  my  sultana — for  the  .seventh  and  the 
last,  we  have  an  easy  remedy.  The  araba  yet 
waits  which  brought  our  hiithful  Zeinip  from  the 
slave-market,  where  she  played  her  part  like  the 
favorite  of  a  padishah* — the  caique  dances  on 
the  rijiple  at  the  pier  that  juts  into  the  harbor 
beside  '  The  Gate'  .f  the  Garden' — that  trusty 
caique  which  is  to  bear  us  across  into  Asia; 
there  all  is  jjrepared  for  our  flight ;  and  when 
once  we  have  reached  tlie  mountains,  we  may  , 
defy  all  the  jealous  husbands  inSlamboul.     Bull 


'  An  Kinperor. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE   IIAREM. 


ijroo  weep,  my  houri !  Light  of  my  eyes  and  ;  who  look  for  it,  than  appcnrfl  upon  tlio  surface, 
jihadow  of  my  existence — do  j-ou  regret  that  j  The  gold-scckors  do  not  ciirrv  uwav  in  their 
Ijrour  word  is  pledged?"  |  vessoia  tlio  water  of  the  stream",   bnt  tliey  wnah 


For  a  moment  the  weeping  Ilanoura  made  no  '  the  eund  when  they  would  find  the  ort. 

her  woman-spirit  quailed  for  an  instant ;  I      "  Yaviish,    yavasii — softly,    nofllv  ;"    said  the 
ut  her  resolution  was  taken  ;  and,  placing  her    satrap :   "  we  care  not  for  any  thing  further  than 


Find  in  that  of  her  lover,  she  turned  on  him 
lile,  in  whose  light  her  tears  were  forgotten. 
Zeinip,  laeanwhile,  was  busying  lio/self  among 


the  fable  it^elf- 
one  to  sleep. 
•  hi; 


-the  moral  is  but  beng" — it  sets 

*  Your  highness  drinks  of  the  mirage,  like 
pe  wardrobe  of  her  mistress^  when  she  brought '  one  who  wanders  in  the  desert;"  interpiised  K»- 
|i  golden  bracelet,  a  eaehemire  shawl,  and  a  box  j  tinka  ;  "the  tale  that  1  have  told  is  no  fable  ; 
j)f  essence  ;  the  prayer-cloth  in  which  Ilatizhad    and  the  lovers  yet  live." 

pnaet^d  the  kneelingslave — the  head-dress  that  "  IVk  ahi — it  is  well  done  ;"  said  the  Pasha 
ae  had  worn  as  the  Pasha's  wife,  and  the  dark  I  yawning:  "  As  for  the  merchant,  he  was  a  do- 
jeridjhe  in  which  she  had  herself  figured  in  the  j  mous— a  hog;  and  they  spiced  his  dolrnas  for 
lave-market — and  having  laid  them  separately  j  him  after  a  wise  fashion  ;  but  you  have  mensur- 
ipon  the  table,  she  disturbed  the  tete-;\-tetc  of  j  ed  your  tale  with  a  mitkal.f  and  have  filled  it 
ne  lovers,  to  remind  them  that  her  portion  of  to  overllowitig,  for  the  night  has  grown  on  us 
he  comedy  was  concluded.  since  you  began   it.     Had   it    not   been   a  good 

E  "Mashailah!  our  good  Zeinip  hath  more  pru- ,  story,  you  would  have  been  cramming  our 
lenee  than  we  can  boast,  my  sultana;"  exclaim-  mouths  with  hashish  ;}:  but  it  has  truly  been  as 
d  Hafiz;  "  we  waste  moments  that  we  can  ill    light  as  the  air-bng  of  a  camel, g  and  our  eyelids 


pare — here  are  six  of  our  successful  engines — 
>nd  here" — and  as  he  spoke  he  took  from  amid 
he  folds  of  his  girdle  seven  keys,  six  of  which 


are  scarcely  yet  weigiied  down 

It  \yas,  as  the  Satrap  had  remarked,  wearing 
deep  into  the  night ;  and  when  sweetmeats  ana 
le  broke  deliberately  one  after  the  other,  and  j  eoJiee  had  agajn  been  been  served,  he  descended 
dded  to  the  separate  heaps — one  only  remained  f'om  the  sofa,  resumed  his  papooshes,  and  re- 
ntire,  and  that  he  laid  alone  and  apart,  turned  to  the  salemliek,  leaving  the  two  frienda 

"Sun  of  my  sky!"  he  murmured,  as  the  muf- 1  once  more  together, 
led  Hanoum  prepared  to  follow  him  through  !    .  "  1  tcannot  sleep,  khatoun  ;"  said  the  Circaa- 
be  subterranean  ;  "Tchabouk,  tchabouk,  gide-  j  sian :  "  your  tale,  merry  as  it  was.  has  troubled 
m — quick,  quick,  let  us  go — our  sands  are  gold  |  »ie.     Have  we  not  been  laughing  at  the  Pasha 
ntil  we  have  left  Stamloul  behind   us— tliey  |  to  his  beard  1" 

mst  not  run  to  waste  ;  and  back,  janum — see,  I  "  li's  highness  would  not  listen  to  the  moral, 
ly  soul!  he  who  was  your  husband  at  least  jnnum  ;"  i'«^plied  the  laugiiing  Greek ;  "  his  wit, 
wes  me  one  debt  of  gratitude — for  I  have  left  I  I'ke  the  piety  of  a  santon,  sonielimos  sleeps,  and 
im  a  goodly  key  with  which  to  secure  the  1'^  cares  not  to  have  it  awakened.  He  will 
oor  of  his  pretty  prison-cage,  when  his  bird  is  dream  pleasant  dreams  on  his  sofa  to-night — 
own!"  ^"'"e  not  for  him,  but  rather  let  up  pass  into  the 

garden,  and  breathe  the  sweet  air  of  the  lime- 
blossoms;  for  my  brain  tiirobs  with  fatigue, 
and  the  soft  odors  of  the  tlowers  will  calm  iu 
pulses." 

A  fond  smile  was  the  only  answer,  as  the 
Circassian  thrust  her  small  feet  intolur  embroi- 
dered slippers,  and  led  the  way  to  the  palace- 
terrace.  Thence  they  descended,  by  a  flight  of 
marble  8tei>s,  into  the  parterre ;  aiid  having 
lingered  awhile  beside  the  basin,  to  see  the 
scales  of  the  gold  fish  with  which  it  was  filled 
glitter  in  the  moonlight,  they  slowly  entered  tl»« 
lime-avenue. 

The  night  wind  was  making  gentle  minstrelsy 

with  the  leaves,  and  the  flowers  were  jiouiing 

themselves  out  in  perfume,  while  the  full  of  the 

I  many  fountains  came  soothingly  to  the  ear,  and 

And  what  becam«of  the  kiupek— the  dog  of   completed  the  luxury  of  the  hour. 

iisbandr    demanded  the   lauKhing  Carimfil  '      ","''*  '"  "'O'"*-'"**  "ke  these,"  said  Kalinka, 

as  the  two  ladles  flung  themselves  down  uuioiig 
the  cushions  which  a  slave  who  followed  them 
heaped  above  a  I'ersian  carpet,  under  u  sUil«  v 
tulip-tree;  "moments  of  external  calm,  win. 
the  moonlight  seems  to  .slumber  on  the  beaulifu. 
bosom  of  the  earth,  that  the  n.-ihes  of  the  past 
'sweep  in  clouds  over  the  soul.     Curimfil,  does 


PART  III. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

By  the  soul  of  the  Prophet  'tis  a  good  story !" 
xelairaed  Saifula  Pasha  ;  "  I  know  not  when  I 
ave  heard  a  better !  But  was  not  Suleiman 
le  shawl-merchant  an  ass,  and  the  father  of 
5ses,  to  let  his  beard  be  plucked  out,  handful 
y  handful,  by  a  pair  of  plotting  women,  and  a 
"ripling?  Allah  buyuk  der— Allah  is  great; 
e  could  have  had  no  more  wit  than  a  drome- 
ary  " 


laughing  Carimfil 
ianoum:  "  Diil  he  keep  his  next  harem  above 
le  earth,  or  did  he  try  the  same  experiment  a 
scond  time  ?" 

"  History  makes  no  further  mention  of  him  ;" 
ipliod  the  young  fJreek,  with  assumed  gravity. 
What  should  it  tell  of  a  man  who  had  jilaced 
is  reliance  on  seven  morsels  of  metal,  when  he 
ight  have  been  safer  by  far  hail  he  trusted  to 
ppearances  from  the  first,  and  not  taken  to  his 
ouse  the  promised  wife  of  another?  Tliere  is 
better  moral  in  ray  story,  kadeun  ;"  she  eon- 
'nued,  turning  towards  the  Circassian,  "  to  those 


•  A  narcotic.         t  Turki«h  mcuuro.        J  A  nircolie. 

^  When  these  anim&lii  ora  dutrsMFd  on  their  }>«Ma;t 
through  the  donert,  lh«)r  blow  from  ihoir  inouthi  a  li(;ht 
blood-iiDtcd  ikm  which  prescxYM  Ibom  from  lh»  Aouiog 
Ukod. 


THE  RO^IANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


not  yoTir  spirit  fall  back  upon  the  days  when, 
loved  and  loving,  as  woman  loves  and  is  loved 
but  once,  your  arm  wi'eathed  in  that  of  Anas- 
tatius,  you  wandered,  surrounded  by  an  atmo- 
sphei-e  of  dcligiit,  among  the  scented  groves  and 
beside  the  sparkling  streams  of  your  delicious 
land?  When  the  words  of  your  chosen  one  rose 
on  the  air  like  perfume  ;  and  the  light  of  his 
eyes  outslione  the  watcliing  moon  !  Are  the  ties 
■which  bind  you  to  the  Moslem  so  holy  as  those 
■which  linked  you  to  your  first  love?  The  chains 
may  be  golden,  but  still  they  are  mere  fetters ; 
and  the  free  spirit  sickens  beneath  constraint." 

"  Of  what  avail,  sister  of  my  soul,  are  such 
inquiries?"  asked  the  Circassian  in  reply;  "kis- 
met— it  is  my  fate !  You  have  but  to  look  on 
my  dim  eye  and  my  faded  cheek,  and  to  remem- 
ber what  I  once  was,  to  feel  how  little  all  this 
splendor  has  touched  my  heart,  though  I  have 
been  compelled  to  bow  before  the  power  of  my 
constellation.  Could  I  purchase  with  a  year  of 
this  empty  and  profitless  profusion  one  hour 
such  at  those  to  which  you  have  just  alluded, 
how  gladly  would  I  crush  all  my  future  life  into 
a  few  short  days,  and  live  it  out  at  once  in 
happiness  1" 

"Natone — there  it  is !"  retorted  the  young 
Greek ;  "  your  heart  plays  the  rebel,  and  yet 
youatfect  to  feel  horror  at  the  thought  of  eman- 
cipating yourself  from  your  present  thrall*  Think 
you,  that  once  more  free,  I  would  waste  an  hour 
m  the  harem  of  the  Moslem,  were  it  not  from 
the  conviction  that  the  day  is  not  far  distant, 
■when — " 

"  Nay,  nay,  no  more  of  this  to-night ;"  mur- 
mured the  Ilanoum,  as  she  turned  aside  her 
head,  and  her  tears  glittered  in  the  moonlight ; 
"  my  dreams  are  already  evil,  and  yet  I  sorrow 
to  awaken.  The  deep  and  hopeless  grief  to 
whicli  I  wiis  a  prey  ere  your  arrival  has  been 
exchanged  for  an  anguish  far  more  acute,  and 
yet  to  which  I  cling  as  tliough  it  were  a  joy." 

Katinka  smiled,  and  for  a  time  there  Avas 
silence,  while  tlie  Circassian  was  left  to  her  own 
thouglits,  from  which  she  started  suddenlj-,  and 
turning  towards  lier  companion,  asked  anxious- 
ly ;  "  How  will  you  contrive  to  inform  him  that 
■we  are  liere  ?" 

"  Am  I  not  a  Greek  ?"'  demanded  Katinka ; 
"  sorrow  has  taught  me  subtlety.  Ere  this  he 
must  be  on  his  way." 

A  gush  of  tears  from  the  beautiful  Circassian 
replied  to  the  intimation,  as  she  threw  lierself 
upon  the  bosom  of  her  friend,  and  wept  aloud. 

"  Why,  this  is  idle,  khatoun  1"  said  the  Greek, 
soothingly;  "  your  fate  is  in  your  own  'hands  ; 
you  have  but  to  bid  me  drive  him  hence,  and  he 
■will  obey  you,  and  carry  his  broken  heart  to  his 
own  land. 

"  He  has  perchance  forgotten  me" — sobbed 
out  the  fair  Carimfil. 

"  Do  tlie  flowers  forget  the  sun,  or  the  lake 
the  moonlight  ?  Come  they  not  at  the  appointed 
hour?  V/hercforQ  then  should  j'ou,  who  are 
brighter  than  the  flowers,  and  fairer  than  the 
mooidight,  doubt  that  your  lover  will  fly  to 
your  feet  wlien  he  is  summoned  tliere  ?" 

The  argument  was  unanswerable  ;  for  there  is 
no  consolation  so  satisfactory  to  a  pretty  woman 
OS  that  which  is  deduced  from  her  own  beauty ; 


and  although  in  the  present  instance,  the  fair 
mourner  asked  no  further  assurance  of  her  lov- 
er's probable  advent,  she  began  to  consider  it  as 
less  doubtful  than  it  had  appeared  a  moment 
back ;  and  it  was  consequently  with  a  bright 
smile  that  she  listened  to  a  thousand  trifling, 
but,  to  her,  interesting  details,  which  her  com- 
panion poured  into  her  willing  ear  as  the  time 
went  by  unheeded.  The  attendant  daves,  who 
occupied  a  mat  a  short  distance  from  their 
mistresses,  had  long  fallen  asleep,  lulled  by  the 
plashing  waters  and  the  sighing  wind ;  but  the 
dreams  of  the  two  friends  were  waking  dreams, 
rendered  the  more  delightful  from  a  sense  of 
their  reality. 

Katinka  was  the  first  to  remark  tliat  the  sha- 
dows were  growing  shorter  and  fainter,  and  the 
night  almost  spent. 

''We  are  playing  truant  strangely  from  our 
gilded  cage  ;'  she  said,  as  she  pressed  her  lips  to 
the  brow  of  her  companoin  ;  "  and  may  chance 
to  prove  our  imprudence  to-morrow  by  our  suf- 
fering— and  lest  we  should  have  already  incur- 
red this  penalty,  I  will,  ere  we  leave  the  gar- 
den, sing  to  you  a  song  which  you  must  well 
remember,  for  it  was  a  tribute  to  your  own 
bright  eyes,  in  one  of  the  laughing  hours  when 
our  visions  were  only  of  joy.  You  cannot  have 
forgotten  it — for  I,  who  did  but  smile  because 
you  were  happy,  can  yet  see  the  minstrel,  seated 
at  your  feet,  beneath  a  cedar-tree,  his  mandoliu 
in  his  hand,  and  his  gaze  riveted  on  the  brow 

of  his  beloved.     Listen "  and  she  swept  the 

strings  of  her  zebec,  and  sung  her  wild  ballad  to 
a  melody  which  is  sometimes  the  accompani- 
ment of  the  graceful  Romaika. 

SONG  OF  THE  GREEK  LOVER. 

I've  heard  of  isles  beyond  the  sea, 

"Where  summer  neither  fails  nor  fades, 
■Where  leaves  are  ever  on  the  tree, 

Wliere  verdure  ever  clothe^  the  glades— 
I've  heard  of  birds  so  gay  and  bright. 

That  as  they  hover  round  the  lioAvers 
Whose  blossoms  woo  the  noonday  light. 

They  look  like  fair  and  flying  flowers. 

I've  heard  of  coral  caves,  beneath 

The  heaving  bosom  of  the  ocean  ; 
"Where  many  a  sea-nymph  twines  her  wreath, 
And  warbles  out  with  tuneful  breath, 

Iler  young  and  beautiful  emotion — 
I've  heard  ot  iiiouniains  bleak  and  bare, 

Shaming  with  barrenness  the  vision, 
Which  yet  embosom'd  gems  as  rare 

As  ever  shone  in  halls  Elysian. 

I've  heard  of  fountain  goddesses, 

"With  drooping  head  and  flowing  curls, 
Who.  in  their  liquid  boddices, 

Whene'er  they  wept,  shed  tears  of  pearla— 
I've  heard  of  Krial  spirits,  flitting 

In  beauty  through  the  summer  beam; 
I've  heard  of  river  nymphs,  calm  sitting 

Beside  some  leaf-embower'd  stream. 

In  short,  I've  heard  of  many  things. 
All  beautiful,  and  bright,  and  free; 

And  'mid  these  fond  imaginings, 
Lady,  my  thoughts  have  flown  to  thee  1 

I  take  the  sunshine  of  the  isles, 

Those  homes  of  everlasting  spring  ; 
And  as  1  coin  them  into  smiles. 

Upon  thy  brow  those  smiles  I  fling. 
And  the  bright  birds  !     1  lend  their  grace, 

Their  buoyancy,  and  happy  voices. 
To  thy  glad  tones,  and  that  fair  face. 

Which  every  lieart  and  eye  rejoices ', 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  TUE  IIAIIOL 


49 


But  when  I  come  ti  nymphs  and  fayt, 

To  goddesses,  and  sprites  celestial, 
I  drop  all  meiapliori.:  lays. 

And  ihank  the  I'.ites  that  thou'rt  tenettrial  I 
For  in  thy  young  and  sparkling  beauty 

Thou  axt  to  me  more  lair  hj  far, 
Than  it"l  tendered  mere  lip  duty, 

To  thee  in  semblance  of  a  star. 

i'es.  rather  would  I  wreathe  around  thee 
A  garlaid  of  each  tlower  that  blows, 

Than  have  to  lell  that  i  had  found  thee 
A  sprite,  soft  sleeping  in  a  rose — 

And  'twere  far  pleasanter  with  thee 
O'er  gem-iined  rocks  to  climb  and  climber. 

Than  tiiine  enchanted  form  to  see 

Enclosed  within  a  wall  of  amber. 

Thus  then,  though  idly  I  may  dream, 

And  liken  thee  to  things  celestial  ; 
I  say  acain— I  love  thy  beam 

The  better  that  it  is  terrestrial  I 

"  Ah!  well  indeed  do  I  remember  it!"  ex- 
aimed  Carimfil  llauoimi,  elasping  her  hands 
assionately ;  but  it  was  now  the  turn  of  the 
oung  Greek  to  preacli  prudence,  and  to  urge 
le  necessity  of  returning  to  the  house. 

"  Sleepless  e\-es  will  be  dim  ;"  she  said,  smil- 
igly;  "and  late  vigils  make  a  dull  harem; 
lere  are  j-et  some  liours  to  the  dawn :  let  us 
I,  and  to  rest  while  we  may,  kadeun  ;  it  is  now 
H)  late  alike  for  smiles  or  tears." 

In  half  an  hour  the  harem  of  Saifula  Pasha 
as  buried  in  sleep. 


CIIAI^TER  XX. 

Meanwhile,  a  more  active  scene  was  trans- 
iting elsewhere.  A  Tatar,  who  had  been  pro- 
isely  recompensed,  was  despatched  to  Circassia, 
»  the  dwelling  of  the  young  merchant,  Anasta- 
us  Maniolopolo,  with  a  scroll  of  parchment,  in- 
ribed  with  delicate  Greek  characters.  The 
issive  was  received  with  a  doliglit  which  won 
>lden  acknowledgments  of  hi*  fidelity  from  the 
ver;  who  asked  not  by  whom  it  iiad  been  in- 
■uated  to  him,  but  retained  his  services  as  his 
guide  on  his  journey  to  the  province  of  .">ai- 
ila  I'asha.  A  .'iliort  time  sutrKid  for  the  ar- 
ngement  of  liis  alfairs,  wliicli  h"  placed  undt-r 
le  superintend'-nce  of  a  Greek  friend:  and  liulf 
ild  with  the  joy  of  fimling  his  sister  still  in  iif.-, 
hen  he  had  so  long  wepl  her  as  dead ;  and  of 
arning  the  imdimini.--hed  affection  of  the  beau- 
ful  girl  to  whom  he  had  given  lus  heart ;  he 
ide  adieu  to  Circassia,  accomparried  by  Safii, 
8  Tatar  guide,  without  having  fram.-d  one 
asible  plan  fur  the  rif;ulation  of  hi-*  future  [>ro- 
ledings;  and  contented,  in  the  first  ru^h  of  iiis 
ilight,  to  breathe  the  same  air  as  bis  loved 
les,  and  to  trust  to  liis  happy  fate  for  tlie 
ture. 

Ana-statius  Maniolopolo  was,  perhaps,  in  tlu' 
ost  enviable  frame  of  mind,  as  he  galloped  his 
jet  steed  among  the  mountains,  to  wiiich  man 
tn  attain  in  this  world  :  carelcgs  of  the  jiust, 
ijoying  the  present,  and  without  a  fear  for  the 
ture!  Had  not  the  dead  come  to  life,  and  the 
at  one  been  found  ?  Why  then  should  he 
read  what  was  to  follow  ?  She  would  fly  with 
LDi — she  would  leave  her  gilded  prison,  and 
4 


once  more  live  over  again  in  his  company  thoM 
glorious  hours  which  the  horrors  of  war  liad 
terminated  so  abruptly. 

Such  were  his  thoughts,  as,  followed  by  Safii 
the  Tatar,  he  reached  on  tlie  second  day  of  hi« 
journey  a  lovely  valley,  lying  like  a  huge  emer- 
ald at  the  mountain-foot,  and  traverse.!  hy  a  fair 
stream,  which,  fed  by  a  spring  in  the  "higher 
lands,  and  falling  in  a  natural  cascade  down  the 
face  of  the  rock,  formed  in  the  bottom  a  lovely 
river  flowing  above  party-colored  nebl)le8  and 
sparkling  sand,  and  over-arched  at  intervals  by 
groups  of  forest  trees,  among  which  the  stately 
and  unibrtigeous  maple  and  the  delicate  weep- 
ing birch  were  conspicuous ;  while  tufts  of  mi- 
mosa and  henna  bushes,  with  their  minute  blos- 
soms, as  white  and  as  sweet  as  the  flowers  of 
the  jasmine,  made  the  air  l)almy  with  their  fra- 
grance. Storks  and  cranes  flew  over  their 
heads,  and  numbers  of  pheasants  rested  among 
the  branches  of  the  tall  trees,  which  were  also 
vocal  with  singing  birds.  The  wild  vine  flung 
its  leafy  garlands  from  stem  to  stem,  and  the 
grapes  were  hanging  from  it  in  blushing  clusters, 
wooing  the  hand  of  the  travellers.  Numbers  of 
the  Jerhuah  or  leaping  mice,*  common  in  the 
country,  were  sporting  on  the  banks  of  the 
river;  and  the  turf  beneath  the  trees  was  en- 
amelled with  flowers. 

It  was  a  scene  that  Benuzzeer,  the  Persian 
Claude,  would  have  loved  to  paint ;  and  here 
the  travellers  sprang  from  their  saddles,  in  order 
to  enjoy  tlieir  noontide  meal  upon  the  grass; 
and  while  Safii  was  kindling  a  fire,  and  prepar- 
ing their  repast,  the  lover  walked  apart  on  the 
margin  of  the  stream,  and  lost  himself  in  visions 
of  delight,  such  as  could  only  be  realized  in  IV 
ristan. 

The  sun,  riding  in  mid  course,  fell  1)rilliantly 
on  every  surrounding  object,  and  rendered  the 
freshness  of  the  running  water,  and  the  coolness 
of  tlie  long  grass  beneath  the  trees,  <loubly  re- 
freshing; and  it  was  not  until  he  had  been  twice 
summoned  by  his  hungry  companion,  that  Man- 
iolo]iolo  abandoned  his  tielicious  revery,  to  mio- 
ister  to  the  gros*r  necessities  of  existence. 

And  even  then,  when  the  repast  was  spread 
oiit  before  him,  tiie  young  Greek  could  scarcely 
[  withdraw  his  eyes  from  the  glorious  landscape  ; 
I  his  heart  overflowed  with  happiness,  and  Na- 
ture seemed  to  sympathize  in  liis  joy  ;  while  all 
I  around  was  so  thoroughly  in  unison  with  the 
;  iiarmony  and  elasticity  ofhis  own  feelings,  that 
i  Maniolopolo  did  but  scant  justice  to  the  meal,  to 
j  w  hich  his  companion  was  paying  homage  as 
;  devout  as  ev.r  (Jhebre  lavished  ujwn  the  suercd 
flame  of  his  faith. 

It  was  almost  with  regret  that  the  young 
Greek  once  more  ro.se  from  his  fair  and  frngniMt 
resting-place,  and  prepared  to  resunie  liis 
journey.  Hut  the  remeiuhnmce  of  the  beiiuiiful 
Carimfil  pien^ed  throngli  the  mists  of  memory 
like  a  bright  star;  and  as   ho  vaulted  into   hiS 


•  The  Jerhuah  (otherwiie  Gerboa)  or  lespinK  monta  et 
CircaMia,  ii  aluo  a  natire  of  Northern  Africa.  Nubia,  and 
Keypt  ;  It  is  about  the  lize  of  a  squirrel,  letrgrd  like* 
kangaroo,  and  has  long  eart ;  it  hax  a  hubit  of  laying  ita 
tail  flat  upon  it«  back,  and  leaping  to  a  eooiJerabU 
height  or  diitanoa  ;  from  which  peculiarity  it  dcrivo*  ita 
naia*. 


60 


THE  R0ilA2>-CE  OF  THE  mVEEM. 


saddle,  and  struck  the  sharp  spur  into  the  flank 
of  his  flt-et-footed  Arab,  tlie  name  of  his  young 
lore  was  ou  his  lips,  and  hope  again  buoyant 
in  his  heart 

"  My  lord  loves  this  fair  scene  ;"  said  Safil,  as, 
after  a  brief  space,  the  young  lover  once  more 
checked  his  gallant  horse,  and  gazed  around 
him  ;  "  and  in  truth  it  looks  as  though  Joy  had 
built  her  nest  among  its  branches,  and  Love 
rocked  her  first-born  on  the  river-blossoms :  and 
yet,  I  have  heard  a  darker  tale  told  of  as  smil- 
ing a  valley  as  this:  a  tale  in  which  the  muddy 
toiTcnt  of 'misery  overflowed  the  bright  plain 
of  youth,  and  the  rude  hand  of  violence  clasped 
the  mantle  of  helplessness  : — but,  after  all,  what 
are  these  fables  of  past  times?  are  they  not 
bosh — nothing." 

"  Jv'ay,  not  so,  Safii ;"  replied  Maniolopolo ; 
"  there  is  much  to  be  learnt  from  the  legends  of 
the  massaldjhis,  if  we  only  read  them  aright. 
Tell  me  this  tale  as  we  ascend  the  mountain  ;  it 
will  beguile  the  waj'." 

The  Tatar  smiled;  and  having  flung  the 
bridle  on  the  neck  of  his  steed,  at  once  complied, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  feels  that  he  is  con- 
ferring a  benefit 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


THE   TATARS    TALK. 


In  the  famous  city  of  Schamachie,  the  capital 
of  the  province  of  Schirwan  in  Persia,  lived  a 
merchant  named  Ali,  who,  from  his  immense 
wealth,  was  considered  as  a  second  Karoon.* 
He  traded  with  the  Franks  in  raw  and  wrought 
silks,  and  the  wove  cottons  of  the  West;  with 
the  Muscovite  dealers  in  furs,  leathers,  and 
metals ;  with  the  Tatars  in  horses ;  and  with 
the  JeAvs — may  their  father's  graves  be  defiled  ! 
— in  gold  and  silver,  brocades  and  weapons, 
woollen  goods  and  tapestry:  in  short,  there  was 
no  caravan  passed  in  or  out  of  the  city  in  which 
the  merchant  Ali  had  not  a  large  venture  ;  and 
BO  favored  was  he  by  the  Prophet  that  he 
seemed  to  live  only  to  prove  the  fallacy  of  the 
proverb,  which  says  that,  for  every  pearl  of 
price  that  sees  the  sun,  the  diver  must  descend 
a  score  'of  times  to  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that,  as  often  as  he  dipped  his  right 
hand  into  the  bowl  of  fortune,  he  drew  up  the 
gem  from  the  depth. 

Moreover,  the  merchant  had  a  son — a  youth 
of  pride  and  promise ;  and  of  a  disposition  so 
gentle  that  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  been 
nursed  by  the  Peris,  and  fed  with  the  honey- 
dew  that  the  early  bee  rifles  from  the  rose. 
Even  as  the  azure  veil  of  the  firmament  hides 
the  ten  thousand  houris  who  live  amid  the  sun- 
beams, so  did  his  modesty  conceal  from  all,  save 
a  chosen  few,  the  divine  perfections  of  his  na- 
ture. 

Mohammed,  for  that  was  his  name,  was  one 
day  walking  in  the  pleasant  and  fertile  environs 
of  the  cit}-,  musing  over  the  ruined  wall  of  the 
southern  quarter  which  was  so  demolished  by 

•  Th«  Croisut  of  the  £ut. 


Shah  Abbas,  and  sighing  in  the  gentleness  of 
his  spirit  at  the  cruel  eftects  of  violence,  when 
the  slowly  sinking  sun,  pillowing  its  golden 
brow  on  its  cushion  of  crimson  and  purple, 
warned  him  to  return  to  the  house  of  his  father 
in  time  for  the  evening  m^al. 

As  he  passed  slowly  along  one  of  the  narrow- 
est and  least  frequented  streets  of  the  city,  his 
ear  was  suddenly  outraged  by  the  voice  of  an- 
guish ;  and  advancing  anxiously  in  the  quarter 
whence  it  came,  he  saw  an  old  man  of  stern 
aspect,  who,  with  ferocious  gestures,  was  urging 
on  the  wall's  guard  to  tear  a  young  and  beautiful 
female,  whose  veil  had  escaped  in  the  struggle, 
from  the  arms  of  her  aged  parent,  while  sha 
rent  the  vault  of  heaven  with  cries  and  suppU- 
cations. 

Mahommed  sprang  forward  like  the  light- 
hoofed  deer  before  the  tread  of  the  hunter,  and 
at  once  inquired  the  cause  of  this  iron-hearted 
violence  ;  as  the  maiden  turned  aside  her  grace- 
ful head  with  a  blush  which  threw  a  new  sun- 
light over  her  beauty.  The  story  was  soon 
told.  The  father  of  the  young  houri  was  the 
debtor  of  the  hoary  sinner  who  stood  by,  en- 
forcing this  deed  of  darkness:  and  his  child  was. 
about  to  be  torn  from  him,  and  sold  into  slavery, 
in  default  of  other  payment. 

The  voice  of  sorrow  was  soon  turned  into' that 
of  joy,  and  the  happy  father  laid  the  forehead 
of  thanksgiving  in  the  dust  of  gratitude,  as  Mo- 
hammed, out  of  the  abundance  of  his  generosity, 
paid  down  the  required  sum,  and  freed  the 
beautiful  Zohara*  from  the  grasp  of  her  captor. 
But,  alas!  the  son  of  Hali  had  but  transferred 
the  chain  of  slavery  to  his  own  heart ;  and  when,, 
in  obedience  to  the  old  man's  prayer,  he  passed 
the  threshold  of  the  father  of  Zohara,  and  saw 
her  mother  weeping  at  his  knees,  while  the 
maiden  herself  stood  by  in  her  young  loveliness, 
partially  shrouding  her  face  in  the  folds  of  her 
robe,  he  felt  that  the  sun  and  moon  of  his  earth- 
ly sky  would  hereafter  be  the  eyes  of  the  fair 
creature  whom  he  had  rescued.  It  was  true 
that  at  present  the  mists  of  sorrow  obscured  the' 
sunbeams  of  beauty,  but  Zohara  was  like  tlie' 
water-lily  which  is  ever  the  loveliest  in  it« 
tears:  and  as  the  young  man  quitted  tiie  roof 
to  which  he  had  now  restored  happiness,  he' 
felt  that  an  arrow  was  in  his  heart,  whieli  he, 
sought  not  to  pluck  sut. 

Mohammed  had  studied  like  a  moullah  in  tht' 
colleges  for  which  Schamachie  has  so  long  beei 
famous,  and  the  boasted  sciences  of  the  Franks 
were  no  more  than  atoms  in  the  beams  of  hii 
knowledge ;  but  from  this  time  forth  he  sheath 
ed  the  briglit  spear  of  study  in  the  breast  of  im' 
dolence,  and  wandered  during  whole  days  besidt, 
the  streams  of  the  valley,  or  beneath  the  sha 
dows  of  the  forest-boughs,  weaving  sweet  fancici 
of  which  the  fair  Zohara  was  ever  the  brilliaiif 
subject 

Such  a  passion  as  this  could  end  only  in  mar 
riage:  and  it  was  not  long  ere  Mohammed,  tli 
son  of  the  wealthy  Hali,  asked  for  his  bride  th' 
daughter  of  the  pennyless  Tinisah,  whose  world 
ly  possessions  would  not  have  loaded  the  weak' 
est-backed  camel  in  the  city.     It  is  not  difficul 


Morning  SUr. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


61 


to  imagine  how  be  was  nnswored  ;  and  while 
the  mother  of  the  young  nmii  was  piopariiig  to 
receive  the  wife  of  lier  son,  lu-  piijisoil  wliolo 
hours  beside  her,  gazing  on  hor  frisii  ohook. 
where  nature  had  crushed  its  roses  to  paint  tiic 
fairest  skin  that  ever  Hushed  at  praise  ;  and 
into  her  deep  eyes,  where  tiio  liffht  seemed  to 
slumber,  save  when  his  smile  ealled  it  forth  in 
living  fire.  Graceful  was  she  as  the  safsaf.  and 
fawn-like  aa  the  light-footed  maidens  of  Singol  ; 
Iwhile  her  voice  was  low  and  sweet  as  the  night- 
rwind  among  the  tombs  of  the  early  dead. 

R^chid  Aga  was  the    friend  of   Mohammed  ; 

[they  clung  together  like  double  pomegranates  ; 

land,  in   the  exuberance  of  his  joy,  the  unwar}' 

[young  man   poured  into  the  ear"  of  his  chosen 

lassociate  the  tale  of  his  approaching  happiness. 

JRechid  listened,   and  a  wild  wish  grew  in  his 

>ul,  and  poisoned  it  like  the  breath  of  the  upas. 

he  painted  wings  of  vanity  were  folded  about 

is  heart ;  and.  as  he  curie  J  his  dark  and  glossy 

eard  over  his  fingers,  he  began  to  ask  himself 

herefore  the  felecli  of  Mohammed  had  shed  a 

ight  upon  his  path  which  had  been  denied  to 

im?     If  the  maiden  was  so  fair  as  the  ey<s  of 

friend  had  made  her,  she  must  be  a  banished 

leri,  condemned  to  visit   earth   for  a  time,  and 

o  be   won   by  a  mortal — Why  then  should  he 

lot  be  that  favored  one  ?     And  as  Eblis  thus 

irompted  him,  vague  thoughts  and  hopes  grew 

nto  shape   and   tangibility  within    his   bosom  ; 

;nd  he  resolved   to   learn  all  that  the  trusting 

riendship   of   ^lohammed   might   lead   him  to 

eveal;  seizing,    therefore,    with    the    hand    of 

port,    the    skirts   of  confidence,    he    smilingly 

fiked  a  thousand  questions,  to  which  his  friend 

eplied  with  unsuspicious  frankness ;  and  thus 

he  poverty  of  Tiinsah,  and  the  obscurity  of  his 

osition  became  l^iown  to  him,    as   well  as  the 

eauty  of  Zohara,  and  the  storj'  of  her  rescue. 

Rechid   Aga  left  the  presence  of  his   friend 

rith    treachery   in    his  heart     His  fancy    had 

een  taken  captive  by  the  glowing  picture  of 

[lis  peerless  beauty  so  soon  to   be   a  bride,  and 

e  resolved  that  should  she  be  but  half  as  love- 

,  lis  she   had   been    painted  to  him,  she  should 

■    liis,  if  craft  or  violence  could  win  her. 

As  the   steel-hearted  leopard  springs  on'  the 

•embling  chamois,   so  rusli.-d  the   treacherous 

ga  on  his  prey  I     The  house  of  the  slumbering 

imsah  was   fired   at  miilnight ;  and  the  shriek- 

ig  Zohara  borne  through  the  flames,  only  to  be 

laced  on  a  swift  horse,  encircled  by  the  arm  of 

8  rider,  and  panting  with  affright 

As  day  dawned   the   horseman   reined  up  his 

ipid  steep,   and  springing   to  the  earth,  drew 

;ter  him  his  pale  and  sinking  burden. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning;    ami    their  halt 

as  in  a  valley  where  happy  hearts,  blessed  in 

ich  other,  might  have  been  content  to  dwelf  for 

?^er.     Much    time  was   spent  in    restoring  the 

|aiden  to  consciousness,  for  her  swoon  waa  long 

id  heavy;  and  as  Uechiil  Aga  hung  over  her, 

id  bathed  her  pale  brow  with  the  pure   water 

■  a  mountain  stream,  and  crushed  in  her  small 

inds  the  aiomatic  blossoms  of  the  henna-plant, 

J  felt  that  the  words  of  Mohammed   harl  been 

eak  in  painting  her  beauty.     He  had  laid  her 

jwn  beneath  the   tall  boughs  of  a  maple  tree, 

/  whose   roots  the   fresh   moss  grew  rankly, 


clnstored  with  deep-blue  violets; ;  and  when  the 
fair  Zohara  at  length  opened  her  eyes,  iind  be- 
held besi.le  her  the  friend  of  her  afhaneed  hus- 
band, she  clasped  her  hands  in  n  transport  of 
joy  and  gratitude  ;  for  she  guessed  not  that  he 
had  stain.d  the  skirts  of  his  honor  with  the  de- 
filements of  treachery,  but  at  once  belli- ve.l  that 
he  had  preserved  her  from  the  flames  in  friend- 
ship foi'  Mohammed. 

As  the  Aga  caught  her  meaning,  he  eagerly 
encouraged  the  delusion;  and,  spreading  bi;fore 
her  some  dried  fruits,  with  which  he  hud  come 
provided,  he  urged  her  to  jmrlake  of  them  ere 
they  pursued  their  way  back  to  the  city.  The 
gentle  Zohara,  grateful  for  his  care,  smilingly 
obeyed ;  and,  as  her  false-hearted  compnnion 
hastened  to  the  stream  to  jirocure  for  her  a 
draught  of  its  refreshing  water,  she  looked  eager- 
ly and  admiringly  about  her,  on  the  fair  scene 
amid  which  she  was  seated. 

The  clouds,  those  graceful  cup-bearej-s  of  the 
sky,  were  riding  like  snow-flakes  upon  the  clear 
blue  bosom  of  space  ;  on  every  side  bloomed 
clusters  of  bright  and  many-tinted  flowers, 
worthy  to  be  the  envy  of  the  constellations; 
the  sun,  a  heaven-insj>ired  painter!  had  sketch- 
ed a  thousand  beautiful  designs  on  their  leafy 
tablets  ;  and  sweeter  than  the  musk  of  Tartary 
was  the  perfume  which  accompanied  his  touch. 
The  forest-boughs  dropped  honey,  for  the  haunt 
of  the  wild  bee  was  among  their  leaves ;'  and 
the  ruby  cups  of  the  bursting  buils  were  each 
scaled  with  a  diamond  drop  of  dew.  The  dis- 
tant mountains  bathed  their  brows  in  light;  and 
the  lesser  heights  were  clothed  in  draperies  of 
many-colored  vegetation  ;  the  tall  trees  which 
overhung  the  stream  looked  like  stately  beauties 
mirroring  their  gnieefulness  in  the  clear  waters; 
while  the  more  flexible  safsaf,  the  weeping  wil- 
low, and  the  feathery  birch,  bent  low  into  the 
wave,  as  though  faint  with  enjoyment  The 
slender-hoofed  hind  at  intervals  bounded  pa-st, 
light  as  the  wiml  that  waved  the  branches  ;  and 
the  bulbul  nestled  amid' the  leaves  above  her 
head,  and  not  yet  weary  of  his  melodious  griefs, 
was  jiouring  out  a  song  to  which  the  peris  might 
have  loved  to  listen. 

As  Zohara  contemplated  this  fairy  scene,  her 
soul  was  steeped  in  the  honey  of  delight;  the 
thorns  of  care,  uikI  the  gnawing  caustic  of  sor- 
row, were  alike  shut  out;  and  when  the  Aga 
held  the  cup  to  lur  lips,  sparkling  with  the  cold 
rock  water,  she  thanked  him  with  a  smile  which 
spread  the  glo.s.sy  feathers  of  hope  over  the  bla«;k 
heart  of  fiilsehood. 

Hut  ere  long  the  serpent-tongue  of  guilt  be- 
trayed its  worthless  purpose  ;  and  the  atfrighted 
muidi-n  learnt  the  unholy  piussion  which  had 
eauseil  her  to  be  tlius  borne  away  from  the  roof 
of  her  father,  with  a  terror  wh"i<-li  denied  her 
utterance.  The  vows  breathed  by  her  perlidioiis 
suitor  did  but  rouse  hatred  in  her  bosom  ;  and 
as  she  became  more  calm,  she  wedded  the  name 
of  Heehid  Aga  toevery  reproachful  epithet  with 
I  which  her  memory  supplied  her.  She  reminded 
I  him  of  the  heavy  chain  of  gratitude  that  had 
jb«en  flung  arouml  her  by  tin- generous  ai(j  of 
Mahommed,  ere  she  yet  had  learnt  to  love  him  ; 
j  and  she  vowed  by  the  soul  of  the  prophet  and 
j  by  the  grave  of  her  father,  that  she  would  rather 


62 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TIIE  HAREiL 


die  by  her  own  hand,  tlian  be  the  wife  of  an- 
other. The  protestations  of  tlie  Aga  fell  on  her 
ear  like  water  upon  sand,  and  l^ft  no  impression  ; 
while  the  young  man  gnashed  the  sharp  teeth 
of  disappointment  against  the  shivered  weapon 
of  defeat,  as  with  her  small  dagger  in  her  hand, 
which  she  had  drawn  from  amidst  the  folds  of 
her  girdle,  she  threatened  to  sheathe  the  steel  of 
death  in  her  heart,  if  he  did  not  leave  her  on 
the  instant. 

The  aga  urged  and  expostulated  in  vain.  He 
represented  the  impossibility  of  her  return  to 
the  city,  alone  and  unprotected;  but  the  maiden 
epurned  alike  his  threats  and  his  entreaties;  and 
ehe  had  raised  her  arm  to  strike,  preferring 
death  to  further  communion  witli  her  treacher- 
ous companion,  when  the  tramp  of  horses  was 
heard  in  the  distance ;  and  before  Rechid  Aga 
ceuld  warn  her  of  the  probable  danger,  a  wild 
shriek  from  Zohara  summoned  to  their  side  a 
party  of  predatory  Arabs. 

The  maiden  had  scarcely  time  to  cover  her 
face  with  her  robe,  when  the  foremost  of  the 
train  checked  his  steed  under  the  shadow  of  the 
tree  beneath  which  she  was  sitting ;  while  in 
the  next  instant  the  aga,  who  had  drawn  his 
scimitar  ori  the  fii'st  alaim,  was  wounded,  over- 
powered, and  bound  to  one  of  its  branches. 

So  unlooked-for  a  capture,  almost  in  the  vici- 
nity of  the  city,  was  hailed  with  delight  by  the 
Arabs,  whose  chief  immediately  claimed  the 
maiden  as  his  spoil ;  and  haying  looked  upon 
her  beauty,  talked  exultingly  of  the  number  of 
purses  which  would  be  freely  paid  down  for  so 
fair  a  purchase  ;  while  others  appropriated  the 
horse  and  weapons  of  the  aga,  the  whole  of 
which,  as  their  practised  glance  at  once  detected, 
were  of  gi-eat  value.  Having  satisfied  them- 
selves on  this  point,  half-a-dozen  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  the  party  seated  themselves  on  the 
grass,  and  prepared  to  partake  of  the  fruits 
which  were  still  spread  before  the  maiden ; 
while  the  rest,  formed  into  separate  groups  on 
the  margin  of  the  stream,  drew  from  out  of  their 

avelling-bags  their  less  delicate  contents,  and 
commenced  a  hurried  meal. 

Zohara,  meanwhile,  looked  on  tremblingly, 
and  vague  projects  of  escape  rolled  across  her 
mind;  hut.  like  wreaths  of  vapor  they  left  no- 
thing tangible  behind ;  and  as  she  turned  aside 
from  her  captors,  and  her  eye  fell  on  the  droop- 
ing and  wounded  aga,  the  origin  of  all  her  suf- 
ferings, her  heart  froze  within  her,  and  her 
pulses  stood  still,  as  though  Azrael  had  pressed 
Lis  finger  upon  her  brow. 

Coiled  among  the  branches  above  her  head, 
she  beheld  an  enormous  serpent,  slowly  moving 
along  towards  the  bough  to  which  thc"unhappy 
young  man  had  been  secured.  The  sunlight  fell 
flickering  through  the  leaves  and  touching  at 
intervals  the  bright  scales  with  which  he  was 
covered  turned  them  into  jewels  :  his  deep 
green  eyes  looked  like  emeralds,  and  his  forked 
tongue  proti-uded  its  poisoned  lance  from  the 
blood-stained  cavern  of  his  yawning  jaws.  On, 
on  he  moved — and  Zohara  could  not  "stir  a  limb, 
nor  utter  a  cry  for  help — on,  on,  until  his  head 
rested  on  the  shoulder  of  the  wounded  man, 
and  his  gleaming  folds  were  coiled  around  his 
body.     Here  for  awhile  he  remained,  as  though 


contemplating  the  scene  beneath  ;  and  then 
gliding  away  into  the  thick  foliage  as  noiselessly 
as  he  had  stolen  forth,  he  disappeared  among 
the  leaves. 

Again  Zohara  breathed  freely ;  and  she  would 
have  warned  her  captors  of  the  vicinity  of  their 
dangerous  enemy,  and  besought  of  them  to  rescue 
the  insensible  aga  from  so  horrible  a  death ;  but 
at  this  moment,  the  Arabs,  having  drunk  too 
deeply  from  their  wine-skiiw,  began  to  wrangle 
among  themselves,  and  never  ceased  their  dis- 
pute until  the  slumber  of  inebriety  stole  upon 
them,  when,  one  by  one,  they  laid  their  heads 
upon  the  earth,  and  slept. 

Now,  indeed,  the  maiden  began  to  let  the 
wings  of  hope  flutter  about  her  heart:  but  she 
yet  felt  the  necessity  of  caution,  for  although 
the  groups  by  the  river  bank  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  their  chiefs,  and  flung  themselves  into 
the  attitude  of  repose,  she  knew  that  theirs 
would  be  but  the  lighter  slumbers  of  fatigue, 
which  an  unguarded  movement  might  serve  to 
dissipate.  While,  therefore,  she  was  carefully 
turning  in  her  mind  the  most  feasible  means  of 
success,  her  thoughts  divided  between  her  ter- 
ror of  the  serpent,  and  her  hope  of  escape  from 
her  enemies ;  the  mighty  snake  once  more  ap- 
peared above  her  head,  and  as  her  eye  again 
rested  upon  it,  she  crouched  down  with  clasped 
hands  and  clenched  teeth,  without  power  to 
withdraw  herself  from  the  danger. 

The  sei'pent,  however,  glided  down  the  tree, 
and  passed  her  by  unheeded,  attracted  by  the 
scent  of  the  wine-skins  which  j'et  lay  beside  the 
sleeping  Ai'abs.  Twice,  thrice,  he  reared  his 
crested  head  high  above  them;  and  then  plunging 
it  into  the  liquid,  he  drank  deep,  and  flung  back 
into  the  wine  a  few  heavy  black  drops  of  the 
foul  poison  which  hung  about  his  jaws.  , 

The  noise  of  his  retreat,  as  he  again  glided 
swiftly  into  the  underwood,  with  a  rattling 
sound,  accompanied  by  a  shrill  hissing  noise, 
aroused  the  Arabs,  who  started  from  the  earth, 
and  clutched  their  weapons  ;  but,  when,  on 
looking  around,  titey  could  discover  no  cause  of 
alarm,  and  saw  one  pale  captive  seated  beneath 
the  ti-ee,  and  the  other  yet  bound  to  its  branches 
they  only  muttered  an  imprecation  ;  ami  seizing 
the  skins  of  wine,  passed  them  one  to  the  other' 
and  resumed  their  rest. 

Now  was  the  moment  come  when  Zohara  fell 
within  her  the  courage  which  grows  out  of  peril ' 
She  glided  to  the  side  of  the  aga,  but  he  did  no 
unclose  his  e^'es — she  touched  his  hand,  it  Wfti 
cold  and  nerveless — and  the  maiden  started  witl ' 
a  jiew  terror,  for  she  felt  that  she  looked  oil, 
death.  I 

A  sudden  impulse  shook  her,  and  she  in% 
forth  her  dagger.  "Were  not  they  who  wep 
sleeiiing  but  a  few  paces  off  her  enemies?  an>l 
might  she  not  deliver  herself  from  their  graspi 
Those  at  her  feet  could  injure  her  no  further,  fo| 
she  knew  that  they  had  quatfed  poison  with  thei, 
last  draught.  She  moved  towards  the  margiil 
of  the  stream,  but  her  heart  grew  sick;  she  fel; 
that,  if  when  the  sword  is  in  the  hand  of  powei! 
generosity  is  the  scabbard  of  heroes,  so  muo' 
should  mercy  be  that  of  women  ! 

The  steed  of  the  aga  was  standing,  fastened  h 
a  mimosa  bush,  not  fi^y  paces  from  her;  ar  > 


THE   KOMANCE   OF  THE   IIAREM. 


68 


•with  the  speed  of  lightnins;  she  disoiigngoil  ll>o 
bridle,  nnd  sprang  upon  his  biiok ;  but  ere  she 
could  commenee  lier  flight,  a  second  trampling 
of  horses  sounded  through  the  valley,  and  at 
once  the  sleeping  Arabs  vaulted  into  their  sad- 
dles, and,  shouting  to  their  chiefs,  prepared  to 
meet  the  coming  enemy.  But  their  chiefs  an- 
swered not ;  they  lay  jirone  and  inolioidess  upon 
the  earth,  their  faces  blackening  in  the  wind,  and 
the  poison  oozing  from  tlieirparte<l  lips:  and  the 
wondering  tribe  were  yet  busied  in  endeavor- 
ing to  awaken  them,  when  a  band  of  horsemen, 
led  by  Mohammed  the  son  of  Hall,  came  like  a 
thunder-cloud  across  the  valley,  sweeping  down 
all  before  them. 

Zohara  was  saved!  The  "Morning  Star" 
once  more  lit  up  the  skj-  of  Mohammed's  happi- 
ness ;  and  the  dark-hearted  nga  paid  tlie  forfeit 
of  his  treachery. — But  here  we  arc  on  the  moun- 
tain brow,  Effendira;  and,  with  the  help  of  tiie 
prophet,  we  should  be  past  the  daik  ridge  which 
cuts  against  the  clouds  yonder,  before  sunset ; 
BO  we  liave  little  tixne  to  waste."  And  as  Satii 
ceased  speaking  he  gave  his  go(Td  horse  the  rein, 
and,  followed  by  Mauiolopolo,  was  soon  descend- 
ing into  the  valley. 


PART  IV. 
CHAPTER  XXIL 

"  Ne  oldot — what  .has  happened  ?"  demanded 
Saifula  Pasha,  as  his  ehibouque-bashi  handed  to 
him  his  fourth  pipe,  while  the  Cadi  of  the  town 
was  devoutly  kissing  the  hem  of  his  robe.  "  If 
my  head  were  as  large  as  the  mountain  of  El 
Caf,  which  surrounds  the  habitable  globe,  it 
•would  scarcely  sutfice  for  all  its  duties:  and  if 
my  arm  were  long  enough  to  reach  from  Stam- 
boul  to  Scanderia,  it  would  still  be  too  short  to 
grasp  all  that  it  is  required  to  hold.  But  speak. 
Cadi  Almadhafer — what  has  happened  in  the 
city  f " 

"  May  the  condescension  of  mj'  lord  increase !" 
said  the  justice,  as  he  lifted  his  head  from  tiie 
earth,  and  obeying  a  motion  of  the  pasha's  hand, 
assumed  a  sitting  posture.  "  I  believe  that  the 
Ibn  Sheitan — the  son  of  Satan,  has  •  arrived 
among  us."  * 

"  Min  Allah — Heaven  forbid  !"  ejaculated  the 
fat  rap.  flinging  out  a  long  thread  of  smoke. 
"  And  yet,"  he  added  with  a  faint  smile,  as  he 
looked  down  u|>on  the  pumpkin-headed,  un- 
wieldy little  coward  at  his  feet,  "  you  are  a  wise 
man.  Cadi  Almadhafer,  and  moreover  a  lawyer 
— you  are,  therefore,  fully  competent  t«  form  a 
judgment  on  such  a  point  And  how  comes  he 
to  our  quiet  province  I  Is  he  a  sakalsiz — a  no- 
beard,  like  the  natives  of  Frangistan  f  or  is  he  in 
the  true  likeness  of  Eblis,  horned  and  tailed? 
Speak,  good  cadi. — Mashaliah  !   I  listen." 

"May  my  lord's  lip  never  want  a  jest!"  was 
the  reply:  "  but  truly  this  is  no  theme  for  mer- 
riment The  baseborn  stranger,  who  is  now 
brawling  under  Uie  verv  palace-walls  of  your 
excellency,  is,  as  I  hear,  (for  I  have  never  looked 
upon  him  myself,)  handsome  enough  to  be  the 


high  priest  of  .\nirftn.»  He  walks  the  bazAr 
like  my  lord  himself — flings  his  piastres  from 
him  as  freely  as  a  padi.thali — feeds  all  the  rag- 
ged pezevenksf  in  the  city — ami  has  given  to  a 
black-eved  ahuoj;  a  eachemire  rich  enough  for  a 
vozir's  harem."  And  as  he  concluded  this  cata- 
logue of  vices,  the  corpulent  cadi  paused  for 
breath. 

"  Chok  chay — that  is  much  I"  said  the  pasha 
complacently;  "he  will  leave  money  in  the 
city." 

"  I  sent  to  his  hou.se,"  pursued  the  cadi,  "  to 
learn  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came,  a*  ia 
my  wont  with  all  strangers;  and  his  reply  waa 
this — •  Tell  him  who  sent  you,  Yuzbashi" — for  to 
do  him  honor  1  entrusted  the  incpiirv  to  the  cap- 
Uiia  of  your  excellency's  guard — 'that  when  I 
put  my  beard  into  his  hand,  he  shall  be  free  to 
pluck  it  out' — and  so  he  turned  uj)on  his  heel, 
and  left  the  chamber." 

"  Almadhafer,"  said  the  pasha,  "  you  are  an 
ass" — and,  having  delivered  himself  of  this  opin- 
ion, he  smoked  on  for  a  time  in  silence.  "  Have 
you  never  heard,  Ktfendim,"  he  resumed  at 
length,  for  the  cadi  had  not  ventured  to  contro- 
vert the  assertion  of  his  superior;  "  have  you 
never  heard  that  the  spur  is  for  the  steed,  the 
koorbash  for  the  bull'alo,  the  capidgi-baahi  for 
the  traitor,  and  the  hand-mirror  for  the  young 
beauty  ?  Cadi  Almadhafer,  do  you  mean  to  bi 
a  dog  all  your  days  ?" 

To  which  question  the  obsequious  judge  only 
replied  by  an  emphatic  "  Win  Allah — Heaven 
forbid !" 
;  "Listen  to  me,  then,"  said  the  satrap;  "let 
this  giddy-brained  stranger  alone  ;  send  no  mes- 
senger to  his  house,  ask  no  questions  of  himself 
'  — it  is  unseemly :  but  cadi — fold  your  feet  upon 
the  carpet  of  watchfulness;  if  his  servants  love 
rakee,  let  it  poured  into  their  cups — the  tiery 
sherbet  of  the  Franks  unlocks  the  lips  of  all 
'  men,  and  lays  their  heart*  U|>on  your  hands, 
I  where  you  may  read  them  at  your  leisure.  Let: 
'  him  give  his  feasts  in  peace,  but  be  careful  that 
I  some  of  your  own  spies  sit  down  to  every  repa.«t, 
I  — let  him  be  fooled  and  flattered,  and  made 
'  merry  with  songs  and  daiKM-s;  and  he  will  surd/ 
I  fall  liito  our  power  by  some  act  of  inadvertence, 
j  which  he  will  be  glad  to  buy  olf  with  gold. 
I  Shekiur  Allah! — we  wish  him  no  harm;  and  we 
,  have  need  just  now  of  such  as  can  pay  their 
j  avaniasg  with  an  open  hand  !" 

"  Sen  bilirsen — you.kii()w  best;"  said  the  obe- 
!  dient  cadi,  whose  disaftpointment  at  the  calm 
I  ness  with  which  the  satrap  received   his  iiitelli- 
'  gence  of  the  arrival  of  a  wealthy  stranger  at  the 
I  quiet  city  of  the  j»ashalik  was  beyond  his  piiwer 
of  concealment :    "Inshallah!    my  lord    knows 
best — bakalum — we  shall  see." 
'     -The  hour  at  which  the  satrap  was  accustonud 
to    give   audience    had   arrived;    and  the  cadi, 
having  once  more  attempted  to  kiss  the  extrem- 
ity of  his  garment,  and   being  condescendingly 
'  i)revented  from  so  doing,    jia.ssed  at  once  fi.«;a 
tlie  presence  of  the  pasha  ;    who  followe.l  slowly. 
'  supported  on   either  side  by   a  eliaoUHli,|    wln> 
!  held  him  up  under  the  arm's,  as  though  he  had 


*  Hymen. 
(  Finei. 


t  RaicaU. 


J  Dancing-girtk 
y  Utlictr 


04 


THE  ROiL\XCE   OF   THE   HAREM. 


been  a  cripple,  as  is  usual  with  all  high  person- 
ages in  the  East;  to  whom  locomotion,  on  oeca- 
eioiis  of  solemnit}',  is  apparently  supposed  to  be 
considered  peculiarly  injurious.  The  great  man 
Was  followed  by  two  chokhadai's,  or  cloak- 
bearers,  his  keeper  of  the  purse,  his  chibouque- 
^bashi,  his  cafejhe-bashi,  and  four  soldiers  of  his 
g.ard. 

As  he  made  his  way  across  the  wide  hall  of 
audience  to  the  divan  at  the  upper  end,  all  the 
applicants  who  thronged  the  doorway  prostra- 
ted themselves  to  the  earth,  while  the  otfieers 
and  individuals  of  sufiieieut  rank  to  approach  his 
person,  bent  down,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  their 
Leads. 

"  Alhemdullilah  ! — all  are  sure  of  justice  while 
Saifula  Pasha  is  satrap  of  the  province ;"  com- 
menced the  pasha  himself,  as  he  took  his  gor- 
geous pipe,  with  its  pale  lemon-colored  amber 
mouth-piece,  enamelled  with  blue  and  gold,  from 
his  chibouque-bashi ;  while  a  second  attendant 
slid  a  small  brazen  dish  under  the  boudaka* 
"  Who  has  any  thing  to  ask  from  the  favorite  of 
the  Padishah,  the  Light  of  the  Eai'th,  and  the 
Lord  of  the  Three  Seas? — Let  him  speak — 1 
■Jisten." 

The  words  were  yet  upon  his  lips  when  an 
aged  Jew  detached  himself  from  the  crowd  at 
the  bottom  of  the  hall,  and,  sinking  upon  his 
knees,  made  his  way  thus  to  the  centre  of  the 
floor,  where  he  flung  himself  with  his  face  upon 
the  earth.  The  appearance  of  the  grey-bearded 
Hebrew  was  by  no  means  calculated  to  prejudice 
the  spectators  in  his  favor;  his  turban  was  of 
coarse  cotton,  of  which  the  original  color  had 
long  been  a  mystery ;  his  brow  was  deepl}'  and 
closely  wrinkled,  his  quick  restless  eyes  were 
partially  hidden  by  a  pair  of  thick  and  wiry  eye- 
brows, his  prominent  nose  was  pinched  and 
sharp,  and  his  thin  lips  were  pressed  closely  to- 
gether, as  though  he  could  not  part  gratuitously 
even  with  his  breath,  without  an  etiort  to  retain 
it.  His  grizzled  beard  hung  to  his  girdle,  which 
was  of  black  woollen,  and  bound  above  an  outer 
dress  of  blue  and  white  cotton  much  worn  and 
discolored ;  his  feet  were  bare,  for  the  ragged 
Yapoushes  which  he  had  left  at  the  door  had 
been  their  only  covering  ;  and  altogether  Yacob 
the  Jew  was  as  unprepossessing  an  individual  as 
could  well  have  beeu  selected  to  open  the  divan. 

But,  ungainly  as  he  was,  he  was  not  unknown 
to  the  pasha,  who  stroked  down  his  beard,  as  he 
saw  the  Hebrew  j)erforra  his  prostration  ;  and 
ejfclaimed,  without  removing  the  chibouque 
from  his  lips:  — 

"  Khosh  geldin — you  are  welcome,  Yacob  :  it 
is  some  time  since  we  have  seen  you  here.  How 
ar»  your  aftairs,  Hebrew  ?  Is  your  gold  in  bars, 
or  in  coin?  and  do  you  come  to  make  us  your  trea- 
surers, lest  the  metal  should  not  be  secure  under 
your  own  roof?" 

"  Heaven  help  me  !  Should  I  venture  to  I 
trouble  my  lord  if  it  were  thus?  Ai,  ai — alas!  j 
alas  ! — I  come  to  the  mirror  of  justice  only  when 
1  am  wronged,  that  the  light  of  my  lord's  coun- 
tenance may  be  turned  upon  me,  and  the  tears 
•may  be  dried  in  my  aged  eyes — I  am  here  to 
.put  up  a  complaint  against  my  neighbor  Steph- 

*  Pipe-bowl. 


anaki  the  serudjhe,*  who  has  defrauded  me  of 
my  just  rights." 

"  Stcphanaki,"  shouted  a  chaoush  close  be- 
side the  satrap  ;  "  come  forth,  and  kneel  in  the 
shadow  of  my  lord  the  pasha,  whose  attribute  is 
justice." 

The  call  was  instantly  obeyed,  and  a  fine- 
looking  young  Greek,  weaj-ing  the  picturesque 
and  becoming  costume  of  the  islands,  knelt  be- 
side his  accuser.  Stephanaki  was  in  the  first 
bloom  of  manhood,  with  a  laughing  eye,  and  a 
sunshiny  expression  of  countenance,  which  even 
the  dread  presence  of  the  pasha  could  not  whol- 
ly overcloud. 

"Mashallah!"  murmured  the  satrap  to  the 
khoja  or  secretary  who  was  squatted  at  his  feet, 
with  his  ink-bottle  in  his  girdle,  and  a  huge 
strip  of  parchment  resting  upon  his  knee  ready 
to  be  made  use  of,  while  he  dipped  his  calam  or 
reed-pen  into  the  ink  in  order  to  commence  his 
duties  :  "  Mashallah !  this  is  as  it  should  be  ;  a 
dervish  against  a  woman,  and  a  Greek  against  a 
Jew — Bakalum — we  shall  see." 

A  motion  of  the  pasha's  hand  intimated  to 
Yacob  that  he  was  to  speak:  and  he  at  once 
commenced  his  complaint. 

"  Is  not  my  lord  as  one  who  has  sat  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  padishah,  and  whose  mouth 
has  been  filled  with  the  gold  of  truth  ?  In  my 
soreness  of  spirit  I  said — '  I  will  awaj^  to  the 
giver  of  health,  the  promoter  of  joy,  the  great 
and  just  Saifula  Pasha,  for  does  he  not  hold  the 
reins  of  life  and  death  f  and  is  he  not  like  the 
sun  at  noonday,  without  which  the  earth  would 
be  dark  ?'  "  • 

"Taib! — well  said,  Jew  ;"  nodded  the  satrap, 
as  he  toyed  with  his  perfumed  beard  ;  and  there 
was  a  sudden  chorus  of  voices  in  the  apartment, 
all  murmuring  "Taib!  Taib!" 

"  At  the  last  mahak,"f  pursued  the  Jew,  in 
the  same  humble  and  submissive  tone,  and  with- 
out suffering  the  slightest  token  of  elation  to 
escape  him  at  the  approbation  which  his  words 
had  elicited,  "  came  Stephanaki  to  my  poor  hut 
to  purchase  dhourra:|  I  was  at  meat,  and  I  bade 
him  rest  awhile  until  my  meal  was  finished,  , 
when  I  would  wash,  and  come  forth  to  the  store- 
house wherein  I  had  housed  the  grain  ;  but  he 
pleaded  haste,  and  thus  I  was  obliged  to  leave 
the  food  almost  untasted,  lest  he  should  go  else- 
where, which  might  have  been  inconvenient  to 
the  poor  youth." 

"  Had  you  not  done  better  to  have  asked  him 
to  share  it  with  you  ?"  demanded  the  pasha. 

"\ow,  by  our  father  Abraham !"  exclaimed 
the  shrinking  Israelite  :  "  would  my  lord  desire 
me  to  eat  with  a  Christian  ?  to  sit  at  table  with 
a  filthy  Greek  ?" 

"  True  :"  said  the  pasha  with  a  quiet  smilft    ■ 
"  I  had  forgotten  that  the  two  infidel  drinkers 
of  wine,   the  Tchifout§  and   the  Giaour,  were    | 
unclean  even  to  each  other  I    Allah  kerim! — On    [ 
with  your  tale,  Hebrew." 

"  We  were  long  ere  we  concluded  the  bar- 
gain ;"  continued  Yacob  ;  "  and  I  finished  by 
selling  my  grain  some  piastres  too  cheap — " 


*  Horse  keeper. 
;  Indian  corn. 


THE   liOMANCE  OF  THE   HAllEM. 


*  But  ho  did  hny  of  you  at  lust;  say  you  not 
Jo1"  doinainlod  the  siitrap. 

"  He  did  ;"  replied  the  Jew  ;  "  but  he  shoviKl 
have  paid  ine  at  the  very  least — " 

"  Klioja,"^  said  the  pasha,  slowly  removing 
the  chibouque  from  his  mouth,  and  looking  to- 
wards the  seeretai-y;  "write  that  Yaeob  the 
Jew  shall,  before  sunset,  pay   an  uvania   to  ti>e 

Sasha  of  one  hundred  piastres,  for  soiling 
hourra  witliiii  the  walls  of  the  oit}-,  without 
authority — now  Hebrew,  onee  more  we  listen." 

But  if  the  Jew  had  sueoessfully  concealed  his 
triumph  when  he  was  euvironod  by  plaudits,  he 
was  by  uo  means  so  fortunate  when  he  found 
himseif  betrayed  by  his  own  folly  he  plueked 
his  beard  until  thehairs  remajned  in  his  grasp, 
he  thrust  his  turban  awry,  and  wrung  his  hands 
as  though  he  was  ruined  for  ever.  His  parox- 
ysm gave  the  pasha  time  to  reflect ;  and  that 
he  had  done  so,  he  very  soon  gave  proof,  by 
again  addressing  the  scribe.  "  Write,  likewise, 
that  Stephanaki  the  Greek  raiah  shall  also  pay 
to  the  pasha,  by  the  same  period,  his  avania  of 
fifty  piastres,  for  having  purchased  within  the 
city  walls  certain  bags  of  dhourra  from  a  cheater 
of  the  revenue." 

The  khoja  was  just  about  to  record  this  second 
reflection  of  the  mirror  of  justice  when  the 
Greek,  prostrating  himself  in  the  most  approved 
manner,  exclaimed  ;  "  The  words  of  my  lord  the 
pasha  are  as  the  diamonds  of  S;imarcand  tlung 
forth  upon  the  path  of  life.  Surely  my  lord  will 
suffer  even  a  vassal  to  gather  up  some  of  these 
pi'ecious  jewels,  and  to  examine  their  lustre.  It 
IS  true,  oh.  Light  of  the  World !  that  I  pur- 
chased the  dhourra  of  this  rascally  Tchifout;  but 
I  made  him  deliver  it  to  me  on  tlie  meidan*  be- 
yond the  city  gates.  He  is  indeed  guilty,  and 
deserves  the  hue  which  your  highness  has  in 
mercy  made  very  disproportionate  to  the  crime  ; 
but  I  have  committed  no  offence,  as  my  lord 
will  learn,  when  the  kiupek — the  cur,  has  told 
his  tale." 

"  Kiupek  in  your  teeth,  dog  of  a  giaour  !"  re- 
torted the  enraged  Jew,  glad  to  have  secured  an 
object  on  which  to  vent  his  wrath,  without 
danger  to  the  soles  of  his  feet  "  Who  arc  you 
that  you  should  fling  dirt  upon  my  head?  \Vhat 
are  you  but  a  Greek  ?  Are  you  not  a  raiah  like 
myself?  and  are  vou  not,  moreover,  like  the 
rest  of  your  degraded  race,  a  liar  and  a  cheat? 
— haivan  der — j'ou  are  an  animal." 

"  Ajaib — wonderful!"  ejaculated  the  pasha. 
■  Yacob  has  found  his  tongue,  and  is  now  head 
brawler  of  tiie  city !  Peace,  I  say,  old  man.  Is 
the  divan  become  a  Tlieriaki-tcharchi.f  or  a  Ti- 
merhaze,^  that  I  am  to  have  my  cars  rent  by 
your  clamour?  Take  care  of  your  own;  and 
meanwhile,  I  have  heard  enough.  Stephanaki, 
you  have  gained  your  cause.  I  am  satisfied  that 
you  are  a  bash-pezcvenk — a  great  rogue ;  for, 
although  every  Kouniia  rascal  can  talk  of  the 
deeds  of  liis  ancesters,  Mashallah!  there  are  few 
among  you  who  dare  venture  to  speak  of  his 
own.  Nevertheless,  I  say,  your  cause  is  gained, 
for  you  have  kept  your  temper,  and  the  Jew  has 


•  Plain, 
t  Resort 
heavy  blows  are  frequent. 
t  Lunatic  Asylurn. 


for  oj)iura-eateri, 
Ire 


where    night-brawli   and 


lost  his;  by  which  I  know  that  he  i«  in  thfl 
wrong.  Wrile,  khoja,  fiiat  tlie  Hebrew  Yaeob 
is  lined  fifty  jiiastres  for  bringing  b.'fore  ihe  Di- 
van a  cause  which  he  could  not  sujiport." 

And  while  the  unhappy  Isiai'litc  was  on' e 
more  giving  way  to  a  burst  of  grief,  the  mirror 
of  justice  munmircd  to  the  cadi,  who  was  seated 
near  him;  "  The  rascally  Jew  can  well  afford  to 
pay  his  avania;  but  I  question  if  the  gidi  mas- 
cara— the  young  seaiamoueh,  in  the  embroider- 
ed leggings,  does  not  carry  all  his  piastres  on  his 
back.""^ 

To  which  sagacious  deduction,  the  Cadi  replied 
by  his  usyal  "  Taib — excellent  I  my  lord  sees 
through  the  darkness  of  midnight — who  sluill 
dispute  his  wisdom?"  But  as  he  again  settled 
himself  Upon  his  carpet,  he  muttered  between 
his  closed  teeth :  "  Curse  on  the  unbelieving 
Jew  1  he  should  have  preferred  his  comjdaint  to 
me — I  would  not  have  mulcted  him  in  more  than 
a  hundred  jiiastres  in  all;  and  moreover,  ho 
should  have  gained  his  cause." 

The  next  applicant  was  a  woman,  who,  tak- 
ing off  her  slipper,  turned  the  sole  upwards,  and 
demanded  justice  on  her  husband,  who  had  |>ut 
her  forth  from  his  harem,  and  refused  to  allow 
her  a  decent  maintenance  in  the  house  of  her 
father. 

As  her  own  statement  went  to  show  that  she 
was  neither  young  nor  pretty,  and  that  she  ha<I 
moreover  led  the  unhappy  man  a  life  which  had 
bj-  no  moans  tended  to  mcrease  his  attachment 
to  this  world,  her  case  was  soon  dismissed  ;  and 
she  was  lined  twenty  piastres  for  vague  and 
frivolous  accusations  against  a  good  .Moslem, 
who  had  been  careful  before  the  Divan  sat  that 
morning,  to  forward  to  the  satrap  a  jiaeket  of 
rare  and  costly  gebeli,*  whose  aroma  was  ao- 
tually  escaping  from  the  chibouque  of  the  pasha, 
while  he  listened  to  the  tale  of  the  wife. 

In  this  instance,  as  the  virtuous  wrath  of  the 
satrap  was  more  than  commonly  excited,  he  oi^ 
dained  that  the  fine  should  be  paid  before  the 
couqilainant  loft  the  court ;  and  reimirked, 
moreover,  that  if  any  rumour  reached  him  of  a 
new  apjdication  of  the  slipper  of  the  miserabla 
woman  before  him  to  the  ears  of  her  husband  or 
his  young  wife,  tlve  consequences  would  be  se- 
rious; after  which,  he  declared  him.solf  exhaust- 
ed ;  and  deputing  the  cadi  to  the  seat  of  justice, 
retired  from  the  .vight  of  tiie  crowd  of  applicants 
who  still  thronged  llie  hall  of  audience;  and, 
supported  by  his  attendants,  withdrew  slowly 
and  gravely  to  the  women's  apartments,  to  for- 
get in  the  society  of  the  beautiful  Cariinlil  liiul 
her  Greek  friend  the  toils  of  the  morning. 

Coffee  and  sweetmeats  were  served  wiien  he 
had  taken  up  his  position  on  the  shfa,  and  re- 
ceived the  salutations  and  condolenees  of  his 
companions;  after  which  Katinka  sang  to  h-r 
zebec,  until  the  8alra|)  gave  a  f.w  indications  ..f 
drowsiness,  by  no  means  flattering  to  lier  min- 
strelsy ;  when,  anxious  that  he  »ho(d«l  not  have 
cause  to  complain  of  ennui  while  she  pi>-seKs«d 
the  means  of  diverting  his  idleness,  she  laid  usido 
her  instrument  and  exclaimed  sudtlenly  :  "  Let 
not  my  lord's  eyes  close  before  he  has  heard  the 
Ulo  which  I  have  been  pondering  for  his  amuse- 


Tobaeeo. 


THE  ROMA^XE   OF  THE   IIAREM. 


ment  It  may  be  that  it  -will  possess  the  power 
of  relieving  his  spirit  from  the  fatigues  of  the 
divan  and  the  affairs  of  the  city."  And,  as  the 
pasha  smiled  his  assent,  she  at  once  commenced 
the  narrative  of: — 


CHAPTER   XXni. 


THE   ARAB    STEED. 


Ildji  Reza  was  tlie  son  of  a  rich  merchant  of 
Damascus;  and,  being  the  only  child  of  his 
father,  to  whose  prayers  the  prophet  had  long 
been  deaf,  bv  refusing  to  his  wives  the  honor  and 
advantage  of  giving  him  an  heir  to  his  immense 
wealth,  the  boy  necessarily  became  the  pet  and 
playtliing  of  the  salemliek,  and  the  idol  of  the 
whole  harem. 

His  beautiful  Georgian  mother,  proud  of  the 
supremacy  which  the  birth  of  her  son  gave  her 
over  the  mind  of  her  husband,  grew  haughty 
and  imperious;  and  the  Buyiik  Hanoum  of 
Yezid,  (for  so  was  the  merchant  called)  who  had 
been  the  daughter  of  a  distinguished  emir,  re- 
tired in  disgust  to  her  father's  house,  and  refused 
to  i-eturn  beneath  the  roof  of  her  husband,  how- 
ever great  the  instances  which  he  made  to  re- 
claim her. 

The  secession  of  the  principal  lady  of  the  Mer- 
chant's establishment  left  the  Georgian  mother 
supreme  mistress  of  the  harem  ;  and  the  fact  of 
this  ascendancy,  derived  from  her  son,  only  pro- 
duced still  greater  and  more  ill-judged  indul- 
gence towards  the  boy  himself:  everj'  whim, 
however  senseless,  every  caprice,  however  ex- 
ti-avagant,  was  not  only  indulged,  but  applaud- 
ed ;  and  he  aceoi-dingly  grew  up  a  perfect  imp 
of  Eblis,  both  in  beauty  and  mischief. 

I  say  in  beauty  ;  for  the  experience  of  every 
day  tends  to  convince  us  that  the  popular  pre- 
judice which  peoples  Jehanum  with  ghouls  and 
afrits,  is  as  false  as  that  the  tattered  cloak  of  a 
dervish  always  covers  a  saint.  More  than  half 
the  evil  which  is  wrought  upon  earth  is  the  work 
of  individuals  whose  beards  are  glossy  and  well- 
combed,  and  whose  turbans  are  seated  upon 
brows  as  smooth  as  the  Prophet's  palm  ;  and  he 
who  asserts  to  tlie  contrary  eats  dirt,  or  has 
walked  from  Btaniboul  to  Mecca  with  his  fingers 
in  his  eyes,  and  the  skirts  of  his  robe  defiled  by 
the  abomination  of  ignorance. 

JVith  regard  to  his  other  attribute  of  mischief, 
I  believe  no  one  ever  denied  that  to  be  the  son 
of  a  burnt  father,  so  I  shall  not  insist  on  the  pro- 
priety of  mj-  description. 

Had  Yezid  been  as  rich  as  King  Karoon,  the 

Joungster  grew  up  in  a  spirit  well  calculated  to 
ecrease  his  wealth.  The  hours  which  his 
father  believed  to  be  spent  in  study  in  the  med- 
resh  of  the  Mosque  of  Sultan  Daoud,  were  pass- 
ed among  the  most  profligate  of  the  youth  of 
the  city :  and  as  all  the  slaves  found  it  to  their 
lidvantage  to  be  silent — for  Ildji  Rezi\  was  as 
generous  as  he  was  profuse — and  as  the  wortliy 
merchant  was  descending  the  liill  of  life,  and 
greasing  the  beard  of  years  with  the  pillauf  of 
dotage,  he  pursued  his  career  unfettered  ;  while 
Buch  was  the  fascination  of  his  beauty,  and  the 


influence  of  his  mother,  that  there  was  not  a 
woman  in  the  harem  of  Yezid  the  khawaji,'* 
who  would  not  have  sold  her  jewels  to  minister 
to  his  caprices. 

But  the  most  serious  extravagance  was  yet  to 
come.  Suddenly  there  appeared  in  the  city  a 
dealer  in  horses,  who  brought  with  him  animali 
of  such  surpassing  beauty,  that  all  the  younf, 
men  of  Damascus  who  had  ever  tugged  at  any 
tiling  more  exciting  than  a  maharf  well  nigb 
lost  their  wits.  Day  by  day  the  dealer  and  his 
horses  traversed  the  principal  streets  of  the 
city;  and  so  beatitiful  were  many  of  these  crea- 
tures, that  more  than  one  harem-lattice  wft 
thrown  back  further  than  it  should  have  been, 
either  in  admiration  of  the  glorious  animals,  or 
of  the  gallant  young  Effendis  who  followed  in 
their  wake.  The  dealer  was  a  shrewd  man :  he 
had  gathered  up  his  feet  on  the  mat  of  calcula- 
tion, and  spiced  his  sherbet  with  avarice:  he 
was  the  verj'  Khawaji  to  bring  his  beasts  to  a 
good  market ;  but  for  a  few  days  he  affected  ui>- 
willingness  to  part  from  them — he  loved  them 
as  his  life — called  them  janum,  guzum — my  love^ 
my  eyes,  my  soul — feigned  to  whisper  flatteries 
in' their  ears,  while  by  some  subtle  art  he  taught 
them  to  look  as  though  they  comprehended  and 
appreciated  his  gentleness  ;  and  showed  so  much 
love  for  his  already  tempting  merchandise,  that 
ever}-  person  who  had  gold  to  lavish  on  a  whim, 
was  convinced  that  never  horses  were  worth  60 
many  purses  as  the  horses  of  Ali  the  Toorkomaa 

When  he  at  length  suffered  himself  to  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  exchange  them  for  piastres,  it  need 
not  be  told  that  they  were  counted  up  to  a  good 
sum;  and  many  times  had  Ildji  Reza  been  among 
the  bidders  for  the  different  animals  which  were 
paraded  one  by  one  through  the  great  thorough- 
fares of  the  city;  but  on  each  occasion  the  Toork- 
oman  had  set  him  aside  with  a  low  "  Yavash,  y»- 
viish  — softly,  softly — your 'time  is  not  yet  come. 
The  camel  who  holds  his  head  high  is  guided  by 
the  ass  that  leads  the  string ;  so  let  my  lord  be 
led  in  this  matter  by  his  slave ;  and  folding  the 
skirts  of  patience  under  the  feet  of  reason,  wait 
yet  a  while  until  the  bit  is  in  the  mouth  of  the 
beast  which  is  alone  worthy  to  bear  him." 

Peplexed  as  he  was  by  this  unaccountable 
conduct  on  the  part  of  the  merchant,  Ildji  Reia 
complied  in  silence  ;  but  when  a  score  of  noble 
horses,  each  more  beautiful  than  the  last,  had 
found  owners  among  the  young  gallants  of  Da- 
mascus, the  Toorkoman  disappeared,  much  to 
the  chagrin  of  the  son  of  Yezid,  who  daily  saw 
his  associates  galloping  along  upon  animals  to 
which  his  own,  whieli  had  nevertheless  been 
purchased  at  a  heavy  price,  and  given  to  him 
by  his  father,  was  but  as  a  buffalo. 

So  jaundiced,  indeed,  was  his  spirit,  by  this 
unlooked-for  disappointment,  that  ever,  as  his 
acquaintances  greeted  him,  he  seemed  to  see  .the 
laughter  of  mockery  in  their  smile ;  and  when 
they  jested  with  him  on  his  delay,  or  condoled 
with  him  on  his  annoyance,  he  felt  that  they 
were  now  revenging  themselves  for  a  host  of 
petty  mortifications  entailed  on  them  by  his  un- 
caleulatiiig  profusion. 

The    young  man's    heart  burnt   within   bis 


t  Camel's  bridle. 


TUE   ROiLV^TE   OF  THE   IIAIIEM. 


67 


bosom,  and  be  well  nigh  fell  sick  with  voxfttion ; 
■when  one  day,  as  ho  was  walking  moodily 
along,  he  was  overtaken  near  the  eastern  gate 
of  the  city  by  a  beetachy,  or  mountain  dervish, 
vrhv  saluted  liim  as  he  passed  with  a  courteous 


an  object,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  »mtniiinl>. 
meiit,  and  stroked  down  his  white  heard  willmu 
"  Ajaib  I"  as  fervent  as  it  was  prolonged. 

If  the   Dervish  was   thtis   atfeel,'.!   by  the  np- 
|ieiirance  of  the  animal,  it  mav  be  imajjined  that 


ilutatioii,  lldj 
Iracted  by  th 


^•eeling,  which  broke  in  upon  his  revery  ;  and  lldji  Rezil  was  transfixed  ;  and  as  the  rider  (lev 
raising  his  head  to  rejdy  to  the      ■       ••        ..^-i  .•  ■  . 

Reza  on  his  side  was  at  once  i 
tone  and  look  of  tiie  devotee. 

He  appeared  to  be  about  sixty  years  of  age, 
but  time  had  neither  furrowed  his  brow,  thiii- 
ned  his  cheek,  nor  dimmed  the  lustre  of  his  large 
dear  gray  eye.  His  glance  was  keen,  fiery  and 
Beorching :   his  step  tirm  and  assured  ;  and  his 


past  him,  seeming  to  be  traversing  the  worKl  on 
the  wings  of  tiie  wind,  or  mounted  on  on.«  of 
the  flying  horses  of  IVristan,  ho  almost  nhouted 
in  the  excess  of  his  rapture. 

"Wallah  billah— by  the  Prophet!   to  be  the 

owner  of  that  steed,  1 -would " 

"  What  would  you  do,  my  son  ?"  asked  the 
beetachy. 
voice  as  full  and  melodious  as  though  he  were'  "Any  thing  that  mav  bo  lawful  for  a  good 
yet  a  stripling.  lie  wore  a  tunic  and  khirkheli,  Musselinaun  ;"  was  the  riplv:  niid  iiijji  Ue/A 
or  cloak  of  camel's  hair,  girt  about  his  wai.<t  heard,  or  faMeic<l  ho  heanl,  uiow  chuckle  which 
"with  a  leathern  girdle,  over  which  flowed  his|came  unpleasantly  to  ids  ear;  "  l^ing  have  I 
snow-white  beard;  while  a  conical  cap  edged  : coveted  a  steed  "which  shoul.l  have  no  peer, 
with  fur,  crimson  papooshes,  and  a  prayer  chap-  Alhemdullilah — praiso  be  to  Allah  I  here  ha 
let  hung  round  his  neck,  completed  his  costumt, 'comes  again  !" 

and  proclaimed  his  sanctity.  I     And  it  was  so :  the  horseman  had   returned 

"Tis  a  fair  day,  father;"  said  the  young  upon  his  path  ;  and.  diverging  t»»  the  right  and 
man,  respectfully;  "are  you  long  from  the, left,  and  vaulting  his  high-blooded  Arab  over 
mountains?"  every  impediment,  he   at  length   ehecke<l   liiin 

"  I  travelled  to  the  city,  my  son ;"  replied  the  close  beside  the  young  man  and  the  dervisli, 
dervish,  "some  twelve  weeks  back,  in  company  witli  a  suddenness  thatbronght  the  tiery  animal 
with  a  Toorkoman  Arab,  who  sought  to  dispose  on  his  haunches,  while  the  sniirke  issiad  from 
of  a  string  of  horses ;  and  when  1  parted  from  his  transparent  nostrils,  and  the  foaiu  flew  from 
him  at  the  khan,  where  he  had  taken  up  his  his  moutli. 

abode,  I  hastened  to  the  dwelling  of  a  kinsman,  I  "  Khosh  buldilk — well  found!"  shouted  the 
beside  whose  bed  stood  Azrael  and  his  attendant  rider,  whom  lldji  Uezji  at  once  recognized  at  the 
epirits:  there  did  I  watch  and  pray  until  yester-lToorkonian  dealer;  "  How  savs  my  lord  now? 
day:  and  I  am  now  on  my  way  home,  praising  | Hid  1  not  well  to  liold  back  his  hand  until  I 
the  power  which  has  removed  a  sufterer  from  a  I  brought  to  Damascus  a  horse  such  as  had  never 
world  of  care  and  misery."  yet   been    seen   in    the    city    streets? — Yavaah, 

"Can  you  really-  rejoice  that  the  wings  of  lyavash — quiet,  quiet,  Thunderboli:"  he  added, 
death  have  folded  themselves  about  the  soul  of  I  addressing  the  animal,  that  was  impatiently 
one  whose  blood  leaps  in  your  own  veins?  and  pawing  the  earth  with  his  small  hoof:   "see  yon 


tliat  a  warm  and  sentient  spirit  is  now  dark  in 
the  darkness  of  the  tomb  ?" 

"  And  whj-  not  ?"  asked  the  dervish ;  "  Do  we 
gfaow  our  love  for  our  dear  ones,  by  wishing  t<i 
protract  their  period  of  wretchedness  ?  Kvallah! 
I  trust  that  no  fond  heart  will  put  up  such  a 
prayer  for  me." 

"  Did  you,  not  tell  me,  father,  that  you  travel- 
led to  Damascus  in  com|)anv  with  a'kiupek — a 
dog  of  a  horse-dealer,  who  fat<>ly  traded  in  the 
city?"  asked  the  young  man,  for  whom  so  me- 
lancholy a  discourse  possessed  no  attraction  ; 
and  who  sudderdy  conceived  a  hor>e  that, 
through  the  medium  of  this  holy  man,  lie  might 
obtain  some  information,  enabling  him  to  disco- 
ver the  abode  of  the  Toorkoman  ;  "  know  you 
what  has  since  become  of  him  ?  and  where  he  is 
now  throwing  dirt  on  the  beards  of  true  be- 
lievei-8?" 

"  Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say  ?"  rei>lied  the 
l>cctachy: — "  Have  I  not  told  you  that  1  have 
been  tiie  tenant  of  a  sick  room,  whence  tin; 
world  is  over  shut  out?  How,  then,  ran  I  give 
you  tidings  of  the  bazAr,  or  of  the  nierclianta 
who  Irerjuent  it?" 

As    ho    spoke,    the    clatter   of   horses'    lujofa 


not  that  I  would  t^lk  with  the  beyzadeh"?"* 
and  the  creature  quaibvl  beneath  tiie  rebuke, 
and  stood  like  a  statue  hewn  in  black  marble 
beside  the  path. 

"What  means  this,  khawaji  ?"  exclaimed  tho 
young nuui eagerly  ;  "  Whenee  aie  you  ?  and  why 
have  you  been  so  long  abnetit  fmm  Dama^'iis'l 
How  many  purse's  do  you  demand  for  this  brave 
beast?  And  how  became  you  i«osso»sed  of  an 
animal  worthy  to  have  earned  the  I'ronhet?" 

"  Chok.hay — that  is  much  ;"  smile. 1  the  Arab; 
"  but  I  will  answer  my  lord  as  1  best  may.  li 
means  that  1  have  brought  for  him  tiie  horse  of 
whiih  he  alone  should  be  the  owner — 1  am  even 
now  from  the  degert^ — I  have  delavecl  my  return 
until  I  deemed  the  animal  mafclibiis  alike  in 
H|K<(1  and  docility — I  demand  for  my  mer- 
eliandisc  a  j»rice  which  must  be  pai.l  ore  I 
consent  to  make  him  tho  projicrty  ot  another — 
and  1  have  p<jMesHod  him  sineo  lio  sported  a 
graeeful  foal  besiile  his  mother,  in  a  green  ousis. 
near  which  we  hod  pitched  our  tents.  Is  my 
lord  answered  ?" 

Ihiji  Kezii  smiled  in  his  turn  ;  "  Ai,  mascara — 
scaramouch  !"  ho  saiil  gaily  :  "  for  the  lost  moon 
1  have  been  smoking  the  ehibouqiie  of  l.itternoiw. 


soujided  in  the  distance;  and  soon  a  horseman ,  for  I  believed  that  you  hod  cast  lislies  upon  my 
appeared  mounted  on  a  coal-block  st.-erl  jif  such  beard  ;  and  not  a  moment  ago  1  naked  tiding* 
Incomparable  symmetry  and  beouty,  that  even 
the  beetachy,  unused  as  he  might  he  supponed 
to  be  to  feci  any  interest  in  so  purely  worldly 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


of  you  from  this  holy  man,  who  travelled  with 
you  manj'  weeks  back,  from  the  mountains !" 

"  Khosh  bulduk,  father:"  said  tlie  Toorkoman, 
looking  for  the  first  time  toward  the  dervish  : 
"  I  must  have  eaten  dirt  tliat  I  did  not  see  you 
when  I  first  stopped  beside  tlie  Effendi.  Down, 
Thunderbolt,  and  make  your  salara  to  the  holy 
man."  And  the  obedient  animal  once  more 
obeyed  by  sinking  gently  upon  his  knees,  and 
laying  his  nose  in  the  dust. 

"  Mashallah !  'tis  a  beast  which  might  well 
shame  many  a  True  Believer ;"  said  Ildji  Reza  ; 
"  Bashustuu — on  my  head  be  it — the  horse  is 
mine." 

"  Are  tlie  coffers  of  Yezid  Effendi  well  filled  ?" 
laughed  the  Toorkoman  ;  "  My  lord  has  not  yet 
learned  that  the  piety  of  a  dervish  and  the 
qualities  of  a  horse  should  never  be  taken  upon 
trust." 

"  Nay,  Khawaji,  you  are  uncivil ;"  said  the 
young  man  :  "  but  our  good  father  must  pardon 
you,  for  you  have  not  folded  your  feet  upon  the 
cushion  of  caution  ;  nor  have  you  made  slaves 
of  your  words.  You  should  have  more  rever- 
ence for  the  khirkheh  1" 

"Heed  him  not,  EfFendimou — my  master;" 
interposed  the  bectachy :  "  his  calling  is  one  of 
light  mood  and  free  speech,  and  he  means  me 
no  evil — his  words  are  like  the  sands  of  the  de- 
sert, they  pass  by,  and  no  man  inquires  whence 
they  come." 

"  W'Allah — by  Allah  !  'tis  well  put ;"  ex- 
claimed the  Toorkoman :  "  when  the  boudaka  is 
full,  I  smoke  it ;  but  when  once  the  ashes  are 
knocked  out,  I  forget  the  flavor  of  the  gebeli. 
Phrases  savoring  of  the  sosun*  and  the  bannuff- 
shaf  are  for  the  use  of  the  harem :  they  are  not 
for  the  wandering  merchant,  whose  medresch;]: 
is  the  way-side." 

"  They  fail  you  not,  however,  Khawaji ;"  said 
ndji  Reza,  as  he  hung  over  the  coal-black  Arab, 
and  passed  portions  of  its  flowing  and  silky 
mane  through  his  fingers,  as  though  they  had 
been  the  love-locks  of  a  young  beauty.  "  But 
we  wander  from  our  purpose :  tell  me  the  price 
of  this  wind-winged  steed,  that  I  may  count 
you  the  purses,  and  make  it  mine." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Effemdim  ;"  said  the  Toorko- 
man emphatically ;  "  this  animal  has  been  to 
me  as  a  child — it  has  shared  alike  my  tent  and 
my  repast ;  my  voice  has  become  music  in  his 
ears,  and  my  will  the  impulse  of  its  being.  I 
cannot  sell  it  for  gold — all  the  purses  of  all  the 
padishahs  of  the  East  should  not  buy  it, — I  will 
only  part  from  it  to  secure  what  is  yet  more 
dear  to  me." 

"  And  what,  in  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  may 
that  be  ?"  asked  the  young  man  in  some  sur- 
prise: "  Can  there  be  aught  on  earth  that  a  man 
whose  beard  is  black,  would  value  beyond  an 
animal  like  tliis  ?  Affiet  ollah — much  good  may 
it  do  you.  If  it  be  in  my  possession  or  in  that 
of  Yezid  my  father,  it  is  yours." 

"Taib — well  said!"  exclaimed  the  bectachy: 
*•  the  words  of  the  beyzadeh  are  precious  as  the 
gems  of  Araby — he  wastes  them  not  idly." 
1     "Will   you  swear  this?"  asked  the  khawaji 
calmly, 

•  White  lily.        j  "Violet.        t  Collee*. 


Hdji  Reza  hesitated  for  a  moment:  and  then, 
glancing  at  the  dervish,  and  perceiving  that  he 
was  looking  towards  him  with  a  placid  smile, 
he  answered  boldly  ;  "  That  will  I,  by  the  sou] 
of  tlie  Prophet!" 

"  Nay,  we  will  not  make  the  Prophet  a  party 
in  the  compact ;"  said  the  Toorkoman  ;  "  swear 
by  your  own  hopes  of  Paradise,  and  by  the 
beard  of  your  father,  and  I  am  satisfied." 

"Cliok  chay — that  is  much!"  exclaimed  the 
young  man ;  "  but  so  be  it.  May  the  houris 
never  receive  me  into  Paradise,  and  may  the 
beard  of  my  father  be  eternally  defiled,  if  I  fail 
you." 

"  Taib  !  taib !  I  say  again  ;"  exclaimed  the 
dervish;  ''I  love  the  daring  of  a  free  spirit; 
and  now,  Khawaji,  to  your  share  of  the  coi»- 
tract — as  I  have  accidentally  been  a  witness  to 
the  bargain,  I  will  not  proceed  on  my  way  until 
I  see  the  bridle  of  the  animal  in  the  hand  of 
the  beyzedeh." 

"The  horse  is  his,  father:"  said  the  Toorko- 
man readily ;  "  I  am  willing  to  fulfil  the  pledge 
that  I  have  given  ;"  and  he  placed  the  rein  of 
the  coveted  steed  in  the  grasp  of  Ildji  Reza;  who 
bewildered  with  delight,  would  have  vaulted  into 
the  saddle  and  galloped  oft",  had  not  the  Kha- 
waji laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  detained 
him. 

"  My  lord  is  as  yet  but  my  mir  akhor  ;"*  he 
said,  with  a  smile  which  almost  withered  into  a 
sneer:  "I  have  satisfied  hira;  but  he  has,  as 
yet,  given  me  naught  save  promises,  strength- 
ened, however,  by  a  vow  which  lie  dare  not 
violate.  It  is  now  his  turn.  My  demand  will  , 
neither  exhaust  the  coffers  of  the  worthy  mer- 
chant his  father,  nor  cost  himself  a  piastre. 
During  my  sojourn  in  Damascus,  I  chanced — it 
avails  not  how — to  look  into  the  bright  eyes  of 
the  daughter  of  Kassim  Bey — the  peerless  Del- 
saisij  Hanoum.  Nay  turn  not  on  me  that  with- 
ering frown,  Effendim ;  the  heart  of  the  maiden 
is  as  pure  as  the  waters  of  the  fountain  in  which 
she  Avas  laughingly  contemplating  lier  own 
beauty  when  she  knew  not  that  any  gaze  was  on 
her.  From  that  hour  I  loved  her — in  that  hour  . 
I  strove  to  win  her — But  how?  As  I  wandered 
gloomily  through  an  obscure  street,  I  followed 
unobserved  two  portly  Effendis,  who  were  evi-  . 
dently  on  their  way  from  some  coft'ee-kiosque  \o 
their  own  dwellings.  Twilight  had  fallen  upou 
the  city,  and  they  believed  themselves  unob- 
served ;  and  thus,  as  they  moved  slowly  along, 
they  threw  their  words  out  right  and  left,  iis 
the  mimoso-bush  throws  out  its  thorns.  Tlicv 
were  the  merchant  Yezid,  and  his  powerfiil 
friend  Kassim  Bey  ;  and  then  and  there  I  learnt 
that  the  beautiful  and  gazelle-eyed  Delsais(i  was 
the  promised  bride  of  the  Khawaji's  only  son. 
Does  my  lord  read  the  writing  on  the  parcli- 
ment?" 

"  You  would  have  the  maiden  for  your  wifo  ; 
is  it  not  so  ?"  asked  the  Ildji  RezA. 

The  Toorkoman  nodded  assent. 

"  If  that  be  all ;"  laughed  the  young  man ; 
"  bir  chey  yok — it  is  notliing.  If  you  can  win 
her  father  to  consent,  let  her  be  your's;  I  am  no 
woman-wooer,  and  I  have  renounced  my  claim. 


•  Chief  of  the  Stables 


THE   ROMANCE  OF  THE   IIAUEM 


I  would  rnthor  have  tliis  poorless  Arab  in  my 
stable,  than  the  fairest  iiiaideu  of  Daiuaacus  in 
my  barom." 

"Pek  ahi — it  is  well;"  retorted  the  Toorko- 
man;  "but  tliat  is  not  enough.  Shall  I  strew 
dirt  upon  my  head,  by  asking  the  daughter  of  a 
Bey  for  my  wife  i  Shall  1  expose  myself  to  the 
gtbes  and  jeers  of  every  idler  like  a  spinning 
Santon,  by  telling  my  condition  and  the  wild 
object  of  my  desires  J  I  will  eat  sour  pillauf 
with  no  man.  You  must  become  for  once  an 
earnest  lover ;  you  must  repent  your  tirst  deci- 
sion ;  and  not  content  with  waiting  the  pleasure 
of  a  capricious  mistress,  and  a  cautious  father,  you 
must  put  everyart  in  practice  to  win  the  young 
beauty  ere  the  next  moon  tcatics ;  and,  having  won 
her,  you  must  instantly  mount  your  trusty  steed, 
and  enveloping  the  maiden  in  her  mantle,  and 
I  placing  her  before  you,  leave  the  city  by  the 
southern  gate;  and  never  draw  your  rein  until 
you  arrive  under  the  shadow  of  the  rock-seated 
tower*  which  overhangs  the  river.  I  will  be 
within  the  walls  awaiting  you;  and  there  1  will 
relieve  you  of  your  burden.  Will  you  again 
swear  ?" 

And  once  more  the  infatuated  Hdji  RezA,  driven 
to  destruction  by  his  felech,  answered  gaily  and 
readily,  •'  I  will." 

Little  more  passed  that  day.  Tlie  son  of  Yezid 
uttered  a  hast^  parting  salutation  to  the  khawaji 
and  the  dervish,  who  remained  together ;  and 
springing  upon  the  noble  Arab,  sped,  like  an 
arrow  shot  by  a  strong  arm,  towards  the  city ; 
while  the  clatter  of  his  horse's  hoofs  drowned 
the  laughter  which  followed  him  upon  the  wind. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   ARAB   STEED COXTINUED. 

Gre.\t  was  the  exultation  of  the  young  man 
when  he  remarked  that  every  eye  was  turned 
upon  his  steed  as  he  hurried  along.  In  the 
pride  of  his  spirit  he  committed  a  thousand  ex- 
travagancies and  drew  upon  himself  the  gaze 
and  the  envy  of  the  whole  city.  lie  passed  not 
the  habitation  of  one  of  his  acquaintance  with- 
out indulging  his  fiery  horse  in  as  many  caprices 
and  caracoles  as  brought  all  the  fair  inhabitants 
of  the  harem  to  their  lattices;  ami  it  waa  not 
until  he  reached  liLs  father's  house,  ami  with  his 
usual  impetuosity  wa-i  himself  proviiling  for  the 
couifortof  his  new  aci{ui.'<iti<>n,  that  his  thoughts 
recurred  to  the  singular  contract  into  which  he 
had  so  reckle*^ly  entered  ;  and  then  the  difficul- 
ties that  oppo8<-d  themselves  on  all  sides  at  once 
flashed  upon  him.  Hut  it  was  now  too  late  to 
retract;  he  was  f.-ttenid  by  a  vow;  and  he  had 
no  alternative  but  to  breast  the  stream  as  best 
he  might 

When  he  entered  the  house,  ho  accordingly 
shut  himself  into  his  apartment  to  ruminate  on 
the  most  fea.sible  method  of  commencing  his 
operations ;  and  after  mature  d<liberation,  or 
what  approached  as  near  to  it  as  lldji  Keul  was 


•  On  the  nouth- westerly  »id«  of  the  eitjr,  &  •m&U  build- 
ing ii  erected  on  the  crut  of  a  itMp  precipice,  beneath 
'wkich  flows  the  Barrady. 


able  to  bestow  on  any  subject,  ho  left  his  chnn»> 
ber,  and  joined  Yezid  tlie  merehant,  in  his  own 
room,  where  ho  was  quietly  smoking  his  chibou- 
que on  a  corner  of  the  sofa. 

"  Salam  Aleikum;"  said  the  son,  as  ho  passed 
the  threshold  with  a  respectful  salutation. 

•' Aleiktim  Salftm;"  replied  the  iiunhant,  with* 
out  withdrawing  the  j>ipe  from  his  mouth  ;  "  you 
are  early  from  the  cotlec-kiosqui'  this  evening, 
lldji  Uezd;   whither  are  you  now  bound?" 

"  I  would  ask  to  share  your  sofa,  Elfendim,  if 
your  thoughts  are  not  so  differently  engaged, 
that  my  words  will  sound  harshly  in  your 
ears." 

The  delighted  Yezid  stroked  down  his  beard 
with  a  happy  smile,  as  he  surtmumed  a  slave 
with  a  chibouque  for  his  unexpected  guest ;  mar- 
velling, as  he  did  so,  what  such  an  unusual  pro- 
ceeding might  portend. 

Pijies  having  been  supplied,  and  the  slaves 
withdrawn,  the  father  aiKl  son  sat  for  a  time  en- 
veloped in  the  vapors  of  the  delieately-sconted 
gebeli  ;  Yezi<I  glancing  from  time  to  time  at  the 
handsome  youth  by  his  si>le,  with  a  fond  pride 
which  blinded  hini  to  the  wilfulness  of  his  dis- 
position ;  and  with,  perhaps,  a  i)ar<lonable  van- 
ity endeavoring  to  trace  in  the  high  smooth 
brow,  the  large  wild  dark  eye,  the  rich  curved 
lip,  and  the  short,  thick,  curling  beard,  a  re- 
newed picture  of  his  own  youth;  while  lldji 
RezA  himself  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  how 
he  might  best  introduce  the  subject  which  was 
now  uppermost  in  his  thoughtii. 

"  EfTendim  ;"  he  said  at  length  ;  "  you  may  re- 
member, that  some  months  back  you  talked 
to  me  of  bringing  home  a  wife  to  my  harem ; 
and  that  I  made  no  willing  reply  to  your  sug- 
gestion, because  I  had  never  laid  my  head  upon 
the  cushion  of  quiet,  and  desired  st^ill  to  be  left 
free  to  follow  the  dictates  of  my  own  will.  What 
shall  I  say? — I  have  since  dwelt  upon  your 
words;  and  I  have  heard  from  my  mother  that 
the  maiden  whom  you  had  sik-cted  for  me  is  as 
beautiful  as  a  moonbeam,  and  as  graceful  as  a 
gazelle.  What  is  written,  is  written — I  will 
marry  her !" 

"  Alhemdullilah — praise  be  to  Allah  I"  saiil  tho 
merehant:  "the  sun  is  at  length  rising  in  tho 
East.  My  son,  life  has  hitherto  been  to  you  like 
the  fiery  sherbets  of  the  Franks,  pletutant  and 
poisonous:  but  you  are  now  recovering  from  tho 
partial  insanity  under  which  you  have  labor- 
ed :  and  flinging  away  the  husks  of  the  dhourra, 
you  will  at  last  begin  to  hoard  the  grain.  But 
what  say  1  ?  The  bey  is  angered  by  your  re- 
jection of  the  maidi'ii,  and  may  perchance  not 
listen  to  a  renewal  of  our  suit.  You  were  hasty, 
IKlji  liv/A,  to  spiiik  ere  you  had  turned  the  words 
on  your  onen  palm,  and  seen  that  they  were 
good  and  fitting." 

The  young  man  cast  down  his  eyes,  and  ro- 
mained  silent. 

"Tho  wife  whom  I  had  chosen  for  you,"  con- 
tinued his  father;  "had  been  described  to  me  a« 
a  mirror  of  beauty;  a  lily  whose  leaves  wero 
scarcely  yet  unfolded— a  vi«»let  whieh  had  grown 
so  secretlv  amid  the  seculsion  of  the  harem,  that 
she  would  have  been  as  a  jewel,  whieh  you 
would  have  dug  from  the  mine  ere  another  eyo 
had  rested  on  it     But  yet  forget  not,  uiy  son, 


eo 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


ihonld  my  words  yet  prevail  with  the  father 
of  the  maiden,  that  you  are  a  man,  and  that 
your  beard  has  grown  :  do  not.  in  the  contem- 
plation of  her  beauty,  forget  that  your  days 
must  not  be  spent  in  the  harcni  of  3-our  wife. 
What  are  the  loveliest  maidens  that  they  should 
be  suffered  to  hold  an  undue  empire  ?  Like  the 
fair-seeming  flower  of  Caraminia  which  poisons 
the  wind  as  it  sweeps  over  it,  the  xmnatural 
dominion  of  a  wife  enervates  the  mind,  and 
weakens  the  energies  of  her  husband.  Never 
forget,  Ildji  Reza,  that  young  and  beautiful 
though  they  be,  they  are  yet  women  ;  and  thut 
in  short,  my  sou,  they  are  all  bosh — nothing  !" 

The  listener  nodded  his  concurrence  to  this 
sentiment. 

"  Tell  no  treason  to  a  courtier — no  heresy  to 
a  moullah — and  no  secret  to  j'our  wife  :"  pursued 
the  merchant,  perceiving  that  the  attention 
of  his  son  was  poured  out  upon  his  words  ; 
"  The  tongue  of  a  woman  is  more  dangerous 
than  the  scimitar  of  a  warrior,  for  you  can  never 
tell  where  its  blows  may  fall,  and  a  wise  man 
wastes  not  his  words  upon  children.  Neither 
put  too  much  trust  in  your  slaves :  but  ever  be 
vigilant  yourself  to  protect  your  own  honor. 
Why  did  the  Prophet,  who  overran  the  world 
with  a  sword  in  one  hand,  and  a  houri  in  the 
other,  put  a  veil  before  her  face,  and  a  lattice 
before  her  casement?  Was  it  not  to  point  out 
how  little  dependence  should  be  placed  upon  her 
own  discretion  ?" 

"  Well  said,  Effendim,"  broke  forth  the  young 
man  earnestly  :  "  it  was — but  fear  not  for  me — 
no  kelb  will  dare  to  laugh  at  my  beard  ! — no 
zamparalik*  for  the  mouths  of  the  massaldjhes 
will  ever  issue  from  my  harem !  Inshallah,  few 
know  better  than  I  the  just  value  of  every  Aga 
Babaf  in  Damascus." 

"  And  yet,  my  son,  many  have  been  wounded 
by  the  blade  of  which  they  well  knew  the  tem- 
per— I  have  spoken." 

"  Wallah  billah — by  the  Prophet !  and  you 
have  spoken  wisely  ;"  replied  the  son. 

"  And  if  I  warn  you  not  to  build  up  your  faith 
on  the  fidelity  of  an  eunuch;"  followed  up 
Yezid  ;  "  so  do  I  also  counsel  you  never  to  let 
the  folly  of  a  woman  ruffle  your  beard.  Patience, 
my  son,  under  the  affliction  of  a  wife's  folly,  is 
like  the  red  earth  of  our  own  plains,  which 
deadens  the  sting  of  the  Hoxious  reptile  that  has 
fastened  on  U8."| 

"  Korkma — fear  not:"  returned  the  young 
man :  "  your  lesson  shall  not  be  lost  upon  me  ; 
and  now,  I  pray  you,  to  hasten  my  suit  with  the 
bey,  that  when  I  close  the  door  of  my  harem,  I 
may  no  longer  find  it  empty." 

"  Allah  buyukdcr;"  was  the  only  reply  of  the 
merchant,  as  Ildji  RczA  descended  from  the  sofa, 

})ressed  the  hand  of  his  father  to  his  lips  and 
brehead,  and  hastily  quitted  the  apartment. 

From  the  presence  of  Yezid  the  young  man 
passed  '.t  once  into  the  harem,  and  made  his 
way  to  the  chamber  of  his  mother. 

Amidci  Hanoum  was  still  a  handsome  woman ; 
and  the  smile  with  which  she  received  her  son 


•  Bit  of  Ecandal.        t  Chief  of  the  h&rem  euard. 
t  In  the  plain  beyond  the  city  is  found  a  red  eaith  which 
cures  the  sting  of  venomous  insects. 


lit  up  her  noble  features,  and  gave  a  lustre  to 
her  eye,  that  for  the  moment  almost  renewed 
her  youth. 

"  Khosh  geldin,  Ildji  Reza  ;"  she  said  fondly^ 
as  she  flung  back  the  heavy  sleeve  of  her  gold* 
embroidered  antery,  and  extended  to  him  her 
small  white  hand,  which  he  immediately  raised 
to  his  heart  and  lips  ;  "  You  are  welcome — and 
what  news  bring  you  from  the  city,  my  son?  foi 
to-day  I  have  received  no  guests,  and  my  slaves 
are  as  dull  as  an  empty  chibouque." 

"  Evallah  !  Damascus,  fair  mother,  is  scarcely 
more  full  of  kief*  than  j-our  own  harem ;  its 
anti(juity,'|-  like  that  of  a  moullah,  has  done  no 
service  to  its  beard.  A  caravan  passed  out  at 
sunrise  on  its  way  to  Aleppo,  numbering  among 
its  merchants  two  Frank  beys,  whose  dinars 
were  more  plentiful  than  their  garments,  which 
made  good  sport  for  the  idle  youths  wlio  were 
congregated  at  the  great  coffee-kiosque ;;  but 
the  train  soon  disappeared  aloug  the  banks  of 
the  Golden  River,§  and  the  streets  are  again 
quiet." 

"  And  what  errand  brings  Ildji  Reza,  the  pride 
of  Damascus,  to  the  sofa  of  his  mother?"  asked 
the  Georgian  fondly ;  "  Is  his  purse  empty,  oi 
his  head  heavy  from  last  night's  revel  ?" 

"  Asteferallah — heaven  forbid  !"  laughed  het 
son;  "for  those  are  two  evils  which  have  not 
even  the  charm  of  novelty  to  recommend  them. 
Ai,  ai !"  and  he  wrung  his  hands  as  if  in  anguish 
while  a  mocking  light  danced  in  his  eye :  "  ] 
haye  been  converted,  and  instead  of  gold,  I  an 
now  coming  to  crave  a  wife." 

"  Wallah!"  exclaimed  Amide  Hanoum  ;  "  thii, 
is  an  hour  for  which  I  long  have  looked.     Ho-n 
will  the  Khawaji  Effendi  rejoice,  when  on  hii' 
next  visit  to  the  harem,  I  read  to  him  this  new 
page  in  the  volume  of  delight!     And  the  wifi. 
whom  I  have  wooed  for  you,  Ildji  Reza,  guzum 
is  fair  as  the  snow-flake  upon  the  mountain 
pausing  on  the  threshold  of  her  loveliness,  wit! 
the  heart  of  a  girl,  and  the  beauty  of  a  woman- 
the  Bey  her  father  of  the  best  blood  in  the  em 
pire,  and  the  Hanoum  Eftendi,  her  mother,  i 
very  model  of  propriety  and  politeness — Nay, 
more  :"  continued  the  Georgian,  as  she  remarlcet 
the  indifference  with  which  her  son  listened  t< 
these  advantages ;    "  it  must  not  be  breather 
save  between  ourselves ;  but  as  you  are  no\ 
prepared  to  regard  her  with  the  eyes  of  affec' 
tion,  I  may  venture  to  whisper  it  in  your  ear- 
she  loves  you,  Ildji  Rezii !— -JShe  has  seen  yo 
from  her  lattice  as  you  passed  along  the  streets 
she  has  watched  you  from  her  araba  as  you  ga 
loped  along  the  plain — she  was  told  that  yo 
were  to  be  her  husband — and  now  when  she  i 
restless,  and   her  slaves  would   soothe  her  t 


•  Spirit. 

t  Damascus  is  said  to  be  the  most  venerable  city  in  tl 
world  ;  having  been  built  by  Uz,  the  son  of  Abraham,  ar 
grandson  of  She:n,  the  son  of  Noah.  It  was,  moreover,  tl 
birthplace  of  Abraham's  steward,  Eliezar. 

;  In  the  city  of  Damascus  is  a  colVee-house,  capable 
contitining  with  convenience  five  hundred  individual 
The  building  is  divided  into  two  equal  portions  ;  one  beir 
appropriated  to  the  hot  summer  months,  for  which  its  a 
rangements  are  admirably  calculated  ;  and  the  other  , 
those  of  winter,  where  no  less  attention  has  been  paid 
the  comfort  of  the  visiters. 

$  The  river  Barrady  — formerly  called  by  the  Greeks  t 
Chryssrrhoas,  or  Golden  River. 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  THE  llAREiL 


61 


■leep,  thoy  tell  hor  tales  of  Ildji  Rcza^  for  she 
will  li^iten  to  none  other.'' 

For  tlie  tirst  time  the  young  mail's  breath 
came  quiek,  und  his  lip  quivered.  "  And  she 
is  fair,  you  tell  me,  mother  ?'  he  said,  taller- 
ingly. 

'"As  a  peri!  answered  Aiiii.^c  Hanoum : 
''and  when  I  wish  to  awaken  her  into  bright- 
er beauty,  I  talk  to  her  of  my  son  !'' 

*•  And  will  she  listen?" 

"As  a  hadji  listens  to  the  Koran  at  the 
Prophet's  tomb — with  clasped  hands  and 
bowe^d-down-head.  Her  soul  is  as  a  mirror 
■which  reflects  but  one  image,  and  that  one  is 
Ildji  Rcza!- 

The  younsr  man  with  ditRculty  suppressed 
the  groan  that  rose  to  his  lips  :  never  until 
that  moment  had  he  felt  how  bitter  it  must  be 
to  sacrifice  one  who  loves  yoti :  '•  'Tis  at  tiie 
"rest  a  mere  irirlish  lancy:"'  he  said,  endeavor- 
ing to  suppress  his  emotion :  '"were  she  told 
to-morrow  that  she  must  marry  Mansoor  Aga 
my  friend,  the  mirror  would  receive  a  new 
shadow,  and  I  should  be  forgotten !"' 

"My  son!"'  said  the  Georgian,  earnestly: 
"  "Tis  not  given  to  man  to  read  a  woman's 
heart  !  Do  you  believe  that  the  same  power 
•which  fetters  our  actions  has  dominion  over 
our  souls  !  Alas  !  you  will  not  be  convinced  ; 
aud  every  day  of  your  experience  you  eat  the 
bitter  apple  of  regret,  when  you  might  be  en- 
joying the  pomegranate  of  contentment.  The 
first  character  inscribed  upon  a  woman's  heart 
is  indelible— others  may  follow,  which  for  a 
time  appear  as  la^iting.  but  they  are  written 
only  by  her  fancy  or  her  vanity,  and  they  are 
efiaced  by  time."' 

''  But  has  she  not  been  told  that  when  the 
bey  her  father  offered  her  to  the  son  of  Yezid 
in  marriage,  he  folded  his  hands  in  the  sleeve 
of  his  garment,  and  turned  away?"  asked  the 
young  man.  '•  Can  she  love  one  who  was 
insensible  to  her  beauty  and  her  tenderness  ?"' 

'•My  son;"  said  the  Georgian  earnestly: 
"  aflection  never  rea.sons ;  the  heart  is  not 
logical — it  is  content  to  feel.'" 

••  And  the  bey  ?  Think  you  that  he  will 
yield  her  up  to  one  by  whom  she  ha-s  been 
slighted?  He,  at  least,  will  have  no  advocate 
whispering  in  his  heart," 

'■  Ildji,  my  son  :*'  said  Amide  Hanoum,  an 
she  held  her  feather-framed  hand-mirror  to- 
wards his  glowing  countenance,  and  his  eye 
rested  upon  his  own  luxuriant  beauty  :  '"the 
nightingale  turns  not  a.side  from  the  ro.sc- 
garden  of  Nishapor,  when  he  may  fold  his 
•wing  in  peace  amid  the  blossoms.  The  bey 
loves  his  child,  and  he  knows  that  thou  art 
beloved  by  her  :  the  eye  of  beauty  is  too 
bright  to  be  dimmed  by  team,  salt  and  bitter 
enough  to  mingle  with  the  waves  of  the  great 
sea  de.'^ert." 

"  And   would   she  really  weep  for   me  ?" 


again  demanded  the  young  man,  touclisd  to 
the  heart  by  the  words  of  his  mother. 

The  Georgian,  for  all  answiT.  again  raised 
the  nurror,  and  pointed  \Nith  a  smile,  half 
archness,  and  half  pride,  towards  it-*  surJaco, 
which  once  more  refleetca  the  image  of  tlio 
questioner. 

Ildji  Uezii  sighed  ;  and  a  strange  curiosity 
gresv  upon  him  to  see  this  lovely  woman, 
who  amid  his  neglect,  and  his  irregularities, 
liud  venturrd  to  love  him.  Hitherto  In-  hiul 
held  his  mother  as  a  thing  apart,  which  hud, 
by  some  inexplicable  good  fortune,  escaped 
from  the  pollution  that  had  been  poured  torih 
on  her  sex  :  for  the  son  of  Vezid  new  iioiluiig 
of  women  save  their  vices ;  but  lie  now  began 
to  believe  that  there  might  yet  be  others,  pure, 
and  beauiitul.  and  lovin*;,  whose  smiles  would 
be  as  a  foreta,ste  of  paradise.  His  lather  had 
told  him  that  his  promi.scd  bride  was  lovely 
as  a  daughter  of  Peristan,  and  his  mother 
dwelt  upon  her  innocence,  her  love,  and  lier 
devotion. 

Ildji  Reza  fell  inio  a  delightful  dream  ;  and 
when  he  at  length  left  the  harem,  be  was  an 
altered  man. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    AR.\B    STKED — CONTINLED. 

The  son  of  Yezid  fir.>t  bent  his  steps  to  the 
mcidan.*  resolved  to  restore  to  the  mysterious 
All  his  ill-omened  Arab;  but  none  knew  to 
whom  he  alluded.  A  mimerous  caravan  was 
preparing  to  depart  at  daybreak  on  the  morrow 
for  Bagdad,  and  all  save  himself  were  active 
and  preoccupied. 

The  space  immediately  around  the  building 
was  heaped  with  merchandise  ;  there  were 
scimitars,  carefully  jiaeked  in  woollen  wrap- 
pers, lest  the  weather  should  destroy  llieir 
brightness  —  sword  blades,  knives,  curious 
bridle-biLH.  andoiher  articles  skillully  wruiii^ht 
in  iron  and  steel,  tor  which  the  city  liiul  long 
been  famous  ;  while  a  few  bales  of  merchan- 
dise, of  a  more  costly  and  perishable  nature, 
were  carefully  heaped  together  a  little  space 
apart,  and  guarded  by  black  slaves.  Tlio 
artisans,  meanwhile,  to  the  amount  of  two  or 
three  hundred,  who.se  credit  was  involved  in 
the  safe  transport  of  their  handicraft,  were 
shouting,  cavilling,  and  directiii!;,  at  the  pilch 
of  their  lungs;  and  eomplcled  the  confusion 
of  the  scene. 

Strings  of  camels  huddled  together,  some 
standing  snulling  the  air,  and  others  lying 
placidly  on  the  earth  ;  their  long  thin  nccku 


•  A  largo  field  n»r  ih»  city,  in  which  iimd.  »c«riT»»- 
Mni  for  pilgrimi  »nJ  .IranRer*,  who  »/•  mainUiBtd 
during  iheir  lojourn  there  ft(  Uie  expeiue  of  the  lalua. 


«2 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


outstretched,  and  their  soft,  sleepy  black  eyes, 
slowly  roiling  from  one  side  to  the  other  as 
any  sudden  outburst  of  tongues  roused  them 
lightly  from  their  lethargy,  were  also  con- 
spicuous ;  while  in  the  midst  of  them  reposed 
the  asses  which  led  the  train.  Here  and  there 
tlie  horse  of  a  wealthy  merchant,  with  its 
softly  padded  saddle,  and  tasselled  brow-band 
and  breast-plate,  was  led  through  the  space 
by  a  groom  ;  while  crowds  of  hungry  and 
yelling  dogs  were  s;een  in  every  direction, 
quarrelling  and  fighting  over  the  garbage 
which  had  been  flung  out  by  the  slaves  of  the 
caravanserai. 

A  group  of  hadjis  stood  looking  on  from  a 
distance ;  and  a  few  buffoons,  santons,  and 
dervishes,  were  gliding  among  the  crowd:  but 
the  merchants  and  their  followers  were  too 
busy  to  heed  them  :  and  Ildji  Reza.  convinced 
that  he  should  obtain  no  information  at  so 
bustling  a  moment,  slowly  passed  out  of  the 
enclosure  and  entered  the  city  gate. 

Ere  he  left  the  meidan,  the  sun  was  rapidly 
sinking  in  the  west;  and  as  his  road  lay  past 
the  palace  of  Kassim  Bey,  he  involuntarily 
slackened  his  pace  when  he  emerged  from  the 
covered  street.  On  his  right  hand  the  fortress- 
castle,  with  its  graceful  oval,  flanked  with 
four  square  towers,  was  casting  long  shadows 
across  the  earth,  but  he  heeded  them  not :  his 
thoughts  were  occupied  for  the  first  time  by  a 
woman  ! 

It  was  strange  that  since  Yezid  the  merch- 
ant had  asked  for  his  .«on  the  daughter  of  Kas- 
sim Bey,  tlie  young  man,  regardless  of  the 
honor  of  such  an  alliance,  had  never  spent  a 
moment  in  speculating  upon  the  probable 
change  which  it  would  work  in  his  fortunes  : 
but  now — when  he  was  conscious  that  to  sat- 
isfy a  selfish  vanity,  he  had  sacrificed  all  the 
advantages  which  might  accrue  from  it,  even 
should  he  yet  succeed  in  his  suit,  he  had 
■worked  himself  into  a  belief  that  he  was  madly 
in  love  with  the  maiden ;  and,  come  what 
might,  he  was  determined  to  judge  with  his 
own  eyes  whether  she  were  worthy  of  all  the 
panegyrics  wiiich  had  been  lavished  upon  her 
beneath  the  roof  of  his  father. 

Coupled  with  this  rcsoluiion  grew  a  regret 
that  he  had  spoken  to  his  parents  of  his  change 
of  temper.  Should  they  at  once  win  the  young 
beauty  to  his  harem,  he  could  have  no  oppor- 
tunity of  estimating  her  attractions  through 
the  medium  of  his  own  ingenuity,  but  must 
yield  her  up  on  the  instant  to  his  arch  tempter. 
the  Toorkoman.  Regrets  were,  however,  un- 
availing, and  he  at  once  resolved  to  spare 
neither  subtlety  uor  danger  to  achieve  his  pur- 
pose. 

In  the  first  rush  of  this  new  fancy,  Ildji 
Reza  thouglit  of  the  Aga  Baba  of  the  bey,  who, 
as  he  judged  from  many  a  past  experience, 
•would  scarcely  be  proof  against  his  gold  ;  but 
•when  he  dwelt  upon  the  idea  of  the  fair  girl 


who  loved  him,  he  resolved  not  to  be  indebted 
to  so  gross  a  medium  for  his  success  :  and  for- 
getting, in  the  energy  of  this  new  pursuit,  the 
fearful  penalty  by  which  it  was  to  be  accom- 
panied, he  paused  under  the  shadow  of  the 
bey's  dwelling,  and  sent  a  searching  glance 
along  the  whole  fagade  of  the  building.     But 

j  the  harem,  as  is  generally  the  case,  overlooked 
the  gardens  of  the  palace,.,  and  had  no  com- 
munication with  the  street,  save  by  casements 
too  high  and  too  well  guarded  to  admit  of  any 
ingress ;  and  one  door,  which  was  watched 
day  and  night  by  an  eunuch.  This  difliculty, 
however,  to  the  excited  imagination  of  the 
young  man,  only  added  another  charm  to  those 
which  already  encompassed  his  mistress;  and 
from  gazing  on  the  long  dreary  walls  of  the 
building,  he  turned  away  to  follow  those  of 
the  extensive  pleasure  grounds  of  the  harem. 

Tracing  them  as  they  climbed  the  gentle 
ascent  behind  the  city,  he  noted  with  an  ex- 
perienced eye,  every  point  which  might  pro- 
mise advantage;  and  remarked  that  several 
tall  cedar  trees  flung  their  long  arms  into  the' 
road  beyond,  as  if  wooing  the  incursion  of  the 
adventurous;  when,  satisfied  of  the  practica- 
bility of  securing  an  entrance  into  the  forbid- 
den territory,  he  returned  slowly  homeward, 
and  flung  himself  upon  the  sofa  of  repose. 

But  dawn  had  scarcely  flooded  the  East, 
when  Ildji  Reza,  who  had  passed  the  night  in 
dreams  which  seemed  to  have  been  steeped  in 
the  sherbet  of  paradise;  whose  cu.shions  had 
been  smoothed  by  liouris ;  and  whose  brows 
had  been  fanned  by  the  breezes  that  breathe 
of  Peristal! ;  sprang  from  his  sofa,  his  brain 
throbbing,  and  his  pulses  leaping  like  those  of 
a  chamois,  and  proceeded  to  the  stable  Mhere 
he  had  left,  half  buried  among  the  flexible 
leaves  ofthedhourra,  his  incomparable  Arabian. 
If  the  creature  were  to  be  the  engine  of  his' 
misery,  it  might,   at  least,   ere  the  dark  hour 

I  came,  be  the  instrument  of  his  triumph  ;  but 
as  he   approached    it,    and    listened  while  it; 

[  neighed  out  with  delight  when  he  drew  near, 

:  as  though  among  so  many  strangers,   it  had 

'recognized  a  familiar  face,  he  half  forgot  his 
fears,  his  doubts,    and  his  misgivings,  in  his 

I  admiration  of  an  animal,  such  as  he  had  never 

I  before  beheld. 

Springing  to  the  saddle,  the  excited  young 

'  man  passed  out  through  one  of  the  eight  gates 
of  the  city,  and  following  the  banks  of  the. 
Golden  river,  galloped  for  awhile  about  the 
plain,  fanned  by  the  perfume-laden  wind,  and 
seeming  to  follow  it  in  its  course  ;  his  bridle- 
rein  hung  loose  upon  the  neck  of  the  gallant 
horse,  but  it  needed  not  the  guidance  of  its 
rider;  and  Ihlji  Reza  felt  a  proud  conviction 
that  never  before  had  mortal  steed  obeyed  tb« 
unuttered  wishes  of  him  who  should  havf 
pointed  out  its  path,  like  the  animal  that  he 
bestrode. 

As  he  returned  to  the  city,  and  passed  th« 


TIIE   ROMANCE   OF  TIIK   IIARRM.  61 

palace  of  Kassim  Bey,  anxious  to  afford  to  tlio  I  cloak,  issued  forth,  and  closed  it  hoiitily  behind 
latticed  ininaies  of  the  harcin  a  view  of  his  I  her  ;  and  the  young  man  fell  at  tlie  moment 
skilful  horsemanship,  ho  irritated  the  creature  |  as  thoui,'h  the  uncon.seious  wnmun  had  shut 
both  in  the  mouth  and  flank,  to  make  him  |  ngainst  him  the  <;ate  of  paradise.  In  the  next 
prance  and  caracole:  and  he  was  conscious  i  moment  he  resolved  to  follow  lur  ;  lie  eould 
that  he  was  disjdayed  to  the  greatest  ad-  ;  not  have  aeeounlcd  for-the  imjiulM-  ;  he  did 
vantage,  though  his  seat  upon  th-^  saddle  con- '  not  seek  to  do  so  ;  and,  for  a  eonMderabio 
tinued  to  be  safe  and  asciisy  as  lliouyh  he  had    lime    he  conlenled  himself  wilii  traekim;  her 


been  upon  his  sofa;  while  a  faint  scream 
■which  came  to  his  ear  from  behind  the  guard- 
ed casement  of  the  women's  aparlments.  con- 
vinced him  that,  however  secure  lie  miiiht 
himself  leel,  his  situation  appeared  by  no 
means  equally  so  to  the  lookers-on.  The  voice 
of  fear  had  been  that  of  a  young  per.son.  for  it 
■was  musieal  even  in  its  terror  ;  and  Ildji  Keza 
forgot  to  speciilale  on  the  extraordinary  pro- 
pefties  of  his  horse,  in  the  belief  that  it  eould 
have  been  none  other  than  that  of  the  fair 
DelsaVsc  herself. 

There  is  a  charm  in  the  voice  of  woman, 
erven  although  it  may  be  lilted  in  terror  :  there 
is  a  mellowness,  a  depth,  which  seem  to  have 
been  drawn  from  the  recesses  of  the  soul — a 
music,  which  neither  fear  nor  anguish  can  to- 
tally overpower — and  Ildji  Heza  felt  it  even 
to  the  remotest  corners  of  liis  soul.  She  loved 
him ;  she  feared  for  him — for  Aim  .'  And  what 
part  ■was  he  about  to  play  in  this  strange  dra- 
ma?    All  was  yet  in  the  hands  of  fate  ;  but 


up  one  of  the  eovereil  streets  and  dosvii  ano- 
ther ;  until,  at  length,  when  she  arrived  in  the 
bazar,  and  he  observed  Iroin  the  nature  of  her 
purchases,  and  the  readiness  with  which  she 
paid  the  price  demanded,  without  liesitalion  or 
cavil,  that  they  must  be  intendid  lor  the  us© 
of  .Muiie  one  of  very  superior  rank  to  her.scll',  a 
hope  i;rew  upon  him  that  she  inii;lit  even  be 
tlie  conlidcnlial  attendant  of  Delsaisi-  Manouin  j 
and  no  sooner  had  tlie  idea  eui^ge.sted  itself, 
than  he  walked  (luietly  up  to  the  carpet  ot  the 
dealer  of  whom  she  was  purehasing  an  em- 
broidered handkerchief  of  great  beauty,  whose 
muslin  centre  was  richly  bordered  with,  a 
wreath  of  flowers,  exquisitely  wrought  in  nee- 
dle-work, with  colored  silks  and  gold  ;  and, 
alfeeling  to  be  also  in  searcii  of  a  similar  arti- 
cle, he  turned  courteously  towards  tiie  female, 
and  requested  her  to  assist  him  in  the  selec- 
tion. Thus  addressed,  the  slave  glanced 
from  beneath  her  veil  at  the  speaker,  and 
immediately  saluted  him  with  respectful  dc- 


his  word  was  pledged  ;  he  was  vowed  to  the  I  ferenee 

ruin   of   loveliness    and    innocence:    and    he  j      "Is  not  my  lord's  will  mine?''  she  askcxt 

must  abide  by  the  pledge  that  he  had  given. 

Having  come  to  this  conviction,  the  wi.-^esi 
thing  that  the  young  man  could  have  done   even    as   he   commands  ?     May   his  days   be 


'  as  she  turned  a  longer  and  more  earnest  look 
I  upon  the  young  man  ;  "and  shall   it  not  be 


•would  have  been  to  avoid  every  opportunity 
of  dwelling  on  the  beauty  and  perfections  of 
his  promised  bride  :  and  the  saeriliee.  ■when  he 
■was  called  upon  to  make  it.  would  thus  have 
been  rendered  less  bitter;  but  by  that  extra- 
ordinary perversity  of  judgment  which  consti- 
tutes the  weakness  of  human  nature,  he  not 
only  drew  from  his  mother,  already  too  wil- 
ling on  her  side  to  expiate  on  so  pleasant  a 
theme,  everj*  particular  relating  to  the  maiden  : 
but  hour  by  hour,  the  inclination  to  look  upon 
her  grew  more  strong  ;  and  hour  by  hour,  his 
reason  made  fainter  cfl'urts  against  the  infatu- 
ation. 


CHAPTKR  X.XVI. 

THK    ARAB    STKF.I) CO.NTI.M  ED. 

Day  airain  waned  ;  and,  as  the  many-colored 
clouds  that  clustered  in  homage  round  the 
Betting  sun,   paying   back  in  glory  the   light 


many,  and  his  shadow  never  deerciu-e;"  and 
she  began  to  turn  over  the  handkerchiefs  with 
renewed  energy;  "But  how  may  1  tell  the 
taste  of  my  lord  ?  were  I  still  purehasing  for 
my  mistress,  I  would  take  this — ''  and  sho 
held  towards  him  one  which  Vas  wroimht 
into  a  garland  of  minute  rose-buds ;  '•  but  it 
tells  a  tale  of  happy  love,  and  my  lord  may 
not  seek  to  make  so  soft  a  gill.'' 

"  Weni  I  sure  that  it  would  bo  welcome, 
that  is  the  very  present  which  I  should  wish 
to  offer."  replied  lldji  Kezii,  looking  earnestly 
towards  her:  "  but  if  it  were  returned  to  me 
with  a  sprig  of  rue  among  its  folds,  I  cannot 
tell  to  what  my  felei-h  might  drive  me  ui  my 
despair." 

"  How  say  you.  Hadji  Ferhat?''  laughed  tho 
slave,  addressing  iicrself  to  the  grccn-lurbaned 
dealer;  ''docs  my  lord  look  like  one  whose 
love-gift  is  likely  to  be  returned  upon  his 
hands  V 

"  Mashallah  !"  retorte<l  tho  crafty  dealer 
stroking  down  his  beard,  quite  salisfietl  by  the 


■which   he   shed  over  them,  were  repeated  in  i  manner  of  IxUh  his  eu.siouK-r.s  that  there  waa 
fainter  tints  on  the  ripple  of  the  noble  river,  I  a  mystery  in  the  afl'.iir,  ho  it  what  it  miirht. 


I]||ji  Kczii  left  his  home  :  and   alone,  and  on 
foot,  bent  his  way  to  the  palace  of  the  bey. 

As  he  pa-ssed  the  door  of  the  harem,  a  female 
slave,  closely  veiled,  and  muflied    in   a  dark 


which  he  could  not  latli.in,  mid  r-solvid,  if 
possible,  to  turn  it  to  his  own  advantage; 
"  Mashallah  !  I  would  peril  my  whole  stock 
of  merchandise  on  the  chance — but  if  my  lord 


THE  ROMAKCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


really  wishes  to  make  a  love-gift,  shall  I  not 
show  him  a  scarf  of  cachemire.  of  the  color  of 
the  leaf  that  the  rose  shuts  closest  to  her  heart ; 
having  a  border  of  golden  threads,  WTOUght 
into  a  passionate  ballad  of  the  Persian  poet, 
Hafiz?--*  . 

"  Ne  i^tersiniz — what  do  you  want  to  do  ?" 
asked  the  slave  in  affected  anger ;  "  would  you 
play  the  Jew  with  the  Beyzadeh,  Hadji  ?  Do 
I  not  know  the  scarf?  And  am  I  not  aware 
that  my  mistress,  the  beautiful  daughter  of 
Kassim  Bey — (may  his  weapon  never  rust !) 


have  conducted  her  to  the  door  of  the  bey'i 
harem  ;  but  he  at  once  gave  her  credit  for  tho 
tact  it  displayed ;  as  most  of  the  gardens  were 
enclosed  by  high  walls,  rendering  the  road  as 
private  as  the  circumstances  required ;  while 
at  the  same  time  she  avoided  the  appearance 
of  expecting  that  he  would  again  address  her. 
Having  at  length  reached  a  spot  more  se- 
cluded than  any  which  they  had  yet  passed, 
the  young  man  quickened  his  pace,  and  ove^ 
took  the  attendant  of  his  mistress,  who  at  once 
understood  his  purpose  ;   and  after  as  much 


would  herself  have  purchased  it,  had  you  not  hesitation  as  she  considered  necessaiy  to  en- 
cast  ashes  upon  your  beard,  by  asking  a  price  j  hance  the  value  of  her  concession,  and  sundry 


that  would  frishten  any  one  but  an  infidel 
Frank  ?"' 

''  And  have  I  not  a  right  to  do  so  ?"  de- 
manded Ferhat  in  his  turn,  with  considerable 
asperity :  "  Is  there  such  another  scarf  to  be 
found   in   Damascus  ? — Bak,    Eifendim  ;"    he 


assurances  of  the  risk  which  she  ran  of  her 
lady's  displeasure,  the  scarf  was  transferred 
to  her  care,  accompanied  by  a  thousand  hyper- 
bolical asseverations,  and  a  broad  piece  of 
gold,  which  was  no  less  graciously  received. 
As  they  parted,  twilight  was  falling  over 


continued,  as  he  drew  the  delicate  drapery | the  earth;  and  Ildji  Reza,  in  order  to  escape 
from  its  case  of  cedar  wood,  and  laid  it  before  ^  from  his  own  thoughts,  sauntered  into  the 
Ildji  Reza  ;  ■'  Is  that  a  thing  to  be  cast  before  1  great  coffee-house,  and  joined  a  party  of  his 


dogs  ? 

"  Inshallah  !  no  ;"  replied  the  young  man 
as  he  lifted  a  corner  of  the  beautiful  scarf : 
acfd  ^vith  glowing  cheek  perused  a  couplet. 
"  How  many  purses  do  you  ask  for  this  pretty 
toy?" 

The  price  named  was  exorbitant ;  but  Ildji 
Reza  scarcely  heeded  its  amount,  as  he  drew 
forth  the  embroidered  bag  containing  his 
money,  and  paid  doAATi  the  gold  without  a  re- 


associates,  who  were  smoking  their  chibou- 
ques, and  sipping  their  coffee,  to  the  music  of 
a  couple  of  mandolins,  and  as  many  small 
Arab  drums,  played  upon  by  Jews  ;  while  two 
fine  youths,  the  sons  of  one  of  the  musicians, 
sang  in  alternate  stanzas  some  of  those  lengthy 
and  monotonous  ballads  in  which  the  Turli 
delight. 

"  Khosh  geldin,  Ildji  Reza  :"'  shouted  the  , 
first  idler  who  perceived  his  entrance  ;  "  you 
are  so  late  that  we  feared  vou  had  been  seized 


mark ;  the  pilgrim-merchant  looking  mean 
while  as  grave  and  collected  as  though  he  had  'by  the  Wali — but  gel,  gel — come,  come  ;  here 
only  completed  an  ho)iest  bargain,  instead  of  jis  room  for  you  beside  me — and  these  dogs  of 
playing  the  knave  as  none  but  a  hadji  knows  |  Hebrews  are  in  full  voice  to-night.  Wallah  ! 
how  to  play  it;  and  ringing  every  piece  of  coin  I  have  been  trying  to  persuade  Naim  to  shave 
separately  lest  he  might  be  duped  in  his  turn,  [his  beard,  and  expose  it  lor  sale  in  the 


The  slave  meanwhile,  remained  quietly 
looking  on,  %s  if  conscious  that  she  had  not 
yet  completed  her  share  of  the  adventure  ;  but 
when  Ildji  Reza  had  folded  the  scarf  in  the 
scarcely  less  beautiful  muslin  handkerchief, 
she  paid  for  her  own  purchase,  and  after  a 
courteous  *'  Salam  aliekam,"  slowly  moyed 
a.way. 

The  youg  man  was  less  tardy  in  following; 
and  was  by  no  means  surprised  to  observe 
that  when  she  quitted  the  bazar  she  took  a 
totally  different  road  home  from  that  by  which 
she  had  come;  avoiding  the  close  and  covered 
streets,  where  at  every  instant  she  was  liable 
to  be  elbowed  by  some  passer-by  :  and  select- 
ing the  more  open  path  that  wound  among  the 
OTchards  and  gardens  by  which  the  city  is  so 
thickly  intersected.  Nor  did  Ildji  Reza  re- 
quire to  be  informed  of  her  reason  for  thus 
preferring  a  circuitous  route,  to  that  more 
direct    one  wiiich   would    in   half  the   time 


*  These  beautiful  and  costly  scarfs  are  by  no  means  un- 
common in  the  East.  They  aje  souietiinrs  in^cnbe^l  with 
pass&gos  from  the  Kor&n:  and  at  others,  &a  in  the  present 
case,  with  popular  lore  ballads. 


it  would  fetch  a  good  price,  were  it  only  be- 
cause he  has  apretty  daughter." 

'•  My  lord  is  merry  to-night  ;"  said  the  pa-. 
tient  Jew,  as  he  forced  a  smile  at  the  pitiful 
pleasantry,  and  glanced  down  upon  the  long, 
grizzled  beard  which  depended  to  his  girdle;: 
••  and  what  am  I  that  I  should  restrain  his 
mirth." 

'•  Taib — well  said,  infidel;"  laughed  the 
young  aga ;  "is  it  not  much  that  we  suffer 
such  dogs,  and  fathers  of  dogs  as  you  are,  to 
wear  beards,  and  to  lock  up  their  daughters  ?" 

And  his  companions  exclaimed  simultaneous-, 
ly,   '•  Chok  chay — it  is  much." 

'•  May  it  please  your  highness  ?"  faltered' 
out  the  trembling  Jew,  whose  very  lips  be-| 
came  livid  at  the  second  mention  of  his; 
daughter:  '•  My  child  Sara  departed  f  or  Alep-i 
po  by  the  caravan  that  left  the  city  ycstermorc 
at  sunrise." 

'•Hast  thou  dared.  Kelb  ?"  asked  Husseir 
Aga  removing  the  chiboitque  from  his  lins. 
and  fixing  his  eyes  sternly  on  the  wretched  He 
man  :  ••  By  whose  permission  did  she  pass  tiu 
gate?  has   thou  forgotten  we  have   alreadj 


TITE   ROMANCE  OF  THE   IIAUI'M. 


M 


taught  thee  that  the  soles  of  thy  foef  are  not 
made  of  caiiiefs  liide  ?  Why  went  slie  to 
Aleppo  ?" 

The  miserable  Nairn  quailed  beneath  the 
question  :  '•  As  the  Proplioi  is  in  Purudise'' — 
le  bagiui,  but  ho  was  instantly  silenced  by  a 
•ry  of  '■  Unbeliever  !  intidel  !  whose  do?  art 
thou  thai  tliou  sliould'st  dare  to  talk  of  the 
Prophet  of  the  Faithful?  Wherefore  went 
thy  daughter  to  Aleppo  ?" 

The  aL'cd  Hebrew  wrung  his  hands  in  agony  ; 
"She  is  gone,  your  higliness,  to  nurse  a  siek 
kinsman,  who  is  on  the  bed  of  death.' 

■  Alliemduililah  !"  sneered  another  of  the' 
party:  '-I  have  also  a  kinsman  at  Aleppo. 
How  say  you.  Aga,  shall  we  overtake  tlic 
caravan,  and  protect  the  pretty  Sara  by  the 
way  ?"' 

The  handsome  young  aga  nodded  smilingly, 
and  was  about  to  reply,  wlien  Ildji  Hezil  ex- 
claimed, *•  Jew,  thou  liest  in  thy  beard,  for  1 
saw  the  caravan  pass  out,  and  even  watched 
the  women  as  they  mounted,  and  not  one  of 
thy  spawn  was  among  them."' 

More  threats  were  uttered,  rather  in  sport 
than  in  anger  by  the  party  of  young  men  :  and 
;hen  the  subject  was  sulfered  to  die  away  : 
md  the  Hebrews  resumed  their  discordant 
min.strelsy,  for  which  they  were  uliimately 
rewarded  with  quite  as  many  curses  as  coins, 
rime  meanwhile,  wore  on;  and  it  grew  deep 
Jito  the  night :  nor  wa,s  it  until  every  good 
Mus.^elmaun  had  long  dropped  his  head  upon 
,he  cushion  of  rest,  that  the  idle  and  dissolute 
>'oung  men.  who.  after  the  d.-parture  of  the 
lews,  had  exchanged  their  coffee  and  sherbets 
or  the  more  iH)icnt  beverages  of  the  Franks, 
separated  each  to  his  dwelling,  with  quicken- 
'A  pulses  and  throbbing  brains. 


CHAPTKR  XXVII. 

THE  ARAB  STEF.D COXTrSlED. 

Far  differently  had  the  young  and  innocent 
)elsai8C  pa.sscd  the  early  hours  of  the  niglit. 
The  slave  Ziba  no  sooner  parted  from  the  son 
)f  Yezid,  than  she  hastened  to  the  harem  of 
ler  master,  and  having  delivered  to  tlie  wife 
if  the  bey  the  various  purchases  which  she 
lad  made  in  the  city,  .•■he  left  the  n]iartnu-nt 
nsearchof  her  beautiful  younKiim-trt'ss.  She 
ost  no  time  in  the  palace,  for  she  knew  that 
it  tliis  hour  the  fair  girl  was  ever  to  be  found 
n  a  garden-kio.<que  containing  a  fountain  of 
vhite  marble,  and  overlooking  a  small  par- 
erre,  of  which  the  flower-b»ds  wcrt;  fiu<hioncd 
Dto  intricate  and  pleasant  forms,  and  tilled 
nth  a  variety  of  sweet-scented  and  caily- 
ofored  blof-soins.  Thrher  she  aecor<lin:;iy 
lent  her  steps,  but  even  accustomed  as  she  was 
o  gaxe  upon  the  lovely  DcUaisc  at  all  hours, 
5 


she  yet  paused  a  moment  in  admiration  ere  she 
entered. 

The  tapestry  curtain  was  drawn  a.^idc,  and 
the  hiooniight  slreained  into  the  kiosqm- ; 
where,  alter  turning  the  waters  of  the  buMu 
into  liquid  diamonds,  it  fell  on  the  lair  form 
of  the  young  beauty,  wrfo  lay.  wrapped  in  a 
flowing  robe  of  soft  white  nuislin.  on  a  divaa 
of  silver  tissue.  Her  long  dark  lres.--e.s.  phut- 
ed  with  large  pearls,  fell  over  her  Ijosoiii  ;  a 
crimson  turi)an  einctund  her  brow  :  her  heiui 
was  pillowed  upon  her  hand,  and  Ii.t  largo 
eyes  were  bi-nt  earthward  :  her  papoo.shes  of 
purjde  velvet  sprinkled  with  gems  lay  on  the 
'carpet  near  the  edge  of  the  fountain  ;  and  on© 
jof  her  small  feet,  dazzling  in  its  whiteness, 
jhuni;  lightly  over  the  front  of  the  divan. 

The  step  of  the  slave  aroused  her  from  her 
Ireverj',  and,  as  Ziba  prep;ired  to  enter  the 
;kiosque,  she  started  and  looked  up:  ••  Yon  are 
I  welcome,  Zibamou;"'  she  said,  wiih  a  sweet 
smile;  ''you  have  lingered  later  than  usual  in 
the  city,  and  I  have  wearied  for  you.  Tell 
rae — have  you  .seen  him?"' 
I  The  slave  seated  herself  upon  the  carpet  at 
ithc  feet  of  her  young  mistress,  and  looked  up 
into  her  eVcs.  '"Von  have  then  thoiiylit  of 
him,  Kflendim,  during  my  ab.sonee  :  and  yet, 
of  what  avail  to  think  of  one  who  has  slight- 
ed you,  scorned  you,  and  shaken  the  dust  from, 
his  feet  a.s  he  passed  your  threshold  ?  But 
turn  not  away  in  aniier.  I  have  never  blamed 
him  when  oilier  tongues  in  the  bey's  harem 
have  been  loud  and  bitter ;  I  am  not  about 
even  to  chide  you  for  your  question  ;  but  rather 
to  tell  you  that  you  have  done  well,  lor  1  hav» 
talked  with  him  in  the  bazar." 
;  '•  Ziba !  my  own  Ziba  !"'  exclaimed  the 
beaulilul  girl,  ela>iiing  her  fair  hands  to- 
gether in  an  ccstacy  of  delight  ;  "  this  day 
must  be  marked  as  tlio  happiest  of  my  lile  ! 
And  did  he  speak  of  me  ?  Did  he  ask  if  I 
loved  him?  And.  above  all,  Ziba,  my  dear 
Ziba.  did  he  say  that  he  loved  me  ?' 

"  .Miwhallah  I"'  cried  the  laughing  slave  ; 
"here  are  a  hiuidrc<l  qiu-stions  in  a  breath  : 
why  it  would  reciuirc  the  luniis  of  a  moullah 
to  answer  them  !  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  my 
tale  ;  but  first,  oh  !  sultana,  he  is  as  handsome 
as  the  day.  He  has  eyes — no,  never,  never 
did  1  behold  such  eyes  ! — teeth — talk  to  me  of 
I)carls.  I  say  onf !  pearls  arc  as  henna  U-side 
them — haiuls  like  the  water-lily — and  a  >H-ard 
— Astelerallah  !  there  is  not  such  another 
beard  in  Ihimasens." 

I  '•  But  what  did  he  say.  Ziba  ?"'  inter|x>iied 
I  the  anxious  girl  :  "  I  know  that  he  is  handsome 
'enough  to  turn  the  heads  of  thchonris — I  hav» 
seen  him  from  my  lattice — tell  me  rather, 
therefore,  what  he  said  ?" 

I  ••  You  have  seen  liim,  KiTendim.  say  you  !" 
echoed  the  slave,  in  an  accent  of  jieorn.  '  You 
cannot  even  eiie.>-s  what  he  is  like  !  Have  you 
.eyes   that  will   look  without  winking   on    the 


«s 


THE  ROMANCE  9F  THE  HAREM, 


I 


sun  ?     Sen  bilirsen — ^}'ou  know  best :  but  if 
you  have  not,  you  have  never  seen  Ildji  Reza 

"  But  what  said  he,  Zibamou  ?"  again  urged 
the  maiden. 

"  He  said,"  at  length  commenced  the  slave : 
"that  he  lived  but  for  you — that  his  thoughts 
all  flew  to  you  with  the  force  of  a  stone  hurl- 
ed by  an  elephant — that  he  dreamed  of  you  on 
his  sofa — tliiit  his  blooil  turned  to  fire  when 
fear  of  your  displeasure  grew  upon  him — that 
— in  short,  sultana  mou,  if  I  undertake  to 
repeat  to  you  all  he  said)  we  shall  get  no  fur- 
ther by  day-dawn ;  enough  that  he  extorted 
from  me  a  promise  that  I  would  meet  him 
a^ain  to-morrow." 

'•  Happy,  happy  Ziba  !"  murmured  out  the 
excited  girl. 

••  Nay.  for  that  matter,"  laughed  the  hand- 
maiden; "  It  is  even  as  it  may  be  :  do  1  not 
go  to  hear  him  talk  of  you  ?  Say  rather, 
iiappy  Delsaisc  Haiioum,  who  will  be  the  bride 
of  the  handsomest  youth  in  the  city ;  for  his 
bride  you  will  be,  in  sj)ite  of  all  that  is  past, 
as  surely  as  though  it  had  been  foretold  by  the 
sagest  karabash  of  Damascus.  Think,  my 
sultana;  did  not  the  pretty  daughter  of  the 
Wali  marry  a  hunchback?  Did  not  Isau  Aga 
give  the  only  child  he  had  to  Daoud  Effendi, 
whose  odious  squint  ever  reminds  one  of  the 
Kvil  Eye  ?  Has  not  Djamilc  Hanoum  thrown 
away  your  favorite  playfellow,  Shereeii,  upon 
■old  Amin  the  Cadi,  whose  beard  is  as  while 
as  your  hand?  Eh,  vah  !  who  is  the  happy 
one  here?     Answer  me  that." 

And  the  young  beauty  sighed  out  in  her  de- 
light ;  "You  are  right,  Ziba  :  it  is  indeed  I." 

'•Guzel — good;"  said  the  attendant:  "but 
'do  you  believe  that  nothing  more  passed  be- 
tween us  ?  Astefcrallah  !  Ildji  lieza  is  no 
sakalsiz  !  See  !"  and  she  drew  from  beneath 
her  cloak  the  costly  present  of  the  sou  of 
Yczid,  which  the  maiden  seized  with  a  scream 
of  rapture.  "  It  will  tell  its  own  tale,  and 
needs  no  words  from  me.  Rut  hearken,  Ef- 
fendi mou — my  mistress;  you  were  to  have 
been  the  wife  of  this  young  man,  or  I  would 
have  undertaken  no  such  mission." 

The  prudence,  tardy  as  it  was,  of  her  com- 
panion, was,  however,  lost  upon  the  beautiful 
girl,  who,  full  of  the  delight  of  being  beloved 
for  the  first  time,  had  already  pressed  the 
oflering  of  her  lover  to  her  heart  and  lips,  and 
was  now  busily  employed  in  dccijiheriiig  the 
•characters  of  the  embroidered  border.  When 
she  had  read  the  whole,  she  again  embraced 
the  splendid  token  of  tldji  Rezas  afl'ection ; 
and  then,  bending  over  the  faithlul  Ziba.' she 
repeated  to  her  in  a  clear  whisper  the  words 
■of  the  ballad,  which  many  a  Persian  maiden, 
almost  as  fair  and  as  fond  as  herself,  has  sung 
to  her  mandolin  : 


LOVE  AND  THE  LOTUS. 

FROM    HAFIZ. 

When  in  the  east,  the  golden  sun 

Has  risen  from  his  ocean  bed. 
And  o'er  the  earth,  tso  lately  dark, 

The  glories  of  his  brii: Illness  shed  ; 
The  Lotus,  on  the  river's  lireast. 

Ijifts,  with  deep  love,  her  dewy  eye, 
And  thanks  him  for  the  life  and  light 

lie  sheds  upon  her  from  the  sky. 

At  noon  her  loving  gaze  pursues 

His  proud  career,  untired,  unlurn'd; 
And  when  at  length  he  slowly  sets, 

?he  watches  every  beam  that  burn'd, 
Until  the  last  is  lost — and  then 

Slie  downward  bends  her  gentle  head, 
And  leans  in  sadness  o'er  the  stream, 

To  weep  till  morn  his  brightness  fled. 

So,  lady,  do  I  turn  to  thee. 

Through  every  change,  in  every  hour; 
Heedless  of  all  on  eartti  beside, 

Save  thy  pure  beauty's  thralling  power  ; 
In  thy  loved  light  1  live — but  when 

]  lose  the  glory  of  its  ray. 
Like  to  the  Lotus,  bow'd  and  bruised, 

My  spirit  weeps  itself  away. 


"  Mashallah  !"  exclaimed  Ziba.  as  the  mur- 
mur of  the  sweet  voice  ceased ;  '"  'tis  the  love- 
song  of  a  peri  !  And  even  .so,  sultana,  doefi 
the  EfTeiidi  talk.  If  many  of  the  fair  message^: 
with  which  he  entrusted  me  were  to  be  put' 
into  verse,  they  would  make  just  such  ballade 
as  that  !  Wallah  !  what  shall  I  say  to  hiir 
to-morrow  in  reply  ?" 

"  What  ought  you  to  say,  dear  Ziba  !"  askcc 
the  innocent  girl  ;  ••  you  shall  tell  him  wha; 
you  will :  only  forget  not  to  assure  him  that !. 
love  him  as  the  lotus  loved  the  sun  :  and  tha ' 
even  so  have  I  watched  him  when  he  ha' 
passed  under  the  windows  of  the  harem — foi 
the  rest,  you  know  best — say  to  to  him  -wha 
you  will," 

•  Taib,  EfTendimou — well  said,  my  mistress 
but  have  you  nothing  to  send  him  as  a  tokei 

at  I  am  an  honest  interpreter  of  your  heart?' 

Delsaise  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  young  am' 
unpractised  as  she  was  in  love,  she  yetshraiil 
with  instinctive  delicacy  from  so  decided  i 
neneure  ;  but  the  encouraging  words  and  flat^ 
teries  of  Ziba  soon  won  her  to  consent,  and  sli 
ultimately  severed  from  her  head  one  of  il 
glossy  braids  wreathed  with  pearls,  and,  haviii' 
entwined  it  about  a  bunch  of  jasmine  llower: 
which  lay  beside  lier  on  the  sofa,  she  deliverer 
it  into  the  kee|)ing  of  her  atlendant,  "  M 
heart  goes  with  it ;"  she  said,  as  a  tear  swel, 
led  in  her  large  dark  eye  ;  '•  but  there  can  b 
no  evil  in  the  gift  to  one  who,  you  assure  nic 
will  one  day  be  my  hu.sband." 

'•  Evil !"  exclaimed  the  slave :  "  who  drr;. 
of  evil  ?     Even  if  you  had  giA'cn  it  to  tli''  i 
fendi  with  your  own  hand,  where  could  < 
exist  ?     Was  he  not  cho.«en  lor  you  by  the  I  ■ 
3^our  father  ?  and   might  he  not  have  niani' 
you  if  he  had  wished  it,  months  ago  !     Is  li 
not  now  eager  to  do  so  ?    You  owe  him  at  leaf' 
a  return  for  the  srace  that  he  has  done  yon.' 

"Nay,   elude  nic   not,   Ziba;"    smiled  \v 


TlIK   nOMANTK  OF  Tl 


lIAROf. 


miestress,  -whom  the  eiiorsA-  of  Iho  aftciulnjit 
had  served  to  reassure  ;  '  I  am  so  liappv  tliut 
I  cannot  listen  to  any  woiils  save  iho.so  of  af- 
fection and  senllene.-s.  Ilow.vliall  I  repay  yon. 
dear,  kind  Ziba,  for  the  interest  iliut  yon  liave 
Bhown  in  my  happiness  ?  My  licarl  leaps  as 
if  il  had  bnt  newly  spruni;  into  life  :  and  1 
could  almost  chide  the  darkness  tnat  will  la.«<t 
so  many  hours,  before  you  can  ayain  see  him  !"" 
and  she  buried  her  face  anions  the  cushions 
of  the  divan,  and  shed  a  liood  of  those  passionate 
tears  which  scald  the  spirit  from  whence  they 
snring,  and  destroy  for  ever  the  bloonnnc'^s  of 
>  lirsi  pertect  purity  :  tears  wrung  by  the  im- 
,  iiscsof  earth  from  the  hitherto  untouched 
.-I  ui  :  withering  as  they  fall,  and  blighting  in 
their  hot  flow  the  very  sources  of  their  being. 

From  this  luxury  of  grief  slic  was  aroused 
by  the  rustling  of  leaves  imincd.iately  outside 
tlie  kiosquc  ;  it  was  not  the  sighing  of  the 
wind,  tor  the  night  was  calm  and  still,  and  not 
a  breuih  bent  the  starry  jasmine  flowers,  whose 
shadows  were  reflected  on  the  marble  floor. 
Tlic  ear  of  Ziba  also  caught  the  sound,  but 
murmuring  to  herself  •  Here  comes  that  Ibn 
Sheiian — that  son  of  Satan,  the  Asa  Biiba — 
may  his  pillauf  be  made  of  green  rice  !"'  she  I 
quietly  dropped  her  head  once  more  upon  her ! 
knees,  regardless  of  the  interruption.  i 

But  the  fair  DelsaVse  was  not  of  the  same 
opinion ;  and  she  still  continued  to  gaze 
through  the  open  door,  fearing  she  knew  not 
what,  and  ashamed  to  conless  her  panic  to  her  , 
attendant,  until  the  clear  inoonlight  was  shut  i 
out  by  the  dark  figure  of  a  man,  who  stood  on  I 
Uie  threshold.  | 

The  maiden  uttered  a  faint  screain.  and  ! 
drew  closer  to  the  slave  :  while  the  intruder,  ] 
clearing  the  marble  ba^in  at  a  bound,  flung  , 
himself  at  her  feet,  and,  raising  hi»  eyes  to  i 
hers,  disclosed  the  counienance  of  lldji  llcza 


CHAI'TKll  XXVIIl. 

THE    ARAB    STEEP CONTINLED.     * 

I  HAVE  said  that,  ere  tlie  young  men  who  I 
were  congregated  at  tlie  great  eoflce-hoiL'.c  ho-  \ 
paratcd  for  the  night,  they  had  drunk  deep,  i 
and  become  excited  with  noise  an<l  elainor  ; 
but  I  have  yet  to  tell  you  that  when  the  son 
of  Yezid  once  more  found  hiiiifclf  uloiie,  his 
brain  burning,  and  his  brow  l.-vercd.  ho  turned  i 
aside  from  the  Btreet  leading  to  his  fathers 
house,  and  followed  the  same  solitary  path  ■ 
that  the  slave  had  selected  some  hours  before.  ! 
For  a  time  he  walked  slowly,  buried  in  thou-jht,  i 
and  indulging  in  a  halcyon  dream,  rendi-red 
only  the  more  brilliant  1  y  his  partial  e.xalia-  ' 
tion  ;  but  as  he  pursued  the  «ulij<ct,  his  step 
grew  hurried  and  irregular,  his  breath  came  ' 
quick,   and  the   blood    receded    to  his   heart,  j 


Suddenly  he  stopped,  hcsitnted,  and  then  with 
the  speed  of  desperation  rushed  down  a  nar- 
row road  loading  to  the  palace-gardens  of  the 
bey.  When  he  had  icaelied  them,  ho  walked 
for  a  short  time  to  and  fro  beiuMlh  the  wall. 
gaRiiig  upwiinls  ui>on  the  overhanging  trew. 
until,  having  selected  that  which  best  suited 
his  purpose,  ho  unwound  his  turban,  and  las- 
teniiiii  a  heavy  stone  into  the  long  searl  »;f 
which  it  was  formed,  fluii^  it  skillully  across 
a  projecting  bough,  and  tlins  securing  his 
a.'icent,  soon  found  himself  upon  the  wall, 
Icxtking  down  upon  what  to  his  excited  imagi- 
nation appeared  to  bo  the  entrance  of  ilio 
Seventh  Heaven  ! 

All  was  indeed  calm  and  beautiiul  in  that 
sweet  spot — the  nightingale  was  jioiiring  furili 
Ills  love-.song  to  the  rose  ;  and  the  moon  was 
flooding  the  earth  with  silver:  the  flowers 
wore  paying  back  her  liiiht  in  fragrance;  and 
the  lotus  blossoms  were  inirron-d  in  the  spark- 
ling water,  as  they  bent  their  heads  beneath 
the  diamond  shower  that  fell  upon  them. 

For  a  moment  the  heart  of  lldji  llez.-i  quail- 
ed within  him.  The  stillnc-^s  and  purity  of 
the  scene  had  schooled  and  sobered  hi.s  wild 
and  phrcnsied  feelings;  and  he  felt  like  a 
guilty  .>.oul  hovering  on  the  conlines  of  jwra- 
disc.  Hut  this  involuntary  compunction  en- 
dured not  long  :  another  rush  of  reckless  emo- 
tion followed  ;  and  he  flung  himself  amid  tlie 
branches  of  the  cedar  tree,  and  descended  into 
the  garden. 

Ha.-tily  he  readjusted  his  turban  ;  and  ih-  ii 
he  stole  along  under  the  shadow  of  the  wall, 
in  the  direction  of  the  palace  ;  w  hen  suddenly 
he  came  upon  the  kiosquc  of  the  fountain. 
His  path  being  undelermincd,  he  bent  his  steps 
thither ;  and  he  had  arrived  nearly  ul  the 
threshold,  ere  the  po.^sibility  of  its  being  ten- 
anted suddenly  occurred  to  him.  when  he 
hastily  concealed  himself  among  the  shrnlw 
by  wliicli  it  was  surrounded  ;  until  he  dis- 
tinctly di.>-tin;;uishcd  two  feinalo  ligures  with- 
in. In  the  next  moineiit,  he  became  satisfled 
tiiut  one  of  these  was  the  slave  Ziba;  and  as 
he  gazed  upon  the  younger  and  lairer  crea- 
ture on  the  divan,  his  heart  at  once  a.ssured 
him  that  this  could  be  none  other  than  Delsaise, 
his  )iroiiiised  bride.  For  a  while  lie  guzed 
cntruiiced,  drinking  in  her  pure  moonlighted 
beauty;  until,  no  longer  able  to  control  ilio 
feelinijs  which  overN\ helmed  liiin,  he  rushed 
forward  and  flung  himself  at  her  leei. 

The  exclamation  which  had  risen  to  tlio 
lips  of  the  )ouiig  beauty  died  away,  and  the 
question  arose  in  her  mind — Had  he  heard  her 
la>t  words  ?  WaA  ho  CKii.seious  that  (ho  tear* 
which  yet  glistened  in  her  eyes  hud  Uen  shod 
for  him? — She  glanc<d  towards  her  attoii<!.int, 
but  there  was  nothing  to  reaK-iure  her  in  iho 
aspect  of  the  paruUzed  Ziba;  itnpruilent  om 
she  had  been,  the  aliectionate  woman  hud 
never  dreaded  such  a  i-.im..:.'o  h.-  .u  ihii  ' 


68 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


For  a  while  there  was  silence  j  the  timid 
girl  remained  with  averted  head  and  heaving 
heart,  incapable  of  uttering  a  sentence;  and 
the  entranced  and  liappy  Ikiji  Rcza  hesitated 
for  the  first  few  ninmejits  to  break  so  exquisite 
a  pause  ;  while  Ziba,  painfully  aware  that 
she  Wivs  not  altogether  blameless  in  the  affair, 
hid  her  burning  hrovr  upon  the  lap  of  her  mis- 
tress, and  sobbed  aloud. 

'•Fairest  of  the  daughters  of  Peristan  !"  at 
length  whisjiered  the  enraptured  lover,  as  he 
possessed  himself  of  her  small  white  hand  ; 
'•  Houii,  whom  the  Prophet  has  sent  on  earth 
to  show  man  in  what  mould  tlie  shapes  of 
Paradise  are  made — Star  of  the  summer-night, 
before  whose  liuht  the  moon  herself  grows 
pale — Sultana,  at  whose  feet  the  world  might 
bow  in  homage,  and  yet  fail  to  render  thee  thy 
due — Wilt  thou  not  speak  to  me,  that  I  may 
listen  to  the  music  of  the  bulbi^l?  Wilt  thou 
not  amile  on  me,  that  I  may  see  the  day  dawn 
in  the  east,  while  to  all  beyond  thine  influence 
the  earth  is  wrapped  in  darkness  ?  The  low- 
liest of  Ihy  slaves  is  at  thy  feet — -his  life  is  in 
thy  hands — he  asks  it  of  tliee  as  a  boon." 

He  paused,  and  a  smile,  like  the  dawn  to 
which  he  had  likened  it,  stole  over  the  fair 
features  of  the  bewildered  girl  j  but  she  had 
not  power  to  articulate  a  syllable. 

'•  Take  that  forfeit  life  ;"  pursued  the  young 
man,  conscious  of  his  advantage;  '"that  life 
which  my  entrance  here  has  placed  at  your 
mercy.  I  shall  yet  be  happy,  for  I  shall  die 
at  your  feet !'' 

'•  Asleferallah — Heaven  forbid  !"  murmur- 
ed the  low  soft  voice. 

"  I  shall  live,  then  !"  exclaimed  Ildji  Fteza, 
as  ho  flung  his  arm  about  the  shrinking  girl, 
and  drew  her  to  his  bosom  ;  "  My  love — -my 
soul — my  bride  !" 

''  Eh,  vah  !"  whispered  Ziba,  rousing  her- 
self from  the  paroxysm  of  terror:  '•  What  is 
this,  Ellendiin  ?  Are  you  a  man,  that  you 
steal  thus  upon  our  privacy,  and  peril  our 
lives  ?  Have  we  dcaervcd  this  at  your 
hands  ?•' 

But  Ihlji  Reza  heeded  her  not ;  the  fairest 
creature  whom  the  earth  ever  held  was  in  his 
arms — upon  his  heart — -her  long  hair  swept 
across  hia  hand — her  breath  came  to  his  cheek. 
She  loved  him! — his  image  alone  occupied 
her ;  and  how  could  he  think  of  aught  save  her  ? 

Ere  they  parted,  the  dawn,  veiled  in  her 
dusky  mantle,  was  slowly  ascending  the  sky; 
and  the  awakening  birds  were  twittering  in 
the  boughs,  and  shaking  from  the  leaves, 
among  which  they  had  been  nestled,  the  dia- 
mond-drops that  they  had  worn  throughout 
the  night ;  the  lovers  had  even  talked  of  future 
meetings  ;  and  the  fair  cheek  of  the  maiden 
had  flushed  crimson  as  she  promised  to  hold 
the  visit  of  her  imprudent  suitor  a  secret  from 
all  save  Ziba.  Often  did  they  murmur  a  low 
farewell,  and  as  often  did  Ildji  Reza  delay  yet 


another  moment,  to  press  the  delicate  fingen 
of  his  mistress  to  his  lips,  and  to  hear  her 
breathe  out  another  parting  word.  But  the 
slave,  as  she  marked  a  few  streaks  spread 
across  the  sky,  red  as  the  banner  of  the  Pro- 
phet, would  brook  no  further  venture  ;  and, 
while  the  weeping  and  bewildered  girl  waved 
her  last  adieu  to  a  lover  whose  rashness  had 
not  only  perilled  his  own  life,  but  hers,  Ziba 
hurried  him  to  a  point  of  the  wail  where  a 
decayed  buttress  afforded  a  safe  and  easy 
means  of  escape  from  the  garden  ;  and,  as  he 
failed  not  at  the  same  moment  to  remark,  secu- 
red to  him  as  commodious  a  mod^  of  ingress. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    ARAB    STEED — CONTINUED. 

The  new  moon  sprang  to  the  brow  of  night, 
and  crowned  it  with  a  crescent  of  silver;  and 
the  beautiful  daughter  of  Kassim  Bey.  and  the 
son  of  Yezid  the  Khawaji,  sat  hand  in  haiiJ 
in  the  kiosque  of  the  fountain,  and  looked 
upon  its  pale  and  feeble  light.  It  grew  larger, 
until  it  sailed  like  a  bark  formed  of  one  vast 
diamond  upon  the*  wavy  clouds  of  the  calm 
star-lighted  heavens  :  and  still  they  gazed  on 
it  together  :  changed  only  in  having  felt  their 
love  brighten  and  increase  like  the  orb  on 
which  they  looked ;  still  he  was  at  her  feet, 
and  held  her  hand,  and  beguiled  the  hours  of 
night  with  gentle  words  ;  and  the  innocent 
and  unsuspecting  girl  loved  the  growing  light, 
for  she  knew  not  that  to  her  it  portended  evil. 
And  next  it  rose  to  its  high  place  like  a  burn- 
ing world,  poised  in  mid-air,  and  ruddy  with 
the  flame  which  fed  upon  its  heart ;  till,  as  it 
reached  its  throne  of  sapphire  sprinkled  with 
diamonds,  it  grew  clearer  and  purer  in  its 
brightness,  and  flooded  all  the  earth  with  sil- 
ver. And  the  lovers  were  yet  together — tra- 
cing its  quivering  light  upon  the  leaves,  and 
weaving  sweet  fancies  worthy  of  such  an 
hour.  * 

But  mahak*  came  at  last ;  and,  as  the 
young  man  watched  the  outline  of  the  fair  orb 
diminish,  he  suddenly  remembered  his  vow, 
and  quiet  departed  from  him — the  fair  cheek 
of  his  beloved  looked  livid  in  the  clear  lisht, 
and  a  sadness  seemed  to  dwell  in  her  deep 
eyes.  He  remembered  his  vow,  and  his  spirit 
melted  within  him.  On  that  night  he  toro 
himself  from  his  beautiful  mistress  with 
agony  in  his  soul.  Tliere  might  yet  be  time 
to  save  her — 'he  bounded  along  the  garden 
path  :  he  climbed  the  wall  like  a  shamois  ;  he 
looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  to 
mark  if  he  were  observed,  but  ran  madly  down 
the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  city ;  conscious^ 


Deoline  of  the  moon. 


THE   ROMANCE  OF  TIIK   llAUFM. 


C» 


even  amid  his  anguish,  that  (he  shout  of  de- 
tection followed  at  his  heels. 

Like  a  hunted  animal,  he  doubled  upon  his 
pursuers  ;  he  erouchod  aloll^  under  the  shad- 
ows of  the  buildin?  :  he  rushed  like  a  nnininc 
across  the  open  spaces  which  intervened  upon 
his  path.  And  still  he  tlew  on  i'^  the  dirtx'iion 
of  the  Mcidan.  until,  in  the  broad  n)oonlii;lit,- 
immediately  confront nii:  him,  he  saw  the  bec- 
tacliy  who  had  witncj^sed  his  unholy  vow. 

'•Well  found!"  shouted  the  dervish;  "a 
few  bounds  more,  and  you  are  saved ;  haste, 
haste,  the  blood-hounds  are  at  your  heels'''"" 
Instinctively  he  obeyed;  and.  CTaspiu";  tlie 
hand  that  was  extended  to  liiin.  he  tollowe<l 
like  a  child.  He  heard  the  shouts,  which  hiul 
80  lately  grown  with  terrible  riipidity  upon  his 
'^ar,  die  away  in  the  distance  ;  and  then  he 
1  ing  himself  down  upon  the  earth  in  a  parox- 
>in  of  agony :  and  writhed  like  one  iu  the 
:  ath-spasm. 

'•  And  whither  were  you  bound  so  fast,  my 
en  ?'*  asked  the  dervish,  as  lldja  Reza,  slowly 
recovering  his  .«ell'-possession.  raised  liimself 
on  his  elbow,  and  glanced  wildly  round  the 
tomb  into  which  his  companion  hail  dragged 
him  :  '■  What  has  the  owl  of  atHiction  screamed 
into  the  hollow  of  your  ears,  to  move  you 
thus  ?  You  struck  the  fiery  hoof  of  speed  on 
the  stony  path  of  flight,  like  one  who  escaped 
from  the  pestilence — what  may  this  storm  of 
passion  signify  ?"' 

"  Father  :"'  gasped  the  fugitive :  ''  I  am  ac- 
cursed— I  have  become  an  Ibn  Sheitan — the 
son  of  Satan — touch  me  not  with  the  hem  of 
your  garment:  but  pa.<6  on,  and  let  me  die."' 

"  Ne  oldou — what  has  happened  ?"'  again 
urged  the  bcciachy:  "when  we  last  met.  \ou 
seemed  to  soar  above  the  power  of  your  felech, 
and  to  have  expanded  the  wings  of  pride  in  tlie 
akasli*  of  happiness — Why  do  you  now  grovel 
in  the  dust  of  disapiwintment  ?"' 

"  Where  is  the  traitor  Ali  ?"  asked  the 
young  man  in  reply;  "where  is  the  Toorko- 
man  fiend  who  bought  from  me  the  slriniis  of 
my  heart,  and  the  pulses  of  my  being?  If 
you  cannot  bring  me  to  him;  then  oik-c  more 
I  say — let  me  die."' 

'Pouff!  pouf! — pshaw!  pshaw!  Young 
blood  chills  not  so  soon  ;"  retorted  the  dervihh  ; 
''  talk  not  of  the  dues  of  Asr'ael  while  you 
have  the  power  to  defraud  him  of  them.  Why 
do  you  despair?  Has  your  gallant  steed 
foundered?  or  ha£  he  .•■pumed  the  bit?  Why 
seal  the  trouble  of  your  heart  with  the  signei 
of  .'•ecrecy  ?  The  physician  who  ha*  not  learnt 
the  nature  of  the  malady  can  never  nave  the 
patient.  Tell  me  your  grief;  and  who  knowK 
but  I  may  find  its  cure.  Have  I  not  alrea<dy 
saved  you  from  the  negro  hounds  who  were 
yelping  at  your   heels,   attracted    thither  no 

•  Eaiiterii  philoiopher*  innmt  on  a  fifth  element.  whKh 
■hey  desipnata  aJcask;  uid  which  tiief  iaraU  with  pcr- 
>ct  purity. 


doubt  by  some  imprudence  of  your  own  ? 
Why  Mien  should  you  hesitate  to  confidw  in 
me  ?■' 

'•What  can  [  say,  oh  !  father?"  exclaimed 
Ildji  Heza  jinssionately  :  '•  1  have  strewed  the 
path  of  vanity  with  the  pearls  of  happiness, 
and  they  have  been  trodden  under  foot  Oh, 
that  1  could  grasp  the  skirts  of  the  future  with 
the  fingers  of  repentance  :  and  that  it  were  yet 
my  fate  to  call  Delsai'se  my  own  !" 

"Are  the.sc  tears,  these  pangs,  then  for  a 
woman?'.'  asked  the  beetachy  scornfully:  '•  and 
j  is  it  indeed  the  soir  of  Vezid.  whoso  lately 
laughed  the  sex  to  t^corw.  who  now  moistens 
the  marble  floor  with  the  drops  of  unavailing 
and  unmanly  p.i.^sion  ?  Have  you  not  the 
steed  in  your  stable,  whom  you  coveted  more 
than  all  the  beauties  of  the  imjierial  hareiti  ? 
I  and  do  you  play  the  sakalsiz  tor  a  puny  girl  ?" 
I  "  You  chide  in  vain,  father  :"'  said  the  young 
!  man,  recovering  his  silf-po.ssession  by  a  vio- 
!  lent  efiort  ;  "rather  a.ssist  me  to  find  the 
I  wretch  who  has  cheated  me  into  ruin — my 
i  vow  must  be  cancelled,  thouL'h  I  pave  the 
1  floor  of  his  tent  with  gold — Let  him  take  hack 
the  horse,  and  restore  to  me  my  soul — and  then 
let  us  part,  never  to  breathe  the  same  air 
again." 

"  You  talk  widly.  my  son.  Ali  the  khawaji 
has  left  the  city.  You  cannot  now  pluck  the 
rings  of  obedience  from  the  ears  of  destiny — 
You  have  sworn,  and  you  must  abide  by  your 
oath." 

•■  And  when  ? — when  ?"  gasped  out  the 
victim. 

The  dervish  pointed  to  the  moon  ;  "  Th*; 
mahak  has  commenced ;"'  he  said  solemnly  : 
••  you  remember  the  compact." 
I  Ildji  Heza  smote  upon  his  brow  with  his 
clenelied  hand,  and  ground  his  teeth  like  & 
maniac. 

}  •■  When  will  man  learn  liis  error  !"'  mur- 
mured the  beetachy,  communing  with  hi« 
jown  thoughts:  "Thus  is  it  ever  tliat  the 
I  shallow  cup  of  youth  overflows  with  the  froth 
of  folly  :  and  that  time  brings  only  repentance 
a»  its  dowry." 

I  "  Can  you  not  save  us  both  ?"  uryed  the 
young  man  ;  "oh.  lather!  could  you  but  im- 
atiine  half  her  beauty,  her  gentleness,  lur 
truth,  you  would  feel  that  such  a  late  mutiC 
destroy  her,  as  that  which  ray  own  madness 
has  drawn  down-^do  you  ask  gold  ?  I  will 
pour  into  your  lap  the  pure  ore  of  Siinuitra 
which  is  current  over  the  wlioN;  earth.  I>o 
you  love  |K)wcr  ?  1  will  Ihj  your  slave,  and 
make  my  laws  of  the  desires  of  yoiir  lijn — 
Your  days  shall  How  like  the  Bacr<d  waters  ot 
Zimziin  :*  and  your  nights  shall  be  niylii*  ct 
'  pciu-e.  But  save  us.  father,  or  wc  i>eriiih. 
,  Head  the  stars  for  us,  and  teach  mc  how  w« 
may  escape." 


A  luaotAia  o««x  Mmo*. 


10 


THE   ROI^IANCE   OF  THE  HAEEM, 


"  Son  of  Yezid :"  replied  the  dervish  ;  •'  why 
do  you  thus  sit  down  in  the  sepulclire  of  sor- 
row, and  heap  ashes  upon  your  own  head, 
when  you  should  arouse  the  man  within  you, 
and  siiake  off  the  woman-weakness  that  bows 
your  spirit.  Love  is  tiie  very  moon  of  mad- 
ness, laughing  amid  the  darkness  over  the 
terrors  of  its  power  ;  a  ghoul,  who.se  food  is 
the  heart  of  its  victim,  and  whose  wine  is  its 
tears  ;  whose  bonds  are  the  chains  of  folly, 
and  whose  music  is  the  howling  of  those  who 
■wear  them.  Earth  is  full  of  its  bitterness  : 
and  the  very  houris  who  have  dared  its  sway, 
have  bowed  beneath  the  curse ;  joy  dwells  not 
with  them  in  the  paradise  of  the  faithful,  and 
its  llowery  paths  are  strown  for  them  with 
burning  sand.  Up  then,  son  of  Yezid,  and 
fling  oir  this  diadem  of  serpents,  which  you 
have  woven  about  your  brow." 

'•  Dervish,  you  preach  in  vain ;"  said  the 
mournful  Ildji  Reza  ;  "  help  me  if  you  can — 
to  chide  me  is  useless — he  who  has  once 
looked  on  the  light  caimot  dwell  in  darkness 
with  a  merry  heart." 

'•  Ne  apalum — what  can  I  do,  my  son  ?" 
a.sked  the  beetachy ;  "  Listen  to  me ;  the 
mahak  has  but  commenced  ;  you  have  yet 
time  for  reflection.  But  beware  of  repeating 
the  folly  of  to-night.  You  have  been  seen 
and  pursued  :  and,  had  I  not  been  upon  your 
path,  to  guide  the  foot  of  flight  into  the  way 
of  safety,  you  would  ere  now  have  been  sacri- 
ficed to  the  offended  honor  of  the  bey.  Be 
thankful  therefore  for  your  escape — La  illaha 
lUallah — there  is  but  one  Allah  !  and  you  are 
yet  in  a  whole  skin.  Rest  quietly  here  for 
to-night.  You  are  safe  under  the  shadow  of 
a  holy  name  ;  and  you  will  not  be  tlie  first 
sinner  who  has  owed  life  and  limb  to  the  same 
protection.  Here  is  food  :"  and  he  produced 
from  bcneatli  his  khirkheh  a  handful  of  dates 
and  a  flap  of  bread  : — '•  and  here  :"  and  as  he 
spoke  he  dislodged  a  stone  within  the  tomb, 
and  drew  forth  a  small  skin  filled  with  liquid  : 
'•  here  is  wine — wine  from  Cyjirus — as  sweet 
and  almost  as  thick  as  honey — You  look 
amazed,  young  man,  but  you  have  yet  much 
to  learn,  even  in  the  good  city  of  Damascus. 
And  now,  eat  and  refresh  your.self ;  while  I 
go  forth  and  strive  to  learn  whether  you  were 
recognized  in  your  flight.  If  the  Ibn  Shcitan 
— the  sons  of  Satan — who  pursued  you,  know 
no  more  than  thai  they  gave  chase  to  a  man, 
without  suspecting  his  identity,  then  may  you 
go  boldly  to  the  house  of  your  falher,  and  re- 
commence your  career  of  folly  :  but  if  the  cry 
was  raised  at  the  heels  of  the  son  of  Yezid, 
you  must  gather  up  tlie  skirts  of  speed,  and 
pass  tiiCv  city  walls  while  there  is  yet  time. 
Farewell  then  for  a  while.  When  you  have 
eaten  and  drunk,  you  can  replace  the  skin  in 
its  hiding-place ;  and  should  I  tarry  on  my 
mi-ssion,  you  must  lay  your  head  on  the  pillow 
of  patience,  and  sleep  or  dream  till  niy  return. ■' 


And,  without  awaiting  further  parley,  the 
dervish  strode  out  of  the  tomb. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    ARAB     STEED CO.NTINUED. 

Ildji  Reza  sat  for  a  time  with  his  head 
bowed  upon  his  clasped  hands,  like  a  figure 
hewn  in  stone  ;  but  after  a  while  th»  faint 
sickne.-s  of  exhaustion  stole  upon  him,  and  he 
lifted  the  wine-skin  to  his  lips,  and  drained  a 
deep  draught.  Again  and  again  he  raised  it ; 
and  at  length  sleep  stole  upon  him,  and, 
stretching  himself  along  behind  one  of  the 
pillars  which  supported  the  dome  of  the  build- 
ing, he  was  soon  buried  in  slumber. 

How  long  he  might  have  slept  he  knew  not, 
when  he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a  hoarse 
peal  of  laughter  immediately  in  his  vicinity  ; 
and,  raising  himself  gently  on  his  elbow,  he 
discovered  that  the  night  was  spent :  and  that, 
to  use  the  figurative  expression  of  a  Persian 
poet,  '•  morning,  in  her  mantle  of  dun  edged 
with  saffron,  was,  like  a  shepherdess  of  the 
plains,  driving  her  fair  flock  of  stars  before 
her  to  the  shade." 

The  chilly  dawn  was  peering  into  the 
building ;  and  as  his  eye  became  familiarized 
with  tlie  faint  light,  Ildji  Reza  discovered  that 
he  had  slept  in  company  with  the  very  out- 
casts of  the  city.  There  were  two  filthy 
hadjis,  covered  with  rags,  and  loud  with 
ribaldry  :  a  couple  of  those  convenient  way- 
farers who  receive  the  wages  of  wealthy  indo- 
lence, and  save  at  once  their  own  souls  and 
those  of  their  employers  ;  while  they  drive  a 
lucrative  trade  by  vending  to  the  home-staying 
devotees  shreds  of  rag,  morsels  of  painted 
glass,  and  splinters  of  marble,  collected  at  the 
Prophet's  Tomb.  It  being  part  of  the  system 
of  these  money-making  pilgrims  to  enhance  in 
the  eyes  of  their  patrons  the  fatigues  and 
diiliculties  of  their  undertaking,  they  are 
always  careful  to  appear  before  tliem  both 
ragged  and  filthy  ;  and  those  who  now  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  Ildji  Reza  were  masters 
of  their  trade. 

It  was  from  the  throat  of  one  of  these  hadji.s 
that  the  laugh  had  proceeded  which  roused 
the  young  man  from  his  slumber  ;  and  it  had  . 
scarcely  died  away  when  a  howl,  deep,  pro- 
longed, and  fierce,  as  though  it  had  been 
uttered  by  a  wild  beast  in  the  recesses  of  the 
desert,  formed  its  hideous  answer ;  and  as  the 
son  of  Yezid  grasped  his  handjar,  and  bent 
forward  to  learn  its  cause,  he  saw,  crouching! 
near  the  base  of  a  pillar,  a  miserable  wretch 
whose  elf-locks  fell  over  liis  lank  and  haggard 
countenance,  and  whose  grizzled  beard,  dank 
with  the  night  dew,  and  matted  into  thick 
ropes  from  neglect,  hung  to  his  waist;  his 


TIIE   llO^IAXCE   OF  THH   lIAIIKNf. 


n 


legs  were  bare  from  the  knocs,  and  covered  [  turned  liis  deep  liollow  eyr8  upon  liiin  in 
■with  scars,  ns   tlioui,'li   his  putli   through   lilV  -  wonder  as  he  a.skcd, 

had  been  among  briars;  his  rainienl.  \\i\a\  '•Whoaro  you? — Monker  and  Nakir  have 
scarce,  and  coarse,  and  worn  ;  and  lii.s  long  left  me,  the  mist  rolls  hack,  and  the  hiiio  sky 
thin  fingers  were  clasped  in  the  mass  of  hair  j  once  more  Hoods  my  soul — Wlieroam  I  ?  TIiih 
that  hung  over  his  wild  fierce  eyes,  drai:;;in','  cannot  be  I'aradi.se.  for  1  have  not  liodd.Mi  iho 
ii  aside,  as  he  glared  upon  a  sa:i«-)n,  or  profes-  Eternal  Hiidgc  :  and  the  earth  on  which  I  lio 
sional  saint,  who  was  squatted  on  an  old  rug   chills  mo  as  though  I  were  pillowed  on  a  ser- 


beside  him. 

"  Peace  !  father  of  a8.<!es  !"  said  the  elder 
hadji,  shaking  his  clasped  hand  at  the  wretch- 
ed maniac;  "ihis  is  what  thy  vain  folly  has 
done  lor  thee.  Do  you  remember  this  howling 
idiot,  Hadji  Latif  ?"  he  asked  of  his  compan- 
ion: 'Mlierc  were  nono  like  him  at  the  Tekio 
of  Scutari,  when  he  llrst  joined  the  brother- 
hood :  but  his  zeal  was  stronger  than  his  head  : 
and  though,  a.s  you  may  sec  by  his  scarred 
limbs,  and  the  seams  ujwn  his  chest,  he  tried 
to  keep  it  cool  by  blood-letting,  it  grew  too 
hot  for  him  at  last — " 

■'  It  burns  I  it  burns  !"'  howled  the  misera- 
ilo  maniac,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  hadji's 
meaning;  '-La  illaha  illallah  !■'  and  as  the 
words  passed  his  lips,  he  tell  flat  upon  the 
earth,  with  closed  eyes  and  risid  limbs. 


pent. 

"  Yon  arc  safe,  quite  safe  ;"  was  the  reply. 
•'Sit  up,  lean  on  me,  and  swallow  some  of 
this  cordial ;  hero  arc  none  to  harm  you." 

'"Harm  mo!"  echoed  the  maniac,  a.s  ho 
drained  a  deep  draught  of  the  ri'lrc^hiim  wino 
of  Cyprus  ,  '■  my  day  of  iVar  is  juist ;"  and  ho 
clasped  his  loim  bony  hands  toL"Mher,  and  bin 
liead  drotipod  upon  his  breast  as  ho  murmured  ; 
"  By  sea  and  by  land — by  siorin  and  by  calm 
— in  the  crowded  city — on  the  wide  waste  of 
waters — above  me,  beneath  me,  about  mc  on 
every  side — they  are  ever  there  I — ever  I — and 
she.  my  own  one,  my  beloved  Comladcve,* 
she  Ijor  whom  I  bore  all,  sho  alone  is  ab- 
sent — " 

The  low  despairing  tone  of  the  dervi.sh 
truck   to  the   licart  of  Ildji   Reza;  he  knew 


It  was  a  spectacle  of  horror :  and  springing   thai  it  was  the  mere  wailing  of  a  madman 
to  his  feet.  Ildji  Reza  bounded  acro.ss  the  lloor,  i  but  he  felt,  as  he  listened,  that  it  must  havo 
and  rushed  through  the  portal  of  the  tomb.       j  been  a  biting  mi.-^ery  which  had  shattered  tho 

"A   spy!    a   spy!"'    shouted   the    sanlon ; 


"  Let  us  away,  my  friends,  or  we  shall  have 
the  city  griard  upon  us." 

The  hadjis  appeared  to  consider  the  advice 
sea-sonable.  for,  tightening  their  girdles,  and 
replacing  their  turbans  with  all  speed,  they 
left  the  building;  being  probably  too  well  ac- 


intcllect  of  the  wretched  man  beside  him; 
and  again  he  soothed,  eiieoura'.'ed  and  condoled, 
until  his  accents  melted  the  spirit  of  the  strick- 
en one,  and  he  wept  tears  in  which  there  waa 
no  bitterness. 

Suddenly  he  grasped  the  arm  of  the  young 
man.  and  said  ea::crly ;  ''  I  know  not  what  you 
quainied  with  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Cadi  i  have  given  me — 1  care  not — hut.  though  1  am 
of  Damascus,  to  be  desirous  of  placing  cither  niad — mad — with  a  bursting  pul.so  and  a 
their  feet  or  their  throats  at  his  disposal.  !  burning  brain.  I  can  thank  you — and  you  .^hall 

Ildji  Reza  stood  for  awhile  in  the  chill  i  hear  all — all! — 1  have  not  told  the  tale  for 
morning  air.  panting  for  breath,  and  sick  at'  year.« — I  never  thought  to  ti-ll  it  again — but  a 
heart,  ere  he  remembered  the  wretched  maniac  '  sudden  streiiL'th  is  eoiiio  ujxin  mc  ;  and.  i-re  I 
in  the  tomb:  when,  shaking  off  the  disgust  die.  I  will  clear  my  brea.sl  of  the  Iriu-htlul  se- 
that  had  grown  on  him,  he  slowly  retraced  his  '  cret.  Allah  keriin  !  the  vulture  that  gnaw.s 
steps,  and  found  the  mi.serable  man  still  lying  my  heart  will  soon  hubs  its  meal — the  worm 
extended  on  the  marble  floor  like  a  corpse  ;  that  has  coiled  itself  in  the  cells  of  my  brain 
his  livid  lips  parted,  and  drawn  tightly  back  will  ere  long  unwrcatho  its  fold.i — "  .And 
from  his  large  and  di.scolorcd  teeth:  every  j  flinging  his  arms  frantically  in  tho  air,  he 
limb  inflexible  and  rigid,  and  his  long  wild  |  yelled  out  like  a  wounded  uninnil,  ere.  by  aii- 
locks  scattered  over  the  pavement.  j  other  transition  of  feeling,    ho  cowered  closer 

To  fling  over  him  water  Irom  a  fountain  into  the  corner  of  the  building,  and  in  a  rapid 
which  was  near  at  hand,  and  to  loree  down  '  voice  commenced  his  wild  dream  of  tho  past, 
his  throat  a  draught  of  the  wine  which  the 
bcctachy  had  left  for  his  owti  use,  wojt  the 
work  of  a  moment  to  Ildji  Rczii  ;  and.  as  tho 

madman  writhed  and  struggled  with  returning  CIl.Al'TER  XX.XI. 

consciousness,  he  soothed  him  with  words  and 

accents  of  gentlencs.-*,  such  as  had  probably  not  THE  ARAB  stekd — contim'ed. 

"met  the  ears  of  the  ill-fated  man  lor  years. 

"Gel,  gel.  gardash  mou — come,  come,  my  '  '•  I  know  not  what  crime  I  had  committed  i 
brother;"  he  said  kindly;  •'  rouse  yourself,  or  .  I  am  ignorant  if  I  was  even  accuhcd  of  any;. 
I  must  icave  you  in  your  misery,  for  I  look  to  — — 


be  summoned   ere   long;"    and   tho   maniac 


•  W»ur-hlr. 


12 


THE   ROMA^XE   OF  THE  HAREM. 


but  at  midnight  men  stood  beside  my  bed.  and 
around  it ;  and  my  narrow  chamber  was  filled 
•with  dusky  forms,  seen  dimly  athwart  the 
darkness.  Shapes  of  fear  they  were;  armed, 
and  strong,  and  tall  in  the  shadow;  and  their 
heavy  weapons  struck  discordantly  and  harshly 
on  tlie  marble  floor  as  they  moved  silently 
about  the  chamber. 

'■  1  strove  to  speak,  but  I  could  not;  Allah 
knows  the  terror  which  froze  up  my  soul  !  my 
tongue  seemed  parched,  and  clave  to  my  fe- 
vered palate  :  fear  had  paralyzed  my  ener- 
gies, and  1  could  not  move  a  limb. 

"  I  had  little  time  to  straggle  with  the  dread 
that  pressed  upon  my  spirits ;  a  strong  grasp 
raised  me  from  my  mat.  and  busy  hands  were 
soon  folding  my  garments  round  me.  They 
put  my  turban  on  my  head,  and  fastened  it 
beneath  my  chin  with  the  chain  which  had 
sustained  my  dagger ;  my  arms  were  pinioned 
tightly  behind  my  back,  and  secured  by  my 
own  costly  shawl — that  shawl  which  I  had 
bound  in  pride  about  me  wheu  I  last  beheld 
Comladeve.  the  peri  of  my  spirit.  What  a 
vision  did  tliat  memory  conjure  up  !  I  was 
about  to  be  borne  1  know  not  whither;  the 
hour  would  come  when  she  would  look  for  me 
again ;  when  she  would  have  renewed  tlie 
henna  on  her  delicate  hands,  and  scattered 
perfumes  in  her  hair;  when  she  would  listen 
near  her  latticed  casement  for  my  coming  step, 
and  hear  only  the  breath  of  the  evening  wind 
sighing  over  the  roses  and  the  lotus-flowers  ; 
her  zebec  would  be  silent,  and  her  heart 
heavy;  for  her  loved  one  might  not  stand  be- 
ncatli  her  window  in  the  starlight,  nor  look 
with  her  upon  the  moon. 

'■  These  thoughts  swept  hurriedly  over  my 
soul  like  the  winged  steed  of  Mahomet  through 
a  stormy  sky.  1  stru.'fgled,  but  the  effort  came 
too  late — I  was  lilted  from  the  earth  ;  a  coarse 
beneesh  was  folded  round  me,  and  I  was  flung 
rudely  across  a  war-horse  guided  by  a  strong 
hand.  Away  we  flew  like  the  wind  !  and" 
shrouded  as  I  was,  I  distinguished  the  hoof- 
clang  of  many  steeds,  and  the  hoarse  tones  of 
their  riders,  urging  them  to  yet  greater  speed. 

'•  On.  on,  we  sped;  and,  as  I  lay  panting 
across  the  animal  which  bore  me,  the  coarse 
covering  pressed  rudely  upon  my  mouth  and 
nostrils,  and  1  sickciicJ  for  air.  For  a  while 
I  became  senseless,  and  when  at  length  I  again 
breathed  freely,  the  wind  of  an  autumnal 
evening  was  fanning  my  brow  like  the  wing 
of  a  peri.  I  thought  that  I  had  wakened  in 
Paradise  ;  and  1  hastily  looked  up  to  meet  the 
dark  eyes  which  were  to  welcome  me  to  the 
everlasting  bowers. 

"  I  gave  but  one  glance,  ere  I  again  closed 
my  aching  lids  :  I  was  surrounded  by  dark 
forms ;  they  pressed  closely  about  me  :  and  a 
crowd  of  turbaned  heads  were  turned  towards 
me,  as  if  awaiting  my  restoration  to  conscious- 
ness.    A  deep  murmur  ran  tlurough  the  throng 


as  I  looked  up  ;  again  a  strong  hand  lifted  me 
from  the  earth,  and  I  involuntarily  gazed  onoe 
more  around. 

"  We  were  standing  on  the  verge  of  a  dark 
rock ;  and  the  wide  sea,  in  all  its  might  and 
its  majesty,  was  beneath  us.  I  gave  one 
frenzied  shriek — it  was  the  A'oice  of  my  agony, 
as  I  hung  in  air  for  an  instant  in  the  grasp  of 
that  iron  hand  ! 

•'  As  the  scream  died  away,  a  deep  voice 
sounded  in  my  ear — the  words  were  seared 
into  my  heart — How  oiten  since  that  moment 
have  I  uttered  them  with  the  laugli  of  partial 
insanity,  or  the  hollow  tone  of  reckless  despair, 
when  none  were  near  to  listen  : — 

"  '  Be  the  sea  thy  home — the  grave  which 
it  offers  to  others,  it  shall  refuse  to  thee — for 
seven  long  years  jihalt  thou  float  on,  and  on — 
Earth  shall  fly  from  thee  ;  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  earth  shall  reject  thy  fellowship — Thou 
shall  look  on  forms  that  thou  hast  loved,  and 
hearken  to  tones  which  have  been  dear  to 
thee — Thou  shalt  look  and  listen  and  it  shall 
avail  thee  nothing.' 

"  A  hoarse  laugh  from  the  assembled  crowd 
followed  closely  on  the  awful  words  ;  and, 
ere  the  discordant  mirth  had  wholly  subsided, 
he  who  held  me  strode  yet  nearer  to  the  edge 
of  the  dark  rock.  Instinctively  I  closed  my 
eyes  :  a  sickness  as  of  death  came  over  me : 
there  was  another  yell  of  fiendish  joy — another 
hellish  mockery  of  mirth — a  sudden  fall — a 
loud  plash — and  I  was  floating  like  a  corse 
upon  the  waters. — 

•'Oh  !  the  agony  of  that  moment ! — I 
writhed  —  I  struggled  —  I  strove  to  wrench 
away  the  bonds  which  bound  my  arni.s — but, 
at  every  heave  of  my  tortured  body,  at  every 
spasm  of  Illy  fettered  strength,  I  only  sank 
deeper  into  tlie  wave  ;  and  as  I  rose  again  ex- 
hausted and  panting  to  the  surface,  I  threw 
back  the  salt  water  from  my  mouth  and  nos- 
trils in  nauseous  streams. 

'•  As  the  breeze  swept  over  me,  I  caught  the 
breath  of  flowers,  the  scents  of  earth  !  But  I 
heard  also  the  clattering  hoof-strokes  of  the 
demon  train  who  had  borne  me  to  the  coast 
rapidly  returning  to  the  city.  My  heart  swel- 
led almost  to  bursting ;  and  had  not  my  brain 
been  scorched,  I  could  have  wept.  1  looked 
up  ;  the  gray  twilight  was  deepening  around 
mc — Wretch  as  I  was,  this  alone  was  wanting 
to  complete  my  misery  ! 

"  Night  was  gathering  in  the  sky,  the  long, 
dark,  fearful  night ;  and  1  turned  my  eyes 
despairingly  on  either  side.  In  one  direction 
the  tall  rock  from  which  I  had  been  hurled 
rose  bleak  and  frowning,  while  the  waters 
chafed  and  bellowed  at  its  base ;  and  tlie  light 
spray  fell  back,  far  across  the  waves,  like  rain 
As  I  gazed,  distant  and  twinkling  lights  ap- 
peared in  many  a  chasm,  and  I  knew  that  they 
betokened  the  habitations  of  men.  I  could  see 
in  my  mind's  eye  the  narrow  hearth  of  the  fish- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  nARKM. 


71 


knnan,  peopled,  by  his  ehiUlrcn  and  their  mo- 
ther; and  again  I  buffeted  tlic  waters,  and  lelt 
half  a  maniac  as  I  stniiiEiled  with  my  bonds. 

'' The  nijiht  thickenod  around  me.   and  the 
murky  clouds  iratherod  lilco  the  sable  wings  of  I  for  it  Ihrnuulioul   llio  lon^,   lony  iiii;lil, 
the  ajigel  Asrael ;  not  a  star  was  in  tlic  sky,  I  had  come  at  Icmitii.  only  lo  hnwj  witl 


"  Flunger  came  njioii  me,  and  tliirsl ;  and 
the  sun,  as  it  lose  in  tiio  iicavens,  heal  mad- 
deningly upon  my  uncovered  face.  I  hod 
praved  for  daylight  :  I  liad  watelicd  nnd  panted 

id   it 

t   an 


and  the  moon  looked  not  upon  Ibc  earth,  nor  acce>sion  of  misery,  for  1  sickened  bencatli  iho 
across  the  s«a.  wiiere  I  lay  like  a  log  upon  the'  fierce  heat  and  the  blindini;  Imlit. 
waters.  The  wind  freshened  ;  ami  1  felt  that 
I  was  rapidly  borne  away  from  the  land. 
There  was  a  mightier  heaving  in  the  billows, 
and  a  deeper  murmur  from  the  depths  of  the 
jocean;  while  the  sea-birds  shrieked  out  as  into  hope.  Tiie  specInU  albalro.>.s  clave  tlte 
they  dippe*  for  an  instant  their  ill-omened  air  with  wh'ite  and  niolionlrss  winL',  and  cast 
bosoms  in  the  wave,  ami  then  pursued  their  I  its  long,  dark,  solitary  shadow  far  across  the 
way  to  their  rocky  resting-places  till  the  mor- '  wave, 
row.    Alas  !  I  had  no  resting-place  !    I  prayed  I      ''Then    came    evening,    witii    its   softened 


Ouriim  the  darkness  I  had  diiflcd  far  out 
to  .<:ea  ;  the  wilderness  of  waters  was  ar(>und 
me  :  not  a  vestige  of  man,  nor  of  that  earth 
which  is  his  inheritance,  was  left  to  cheat  mo 


to  the  Prophet  that  I  might  die;  but,  from  the 
depths  of  his  amaranth  bowers,  he  heard  me 
not ;  and  I  lived  on. 

''  And  now  a  fresh  agony  grew  upon  me. 
The  folds  of  my  turban  became  weighty  a,s  the 
moisture   penetrated   even   to  my  liair-roots  : 


light  and  its  subdued  breeze  :  and  my  aching 
eyes  were  cooled  by  its  approach  ;  though  I 
shuddered  as  I  remembered  that  nigiit  would 
follow  in  its  train. 

'•  Well    might    I    shudder    with    prophetic 
dread  ;  lor  (luit  night   taught   me   that  I  was 


and  I  was  bowed  back  heavily  into  the  waters.  I  never,  during  my  occan-pilgriinaiie,    to  close 


Ba.^huslun — on  my  head  be  it,  Etfendim 
You  have  never  dreamed  of  hours  so  long  as 
those  of  that  dark  weary  night:  with  its  shrill 
winds,  its  angry  sky,  and  its  deep  dreamy  so- 
litude.    Ere  morning  dawned  I  had  writhed    lowy  bed. 
Bo  violently  in  my  bonds  that  the  blood  gushed  I      '-Years   passsed   over  mc    thus,    chequered 
from  my  ears  and  nostrils,  and  trickled  down    only  by  an  occasional  accession   of  misery,  by 
my  beard.     I  was  weak  and  spiritless;  and  at  ~ 

length  I  wept  like  a  child.  They  were  the 
first  tears  of  my  manhood,  and  they  were 
wrung  from  my  heart  in  agony  and  bitterness. 

As  the  light  broke,  a  huge  sea  swept  over 
me ;  and  though  but  a  moment  before  I  had 
prayed  for  death,  yet  now  I  panted  and  strug- 
gled with  the  sutlbcating  element,  and  felt 
a.lmost  joy  when  the  mighty  billow  was  over- 
past. 

"  The  day  came — the  glorious  day  !   Wreaths 
of  clouds,  beautiful  in  their  blended  lints  of 


my  eyes  m  sleep  !  I  spent  it  like  tiio  last ;  at 
times  I  was  furiou.*!.  and  struiiglcd  and  shriek- 
ed in  my  despair  ;  and  at  others  I  lay  bleed- 
exhausted,  and  almost  reckless,  on  my  bil- 


storm,  and  hurricane,  and  tempest.  Fagaine 
and  thirst  were  still  gnawing  at  my  heart,  and 
yet  I  could  not  die — "' 


CIlAl'TKIl  XX.XII. 

THE  ARAB  STKED CONTIMED 

Mkn  say  that  I  am   mad  ;  and  it  may  well 
be  so — it  was  in  truth  a  maddening  thing  to 


gold  and  gray,  floated  in  the  ea.st,  like  heralds  I  lie  year  after  year  in  my  helplessness,  storm- 
[)f  the  rising  sun.  Asain  I  heard  the  shrill  worn,  sleeple.-s,  hopeless — In.-hallah  !  thi-re 
shriek  of  the  water-fowl,  and  saw  the  gleam-  is  anotiier  world  for  the  True  Believer,  where 
ing  wings  of  the  sea-gull  and  the  cormorant  the  tempest-breath  and  the  billow  will  never 
as  they  flew  over  my  head.     Sounds  of  un- 1  come — " 

sarthly  music  ro.^c  from  the  ocean-cells,  like  I  "  And  did  you  still  live  on  alone  ?"  dcmand- 
Jie  welcome  of  the  water-gods  to  the  daylight ;  |  ed  lldji  IU-zjI,  interested  despite  himself  in  the 
whispers  swept  along  the  wave  as  the  breeze  1  strange  tale  of  the  maniac;  "  llatl  you  no 
rippled  it ;  and  the  golden  tints  of  the  morning  companion  in  misery  ?  no  occupation  lo  bo- 
sky  danced    in    brightness    on    the    waters. '  guile  the  dreary  days  ?" 

Crowds  of  flying-fish  darted  tiigh  into  the  air, '  '•  Companion  !"'  echoed  the  dervish  with  a 
and  fell  back  one  by  one  a.s  the  moisture  dried  |  wild  laui;h.  "  What  companion  would  you 
apon  their  win:.'s.  Many  a  shark  in  pursuit'  have  given  lo  mc  ?  not  a  mortal — im  ;  no  ! — 
)f  prey  darted  along  so  close  beside  me  as  to  he  could  have  held  no  conimunion  with  me — 
leave  the  very  tiiiiow  by  which  I  was  up- 1  I  was  no  longer  an  inhabitant  of  earih.  but  a 
borne,  yet  it  saw  me  not.  I  was  plun^jed  deep, '  loathed  and  unnatural  beini;.  living  a  charmed 
leep  into  the  waters  by  the  heavy  tin-Ktrokc  life — breathing  upon  an  clement  winch  would 
)f  the  /r.:i:hty  whale  as  it  pas.sed  mc  by  ;  and  •  have  brouiihl  death  to  my  fellow-ni'-n — fore- 
;he  fairy  nautilus  hoisted  its  transparent  sail,  i  doomed  to  years  of  unholy  exisienee — whero 
md  guided  its  Liny  bark  fearlessly  wilhm  my  ,  could  1  hope  to  find  a  ciimpanion?  Oceujia- 
eery  grasp.  1  tiou  !"  he  pursued  still  more  earnestly.    "  Can 


74 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


you  not  gue?s  my  occupation?  I  learnt  to 
note  the  hours  by  tlie  appearance  of  the  sun- 
beams on  the  Avater.  or  the  position  of  the 
stars  ;  and  I  colkcted  the  ashes  of  madness, 
-which,  after  smouldering;  for  a  time,  at  length 
burst  into  a  flame,  and  seared  my  brain. 

•'  At  times  I  lay  quietly  upon  the  surface 
of  the  ocean,  and,  fixing  my  eye  upon  a  par- 
ticular wave  afar  oft'  I  watched  its  progress, 
and  laughed  Ions  and  loudly  whea  at  length 
it  broke  over  me ;  and  at  others  I  shrieked  an 
echo  to  I  he  shrill  cry  of  the  sea-fowl,  and  felt 
a  cunning  exuhation  as  I  found  how  fully  I 
had  caught  the  discordant  note:  and  heard 
the  bird,  mocked  into  a  belief  that  it  was  the 
call  of  one  of  his  own  species,  answer  in  his 
turn. 

'But  not  always  did  I  thus  sport  with  my 
vmhallowed  wreichedness ;  these  were  my 
hours  of  revel,  and  the  startled  spirit  soon 
shrank  back  into  itself — into  its  idiot  vanity  or 
its  maddening  despair  ! 

•'  How  often,  during  these  miserable  years, 
did  I  look  on  land :  ay,  even  watched  the 
fi.-;herman  while  he  drew  his  nets  ;  and  caught 
the  sound  of  laughter  as  it  came  shrilly  along 
the  waves  ; — then,  even  although  I  felt  the  im- 
potence of  my  etibrls.  I  again  strove  to  burst 
my  bonds — panted — yelled  in  the  agony  of  my 
helplessness,  as  I  sank  into  deep  water ;  and 
writhed  like  a  baited  animal  when  I  once  more 
rose. to  the  stirface. 

'•  All  day  I  have  floated  past  the  land;  at 
times  dashed  furiottsly  against  projecting  points 
of  rock,  and  then  cast  back,  maimed  and  bleed- 
ing, on  the  retiring  breakers  ;  at  others  gliding 
slowly  and  smoothly  along  a  smiling  shore ; 
breatliing  the  breath  of  flowers,  cooled  by  the 
long  shadows  of  stately  trees,  listening  to  the 
lowing  of  cattle,  the  song  of  birds,  the  sounds 
of  music,  the  voice  of  childi-en — unseen,  un- 
heard, unpitied  ! 

'•Thus  sped  my  days:  my  nights  brought  no 
mental  rest,  for  sleep  was  denied  to  me — 
Effcndim,  Alia  Allah — Heaven  forbid  ! — that 
you  should  ever  know  how  the  brain  grows 
crazed  under  ihc  unwinking  watchfulness  of 
years  ! — the  long,  long  wakefulness  which 
knows  no  rest — the  vigil  that  is  unbroken  ! 
And  yet  I  longed  for  night ;  for  its  darkness, 
weary  and  witlieiing  as  it  was,  offered  me  at 
least  a  respite  from  the  tedious  monotony  of 
the  ocean  and  tlie  burning  fury  of  the  sun. 
Sometimes,  too.  tiie  pale  moon  rode  high  in 
heaven,  and  tlie  sea  gleamed  like  a  sheet  of 
molten  silver,  wiiile  I  lay  there,  the  only  dark 
speck  to  mar  the  glory  of  the  scene. 

"  On  such  nights  I  was  ever  sad  and  resign- 
ed to  my  destiny;  I  did  not  struggle — I  did 
not  shriek — I  lay  calmly,  and  wept  like  an 
infant ;  or,  after  gazing  a  while  on  the  fair 
moon,  I  fixed  on  a  briiiht  star  above  my  head, 
and  fancied  a  world  of  happiness  for  Comla- 
deve  and  myself  in  such  a  sphere  of  light ; 


[  and,  as  I  gazed,  the  houri  of  my  soul  -flrould 
I  stand  upon  the  vapor  that  swept  across  th« 
!  moon  ;  and  point  to  the  star  on  which  I  loved 
I  to  look  ;  and  lo  !  it  changed  ;  and  I  saw  the 
diamond  key  that  opens  the  portal  of  the 
Prophet's  paradise  ;  while  she  beckoned  me  to 
a  death  of  blessedness  which  I  could  not  die  I 
That  vision  brought  madness  with  it — and 
then  I  held  discourse  with  the  sky,  and  with 
the  sea.  and  again  played  the  maniac. 

"One  evening,  after  a  day  of  fierce  licat.  aa 
I  lay  inhaling  with  avidity  the  cool  breeze 
which  slept  along  the  wave,  and  feathered  it 
with  its  refreshing  breath,  a  distant  object 
caught  my  eye,  and  I  gazed  upon  it  with  de- 
lirious joy  !  Nearer  it  came  in  its  pride :  ifc 
I  was — it  was  a  ship  !  Ay  !  on  she  came,  with 
her  sails  set,  and  her  bowsprit  bending  at  in- 
I  tervals  even  into  the  very  ripple  as  tlie  fresh i 
I  breeze  sped  her  on.  I  could  see  her  tall  masts,  > 
I  her  white  canvass,  her  complicated  cordage;' 
and.  more  than  all,  I  could  see  many  of  her 
crew — men  !  my  fellow-men  !  my  brothers  ! 

'•'  They  came  not  from  my  own  land,  for 
their  unturbaned  heads  were  bare,  and  the 
I  wind  played  among  their  long  and  curling. 
j  locks — they  were  not  of  my  own  faith,  for  the 
Christian  symbol  streamed  from  the  mast  of 
the  stately  ship — but  what  cared  I  for  this 
They  would  save  me :  I  should  once  more  bo 
restored  to  the  world,  to  Comladeve-iand  tc 
myself.  Can  you  not  believe  tliat  my  joy  wa; 
maddening  ? 

"  One  among  them  stood  like  the  spirit  of 
the  lutge  ship  :  and  looked  and  spoke  with  the 
glance  and  the  tone  of  pride.  In  the  iniervah 
!  of  my  struggles  and  of  my  cries,  I  waichci. 
him  narrowly:  once  I  thought  tliat  he  pointec 
i  towards  me,  and  my  heart  leaped  with  trans-' 
port  :  but  he  turned  suddenly  away,  and  I  sa'^ 
him  no  more.  Still,  however,  the  full  aiK 
lordly  voice  met  my  ear — alas  !  had  I  knowi 
the  import  of  the  words  it  uttered,  the  pealin; 
of  the  midjiight  thunder  had  been  more  wel 
come. 

"  As  I  strained  my  eyes  to  look  on  the  gal 
lant  ship,  her  sails  shivered  for  an  instant  n 
the  wind ;  I  heard  the  myriad  ropes  boa 
heavily  against  the  deck,  as  if  cast  down  smi 
denly  from  many  hands ;  and,  ere  I  couli 
draw  another  breath,  the  vast  canvass  one 
more  opened  to  the  breeze  ;  and  away  flcwlh 
swift  vessel  like  a  mighty  bird,  and  left  m, 
writhing  and  wretched — an  alien,  and  an  out 
cast  ! 

"  How  I  watched  the  ship  as  she  receded 
The  figures  on  her  deck  became  less  and  lef 
perceptible,  and  soon  totally  disappeared  ;  er 
long,  masts,  and  sails,  and  cordage  grew  into  on 
confused  but  wondrous  mass:  and,  finally,  sli 
dwindled  to  a  mere  speck  upon  the  ocuan. 

"  Yet  still  I  watched  her — Allah  !  how  m 
eyes  grew  to  that  fading  object  as  it  slowl. 
melted  into  thin  air  iu  the  distance !  I  hope 


I 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TUE  lUREiL 


Y< 


10  longer:  but  I  IkuI  looked  on  men,  and  lis- 
ned  to  ilie  huiiiau  voice;  and  when  even 
he  dark  speck  utterly  disappeiired  in  the 
lorizon,  I  lulieicd  the  waves  anew,  and  ex- 
austed  my  streiiijth  in  strui;i;lcs  with  my  un- 
ieldiiig  bonds. 

When  the   light  came  ngn::>,  I  searched 

round,  as  tiiough  I  could  yet  lo».k  upon  tho 

lorious  vision — but  I  saw  it  no  more.     1  lived 

I'on  the  memory  of  that  sliip  lor  months.     I 

lid  have  described  her.  a^;  thoui;h  siie  had 

cu  still  belore  my  eyes.     I  remembered  every 

vok  and  gesture  of  the  proud  spirit  who  go- 

L'crned  her.     I  saw  once  more   the  graeelul 

bound  with  which,  after  the  temporary  check, 

me  again  darted  on  her  way — it  was  inscribed 

bpon  my  heart  and  in  my  brain.-' 

The  maniac  paused  :  and,  grasping  his  broad 
orehead  with  his  bony  hands  seemed  as  Ihougii 
le  thought   to  still   the  pang  his  vision  had 


ailed  up;  while  Ildji  Rcza  sat  beside  him.  golden  beams  still  glowed  and  gii.stencd  on 
marvelling  how  great  a  share  memory  could  the  ocean-wave,  when  again  my  ear  waa 
laim  of  a  narrative  in  which  madness  was  |  tilled  with  sounds  which  had  long  been  stran- 
lent  with  sutiering.  Wild  as  it  was,  there  i  gers  to  it — sounds  of  mirth  and  music — and, 
vas  yet  a  connecting  principle  in  the  tale  to  j  like  a  thing  of  light,  a  gay  bark  swept  grace- 
vhich  he  had  been  listening,  that  seemed  too  fully  along,  with  a  gilded  crescent  at  herinasU 
nighty  an  eflbrt  for  a  mind  shattered  like  that  Ye.s — she  came  from  my  own  land!  She 
f  the  wretched  object  on  whom  he  looked ;  I  came  to  bring  me  life  and  liappine.ss  !  There 
nd  the  young  man  remembered  that,  ere  the  j  were  revellers  on  the  deck  of  that  fair  i>hip ; 
amp  of  life  is  extinguished,  its  llaiiic  .>;ome-  ]  her  silken  sails  were  looped  with  llowens  ;  ainl 
lines  lights  up  for  a  short  period  the  long- I  silver  vases,  filled  with  perfumed  incense, 
^acated  sepulchre  of  the  brain  ;  and  thus  he  i  were  shedding  their  costly  breath  ui)on  tlie 
emained  silently  beside  the  dervish,  awaiting  air;  I  heard  the  shrill  tones  of  the  fife,  tho 
rith  the  reverence  which  is  ever  paid  to  mad-  ringing  notes  of  the  zebcc,  and  the  clangour 
by  his  countrymen,  the  termination  of  a  of  the  martial  cymbal — for  a  while  I  spoke 
ecital   which  was  evidently  exhausting   the    "ol — stirred  not — my  gaze  was  riveted  on  one 


ly,  upon  mine,  souUcps  and  sightless;  the  lijM 
parted  as  if  in  the  death  a:,Miiy  ;  and  the  wmk 
of  corruption  begun.  Horrible  I  mtsi  hornltle  ! 
And  yet.  Wallah  biilah— by  the  riuphet !  this 
was  but  the  natural  eirtci  of  ;in  eli-meni  on 
which  man  might  not  live,  save  by  demoiiiao 
means;  and  I  only  loathed  mysilf  tin.  more,  as 
the  foul  corse  was  borne  beyond  my  ken.  that 
my  lot  was  not  even  as  tlial  of  him  who  had 
perished  in  the  deep  waters.  //<•.  at  leant,  had 
buireted  the  billows  with  uiislmekl.d  limh^ — 
had  striven  manfully  wiih  the  fate  whicli 
threatened  him — and,  when  the  bitter  auoiiy 
was  overpast,  had  dic(l.  I  had  been  bound  ; 
had  striven — struggled — suH'ocated — suirered 
all  the  pangs,  the  awfulnes.-*  of  .h.^.-iolution,  and 
yet  lived.  The  tide  wave  bore  away  its  dead, 
and  I  envied  the  cold  and  Inathsoino  corse  ! 

''  But  my  cup  of  agony  had  not  yet  over- 
flowed.    'J'lie  sun  had  .>iet  gloriouslv,  and  ita 


trength  of  the  narrator. 

Ekhi  kateti — there  is  something;  some- 
ding  that  we  neither  see  nor  understand, 
[hawaji ;-'  at  length  pursued  the  maniac, 
upon  our  path,  in  the  air  we  breathe,  about, 
bove.  and  around  us — I  was  the  prey  of  that 
ower.  be  it  wliat  it  may — I  am  ."^o  still — tiierc 
re  moments  when  I  am  mad — mad  ! — when 


bright  form,  which  moved  like  a  spirit  of 
beauty  among  the  revellers.  Mi.-ery,  mad- 
ness, tanime,  had  failed  to  blot  tliat  image 
from  the  records  of  my  brain — I  gazed  like 
one  who  would  exhau.st  hiiii.velf  in  a  long,  last 
look,  for  I  filt  that  it  wa.s  L'omladcve — she 
whom  I  had  loved,  whom  I  had  almost  won. 
Yes,    she    was    there!       Her    long    hair    wa« 


le  subtle  enemy  has  drunk  up  the  juices  of  :  floating  to  the  breeze  ;  her  eyes  were  flashing 
ly  being,  withered  the  marrow  of  my  bones,  ;  like  meteors  ;  iier  white  arms  were  bare,  and 
nd  turned  the  stream  of  my  blo(jd  to  lire — but  gleamed  like  sea-foam  ;  slie  was  dancing  on 
)-day  the  clasp  is  slackened  from  my  heart —  that  ve.shel's  deck,  to  tho  sound  of  the  clashing 
le  demon  sleeps — and  I  am  aaain  one  of  tho.'ie    cymbal.-*  ! 

)  whom  the  world  was  given  as  a  heritage.  |  '  Now,  indeed,  I  writhed  and  struggled  to 
'et  I  am  not  always  so — and.  least  of  all.  free  my  limbs  from  the  bonds  which  lettered 
hen  I  was  floating  over  that  endles.«,  endless  |  them  ;  with  the  violence  of  my  frantic  ellortti, 
a.  Do  you  dream  that  I  saw  none  but  <  1  »»ank  deep  into  the  waters,  and  the  waves 
leasant  scenes  while  I  rode  the  wave,  and  elot-cd  above  my  head  ;  but  il  was  only  for  a 
lated  with  monsters?  Ai.  ai — wo  is  me!  while;  and  ere  long  I  rose  again  panting  and 
ou  are  young,  and  the  world  has  used  you  "Ulloeatiiig,  to  the  surface.  As  my  bicalii 
ently — you  are  strong,  and  your  limbs  have  j  returned,  1  strove  to  speak,  to  utter  the  namo 
ever  writhed  in  bonds.  You!'  and  he  j  of  my  beloved,  to  call  on  Comladevc  lo  i.uccor 
lughed  the  shrill  mocking  laugh  of  frenzy;  and  to  save  me;  but  I  gave  voice  only  to  a 
how  can  yon  guess  at  all  I  saw  when  the  shrill  scream,  like  those  of  the  oquatic  fowl 
hirlwind  and  the  tempest  had  done  their  whose  cries  I  had  moiked  in  my  madncM— 
'OTk?  Olten.  after  a  nichl  of  storm,  did  a ;  speech  hatl  departed  from  me  ! 
ale  bloated  corse  pass  close  bendeme;  the  |  ''Vain  were  it  for  mo  to  tell  you  all — 
idely-opened  cyea  glaring,  glazed,  and  ghasl- 1  Allah  kcriin — Allah  is  merciful— I  was  close 


u 


TEE  EOMAXCE  OF  THE  IIAREM. 


beside  the  vessel,  and  they  saw  me  not.     I  started   convulsively.     Like   the   blossom  o 

shrieked  aloud  in  my  agony,  but  they  did  not  the  nirgis*  bent  she  over  the  murmuring  bit 

heed  me.     As  the*  bark  swept  along,  the  tide  lows  ;  but  not  as  she  was  wont  to  look  whei 

carried  me  forward  in  its  wake ;  and  when  she  listened   to  my  voice,  looked  she  at  tha 

the  moon  rose,  and  tlie  breeze  freshened.  1  saw  moment.     Gardash — brother — have  you  eve 

Comladevc  lean  pensively  over  the  vessel's  gazed  into  the   eye  of  a  peri  who  had  foldet 

side;  and.  as  she  raised  her  eye  to  heaven,  a  the  wings  of  her  affection  upon  your  bosom 

tear  fell  from  it — She  stood  not  long  alone;  a  and  forsaken  the  flowery  paths  of  pleasure  foi 

lall  figure  approached  her;  a  jewelled  cres-  the    shady   home   of   peace?      Ha!  ha!  sh 

cent  glittered  in   his   turban,  and  there  were  looked  down,  down,  deep  into  the  heaving  sei 

gems  m  the  hilt  of  the  handjar  in  his  girdle.  — not   with    love — not  with    tenderness — no 

As  he  reached  her  side,  he  murmured  a  few  with  trusi — it  was  wild,  maddening,  phrensici' 

words   in  her  ear  :  he   breathed   them  softly  terror  that  gave  a  fierce  light  to  her  eye,  ani 

and    fondly,    but   /    heard   them,    whispered  threw  a  shadow  over  her  pale  brow :  anxious 


though  they  were!  In  an  instant  his  arm  | 
encircled  her,  and  her  head  rested  tenderly 
upon  las  shoulder — again  he  spoke,  and  as  the 
voice  ceat^ed,  he  looked  up.  Allah  !  needed 
tlierc  this  ?  Was  1  not  yet  a  wretch  ?  It  was 
my  brother  !  that  brother  w"hoiu  I  had  loved 
even  as  my  own  soul — he  was  beside  my 
betrothed  bride — his  arm  was  twined  around 
her  waist — his  voice  murmured  the  words  of 
passion — and  I — I  was  near  them — borne  on 
the  same  ocean — breathed  on  by  the  same 
wind — lighted  by  the  same  moon — and  they 
heeded,  they  heard  me  not." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


THE    ARAB    STEED CONTINUED. 


"  Allah  esmarladek — Allah  have  you  in 
his  holy  keeping ;"'  murmured  lldji  Rcza, 
carried  away,  in  spite  of  his  reason,  by  the 
phrensied  energy  of  the  dervish.  "  This  was 
indeed  a  gtief.''" 

'•  But  I  survived  even  that !"  laughed  out 
the  maniac  ;  "  and  a  new  trouble  grew  upon 
me  as  I  looked  upon  the  lovers — I  felt  that 
mysterious  sighing  steal  along  the  surface  of 
the  sea,  which  I  had  learnt  to  be  the  wailing 
of  the  water-gods  over  the  coming  ruin  of  the 
tempest-wrath ;  murmurs  arose  from  the  ocean- 
depths,  the  awakening  of  the  storm-bnath 
among  the  billows  ;  the  huge  porpoises  roiled 
over  uneasily ;  and  the  hungry  sharks  con- 
gregated round  the  goodly  ship.  Too  well  I 
knew  these  signs  —  they  foreboded  death — 
death,  Khawaji;  the  sickening,  struggling 
death  of  the  angry  billow  and  the  shrieking 
■wind — I  knew  them  all,  for  I  had  watched 
them  for  years,  and  they  had  never  failed  ! 

'■  For  my.sclf  I  feared  not — what  could  I 
fear  ?  They  did  not  even  promise  me  the  death 
for  which  I  prayed  ;  but  lor  her — for  Comla- 
deve — for  my  soul's  idle — the  water-lily  over 
which  the  tide  of  sorrow  never  should  have 
passed — for  her  I  trembled  with  a  dread  for 
which  the  pangs  of  death  had  been  a  rich  ex- 
change; and  I  yelled  forth  in  my  terror  sounds  the  maddenin 
of    fearful  warning.      She   heard   them,  and| 


y  she  searched  among  the  billows  for  the  fear 
lul  creature  which  had  uttered  a  sound  s: 
dread ;  but  though  her  gaze  seemed  fixed  o 
my  very  brow,  she  saw  me  not :  and,  after  ; 
while,  she  again  raised  her  bright  looks  to  th 
evening  sky. 

'■•She  looked  calmly  on  an  horizon  which  t 
me  was  fraught  with  terrible  warninii  :  dar 
clouds  were  Hitting  rapidly  over  the  face  o 
the  heavens,  and  congregating  in  one  denS' 
mass,  so  black  and  heavy  that  it  seemed  t 
oppress  my  breathing  ;  the  moon  had  risen,  m. 
in  beauty,  but  red  as  blood  :  while  the  low( 
fringes  of  the  huge  black  cloud  caught  the  n 
flection,  and  flung  back  far  upon  the  wav(; 
their  ensanguined  shadow.  At  intervals,  ; 
fiery  vapor  played  in  fearful  light  round  tt 
gilded  crescent  at  the  mast  of  the  doomed  shi' 
and  ran  along  it  from  point  to  point — lh(i 
came  a  deep  hollow  peal,  which  was  cor 
menced  by  the  dark  cloud,  and  echoed  fro 
every  cave  of  ocean ,  and  again  the  dei 
waters  swelled  and  heaved  in  their  might,  lil 
the  fettered  limbs  of  a  giant;  though  the  su 
face  of  the  sea  was  yet  calm,  and  tlie  vess 
rode  as  smoothly  as  though  it  had  been  glidii; 
over  the  bosom  of  a  lake.  , 

'•  But  the  storm  came  at  length :  a  sudden  fla  • 
struck  on  the  crescent  once  more,  and  ran  dov 
the  mast,  clasping  it  round  and  round  like 
fiery  giidle.  cast  by  some  avenging  spirit  frc 
his  loins — the  huge  cloud  parted  in  twain, 
and  the  storm-god  howled  forth  his  summo. 
to  the  tempest  !  Instantly  was  it  answered 
the  giant  billows  burst  their  bonds  at  on 
and  rose  high  into  the  air,  crowned  w 
foam. 

"  Allah  !  'tis  a  rare  sight  to  seethe  fury 
the  waves  when  they  are  lashed  to  madness 
tlie  storm-wind — when  the  surf  flies  hi 
against  the  heavens,  as  though  if  mocked  t; 
vapors  drifting  over  head — and  the  sea  ope 
wide  its  yawning  sepulchres,  and  gapes  fori' 
dead  who  ai-e  so  soon  to  fill  them  !» — Butwlji 
these  are  the  young,  tiie  beautiful,  the  ; 
loved — the  treasured  of  your  spirit,  the  cheri;* 
cd  of  your  soul — Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  can  you  :^ 
feel  the  wild  delirium,  the  bitter  excitati* 
mpulse  of  the  conflict?        ,i 


'  I<laicisEUB. 


THE  ROMANCE  OP  THE  HAREM. 


n* 


"I  saw  the  light  ship  tossed  like  a  ball.bearancc,  spranp  to  liis  foot,  ntid  hurriedly 
Lgainst  the  sky,  and  tlieii  ihniwnbiuk  into  the  whispered  :  "Oghonr  ola — licavoii  Fpeed  you 
ieep  trough  of  tiie  sen.  like  a  slrieken  lurd." — bultell  mo,  wlial  more?  wlial  iin.re  ?"' 
\gain  1  saw  it  raised  on  hi:ih  until  the  holvj  "Haiuibak — look  at  me:'  ^aid  tlio  wrelehcd 
xesceut — the  symbol  of  ihe  Prophet — seemed  ntun  :  "can  you  not  read  the  ehar.iclcru  that 
0  have  grown  into  the  dark,  threalenini,'.  Ilie  foul  liend  burnt  into  my  brow  wlicn  ho 
nysterious  cloud,  and  I  felt  it  n^aii' fall  back  :■  (led  howliiii;  belore  the  fury  of  my  donpair? 
or.  as  it  came,  a  portion  of  its  rent  tna.si  felli  Wo  met  face  to  lace — there — on  the  wild 
ver  the  side,  and  struck  me  heavily  lu  it i waves  just  subsiding  after  the  lempest;  wa 
ouched  the  waves — down  I  sank — down — ;  met.  and  struaaled  a.s  di  nions  only  sirn;;gIo  ; 
own — struiicling  with  that  miahty  mass  of  j  we  wre.-.tled  together;  but  1  .shouled  aloud  iho 
uin.  until  it  again  rose  biioyanily  to  the  sur-|name  of  the  Prophet:  and  as  he  cowered  be- 
ice,  carrying  me  with  it  once  more  above  the 
illowB. 


)r  ever — fragments  of  the  wreck  were  riding  i  dreams,  too:  dreams  of  sun.»hine,  and  birds 
n  the  foaming  waters — I  caught  the  breath  land  (lowers,  and  cool  green  leaves,  and  gush- 
f  the  scattered  incense:  and  llowers.  audi  ing  streams;  and  I  wandered  nmon:;  thorn  with 
Dstly  turbans  Heated  past  mo.  as  I    panted  to:  C'omiadcve  :  but  at  lonclh  I  awtike  ;  awoke,  to 

gain  my  breath.  What  eared  I  for  the.se ; find  myself  stretched  along  the  earth!  Th« 
auds  ?  They  were  of  tlie  world,  and  to  me  sea  was  near  me.  but  the  tide  did  noi  touch 
ley  were  bosh — nothing.  I  thought  only. 'me  where  I  lay  ;  bright  .<.helLs  were  scattered 
)okcd  only,  for  Comladeve — and  I  saw  her  I  j  along  the  strand,  and  the  morning  sun  waa 
ler  dark  hair  floated  like   a  cloud   upon    the  glittering    gaily  on    the   waters.     I  beat   the 

ave  which  bore  her  ujT — her  veil  had  escaped,  earth  with  my  hand,  and  the  blood  llowcd 
nd  her  beloved  countenance  was  revealed  in  from  it;  I  rose  to  my  feet;  the  dark  rocks 
le  moonlight— she  was  within  my  reach,  andjheaved  under  my  weight,  anil  1  .sia:.'::ered  and 


"  The  .ship  and  her  proud  crew  had   parted 


fore  me.   he  gra.«ped   my  brain,  and  .scared  it 
with  his  fiery  touch. 

"•  After    this    I    slept  ;  ay,    slept  !      I    had 


ly   arms  were  pinioned — I   could    not  gras 

I  uttered  one  crj-  in  my  acony  :  and  then, 
ith  frantic  violence.  I  hurled  my.sclf  against 
portion  of  the  wreck.  La  illaha  illallah — 
lere  is  but  one  Allah  !  the  effort,  the  sirUL'- 
e,  Ihe  attempt  to  brave  the  death  which  had 
I  long  evaded  me.  brouiiht  partial  freedom — 
had  burst  my  bonds  !  For  a  moment  I  could 
Jt  raise  my  arms  high  into  the  air.  strike  Iho 
ilms  of  my  spread  hands  forcibly  tofethor. 
id  scream  out  a  withering  shriek  of  half- 
addened  deliirht — but  soon  camothe  remein- 
ance  of  Comladeve — she  was  already  car- 
ed far,  far  beyond  my  reach — but  what  was 


>ace?  labor?    time  ?    I  was  free  I- 
ust  mv  hea\"S'  turban  from  mv  head 


-free  !      I 
1  parted 


ilmosi  fell  :  but  I  felt  the  earth  !  1  wa.s  once 
more  like  my  fellow  men.  and  I  crawled 
along  amid  the  high  grass,  and  the  painted 
llowers,  till  1  found  that  which  I  sought;  it 
was  not  the  houri  of  p.aradise  ;  it  wa^  not  the 
rose-garden  of  Nishajwr  ;  it  was  a  human  be 
iiig ;  a  creature  of  my  own  kind  :  a  holy  man 
a  santon  of  the  desert.  Mashalluh  !  how  I 
yelled  forth  my  joy  when  I  .saw  him  leaning 
ujMjii  his  Ktad":  but  he  repul.sed  me  with  scorn 
and  loathing — he.  the  first  human  beiim  whom 
I  approached  for  years — Lahnet  be  i>hcitan— 
Curse  on  the  devil  !.  he  struck  me  with  hit 
staff;  spurned  mc  with  his  fool,  and  turned 
away  to  tell  his  ehuplet.  while  I  fainted  witk 
famine. 

Khawaji,  my  soul  is  sick.     A  light   ha* 


le  Maves  with  a  powerful  stroke,  and  F  gain-iHiekered   to-day  about   my  brain,   which    had 
1  rapidly  upon  my  mistres. — Nearer  !    noar-|beon  long  put  out.      They  hay  that  i  am  holy, 

!  I  grasped  her  mantle — I  drew  her  forei-'lor  1  can  piorce  my  side  and  my  breaiit  with 
y  towards  me — her  pale  cheok  touched  my  sliarp  wea|iun.s,  and  torture  my  liu.bs  with 
ind — my  breath  was  in  her  hair — one  more! seariiig  iron,  and  ni|iping  bonds;  they  know 
Forl^ — one  more — and  I  should  hold  her  to  not  thai  the  fire  luid  tlie  knile  had  done  Ihcir 
y  heart — I.  who  for  long  years  had  been;  work  ere  they  folded  thu  khirkhoh  of  a  der- 
one — alone,  upon  the  wa.ste  of  waters — one ,  vish  about  mc,  and  gave  me  a  phue  in  tho 
ore  effort,  and  she  would  dc  mine.  Ajait) — iTokic.  Hut  all  thin  nearly  ended  :  the  solid 
onderful  !  my  Comladeve — the  blojinom  of  I  earth  reels  before  my  eyes_  and  ilio  daylight 
y  soul  I  1  made  it^ — I  strove  to  lx-at  back  uroww  dim  and  dusky  :  yet  the  lilm  has  passed 
mighty  billow,  but  it  ovcrwholmed  mc — a  from  my  soul  :  I  have  been  calUd  Ibn  Sallah 
age  fragment  of  Ihe  wreck  passed  over  us,  — the  S<>n  of  Prayer.  None  knew  the  curses 
id  I  lost  my  hold — Comladeve  was  gono— 'which  had  wiihored  mc  for  years!  And 
me  for  ever  !"  |  to-day — now — come    nearer    to    me,  ^lrangcr 

A  wild  s..riek  broke  from  the  lips  of  the 'though  you  be,  to-day  1  can  prny  :  iho  cry  of 
r\-ish.  as  he  buried  his  head  upon  his  knees,  niy  spirit  is  no  longer  vras,  vrns — kill,  kill  ! 
id  cowerod  under  Ihe  vision  whieli  his  own  but  1  say  to  you,  Allah  esinarladok  —  Allah 
stemperwl  fancy  had  conjured  up  :  while  take  you  into  Ins  holy  k<i  ping,  for  the  biitcr« 
dji  Kezd,  excited  beyond  all  power  of  for-jness  of  life  is  almost  past.'' 
i 


ii 


THE  ROMA^fCfe  OF  THE  HAREM. 


''>'  Allah  buyuk  der — Alia  is  great  !"  said 
Ildji  Ueza  ;  rouse  yourself,  and  all  will  yet  be 
well  ;  but  if  you  fold  your  feet  upon  the 
carpet  of  despair,  Moiilcer  and  Nakir  will 
soon  seat  themselves  upon  its  border,  and  the 
shadow  of  their  dark  wings  will  obscure  your 
soul." 

'•  The  mountain  of  El  Caf  is  high,  and  en- 
closes the  world,"  replied  the  dying  man ; 
*•  but  it  cannot  shut  out  Asrael  the  Destroyer. 
The  bridge  of  Al  Sirat  is  sleep,  and  narrow : 
the  footing  is  but  a  hair's  breadih,  yet  it  must 
be  trodden  by  every  True  Believer  who  would 
reach  Paradise.  I  am  content  J  1  do  not  die 
tlie  howling  maniac  that  I  have  lately  lived ; 
I  see  my  wretchedness,  I  feel  my  desolation  ; 
Khawaji,  pass  on,  and  leave  me  :  Allah  ke- 
riin — Allah  is  merciful  !  Your  charity  has 
reconciled  me  with  my  kind,  and  I  shall  go  in 
peace." 

'•Nay,  not  so;"  commenced  Ildji  Reza,  as  a 
swift  but  stealthy  step  approached  the  tomb- 
house,  and  the  bectachy  passed  the  threshold ; 
"  chance  has  flung  us  together  on  the  way-side 
of  life,  and  I  will  not  forsake  you  in  your  ex- 
tremity ;  Min  Allah — Heaven  forbid  !" 

"Kim  boo — who  is  that?"  demanded  the 
new-comer,  hastily,  as  he  stopped  beside  the 
son  of  Vezid.  ''Wallah!  this  is  no  time, 
Ildji  Reza.  to  play  the  nurse,  when  you  should 
be  under  your  father's  roof,  to  answer  to  the 
voices  of  those  who  call  you.  Away  then 
with  the  speed  of  the  simorg*  you  arc  as  yet 
unsuspected  ;  delay,  and  Bashustun — on  my 
head  be  it,  if  some  babbling  fool  do  not  whis- 
per somewhat  of  the  tale  ere  noon." 

Ildji  Reza  glanced  towards  the  dying  der- 
vish;  nature  had  ^exhausted  herself  in  the 
effort  which  he  had  made  to  retrace  the 
troubled  vision  of  the  past;  and  life  was  eb- 
bing last.  Alan's  care  could  avail  no  longer ; 
and  with  a  deep-breathed  "  Aghour  ola — 
Heaven  speed  you;"  he  turned  away,  and 
prepared  to  quit  the  tomb. 

"  AlUet  oUah — much  pleasure  attend  you:" 
smiled  the  bectachy  ;  '•  but  forget  not,  young 
man,  that  I  cannot  be  ever  upon  your  path 
with  a  strong  grasp,  and  a  skin  of  Cyprus 
wine.  Be  wary,  therefore ;  and  the  Prophet 
be  propiiiouB  to  your  prayers." 

"And  tills  poor  sullerer?"  said  the  son  of 
Yezid,  pointing  towards  the  dying  wretch,  who 
had  now  Hung  him.-clf  along  the  cold  pave- 
ment of  the  loinb  :  '-you  will  not  leave  him 
in  his  misery  ?" 

"  Away — I  will  abide  here  while  he  needs 
me:"  was  the  reply;  "  I  shall  not  be  long  de- 
layed." 

And  without  further  parley,  Ildji  Reza 
walked  forth  into  tlic  clear  calm  air  of  morn- 
ing, with  the  feeling  of  one  who  has  awakened 
from  a  horrid  dream. 

*  The  ro«. 


The  breath  of  the  lemon  trees  was  flooding 
the  atmosphere  with  perfume,  and  the  scented 
dews  were  dropping  from  the  branches  be- 
neath which  he  passed.  The  incense,  offered 
up  by  Nature  to  the  Eternal,  was  asceiidiii» 
on  all  sides ;  and  the  glorious  sun,  the  visible 
presence  of  the  Deity,  was  calling  into  life  all 
animate  objects,  gilding  the  leaves  and  the 
river-ripple,  and  shedding  warmth,  and  bright- 
ness, and  beauty  over  the  whole  creation. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  ARAB  STEED CONTINUED. 

In  the  city  all  was  already  astir.  The  ; 
lowing  of  the  camels,  and  the  barking  of  the  I 
watch-dogs  of  the  Meidan ;  the  shouting  of  ■ 
the  slaves  at  the  caravanserais,  and  the  cry  [ 
of  the  muezzin  from  the  minaret  of  the  Greats 
Mosque ;  all  proclaimed  that  the  sun  had 
risen  :  and  many  a  pious  Musselmnuu  was  oif 
his  way  towards  the  stately  temple  which 
was  built  by  Heraclius,  in  honor  of  Zcchariah, ; 
the  father  of  John  the  Baptist,  but  which  it  is; 
now  death  to  any  Christian  to  enter. 

lldji  Reza  walked  swiftly  through  the; 
streets  ;  and  stepping  over  the  two  slaves  who; 
were  yet  lying  sleeping  in  the  outer  ballot 
his  father's  house,  hastened  to  his  own  apart-' 
ment.  When  he  had  closed  the  door,  audi 
Hung  himself  down  upon  the  heaped-np  cush- 
ions which  his  attendants  had  prepared  for  his; 
repose,  he  began  to  review  more  leisurely  the, 
events  of  the  past  night ;  and  eager  as  he  wai' 
once  more  to  sun  himself  in  the  eyes  of  the 
beautiful  Delsaise,  he  could  not  conceal  froir 
his  own  reason  that  all  future  attempts  to  in- 
vade the  garden  pavilion  must  prove  abortive 
as  well  as  perilous,  when  the  vigilance  of  th<' 
bey's  household  had  been  once  arou>;ed.  Noi 
could  he  wholly  divest  himself  of  a  feeling  o. 
extreme  and  anxious  terror,  as  he  remeniberec' 
that  suspicion  might  have  attached  itself  tii 
his  fair  and  gentle  mistress;  and  that  allhoug); 
he  had  individually  escaped  the  penalty  of  hi^ 
rash  adventure,  it  might  be  visited  in  teiifoli^ 
severity  upon  her  !  \ 

On — on — progressed  thought;  one  dark  me  1 
mory  linking  itself  to  another,  and  forming  il 
bitter  chain  of  wretchedness.  The  Toorkoj 
man — the  steed — the  maliak — the  deadly  voV 
by  which  he  was  fettered — that  vow  fror! 
which  there  was  no  appeal,  and  no  release-; 
by  which  Delsaise  would  be  sacrificed;  an 
he  himself  die  len  thousand  deaths  ! 

To  look  back  upon  the  past  was  madip 
and  with  the  natural  buoyancy  of  youth,  '• 
turned  after  awhile  to  the  future  ;  and  bega; 
to  devise  new  stratagems,  which  were  eac; 
discarded  in  turn  as  unfeasible,  or  ]ikely  Ij 
be  unproductive  of  success,  uiitil  he  at  leugt 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IIAREIL 


79 


solved  to  trust  to  his  fclech  :  and  afler 
ving  swallowed  liis  cotTec,  to  repair  to  the 
mmam,  and  take  advantage  of  any  {rood 
rtune  or  lucky  chance  that  nught  betide 
m. 

j  Having  decided  on  this  very  simple  mode 
I  action,  Ildji  Rezii,  after  a  short  rest,  rose 
pm  his  coueh.  and  having  smoked  a  chi- 
puque,  hastenid  to  the  shop  of  the  Armenian 
irber  who  was  wont  to  operate  upon  the 
;ads  and  chins  of  all  the  handsome  youths 
Damascus. 

'•  Khosh  geldin,  Effendim  ;"  said  the  oper- 
or,  as  Udji  Reza  entered  the  spacious  paved 
lartment,  surrounded  by  sofas,  on  which 
ere  congregated,  even  at  this  early  hour, 
ilf  ascore  of  the  gay  young  gallants  of  the 
ty.  "  Vou  are  welcome,  my  master :  and 
e  rather  that  I  last  night  received  a  packet 
soap  from  Stamboul.  and  scented  oils  from 
nyrna,  which  have  not  yet  been  rubbed  upon 

beard  of  any  Etiendi  who  frequents  n)y 
op.  And  sooth  to  say.  Khawaji.  you  have 
ed  of  them,  for  your  chin  is  in  a  disarray 
iiich  would  go  nigh  to  ruin  my  reputation 
you  were  to  walk  through  the  tcharchi  un- 
(mbed,  as  you  have  entered  here.  There  is 
iws,  too,  in  the  city — the  harem  of  Ka.-^.-^im 
[lyhas  been  attempted:  some  idle  ma.^cara 
:aramoucli)  with  belter  legs  than  wits,  was 
im  to  leap  the  wall  of  the  women's  gardens  : 
id  such  screeching  and  screammg  have  not 
len  heard  under  that  roof  since  it  was  raised ; 
I  the  Aga  Baba  himself  told  me,  when  he 
(me  in  ju.-t  at  sun-rise,  in  order  that  I  might 
Dair  the  ravages  of  the  nocturnal  cliase  in 
■\iich  he  had  been  engaged — '' 

'•  And  as  usual,'  laughed  out  Latif  ElTendi, 
t  owing  forth  a  volume  of  smoke  in  which  he 
>5  nearly  enveloped  :  '"the  oldest  and  the 
xliest  of  the  women  made  the  uproar,  wliile 
is  young  ones  ran  to  strive  for  a  parting 
gmpse  of  the  intruder."'" 

•  Hai,  Hai — true,  true — on  my  head  be  it :'' 

Bd  Ildji  llezu,  forcing  a  mirth  which  he  wa.'; 

f  from  feeling.   "  What  is  written,  i.s  wriitcn  : 

iiil  the  lovely  are  never  the  merciless.     But 

was  the  Uelhibx>^hi — the  priuce  of  mad- 

. — who  atleinpted  so  rash  an  exploit?"' 
r  Some  say  it  was   Ashrcf  the   Nnmidian 
npon-merchant,  who  had   become  enamored 

he  negress  Giadilla,  the  du.<ky  hand-maiden 

hat  queen-lily,  the  fuir  Uelsaisc^the  Bey's 

y    child;"    again    broke    in    the    waggish 

if;  '-but  others  athrin  that  it  was  none 
ojcr  than  our  worthy  host  here,  Apic  Ouglou, 
WD  had  dreamt  a  dream  of  the  young  lianoum 
Eiudi  herself,  while  beating  up  the  suds  des- 

:d  to  lave  the  thick  head  of  the  Cadi;  (may 

beard  prosper  !)  and  who—"' 

Me?  Ai-telerallah  I  McV"  exclaimed  the 
a^rmed  barber  :  "  Heaven  forbid  !     Is  it  for 

to  dream  dreams  of  a  Beys  daughter,  and 
tojput  my   neck   into   the   bows' ring?     St. 


I  George,  St.  Nicholas,  and  St.  Lawrence  pro- 
serve  me  from  such  mad  presumption  !" 
I  A  peal  of  low  chuckling  laiiuhler  followed 
I  close  on  the  barber's  (lej)reeaiory  exelimatioii ; 
I  while,  withdrawing  his  turban,  lldji  Ifevul 
seated  liiiiisclf.  and  ran  his  lingers  compla- 
cently through  his  luxurianr  and  glos^y  beard. 
I  '•  Guzel,  pek  guzcl  I"'  said  the  Armenian 
admiringly,  as  he  also  passed  his  hand  over 
I  it ;  '•  handsome,  very  handi^ome  I  Ba.-hustuii — 
on  my  head  be  it,  there  arc  not  half  a  dozen 
such  beards  as  this  in  D.ima.seus !"' 

'•  Say  half  a  hundred,  Apic.  my  friend,  .«ay 
half  a  hundred  ■'"  smiled  Laiif  KU'eiuli ;  "or 
you  will  lose  your  practice,  seeing  that  we  are 
all  more  or  less  touched  by  your  deci.-^ion  !  for 
myself  I  care  not;  I  am  beyond  your  malice — 
but  Sarim  the  Bynbashi,  Bemzer  the  Saraf, 
and  -Mazzouk  the  Klioja  of  His  Excellency 
Ashui  Pasha,  will  one  and  all  feel  them.xclves 
aggriesed  :  as  1  hear  that  tliey  have  been 
wickedly  called  sakil-siz  (no  beard!.)  by  the 
idle  boys  of  the  city  :  and  that  tlioy  have  not 
rejoiced  in  the  name."' 

••  Min  Allah — Heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
anger  the  Elfendis  by  a  VvAit  word  ;''  said  the 
mild  Armenian  ;  '•  but  even  as  the  Yuzbnshi 
(llie  captain  of  a  hundred)  loves  to  handle  a 
good  weapon,  so  do  I  joy  to  comb  out  a  tine 
beard." 

As  the  barber  spoke,  lie  threw  around  Ildji 
Rczj'i  a  fringed  and  embroidered  napkin,  and 
prepared  his  razors,  by  trying  their  temper  on 
the  palm  of  his  hand  :  and  w  hilc  he  was  thus 
engaged,  one  of  the  ilmerant  pcrfuine-incr- 
chants  so  common  in  the  Ea.>>t,  an  old  and 
withered  woman,  whose  feeble  .>.leps  were  sup- 
ported by  a  Blair,  slopped  on  the  threshold,  and 
invited  the  Ell'endis  to  examine  her  wans. 

'•  No,  no;  see  you  not  that  their  exct'llen- 
cies  are  engaged?"'  said  the  .\rnicnian.  motion- 
ing her  away  ;  ••  pass  on  ;  we  need  you  not  !" 
'•  Sen  cktiar  der — you  arc  ihe  master;"  re- 
plied the  old  crone  quiclly  :  '•  but  surely  these 
handaome  gallants  mu^l  want  something  to 
send  to  the  young  beauties  wluiin  they  wor- 
ship; and  you  will  not  .sj.oil  my  market.  1 
trust,  Apic  Oglou,  you  whom  I  have  known  for 
I  so  many  years,  and  to  whom  I  have  not  been 
quite  useless." 

;  '•  Evallah — to  bo  sure,  to  be  sure  ;"  hastily 
interposed  the  barber;  '•  I  owe  you  no  ill-will, 
b.itira;  but  to-day  you  will  lose  your  tune  by 
loitering  at  my  threshold." 

■•  Saiira!"  exclaimed  lldji  l!ez."i  anxiousl'*: 
I  "did  you  call  her  Salira  !  Is  the  wortliy  wi 
man  who  has  been  thrice  before  the  Cadi,  am 
1  once  bastinadoed,  for  inlroducing  into  the  hid- 
I  den  chambers  of  the  harem  certain  missivcH, 
I  where  woids  of  pa>8ion  were  inscribed  with 
'  gold  du.st  upon  the  leaves  of  roses  ?  is  she — " 
I  '•  It  IS  myself,  ElV.ndimou,  my  master;" 
said  the  old  woman,  nodding  her  veiled  head, 
I  and  turning  her  dimc>es  towards  the  inquirer, 


80 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAEEM. 


as  she  advanced  into  the  apartment,  and  de- 
posited her  essence-case  on  the  lip  of  the  mar- 
ble I'ountain;  '■  It  is  myself,  kliatoun,  my  dar- 
ling :  and,  aged  as  I  am  I  care  neither  for  the 
Cadi  nor  the  thong.  What  shall  I  show  to  the 
Beyzadeh?  I  have  dyes,  and  soaps,  and  un- 
guents :  essences,  and  spices,  and  pastilles 
made  of  all  the  precious  gums  of  Araby,  and 
sparkling  with  gold-dust;  1  have  calams  for 
tracing  gentle  words;  a.nd  all  ihe  love-ballads 
of  Hahz.  written  in  cliaraetcrs  of  many  colors. 
I  have  amulets,  and  charms,  and  spells  :  bou- 
quets of  spices  and  garlic,  to  preserve  the 
young  molhcr  and  her  infant  from  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Evil  Eye  ;*  and — " 

''  Have  you  any  charm  to  preserve  us  from 
the  influence  of  the  black  and  bright  ones 
which  flash  upon  us  as  we  walk  the  bazar. 
from  beneath  the  jealous  yashmacs  of  our 
young  beauties?"  asked  Latif  :  "  for  the  Evil 
Eye,  we  of  Damascus  fear  it  not ;  and  care  not 
though—" 

"  Yavash.  yavash — softly,  softly.  ElTendim  ]'' 
broke  in  ihe  old  woman  ;  "  Allah  buyuk  der — 
let  us  utter  no  words  that  we  have  not  thrice 
turned  in  the  palms  of  our  hands,  lest  we  wish 
to  gather  them  up  again  when  it  is  too  late." 

And  a  murmur  of  '•  Taib  !  taib  ! — well  said, 
well  said  ;"'  from  the  groups  around  the  apart- 
ment, bore  testimony  that  the  feeling  of  defi- 
ance towards  the  Evil  Eye  was  not  so  common 
in  the  good  city  of  Dainascus,  as  Latif  Eifendi. 
in  his  lightness  of  spirit,  would  fain  have  had 
it  believed. 

"  But  you  ask  if  I  have  spells  against  bright 
eyes,  Efiendimou  ?  Min  Allah — Heaven  for- 
bid. How  should  I  vend  my  wares,  and  to 
whom,  if  the  peris  of  paradise  were  to  fold 
their  wings,  and  wither  into  afrits  ?  And  how 
should  I  pass  away  my  hours,  were  it  not  that 
I  always  carry  home  the  merchandise  that  I 
sell,  and  deliver  with  the  gift  the  '  Oghour  ola 
— the  Allah  speed  you,'  of  the  giver  ?'"' 

'•  Ma.>^hallah  !  she  speaks  well;"  laughed 
her  listeners. 

'■'■  And  who  see  I  there,  on  the  sofa  beyond  ?" 
suddenly  exclaimed  the  crone.  "  Can  it  really 
be  my  lord  Aboudahab  himself,  tire  light  of 
my  eyes,  and  the  hope  of  my  soul  !  Na  to  ne 
— there  it  is — I  sought  you  all  yesterday, 
agam,  and  found  you  not :  and  to-day,  when  I 
looked  no  longer,  thinking  that  my  lord  had 
left  the  city.  I  encounter  you  here,  and  may  do 
mine  errand." 

"  And  \\  hat  errand  can  Satira,  the  discreet 
perfume-merchant,  have  with  the  staid  and 
pious  Aboudahab?"  shouted  one  of  the  young 
men.  '•  Speak,  ElTendim,  what  can  be  the 
business  of  this  veiled  houri  with  you  ?" 

"Allah  hilir — Allah  .alone  knows:"  said 


•  It  i*  a  common  custom  in  Turkey  to  send  the.«e  bou- 
quets as  prfii-ents  to  tlie  mothers  of  new-born  infants,  who 
h&T*  the  most  perfect  faith  in  their  efficacy. 


the  handsome  young  Yuzbashi  of  the  pasha'i 
guard,  who  had  been  thus  unceremoniously 
addressed ;  endeavoring,  as  he  spuke,  to  as- 
sume an  expression  of  unconcern.  ^^  hich,  how- 
ever, sat  but  awkwardly  upon  him.  ''HavB 
you  yet  to  learn  that  she  is  the  mother  of  lies, 
and  that  she  is  as  likely  to  hatch  one  for  me 
as  for  any  other  of  this  goodly  company? 
Mashallah,  the  wonder  is  neither  a  plague  nor 
an  earthquake." 

••  Bakaluin — we  shall  see ;"  was  the  laugh- 
ing rejoinder.  '•  Say  your  errand  boldly,  Sa- 
tira, my  soul,  for  you  find  that  the  brave  cap- 
tain defies  you." 

••  Yok,  yok — no,  no  :"  persisted  the  old 
woman.  "  The  Yuzbashi  jests,  for  he  has 
more  discretion  than  to  make  the  brow  of  a 
pretty  hanoum  wear  the  tint  of  the  Prophet's 
banner.  Bak,  Etfendim — see.  sir;'"  she  pur- 
sued, taking  from  her  girdle  a  delicate  roll  of 
parchment,  fastened  with  a  lock  of  silky  hair; 
••  docs  this  deserve  no  better  welcome  from  the 
Yuzbashi  Aboudahab  than  foul  words,  and  the 
shame  that  is  worse  than  words  ?  Aman — 
mercy  !  but  I  looked  for  other  coin  when  I  ran 
the  risk  of  the  lash,  to  convey  this  wTitten 
violet  to  his  own  hands." 

"  Peace,  peace,  Satira,  jaquir  benum — ^my 
guardian  angel ;"  exclaimed  the  young  soldier, 
forgetting  his  confusion  in  his  eagerness  to  ob- 
tain possession  of  the  billet  doux ;  and  draw- 
ing forth  at  the  same  time  his  embroidered 
pur.se;  "'I  will  ransom  the  prize  bravely: 
would  that  I  could  pay  every  word  with  a 
piece  of  gold.  I  should  not  grudge  tlie  price  !'' 

And  regardless  of  the  merriment  around 
him,  the  delighted  lover  thrust  a  handful  of 
silver  coins  into  the  ready  palm  of  the  old 
crone ;  and  hastened  to  detach  the  bright  tress 
which  bound  up  the  scroll. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    ARAB    STEED CONTINUED. 

Ildji  Reza  had  been  no  inattentive  specta 
tor  of  the  scene  ;  and  when  the  decrepid  mes^ 
senger  of  love  had  transferred  the  money  wit! 
a  low  chuckling  laugh  to  the  bag  which  slu 
carried  in  her  ginlle,  he  disengaged  himsell 
from  the  hands  of  the  Armenian,  and  proceed 
ed  to  pour  ujion  his  beard  the  contents  of  oni 
of  the  essence-bottles.  \ 

'"  Alhemdullilah — praises  be  to  the  Proi 
phet  !"  muttered  Satira,  as  she  marked  thv 
reckless  profusion  of  the  son  of  Yezid  :  "  wha' 
can  he  have  to  ask  of  me  !  eklii  kateli— then 
is  something — What  a  Beyzadeh  is  this,  wh  I 
empties  at  one  clfort  as  much  perfume  as  h. 
must  pay  with  a  broad  piece  of  gold  !  I  shal 
have  to  run  my  old  neck  into  the  bowstring  fo 
this  !" 


THE   ROMANCE  01-    TIIK   IIAUI:^L 


al 


fhen.  afTecting  not  to  remark  bis  occupa- 
.  y,  she  turned  towanls  one  of  the  iiroups. 
,*  demanded :  '•  What  can  I  do  lor  your  ex- 
..'.iieies  ?  I  liave  oliarms  for  all  evils — hcuix 
...  lia.sliisli*  lor  tiie  sleejdess,  perlnmcs  for 
"•uxunous.  and  enamell.-d  boudakasf  for 
liArom.  Ne  apaluin — what  cmi  I  do  ?"' 
•    Vau  may  nivc  mc  some   len^;.  kizem.   mv 


csscncc-caso  were  beside  lier,  and  Bbo  was 
quietly  smoking  her  ehibou(|ue  :  whieh.  lio«- 
evor,  as  soon  as  heapproaohcd  she  haHiilypul 
away,  in  order  to  rearrange  her  yasiunae. 

••  What  is  written,  is  wrilten  ;"  she  said  as 
lie  slopped  beside  her.  "ll  requires  no  calam 
to  inscribe  tiie  truth  on  the  surface  of  my  un- 
derstanding— Son  of  Vczid,   you  are   in   love  ; 


r :•. liter  :     said  Mansoor  Aga.  the  dull-witted  |and    you  want   me   to  peril    life   and   luiil) 


ol  the  pashalik.  as  he  Hung  down  a 
ece  of  money  :  ••  "lis  the  best  charm  that  I 
low  igaust  all  the  ills  of  life — better  even 
an  th-.  sherbet  of  the  Franks,  for  it  loaves 
)  hei.d&.i;h'>  behind  it."' 

Atlai  gul  for  me,  molhcr,"'  said  Lntif 
fiendi'  '"  unless,  indeed,  you  have  another 
ve-micjiv:  to  dispose  of.  and  then  I  am  will- 
g  to  hcco.ne  a  luirchascr  ;  though,  for  a 
iestcsB  of  Aniran.J  methinks  you  arc  some- 
hai  dull  in  you'  olUee.' 
'•Ay.  ay.  lo\e  'nkens  are  the  raz  kallah — 
e  daily  bread,  o*'  you  gay  young  Eflendis : 
•u  never  wearj  ol  them.  But  is  it  the  hand- 
me  son  of  B-.'dmri",ah  the  jeweller,  who  asks 
e  for  such  ware  ?  Ai.  ai.  there  is  no  truth 
ft  witliin  the  bamor  of  El  Caf  !"' 
"  Wallah  !  it  is  "^ell  said  :""  exclaimed  the 
dji  Reza,  as  he  to«ik  up  a  packet  of  the  pow- 
ir  of  the  sweet-Bomnted  violet,  and  a  small 
«  of  the  paste  of  (he  while  lily,  a  delicate 
id  costly  preparatJDn  for  the  hands;  '-and 
)W,  count  up  my  debt,  good  mother,  and  let 
e  cancel  it." 

"  Allah  mouteyemmin  eileye  agam — .\llah 
ant  that  it  be  of  omen  to  you.  my  lord  :"  said 
e  old  woman.  ••  for  it  will  cost  you  some  coin. 
e  hey  ? — what  is  this  ?  a  whole  bottle  of  es- 
nce,  of  which  every  drop  is  worth — "' 
"Listen,  mother  ;"  said  Ildji  Heza  in  a  low 
)ice;  '  I  am  not  yet  content  with  my  pur- 
lase.  I  covet  all  your  wares  ;  but  1  will  not 
archasethem  here.  Meet  mean  hour  ln-nco 
I  the  great  cemetery  ;  and  meanwhile  here  is 
bat  will  supply  you  with  a  pillauf  at  your 
lid-day  meal  :''  and  he  flung  into  her  baskri 
large  gold  coin,  which  she  greedily  securc.l. 
'•  Said  my  lord  one  hour  hence  ?" 
"  I  did.-' 

"  Pek  ahi — it  is  well.  I  will  be  there." 
This  short  dialogue  did  not  pa.'^s  unobserv'- 
;  and  the  jests  were  numerous  with  whieh 
dji  Reza  had  to  contend  ere  he  quitted  the 
laving  room  of  the  Armenian  barber.  Hut 
8  heart  was  too  deeply  engaged  for  him  to 
ed  them  ;  and  a  cibe  wa.s  yet  upon  the  lips 
the  incorriuiblc  Latif  when  he  took  leave  of 


•■  Mm  Allah — Heaven  forbid  !  I  have  not 
such  desperate  visions  :"  exclaimed  the  young 
man  i.'aily.  '•  Vou,  Satira,  khatoun,  have 
trodden  the  harcm-lloor  too  often  with  a  feath- 
er from  the  bulbuls  throat  in  your  keeping, 
to  run  mucli  risk  of  mischief  in  obliging  me. 
Vou  have  been  young  in  your  time,  mother, 
and  perhaps  beautiful  ;  and  now — "' 

•'And  what  now?"  hastily  broke  in  the 
aged  woman  ;  "  now.  you  would  tell  me  that 
I  am  old.  and  wrinkled,  and  palsied  ;  and 
that  such  as  I  am  are  not  numbered  among 
the  houri — I  know  it — I  know  it — 1  require 
no  assurance  that  1  am  changed  from  the  days 
when  a  smile  from  my  lip  made  the  crown  ol' 
the  loved  ones  hi-ad  touch  the  cupola  of  heav- 
en. Son  of  Vezid.  were  it  not  so.  1  should  not 
be  here  and  thus.  Then  the  gold  of  Sumatra 
was  on  my  neck,  and  the  diamonds  of  the 
larthest  Kast  upon  my  brow — the  cachcmires 
of  Thibet  bound  a  waist  as  slender  as  the  cy- 
press :  and  the  silks  of  Bithuania  were  folded 
about  a  form  as  graceful  as  that  of  the  simorg 
— veils  of  muslin,  as  fni<'  as  the  gossamer  that 
flits  across  the  setting  sun,  shielded  my  face 
from  the  beam  that  would  have  marred  its 
beauty — a  face  that  looked  like  the  moon  at 
its  full,  in  the  season  when  the  vines  are  leal- 
less,  and  the  stars  hold  their  place  about  her 
silver  throne,  almost  a.s  radiant  as  herself — 
now,  my  yashmac  is  coarse  and  heavy,  the 
old  and  the  gems  have  pji>sedaway:  I  smile, 
[but  it  IS  in  bitterne.-8.  for  no  Ibnd  eye  hangs 
upon  my  looks:  and  1  fold  my  cloak  about  a» 
lone  a  heart  as  any  in  Damascus.  Needed 
ihcre  words,  then,  Elfendim,  from  the  gay  and 
the  handsome  like  yourself,  to  remind  nic  of 
the  change  ?'' 

'•  Nay.  nay,  you  mistook  me  !"  interposed 
lidji  KczA,  as  the  bitter  smile  passed  from  the 
lips  ol  his  compani.)n.  '•  I  would  have-  said 
that  none  better  than  yourself  could  f.i-l  and 
act  for  me.  Let  us  waste  no  more  words  ;  1 
love  Dela'iKc  Hanoum,  the  daughter  of  Kassun 
Bey " 

"  Love  who?"'  exclaimed  the  esRcnc<*-mer- 
chant.     "Bo  hey— What's  this?    Would  none 


le  laughing  company,   and  bent  his  way  to 
ards  the  cemetery  of  the  city.  lother  do   for  the  son  of  Yezid    the   nu-rehant 

There,  among  the  tall  cyprcs.'.es,  seated  up-|l»"in  the  only  chii.l  of  tho  Ik-rco  KasMm  B.-y? 
ri  a  grave,  and  leaning  against  the  turban- i''''""k,  think,  Etlendim  :  you  are  too  young 
rested  headstone,  he  found  the  old  woman  ;«"'•  t""  gallant  to  olf-T  your  neck  to  the  bow- 
iready    awaiting'   him.       Her    basket    and  "iring:  I  will  dip  my  hand  in  uo  pillauf  like 

. jthia;  Allah  bllir — Allah  alono  knows  how  il 

•Narcotic*.  t  Pipe-bowU.  t  Ilyraen.     |  may  end.'* 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  H.\REM. 


"  Have  you  then  never  heard  that  she  was 
offered  to  ine  in  marriage,  and  that  I  refused 
to  bring  a  wife  into  my  harem  ?  You  look 
surprised,  mother,  but  I  tell  you  the  truth.  It 
njaiters  not  wherel'ore,  but  I  have  changed  my 
humor,  and  now  I  would  make  lier  love  me 
ere  she  enters  the  house  of  my  father,  that  she 
may  forget  my  past  coldness." 

■'  It  will  be  no  heavy  task,"  said  the  old 
woman,  as  she  gazed  admiringly  on  the  hand- 
some youth  ;  '•  you  have  but  to  gallop  past  her 
window,  or  to  saunter  beneath  it,  or,  in  short, 
to  show  yourself  by  any  means  in  your  power, 
and  your  object  will  be  accompli.shed."^ 

'•  I  would  do  more,"  said  Udji  Reza.  "  I 
cannot  be  content  with  the  mere  eye-worship, 
that  may  be  won  by  every  hand.some  carnal  in 
the  city;  I  would  penetrate  into  the  harem, 
and  look  upon  her,  and  comnmne  with  her, 
and  pour  out  my  soul  in  passionate  words. 
which  should  fall  gently  on  her  ear.  as  the 
leaves  of  the  gumcistus  on  the  earth  at  twi- 
light" 

"  And  what  furtherance  seek  you  from  me 
in  this  wild  scheme  ?"  asked  the  old  woman. 

'•  The  loan  of  a  disguise.  Your  cloak,  your 
veil,  and  your  essence-box.  Go  to  the  bazar, 
mother,  and  purchase  for  me  toys  and  gauds 
such  as  may  fix  the  eye  of  a  young  beauty  ; 
teach  me  the  quivering  tone,  the  unsteady  step. 
and  the  cant  and  craft  of  your  calling — nay. 
no  denial ;  I  will  pay  you  back  in  gold  enough 
to  enable  you  to  smoke  the  chibouque  of  your 
age  in  peace." 

'■  But  should  my  share  in  this  mad  attempt 
be  discovered " 

"  Korkma — fear  not,"  said  Ildji  Reza.  "  I 
will  peril  neither  your  neck  nor  my  own 
beard.  What  is  written,  is  written.  I  have 
resolved  on  this  venture,  and  I  will  not  be 
iturned  from  my  purpose." 

•'  Allah  buyuk  dcr  !"  apostrophized  the  es- 
sence-merchant;  "the  hair  grows  fast  upon 
young  heads,  and  some  one  must  play  the 
barber  !  I  am  ready,  EfTendim.  I  will  trust 
■both  to  your  prudence  and  your  generosity. 
And  now  give  me  gold,  that  I  may  hasten  to 
the  bazar  to  my  friend  Mazzouk,  the  honestcst 
..merchant  who  ever  dropped  attar-gul  into  an 
ivory-box :  for  I  will  trade  for  you,  Agam,  as 
for  myself.  Deovlelin  istial — may  your  pros- 
perity increase!"  she  added,  as  Ildji  Reza 
placed  a  well-filled  purse  in  her  ready  hand  : 
^'  I  always  love  to  trade  with  such  as  you ;  the 
women,  ay,  even  the  youngest,  the  hand- 
somest, and  the  wealthiest,  will  cavil  with  me 
for  a  dinar,  and  blacken  my  face  to  obtain  a 
bargain  ;  while  the  gallants  of  the  city  are  as 
ready  with  their  gold  as  with  their  jests.  To- 
morrow, then,  Eflendiin,  I  will  return  and 
bring  to  you  on  this  very  spot  all  that  you 
have  asked  of  me." 

'•It  is  well;  farewell  then  till  to-morrow:" 
said  the  young  man.  as  he  turned  away. 


"  Delhibashi — Prince  of  madmen  !"  mut 
tered  the  old  woman,  while  slie  followed  birr 
with  her  eyes.  "  He  shalj  pay  me  all,  all 
ere  he  risks  the  venture  :  |t|r,  if  Sheitan  does 
not  aid  him,  he  will  not  escape  in  a  whol( 
skin  from  Kassim  Bey." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE    ARAB    STEED — CONTINUED. 

Slowly,  and  absorbed  in  thought,  Ildj 
Reza  quitted  the  cemetery,  and  turned  hi; 
steps  towards  his  father's  house.  The  tapestri 
door  of  the  merchant's  chamber  was  heli 
aside  by  a  slave,  for  Yezid  was  about  to  past 
out  ;  and  the  young  man  met  him  on  th( 
threshold  at  a  moment  when  he  would  gladl] 
have  avoided  all  notice.  But  this  was  not  U 
be ;  for,  when  a  greeting  had  passed  betweei 
them.  Ildji  Reza  found  himself  invited  by  t 
grave  and  silent  gesture  to  follow  the  khawaj 
back  into  the  apartment  whence  he  had  but  i 
moment  before  been  about  to  depart ;  and,  tu 
he  entered,  a  feeling  of  impatient  irritatioi 
grew  upon  him,  on  perceiving  upon  the  soft 
of  Yezid  a  couple  of  carefully  folded  parcels 
covered  by  finely-wrought  bokshas  or  handker 
chiefs,  such  as  are  only  wrapped  about  thi 
most  valuable  merchandise. 

'•  Wallah  billah— by  the  Prophet !"  mut 
tered  the  young  man  beneath  his'  breath 
'•  here  has  my  unhappy  felech  led  me  into  i 
discussion  on  the  relative  value  of  muslin 
and  tissues,  when  I  would  have  shut  mysel: 
into  my  own  chamber  to  arrange  my  plans  lb 
to-morrow.  But  patience,  Ildji  Reza,  thoi 
must  fulfil  thy  destiny." 

The  philosophy  of  the  son  of  Yezid  seemei 
indeed  about  to  be  put  to  the  test;  for  thedoo. 
of  the  apartment  was  scarcely  closed  behim 
them,  and  the  merchant  had  barely  reacli& 
the  centre  of  the  floor,  when  he  pointed  toth, 
jiackages  on  the  sofa,  and  asked  in  a  tone  o: 
bitterness  and  wounded  pride :  '"  Ildji  Reza.  d 
you  see  those  bokshas  ?" 

"I  do." 

''  Can  you  guess  what  they  contain  ?" 

"  Perhaps  muslins  from  Hindostan ;  pci 
haps  silks  from  Broussa;  or,  it  may  be.  jewel 
from — " 

'■They  contain  all  of  these  ;"  interpose' 
Yezid  hastily  :  "  and  each  the  most  costly  o 
its  kind — and  yet — listen  to  me,  Ildji  Reza— 
swear  that  they  are  more  loatlisome  in  ni 
sight  than  if  they  were  the  discarded  rags  o 
some  filthy  Jew.  They  were  the  bridal  gift 
of  the  son  of  Yezid  to  the  daughter  of  Kassir 
Bey — from  the  relenting  lover  to  the  neglecte 
mistress — and  you  see  how  they  have  spec 
The  profligate  heir  of  the  poor  Khawaji  is  n 
longer  a  fitting  suitor  for  the  only  child  of  tt 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


M 


haiighty  bey.  You  have  played  Iho  fool  so 
•well,  Ildji  Reza,  that  yon  have  trniisferred  the 
motley  to  me,  and  I  shall  be  pointed  at  a>  I 
•walk  the  city  streets. '' 

"  Now,  by  the  soul  of  the  prophet  !•*  burut 
forth  the' young  man. 

"  Yavash,  yavash — softly,  soft  I  v  :"  said  the 
merchant  in  the  calm  accent  of  lonccntratcd 
passion  ;  "  anger  is  unavailing,  and  hot  words 
were  made  for  women.  We  arc  no  ioncer  lield 
•worthy  to  dip  our  spoon  into  the  same  (chorha 
(soup)  with  a  nohle — we  have  put  our  beards 
into  his  hand,  and  we  have  no  riiiht  to  com- 
plain that  he  has  plucked  them  out.  You  now 
know  all.  Ildji  Hezii,  and  must  henceforward 
be  content  to  seek  a  wife  among  the  merchants 
of  the  city."' 

As  Yezid  ceased  speakins,  he  clapped  his 
hands,  and  a  slave  reappeared  on  the  threshold 
■with  his  slippers.  Ildji  Reza  was  aware  that 
the  outward  show  of  calmness  which  his 
fathei  had  maintained  during  their  brief  inter- 
view, was  as  deceitful  as  the  stillness  of  a 
volcano  ere  the  lava  flood  bursts  forth  ;  and  he 
did  not  dare  to  detain  him  :  while  a  ru.-h  of 
conflicting  feelings  rooted  him  lor  a  time  to  the 
spot,  and  kept  him  motionless. 

All  was  then  over,  as  regarded  his  recog- 
nized marriage  with  the  beautiful  DelsaVse. 
Should  he  win  her  by  stratagem,  he  must  fly 
wth  her  to  another  land — and  it  might  even 
be — and  in  that  thought  there  was  madness  ! 
that  she  had  been  accessory  to  his  insulting 
dismissal — the  no^•elty  of  his  aflcction  had 
■worn  away — the  mystery  of  his  love  was  about 
to  be  terminated  by  a  marriage  sanctioned  by 
her  father,  and  her  woman-fancy,  thwarted  in 
its  full  flow,  had  deseneratcd  into  disappoint- 
ed indifference.  Rut.no.  no;  this  could  not. 
could  not  be  '  He  remembered  a  thousand 
whispered  words  which  had  pledged  her  to 
him  in  ever>'  change  of  fortune  :  and  he  would 
not  believe  that  her  pride  could  play  the  traitor 
to  her  peace. 

He  would  trust  to  her  affection — he  must 
trust  to  it,  not  only  his  happiness,  but  his  life, 
or  she  was  lost  to  him  for  ever :  for  he  felt 
assured  that  his  disguise,  carefully  as  it  might 
be  adjusted,  would  soon  fail  to  insure  his 
safety  beneath  the  eyes  of  suspicion  and 
inquiry. 

Rut  -what  cared  Ildji  Reza  for  the  risk  ? 
What  was  life  to  him,  if  its  best  principle 
were  wanting?  He  was  content  to  abide  Ins 
fate  ;  and.  for  a  •while,  he  abandoned  himself 
to  happy  dreams  of  the  sweet  existence,  which 
far,  far  from  Damascus,  and  from  the  frown 
of  a  proud  father,  he  would  lend  with  Do Isaisc 
— •with  the  loved  one,  whom  he  would  rescue 
from  her  cheerless  thraldom  to  be  the  wife  of 
his  bo.«om.  and  the  idol  of  his  heart  —  but 
suddenly  a  dark  shadow  crosse<l  the  mirror  of 
his  mind  —  he  remembered  the  Toorkoman, 
and  all  was  again  despair  and  remorse  ! 


Thus  did  Ildji  Rezii  piu«s  the  night :  somo- 
times  wrajiped  in  visions  winch  could  have 
been  realized  only  in  the  paradise  of  Mnhom- 
i  et  :  and  at  others  sunk  in  unnvailinR  regret, 
and  trembling  apprehension.  Hut  the  morrow 
I  came  at  length  :  and  the  young  man,  rousing 
himself  by  a  violent  elforl.  prepared  to  keep 
his  adventurous  appointmen*.  with  lhce.s^cnc•- 
mereliant. 

When  he  reached  the  spot  where  he  had  left 
Satira  on  the  previous  day.  he  found  her  al- 
ready at  her  post  :  hut,  a.s  he  apjiroaclied.  she 
!  moved  silently  on  until  she  stood  amid  a 
I  cluster  of  thickly-planted  trees,  and  be.-ide  a 
i  tomb  of  unusual  size  ;  here  she  paused,  anil 
'  drawing  from  beneath  her  cloak  a  parcel  of 
I  considerable  bulk,  she  flung  it  at  the  feet  of 
j  Ildji  Reza. 

'•  You  arc  obeyed,  my  son  :'  she  said,  as  she 
'deposited  her  es.'jence-box  on  the  ground  hoMde 
I  her  :  ''  and  fear  not,  for  though  the  garment* 
be  coarse  and  worn,  they  came  not  from  the 
;  quarter  where  the  khanzyr  (hogs)  of  Jcms 
I  nurse  the  plasue  that  it  may  scatter  the  True 
Relievers  before  its  loathsome  breath.  It  is 
true  that  I  have  paid  a  heavier  sum  for  them, 
than  if  I  had  purchased  them  of  the  doiis  of 
Infidels  :  but  I  ])referred  the  pillauf  of  safety 
to  the  pomegranate  of  nold.and  heeded  not  the 
price.  Rak  agam — look,  my  lord  ;"  she  con- 
tinued, as  she  unfolded  the  squalid  raiment  in 
which  the  hitherto  fastidious  Ildji  Reza  was 
about,  although  not  without  a  dissustful 
I  shudder,  to  envelope  himself  *'  Here  are  an 
antery  and  schalwar  which  the  Ktfendi.  who 
'sold  them  (o  me,  valued  at  two  purses,  though, 
I  at  length,  by  dint  of  cavil.  I  j>aid  for  them  both 
I  with  one — and  here  is  a  feridjho  (mantle)  of 
green  cloth — you  will  be  for  a  time  descended 
from  our  lioly  Prophet — see  that  your  deeds 
do  no  dishonor  to  the  alliance — it  is  somewhat 
short  for  you.  of  a  truth  :  but  these  ra]>itnl 
boots  of  yellow  morocco  (scarcely  soiled,  by 
the  way.  save  that  they  have  been  sliiihlly 
discolored  by  the  mud  of  the  city  streets)  will 
render  that  inconvenience  of  lilllo  account. 
I  And  now,  seat  yourself,  that  I  may  arranjje 
.  your  yashrnac  ;  the  muslin  is  rent  in  places, 
and  It  will  require  some  skill  to  fold  it  to  the 
best  advantage.  Pek  alii — ver>'  well  !'"  she 
said  exultingly,  as  she  concealed  the  hand^flme 
face  of  the  son  of  Yezid  beneath  the  tattered 
veil  of  coarse  white  muslin  :  "  Hut  you  must 
remember  that  your  eyes  are  visible,  and  that 
no  old  merchant-pedler  sufl"ers  her  glances  to 
go  roving  far  and  wide,  as  yours  arc  wont  to 
do  :  drop  your  eyelids  heavily  over  them,  or 
you  will  be  betrayed  ere  the  Aga  Ihiba  Iir« 
accepted  your  bribe,  and  sulfered  you  to  pni>t 
into  the  harem.  Hear  in  miii<l  loo.  tlint  your 
!  fendjhe  is  something  of  the  shorleni  ;  lenn, 
I  therefore,  ujton  your  statr.  and  bend  your 
'knees;  sink  your  head  between  your  shoulders, 
land   give   a  curve   to   your   buek  ;    iJio   ycat% 


84 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


■which  can  be  flung  off  at  will,  may  be  allowed 
to  press  hard  for  a  few  hours. 

lldji  Reza  listened  in  silence,  for  his  heart 
was  loo  full  ''or  idle  collcquy ;  and  when  he 
was  fairly  invested  with  his  new  character, 
and  that  his  own  garments  were  folded  and 
delivered  to  the  safe  keeping  of  his  garrulous 
companion,  he  Hung  to  her  a  purse,  which  she 
deemed  it  expedient  to  secure  without  comment, 
and  lifting  the  essence-box  from  the  earth,  and 
seizing  the  staff  which  she  held  towards  him, 
he  took  leave  of  the  old  woman;  and  while 
she  seated  herself  on  the  tomb,  and  prepared 
to  recruit  her  exhausted  energies  wuh  a 
chibouque,  he  quietly  passed  out  of  the  cemetery. 

Not  an  eye  turned  on  him  in  inquiry  as  he 
traversed  the  city  streets  ;  his  disguise  and 
his  caution  were  alike  perfect ;  and  he  had 
gained  a  considerable  portion  of  self-confidence 
when  he  at  length  paused  at  the  harem-door 
of  Ka.ssim  Bey. 

Well  did  he  know  that  on  the  result  of  the 
next  few  hours  depended  his  future  welfare — 
that  on  the  sounding  of  this  particular  chord 
on  The  mysterious  instrument  of  fate,  hung  the 
harmony  or  discord  of  his  after-life  :  and  he 
resolved  to  meet  it  manfully. 

Two  sharp  strokes  with  the  head  of  his  staff 
brought  a  negro  slave  to  the  threshold,  who, 
holding  the  door  carei'uUy  in  his  hand,  uttered 
a  quick  and  angry  inquiry  as  to  the  identity 
of  the  stranger. 

''  It  is  me,  janum — my  soul ;  it  is  me  ;"  re- 
plied the  impostor  boldly  ;  '•  surely  you  have 
not  forgotten  me  so  soon,  Effendiin,  in  the 
fumes  of  my  own  gebeli — Bana  bak — look  at 
me,  I  am  Satira  the  essence-merchant ;  with 
a  fresh  cargo  of  perfumes  for  the  fair  Ha- 
noums  of  the  bey's  harem,  and  a  stock  of  the 
finest  Salorica  tobacco  for  my  own  friends. 
Open  the  door,  again,  open  the  door,  and  let 
me  pass  in,  for  I  am  weary." 

"  You  must  rest  awhile  in  the  hall,  mother, 
until  I  summon  the  Aga  Baba;''  said  ihe. 
slave.  '•  I  am  but  newly  arrived  and  you  are 
a  stranger  to  me.  You  can  unpack  the  to- 
bacco while  you  wait." 

'•'  Taib — well  said  :"  retorted  the  visiter  : 
"  it  is  gebeli  lor  a  pasha,  and  you  shall  taste 
of  the  best — and  for  my  lord  the  Aga  Baba 
(may  his  power  increase  !)  is  not  my  life  and 
all  that  I  have  at  his  command  ?  for  has  he 
not  ever  turned  the  light  of  his  countenance 
upon  me,  and  bii;;htened  my  soul  ?"' 

The  concluding  portion  of  this  rhapsody  was 
uttered  with  great  emphasis,  for  the  wily  lldji 
Reza  had  remarked  the  stealthy  entrance  of 
the  hideous  Numidian  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
hall,  whence  he  was  listening  to  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  The  wife  of  Asian  Pasha  has  quarrelled 
with  the  chief  of  her  harem-guard  ;"  pursued 
the  speaker,  affecting  to  lay  bare  his  merch- 
andise to  the  admiration  of  the  slave  by  whom 


he  had  been  admitted  :  "  and  she  swore  to  m 
by  the  soul  of  the  Propliet,  that  if  her  husban. 
loved  her,  her  enemy  should  never  pass  an 
other  Bairam  in  the  palace  of  the  pashalik 
where  his  duties  are  light,  and  his  gain 
heavy ;  and  she  is  one  who  will  keep  he 
word.  '  But  where  shall  we  find  another  t 
supply  his  place  in  Damascus?'  she  asked 
•  one  worthy  to  watch  over  the  heaven  giftei 
beauties  of  Asian  Pasha's  harem?'  'Fea 
not,  fairest  of  the  daughters  of  Peristan :'  an 
swered  I  boldly  ;  '  the  prince  of  Aga  Babaf 
the  most  renowned  of  negroes,  is  within  th 
reach  of  your  excellency's  summons — the  in 
mutable  Kafoor  Elfendi,  the  trusted  friend  c 
Kassim  Bey — '  "' 

"  Kim  boo — who  is  that?"  growled  a  hoars 
voice,  sounding  like  the  roar  of  a  bear  froi 
amid  the  underwood  of  a  forest,  as  the  redoubt 
able  Kafoor  himself  came  forward,  attemptin 
to  appear  unconscious  of  the  compliment 
which  had  just  been  lavished  on  him.  ■'  Wh! 
is  that  ?  and  what  does  she  here  ?" 

Ere  lldji  Reza  could  frame  a  reply,  th 
Aga  Baba  had  waddled  across  the  hall,  an 
stood  beside  him ;  he  was  of  immense  si? 
and  height ;  his  head  was  disproportiouabl 
large,  and  flattened  as  though  it  had  in  h 
youth  supported  some  overpowering  weight 
his  eyes  were  large  and  bloodshot,  and  ove 
hung  by  long  and  shaggy  brows  which  nn 
across  his  broad  and  bridgeless  nose ;  h 
nelher  lip  hung  low  upon  his  chin  ;  and  tl 
belt  which  supported  his  scimitar  was  burn 
between  two  ndges  of  fat  which  girdled  hi 
with  obesity. 

But  lldji  Reza  wasted  no  time  on  the  e 
ternal  qualities  of  the  Aga  Baba;  as,  makii 
a  low  and  respectful  obeisance,  he  besoug 
that  his  favor  might  overshadow  him.  and  h 
smile  bring  him  happiness. 

'•Have    I    done    ill,   my  lord;"  he  aske(' 
'•  that  before  I  subjected  my  wares  to  the  ey 
and  lingers  of  half  the  city,   1  have  broug 
them  here  to  pleasure  you  with  their  novelt)' 
Has  tiie  chibouque  of  sweet  savour  ceased  . 
please  ?  or  may   I  hope   again  to  supply  tl. 
boudaka  of  the  far-famed  Kafoor  Effendi  fro 
this  fresh  bag  of  the  fragrant  gebeli  of  Sal 
nica  ?     Have   1    angered   my  lord,  or  will  ; 
condescend  to  mix  his   sherbet  from  these  d 
licate   cakes   of  preserved   sugar  ?     Or  to  d 
his  fingers  into  this  jar  of  tchalva,  or  his  ha; 
into  this  dish  of  kubeh  ?"*  and   the  son 
Yezid,  moving  between  the  Aga  Baba  and  t 
attendant   slave,   so   as   quite    to  impede  t 
view  of  the  latter,   extended  towards  the  N 
midian  a  china  saucer,  where,  in  the  midst 
the  dainties  he  had  mentioned,  lay  a  purse 
gold    coins    which    were     distinctly    visit 
through  the  transparent  muslin  that  contain 
them. 


Baked  force-meat,  -wrapped  in  vinaleavas. 


THE  ROMANCK  OF  THK  HAUKM. 


'*  \nd  why  not?"'  asnin  growled  the  worthy 
guanliaii  ot"  Kassim  Bey's  harem,  a.s  he  eliiteh- 
ed  witli  the  same  grasp  tlie  purse  and  the  kn- 
beh.  •'  Is  it  because  our  own  eooks  are  eriitly. 
that  there  sliould  be  none  other  such  in  Da- 
mascus ?  Min  AlUih — Allah  forbid  I  the 
lood  is  good,  mother,  and  well  ihivored  ;  and 
if  you  desire  to  dispose  of  your  wan  s  lo  (lie 
ladies  of  the  bey,  I  will   myself  eomluet  you 

tJie  harem." 

lUIji  Rezas  breath  came  quick,  for  although 
his  errand  appeared  to  speed  well,   there  was 

keen  malicious  expression  in  the  large  un-' 
sightly  eye  of  the  Numidian  which  made  his 
pulses  quiver,  and  redoubled  his  caution. 

it  is  strange  that  I  have  forgoitcn  your 
name,  mother:"'  followed  up  the  formidable 
Aga  Baba,  with  still  increasinir  scrutiny  of 
look  and  manner  ;  "  for  it  would  seem  that 
you  and  I  should  be  well  acquainted."' 

••  My  lord  surely  jests  w  ith  his  slave  ;"  said 
Ildji  Reza  hurriedly  ;  ■■  for  how  should  such  as 
he  remember  poor  Satira  the  essence-merehant, 
pave  by  the  excess  of  liis  condescension  ?" 

Hai,  hai — true,  true  :"'  was  the  reply  ;  as  a 
low  chuckling  laugh  escaped  the  functionary. 
'  I  should  have  remembered  you.  for  I  saw 
you  bastinadoed  in  the  bazar  by  the  wali's  of- 
ficer for  carrying  love-tokens  into  the  harem 
of  Nazif  the  Jeweller — Bashustun — on  my 
head  be  it !  but  then  the  cows  thong  did  its 
enerously  that  day.  mother.  " 
A'nd  did  luy  lord  believe  that  I  wa.s 
guilty?"  asked  Ildji  Rcz4  deprecatinsly,  as  he 
slipped  another  pur.-^e  into  the  palm  of  the 
Aga  Baba  ;  '•  could  my  lord  think  that  1  was 
»uch  a  castaway  T' 

Nay,  nay :  I  said  not  that  you  had  done 
the  deed  :"  was  the  quick  reply,  as  the  hand 
f  the  Numidian  was  hastily  plunged  amid 
he  folds  of  his  girdle,  and  then  drawn  back 
mpty  !      "  Thai  was    the   wall's    affair,    not 

ine — but  we  waste  time  :  and  truly  I  am 
not  sorrj-  to  see  you  here,  mother  ;  for  the 
lady  Delsaiso,  who  has  done  nothing  but  weep 
for  the  last  two  days,  may  perhaps  find  amuse- 
ment for  a  few  moments  in  wa-sting  the  bey's 
money  on  your  toys  and  trumjKjry." 

Little  did  the  Numidian  imagine  the  effect 
of  his  words  upon  the  eager  and  impatient 
listener.  Delsaise  wept  then  I  and  he  alone 
could  dry  her  tears,  for  it  was  for  him  that 
Ihey  were  shed.  He  would  have  rushed  to 
[ler  presence,  have  Hung  himself  at  her  feci, 
land  have  poured  out  hu  transport  like  a  lava- 
pood  before  her  :  but  again  the  har»h  voice  of 
the  Aga  Baba  fell  u[X)n  his  ear,  and  he  fell 
Ihe  necessity  of  caution. 

"  You  spoke  of  the  harem  of  the  pasha,  mo- 
ther;  and  of  some  misunderstanding  which 
bad  ari.sen  between  the  chief  of  the  guard  and 
his  fair  mi.Hiress  the  Buyuk  Hanoum — Are 
you  sure  of  the  fact?" 

'•  As  sure  as  that  there  arc  stars  in  heaven 


'during  a  summer  night.  Did  not  ihe  )>eauliful 
(Julzara.  the  rose-ganlen  of  delight,  irjl  me 
the  tale  with  her  own  coral-tininl  lips?  And 
did  I  not  in  return — "' 

1  '•  Enou>;h.  enough,  poo<l  moilier  :  I  know  the 
rest:   but  think  you   that  vou   have  intiuence 


?aji  t 
ii<"Tl: 


you  shall  pass  to  and  fro  unqucsiioni-ii  ;  ny, 
even  although  you  were  the  liiuh  priestess  of 
Anirfiu  hersell".  I  desire  to  serve  the  piislia  : 
he  is  indolent  and  aeneroiis:  nml  so  Ion:;  as  he 
can  fold  Ins  feet  ujKin  tlie  earpi"!  of  quiet  ore* 
not  who  counUs  out  the  pia.str<'»  of  profit.'" 

'•  My  lord  says  well,  and  my  face  is  black- 
ened het'ore  his  wisdom  :'  replied  Ildji  K<za  : 
"  so  sure  as  I  am  an  esscnee-inerehant,  shall 
Kafoor  KITendi,  if  such  be  lii.s  pleasure,  be- 
come the  guardian  of  the  bey's  harem." 
'•  You  will  swear  this?" 
'■  And  ^vhy  not  ?  ' 

''  You  will  swear  it  by  your  father's  beard  ?" 
"  I  will." 

"  Knough — we  will  talk  further  of  this  pre- 
sently !  but  you  must  not  breathe  a  syllable 
of  the  compact  under  this  root.'' 

''  I  shall  be  as  silent  as  the  dead  ;  Kvallah  ! 
(  I  have  long  learned  when  to  Ik*  mute,  and 
when  to  trust  myself  with  words." 

•  You  are  discreet  and  wise  ;"  said  this 
!  pink  of  Aga  Babas.  as  he  preceded  the  innxjg- 
!  tor  to  the  principal  apartment  of  the  lian-in. 
I '' Allah  buyuk  der — Allah  is  great.  Fortune 
!  IS  not  always  overtaken  by  the  swift  ;  some 
I  men  sallK-r  her  up  under  the  roofs  of  their 
own  dwellings,  while  others  wander  Hie  strccta, 
and  find  nothing'." 

I  '•  Ajaib  ! — wonderful!"  ejaculated  Ildji 
'  Reza.  as  if  in  amazement  at  the  wisdom  of 
'  his  companion. 

I  "  Wherefore."  continued  the  Numidinn  wilh 
increased  scntentiousncss  ;  "  look  not  for  inor- 
dinate and  exceeding  profit  in  the  vending  of 
your  wares  :  rapaciouMies.n  is  unseemly  :  the 
Projihet  fovors  the  right-minded,  and  the  just 
are  always  the  happy." 

The  son  of  Yczid  listened,  half  wondering 
and  half  amused,  lo  this  tirade  from  the  li|it 
I  of  an  individual  who  had  just  received  a  bribe 
to  betray  his  trust  ;  but  chancing  lo  glance 
around,  he  discovered  that  they  were  watched 
by  a  young  slave,  bound  on  some  errand  in  the 
harem  ;  and  he  at  once  uiidersto>Ml  the  plot  of 
ihe  comedy. 

"Ilaniah  Dclsa'is*  llanoum — Wherein  the 
lady  I)elsais<>  ?'  inquired  the  Aga  Baba,  af- 
fecting suddenly  to  perceive  the  maiden. 
"  Hero  is  Satira  the  cssence-merchani,  who 
wohid  fain  tempt  her  with  toys  and  |>erfump«." 
'■  Aferin — well  done!"'  was  ihe  P-fdy  ; 
"  you  are  well  nut,  mother  :  for  wo  have 
srarce  a  pastille  left  m  the  pnlneo  :  and  the 
witr  of  'I'imsah  the  inir  akhor  (l^ad  ;;rix>m) 
IK  the  mother  of  a  fine  boy,  and  we  havn  no 
spell  Of  ainit  the  Kvil  Kye  lo  offer  her." 


THE   ROMANCE  OF  THE  IIAREM. 


"  Leave  it  all  to  me,  kizein — my  daughter;" 
returned  Ildji  Kezii,  dreading  lest  the  bright- 
eyed  damsel  should  detain  him  ;  '•  leave  it  all 
to  me;  prcuier  trinkeis.  ciioicer  scents,  or 
stronger  si)clls  I  have  never  vended  than  those 
in  iny  present  stock." 
"  As  he  spoke,  the  Aga  Baba  put  aside  the 
t  inged  and  embroidered  screen  which  veiled 
<iie  door  of  an  apartment  at  the  extremity  of 
tlie  inner  hall  or  saloon  in  which  they  stood  ; 
and,  Willi  a  lowly  prostration,  Ildji  Reza 
paused  at  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE    ARAB    STEED CONTINUEU. 

The  low  cushioned  divan  which  stretched 
along  three  sides  of  the  spacious  room  was  of 
crimson  velvet  flowered  with  gold,  and  from 
the  seat  to  the  floor  a  rich  fringe  of  the  same 
costly  material  fell  glittering  in  the  light. 
The  apartment  was  covered  with  a  bright- 
colored  Persian  carpet ;  gilt  cages,  containing 
gaily  plumed  birds,  were  hung  against  the 
walls,  and  instruments  of  music  were  scattered 
about  in  every  direction. 

On  one  corner  of  the  sofa  sat  the  beautiful 
DelsaYse:  she  was  as  pale  as  a  lotus  under 
the  moonbeams  ;  and  about  her  waist'  she 
wore  the  gorgeous  scarf  which  had  been  the 
love-gifc  of  ildji  Reza.  A  cluster  of  tube- 
roses lay  near  her,  but  she  appeared  to  have 
flung  them  aside  in  weariness  of  spirir.  At 
her  feet  reclined  the  faithful  Ziba,  seeming 
scarcely  less  sorrowful  than  herself;  and  a 
pang  suiote  on  the  heart  of  Ildji  Reza  as  he 
remarked  the  air  of  languid  indillerence  with 
which  his  lovely  mistress  turned  to  note  the 
entrance  of  the  stranger ;  ever  an  event  of  in- 
terest in  a  Turki.-ih  harem. 

•'  Here  is  a  visiter,  Eflendim  ;"  said  the  Aga 
Baba  :  '•  Satira  the  pe.ller,  who  is  come  to  ease 
you  of  your  gold,  should  your  humor  serve."' 

'■  She  is  welcome  ;''"  was  the  unmoved  reply. 

"  May  your  days  be  many,  and  your  beauty 
never  decrease :"'  commenced  the  impostor  in 
a  less  assured  tone  than  he  had  yet  spoken, 
for  ihe  spell  of  her  loveliness  was  on  him; 
"  dcovletin  istiat — may  you  increase  in  pro.s- 
pcrity  ;  and  may  every  wind  waft  to  your 
biow  Ihe  tint  of  the  lily,  and  the  breath  of  the 
violet." 

The  lady  started  as  the  voice  met  her  ear, 
for,  disguised  though  it  was,  it  awoke  an  echo 
ill  her  bosom,  and  a  bright  blush  mantled  upon 
lier  cheek,  as  she  bent  forward  to  listen  more 
J'reely. 

"  Are  you  pensive,  queen  of  the  peris  ?  I 
♦lave  love-ballads  wrought  in  threads  of  pure 
gold,  on  muslins  fine  enough  to  float  upon  the 
eumraer  wind.     Are  you  sick  ?     I  have  per- 


fumes which  would  recall  the  fainling  spi 
about  to  escape  the  boundary  of  El  Caf.  Ha 
you  been  smitten  by  the  Evil  Eye — thou 
that  can  scarcely  be,  when  your  cheek  is  . 
beauty,  and  your  brow  all  light — I  ha 
charias,  and  spells,  and  amulets  to  overcoi 
the  visitation." 

"  Give  me  those  !  give  me  those  !"  exclai 
ed  the  fair  girl  eagerly.  "  My  heart  is  sa 
and  I  would  fain  find  a  spell  by  which  it  m 
be  lightened.' 

''  Heaven  grant  that  it  be  of  good  omen 
you  !"  said  the  disguised  merchant,  as  he  { 
vanced  to  the  sofa,  and  spread  his  wares  up 
the  carpet.     '"For  the  Evil  Eye,  spices,  a 
garlic,  and  beads,  and  crescents  of  bone  av 
much  when  properly  prepared ;  but  for  a  hea 
heart  there  are  other  spells  more  simple,  si 
as  withered  flowers,  gathered  when  the  sun 
joy  had  opened  wide  their  petals  and  preseri 
where    no   eyed    could  see  them  fade.     I : 
Effendiin — See,   lady;"   and   Ildji   Reza  h  . 
towards  her  a  spray  of  withered  jasmine,  bot . 
about  with  a  long  lock  of  jetty  hair. 

"Laillaha  illallah — there  is  butone  Ailal ' 
murmured  the  bcaufjful  daughter  of  the  b , 
as  she  recognized  her  own  oflering  to  I  i 
Pi.eza  ;  and  at  once,  with  the  natural  penet  • 
tion  of  woman,  felt  assured  of  his  sec  . 
"But  how,  good  mother,  can  these  fail 
blossoms  lessen  my  grief?" 

'•  By  teaching  you,  sultana,  that  all  is  t 
dark  when  a  cloud  comes  upon  the  sky :  t  't 
when  it  is  night  in  one  land,  the  sun  is  shin  » 
in  another  ;  and  that  when  the  gloom  is  3 
most  dense,  the  brightness  is  oft  times  t 
hand" 

The  lady  DelsaYse  hung  eagerly  upon  s 
words  ;  and  even  Ziba  was  roused  by  a  stra  » 
suspicion;  while  the  Aga  Baba — lost  indre:  i 
of  ambition,  and  ruling  in  idea  the  hareniT 
Asian  Pasha  with  a  rod  of  iron — forcing  » 
women  to  buy  his  forbearance  with  brib  ; 
and  wringing  from  the  wretches  who  sout 
the  favor  and  protection  of  the  satrap  and  « 
satellites,  even  to  their  last  dinar — the  ji 
Baba  was  altogether  unconscious  of  the  dar  r 
to  which  his  cupidity  had  afibrded  such  fai  - 
ties. 

"  Nay,  you  need  not  retain  the  charr  ' 
continued  the  son  of  Yezid,  as,  after  gas.g 
earnestly  at  the  faded  flowers,  the  agitfil 
girl  was  about  to  deposit  them  on  the  eusln 
beside  her.  "  You  need  only  press  them  f  » 
moment  to  your  lips,  and  the  spell  will.e 
complete." 

DelsaYse  obeyed,  and  the  withered  jasn  e 
was  then  restored  to  its  owner,  who  recc;  d 
it  with  as  much  fervor  as  though  it  had  In 
a  relic  from  the  Prophet's  tomb. 

•'  Here  is  another  and  a  more  powe  u 
charm  ;"  continued  Ildji  Reza  emphatica  : 
"  but  it  can  only  be  wrought  at  midnight,  V 
side  a  fountain,  and  under  the  shadow  of  U 


TIIE   Ro.M.\..cr:   UF  Tin:   IIARKM.  W 

and  leafy  trees."'  Ami  lie  fixed  liis  eyes  earn- '  fered  to  her  only  nnd  idolized  son  ;  but,  j>nj>ju 
estly  on  the  iiiaiJon,  to  learn  if  she  had  read  j  ing  quietly  to  \\\s  own  apiirlnienl,  he  eU>M-tl  ilio 
bis  meaning.  I  door  ai;ninst  nil  intrndern.  and  >piiii  the  hi.ura 

'•  Pck  alii,  dostoum — very  well,  my  friend  ;''' which  niiisl  intorvene  nniil  iiinliuijhi.  m  cu- 
she  replied  wiih  is  much  comiw>uro  an  tihe  deavoriiii;  to  picture  to  hiiiiH<-||  ihf  n-Mill  ol 
could  tt,>i^uiiie  ;  '•  but  may  I  not  bring  a  com-  his  iippcai  to  Iho  bey'«  dunuhler.  Much  did 
panion  with  me?  '  he  trust  to  the  lovcf-hc  bore  him  ;  but  iilim  I  um 

'"Not  one;'"  said  lUlji  Ueza  deei.sivdy.  Ildji  Kez.i.  in  mditude.  conleiiiplaled  the  rxtml 
'•You  must  sit  beside  the  founiaiii  with  your  of  the  .saenlice  whieh,  m  tlieir  cotiiin-^  iiilor- 
face  turned  Mecca- ward,  just  where  the  yliad-  view,  he  was  about  to  require  of  her,  he  found 
0W8  of  the  bouuhs  are  deepest  :  and  dip  this  himself  less  at  case,  and  by  no  means  so  eon- 
mirror  Uuee  times  into  the  pure  water.  At  fident  of  suceess  as  he  had  been  when  ho  firhl 
ihe  third  immersion  loosen  your  hold,  and  your  ,  formed  tlie  jirojccl. 

griefs  will  sink  to  the  bottom  of  tiic  basin  wilii  lie  iiad  askfd  her  to  fly  with  him  :  to  aban- 
the  anali  :  then  cast  over  yourself  a  dark  col-  don  her  father's  roof,  to  forego  her  mothers 
ored  cloak,  and  remain  an  hour  nioiioiilc.«s.  alfeotioii.  and  to  quit  her  birlh-plaee  wiih  all 
Do  this,  and  when  next  I  bask  beneath  the  its  a.ssociations  ot  love  and  luxury,  to  share 
ylory  of  your  smile,  it  will  be  as  bright  as  the  fortuncB  of  a  wanderer,  who  must  carve 
daybreak  in  tJie  East.''  out  his  destiny  in   a  distant   land  and  anion;; 

The  fair  Delsa'jsc  extended  her  hand  to  re- 1  strangers,  with  the  edge  of  his  weapon:  and 
ceive  the  prize,  and.  a-s  he  resijined  it,  Ihe  son  ildji  Hezii  quailed,  even  in  hi.s  solitude,  when 
of  Yezid  pointed  to  the  frainework  in  which  it '  he  remembered  that  this  was  not  all  I  That, 
was  set  :  and  the  delighted  girl  saw  that  it ,  before  he  could  secure  to  her  the  mere  doubt- 
vras  written  entirely  over  in  a  small  and  dis-  i  ful  benclit  of  such  an  exisienee.  a  still  more 
tinct  character.  Hastily  laying  it  aside,  she  |  terrible  trial  awaited  lur  !  But  should  ho 
busied  herself  among  the  toys  and  perlumes  :  taincly  sutler  her  to  incur  it?  She.  in  'whom 
and  having  selected  a  few  of  the  most  costly,  !  he  had  learned  to  garner  up  his  soul — who«o 
slJfe  flung  a'  purse  of  gold  into  the  box.  for  the  \  love  was  his  life,  whose  presence  made  his 
eye  of  the  Aga  Baba  chanced  to  be  upon  her  ;  paradise?  Never  !  never  !  He  would  leave 
and  bade  Ziba  carry  them  to  her  mother,  while  ,  a  heavy  sum  in  the  hands  of  the  bectnchy.  to 
she  selected  a  few  trifles  to  distribute  among  I  satisfy  the  Arab  dealer  for  his  accursed  horse  : 
her  attendants.  and  on  that  very  animal  would  he  bear  away 

Many  a  covert  hint,  and  many  a  paasionate  :  his  bride.  The  thought  dtlighted  him;  and 
pledge  veiled  in  metaphor,  passed  between  the  ho  hurriedly  counted  out  a  heap  of  gold,  and 
happy  lovers,  ere  Ildji  Keza  obeyed  the  man-  |  secured  it  in  a  sealed  bag.  which  he  super- 
date  of  the  Aga  Baba.  and  prepared  to  quit  the  \  scribed  with  the  name  of  Ali  the  Toorkonmn : 
harem.  He  arranged  his  mercliandise  with  a  and  as  soon  as  the  twilight  fell,  he  hastened 
care  which  rendered  the  ceremony  most  wea-  with  it  to  the  tomb  when'  he  had  on  the  pro- 
risome  to  the  Numidian;  and,  had  it  not  been  |  vious  night  been  secreted  by  thi-  di-rvish. 
that  the  worthy  functionary  was  yet  exi>eelinff  ;  All  was  silent  ;  and  as  ni>  vcnee  replied  to 
an  oflering  of  tobacco  from  the  i>edler,  the  son  ,  his  cauunus  whis{>er,  he  entered ;  and  groping 
of  Yezid  would  assuredly  have  been  ejected  his  way  to  the  sjKJt  whence  the  beetaehy  had 
with  more  speed  tlian  courtesy.  All  was.  how- 1  taken  the  cypress  wine,  he  removed  the  stone, 
ever,  at  length  replaced  :  theca*es  were  closed,  |  and  deposited  the  gold  beside  the  almoul  ex- 
the  bokslias  folded,  and  having  pressed  the  i  hau.sted  liquid  :  and  this  done,  he  left  the 
hem  of  the  lady's  carment  to  his  lips,  Ildji  '  building  with  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had 
Keza  tound  himself  compelled  to  depart.  knowu  since  hui  coinpocl  with  the  ToorkomoiJ. 

But  the  magic  mirror  was  in  her  hands — 
his  image  w;ui  yet  in  her  heart — that  very 
night,  if  she  lif-tcncd  to  his  prayer,  they  would 
meet  to  part  no  more — to  fly  together — to  be 
happy!  ildji  Keza  scarcely  fell  liie  earth  on 
which  he  troid — his  spirit  floated  in  the  pure 
akash — he  wa«  an  altered  man  ;  and  he  had 
Btoleii  to  the  s^ptalid  hovel  of  Hatira.  and  cast 
Je  the  ra^s  m  which  he  had  been  disguiiwd. 


CHAII'KIl  XXXVIM. 

THE    ARAB    STKKl) CO.NTINVJU. 

Scarcely  had  the  Aga  Baba  quitted  the 
rof»m  with  the  son  of  Yezid.  to  secure  hta 
ere  one  memory  of  the  Toorkoman  and  his  own  portion  of  the  »|)oil  yi-t  to  b<«  obiain<-d  fr..in  the 
rash  oath  had  marred  the  brightncsj.  of  his  supposed  pcdlcr,  in  the  sha|>c  of  tohor.-..  and 
visions.  [sweetmeats;  than   the    lair    i^-lKau^-.  brii<liii^ 

When  he  reached  hi«  fathers  house,  he  paid    over  her  faithful   Ziba,    murinured.    in  a  low 
no  visit  to  the   harem,    for  he  knew  that  the    happy  voice,  the  nume  of  Ihlji  UczA. 
proud  spirit  of  his  mother  must  be  stricken  to         •  What  of  him  Klfindimou— my  mistrriu.'" 
the  earth  by  the  indignity  which  had  been  of- ,  "he  asked  ;  '"  Mashullali  !  can  it  b«  that  my 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREit 


wild  suspicion  vras  indeed  true?  Has  he 
really  desecrated  the  harem  of  Kassim  Bey  by 
liis  presence !" 

"  Not  so,  not  so ;"  smiled  the  fond  girl, 
trembling  with  excitement  and  delight.  "  Say, 
rather,  can  it  be  that  he  has  risked  his  life  to 
f,'ladden  the  wretched  DelsaVse  with  the  as- 
surance of  a  love  that  can  survive  even  in- 
sult? Yes,  Ziba,  yes;  it  was  indeed  the  son 
of  Yezid  who  knelt  beside  me  but  a  moment 
back — who  made  the  sunbeams  of  joy  pene- 
trate through  the  lattices  of  my  bosom — who 
has  raised  me  from  the  deptlis  of  wretched- 
ness to  a  bliss  worthy  of  thehouris !  Guzum 
— my  eyes  !  the  light  of  my  being  !  Janum 
— my  soul  !  my  sultan  !  and  my  lord  !  Nor 
am  I  even  yet  desolate,  although  the  day-beam 
has  departed,  for  I  have  still  this  precious  anali, 
which  shall  be  to  me  as  a  companion  until  we 
again  meet  !" 

And  flinging  herself  back  among  her  cushions 
like  one  who  brooked  no  further  converse  ; 
heedless  of  the  piteous  "  Eh  vah  !  eh  vah  ! — 
Mercy  on  us  !"'  of  the  terrified  and  conscience- 
^trictven  Ziba.  the  young  beauty  commenced 
ilic  perusal  of  Ildji  Ileza's  communication  on 
llie  frame- work  of  the  hand-mirror. 

As  she  read,  her  breath  came  quick,  and  her 
cheek  crimsoned — to  fly  with  him  from  her 
home,  without  the  solace  of  a  mother's  part- 
ing kiss,  and  it  might  be,  pursued  by  a  father's 
curse  ;  it  was  a  fearful  prospect  !  But  to  fly 
with  him  whom  she  loved — to  be  his  for  ever 
wliile  life  warmed  her  pulses — to  see  him,  hear 
him.  and  to  devote  to  him  the  best  energies  of 
4ier  heart — to  know  that  for  her,  and  for  her 
love,  he  had  thus  become  an  exile  and  a  wan- 
derer— there  was  solace  for  all  her  suffering  in 
the  thought :  and  she  had  many  hours  yet  left 
to  her  in  which  to  decide  ;  while  she  should  at 
least  see  hiin  once  more  that  very  night  where 
they  had  first  met,  and  hear  from  his  own  lips 
all  that  he  had  to  urge  in  favor  of  a  project 
to  which  her  trusting  woman-heart  already 
inclined. 

The  mirror  had  wi-ought  its  spell;  and 
when  the  fond  girl  had  pressed  again  and  again 
to  her  lips  the  precious  characters  which  had 
been  inscribed  upon  it,  she  plunged  it  into  a 
vessel  of  rose-water  which  stood  beside  her, 
and  smiled  as  she  saw  the  writing  fade  be- 
neath the  moisture.  And  then,  how  she  sigh- 
ed for  the  twilight  !  and  when  the  twilight 
fell,  how  earnestly  she  prayed  for  the  night  ! 
The  calm,  soft,  perfume-laden  night,  with  its 
myriad  stars,  and  its  fading  moon,  on  which  she 
guessed  not  that  her  young  fate  was  hinged  ! 

And  the  midnight  came  at  length,  and  soon 
the  harem  of  the  bey  was  hushed  in  sleep. 
The  check  of  beauty  rested  on  the  embroider- 
ed cusiiions  of  luxury — the  music  of  the  zebec, 
and  the  voices  of  the  singing  women  wore  at 
rest ;  the  soul,  freed  from  the  heavy  prison  of 
the  flesli,  in  which  by   day  it  was  pent  up, 


stood  in  all  its  splendor  on  the  threshold  of 
the  spirit-land  :  and  Fancy,  unlocking  with  a 
jewelled  key  the  golden  barrier  of  the  city  of 
dreams,  let  loose  a  troop  of  iris-habited  visions 
which  danced  lightly  through  the  realms  of 
slumber ;  and  cheated  many  a  doomed  and 
stricken  wretch  into  a  temporary  glory  tha/ 
lent  new  bitierness  to  his  waking. 

Midnight !  In  which  prowl  Ibrth  the  onU 
cast  sinner,  and  tlie  beast  of  prey,  the  terroi 
of  the  city  and  of  the  forest :  the  felon,  yet 
unwhipped  of  justice,  whose  deeds  shun  the 
light :  and  the  wretched,  to  whom  that  hghl 
is  loathsome.  But  one  kept  vigil  at  that  still 
hour  who  was  none  of  these  :  one  to  whom 
life  had  hitherto  offered  more  of  sunshine  than 
of  shade  ;  none  of  whose  thoughts  were  evil ; 
and  she  stood  listeningly  for  a  while  at  the 
garden-portal  of  her  proud  father's  palace, 
with  her  white  garments  gleaming  in  the  moon- 
light, and  her  small  hand  pressed  upon  her 
heart  to  still  its  beatings,  like  the  fair  spirit 
of  another  world,  wandering  by  some  strange 
spell  among  the  denizens  of  this  ! 

There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  in  the 
harem  ;  even  the  watchful  Aga  Baba  slept: 
no  voice  came  from  the  slumbering  city — she 
heard  only  the  whispering  of  the  leaves  to  the 
summer  wind,  and  the  fall  of  the  fountain,  as 
the  waters  plashed  on  the  large  petals  of  the 
delicate  lilac  lotus ;  and  the  fair  Delsai'so 
raised  her  bright  young  brow  to  the  blue  sky, 
and  smiled  as  she  fled  across  the  open  space 
which  intervened  between  the  large  basin 
and  the  acacia-grove,  where  she  was  to  meet 
iier  lover. 

He  was  already  there,  awaiting  her  ;  and, 
as  he  strained  her  to  his  heart,  and  listened 
to  her  murmured  words  of  tenderness  and 
trust,  he  was  stricken  to  the  very  soul  ;  and 
could  have  grovelled  in  the  dust  at  her  feet, 
as  he  remembered  the  fate  to  which,  in  his 
ignorance  and  vanity,  he  had  madly  doomed 
her.  "  It  may  not  yet  be  too  late  !"  he  whis- 
pered to  himself:  "I  will  redeem  my  honor 
while  I  have  yet  time  :  I  will  tell  her  all ;  I 
will  lay  bare  my  un worthiness,  and  leave  her 
forever!  She  is  so  young,  so  beautiful,  so 
little  fitted  to  a  life  of  struggle — Allah  be 
thanked,  it  is  not  yet  too  late  !" 

"Dclsaisc  !"  he  said  at  length,  as  he  led 
her  deeper  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees  ;  ''sul- 
tana of  my  soul  without  whom  the  sky  of  life  , 
will  know  no  sun  !  peri,  who  wert  sent  on 
earth  to  show  mankind  the  fellowship  that 
awaits  them  in  paradise!  since  I  saw  thee 
last — in'  the  few  fleeting  hours  which  have 
elapsed  since  I  talked  to  thee  of  love,  and 
flight,  and  asked  of  thee  the  sacrifice  of 
home,  and  parents,  and  country  ;  my  spirit 
has  sickened  at  its  own  selfishness :  and  now 
I  am  here  to  say  that  I  cannot — that  I  will 
not — so  wrong  thy  trust,  so  ill  repay  thy  ten- 
derness." 


THE   ROMANCK  OF  THE   IIAIIKM. 


"  And  wherefore  '"  demanded  fho  fair  girl 
fu  astonishment.  "Did  I  shrink  from  tho 
trial?  Mill  Allah — Heaven  forbid  !  That  is 
not  love  which  basks  in  the  sunshine,  and 
cowers  under  tiie  tempest  ;  that  is  not  love 
which  lives  only  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and  | 
ease,  and  expires  in  the  hour  f^f  'rial  and  of  j 
tears.  Talk  not  thus,  janum — my  soul!  Do, 
you  abandon  nolluns  when  you  ask  of  mc  the 
sacrifice  of  home  and  friends  ?  Docs  not  our 
flight  entail  on  you  also  the  loss  of  both  ? 
And  shall  I  murmur  where  you  do  not  re- 


pine 


v" 


"DelsaYs^,"'  faltered  Ildji  Rezi,  as  he  drew 
a  dagger  from  his  girdle  :  '•  plunge  this  hand- 
jar  into  my  breast :  it  will  bo  less  painful 
than  words  like  these  !  You  know  not  half 
my  unworthincss — half  my  crime.  Hut  a 
better  feeling  is  come  upon  me,  and  you 
shall  no  longer  be  deceived.  Inshallah  !  I 
trust  in  Heaven,  that  you  will  pardon,  and 
forget  mc." 

'•  Forget  you  !''  echoed  the  fond  girl  with 
pale  and  quivering  lips.  '•  What  words  are 
these?  If  you  leave  mc  I  shall  linscr  for 
ever  about  your  memory,  as  a  ghoul  wan- 
ders among  the  graves  of  the  dead  ;  for  me 
there  will  be  no  longer  stars  in  heaven,  nor 
flowers  upon  earth.  Ildji  Reza,  you  shall  not 
leave  me  !"' 

"  Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say  ?"'  retorted  the 
anguished  lover.  '"  At  lea.«t.  ere  you  abandon 
yourself  to  certain  hardship,  and  probable 
peril,  let  me  tell  you  all" — and  they  seated 
themselves  side  by  side  in  that  leafy  soli- 
tude, and  the  son  of  Yczid  poured  into  the 
ear  of  the  trembling  girl  the  fatal  secret  of  his 
mad  oath. 

"  And  you  would  have  given  me  to  ano- 
ther?" was  the  tender  reproach  which  first 
rose  to  her  woman-lip. 

"Alas!  I  had  never  then  beheld  you; 
never  looked  upon  the  brightness  of  a  beauty, 
compared  with  which  that  of  other  maidens 
is  but  as  the  ray  of  the  fire-fly  beside  the  sun- 
beam." 

"  And  when  said  you  that  this  fearful  com- 
pact was  to  be  kept  ?" 

"Even  at  the  mahak;"  gasped  out  Ildji 
Rezi. 

The  wretched  girl  glanced  at  the  fading 
moon  ;  it  wa«  her  last  nigiit ;  the  fatal  hour 
was  come. 

"  Allaha  cs  marladck — Heaven  preserve 
me  !"  she  murmured. 

'•He  will  !  he  will  !"  exclaimed  the  son  of 
Yezid,  as  he  started  to  his  feet.  "  1  go.  Del- 
saVs^,  with  the  curse  of  a  broken  vow  upon 
me,  a  perjured  man  :  and  I  go  for  ever  ;  the 
brand  is  on  my  brow — the  iron  in  my  soul  ; 
— but  better  thus,  far  belter,  than  if  your 
wretchedness  were  written  there :  for  I  go 
alone." 

"Not  so — not  so — "  said  the  brave  girl,  as 


she  stood  beside  him,  and  firmly  Rrajiped  his 
arm.  "  Hence  you  go  not,  unless  wc  go  to- 
gether ;  nay,  hear  mc  out  in  my  turn  ;  if  you 
persist,  I  will  arouse  tho  harem,  and  I  will 
cling  to  you.  and  fetter  your  motmiis,  so  that 
every  attiiiipt  at  escape  shall  bo  uselcBS. 
Need  1  tell  you  what  will  be  the  result?" 
and  she  raised  her  lar-je  eyes  in  horror  to 
his:  '■  death,  death — a  bitter  and  a  degrading 
death  ;  but  we  shall  at  least  die  together." 

"  DelsaisO!,  this  must  not — shall  not  be — 
to  see  you  in  tho  power  of  that  fiend  would 
be  to  me  worse  than  ten  thousand  deaths."' 

"  But  we  will  escape  him."' 

"  I  dare  not  brave  the  venture." 

"  Ildji  Hesu'i :"'  said  the  bey"s  daughter  ;  "  I 
am  a  woman,  and  yet  I  say  to  you,  wo  will 
dare  the  danger,  and  overcome  it.'' 

'•  By  what  means  ?"  was  the  gloomy  inquiry. 

"  Inshallah — I  trust  in  Heaven  !'"  answered 
Delsaist*.  as  she  clasped  her  hands  tosethcr, 
and  bowed  her  head  meekly  upon  her  bosom. 

'■  Vet  listen  tome — "'  comiiieiieed  Ildji  RezA 
dcprccatingly. 

The  voluntary  victim  only  replied  by  point- 
ing to  the  moon,  whose  sickly  light  was  wax- 
ing fainter  in  the  distance  ;  and  ere  she  had 
withdrawn  her  hand,  both  were  startled  by 
the  loud  neighing  of  a  steed  close  under  the 
wall  of  the  garden.  Ildji  Reza  smote  his 
brow  passionately,  and  flung  himself  along  the 
earth. 

•  We  are  summoned,  my  soul  :"  said  Del- 
saisi^,  in  a  low  shrill  whisper  which  made  the 
blood  curdle  in  his  veins.  "  It  is  our  only 
chance  of  escape — if  we  part,  wo  die  ;  and 
you  are  lost  here  and  hereafter.  ' 

"  1  dare  not — will  not — "' 

But  again  the  maiden  pointed  towards  the 
moon,  and  the  son  of  Yezid  sprang  from  the 
earth  like  a  maniac.  "  Bo  it  so,  ihcn  : "  he 
exclaimed  Iranticly  :  "we  will  lly — we  will 
escape — wc  will  yet  bo  happy  "'  And  he 
laughed  wildly  as  ho  lifted  the  undaunted  girl 
in  his  arms,  and  ninunting  the  mouldering  wall 
at  tlic  spot  which  Ziba  had  formerly  indicated, 
leaped  fearlessly  from  tho  summit  into  tho  rood 
beyond. 

iN'ear  the  tree  beside  which  they  stood,  the 
fatal  .\rabiait  was  made  fast  to  a  buttress  of 
the  wall,  beneath  the  thick  branches  of  a 
hanging  cedar,  by  which  it  was  nearly  con- 
cealed ;  in  an  instant  its  bridle-rein  wait  in 
the  hand  of  Ildji  Kezil,  and  he  in  the  saddle, 
with  Ins  precious  burden  in  hiu  arins.  But  in 
vain  did  tho  frantic  young  man  attempt  to 
direct  the  course  of  the  ill-oiiu-ned  steed. 
Seemingly  atfrighted  by  its  unaccusldmed  load, 
the  animal  llcw  reckl<s.sly  along,  as  though 
driven  forward  by  some  invisihlo  «|>irit  ;  and, 
heedlfss  alike  of  bit  and  stirru|>.  plunged 
headlong  towards  tho  high  precipice  indicated 
I  by  the  Toorkoman,  beneath  which  Uowed  the 
rapid  Barrady. 


90 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


The  brain  of  Ildji  Reza  reeled,  and  his 
strength  forsook  him  ;  he  Hung  tiie  bridle  from 
liis  hand,  and  clasped  the  slender  form  of 
Delsaise  clo.-er  to  his  heart,  while  she  hid  her 
face  upon  his  shoulder,  and  neither  wept  nor 
spoke.  On,  on  they  Hew,  until  borne  upon 
the  wind  came  the  triumphant  shout  of  the 
expectant  Toorkoman :  and  then  once  more 
the  heart  of  the  .son  of  Yezid  grew  big  with 
the  advancing  peril  :  and  wlicn  they  gained 
the  base  of  the  lock,  and  that  the  hated  form 
of  the  Arab  nierciiant  emerged  from  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  building  by  which  it  was 
crested,  he  drew  his  handjar  from  his  girdle, 
and  clutched  it  like  one  who  holds  to  his  last 
hope  of  life. 

But  the  mad  animal  paused  not  beneath  the 
precipice  :  with  dilated  nostrils,  expanded 
eyes,  and  outstretched  neck,  he  toiled  and 
scrambled  up  the  frightful  ascent,  leaping  like 
a  wild  cat  over  every  cleft  and  chasm,  and 
dashing  fragments  of  the  rock  from  beneath 
his  feet,  which  fell  rattling  and  plashing  into 
the  stream  ;  until,  upon  the  narrow  tableland 
on  which  the  tower  was  built,  stood  the  horse 
and  his  owner  side  by  side,  not  many  inches 
from  the  brink  of  the  precipice. 

The  pause  Avas  brief :  for,  as  the  animal 
halted  beside  the  merchant,  a  heavy  hand  was 
laid  upon  its  rein,  and  it  reared  violently  to 
escape  the  pressure  ;  when  it  rose  on  its 
haunches,  Ildji  Reza  slackened  his  grasp  of 
the  maiden  to  strike  at  the  Toorkoman  with 
his  handjar  ;  and  as  it  suddenly  recovered  its 
position,  impelled  earthward  by  the  weight  of 
Ills  bending  figure,  the  abruptness  of  the  mo- 
tion flung  the  ill-fated  girl  from  the  saddle. 
One  wild  .shriek  rang  out  on  the  clear  air,  as 
a  mass  of  white  drapery  fell  headlong  from 
the  summit  of  the  precipice,  and  was  succeed- 
ed by  a  heavy  plash,  and  the  dashing  of  the 
*vered  waters  against  the  base  of  the  rock  : 
and  them  came'  a  yell,  scaring  the  winds  of 
heaven  like  the  uttered  agony  of  a  tortured 
spirit  :  and  the  son  of  Yezid  vaulted  from  the 
saddle  to  the  earth,  and  stood  face  to  face  with 
his  enemy  ! — There  was  no  waste  of  words — 
nothing  to  learn,  nothing  to  tell ;  as  Ildji  Reza 
pointed  downwards  to  the  death-freighted 
waters  of  the  river,  and  sprang  to  the  throat 
of  the  Toorkoman  like  a  maniac  ! 

Scarcely  a  foot's  space  was  between  them 
and  a  cruel  deatii,  whose  horrible  presence 
had  been  with  them  but  a  moment  back  ;  and 
yet  they  struggled  like  men  who  liad  the  wide 
earth  for  their  arena.  The  merchant  was 
armed  as  well  as  his  antagonist  with  a  sharp 
dagger,  but  for  some  seconds  their  weapons 
were  useless;  they  grappled  like  men  in  the 
last  agony — they  wound  about  each  other  like 
Bi'rpcnt.s — they  clung  together  as  though  united 
by  .some  invisible  link — jt  was  a  wrestling  of 
sj)irits,  where  the  body  bent  to  the  impul.ses 
of  a  mightier  influence  :  but  this  could  not 


last ;  ere  long  there  was  a  deep  gasping  groan 
— a  heavy  fall — and  the  Toorkoman  wai 
standing  over  his  victim,  panting  with  hatred 
and  exertion  ;  his  teeth  clenched,  his  turban 
loosened,  and  his  hand  bloody  :  while  the  first 
faint  ray  of  dawn  just  rested  on  the  shining 
hilt  of  the  weapon  which  was  buried  in  the 
heart  of  Ildji  Reza,  and  revealed  his  severed 
lips  and  glittoring  teeth  :  the  hand  which  still 
grasped  his  dagger  hung  over  the  precipice  ;  and 
as  the  exulting  victor  spurned  him  with  his 
foot,  it  seemed  as  though  the  next  touch  must 
hurl  him  from  the  brink  ;  but  the  Toorkoman, 
after  having  by  that  indignity  s'atiated  his  hate, 
bent  calmly  down,  and  withdrew  his  handjar 
from  the  breast  of  his  victim,  wiping  it  care- 
fully  with  the  hem  of  his  garment,  ere  he  re- 
turned it  to  the  scabbard ;  this  done,  he  gave 
one  long  shrill  whistle,  and  fcrth  from  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  building  came  the  bectachy, 

"  Gidelem — let  us  go:"  said  Ali  hoarsely; 
'•'  the  kavashlir*  will  scent  the  carrion,  and 
some  foul  chance  may  put  thein  upon  my 
track — Cursed  be  the  stripling  arm  that  could 
not  keep  a  firmer  hold  !  I  have  lost  my  bride 
— I  am  for  £1  Masr — when  you  next  hear  of 
me  I  shall  be  snuffing  the  sea-breeze  at  Roulac. 
Meanwhile,  there  is  your  gold,  and  with  it  this 
screed  of  counsel  : — when  you  would  again 
sell  yourself  to  Sheitan,  see  that  you  earn 
your  wages  more  manfully,  or  you  may  chance 
to  be  paid  in  another  coin  !''  and  having  struck 
his  hand  contemptuously  on  the  hilt  of  his 
weapon,  and  flung  a  purse  at  the  feet  of  the 
dervish,  the  Toorkoman  seized  the  bridle-rein 
of  his  horse,  and  led  him  to  the  base  of  the 
rock,  when,  springing  lightly  to  the  saddle,  he 
galloped  away  across  the  plain. 

It  was  a  bectachy  who  some  hours  subse- 
quently carried  to  the  house  of  Yezid  the 
khawaji  the  dark  tidings  of  his  son's  murder, 
and  led  the  agonized  father  to  the  spot  where 
lay  his  child  :  and  who  shortly  afterwards 
went  on  his  way  rejoicing,  for  he  had  earned 
gold  by  the  discovery,  and  escaped  suspicion. 

The  Barrady  ere  sunset  gave  up  its  dead ; 
and    many   were   the   surmises    which   were 
hazarded  throughout  Damascus,  at  the  extra- 
ordinary coincidence  which  on  the  same  day 
had  plunged  two  families  in  tears  and  lamen- 
tations, that  were  to  have  been  united  in  bonds  i 
of  relationship.     Dark  hints,  and  mysterious  i 
whispers  were  busy  in  the  bazars  ;  and  even 
Latif  Effendi  himself  foreborc  to  je.«t  on  an  oc-  i 
currence   apparently  inexplicable  ;    while,  as  ' 
neither  the  Toorkoman  dealer  nor  the  wander- 
ing dervish  ever  again  appeared  in  Damascus, 
tiie  truth  would  never  have  come  to  light,  had  : 
not  Ali  the  khawaji  told  the  tale  when  he  was 
lying  on  his  death-bed  at  Scandcria,  waiting 
with  the  lively  faith  of  a  True  Believer  to  be 
wafted  on  the  dark  wings  of  Asracil  to  the 
arms  of  the  houri.  ^^^ 

*  City  police.  , 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


91 


PART  V. 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

''  By  the  Black  Stone  at  Mecca  !*  he  was  a 
more  fitting  companion  for  the  iiV.oulsand  alVits 
of  .lehanum :"  yawned  the  paslm,  as  the  low 
voice  of  Katinka  ceased  :  not  altogether  consci- 
ous whether  he  had  really  heard  or  only  dream- 
ed the  termination  oftiie  mercliant's  adventures. 
"Anesseny  sikdam  If  was  he  not  a  dou,  and 
the  father  of  dogs  ?  And  was  the  paradise  of 
the  Faithful  ever  meant  to  be  an  ahidmg-place 
for  the  unclean?  Wallah  billah — by  the  Pro- 
phet !  you  might  as  well  people  it  with  Franks 
and  giaours  !  What  say  you,  janum — my 
BQul?"  he  added,  turning  to  his  fair  wife, 
down  whose  pale  cheeks  the  large  tears  were 
coursing  each  other  in  streams  :  "  do  you  be- 
lieve that  Ali  the  Toorkoman  ever  bathed  in 
rivers  of  milk,  and  drank  his  sherbet  in  Para- 
dise ?" 

"Allah  forbid!"'  murmured  Carimfil  Ha- 
iioum  piously :  "  such  as  he  were  strange  com- 
pany for  the  houri  of  Corkam."t 

"  As  to  Ildji  Pieza  :''"  pursued  the  satrap, 
who  was  inclined  to  be  critical  under  the  gen- 
tle approbation  of  his  wife  ;  '•  the  man  had 
no  wit  in  him  ;  he  blackened  his  own  face, 
and  deserved  his  fate  :  though  it  was  hard 
that  the  poor  girl  should  suffer — But  what 
eaid  1  ?  what  is  written,  is  written — and  she 
merited  her  destiny;  for  had  she  not  dese- 
crated the  harem  by  allowing  the  foot  of  a 
stranger 'to  tread  its  carpets?  By  the  head 
of  the  Emperor  !  had  I  been  Kassim  Bey — "' 

What  the  satrap  would  have  added  is  un-  • 
known,  as  the  threat  terminated  in  a  volume  ' 
of  smoke  which  curled  down  his  beard,  and 
left  the  remainder  of  the  sentence  unuttered  : 
but  the  cheek  of  the  Circassian  flushed  pain- 
fully for  an  instant,  and  then  became  pale  as 
the  leaf  of'  the  river-lotus  :  and  her  heart 
heaved  as  though  it  would  have  burst  the 
shawl  that  cinctured  her  waist. 

The  Greek,  meanwhile,  sat  apart:  deep 
thought  was  on  her  brow,  and  something  like 
contempt  wreathed  her  lip,  as  .she  marked  the 
emotion  of  her  friend,  and  the  obtuse  self- 
complacency  of  the  pa.sha.  To  her  more  wily 
spirit  the  victim  .«ecmed  scarce  worthy  to  be  \ 
deceived  :  and  yet,  even  amid  tiiat  conviction, 
Btrange  speculations  and  wild  visions  grew 
Tipon  her.  The  Circaj*sian  loved  anoliicr — Jur 
brother — the  last  relative  whom  she  now  pos- 
sessed on  earth — When  they  fled  together — 
and  fly  together  they  would,  she  felt  and  knew 
if  they  again  met — she  should  be  alone  ;  tlicy 
"Would  be  everything  to  each  other  ;  and  they 
should  have  no  hold  on  the  great  chain  of  «o- 
ciety  if  she  fashioned   not  the   link    herself. 


•  The  famous  stone   in   the  holy  lepulchre,   which   ii 
kimed  by  every  Moslem  on  hii  ajriral. 

t  An  expression  of  cuntempt.  }  ParadUe. 


She  glanced  at  the  paslm — he*  was  old  :  but 
what  availed  it  to  count  his  years? — ho  waa 
dull  and  vain  ;  but  these  were  qualities  whicli 
insured  a  wife's  supremacy — he  niii,'ht  Ikj 
weighed  in  the  holy  wczn*  with  half  the  sa- 
traps in  the  pay  of  the  padishah.  and  not  kick 
the  beam  ;  he  was  in  short — a  Turk — and  the 
lip  of  the  beautiful  (Jreek  curled  again  into 
deeper  di.Mlain  than  before. 

But  the  electric  spark  had  been  struck;  and 
Katinka,  with  the  quick  talent  of  her  nation, 
possessed  al.-<o  its  cralt  and  scllishness  ;  and 
slowly,  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees,  her 
manner  towards  the  pasha  changed.  Even 
Carimfil /('//  that  it  did  so;  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  say  in  what  the  chansc  consisted — 
perhaps  the  voice  was  a  shade  softer  than  bo- 
fore ;  the  bright  eye  shadowed  :  the  light  step 
less  elastic  :  but  be  it  what  it  might,  the  young 
wife  was  satisfied,  as  it  harmonized  with  her 
own  pensive  mood,  and  dreamy  tendencies  ; 
for  now  Katinka  sighed  where  she  used  to  ral- 
ly, and  sympathized  where  she  had  formerly 
chidden. 

The  satrap  himself  was  the  last  to  perceive 
the  revolution  which  had  taken  place  in  tho 
beautiful  Greek  ;  but  he  was  conscious,  dur- 
ing his  visits  to  the  harem,  that  the  flexible 
form  of  the  young  slave  flitted  more  frequently 
betbrc  him  :  that  the  courteous  offices  which 
she  rendered  to  him  were  more  graciously  and 
gracefully  performed:  and,  at  length,  he  even 
detected  her  eyes  resting  upon  him  with  an 
expression  of  melancholy  tenderness  and  ab- 
straction that  he  could  not  fail  to  remark. 

The  pasha  smoked  and  wondered  :  and  caz- 
ed  alternately  at  his  wife  and  her  friend,  until 
the  deep  and  glowing  beauty  of  the  Greek 
grew  upon  his  fancy,  and  threw  the  pale  love- 
liness of  the  Circassian  into  the  shade  ;  and 
then  he  pondered  within  himself  whether  Ka- 
tinka indeed  loved  him,  and  began  to  note 
with  increasing  interest,  every  action  of  tho 
wily  slave.  He  slept  no  more  when  she 
swept  the  chords  of  her  zebec.  though  it.s 
music  had  become  more  subdued  and  mourn- 
ful ;  and  when  she  sang,  he  li.-iencd  yet  more 
complacently,  for  her  words  told  of  hopeless 
passion,  and  love  which  fed  upon  itself,  and 
clung  to  its  own  ruin.  The  sherbet  offered  by 
her  hand  had  more  sweetness,  and  tho  chi- 
bouque more  perfume  ;  and.  in  short,  the  visits 
of  the  pa.sha  to  the  harem  became  more  fre- 
quent and  more  lengthened  as  he  crndually 
yielded  to  the  conviction  that  he  was  beloved. 
Carimfil,  beautiful  and  induL'cd  as  she  wa«, 
liad  never  loved  him  :  yet  here  beside  her  was 
a  youm.' creature  to  the  full  as  fair,  glowing 
with  talent  and  enthusiasm,  sraceful  nn  a  si- 
moru,  and  musical  as  a  bulbul,  whose  look« 
betrayed  to  liim  the  secret   of  her  li«>nrt  ! 

The  idea  was  fascinating ;  and  tho  utrap 

•  The  b*l»Be«  of  lh»  Prophet 


92 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


dwelt  upon  it  "with  increased  satisfaction  from 
day  to  day  ;  carefully  abstaining  from  a  word 
or  gesture  which  might  awaken  the  jealousy 
of  his  wife  :  and  it  was  reserved  for  the  breath 
of  song  to  break  the  spell,  and  to  afford  to  Ka- 
tinka  the  first  assurance  that  she  was  under- 
stood. 

The  fair  Carimfil  was,  on  one  occasion, 
more  melancholy  even  than  her  wont,  the  pa- 
sha more  silent  and  more  tedious;  and  the 
crafty  Greek  felt  her  power  to  chase  this 
gloom,  and  to  render  the  satrap  conscious  of 
the  value  of  her  acquirements :  without  a 
■word,  therefore,  and  regardless  of  any  bidding. 
she  struck  a  few  wild  chords  upon  her  instru- 
ment, and  with  bowed  head,  and  eyes  bent  to 
the  earth,  she  murmured  out  her  song. 

My  childhood's  home  was  'mid  the  isles 

That  gem  the  bright  Egean  sea; 
Where  summer  in  its  beauty  smiles, 

And  song-birJs  hold  their  jubilee. 
Where  sunshine  with  the  ocean  blent, 

And  rested  on  its  loving  breast  ; 
And  every  hour,  in  passing,  lent 

Some  charm  to  earth  to  make  it  blest. 

I  never  dream'd  I  could  forget 

That  blissful  home  ;  but  ah !  the  heart 
When  its  warm  flow  with  love  is  met 

Can  make  its  own  bright  world  apart  ; 
Tis  only  when  unloved— alone— 

And  blighted— that  I  sigh  to  be 
In  the  dear  isle  where  once  I  dwelt 

Amid  the  bright  Egean  sea! 

As  the  song  ceased,  the  dark  eyefe  of  Katinka 
sought  those  of  the  pasha,  and  she  read  there 
an  a.^surance  that  thenceforward  her  island- 
home  might  be  forgotten. 

''  Mail  oldum — I  have  fallen  in  love  !" 
communed  the  satrap  with  himself;  but  he 
only  gave  utterance  to  a  low  grunt  of  appro- 
val, and  a  ''  Pek  ahi,  B^yaz — very  well" — as 
he  drew  a  jewelled  ring  from  his  finger,  and 
tendered  it  to  the  songstress.  "  Your  voice  is 
pleasant  as  the  soutli  wind,  and  we  owe  you 
some  requital  for  the  enjoyment."  And  as 
the  Greek  prostrated  herself  before  him,  the 
pa.sha  held  her  hand  a  moment  longer  than 
was  necessary,  while  he  gave  the  gem  into 
her  possession. 

'•  Where  the  nightingale  harbors,  there  is 
no  need  lo  welcome  the  thrush  y'  said  the  pa- 
sha, when  Katinka  had  made  her  prostration, 
and  returned  to  her  place  ;  "  and  where  the 
fair  Beyaz  dwells,  the  awali  (singing-women) 
are  needless." 

The  languid  Circassian  smiled ;  her  thoughts 
were  with  Maniolopolo  ;  and  it  was  a  relief 
to  her  when  the  pa.'<ha  at  length  quitted  the 
harem,  ana  she  could  throw  herself  upon  the 
bosom  of  her  friend,  to  talk  of  the  lover  of  her 
youth,  and  weep  over  his  absence. 

Skilfully  did  Katinka  fan  the  flame  ;  she 
called  up  memories  which  made  the  heart  of 
the  unhappy  wife  beat  high  with  tenderness 
and  regret — she  speculated  on  the  future  until 
the  pale  cheek  burned,  and   the  slight   form 


quivered  with  emotion — she  mocked  at  the 
pasha's  blindness,  and  made  merry  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  complacent  vanity  :  and  then  she 
digressed  to  her  brother — that  brother  who  had 
long  been  every  thing  to  both  of  them — she 
reminded  the  fond  Circassian,  who  required 
no  prompting  to  do  full  justice  to  the  memory 
of  his  perfections,  of  all  the  noble  qualities  of 
his  nature  ;  and  how  adversity,  like  the  tile 
on  the  acanthus,  had  at  once  subdued  and 
beautified  his  free  and  haughty  spirit. 

The  twilight  stole  on  them  ere  the  subject 
was  yet  half  exhausted  ;  and  then  they  wan- 
dered forth  into  the  dim  gardens,  with  their 
white  arms  wreathed  about  each  other's  necks, 
and  whispered  of  him  to  the  stars,  and  to  the 
leaves,  by  the  low  murmuring  of  the  foun- 
tains ;  and  finally  they  sank  to  rest,  each  wth 
her  own  bright  \'ision  ready  to  melt  itself  into 
a  dream,  and  charm  the  hours  of  the  long 
summer  night. 

Maniolopolo  had,  meanwhile  reached  the 
city,  but  had  hitherto  failed  in  every  attempt 
to  make  his  vicinity  known  to  the  inmates  of 
the  pasha's  harem.  In  vain  he  traversed  the 
streets,  and  gazed  stealthily  at  every  yashmac 
that  he  encountered,  he  met  neither  the  fair 
Carimfil  nor  his  sister  :  and  after  hours  and 
days  spent  in  haunting  the  palace  of  the  satrap, 
he  became  at  length  convinced  that  unless  he 
discovered  some  expedient  by  which  lie  might 
penetrate  under  his  very  roof,  he  was  as  far 
distant  from  the  accomplishment  of  his  wishes, 
as  though  he  had  remained  in  Circassia. 

Vexed  to  the  soul,  Maniolopolo,  on  the  sixth 
evening  of  his  unprofitable  watching,  turned 
away  from  the  walls  which  separated  him 
from  the  bright  object  of  his  thoughts  ;  and, 
careless  of  his  path,  sauntered  on  until  he 
reached  the  theriaki  tcharchi.*  whence  the 
sounds  of  music  came  floating  pleasantly  on 
the  still  air. 

"  You  are  welcome,  Effendir*  ;"  said  a 
portly  personage  who  was  gravely  smoking 
his  chibouque  on  a  raised-wooden  platform, 
overarched  with  vines,  without  the  door  of  the 
building.  "A  caravan  had  just  airivcd,  on 
its  way  to  Bassora,  and  among  the  travellers 
are  some  celebrated  alme  (dancing-girls,) 
whom  one  of  the  hadjis,  who  is  my  friend,  has 
prevailed  upon  to  lodge  in  my  house  during 
their  stay  in  the  city ;  they  are  about  to 
dance,  and  again  I  say  that  you  are  welcome." 

Maniolopolo  hesitated  :  he  was  well  aware 
of  the  scenes  of  violence  which  occasionally 
take  place  among  the  opium-eaters  during 
their  paroxysms  of  temporary  madness  ;  but 
lere  long,  as  the  master  of  the  tcharchi  en- 
larged upon  the  grace  and  beauty  of  one  of  the 
fair  band,  his  reluctance  vanished  ;  and  he 
suffered  himself  to  be  ushered  into  the  spacious 
apartment,  around  which,  on  low  and  luxu- 


Resort  for  opium-eaters. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE   IIAREM. 


08 


rious  divans,  sat  about  a  score  of  the  most  dis- 
solute youths  of  the  city;  while  the  centre  of 
the  floor  was  overspread  with  a  Persian  car- 
pet, on  which  stood  a  group  of  young  and 
splendidh>--habited  women,  about  to  commence 
tlieir  performance. 

Maniolopolo  had  never  before  witnessed  a 
similar  exhibition,  and  he  looked  on  with  as 
much  curiosity  as  amusement  ;  occasionally 
joining  in  the  low  chorus  of  approbation,  which 
from  time  to  time  broke  from  the  other  spec- 
tators. Never  had  he  seen  so  much  raki  and 
kakabi*  swallowed  in  the  same  space  of  time, 
nor  so  much  khaf,  and  beiig.  and  hasliish,  and 
afiouf  devoured;  and  it  was  consequently 
without  surprise  that,  as  the  hours  grew  into 
night,  he  found  the  voice  of  revelry  rapidly  deep- 
ening into  discord  :  nor  could  he  forbear  a  smile 
when  he  heard  the  rioters  reproaching  cacl) 
other  with  the  very  vices  to  which  they  were 
themselves  addicted.  "  Theriakee  —  opium- 
eater  !"'  shouted  one  ;  "  dost  thou,  maddened 
by  the  poison  that  thou  hast  swallowed,  dare 
to  argue  with  me  ?"' — •'•  Dog  of  a  wine-drink- 
er !"'  exclaimed  a  second ;  "  is  it  when  thou 
art  drunk  with  the  liquid  fire  of  the  infidels, 
that  thou  talkest  to  a  Mahommedan  of  his 
duty  ?" 

Blows  followed  fast  on  words  :  and  throw- 
ing down  a  coin  which  offered  ample  payment 
for  the  entertainment  of  the  tcharchi,  Maniol- 
opolo hastened  to  escape  Irom  the  pollution  of 
the  scene  ;  leaving  half-a-dozen  unturbaned 
heads  rolling  on  the  floor,  amid  a  chorus  of 
.expletives  more  energetic  than  courteous ;  and 
|the  shrill  shrieks  of  the  woman,  who,  huddled 
jtogether  in   a  corner,   were   trembling  with 

r  right. 
.  But  his  visit  to  the  theriakee  tcharchi  had 
ot  been  altogether  unprofitable  to  the  young 
reek;  and  he  anxiously  awaited  the  morrow 
n  order  to  carry  into  effect  the  plot  which  he 
ad  been  contemplating  during  the  perform- 
Euices  of  the  alme. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

"  I  HAVE  dreamed  a  dream  ;"  said  SaVfula 
Pasha  on  his  next  visit  to  the  harem  of  liis 
wife  :  '•  a  dream  which  lasted  me  the  whole 
light.  Bashustun — on  my  head  be  it  !  I  will 
jive  a  purse  to  whomsoever  can  read  it  to  mo 
iright." 

"  I  have  been  said  to  have  some  lore  on  the 
ubject  of  visions  ;"  said  Katinka  eagerly  ; 
'my  mother  read  them  like  a  book.  Will  it 
)lease  your  Excellency  to  describe  it  to  me  ?" 

"  And  why  not  ?"'  was  the  reply.  '■  Listen, 
Lnd  you  shall  hear' — I  was  at  Stamboul,  in 
he  bright  '  City  of  the  Three  Seas,'  but  peace 


!  was  not  within  her  walls  :  there  were  flames, 
I  and  shouts,  and  sounds  of  warlare ;  and  the 
streets  ran  blood;  and  tlien,  ()u  Allali  !  I 
thouuiit  that  I  wa,s  deposed  from  my  pushaiik, 
i  and  tliat  all  my  weallii  was  swept  away,  and 
I  I  was  a  ruined  man  ;  and  there  came  a  sea.son 
of  famine  ;  and  you,  guziim — "  and  ho  turned, 
and  looked  fondly  towards  his  wife  ;  "  you 
were  beside  me,  and  we  both  hungered  ;  when 
suddenly  tiie  padishah — (may  his  beard  flour- 
I  ish  !)  sent  us  a  tray  of  tchalva  and  a  di.'-h  ot 
j  pillauf.  But  even  as  we  ate,  the  cry  came  to 
us  of  those  wlio  famislied  ;  and.  Wallah!  our 
j  repast  was  bitterly  seasoned  by  the  anguish 
of  those  whom  we  could  not  succour — "T  was 
a  dark  dream,  and  I  am  troubled  by  it !  Speak, 
j  Beyaz  :  can  you  tell  what  it  signifies  ?" 
I  '-Your  highness  did  well  to  terminate  the 
I  fast  by  a  least ;'"  said  the  Greek  girl  witli  as- 
I  sumed  gravity  ;  '•  your  dream  bodes  you  uo- 
{ thing  but  good  ;  uncertainty  for  a  time,  but 
I  ultimate  success  in  ail  your  projects.  I  shall 
I  look  ere  long  to  see  you  summoned  to  Stam- 
I  boul  by  the  Lord  of  the  Three  Seas,  and  to 
j  hear  you  saluted  as  Mushir*  Sail'ula  Pasha.' 
"Allah  bilir — Allah  alone  knows;"  an- 
I  swered  the  satrap  with  a  complacent  smile. 
I  '•  By  the  soul  of  my  father,  should  you  be  a 
;  true  prophet,  you  siiall  find  tliat  1  am  not  un- 
I  mindl'ul  of  your  jiropliecy — Ciiok  cliay — that 
is  mucli."  And  tlic  Pasha  looked  as  magna- 
nimous on  the  faith  of  his  pronnse,  as  though 
he  had  rewarded  the  beautiful  soothsayer  for 
her  vague  .solution  witli  a  hundred  purses. 

"  The  dream  of  my  lord  has  brought  to  my 
own  mind  a  memory  of  the  past ;'  said  Ka- 
tinka, as  a  veil  of  sadness  fell  over  her  deep 
eyes.  ■  I  have  a  tale  whose  grief  will  teach 
all  visionary  sorrow  to  jta.'-s  away  before  it, 
as  tlie  mints  of  morning  di.-per.-e  before  the 
sun-break — or  as  the  desert-sands  arc  scat- 
1  lered  by  the  simoom — I  will  tell  it  now,  if  my 
j  lord  listens."'  And  liaving  received  an  en- 
couraaing  nod  from  the  pasiia,  whoso  chi- 
bouque had  just  been  roplciiisiied,  and  whoso 
cushions  were  arraii;,'ed  wiili  a  care  to  which 
no  luxury  could  be  added,  she  seated  herself 
at  his  leet  :  and  shaking  back  the  long  hair 
which  fell  over  her  brow  and  bosom,  and  as- 
suming as  if  unconsciou.«'Iy  the  stern  cxpres- 
bion,  and  impressive  attitude  of  a  Pythoness, 
she  commenced  her  recital. 


ClIAPTKR    XLl. 

THE    LAST    OK    TIIK    J.\MSSARIE9. 

The  day  of  blood  that  witnevsed  the  de- 
struction of  the  .lani.'-sarKH  was  at  an  end. 
The  sunlight  had  faded   up<jn  the  mouulains ; 


Ardent  spirita. 


t  Intoxie«tin{  dni|(«. 


•  PulMofThrtaTaiU. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAEEM. 


the  stars  were  multiplied  upon 'the  ripple  of 
the  sea  of  Marmora ;  the  fitful  wind  sighed 
throu^li  the  forest-bouglis  ;  and.  save  in  the 
excited  city  of  Slamboul,  ail  was  peace,  as  a 
tall  and  shrouded  figure  emerged  from  among 
the  totnbs  in  the  necropolis  of  Eyoub.  He 
paused  for  a  moment  when  he  stood  upon  the 
crest  of  the  hill  above  the  village,  and  shook 
his  clenched  liand  passionately  in  the  direction 
of  the  smouldering  pile  which  had  so  lately 
been  the  funeral-pyre  of  hundreds  of  his  com- 
rades— of  scores  of  his  townsmen  and  asso- 
ciates. His  breast  heaved — his  pulses  quiver- 
ed— it  was  Yusuf — the  far-famed,  the  formi- 
dable Yusuf  !  When  the  yesterday's  sun  had 
gilded  the  domes  of  the  golden  city,  he  had 
been  an  aga  of  Janissaries.  What  was  he 
now  ?  He  had  seen  the  strong  limbs  of  his 
brother — of  Omar  the  fleet-footed — quiver,  as 
he  hung  suspended  from  the  fatal  cord  to  the 
"Tree  of  Groans"  in  the  Atmedan.  one  of  a 
thousand  of  the  same  hour's  victims — he  had 
seen  it,  and  he  felt  that  his  heart  was  broken. 
Omar  was  the  last  son  of  his  mother — the  pet 
lamb  of  the  fold — in  the  pride  of  his  spirit  he 
had  left  his  paternal  roof  to  carry  arms  be.side 
his  brother  Yusuf — and  he  had  died  the  death 
of  blood  before  that  bi'other's  eyes. 

The  curse  was  deep  and  fearful  with  which, 
after  wading  in  carnage,  and  fighting  like  a 
demoniac  under  the  shadow  of  Omar's  corpse, 
the  aga  was  borne  away  by  the  stream  of 
fugitives,  who,  hopeless  at  length  of  victory, 
sought  safety  in  a  flight  as  unpromising  as 
their  resistance.  The  band,  fighting  as  they 
retreated,  grew  weaker  every  instant ;  long 
pent-up  hate  was  loosed,  and  the  fury  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  polluted  city  seconded  the 
more  organized  attacks  of  the  soldiery.  The 
wretched  Janissaries,  maddened  by  their  de- 
spair, fought  furiously  to  the  la.st ;  and  the 
streets,  along  which  they  passed,  were  choked 
•with  dead. 

The  .^cimitar  of  Yusuf  gleamed  above  his 
head,  and  he  had  just  aimed  a  stroke  at  a  new 
opponent  when  tlie  earth  gave  way  beneath 
his  feet,  and  he  fell  heavily  for  a  considerable 
depth,  pressed  upon  in  his  descent  by  the  body 
of  the  man  whom  he  had  slain.  He  heard  a 
shout  as  he  disappeared,  but  the  yell  endured 
only  for  a  moment:  the  fierce  crowd  hurried 
on,  and  ere  long  he  could  distinguish  a  hoarse 
murmur  which  told  him  that  the  tide  of  blood 
was  flowing  in  a  distant  part  of  the  city. 

The  aga's  first  care  was  to  glare  stealthily 
around,  and  he  was  immediately  conscious  of 
a  faint  light  streaming  through  a  cavity  in  the 
roof  of  the  subterranean  into  which  he  had 
been  so  opportunely  introduced.  Not  a  sound 
betokened  the  vicinity  of  any  human  com- 
panionsliip  ;  and  Yusuf  next  hurled  from  him 
the  body  of  his  enemy,  which  yet  lay  heavily 
across  his  own.  This  done,  he  slowly  stretch- 
ed forth   limb    after  limb,  to  assure  himself 


that  he  was  uninjured  by  the  fall  :  and,  having 
satisfied  himself  of  the  fact,  hfe  was  not  long 
in  ascertaining  the  nature  of  his  compulsatory 
retreat. 

Yusuf,  as  he  rose  from  the  earth,  slood  in  a 
spacious  vault,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
stately  columns  of  marble,  and  dimly  lighted 
by  narrow  grated  windows  level  with  the  roof; 
and  at  once  understood  that  he  tenanted,  in 
company  with  the  dead  man  at  his  teet,  the 
immense  cistern  of  Ben-Vebir-Direg  —  the 
Vault  of  the  Thousand-and-One  Columns. 
He  shuddered  as  the  truth  burst  upon  him ; 
for  he  remembered  that,  although,  during  the 
hours  of  daylight,  a  crowd  of  miserable 
wretches  congregated  there  to  spin  silk,  and 
thus  earn  amid  its  noxious  vapors  a  scanty 
and  insufficient  existence,  it  was  a  place  of 
evil  repute  by  night ;  and  said  to  be  peopled 
by  beings  whose  demoniac  nature  shut  thera 
out  from  "  the  glimpses  of  the  moon." 

But  Yustif  was  brave  by  nature,  nor  was 
this  a  moment  to  yield  to  weak  and  childish 
terrors  :  death  was  about  him  every  where, 
and  he  was  ready  to  bless  Allah  and  the  Pro- 
phet that  he  had  found  even  this  temporarj 
haven  during  a  night  of  terror. 

The  secret  of  his  personal  impunity  after  s( 
great  a  fall  was   simple — the  watercourses  ol 
the  cistern  having  been  turned  during  the  erec 
tion  of  St.   Sophia,   and  the  vault  used  as  : 
receptacle  for  the  soil  dug  out  from  the  founda. 
I  tions — the  earth  upon  which  he  alighted  wa 
sufficiently  elastic  to  secure  him   from   great, 
er  injury   than    a    few  slight   bruises ;    bu 
the  wild  legends  which  now  localized  thei 
superstitions  at  Ben-Vebir-Direg  rendered  th 
locality  any  thing  but  holy  in  the  eyes  of  th 
Moslem:  a  thousand  dark  and  fearful   mcmc 
ries   of  the   subterranean    rushed    across   th. 
brain  of  the  fugitive — strange,   and  wild,  an' 
fearful  shapes  all  located  by  popular  rumor  i 
this  gloomy  spot ;  and  thus,  bold   as  he  wa 
although  pre-occupied  by  other  and  more  ce;* 
tain  evils,  had  Yusuf  Aga  been  free   to  sc!r 
his  hiding-place,  he  would  assuredly  not  ha 
chosen  the  haiuited  subterranean. 

The  dull  but  instant  echoes  of  the  dreai 
space  repeated  every  sound:  and  as  tl. 
wretched  fugitive  slowly  paced  among  tl 
columns,  searching  for  some  point  of  escn] 
of  which  he  might  avail  himself  under  she): 
of  the  darkness,  the  hollow  reverberations  • 
his  own  footsteps  made  his  brow  burn,  ni 
his  heart  throb,  as  he  mistook  them  in  his  tc 
ror  for  the  tramp  of  approaching  enemies. 

He  soon  discovered  that  his  only  hope  ■ 
egress  was  by  the  very  spot  of  his  entranc- 
a  narrow  opening,  formed  by  the  decay  ol 
mass  of  masonr)'-,  which  had  partially  yield 
to  the  unusual  weightof  the  contending  crow 
and  for  an  instant  his  spirit  quailed,  as  hisc} 
accustomed  to  the  darkness,  betrayed  to  h 
the  insecure  and  threatening  state  of  that  s< 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TIIR  IIAREM. 


tion  of  tho  roof  which  touched  upon  tlic  aper- 
ture. Yet  to  stay  in  this  gloomy  vault,  to  in- 
cur the  certain  penalty  of  starvation  or  discov- 
ery, vras  yet  more  iViuhlful  ;  and  Vusuf  having 
resolved  upon  at  lca>it  attempting  his  escape, 
when  night  should  have  fallen  upon  the  city, 
and  examin-ni  with  care  the  dau'^erous  acccB- 
Bories  by  whose  ineann  it  was  to  be  accom- 
plished, ultimately  turned  his  attention  to  the 
dead  body  which  lay  near  him. 

His  superstitious  tremors  were  not  lessened 
on  discovering,  from  certain  mysterious-look- 
ing articles,  carefully  concealed  about  the 
person  of  the  stranger,  that  he  wasakarabash. 
or  wise  man  ;  a  description  of  person  with 
whom  no  good  Musselmaun  ever  desires  to 
meddle  in  a  hostile  manner.  '•  Y'AUah — in 
tlie  name  of  the  Prophet !  Is  this  my  work  T' 
murmured  the  aga  to  himself:  "  Haremzadch 
— ill-born  that  I  am  !  Was  it  not  enough  that 
I  should  sec  my  brother  hung  like  a  dog.  and 
swinging  in  the  wind — and  be  hunted  throuLih 
the  streets  of  the  city  like  a  wild  beast  by  tiie 
yelling  cowards  who  once  kissed  the  dust  from 
my  slippers:  but  I  jnust  myself  thro^^■'dirt 
upon  the  grave  of  mv  father,  and  slay  a  kara- 
bash?" 

And  he  rocked  himself  to  and  fro  for  several 
minutes,  as  he  sat  beside  the  body  of  his  vic- 
tim, uttering  the  low  '•  Anian  !  anulii  I — alas! 
alas  !"'  of  a  stricken  spirit:  while  at  intervals 
he  started  in  atTright.  as  the  echoes  of  the 
vault  flung  back  tiie  lamentation  like  the 
mocking  of  fiends  ! 

Gradually,  however,  he  recovered  from  his 
panic,  -with  the  et*nal  kismet  of  liis  faith : 
and  he  then  proceeded  to  strip  the  body  of  the 
karabash,  and  to  attire  him.self  in  the  dead 
man's  garments,  after  which  he  carefully 
dressed  the  coqisc  in  his  own,  ere  he  indulged 
himself  with  a  more  detailed  survey  of  his  new- 
ly appropriated  possessions. 

The  shawl  which  had  formed  the  turban  of 
the  karabash.  was  coarse  in  texture,  and  unin- 
viting in  appearance  :  but  as  the  aga  with- 
"rew  it.  ami  began  to  wind  it  about  his  own 
ead,   several   pieces  of  large   gold  coin  fell 
rom  amid  its  folds,  to  the  extreme  gratifica- 
on  of  Yusuf,  who  saw  in  them  a   possible 
cans  of  escape  from  the  terrors  of  the  bloou- 
renched  city.     In  a   few  moments  the   di.s- 
nise  was   perfect  :    and  having  squared   his 
ard   with  a   knife   which  he   carried  in  liis 
rdle,  the  aga  of  the  Jani.'-saries  wait  conhcious 
at  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  ho  might  pajw 
nsuspected . 

A  few  papers,  which  Yueuf  wan  unable  to 
eciphcr.  but  which,  prudently  rcmcJnbcrinK 
at  should  he  leave  them  in  the  vault  they 
night  lead  to  hi.s  own  detection,  he  resolved 
m  carryinc  away  ;  and,  save  these,  a  tobacco- 
)urse  of  the  mont  common  description,  and  a 
;haplet  of  ccdar-wofxl,  a  few  paras  carefully 
icd  up  in  a  little   bag,   and  a  small  box  of 


black  dye,  con.-^liluted  all  tho  persona!  cfTecta 
of  the  dead  man  ;  and  piously  exclaiming 
"Allah  buyilk  der — (JihI  is  great!"  Yusuf 
had  soon  emptied  the  box  of  dye  over  hiB 
beard  and  mustaches. 

These  arningeiueiits  matle.  the  aga  had  no 
otiier  occupation  lor  the  reniainini;  liours  of 
daylight  than  silting  on  the  damp  earth,  and 
commending  the  souls  of  the  sultan,  his  pashaa, 
end  his  yuzbashis  (captains)  to  the  keeping  of 
Satan;  spitting  upon  the  graves  of  their  an- 
cestors: and  branding  themselves  and  their 
relatives  with  all  (he  opprobrious  epithets  with 

Which  his  laimuau'c  is  rife;  until,  as  time 
wore  on,  his  bittiTiiess  slowly  yielded  place  to 
gentler  and  fonder  fceliniis  :  and  his  tliou^hta 
recurred  to  Omar — to  his  brother — and  then, 

I  burying  his  face  in  liis  hands,  the  fierce  Jan- 
issary, the  blood-thirsty  Aga,  the  remorseleas 
Moslem,  wept ! 

'Allah  !  Allah!  It  is  liard  to  bear:"  h« 
murmured  ;  "  but  who  am  I  that  I  should  rebel 
against  the  Prophet  of  the  Faithlul  ?  Sen 
ektiar  der — you  are  the  master  :  Sen  bilirserv — 
you  know  best.     Beeau.vc    I   sit   down   beside 

'  the  dried-up  fountain,  shall  tho  spring  well 
out  afresh?  If  I  say  that  my  caique  Bhatl 
travel  westward,  will  tho  wind  blow  from 
Mecca  to  fill  her  sails  ?'  And  again  the 
stroiiu  man  wept :  but  this  time  it  was  in  a 
sadder  and  a  calmer  spirit. 

Other  visions  L'rew  upon  him  as  he  lingered 
there.     Mis  mother  had   wooed  a  fair  young 

I  bride  to  his  home  :  yet  another  week  and  she 
was  to  have  been  hi.^ — the  lii-ht  of  his  eyea, 

'and  the  day-beam  of  his  existence.  Where 
wa,s  she  now  ?  and  by  whom  would  she  be 
won?  A  shadow  fell  upon  his  brow  which 
danger  had  never  called  there,  for  all  waa 
over;  he   had   no    longer  a  home — .should  he 

'even  es-cape.  he  must  live  an  exile,    and    die 

I  a  stranger  to  his  own  land ;  the  '•  (^aptain  of 
a  Hundred "  was  a  crouching  fugitive,  for 
whom  the  brand  and  the  bowstring  were  alike 
ready.  The  cldtst  born  of  his  hou-e  was  pro- 
scribed and  pursued — Yusuf  ,\gn  was  no  more 

, — there  remained  only  the  trembling  and  tor- 
ture menaced  victim  of  a  new  creed. 

Not  a  ray  broke  uero.-^s  the  murky  tky  of  his 

'  fortunes  ;  not  a  hope  gleamed  u|>on  his  future 
— he  wait  a  doomed  man ;  and  for  a  mo^ient 
the  bold  aga  resolved  to  rctnaiii  and  abid«  hii 
fate  ;  but  as  the  deep  darkncs  suddenly  fell 
around  him,  after  that  brief  and   nimoht  im- 

I  perceptible  twilight  which  in  th.>  east  endures 

i  but  for  a   moment,  other   lhoui;hlH  and  feara 

'  grew  upon  him — positive  dmi:;er  and  suponiti- 

I  lious  terrorH  became  blended  in  Ins  ima);ina- 
tion  ;  he  dreaded  discovery,  and  shrank  appal- 

lied  at  every  gust  of  wind  whi<h  |>cn<-tratcd 
into  the  vault :  wlulo  a  inomciit  utter,  (he 
deep  stillness  well  nigh  niaddenrd  him;  and 
he  jieo'pled  tho  fearful  space  with  .shadowleea 

I  forms,  and  the  tall  columns  wore  to  his  oref- 


96 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


heated  fancy  the  semblance  of  gaunt  and 
death-like  phantoms. 

It  was  after  one  of  these  intervals  of  intense 
and  solemn  terror  tiiat  he  sprang  hurriedly 
from  the  earth,  and  resolved  to  incur  any  risk, 
rather  than  endure  a  recurrence  of  sucli  mad- 
dening emotions.  Even  in  tlic  darkness  he 
turned  away  from  the  spot  whereon  he  knew 
that  the  dead  karabasli  was  stretched  ;  and 
following  the  wall  with  his  hands,  he  felt  the 
fresh  air  breathing  upon  his  brow  from  above, 
and  at  once  commenced  his  perilous  ascent. 

"La  illaha  illallah — there  is  but  one  Al- 
lah !"  whispered  the  wretched  man  between 
his  clenched  teeth,  as  he  endeavored  to  secure 
a  footing  in  the  interstices  of  the  masonry  ;  an 
object  in  which  he  was  repeatedly  bafHed  by 
the  darkness. 

'•  Alhemdullilah — Praises  be  to  Allah  !"  he 
at  length  exclaimed,  wiping  the  drops  from 
his  brow  with  the  sleeve  of  his  vest,  as  he  ba- 
lanced himself  on  the  rough  edge  of  a  project- 
ing mass.  But  his  pious  self-gratulation  was 
only  momentary,  for,  with  a  crash  which  was 
echoed  with  friglitful  distinctness  from  the  in- 
nermost recesses  of  the  subterranean,  the  tot- 
tering stone  gave  way,  and,  in  its  fall,  flung 
Yusuf  violently  to  the  earth. 

"Lahnet  be  Sheitan — curse  on  the  devil  !" 
exclaimed  the  baffled  captive,  with  that  sud- 
den transition  of  feeling  which  among  the 
Turks  forms  so  singular  a  contrast  from  their 
placid  equanimity  of  manner  :  "  Allah  bela 
versin — Heaven  send  it  misfortunes  !  Do  tlie 
very  stones  wage  war  for  the  bloody-minded 
Mahmoud  ?  Am  1  to  be  balked  by  a  mass  of 
marble  ?'"  And,  with  renewed  energy,  he 
rose  from  the  earth,  and  once  more  groped  his 
way  to  the  aperture  through  which  he  distin- 
guished a  solitary  star  hanging  in  the  heavens 
like  a  lamp  of  silver.  The  aga  hailed  it  as  a 
good  omen;  again  he  put  forth  all  his  strength, 
and,  after  the  struggle  of  a  moment,  lie  secu- 
red a  safe  footing  in  the  chasm  whence  the 
last  stone  had  fallen.  With  his  eye  fixed 
steadily  upon  the  friendly  star,  he  put  forth 
his  arms  in  every  direction  until  his  hand 
came  in  contact  with  an  iron  staple,  whence 
a  portion  of  the  marble  frieze  that  had  once 
adorned  the  roof  of  the  vault  had  been  detached 
by  •time.  A  few  violent  etibrts  sufficed  to 
convince  him  of  its  firm  hold  upon  the  stone 
into  which  it  had  been  driven  ;  and  his  next 
attempt  was  to  swing  himself  suddenly  up- 
ward, in  order  to  seize  the  edge  of  the  ma- 
sonry projecting  over  the  opening.  Twice  did 
he  e.ssay  tliis  dangerous  exploit,  and  fail  ; 
while  the  blood  spouted  from  liis  nostrils  with 
tlie  shock,  and  his  hands  clung  maimed  and 
smarting  to  the  rusted  iron  :  but  all  the  energy 
of  his  nature  was  now  aroused,  and  he  did 
not  suffer  himself  to  pause. 

•■'  Korkma — fear  not,  Yusuf ;"  he  almost 
skouted  in  a  fit  of  temporary  delirium.     '•  Al- 


lah wills  not  that  you  should  die  the  death  of  ,  I 
an  earth- worm — On!  on! — a  bright  star  becb-  | 
ons  you — you  may  yet  live  to  revenge  the  I 
death  of  the  murdered  Omar."  , 

As  the  words  escaped   liim,   a  wild   blast 
swept  through  the  vault,  and  the  excited  Yu- 
sef  believing  that  he  heard  the  voice  of  the 
karabash,  aroused  from  the  sleep  of  death  by        , 
his  own  menace  of  revenge,  swung  himself        j 
once  more  madly  upward,  and  fell  on  the  rude        ' 
pavement  of  the  deserted  street. 

For  awhile  he  lay  stunned  and  motionless  j 
but  as  the  night-air  swept  lovingly  across  his 
forehead  he  slowly  revived  :  and  with  return- 
ing consciousness  grew  the  memory  of  his  je(v 
pardy.  Painfully  and  with  difficulty  he  rose 
from  the  earth — bruised  alike  in  body  and  in 
spirit ;  and  carefully  avoiding  the  more  fre- 
quented streets  whence  the  yell  of  blood  yet 
came  to  his  ear.  he  stealthily  made  his  way  to 
the  sacred  cemetei-y  of  Eyoub. 


CHAPTER  XLH. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  JANISSARIES CONTINUED. 

It  was  a  glorious  night  as  he  stood  there, 
on  the  hill-top,  among  the  quiet  graves  ;  but  > 
all  Avas  riot  in  the  bosom  of  the  disguised  Jan-  ■; 
issary.  He  was  alone :  far  as  his  eye  could 
wander  in  the  clear  starlight  he  could  distin- 
guish no  human  being  save  himself:  and  he 
moved  slowly  downward  among  the  tall  tombs, 
and  crossed  the  wide  and  deserted  street,  until 
he  paused  by  the  water's  edge — upon  the  lip 
of  the  land-locked  port,  whose  ripple  was 
ruddy  with  the  fitful  reflection  of  the  burn- 
ing pile  which  had  once  been  to  him  as  a 
home. 

"  Allah  buyuk  der — God  is  great !"  he  said 
passionately  :  ''  it  must  be  even  as  he  wills. 
The  clouds  are  for  the  wing  of  the  wild  bird— 
the  billows  for  the  monsters  of  the  deep — and 
blood  for  the  great  ones  of  the  earth — "  and  he 
smiled  bitterly  as  he  turned  away,  and  undei 
the  .shadow  of  the  tall  trees  which  over-canopj 
the  village,  stole  hastily  once  more  into  th< 
street. 

The  door  of  a  house,  about  midway  of  th< 
hamlet,  stood  partially  open  ;  and  after  th< 
pause  of  a  moment,  the  disguised  aga  passec 
the  threshold,  and  then  closed  the  gate,  anc 
secured  it  by  a  rude  bar  on  the  inside.  Al 
was  silence  throughout  the  dwelling,  and  th' 
wanderer  moved  onward  like  one  to  when 
the  locality  was  familiar,  until  he  reached 
chamber  in  which  a  dim  light  was  burning  i: 
a  lamp  upon  the  floor. 

The  room  had  but  one  tenant;  an  age 
woman,  half  buried  among  cushions  on  a  lo^ 
sofa,  and  .so  absorbed  in  grief  as  to  be  uncor 
scious  of  the  intruder's  presence. 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  THE   IIAUEM.  97 

"  Kh  '  ah  !  (lellii  dcr — they  are  madnion  !'  The  siniilen  Jar.ssary  Rhook  his  head  Lit- 
broke  at  intervals  from  her  lips.     "  Was  ii.  for  t'^vly. 

this  that  a  son  was  born  to  nic  in  my  oKl  aiie,  |  "  I  am  old  and  poor  ;"  pursued  the  anxious 
and  that  my  first-born  became  strong  in  battle,  paitint  •  'I  am  helpless;  and  therein  will  lio 
and  great  in  power !  Bana  bale — look  at  me —  my  strength — who  would  seek  ihe  man  of 
what  am  I.  that  I  should  be  childless  in  my  mii;ht  in  the  dw.'Uing  of  the  feeble  and  i;ray- 
weak  years,  when  the  yrave  is  du^  lor  me  haired  widow  of  Abdul  the  shawl-mender  ?" 
iinonET  the  faithful — Eh  vah  !  why  did  1  not  '' \e  apalntn — what  can  wo  do?''  ajsked 
lie  before  this  sorrow  fell  on  my  gray  hairs  !''  Yusuf  despondingly. 

And  again  she  buried  her  face  in  her  spread  '•  Wliat  can  we  not  do,  if  Allah  spare  us  to 
hands,  and  the  deep  "aman"'  of  utter  wretch-  each  other?"'  retorted  tlie  mother,  encouraged 
cdness  burst  from  her  quivering  lips.  by  his  partial  aequie.^ccncc.     "  Yusul',  my  son, 

"All  are  not  gone  !"' said  a  deep  voice  at  the  what  may  yet  happen  we  know  not;  Allah 
threshold  of  the  apartment;  and  the  mourner  hilir — Cod  alone  knows:  but  we  are  tauglit 
wildly  thrust  back  the  dishevelled  hair  from  not  to  tumiit  evil.  Better  to  live  in  darkne.>:a 
her  brow,  and  uilanccd  hurriedly  towards  the  than  to  die  the  death  of  blood — belter  to  crouch 
speaker.  "  The  youngest  and  the  fairest  has  beneath  the  wnvside  briar  than  to  lie  un- 
passed  away,  and  his  blood  is  on  the  head  of  sheltered  from  the  storm.  Stay  with  me.  my 
his  murderers  ;  but  Yusuf,  the  spirit-broken —  son  :  the  cloud  may  pa.ss  away  from  the  land 
Yusuf,  the  dishonored,  yet  live.*: — his  beard  is  — the  ba.sh  pezcvenk — the  vile  wretch,  who 
plucked  out.  and  the  grave  of  his  father  is  de-  has  brought  this  evil  upon  Ihe  children  of  the 
filed — He  who  was  an  Aga  of  Janissaries,  is  Prophet,  may  yet  fall  before  the  tire  of  vcnge- 
now  a  sakil-siz — a  no-beard — but  he  is  still  ance — and  then — " 

the  son  of  his  mother — and  lo  !  he  is  here."'  j  "AH  is  over  I"'  said  Yusuf,  with  a  calm- 
As  the  dull  eye  of  the  old  woman  detected  ness  of  despair:  "the  rest  is  but  a  dream, 
under  the  disguise  of  the  karabash  the  features  Haif!  haif! — .shame!  shame!  that  ihey  who 
of  her  son,  and  her  ear  drank  in  his  accents,  have  so  lonir  upheld  the  glory  of  the  failhlul, 
she  tottered  towards  him  with  a  faint  scream,  and  the  banner  of  the  Prophet,  should  be 
and  in  the  next  moment  she  was  clasped  Ibnd-  trodden  beneath  the  feel  of  dogs  in  the  city 
ly  to  his  breast.  street.s — a  by-word  for  giaours  and  infidels  !" 

"  My  son  I"  she  murmured;  "  my  first  and  And  as  he  ceased  speaking',  his  aged  mother 
fairest;    you    are   rc^^tored    to    me — T  <-im   no  caught    his   iiulT^nant  tone,  and   echoed    back 
longer  alone — Allah  has  preserved  for  me  my  "Haif!  haif!  — Shame  !  shame  !'" 
brave  Yusuf,  the  sun  of  my  evening  sky — my       The  joy  of  meeting  once  more  her  first-born 
aga — '■"  son  had  for  a  brief  time  effaced  from  the  mc- 

"  Hush,  mother:"  whispered  the  fujjilive  ;  moryof  the  aged  Fatma  the  loss  of  the  briaht- 
"call  me  no  lonser  by  a  name  which  is  but  eyed  Omar:  but  when  the  burst  of  delicht  had 
another  ierm  for  blood — we  are  swept  from  the  spent  itself,  and  that  she  had  lime  lo  recall 
face  of  the  earth — the  strong  men  of  power  are  the  words  of  Yusuf  as  he  entered,  the  fear  of 
no  more — "  death   grew  upon   her,  and   a  sickness  of  tho 

"  Chok  chay — that  is  much  :"  said  the  old  heart  bent  her  even  to  the  earth, 
woman  with  friirhtful  calmness;  "but  you  are  I      "And  the  ab.'-ent  one — 'she  gas|>cd  out, 
here,  and  to  me  bosh  der — it  is  nothing.''"  "  the  child  of  my  age — where  is  he  ?"' 

"Listen  to  me.  mother;"  urged  Yusuf,  as'  "Gardash  !  gardiish  ' — Brother!  brother!" 
he  relea.'^cd  himself  from  her  ejasp.  and  led  her  exclaimed  Yusut,  chispini;  his  hands  forcibly 
gently  to  the  .«ofa.  "  If  I  do  not  escape  from  together;  "thou  of  the  Ih-el  loot  and  the 
the  city  before  the  sun  rises  over  the  mountain  eaglc-eyc — thou  of  the  kind  smile  and  the  soft 
of  BulgTirlhu.  I  shall  never  again  look  upon  it  voice — thy  race  is  run — thy  gaze  is  dimmed 

— my   life    is    forfeit — Allah    es    marladek livid  is  thy  lij)  in  death  ;  and  thine  aeeenta 

Allah  preserve  you  !   I  have  come  but  to  say  will  be  no  more  heard,  save  by  the  houris  of 

farewell  to  you  for  ever  ere  I  depart:  I  have  Paradise." 

yet  time  to  fly."  I      "  Laillnhaillallah — there  is  but  one  Allah  !" 

"And  whither?"  asked  his  mother  earnest-  groaned  the  bereaved  woman.  "The  groat 
ly;  "arc  not  the  blood-hounds  abroad?  Do  and  the  mighty  of  the  earth  arc  beyond  the 
you  hope  to  escape  from  the  padishah  who  has  vengeance  of  a  mother's  arm,  but  they  arc  not 
vowed  your  ruin?  Are  you  maddened  by  beyond  her  curse — it  will  cling!  Yusuf,  it 
your  misery  when  you  forget  that  the  Jiu'ht  of  will  cling  ! — fell  and  heavy  is  ever  Ihe  cunM 
his  power  stretches  alonn  the  earth  from  the  of  a  broken  heart,  when  the  gray  ln-iid  and  tho 
east  even  to  the  west,  and  that  the  shadow  of  dim  eye  arc  bowed  over  tho  grave  of  the 
his  greatnc-s  lies  upon  the  deep  waters?  Sen  beautiful  and  the  yount'.  murdered  in  their 
chok  adam — you  are  much  of  a  man,  Yusuf  beauty  and  their  youth:  but  fellerond  heavier 
Aga;  but  there  is  no  sal'ety  for  you  save  in  still  is  the  malison  of  a  mother  |M)iired  out 
the  arms  of  your  mother."  jupou  the  fierce   heart  and  the  bloody  baud 

7 


98 


THE  ROM.iXCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


which  have  bereft  her  of  her  fond  ones.  Eh  '  Allah  buyuk  der — God  is  great !  1  have  yet 
rah  !  I  will  sit  down  beside  the  grave  of  iny  some  gold  which  I  can  leave  with  you  until  I 
brave  boy,  and  the  bitterness  of  my  spirit  shall  may  summon  you  hence,  and  offer  you  a  roof 
have  way."  in  my  place  of  exile." 

"  By  the  grave  of  Omar,  of  your  last-born,  "  And  what  will  be  gold  to  mc,"  asked 
will  you  never  sit,  my  mother  :"  was  the  slow  |  Fatma,  '•  wlien  I  am  bcrclt  of  both  my  chil- 
Tiply :  '■  the  dead  of  to-day  have  not  passed  dren  ?  Can  gold  dry  the  tears  of  anguish,  or 
from  earth  upon  their  cushions  : — the  brand  buy  a  light  heart  when  grief  has  bowed  down  ; 
and  the  cord  have  done  their  work — Omar  is  the  spirit  ? — Will  gold  give  me  back  the  days  , 
among  those  whose  grave  no  man  shall  ever  when  my  sons  sat  at  my  feet,  and  I  blessed 
find."     And  as  he  ceased  speaking,  Yusuf  cast   tliem  in  the  fulness  of  my  joy,  as  I  saw  them 


himself  upon  the  earth,  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  robe. 

"  Is  it  so  ?•"  said  Fatma.  while  a  fierce  gleam 
lit  up  her  dull  eye.  ''  Then  will  I  only  think 
of  him  when  my  heart  melts  at  the  grief  of 
another,  that  I  may  steel  myself  against  that 
mercy  which  has  been  withheld  from  me  and 
mine — and  for  he  who  has  w"rought  this  ruin 
— may  the  evil  Eye  smite  him  on  the  thres- 
hold of  the  mosque,  and  blight  his  prayers  ; 
— may  he  never  know  slumber  by  night,  nor 
peace  by  day — may  every  breath  of  air  which 
fans  his  brow  be  polluting  as  the  plauiie-wind 
— and  may  his  children  wither,  and  expire 
before  his  eyes  at  the  moment  when  they  are 
most  dear  to  him  !" 

And  the  stricken  man  who  lay  at  her  feet 
raised  his  head  from  the  earth  for  a  moment, 
and  responded  to  her  malison  with  a  hoarse 
"  Amen  !"  ^ 

It  was  again  the  old  woman  whose  voice 
broke  upon  this  second  and  frightful  silence  ; 
as  from  mourning  for  her  lost  son,  she  turned 
to  fears  for  the  one  who  was  yet  left  to  her  : 
"  Swear  to  me.  my  child,  my  brave  and  noble 
boy  ;"  she  said  with  startling  suddenness,  as 
her  thoughts  painted  in  colors  too  terrible  for 
her  to  bear  the  probable  consequences  of  his 
■discovery.  •'  Swear  to  me — you  who  are 
now  my  only  tie  to  earth — that  you  will  not 
attempt  to  escape — that  you  will  remain  here 
beneath  the  roof  of  your  dead  father — that 
you  will  never  again  venture  forth  into  the 
streets  of  this  accursed  citv,  whose  minarets 


tall  and  stately  as  two  cedar  trees,  and  beau- 
tiful as  the  light  of  morning  ?  One  is  gone- 
gone  with  all  his  glory  about  him,  to  the  grave 
— and  when  the  other  leaves  me  to  brave  the 
death  his  brother  died,  he  talks  to  me  of  gold  ! 
Bana  Bak — look  at  me  !  am  I  not  too  feeble 
to  outlive  the  loss  of  my  last  hope  ?" 

"  Hai,  hai — true,  true — it  is  indeed  hard  that, 
in  your  old  age  and  your  bitter  anguish  you' 
should  be  called  upoiUo  suffer  another  grief ^"' 
said  Yusuf  soothingly  :  "but,  alas:  my  mo- 
ther, there  is  no  atternative.  Inshallah  ! — I 
trust  in  Allah  ! — I  am  disguised;  and  under 
the  shadow  of  the  darkness,  if  I  am  prompt 
aiid  cautious,  I  may  escape.  Hinder  me  no 
then;  but  let  me  go  forth  with  your  blessing 
upon  me  ;  the  world  is  wide,  and  a  strong  arnr 
and  a  bold  lieart  will  never  lack  a  weapon; 
Bashustun — on  my  head  be  it  !  I  will  yet  makj] 
the  name  of  Yusuf  ring  in  the  ears  of  th<|' 
men  of  strength."  * 

'•  Chok  chay — that  is  much  ;"  replied  thii 
old  woman,  catching  a  portion  of  iiis  mo' 
mcntary  enthusiasm  :  '•  you  are  a  man,  am 
you  have  the  heart  of  a  man  ;  as  lor  you 
enemies,  haivan  der — they  are  animals — doL'- 
and  the  fathers  of  dogs,  and  I  spit  upon  tin  i 
beards — " 

"  I  will  go  forth  then,  mother;"  said  th 
aga.  attempting  to  rise. 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?"'"  exclaimed  the  asonizr 
old  woman  :  '-my  son  !  my  son  !  shall  I  iv 
die  as  you  pass  the  threshold  ?  and  yet.  no- 
net so — I  have    no  riuht   to  hold   vou  back- 


point  to  heaven  as  if  to  direct  the  vengeance  i  why  should  you  live  in  darkness  and  in  drem 
which  will  not  fail. — The  men  of  blood  are  '  when  you  might  be  foot-free  upon  the  mom 
ever  abroad  ;  let  me  not  have  to  weep  over  my  '  tains,  and  batliing  your  brow  in  the  clear  w; 
last  child  "  I  ters  of  the  valley  ?     Go  then— .since  it  is  be 

'•  Mother  ;"  said  Yusuf  as  he  rose  from  the  !  ter    so — go — oghour    ola — God    speed    you 
earth,  and   seated   himself  at   her  feet ;  "  Ne  I  Better  that  I  should  pine  in  my  .solitude  tha 
bilirim — what  can  I  say  ?     You  ask  for  water   that  I  should  see  your  bold  heart  breaking  froi 
during  a  drought  when  no  rain  falls  ;  and  for  j  day  to  day — Sen  ektiar  der — you  are  the  mn , 
pomegranates   when  the  world    is  wrapt   in  j  ter:  I  am  but   a  woman,   and  yours  must) 
enow.     Nc  apalum — what  can  I  do  ?     I  am  I  the  words  of  wisdom  :  but  lingernot  long,  n 
yet  young,  and  my  years  may  be  many  ;  can  <  son,  ere  you  .send  me  tidings  of  your  existenc 
I  pa.ss  them   in  darkness,   and  witli   a  ciiain  !  or  I  shall    be.  as  a  fountain  thai    is  dried  u 
upon  my  spirit  ?    You  are  old  and  feeble  ;  and  '  and  as  a  cypross  that  is  withered." 
since  Allali  look  my  father  to  himself,  I  filled  '      Anxious  to  avail  himself  of  the  remainii 
your  dish   with  pillauf,   and   your   cup  with  ■  darkness,  and  rejoiced  to  find  his  mother  in 
.sherbet — how  am  I   to   buy  rice,  or  to  earn   resigned  a  frame  of  mind,  Yusuf  hastily  pou. 
bread   to  support   you   and   myself,   save  by   ed  into  lier  lap  the  gold  which  he  had  Ibund 
escaping  to  a  far  province  where   I  am   un-  the  turban  of  the  karabash  ;  and  then,  foldii, 
known,  and  selling  my  sword  to  the  pasha?   her  to  his   heart,   and   breathing  above  her 


THE   KOiLVXCE   OF  TUE  .lAUEM.  99 

devont  prayer  to  AUali  (liai  they  might  once   the  widowed  woinnn  who  Miiiled  ninid  the  bit- 


more  meet  111  hapimies: 
back  upon  licr  ciisliioiis. 
house. 


lie    laid   her  penily 
lid  ru^lled  out  of  llic 


CHAPTER  XLUr. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE    JANISSARIES roNTIM'F.n. 

Not  an  hour  after  the  wretched  Yusuf  quit- 
ted the  roof  of  his  mother,  a  loud  outcry  arose 
m  one  of  the  most  squalid  streets  of  the  city, 
abutting  on  an  obscure  quay  frequented  prnici- 
pally  by  fishermen.  Tliere  were  -■rounds  of 
pursuit — shouts  of  fierce  threateninL',  minslod 
with  curses  of  baffled  hate  :  and  as  the  trem- 
bling tenants  of  the  neighhoring  houses  ro.sc  on 
their  sofas  to  listen,  they  could  distinguish  at 
intervals  the  name  of  Yusuf.  The  disgui.^cd 
fugitive  had  been  detected;  and  lie  was  now 
trusting  to  his  good  speed  to  escape  once  more 
from  his  enemies.  The  darkness  favored  him. 
for  the  chase  was  long  continued,  and  still  the 
cries  were  heard  :  "  Lahnet  be  sheitan — curse 
on  the  devil — It  is  Yusuf  the  Jani.>;sary  !  It 
is  the  bloody-minded  aga  ! — kiupek  I — kelb  ! 
— dog! — cur  !  Bash  pczevciik — lieadsman  !" 
every  opprobrious  epithet  was  in  turn  applied 
to  the  miserable  man.  as  he  fled  before  iii.s 
pursuers  ;  saving  the  breath  whicii  they  were 
exiiausting  in  in\*ctive.  for  the  mighty  cfTort 
at  self-preservation  to  which  liis  instinct  rallier 
tlian  his  reason  impelled  him. 

Again  Yusuf  escaped — again  he  stood  be- 
eide  his  mother,   and  her  hot  tears   fell  on  his 


terness  of  the  hour  as  hhe  received  Iuk  vow, 
and  lelt  that  she  wu.s  never  agnin  to  part  from 
him. 

They  were  yet  sitiing  side  by  side  in  8ilence, 
wrapped  in  ;;loomy  imaginings,  when  a  vio- 
lent knocking  upon  Iheoulerdoor  of  the  dwel- 
ling aroused  them  from  their  lethargy  of  prief. 

'•  So  soon  !"  exclaimed  Yusuf  fiercely. 
"  Have  tliey  tracked  the  wolf  to  his  lair  so 
soon  !  Rut  Iho  b<dd  Agn  of  the  .lanrasarics 
will  not  die  the  death  of  a  vile  animal  with- 
out revenge  I'  And  he  drew  from  bcnealh 
his  vest  a  gleaming  yataghan,  and  sprang  to- 
wards the  door  of  the  apartment. 

•' Yusuf  Aga."  said  the  old  woman  in  an 
accent  of  sudden  calmness  ;  "  what  would 
you  do?  Can  you  war  against  a  score?  or 
would  you  pollute  your  nuither's  floor  with 
blood — Sen  ehok  adam — you  are  much  of  a 
man ;  but  you  cannot  do  battle  against  a 
host." 

"lean  at  least  sell  my  life  dearly  !"  wa.s 
the  reply.  "'  Mother,  mother,  you  feel  as  a 
woman  ;  but  my  heart  is  Iho  heart  of  a  des- 
perate man.  Loose  mc  ;  and  let  me  al  least 
die  the  death  of  a  brave  soldier  I  ' 

•'Yusuf  Aga,  once  more  I  tell  you  that  you 
are  mad  ;"  urged  the  aged  Fat  ma,  whose 
nerves  had  become  suddenly  .•■tnum  by  the 
great  peril  of  her  son.  "  Arc  you  not  taught 
by  the  Koran  to  love  and  to  obey  the  mo! her 
of  your  youth?  Do  you  love  mc.  Yusuf?  do 
you  obey  me.  when  you  give  yourself  up  to 
the  bloodhounds,  and  sacrifice  my  gray  liairs 
to  foster  your  own  pride?  Think  y<.u  that 
they  will  s|)arc  the  aijed  woman,  when  tlie 
strong  man  is  beaten  down?     If  you  can  bear 


anguished  brow — and   this  time,   in  his  agony 

of  heart  he  vowed  on  the  KorSn  that  he  would  I  to  give  up  the   bo.som    Uj.on  which  \ou  lay 


never  leave  her  more. 

It  was  a  fearful  vow  !  The  young  strong 
man  voluntarily  resigning  him.^elf  to  a  long 
life  of  imprisonment,  and  the  never-sleeping 
dread  of  detection.:  coupled  with  the  certain- 
ty of  poverty,  and  the  probability  of  actual 
want.  But  Yusuf  was  heart-broken  :  he  had 
fallen  suddenly  from  a  post  of  responsililily 
and  power  to  a  position  the  most  cruel  :  lie 
could  no  longer  lift  his  head  among  his  fel- 
low-men, for  he  had  been  hunted  like  a 
noxious  animal  by  his  kind — he  slooil  alone — 
fatherless — brotherles.>; — his  very  name  must 
no  longer  exist — his  presence  beneath  the 
squalid  roof  of  his  mother  be  unMispecl<-.l, 
ksl  the  ruin  which  had  ovtriak<  n  him  should 


your  iiilancy  to  the  knives  of  the  butchers,  go 
on.  Yusuf  Aga  :  and  we  sliall  die  the  dculli  of 
blood  and  shame  together." 

••  Allah  buyuk  der — God  is  groat  !"  was  the 
reply  of  the  crushed  and  miserable  man,  as  he 
exti-iidcd  his  hand  to  tjis  mother,  and  followed 
her  bidding  as  passively  tut  an  infant.  *•  Do 
with  mc  as  you  will.'' 

The  anxious  Faliiia  awaited  not  a  second 
bidding'  and  in  the  next  moment  Yusuf  w;ui 
skilfully,  and  wiilnul  further  resiBluncc,  con- 
cealed beneath  ihu  cushions  u|)on  which  sho 
had  been  sitting. 

The  uproar  without  had  meanwhile  become 
louder  and  more  violent  ;  and  aiiihontalive 
eticHof  ••  Atcli  !   Ateh  ! — open  !  open  I  "  miiig- 


bc  drawn  down  on  her  head  also  I  Me  had  ]  lug  with  hoarser  shouts  of  ''Your!  Your!  — 
been  a  Janissary,  and  the  name  had  suddenly  •  slrikc  !  break  I — help  !  that  wc  may  foico  tliia 
become  a  death-warrant:  it  availed  Inin  crozy  door,  and  make  our  own  entruneo  to  Iho 
nothing  that  there  was  no  bleed  U|K)n  his  hand  ;  den  of  the  blood-hound!"  rang  throu::h  the 
the  popular  hatred  had  been  seconded  by  the  1  dciuijalc  dwellim: ;  and  the  trembling  Katma 
power  and  will  of  the  sultan,  enforced  by  liisj  had  scarcely  time,  alter  she  had  ccereied  her 
new  myrmidon.",  and  the  cry  of  destruction  I  son.  to  fling  a  shawl  over  her  head,  beloro  her 
was  on  the  wind.  •       chamber  was  crowded  with  strangi-  men. 

Nothing  remained  to  him  gave  his  mother — |      "  Y'Allali— in   the   name  of  the  rrophel ;" 


100 


THE  ROMA^^CE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


she  shrieked  out,  "vrithout  rising  from  the  ness  of  their  pursuit,  they  had  violated  one  ot 
cushions  upon  which  she  had  flung  herself  on  the  most  sacred  laws  of  their  religion,  which 
their  approach,  at  once  to  screen  lier  child,  enjoins  all  good  Musselmauns  to  respect  the 
and  to  deceive  his  pursuers;  •'  What  is  this  ?  privacy  of  their  women  ;  and  anxious,  if  pos- 
Who  am  I  that  men  should  break  in  upon  me  sible.  to  recover  traces  of  the  fugitive  ;  were 
and  fill  my  house,  without  leaving  me  time  to  satisfied  with  the  scrutiny  which  they  had  be-, 
cover  my  face  ?  Am  I  a  Frank  woman,  that  stowed  on  the  narrow  dwelling  of  Fatma.  and 
I  am  to  be  seen  unvciKd  by  every  dog  who  did  not  attempt  to  push  their  inve?tiuation 
wishes  to  eat  dirt,  and  to  show  his  prowess  by  further,  and  to  rouse  the  indignant  woman  to 
wronging  the  widow  and  the  afflicted  !  Wliat  any  loud  and  public  expostulation  or  corn- 
seek  ye  here  ?     Bana  bak — look  at  me — what  plaint. 

find  ye  to  repay  you  for  the  shame  of  commit-  In  a  few  minutes,  consequently,  the  house 
ting  violence  on  a  woman  whose  hair  is  gray,  was  cleared  ;  but  it  was  not  until  after  a  much 
and  whose  step  is  feeble.''  |  longer  interval  that  Fatma  rose,  and  taking 

•'  Yavash,  yavash — sol'tly,  softly,  mother  :"'  |  the  lamp  in  her  hand,  jealously  searched  every 
said  one  of  the  party,  as  by  the  dim  light  of  recess  throughout  the  whole  building  in  order 
the  solitary  and  untrimined  lamp,  his  com-  to  assure  her.self  that  no  spy  yet  linizered  be- 
panions  were  hurriedly  searching  every  nook  neath  her  roof;  ere  she  flung  back  the  cover- 
of  the  wretched  habitation.  ''  We  mean  you  ings  from  the  face  of  Yusuf,  and  removed  the 
no  harm.  What  could  your  blood  profit  us  ?  cushions  among  which  he  had  been  buried, 
though  we  might  in  truth  put  the  bow.-tring  "  Shekiur  Allah — prai.«ed  be  His  name;" 
about  your  neck,  were  it  only  to  silence  your  she  said  »^.evoutly  ;  •'  my  son  is  yet  beside  me— 
howling.  But  we  have  seen  that  bash  peze-  the  Prophet  has  heard  my  prayer.  But  you 
venk — that  wretch,  Yusuf  Aga  the  iron-lianded  look  not  upon  me.  Yusuf.  my  well-beloved — 
Janissary,  enter  a  dwelling  hereabout,  and  it  my  Aga  ! — my  heart  beats  quick,  and  my 
may  chance  to  be  yours :  so  te":l  the  truth,  breath  is  troubled — I  am  choked  with  joy  even 
mother,  and  we  will  not  only  leave  you  in  amid  my  misery — and  will  you  not  pay  me 
peace,  but  we  will  pay  the  service  in  j  ^'ith  one  smile  for  the  life  that  I  have  saved  ?'' 
piastres."  |      "  Mother,  you  know  that  I  love  you  :"  was 

Hoarsely  did  the  old  woman  laugh:  "  The  the  cold  and  despairing  answer.  ''It  was  my 
Prophet  has  not  so  favored  me;"  she  said  duty  to  obey  you.  and  it  is  done — but  all  is  now 
quietly :  '•  or  gladly  would  I  earn  so  easily  over — I  am  no  longer  Yusuf  Aga — a  brave 
that  which  I  need  so  much.  But  no — no —  man,  and  the  associate  of  warriors — I  am  dis- 
no  Janissary  will  ever  enter  here — What  liave  graced.  With  a  weapon  in  my  hand,  1  have 
I  to  do  with  the  men  of  blood  ?  Kiupek  der,  crouched  like  a  dog  before  my  enemies;  and 
— they  are  dogs — Delhi  der — they  are  mad-  owed  my  safety  to  the  sheltering  garments  of 
men — their  faces  are  blackened — Yok,  yok.  j  a  woman.  While  I  live.  I  must  hide  my  head 
dostoum — no,  no.  my  friends — you  do  but  [that  my  shame  may  not  be  read  upon  my 
waste  the  time  which  you  may  need  for  your  brow — and  when  I  die,  the  houris  of  Paradise 
pursuit — stay  here  as  long  as  you  M-ill — affiet  "will  turn  aside,  that  they  may  not  welcome  a 
ollah — much  good   may  it   do  you — but  you  craven  to  their  arms."  | 

will  find  nothing  more  bloody-minded  than  '"  Ouf  !  Ouf  !'"  exclaimed  the  mother  :  "  gu- 
yourselves  under  the  roof  of  old  Abdul's  zum — my  eyes  !  talk  not  in  a  tone  that  breaks 
widow."  I  your  mother's  heart ;  if  the  Prophet  waits  at   ; 

"  Aferin — well  done  :''  laughed  her  auditor  the  door  of  the  seventh  heaven  to  welcome  the 
in  his  turn.  "  You  at  least  take  your  revenge  souls  of  the  brave  and  the  beautiful,  shall  the 
on  us  in  words  :  but  we  shall  soon  leave  you.  good  son  be  shut  out?  And  now,  to  our  task, 
mother,  for  1  hear  the  tread  of  feet  upon  your  my  Aga;  we  may  again  be  visited  ;  we  must 
ciazy  stairs — my  comrades  are  returning  from  make  for  you  a  readier  and  a  surer  place  of 
their  search.  Before  I  i;o.  however,  this  much  lefuge,  where  you  may  defy  the  pursuit  of  the 
by  way  of  warning — whon  next  there  is  an; fierce-minded  and  the  revengeful." 
outcry  at  yonr  door,  open  more  quickly,  if  you  j  "  Even  as  you  will,  my  mother,"  said  Yusuf, 
would  avoid  suspicion — "  |  as  he  pressed  the  hand  of  the  old  woman  to  ' 

"  Ne  bilirim  ! — what  can  I  say  !"  returned! his  ^'Ps  and  forehead;  -'henceforward  all  shall 
Fatma:  "you  scarce  allow  nie  time  to  waken  be  even  as  you  list." 

from  my  sleep,  and  to  wrap  a  shawl  about  myl  And  Fatma  was  worthy  of  this  trustfulness; 
head,  before  you  burst  into  my  house.  Ma-  for  months  wore  on,  and  although  more  than 
shallah!  you  are  ill  provided  if  you  have  not  once  her  home  was  invaded  by  the  feet  of 
more  wit  than  patience  ;  and  will  be  balked  strangers  searching  for  her  son,  he  escaped  de- 
of  your  errand  if  you  judge  not  more  surely  tection  :  and  ultimately,  if  his  existence  were 
when  you  have  left  my  house  than  when  you  not  forgotten,  he  was  at  least  suff'ered  to  live 
entered  it."  j  in  peace  in  his  place  of  concealment.     Often 

The  search  had  of  course  proved  fruitless  :  did  he  yearn  for  liberty,  and  suggest  to  Fatma 
for  the  intruders,  conscious  that  in  the  eager- ,  his  desire  to  attempt  once  more  to  escape  into 


THE   ROMANCE  OF  THE   HA  REM. 


lol 


the  mountains,  but  she  ever  iliscounlcnaiiccd 
the  risk;  and  when  he  at  length  found  liini^elf 
unable  to  gain  her  concurrcnee,  he  made  a 
second  vow  tliat  until  liis  Ibrtune^  changed — 
a  circumslanee  that  could  only  be  acliioved  by 
a  new  revolution  in  the  empire,  and  which  was 
consequently  almost  beyond  iic.ie  ;  or  that  he 
was  carried  away  to  his  dislionored  grave,  lie 
would  never  again  trim  his  beard  nor  shave 
his  head.  Fatnia  heard  the  vow  with  thank- 
fulness, for  she  felt  that  he  had  at  least  bent 
his  heart  wholly  to  his  Ibrtunes  ;  and  a  sleani 
of  joy  passed  over  her  wasted  features  as  she 
remembered  that  she  might  yet  possess  the 
power  of  making  those  fortunes  a  shade  less 
gloomy. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  JANISS.\RIES CONTINUED. 

It  was  an  hour  before  noon,  three  months 
subsequently  to  the  fatal  day  which  had  ruin- 
ed her  son,  that  Fatma  Hanoum  having  occa- 
sion to  visit  the  bazar  in  order  to  buy  bread, 
and  to  collect  the  news  with  which  she  was 
wont  to  lighten  the  tedious  hours  of  Yusuf  s 
captivity,  turned  the  key  in  the  door  of  her 
dwelling;  and  with  a  slow  and  measured  step 
moved  aside  from  the  direct  road  which  led  to 
Stamboul,  and  followed  a  narrow  street  of 
some  length,  stretching  steeply  up  the  side  of 
one  of  the  seven  hills  on  which  the  city  is 
built. 

Arrived  before  a  hou.se  of  small  but  cleanly 
and  comfortable  appearance,  she  pau.'^ed  for  a 
in6ment;  and  had  she  not  been  closely  veiled, 
traces  of  great  and  violent  agitation  would 
have  been  discernable  on  her  countenance.  It 
was  indeed  a  terrible  moment  for  the  heart  of 
Fatma,  which  owned  no  idol  but  Yusuf.  (or  in 
it  she  might  perhajis  be  scaling  his  r\iin  ;  and 
she  painfully  felt  that  she  was  at  all  events 
■weaning  its  best  afTections  from  herself.  But 
the  mother  hesitated  not  from  selfish  motive — 
if  she  could  shed  a  ray  of  light  over  the  prL'^on- 
chambcrof  her  child,  it  was  cheaply  purchased 
at  the  price  of  her  own  regret :  Hlerncr  and 
more  terrible  misgivings  assailed  lier,  when 
she  found  herself  actually  on  the  point  of  exe- 
cuting a  purpose  on  which  she  had  pondered 
from  the  first  week  of  Yusufs  doiiiehlicution 
beneath  her  roof. 

*•  Inshallah — I  truat  in  Heaven  !"  t-hc  mur- 
mured to  her.-icif  when  she  at  length  raised  the 
knocker  and  beat  upon  the  door:  '•  Allah  will 
have  mercy  on  a  broken-hearted  mother — I 
•will  not  fear." 

The  door  fell  back,  and  as  she  crossed  the 
ihreshold.  .she  was  greeted  with  the  courteous 
*'  bonroQm"  of  the  slave  who  opened  it. 

Fatma  was  a  well-known  and  a  welcome 


guest  beneath  the  roof  of  Hai.lr  Hanoiun  :  and 
the  dark  eyes  of  her  pn-iiy  dauijliler  ever 
turned  lovingly  upon  the  widow  of  .Midul.  It 
was  long  since  they  had  lookeil  upon  her ;  for, 
durim:  the  last  few  weeks,  the  women  of 
Stamloul  had  feared  to  traverse  the  streets: 
and  it  was  moreover  known  to  the  friends  of 
Fatma  that  she  had  lost  her  two  brave  boy» 
on  the  day  of  the  massacre.  On  this  oeea>iion 
tlierelbrc  she  was  doubly  welcome  :  niui  she 
had  scarcely  reached  the  door  of  the  harem, 
when  its  inmates  uttered  the  kindly  '•  Kho«h 
gcldin — you  are  welcome" — to  wliieh  sha 
as  promptly  replied  "  Khosh  buldiik  —  well 
found—" 

Room  was  immediately  made  for  her  upon 
the  .sofa  beside  her  hostess,  while  the  fair 
SaVryn  seated  herself  at  their  feet,  with  her 
melancholy  gaze  fixed  anxiously  on  the  visiter. 
In  the  next  instant  the  elder  lady  clapped 
her  hands,  and  as  the  attendant  entered,  she 
said  softly — "  Chibonf|ue  cahvch  getir — Bring 
pipes  and  coffee."  And  when  her  guests  had 
partaken  of  the  sweet-scented  mocha  from  the 
fair  hands  of  the  young  Sairyn.  and  that  she 
had  applied  her  own  lips  to  the  ivor)-  mouth- 
piece of  the  chibouque,  and  pre.>icntcd  it  to  lier 
guest,  the  slave  withdrew,  and  the  thrc© 
friends  were  left  alone. 

'•  Alhcmdullilah — praises  be  to  Allah  !  the 
wife  of  Abdul  is  once  more  under  my  roof, 
and  upon  my  sofa :"  commen'ced  the  hostess. 
"  Evil  days  have  fallen  upon  us,  F'.ffendira  ; 
the  sun  has  been  hidden  beneath  a  cloud  ;  but 
Allah  buyilk  der — God  is  great — it  may  again 
shine  out." 

"  For  me  it  can  gleam  only  on  graves  ;" 
said  Fatma  sadly  :  '•  the  days  that  are  gone 
'  cannot  be  recalled  ;  who  siiall  give  back  the 
dead  ?" 

And  her  two  listeners  bowed  tlieir  heads 
upon  their  liands,  and  cchtfcd  :  "  Who  shall 
give  them  back  ?  ' 

I      ••  My  youngest  was  as  the  gazelle  U|)on  the 

mountain  ;"  continued   the  widow  ;  '•  licet  of 

'  foot,  and  graceful  as  the  blossom  that  bends  to 

I  the  south  wind  :   he  was  a  bcyzadeh,    the   son 

I  of  a  lord.     Stamboul   held  not  one  of  nouIciT 

bearing  ;  he  has  died   the  death  of  blood,  and 

there  arc  none   to  avenge  him."     And  again 

her    companions    bent   down,    and    murmured 

"  Chrtk  chay — it  is  hard  to  bear  !  ' 

'•For  my  first-born:  — "  pursued  Fatma 
Hanoum.  encouraged  by  the  voice  of  sympa- 
,  thy  :  '•  But  why  should  I  talk  of  liim  '  Was 
I  he  not  as  a  star  during  tempest  :  u  light  at 
midnight;  a  spring  in  the  desert  ■;*  Was  not 
his  name  mmhty,  and  his  arm  strong?" 
'  '•  Aman  !  amtn  !  alas  !  alns  !"  sighed  forth 
her  auditors. 

'■  He  was  fair  to  look  upon,  and  they  who 
knew  him  listened  to  his  words,  for  they  wera 
I  the  words  of  wisdom  ;"  agnm  hurst  forth  th« 
old  woman  ;  '•  to  her  whom  he  Ir  vcd  he  would 


102 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


have  been  as  lae  wild  vine  that  clings  even  to 
the  d-eath.  Think.  Sai'ryn ;"  she  said  sudden- 
ly, as  she  turned  towards  the  fair  girl,  who 
Bat  at  l»€r  feet ;  "  think  how  dear  the  Hanouni 
your  mother  must  have  been  to  ine,  and  how 
my  aged  eye.^^-  must  have  joyed  to  look  upon 
your  own  beauty,  when  I  sought  you  for  his 
wife,  the  wife  of  my  best  and  bravest — of  my 
son  Yusuf." 

A  smothered  sob  burst  from  the  gentle  girl 
as  she  listened.  '•  Haif,  half  !  shame,  shame  !" 
slie  whispered,  "  that  he  too  should  be  taken 
from  you.'"' 

"  And  yet.  better  so:"  said  Fatma  ;  "  better  I 
that  he  should  die  in  the  pride  of  his  beauty" 
and  of  his  strength,  when  he  felt  that  his  kis- 
met, his  fate,  was  bright,  and  that  he  was  be- 
loved ;  than  linger  in  disgrace  and  poverty  to 
be  a  by-word  and  a  scoff;  the  rejected  of 
those  to  whom  his  love  was  once  a  triumpli 
and  a  boast."'  1 

'■  Can  there  live  one  so  vile "?"  exclaimed 
Sairyn  in  an  accent  of  generous  indignation,  as 
she  raised  her  head  proudly,  and  swept  back 
the  long  tresses  from  her  brow.  •'  Lives  there 
one  whom  Yusuf  Aga  could  once  have  loved, 
who  would  desert  liim  now"?  Ajaib  !  won- 
derful !  Did  Allah  people  the  world  with 
reptiles?" 

-Guzel,  guzel — good,  good:"  said  Fatma 
Hanoum  :  "  you«speak  like  one  who  has  never 
Known  falseliood,  and  never  suffered  wrong  : 
your  heart  is  pure,  kizem,  my  daughter  ;  and 
your  words  are  pleasant.  Oh,  that  Yusuf. 
that  mv  son,  could  rise  from  his  grave  to  hear 
them  !'"' 

'■  Listen  to  me,  my  mother  :"  said  the  fair 
girl  ;  ','  I  w-as  taught  to  love  the  aga :  I  looked 
upon  him  when  he  knew  not  tliat  iny  eye  was 
at  tlie  lattice  :  and  I  needed  thenceforth  no 
further  teaching.  I  am  worthy  to  be  your 
daughter,  for  1  shall  never  love  another." 

The  glance  was  keen  and  searching  that 
Fatma  Hanoum  turned  on  the  young  beauty 
as  she  ceased  speaking ;  but  the  belhroihed  of 
Yusuf  did  not  slirink  beneath  her  eye.  "  She- 
kiur  Allah  !  praise  be  to  Heaven  ;"  she  said 
at  length  as  she  averted  her  gaze;  ■' I  am 
then  not  alone  in  my  grief :  my  aga  has  not  j 
fallen  unwept."  | 

A  bur.-^t  of  tears  from  the  melancholy  Sa"i"ryn  ' 
was  her  only  answer :  and  it  was  a  relief  to 
both  when  Haide  Hanoum  was  summoned 
from  the  apartment  on  some  household  busi- 
ness, and  they  were  left  together. 

*•  Come  hither,  Sairyn.  come  hither,  my 
sultana;"  said  the  old  woman,  as  the  tapestry  i 
curtain  fell  behind  her  hostess,  and  the  echo  j 
of  her  slippered  feet  died  aw^ay  in  the  gallery  j 
beyond  ;  "  You  are  wise  with  the  wisdom  of 
liper  age,  and  your  heart  is  as  the  heart  of  a 
peri  ;  I  would  share  with  you  my  joys  and  my 
Borrows,  for  the  sake  of  him  who  should  have 


"Speak!"  exclaimed  the  fair  girl;  "tor- 
ture me  not  with  caution  ;  speak,  Ekhi  kateti, 
there  is  something  I  Tell  me  all,  as  you  hope 
for  a  place  in  paradise." 

"  You  are  young  as  a  spring  blossom."  pur- 
sued  the  cautious   mother,  regardless  of  the- 
emotion  of  her  listener  ;  "  and  beautiful  as  an  *•    j 
houri  :  your  felech.  your  constellation  may  be       ' 
a  proud  one.     Who  shall  foretell  your  fate  ?" 

'■  Could  any  cunning  give  me  back  my  aga. 
the  light  of  my  eyes,  the  pulse  of  my  heart, 
I  would  laugh  all  other  grief  to  scorn,"  broke 
in  Sairyn;  ■•  my  heart  is  in  his  grave,  and  the 
sky  of  my  youth  is  clouded.  Talk  not  to  me 
of  my  own  beauty,  but  tell  me  of  your  son; 
though  the  tale  drown  me  in  tears  it  will  be 
welcome,  for  it  will  be  of  him." 

"  Listen,  then,  child  of  my  hope,  and  star 
of  my  evening  sky  ;"  said  Fatma  Hanoun,  in 
a  shrill  whisper,  bending  as  she  spoke  toward 
her  listener.  "  Utter  no  cry,  tell  it  not  to  any, 
not  even  to  the  mother  who  gave  you  birth, 
le.st  the  wind  of  heaven  bear  away  the  tale  to 
those  who  thirst  for  the  blood  of  the  mighty ; 
Yusuf  Aga  lives  !" 

The  warning  was  unnecessary ;  for,  as  the 
startling  truth  broke  upon  her,  the  gentle 
Sairyn  fell  back  senseless  i^pon  her  cushions. 
Yet  did  not  Fatma  Hanoum  yield  to  the  terror 
which  seized  upon  her  as  she  witnessed  the 
effect  of  her  intelligence  ;  she  rather  hailed  it 
as  a  proof  of  the  deep  and  undying  affection 
which  she  coveted  for  her  son;  and  with  her 
accustomed  self-possession  she  bathed  the  lips 
and  brow  of  the  unhappy  girl  with  water,  and 
soon  saw  her  recover  from  her  swoon. 

"  Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say  '?"  were  the 
first  words  that  she  gasped  out ;  "  T  am  his, 
heart  and  soul,  as  when  I  was  first  vowed  to 
him — But  we  must  not  whisper  this,  Eft'endi- 
mou — let  us  be  jealous  of  our  secret ;  say  but 
that  you  will  take  me  to  your  bosom,  and  I 
will  fly  to  share  his  griefs.  Nay.  deny  me 
not" — she  added  passionately,  as  the  aged 
woman  was  about  to  speak  :  "  I  can  under- 
stand all  that  yoti  would  tell  me — Yusuf  is  a 
prisoner — shut  out  from  all  commerce  with 
his  kind — debarred  from  the  light  of  day — 
wasting  away  his  strength -in  tears  and  dark- 
ness. Is  it  not  so,  my  mother  ?  I  am  pre- 
pared for  all  this — only  say  that  you  have 
room  for  me  in  your  lieart,  and  I  will  escape 
hence,  and  dwell  beneath  the  same  roof  as  my 
promised  lord — 1  will  be  the  light  to  cheer  his 
darkness,  and  tlie  comfort  that  sliall  dry  hifj 
tears.  If  my  own  heart  does  not  deceive  me, 
love  can  overmaster  destiny  ;  and  Yusuf  Aga 
may  yet  be  happy.  Only  tell  me  that  he  M-ill 
not  reject  me.  mother  :  only  promise  thai  he 
will  not  spurn  my  affection  ;  and,  from  the 
hour  that  I  enter  your  dwelling,  lie  shall  be 
my  world,  and  1  will  never  nurse  a  wish  of 
wliich  he  is  not  the  object." 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  ^AHE^L 


lOS 


self  at  the  feet  of  her  compnnion.  listening  for 
the  permission  to  bliglit  her  youth  and  her 
loveliness,  with  a  wild  eai;ciness  tiial  had  in 
it  something  almost  sublime. 

"  Allah  buYiik  der — Allah  is  great  !"'  said 
the  old  ivoman.  as  the  tears  streamed  from  her 
dim  eyes  :  '•  it  shall  be  even  as  you  will,  my 
dauiihtor  :  but  think  well  ere  you  determine 
on  so  desperate  an  act.  We  are  poor,  very 
]ioor — day  by  day  misery  and  want  arc  creep- 
ing oil  us.  and  we  know  not  how  to  .<tay  their 
steps — Yet,  if  you  will  share  our  poverty — if 
your  love  for  Yusuf,  and  the  power  of  your 
felech  indeed  urge  you  to  the  sacrifice,  come 
to  me.  and  be  to  me  as  a  daughter  ;  for  none 
save  Yusuf  can  love  you  as  I  shall  do — "And 
.-he  folded  her  arms  about  the  generous  girl, 
and  they  mingled  their  tears  together. 

A  week  elapsed  from  the  visit  of  Fatma  to 
the  harem  of  Ha'ide  Hanoum,  when,  as  she 
sat  one  evening  in  the  apartment  which 
touched  upon  the  prison-chamber  of  Yusuf, 
her  eager  eyes  glancing  at  intervals  toward 
the  casement,  and  her  head  bent  forward  in 
the  attitude  of  listening,  a  low  signal,  for  which 
she  had  evidently  been  prepared,  sounded  from 
below,  and  she  hurriedly  rose  from  her  sofa 
to  obey  it.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  until  she 
returned  to  her  accustomed  station  :  and  then 
a  low  burst  of  passionate  joy  escaped  her.  as 
she  threw  herself  on  the  neck  of  a  shrouded 
figure  by  which  she  had  been  followed. 

"Is  all  well,  mother?''  asked  a  sweet  and 
tremulous  voice  ;  "  does  the  Aga  Effendi  know 
of  my  coming  ?  and  may  I  meet  him  without 
fear  ?  Tell  me  truly,  lest  I  die  of  shame  be- 
neath his  frown — " 

"  He  knows  not  of  your  resolve  :''  answered 
the  mother  ;  "  how  could  I  dare  to  make  his 
heart  leap  with  joy  ere  I  was  assured  that  you 
■would  not  repent  ?  But  Shekiur  Allah — praise 
be  to  Allah,  you  are  here  :  and  he  will  share 
the  joy  of  paradise  when  he  learns  the  great- 
ness of  your  love." 

The  trembling  girl  heard  no  more.  She 
sank  upon  the  floor  wuh  her  face  buried  in 
her  cloak,  and  her  breath  came  thick  and  fa.vt 
as  she  sobbed  out:  "  Eh  vah  I  was  this  well 
done?  Shall  I  not  be  les.s  than  nothing  in  his 
sight  when  he  first  looks  upon  me  ?" 

"  Allalia  cs  inarladck — Heaven  preserve 
you,  my  daushtcr  ;  '  was  the  soothing  reply  ; 
"  the  earth  holds  nothing  so  dear  ai*  you  will 
be  to  Yusuf.  Have  you  not  resigned  every 
thing  lor  his  sake  ?"  and,  as  ^hc  Hpokc,  hho 
•withdrew  the  mantle  of  the  weeping  girl,  and 
seated  her  gently  upon  the  sofa. 

"Khosh  geldin.  you  arc  welcome;  a  thou- 
*nd  times  welcome  !  and  were  thi»  [loor  hovel 
Ihe  scrail  of  a  sultan,  still  should  you  be  its 
Biistfess.  And  now.  hearken,  my  dnushter — 
•Yusuf  is  not  far  distant ;  he  can  even  hear  the 
Inurmur  of  our  voice.s  ;  and  I  will  Kj)enk  to 
ium — "  and  approaching  the  wall  of  the  apart- 


'  mentshe  .said  in  a  louder  tone  :  "  Korkma,  fear 
I  not,  my  .son,  altiiough  1  am  not  alone  :  lor  tlio 
first  lime  it  is  the  voice  of  a  friend  which 
I  comes  to  you  in  your  prison  ;  even  of  one  who 
loves  you." 

'  •' Kim  boo — who  is  that?'"  was  tli.'.  bitter 
and  incredulous  rejoinder  ;  who  is  there  on 
earth  save  yourself  who  now  wastes  a  lliought 
on  the  wretched  Yusuf?"' 

''Whom  would  you  that  it  should  be?" 
asked  the  old  woman,  as  calmly  as  her  joy 
would  permit  her  to  put  the  question. 
I  "  Alas  !  1  know  not  :''  said  the  despairing 
prisoner.  '-Those  whom  I  lo red  havn  fallen 
I  from  inc.  or  have  been  murJeied  before  my 
'  eyes  ;  there  lives  not  one  on  earth  whom  I  now 
I  desire  to. --ee  :  save,  indeed,  the  maiden  who 
should  have  been  my  bride,  and  that  can 
never  be — " 

*'  Tchabouk,  tchabouk — quick,  quick — let 
me  fly  to  your  feet,  Agamou — my  Aga — "  al- 
most shrieked  the  excited  Sairyn.  as  the  words 
reached  her  car ;  "  say  not  that  it  can  never 
be,  for  I  am  here  !" 


CIIAI'TKU  XLV. 

THE    LAST    OK    THK  JANISSARIES — CONTIMED. 

Two  years  passed  slowly  by  :  and  a  wretch- 
ed group  sat  tog'theron  the  floor  of  a  narrow 
room,  divested  of  every  sign  and  apjdianco  of 
'  comfort.  The  ragged  sola  which  wa.s  it.s  only 
furniture,  stretchi'd  along  three  sides  of  the 
j  apartment,  and  revealed  no  longer  the  oricinal 
I  pattern  of  its  covering  ;  a  battered  and  discol- 
:  ored  brazier  contained  a  few  smoldering  ashes, 
i  totally  inadeciuate  to  their  purjio.se  ;  and  a 
coarse  eartln-n  pitcher  and  cup  stood  a  few 
!  paces  distant,  the  only  visible  mean  of  refresh- 
i  rnont  for  its  melancholy  wcupants. 

The  most  remarkable  individual  of  the  party 
was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  but  wu>ted  by 
famine  ;  and  with  a  thick  and  tangled  heard 
falling  to  his  girdle,  which  had  evidently  onco 
been  of  the  deepest  black,  but  which  now,  like 
the  elf-locks  that  e.^eajwd  from  beneath  hm 
idinsyand  well-worn  turban,  was  chccniered 
with  uray.  Meside  Inm  sat  a  woman  on  whom 
time  and  sormw  had  alike  wrouyhi  their  bit- 
ter Mill.  Her  brow  was  deeply  lurrowi-d.  and 
her  long  sharp  fi-atiires  gave  indication  of  a 
craving  which  had  been  oflm  unapiirascd ; 
.while  the  cloud  that  dulled  her  large  dim 
eye  spoke  a  despair  in  which  words  would 
have  been  h-ss  elofjiK-nt. 

But  there  wa.«<  yet  another  in  tlnit  miiterablo 
company  ;  the  strong  man  and  th<"  a:;i  d  woman 
had  not  paid  the  penalty  of  lominr  aiwl  ml^.•ry 
alone.  There  was  y<t  another,  whoji.-  uii.-nrtlily 
and  transpirent  beauty  mi;:ht  well  have 
charmed  tLc  gaunt  demon  from  his  prey  !     U 


104 


THE  ROilANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


was  a  young  fair  woman — so  young,  and  so 
fair,  that  she  seemed  rather  lii^e  a  dream-born 
vision  than  a  denizen  of  earth.  Her  dress  was 
scanty  and  squalid  ;  and  on  her  knee  she  pil- 
lowed a  dead  infant — a  miniature  of  her  own 
loveliness  ;  for  whom  the  fountains  of  life  had 
been  dried  up  by  the  gnawing  want  of  the  moth- 
er. Her  dark  wild  eyes,  flashing  with  a  fierce 
and  unnatural  light,  glanced  rapidly  from  her 
cold  burthen  to  the  face  of  her  wretched  hus- 
band, and  thence  back  again  upon  her  child ;  but 
only  by  that  quick  and  frenzied  look  did  she  ven- 
ture to  ask  if  all  were  indeed  over ;  for  she  fear- 
ed the  answer  that  his  quivering  lips  would  ut- 
ter. Suddenly  a  thought — a  memory — a  dream 
of  past  days,  flashed  across  the  mind  of  Yusuf 
— for  it  was  indeed  Yusuf  who  sat  beside  liis 
childless  wife — and  a  sickly  smile  gleamed  for 
a  moment  over  his  pallid  face. 

"  Mother ;"  he  said  in  a  low  hollow  voice  : 
"the  Prophet  has  gi>T...  ...e  a  glimpse  of  the 

past — we  may  yet  save  my  -wife — my  beloved 
one — a  whila  longer.  Well  do  I  know  tliat  it 
is  not  for  yourself  that  you  mourn,  but  for  her 
— for  the  self-sacrificing  woman,  who  has 
blessed  me  at  the  expense  of  her  own  misery. 
In  the  years  when  I  was  free,  and  a  brave  man 
among  the  warriors,  a  bey  of  the  palace  came 
to  me  one  day  for  gold  :  I  lent  him  all  that  I 
had  :  they  were  but  two  purses,  but  they  avail- 
ed him  much ;  and  he  swore  by  his  beard  that 
he  would  repay  them  when  I  claimed  the  debt. 
How  say  you  ?  Will  you  go  to  the  house  of 
Tasin  Bey,  and  say  to  him — '  My  lord.  I  am 
the  mother  of  Yusuf  Aga,  whom,  while  he 
lived,  you  loved  ;  I  am  old  and  poor — I  lack 
bread,  and  can  find  none — my  son  lent  you  two 
purses — will  you  not  pay  them  back  to  her  for 
whom  he  had  hoarded  them?'  " 

"  Yusuf  januiii — my  soul  ;"  faltered  out  the 
old  woman  :  "  it  is  so  long  since  you  have  had 
dealings  with  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  that 
you  have  forgotten  of  what  clay  the  Prophet 
made  them.  Listen  to  me  :  to-morrow  I  will 
enter  beneath  tlw  roof  of  Tasin  Bey,  and  I 
will  tell  him  that  I  am  the  mother  of  the  aga, 
who  was  his  friend  :  if  he  welcome  me  to  his 
home,  and  put  bread  before  me,  then  will  I 
remind  him  of  the  debt ;  but,  if  his  brow  be 
cold,  and  his  words  few,  I  will  not  peril  ycur 
pride  when  tlie  avowal  would  avail  nothing. 
The  debtor  wears  his  conscience  upon  his  face ; 
and  even  as  you  read  there,  so  will  it  be." 

"  You  are  wise,  and  1  am  as  nothing  before 
you  ;"  conceded  the  heart- worn  Yusuf.  "  Be 
t  as  you  have  said." 

'■  He  may  perchance  greet  me  kindly ;" 
?sumcd  Fatina,  her  hope  growing  more  strong, 
A  she  recalled  the  friendship  which  once  ex- 
isted between  the  young  noble  and  her  son  ; 
"And  should  he  do  so,  the  rest  will  be  sure  ; 
and  we  may  yet  have  rice  wherewitii  to  make 
the  pillaut  of  plenty  for  our  precious  Sairyn. 
For  the  babe  :"  she  added  more  sadlv.   '"  it  is 


already  a  spirit  sporting  in  the  garden  of  Para- 
dise,  and  sleeping  in  the  hearts  of  tlie  ever- 
blooming  roses  watered  by  the  liouris.' 

"  Speak  you  of  my  child  ?"  murmured  out 
a  low  voice.  "  He  is  a  hungered,  and  I  have 
no  food — bring  him  bread,  and  all  will  yet  be 
well." 

The  MTctched  man  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  groaned  aloud. 

"  Weep  not,  Agamou — my  Aga  :"  said  the 
fair  young  mother,  laying  her  dead  child  softly 
on  the  floor  beside  her,  and  approaching  her 
husband  :  "  I  have  no  hunger,  and  he  has  now 
ceased  to  pine  ;  why,  then,  do  you  grieve  ? 
We  have  sulTcred  much,  but,  for  me,  I  shall 
soon  fall  asleep,  for  I  feel  my  eyelids  heaA^-: 
and  you  will  not  awaken  me,  save  to  still  the 
wailings  of  my  babe  if  he  should  seek  forme." 

And  as  Yusuf  folded  her  to  his  heart,  she 
sank  into  the  deep  dreamless  slumber  which 
so  often  precedes  the  death  of  famine. 

"Allah  buyiik  der — God  is  great;"  said 
Yusuf :  "  but  this  is  almost  more  than  I  can 
bear.  Years  have  passed  over  me  in  pain  and 
terror,  and  for  myself  I  would  not  murmur, 
even  now  :  but  to  see  her  thus  !  What  can 
be  done,  my  mother  ? — think  for  me  ;  for  my 
brain  wanders,  and  I  am  as  a  child,  not  know- 
ing how  to  guide  my  steps." 

"  Bear  up  yet  this  night :"  urged  the  aged 
woman  in  reply;  "to-morrow  the  sun  may 
rise  unclouded.     Who  shall  say?" 

And  he  did  bear  it — and  early  on  the  en- 
suing morning  Fatma  Hanoum  folded  her  tat- 
tered cloak  about  her,  and  sped  to  the  dwel- 
ling of  Tasin  Bey  :  and,  de.«pite  the  jests  of 
the  idle  attendants  who  thronged  the  entrance- 
hall,  and  who  jeered  alike  at  her  age  and  at 
her  raiment,  she  waited  patiently  until  the  bey 
passed  through  the  apartment,  on  his  way  to 
the  caique  which  was  waiting  to  convey  him 
to  the  palace  of  the  sultan. 

"  Ne  istersiniz — what  do  you  want,  wo- 
man ?"  he  asked  impatiently,  as  she  placed 
herself  upon  his  path.  "  Do  you  not  see  that 
I  am  in  haste  ?" 

'•  And  do  you  not  see  on  your  side  that  I 
am  in  want?"  sternly  demanded  the  old  wo- 
man in  her  turn  :  "  I  shall  hold  my  lord  back 
but  an  instant  in  his  errand  of  pride.  By  the 
memory  of  Yu.su/  Aga,  wiiom  you  once  loved, 
I  come  to  conjure  you  to  look  upon  my  misery." 

"  Yusuf  Aga  died  the  death  of  a  traitor:" 
said  the  bey  with  a  dark  frown.  "  and  I  will 
not  that  my  dwelling  be  polluted  by  his  name; 
but  you  are  old  and  needy,  and  his  treason 
should  not  be  visited  upon  your  gray  hairs  by 
one  who  loved  him  ere  he  fell.  Step  aside, 
Eficndim  ;  I  have  yet  a  moment  to  spare  :  and 
you  shall  tell  me  the  story  of  your  grief." 

The  indignant  Fatma  had  well  nigh  vCnted 
her  disappointed  wrath  in  reproaches  when 
tlie  bey  commenced  his  address  ;  but,  as  she 
raised  her  eve   to  his.   she  did  not  read  there 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


lOf 


the  same  stern  expression  Avhich  sat  upon  his 
brow  :  and  slie  restrained  her  anger.  Obey- 
ing the  motion  of  his  hand,  she  passed  silent- 
ly iVom  the  hall  to  an  inner  room  ;  and  was 
shortly  followed  by  the  young  eourtier,  who 
cast  down  tlie  tapestry  curtain  of  the  door  be- 
hind him  as  he  entered,  ere  he  said  hurriedly — 

'•  What  is  this?  Are  you  indeed  the  mother 
of  Yusuf  Aga.  my  friend  ?  Why  do  1  see  you 
in  the  garb  of  utter  want,  when  he  must  liavc 
told  you  that  I  owe  him  gold  ?  Did  you  fear 
that  I  should  deny  the  debt?'' 

"  Y'AUah — in  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  no, 
my  lord:"'  replied  the  delighted  Fatma  :  "  but 
the  ear  of  the  rich  is  heavy,  and  the  heart  of 
the  happy,  shut.  You  ask  me  why  1  have 
been  dumb  so  long :  I  have  no  other  answer — 
na  to  ne — there  it  is." 

"  You  have  done  me  wrong."  pursued  the 
bey  :  "  nor  have  yon  judged  more  wisely  in 
betraying  your  errand  to  my  slaves.  Know 
you  not  that  the  name  of  Yusuf  Aga  is  to  be 
blotted  from  the  memory  of  men  ?  I  may 
doubt,  in  my  turn,  if  you  be  indeed  his 
mother." 

"  Inshallah  ! — the  debt  is  two  purses,"  was 
the  laconic  reply  of  the  old  woman. 

"  Hai.  hai^rue,  true."  said  the  bey  readily 
— '•'  and  first  I  will  deliver  to  you  the  pias- 
tres :"'•  and  taking  an  embroidered  purse  from 
his  girdle,  he  counted  the  coin  into  the  trem- 
bling hand  of  the  overjoyed  Fatma. 

"  And  now."  he  continued,  as  she  hid  the 
treasure  among  her  rags,  "  tell  me  of  your 
gallant  .son.  Often  have  I  \Nept  over  his  me- 
mory ;  but.  Inshallah — I  trust  in  AUaii,  I 
shall  yet  meet  him  in  Paradise." 

"  May  the  houris  be  long  in  pouring  forth 
the  sherbet  of  my  lord."  said  the  aged  wo- 
man. "  May  his  days  on  earth  be  many,  and 
his  sorrows  few,  for  Yusuf  loved  him  as  a 
brother:  and  nobler  heart  bled  not  on  that  day 
of  murder  than  that  of  my  noble  boy  !" 

"  Did  you  look  on  him  in  death  ?"  demanded 
the  bey:  "or  was  he  lo.'st  among  the  many 
■who  were  seen  no  more  ?" 

"  I  watched  over  him  beneath  my  own  poor 
roof,"  replied  the  mother.  '•  I  saw  his  bright 
eye  dim,  and  his  bold  heart  weak — and  yet  I 
live." 

Her  listener  paused  for  a  moment,  and  a 
strange  expression  swept  across  his  brow. 
"  Lingered  he  long  in  misery  ?"  ho  asked  in  a 
shrill  whisper. 

'•  Lonir,  Ions — look  at  this  withered  arm — it 
upheld  him  till  it  failed." 

Again  there  was  a  momentary  silence, 
which  was  broken  by  the  low  tone*  of  the 
courtier:  '-Mother."  he  said,  "you  arc  poor, 
and  need  sold — a  wild  fancy  hajt  come  upon 
me — I  could  almost  dream  that  your  son  y"-t 
lives  ;  if  it  be  so.  deceive  me  not ;  for  thus  he 
'tnust,  like  yoursf^lf,  be  in  want  and  misery. 
What  do  you  fear  ?    Did  I  not  love  him  well  ? 


and  is  not  my  hand  open  ?  Why  shmild  you 
cheat  me  with  false  words,  as  thou::li  1  had 
been  one  of  those  who  wrought  him  evil  . 
Nay."  he  added,  more  peremptorily,  "it  is  too 
late  to  throw  the  miintlc  of  falsehood  over  the 
garb  of  truth;  you  tremble,  and  your  IiimIr 
fail  you — Otonr,  otour — sit,  sil,  mother;  my 
friend  Vusuf  Tives  !" 

'What  shall  I  say?"  exclaimed  Fatma; 
"my  lord  is  as  one  who  has  stood  behind  the 
curtain  of  knowledge,  and  read  the  ciiaraelers 

jof  the  wise  men:  it  is  even  as  ho  has  said, 
Yusuf  Aga  lives." 

"  And  where?"  eagerly  inquired  the  young 
noble.  "  Tell  me  where  1  may  once  more 
look  upon,  and  listen  to  him  ;  my  heart  yearns 
to  my  friend." 

"  La  illaha  illallah,  there  is  but  one  Allah," 
murmured  the  mother  beneath  her  breath. 
'•  Yusuf  is  saved,  SaVryn  is  saved,  and  I  may 
go  down  to  the  place  of  tombs  in  peace. 
Aman.  aman — alas,  ala." — why  eame  not  this 
help  from  heaven  in  time  to  turn  aside  the 
hand  of  the  destroying  angel  from  their  pre- 
cious babe  !" 

"  Tell  me,  mother,"  repeated  the  bey  ear- 
nestly ;  "  tell  me  only  the  retreat  of  Yusuf. 
that  I  may  hasten  to  mingle  my  tears  with 
his." 

'•Nay,  not  so.  agam,  my  lord."  said  Efttma 
cravely,  as  a  chill  crept  over  her  heart:   "I 

jhave  already  betrayed  to  you  a  seerei  which 

was  scarce  mine  own:    more  I  dare  not  do  ; 

I  but  I  will   pour  into  the  ear  of  my  wretched 

'son   the   glad   story  of  your  kindness,  and   it 

j shall  be  then  even  a.s  he  wills." 

"To-morrow,  then,"  said  the  noble,   as  he 

'moved  towards  the  door;  ''  I  will  iiri:c  you  no 

'further  now:  the  heart  of  Yusuf  shall  decide 
the  rest.  I  am  high  in  favor  wiih  tlic  padi- 
shah,  and  who  shall  say  that  the  pardon 
of  your  son  may  not  be  won  by  his  early 
friend  ?" 

"  Allah  cs  marladek — Heaven  take  you  into 
its  holy  keeping,"  sobbed  out   the  Iransportid 

I  mother  :  '•  there  is  but  one  God,  and  Mahuinel 
is  his  prophet." 

1  '•  Farewell,  Eflendim  :"  smiled  the  bey ; 
"  I  can  delay  my  departure  no  longer  :  but  I 

I  pray  you  leave  not  my  house  until  you  have 
dipped  your  spoon  into  my  pillaut".'*  And 
clapping  his  hands,  he  summoned  a  slave,  and 
ba<l<"  him  lead  the  aged  F'atma  to  tin-  dix>r  of 
the  harem,  and  commend  her  l<>  lh<"  rare  of 
the    Wdincn,   that  she  might  not   depart    Iroin 

j  beneath  his  roof  fa«ting.     •'  Tell  not  your  «r- 

[raiid  to  any."  he  added,  as  lie  tiiriuil  to  div 
part  ;  "  there  is  yet  mucli  to  be  done  ere  the 
tale  be  bruited  in  the  city  streets."  And  ho 
hurried  lo  his  boat,  followed  by  a  bleh^ini; 
such  as  few  have  ever  broatln-d. 

Fatma  liaiiouirt  fenstcd — witliMtootl  the  tlion- 
saiid  questions  which  assailed  her  on  nil  ^idoH 
from  the  women  of  the  Bey ;  and  finuUy  set 


106 


THE  ROMAK-CE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


forth  on  her  return  to  her  own  %vretched 
dwelling,  laden  with  lood,  and  briyht  with 
hope.  Once  more  there  was  joy  in  the  prison- 
chamber  of  the  wasted  Ai^a — once  more — and 
how  cruel  a  proof  was  tins  of  the  utterness  of 
their  previous  despair — they  talked  to  each 
other  of  the  future — hitherto  they  had  not 
dared  to  do  it  !  With  such  a  friend — by  whom, 
even  amid  prosperity  and  happiness,  he  had 
been  unforgotteii.  for  what  might  Yusuf  not 
hope?  Even  the  childless  molher,  imbibing 
a  portion  of  the  delight  which  beamed  upon 
the  brow  of  her  husband,  pressed  her  stiffened 
infant  to  her  breast,  and  smiled  a  sickly  smile. 
Alas  !  none  could  give  her  back  her  dead  ! 

'•  Mother  ■.''  said  Yusuf  earnestly  :  '•  can  it 
indeed  be  true  that  I  shall  again  look  upon 
one  of  tiie  friends  of  my  happy  days  ?  It  as 
a  promised  light  from  heaven  !  It  is  so  long 
since  I  have  listened  to  the  voice  of  sympathy, 
save  from  the  lips  of  those  who  were  suffering 
for  my  sake,  that  I  know  not  if  I  shall  outlive 
the  joy  !  Delay  him  not,  my  mother,  lest  my 
heart  burst  with  the  suspense  :  lead  him  here 
to-morrow,  that  I  may  commence  a  new  exist- 
ence, and  feel  that  I  have  yet  a  tie  to  the 
bright  world  on  which  I  have  not  looked  for 
long  and  weary  yearsj." 

''  Have  you  no  fear,  my  son  ?"  ventured  the 
old  woman.     "  It  is  a  mighty  trust !" 

"  Does  he  not  deserve  it  at  my  hands  ?" 
asked  Yusuf  in  reply ;  "  I  were  base,  vile,  if 
I  could  doubt  him.  No,  my  molher ;  the 
Prophet  is  weary  of  our.  tears,  and  we  shall 
yet  be  happy.  And  you,  my  Sairyn,  my  beau- 
tiful betrothed,  who  have  lavished  on  the  cap- 
tive and  dishonored  Yusuf  all  the  love  that 
you  had  vowed  only  to  the  bold  and  favored 
Aga,  you  shall  be  as  the  light  of  my  eyes,  and 
as  the  pulse  of  my  heart,  when  the  beam  of 
heaven  once  more  shines  upon  my  brow,  and 
the  blessing  of.  Allah  is  upon  my  lortunes. 
Tell  me,  sultana  of  my  soul,  shall  it  not  be 
thus  ?" 

And  the  beautiful  girl  hid  her  face  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  murmured  out.  "  So  shall 
it  be,  if  the  Prophet  hear  my  prayer  !" 

The  eyes  of  Yusuf  did  not  close  in  sleep 
during  that  long,  long  night  :  but  he  lay  upon 
his  rude  cushions,  buried  in  sweet  and  retro- 
spective thought.  All  the  proudest  days  of 
his  strong  youth  passed  in  array-before  him. 
and  he  remembered  the  high  aspirings  and 
ambitious  hopes  with  which  he  had  been  used 
to  color  his  existence.  Hastily  he  reviewed 
the  liou"-  which  pro.strated  his  fortunes — he 
could  not  bear  the  memory — and  with  a  smile, 
mingled  with  a  tear  which  would  not  be  sup- 
pressed, the  picture  terminated  with  the  fair 
creature  who  was  pillowed  on  his  bosom — the 
victim  of  her  holy  and  earnest  love  ! 

The  morning  dawned  at  length — the  blessed 
day  was  come  which   was   to  restore   to  the 


hood;  and  the  hour  was 'yet  early  at  ■whicli  ^ 
the  aged  Fatma  started  on  her  anxious  expe- 
dition. She  tarried  long — or  it  seemed  long 
to  the  weary  watcher  whom  she  had  left :  but 
when  she  came,  the  tale  she  had  to  tell  repaid 
him  for  all  his  suffering. 

Kindly  and  courteously  had  the  Bey  re- 
ceived her  :  again  she  had  eaten  of  his  pillauf, 
and  drank  of  his  cup  :  he  had  listened  to  all 
the  story  of  Yusuf's  sufferings  ;  and  vowed  on 
the  Koran  to  terminate  them.  Already  had 
he  asked  a  boon  of  the  Sultan,  who  had  smiled 
upon  his  suit ;  and  Fatma  felt  that  the  boon 
could  be  no  other  than  the  pardon  of  his  friend. 
Affairs  of  state  detained  him  ;  but,  his  duty 
done,  he  would  hasten  to  the  prrseiiee  of  the 
captive,  soon  to  be  so  no  lom;cr;  rnd  mean-^ 
while  a  slave  had  followed  the  foot.-^leps  of  the 
old  woman,  and  then  returned  to  his  master, 
to  serve  him  as  his  guide. 

Again  and  again  did  the  happy  Fatma  tell 
her  tale  ;  and  the  theme  was  still  unchanged 
when  a  heavy  stroke  on  the  door  of  the  house' 
summoned  her  to  receive  the  expected  guest :  ( 
and,  hastily  snatching  a  shawl  from  the  sofa,, 
and  folding  it  about  her  face,  she  descended  to; 
draw  the  bolt. 

There  was  the  silence  of  a  moment:  and 
the  heart  of  Yusuf  beat  high  as  he  sprang 
from  the  floor  to  meet  his  friend.  "  He  is; 
here,  Sairyn;  janum — my  soul,  he  is  here!"' 
he  exclaimed  with  a  burst  of  his  former  joy-' 
ousness — but  his  transport  was  short-lived.; 
A  piercing  shriek  rang  from  below — it  was  the; 
voice  of  Fatma;  and  in  another  moment  the 
tramp  of  many  feet  sounded  upon  the  stairs  ! 

In  an  instant  the  yataghan  of  Yusuf  was  ir 
his  hand,  and  he  stood  glaring  like  a  rousec 
tiger  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  "  To( 
late  !" — he  shouted  in  his  despair:  ''Oh,  tha' 
you  had  not  tarried,  my  friend  !  my  friend 
Had  you  speeded,  you  might  yet  have  savec 
me  !" 

But  as  the  agonized  cry  escaped  from  th(' 
lips  of  the  doomed  man,  the  generous  drean 
was  at  an  end;  for  on  the  threshold  of  tb 
chamber  stood  Tasin  Bey,  surrounded  by  i 
band  of  armed  attendants.  For  a  moment  tli' 
arch-traitor  paused,  in  doubt  that  the  wretche* 
object  before  him  could  indeed  be  Yusuf  Aga 
For  a  moment  he  remained  paralyzed  will 
horror  as  he  gazed  upon  the  gaunt  and  haggar, 
wretch,  who,  with  elf-locks  hanging  niattci 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  a  tangled  and  loathe 
some  beard  depending  to  his  girdle,  hischeek| 
sunk  and  hollow,  and  his  eyes  bright  with  " 
tierce  and  blinding  light,  met  him  midway  o 
the  apartment  :  his  weapon  raised  over  hi 
head,  and  iiis  blue  and  livid  lips  parted  abov 
his  fast-clenched  teeth  ! 

Ere  he  had  recovered  his  horror,  Yusi 
struck.  With  a  yell  like  that  of  a  hunted  ss; 
vage  his  weapon  was  buried  to  the  hilt  in  th 


TIIE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


107 


ti  step  in  front  of  his  comrades  :  and  it  seemed 
BS  though  the  blow  had  loosed  the  spell  which 
Ihad  bound  the  senses  of  tiieir  leader  ;  fore  ere 
|the  desperate  aga  could  withdraw  his  weapon. 
Uie  bey  had  pronounced  the  fatal  word,  and 
instantly  a  score  of  ins  followers  rvi.vhed  upon 
their  victim.  But  the  soul  of  Yu^uf  appeared 
to  have  called  back  its  strength  in  his  last 
[nomeut  of  trial,  and  he  struggled  like  a  de- 
Doniac.  Suddenly  there  was  a  frightful 
pushing  groan — a  hea\'^'  fall  and  he  lay  sense- 
less at  the  feet  of  liis  persecutors — yet  no  steel 
lad  touched — no  cord  had  polluted  him — he 
ay  bathed  in  blood,  but  it  had  gushed  from 
lis  mouth  and  nostrils.  Nature,  so  long  ne- 
lected,  had  been  overtaxed  in  this  hour  of 
jassion,  and  he  had  burst  an  artery. 

When  they  raised  him  up.  he  was  beyond 
heir  power.  Allah,  in  his  own  good  time 
lad  taken  to  hini.->elf  the  Last  of  the  JaniS' 
laries ! 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

MMEDIATELT  after  the  mid-day  prayer, 
dien  the  intense  heat  tempted  a  great  portion 
if  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  to  spend  an  hour 
1  sleep.  jNIaniolopolo,  on  the  morrow  of  his 
isit  to  the  theriaki  teharchi,  again  bent  his 
teps  thitherward,  to  seek  an  interview  with 
he  a)  me. 

As  he  was  rich  and  generous,  he  met  with 
lO  opposition  from  the  master  of  the  tavern, 
rho  conducted  him  without  comment  to  the 
oor  of  an  apartment  which  was  veiled  by  a 
creen  of  dark-colored  baize  ;  and  here,  having 
ailed  loudly  on  the  name  of  Nevreste,  he  left 
laniolopolo  standing  while  he  shuffled  back  to 
is  rug  in  the  public  room. 

A  shrill  and  peevish  voice  was  soon  heard 
1  reply  ;  and  the  .slippers  of  a  woman,  hastily 
ssumed,  .sounded  upon  the  floor  behind  the 
creen,  which  was  snatched  a.side,  and  the 
oung  Greek  found  himself  confronted  by  an 
ged   and   wrinkled    woman,   whose    ma.ss   of| 

iry  hair  tiiequered   with    gray  had  escaped  i 
■om  the  confinement  of  a  bright  yellow  liand-  j 
erchief,  painted  in  gaudy  ma.>-.seB  of  color,  and 
owed  upon  her  shoulders ,  her  drcs.s  was  of 
uge-pattcrned   furniture   chintz,    girt   round 
er  waist  with  a  well-worn  cachcmirc.  which  i 
ad  once  been  costly  enough  to  cincture  the 
)ins   of  a  pasha;  her  trowBcrs  were  of  blue 
lu.slin,  to  which  a  few  paiclics  of  tarnixhed 
)il   yet  adhered  aa   if  in   mockery  ;  her  leg.n 

ere  bare,  and  her  whole  ap{>carancc  m)  cnm- 
oundcd  of  merctriciouBncHH  and  itqualor,  that 
laniolopolo  had  some  ditiiculty  in  nubduui); 
le  sensation  of  disgust  with  which  he  looked 
a  her. 

"Be  hey — what's  this?"  she  axkcd  Hharply. 
Had  we  not  enough  of  your  loud  brawling  la«t 

ght  to  brmg  ^own  the  codi  and  his   gang  , 


I  upon  us,  and  to  keep  us  wakini,  that  you  ro- 
I  turn  at  mid-day?  Go,  go,  elli-ndim,  iho  almo 
sleep;  and  tliey  have  need  lo  do  so.  f«r  they 
'  dance  to-night  in  the  harem  of  the  tchor- 
badji.'' 

'  ''  [  do  not  seek  the  almo;"  replird  Mnnio' 
lopolo,  gently  :  '•  it  was  yourself  of  wliom  I 
came  in  .search." 

The  crone  laughed.  "  Evallah — to  be  .sure  ! 
.so  says  every  young  haramzadeh  whom  I  find 
upon  my  threshold ;  '  mother,  it  is  you  I 
want  ;'  but  I  have  lived  among  thr  moun- 
tains, young  sir,  and  can  sec  beyond  the  flight 
of  an  arrow." 

"  May  your  eyes  never  fail  !"  whispered 
the  Greek,  a.s  he  pressed  a  gold  coin  a^zainst 
her  open  palm.  "  I  come  to  .seek  that  nf  you, 
in  which,  if  they  be  not  keen  and  quick,  you 
will  lack  the  power  to  serve  me." 

"And  what  wills  my  lord?"  af-k^A  Ne- 
vreste more  courteously,  as  she  fwi.^tcd  her 
long  hair  once  more  beneath  her  heiid-kLrchief, 
and  tiahted  the  shawl  about  her  waist ;  ''.sonio 
rose-bud  of  a  sheltered  tree  to  which  he  would 
fain  be  the  sunshine,  to  be  told  of  his  pa.><sion  ; 
or — " 

"Ajaib — wonderful!"  interposed  Maniolo- 
polo.  aflccting  surpri.se  at  her  di.«cernmcnt. 

"  You  have  indc(^  gue.'jsed  my  meanine, 
mother.  How  say  you?  will  you  undertake 
so  sweet  a  mission  ?  ' 

The  hag  replied  by  grasping  her  throat  with 
her  skinny  fingers,  and  nodding  her  head  sig« 
nificantly. 

"  Min  Allah — Heaven  forbid  !"  said  the 
Greek;  "you  are  too  keen  and  quick-witted 
to  incur  so  direful  a  penalty.  Listen  lo  mo  :" 
and  he  enforced  his  re(iuest  with  a  second 
piece  of  gold,  which  at  once  secured  the  at- 
tention of  the  old  woman  ;  '*  I  have  a  sister, 
a  slave  in  the  pa.>-ha\s  harem — " 

'•  The  pasha's  harem  !"  broke  in  Ncvrcjito 
in  afi'right ;  "  and  who  am  I  that  I  should  ven- 
ture into  the  hccret  apartments  of  a  satrap, 
and  carry  a  blight  to  his  roses  ?"' 

'•  Nay.  nay  ;  you  talk  idly  :"  said  Manio- 
lopolo,  iinpatii-nlly  ;  'do  1  not  tell  you  that  I 
only  seek  to  inform  my  hihler  of  my  vicinity  ; 
my  young  and  innocent  hister  ;  the  playmuto 
of  my  infancy  ;  the  delight  of  my  boyhood  ; 
my  bitterly- wept  and  regretted  sister;  my  only 
one  !" 

"  Humph  !  there  is  some  reason  in  that,  to 
be  sure  ;*'  muttered  the  old  crone,  while  a 
hhndc  of  something  which  ulmoht  Inoketl  liko 
feeling  flitted  over  her  brow,  and  iIhh  as  ^ud- 
deiily  disappeared  :  and  left  it  coM  unci  rigid, 
and  stony  as  before,  like  the  mnrliln  acroM 
whicli  a  struggling  sunbeam  lins  flickerc<l  for 
an  instant ;  '•  1  loo  \itu\  a  brother  once,  nn  ouly 
one,  as  you  say  ;  but  he  died — lie  wo*  cul 
down  by  an  Kgyptian  scimilnr  (may  the  arm 
be  withered  that  wielded  it !)  and  ii  woj.  years 
ago,  before  I  had  forgotten  how  lo  weep;  and 


108 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


by  the  soul  of  your  father,  I  shed  tears  enough : 
but  all  that  is  gone  by  now,  and  I  am  the  mo- 
ther of  a  troop  of  alme,  without  a  home,  or  a 
kinsman  :  living  among  gibes  and  blows,  and 
curses,  with  a  scanty  jiillauf,  and  a  tattered 
veil — but  ey  vah — mercy  on  us  !  what  dirt 
am  I  eating  to  talk  thus?  The  seal  is  set 
upon  every  man's  forehead  at  his  birth,  and 
as  it  was  written,  it  will  be.  Bana  bak — look 
at  me.  young,  sir ;  do  I  not  seem  like  one  who 
can  bear  a  heavy  burden  yet  without  falling 
under  it  ?''  And  the  bitter  laugh  with  which 
she  directed  the  attention  of  Maniolopolo  to 
her  squalid  wretchedne^^s  rang  painfully  on 
his  ear.  as  he  attempted  to  murmur  out  some 
commonplace  about  better  days  and  a  brighter 
fate. 

"  Tush,  tush  :"  interposed  the  old  woman, 
•with  a  wild  smile ;  •'  string  no  fine  sentences 
together  to  hang  upon  my  rags  :  foucaralk 
chanumdr — poverty  is  my  glory.  You  young 
beyzadehs  know  nothing  of  the  gay  immunity 
of  poverty.  It  is  your  great  men  who  are 
slaves  ;  while  we.  the  refuse  of  the  city,  the 
•wanderers  of  the  land,  the  outcasts  of  society, 
■we  are  the  free  ;  no  codgea-bashi  lifts  the  latch 
of  our  dwellings  to  collect  tribute;  no  latticed 
and  boiled  harem  fetters  our  will ;  no  saraf 
ever  runs  away  with  our  hoarded  gold  ;  we 
come  and  go  as  we  list ;  our  teskara  (passport) 
needs  no  signature  but  our  own  ;  and  every 
hedge-side  or  empty  tomb  is  a  menzil  khaneh 
(post-hou.<e)  equal  to  our  wants.  So  no  more 
sugared  words  to  Nevreste,  who  is  as  much 
beyond  the  pity  of  every  stranger  with  whom 
Bhe  comes  in  contact  during  her  roving  life,  as 
she  is  indisposed  to  accept  it.  Gold  !  young 
sir ;  let  your  consolation  be  offered  in  gold — 
that  is  a  universal  language,  never  misunder- 
stood. And  now  to  business  :  what  would 
you  ask  of  me  ?" 

"  My  request  is  simple  :  I  •would  see  my  sis- 
ter, and  I  seek  from  you  the  opportunity  of 
doing  so." 

'•  Mashallah  !  is  that  all  ?  You  would  lift 
the  screen,  and  tread  the  carpets  of  a  pasha's 
harem  !  You  are  mad,  stark  mad.  the  veriest 
delhiba.shi — prince  of  madmen,  in  the  province. 
Have  you  no  desire  to  wear  a  gray  beard,  that 
you  give  the  measure  of  your  throat  so  early  ? 
I  will  not  work  for  your  ruin,  you  are  too 
young  and  too  handsome  for  the  bowstring." 

'•Allah  kerim— He  is  merciful  !"  said  Ma- 
niolopolo :  •'  I  trust  in  him." 

"  Allah  !  Allah  !  yes,  yes  :"  replied  the  old 
crone  peevishly  ;  "  but  let  your  words  and 
your  actions  be  alike  reasonable ;  throw  the 
mantle  from  your  iiead,  and  see  clearly  for 
once  ;  and  then  I  shall  hear  no  more  of  the 
pasha's  harem." 

"  I  am  resolved ;"  said  the  young  Greek 
moodily. 

"  And  will  you  8-wear  to  this  stoiy  of  the 
Bister  ?" 


"  1  will." 

'•  And  her  name  is ?" 

''  Katinka ;"'  replied  Maniolopolo  :  "  by  birth 
i  a  Sciote.  but  long  dwelling  in  Circa.«.«ia." 
j      '•  What  do  you  tell  me  !"   exclaimed  Nev- 
re.<te  hastily  ;  ''  are  you  indeed  the  brother  of 
tlie  young  Greek  slave  of  whom  I  have  heard 
so  much — Ajaib — wonderful  !     They  say  that 
I  siie  reads  the  Koran  like  a  Moullah,  MTites 
verses  which  would  not  disgrace  a  Hafiz,  sings 
like  a  buibul,  and  dances  like  one  of  my  own 
almu.     Young  sir,   by  the  grave  of  your  mo- 
ther, is  all  this  true  ?" 

I  '-AH:"  said  Maniolopolo;  "and  she  has 
moreover  the  warmest  heart  and  the  quickest 
wit  in  all  Houm  :*  and  the  brightest  eye,  and 
the  lightest  foot.  How  say  you  ?  Will  you 
not  assist  me  in  looking  on  her  once  more  ?" 

"  Ne  apalum — what  can  I  do  ?     I  have  re- 

i%eived  no  summons  from  the  pasha  :  and  how. 

may  I  present  myself  unbidden  at  the  palace?'' 

'•  Nay  !  now  you  laugh  at  my  beard  :"  gaid 

the  young  Greek ;  '•  have  you  not  in  your  banc. 

one  of  the  loveliest  houri  out  of  paradise ;  anci 

would  not  a  hint  to  the  Aga  Baba — "  ' 

'•  Yavash,  yavash— softly,  softly.  EfTendim;" 

interposed  Nevreste ;  "  I  wish  to  draw  (he  eyei 

of  no  aga  baba  in  the  country  on  the  beaiitifu 

.Mherpirwir  ;t  she  is  to  me  as  the  purjile  lily; 

a  rare  and  precious  thing  ;  and  I  love  her  lik> 

a  mother;   there  is  no  maiden  in  the  brighl 

band  so  dear  to  me  as  Mherpirwir." 

■•  Did  you  call  me,  mother  ?"'  asked  a  s^v 
voice,  as  the  coarse  screen  was  drawn  asi 
and  a  face  as  fresh  and  fair  as  a  May  morniu 
suddenly  appeared  behind  it ;  '•  I  am  here."  '' 
'■  Nay,  nay ;"  said  the  old  woman,  hastil 
but  not  unkindly;  ''I  want  you  not,  kizen 
my  daughter ;  I  called  you  not ;  is  it  ever  thu 
with  you,  while  the  others  sleep,  you  watcb^ 
while  the  others  idle,  you  toil  for  all.  Go  ii, 
Mherpirwir,  go  in  ;  I  have  business  with  tl 
Effendi.  and  shall  be  with  you  presently." 

The  fair  girl  bent  her  head  in  token  of  obii 
dience.  but  ere  she  retired,  cast  one  hurn* 
glance  at  the  stranger  ;  their  eyes  met.  . 
1  tliuse  of  the  young  beauty  fell  before  the  > .. 
j  nest  look  of  the  Greek.  With  the  instincti^ 
i  tact  of  a  woman  she  at  once  perceived  ho 
j  deeply  Maniolopolo  was  impressed  by  her  e 
!  celling  loveliness,  and  she  may  well  be  pa 
doued  if  she  lingered  in  her  retreat. 

The  alme  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age. 
all  the  glow  and  glory  of  a  beauty  such  a- 
seldom  looked  upon.  Her  long  dark  hair  i.. 
taslically  braided  with  beads  and  ribands,  ai 
intermixed  with  bright-colored  riband.-*,  fell  » 
most  to  her  feet,  and  was  swept  back  from 
brow  of  dazzling  whiteness,  surmounting  cy 
of  intense  light  and  lustre.  Her  figure  ^v 
slight  and  graceful,  and  her  expres.Mon  ^' 
and  somewhat  melancholy.     To  discover  ; 


Turkey. 


t  Nurse  of  Lot6. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IIAREM. 


100 


;his,  one  glance  sufTiced  ;  and  liad  Maiiiolo|iolo 
jeenless  preoccupied,  and  had  the  lair  creatine 
jcfore  him  been  other  tlian  slic  was.  an  alnie, 
iin  outcast,  a  wanderer  anionic  men,  to  wliom 
iier  beauty  was  a  jest,  and  iier  youth  a  snare 
—he  felt  as  though  he  could  hiivc  sought,  a 
^aven  in  her  love,  and  a  paradise  in  her  smiles. 
I  The  dark  screen  I'cll  from  her  hand  ;  and  as 
jihe  disappeared,  it  seemed  to  the  young  Greek- 
is  though  the  light  had  suddenly  Vailed.  For 
I  moment  he  stood  silently  gazing  on  the  veil- 
I'd  portal  through  which  she  had  pa.-sed,  but 

F'y  for  a  moment,  for  the  voice  of  Nevrestc 
n  recalled  him  from  his  revery. 
'  Ay.  ay.  look  your  till,  her  beauty  may  well 
p  the  eye  of  a  young  gallant,  whose  heart, 
ke  the  blo.<5Som  of  the  rose-tree,  opens  to  the 
rst  sun.'ihine  that  fla.';hes  on  it :  but  you  came 
lot  for  this  ;  nor  can  you  linger  here  all  day 
o  set  the  tongues  of  the  whole  city  wagcinn 
inoldNevrcstt^and  her  troop  of  alnu-:  Wallah  ! 
I'ou  have  seen  her.  and  do  you  still  talk  to  me 
if  the  pasha  and  his  aga  baba?"' 

Nay.  chide  me  not  mother:''  said  Manio- 
opolo  deprecatingly :  •'  the  pasha  has  a  fair 
oung  wife,  as  fair  as  Mherpirwir :  and  it  is 
aid  that  he  loves  her  as  the  men  of  this  land 
eldom  love  a  woman  :  he  will  look  upon  your 
louri  only  as  a  bright  shape  whose  L'raccful- 
less  can  charm  the  eye  of  his  youns  bride,  and 
vill  pour  gold  into  her  lap.  and  forget  lier." 

The  aged  woman  stood  tor  a  moment  buried 
n  thought,  and  then  abruptly  and  steadily 
ifling  her  eyes  to  the  excited  countenance  of 
ler  companion,  she  said  slowly  :  '•  Na  to  ne — 
here  it  i.s — at  length  I  have  read  the  dream, 
nd  the  truth  is  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand, 
^ffendim.  you  love  the  pasha's  wife  !"' 

The  address  was  so  .«uddcn  and  so  unlooked 
or  that  Maniolopolo  was  totally  unprepared 
rith  a  reply,  and  liis  confusion  confirmed  the 
rily  and  shrewd  old  woman  in  her  suspicions. 
■  My  son  :"  she  pursued  gravely  :  "  I  know 
ot  why  I  feel  thus  interested  in  your  fortunes 
I  tliought  that  my  heart  had  Ions  been  .^car- 
d,  but  now  I  see  that  it  can  yet  beat  even  for 
stranger.  Wliat  are  you  about  to  dare  ? 
ivcn  were  it  the  mere  idle  caprice  of  a  young 
did  spirit  whicli  prompted  you  to  put  your 
lead  under  the  pasiia's  foot,  you  might  well 

prepared  never  asain  to  lift  if  from  tlie 
arth  :  but  if  it  be  as  1  suspect — and  I  am  one 
iho  has  read  for  years  the  sable  pase  of  pa.*;- 
ion — that  you  arc  hurried  on  to  r\im  by  a 
ision  which  never  can  be  realized,  pondor 
rell  your  purpose;  for  be  as.'iured  that  cun- 
ingiy  as  you  may  liopc  to  weave  your  web 
f  wiles,  that  ruin  will  come  at  hist." 

Hipsi  birdir — .so  be  it.  It  will  be  wel- ' 
omc,  if  the  price  must  be  paid  ;"  said  Mani- ' 
lopolo  almost  sternly.  | 

And  yet.  you  are  young — and  the  grove 
belters  many  birds  of  soft  i.otc  and   briyhtj 


pluimce.  even   if  the  bulbul  be  not  there;' 
urged  Nevresti. 
,      The  (J reek  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Pek  ahi.  dosfoum — it  is  well,  my  friend  ;" 
replied  the  old  woman,  who  retpiiicd  no  worda 
I  to  read  his  meaning.     'And  now,   icll  mi-; 
wherefore  slnnild   I  risk  the  same  niinV — you 
arc  a  stranger;  until  last  night  I  novcr  looked 
u\)f>n  you — and  last  night,  liow  did  mc  meet  ? 
amid  broil,  and  brawl,  and  intemperance,  and 
I  riot :  you  will  reply  that  my  days  arc  num- 
bered, and  that  their  remnant  can  be  of  little 
value,   and   1  can  pardon   you    the   taunt,  for 
you  do  not  know,   you  cannot  know,  in  your 
bright  years  of  strength  and  pride,  how  decay- 
I  ing  nature  clings   to  her  mined   shrine,   and 
j  hugs  the  fragments  of  her  own  beauty  a.s  they 
I  fali  from  her.     It  is  strange  that  I   waste  no 
<  many  word.s  upon  you — strange  ! — but   let  ua 
I  part  now,  and  if  you  have  parent.s  in  your  own 
land  who  would  weep  over  their  lost  son.  go 
in    peace,    and    forget   the   madness   that   haa 
J  sprung  up  in  your  spirit.'' 
j      '•  I  have  none  to  mourn  me — none  to  weep 
for  me;'"  said  the  young  man. 
I      '•  Away,  then,  away — and  be  just  to  your- 
self— the   bird   that   has  no  mate  sprcaids    a 
wider  wing,  and  takes  a  bolder  flight.'' 
I      "You   counsel   me   in  vain  ;"' said  Maniol- 
'  opolo,    -'the  die   is  cast  —  derdiinden  ohiiim 
I  bcigoud — my  torment  makes  me  mad  ;  forget 
,  your  suspicions,  mother:  and  p-momber  that 
i  they  are  but  suspicions — recall  the  days  when 
j  you  had  a  brother  whom  you  loved  ;  and  help 
I  mc  once   more  to   look  upon  a  sister  who  haa 
[  been  long  lo.st  to  me.'' 

"  Delhibashi  !'  exclaimed  NcvrcMc  impa- 
I  ticntly  ;  what  would  you  ask  of  me  ?" 
'  '•  Even  to  join  your  troop — I  will  wear  any 
disguise — I  will  obey  any  i>ehcst — I  will  pay 
every  effort  which  you  make  lor  me  with  gold. 
Nay,  look  not  so  scared,  mother  :  I  am  young, 
and  your  skill  will  surely  suffice  to  make  an 
alme  of  a  sakal-siz.'"* 

The  old  woman  stood  lost  in  tliought  for  a 
time,  but  at  leimtli  she  broke  forth  in  an  rurn- 
e>l  :  '•  No,  nrj — I  cannot,  I  dare  not — you  know 
not  what  you  ask;  are  not  tlie  alme  trained 
from  childhood  to  their  gracelul  trade;  and 
would  you  cast  dirt  upon  my  head  by  betray- 
ing your  madness  to  every  looker-on?  Did 
yon  not  sec  Mherpirwir  but  a  moment  back  ? 
Would  you  stand  be.side  her  on  the  cariHit  of 
the  I'aMha,  and  hope  to  escape  •''' 

'•  Not  ho,  mother;  I  would  be  the  inassald- 
uhit  of  your  troop  ;  give  iiic  a  vnl  and  u  tur- 
ban, an  Arab  drum,  a  heavy  mantle  ;  dye  my 
hands  with  henna,  and  veil  my  shoiildcm 
with  the  flowing  trcsse.t  of  a  yming  f)i'«uiy  ; 
and  while  tfie  almti  rejMWtc  between  ll.cir 
dances,   I    will  win  the   car  of  the    Fasha'a 

•  Youth,  litxrally  •'  no-ti«»nl.*' 
t  Prof«uion&l  iloo'-Ullw. 


no 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


harem  with  wild  tales,  and  earn  gold  for  yon 
with  a  cunning  tongue.  Wallah  billah  !  you 
shall  carry  a  heavy  purse  when  you  leave  the 
city.  And  here,  jaguir  benum — my  guardian 
angel — here  is  wherewithal  to  jirovide  for  me 
such  garments  as  you  may  deem  fitting." 

'•  Yavash,  yava.sh  —  softly,  Noftly,  young 
man  :"'  said  Nevreste :  "  I  am  not  a  lover,  and 
[  cannot  travel  so  swiftly:  but  we  will  see 
what  can  be  done:'"  and  she  deposited  her 
new  gains  with  the  first  ofifcring  of  her  com- 
panion in  the  folds  of  her  tattered  girdle  ; 
*^  Mherpirwir  shall  decide  if  we  may  venture 
our  necks  so  near  the  grasp  of  the  capidji- 
bashi  :  enter  this  room  on  the  right,  and  1  will 
come  to  you  in  a  moment.  I  have  already 
told  you  that  we  go  to-night  to  the  harem  of 
tiie  Tchorbadji ;  and  when  the  alm6  awaken 
they  will  find  plenty  of  employment  in  prepar- 
ing for  this  visit." 

Maniolopolo  obeyed,  and  instnntly  found 
himself  in  a  gloomy  apartment,  overstrewn  with 
the  parapliernalia  of  the  Terpsichorean  troop. 
There  were  boilquets  of  artificial  flowers,  most 
inartificially  wrought,  small  citerns.  and  gui- 
tars, and  a  sort  of  rude  Castanet  of  rosewood  ; 
gaily-coloured  veils  of  gauze,  girdles  of  cache- 
mire,  and  slippers  of  velvet  worked  with  gold 
and  beads.  A  tambourine,  fantastically  orna- 
mented with  pendant  ribbons,  lay  on  the 
divan  near  the  window;  and  Maniolpolo 
amused  himself  during  the  absence  of  the  old 
woman  with  this  toy-like  instrument,  which 
was  familiar  to  his  hand  ]  and  as  lie  did  so, 
his  thoughts  flew  back  to  the  happy  time, 
when  to  its  rattle,  he  had  led  the  graceful  ro- 
maVka,  and  taught  the  beautiful  Carimfil  to 
dream  bright  dreams  of  his  lost  and  regretted 
land. 

He  was  still  absorbed  in  his  occupation, 
when  an  astonished  "  Mashallah  !"  sounded 
close  beside  him.  and  he  perceived  that  Ne- 
vreste  and  the  young  beauty  had  entered  the 
apartment  unobserved,  and  wore  gazing  on 
him  with  unfeigned  gratification. 

'■  Why  this  is  well,  khatoun — my  darling;" 
said  the  old  woman:  "you  handle  the  tam- 
bourine like  a  high-priest  of  Aniran  at  the  bri- 
dal of  a  sultana  !  How  say  you,  xMlierpirwir, 
my  pearl  ?  If  the  veil  and  the  antery  become 
him  like  the  instrument,  may  we  not  venture 
something  to  pleasure  him  ?" 

''  The  effendi  is  master  ;"  said  the  alm6,  in 
a  low,  sweet  tone  ;  "  If  he  seeks  my  aid,  I  am 
ready." 

'•  May  your  beauty  never  decrease,  janum 
— my  soul  !"  exclaimed  Maniolopolo  ;  for 
which  wish  lie  was  recompensed  by  a  deep 
blush,  and  a  faint  smile;  "under  your  aus- 
pices I  am  sure  of  success — locik  you — should 
you  need  a  minstrel  to  vary  the  charm  of  your 
gracefulness,  1  am  your  slave  ;"  and  he  seized 
one  of  the  guitars,  and  sang  in  a  sweet  sub- 


dued voice  a  well-kno^ATi  fable,  in  the  musical 
words  of  Hafiz  : — 


There  was  a  bright  and  a  snnny  sky 

Spread  over  a  laughing  land. 
But  one  small  vapor  was  floating  by. 
Where  the  wild  wave  kiss'd  the  strand 
And  as  it  pass'd  n'er  the  ocean-swell, 
A  rain-drop  from  the  dark  cloud  fell. 

"  Alas  I"  the  limpid  moisture  sigh'd, 

As  it  clive  the  yielding  air  ;  " 
"  And  must  I  perish  in  that  salt  tide, 
And  die  unregarded  there  ' 
Hard  is  my  fate  to  be  thus  riven 
From  ray  glorious  place  'mid  the  blue  of  Heaven  ' 

Down,  down  it  fell  :  but  ere  the  tide 

Tiiuch'd  the  bright  sand  of  the  shore, 
An  oyster  that  thirsted,  open'd  wide 
Its  iiearl  encrusted  door  : 
And  by  the  soft  breathing  of  the  air, 
The  limpid  drop  was  wafted  there. 

Time  pas«'d— and  then  a  fisher  came, 

And  from  that  oyster  drew 
A  precious  prize,  whose  wondrous  fame 
Through  many  a  region  flew  ; 
The  rain-drop  h  ui  heroine  a  gem, 
To  deck  a  monarch's  diadem T 


"  Or,  should  you  not  love  the  monotonv 
of " 

"  Nay,  say  not  so/'  interposed  the  almi: 
eagerly  :  "  say  not  .so  ;  there  is  no  maiden  n 
the  band  with  such  a  voice;  I  will  answe, 
for  you  Avith  my  head.    Is  it  not  so,  mother?'; 

"Bakalum — we  shall  see."   answered  Nev' 
rest^,  quietly;  "put  your  veil  upon  the  beyza 
zadeh.  and  let  us  see  if  he  can  teach  those  dar ' 
eyes  of  his  as  much  softness  as  he  has  taughi 
his  tones.     Hand  hither  those  long  tresses  tha-   I 
Gubeide  has  flung  down  so  heedlessly  in  yon;    i 
der  corner ;  and  bid   Giadilla  lend  you   he 
robe  :  she  is  the  tallest  of  the  band      Then 
go,  and  be  spf^edy  in  your  return.     And  yoi 
young  sir,"  she  added,  as  the  giri  disappeare 
acro.ss  the  threshold,  "  look  towards  me.  unles 
you  are  anxious  to  make  a  mirror  of  the  scp^ei 
and  thus  delay  your  purpose  by  gazinj  altfr 
vision  that  has  vanished." 

With   a  silent  smile   Maniolopolo  obi'v 
and  on  the  return  of  the  alme.  the  last  t 
was   given  to  his  co.stume,  and   the  disi: 
declared  to  be  perfect.     "Mherpirwir  clasjv 
her  little  hands  in  wonder,  and  whispered  thi 
he  was  a  subject  for  the  sunny  foreground  ( 
a  Benuzzeer:  but  all  the  skill  and  patiem' 
of  the  fair  girl  failed  to  make  the  handson 
young  Greek  move   like   an   alm^,  and  ult! 
matcly  the  attempt  was  abandoned  in  despaii, 
and  it  was'decided  that  his  guitar  must  be'h 
dependence,    coupled    with   his   talents   as 
massaldjiii.  of  which  they  were  content  to  a 
cept  his  assurance. 

The  lovely  Mherpirwir  was  zealous  in  li 
services  ;  she  taught  the  new  pupil  a  thous;n 
little  coquettish  graces  ;  showed  him  the  cxu 
shade  of  the  henna  which  niu-^t  decorate  ht 
fingers,  and  the  precise  curve  that  he  mi' 
give  to  his  e>-cbro\vs  :   laugiicd  heartily  at  i 


THE   KOMANCK   OF   THE  IIAIIEM. 


Ill 


languishmentsbywliii-li  lie  omli^avonnl  to  sub- 
due the  flashing  of  his  (iaik  eyes,  and  the 
mincing  step,  and  unaccustomed  slide  of  the 
embroidered  slipper  ;  but  occasionally  she 
{  checked  her  mirth  to  bestow  on  hiin  an  encou- 
i  rasing  smile,  and  a  murmured  word  of  appro- 
bation. I 
"  Mashallah  !  you  do  credit.  EfTendim.  to 
your  Kafiandji  ousta  !*  Fling  your  veil  a 
little  more  Hghtly  from  your  brow,  and  do  not , 
entangle  the  fringe  of  your  sleeve  in  the  but- 
tons of  your  antery.  It  would  be  well  too  if  1 
you  did  not  carry  your  head  quite  so  high:  I 
remember  that  you  are  but  an  awali.f  and  I 
that  you  must  be  Inunble  and  modest  when 
you  tread  the  carpets  of  the  great.  Look  you.  : 
mother,  how  well  the  beyzadch  comprehends 
my  meaning:  and  how  thoroughly  he  reads 
his  lesson."' 

"  Allenidullilah  !  the  risk  can  be  but  slight," 
Ireplied  the  old  woman,  '•  if  he  will  promise 
to  be  prudent ;  and  he  will  do  well  to  join  us 
to-night  when  we  visit  the  ladies  of  the  Tchor- 
badji.  in  order  that  his  task  may  sit  more  ea.sy 
when  he  has  more  at  stake.''" 

After  a  moment's  hesitation.  Maniolopolo  ' 
jonsented  to  this  arrangement  :  and  then  I 
Hinging  off  the  disguise  in  which  he  had  been  ' 
enveloped,  he  bade  adieu  to  Nevrest^.  and  her 
pretty  companion  until  twilight,  and  slowly 
feauntered  back  to  the  Fendiik.|  in  which  he 
lad  established  himself. 

As  he  moved  along,  he  could  not  repress 
he  misgivings  which  intruded  them.selves  on 
lis  imasination.  and  made  his  pulses  quicken 
ind  his  heart  grow  sick.  He  well  knew  that 
"or  the  Greek  who  invades  the  harem  of  the 
Moslem,  and  who  fails  in  his  disguise,  there  ^ 
s  no  mercy  ;  and  although  he  felt  that,  in  his 
nterviftw  with  his  adored  Carimfil.  the  bliss 
if  beholding  one  so  dearly  loved  and  so  hum 
ost,  would  uphold  him,  he  dreaded  the,  trial 
vhich  awaited  him  in  the  harem  of  the  Tchor- 
ladji.  The  die  was,  however,  cast ;  and  he 
esolved  to  abandon  himself  to  the  guidance 
f  his  new  friends. 


CIIAPTKIL  XLVil 

The  day  slowly  pa.ssed  away ;  for  to  the 
nxious.  time  ever  Rceins  to  move  with  folded 
rings,  and  to  slumber  on  lii«  scythe:  but  at 
cnglh  the  hours  waned,  and  he  returned  to  the 
'hcriaki  Tcharchi  to  fullil  his  destiny. 

As  he  entered,  he  was  met  on  (he  threnhold 
y  the  old  woman,  who  silently  beckon<-d  him 
nward.  and  conducted  him  to  an  apartment 
k-hence  the  sounds  of  laughter,  mingled  with 
ne  voice  of  song,  and  the  rattlinz  of  caftta- 
ets,  came  joyously  to  his  ear.     The   screen 


was  flung  asi<le,  the  portal  pa.^^sed,  and  he 
stood  among  the  alme,  who  were  already 
adorned  for  their  evening's  tiu»k.  One.  lair 
girl  occupied  the  centre  of  the  floor,  iier  arms 
were  raised  above  her  head,  and  in  her  ri:;ht 
hand  she  held  a  tambo\irine,  whence  the  lonK 
streaming  ribands  fell,  iris-tinted,  in  bright 
confusion,  and  mingled  wiih  the  solt  tre»«c8 
of  her  raven  hair;  her  little  feet  were  bare, 
and  her  slight  willow-like  flgure  appeared  to 
bend  beneath  the  Mei^'ht  of  the  fairy  instru- 
ment, while  her  eyes  rested  fondly  on  a  young 
beauty  who  was  treading  a  graceful  ineasuro 
to  the  clashing  of  her  castanets.  All  w.ro 
diversely  employed,  save  one  ;  and  that  one 
was  Mherpirwir,  who,  reclining  on  her  cush- 
ions, her  fair  cheek  jiiilowed  on  her  haml,  and 
hergaze  turned  anxiously  towanl.s  (he  entrance 
of  the  apartment,  was  aroused  from  her  rcvcry 
by  the  arrival  of  Maniolopolo.  whom  she 
welcomed  with  a  blush  which  dyed  her  brow 
to  the  same  tint  as  the  glowing  roses  that  rest- 
ed on  it. 

In  a  moment  all  was  confusion  ;  every  almi 
of  the  troop  insisted  on  lemling  her  aid  to- 
wards the  completion  of  a  ma.-querado  so 
novel  and  so  exciting  ;  and  iiad  Maniolopolo 
been  a  Moslem,  he  might  well  have  unagined 
that  he  had  been  transported  to  the  I'aradiao 
of  tiic  Prophet,  and  was  tended  by  the  houri, 
without  the  preliminary  ceremony  of  dis.solu- 
tion. 

"  And  by  what  name  shall  we  call  our  new 
sister?"  a.sked  Mherpirwir,  as  she  gave  the 
last  graceful  fold  to  the  caeheniire  girdle  of 
the  young  Greek.  "  \Vc  might  name  her 
Kamil,*  but  that  those  dark  eyes  which  go 
wandering  hither  and  thither  like  hadjisf  be- 
wildered in  the  desert,  are  not  quiie  sober 
enough  to  suit  such  a  title.  Ky  vah  !  Mho 
has  a  head  for  names  ?  You,  Lebe,  who  are 
the  best  poet  of  the  troop,  have  you  no  sug- 
gestion to  make  ?" 

"  I  would  call  him  Seidika  ;''t  said  the 
laushiiig  girl  wlio  had  been  thus  suniinoDcd 
to  the  council  :  '•  tor  does  ho  not  ri^k  his  life 
to  look  upon  his  mistress?" 

'■  Taih  ! — well  (iaid  :"  exclaimed  the  old 
woman  ;  and  '•  Taih  !  Tnib  !"  was  nmrniur- 
cd  by  all  the  young  beauties  by  whom  she  was 
' hurrounded. 

At  lengtii  the  moment  came  when  the  fair 
I  troop  wore  to  trons|K)rt  themselves  to  tlie  harem 
of  the  Tchorbadji  :  and  Maniolopolo  was  soon 
shrouded  like  the  rest  in  a  Ion:.'  iind  ample 
feridjhti  or  mantle  of  dark  elolii,  while  his 
face  was  concealed  by  a  shawl  :  and  in  thin 
I  guise  he  followed  Ncvrcslii  with  bin  instru- 
ment in  his  hand,  and  a  wild  braiing  at  hii 
heart. 

The  Tciiorbadji  resided  beyond  tlie  wnlU  of 
the  town,  in  a  spacious  hou.tc  on  the  cdgo  of 


Mistress  of  the  Wardrobe,      t  Singing  woman.     }  In 


inu.         ;  Faittiful. 


lis 


THE  ROiLAJ^-CE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


the  plain;  his  gardens  were  traversed  by  a  woman  who  reposed  on  a  splendid  divan  of 
bright  river,  and  a  gilded  boat  danced  on  the  ^velvet,  surrounded  by  her  attendants,  while 
ripple  beiieaili  the  leafy  screen  of  old  and  ma-  two  fair  children  were  sporting  on  a  cushion 
jestic  trees.  An  avenue  of  maples,  whose  at  her  feet ;  and  earnest  was  the  tone  in  which 
gnarled  and  twisted  branches  had  resisted  the  he  joined  in  the  "  Khosh  buldiik — well  found" 
storms  of  a  century,  led  up  to  the  house  near-  of  the  alme.  as  they  bent  before  her  in  homage, 
ly  from  the  city  gates,  and  threw  a  gloom  i  Ere  long  the  tchorbadji  arrived.  He  was  a 
around  which  fell  heavily  on  the  spirit  of  the  man  with  whose  beard  lime  had  toyed  until  it 
young  Greek.  But  the  alm^  were  less  im-  had  withered  in  his  grasp;  his  brow  was  deeply 
pressiblc  ;  and  as  they  moved  along,  they  i  interlined,  and  from  the  corners  of  his  keen 
gaily  bandied  jests,  and  ventured  inferences  land  fierce  black  eyes,  a  puckered  mass  of  mi- 
and  speculations  on  the  liberality  of  thenute  wrinkles  spread  even  to  his  temples. 
Tchorbadji.  which  extorted  an  occasional  smile  '  His  nose  was  high  and  salient,  and  his  upper 
from  Maniolopolo,  anxious  as  he  was.  Snatches  lip  was  hidden  by  the  thick  and  grizzled  mus- 
of  wild  .«ongs.  and  wilder  stories  escaped  them  taclie  which  adorned  it.  He  was  of  middle 
also,  as  it  seemed  involuntarily:  their  wan-  height,  but  of  great  muscular  power:  and 
dering  and  uncertain  life  had  taught  them  the  Maniolopolo  at  the  first  glance  felt  doubly 
philosopliy  of  present  enjoyment,  and  the  fu-  desirous  to  preserve  his  disguise  unsuspected, 
tilityof  foreboding;  and  they  lived,  and  jested,  I  Two  by  two  the  alme  moved  forward  and 
and  laughed  as  though  time  had  no  morrow.  | performed  their  graceful  evolutions,  whicl 
or  that  they  could  furl  his  wings  at  their  own  I  won  for  them  many  a  *•' INlashallah  !'"  ant 
giddy  will.  |'' Aferin  !'•*  from  the  tchorbadji,  and  a  mur 

Mhcrpirwir  alone  was  staid  and  silent ;  she  mur  of  commendation  from  his  fair  youn< 
•walked  slowly  with  bent  head,  like  one  who  wife;  but  when  at  last,  and  alone.  MherpirwL' 
indulges  in  deep  and  pensive  thought;  and  fiung  off  her  veil,  and  bounded  into  tlie  centp 
occa.'<  ion  ally  her  dark  eyes  flashed  out  from  of  the  floor,  where  she  stood  for  an  instant  lik, 
behind  their  jealous  screen  as  she  glanced  a  startled  fawn  listening  for  a  coming  footstep 
hastily  and  anxiously  towards  Maniolopolo.  the  tchorbadji  half  rose  from  his  sofa,  and  with 
But  ere  long  her  abstraction  drew  down  upon  drew  the  chibouque  from  his  lips  to  gaze  o 
her  the  laughter  of  her  companions,  and  she  her.  The  tapers  by  which  the  apartment wa 
aroused  herself,  and  mingled  in  the  idle  con-  illuminated  threw  their  full  blaze  upon  hers 
versation  of  the  party,  or  held  a  whispered  she  rested  for  a  moment  without  stirring  eith( 
and  momentary  communion  with  Nevreste,  eye  or  limb,  and  then  suddenly  springing  bac 
until  they  stood  before  the  gate  of  the  Tchor-|a  pace  or  two,  twirled  her  tambourine  abo^ 
badji's  harem.  her   head,    as   though  the   joyonsness  of  h<, 

Loud  and  earnest  was  their  welcome  as  they  young  spirit  could  ring  out  through  its  silvr 
sprang  over  the  threshold  into  a  spacious  hall  bells.  '     i 

paved  with  various  colored  marbles,  where  the       It  was  now  that  Maniolopolo  aroused  hir 
plashing  of  water  and  the  song  of  birds  made  self  to  play  his  part  in  the  pageant :  and  8U      | 
the  air  vocal.     A   richly   gilded   door  at  the  lering    the    shawl    in   which   he    had    bee      , 
upi)er  end  was   flung  back,   and  through  the  .shrouded  to  fall  from  his   head,   but  witho* 
opening  they  caught  a  delicious  glimpse  in  the  rising  from  the  carpet  on  which  he  was  recli'     | 
moonlight  of  trees,  and  flowers,  and  fountains,  ing,    he  watched   the  moment  wjicn  the  ft 
spreading  far  away  into  the  distance.     Groups  Mhcrpirwir  changed  the  measure  of  her  mov 
of  slaves,  many  of  them  young  and  beautiful,  nients  to  a  slower  and  more  melancholy  chan' 
were  hurrying   to   and  fro  ;  and  each   as  she  and  catching  up   (he  cadence  where   she  h 
passed  had  a  gay  word   and  a  gayer  smile  for  sullcred  it  to  die  away,  accompanied  her  la 
the  alme.     The  sounds  of  music  came   sooth-  guid  and  exquisite  perlbrmance  with  the  w 
inuly    from  an  inner    apartment;  and  a  soft  ballad  whose  action  it  was  intended  to  portrr 
stream  of  moonshine  played  along  the  marble  j 
floor,  and  dyed  it  with  the  rich  tints  which  it'„,C°^*'>'  Cobah:t  where  art  thou  now? 

.,_,.'.  ...  ,  .  ,  'We  have  sought  thee  in  vain  on  the  mount.iin  s  brow 

pilfered  as  it  passed  trom  the  Crunson  hangmgS    We  havelookd  for  thee,  love,  where  the  stream  runsc: 

of  the    numerous   casements.       Altogether  it 'Cobah!  Cobah  !  thou  art  not  here— 

r  1        ■  ,  J     i  .    The  wind  sighs  its  erief  through  the  cypress  bough, 

was  a  .scene  of  enchantment;  and  it  was  not      ~  .   .  .  .  "      .  ^    .     .      "^      .    n  »  ' 

without  reiiret  that  Maniolopolo  followed  the 
example  of  his  companions,  and  obeyed  the 
summons  of  a  smilinir  slave  who  waited  to 
conduct  them  to  the  presence  of  her  mistress. 
"Khosh  gcldin — you  are  welcome."  uttered 
in  a  low  sweet  voice  which  fell  softly  on  the 
ear  of  the  young  Greek,  were  the  first  sounds 
that  greeted  him  as  he  found  himself  in  an 
apartment  flashing  with  gold  fringe  and  em- 
KrmrlArv    niid  imiiK^dlatelv  onnositc  to  a  lovelv 


I  She  is  gone  I  she  is  gone  I  but  where  1 
I      Go  ask  the  earth's  starry  flowers — 
Where  the  sunbeams  of  yesterday  rest,  she's  there, 

She  can  never  again  be  ours — 
Life's  sweetest  and  brightest  things, 

The  joys  we  have  loved  and  lost, 
Exist  in  the  land  where  the  spirit's  wingi 
Catch  Heaven's  bright  beam  the  most — 

Why  did  she  pass  away. 

Before  her  sweet  yoiith  was  o'er, 


Tim   UOMANCH   OF  THE   IIAIIKM. 


lis 


jik«  the  flower  which  drinks  in  th«  sunhpam  to-day, 

And  to-morrow  exists  no  more? 
the  loved  till  she  lived  in  that  lipht  alone 

That  her  own  pure  soul  hud  made — 
^nd  she  witherM  because  the  cherish'd  ons 
rVho  had  been  to  her  both  breath  and  sun 

Left  her  to  pine  and  fade — 
'uininer  days  pass — earth's  blossom's  die — 
leaven's  stars  fall  from  the  a/.ure  sky — 
)urjoys  all  wither  one  by  one— 
^obah  is  gone  !   Cobah  is  gone  I 

I 

As  he  commenced  his  task,  Maniolopolo 
)reathed  quickly,  for  the  keen  eye  of  I  lie  Tclior- 
ladji  was  on  him  :  but  as  tlic  dance  proceeded, ' 
le  became  thralled  by  the  consummate  skill  of- 
he  dancer,  and  involuntarily  flung  liis  whole 
»ul  into  his  voice,  while  a  continuous  mur- 
nur  of  admiration  and  applause  escaped  the 
r-pcctators.  As  the  .«oni,'  ceased,  the  alme 
peemcd  to  die  away  with  the  strain,  her  head 
h-oopcd.  her  arms  hung  listlessly  at  her  side,: 
•he  tambourine  fell  from  her  hand,  and  shcj 
stood  the  very  picture  of  despair.  | 

In  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment  the  wife 
j)f  the  Tchorbadji  drew  a  ring  from  her  finger,  j 
and  placed  it  in  the  hand  of  a  slave,  who  pre-' 
pented  it  to  Mlicrpirwir  :  while  the  host  hiin- 
pelf  flung  a  purse  into  the  lap  of  Maniolopolo, 
jwhich  he  instantly  transferred  to  the  keeping 
bf  Nevrest^.  Never  was  success  more  perfect : 
and  as  the  fair  girls  stood  in  groups  upon  the 
ibright-colored  oarpcts,  the  young  Greek 
jthought  he  never  had  beheld  a  spectacle  so; 
'lovely.  The  gorgeously  attired  beauty  on  the 
divan  was  radiant  with  youth,  and  bright  with 
(jewels;  the  graceful  alme  stood  before  her 
[like  attendant  peris:  the  Tchorbadji  was  the 
[one  shadow  which  relieved  tiie  bright  lights  of 
ithe  picture:  and  the  children  wlio  nestled  in 
(each  other's  arms,  and  gazed  in  wondering  ad- 
jmiration  on  the  strangers  with  their  bright 
l?tag-like  eyes,  seemed  to  the  excited  imairiiia- 
tion  of  the  adventurer  like  beings  of  another 
world,  where  care,  and  crime,  and  withering' 
had  never  come.  | 

Dance  succeeded  to  dance,  and  song  to  .«on2 : 
and  the  Tchorbadji  appeared  to  divide  his  en- 
thu.siasm  between  Mlierpirwir  and  the  dis- 
guised SeVdika,  whose  large  deep  eyes  and  ex- 
quisite voice  had  made  no  slight  iniprc.>-sion 
on  the  fancy  of  the  worthy  Jani.-sary.  ' 

"  Allah  buyuk  der! — My  selictar  aga*  told 
me,  mother,  that  one  of  your  alme  was  a« ; 
beautiful  as  a  houri.  and  a.s  graceful  a«  a  fawn  ; 
and  his  face  is  whitened,  for  he  »aid  only  the 
truth  ;  but  he  made  no  mention  of  the  fair 
awali  whose  voice  is  tome  as  mclo<lioii.i  ns  the 
Allah  hu  !t  of  the  followers  of  the  Proph«-t. 
By  the  soul  of  >'our  father  !  you  nhall  hhow 
your  young  beauties  to  Iuh  highnc».s  the  pahha 
-^he  will  fill  their  mouth.s  with  gold,  and 
spread  the  carpet.s  of  liberality  under  the  feci 
of  merit — I  have  said  it." 

"  May  the  words  of  my  lord  bo  written  on 


the  soul  of  his  slave  with  the  calam*  of  gra- 
titude !'  said  Nevresti!  us  .she  prostrated  her- 
self, until  her  brow  touclicd  the  floor  before 
the  Tchorbadji  ;  "  who  am  I,  that  my  lord 
should  lift  my  soul  into  the  akash  of  fe- 
licity? What  can  1  do  to  remove  from  my 
heati  the  ashes  of  un worthiness,  and  fmn 
llie  skirt  of  my  garment  the  defilement  of  re- 
proach ?■' 

'•  Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say  ?"  replied  the 
Tchorbadji  courteously.  '-Wallah  billah.  I 
am  satisfied."' 

'■  Seidika.  to  whoso  music  my  lord  has  de- 
signed to  listen,  is  no  inditlerenl  massaldjhe  :"' 
said  the  old  woman.  "  She  has  tales  which 
may  charm  his  ear,  and  wean  his  thougiilg 
for  awhile  from  the  cares  of  his  exalted  sta- 
tion, if  such  be  his  good  plea.sure.  How  says 
my  lord  ?' 

The  stately  Eflendi  glanced  towards  his  fair 
young  wife,  and  reading  in  her  bright  eyes  an 
intense  anxiety  which  there  was  no  need  of 
words  to  interpret,  he  signalled  his  acquies- 
cence  in  the  suggestion  of  Ncvreste  ;  and  the 
alme  having  groiip'd  themselves  on  oithersiilo 
of  Maniolopolo  in  altitudes  whose  grace  would 
have  thralled  the  spirit  of  a  painter,  he  took 
from  the  hands  of  Mlierpirwir,  who  reclined 
near  him,  a  richly  inlaid  zebee,  wlience  ho 
drew  tones  of  sweetness  that  hushed  at  onco 
the  under-current  of  whispered  delight  which 
came  like  incense  to  the  ears  of  the  alme  : 
and  then,  laying  aside  the  instrument,  ho 
turned  the  full  beam  of  his  dark  eyes  on  the 
Thorbadji.  and  in  a  voice  at  once  subdued  and 
musical,  thus  told  his  tale. 


Sword-bearer. 

8 


Battlt  cry. 


rilAl'TKR  XLVIII. 
TiiK  KiM;n<iM  or  the  mice. 

A  WISE  man  will  never  despise  a  weak 
enemy.  Fools  only  scolF  at  a  danger  of  which 
tln-y  know  not  the  probable  extent  ;  and  lliosc 
in  power  would  do  well  to  recollect  that  the 
deepest  cavern  of  the  rock  is  frequently  be- 
trayed by  a  rift  scarcely  wide  enough  to  ad- 
mit the  hand  of  a  woman. 

I  am  about  to  tfll  your  highness  a  tale  of  a 
mouse  :  and  I  pray  you  to  let  your  fancy  iravol 
with  me,  that  so  wc  may  go  on  our  way  n>- 
eether  111  u'mkI  understanding.  And  cvi-ii  liko 
the  wise  man  to  whom  I  have  just  made  allu- 
sion, my  lord  nuist  not  drspisc  the  little  animal 
bceauHc  of  the  miiiutcn.ss  of  his  projH.riions  ; 
and  the  rather  thai  li«-  was  the  ciii|>cror  of  all 
the  mice  in  Turkey,  whom  ho  ruled  in  ponc«, 
the  beloved  of  his  subj.-eth,  with  every  pro- 
spect of  a  long  and  pro.H|>erou«  rcij;"- 

The  subterranean  palace  was  of  vast  ex- 


114 


THE  ROilAXCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


tent  ;  and  ■well  and  warmly  furnished  with 
the  spoils  of  many  a  midnight  visit  to  the  up- 
per earth.  The  granaries  were  well  stored 
with  corn  :  peas,  beans,  and  lupins  abounded  ; 
dried  grapes,  figs,  and  other  fruits  calculated 
for  tardy  consumption,  were  neatly  and  com- 
pactly housed  for  winter  use  ;  and,  in  short, 
the  padishah  of  the  long-tails  nibbled  his  fa- 
vourite roots  in  calm  and  philosophic  dignity: 
never  troubling  his  head  with  the  feuds  which 
he  well  knew  were  continually  going  on 
above  it. 

But  who  can  control  it  ?  Who  can  number 
the  stars,  count  the  notes  of  the  bulbul,  or 
postpone  the  decay  of  the  rose  ?  Great  was 
the  consternation  throughout  the  metropolis 
of  Mouseland,  when  it  was  discovered  that  an 
old  tox.  well  known  to  many  of  them  as  a 
notoriously  bad  character,  a  marauder,  and 
a  common  thief,  who  swept  away  enough  to 
supply  their  whole  community  for  a  month, 
at  a  single  visit  to  the  overgrown  granaries 
of  the  frightful  bipeds  who  infested  the  pro- 
vince ;  and  of  whom  the  mice  had  never  been 
able  to  discover  the  utility,  unless  indeed  when 
they  were  reluctantly  compelled  to  admit,  that 
by  housing  their  corn  and  roots  and  other  eat- 
ables, they  saved  them  (the  mice)  the  trouble 
of  collecting  their  own  supplies.  I  repeat, 
that  great  was  the  conslernation  when  it  was 
discovered  that  this  unprincipled  old  fox  had 
thought  proper,  they  could  n.ot  imagine  where- 
fore, to  eslabli.sh  himself  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  their  capital ;  where  he  kept 
up  a  constant  and  most  unpleasant  sensation, 
by  daily  and  nightly  incursions  into  the  sur- 
rounding country,  and  by  devouring  every  un- 
happy straggler  who  chanced  to  cross  liis  path  ; 
a  circumstance  that  filled  all  the  orderly  and 
well-conducted  citizens  with  a  trepidation, 
which,  if  it  did  not  redound  to  the  credit  of 
their  courage,  at  least  spoke  volumes  for  their 
principles. 

Nor  -w^as  this  all :  for  if  any  fault  could  be 
found  with  the  domestic  legislation  of  Mouse- 
land,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  error  lay  in 
the  same  weakness  which  has  at  times  operated 
unpleasantly  in  other  nations.  His  majesty 
the  emperor  had  a  strong  predilection  in  favor 
of  per.sonal  beauty.  His  prime  minister  was 
the  prime  dandy  of  the  court,  who  had  won 
the  imperial  smile  by  the  graceful  curl  of  his 
exquisitely  pointed  whiskers  ;  the  secretary  of 
state  was  remarkable  for  the  fine  fall  in  his 
back,  when,  poised  on  his  hind  legs,  he  pre- 
sented to  the  monarch  any  of  the  public  docu- 
ments, which  important  missives  were  neatly 
scratched  by  the  thorn  of  the  mimosa  plant  on 
the  bark  of  the  orange-tree — a  tablet,  which 
however  unwelcome  the  contents  of  tlie  scroll 
might  prove  to  the  padishah.  at  least  prevented 
their  ever  being  ofi"ensivc :  while  the  com- 
mander-in-chief was  equally  celebrated  for 
the   beautiful   glossiness  of  his  skin,   which. 


luckily  for  his  fortunes,  was  full  three  shades 
lighter  than  any  other  in  the  nation. 

But  the  peculiar  vanity  of  the  monarch  lay 
in  the  length  of  his  subjects'  tails  ;  and  this 
fact  kept  the  court,  the  city,  and  the  whole 
population  of  the  under-ground  empire  in  a 
perpetual  state  of  excitement  Machines  were 
invented  for  stretching  the  joints — pulleys  were 
arranged  by  which  the  most  ambitious  sus- 
pended themselves  heads  downwards,  until 
their  eyes  became  bloodshot,  and  their  re.«!pira- 
tion  impeded — and  there  was  not  a  mouseling 
throughout  the  empire  who  did  not  imitate  his 
natural  enemy  the  kitten,  by  running  round 
and  round  in  giddy  circles  with  his  tail  be- 
tween his  teeth  ! 

And  now — here  was  an  ill-favored  and  burly 
beast,  established  under  their  very  noses,  whose 
tail  was  so  long  and  bushy,  that  with  one  de- 
termined sweep  it  could  brush  away  the  whole 
palace-guard,  and  lay  bare  the  private  apart- 
I  ments  of  the  monarch  to  the  gaze  of  the  entire 
city.  It  was  enough  to  breed  a  rebellion  !  and 
j  the  court  favorite,  a  sleek  young  mouse  of  qiia- 
I  lity,  whose  tail  was  the  thirty-sixth  part  of  an 
I  inch  longer  than  any  other  near  the  person  of 
his  majesty,  and  who  was.  moreover,  about  to 
;  receive  the  paw  of  one  of  the  princesses  in 
I  marriage,  actually  committed  suicide  in  the 
I  first  moment  of  despair,  by  drowning  himself 
in  the  skin  of  a  gourd  filled  with  rain  water 
Being  good-looking,  and  in  favor  at  court,  he 
I  was  generally  regretted  by  all  those  who  had 
i  any  thing  to  hope  through  his  interest — and 
j  the  kind  and  considerate  sovereign,  in  order  to 
console  his  daughter  for  her  unexpected  loss, 
buried  the  deceased  with  military  honors,  to 
which — as  he  had  always  worn  very  magnifi; 
cent  mustaches,  he  was  undeniably  entitled. 

This  commotion  among  the  mice  led,  how- 
ever, to  one  result  extremely  distres-sing  to  the 
p'adishah,  who  had  never  contemplated  any 
disturbance  in  his  dominions,  and  whose  leisure 
was  now  invaded  at  all  moments,  while  his 
digestion  suffered  severely  from  the  continual 
alarms  to  which  he  was  subjected :  he  found 
that  a  conviction  of  his  incapacity  to  proteri 
i  them  from  their  dreaded  enemy,  was  weaken- 
ing his  authority  over  his  subjects. 
:  One  of  the  most  abject  and  fawning  of  his 
counsellors,  who  had  never  hitherto  dared  In 
move  eye  or  limb  in  the  presence  of  his  impe-' 
j  rial  master,  until  he  had  received  his  gracious^ 
sanction  to  do  so,  had  absolutely  brushed  liis 
I  whiskers  within  a  foot  of  the  tip  of  those  of  hisj 
majesty,  without  proffering  the  slightest  apo-i 
I  logy  ;  while  several  of  his  bravest  generals 
;  had  begged  leave  to  retire  upon  their  laurels,! 
'and  to  leave  the  field  open  to  younger  menS' 
whose  interests  they  suddenly  discovered  to 
j  have  been  greatly  injured  by  tJicir  own  tena- 
city of  office. 

All  this  was  extremely  perplexing  and  vex- 
atious to  a.  monarch  who  wished  for  nothiu 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


115 


beyond  peace  and  enjoymont,  and  who  had  not 
the  slightest  taste  for  dilficiilty  and  daiigiT  : 
and  he  therefore  deemed  it  expedient  to  siiin- 
mon  a  council  before  Uu-se  incipient  symptoms 
broadened  into  downright  rebellion  :  justly  con- 
sidering, that  should  he  find  it  expedient  to  do 
so,  he  had  as  good  a  right  lo  abdicate  the 
throne,  and  to  provide  for  his  own  safety,  as 
his  generals  had  to  run  away,  and  leave  the 
army  to  provide  for  itself. 

It  was  a  solemn  sight  to  witness  the  as!=em- 
bling  of  the  gray-bearded  ministers  of  Mouse- 
land;  each  with  his  tail  dragging  along  the 
earth,  extended  to  its  extremcst  length,  and  his 
round  black  eyes  cast  mournfully  to  the  ground. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  city  stood  aside  to  let 
the  procession  pass  ;  and  they  looked  upon  it 
with  as  much  interest  as  though  they  thought 
that  the  idle  words  of  a  score  of  trembling  old 
mice  were  likely  to  dislodge  the  ofTending-fox. 
and  to  banish  him  the  country:  nor  was  it  un- 
til the  last  joint  of  the  last  ministerial  tail  had 
slowly  disappeared  through  the  portal  of  the 
palace,  that  the  crowd  dispersed,  and  the  vari- 
ous avocations  of  the  citizens  were  resumed. 

The  council  chamber  was  crowded.  The 
monarch  was  seated  on  a  pile  of  nuts,  most 
luxuriously  arranged,  and  covered  with  the 
■white  tufts  of  the  wild  cotton-tree  ;  while  the 
councillors  took  their  places  in  two  lines,  one 
on  his  right  hand,  and  the  other  on  his  left, 
and  made  a.  most  imposing  appearance  :  each 
having  assumed  his  most  dignified  bearing,  as 
best  suited  to  the  emergency  of  the  crisis. 

The  war  of  words  was  long,  and  at  times 
bitter  ;  for.  with  an  imminent  danger  staring 
them  in  the  face,  the  ministers  were  le.«s  cau- 
•tious  than  usual  ;  and  several,  who  had  never 
before  exchanged  auaht  save  courtesies,  now 
bandied  sarcasms,  and  hints,  which  enligliened 
the  monarch  more  profitably  than  plea.sanUy 
on  many  points  on  which  he  had  hitherto  been 
most  comfortably  ignorant.  Peculation  was 
brought  home  to  the  Keeper  of  the  Privy 
Purse ;  the  Seesctary  for  Foreign  Affairs  was 
taxed  with  being  in  correspondence  with  their 
enemies  the  Jerhuahs,  or  Leaping  Mice,  a 
colony  of  adventurers  from  Kgypt,  who  had 
established  themselves,  no  one  knew  from  what 
impulse,  near  at  hand  :  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  was  twitted  willi  a  defeat,  wliicli,  it  wan 
insinuated,  had  filled  liis  storehou.ses.  while  it 
exhausted  his  army ;  and  tiic  Prime  Minisicr 
was  flaily  taxed  with  having  recanted  the  prin- 
ciples he  had  professed  on  aeceptiiig  otlice  ; 
and  misleading  the  monarch  in  a  ncorc  of  in- 
stances, not  one  of  which  bfrc  the  hlightcht 
analog>-  to  the  subject-matter  that  they  were 
assembled  to  discuss. 

At  length  the  Fox  wa5  mentioned :  and 
then  all  individual  animocitie.s  were  mergexl 
in  thi)  common  interest.  What  won  to  be 
•done  !  The  answer  wa.s  simple.  The  in- 
truder must  be  dislodged — ignominiously,  with  ' 


contempt  and  loathing.  This  resolution  waa 
adopted  without  a  dissentient  voice, ;  but  when 
the  next  question  wiis  propounded,  the  per- 
plexity became  great.  Ilow  was  this  very  de- 
j  sirablc  mea.'^urc  to  be  cllected  ?  iNot  a  Mouse 
I  among  them  could  point  out  the  method.  All 
the  wisdom,  or,  at  least,  all  flic  loiiL'est  laiin 
in  the  Empire  (and  hitherto  that  had  an- 
swered the  same  purpose.)  collected  to^'ether 
in  council  were  unable  to  decide  on  the  how  1 
and.  at  length,  it  was  hinted  by  a  slircwd  and 
ready-witted  Lord  Chamberlain,  that  as  there 
I  appeared  to  be  ."iomc  dilliculty  in  removing'  the 
Fox.  it  miglit  be  expedient  for  the  Mice  them- 
selves to  migrate  to  .some  distant  territory,  far 
from  the  pollution  of  his  presence;  carrying 
with  them  the  monarcli  they  revered,  the 
wives  they  cherished,  and  the  little  ones  who 
were  growing  up  about  them. 

The  idea  was  instantly  seized  by  an  orato- 
rical Field-Marshal,  who  tavored  the  council 
with  several  well-turned  periods  and  llounsheg 
of  sentiment ;  talked  of  their  liousehold  godn, 
their  hearths  and  homes  :  and  finally,  concluded 
by  seconding  the  proposition  of  liis  noble 
friend,  and  strongly  recommending  change  of 
air  to  the  whole  population. 

The  monarch  leaned  his  head  upon  his  paw, 
and  remained  buried  in  deep  and  painlul 
thought ;  when  an  aged  Mouse  of  reverend 
aspect  who  had  not  yet  spoken,  arose,  and  re- 
spectfully bowing  towards  the  tlirone,  ihu.s  ad- 
dres.«cd  the  illustrious  Pudishali  by  whom  it 
was  occupied. 

'■  Most  noble  and  most  powerful   Emperor, 
in  whose  smile  the  earth  flourishes  ;  through- 
out whose  realms  the  sun  shines  not,  lie  being 
him.self  the  \vj.\\i  in  which  li:s  subjeeta  live  ; 
Lord    of   the    Long    Tails,    wliosc   joints    are 
i  strengthened   and   made  supple  by  ilio  oil  of 
I  thy  counlenance.     Let  llie   royal  ga'e«  of  aU 
attention  be  unlblded.   that  the  chariots  of  my 
I  argument  may  enter  into  thy  iiiiiid,  and  linger 
there.      1    iiavc   suffered   all    these   noblo    and 
,  learned   Mice  to  speak   betbre  me  ;  they  have 
I  flung  back  the  bright  page  of  the  volume  of 
!  their  wisdom,  and  I  have  read  every  lino,  that 
1  inigiit  sec  with  their  eye.s,   and  c<iiiiiirehend 
with  their  understanding.    Hul  ho  who  lollows 
the  c4)UiiciIk  of  othors  when  his  heart  is  not  \n 
them,   IS  a  traitor  lo  his  country,  and   unwor- 
thy tlic  confidence  of  his  foveroign  ;  thus  lin-n, 
having  iieruM-d  the  writings  of  the  intclligeni, 
and   bowed   before  the  argument   of   llie  elo- 
quent, 1  again  litt  my  head  lo  d.-clarc  that  the 
preci|)ilatc  adviwi  of  this  eGun>cl  m  contr.iry 
to  rea.ion,  and  likely  to  lead  to  iiicalculablo 
^  mischief.    Great  as  we  are  aj*  a  people  ;  biuve 
I  in  war  ;  learned  in  |)eace  ;    upnghi  in  judg- 
'  mcnt ;  and  governed  by  a  prince  whOM>  ncepire 
sways  the  destinies  of  the  world,  wo  mujil  lut 
disdain  to  learn  the  le.>-»oii  of  wiiwiom,  in  wlml- 
cver  tongue  it  may  Jjc  taught. 
'      "  iVudencc  is  the  slep-Bislcr  of  valor — policy 


116 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


is  the  good  right  hand  of  strength — and  wit  is 
the  master  spirit  of  fortune.  The  spider  may 
be  crushed  by  a  touch,  yet  in  its  wiliness  it 
weaves  a  net  of  subtlety  by  wiiich  it  grows 
into  a  giant,  and  feeds  upon  creatures  more 
powerful  than  itself.  The  ant,  still  weaker 
of  its  nature,  builds  itself  in  with  clay  where 
the  fruits  are  richest,  and  robs  the  bird  that 
would  devour  both — shall  we  then — We — on 
whom  depend  the  destinies  of  Mouseland. 
Siiall  wc  desert  ourselves  in  such  an  liour 
as  this,  when  by  firmness  we  may  regain 
our  threatened  security  ?  Forbid  it  honor, 
courage,  and  i)atrioti.sm.  If  we  fly,  what  en- 
sues ?  Our  city  will  be  laid  waste,  our  palace 
prostrated,  our  pos.sessions  become  the  .spoil  of 
our  enemies ;  while  we  shall  be  hunted  like 
robbers  from  place  to  place:  pilgrims  without 
a  shrine:  wanderers  without  a  home;  a  nation 
without  a  name  ! 

•'  Is  it  for  this  that  we  have  toiled  and 
fought ;  eaten  the  bread  of  carefulness,  and 
reared  aloft  the  banner  of  our  ancestors  ?  No, 
no  :  we  must  be  less  than  Mice  to  fall  so  tame- 
ly !  One  effort  more  must  be  made,  or  the 
bones  of  our  forefathers  will  not  rest  quietly 
in  their  dishonored  graves.'"' 

And  then,  having  secured  the  ear  of  atten- 
tion, the  hoary  councillor  laid  before  the  as- 
sembly the  stratagem  by  which  he  hoped  to 
deliver  the  groaning  people  from  their  com- 
mon enemy.  All  listened  anxiously,  and  one 
universal  squeak  of  approbation  hailed  the 
communication. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE    KINGDOM    OF    THE    MICE CONTINUED. 

Bright  rose  the  moon,  and  shed  her  veil 
of  silver  over  the  blushing  landscape.  The 
odor  of  the  orange-blos.som.  and  the  wild 
thyme,  floated  like  a  cloud  of  incense  on  the 
air.  The  song  of  the  bird  of  love  wove  a 
spell  about  it,  beneath  which  the  soul  dis- 
solved away  in  sadness  ;  and  the  leaves  whis- 
pered to  the  winds  a  tale  to  which  no  mortal 
words  miglit  sive  utterance  ;  when  the  great 
Emperor  of  Mice  mustered  his  forces  on  the 
upper  earth  ;  and  witnessed  with  a  noble  en- 
thusiasm, worthy  of  his  exalted  station,  the 
gatiiering  of  his  armed  hordes. 

Like  a  lake  gently  agitated  by  the  breeze, 
he  led  them  over  an  extensive  plain,  and  with 
prompt.  Valor,  and  an  energy  incident  to  the 
ureat  emergency  in  wliich  he  was  involved, 
headed  the  host  until  it  halted  near  a  well- 
Btored  granary,  already  familiar  to  many  of 
the  number.  The  place  was  undefended,  and 
he  at  once  abandoned  it  to  pillage  ;  while 
every  individual  mouse,  zealous  in  so  good  a 
cause,  carried  olT  his  own  portion  of  the  spoil, 


with  which  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  home 
and  there,  having  abandoned  it  to  the  care  of 
the  aged  and  the  young,  who  were  unable  tc 
encounter  the  fatigue  and  danger  of  a  preda- 
tory excursion,  by  whom  it  was  housed,  and 
secured  from  the  attacks  of  noxious  reptiles ; 
returned  for  a  fresh  booty,  until  title  remained 
in  the  building  which  had  lately  groaned  be- 
neath the  weight  of  grain. 

When  things  had  progressed  thus  far.  the 
hoary  sage  who  had  devised  the  stratagem, 
commanded  the  obedient  army  to  collect  the 
remainder  of  the  spoil,  and  strew  it  plentifully 
along  the  path  which  led  to  the  dwelling  of 
the  Fox ;  taking  care  that  not  one  scattered 
grain  should  betray  the  road  to  their  own  city ; 
and  having  seen  his  order  scrupulously  ful- 
filled, he  joined  the  monarch,  and  they  at  once 
returned  in  silence  to  the  capital. 

The  horror  of  the  hu.sbandmen,  when  on  the 
morrow  they  discovered  that  the  fruits  of  their 
industry  had  disappeared  during  the  night,  it 
would  require  the  eloquence  of  a  moullah  to 
describe  ;  and  with  bitter  vows  of  vengeance 
they  soon  traced  the  track  that  had  been  taken 
by  the  supposed  thief,  for  the  scattered  grain 
lay  thick  upon  the  ground  to  the  very  burrow 
of  the  Fox.  Wonder  succeeded  to  annoyance, 
and  they  communed  among  themselves  what 
dishonest  inhabitant  had  there  established  him- 
self; a  fact  which  they  resolved  to  ascertain, 
while  they  also  satisfied  their  vengeance.  A 
strong  snare  was  accordingly  prepared  ;  and 
that  very  evening  the  poor  innocent  Fox,  who 
was  returning  supperless  to  bed.  after  a  very 
unsuccessful  foray,  was  caught  in  the  trap  that 
had  befin  laid  for  him. 

Many  an  honest  man  unwittingly  thrusts 
his  neck  into  the  noose  meant  for  a  rascal,  but 
what  is  written,  is  written:  and  it  is  useless  to 
contend  with  fate. 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  Emperor  of  Mouse- 
land  learnt  the  defeat  of  his  enemy  ;  when  a 
I  general  rejoicing  was  proclaimed  throughout 
the  city,  as  for  a  victory.  And  in  this  the 
wise  monarch  discovered  to  his  loving  people 
the  profundity  of  his  intelligence;  for  it  is  so 
rare  that  a  sovereign  owes  success  to  the  wit 
of  his  councillors,  that  he  docs  well  to  make 
the  occasion  serve  as  a  national  jubilee. 

As  he  ruminated  on  the  glorious  news,  he 
swelled  with  pride  and  importance,  until  he 
felt  as  though  the  palace  could  not  hold  him,  ■ 
and  that  he  must  breathe  the  upper  air,  or 
burst  with  his  own  greatness  ;  and  according- 1! 
ly,  ordering  his  travelling  throne,  he  caused ; 
himself  to  be  carried  in  state  on  a  dried  maple 
leaf,  at  the  head  of  a  formidabio  army,  to 
triumph  over  his  prostrate  enemy. 

'•  Khosh  bulduk — well  foLind,  most  mighty 
Fox;"  broke  forth  the  exulting  padishah;' 
"  How  do  you  propose  to  cook  those  of  my 
subjects  on  whom  you  sup  to-night  ?" 

The  captive  felt  the  delicate  irony,  but  ho 


THE   ROMANCE  01-    THE   IIAUKM. 


was  to  wily  tobandy  sentences  with  a  crowned  he  possessed  liis  claws in  short,  he  stronuMy 

head;  and  with  admirable  judsrinent  he  felt  advised  that  tiie  ensnared   Fox   shoiHd   iniine- 
that  this  was  not  exactly  the  moment  to  re-  diately  be  jnit  to  dcalli  :  and  the  Knipire  ihna 
tort:    he    therefore   bent    humbly    before    the  delivered   alto';clhcr  from   any  relapse  of  lU 
monarch,    and    with   a  penitential   demeanor  late  danger, 
thus  addressed  him  :—  |      The  y.Mum  and  impetuous  voted  Ihis  reason- 

'■  Most  mighty  conqueror  !  \s-b<^se  armies  are  ing  a  bore,  and  the  reasoner  unsenRoiuibly 
countless  as  the  locusts,  and  formidable  as  the  prosy:  while  (he  elders  insisted  with  some 
panther  of  the  desert :  whose  voice  is  as  the  plausibility  that  it  was  politic  in  a  weak  state 
thunders  of  the  tempest,  and  whose  eye  mocks  to  form  powerful  alliances;  and  that  ;in  ad- 
fhe  lightning  by  which  it  is  accompanied.  I  mirable  opportunity  now  presented  iiself  of 
bow  b«fore  your  resentment,  and  own  that  it  securing  an  ally,  who.  bavins  fell  the.  ennso- 
is  just.  I  mocked  at  your  power,  because  in  quences  of  their  indignation,  would  not  ai-aiu 
your  mercy  you  had  spared   me  its  excrci.sc  :  be  templed  to  brave  it. 

but  now.  when  by  my  enormities  I  have  pro-)  It  would  be  well,  nevertheless,  if  all  diplo- 
voked  my  punishment,  I  am  compelled  to  ad-  matists  who  are  inclined  to  start  a  similar 
init  it^  because  I  am  prostrated  beneath  its  theory,  were  to  reflect,  that  brintjinj;  a  danijer- 
immensily.  I  deserve  no  forbearance,  but  I  ous  enemy  into  the  camp,  to  learn  at  once  the 
ask  it  as  a  boon  :  and  if  a  life  of  devotion  to  .secret  of  its  weakness,  and  the  fact  that  hi.t 
your  interests  can  atone  for  a  brief  season  of  j overthrow  was  the  more  fortunate  i.>-8ue  of  an 
folly.  I  put  my  head  into  your  hand,  and  de-  adventurous  stratagem,  is  a  very  probable 
vote  myself  henceforward  to  your  service.  Try  method  of  making  their  own  necks  the  step- 
me,  dread  sovereign  !  and  I  will  soon  convince  pins-stones  to  his  advaueemenl  and  revenue, 
your  imperial  rea.soii  that  my  future  exertions  The  vain  monarch,  however,  at  once  re- 
fer your  welfare  shall  more  than  compensate  solved  to  act  upon  the  latter  argument :  the 
for  my  past  enormities."  Fox  was  accordinsly  sworn  to  alleciancc  with 

The  Padishah,  stjuck  by  the  humble  bear-  all  due  ceremony,  and  in  proper  form  ;  and  he 
ing  of  his  lately  formidable  enemy,  and  quite  was  then  freed  from  the  snare  by  tlie  teelh  of 
alive  to  (he  additional  consequence  which  his  new  allies  ;  the  I'adishah  finally  return- 
must  accrue  to  him  from  the  possession  of  so  ing  to  the  city  in  triumph,  followed  hy  the 
powerful  and  crafty  a  subject,  hastily  called  Fox  as  far  as  the  entrance  of  the  capital,  where 
his  counsellors  aside,  and  desired  them  to  give  the  Imperial  suite  was  deprived  of  his  pree- 
their  utmost  attention  to  the  question  that  he  ence  by  the  unplea.sant  fact  that  either  he 
was  about  to  lay  before  them  :  viz.  whether  was  too  luri^c  for  the  cate«,  or  the  gales  were 
the  good  faith  of  the  Fox  should  be  trusted,  too  small  for  him.  To  reconcile  him  to  this 
and  his  services  secured  to  the  Empire  by  the  compulsatory  exclusion,  the  monarch,  there- 
Rtrong  chain  of  gratitude  ;  or  whether,  placing  lore,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  exulting  vanity, 
no  faith  in  his  protestations  of  amendment,  they  created  him  Vezir.  with  the  Imperial  |>crmis- 
fihould  laugh  his  promises  to  scorn,  and  aban-  sion  to  reside  beyond  the  walls, 
don  him  to  the  inevitable  destruction  which'  It  is  dangerous  policy  to  put  aulhoritv  into 
awaited  him  at  the  hands  of  his  captors.  the  hande  of  one  with  who.sc  jwwer  you  have 

Many  opinions  were  given:  for  there  is  not  strength  to  conteml  ;  but  a.<«  empty  blud- 
nothing  of  which  cither  men  or  mice  are  so  ders  float  on  the  surfaee  of  the  stream,  and 
lavish  a.s  of  their  advice.  It  is  indeed  often  gather  only  the  scum  of  the  watent,  while 
given,  not  only  unasked,  but  uncarcd  for  :  and  solid  subntance*  seek  the  bottom  of  the  chan- 
in  this  instance,  the  only  sound  opinion  ad-  nel.  and  form  reeepfaclcH  for  the  -.'old-dust  ; 
vanced  was  by  the  same  old  mouse  who  had  so  vain  and  thouirhtlejw  men,  piitTi'd  up  by 
been  the  cause  of  the  capture  :  for  the  young  their  own  imaginary  c<»iisequi-nce,  di.xn'sard 
vainmouselinssof  the  Imperial  hou.'sehold  were  the  sase  counsels  of  the  wary  and  the  n\i.-c,  to 
delighted  at  the  prospect  of  having  so  lariie  jKillute  themselves  with  the  frothy  va|H>rings 
and  strong  a  companion  :  and  they  already  of  the  shallow  and  the  selti.sh.  And  if  such 
began  twisting  their  whiskers  with  additional  be  the  case  with  men,  little  marvel  is  it  tlinf 
importance  at  the  bare  idea.  Hut  the  hoary  the  same  weakness  should  exist  anion;;  micr 
sage  was  not  to  be  misled  by  such  childish  The  Fox,  fond  of  |>ower.  ami  finding  at  the 
chimerai! :  and  he  soberly  represented  in  the  moment  no  more  lesitimale  field  for  his  ninlu- 
hnmblest  but  most  earnest  manner  to  the  I'a-  lion,  resolved  to  infuse  into  the  mind  of  lli  • 
dishah  that  a  natural  enemy  could  never  he  F.m[MTor  of  the  Mice  some  of  hi!<  own  wiUl 
converted  into  a  sincere  ainl  trustworthy  scheim*  of  aagrandizeinent ;  and  he  uceordiiigly 
friend;  for  that  however  he  might  b«;  com-  began  by  assuring  his  majesty  at  the  next  divun. 
pelled  from  distress.  neooRsity,  or  ambition,  to  that,  with  his  Iin|MTiiil  permission,  he  would 
hide  his  real  lineaments  under  the  mask  of  soon  make  him  ma.ster  of  the  whole  province 
good  fellowship,  the  antipathies  of  ins  nature  The  I'adishah  was  enehanled  F.vcr' 
could  never  be  entirely  conquered  or  eradicat-  sovereign  loves  power,  and  conqupnt.  and 
ed.     As  well  might  the  tiger  be  tamed  while  authority  ;  and  it  is  extraordinary  how;;re<:dily 


118 


THE  ROilAXCE   OF  THE   IIARE^I. 


they  imbibe  the  prospect  of  securing  them. 
Tiie  Vezir  explained  his  theories,  and  they 
carried  conviction  with  them ;  bO  the  new 
Prime  Minister  snapped  up  the  old  counsellor 
on  the  first  t'avorable  opportunity  ;  delivered  a 
funeral  oration  over  his  mangled  remains, 
•-Nomarkable  lor  its  eloquence  and  its  no-tnean- 
i  ig  ;  and  then  assumed  tlie  reins  of  govern- 
ment without  opposition,  and  commenced  his  ^ 
political  career. 


CHAPTER    L. 

THE  KINGDOM  OK  THE    MICE CONTINUED. 

There  was  a  kingdom  close  beside  that  of 
jMonseland,  which  was  peculiarly  obnoxious 
to  the  Fox;  for  its  inhabitants,  although 
comely  and  specious  when  all  went  well  for 
their  interests,  were  especially  irritable  and 
pu;^nacious  in  the  event  of  any  opposition  : 
and  as  they  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to 
ent:er  into  the  views  of  the  new  Vezir.  he  na- 
turally felt  the  neces.-ity  of  laying  the  axe  to 
the  root  of  their  existence. 

Brave  as  they  were,  the  mice  had  some 
ditheuUy  in  contending  with  the  cats,  who 
held  their  nocturnal  a.sscmbiies  under  the  roof 
of  a  dilapidated  dwelling  not  a  hundred  roods 
di.stant  from  the  Im])erJal  palace  of  the 
Padishah ;  and  accomi)anied  their  counsels 
with  an  outcry  and  uproar  very  annoying  and 
unsatisfactory  to  the  Empire  of  the  long-tails. 

The  dissonance  was  dreadful :  and  the 
favorite  wife  of  ihe  Emperor,  a  pied  mouse  of 
extraordinary  beauty,  and  celebrated  (un- 
happily enough  on  this  occasion)  for  the  length 
of  her  ears,  was  actually  thrown  into  convul- 
sions on  the  breaking-up  one  of  their  orgies  ;  a 
circumstance  which  deprived  the  Padishah  of 
an  heir,  and  the  people  of  a  Crown- Prince — a 
great  acquisition  when  there  is  no  prospect  of 
either  a  siege  or  a  famine. 

The  arm/,  also,  suifered  greatly  from  their 
vicinity,  as  ihey  threw  out  detafehments  from 
their  main  body,  who  laid  in  ambush  for  the 
foraging  parlies  of  the  Fox ;  and  not  only 
destroyed  many  of  his  most  efficient  troops, 
but-  moreovei  threatened  to  occasion  a  famine 
in  his  camp. 

It  is  remarkably  unpleasant  for  a  general  to 
have  his  men  picked  olf  by  twos,  and  threes, 
and  made  away  with  he  knows  not  how  ;  for 
the  cats  were  adepts  at  tlie  business,  and  never 
left  a  trace  of  their  victims,  nor  a  sufficient 
fragment  of  their  remains,  to  admit  of  any 
pretext  on  the  part  of  a  grateful  nation  to 
erect  a  monument  over  their  ashes. 

Things  were  in  this  uncomfortable  state, 
when  one  morning  as  the  Vezir  of  Mouselaiid 
was  out  reconnoitring,  he  reached  the  banks 
of  a  river,   where   a  fishing  party  of  Storks 


were  busily  employed  in  the  capture  of  theii 
finny  prey.  The  usual  compliments  passed 
between  them  ;  and  the  Fox  with  infinite  tact 
eulogized  their  skill,  envied  them  their  capa- 
bilities for  so  exciting  an  amusement,  and 
finally  accepted  a  fish  which  was  cordially 
offered  to  him  by  one  of  the  party  ;  after  which 
he  digressed  to  the  beauty  of  tiie  weather,  the 
loveliness  of  the  landscape,  and  the  invigo- 
rating freshness  of  the  morning  air  ;  and  when, 
he  made  his  parting  bow,  he  left  the  whole 
long-necked  society  deeply  impressed  by  his 
good  breeding  and  judgment. 

This  point  gained,  he  trotted  leisurely  along 
until  he  reached  the  head-quarters  of  the  cats, 
when  he  sat  down  before  the  door,  as  if  from 
weariness,  with  the  fish  between  his  feet. 
The  aromatic  order  of  his  precious  charge  soon 
began  to  affect  the  olfactory  organs  of  the 
feline  community,  who  flocked  from  eveiypart 
of  the  building  with  desire  in  their  eyes,  and 
water  in  their  mouth ;  and  gradually  advan- 
cing nearer  and  nearer  to  the  fox,  they  began 
to  be  very  inquisitive  about  the  fi.sh. 

Reynard .  having  a  point  to  carry,  of  course 
affected  the  most  supreme  indiflcrcnce,  and 
turned  the  fish  over  and  over  with  his  paw  in 
a  manner  at  once  careless  and  graceful,  exhi- 
biting it  in  all  its  beauty  to  the  longing  cats. 
This  was  natural  enough,  for  it  is  what  is  done 
every  day  in  the  world  ;  the  possession  of  an 
object  is  little,  unless  that  possession  is  coveted 
by  others  ;  and  its  decided  enjoyment  consists 
in  the  envy  which  it  excites. 

As  they  continued  to  urge  him,  even  beyond 
the  limits  of  politeness,  the  fox  at  length, 
condescended  to  inform  the  expectant  cats  that 
their  curiosity  was  as  unavailing  as  it  was 
oppressive;  for  that  fish  could  only  be  obtained 
by  ready  wit,  and  good  policy,  by  stratagem, 
and  craft ;  qualities  in  which  their  people  were 
peculiarly  deficient ;  and  that  even  were  he  to 
tell  them  where  they  abounded,  they  would 
never  have  the  address  to  catch  them. 

This  announcement  occasioned  universal  in- 
dignation among  the  cats.  To  be  told  that 
you  are  a  rogue  is  not  agreeable,  yet  the  accu- 
sation is  borne  with  philosophy  by  many  a 
haughty  spirit — but  to  be  told  that  you  have 
not  wit  enough  to  be  a  rogue,  is  enough  to  try 
the  temper  of  any  animal :  and  accordingly 
the  whole  feline  population  was  in  a  tumult. 
Order  being  at  length  restored  by  the  ener- 
getic exertions  of  a  respectable  old  tabby, 
whose  talent,  for  ratting  had  given  him  great 
influence  over  the  minds  of  the  mob,  he  lost 
'  no  time  in  explaining  to  them  that  resenting  a 
few  light  words  evidently  uttered  in  mere 
'  playfulness  by  the  fox,  was  not  at  all  the  way 
to  come  at  the  fish  ;  a  cogent  species  of  jear 
soiling  which  penetrated  at  once  to  the  stom- 
achs of  the  assembly  ;  and  when  he  found  that 
he  had  secured  the  public  ear,  he  gently  hinted 
that  those  fire-eating  mousers  who  did  not  feel 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  THE   HAllKM. 


their  honor  satisfied  by  this  policy.  iiiii:ht  take    presenting  the  fish  wliicli  had  led   to  tli.-  dis- 


cus>ion,  to  a  ^jrarel'ul  lillle  ;.'riMii.cycd  viva- 
cions-lookins  kitten,  nearly  n-lutid  ti)  the  ro\ul 
family,  he  took  his  leave,  followed  by  one  uni- 
versal jnirnni;  of  admiration. 

A  eouneil   of  cats  was  speedily  a-'isemblcd 


an  early  opportunity  after  the  tisii  were  secu- 
red, of  resentinjz  the  insult  which  had  been 
utiercd  to  tiieni  as  a  nation  ;  a  suiru'eslion  that 
proved  the  profound  diplomacy  of  the  old  rat- 
ter, and   showed    that   he  knew   more  of  the 

world  and  its  wfsdom  than  the  fo\  felt  inclined    the  available  troops  reviewed   and  harnngind 
tc  2iv«  him  credit  for.  |  by  a  fierce  old  black  general  w  lio  had  h  hI  oih« 

UndcT- the  infiuencc  of  this  sound  advice,  the  eye,  tvvo  inches  of  tail,  and  half  an  ear  in 
eats  drew  in  their  claws,  lowered  their  backs,  some  previous  eiiijaijemcnt :  and  a  re.s(dutinn 
which  had  each  been  arched  like  the  moon  wa.s  formed  to  attack  the  eamj)  of  llio  mice 
when  her  course  is  but  half  run  ;  and  becan  that  very  nii;lit.  The  army  were  in  hi^h  sjn- 
to  tread  on  velvet,  and  to  purr  as  melodiously  !  rits  :  the  citizens  volunteered  by  scores;  and 
as  though  the  fish  which  they  hoped  to  obtain  i  the  head-quarters  were  all  commotion.  There 
■were  already  in  their  possession.  One  or  two  ,  is  nothing  wiiich  more  excites  the  valor  of  an 
indeed  turned  away  their  heads,  and  spat  upon 
f  the  ground  in  disgust ;  but  they  passed  un- 
heeded in  tlie  crowd  :  and  quite  sati.-^fied  with 
havins  thus  masnificcntlv  testified  their  dis- 


approbation, remained  on  the  spot  to  ascertain 
■whether  they  were  likely  to  benefit  by  the  pis- 
catorial inquiry  then  pending. 

At  the  urgent  entreaty  of  the  ancient  tabby, 
the  Fox,  thinking  he  had  carried  matters  far 
enough,  at  length  consented  to  point  out  to  the 
Cats  tlic  place  where  the  fish  were  to  be  pro- 
cured :  althouL'h  he  still  assured  them  that  the 


attacking  force  than  the.  known  weakncBs  of  tlio 
enemy. 

Lapped  in  delicious  and  most  savory 
dreams  lay  the  august  emperor  of  the  mice 
His  visions  had  carried  liim  into  the  jial- 
ace  of  the  pasha,  and  buried  him  in  the 
midst  of  a  piilauf  of  chicken  ;  where  he  wan 
enjoying  himself  discreetly,  when  one  sharp 
shrill  squeak  of  anguish  rang  through  the 
city  streets,  and  penetrated  even  to  tlic  im- 
perial apartment.  Up  sprang  the  padi.-hah, 
the  piilauf  valiished  ;  and  in  its  place  he  saw 


gratification  of  their  curiosity  was  the  only  j  scores  of  ill-omened  cats  pouncing  upon  In.s 
advantage  likely  to  accrue  to  ihem  from  the  defenceless  subjects,  and  bearing  them  off  in 
information.     Placing  himself  therefore  in  an  ^  their  insatiate  jaws. 

easy  attitude,  and  occasionally  whisking  away  ;  His  majesty  stood  for  one  instant  aghaat — 
a  pertinacious  fly.  which  persisted  in  buzzing  ,  but  only  one — Like  all  great  personages,  ho 
about  his  nose,  with  his  handsome  tail,  he  possc.s.scd  the  mo.st  beautiful  decision  of  char- 
acter;  and   accordingly,  when   he  liad  drawn 


thus  addressed  them: — 

'•  People  of  Catland  !  However  useless  the 
secret  may  prove  to  you  which  you  are  anx- 
ious to  possess.  I  will  humor  your  weakness, 


a  long  breath,  and  taken  in  at  the  same  time 
a  perfect  view  of  the  proceedings,  he  prudently 
turned   tail,    and  held  hunself  under  the  roota 


because  it  is  common  to  all  nations  to  seek  in-  j  of  a  tree  near  at  hand.  In  this  he  acted,  an 
formation  which  can  never  avail  them,  or  |  he  ever  did,  on  principle:  for,  as  he  justly 
rather,  of  which  they  seldom  learn  how  to  I  argued,  while  he  lay  snugly  ensconced  in  h\a 
avail  themselves.  Know  then  that  one  day,  |  hole,  and  the  work  of  carnage  went  on  above 
when  1  was  sufl^ering-  from  a  languor  which  I  his  head,  the  life  of  the  soverei^'ii  wa.s  every 
trusted  might  be  dispelled  by  the  fresh  air,  I  [  thing  to  the  subject ;  his  generals  were  paid 
•wandered  along  by  the  river  bank,  where  I  |  for  fighting,  just  as  he  was  paid  for  reigning ; 
encountered  a  number  of  Storks  feasting  upon  i  and  he  could  not,  therefore,  without  indelicacy, 
a  prolUsion  of  the  daintiest  fi.sh  ;  and  being  ;  interfere  with  their  privilesjes. 
thoroughly  satiated  with  mice,  I  inquired  of  j  The  fox,  meanwhile,  had  not  been  idle;  lie 
one  of  them  where  this  desirable  luxury  could  ;  had  an  extraordinary  talent  for  diplomacy, 
be  procured.  j  like  motii  of  his  race ;  and  ho  had  so  thoroughly 

"  For  a  time  he  resisted  my  importunity,  j  ingratiated  himself  with  the  storks,  who, 
but  at  leniith  he  informed  nic  that  on  the  other  though  long-necked,  were  by  no  nieiin!<  Ions- 
side  of  the  river  there  was  an  exhausted  lake,  headed,  that  tlicy  readily  entered  into  Ins  vicwu. 
in  which  thousands  of  fish  were  expiring ;  and  He  obtained  a  private  audience  of  the  chief  of 
that,  for  his  own  part,  he  had  become  not  only  the  tribe,  in  which  he  very  ably  set  ii.rih  hu 
ditlicult  and  fastidious  in  his  Bclcction,  but  ab-  own  disinlercHlediu-ss— for  he  iiiid  not  cohm- 
,  ..lutely  quite  tired  of  them.  Such  being  the  dcrcd  it  necessary  lo  inform  hin  new  allien 
r.ise.  !  entered  into  an  arrangement  with  the  that  ho  held  an  oflicial  ap|>oiiitmPiil  under  iho 
Stork  to  exchange  mice  for  fish,  which  cnalles  emperor  of  Mouseland,  for  whoxe  perMin  and 
us  to  var>-  our  repasts,  and  proves  perfectly  people  he  was  well  awure  that  the  *tork»  en- 
satisfactory  to  both  of  us."  terlained    as   much   contempt  as   ihey  did   fur 

The  Cats  were  overjoyed  at  this  intelli-  the  nation  of  the  frogs  :  devouring  lliem.  >* hen. 
geuce,  and  thanked  the  Fox  warmly  for  h\n  ever  they  fell  in  their  way.  in  preeiMJy  il  • 
generosity:  at  which  he  laughed  in  his  sleeve,  ,  same  unceremoniouit  manner — wlulo  h"  ei.r- 
as  is  customary  on  such  occasions  :  and  then,  [  nottly  and  emphatically  ecprcicnud  ihul  the 


120  THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 

storks  were  a  mighty   and  a  numerous  tribe,  I  mice  which  they  had  brought  with  them  be- 
rcquirmg   much    sustenance;    and,    like   the   fore  the  aga.  liad  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them 


Arabs  of  the  bipeds,  accustomed  to  secure  it 
by  their  talenis  lor  the  chase  :  while  the  cats 
were  an  insidious,  beggarly,  poaching  com- 
munity, exhausting  by  "tlieir  treacherous  and 
wily  arts,  the  prey  which  was  the  legitimate 
right  of  their  more  generous  enemies. 

The  inference  was  clear  ;  in  the  extirpation 
of  tlie  cat*  the  storks  were  ridding  themselves 
of  an  obnoxious  race:  wliile  the  fox  could  de- 
rive no  advantage  whatever  from  their  destruc- 
tion, save  the  calm  and  placid  conviction  of 
having  done  his  duty,  and  benefited  a  most 
important  portion  of  the  creation. 

There  is  nothing  either  so  rare  or  so  beau- 
tiful as  self-sacrifice  in  a  good  cause.  It  is 
the  germ  whence  spring  all  patriots  ! 

When  the  generous  fox  had  departed,  the 
aga  of  the  storks  marshalled  his  forces,  and 
laid  before  them  the  stratagem  of  their  friendly 
counsellor,  which  met  with  unanimous  ap- 
j.roval.  and  was  immediately  resolved  upon; 
i.or  was  its  exercise  long  delayed,  for  morning 
li.id  scarcely  dawned  when  the  cats  were  seen 
tillering  their  territory;  and  as  the  A'anguard 
oi  the  iwo  parlies  met,  the  old  taj>by  of  whom 
iiicntion  has  been  already  made,  advanced  in 
front  of  his  follows,  and  was  immediately  coii- 
i  onted  by  the  chief  of  the  storks  in  person. 

When  the  necessary  ceremonies  had  termi- 
nated, the  cats  announced  their  pacific  inten- 
t.ous,  explained  the  treaty  into  which  they 
desired  to  enter,  and  proposed  the  prelimina- 
ries for  the  deliberation  of  the  other  party. 

The  stoi-ks  listened  with  a  gravity  worthy 
of  the  occasion — the  exports  and  imports  were 
curiously  discussed ;  and  many  propositions 
advanced  likely  to  accelerate  the  contemplated 
excliange ;  when  an  old  stork,  renowned  for 
shrewdness,  and  that  minute  talent  for  calcu- 
laiion  which  is  so  es.sential  to  the  financial  in- 
terest of  a  community,  stood  up  ;  and  poising 
himself  steadily  on  one  leg.  with  an  aplomb 
strikingly  demonstrative  of  the  complete  and 
nice  equilibrium  of  his  arguments,  remarked, 
that  with  all  due  consideration  and  respect 
for  the  talent  exhibited  by  their  visiters,  he 
considered  that  in  all  tribes  and  nations  sup- 
porting ihemselves  by  their  own  exertions, 
time  was  property,  and  consequently  not  to 
be  lightly  or  inconsiderately  squandered  :  and 
that,  however  convenient  it  might  be  for  one 
party  to  await  the  result  of  the  other's  foray, 
it  would  save  a  great  deal  of  time,  and  be  in- 
finitely more  advisable,  that  in  the  event  of 
the  coinpleiion  of  the  treaty,  the  cats  should 
be  ferried  aero.ss  the  rivei  at  once,  where  they 
might  revel  on  fish,  binding  themselves  on 
their  return  to  supply  the  camp  of  the  storks 
with  mice  enough  for  their  immediate  con- 
sumption. 

The  cats,  delighted  at  the  suggestion,  con- 
eluded   the    treaty  at  once;    and  laying  the 


swallowed  by  the  storks;  after  which  cere- 
mony each  committed  himself  to  the  care  of 
one  of  their  new  allies,  who  instantly  spread 
their  wings,  and  left  the  sordid  earth  and  all 
its  creeping  things  far  beneath  them. 

The  cats,  unaccustomed  to  this  mode  of  tra- 
velling were  variously  affected ;  the  timid 
shut  their  eyes,  and  twisted  their  tails  round 
the  necks  of  their  obliging  friends;  the  more 
ambitious  swelled  with  delight,  and  almost 
taught  themselves  to  believe  that  they  were 
flying  on  their  own  wings  ;  the  bilious  grew 
sick  and  dizzy;  and  the  more  delicate  abso- 
lutely fainted. 

But  all  delusions  ceased  as  the  storks  hover- 
ed for  an  instant  just  above  the  centre  of  the 
rapid  stream ;  and  then  with  a  loud  shriek  of 
triumphant  hatred,  loosened  their  hold,  and 
hurled  their  victims  to  a  watery  grave.  Black, 
white,  or  tabby,  not  a  cat  escaped;  and  thus 
the  fox,  at  the  expense  of  a  score  or  two  of 
mice,  freed  the  empire  for  ever  from  their 
dangerous  vicinage,  and  provided  for  the  ge- 
neral safety ;  and  he  retired  to  his  burrow 
that  niglit  with  the  happy  consciousness  of 
superior  desert,  which  must  ever  brighten  the 
dreams  of  a  minister,  who,  while  he  is  receiv- 
ing the  grateful  acknowledgments  of  his  sove- 
reign, and  the  plauditory  acclamations  of  a 
whole  people,  is  deeply  impressed  by  the  ^ 
licious  conviction  that,  like  the  cuckoo  whi»h 
lays  its  egg  in  the  nest  of  another  bird,  he  s 
quietly  providing  for  his  own  interests. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

THE   KINGDOM    OF    THE    MICE — CONTINUED. 

Ambition,  unlike  jealousy,  will  not  sub 
mit  to  be  dieted  on  trifles ;  and.  accordingly 
the  little  triumphs  of  the  Fox  merely  stimu 
lated  his  taste  for  power  ;  and  led  him  to  wild 
er  and  bolder  schemes  which  were  boundei 
only  by  universal  monarchy. 

We  are  told  that  ambition  peopled  Eblis 
and  that  it  is  the  favorite  vice  of  Slieitan;  it 
will,  therefore,  be  readily  believed  that  an  oc- 
casion was  soon  aflTorded  to  the  Fox  for  tb« 
indulgence  of  his  peculiar  passion. 

A  caravan  passing  through  the  province, 
arrived  within  a  few  stadia  of  the  metropolis 
of  Mouseland,  and  created  intense  alarm  among 
the  foraging  parties,  who  came  scampering 
homeward  from  all  quarters,  with  a  paucity 
of  provisions  exceedingly  unsatisfactory  to  the 
sedentary  portion  of  the  community  ;  and  with 
tremendous  accounts  of  the  monsters  who  com 
posed  it,  that  plunged  the  whole  city  into  con 
vulsions  of  terror  ;  only  allayed  by  the  recol 
lection  of  the  quantity  of  good  things  likel) 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TUE  IIARKAf. 


121 


to   be   scattered    by   tlic   reckless    travellers, 
I  should  they  chance  to  halt  sutliciently  near  to 
j  the  territories  of  his  imperial    majesty,  to  en- 
I  able  his  subjects  to  secure  a  part  of  the  spoil. 
Their  hopes  were  fulfilled,    and   their  fears 
amply   compensated:  for.   in   their  immediate 
vicinity,  close  on  the  borders  ol  a  thick  wood, 
a  poor  camel  fell  under  his  load,   and   it  was 
found  impossible  to  raise  him  from  the  earth  ; 
his  burden  was  accordingly  divided  among  the 
rest  of  the  string:*  and  as  liic  travellers  pos- 
sessed no  means  of  transportinir  the  exhausted 
animal,  he  was  necessarily  left  to  his  late. 

Rest,  and  the  means  of  indulging  his  hun- 
ger, soon  restored  the  sick  camel  to  health  : 
and  when  the  foraginir  parties  once  more  ven- 
tured forth  from  their  subterranean  city,  to 
profit  by  the  halt  of  the  caravan,  the  Fox 
espied  the  camel  at  a  distance,  calmly  browsing 
on  the  young  shoots  of  a  stately  tulip-tree. 
His  resolution  was  instantly  formed,  and. 
without  the  delay  of  a  moment  he  turned  tail, 
and  pausing  at  the  gate  of  the  capital,  de- 
manded an  immediate  audience  of  the  em- 
peror. His  hurried  manner  and  imperious 
tone  greatly  agitated  the  city-guard,  a  party 
of  whom  scampered  to  the  palace  ;  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  imperial  procession  was  seen 
issuing  forth  with  as  much  haste  as  decorum  j 
•would  permit. 

Having  made  his  obeisance,  the  Fox  enter- 
ed at  once  on  the  subject  of  his  anxiety,  and 
acquainted  the  august  Majesty  of  Mouseland 
Vrith  the  fact,  that,  an  inj^olent  Camel,  a  mere 
beast  of  burden,  a  vile  slave,  bred  to  toil  and 
obedience — in  short,  it  were  endless  to  repeat 
the  opprobrious  epithets  lavished  upon  the  in- 
truder— was  ravaging  the  forest  at  pleasure, 
polluting  the  fountain  at  wliich  the  Imporial 
thirst  was  often  quenched,  and  devouring  the 
fruits  destined  for  the  Imperial  treasury. 

The  monarch  trembled  for  his  throne,  for  he 
had  once  seen  a  Camel,  and  he  had  never  for- 
gotten his  terror  on  that  occasion  ;  he  wa.s, 
therefore,  unprepared  with  any  suitable  com- 
ment on  the  alarming  intelligence;  and  the 
surprise  of  the  monarch  may  be  imauined, 
when  finding  him  dumb,  the  Grand  Vczir  thus 
continued  : — 

'•  This  must  not  be,  most  puissant  Padihhah. 
Shall  an  empire  like  that  of  MouKeland — a 
free  people,  under  a  free  .••overeii.'n.  whose  link- 
ed tajls  would  cneompa.«H  Kl  Caf,  and  whows 
tribes  fill  the  whole  earth,  bow  before  an  in- 
solent caitifT  whose  only  virtue  Ih  obedience  ? 
Shall  a  nation,  accuhtomed  to  live  on  the  labor 
of  others,  yield  to  a  poor  (.piritlcwf  wretch, 
who.se  very  exihtoncc  is  toil  '  Forbid  it  the 
Majesty  of  Mouseland  I  I^ord  of  the  Loiij;- 
Tails,  I  prostrate  myself  before  you  ;  I  pray 
you  to  be  just  to  yourself;  and  not  to  suffer 


*  Cuneli  tnrrl  in  striogi  in  the  Eul,  and  tha  trmin  if 
Bcnaily  led  hj  a,  donkey. 


[the  shadow  of  you;  grcaim-ss  to  diminish. 
'Were  not  the  Cats  a  miiihly  and  a  warlike 
people,  and  have  we  not  destroyed  them  r"  Are 
'not  the  Storks  the  natural  enemies  of  your 
•subjects,  and  have  we  not  sharprnod  oifr  wits 
upon  their  dullness  ;  and  made  them  serve  us 
by  throwing  a  veil  over  their  heads':*  The 
Camel  must  be  subjected  to  the  same  illus- 
]  trious  sway — he  must  bow  bctbre  the  carpet 
of  your  Imperial  majesty,  and  aeknowleTge 
your  supremacy:  or  he  must  die  the  death  of 
a  traitor,  and  perish  miserably  for  his  pre- 
sumption."' 

A  general  squeak  of  enthusia«tic  approbation 
burst  from  the  assembled  courtiers  :  and  it 
was  with  some  dilhculty  that  the  Vox  could 
make  himself  heard,  as  lie  approached  the  cli- 
max of  his  speech.  A  flourwh  of  the  mon- 
arch's tail,  however,  at  length  cominandcd 
attention,  and  the  Vczir  hastened  to  add  that 
he  should  strongly  counsel  his  majesty  to  en- 
force immediate  obedience  trom  the  ba.seborn 
intruder  :  as  should  vigorous  measures  he  long 
delayed,  they  might  prove  al^o^cllier  abortive  ; 
a  circuiiistance  which  would  tend  to  throw  a 
doubt  on  the  jiower  and  greatness  of  Ins  Ma- 
jesty, and  diminish  the  luslreof  his  reign.  The 
beard  of  rebellion  should  be  plucked  out  by 
the  roots  before  it  grew  into  strength  and  dii:- 
nity:  and  he,  therefore,  called  upon  the  Light 
of  the  Kmpire,  and  the  Glory  of  the  Karlh,  to 
subdue  at  once  the  insolence  of  llie  Camel, 
and  compel  him  to  his  allegiance. 

The  padishah  swelled  with  con.setous  great- 
ness as  he  listened  to  the  oration  of  his  min- 
ister: and,  with  a  look  of  supreme  command, 
he  ordered  the  immediate  attendance  of  the 
camel  ;  when  it  became  a  question,  how,  in 
the  event  of  the  summons  hems  disregarded, 
obedience  could  be  enforced.  Grjuluully.  as 
thedidicultiesof  the  ca.se  presented  themselves, 
the  dienity  of  the  monarch  dwindh-d  away  ; 
and,  at  leiii.'th.  he  was  lairly  eoini>elli'd  to  con- 
fes.s — thou'^h  he  did  it  with  n  reluctant  majes- 
ty of  manner,  much  commented  on  by  the 
court — that  he  really  did  not  sec  how  such  au 
event  could  be  brought  to'pass. 

The  fox.  with  a  contideiil  and  pleasant  air, 
immediately  volunteered  to  undertake  the  em- 
bassy, and  pledge<l  his  veracity  on  iissueceiut  ; 
and  the  whole  pfipulation  of  Mouseland.  proud 
of  Mich  an  ambassador,  eiiihraerd  the  (iffcr 
with  avidity.  Il  is  always  agrecahle  to  find 
a  back  willing  to  l>car  our  burdens,  niul  broud 
enough  to  sup{>ort  them  ;  and  thuM  the  mico 
were  delighted  to  leave  a  mission,  of  whirli 
they  were  to  reap  the  benefit,  in  the  hnnd.t  of 
their  crafty  ally. 

The  fox,  thus  duly  authorized  and  empow 
cred  to  be  iinperliii<-nl.  journeyed  on  wiili  the 
sell-complacency  usual  to  pleiii|»<>teiiiiiirirK  un- 
der such  favorable  nreuiimtanceii ;  iind  hnvins 
rcache<l  the  t.j)Ol  where  the  camel,  wenricd 
with  wandering  through  the  forc«t.  and  sa- 


122 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


tiated  with  leaves  and  fruits,  was  gravely 
chewing  the  cud  under  the  shadowing  branch- 
es of  an  odoriferous  cedar;  he  accosted  him 
in  haughty  language,  at  once  declared  his 
mission,  and  so  magnified  the  power  and  prow- 
ess of  his  master,  that  the  camel,  who,  like 
ruany  other  animals  in  the  creation  who  carry 
their  lie:ids  high,  was  low  enough  iu  heart ; 
roie  humbly  from  the  earth,  and  assuring  the 
ambassador  that  he  had  transgressed  ignorant- 
ly,  besought  of  him  as  an  especial  favor  to  in- 
tercede for  him  to  the  emperor;  and  was  at 
once  given  to  understand  that  he  must  forth- 
with wait  upon  the  padishah  in  person,  as  no 
minor  submission  would  be  received. 

The  camel,  trembling  with  anxiety  and 
terror,  declared  his  readiness  to  compensate, 
by  any  means  in  his  power,  for  his  involuntary 
trespass  on  the  territories  of  so  high  and  pow- 
erful a  prince ;  and  he  at  once  volunteered  to 
accompany  the  fox  to  court  ;  when,  having 
desired  his  timid  companion  to  halt  on  the 
edge  of  the  wood,  about  a  furlong  from  the 
city  gates,  until  the  emperor  should  consent 
to  give  him  an  audience,  the  v^zir  of  Mouse- 
land  hastened  to  report  his  success  to  his  im- 
perial master,  and  to  conduct  him  to  the  pres- 
ence of  this  new  ally. 

Greatness  is  merely  comparative  ;  and  it  is 
measured  by  so  many  different  standards,  that 
it  is  often  very  difficult  to  determine  on  its 
actual  limits.  Thus,  as  the  camel  stood 
buried  in  thought,  with  his  head  drooping, 
and  his  heart  quailing,  he  scarcely  heeded  the 
crowd  of  busy  mice  who  were  darting  about 
immediately  at  his  feet ;  nor  had  he  an  idea 
that  among  them  were  some  of  the  high  offi- 
«  cers  of  the  household,  and  personages  of  dis- 
tinction about  the  court  of  the  very  nation  to 
which  he  had  come  there  to  swear  allegiance. 
Had  he  been  asked  his  opinion  of  the  locality, 
little  dreaming  that  he  was  in  close  vicinity  of 
a  great  city,  he  would  have  simply  answered 
that  the  spot  was  cool,  quiet,  and  shady,  but 
terribly  infested  with  vermin  ! 

Such  is  life.  The  greatness  of  one  is  the 
scorn  of  another — the  pride  which  fills  one 
bosom  is  fed  by  what  appears  disgrace  to  its 
neighbor  :  and  thus  the  world  rolls  on.  peopled 
with  delusion,  and  deception,  and  self-value. 

At  length  the  camel  was  roused  from  his 
rovery  by  a  disagreeable  chorus  of  squeaking, 
and  a  great  commotion  among  the  mice  ;  whose 
numbers  continued  to  increase  so  rapidly,  and 
to  approach  him  so  nearly,  that  he  was  just 
about  to  crusli  a  score  of  the  boldest  under  his 
heavy  foot,  when  the  reappearance  of  the  fox 
diverted  his  attention,  and  saved  the  lives  of 
a  few  individuals  of  rank  and  fashion  who 
would  otherwise  have  been  victimized. 

Under  these  circumstances  the  rage  of  the 
indignant  camel  may  be  readily  imagined, 
when  on  demanding  of  the  ambassador  wheth- 
er he  should  succeed  in  obtaining  an  audience 


of  the  offended  monarch,  he  was  informed  that 
he  was  already  in  the  presence  ;  and  that  a 
somewhat  spare,  lean-looking  mouse  ^^■ith  gray 
M'hiskers,  seated  upon  a  morsel  of  red  rag,  waa 
the  mighty  sovereign,  whose  nod  was  to  decide 
his  fate. 

For  a  moment  the  camel  bent  down  his 
long  neck,  and  gazed  steadily  and  deridingly 
on  the  wreiched  little  animal  who  sat  swell- 
ing with  pride,  suVrounded  by  his  court ;  and 
then,  flinging  tip  his  heels,  he  gave  one  tre- 
mendous kick  which  sent  a  dozen  courtiers 
flying  into  the  air,  and  deliberately  trotted 
back  to  the  forest. 

Pride,  unsustained  by  circumstance  and  pow- 
er is  as  untenable  as  the  wind  :  and  they  M-ho 
endeavor  to  cover  their  insignificance  by  big 
words,  labor  as  idly  as  boys  who  throw  stones 
at  the  sun,  or  dogs  who  bay  the  moon-  when 
it  is  at  full. 

Abashed  by  the  indignity  which  he  had  just 
sustained  under  the  very  walls  of  his  capital, 
and  in  the  presence  of  the  pillars  of  the  state, 
the  padishah  sat  for  a  while  with  his  head 
buried  in  his  tail,  as  though  he  had  yielded  up 
the  spirit ;  but  at  length  his  great  soul  asserted 
itself  even  in  this  painful  emergency ;  and  call- 
ing the  fox  aside,  he  thus  reproachfully  ad- 
dressed him. 

'•  Vezir  !  whom  I  have  long  regarded  less  as 
my  slave  than  as  the  brother  of  my  adoption ; 
upon  whose  neck  I  have  flung  the  reins  of 
power,  and  in  whose  hands  I  have  placed  the 
beard  of  wisdom ;  what  disgraceful  ashes  have 
not  your  blind  counsels  heaped  upon  my  dis- 
honored head  ?  The  graves  of  my  ancestors 
are  defiled;  and  the  faces  of  my  people  are 
blackened.  The  wise  men  have  said  that 
kings  are  as  compasses  in  the  midst  of  the  na- 
tions, to  sweep  the  great  circle  of  wisdom;  but 
you  have  made  me  the  pole  of  folly,  and  the 
index  of  disgrace.  Till  measures  are  well 
pondered  in  the  mind,  madmen  alone  venture 
to  risk  their  exercise  ;  but  double  is  his  delu- 
sion who  crushes  others  in  his  own  defeat. 
When  the  sun  rose  to-day  above  the  earth 
which  was  created  for  my  pleasure,  my  spear 
I  was  as  a  ray  of  the  morning,  my  sword  a 
bright  beam  flashing  death  and  terror,  and  my 
helmet  a  star  of  light :  princes  caught  the  fire 
[of  glory  from  my  glance ;  and  my  smile  made 
I  heroes — and  now,  I  am  a  dishonored  sovereign, 
I  abashed  by  the  gaze  of  my  own  subjects." 

"Great  sanctuary  of  the  world!'"  replied 
'the  Fox,  bowing  meekly  before  the  irritated 
monarch ;  "  Refuge  of  the  distressed  !  whose 
'fame  is  echoed  from  hill  to  hill,  and  with 
whose  praise  the  valleys  of  the  earth  are  vocal ; 
I,  the  humblest  slave  of  the  Majesty  of  Mouse- 
j  land,  beseech  your  highness  to  be  no  longer 
possessed  by  grief,  but  to  raise  your  eyes  to 
!  glory,  and  to  regild  the  crown  of  courage.  I 
;  hold  to  the  nostrils  of  power  the  pleasing  per- 
I  fume  of  success ;  and  while  I  wear  away  my 


TUE  ROiLVNCE  OF  THE  lIAliEM. 


lit 


forehead  on  the  humblo  sands  of  prostration,  I;  The  prospect  of  advantage  always  smooths 
promise  on  the  faith  of  my  allegiance,  that  ere  i  the  temper :  it  is  the  oil  of  8ollihhnc.s.s  Hung  oa 
long,  the  insolent  slave  who  has  dared  to  brave  I  the  waters  of  pas^ion. 

your  aniier  shall  be  trodden  down  in  his  pride.'  (Jraduaily,  therefore,  but  without  lessening 
Somewhat  appeased  by  these  assurances,  the:  the  distance  between  thrni,  the  two  lil-ansorlcd 
monarch  once  more  consented  to  be  uuided  by '  companions  fell  into  convt-rsalion,  until  the 
his  wily  minister  ;  and  then,  aoroptly  dismiss-  j  Fox  had  conlided  just  as  much  of  his  inti-ntiona 
ing  his  court,  he  returned  incog  to  the  city.  |  to  the  Monkey  as  he  judged  expedient;  and 
much  to  the  disappointment  of  the  sight-loving  j  had  hinted  to  him.  that  if  he  wo»ild  picdco 
inhabitants,  who  had  promised  themselves  a i  himself  to  assist  liis  dosii;i)s,  he  would  not  only 
pageant,  of  which  the  untoward  event  that  had  bestow  upon  him  the  tempting  luxury  which 
occurred  beyond  the  walls  had  altogether  de-  he  appeared  so  much  to  covet,  but  would  di- 
prived  them;  for  no  monarch  can  be  disposed  rect  him  where  to  find  a  thousand  such.  • 
to  show  himself  to  his  people,  just  as  he  has  I      The  Monkey  first  listened  and  doubted  ;  then 


been  kicked. 


CHAPTER   LII. 


THE   KINGDOM    OF    THE    MICE — CONTINUED. 


The  Fox,  at  one  moment  swearing  ven^ 


looked  and  believed:  and  tinally,  requesting 
the  Fox  to  retire  a  little  apart,  promised  his 
cooperation  as  soon  as  he  sliould  have  devoured 
the  sugar-cane.  The  crafty  dcsiu'iier  smiled 
and  complied ;  and  when  the  Monkey  had 
completed  his  delicious  repast,  he  led  the  way 
to  the  forest,  where  the  unsuspieious  Camel 
wa-s  browsing  on  the  branches  of  the  tall  trees. 
Never  take  an  ally  into  the  field   fasting. 


geancc  on  the  insolent  Camel  who  had  dared  to  Hunger  sours  the  temper,  and  quenches  the 
thwart  him  in  his  wishes  ;  and  at  the  next,  i  enthusiasm.  A  man  never  loves  his  neighbor 
laughing  until  he  was  obliged  to  wipe  the  tears  so  well  as  when  he  ha*  just  plunged  his  finger.^ 
from  his  eyes  with  his  paw.  as  he  remembered   into  his  pillauf.  ' 

the  ridiculous  overthrow  of  dandy  Lords  of  the  Having  pointed  out  the  Camel  to  his  new 
Bedchamber,  and  conceited  OtTicers  of  State  ; !  friend,  the  Fox  sauntered  away,  and  left  th«j 
travelled  on  until  he  reached  a  sugar  planta-  whole  allair  in  the  hands  of  the  Monkey;  wh<- 
tion  with  which  he  was  well  acquainted ;:  immediately  scrambled  into  the  tree  on  whicl 
moralizing  as  he  went  in  a  strain  more  euri-  the  intended  victim  was  feeding,  and  seizinj 
ous  than  edifying;  and  not  at  all  calculated  ,  the  broken  haltnr  that  had  been  left  in  hi« 
to  have  raised  him  in  the  esteem  of  the  pigmy  i  nose.  fa.stened  his  head  to  the  branches. 
Emperor  of  Mouseland  if  it  had  unfortunately  j  It  is  dangerous  to  leave  even  a  trace  of  you- 
come  to  his  knowledge.  former   insigniticancc  when   you  are  bent  o 

Having  entered  the  plantation,  he  selected  |  atfccting  grealiie.«.s.     Many  a  proud  man  is  io 
one  of  the  finest  and  most  luscious  sugar-canes  ;  by  the  broken  halter  of  some  low  habit,  whii 
he  could  find  ;  and  then  sauntered  to  a  grove    puts  his  beard  into  the  hand  of  his  enemy,  a-  i 
in  the  neighborhood,  the  favorite  haunt  of  an   defiles  it  with  the  unsavory  oil  of  ndiculo. 
aged  Monkey,  gray  in  the  arts  of  mischief.  The  Fox.  who  had   kept  a  walehlul  eye   on 

Affecting  not  to  observe  the  hoary  tenant  of  his  new  friend.  siH-edily  perceived  hih  success, 
the  wood,  the  Fox  seated  himself  under  a  tree,  and  hastened  to  congratulolo  him  on  his  dcx- 
and  began  fanning  him.'^elf  with  his  tail.  a.s  terity  and  address  :  and  then,  when  he  found 
though  overcome  with  heat  and  fatigue  :  while  that  the  vanity  of  the  Monkey  was  touched,  he 
he  leered  out  at  the  ends  of  his  eyes  from  time  '  made  him  ample  promises  of  reward,  if  he 
to  time,  and  was  overjoyed  to  perceive  the  would  ftblige  hiin  by  hi*  valuable  co-ojK-ration 
Monkey  intent  upon  the  sugar-cane,  licking  in  another  undertaking  which  he  had  much  at 
his  wishful  jaws,  and  leaping  from  branch  to    heart. 

branch  in  all  the  restlessness  of  desire.  At  i  The  hoary  pug,  who  had  been  linked  to  tlie 
length  the  water  be<;an  to  flow  from  his  parted  will  ol  the  Fox  by  the  chain  of  swcel  words, 
lips:  and  then  the  Fox,  believing  that  the  pro-  directly  consented;  and,  leaving  the  unforlu- 
per  moment  wa.s  come,  affected  suddenly  to  nale  Camel  lied  toMhc  tree,  tiie  two  confcdo- 
perceive  him.  and  with  extreme  courtesy  greet-  rales  journeyed  through  the  forest  until  Ihcy 
ed  him.  and  begged  to  make  his  acqiiainlanct.  [  came  to  a  piece  of  timber  whieh  Kome  woods- 

The  monkey  grinned  and  chattered,  and  nian  had  bien  employed  in  sawing  onundcr. 
maintainedi  a  respectful  distance:  having  an,  Mere  the  Fox  paused,  and  |K)inl:ng  to  a  wedge 
unpleasant  consciousness  that  Foxes  Homctimcs  j  which  hud  W-en  ln^erted  in  the  wo<d.  iniorinrd 
devoured  Monkeys,  and  deeming  it  most  pru- 1  the  Monkey,  who  had  not  yet  ventured  to  ap- 
dent  to  keep  out  of  the  reach  of  a  paw ;  though  1  proach  him  too  nearly,  that  he  hn<l  purticular 
ho  returned  the  cr^mpliinent  of  hi*  new  ac- 1  occa*ion  for  the  wei,t;e,  but  that  he  bad  •Irivcn 
quaintancc  with  considerable  urbanity,  influ-  in  vain  to  |>os»e»s  hmiKclf  of  it,  and  now  relied 
enced  in  no  slight  degree  by  the  sight  of  the  solely  u|M)n  the  sagaeity  of  the  ►r.mo 
sugar-cane.  |  spirit  that  had  c»pturtd  the  CwnoJ. 


124 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


Pug  smiled,  almost  in  scorn,  at  the  help- 
lessness of  his  companion  ;  and  forthwith  be- 
gan to  work  away  with  his  teeth  and  paws 
with  an  energy  which  greatly  diverted  the 
Fox,  who  was  laughing  heartily  in  his  own 
quiet  peculiar  way,  when  suddenly  a  mightier 
effort  than  usual  dislodged  the  wedge,  and  the 
tail  of  the  Monkey  was  caught,  and  held  fast 
by  the  closing  timber. 

"  Ajaib  —  wonderful  !''  shouted  Reynard 
giving  loose  to  a  peal  of  merriment  that  echoed 
through  the  forest;  "Had  your  beard  grown 
gray  in  ignorance,  that  you  had  yet  to  learn, 
oh  !  Monkey  !  that  they  who  toil  to  gratify 
their  sensual  appetites,  and  labor  under  the 
impetus  of  idle  vanity,  are  fitting  tools  for 
craftier  spirits,  and  ever  fall  into  a  trap  of 
their  own  setting?  You  have  breakfasted 
heartily  at  my  expense ;  and  I  do  not  deny 
that  you  have  earned  the  meal ;  but  it  is  ever 
ill-policy  to  consume  the  wages  before  the 
work  is  done.  I  owed  you  the  courtesy  of  tel- 
ling you  these  truths,  that  you  might  not  die 
as  unprofitably  as  you  have  lived  ;  but  I  will 
not  weary  you  with  words." 

And,  so  saying,  he  fell  upon  the  ill-fated 
monkey,  and  devoured  him  without  mercy. 

They  who.  to  prosper  themselves,  consent  to 
further  the  evil  designs  of  the  unwortliy,  fail 
not  to  reap  the  reward  of  their  mean  self-love. 

In  an  audience  of  the  padishah,  which  he 
obtained  immediately  on  reaching  the  city,  the 
fox  at  once  explained  the  situation  of  the 
camel,  at  whicli  the  monarch  and  all  the  court 
laughed  themselves  almost  into  convulsions; 
and  many  witticisms  were  ventured,  that  ex- 
tremely delighted  the  younger  members  of  the 
court;  while  the  v6zir,  in  a  fine  imaginative 
strain  of  eloquence,  was  explaining  the  strata- 
gem by  which  he  had  secured  the  helpless 
camel ;  wherein  it  was  remarkable  that  the 
monkey  was  never  once  mentioned. 

The  ingratitude  of  the  great  was  written  in 
letters  of  crimson  upon  the  first  scroll  of  know- 
ledge. It  is  easier  to  number  the  stars,  than 
to  be  remembered  by  the  mighty  whom  you 
have  served.  A  favor  conferred  upon  the 
haughty  is  as  a  chain  about  their  necks,  of 
which  they  often  break  the  links  with  a  scim- 
itar. 

A  general  rejoicing  was  ordered  throughout 
the  metropolis  of  Mouseland  ;  for  former  de- 
feat always  doubles  the  triumph  of  subsequent 
success :  compliments  were  lavished  on  the 
vizir,  which  he  received  with  characteristic 
modesty.  He  was  designated  the  Savior  of 
the  Empire,  and  he  placed  his  paw  upon  his 
heart,  and  swore  that  he  had  done  nothing, 
absolutely  nothing.  He  was  declared  with 
acclamation  to  be  the  great  hero  of  the  age, 
the  master-spirit  of  victory,  the  Conqueror  of 
the  Cats  :  and  he  only  smiled  a  grateful  smile, 
and  assured  the  excited  populace  that  1  e  had  , 
but  done  his  duty.  | 


They  who  feel  their  power  can  afford  to 
ape  humility — it  is  throwing  gold  dust  into 
the  eyes  which  should  not  be  too  clearsighted  : 
and  the  great  do  well  at  once  to  dazzle  and  to 
blind  ;  for  it  is  a  compmind  policy  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  vulgar. 

While  the  citizens  of  Mouseland  were  en- 
joying them'selves  in  preparations  for  the  re- 
joicing, the  padi.shah,  anxious  to  secure  his 
share  of  the  general  gratification,  and  unable, 
from  his  exalted  station,  to  join  in  the  amuse*' 
ments  of  his  subjects,  determined  on  proceed- 
ing to  the  forest  in  order  to  gratify  his  revenge 
by  exulting  over  the  arrogant  captive  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, commanding  his  retinue  to  be  pre- 
pared, he  hastened  to  the  field  of  triumph,  and 
climbing  the  tree  to  which  the  camel  was  at- 
tached, he  seated  himself  upon  a  branch  di- 
rectly  above  his  head,  and  poured  forth  upon 
him  the  whole  volume  of  his  angry  satire. 

"  Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  you  of  the 
straight  back!"  he  said  scoffingly :  "happy 
are  you,  who  can  feed  upon  the  young  leaves 
of  the  forest,  and  drink  water  from  the  clouds; 
who  can  wander  hither  and  thither  over  the 
earth — and  yet,  what  say  I?  It  would  seem 
that  you  are  less  free  than  your  stature  would 
imply  ;  for,  had  not  your  neck  been  longei 
than  your  head,  you  would  never  presumptu- 
ously have  dared  to  kick  up  the  dust  of  con- 
tempt in  the  eyes  of  an  assembled  court,  anj, 
a  free  people,  until  you  had  learned  how  fai 
it  might  be  safe  to  brave  their  resentment' 
How  like  you  now  the  lesson  ?  Does  it  no 
depend  upon  my  sovereign  will  whether  yoi 
become  once  more  a  wanderer  over  the  greei 
plains,  and  a  quaffer  of  the  bright  rivers,  o 
remain  here  to  die  the  death  which  your  vain 
glorious  self-appreciation  has  drawn  downupo: 
you  ?  Truly  it  does  so  ;  that  your  blanche 
bones  as  they  glimmer  in  the  moonlight  ma 
remind  all  future  upstarts  of  the  danger  o 
over-looking  through  their  own  vanity  th 
probable  power  of  others  ;  and  of  attemptin 
to  despise  and  to  subdue  animals  eminentl 
their  superiors." 

As  he  felt  that  he  had  here  uttered  a  mo; 
impressive  sentiment,  the  padishah  paused  f( 
applause ;  and  the  assembled  mice,  seeing  i 
once  the  singular  appositene.ss  with  which  sue 
a  remark  fell  from  his  imperial  lips,  were  n^ 
niggardly  in  their  demonstrations  of  approb; 
tion. 

There  are  few  things  so  admirable  up( 
earth  as  consistency ;  and  as  the  fox  listene 
the  tears  of  suppressed  merriment  trembled 
his  eyes. 

Meanwhile  the  camel,  conscious  that  despi 
the  insignificance  of  his  enemy,  he  was  neve 
theless  completely  at  his  mercy,  felt  the  nece 
sity  of  conforming  to  any  proposal,  and  i 
submitting  to  any  indignity  in  order  to  sa 
his  life  ;  and,  accordingly,  making  no  corame 
on  the  absurdity  of  the  monarch's  address, 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  UAREM. 


128 


!iiid  his  heart  on  tlic  ashes  of  huinility,  and 
thus  replied  : — 

"  Mirror  of  mightiness,  and  sun  of  strength  ! 
My  crime  against  your  greatness  has  grown 
out  of  my  ignorance  of  its  extent.  I  came  from 
a  far  land,  a  helpless  stranger,  unknowing  and 
unknown.  No  dream  of  your  power  liad 
fallen  upon  my  soul,  nor  had  the  light  of  your 
presence  beamed  upon  my  eyes — I  sinned,  be- 
cause I  deceived  myself,  and  judged  of  yoiir 
strength  by  your  size.  1  am  alfitady  sutlici- 
ently  punished  by  the  knowledge  that  I  have 
incurred  your  displeasure.  Pardon  me,  there- 
fore, dread  sovereign,  lest  I  expire  of  grief: 
and  sutfer  me,  by  a  life  of  devotion  to  your 
imperial  will,  to  expiate  my  transgression. 
Put  the  ring  of  obedience  into  my  ears,  and 
let  me  swear  eternal  allegiance,  and  be  counted 
among  those  who  have  the  happiness  to  be 
your  subjects." 

As  the  camel  ceased  speaking  the  fox 
stepped  forward,  and  eloquently  and  humanely 
interceded  for  the  captive  :  he  represented  to 
the  padishah  liow  frequently  animals  really 
fell  into  error  unconsciously  :  and  made  a 
delicate  allusion  to  his  own  career — reminded 
his  hearers,  with  a  most  sonorous  sigh,  of  the 
days  when  he  himself  not  only  despised,  but 
fed  on  mice  :  and  ultimately  asked,  with  a 
noble  consciousness  of  high  desert,  whether  he 
had  given  the  emperor  or  the  empire  reasons 
to  repent  their  mercy. 

A  universal  and  eager  squeak  of  dis-scnt 
rose  on  all  sides  :  and  as  the  fox  bowed  grace- 
fully in  acknowledgment,  the  padishah  ordered 
the  oath  to  be  administered  to  the  camel,  and 
the  halter  gnawed  asunder,  which  was  imme- 
diately done  ;  and  the  emancipated  prisoner 
followed  his  new  master  from  the  forest,  a 
good  deal  impressed  by  the  oration  of  the  fox, 
and  reconciled  by  Uie  presence  of  a  companion 
in  disgrace. 

The  troubles  of  others  always  a.'-sist  in 
consoling  us  for  our  own. 


CHAI'TKR  Llll. 

THE  KINGDOM  OF   THE    MICE CONTINUED. 

The  subjugation  of  the  Caroel  cauurd  an 
immense  commotion  in  the  forc»t,  and  the 
mysterious  provrc-s  of  the  Mouse  wan  can- 
vassed on  all  sides,  until  the  most  exlraordi- 
nary  and  magical  talcs  became  current  ■  and 
animals  of  various  kinds,  not  wl^hlns  to  brave 
an  influence  which  they  could  not  comprehend, 
and  anxious  to  continue  a  pcacablo  cxihlenro. 
voluntarily  tendered  ihcir  allc;;iancc  to  the 
mice. 

Shadows  frequently  frighten  the  crowd; 
and  we  always  dread  that  evil  the  most  of 
which  we  cannot  define  the  limits. 


The  Fox  revelled  in  jiowor,  and  increased 
in  popularity.  He  was  never  idle  nn  hour  ; 
for  when  the  state  allairs  of  Mouseland 
were  arranged,  he  was  busu-d  in  ingratiating 
himself  with  their  new  allies  who  gladly  re- 
turned civilities  by  which  they  were  likely  to 
benelit.  Presents  poiinil  in  upon  him :  and  if 
occa-sionally  in  their  desire  to  gratily  his  well 
known  fondness  for  poultry,  some  of  the  bea.sts 
brouuht  him  a  Stork  or  two,  he  only  , •smiled  at 
the  mistake,  ami  did  not  consider  it  expedient 
to  inform  them  that  they  were  destroying  the 
saviours  of  the  .Mice  I 

But  there  was  stiM  a  thorn  in  his  heart. 
The  lion  was  unsubdued  !  The  king  of  the 
forest  was  uneonqnen^l  !  And  the  Fox  had 
registered  a  vow  that  every  beast  of  (he  earth 
should  own  the  power  of  his  guile.  With  this 
resolution  he  therefore  aiiain  presented  himself 

i  at  the  carpet  of  the  padishah,  and  reported  th» 
eontumacity  of  the  Lion  ;  but  the  monarch  of 
Mouseland  appeared  anxious  to  evade  the 
subject:  and  even  stated  to  the  excited  Vezir 
that  he   deemed   it   no  dishonor   to  share  the 

I  .'iovereignty  of  the  earth  with  so  noble  an 
animal  : — and  that  imh-ed.  he  would  rather 
live  on  terms  of  amity  with  him.  than  by  pro- 
voking his  anger  run  the  risk  of  arousing  a 
wrath  which  might  be  dangerous. 

The  Fox.  with  all  respect,  scouted  this  argu- 
ment :  and  represented  to  the  timid  monarch 
that  while  the  Lion  continued  to  be  lord  of  the 
forest,  there  was  no  safely  for  the  Kmpire  of 

I  the    Mice,    which    In-    could    destroy    in    one 

.  paroxysm  of  raire  :  and  he  b«-i.':;ed  to  bo  per- 
mitted to  remind  tli<-  pndishah  that  the  animal 

'  in  question  was  celebrated  for  the  irritability 
of  his  dispo.xition,  and  his  total  dl.^regard  of 
the  feelings  of  others,  when  he  was  inclined 
to  gratify  either  his  anser  or  his  appetite  ;  a 
fact  which  was  too  notonmis  to  nc<-d comment. 

j  The  Kmperor  listened  :  and  at  length 
wearied  by  tln^  arguimnis.  and  moved  by  the 
entreaties  of  his  entcr|  rising  Vezir,  he  con- 
sented to  summon  the  Lion  to  his  presence  ] 
and  de])U(ed  the  Fox  Ambassador  Kxtraordi- 
nary  on  iIm?  oceusion. 

Great  was  the  indignation  of  (ho  Lion  when 
the  Fox  declared  his  mission  ;  he  lushed  (he 
sounding  forest  with  his  (ail  ;  ho  Hung  light- 
nings from  his  luru'e  cyrn.  briAtled  Ins  wiry 
mane  like  a  cohiniii  of  lancec,  and  moifitrncd 
the  duht  of  the  earth  with  the  crimson  dro|i« 
which  till  from  his  yawning  jawH  ;  his  roar 
shook  the  young  cedars  to  their  roots  ;  and  he 
would  instantly  have  devoured  the  Ambas- 
sador had  he  not  already  break  fun  (ed,  and 
despised  him  loo  much  (o  run  (he  rn>k  v{  a 
surfeit  in  the  indulgence  of  his  revenge. 

A  veil  fell  over  ihc  heart  of  the  majesty  o( 
Mouseland  at  this  new  delrni  ;  hr  had  Rfown 
out  of  himself  by  his  exlraordinory  succruea; 
and  every  pasjicnger  who  picks  up  ninrty-nioe 
piastre*  in  hu  path,  naturally  fccU  aggrieved 


126 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


\ 


if  he  does  not  find  the  hundredth.  Since  the  experienced  the  same  attention  before:  his 
Fox  had  urged  hiiji  to  subjugate  the  Lion,  the  g-rca^  friend  having  a  remarkably  fine  appetite,  i 
Lion  liad  become  to  him  the  hundredth  piastre  J  and  seldom  rejecting  anything  but .  garbage.  ^ 
and  he  resented  the  failure  accordingly.  An  eternal  regard  was  sworn  between  the  new 

'•We  had  done  better,  ohVt-zir;"  he  said  acquaintance  in  consequence  :  and  the  Jackall 
sharply,  "had  we  buried  our  displeasure  in  licking  his  lips  after  his  savory  repa.st,  whis- 
the  hollow  of  our  hearts,  and  closed  our  eyes  pered  his  regret  that  the  liberal,  gentlemanly 
to  an  evil  which  was  beyond  remedy,  than  Fox.  was  not  a  Lion  ;  at  which  Reynard  only 
thus  to  have  laid  it  on  our  open  palm,  and  laughed,  assuring  him  that  ere  long,  if  he 
lifted  it  to  the  light,  on  a  hand  which  had  no  proved  faithful  to  his  pledge,  he  would  con. 
power  to  strike  it  down.  When  a  monarch  vince  him  tfcat  in  a  war  of  wits  one  Fox  was  ' 
threatens  without  the  means  of  vengeance,  the  equal  to  two  Lions. 

escape  of  his  enemy  is  his  own  defeat — and  Having  given  this  very  satisfactory  assur- 
thus,  oh,  short-sighted  minister  !  you  have  ance.  and  dropped  a  few  more  hints  for  the 
Bcattercd  the  ashes  of  confusion  on  the  head  of  guidance  of  his  grovelling  and  beggarly  ally, ; 
your  master!"  jthe  Vezir   retired  quietly  to  his   burrow,  and 

The  Fox  listened  respectfully;  nor  did  he  left  the  matter  entirely  to  the  exertions  of  the  ; 
attempt  to  justify  himself,  nor  to  remind  the!  Jackall  :  who,  an  hour  or  two  after  this  pleas-  \ 
padishah  of"  the  few  trifling  services  which  he  I  ant  interview,  rushed  breathlessly  into  the 
had  rendered  him  ;  though  he  might  have  d.one  ! presence  of  the  contumacious  Lion,  and  fell  at 
80  in  the  full  assurance  of  their  being  forgot- 1  his  feet  as  if  in  the  last  agony, 
ten.  as  in  such  cases  all  benefits  are  certain  to  "Hownow,  haramzadeh — base-born  slave  !" 
be  by  the  great;  but  simply  declaring  to  the  i  roared  the  monarch  of  the  wood  ;  commencing,' 
irritated  monarch  that  the  Lion  should  yet  be, as  from  his  superior  strength  and  station,  he 
compelled  to  wear  his  yoke,  he  hastily  quitted  had  every  right  to  do,  by  abuse  of  his  caitiff-, 
the  presence.  follower;  "What  dirt  have  you  been  eating, 

Hunting  with  the  Lion  is  but  hungry  work,  iand  what  ass  was  your  father,  that  you  thus 
and  fishting  with  him  is  especially  dangerous  ;  break  in  upon  the  slumber  which  has  just  sue-; 
of  this  the  Fox  was  well  aware  :  and  he  there-  jceeded  to  my  repast  ?  Speak,  recreant  !  Who; 
fore  determined  to  escliew  his  present  acquaint-!  has  threatened   your  ill-fed   carcase  with  vio- 


ance  either  as  friend  or  foe,  and  to  find  some 
go-between  simple  enough  to  run  all  risks  for 
the  mere  honor  of  being  employed. 

There  are  many  such  brainless  busy-bodies 
to  be  found  everywhere,  and  the  crafty  Vezir 
was  an  adept  in  the  choice  of  his  tools.     He 


lence,  that  you  come  to  play  the  craven  in  ray 
very  den  ?" 

"  Dread  lord  and  master  !"  faltered  out  the 
traitor;  "forgive  me  if  I  tremble,  and  hear, 
my  tale  before  you  chide  my  fears.  [  knew 
that  my  lord  must  dine  :  and  I   was  roaming 


hesitated  only  a  moment,  and  his  resolution  the  country  in  search  of  prey  for  the  Mightj 
was  taken,  fie  had  remarked  in  one  of  his  One  before  whom  I  bow,  when  suddenly  there 
rambles  a  neighboring  Jackall:  a  poor,  spirit- 'came  forth  of  the  thicket  a  Lion  well  nigh  ajj 
less,  cowardly,  cringing  animal,  who  satisfied  lordly  as  yourself,  who,  seeing  me  in  pursui'i 
himself  with  the  offal  of  the  very  game  he  had  'of  game,  asked  me  for  whom  1  hunted — Alas  • 


run  down,  for  the  weak  gratification  of  keeping 
company  with  a  Lion. 

What  a  vast  number  of  Jackalls  there  are 
in  the  world  ! 

The  Fox  curled  his  tail  in  contemptuous 
satisfaction  as  he  remembered  the  narrow- 
hearted  slave,  and  trotted  away  to  his  lair 
without  a  moment's  misgiving  as  to  the  result 
of  his  undertaking. 

"  He  will  whiten  my  face  once  more  in  the 


I  could  reply  but  by  the  truth,  and  I  told  hiii 
humbly  but  firmly,  that  I  served  the  lord  o 
the  forest:  "Be  hey?— what's  this?"  he 
foamed,  as  he  ground  his  strong  teeth  will' 
rage  ;  "  Who  is  he  who  would  be  lord  when, 
my  foot  ranges  and  my  roar  is  heard?  Gc 
wretch,  to  the  paltry  animal  whose  slave  yen 
are,  and  bid  him  hide  himself  in  the  decpe.v 
den  of  the  mountain,  or  the  thickest  undervvoo. 
of  the  forest,  lest  I  encounter  him  in  my  wan 


eyes  of  all  Mouseland  ;"  he  murmured  to  him- jderings,  and  rend  him  piecemeal!"  Need  , 
self  as  he  went ;  "  A  base-spirited  bea.st,  who  'tell  the  Light  of  the  Earth  that  I  refused  to  b 
would  b<arter  his  mother  for  a  comfortable  the  bearer  of  such  a  message?  With  wlia 
meal !  Creatures  of  this  description  are  read- 1  rnitkal  should  I  have  measured  out  my  lord 
ily  worked  upon  ;  so  now  for  niy  new  friend  !"  bounty,  had  I  undertaken  an  errand  like  this 
The  negotiation  was  short,  and  the  result  per-  No  !  f  sought  rather  to  remove  all  aboniina 
fectly  satisfactory  to  both  parties.  The  Foxjtion  from  the  beard  of  majesty,  and  answerc 
caught  two  or  three  rabbits  by  the  sly,  and  pre- !  in  as  high  a  tone  ;  and  truly,  most  puis.sau 
sented  them  to  the  Jackall,  suffering  him  to  de-  padishah  of  the  forests,  [  had  well  nigh  pai' 
vour  the  whole  of  them  himself;  a  liberal  and  the  karateh*  as  the  penalty  of  my  rashness 
delicate  proceeding,  which  was  extremely  a-  for  the  impel  ious  stranger  sprang  on  me,  anl 

greeable  to  that  animal,  who  was  delighted  fori 

once  to  play  the  Lion's  part,  and  who  had  never  |  •  Capitation-tax,  levied  on  raiahs,  or  vassaU. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TUE  HAREM  127 

would  have  devoured  mc,  had  I  not  raised  the  neath  the  responsibility  of  your  oflloe,  but  look 
(iust  of  flight,  and  hastened  to  apprise  my  lord  well  to  your  path;  lor  remember  that  you 
of  his  new  enemy."  bear  the'weiiilit  of  .sovcrcigntv,  und  the  hope 

Loud  roared  the  Lion  when  he  ceased  to  of  an  entire  Kiiipirc  !' 
li.sien.  He  had  long  dwelt  in. ^solitary  majesty,  '-Powerful  i'uilishah  !"  replied  llic  stupid 
the  acknowledged  monareh  of  the  forest  :  and  animal,  with  a  fuluc.<-8of  tnilii  and  a  wnnt  of 
he  resolved  at  once  neither  J'-  abdicate  liis  tact,  wliicli  at  once  denicn.siratr.l  to  the  Fox 
power,  nor  to  dilute  it  by  admitting  a  rival. "the  little  probability  there  exihlod  of  his  ever 
Accordingly,  with  mane  eceet.  eyeballs  of  tire,  rising  into  lavor  at  Court ;  '"My  path  is  eni-y, 
and  a  heart  swelling  with  indignation,  he  ntid  my  burden  is  lii:ht.  Were  it  not,  indeed,' 
bade  the  cowering  Jackall  guide  him  instantly  tlial  I  felt  your  Majesty  mount,  and  that  as 
to  the  spot  where  he  had  encountered  his  you  ran  up  my  side.  1  exiierienecd  the  same 
haughty  enemy.  ticklim:  sensation  as  that  eau.scd  by  Iho.'ic  ana.-- 

He  was  obeyed.  The  false  craven  trotted  seny  sikdam — tlin.>.e  poor  pitiful  insects,  the 
on  before  with  alacrity,  and  the  miglity  Lion  forest-llie^,  when  they  sometimes  alight  upon 
followed,  lashing  the  earth  with  liis  tail,  and  mc.  1  should  not  liave  been  aware  that  I  boro 
moistening  the  brushwood  through  which  he  any  burihen  at  all.  Be  tranquil,  therefore,  oh. 
inad«  his  way  with  the  foam  tliatfcll  in  flakes  Lord  of  the  Long-tails,  for  I  could  carry  you 
from  his  parted  lips.  Their  walk  terminated  round  EI  Caf  without  feeling  your  weight." 
near  the  mouth  of  a  well,  towards  which  the  As  the  Camel  ceased  speaking,  the  royal 
Jackall  pointed  as  the  den  of  the  usurper :  and  Mou.>-e  was  seized  with  a  violent  (it  of  sneez- 
then,  declining  to  advance  further,  crouched  ing  ;  and  the  Fox  took  the  opportunity  of  this 
away,  leaving  the  noble  and  betrayed  Lion  to  fit  of  sternutation  to  wipe  away  tho  tears  of 
terminate  the  adventure.  I  suppressed  laugliter  from  his  brimming  eyes. 

With  all  the  impctuositv  of  rage.  indigna-|  What  a  beautiful  tiling  is  truth!  How  it 
tion,  and  jealousy,  the  infuriated  animal  always  advances  a  man's  interest.s  ! 
sprang  to  the  margin  of  the  well,  where,  re-  When  the  party  reached  the  well,  the  pigmy 
fleeted  in  the  clear  water,  he  beheld  his  own  Monareh  do.'^eended  from  his  elevated  position, 
image,  and  thought  that  he  was  face  to  face  and  established  himself  on  its  margin,  whence 
with  his  enemy  :  his  hoarse  and  appalling  he  looked  down  with  iiitinittt  complacency  on 
roar  of  defiance  wasTfedioed  by  the  deep  niur-  the  drenched  and  dc-ponding  Lion, 
murs  of  file  tank:  and  like  many  another!  "  BoQroum  Seid  I* — You  are  welcome,"  he 
hero,  he  leapt  at  a  .shadow,  and  plunged  head  said  smilingly:  "both  to  our  territories  and 
over  ears  into  a  bath  for  wliich  he  had  been  to  our  tanks.  Had  you  been  more  courteous, 
perfectly  unprepared.  !we  should  have  received  you  in  a  lcs«  incon- 

Away  sped  the  Fox,  who  had  been  contem-  venient  liall  of  audience  ;  but  a.s  it  is,  wo  have 
plating  from  a  distance  the  success  of  his  stra-  deemed  it  expedient  to  steep  the  bread  of  di»- 
tagem,  with  his  tail  erect,  and  a  roguish  twin-  obedience  in  the  waters  of  dotcai,  and  you 
kle  in  his  eye  which  betrayed  his  self-gratula-  must  swallow  the  meagre  meal  as  you  can." 
tion;  and  afiecting  not  to  remark  the  eoldne.-s.  There  was  admirable  poliey  in  this  speech 
of  his  reception,  he  forthwith  laid  his  paw  of  the  I'adi.'>hairs.  as  your  fiii^hncss  cannot 
upon  his  head,  and  informed  the  Majesty  of  fail  to  remark  ;  tor.  a«  the  Mouse  saw  no 
Mouseland  of  the  capture  of  the  rebel  Lion.      ,  means  of  delivering  his  formulublc  captive,  ho 

The  intelligence  acted  like  beng  on  the  spi-  resolved  to  make  neecs.«ity  ajipear  design,  and 
rits  of  the  monarch  and  his  court,  who  sprang  to  seem  to  abamlon  him  through  displciisuro 
from  side  to  side  of  the  palace,  squeaking  with  to  a  fate  from  which  in  jK>int  of  luel  he  had 
delight:  indeed,  the  popular  commotion  was  no  possible  hojn;  or  pros|K-ct  of  setting  him 
80  great  that  it  was  not  for  a  eonsicJcrablo  time  free. 

that  the  Vczir  could  command  the  royal  car  But  crc  llie  humbled  and  exhausted  Lion 
sufficiently  to  suggest  the  expediency  of  an  could  reply,  the  Fox  approached  the  well,  and, 
early  visit  to  the  prison  of  the  captive.  When,  seizing  the  royal  car.  whispered  to  the  mo- 
however.  he  had  succeeded  in  so  doing,  narch,  that  friendship  of  so  powerful  and 
the  justice  of  the  hint  was  at  once  admitted  ;  rcB|>«-clable  an  animal  w<inld  greatly  tend  to 
and,  in  the  pride  of  his  little  heart,  the  I'adi-  exalt  his  glory  :  and  that,  it  Ins  maj.-.-iy  could 
shah  of  the  Lons-tails  summoned  the  va-^iial-  induce  the  prisoner  to  swear  allrgiunc''  to  the 
camel,  who  bendim;  meekly  on  his  kiit-es,  re-  throne  of  Mouseland,  he  would  uodorlako  to 
coived  the  royal  mouse  upon  his  hump,  where  secure  his  liberation. 

he  enthroned  himself  to  the  great  admiration  "  But,  Vezir  of  quick  wit  and  sound  know- 
of  the  whole  city.  ledge,  whose  head,  under  iho  shadows  of  our 

"  Thrice-honored  animal !"  said  the  exult-  greatness,  is  raising  il^clf  to  the  elouds,"  said 
ing  Monarch  to  the  patient  beast,  who  with  tho  I'udishah,  widi  that  bcauiilui  modesty 
half-closed    eyes,    and    droopini;    head,    stood  and  caution  for  which  ho  wo*  deservedly  r*« 

quietly  awaiting  the  signal  todeparl  :   •■  Your's  ■■ 

is  no  common  lot  :  sec  that  you  smk  not  be-,  *L>oa 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


Downed  :  "  Suppose  that  when  once  on  dry  Lion  frankly  apologised  for  the  contempt  in 
laud,  the  mighty  Seid  should  laugh  at  our  which  he  had  hitherto  held  all  his  race,  and 
beards,  how  could  we  contend  against  his  fu-  vowed  to  him  an  earnest  and  eternal  friend- 
rious  revenge  ?"'  ,  ship. 

"  Bashu.stun — on  my  head  be  it  !"  was  the  ''Good  deeds,  oh  Reynard,"  he  said  gently 
reply  of  the  councillor  :  "  The  Lion  is  an  honor-  '"'ever  secure  their  own  reward.  Be  not  dis 
able  beast ;  he  will  disdain  a  lie  :  brave  to  a  gusted  by  so  trite  an  apothegm,  but  ever  let  it 
fault,  he  will  do  battle  fbr  his  new  master  urge  you  to  kind  and  generous  actions  like  that 
against  all  comers  :  generous  and  high-hearted,    of  this  day." 


he  will  never  look  back  upon  the  past,  for  he 
knows  that  what  is  written  is  written  ;  and  we 
shall  thus  secure  an  ally  who  will  be  as  a 
footstool  to  the  throne  and  as  an  eye  to  the 
state." 

"  Wallah  billah  !  it  is  well  said,"  squeaked 
the  willing  Mouse  ;  and  then  once  more  ad- 
dressing the  Lion,  he  exclaimed  majestically, 
"  Said  we  not  well  that  we  would  leave  you 
here  to  perish  and  to  die  the  death  of  a  dog 


The  Fox  could  have  laughed  at  the  Lion's 
beard,  but  he  scarcely  thought  it  prudent  to 
do  so  ;  and,  perhaps,  when  the  singular  inap- 
positiveness  of  the  remark  is  considered,  he 
had  some  cause  for  mirth  ;  but,  unconscioiis 
of  the  feeling  with  which  his  words  had  been 
received,  the  royal  animal,  as  they  pursued 
their  way  to  the  palace  of  the  Mouse,  related 
to  his  companion  the  treachery  of  the  false  and 
cowardly  Jackall  :  and  uttered  many  a  bitter 


Have  you  aught  to  urge  in  denial?     Does  it  ,  apostrophe  on  his  ingratitude,  which,  had  the 
not  depend  on  us  and  on  our  pleasure,  whether  ,  recreant  overheard  them,  would  have  sufficed 


you  live  or  expire  miserably  amid  the  suffo- 
cating waters  ?  And  yet  we  would  fain  be 
merciful,  and  not  see  your  strength  wither,  and 
your  eye  grow  dim.  How  say  you,  vanquish- 
ed Seid,  will  you  become  our  willing  va.ssal, 
our  loving  ally,  one  of  the  pillars  of  our  state 


to  kill  him  with  sheer  fright. 

It  is  perhaps  needless  to  say  that  the  Fox 
joined  heartily  in  the  anathema,  and  exas- 
perated still  more  the  anger  of  the  Lion  ;  un- 
til having  wrought  him  up  to  the  last  pitch  of 
rage,  he  bade  him  be  calm,  for  that  so  black  a 


The  Lion  opened  his  ponderous  jaws  to  their  |  traitor  was  not  fit  to  live,  and  assured  him  that 
extremest  width,  to  give  utterance  to  the  bitter  j  die  he  should.  He  hinted,  however,  that  it 
contempt  he  felt  for  the  wretched  little  animal  would  be  as  well  to  say  nothing  on  the  subject 
who  thus  addressed  him  ;  but,  alas  !  when  the  |  at  Court,  as  the  race  of  #ackalls  were  under 
words  should  have  come  forth,  the  water  rush-  j  the  protection  of  the  Padishah  of  fhe  Long- 
ed down  his  throat,  and  he  was  nearly  choked ;  !  Tails,  and  that  consequently  justice  must  be 
and  faint,  exhausted,  and  powerless  as  he  was,  i  done  silently. 

he  felt  that  in  order  to  preserve  his  wretched  i  The  Lion  acquiesced  at  once;  and  the  cere- 
existence,  he  had  no  alternative  but  to  swal-  mony  of  his  presentation  having  taken  place, 
low  an  oath,  which,  however,  at  the  mo- 1  greatly  to  the  delight  of  Mouseland,  and  his 
ment,  was  even  more  suffocating  than  the  wa- 1  own  disgust,  he  was  permitted  to  retire  to 
ter.  When  he  had  done  so,  the  Camel  was  his  den  ;  an  arrangement  highly  honorable  and 
once  more  freighted  with  the  load  of  royalty ;  j  considerate  on  the  part  of  the  Padishah,  who 
and  the  train  of  courtiers  having  taken  the  |  felt  his  inability  to  detain  him  a  moment  long- > 
way  back  to  the  subterranean  city,  the  Fox  at  |  er  than  he  choose  to  stay  for  the  amusement ' 
once  proceeded  to  effect  the   liberation   of  his  of  his  new  masters. 

That  very  night  the  Fox  supped  from  the . 


new  associate. 

Not  far  distant  from  the  well  which  had 
snared  the  Lion  to  his  ruin,  was  a  lake  of 
some  extent,  whence,  in  times  of  drought,  the 
husbandmen  of  the  province  irrigated  their 
lands  by  means  of  engines,  which  threw  the 
water  into  small  canals  that  intersected  the 
plain,  and  increased  the  vigorous  vegetation. 
One  of  the  channels  was  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood;  and  the  Fox  lost  no  time  in 
breaking  down  the  clay  aqueduct,  and  suffer- 
ing the  stream  to  pour  into  the  treacherous 
tank,  until 'it  overflowed,  and  the  Lion  was 
enabled  to  walk  forth,  shake  his  dripping  mane, 
and  warm  his  trembling  limbs  in  the  bright 
sunshine. 

When  he  had  recovered  his  breath,  the  first 
impulse  of  the  generous  beast  was  to  make 
his  acknowledgments  to  his  deliver  for  so  signal 
a  piece  of  service  ;  and  the  modesty  of  the 
Fox  was  so  conspicuous  in  his  reply,  that  the 


hind  quarter  of  a  very  loan  .Jackall  ;  and  the' 
Lion  never  again  encountered  the  treacherom 
slave  by  whom  he  liad  been  betrayed. 


CHAPTER  LLX. 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  THE    MICE CONTINUEU.      , 

Did  your  Highness  ever  experience  the  shock 
of  an  earthquake  ?  Of  one  of  those  mys- 
terious convulsions  of  nature  which  defy  alike 
the  power  and  the  policy  of  man — when  the 
whole  world  appears  to  be  crumbling  into  dust 
and  to  be  insufficient  to  fill  up  the  ya\vnii)i 
chasm,  dark  and  insatiate,  which  gapes  to  re 
ceive  the  universal  ruin  !  When  tiie  voice  of 
the  human  race  is  but  one  common  shriek  ol 
agony,  and  the  great  globe  seems  to  be  on' 


TOE  ROiL\NCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


129 


..mmon  grave?     Whon  not  even  the  prospect    proper  credentials,  and  dcinUed   his   Anibaa- 
:  the  sherbets  oi"  Paradise  can  quench  the  hot    sador. 

iiirst  of  terror  :  nor  the  vision  of  its   houri  I      To  the    full    as  vain   as   liis   master,   the 

.'troy  the  bitterness  of  deatli  ?     Nay,  then,    mouselinst  of  quality   retreated    to   his   hole, 

:   you  h:ivc  not,  my  lord  has  been  more  favor-  ;  where  he  gave  his  whiskers  a  more  diploniaiio 

i!  than  was  the  Padishah  of  Mouseland  when    and  important  twist,  smoothed  his  slemler  tail 

;s  subUMranean   kinizdom  wai?  shaken  to  its  I  into  more  i:racefnl  i;lossincss,  and  adorned  hnn- 

liase — his    palace    prostrated,    liis    cities  laid  i  self  in  tlic  most  approved   manner,  ere  he  di> 

waste,  and  lii«  subjects  destroyed  by  thousands,  I  parted  on  his  emha.>;«y,  whieh  he  dnl  wiib  a 

ar.d  cumbering  the  streets  with  their  maimed    brisk  run  that  promised  a  speedy  ninrn. 


luid  maiii;lcd  bodies  ! 

All  was  consternation  among  the  miserable 
fu-vivers:  itn  universal  squeak  of  mourning 
rcl.t   t!ie   air:    aiul  fatliers.   sons,   and   lovers, 


The  reappearance  of  the  unfortunate  envoy 
took  place,  however,  with  even  more  clispateh 
than  had  been  anticipated  :  for  the  Klij.iiant, 
amu.sed  rather  than  indi"nant  at  the  msolenef 


iniiti(;i..s  ::'.;d  n.aidens.  collected  about  the  vie-  of  the  spruce-looking  little  reptile,  had  only 
tims  lo  L'a;:-  upon  their  dead.  In  despair  at  I  answered  his  summons  by  blowing  him  numy 
r-<>  fn.  lulu!  a  visitation,  the  monarch  of  Mouse-  yards  on  his  homeward  path,  with  the  wind 
l.ii.d  Mill moned  the  Fox,  the  Camel,  and  the  l/rom  his  mighty  trunk  ;  and  in  sorry  plight,  aa 
Lien  to  iiis  iirc.-cuce;  and  they  came  only  to  |  your  Highness  may  well  imagine,  did  the  poor 
lin  :  him  steeped  in  sorrow  to  the  very  whis-  dapper  diplomatist  throw  himself  down  before 
kers  : — What  was  to  be  done  ?  The  noble  Scid  ■  the  carpet  of  majcbty,  and  tell  his  laic  of  dis- 
odjrcd  battle  on  the  instant,  but  against  whom  |  grace. 

was  he  to  fight?  The  Camel  suggested  the  "  Who  can  war  against  liis  fate.  Light  of  the 
erection  of  a  new  palace,  and  the  founding  of  |  Earth  !"'  he  concluded,  as  the  I'adishali  bent 
a  new  city,  but  where  were  the  archiiccis  to  i  upon  him  an  eye  of  disajipointment  and  dis- 


j'lan,  and  the  workmen  to  build  it  !  The  Fox 
only  advised  patience :  and  promised  to  trace 
llie  evil  to  its  origin,  and  to  prevent  its  recur- 
rence. 

As  all  the  population  of  ISIou.'cland  had 
great  faiih  in  the  p<yNver  of  their  Vezir  to  fulfil 
his  jiledges,  they  were  in  some  degree  consoled  ; 
and  man;^  hours  were  passed  in  burying  the 


gust :  '•  Who  can  control  the  elements  ?  What 
animal  could  have  braved  the  whirlwind  by 
which  I  was  lifted  from  the  earth,  flung  a:;ain8t 
the  clouds,  and  swept  along  over  an  inlinity  of 
space?  Ne  bilirim — what  can  1  say?  Iho 
ashes  of  defeat  arc  strown  ujion  my  head — the 
defilement  of  disgrace  is  on  my  beard — the 
an"er  of  the  Great  One  of  the  Earth,  the  He- 


dead,  and  digging  a  few  underground  apart-  '  fuge  of  the  World  hius  clutched  my  heart,  and 
nients  for  the  accommodation  of  the  wounded  :  }  stoi>pcd  its  pulsations." 

when  suddenly  another  mighty  cra.->h  at  a  little  |  But  the  Padishah  was  not  to  be  appeoBcd  ; 
distance  once  more  overwhelmed  them  with  the  Fox  was  summoned  to  the  conference,  ro. 
terror,  and  they  ran  off  in  every  direction  to  .quested  to  beeome  the  executioner  of  the  «li». 
avert  the  new  destruction  by  whieh  they  were  comtited  Ambassador,  (whom  he  very  Mibmi»- 
threatened.  1  sively  snapped  up  before  the  words  were  well 

But  on  this  occasion  they  were  subjected  out  of  the  royal  mouth  ;)  ami  .-olieited  to  ui.dcr 
only  to  alarm  :  for  the  evil  had  fallen  on  the  I  his  opinion  of  the  moat  desirable  step  to  be  next 
colony  of  their  enemies  the  Jerhuahs;  and  they  j  taken  in  this  very  unpleasant  affair, 
were  slowly  recovering  from  their  panic,  when  I  The  wily  Vezir  asked  for  an  hour  to  d©- 
the  Fox  appeared  at  their  ruined  walls,  and  ,  liberate  :  although  feeling  convinced  that  hit 
informed  the  desponding  Padishah  that  he  had  I  agency  would  be  required,  ho  hud  already 
discovered  the  author  of  the  evil  to  be  a  huge  |  matured  his  plans;  and  at  the  tenninalion  of 
elephant,  who  at  sunset  emerged  from  the  that  period,  he  demaiid<-d  iVom  the  king  a  utrong 
woods  into  the  plain,  and  recklessly  trod  down  detaehment  of  Mice,  who  were  to  act  solely 
the  roofs  of  the  subtftrrancan  cities.  under  his  orders. 

The  Lord  of  the  Long-tails  trembled  as  he  With  this  parly  he  at  once  quitted  the  ruined 
listened:  but  his  Vezir  aflccled  to  hold  their  city,  and  advanced  to  the  deep  bed  of  an  ex- 
new  enemy  cheaply,  and  reminded  the  Padishah  j  haiisted  nver,  traversed  by  a  w(.o<len  bridge, 
that  he  had  subjui;ated  the  mi-hty  Lion —  which  the  Elephant  was  compelled  to  crow 
What,  then,  could  he  fear?  Nay.  for  the  first  ]  during  his  iK-riwIical  vi>il.'<  to  thf  p!;!iii  The 
time  since  he  had  ac-ceptcd  office,  he  hu:;gested    channel  of  the  stream  eh.  '•>  tho 

that  a  new  envoy  should   be  chosen    by  the    right  and  lelt  of  this  bn.l  (••injj 

monarch  from  among  his  own  nation;  and  so    high  and  jagged,  and  alm>..-i  ■  -I'.id, 

composedly  did  he  talk  on  the  subject,  that  the  not  many  feet  above  the  level  i.j  ihc  water; 
weak  Mous-c  bei;nn  to  be  once  more  puffed  up  and  m  coiiHequcnec  of  this  circuiiihtaner,  the 
with  pride,  and  forgetliil  of  hi.s  own  insignifl-  bridge  had  been  flung  over  a  wider  i-orlion  of 
cance;  and  in  this  frame  of  mind  he  pitched  the  river,  and  resleil  only  uj>f)n  a  dn-p  chalky 
upon  a  young,  sprightly,  smart-wlnskcrcd  Bey  vein  of  hoil.  running  far  into  the  valley,  and 
of  the  household,  whom  he  furnished  M'lth  the  suddenly  terminating  lu  a  hollow,  not  twenty 
9 


130 


THE  ROilANCE  OF  THE  HAEEM, 


stadia  distant  from  the  capital  of  Mouse- 
land. 

On  arriving  at  the  bridge,  the  Fox  at  once 
commenced  operations  by  instructing  his  troops 
to  gnaw  partially  asunder  the  ropes  and  pins 
which  united  the  wood-work,  so  as  to  render  it 
i  isecure  for  any  hea^■y  weight ;  and  the  conse- 
qjeuces  of  this  step  arc  evident.  The  next 
tune  tiic  Elephant  endeavored  to  pass,  his 
enormous  bulk  proved  an  overfreight  for  tiie 
frail  fabric,  and  he  fell  headlong  into  the  bed 
of  moist  chalk,  without  power  to  move  cither 
to  the  right  or  left,  where  the  rocky  barrier 
fenced  in  the  channel. 

In  tliis  emergency,  the  sagacity,  strength, 
and  intelliL'ence  of  the  animal,  availed  him 
nothing.  He  was  fairly  in  the  toils  :  and  was 
only  another  example  among  many,  of  a  crea- 
ture ruined  by  his  own  greatness,  and  destroy- 
ed by  tlie  very  attributes  on  which  he  had 
been  wont  to  pride  himself. 

Off  ran  the  Fox  when  he  saw  the  result  of 
his  stratagem  ;  and  the  destruction  of  half 
Mouscland  was  forgotten  in  the  triumph  of 
fjuch  a  capture.  Many  of  the  dead  were  still 
unburied ;  but  their  fate  was  overlooked  in 
the  general  rejoicing  that  made  the  whole 
Empire  one  shrill  squeak  of  proud  delight. 

These  things  are  alike  amonii  men  and  mice. 


Ledge  his  authority,  he  would  undertake  to  re. 
lease  him  from  his  present  thrall. 

The  royal  cortege  was  immediately  in  mo- 
tion. First  marched  two  fierce  and  shagsy 
Bears,  wielding  huge  staffs,  and  growling  fonb 
the  many  and  miglity  titles  of  the  Padishah. 
Tlien  followed  a  band  of  female  Monke)-s. 
dancing  fantastic  measures  to  the  music  of  a 
score  of  bare-backed  Apes.  These  were  sue- 
ceeded  by  a  company  of  Porcupines,  who  shot 
their  quills  right  and  left  upon  the  crowd, 
which  threatened  to  impede  the  line  of  march. 
Then  came  a  couple  of  Asses,  braying  out 
with  lungs  of  iron  the  near  approach  of  the 
Refuge  of  the  \yorld,  and  Lord  of  the  Earth; 
who  followed;  mounted  upon  the  hump  of  the 
Camel,  having  on  his  right  the  merry  Fox.  to 
whom  the  pageant  was  food  for  unmeasured 
mirth  :  and  on  his  left  the  crest-fallen  and 
disgusted  Lion,  who  stalked  solemnly  alon^ 
his  heart  burning  with  sliame  as  he  remem* 
bered  liow  sorry  a  figure  he  should  make  in 
the  eyes  of  his  old  acquaintance  the  Ele» 
phant. 

We  could  always  support  our  misfortunes 
themselves  with  philosophy  ;  it  is  their  effect 
on  the  minds,  and  their  influence  on  the  opin* 
ions  of  others,  that  unman  us. 

A  guard  of  honor,  composed  of  wild  Goats, 


your  Highness.  Who  heeds  in  the  pageant 'surrounded  the  mighty  monarch  :  and  imme 
and  parade  which  celebrate  a  yictory,  the  vic-'diately  behind  them  came  a  tall  Oiirang-ou« 
tims  who  have  fallen  to  secure  it?  tang,  carrying  a  palm-leaf,   on  which,   shaded 

The  vain-gloriousncss  of  the  King  of  the  from  the  public  gaze  by  fans  formed  of  th« 
Long-tails  was  at  its  height.  He  issued  all  beard  of  the  bulrush,  lay  the  three  favorite 
sorts  of  contradictory  orders — commanded  and  I  wives  of  the  Padishah;  two  more  animals  ol 
countermanded — and  all  in  order  to  keep  the  the  same  description,  but  of  less  stately  pro- 
ditferent  animals,  who  had  become  his  vassals,  i  portions,  bore  the  slaves  of  the  harem.  Tht 
on  the  run.  Here  flew  a  Rat;  there  rushed  a  light  troops  were  represented  by  a  group  ol 
Badger — a  Squirrel  sprang  on  one  side,  and  a  i  Chaiiiois  ;  while  the  heavy  regiments  were 
Chamois  leapt  on  the  other:  the  whole  plain;  most  appropriately  composed  of  Buflaloes;  and 
was  in  convulsions;  and  ever  and  anon  the 'in  this  state  and  fashion  did  the  King  of  the 
roar  of  the  captured  Elephant  came  booming- Mice  journey  towards  the  prison-place  of  the 
along  the  valley  like  a  thunder-peal.  I  Elephant ;  of  whom  he  no  sooner  caught  sight 

All  this  was  very  delightful,  but  every  plea-  than  he  exclaimed  in  a  transport  of  very  nor 
sure  must  have  a  termination:  and  his  High-tural  delight: 

ne.<s  the  Padishah  was  partially  recalled  to'  "  Why,  how  is  this,  oh  Vezir  of  power  and 
reason  by  a  hint  from  the  Fox,  that  although! wisdom  !  Have  you  brought  us  here  only  to 
a  captive,  the  mighty  Elephant  was  not  yet  a;show  us  one   of  our  own   brethren  ?     No  re- 


vassal  ;  and  that  his  subjugation  required  in 
Btant  attention. 

Unable  to  controvert  so  cogent  an  argument, 
the  monarch  at  once  declared  himself  ready  to 
be  guided  by  the  counsels  of  his  Vezir  ;  though 
he  could  not  avoid  reminding  him  that  this 
was  no  slight  concession  from  a  sovereign  who 
wa.s  now  lord  of  the  whole  brute  creation, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Elephant,  who  was 
then  in  his  toils. 

The  Fox  bowed  low,  and  laughed — but  the 
bow  was  to  the  Padishah,   and  the   laugh   to 


semblance  can  be  more  perfect  ;  save  that, 
indeed,  nature  has  been  unkind  to  our  poor 
captive,  in  visiting  hinfi  with  such  a  mass  of 
flesh,  and  such  a  length  of  nose ;  but  these 
arc  deformities  which,  being  ourselves  liappily 
exempt,  we  know  how  to  pity  in  others;  had 
not  this  misfortune  attended  his  birth,  we 
should  have  been  as  like  as  two  drops  of  water. 
Speak,  cousin  !"'  he  continued,  addressing  tho 
enormous  animal  with  a  patronising  gentle- 
ness which  drew  tears  from  his  wives,  and 
convulsed  the  Fox  with  merriment;  '-What 


himself,  and  he  consequently  avoided  giving  would  you  of  us?' 
any  ofTencc;  wliile  he  assured  the  jwtentate  No  answer  was  made,  for  in  truth  the  File- 
with  all  due  respect  and  reverence,  that  in  tfie' phant  did  not  cither  see  or  hear  the  Monarch, 
event  of  his  inducing  the  Elephant  to  acknow-  land  was  lost   in  wonder  at  what  this  meeuDj, 


TIIF.  TvO^rANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


181 


cf  so  many  divers  animals  in  liis  iinmodiatc 
neiuliborliood  niiylit  portend. 

Mcaiiwliile  Ihe  Padisliali  moved  forward, 
and  transferring  himself  from  tlie  Immpof  tlic 
Camel  to  the  capacious  back  of  the  Elephant, 
began  to  walk  towards  his  head,  examining 
him  most  minutely,  and  occasionally  switch- 
ing his  tail  with  sclf-gratulalion  and  iifljiort- 
ance  :  when,  unfortunately  chancing  to  pa.>^s 
over  a  spot  where  the  huge  beast  was  parti- 
cularly susceptible  to  the  touch,  and  deemed 
that  some  fly  had  alighted  with  the  intent  to 
eling  liini,  he  gave  a  flap  with  his  long  ear. 
tmd  down  fell  his  majesty  into  the  wet  clay  ! 

The  whole  court  was  in  commotion  :  the 
Lady-mice  squeaked,  and  their  slaves,  as  in 
duty  bound,  squeaked  still  louder  ;  the  Bears 
growled,  the  Asses  brayed,  the  female  Mon- 
keys chattered,  and  the  Apes  grinned  ;  tlie 
Porcupines  rolled  themselves  up.  the  Lion 
roared,  the  Camel  screamed,  the  Fox  almost 
went  into  convulsions,  the  wild  Goats  shook 
their  beards,  the  Chamois  leapt  from  rock  to 
rock;  and  the  Bufl"aloes  laid  down,  and  began 
to  chew  the  cud  of  distress.  And  in  the  mean 
time,  the  monarch,  after  avast  deal  of  scramb- 
ling and  struggling,  got  safely  out  of  the  mire, 
and  reappeared  among  his  people,  all  chalk, 
mud,  and  misery ! 

But  his  was  not  a  soul  to  be  subdued  by 
one  downfall  ;  and  as  soon  as  he  could  un- 
fasten his  jaws,  which  were  cemented  together 
most  unpleasantly,  and  recover  his  breath,  lie 
Towed  vengeance  on  the  Elephant,  and  began 
to  dry  his  whiskers. 

The  Fox  took  this  opportunity  of  coming 
forward,  and  assuring  his  majesty  that  the 
crime  of  the  animal  had  been  involuntary  : 
and  of  reminding  him  that  the  privilege  of  the 
powerful  was  to  show  rnercy,  coupled  with  an 
intimation  that  he  craved  the  pardon  of  the 
offender  in  ihe  name  of  the  whole  court  and 
army. 

Thus  urged,  the  heart  of  the  Padi.shah  soft- 
ened ;  and  the  Elepliant,  being  very  soon  con- 
vinced by  the  repre.'^cntations  of  the  Fox.  tliat 
his  only  chance  of  deliverance  lay  in  hi.*! 
swearing  fealty  to  the  Lord  of  the  Long-tail.-^, 
and  consoled  lor  his  misfortune  by  the  va.s- 
ealage  of  the  Lion,  at  Icnsth  con.'-entod  to  the 
indignity  ;  when  having  administered  the  oath, 
the  ['adishah,  yet  shivering  from  his  irnnu-r- 
sion,  and  considerably  shaken  by  his  fall  fromj 
60  prodigious  a  height,  withdrew  with  all  hisj 
court  in  the  same  order  as  he  had  set  out  : 
while  the  Fox  ha-stily  collected  logolher  a  nu- 
merous army  of  miners,  cornpoBcd  of  beavers,! 
ferrets,  rabbits.  badg<TS,  inungonlies.  rnts.  mice,! 
and  moles,  and  set  them  immedioicly  to  work] 
toundermine  the  chalk  bank  which  intervrncd  ! 
between  the  channel  of  the  river  and  the' 
hollow  already  mentioned.  j 

As  they  were  in  immense  numbers,  laljorcd  | 
licartily,  and  were  con-'-idcrably  a«u8ie<l  by; 


the  Elephant  himself,  he  wa.s  enabled  by  sun- 
rise the  next  morning  to  force  his  way  through 
Ihe  crumbliiii:  barrier,  and  to  olmy  tin'  hum- 
mons  of  the  Padishah  ;  who  sat  enthroned  on 
an  ear  of  maize,  surrounded  by  deputaliona 
from  all  the  vassal-animals  of  the  province. 

When  he  had  reached  the  pre.>^rncc,  and 
made  his  obeisance,  the  Fox  resiierifully  ad- 
vanccil  to  the  throne,  holding'  betwci  n  hia 
teeth  a  ripe  sugar-cane,  which  he  presented  to 
his  majesty  as  a  delicious  refection,  and.  more- 
over, an  extraordinary  curiosity,  which  ho 
humbly  invited  him  to  inspect.  The  Padishah, 
who  delighted  in  novelties,  at  once  declared 
his  intention  to  examine  Ihe  i;ifl  of  hiscstcem- 
ed  niiiiisler  and  friend:  and,  iiavinj  given  per- 
mission 10  his  wives,  and  the  Prmei-  lloyal  hie 
only  child,  to  accompany  him.  which  they  lo.>^t 
no  lime  in  doing,  he  disappeared  into  the 
hollow  of  the  cane  lollowed  by  Ins  lamily. 

Standing  close  beside  the  Fox  was  a  lone- 
armed  Ape,  his  especial  slave,  who  had  long 
nursed  a  bitter  spile  against  the  whoh-  Empire 
of  Mouseland  :  and  no  sooner  had  the  lip  of 
the  last  Imperial  tail  vanished,  than  on  re- 
ceiving an  encouraging  wink  from  the  Fox.  he 
adroitly  blocked  up  the  orilicc  with  clay,  and 
secured  all  the  royal  lamily  ! 

A  low  murmur  was  rising  on  every  side, 
when  the  Fox,  conteinpUiously  kicking'  asi<lo 
the  throne  of  the  Mouse,  thus  addressed  the 
surrounding  animai.s — 

'•  Beasts  of  the  eha.se.  and  of  burthen  :  my 
most  %\firthy  frieiicls  and  suljeets  :  I  lia\c 
collected  you  together  this  day,  lhroni:h  my 
slave  the  Mouse,  to  declare  to  you  how  J  have 
earned  for  myself  the  sovereignty  of  the  brute 
creation  ;  and  in  order  to  prove  to  all  animals, 
from  the  lordly  Lion  to  the  dnuk'ing  Mole, 
that  neither  strength  nf»r  insmniticanee  eoiiid 
secure  their  posstsstirs  from  my  rule,  I  made 
my  tf)ol  of  a  sorry  Mouse.  To  that  weak, 
piiimy.  miserable  reptile,  have  ye  all  bowed 
your  haughtj  heads,  to  save  your  forfeit  lives. 
Friends  and  va.-sals  !  The  Imperial  Mou.se 
hull  abdicated,  the  Imperial  lamily  is  exiinct  ! 
I  am  yotir  Emperor ;  and  I  commenco  my 
reign  by  an  a|ioiliegni. 

'•  When  courage  has  failed  before  craft;  and 
tlie  mmhty  in  frame  have  been  bowed  beneath 
Ihe  mii;lity  in  intellect:  the  riii-isof  obeiln-nee 
can  never  be  rent  from  the  ears  of  deleat  : 
and  tlie  arrows  of  ambition  will  always  re- 
Uiund  from  the  sun  of  royallv,  «i>on  the  heuds 
of  those  who  bend  the  rebelliftus  bow  !" 

As  the  self-elected  monorcii  eea.-ed  siK-ak- 
ing.  he  gazed  around  him  with  a  look  of  proud 
defiance  ;  placed  his  ffMit  u|>on  the  Miuar-cane 
in  which  the  uiiha|>py  Miee  were  .lyiiiy  of 
HufToealion.  as  U)-on  a  fiK)istool  ;  and  secine* 
to  dare  a  dissentient  murmur.  Hut  yono 
arose;  for  the  uhsombled  animal.",  Iinmbled 
by  the  consciousncis  of  their  difgrai-clul  vn*- 
salaRe  to  a  wretched  reptile,  of  whom  iho  more 


132 


THE  ROJIANCE  OF  THE  HAEESt 


wily  Fox  had  made  first  a  tool  and  then  a  disguised  Greek  ;  '•  Would  she  be  content  to 
prey;  and,    startled    into    concession   by    the  inliabit  my  liarem,  and  to  weave  the  threads 


sudden  and  unlooked-for  assumption  of  an 
animal,  under  whose  guile  and  quick-wittcd- 
ness  tiiey  had  all  severally  writhed,  could  not 
deny  ihe  superiority  of  their  new  master ;  a 
superiority  which  he  could  make  them  feel  at 
any  moment,  and  in  any  emergency,  wiien 
brute  force  could  not  avail  :  they  thci-efore 
with  one  accord  offered  their  obeisance,  and 
acknowledged  him  as  their  ruler. 

One  able  diplomatist  can  secure  more  tri- 
umphs than  an  army  of  lances. 


PART  II. 
CHAPTER  LV. 

'•  Ajaib — wonderful !"  murmured  the  Tchor- 
badji  as  he  flung  another  purse  into  the  lap  of 
the  young  Greek :  '•  I  could  listen  to  her  for 
ever ;  her  voice  is  like  the  sighing  of  the  wind 
through  the  light  branches  of  the  jasmin. 
Mashallah  !  she  is  a  wonder  !  What  is  writ- 
ten, is  written — I  will  purchase  this  fair  slave, 
mother," 

'■  May  my  lord's  will  be  all-powerful  !'"' 
gasped  out  the  terrified  Nevrcste,  as  she  again 
prostrated  herself  to  the  earth  ;  "  liad  it  been 
any  aline  of  my  troop  save  Mherpirwir  and 
SeVdika.  would  I  not  have  given  her  to  my  lord 
for  gold?     But  these  two — " 

"  What  of  these  two  ?"  demanded  the 
Tcliorbadji  with  a  lowering  brow  and  a  stern 
gaze ;  "  Whose  dog  are  you  to  thwart  me  in 
my  liumor  ?  I  will  purchase  the  slave  for 
seven  purses." 

'•  Let  not  my  lord  blacken  the  face  of  his 
servant  ;"'  persisted  the  old  woman ;  '"  the 
slave  is  not  mine.  The  Camalcan  of  Stam- 
boul  had  heard  of  the  talent  of  this  young 
Ivlassaldji  from  the  Bynbashi  of  the  troops  of 
Damascus,  and  he  has  already  paid  a  heavy 
price  for  her  to  her  late  master.  She  is  even 
now  on  her  way  to  Iskuidar,*  where  a  slave 
waits  to  conduct  her  to  the  harem  of  her  new 
lord.  How  then  can  I  obey  ?  Am  I  not  as  no- 
thing in  this  matter?" 

"  'i'arik — beware  !"  frow^lcd  the  Tchor- 
badji  ;  "  that  you  deceive  me  not :  tiiere  are 
no  feet  so  swift  in  ail  Roum  but  that  the  cord 
is  swifter.  The  slave  pleases  me,  and  I  am 
ready  to  jiay  iter  price." 

"  Will  my  lord  lieap  ashes  upon  the  head  of 
his  servant  ?"  added  Nevrcstti ;  '•  Can  the  fig- 
tree  bear  grapes,  or  tlie  olive  produce  dhour- 
ra  ?  How  then  can  I  give  up  a  maiden  who 
is  not  mine?" 

"And  what  says  the  Massaldji  herself?" 
asked  the  Tchorbadji,  looking  kindly  on  the 


eloquence  into  the  web  of  fiction  to  please 
the  cars  which  would  be  ever  open  to  listen?" 

•'The  Tchorbadji  is  lord;"  said  Maniolo- 
polo,  as  calmly  as  his  agitation  would  permit 
him  to  reply  :  "  If  the  Camalcan  of  Stamboul 
be  eftntent  to  leave  his  slave  unreclaimed, 
then  are  her  poor  services  at  his  will.  Let  the 
Pasha  (may  his  house  prosper  !)  decide  in  this 
matter." 

This  suggestion  at  once  recalled  the  worthy 
Janissary  to  his  reason,  andremindcil  him  that 
he  could  not  take  the  beard  of  the  Minister  in 
his  hand,  as  though  it  were  that  of  an  oda- 
bashi*  or  a  naib  ;t  and  determined  therefore 
to  rid  himself  of  the  affair  at  once,  he  said 
coldly  : 

"  Min  Allah  !  why  should  I  trouble  my 
lord  the  Pasha  for  this  thing  ?  Are  there  not 
many  Massaldjis  in  the  land?  What  is  the 
spoil  for  which  I  should  contend  ?  A^Tet  der — • 
it  is  a  woman — it  is  bosh — nothing." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence ;  and 
Maniolopolo  watched  with  considerable  anxiety 
the  countenance  of  the  Tchorbadji,  who  con- 
tinued to  smoke  with  great  energy,  and  a  con- 
traction of  eye-brow  by  no  means  indicative 
of  internal  satisfaction  :  while  the  alme  slow- 
ly rising  from  the  floor,  at  the  signal  ot  Nev- 
reste,  prepared  to  renew  their  dances.  A  wave 
of  the  host's  hand,  however,  prevented  their 
purpose;  and  muttering  something  of  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  he  gravely  descended  from 
the  sofa,  and  without  again  glancing  towards 
the  dancers,  abruptly  quitted  the  harem. 

When  he  had  fairly  disappeared,  all  was 
once  more  hilarity  ;  and  tiie  young  beauty  on 
the  sofa  smiled  out  her  pretty  scorn  at  the  sud- 
den wliim  of  tlie  Tchorbadji,  who  liad  poured 
forth  his  soul  on  first  sight  of  an  awali,  whom 
she  vowed,  by  the  grave  of  her  mother,  had  a 
light  in  her  eyes  which  was  nothing  less  than 
modest. 

Nevreste  ventured  to  remonstrate,  and  to 
uphold  the  propriety  'of  her  handsome  com- 
panion ;  greatly  to  the  amusement  of  the  lady, 
wlio  called  the  dark-browed  awali  to  llie  cush- 
ion at  her  feet,  where  she  playfully  toyed  with 
the  long  tresses  of  raven  hair  that  fell  upon 
her  shoulders,  and  bade  her  tell  liow  many 
hearts  she  had  broken  since  her  bright  black 
eyes  had  learned  the  art  in  which  they  wcro 
such  adepts. 

Maniolopolo,  to  whom  his  position  was  irk- 
some in  the  extreme,  despite  the  small  white 
hand,  and  soft  accents  of  the  fair  wife  of  the 
Tchorbadji,  answered  her  by  a  timid  glance,  as 
he  resumed  his  zebcc  :  and  having  preluded 
for  a  moment  in  melancholy  cadences,  as 
though  sad  recollections  had  been  awakened  by 
the  question,  at  length  murmured  out  in  a  sub- 


Corporal. 


t  Cadi's  Clerk. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TUE  UAUEM. 


188 


dued  voice  his  low  aiid  thrilling  reply.  Tho 
air  which  he  selected  was  wilda;>  tlicsuinincr 
wind — it  was  a  Seiote  melody  ;  ami  it  brought 
with  it  a  thousand  mcniorios  of  the  past, 
which  heightened  its  expression  of  encr^-y  and 
passion. 

The  Almk's  So.tr- 

Who  loves  the  Aim*  ?    Oh  mock  me  not  now 
Wiih  the  light  of  that  eye,  and  the  calm  of  that  brow  ; 
For  thee,  such  as  thee,  were  those  bles5ed  hours  made, 
When  ihe  sunshine  is  looked,  and  when  music  is  said  ; 
But  the  Almfi,  though  bright  her  younp  beauty  may  be, 
Can  ne'er  know  the  bliss  that  is  lavished  on  thee  ! 

Who  loves  the  Alme  ?    Her  step  may  be  li^ht. 

Her  form  may  be  graceful,  her  eye  may  b<  bright, 

Her  ear  may  drink  in  the  most  eloquent  wurds 

That  e'er  swept  like  a  spell  o'er  the  young  spirit's  chords  ; 

But  the  Alms's  crushed  heart  to  despondence  is  vow'd 

When  her  brow  is  unveiled  to  the  gaze  of  the  crowd. 

Then  ask  not  the  Alme.  proud  beauty,  to  tell 
The  t.ilesof  the  past  in  her  memory  that  dwell; 
Kather  bid  her  forget  that  on  earth  there  can  be 
A  being  so  loved  and  so  lovely  as  thee  ; 
Lest,  wild  with  despair  such  a  contrast  to  meet, 
tShe  fling  off  her  garland,  and  die  at  thy  feet. 

A  Stifled  sob  met  the  ear  of  Maniolopolo  as 
he  laid  aside  the  instrument :  he   involunta- 
rily turned  in  the  direction  whence   it  came, 
and   saw  Mlierpirwir  slowly  moving  away  ; 
and  his  heart  smote  liini  that  in  order  tiie  bet- 
ter  to  sustain  liis  disgui.«e.  he   had  suffered 
himself  to   be  betrayed  into  any  expressions 
calculated  to  wound  the  fair  and  gentle  girl, 
who  had  so  zealously  embraced  his  cause,  and 
risked   her  own  safety  to  conduce  to  his  hap- 
piness.     NevTestc   had  served  him   for  gold, 
and  had  f-ecured  the  wages  of  her  concession: 
the  other  alme  had  simply  and  blindly  fiiitilled 
the  pledge  of  obedience   to  which  they  were  | 
vowed  ;  but  there  was  something  at  the  heart  I 
of  the  young  Greek  that  told  hii7i  of  a  deeper  | 
and  a  more  anxious   interest  on  the  part  of  I 
Mherpirvvir.     True,  she  was  assistiim  liim  to] 
look  upon  one  whom  he  loved — but  the  expc- ' 
ricnce  of  the  fair  dancing-girl  had  tauijht   lier  I 
no  tale  of  constancy  on  the  part  of  lovers.     In 
the  sky  of  her  destiny  she  had  seen  ray  after  rny 
of  the  youns  heart's  bri^'hiness  clouded  by  the 
vapours  of  distrust  and  clianirc  ;  she  had  heard 
murmurs  from  the  sweeleaf  lips  in  the  world,  I 
and  seen   tears   in    the    loveliest    cyc« :    and 
Mherpirwir  was   no  logician.      ManioloiKilo ' 
■wa-s  a  Greek,  a  Giaour  ;  a  despised   one   like  i 
herself.     He  could    worship  the   wife  of  the. 
Moslem  only  as  a  bright  shape  limned  on   the 
summer  cloud — a  l.iughm;;  lii;ht  nn  tin*  minny  I 
wave — .•oiiiPtliint.'  impaliiabh*  and  traiimlory — 
while,  coulil  shr  win  Iumi  I — Hut  here  ihc'heart 
of  the   girl  beat  painfully,   and  a  deep  bluAh  i 
burned  for  an  inittant  on  her  brow — No.    no ;  | 
ehe  M-ouid  think  no  more  :  she  dnrrd  not. 

Some  portion  of  the  triiih  had  already  in- 1 
truded  itself  on  Maniolopolo  ;  he  had  known  > 
the  almti  only  a  few  hour.",  but  there  woji  a 
sottencd  lii.'hl  and  a  tunid  expreiwion  in  her 
deep  eye  when  it  wa«  turned  on  hirn-  that  re-  I 
Sealed  her  secret. 


His  melancholy  ballad  lind  smitten  the  fair 
girl  with  a  painful  convietion  which  had  never 
before  so  thoroughly  lorced  itself  upon  her. 
Who  was  she  that  she  thus  had  dared  to  hopo 
lliat  she  niiiiht  appropriate  ihc  heart  of  one 
like  Maniolopolo  ?  Was  not  the  very  nam© 
of  an  alnicthe  by-word  of  scorn  andconiumely? 
Were  not  all  the  troop  at  the  beek  of  every 
stranger  who  spread  gold  upon  his  i>alm,  to 
divert  his  idlene.'^s.  and  to  obey  his  beholH? 
What  had  she  to  do  with  love,  with  tender- 
ness, with  piussion?  Alas!  nolhini; — Man- 
iolopolo had  laid  bare  before  her  the  de.Hola- 
tion  of  her  lot;  she  miiihl  weep  away  her 
spirit,  and  steep  her  heart  in  tears  ;  there  waa 
no  hand  to  wipe  them  away,  no  voice  to  soothe, 
no  arm  to  uphold  her;  and  for  a  moment  as 
the  dancin'i-i:irl  moved  from  the  side  of  tho 
young  Greek,  a  cold  chill  stole  throush  her 
veins,  and  if  she  could  at  that  instant  be  said 
to  feci,  it  was  the  hard,  cold,  stern  riaidity  of 
the  marble  whieh  bears  the  impress  of  beauty 
without  iUs  vitality.  Rut  the  death-like  par- 
oxy.<m,  the  strong  spasm  of  despair,  endured 
not  long;  the  viciim  was  too  young  lobe  thus 
emancipated  from  suffering  ;  the  spirit  thrall 
had  more  biitcr  pangs  in  store  ;  and  the  awak- 
ening from  this  transient  immobility  was  more 
crushing  than  years  of  nuirmured  sulTering. 

The  night  w.as  far  advanced  when  Ncvresto 
gave  the  signal  for  deparlurc  ;  and  the  wife 
of  the  Tchorbailji  dismissed  her  guests  with 
courtesy  and  irifts  far  exceeding  their  expecta^ 
tions  :  nor  did  she  invite  their  return,  for  tho 
admiration  of  her  lord  had  been  too  manit'eHt 
towards  the  dissui.-ed  Seulika  to  render  that 
l>ersonage  a  welcome  guest  :  and  the  troop 
liad  already  jiassed  the  threshold  of  the  ha- 
rem, and  Maniolojwlo  was  carelully  guiding 
Ihe  footsteps  of  the  trembling  Mherpirwir  along 
the  rude  pavement  of  the  steep  street  which 
led  to  the  Theriaki  Tcharchi.  while  the  old 
woman  followed  closely  behind  them,  when 
they  were  sud(hnly  met  by  one  of  the  cha- 
ouslies*  of  the  Pasha,  preceded  by  a  s«'ratcht 
bearini;  a  pai>or  lantern,  who  approaching  No- 
vresle  exclaimed  : 

*•  lii:  hey — What '«  this,  mother  ?  You  are 
abroad  at  an  unseemly  hour  with  your  flock 
of  jK-ris :  I  liavc  been  to  the  Tcharejn,  the 
devils  nest,  in  whieh  >ou  have  hoUHed  your- 
self (and  Wallah  billali  !  'tis  no  pleaMUit  liuk 
to  thread  that  quarter  of  the  city  after  night- 
fall I)  on  a  misMon  from  his  liii:liiie>s  (ha 
I'asha  (may  Ins  beard  flourish  !)  il<-  ha« 
heard  strange  tuk-H  of  one  of  your  aline,  and 
he  honors  you  by  a  suiniiionii  to  hi!t  harem 
to-morrow  evening  at  imnset  :  no  prepare  year 
moon-faced  beauties,  and  be  careful  not  lo 
fail  at  the  ap|Niinted  hour  ;  but  Mtze  your 
good  fortune  with  the  graup  of  iwcurily,  and 
when  the  river  m  the  west  yonder  runs  gold. 


*  Offlc-r  of  th*  houMhoUI. 
t  tUrvftBt  o(  ibc  ilcjr. 


134 


THE  ROilANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


see  that  you  stand  before  the  door  of  the  Pasha's 
harem,  or  the  grave  of  your  father  -will  be  de- 
filed, and  the  soles  of  your  feet  uiilitled  for 
speedy  travel."' 

Tlie  old  woman  bowed  her  obedience,  and 
murmured  out  a  thousand  assurances  of  her 
delight  at  ihe  summons  ;  and  wlien  the  chaoush 
and  his  attendant  had  passed  on,  she  moved  to 
the  side  of  Maniolopolo,  and  wliispered :  "  Wal- 
lah !  your  star  is  m  the  ascendant,  young  sir: 
your  kismet  is  propitious  ;  but  is  your  heart 
strong,  and  your  pulse  steady  ?  Sen  bilirsen 
— you  know  best.  For  my  own  part,  I  will 
trust  you.  I  sell  you  my  neck  for  two  purses, 
and  the  present  of  the  Paslia:  take  care  that  I 
do  not  make  a  bud  bargain,  and  find  it  in  the 
uoose  through  any  folly  of  your  mad  passion." 

"  Korkma  —  fear  not,  mother;"'  said  the 
young  Greek  :  '•  For  my  own  sake,  and  for 
hers.  I  will  look  thrice  at  my  words  belbre  I 
utter  them.  What  is  written,  is  written — my 
feiech  hath  placed  me  in  your  hands,  and 
opened  the  door  of  the  Pacha's  harem  to  my 
eager  foot.  What  says  the  proverb  ?  '  When 
you  find  water,  drink  it;  when  you  find  a 
bridge,  pass  over  it.'  I  found  the  water  of 
despair,  and  drained  a  deep  draught ;  and  now 
I  find  tlie  bridge  of  hope,  I  am  resolved,  and 
ready  to  cross  it." 

"  Sen  ektiar — you  are  the  master  ;"  said 
Nevreste :  "  and  I  am  your  slave.  And  now, 
here  we  are  at  the  Tcliarchi,  where  you  can 
deposit  your  disguise  until  to-morrow — Aghour 
ola — Heaven  speed  you  in  your  purpose  :  for 
you  have  a  bold  spirit  and  a  true  heart,  giaour 
thougli  you  be." 

With  this  blessing  Maniolopolo  took  leave 
of  the  old  woman ;  and  having  silently  pressed 
tlie  slender  fingers  of  Mherpirwir  wiihin  his 
own,  retired  to  the  apartment  where  he  had 
assumed  his  disguise  ;  and  having  laid  aside 
tlie  veil  and  anicry,  and  replaced  them  by  tiie 
turban  and  beenisii*  in  which  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  traverse  the  city  at  night,  he  ha.stened 
from  the  Tlieriaki  Tcharchi  which  was  already 
loud  wiih  revelry  and  riot. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

It  was  a  glorious  noon  !  The  sun  rode  high 
in  heaven;  the  bees  were  busy  among  tiie 
bean-flowers;  the  butterflies  flitted  hither  and 
lliitliiT,  like  blossoms  loosened  from  their  stems 
by  the  summer-wind  to  be  tiie  bright  coinpan- 
KM.s  of  liis  sport ;  the  golden-armored  fish 
lo.ipt  high  above  the  silver-bo.somed  fountain, 
and  fell  back  glittering  with  the  light;  the  sky 
was  a  vault  of  torquoise ;  and  the  leaves  sang 
a  jilcasant  melody  at  the  bidding  of  the  breeze. 
\or  was  this  all;  for  the  laughter  of  childhood 

•  Cloak. 


and  the  low  sweet  voice  of  woman  came  softly 
to  the  ear,  as  Saifula  Pasha,  with  a  slow  step 
and  a  preoccupied  spirit,  silently  paced  to  and 
fro  the  tree-shadowed  terrace  tliat  stretched 
along  beneath  the  windows  of  his  harem.  In 
one  hand  he  held  his  amber-lipped  chibouquai 
of  jasmin  wood  ;  the  other  was  buried  amidj 
the  folds  of  his  girdle  ;  his  lips  were  slightly, 
compressed  :  his  head  declined  ;  and  at  times' 
he  drew  a  long  breath  like  one  whose  spirit 
was  overladen  \\'ith  thought. 

His  sclictar-aga*  and  his  chibouque-bashif 
followed  at  a  short  distance,  but  did  not  even 
converse  in  whispers  :  so  bewildered  were  they 
by  the  sudden  restlessness  of  their  master.  At 
length  the  Satrap  paused,  and  pointing  to  a 
spot  where  the  shadows  fell  deep  and  cool,  a 
slave  obeyed  the  signal,  and  spread  his  carpet, 
upon  which  he  seated  himself,  while  his  atten- 
dants with  oflicious  zeal  arranged  his  cushions, 
prepared  his  pipe,  and  performed  for  .him  all 
the  little  othces  of  attentive  zeal. 

"  Mazzouk,"  said  the  Pasha,  when  his  selic- 
tar-aga  alone  stood  beside  him,  all  the  other 
attendants  having  respectfully  retired:  "there 
is  a  weight  upon  my  spirit ;  the  labors  of  the 
divan  have  wearied  me.  I  hate  the  contact 
to  which  1  am  subjected  by  ihe  supineness  of 
that  dog  the  Cadi,  who  is  not  worth  the  pillauf 
i  he  destroys — Masliallah  !  He  is  an  ass,  and 
the  father  of  asses  !" 

The  Satrap  paused,  and  threw  out  a  long 
thin  thread  of  smoke  from  his  chibouque, 
which  curled  for  a  moment  about  his  bright 
and  jetty  beard  ;  and  the  seliclar-aga  bowed 
his  acquiescence  in  the  opinion  of  his  master 
with  an  unction  which  admitted  no  doubt  of 
his  sincerity. 

''  To  see  the  divan,"  pursued  the  Pasha, 
"  one  would  imagine  that  the  city  was  oua 
vast  Timerhaze  !|  They  are  not  men  whom  , 
he  brings  before  me  for  judgment :  haivan  der 
— they  are  animals — creatures  from  whom 
you  may  wring  their  heart's  blood  more  easily  , 
than  their  piastres  —  Half!  half! — shame, 
shame  !  I  have  sat  there  three  ho'urs  this  day 
in  the  name  of  the  Prophet,  and  not  a  single 
purse  has  passed  into  the  treasury." 

'•  Mashallah  !  He  is  a  dog.  and  deserves 
the  cord,"  said  the  attendant  coolly. 

'•Am  I  not  the  shadow  of  the  Padishah?" 
continued  the  Pasha  in  a  low  tone  of  concen- 
trated anger  ;  "  And  shall  he  not  have  justice?  ' 
Let  liiin  look  to  it  if  things  do  not  change. 
Inshallah  !     I  wrong  no  man."  . 

A  few  moments  of  silence  succeeded,  and 
again  the  Satrap  spoke  :  ''  And  this  Frank, 
this  infidel  dog,  of  whom  he  told  me  in  full 
divan  not  a  month  back,  who  scattered  his 
money  in  the  city  streets,  and  made  an  okkal{ 
of  his  dwelling,  where  all  wlio  came  were  wel- 
come ;  what  has  become  of  him  ?   With  whose 


*  Pword-beait 
X  Mad-house. 


t  Keeper  of  the  pipe. 
5  Tavern. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  UAREJI. 


185 


httltisherifTe*  has  ho  passed  the  gates?  By 
Allah  !  there  has  been  treason — and  the  Cadi 
has  played  tlie  codgea-basha,  and  levied  trib- 
ute lor  himself." 

*•  Bashusiun — on  my  head  bo  it !  My  lord 
the  Pasha  has  his  foot  on  the  nock  of  tlie  glior- 
ymsak ;''  said  the  selietar-aga,  lurnin^:  nsii'.o 
to  spit  out  his  contempt  of  the  Cadi. 

"Have  you  heard  aught  of  tliis  spendtlirift 
Frank?"'  asked  the  Pasha:  "if  it  be  as  the 
Cadi  says,  he  must  be  well  known  in  ilie  city." 

'•Your  slave  has  heard  that  the  stranger  is 
no  Frank,"  was  the  reply;  "but  a  rascally 
Greek  from  the  Islands,  who  has  been  laughing 
at  the  beards  of  the  True  BelieverSj  and  call- 
ing himself  a  Gaul." 

"Ha  !  is  it  so  ?"  said  the  Satrap,  a  gleam 
of  pleasure  passing  over  his  swarthy  counten- 
ance; '•  Then  by  the  soul  of  his  mother,  he 
shall  pay  dearly  for  his  insolence.  A  Greek  ! 
Where  is  the  karatch  ?t  He  shall  pay  it  to 
the  uttermost  para :  aye,  to  the  uttermost. 
You  shall  talk  with  him,  Mazzouk  ;  and  you 
know  your  duty." 

The  selictar-aga  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  and  smiled. 

"  Shall  we  have  our  faces  blackened  by  a 
ralah  ?"  pursued  the  Satrap;  "a  vile  slave 
^•ho  was  born  under  the  yoke  ?  and  wliose 
cunning  has  taught  him  to  take  shelter  in  the 
name  of  a  Frank  Khawajir?|  And  a  Gaul, 
too!  Were  there  not  Russians  and  Knulish 
enough  between  Seandcria  and  Stamboul,  but 
he  must  call  himself  a  Gaul  !" 

"  The  slave  is  as  keen  a.s  a  makaisa  :'"^  said 
the  selictar-aga,  selecting  a  .'••imile  which  was 
as  professional  as  it  was  apt  :  "  Had  he  writ- 
ten himself  either  Ru.'-s  or  Briton,  we  miglit 
have  read  the  clieat.  for  these  Giaours  are  all 
as  like  from  Ramazan  to  Ramazan.  as  the 
pearls  in  my  lords  turban  :  and  they  who  have 
once  known  one  of  the  unclean  dogs,  can  tell 
bim  again  even  should  they  meet  on  the  educ 
of  the  Great  Desert ;  but  the  Gaul  is  a.«  chance- 
ful a.s  the  shadows  of  the  temi)eht  on  the 
waters  of  Boulac;  and  ihcrc  is  no  swearing  to 
his  beard." 

"And  how  know  you  thiB?"  asked  Ihc 
Fasha,  amazed  at  the  erudition  of  liiji  attend- 
ant; -'Have  you  plunged  your  fingcrM  into  the 
same  pillauf  with  the  rnhelieven*,  that  you 
can  tell  the  signs  of  their  uncleannc.«.«  !••'' 

"  May  the  hand  of  your  »lavc  pc^l^h  if  it 
hath  done  ihi.s  !"  said  th'j-functionary  ftolcmn- 
ly  ;  •*  Whose  dog  am  I  that  I  hhould  defile  my 
own  grave  ?  I  learned  the  ►ecrel  fr'-m  a  hadji 
•who  had  travelled  to  the  far  eajit ;  and  who  told 
me  that  a  mighty  Schali.  who  knew  litth-  of  the 
>nfidcl  nations  of  ihe  w^-Bt.  and  who  M>u<.'ht  to 
learn  in  what  the  Giaourn  of  ihoiie  landx  of 
darkness  differed  the  one  from  the  other,  em- 


•  Firman. 
}  Merc  Lint. 


t  CapiuiioB  Ux  l«Ti*<)  on  matu. 
^  Sbon-tword. 


ployed  a  famous  painter,  who  could  cunnin^'If 
spread  the  luits  of  the  rainbow  over  the  sur- 
face of  tlic  papyrus,  and  create  briglil  shu|io« 
that  wanted  only  breath  and  life  to  iiiak<- tliein 
equal  to  the  houris,  to  trace  lor  him  a  (Jiaour 
of  every  land  within  the  circle  of  Kl  Cat,  that 
so  ho  might,  should  any  of  these  reslhss  har- 
harians  travel  to  Ins  court,  ho  able  at  once  to. 
tell  to  what  nation  he  belonged.     Hut  I  wcaxy 

my  lord " 

"Go  on,"  said  the  Pasha,  "  I  listen." 
"The    painter    obeyed    the    Imperial    com* 
mand  :"  pursued  the  selictar-aga  with  iiierea*. 
ed  animation,  encouraged  by  the  uniLMial  at- 
tention of  his  ma.'<tcr  :  "  and  he  soon  laid  upon 
the  step  of  Ihe  throne   so   many    tighi-visied 
and    whiskered    etligies    that   the  Schah    had 
nearly  expired  with  mirth  ;  but  at    leiicth  ho 
came  to  one  where  the  tJiaour  stood  unclothed, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  web  of  silk  ;  and  he  do- 
mandcd  from   the  painter   in  what   land   tho 
men    thus   unblushingly   dispensed    with    tho 
garments  which    they  po.-se.'^sed   the  means  of 
fashioning.     '  May  my   lord's   shadow    never 
decrea.se!'  said  the  painter:   "In  nocounlryof 
tlie  west  where   the  Giaours  have  learned  to 
weave  the  |Toducc  of  the  worm  or  the  eotton- 
trce,  do  they  llius  deprive   themselves   of  the 
fruits  of  their  industry.     I  have  therefore  laid 
betore  the  eyes  of  my  lord  the  garb  of  every 
nation  save  one,  for  elsewhere  the  garment  of 
to-day  may  bo  worn  to-niorrow  ;  but  with  iho 
I  Gaul  it  is  not  so  ;  and  had  I  made  for  liirn  a 
dress  to  any  given  measure.  tliom.'h  at  sunriso 
he  might  have  been  distinguished    by  it    Irom 
all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  at  suii.set  it  would 
have  borne  no  more  reseniblanco  to  his  actual 
I  appearance  than  tho  lotus  bears  to  the  olivo 
{ tree,  or  the  stork   to  the   blue   dcivc.      I    hovo 
therclbre  given  him  the  material  uiifa.-lii<)ncd, 
!  in  order  that  my  lord  the  Sehuh  may  imagino 
I  for  hun.  each  time  tliat  he  looks  ui>on  the  pic- 
I  ture.  a  new  and  distinct  costume.'     'Ihus  then, 
!  Light  of  the    Karth  ;'   continued  the  srlietar- 
'  Bga,  bowing  low  before  his  muster;   •'.  1  deem 
that   tho   Greek  slave    hait  called   himself  a 
Gaul,    dreading    that    your   pcnetrntjon    and 
knowledge  would  have  dcteetc<l  the  itn|HM«tiiro 
had  ho  declared  himself  to  bo  tho  subject  of 
any  other  land." 

••  I  lai.  hai — true,  true  ;''  said  the  Satrap  with 
a  grim  sinilo  ;  "  but  Alhcmdullilah — i>rai»e  l>o 
to  Allah  !  ho  will  not  chcapc  even  thu.-t.  Wo 
arc  not  to  sulTcr  the'saml  of  the  de>erl  to  be 
tiling  into  our  even  by  a  wrctrhed  roVah. 
Frangi  domouo — the  Frunkft  are  hog*,  l>c  ihcy 
Runs  or  Gauls;  and  ihe  (irei-ki>  are  dogn,  and 
till"  falheni  of  dogx.  lie  hhull  pay  tho  knralch 
eitlnT  w  ilh  hih  hands  or  feet ." 

••  liahhustun — "ii  my  head  bn  it."  unid  th« 
selictar-aija.  and  the  Paxlia  smoked  on  with 
renewed  vigor.  hain«lied  that  tho  worthy  funo* 
tionary  would  kci-p  lux  word. 

'•  Mazzouk,"  bald  the  1'ai.ha,  after  a  long 


136 


THE  ROMAJfCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


pause. 


vour  face   is   whitened  :  vou   have 


charmed  the  car  of  attention,  and  turned  the 
Bands  of  the  hour-glass  to  gold.  I  knew  that 
your  arm  was  strong,  but  I  have  only  learnt 
to-day  that  you  can  think  as  well  as  strike.  I 
am  weary  of  the  tales  told  in  my  harem;  they 
are  over-ripe  pomegranates,  and  pall  me. 
.Have  you  no  legend  of  war  and  strife,  such  as 
may  make  me  belieVe.  while  I  lie  here  upon 
my  cn.'ihions,  thai  I  see  the  roving  Tartar  with 
his  tall  cap  and  slender  lance,  the  hardy  Scy- 
thian with  his  huge  bow  grasped  like  a  toy, 
the  Arab  with  his  unerring  djcrrid,  or  the  false 
Greek  with  his  long  spear  gleaming  in  the  sun- 
shine, as  he  Hies  before  the  Allah  hu  !  of  the 
conquering  Moslem?  I  want  a  tale  like  the 
neighing  of  a  war-horse,  or  the  blast  of  a  trum- 
pet :  I  love  the  far-off  rumbling  of  warfare, 
and  had  I  not  been  a  Satrap,  by  the  soul  of 
my  father  !  I  would  haA'e  been  a  warrior  !" 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  noble  and  safe 
burst  of  pugnacious  oratory,  the  Pasha  resu- 
med his  chibouque  almost  fiercely,  while  Jie 
twirled  his  moustache,  and  looked  defiance 
at  the  selictar-aga,  who,  having  respectfully 
pressed  the  hem  of  the  great  man's  garment  to 
liis  lips,  stood  for  a  moment  buried  in  thought, 
and  then,  obeying  the  gracious  gesture.of  the 
Pasha,  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  car- 
pet, and  at  once  commenced  his  narrative. 


CHAPTER  LVn. 

"  I  MUST  transport  my  lord  to  the  farthest 
East,  that  I  may  tell  him  that  which  he  may 
not  perchance  have  heard;  for  should  I  engage 
his  ear  with  a  tale  of  the  wars  of  Roum,  and 
of  the  glories  of  the  conquering  armies  of  the 
Padishah,  the  Descendant  of  tlie  Prophet,  and 
the  Refuge  of  the  World,  should  I  not  heap 
a.>;hes  upon  my  head,  when  my  lord  Iniows 
all  things,  and  his  servant  is  less  than  a  dog 
before  Jjim '?" 

The  Pa.^ha  drew  in  a  long  stream  of  the 
sweet-scented  gcbcli,  and  nodded  liis  approba- 
tion ;  while  the  selictar-aga.  encouraged  by 
the  sesture,  thus  proceeded. 

"Half  the  world  had  bowed  beneath  the 
strong  right  arm  of  the  wonderful  Subuctagi 
and  his  warlike  son,  the  bright-eyed  Mahmoud, 
when  his  grandson  Musaoud  ascended  the 
royal  steps  of  the  throne  of  Ghizni.  It  was  a 
moment  of  trial,  for  the  brave  Azim  Schah  Sil- 
jochi.  the  lord  of  the  Toorkomans,  had  already 
subdued  tlie  kingdoms  of  Bokhara  and  Sumar- 
caml,  reaping  their  harvest  with  the  sword, 
and  awakenini:  their  echoes  with  the  clash  of 
steel,  and  the  thunder  of  prancing  hoofs.  He 
was  born  for  battle  ;  the  storm  and  the  tem- 
pest rocked  him  to  rest  in  his  infancy  ;  he 
laughed  as  the  red  lightnings  danced  around 
tun,  and  chased  the  thunder-bolt,  when  it  fell 


ruin-laden  into  the  valley.  He  breasted  tha 
waves  when  the  wild  sea  was  chafed  into  an- 
'  ger,  and  leaped  the  precipices  in  whose  depths 
death  lay  coiled  like  a  serpent. 

"  When  his  boyhood  was  spent,  and  that  hh 
upper  lip  was  fringed  with  the  beard  of 
I  sireagth,  he  became  only  more  bold  and 
I  dauntless.  The  spear  and  the  sword  were 
dearer  to  him  than  the  zebec  or  the  hookah, 
I  and  the  trumpet-blast  sweeter  than  the  voices 
j  of  the  awalis.  His  ambition  was  as  a  fiery 
I  torch  which  spread  devastation  before  it,  and 
I  his  name  was  the  watchword  of  the  war^ 
riors  when  they  rushed  upon  the  weapons  of 
the  foe. 

'•  Masaoud  had  not  yet  girded  on  the  scimi« 
tar  of  sovereignty,  when  the  warlike  Azim 
pressed  onward,  even  within  the  limits  of  his 
empire  ;  and  he  no  sooner  became  the  right 
hand  of  power  than  he  resolved  to  stem  the 
torrent  of  invasion  ere  it  reached  the  footstep 
of  his  throne  ;  and  for  this  purpose  he  called 
to  him  the  noble  Altasash,  the  brave  viceroy 
of  Charism,  who  had  long  panted  to  cross 
swords  with  the  victorious  Prince  of  the 
Toorkomans. 

'•  All  Ghizni  was  comnilsed  -snth  pride  and 
admiration,  when  the  eagle-browed  Altasash 
galloped  like  a  meteor  towards  the  plain  where 
his  gallant  army  was  assembled.  His  steel- 
clad  warriors  were  counted  by  thousands,  and 
one  universal  shout  of  welcome,  which  seemed 
to  shake  the  astounded  earth  even  to  its  cen» 
tre,  hailed  him  as  he  bounded  forward  with 
his  son  Kousruf  by  his  side.  He  was  the  idol 
of  the  people,  and  there  stood  not  one  among 
that  closely-serried  host  who  would  not  have 
freely  shed  his  blood  for  the  brave  and  high* 
souled  Altasash. 

'•  Mothers  blessed  him  as  he  passed,  and 
held  their  infants  high  above  their  heads  thai 
;  they  might  look  upon  the  hero;  the  aged  wepi 
]  that  their  strength  was  spent,  and  they  could 
j  not  follow  him  to  battle;  while  they  who  had 
j  hitherto  resisted  the  temptation,  flung  down 
their  peaceful  tools,  or  instruments  of  sport) 
and  grasping  a  ruder  weapon,  rushed  to  thfi  ,' 
j  ranks  of  battle. 

"  Winter  had  already  stretched  his  icy  hand 
■over  the  earth,  but  the  gallunt  viceroy  lieeded 
■  not  its  pressure  ;  the  enemy  strode  on,  and  ho 
disdained  to  yield  before  the  perseverance  of 
the  conquering  Azim.  As  the  armed  host ' 
swept  tbrward,  ally  was  wretchedness  before 
and  about  them ;  the  trees  stretched  forth  their 
leafless  arms  towards  a  murky  and  leaden 
sky;  the  winds  howled  through  the  vallej-s 
like  savage  monsters  in  search  of  prey;  the 
'  torrents,  swoln  with  rain,  leaped  and  roared, 
as  they  escaped  from  their  channel,  and  bore , 
on  their  turbid  waves  the  wreck  of  many  a 
stately  tree  torn  from  its  roots,  and  hurled  to 
ruin  by  the  tempest  ;  fragments  of  rock, 
wrenched  away  by  the  storm-gusts,  fell  claif 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TUE  UAREM. 


137 


tering  into  the  defiles  of  the  mountains  ;  and, 
at  length,  amid  all  this  desolation  the  gaunt 
fiend  Famine  stalked  through  liie  camp,  and 
shook  his  bony  hand  above  the  host.  But  tlie 
heroes  of  Ghizui  defied  liim  totlielast:  tiie 
ardent  Altasash  met  him  as  the  rock  meets  the 
tempe.^t,  and  the  troops,  ciicvmraged  by  his 
example,  armed  themselves  with  resolution, 
and  cried  shame  upon  the  craven  who  dared 
to  murmur!     The  mountain  path " 

'•  Mashallah  !"  interrupted  the  Pasha,  with 
a:  most  unequivocal  yawn  ;  ''  I  have  mi.^takcn 
my  taste  :  1  have  already  heard  enough  of 
this  second  Rustum  :*  let  him  rest  in  peace, 
■whether  he  died  of  want  or  a  keen  steel,  which 
is  a  fact  that,  thanks  be  to  the  Propliet,  I  know 
nothing  about.  The  day  is  wearing,  and  the 
shadows  are  growing  longer;  we  will  hasten 
the  evening  meal,  and  leave  your  hea^T  war- 
riors to  their  mountain-path." 

The  disconcerted  sword-bearer  did  not  ven- 
Ctire  to  reply;  but  silently  motioning  to  the 
attendants,  who  were  lying  half  asleep  upon 
the  turf  at  a  distance,  to  approach  and  do  their 
duty,  he  slowly  followed  the  Pasha  to  the  pa- 
lace, with  a  clouded  brow,  and  a  most  un- 
enviable feeling  of  mortified  vanity. 

As  they  pas.«ed  beneath  the  windows  of  the 
harem,  the  .sweet  voice  of  Katinka  came  upon  j 
the  wind,  and  the  Satrap  involuntarily  stopped  | 
to  listen.  As  the  son<r  proceeded,  his  eye  , 
lightened,  and  his  lip  quivered  with  pleasure: 
ttnd,  when  it  ceased,  he  moved  on,  and  with- 
out delayinc  a  moment  in  his  own  apartment, 
at  once  beckoned  to  him  his  Aga  Baba,  and 
entered  the  harem. 

The  pensive  Carimfil,  as  she  ro.se  to  wel- 
<5ome  him,  smiled  faintly,  and  then  relapsed 
Into  her  usual  gloom  :  but  the  young  Greek 
girl  turned  on  him  a  glance  of  fire  that  8cem- 
ed  to  be  reflected  on  liis  soul;  and  lier  ready 
hand  arranged  his  cushions  and  her  soft  voice 
greeted  him  A»-ith  a  feeling  not  to  be  misun- 
derstood. 

Coffee  was  served,  and  the  graceful  Kalinka 
tras  seated  at  the  feet  of  her  friend  in  respcel- 
fill  silence,  when  tlie  Pasha,  whose  idienew* 
required  amusement,  after  graciou.-^ly  imparl- 1 
lag  to  his  fair  listeners  (he  recent  failure  of 
the  selictar-aga.  turned  toward.s  her  .'•iniiingly,  | 
and  bade  her  i>ut  tlie  sword-hearer  to  ghuine,  j 
by  one  of  these  tales  which  fell  from  her  Iijb  ; 
like  wild  lioney  from  tlic  trunk  of  the  fig-  i 
tree.  ' 

The  beautiful  slave  an.swcrcd  by  meekly 
pre.«.«ing  her  liands  upon  her  bosom,  and  fcMVuiR 
)iersclf  up  to  thouL'ht ;  and  ok  the  Pa>ha  lo<jkcd 
upon  her,  he  swore  by  hi.i  beard  thai  hhc  wan  , 
tnorc  lovely  than  a  houri,  but  om  he  did  not  I 
put  the  vow  into  wordB,  none  were  aware  nave  • 
Katinka  hcr.'-cif  that  Bhc  vra«  the  subject  of 
his  reverie. 

*  A  celebnud  autero  hiro. 


Slowly  raisiuK  iier  head  like  a  blossom  that 
lias  been  bent  with  rain,  after  Iho  Injisoofa 
few  moments  the  Greek  girl  prepared  tospcnk; 
and  fixing  her  deep  eyes  on  tlie  Pa.^iia.  while 
she  clasped  one  of  the  fair  hands  of  iiis  young 
wife  within  her  own,  she  thus  obeyed  liis 
bidding. 


CIIAPTKi:   LVin. 

THE    PASHAS    DAVr.HTEn. 

The  Paslia  Taiat  was  the  Satrap  of  a 
powerful  province  too  far  removed  from  the 
magnifieent  City  of  the  Three  Seas,  tlic  capital 
of  the  Lord  of  Life,  to  be  frequently  convulsed 
by  the  factions  which  must  ever  rend  the  me- 
tropolis of  a  great  Empire.  Ilis  eliaoushes 
knew  no  other  lord,  save  by  the  voice  of  ru- 
mor ;  they  had  never  laid  their  forelieads  in 
the  dust  before  a  greater  than  himself;  and 
they  served  him  with  the  blind  obedience 
which  was  their  duty. 

Every  karabasli*  and  astrologer  of  the  pro- 
vince had  predicted  for  him  a  long  life  and  a 
prosperous  fortune.  Ilis  spahisf  were  alert 
and  brave,  and  threw  the  djerid  with  all  the 
art  of  Arabs:  his  palace  was  the  noblest  in 
the  city,  and  his  k:isrj  the  stroniiest  in  the 
mountains  ;  his  mir-akhor^  was  justly  proud 
of  his  unrivalled  stud  ;  his  yuzba.«.his||  were 
faithful,  and  tlie  strange  merehaiit.s  who  from 
time  to  time  traded  in  the  bazAr,  rejiaid  with 
a  willing  and  liberal  hand  the  protection  and 
justice  which  they  ever  found  in  the  divan  of 
Talflt  Pa.si!a. 

But  the  Satrap  possessed  one  gem  which 
outvalued  the  diamonds  of  his  treasury  and 
the  revenue  of  Ins  pa.>-lialik.  Ifis  beard  won 
already  marbled  with  gray  when  the  jtrayor 
of  his  heart  wa.**  answered,  and  he  l>ecaine  tho 
father  of  a  lovely  ;:irl.  Pure  nn  the  blosMnut 
of  the  Indian  Airla,  lovely  as  the  burslinR 
rose  when  it  drinks  in  the  dew-drop  of  tho 
early  duwn.  and  graceful  as  the  fawn  which 
sports  by  Ms  motherK  hide  beneath  the  fcjresl 
bouifliR,  Maitap**  seemed  to  liave  come  on 
earth  to  .•■hew  the  world  how  fair  the  j^ris  ot 
Paradise  may  be.  Her  molhcr  lovrd  her  tut 
the  bulbul  loves  the  moonli:>ht  ;  her  father 
eUing  to  her  as  to  the  prinei|)le  of  Ins  ••xi*l<neo  ; 
and  ojt  years  went  by,  and  lime  only  rejidered 
hero  more  faultlexs — the  fume  of  her  rare 
beauty  was  noised  abroad  ;  and  many  a  |>oct 
rhymed  the  name  of  the  Pa>lia'M  daughter  lo 
a  Ihoiihand  expletives  of  harmony  and  love. 

Fathers  sued  for  their  sons,  and  molhcn 
visited  the  harem  of  tho  Snirap  to  satiiify 
themselves  that  run  ilrun  rcolily  ; 

*  WiMmkii,  1  Cull*. 

(  H«»d-cr.y  m 


138 


THE  roma:n"ce  of  the  harem. 


but  the  proposals  of  the  one.  and  the  scrutiny  palace  of  Talat,  and  his  rejection  had  fallen 
of  the  other  alike  availed  nothing;  the  Pasha  upon  him  like  a  stroke  of  destiny.  From  the 
loved  his  child  too  much  to  thwart  her  fancy  ;  hour  that  he  lo.st  hope,  he  felt  to  live  without 
and  the  glorious  pearl  of  the  province  only  the  beautiful  Maitap  would  be  inipo.-^.^ible; 
wept  when  they  talked  to  her  of  quitting  her  and  as  he  sped  homeward,  he  breathed  an 
father's  roof.  ;  earnest  and  a  solemn  vow  that  he  would  win 

Amons  the  numerous  suitors  whom  her  love- '  her  or  die. 


lincss  drew  around  the  carpet  of  the  Pasha, 
was  the  dark-eyed  Youssouf  Bey,  the  only  son 


But  how? 

Youssouf  Bey  was  young  and  sanguine,  full 


of  a  wealthy  Satrap  whose  province  adjoined  of  life  and  love — rich,  talented,  and  hand.^ome, 
that  of  the  father  of  Maitap.  The  country  If  ever  hope  brushed  away  a  dark  shadow  tVora 
rang  with  his  praises  :  he  had  read  the  Koran  the  tablet  of  despair  with  her  sunny  wing,  ii 
thrice  throuiih  :  he  had  transcribed  the  poesies' was  for  such  as  he  ! 

of  Hafiz  on  the  tablet  of  his  memory;  while'  Despite  his  love  for  his  daughter,  Talat 
yet  a  youth  he  had  mortally  wounded  an  Arab,  Pasha  could  not  conceal  the  feeling  of  disap- 
Schick  in  a  skirmish  whence  older  and  stronger  pointment  with  which  he  saw  the  young  Bey 
warriors  had  fled  :  to  the  courage  of  a  man  he  depart.  He  could  hope  no  brighter  fortune  fol 
joined  the  softness  of  a  woman  :  and  when  the  her  than  that  which  she  had  ju^-t  rejected;  and 
proud  Pasha  asked  for  him  the  hand  of  the  he  was  mortified  also  that  the  haughty  suitoi 
Satrap  Talat"s  daughter,  his  heart  was  as  free  had  not  made  a  single  effort  to  change  th( 
from  any  impression  as  the  mysterious  sea  temper  of  the  chilling  beauty,  but  had  bowec 
over  which  navies  have  passed  without  leaving  beneath  her  decision  without  a  word  of  remoa 
a   trace   behind;    but  unlike   the   illimitable  strance. 

ocean,  that  heart  had  never  yet  been  laid  bare  j      Time,  however,   which  softens  all  things! 
to  any  contact,  and  when  the  fair  Maitap  was  gradually  diminished  the  regret  of  the  Pasha 
mentioned  to  him  as  his  future  bride,  he  lis-  and  he  forgot  to  sigh  when  the  name  of  th(- 
tened  in  silence,  and  taught  himself  to  love  Satrap  Sarim  was  mentioned  in  his  presence  , 
her  in  hearkening  to  the  hyberbolical  panegy-j  Nor  could  he  forbear  rejoicing,  when  the  labor 
rics  of  the  strangers  who  visited  the  palace.      |0f  the  divan  were  over,  that  the  sweet  smil 
But   his  father's  rank  and  his  own  merit  of  Maitap  still  welcomed  his  arrival  in  th 
availed  him  nothing.     Presents  both  rare  and  harem,  and  shed  a  ray  of  light  over  his  exist 
costly  were  sent  to  the  harem  of  Talat  Pasha  :ence;  and,  eventually,  he  almost  learned  t  ' 
his  mother,  anxious  for  his  happiness,  employ-  rejoice  that  his  lovely  child  was  either  colde'' 
ed  every  wile  in  order  to  insure  success  ;  the  or  more  capricious  than  the  rest  of  her  sex.     ', 
father  of  the  young  beauty  expatiated  on  the'      The  u.-^ual  quiet  monotony  of  llie  Satrap''! 
advantages  of  the  connection,  and  every  female  palace  was  one  morning  disturbed  by  the  ir  " 
tongue  in  the  city  was  loud  in  his  praise;  yet  telligence  that  a  strange  merchant  had  arrive 
he  met  no  happier  fate  tlian  his  less  worthy '  in   the   city,   and   established   himself  in  tb 


rivals.  The  young  beauty  li.stencd.  wept,  and 
finally  refused  to  allow  the  name  of  Youssouf 
Bey  to  be  mentioned  in  her  presence. 

Opportunities  had  not  been  wanting  when 
she  might  have  satisfied  herself  of  his  rare  per- 
sonal advantages,  but  she  had  avoided  them  ; 
nor  did  she  approach  the  lattices  of  her  apart- 
ment until  siie  ascertained  that,  hopeless  of 
success,  he  had  quitted  the  city. 

The  failure  of  the  young  and  gallant  Bey 
acted  powerfully  on  the  spirits  of  the  other 
suitors  of  the  lady;  they  felt  that  where  he 
had  gatiiered  only  a.shes,  they  could  secure  no 
treasure  :  and  one  by  one,  slowly  and  reluc- 
tantly, they  withdrew  their  claims. 

Light  was  the  heart  of  the  fair  Maitap  when 
the  last  hoof-stroke  of  tlie  lover-band  resound- 
ed through  the  court-vard,  and  the  rider  jial- 


principal  khan,  with  an  assortment  of  stuf 
such  as  had  never  before  been  beheld  in  tl: 
province.  One  of  the  household  slaves  ha 
lingered  to  see  many  of  the  bales  opened,  an 
gave  a  most  exciting  description  of  their  coi 
tents,  as  well  as  of  the  Khawaji  himself;  ar 
the  fair  ]\Jaitap.  who  had  become  wearied  alii 
of  her  tushee,*  her  birds,  and  her  flower 
amid  the  languor  of  a  warm  day  of  summe 
was  not  sorry  to  find  a  new  source  of  amus 
ment  in  the  hyperbolical  details  of  the  volub 
Said^. 

"  Mashallah  !"  pursued  the  slave,  as  si 
perceived  that  her  beautiful  young  mistre 
was  leaning  forward  upon  her  cusluons  to  li' 
ten  ;  •'  I  never  saw  such  silks,  nor  such  eye; 
One  of  them  worked  with  gold,  in  the  cyph 
of  the  Padishah  on  a  ground  of  bright  orang 


loped  a.vay  in  search  of  a  more  willing  bride ;j  and  another  of  clear  blue  rayed  with  silv( 
and  as  she  hung  upon  the  neck  of  her  father.  And    then   such    a   beard!  as   black   and 
and  buried  her  sweet  face  in  his  bosom,  she  glossy  as  a  bird's  wing:  and  the  most  delic;i 
murmured  eentle  words  of  tenderness  and  trust  muslins   for  yashmacs  If  you   might   sec  t 
that  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  the  Pasha 
and  blessings  from  his  lips. 
Less  ha 


)y  was  the  son  of  the  Satrap  Sarim ;  I 
no  fear  of  failure  had  gone  with  him  to  thei 


very   color    of  the    lips   they   covered.     An 
wallah  billah  !  a  voice  that  goes  through  a: 


Chaplet. 


t  Veil. 


TUE  ROMANCE  OF  TUE  IIAUEil. 


189 


flirough  you,  as  thouiih  it  spoke  to  your  soul 
rather  tliau  your  ears.  Ajnib — wonderful  ! 
why  he  has  broiiglit  into  tliecity  the  huliiig  of 
nine  camels — ami  he  walks  like  ii  Vezir."' 
,  The  fair  Maila|»  could  not  restrain  her  mirth. 
and  clasping  her  lit  lie  hands,  she  pave  way  to 
a  hearty  burst  of  graceful  lan^I-icr.  '•  And 
how  call  you  this  wondrous  trader,  Saidc  I 
And  wlience  comes  lie  ?  From  the  coral  caves 
of  the  deep  sea,  or  the  tleeey  vapors  of  the  blue 
sky  ?  For  such  eyes,  and  beard,  and  tones  as 
Uie«e  can  surely  not  beloni;  to  a  nierc  mortal.'' 

'•  Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say  '?"'   replied  the 

slave  ;   "  He  .•seemed  to  me   to  be   mortal,   aye, 

and  to  feel  like  a  man,  for  when  Giadilla.  the 

Kadenhahia,*of  the  Cadi's  daughter,  who  was 

looking  on  while  he  was  arranging  his  goods, 

declared  that  she  should  fall  sick  if  she  could 

not  persuade  her  mistress  to  purchase  for  her 

I  a  calemquer.f  which  marvellou.»ly  struck  her 

I  fancy,  tiie  young  Khawaji    folded  it  in  an  in- 

I  Btant  and  placed  it  in  her  hand,  with  a   smile 

as  bright  as  the  colors  in  which  it  wa.^  painted, 

though  the  a.stonished  Kadenhahia  told  him 

that  she  had  not  a  para  in  the  world." 

'•  Your  merchant-prince  is  indeed  a  marvel ;" 
smiled  the  young  Hanoum ;  'but  I  would 
learn  his  name." 

'•  They  call  him  the  Khawaji  Zadig.  and  he 
comes  Irom  Bassora.  Mashallah  !  what  an 
eye  he  has.  and  a  forehead  like  a  Padishah! 
Giadilla  was  in  luck  to-day;  her  kismet  won 
a  gift  for  her  from  the  whitest  and  the  softest 
hands  in  the  world."' 

••  Nay,  you  are  mad,  Saidi  ;"  said  the  fair 
Maitap.  striving  to  call  up  a  frowTi ;  "One 
would  think  that  no  strange  merchant  had  ever 
before  visited  the  city,  or  rewarded  the  inso- 
lence of  an  idle  nurse  with  a  head-dress  ;  let 
me  hear  no  more  of  this — it  is  unseemly." 

The  rebuked  attendant  bowed  her  liead  in 
silence,  and  shortly  aWer  quilted  the  apart- 
ment. 

An  unusual  restlessness  suddenly  seized  the 
Pasha's    dauL'hter :  she    ro.^e    from    the  sofa  : 
thrust  her  delicate  lectinlo  her  |>earl-spniiklcd 
slippers  :  tried  all   her   m.-truments   one  after 
tlie  other,  and  rejected  each  in  turn  ;  comjdain- 
ed  of  an  oppression  in  tlie  air  ;  dihcovcred  that 
the  water  in  her  goblet  wa«  heated  and  »>ick- 
ly,  and  that  the  musk-lefiionit  which  were  itcat- 
tered   over   the   ro<>m   alTicicd    l.i'r  h<':iH  :   «ii»l 
finally  quarrelled  wiih  the  i-xr|uiMi.  , 
tliat  wa.H  folded  about  her  brow,    lu 
tliat,  since  she    had  lookf'd    iiiio  a   u, 
had  never  worn  a  color  thai  became  her 

The  inference  was  simple  :  a  new  cache* 


mire  must  be  purchased  ;  and  she  had  alreaily 
examined   and    rejected    every    shawl    -n  Iho 
bazAr  of  the   city,   save   iIklsc   of  tlic  strango 
merchant.     She  would  disjiaich  a  slave  to  bid 
the  Khawaji  send  his  choicest    mrrrhiindiso  to 
'  ihe  palacf  ;   and  ycl,  no — how  could  lit-  divino 
her    tastes?     He  would    probably    reiaui    the 
very    thing    she  wanted,    and    she    i<hould   bo 
wearied  by  looking  over  a  heap  of  uiiinlurcAt- 
ins    lumber.      Truly,    this    was    a    dilemma. 
The  bazar  was  at  the  other  exlreiiiiiy  of  the 
city  ;  the  streets  were  hot  and  close  :   und  tlio 
[  very  wind  seemed   to   have    been   fannmg  tho 
I  sun,  and  to  have  carried  away  its  N\armth,  for 
I  it  fell  on  the  brow  like  the  prc.-sure  of  a  heat- 
'  ed  hand  ;   but  should  she  delay  until    tho  cool 
I  hours,  the  liuht  would  fail,  and  she  could  no 
longer  disliiiuuish  the  colors   of  the  web— Iks- 
'  sides,   some    Kmir's  wife    might   carry  otT  tho 
very  cachemire  that  she  coveted  ;  and  this  ro- 
tlection  was  so  alarmim;,  that  the  fair  Maitap 
j  at   once   clapped   her   hands,   and   de.-ired   tho 
I  slave  who  obeyed  the  suiiiinons.    to  order  her 
'  araba,  to  bring  her  feridjhc*  and  ya.vhmae,  and 
to  prepare  her  two  principal  attendants  to  ac* 
'  company  her  to  the  bazAr. 
I      Ha VI 111:  made  these  arrangements,  the  gentle 
'  girl  subsided  once  more   into   coi!i|»0!«uro  ;  re- 
sumed   her   tusbee,    and   passed    Its    jxTlunied 
beads  rapidly  tlirouizh  her  liiiiicrs.  a.n  she  mur- 
mured out   a    love-ballad  which    by   some  ex- 
'  traordinary  fatality  just  then    recurred   to  her 
I  memory  ;  and  smiled  once  or  twice  as  though 
I  some    pleasant    thought    had  grown  with    iho 
inelotly.      Her  resolution  was  a  holiday  for  tho 
I  two  favored  slaves  who  were  to  attend  her,  for 
[curiosity   had    grown   very   jKiwerfully   in  tho 
1  harem    since    Said<i  had    told    the   tale  of  iho 
!  goo<l-fortune  of  iho    Cadi's    Kadenhahia  with 
I  the  new  Khawaji  ;  and  while  home  of  tho  fair 
slaves  dreamt  of  painted  calemquem  and  em- 
broidered hilks.  otheni  were  indulgint;   vuions 
of  dark  eyes,  ruby  lii>s,  and  tones  of  music. 

The    araba  was   soon   ready,   for   Zobcjdah 
and  Shereen.  the  ehoxeii  pair  who  wcic  to  pro- 
tit  by  th<>  Midden  whim  of  the    young   iR'uuty, 
had  urged  the  Arabadjef  and  the  SerudJe^|  to 
their   greutenl   ^|>ecd  ;    and    Maitap    was  xtill 
busily  engaged  in  arrani;inu,  with  more  than 
her  usual  exocliiei.«,   the  trall^pa^e!lt   folds  of 
the  envious  veil  which  was  to  shroud  horloTO. 
,  liiiriMi   when  the  richly  gilt  and  Mikeii-curlaio- 
i:;e  rallied   to  the  door.     Kniir  inounl- 
..  ^u^^oululed  il ;  nnd  ere  brng  it  waa 
along   tho  rude  pavement  ol   lh«  oilf 
tltccU. 


*  nuidk«rciti«r  vora  •«  tk»  UU. 


140 


THE  ROilAKCE  OF  THE  IIAREM. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE    pasha's  daughter CONTINUED. 

The  Khan  of  Damascus,  as  the  caravanserai 
was  called,  in  which  the  Merchant  had  taken 
up  his  abode,  was  situated  near  the  southern 
gate  of  the  city,  many  stadia  from  the  palace 
of  the  Pasha  ;  and  more  than  once  durinir  her 
drive  the  heart  of  Mai  tap  beat  more  quickly 
than  usual,  as  she  asked  herself  why  she  thus 
indulged  a  caprice,  as  extraordinary  as  it  wa.< 
unaccountable.  Frequently  was  she  tempted 
to  change  her  purpose,  and  simply  to  visit  the 
bazar  ;  but  a  resist  less  impulse  urged  her  to 
persevere  in  her  original  intention  ;  and  while 
this  mental  war  was  wasing  in  her  heart,  the 
araba  drove  into  the  yard  of  the  caravanserai. 

In  the  centre  of  the  court  a  handsome  foun- 
tain poured  forth  its  volume  of  bright  spark- 
ling water  ;  and  in  one  corner  sose  a  small 
edifice  dedicated  to  the  sick  birds  brought  by 
the  hunters  and  peasants  from  the  mountains. 
A  pair  of  noble  eagles,  with  their  feathers 
ruffled  by  illness,  crouched  heavily  upon  the 
roof;  a  lame  stork  was  visible  through  one 
of  thecasemcnts  ;  and  a  number  of  small  birds, 
of  different  descriptions,  were  perched  on  the 
eaves  of  the  building. 

But  Maitap  saw  neither  fountain  nor  infir- 
mary;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  young  man. 
who' stood  earnestly  conversing  with  a  sapl 


much  whom  he  could  be.  The  slaves  who 
sat  at  her  feet  detected  the  sudden  preoccupa. 
tion  of  their  mistress  with  the  intuitive  pene- 
tration of  the  sex  :  and  although  they  uttered 
no  comment,  they  glanced  expressively  at  each 
other,  and  then  indulged  themselves  in  gazing 
on  the  same  object,  with  an  interest  and  admi» 
ration  only  inferior  to  her  own. 

When  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  entrance 
of  the  store,  great  was  the  satisfaction  of  the 
Pasha's  daughter  on  remarking  that  the  hand- 
some stranger  hurriedly  terminated  his  conver* 
sationwith  the  soldier,  and  turned  his  steps  in 
the  same  direction  ;  and  the  cloud  which  had 
gathered  upon  her  brow  was  dissipated  in  an 
instant,  when  with  a  low  and  respectful  saliita- 
tion,  he  followed  her  into  the  spacious  ware- 
house, and  stood  silently  with  downcast  eyes, 
awaiting  her  commands. 

This  then  was  the  Merchant  Zadig  ! 

For  the  first  time  the  proud  beauty  felt  ill 
at  ease  ;  she  had  forgotten  why  she  came 
there,  and  what  she  sought ;  and  she  remained 
earnestly  gazing  upon  the  khawaji,  withoul 
making  an  effort  to  give  even  the  sernblanct 
of  accident  to  her  visit. 

The  stranger  was  about  five-and-twenty 
his  eyes  were  as  black  as  ebony,  and  as  brigh: 
as  sunbeams  ;  his  port  was  haughty  ;  and  his 
brow  well  became  the  pride  that  sat  on  hi; 
finely-moulded  lips.  He  wore  a  turban  of 
which  the  cachemire  was  almost  above  price 


and  whose  extreme  personal  beauty  exceeded   his  flowing  robe  was  of  crimson  silk,  rayec 


any  thing  which  she  had  previously  imagined,  i 
As  she  lav  back  upon  her  cushions,  with  her 
feather-fan  before  her  face,  she  could  indulge 
her  admiration  without  a  fear  of  his  observina 
her;  and  this  feeling  of  security  betrayed  her 
into  a  reverie  which  was  only  terminated  by 
the  harsh  voice  of  the  Aga  Baba,  who  reining 
up  his  splendid  Arabian  close  to  her  side,  in- 
quired her  further  pleasure. 

"  Yavash,  yavash — softly,  softly  ;"  she  said, 
starting  at  once  into  a  full  consciousness  of 
the  error  into  which  she  had  been  betrayed  : 
"  I  have  not  yet  quite  decided  whether  I  shall 
venture  to  encounter  the  fatigue  of  bargaining 
with  the  khawajis  to-day ;  my  head  aches,  and 
my  eyes  arc  heavy." 

"  Wc  will  then  return  at  once  to  the  palace." 
said  the  uclto.  and  he  had  already  gathered 
up  his  bridle,  when  the  lady  exclaimed 
peevishly,  * 

'■'•  And  yet  when  I  have  submitted  to  the 
tediousness  of  traversing  the  city,  I  may  as 
well  profit  by  the  exertion,  or  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  repeat  it.  Inquire,  therefore,  for  the 
store  of  the  merchant  Zadig." 

The  Aga  Baba  obeyed;  and  the  araba 
slowly  proceeded  to  the  quarter  indicated 
MaVtap  never   once   removing  her   eyes  from 


the   figure   of  the   stranger,   and  marvelling  co 


with  orange;  and  in  his  rich  and  \vell-adjuste( 
jirdle  he  caified  a  handjar  sparkling  with  cm 
mmense  ruby,  on  which  was  graven  thi 
cypher  of  the  Prophet. 

The  silence  became  embarrassing  ;  and  t< 
dispel  it,  Shereen,  the  favorite  attendant  of  tin 
lady,  took  up  a  gorgeous  shawl  which  wa , 
flung  upon  one  of  the  bales,  and  began  to  utte. 
'•  Mashallahs  !"  and  •'  Pek  Guzels  !"*  inuu 
merable,  as  she  examined  its  patterns  am 
texture.  The  impulse  was  as  successful  as  i 
was  inartificial,  for  it  withdrew  the  eyes  o:. 
iMaVlap  from  the  Merchant,  and  broke  th 
spell  that  had  been  suddenly  cast  over  hei 
Annoyed  and  mortified  at  her  own  folly,  th 
Pasha's  daughter  at  once  assumed  a  haughfi 
ncss  foreign  to  her  natural  character;  an 
glancing  round  her,  she  said  coldly  : 

'•  Khosh  bulduk— you  are  well  found,  kha 
waji ;  my  slaves  tell  me  that  you  have  cach( 
mires  of  price  among  your  goods,  which  out 
value  any  in  the  bazars  of  the  city.  I  ma 
perchance  become  a  purchaser ;  let  me,  there 
tore  at  once  sec  the  most  costly  of  your  bale) 
if  I  have  heard  the  truth." 

"  Alhemdullilah  !"  murmured  the  merchant 
'•  your  highness  does  my  poor  store  too  muc. 
honor  :  and  I  and  all  tliat  I  possess  are  at  you 


*  Cavalry  soldier. 


ind. 


After  which  courteous  dcclari 


•  Very  pretty. 


TITE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IIARE^if. 


141 


on,  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  a  couple  of 
.lunidian  slaves,  clad  in  dark  blue  tunics, 
iili  scarlet  turbans,  instantly  appeared  Iroin 
rhind  the  screen  which  veikd  an  inner  apart- 
K  lit,  At  a  silent  signal  from  their  employer. 
ii-h  .seized  a  corner  of  the  tapestry  curtain! 
II  I  held  it  high  above  his  head,  while  the 
1  c'hant  in  a  low  and  respectful  voice  bcg- 
il  the  lady  to  favor  him  by  passing  into  the 
Kimbef  where  he  had  .secured  the  most  costly 
.  his  merchandise  from  the  contact  of  casual 
iirchasers. 

IliraHed,  and  governed  by  a  curiosity  which 
;iil  now  become  uncontrollable,  the  stately 
liaitap  scarcely  hesitated  a  moment;  and  fol- 
Iwed  by  her  two  attendants,  she  crossed  the 
jireshold.  and  the  screen  fell  behind  her. 
The  apartment  in  which  he  stood  was  spa- 
wns, and  lighted  by  three  windows  overlook- 
:,'  a  court  planted  with  maple  and  acacia 
;es  ;  the.'^e  windows  the  luxurious  Merchant 
id  veiled  with  curtains  of  pale  pink  silk  that 
ive  a  sunset  hue  to  every  object  in  the  cham- 
;r ;  but  the  surprise  of  the  Pasha's  daughter 
Tiounted  to  wonder,  as  the  gorgeous  Numid- 
ms,  after  glancing  towards  their  master, 
)read  over  the  handsome  divan  of  crimson 
;lvet,  a  covering  of  delicate  white  satin 
rought  with  gold  :  and  heaped  upon  it  cush- 
ns  of  needle-work,  .such  as  even  the  loved 
id  capricious  Maitap  had  never  before  beheld. 
As  the  young  beauty  sank  upon  the  glitter- 
S  sofa,  the  Merchant  still  stood  before  her 
ith  bent  head,  a-s  though  he  dared  not  meet 
10  eyes  which  rested  on  him  :  then  slowly 
tiring,  he  indicated  to  his  slaves  the  bale 
hich  was  to  be  opened  for  her  inspection  ; 
hile,  in  order  to  while  away  the  time,  he 
iread  out  before  iier  several  caskets  filled 
ith  gems,  which  flashed  in  the  soft  and 
laded  light.  Tusbees  of  pearls,  each  the 
ze  of  a  pea  :  bodkins  of  brilliants  ;  rinu's  of 
se  diamonds,  charms,  and  amulets,  and  gil- 
'A  toys  of  every  description,  enough  to  turn 
e  head  of  a  score  of  Eastern  women. 
Amid   all  lier  admiration  the  fair  dauchter 

the  Pasha  remarked,  however,  that  there 
as  one  casket  which  the  khawaji  had  not 
)ened.  and  which,  when  he  had  once  or  twice 
cidcntally  taken  it  up,  he  had  ha.'.tily  laid 
dde.     There  needed  no  more  to  exciie  in  her 

om  a  strong  desire  to  examine  the  conlcniK 

the  ca.skct  :  and  when  the  same  circum- 
ance  again  occurred,  during  a  soarcli  which 
le  Merchant  wa.s  making  for  aco.'^e  containing 
me  valuable  lorquoi.'io«.  she  could  not  refrain 
om  pointing  towards  the  myHtcriouH   Kubject 

her  thought.s.  and  inquiring  why  thut  ulso 
id  not  been  tsubinitlcd  to  her  uinpection. 
'•  Lady.-'  said  the  khawaji,  '  all  that  I  have 
at  the  bidding  of  your  highncB,-*.  and  even 
Qwortliy  of  your  attention.  Ot  what  i.s  mine 
would  hold  back  nothing.  Your  slave  Iivcb 
■jt  to  obey  you,  and  bis  face  is  whitened  by 


jyour  approbation;  but  the  con(eii(.s  of  ihi.i 
I  casket  are  not  mine  :  I  hold  them  only  in  trust 
I  for  one  of  my  most  honored  cu.siojiiris  ;  nnd  I 
I  would  not  lay  before  you  a  jewel  of  Mhich  I 
I  cannot  make  you  mistress."' 
I  "  l?ut  I  would  see  it  neverlhele.'«f!."  urged 
the  fair  MaVtap,  as  she  extended  her  liand  to- 
wards the  Merchant. 

Zadig  bowed  submissively,  and  having  loos- 
ened the  clasps  of  the  casket,  lie  laid  at  the 
feet  of  his  visiter  a  superb  hand-mirror,  of 
which  the  frame  w.as  of  chased  gold,  profusely 
studded  with  brilliants.  A  cypher  of  .>-mall 
emeralds  ornamented  the  back  of  the  glas.s, 
and  a  heavy  tassel  of  gold  dcjicnded  from  tho 
handle  :  and,  altogether,  the  toy  was  of  so 
costly  a  description  that  the  Pasha's  daughter 
could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

'■  ("an  you  really  not  dispose  of  this  pretty 
anali.  Elfendim  ?"'  she  asked  caiicrly. 

'•  Alas  !  thavc  told  your  higliness  only  the 
truth.  It  was  wrought  in  the  bczenstein  of 
Stamboul  for  a  young  and  wealthy  Bey.  who 
I  is  about  to  form  his  harem ;  and  i.s  destined  to 

I  reflect  the  beauties  of  his  fair  bride.  He  has 
'already  urged  its  arrival  more  thai* once,  and 

I I  dare  not  disappoint  him." 

I  '•  Y'Allah  !  it  is  a  pretty  toy,  and  ihc  Bey 
has  taste.     How  call  you  him.  khawaji  ?'' 

"  Yous.souf  Bey,  the  son  of  Sariin  Pasha" — 
replied  Zadig. 

•'  By  the  soul  of  your  father,  you  may  then 
sell  me  the  anali  ;"'  said  Mailai).  wiih  a  proud 
toss  of  her  pretty  head  ;  "for  tlie  bride  will 
not  ])Ut  otr  her  slippers  in  the  harem  of  tho 
Satrap's  .son  before  you  have  had  time  to  make 
a  dozen  such." 

"  Astelerallah  !''  murmured  the  ^Icrchant ; 
'•  Your  highne.'^s  must  have  been  mi. "in formed. 
The  young  Hiv  made  a  jourm-y  to  the  province 
of  your  noble  father,  (may  hi.s  vi-ars  In;  many  !) 
and  abode,  as  I  have  been  iiitorm<il.^(im<^  days 
in  the  Pasha's  palace  ;  and  it  wii.s  on  Ins  return 
thence  that  ho  learnt  the  happiness  which  was 
in  store  for  him." 

Maitap  blushed  ns  she  listened,  until  tho 
roseate  flush  could  be  dislingui.olicd  through 
the  muslin  of  her  yashmue ;  and  she  suffered 
the  s]di'ndid  anali  to  full  from  her  hand  u])on 
the  eusliions.  It  viu.  reverently  rai.x»'d  by  tho 
khawaji.  and  replaced  in  llie  ca.-kil  without  a 
word  from  the  young  beauty  :  for  a  grahp  liko 
iron  wa«  on  her  heart.  Mad  her  pride  in<lccd 
won  for  her  no  greater  triumph  than  this? 
Was  she  f<»rKotten  in  a  day  V  n-placod  in  a 
month';'  remembered  only  Willi  a  >milc? 

Tlic  reverie  would  have  lasted  loii^'iT,  but 
chancing  to  look  up,  and  ni>><-tiiig  th<-  line  dark 
eyes  of  the  McrclianI,  M  lilap  huddcniy  re- 
Mime<l  her  scll-|»ossehsion,  and  uuno  lull  cm- 
ployinenl  both  to  his  patience  and  his  Insio, 
in  examining  one  after  another  all  llio  shawls 
in  Ins  warehouBf. 

It  was  a  pretty  scene.     The  ludy  rccliucd 


142 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


THE    PASHA'S    DAVGHTER — CONTINUKD. 


upon  lie-  cushions  of  parti-colored  satin,  -with'  CHAPTER  LX. 

one  white  arm  fully  revealed  a-s  she  extended  it 
to  toucli  the  different  shawls  which  were  spread  [ 
out  before  her  by  the  handsome  trader  ;  who,  j 

resting  upon  one  knee  on  the  edge  of  the  carpet. '  From  this  day  the  nature  of  the  beautiful 
took  them  from  the  handset  the  Numidians,  Maitap  underwent  a  total  change.  She  was  rest» 
who  stood  close  behind  him  :  while  the  attend-  less,  unhappy,  and  capricious.  The  very  sun 
ants  of  the  lovely  girl,  shrouded  in  their  dark  did  not  shine  in  the  heavens  for  her  as  it  had 
and  ample  mantles,  wore  sfeatcd  a  little  space  once  done  :  her  flowers  had  no  fragrance,  her 
apart.  The  soft  and  dreamy  light  incliowed  birdsnosong.  She  drooped  like  a  caged  niizhtiii* 
the  atmosphere  about  them  ;  and  the  rainbow-  gale — she  withered  like  a  blighted  rose.  When 
like  tints  of  the  shawls  which  were  scattered  her  maidens  strove  to  entertain  and  arouse 
through  the  apartment,  lent  a  gorgeous  finish 


to  the  picture. 

The  j^udden  entrance  of  the  Aga  Baba  gave 
a  new  feature  to  the  aspect  of  affairs.  The 
lady  held  in  her  hand  a  magnificent  cachemire 
of  exquisite  texture,  and  as  the  screen  was 
lifted,  she  said  suddenly  : 

'■It  is  is  well,  Effendim;  tell  me.  therefore. 


her,  it  was  no  longer  with  light  tales  of  love 
and  laughter  to  which  she  had  hitherto  listened 
with  a  proud  feeling  of  amused  disdain,  but 
with  legends  of  fear,  and  sorrow,  and  despair; 
for  then  she  wept  sweet  tears  over  the  griefs 
of  others  until  she  soothed  her  own.  Once ' 
only  did  she  repeat  her  visit  to  the  khan,  and 
she  found  a  void.     The  merchant  Zadin  had 


the   lowest  price   that  you  will 'take  for  this  left  the  city  j  and  there  remained  no  trace  of 


which  I  hold,  and  our  bargain  will  soon  be 
terminated." 

'•  Sixteen  purses :"  replied  Zadig  coldly,  and 
■withoul  raising  his  eyes;  "  and  were  it  not 
that  I  am  honored  by  the  notice  of  your  high- 
ness, 1  should  demand  twenty." 

'•  And  this — "'  and  she  pointed  to  another 
of  interior  quality. 

'•  Will  not  count  beyond  nine  ;  though  the 
w^reath  of  nirgis*  is  woven  by  the  hands  of 
the  peris, 


him  in  the  caravanserai.  Many  were  the 
tales  told,  how^ever,  of  his  liberality,  his  char-. 
ity,  his  gracciulnessof  manner,  and  his  warmth 
of  heart  :  and  by  some  extraordinary  fatality 
not  one  of  them  failed  to  reach  the  ears  of  the 
pensive  beauty. 

For  hours  did  she  sit  calling  up  before  het 
mental  vision  every  word,  and  look,  and  action! 
of  the  young  Khawaji  ;  true,  she  had  ^een. 
him  but  once,  and  yet.  she  felt  that  there  wm! 
an   expression  in  his  deep  eyes  which  had  en- 


"They  are  mine:"  said  Maitap,  as  she  rose !  tered  into  her  soul  ;  and  then  she  rememberec 
to  depart,  and  the  Khawaji  having  folded  them  I  how  soon   and  how  easily  the  haughty  .son  of 


Sarim  Pasha  had  forgotten  her.  and  she  won- 
dered within  hcr.^elf  whether  she  should  fad« 
as  early  from  the  memory  of  the  Merchant. 

One  day,  when  she  was  as  usual  indulgin; 
these  speculations,  a  slave  entered  her  apart 
ment,   and  presented   to  her   a  small   packe 


in  two  separate  handkerchiefs  of  colored  mus- 
lin, intended  as  a  present  to  the  attendants, 
placed  them  in  the  hands  t)f  the  Aga  Baba, 
as  the  murnmred  "  Affiet  ollah — much  pleas- 
ure attend  you."  of  his  fair  visiter  fell  on  his 
ear 

Inanother  moment  the  araba  rattled  through 'which  had  been   brought   to   the  city  by  th. 
the  wide  gate  of  the  khan.  I  Emir-hadji  of  a  caravan  that  had  proceeded  o 

The  Pashas  daughter  never  once  spoke  its  way  at  daybreak.  She  opened  it  hastih 
during  her  homeward  drive,  but  as  she  stopped  and  having  torn  away  the  numerous  covering! 
at  the  door  of  the  harem,  she  unfolded  the  in  which  it  was  enveloped,  unclasped  a  crirr, 
shawls  from  their  coverings,  and  flinging  the  -^on  casket,  and  started  with  surprise  on  dif 
painted  handkerchiels  into  the  laps  ot^  her:  covering  the  well-known  anali  of  the  merchar' 
attendants,  left  the  peri-woven  shawl  which  Zadig.  Upon  the  mirror  lay  a  stripi  of  papc 
had  been  her  last  purchase,  in  the  hands  of  the  containing  simply  these  words:  "For  tli 
Aga  Baba  when  he  a.-sisted  her  to  alight.  j  beautiful   and  honorable    lady,    her  highnej' 

The  negro   looked  up:  and   while  a  broadMaitap  Ilanoum.  from  the  mostdevotedof ht. 
smile  disjilayed  his  large  and  glittering  teeth,  slaves." 

and    his    huge   eyes  were  dislended  to  their  I      The  Pasha's  daughter  blushed  until  broV 
utmost  size,   he  bent  his  head,  and  muttered  and  bo.som  burnt  with   the  crimson  tide  thi; 


Bonietiiing  which  passed  for  thanks 


rushed  tumultuously  from  her  heart.  Herfirj 
impulse  was  to  conceal  the  paperfrom  thepr 
faning  eyes  of  her  attendants;  the  nextwou. 
probably  have  been  dictated  by  her  pride,  ai' 
have  compelled  the  restoration  of  the  gorgeoi 
gift;  but  she  knew  not  where  to  find  thedono 
and  as  she  gazed  into  the  jewelled  mirror,  si 
thought  that  her  face  had  never  seemed 
fair.  Involuntarily  she  sighed,  and  glane 
I  down  upon  the  sliawl  which   cinctiu«d  h 


THE  ROilAXCE  OF  THE  IIAREM.  H3 

waist;  she  had  long  ceased  to  wear  any  other;  diencc  to  decide  on  the  tax  which  should  bo 
it  was  tliat  whieh  she  had  purchased  of  the  ^levied  on  the  sale  of  tlic  troods  ;  mid  hin 
handsome  stranger;  it  covered  the  heart  in'Saraf*  to  learn  wliether  he  nhoiild  raise  n  new 
w-hich  his  image  was  enshrined.  :  contribution  in  the  villages  on  the  iiroduec  of 

The  proud  beauty  was  subdued.  As  she  '.lie  eomiiiL'  harvest. 
h(>ld  the  sparkling  anali  in  her  hand,  she  felt  The  curiosity  of  the  Satrap  wnx  oxcit.-d; 
Mint  all  those  whom  she  had  woiindcd  by  her  and  a  summons  was  sent  to  tiic  Morehant,' 
coldness  werg  revenged.  She  loved  !  And  who.  with  ready  obedience,  presented  liimBolf 
whom?  Not»ahigb-born  Bey.  inwhoseharem  at  the  palace  of  the  Pashalic  on  the  poing 
she  would  have  moved  a  queen  ;  whose  rank  down  of  the  sun,  when  the  gates  of  the  "l.azAr 
n-ouldhavesatisfied  the  ambition  of  her  father,  are  elo.sed,  attended  by  a^couple  of  slaves 
uid  the  hopes  of  all  her  family;  but  a  Kha-  bearing  tiie  most  rare  and  costly  of  his  iner- 
svaji,  a  trader;  whose  soul  was  in  his  bales,  chandise. 

md  whose  thoughts,  instead  of  dwelling  upouj  Hi.s  venerable  appearance  interested  every 
ler,  must  be  engrossed  by  the  eager  thirst  of  one  in  his  favor,  and  the  gifts  whieh  he  lavish- 
lain.  And  yet,  the  anali !  Had  he  forgotten  ly  distributed  to  the  ciiaoushcs  of  the  hnn.-c- 
ler,  or  had  he  valued  his  gold  above  her  hold  tended  to  deepen  the  feeling,^  He  was 
miles,  would  he  have  thus  sought  to  win, apparently  of  great  age;  bis  eyebrows  and 
hem?  But  what  availed  the  fact,  pleasant^ beard  were  as  white  as  the  snown  of  Mount 
hough  it  was?  Alas  !  theymight  never  meet|Ararat ;  histall  fisuredrooped  in  tlie.vliouldcrs, 
igain;  and  as  this  startling  contingency  forced  j  like  that  of  one  on  whom  the  weiiilit  of  years 
tself  upon  the  rea.«on  of  the  pensive  girl,  a  pressed  heavily;  but  his  step  Mas  firm  tiiough 

ow,  and  his  dark  eyes  liad  a   li;;lit   in  them, 


arge  tear  sullied  the   surface  of  the  mirror, 
Lnd  a  sigh  heaved  the  shawl  that  bound  her 
light  and  fairy  form. 
Several  weary  months  sped  by;  newsuitors 


whieh  told  that  the  soul   yielded   not  to   the 
weakness  of  the  body. 

Many  and  profound  were  the  prostrations 
(resented  themselves  at  the  carpet  of  thejwith  svhieli  he  entered  the  apartment  of  the 
'asha;  new  instances  were  made  to  the  droop-  Pa-^ha,  who  received  him  most  nmeiously.  and 
ng  Maitap  :  but  all  were  alike  unheeded :  ^  at  once  indtinned  liim  to  display  his  treasures, 
md  the  unhappy  Satrap  began  to  fear  that  |  IJumor  had  not  exagL'erated  their  value  or 
klonker  and  Nakir*  were  liovcring  about  his  their  beauty;  and  tlie  audience  was  prolonged 
hild,  and  that  the  golden  lamp  of  her  young  I  to  an  unusual  length,  without  any  ajipearanco 
xistenee  would  be  cxtingui.«hedp  I  of  weariness  on  cither  part.     The   Satmp  in- 

Every  specie  of  diversion  permitted  in  tlie  quired  the  route  of  the  caravan  with  whieh  the 
larem  was  lavishly  essayed:  dancing-girls  Merchant  had  travelled,  the  appearance  of  the 
erformed  their  graceful  feats,  and  sinking-  cities  that  he  had  pa,'>.scd.  the  country  that  ho 
romen  pealed  forth  their  love-ditties  uidiecd-  had  traversed,  and  the  tribes  whom  lie  had  en- 
d;  the  massaldjhis  became  distasteful,  the  countered;  while  every  interval  wa.s  filled  u|) 
uests  wearisome;  and.  at  length  any  further  in  examining  the  jewels  and  weapons,  and  in 
ttempt  to  arouse  the  melancholy  Maitap  from  commenting  on  their  cost  and  workmanship, 
er  languor  was  abandoned  to  despair,  and  |  The  Pasha  made  several  purclia>es,  for  the 
he  was  left  to  dream  and  weep  in  peace.  | prices  of  the   trader  pleased  him   a«  much  a;* 

Talat  Pasha  had  an  inordinate  taste  for  liis  merchandise;  and  when,  at  lenL'th.  he  re- 
ewels  ;  many  a  place  was  obtained,  many  a  ceived  permission  to  depart,  and  that  he  had 
ivor  granted,  many  a  cause,  no  longer  doubt-  laid  aside  his  ouses.  and  delivered  them  to  tho 
ul,  decided  in  the  divan  through  the  mai;ieal  care  of  his  attendants,  aehaoush  of  thehouse- 
gency  of  these  costly  treasures.  It  was  there-  hold  conducted  hiin  with  much  courtesy  toilie 
are  with  no  small  interest  that  he  learnt  the  door,  a  politeness  whicli  he  wan  not  called  up. 
rrival  of  an  aued  Diamond-merchant  in  the  on  to  perform  gratuitously ;  and  tlam  Itia 
ity,  with  jewels  such  as  had  never  before  been  ••O:;hour-ola — Heaven  speed  you,"  wajt  very 
)oked  upon  in  the  bazars  of  the  province.  His  itincere,  an  tho  Kiiawaji  Htcppcd  acrus-s  tho 
clietar-aga  talked  to  him  of  the  emerald-hill- |liou.«*ehold. 
d  handjars,  the  nolden-seabbarded    scymitars       The  Pa-.ha  lost  no  lime,  when  the  Merrhnnt 

laid  with  precious  stones,  and  the  sword-  had  quitted  him.  in  passiiii;  into  the  luirein.  in 
elLs  worked  with  pearls  ;  his  cafejlii-basha  order  to  dihplay  to  his  dau^'hter  the  ji-wellcd 
f  the  zarfs.t  lipped  with  rubies,  and  eliiL"c<i  toys  of  which  he  had  just  ma<lc  the  at-quiai- 
ith  cunning  workmanship  ;  and  his  pnneipul  tioii  ;  and.  as  she  languidly  received  thoM 
liok-hadar?  of  a  manllc  of  fine  FUiropcan  which  were  destined  for  hemejf.  nnd  raided 
loth,  whose  collar  wa-s  a  perfect  galaxy  of  the  hand  of  her  fond  lather  to  her  Ii|h  in  bc 
swelled  light ;  his  codgca-bashi   had  an  au-  know|c<lgiiieiii  of  his  indulgence,  the  Salrap 

anxious  to  amuse  her  melunchnly.  rotnmcntr« 
on  tho  noble  port,  and  liberal  dealing  of  th* 


•Ancels  of  Death. 

tThe  Ktands  io  which  th«  eoffe^-cnp*  an  ptae«d. 

)  Cloak- beaier. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


Btrange  Merchant.  For  a  time  she  listened 
listlessly,  but  at  length  she  became  interested 
in  the  description  of  the  Khawaji  and  his  mer- 
chandise ;  and  she  silently  rescdved  to  summon 
him  on-  the  morrow.  She  was  weary  of  the 
monotony  of  the  harem  ;  and  the  examination 
of  the  glittering  stores  of  the  stranger  promised 
at  least  an  hour's  amusement. 

When  the  Satrap  had  retired,  the  fair  girl 
dismissed  her  slaves,  for  the  evening  was 
spent;  and  flinging  back  the  lattice  of  a  case- 
ment which  opened  on  the  garden  of  the 
palace,  she  leant  out  to  listen  to  the  song  of 
tlie  night-bird,  to  inhale  the  perfume  of  the 
flowers,  and  to  blend  her  sighs  with  the  fall 
of  the  fountain,  and  the  w^hispering  of  the 
wind  amoyg  the  leaves. 

It  was  a  glorious  moonlight !  The  shadows 
lay  long  and  dark,  while  the  lines  of  silver 
that  were  traced  upon  the  earth,  looked  like 
fairy-plans  for  some  new  and  bright  creation : 
fleecy-clouds  at  times  floated  over  the  graceful 
orb,  and  dimmed  its  beauty  for  a  moment,  as 
the  gossamer  veil  of  a  young  bride  softens  the 
loveliness  which  is  but  heightened  by  its  par- 
tial eclipse.  All  around  breathed  tenderness 
and  peace  ;  and  the  tears  that  fell  slowly  on 
the  cheek  of  Maitap  in  that  still  hour,  were 
devoid  of  bitterness.  Her  pride  slept;  she  did 
not  ask  her  heart  to  lay  bare  the  mystery  of 
its  enthralmeiit,  but  she  yielded  to  the  sweet 
sadness  that  sole  over  her — and  again  the 
spirits  that  she  had  stricken  were  revenged  ! 

D.iylight  spread  over  the  eastern  heights, 
draping  them  in  a  mantle  of  sober  gray,  whose 
hem  soon  grew  into  a  belt  of  sheeny  gold ; 
gradually  the  sky  brightened,  and  the  flowers 
raised  their  heads,  and  wept  their  perfumed 
dew-tears  on  the  earth  :  the  distant  lowing  of 
the  cattle  came  on  the  wind  ;  the  twittering 
birds  gave  music  to  the  woods:  the  basin  of 
Mie  palace-garden  became  a  gilded  mirror  in 
which  the  purple  lotus  gazed  till  she  became 
enamored  of  her  own  beauty;  and  then,  like 
a  discordant  tone,  jarring  through  the  sweet 
harmony  of  nature,  came  the  voice  of  man ; 
and  once  inoie  the  world  awoke;  and  life, 
with  all  its  cares  and  fears,  its  jealousies  and 
strife,  renewed  its  struggle. 

It  was  on  a  terrace,  shaded  by  lime-trees^ 
whose  blos^-Olns  were  vocal  with  bees,  and  gay 
•with  tlie  graceful  rose-lauiel  of  Kurotas.  that 
tlie  Pasha's  dauuhter  received  the  Merchant. 
She  was  closely  veilcil,  as  were  the  slaves 
who  attended  her;  and  the  venerable  Khawaji 
was  condueti;d  to  her  presence  by  the  watch- 
ful Aga  Haba. 

The  gray  beard  and  reverend  appearance 
of  the  stranger  were  not  however  calculated 
to  alarm  the  jealous  guardians  of  the  Pasha's 
harem;  and  accordingly  liie  Aga  Baba,  who 
had  already  feasted  his  eyes  on  tlie  glittering 
merchandise  of  the  stranger,  and  received  a 


I  backshish*  which  perfectly  satisfied  all  his 
ideas  of  expediency,  soon  -wandered  away 
among  the  trees,  leaving  the  interview  to  the 
inspection  of  two  of  his  subonlinales  :  who.  ii; 
their  turn,  plunged  deeper  into  the  shpde;  and 
contenting  themselves  with  remaining  withir 
sight  of  the  fair  group,  soon  bent  their  dari 
brows  upon  their  breasts,  and  slept  profoundly; 

Jewel  after  jewel  was  looked  tipon,  and  laic 
aside;  toy  after  toy  was  examined,  commentw 
on,  and  replaced  in  its  casket ;  until  at  leugtl 
the  eye  of  the  lady  was  attracted  to  a  sinal' 
case  of  crimson  velvet  embroidered  in  seei 
pearls  ;  which  with  a  singularity  that  at  one 
reminded  her  of  the  young  Merchant  of  th; 
khan,  he  put  aside  as  olten  as  it  met  Li 
hand. 

"And  that  pretty  casket  which  you  hav. 
not  yet  opened;"  she  said  gently;  ■■  what  doe 
it  contain  ?'' 

'•  It  was  brought  hither  by  mistake,  Effer; 
dim  ;"  replied  the  venerable  khawaji ;  '•  it  : 
not  a  jewel ;  it  holds  nothing  which  can  ii 
tercst  your  highness,  or  1  should  long  ere  th' 
have  laid  it  before  you;  it  is  not  an  article  c[ 
merchandise — in  short,  it  is  bosh — nothing.'', 

"  The  case,  at  least,  is  prettily  imagined.; 
said  the  spoiled  beauty,  who  had  never  lean, 
ed  to  brook  opposition,  '"and  somewhat  cost; 
for  such  poor  contents.  You  will  at  least  su: 
fer  me  to  examine  the  embroidery."  ; 

The  JNlerchant  looked  embarrassed  ;  he  li:' 
ed  the  easket^as  if  to  present  it  to  the  ladl 
but  he  made  no  effort  to  obey  her  wishe; 
twice  he  appeared  about  to  speak,  and  th; 
checked  himself,  as  though  he  feared  to  gi 
utterance  to  his  thought,  and  all  this  time  t 
hand  of  the  Pasha's  haughty  daughter  was  ( 
tended  towards  him. 

•*  Ne  bilirim — what  can  I  say?"  he  fait' 
ed  at  length  ;  "The  casket  is  not  mine;  it  !• 
come  here  by  the  jiower  of  my  unlucky  felcol 
I  am  responsible  for  its  safe  and  secret  ■ 
livery — and "  » 

"  And  you  take  me  for  an  Aga  of  the  Jai 
sarics,  ready  to  see  treason  in  a  diamond;" 
for  a  codgea-bashi,  eager  to  levy  a  tax  x 
your  merchandise,  is  it  not  so  ?"  asked  Mait* 
half  amused  and  half  amioyed  at  this  unust. 
opposition. 

The  gray  bearded  Khawaji  bent  low  j  1 
deprecatingly  belbre  lier. 

"Jaiium  sinindar — my  soul  is  your's, ',9 
said  humbly,  '■  my  life  and  all  that  I  posfS 
are  at  the  bidding  of  your  highness  :  bt  I 
have  led  a  long  life  of  probity  "and  scorrf 
evil ;  and  I  have  pledged  myself  to  the  o\n  r 
of  this  casket  that  no  eye " 

'•  Enough,  sir,  enough,"'  interposed  the  ly 
haughtily,  "  I  need  no  khodjlic:]:  to  read  e 
lessons    of  propriety   and    honor.     The   t  e 


t  Constellation. 


t  Tutor. 


THE  ROMANCE  OV   THE  HAREM. 


IIS 


passes,  and  tlic  road  hence  to  your  khan  is  Yoiissouf  Bey,  pninlcd  by  a  (Minninj  Frnnk, 
Ion?  and  wearisome  ;  I  will  not  detain  you  and  destined  for  the  youns  bride,  wlioni  tho 
liere."  And  she  waved  her  hand  with  tlic  noble  Paslia  (may  hi.s  prosperity  incrcano  ') 
[niaje.<!ty  of  .i  Sultana  who  desires  .solitude.  |  hn.»i  just  chosen  for  his  son,'' 
I  "Dismiss  me  not  thu.*,  Effendim  ;  not  thus,  i  "Now,  by  the  yta\c  of  your  fafhcc!  you 
l)y  your  soul !"'  exclaimed  the  merchant  im-  have  a  lalse  tongue,"  exeiaun.d  the  maidrn 
plorincly  :  ••  Whojo  dog  am  I  that  I  should  with  a  burst  of  sudden  passion,  "for  that 
'Jare  to  call  a  clor.J  to  your  bright  young  brow,  same  INJercliant  when  ho  visited  the  city  many 
ind  to  liuht  your  eye  with  anger.     Rather  let ,  months  back,  told  some  of  my  slave.-*  tliat  thiH 


ine  be  forsworn  forever  !"  And  as  he  spoke, 
10  tendered  the  casket  to  the  Pasha's  daughter, 
tvith  a  fixed  and  earnest  gaze  tliat  drove  back 
he  warm  blood  to  her  heart,  she  knew  not 
fthercibre.  ; 


Bey  was  even  then  about  to  take  a  wife,  for 
wiiom  he  had  purcha.sed  some  idle  toy.s  that 
hiid  aliracled  their  notice.  How  then  may 
your  talc  be  truo  when  it  is  .so  tardy  ?'' 

••Nciilier  the  iiierchaiil   Zadi^   nor  mvsrif 


For  a  moment  she  hesitated  whether  she  !  have  dared  to  profane  your  car  with  falsehood, 
hould  condescend  to  avail  herself  of  the  extort-  Elieiidim,"'  calmly  rejoined  the  Kliawuji  ;  '-it 
;d  permission  of  a  m.ere  trader  to  examine  the  is  even  as  we  liavc  both  stated.  The  Fo^ha 
Tiysterious  casket :  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  has  lens  been  earnest  tliat  his  hish-born  «on 
•efrain.   and  to  reject  his  tardy  concession  ;    should  bring  a  bride  into  his  harem  :  and — 

>ut  her  curiosity  was  more  powerful  than  her    and ' 

3ride,  and  averting   her  eyes  that  she  might  I      ''  And  what?"'  urged  Mai'tap  impatiently, 
lot  encounter  those  of  the  stranger,  beneath        ''  May  your  slave  perish  if  lie  olffiid  you." 

hich  she  was  conscious  tliat  she  quailed,  she  said  the  Merchant,  "  but  it  was  riunore*'  m 
«ok  the  case  from  his  hand,  and  without '  the  province,  where  I  chanced  then  to  tr 
illowing  herself  to  deliberate  for  a  moment,  sojourning,  that  the  young  Bey  had  yielded  a 
jressed  back  the  clasps.  i  willing  and  easer  a.«sent  to  his  noble  fntliiT'g 

As  the  lid  flew  open  a  faint   cry  escaped  j  wislics  when  they  pointed  towal•d^ ''    And 

icr  ;  and  she  rivctted  her  gaze  on  the  contents  '  again  the  Khawaji  paused. 


'•  Sjieak  !'■  murnuued  Maitap  with  a  »li;;ht 
accent  of  scorn. 

'■  It  was  said."  pursued  the  stranccr.  '•  that 
the  Pasha's  hopes  had  fixed  lllelIl^clvc«  on  the 

a;. 


»f  the  little  casket  with  an  eagerness  that 
betrayed  her  emotions  not  only  to  her  aitcnd- 
lints,  but  to  the  JNIerchant  also.  Yet  she 
iared  not  for  this  :  she  gave  it  no  thought ; 
ibe  -was  unconscious   that  any  «ye    was  on  !  lovely  daughter  of  the  hi:;li-born  Satrap 'I 

ler  :  she  was  under  the  influence  of  a  sudden  !  the  far-fainod  Maitap  Hnnouin ' 

iipell,  and  several  moments  passed  ere  wiili  j  "  Who  cared  not  to  be  bartered  like  a  bale 
k  deep  blush,  and  a  feeling  at  her  heart  which  !  cf  coveted  merciiaiidise.  aga'iiM  the  pride  nnd 
kas  strangely  compounded  of  happiness  and  !  power  of  an  unknown  suitor,'  hanghiilyinter- 
inguish.  siie  roused  herself  sufficiently  to  ask  \  posed  the  lady.  "  And  what  lolh.wed ':•■' 
na  tone  which,  while  sho  intended 'that  it  I  "The  Bey  returned  tr)  Ins  i-riivmcc,"  con- 
ihould  be  cold,  was  only  gentle  : —  I  tinned    the   Merchant,   "siieni,    gloomy,   and 

"It  is  a  fair  portrait  fwho-^^^e  may  it  be  ?   sad  !     He  ^pcnt  his  !imc  prii.cipully  in  ridinjc 
f  indeed  the  dauL'hter  of  Talat  Pasha  may  be  1  over  the  country  alone,  with   a  rapidUy  und 


lermittcd  such  a  question.' 

"  Lady,"  said  the  Khawaii,  "  Mcrhaiiiet 
lyle  bendoiic — have  pity  on  me  ;  I  am  witlier- 
;d  by  your  frown.  I  will  lay  bare  my  heart 
icfore  you  that  you  inny  read  it  at  your  jdea- 


perscvcranco  which  cxiiaujtted  his  t;ullaitl 
Arab  ;  or  among  the  spaiiix  of  hi^  father,  who 
adored  their  young  criiiiiiandiTwiih  a  devotion 
lor  which  I  have  no  words  ;  lie  avoided  the 
harem   of    Iiih   niulher,  und    Ihe  divan  of  hi* 


are.     The   portrait  which  vou   hold  in  your    father ;  he  grew  dreamy  and  niihtti.lhropicol, 

land  is  that  of  You.'^sauf  ]5ey,  the  son  of  Sarim  and    he  Boeincd    to   cn.'.uro   cxiMcncc    ra-hnr 

a«ha  of  the  next  province,  and  it  resembles  tlian    to   enjoy    it.    when    he    wni.   ►uddeniy 

lim  as  one "  I  aroused    from    this    unnntural    »iu|>or    by    a 

Nay.  nav,  you  strive  uselessly  to  deceive  '■  renewal  of  iho  subject  of  his  inarri!.;;c.     Ho 

,' excl.iiincd   Maitap  sternlv,  "ihc  turban  aiquia'crd,     however,    with    nn     ind.tl.-rciiM 

5  indeed   that  of  a   Bev.  and   the   costume  im  wl.icli  provid    that   lm»   heart  wnj.  not    m  tho 

ich  and  ccstly  ;  but  the  features  are  those  of  coin|)'.ci,  and    the  br.do  wo*   cl.o»<n,  ai.d    ih« 

Shawl-merdiant  at  whose  store  I  chanced  to  pic.  i.Im   iiia<lc,  ond   tl.c  very  day  ««»   named 

light  a  few  mouths  since.     He  was  called  when  hhe  wa*  to  be  r..i.duc  rd  to  I  i«  l.a.cm  ; 

;adi<T."  but  then  the  torpid   heart  ol    tl.o    lU  y  anaord 

•'  fdarenot  sainsay  your  highnes-^,"  gravely  ii»«lf.  and  he  fled— lied  like  a  dc.bibaj.lii  Irom 

eplied  the  Khawaji  ;  '•  it  is  possible  that  the  the  city  to  the  moun  nii.a  —  aiul   llic   )ounc 

ace    may    resemble    the    iflan    you   men:ion,  chc<-k  of  iho  muid.-n  wa*  wn  with  ir.in.,  aud 

hose    soul    is    bri-ihtcncd    by    your    reiiirm-  the  lip  of  iho  iiiMh.T  lr.n.b:.-d 

prance;  but  I  have"  told   onlv  the  truth  ^^  hen  and    wonder;  tut   the    wrcul..  i 

I  assure  you,  lad  v.  that  the  portrait  is  that  of  did   not   rtapiHrar  for  da)«,  and 
I                             "   10 


\*  illi  r>jroach 

I    )<  1. 1 ;;  iiian 

he  rciuriicd 


146 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


only  to  deepen  the  regret  of  his  betrothed,  for 
the  worm  of  sickness  was  feasting  on  his  brow, 
and  dimming  the  lustre  of  his  eye  ;  and  it  was 
vain  to  talk  of  love  to  one  who  seemed  to  have 
been  .stricken  by  Asrael." 

'•  Bat  the  rose  returned  to  his  cheek,  and  the 
light  to  his  eye,  was  it  not  so?"'  eagerly  mur- 
mured Maitap.  with  her  gaze  rivetted  on  the 
picture. 

'.'  SloAvly,  imperfectly."  replied  the  Kha- 
waji  :  "  Lady,  it  is  not  for  the  eagle  who  has 
once  soared  towards  the  sun  to  live  contented 
beneath  a  lesser  light.  He  is  once  more  in  the 
palace  of  his  father,  once  more  in  the  harem 
of  his  mother,  listening  to  their  arguments,  ac- 
ceding to  their  entreaties,  and  prepared  to  ful- 
fil the  contract  even  at  the  expense  of  his  hap- 
piness. He  cannot  give  his  heart  to  his  young 
bride  ;  he  has  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  one  who 
has  rejected  the  offering  ;  and  thus  he  searches 
the  world  for  toys  and  trifles  to  fill  the 
thoughts  which  might  otherwise  dwell  upon 
h's  coldness." 

"  Toys  and  trifles,"  echoed  the  fair  girl  un 
consciously,  as  she  grasped  the  portrait  more 
closely,  and  then  arousing  herself,  she  asked 
timidly,  "  And  is  this  really  the  resemblance 
of  Youssouf  Bey  ?" 

'•  As  like  as  the  shadow  of  the  blue  heaven 
on  the  surface  of  a  lake,"  replied  the  Kha- 
waji ;  "  it  wants  but  breath  and  words  to  be 
himself." 

"And  does  he  send  her  this  when  he  loves 
her  not  ?"  asked  the  maiden,  rather  com- 
muning with  herself  than  addressing  her  com- 
panion ;  '•  Alas!  she  will  become  as  wretched 
as  the  golden  gunechtcliichey,*  which  follow.-; 
the  proud  sun  through  the  hours  of  day.  regard- 
less of  its  scorching  beam,  and  unheeded  by 
the  object  of  her  fond  idolatry." 

The  Khawaji  listened  in  silence  !  He  felt 
that  he  was  not  required  to  comment  on  the 
soliloquy  of  the  lady,  and  he  Was  discreet 
enough  to  occupy  himself  most  a.ssiduously  in 
the  arrangement  of  his  merchandise.  It  was 
well  that  he  did  so ;  for  in  a  moment  the 
jiroud  beauty  became  conscious  of  her  indis- 
cretion, and  hastily  and  haughtily  turned  her 
gaze  upon  the  Merchant,  as  if  to  note  the 
effect  of  her  unguarded  exclamation  ;  and  the 
feeling  of  relief  was  comparatively  great  with 
which  she  saw  that  he  too  had  been  pre- 
occupied, and  that  her  words  had  passed  un- 
heeded. 

Again  it  was  the  Aga  Baba  who  terminated 
the  interview.  His  heavy  step  was  heard 
upon  ihe  terrace  path,  and  with  nervous  ea- 
gerness the  lady  selected  a  few  jewels,  and 
beiran  to  bargain  with  the  Merchant.  The 
affair  was  .soon  Herminatcd,  for  the  Pasha's 
daughter  made  but  a  faint  siiow  of  resistance 
to  tiie  price  demanded  by  the  trader,  and  it 


was  not  until  he  had  departed  that  she  per- 
ceived  that  in  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  the 
last  few  moments,  he  had  left  the  portrait  of  the 
young  Bey  in  her  possession,  and  had  carried 
away  the  empty  ca.sket. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  forward  it  to  the 
khan  by  one  of  the  negroes  of  the  harem  :  but 
a  reluctance  to  part  from  so  striking  a  resem- 
blance to  the  individual  who  had  so  Ion" 
haunted  her  dreams,  coupled  with  the  interest 
flung  over  the  picture  itself  by  the  roman- 
tic story  of  the  suitor  whom  she  had  dis- 
carded, perhaps  too  hastily,  tempted  her  to 
retain  it  for  a  few  hour;s.  The  Merchant 
would  doubtlessly  discover  his  loss  when  he 
replaced  his  goods  in  the  store  at  the  caravan- 
serai :  or  should  he  fail  to  do  so,  she  could  re- 
store it  early  on  the  morrow  ;  and  while  she: 
mentally  discussed  the  expediency  of  this  ar-; 
rangement,  she  slipped  the  picture  into  her 
girdle,  and  pillowed  it  against  her  heart. 


CHAPTER.   LXI. 

THE    pasha's    daughter CONTINUED. 

When  the  young  beauty  awoke  on  the  fol 
low-ing  morning,  after  a  bewildering  dream,  ii 
which  the  son  of  Sarim  Pasha  had  sold  her  ; 
shawl  that   had   the   portrait  of  a  grim  air 
hideous  negro  hidden  among  its  folds,  and  Za, 
dig  the  Merchant  had  .seated  a  fair  girl  upa 
her  carpet,  whom  he  told  her  was  his  bride 
she  began  to  reproach  herself  for  a  weaknes 
which  it  was  no  longer  time  to  subdue ;  an 
tlwe  blu.'^h  of  pride  dried  the  tears  of  reluctane 
with    which    she    enveloped   the  portrait  o 
Youssouf  Bey  in  a  painted  handkerchief,  an 
dispatched  it  to  the  khan  of  the  Jewel-mci. 
chant  by  the  hands  of  her  favorite  Shereei' 
But  her  resolution  was  formed  too  late,  ar 
her  heart's  best  prayer  was  granted,  when  tl 
confidential  slave  returned  with  the  inform:' 
lion  that  the  strange  Khawaji  had  left  the  cii 
at  daybreak,  with  a  caravan  which  chanced 
be  passing. 

There  was  no  remedy,  and  the  portrait  ( 
the  handsome  son  of  Sarim  Pasha  remained 
the  possession  of  the  Satrap's  daughter.  F 
a  while  the  fair  MaVtap  appeared  to  ha 
drank  at  the  fountain  of  a  new  existence;  h 
voice  once  more  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  hare' 
into  music,  and  her  graceful  laugh  peal 
through  the  gilded  chambers  ;  her  step  agn 
became  as  the  step  of  the  chamois,  and  1 
eye  as  the  beam  of  the  young  day  when 
breaks  over  tlic  world. 

But  this  spirit-joy  endured  not  long;  a 
only  a  few  weeks  had  passed  when  the  Pasli 
daughter  fell  into  a  deeper  and  more  hope!' 
melancholy  than  any  beneath  which  she  1 
yet  bent.     Nothing  aroused  her  save  an  al 


TIIE   ROMANCE  OF  TIIE  ILVREil. 


147 


Rion  to  the  Satrap  Sarini  or  his  Avinily  ;  and 
though  she  never  uttered  the  name  of  Yous- 
soui'Bey,  her  fair  cheek  fluslied.  and  her  dull 
eye  lighted  up  x;  her  maidens  discussed  in 
■whispers  the  subject  of  his  long-protracted 
marriage. 

Eagerly  did  she  welcome  the  wandering 
pilgrims,  dervishes,  and  other  holy  men  who 
passed  through  the  city  :  her  purse  was  ever 
open  to  their  necessities;  and  thus  the  palace 
of  Talat  Pasha  was  besieged  by  all  the  idle 
hadjis  who  visited  the  hofy  tomb  of  the  Pro- 
phet, eith'jr  in  expiation  of  their  own  sins,  or 
of  those  of  their  wealthy  employers  ;  but  vain- 
ly did  the  fair  girl  receive  and  assist  these 
pious  an  1  needy  wayfarers,  for  not  one  of  them 
brought  tidings  of  the  Merchant  Zadig. 

Despairing,  and  fading  slowly  away,  like  a 
Bun-struck  blossom,  the  melancholy  Maitap  at 
length  resigned  herself  to  tlie  solitary  and  un- 
happy fate  which  had  been  brougiit  upon  her 
by  her  own  pride,  and  only  prayed  to  die:  and 
in  this  frame  of  mind  she  sent  to  ask  an  inter- 
view with  a  celebrated  Dervish,  who  for  the 
last  few  weeks  had  established  himself  in  a 
ruined  tomb  beyond  the  walls  of  the  city. 

Her  request  was  refused,  her  summons  was 
unheeded  :  the  holy  man  had  taken  up  his 
abode  in  that  place  of  death  because  he  had 
done  with  the  world,  and  the  world  with  him; 
the  enjoyments  and  vanities  of  life  were  alike 
obnoxious  to  his  love  of  solitude  and  peace; 
and  the  refusal  was  even  stern  with  which  he 
answered  the  entreaty  of  the  sinking  girl.         j 

This  unexpected  didiculiy  augmented  the  ^ 
desire  of  the  maiden  to  converse  with  the  as-  j 
cetic  recluse  ;  and  when  a  second  invitation 
had  met  with  a  like  repulse  to  the  tirst,  she 
told  the  tale  of  her  disappointment  to  the 
Pasha  with  many  and  bitter  tears:  and  early 
on  the  morrow  the  unyielding  Dervish  was 
commanded  to  present  himself  at  the  palace  of 
the  Satrap. 

As  the  day  broke  a  couple  of  chaoushes 
passed  the  gate  of  the  city,  and  bent  their 
steps  to\\'ards  the  ruined  tomb  in  order  to  com- 
pel the  attendance  of  the  Dervish,  should  he  ' 
still  refuse  obedience;  but  the  caution  was 
unnecessary,  for  as  they  approached  the  build- 
ing,  the  tall  fiL'ure  of  the  recluse,  looking  dark 
and  solemn  in  the  cold  gray  light,  appeared  at 
the  portal  of  his  inhospitable  dwcllmg,  and 
slowly  moved  towards  them.  ' 

A  courteous  '•  Khosh  bulduk — You  are  well 
found:"  from  the  fnnclionarie.M  of  the  Pojtha, 
vraa  answered  by  the  cold*'-  Klunh  goldin — 
You  arc  welcome,"  of  the  stranger,  whonlalk- 
ed  along  in  the  direction  of  the  city  without 
turning  a  second  glance  on  hm  altcndanlj*.        I 

The  Dervish  was  a  man  of  middle  age. 
whose  dark  piercing  cye«  were  ovcr*hadowcd  | 
by  thick  and  hanging  brows,  and  «hoM;  iippor 
lip  was  hidden  by  a  mass  of  coal-black  hair 
which  covered  Ins  chin,  and  fell  in  long  and 


wavy  curls  below  his  girdle.  His  khirkhch* 
was  of  coarse  and  heavy  elolh.  and  hi«  head- 
dress drawn  deep  upon  his  forehead  ;  Ins  sU-p 
was  firm  and  lolly,  like  that  of  one  who  hod 
declined  all  lurlher  struguie  with  the  world, 
rather  from  diisdnin  than  fear  ;  and  Ihi-rc  was 
an  air  of  self-centered  haughtine.>is  in  his 
whole  manner  and  appearance  which  won  for 
him  an  involuntary  respect  to  which  lius  lack 
of  years  did  not  entitle  him. 

He  was  received  by  the  Pasha  with  indig- 
nant coldness,  for  all  the  father  had  been 
aroused  within  him  by  the  uneoiniironuHing 
fanalieism  of  the  devotee ;  and  yet  the  noble 
bearing  of  the  Dervish  a.vsertcd  its  |X)wer  e%cii 
over  the  clialed  temper  of  the  Satrap,  and  he 
soon  found  himself,  lie  knew  not  how,  rather 
seeking  to  conciliate  than  to  reproach.  There 
.was  a  spell  also  in  his  rich  deep  voice,  which, 
even  in  the  few  words  thai  he  reluctantly  ut- 
tered, had  a  strange  eliect  upon  the  Pa.sha — It 
was  like  a  note  of  loiig-ftirgolten  music — it 
awoke  pleasant  but  untaiiiiibie  memorii-s  ;  and 
bewildered  the  sjiirit  while  it  charmed  the 
ear. 

After  a  brief  interview  with  his  host,  the 
Dervish  was  conducted  by  the  Aga  llaba  to  a 
garden  pavilion,  whence  the  languid  eye  of 
the  fair  Maitap  loved  to  wander  over  the  fairy 
wonders  of  the  blossom-laden  parterres;  and 
where  her  pale  brow  was  fanned  by  the  per- 
fumed breeze,  which  came  to  it  lrci:;hted  with 
the  spoils  of  the  orange-tlowcr  and  the  ja.«iniii. 
She  had  been  prepared  for  his  visit,  and  iiad 
cast  over  her  head  a  loin;  veil  of  delicate  white 
muslin,  which  fell  like  a  cloud  about  her, 
and  made  her  beauty  almost  hpeclral  ;  about 
her  neck  hung  ft  string  of  precious  pearls, 
from  which  was  suspended  a  trea.Hure  to  her 
still  more  precious,  the  |)ortrail  of  Yoiis*ouf 
Bey  ;  or,  ao  to  her  it  ever  seemed,  of  the  young 
nierchanl  Zadig,  which  was  hidden  beneath 
the  folds  of  her  robe,  who.so  tint  was  of  the 
softest  blue  that  ever  spread  its  azure  over  the 
vault  of  heaven. 

As  the  recluse  reached  the  thrcslioid  of  the 
pavilion,  he  stumbled,  and  would  havo  fallen, 
liad  not  the  ready  hand  ol  the  Aga  H.iha  grasp- 
ed Ins  arm  ;  but  recovering  hiiii->elf  in  an  in- 
stant, he  bent  bclure  the  lady  with  silent  and 
deep  reH|>ect ;  and  then  tardily,  and  us  it 
sociiied,  reluctantly,  obeyed  her  bidding,  and 
advanced  to  the  centre  of  ilic  tiuor. 

•'Holy  Dervish,"  commenced  the  Posha'a 
dau::htcr  in  a  low  lainl  murmur,  "forgive  me 
if  1  have  disturbed  your  soliludo  :  I  am  un- 
worthy to  intrude  U|Nin  )our  tlioughiii,  or  (o 
iiitrcat  your  prayers — and  yet,  if  to  doUco  a 
breaking  heart,  and  to  ^'liiddrn  the  joor  rem- 
nant of  a  life  which  is  !aj>l  >:bbin;'  away,  bo  a 
work  lUtcd  to  your  piciy,  you  will  not  anidse 
lue  the  few  hours  of  conuiiumon  which  1  have 


LATga  4«rk  eloUi. 


148 


THE  ROilANCE   OF  THE   HAREM, 


been  easier  to  insure.  Allah  buyuk  dcr — the  the  lips  that  are  dear  to  us,  but  ^vhich  are 
angels  of  dealii  are  hoverinij  over  inc,  and  the  nieicly  music  -when  murmured  by  a  stranger 
light  of  my  lamp  is  well  nigh  extinsuishcd  !  to  wliom  no  chord  of  our  heart  responds: 
Will  you  not  speak  peace  to  my  soul  ere  it  is  '•  Had  such  been  possible  I  should  have  said 
called  to  the  giddy  bridge  of  Al  Sirat  ?  Will  that  your  sickness  was  of  the  spirit ;  that  the 
you  not "  jsosun*  had  a  canker  hidden  beneath  its  leaves; 

"What  my  poor  prayers  may  effect  shall  j  but  this  cannot  be — the  beautiful  daughter  of 
be  freely  uiven,  lady.-'  .'•lowly  replied  ihe  Dcr-  a  powerful  Pasha  can  never  sigh  away  her 
vish,  '•even  now  I  will  ask  peace  for  you.'-  youth  in  disappoinuncnt'' — and  he  paused, 
And  waving  his  hand,  as  if  to  deprecate  all  i  and  looked  so  earnestly  upon  her,  that  tlio 
further  parley,  he  turned  his  face  towards  crimson  flush  which  spread  over  her  brow  and 
Mecca,  and  sunk  upon  his  knees.  bosom  was  visible  tlirough  her  veil.    •■  It  can- 

Tlie  maiden  looked  on  him  as  he  knelt  with  not  be — or,  alas  !  I  should  have  deemed  that 
a  feeling  of  deep  and  solemn  interest;  the  your  malady  was  tlie  same  as  tliat  ot  one  who 
slaves  wiihdrew  to  a  small  inner  apartment ! is  dear  to  me  as  a  brollier,  tlic  unhap]  y  Yous- 
at  a  signal  from  their  mistress;  and  the  Aga  souf  Bey,  who  loved  you.  lady,  as  lie  lived  the 
Baba.  to  whom  the  scene  afforded  no  amu.se- , bright  heaven  above  liim — as  something  hal- 
ment,  and  whose  cupidity  was  not  awakened  ^  lowed — something  holy — who  .  would  iiave 
by  the  poverty  of  a  poor  Dervish,  while  his  poured  out  his  best  blood  belbre  you,  if  so  he 
vigilance  appeared  to  be  to  the  full  as  uiine-  could  have  won  one  smile — one  word  from 
cessary  as  his  attendance,  quietly  walked  away  your  sweet  lips — who  would  do  so  still,  even 
to  terminate  an  unfinished  party  of  trie  trac*  for  a  lighter  boon." 

with  one  of  the  chaoushes,  on  which  depended  j  The  maiden  gasped  for  breath  ;  '•  He  must 
a  case  of  swcetineats  presented  to  the  attcn-jnot — he  dare  not — he  would  break  the  heart 
dants  of  the  Pasha  by  a  departing  guest.  jot  his  young  bride,  who  has   loved  him,  and 

The  prayer  of  the  Dervish  was  probably 'trusted  in  him." 
fervent,  but  it  was  short;  for  the  deep  still- 1  "  Na  bride  will  ever  tread  his  haremfloor, 
ness.  amid  which  he  could  distinctly  hear  the  if  she  come  not  from  beneath  the  roof  of  Talat 
painful  breathing  of  the  maiden,  had  not  en- 1 Pasha."  said  the  Dervish.hastily  and  carne.st- 
dured  many  iiislanls,  when  he  rose  from  his  ly;  "He  has  sworn  by  the  soul  of  his  father 
humble  posture  only  to  assume  one  equally  and  by  the  grave  of  his  mother,  that  he  wil 
reverential  at   the   feet  of  the  gentle  girl,  the  win  no  other." 

edge  of  whose  veil  he  pressed  to  his  lips  with  |  ''Oil,  say  not  so  !"  exclaimed  MaVtap,  pa."! 
all  the  devotion  of  a  hadji  at  the  Prophet's  |Sionately  pressing  her  clasped  hands  upon  lie: 
shrine.  heart,  as  she  remembered  the  MerchaniZadig 

"  You  are  too  young  to  die,  lady."  he  whis-|"Oh,  say  not  so  !  He  is  vowed  to  a  gcnth 
pered,  in  a  tone  as  low  and  gentle  as  her  own  ;  girl  who  would  wither  beneath  his  coldnes.s 
'•The  bright  world,  with  all  its  buds  and  bios-  and  her  misery  would  be  mij  work.  Bid  hiii 
Bonis,  its  sunshine,  and  its  bliss,  was  made  fori  wed  her,  love  her,  cling  to  her  through  ever 
such  as  you.  The  grave  is  for  the  gray  head  change  of  fortune,  and  make  lor  himself  a  haji 
and  the  worn  spirit — despair  is  for  the  wretch- |pine.-s  which  I  sliall  never  know  on  earth, 
ed  and*tlie  desolate — you  should  be  the  child  And  as  she  uttered  the -last  words  in  a  lo> 
of  laughler  ai;d  of  hope.  Life  has  yet  much  inurmur  that  eouhl  scarcely  be  heard  at  tli 
to  charm  one  so  fair  as  you  arc."  lextremiiy  of  the  apartment,  her  head  .^aiik  o 

"  Bir  ehey  yok — there  is  nothing;"'  replied  her  breast,  and  a  large  drop  stole  unbidden  t 
the  maiden   sadly,  '•  I  ask  only  for  peace — for  her  eye. 


"  You  lovo  another  tiien  !"  said  the  Dei 
vish  ;  •■  and  Youssouf  Bey  is  sacrificed  !  Vi 
pause,  lady,  ere  you  reject  a  heart  that  livi 


forgctfulness  ;  and    1    shall   lind    thcni  in  the 
grave." 

'•  Forgctfulness  !"     echoed     the    Dervish 

"And   what   thought  can    have  been   traced  mi  you or — answer  me" — he  pursued  in 

upon  the   lily-leaves  of  a  mind  .so  bright  and  clear  whisper,  as  again  he  gazed  fixedly  ( 
beautiful  as  yours,  so  dark  as  to  make  memory  i  the   astonished   girl:  "tell   mc   as  you  vah 
a  blot?     Y'Allah  !   wee  every    mortal    spirit 'your  hope  of  paradise,  do  you  remember  Zad, 
but  as  pure,  the  wezn  of  the  Prophet  had  been ;  the  .Shawl-merchant  whom  you  once  visited 
an  idle  toy."  |llic  Khan  of  Damascus?     Deceive  me  not,  1 

Maii.ap  li.stencd  in  wonder  !     The  austere  your  fate  is  bound  up  in  your  reply — Ha! 

devotee  instead  of  tlireatenings  was  shedding  is  so "     And  he  averted  his  eyes  a-s  1 

Bunshine  over   her   soul ;  and   she  would   not  fair  girl   covered   her   burnirg  face  with  h 
mlcrriipt  liim  by  a  word.  Uiaiids,  and  burst  into  tears  ;  while  astral) 

'•  Had  such  been  possible,"  pursued  the  Dcr-  expression   of   wild   delight    flashed  over  1 
vish,  in  one  of  those  deep  whispers  which  are  features. 
the  very  voice  of  passionate   tenderness   from  ,      "  Who  are  you  ?"  gasped  out  the  bewilder 


*  Backgammon. 


Lily. 


TOE   ROMAA'CE  OF  THE  lIAIiKM. 


149 


I  Maitap  •  '•'  Yon.  wlio  have  dared  to  call  up  a  I  Dervish,  niid  tlic  liope  of  looking  on  \nii  from 
f  vision  before  ine  whicli  I  luive  aliiio.'^t  sacri- i  a  distance  as  you  pah.^ed  aloiit;  llic  ciiy  ulrcctji 
I  ficed  my  life  to  banish?  Speak  !"'  she  repeated  — it  was  liule  for  one  who  h.ved  like  Ziulis, 
[passionately,  as  she  lialf  rose  from  the  sofa,  bul  it  was  all  for  winch  he  cnred  to  live — and, 
land  prepared  to  recall  her  attendants.  I  lady.  1  am  here."' 

•' One  moment,  lady,  and  but  one  :"  urgedi  '' And  you  were  then  the  Jewcl-mcrclinnt — 
the  Dervish,  as  lie  grasped  hci  arm  ;  "beforejaiul  you  know  all  my  weakness  !"  exclaimed 
you  call  down  ruin  upon  me.  A  less  violent  the  inniden  with  a  fresh  burnt  of'tcarn  :  "  bul 
revenge  is  in  your  power,  where  you  may  j  words  nrc  idle.  Zadig— the  l>a>hn  may  break 
yourself  immolate  the  victim — the  weapon  of  j  his  daughter's  heart,  but  he  will  never  give 
a  hireiitis  would   be  useless,  absence  will  killiher  to  a  Khawaji." 

sooner  than  steel.  I  perilled  my  life  to  look!  ''Vet  will  I  not  complain,  Light  of  th« 
on  you  opcc  more,  but  I  perilled  it  cheerfully  :;  World  I"  whispered  the  young  mnn,  an  he  rcse 

Ifor — I  am  Zadig  the  Shawl-merchant "      |to  his  knee,  and  possi-.vsed  him.'-elf  of  the  hand 

*=Zadig!''  echoed  the  maiden  as  she  bent  of  the  bewildered  girl  :  ''even  allhou^h  1  am 
forward,  and  gazed  with  all  her  souTs  deep  I  not  the  Zadig  whom  your  i)ure  .".pirit  had  en- 
tenderness  in  her  eyes  upon  the  disguised  Kha-jshrined  in  its  calm  depths,  and  who  lia.t  called 
waji  ;  "  Zadig — do  I  not  dream  ?'  forth  those  precious  drops  of  tenderness.     I  am 

" '"Tis  even  I,  sweet  lady — then  drive  me  indeed  he  whom  you  visited  at  the  Khun — he 
not  from  your  presence  only  to  expire  with  an- 1  who  dared  to  forward  to  you  a  toy  which  wm 
guish — have  pity  on  my  love,  on  my  devotion  intended  to  recall  his  memory — he  who  cheated 
let  mc  dedicate  to  you  a  life  that  would  be  you  with  a  gray  head  and  a  faiiltering  tonguo 


worthless  without  the  hope  of  your  afTcct ion- 
tell  me  only  that  my  boldness  is  forgiven.  Let 
it  not  be  deemed  a  crime  that  I  have  sought  to 
'save  myself  from  wretchedness,  when  even 
Iforce  was  used  to  compel  me  to  a  step  against 
I  which  my  reason  and  my  respect  alike  re- 
Ivolled." 


into  lookins  upon  his  likeness — lie.  in  short, 
who  kneels  before  you  in  the  garb  of  holincra 
and  self-denial — and  whc^m  you  onco  rejected 
as  unworthy  of  your  love — F  am  Youssouf,  the 
son  of  Sarim  I'asha."' 

A  faint  shriek  esca]  ed  tlic  lips  of  the  maiden, 
and  she  hastily  drew  the  jxirlait  from  her  bo 


!  "  Have  you  forgotten.  EfTendim."  a.«ked  theisom.  and  L'laneed  from  the  ivory  to  her  sniioc, 
Pasha's  daughter,  in  as  cold  and  stern  a  tone  [and  from  him  back  upon  the  picture  ;  nnd  ns, 
as  her  struggling  afTection  would  permit  her  | despite  his  disguise,  she  indeed  recognized  its 
to  assume  ;  ''  Have  you  forgotten  that  the  step  oriL-inal  in  the  kneeling  figure  beside  her.  sha 
is  a  long  one  from  the  khan  to  the  palace  ?  suffered  the  portrait  to  fall  from  her  hand, 
Inshallah  !  I  am  no  prize  for  the  first  pilgrim-! which  was  in.'-tantly  pressed  to  the  lips  and 
imerchant  who  chances  to  dcein  himself  a  tit-  brow  of  the  youni:  Bey. 


ting  match  for  the  Satrap's  only  child.'' 

"  I  am  rebuked,  lady."'   said  the  young  man 
Badly  :    '•  and  I  will  intrude  my  memory  no 


•'  It  is  enoiiL'h.''  he  whispered  :  "'  and  I  am 
for:;iven.  The  j>.i.'-t  is  nothiiu;.  the  preh«'nt  ii 
your  presence,    the  future  is  the  hope  of  your 


more  upon  you,  I  go  only  to  die  ;  and  if  1  did  affection.  Light  has  again  broke  u|>on  the 
not  before  expire  beneath  the  lu.Mre  of  your  ,;oul  of  one  whose  spirit  had  long  been  dark. 
ieycs,  it  was  because  I  thought  I  read  a  lishtiOnc  word,  houri  of  my  hf^art's  paradise  !  but 
|in  them  that  bade  me  live.  But  in  my  blind  one.  and  I  am  your  slave  for  ever  I'' 
Ipresumption  I  have  deceived  my.>ielf:  and  ihcj  '•  \i.  bilirim — what  can  I  say?"  mnmnired 
penalty  of  my  folly  shall  be  paid."  Ithe  fair  Muiiap.  as  her  head  dr<>f»j)od  upon  the 

'  Hold,  madman  I"  almost  shrieked  the  shoulder  of  her  lover:  "  .Ml  shall  be  even  ns 
maiden,  grasping  his  heavy  cloak  as  hcrose'my  lord  wills.  I  am  the  Buneeh-lehieliry,^ 
slowly  from  his  knee  ;  '■  I  have  much  to  ask | and  he  in  the  sun — where  he  moves  I  follow — 
of  you,  and  something  to  thank  you  for.  And||,e  is  my  life  and  my  light — my  eyes  and  my 
first — how  come  you  in  this  garb?  And  why.Boul  arc  but  his  shadows." 
did  you  disappear  so  suddenly  from  the  city,  j  The  Dervish  shortly  afterwards  quitlrd  the 
only  to  return  thus?''  harcfn  of  TalAt  Pasha  ;    ond  with  him  llrd  all 

•Most  gracious  lady."  murmured   the  il  ii  and  tears  of  the  gentle  .Maiinp.  nor 

rich  voice:   ••the  unhappy  Zadig  spread  weeks  ela|n>e  i-rc  Voussoul  B«-y  a-,'iim 

his  jewels  before  you.  ami  h-ft  in  your  hi  I   m  the  city  as   the  suuor  of  thr  Sa- 

the  portrait  of  the  Pasha  Sarim's  son  only  a  iruj, »  daughter,  and  this  timp  hr  did  n*.t  sue 
few  months  back  ;  and  lie  hoped  in  his  infniu-  m  vain  :  while  none  save  he  ond  his  (air  bridn, 
ated  passion,  that  even  despite  his  gray  beard  (from  whom  I  had  the  talc)  evrr  drraml  (hat 
and  his  bent  figure  you  might  have  recognized  t|,p  presence  of  the  pious  Dervish  in  the  gar- 
him:  but  his  presumption  was  keenly  punished;  dcn-pavilion.  had  any  ahare  in  influriicing  • 
heonly  drank  in  a  deadlier  i^ison  by  gazinff  on  marriage  which  spread  )0J  and  bliantj 
you  for  a  moment,  and  inerca.M-d  his  despair  throUi;hout  two  province*. 

until  he  sank  boneath  it.     What  then  remained  , 

to   him?     Nothing,    save   the  khirkhch  of  al  •««•«•»•» 


150 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  THE  HARESL 


PART  III. 
CHAPTER  LXII. 

Deovletin  isLat — May  you  increase  in 
prosperity  !"  said  the  Pasha,  as  the  Greek 
girl  concluded  her  tale  ;  -  Your  Maitap  is 
well  worth* of  attention;  though  W Allah  ! 
it  was  unseemly  in  a  Satrap's  daughter  to 
bend  her  thoughts  on  a  mere  Khawaji." 

'•Oh,  say  not  so!"'  tenderly  exclaimed  the  j  the   Koran  of  my  faith,  but  she  is  the  poetr 
lovely 'slave  :  "Who  can  control  the  heart  ?  I  of  my  existence." 

The  ocean-waves  are  not  bound  even  by  bands  |  "  Chok  tatlecin— you  are  very  gracious  ; 
of  iron:  the  sands  of  the  desert  cannot  be  ;  smiled  Katinka  ;"  I  ask  only  to  be  the  sister  o 
steadied  when  the  simoon  is  abroad,  even  by  j  your  soul."  And  she  looked  expressively  at  tli 
the  foundations  of  a  city  ;  how  then  can  the  \  Satrap's  bride,  whose  cheek  and  brow  flushe 


that  of  my  beloved  Katinka  ;  she  is  the  bul 
bul  of  the  harem,  the  rose  of  the  garden,  thi 
diamond  of  the  mine — she  is  my  eyes  and  m- 
life." 

"  And  I  ?" — asked  the  Satrap,  with  a  sligh 
tone  of  asperity. 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?"  answered  Carimfil,  a 
she  bowed  her  fair  head  upon  her  bosom  ;  "  yoi^ 
are  my  lord,  and  my  master.  I  think  of  ye- 
as the  hadji  thinks  of  the  holy  caba  ;*  you  ar 


afTections  be  controlled  or  guided  ?  The  wild 
steed  upon  the  mountain  spurns  the  bit,  and 
the  free  spirit  brooks  no  control."  And  with- 
out waiting  a  reply,  she  burst  at  once  into  a 
gush  of  song  whose  melody  swept  through  the 
chamber. 

Oh  !  the  heart  is  a  free  and  a  fetterless  thing, 

A  wave  of  the  ocean  I  a  bird  on  the  wing  !  ^ 

A  riJerle^ss  steed  o"er  the  de-sert-plain  bounding, 

A  peal  of  the  storm  o'er  the  valley  resounding  : 

It  i-purns  at  all  bonds,  and  it  m'icks  the  decree 

Of  the  world  and  its  proud  ones,  and  dares  to  ba  free  ! 

Oh  !  the  heart  may  be  t«med  by  a  smile  or  a  tone 

From  the  lip  and  the  eye  of  ii  beautiful  one  ; 

But  the  frown  and  the  forci-  with  its  impulse  contending. 

Ever  find  it  as  adamant,  cold  and  unbending  ; 

It  may  break,  it  may  burst,  but  its  tyrants  will  see 

That  even  in  ruin  it  dares  to  be  free  '. 

"  Nevertheless,"  persisted  the  Pasha  ;  "  no 
woman  has  a  right  to  say,  '  mail  oldum,'* 
and  to  pine  away  without  the  permission  of 
her  father.  With  a  man  it  is  otherwise  ;  he 
is  the  lord  of  himself,  and  accountable  to  no 
one  ;  but  a  woman's  beauty  is  her  best  dowry, 
and  obedience  her  first  duty." 

The  fair  Carimfil  sighed,  and  the  Greek 
girl  smiled  :  one  mourned  the  thrall  of  her 
own  sj)irit,  and  the  other  scoffed  at  the  idle 
8olf-sufliciency  of  the  pampered  Pasha. 

'' Shekier  Allah!"  continued  the  Satrap, 
"  our  women  seldom  think  for  themselves ; 
and  thus  when  they  venture  to  do  so,  they  be- 
come the  subject  of  a  tale.  But  what  is  writ-  her  hand  across  it,  as  though  smitten  by  a  s  • 
ten,  is  written  ;  and  we  will  talk  no  more  of  I  den  pang  :  the  chords  vibrated  for  an  inst  I 
thi.s  self-willed  young  houri.  At  sunset  the  {  from  the  violence  of  the  contact,  and  tl  i 
alm6  will  be  here;  and  my  friend  the  Tchorbadji  trembled  into  silence,  as  the  sweet  voice  of  ! 
lolls  me  that  |hey  are  as  fair  as  the  daughters  musician  fell  softly  and  sadly  upon  the  e» 
of  Peristan.  You  will  love  to  look  on  them,  of  her  listeners, 
januin — my  soul  ;  he  said,  in  a  .softer  tone,  j 
turning'  towards  the  languid  Carimfil,  while . 
he  glanced  at  the  dark -eyed  Katinka  ;  ''  and  I  ' 
am  as.-urcd  that  they  have  among  them  a  inas- 
saldjhe  who  is  a  world's  wonder.  Bakalum — ; 
wc  shall  sec — 1  doubt  much  whether  she  will  i 
excel  our  own  sprightly  Greek."  j 

"No,  no,"   said   the  beautiful    Circassian:: 
"  there  is  no  tongue  which  makes  music   like  \ 


with  conscious  crimson ;  but  these  alm6— 
dread  them  ;  they  will  rob  me  of  your  smiles: 
and  should  they  be  indeed  as  fair  as  they  ar 
painted,  perhaps  of  your  love  also."  And  h« 
glance  wandered  from  the  lady  to  the  Satra.' 

'•  W'Allah  !  there  is  little  danger."  sa' 
the  Pasha,  returning  the  gaze  with  interes 
"The  alm^  !  what  "are  they?  Ey  vah— a' 
they  not  bush  —  nothing;  wandering  fro 
house  to  house,  with  light  smiles  and  unco- 
ered  faces  ? — Haivan  der — they  are  animah: 
and  though  they  may  be  as  fair  as  houris,  thi 
have  eaten  too  much  dirt  to  be  remember 
when  they  have  received  their  backshish,  a: 
passed  out  of  the  harem." 

"  Alhemdullilah  !"  murmured  Katinka, 
a  low  tone,  which  reached  only  the  ear  I 
which  it  was  intended,  that  of  the  sententio 
Satrap  ;  "  Let  them  come  then,  for  the  echc 
of  the  harem  have  not  of  late  been  awaken 
by  the  sounds  of  mirth.  I  am  often  sad  n 
self;"  and  she  passed  her  hand  across  1 
brow  with  a  pretty  affectation-  of  langii 
which  well  became  the  expression  of  her  i 
ble  features  ;  "  though  perchance  I  shot 
chide  my  own  heart  for  its  weakness." 

"  Hai.  hai — true,  true,  you  should  be  gay 
said  the  Pasha,  nodding  his  head  significant: : 
"  You  are  surrounded  by  flowers,  and  foi  • 
tains,  and  music,  and  you  should  be  gay." 

The  Greek  girl  seized  her  zebec,  and  swt 


Bright  and  blue  is  the  summer  s^y  ; 
And  'tis  swe.;t  'neath  the  clustering  boughs  to  li« 
And  to  -watch  the  light  vapors  as  they  glance 
Like  fairy  dreams  o'er  the  pure  expanse  ; 
But  oh  1   in  tho.se  hours  of  calm  delight. 
When  the  world  and  its  cares  are  forgotten  quite, 
That  the  charm  may  be  a  perfect  one, 
We  must  not  watch  alone  ! 

Wild  and  stern  is  the  tempest  hour, 

W^hen  the  storm-god  rides  in  his  car  of  power, 


•  I  have  fallen  in  love. 


•  The  Temple  of  Meccv 


TOE   ROMANCE   OF   TlIK    IIAREM. 


131 


When  the  winds  make  vocal  the  ocean  cavcn, 
And  death  rides  throned  on  the  crested  yravei ; 
And  oh  I   if  we  would  defy  the  t.liock 
Of  the  billowy  sea  on  the  cavernod  rock  ; 
And  yield  to  our  fate  without  a  groan, 

We  must  not  die  alone  I 
Cal^m  is  the  sunset's  golden  spell, 
As  It  sleeps  in  splendor  each  wood  and  fell, 
Flinging  wrrailis  of  gems  over  leaves  and  Qovrert, 
And  painting  the  starry  jasmine  oow.rs  ; 
But  vainly  its  glory  floods  the  sky, 
If  only  one  turn  an  Upraised  eye 
To  mark  ttie  bright  vision  ere  'tis  flown  ; — 
For  life's.loveiiest  things     , 
Droop  their  fainting  wings. 

When  we  look  on  them  alone  ! 

The  song  of  Kafiuka  saddened  tlie  Pasha's 
wile  ;  but  the  Paslia  liiniself,  for  wlioni  it  was 
especially  intended,  was  quite  unconscious  of 
its  sentiment ;  and  meioly  remarking  that  tiie 
air  was  dull  and  monotonous,  and  that  some- 
times solitude  was  preferable  to  society,  he  in- 
timated his  intention  to  return  to  the  salem- 
liek,*  to  make  his  evening  meal,  and  to  enjoy 
his  evening  shnnbcr  before  the  arrival  of  the 
ftlm^ :  a  resoluticn  v.hich  he  shortly  after- 
wards carried  into  cfiect.  to  the  great  satisfac- 
tion of  the  fair  inmates  of  the  harem. 


CHAPTER    LXIII. 

%' 

At  the  set  of  sun  Nevresti  and  her  fair 
band  6tt>od  on  the  threshold  of  the  Pasha's 
palace.  Maniolopolo  and  the  graceful  Mher- 
pirwir  walked  side  by  side,  and  both  were  ab- 
sorbed in  tliousht.  The  dancing-girl  neither 
wept  nor  sighed,  though  she  knew  that  the 
roof  beneath  which  she  stood  covered  the  idol 
of  a  heart  that  she  would  have  died  to  secure  : 
but  she  gazed  despairingly  on  the  younc  Greek 
through  her  veil,  as  though  in  that  long  look 
she  would  have  concentrated  her  whole  exist- 
ence. The  emotion  of  Maniolopolo  was  of  a 
more  mixed  and  less  devoted  character  ;  Wis 
pulses  bounded  indeed,  as  he  remembered  thai 
he  should  ere  long  behold  his  gentle  Carimfil : 
the  first  dream  of  his  manhood,  the  brightctit 
vision  of  his  spirit  :  but  blent  with  lovo  for 
her,  came  fcnrs  for  his  own  safety — fear*  which 
made  his  lip  quiver,  and  his  brain  burn. 

It  was  perhaps  fortunate  for  hmi  that  hii» 
reflectior.H  tended  to  subdue  his  pamionat*  im- 
patience ;  for  the  Asa  Baba.  who  delmt^d 
every  incuroion  on  his  majtter'»  harrm  a* 
piously  as  any  jealous  Monlcm  could  doirc, 
turned  a  scarchins.  and  by  no  mean*  loving 
eye,  upon  each  of  the  almi  a*  they  paMcd 
him  ;  and  aK-uredly  the  uncertain  and  tiinid 
step  of  the  young  Greek  Mibjecled  him  to  no 
suspicion. 

A  IrdiouN  hour  wn*  pa>iu^  by  the  band  in 
an  anti-room,  ihroush  winch  the  n«'gro*«  of 
the  hotiM;hold  came  and  went  on  their  diflercnt 
missions;  while  m  few  idlers  grouped  lbein> 


I  selves  about  the  strangers,  admiring  lh<-ir 
I  dresses,  and  asking  a  tlioufand  queslionj'. 
!  which  were  answered  by  Ncvreuli  with  a  tiicl 
I  that  would  not  have  disgraced  a  diplomntiitl. 

But  at  length  the  expected  MUinnionK  ar- 
rived, und  llic  daneini.'-girl8  were  condnclcd 
I  through  a  long  gallery  to  the  inn.-r  door  of  tie 
I  harem  ;  where,  prostrating  thi>in.s.-|v.»  to  llio 
earth,  they  nwailed  the  order  of  the  lady  to 
I  advance  into  the  apartment.  They  «crc  a 
I  lovely  group;  with  their  flowing  veils,  loni* 
:  tresses,  and  pituresquc  costumes  ;  their  white 
arms  cleatning  like  sea-foam,  and  their  dark 
eyes  tliishing  out  like  meteors;  and  for  the 
fir.-^t  moment  the  Pasha's  wife  was  silcnl  with 
admiration:  but  the  transitory-  surpri.«.e  once 
over,  she  received  them  gently  and  graciously, 
.and  bade  them  a])proaoh  without  fear. 

As  Ncvreste  led  them  on  in  obedience  to  the 
1  command  of  the  fair  Circassian,   ManioIopoJo 
ventured  for  the  first  lime  to  glance  in  the  di- 
rection  of  the  sweet  and  well-known    voice. 
Carimfil  Hanoum  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  a 
I  gorgeous  sofa,  glittering  with  Kold  fringe,   and 
I  gay  with  embroidery;  and  at  her  feet  reclined 
I  his  beautiful  sister  pillowed  ujion   a  pile  of 
I  cushions.     The  Pasha  was  enthroned  on  the 
I  gorgeous  divan;  his    chibouque    between  hm 
lips,   his  jewelled    hand    lo<>.>.ely    gra.-'ping  it* 
slender  tube,  and  his    half-closed  eyes    givinu 
I  assurance  of  the  tranquillity  or  apathy  of  hia 
spirit.     Behind  him  stootl  two  n<'gro<'.H,    richly 
dad,  with  turbans  and  girdles  of  culii-mire  of 
;  the  richest  dyes  ;   while  the    female  slavm  of 
the  harem  were  clustered  together  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  apartment,  which  was  brightly 
lighted  up  by  a  number  of  tapen*.  arranged  on 
small  tables  of  inlaid  wood  in  dillcrent  part« 
of  the  saloon. 

Tlkc  centre  of  the  floor  was  vacant ;  and 
there  the  daneing-^'irlK  ol  once  look  there 
stand,  and  grou)>ed  themselveti  m  the  moot 
graceful  and  picturesque  attitudcH.  I'hrce  of 
the  number  knell  upon  the  car|>ct  with  their 
six-slringcd  zcbecs  on  their  knee*  ;  the  re- 
mainder Mood  around  them,  some  with  their 
chapletted  heads  fliii)''  bnrk  ni.A  \\>-\r  v\wr 
arms  ramed  hifh  i  ' 
belU  of  their  lam) 
rl.iiM.H      ..•l..-rn    I. 


and  otlicrs   asatn.   iaiigiiiiliy   •up)' 
other  in  a  sweet  rejitwe  mirli  n»  ih. 
joy  in  the  rose-bhx  i;. 
'  Muthallsh  !      i 

nrath  hi«  bre.ith 


Maijoiuoi  was  m  ftf^mi  |>ru^bcl 


'  Mas**  kfartoMSIa. 


152 


THE  ROMAA'CE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


This  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
pealing  out  of  the  voices  and  instruments  of 
the  dancing-girls,  as  a  dozen  of  the  band,  led 
by  the  beautiful  iMherpirwir,  commenced  their 
inlricate  and  graceful  evolutions.     The  dance 
told  a  talc  of  love:  there  was  the  swift  pur- 
suit, the  reluctant  flight,  the  earnes^t  supplica- 
tion, the  timid  dissent,  the  impassioned  eager-  , 
ne.-s,  the  yielding  affection ;  and  as  the  last  I 
twirl  of  the  tambourines  made  the  air  vocal, 
all  the  band  were  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  their 
Jiigh  pries'css,  the  gentle  IMherpirwir,  holding 
towards  her  the  lotus-wreaths  with  which  they  I 
had  been  crowned.  I 

•■  Aferin,  aferin — well  done,  well  done  !"  ' 
exclaimed  the  Satrap,  startled  out  of  his  apa- 
thy by  tli«  enchanting  spectacle  :  '•  Abdool,  fill 
them  each  a  feljanei,*  of  sherbet ;  for,  by  the 
soul  of  my  father  !  they  are  peris — I  have 
said  it." 

The  negro  obeyed:  and  as  each  fair  girl 
bent  her  head  to  the  Satrap,  and  touched  the 
ihrystal  goblet  with  her  lips,  the  eyes  of 
Maniolopolo  and  his  sister  met  in  a  long  gaze 
which  revealed  their  secret.  For  a  moment 
Katinka  trembled,  but  hers  was  not  a  soul  to 
shake  at  shadows:  and  she  recovered  herself 
before  the  flush  had  laded  from  her  brow,  suf- 
lieiently  to  remark  that  her  brother  looked 
gloriously  handsome  in  his  disguise,  and  that 
the  attention  of  the  unsuspecting  and  less  ob- 
bcrvant  Carimfil  might  be  safely  drawn  to  him 
without  a  risk  of  his  discovery ;  a  circumstance 
which  would  enable  him  to  arouse  in  their 
subsequent  conversations  a  thousand  tender 
memories  that  would  blend  most  happily  with 
the  vision  of  the  dark-browed  awali  of  the 
alme 

Her  resolution  formed,  she  looked  up  to- 
wards her  beautiful  friend,  who  bent  over  her 
to  catch  the  words  wliich  she  felt  were  hover- 
ing on  her  lips,  and  softly  whispered  :  '"'  Look 
at  the  girl  in  the  centre  of  the  group — she  with 
the  willow  waist,  and  gazelle  eyes — by  the 
instrument  in  her  hand  she  must  be  an  awali 
— saw  you  ever  sueli  a  face  ?  The  rest  of  the 
band  arc  as  faded  lilies  beside  her  !" 

The  Pasha's  wife  glanced  towards  the  dis- 
guised Scidika  as  slie  had  been  desired ;  and  by 
a  strange  coincidence,  at  that  vei7  moment,  so 
did  the  Paslia  also.  The  wife  looked  long  and 
earnestly,  for  iheic  was  an  expression  in  the 
dark  wild  eyt  s  of  the  singinu-giri  which 
strangely  moved  her,  tl:ough  slie  could  not  ac- 
count lor  the  emotion  that  they  excited  :  and 
the  husbitiid  did  so  likL'wise,  from  a  feeling  of 
admiration  as  intense  as  it  was  involuntary. 

Maniolopolo  was  attired  in  a  robe  of  deep 
crimson,  over  wiiich  floated  a  light  veil  of  the 
most.  deli(  ate  azure  ;  cluster.-i  of  sweet-scented 
flowers,  among  which  tlie  tubc-ro.se  and  the 
hyacinth  were  conspicuous,  hung   loosely  in 

•Cup. 


his  hair,  and  rested  upon  his  cheeks.  His  am- 
ple schalvar  (or  trowsers)  of  tissue,  concealed 
his  feet;  and  on  his  knees  he  supported  the 
gaily-inlaid  instrument  with  which  he  was 
accustomed  to  accompany  his  ballads.  Beside 
him  lay  a  rambourine,  and  in  his  girdle  he 
carried  a  tusbee  of  orange-wood,  and  an  em- 
broidered handkerchief. 

The  difficulty  of  his  position  rendered  him 
cautious  :  and  thus  his  bent  head  and  dowfl- 
cast  eyes  were  as  gentle  and  feminine  as  his 
costume. 

The  Pasha  was  by  no  means  an  amateur  of 
music,  and  he  had  lately  learnt  to  love  it  only 
from  the  lips  of  Katinka;  he  listened,  there- 
fore, rather  from  courtesy  than  inclination 
to  the  love-ditty,  which,  at  the  bidding  of 
Nevreste,  the  disguised  Seidika  murmured  out 
in  a  low  and  tender  tone,  that  called  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  the  women  ;  and  when  the  song 
ceased,  it  was  matter  of  indifference  to  the  fair 
Carimfil  how  the  exhibition  proceeded,  for  her 
spirit  was  m  tumult,  and  she  knew  that  her 
lover  was  before  her. 

As  he  first  prepared  to  obey  his  task-mis- 
tre.ss,  Maniolopolo.  bending  low  over  his  zebec, 
trifled  for  a  moment  among  its  strings ;  and 
softly  commenced  : — 

"  I've  henrd  of  isles  beyond  the  sea. 
Where  summer  neither  fails  nor  fades—" 

then  suddenly  shaking  his  head  mournfully,, 
like  one  who  dares  not  recall  a  long-forgotten 
strain,  he  struck  at  once  into  a  Persian  love- 
song  which  diverted  the  attention  of  his  li.sten- 
ers,  and  enabled  the  trembling  Circassian  tc 
recover  her  self-possession. 

"  Pek  ahi,  Pek  ahi — very  well,  very  well,' 
said  Saifula  Pasha,  as  the  song  ceased  ;  "  1' 
is  not  bad  ;  but  we  have  a  bulbul  in  our  owr. 
harem,  who  has  a  sweeter  note.  Take  th( 
zebec,  Bcyaz,"  he  added,  glancing  down  upoi 
the  Greek  girl,  "  and  we  will  show  this  pen 
sive  awali  the  music  of  our  distant  province.' 

Katinka  took  up  her  instrument  with  af 
fected  reluctance;  and  measured  the  dancing 
girls  with  her  proud  eye,  as  if  to  imply  tha 
she  felt  degraded  by  being  compelled  to  exhiti 
her  talent  in  their  company ;  and  then,  meek 
ly  bowing  her  obedience  to  the  Sal  rap,  sIk 
turned  a  long  look  upon  her  adventurou, 
brother,  and  commenced  her  song. 

Where  is  my  loved  one  ?      Oh.  ■whisper  me  ■where— 
At  the  end  of  Ihe  earth?     I  ■will  seek  for  her  lher»—     . 
Is  she  throneil  on  a  gem  in  some  jewel-lit  cave  I  ! 

Does  she  ride  on  the  foam  of  some  snew-crested  w&tb— , 
IJoes  she  float  like  a  cloud  through  the  regions  of  air? 
My  soul  and  my  spirit  will  follow  her  there  .' 

Oh  !  the  globe  is  too  rarro^w  to  hide  -what  we  love— 
.■\nd  the  billow  below,  and  the  v^por  ahove  ; 
For  Ihe  heart  is  a  guide  that  neVr  faints  on  the  way, 
That  cares  not  to  slumber,  and  asks  not  to  ••-lay— 
Let  the  worshipped  one  dwell  in  earth,  ocean,  or  air, 
The  spirit  that  loves  her  will  follo^vr  her  thera  ! 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  THE   lIAIiEM. 


10S 


"  Chok  chay,"  smiled  the  Pasha,  as  tlic  fair 
elavc  bohlly  looked  towards  him  for  aiii)lausi' : 
"that  is  miicli — and  well  enouiih  to  sing  to  a 
lebec  in  an  hour  of  idleness;  but  Alhcnuiul- 
lilah  !  it  is  more  poetry  and  madness.  Now, 
tell  me.  mother,''  ho  eontmucd,  addrc^.^in^' 
Nevreste,  '-have  you  not  a  M.i-saldji  in  your 
troop  ?  The  Tchorbadji  Ellondi  talked  to 
*  me  of  a  maiden  whose  subtle  tonsuc  could  en- 
chain the  ear  of  attention,  and  eharm  the  mind 
into  forget  fulness.  Let  her  speak — but,  Ba- 
ehustun !  I  will  havo  no  more  mawkish  senti- 
ment— let  there  be  some  kief*  in  the  talc,  or 
it  will  set  me  to  sleep." 

"Wallah  billah.  your  highness  shall  be 
obeyed,"  said  the  old  woman;  "Speak,  Sd'idi- 
ka — my  lord  listens.'' 

"Shall  I  talk  to  the  noble  Satrap  of  love, 
when  he  cares  not  to  hear  it  named  ?"'  said 
Maniolopolo  gravely:  "  Asteferallah — heaven 
forbid  !  It  is  a  threadbare  subject  which  may 
well  be  cast  away  like  a  tattered  garment ; 
every  one  has  worn  it  onee,  but  it  seldom  sits 
comfortably  ;  and  thus  it  gets  flung  from  one 
to  the  other  until  it  is  known  to  all.  and  little 
cared  for  by  any — some  think,  indeed,  that 
they  wear  it,  when  they  have  folded  them- 
selves in  a  tunic  of  quite  another  fashion  ;  but 
OS  they  seldom  discover  the  cheat  which  they 
have  put  upon  their  own  shoulders,  they  walk 
the  bazars  as  erect  in  tlicir  motley,  as  though 
it  were  true  cloth  of  gold.  I  will,  however, 
eince  my  lord  sees  fit.  at  onee  change  the  sub- 
ject, and  relate  to  him  the  Adventures  of  the 
Barber  of  Bassora." 

"Inshallah!  at  last  we  .<;hall  hear  some- 
thing worth  listening  to,"  said  the  Satrap:  '"I 
like  the  title  of  the  tale  va.slly:  it  .'macks  of 
of  every-day  life  ;  teliapouk.  tchapouk.  quick. 
quick — let  the  ealam  of  memory  move  rapidly, 
and  you  shall  have  no  reason  to  regret  your 
visit  to  the  harem  of  Salfula  Pasha." 

'•Heaven  fulfil  the  promise  of  your  High- 
ness !"  said  Maniolopolo  significantly,  and, 
amid  the  most  perleci  stillnc.«.B,  with  the  beau- 
tiful and  agitated  Carimfil  immediately  before 
him,  and  the  sad  and  gentle  Mherpirwir  at  his 
aide,  he  thus  began  his  narration. 


CHAI'TKR  LXIV. 

THB  ADVENTfUES  OV  Till:  DAUBER   Of   BASSORA. 

In  the  famous  city  of  B;i»>ora.  about  a  liun- 
dred  years  a^o.  lived  a  worthy  khamal.*  naintd 
Husrcf.  who  wok  rcma/kaldp.  firxl  lor  hi»  im- 
mense ftrensili  of  inn>-c|p,  \«hich  enabled  hiin 
to  carry  uj)on  lii.«  back  the  loads  of  iwo  mrn  ; 
and  some,  indeed,  v  cnl  ro  for  as  to  say,  Ihc 
lading  of  an  ass  ;  ond  for  the  fact  of  never  hav- 


•  Cheerful  i>Ma 


t  8tlMt  porur. 


ing  become  the  father  of  a  eliild  which  liad 
not  some  natural  delVcl. 

j  There  was  Medjid  Ihc  one-eyed  ;  RilFut  the 
one-sided;  Chiamil  the  thiee-tingcred  ;  Mcx- 
vir  the  bow-legged  :  Elti  tiie  hiirc-li|  ped  ;  and 
Moctalob  the  Icft-liaiuicil.  'IIkho  wrro  lux 
sons;  and  though  his  wilo  Mine*  wlio  was 
the  only  child  of  a  sigii-painier,  had  been  one 
of  the  prettiest  girls  in  tiie  sc  niewliat  ob.<'Curo 
street  in  which  she  rc.'-idfd,  he  wa.s  not  one 
t  whit  more  fortunate  with  his  daii;;htrrB. 
'  Djamilii  was  hump-backed  :  Halizc  wa.s  red- 
haired  ;  LibabO  was  celebrated  for  a  limp,  and 
Zeinip  was  stone  deaf.  In  short,  it  could  noi 
be  denied  that  they  were  a  remarkable  lumily. 
With  tenehildrcn,  and  about  as  many  ptirus 
a  day.  a  man  cannot  be  couMdi-red  to  be  prr- 
j  feel ly  independent ;  and  j>oor  liusref  aeeord- 
I  ingly  sometimes  ate  his  olives  without  bread, 
j  and  generally  his  bread  without  caviare  ;  but, 
somehow  or  other,  all  the  children  contrived 
to  live  on,  being  oeea.Mcnally  permitud  to 
plunge  their  hands  into  the  pilauf  of  a  lu-igh- 
i  bor,  when  they  never  failed  to  avail  them- 
selves freely  of  the  privilege.  Mm.'-  grumbled 
j  a  good  deal,  it  is  true,  and  seldom  failed  to 
<  remind  her  husband  when  he  returned  home 
alter  his  day's  labor,  that,  had  she  married  the 
'  oda-bashif  of  the  Pa.-^ha's  guard,  who  was 
killed  in  an  encounter  with  a  predatory  tribe 
of  Arabs,  and  whose  widow  had  been  pen.'-ion- 
j  cd  by  the  Satrap,  instead  of  a  beggarly  khainal, 
I  who  dared  not  wag  his  beard  bctcrc  the  mcan- 
I  est  functionary  of  the  city,  she  should  have 
I  been  as  great  a  person  as  Ilabiloullah,  the 
wife  of  Marsouk  ihc  nielon-nierehant,  'whoHC 
!  feridjhel  had  been  twice  iiew-lmcd  since  her 
.marriage:  while  her  own  was  dropping  into 
I  such  holes  that  she  should  not  long  be  able  to 
j  walk  the  bazar  for  very  shuiiie.  She  had  many 
I  other  little  complaints  al^o,  as  unplcasuni  as 
I  they  were  useless,  with  whuli  she  diuriially 
I  regaled  his  cars;  but  the  philo.'ophic  Huhnf 
I  heeded  tlieni  not;  the  heart  of  Mini-  was  re- 
'  lieved  by  thcj»c  outpourings  ot  her  dihcontent ; 
'  and  her  voice  generally  set  the  weary  khanial 
to  bleep,  despite  tiic  noise  of  the  ten  children, 
who  were  all  as  n>oilt,  as  happy,  as  dirty,  and 
as  ragged,  as  any  duinestic  colony  in  that  re- 
mote quarters  of  the  city. 

Tlius  liie  fomily  of  Husrcf  the  khamol, 
might  allogeiher  be  said  to  pros|K>i  :  for  when 
|ieople  continue  for  years  lo  seo!d,  to  t<\cey, 
and  to  treat  fortune  like  tho  M>rry  jade  thai 
che  is,  they  cannot  bo  roni>i<lereil  «•  quila 
wr<tclied  ;  and,  in  thiA  wa,  '-ranj- 

bliiig  u|)  the  randhiil  c»t  1.'  '  urird 

up  to  his  n-*ck,  and  honirti;  .i  nio- 

iiiriiiary  foitin;;,  the  laihlnu  ;  <  i  M  i  •  (he  rr- 
(•reilul,  conliiiurd  to  toil,  ai  J  Ix-ar.  and  for- 
bear, until  his  ten  chiidrrn  began  (o  grow  uilo 
men  and  women  oboul  hiro. 

•  Eauo*)    t  Cei|>o»i.    I  Wmbm's  doak.   i  ts4Ua  Mf  a 


154 


THE  ROilANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


Matters  now  became  furious.  What  wasj 
to  be  done  \vitli  them  ?  Husref  uttered  many 
an  '•  Insliallah  !"'  but  faith  alone  would  not 
supply  them  with  employment;  and  the  deep 
respirations  of  the  anxiotis  khamal,  as  he  bent 
under  his  load,  were  now  frequently  lengthen- 
ed into  sighs. 

About  this  time  a  Sherbetjhe.  whose  mother 
was  the  friend  and  gossip  of  MinO.  demanded 
his  daughter  Hafize  in  marriage,  and  he  gave 
her  as  freely  as  he  would  have  given  a  draught 
of  water  to  a  thirsty  hadji.  Good  fortune  is 
better  than  gold  ;  and  a  week  or  two  after  the 
marriage  of  I  lie  red-haiied  maiden,  a  Serudjhe 
of  the  neigliborhood  offered  to  engage  his  son 
Mezvir  in  his  ftables,  when  the  bow-legged 
youth  at  once  found  himself  provided  with 
food,  labor,  and  a  good  bed  of  dhourra-Ieaves.* 
Riffat  the  one-sided,  established  himself  as 
the  keeper  of  a  khan  in  the  neighborhood  of 
his  father's  house,  by  doing  all  the  duty  of  a 
bent  and  crippled  old  man,  who  looked  as 
though  he  vrerc  coeval  with  its  walls,  until 
the  day  of  his  death,  when  he  bequeathed  his 
keys,  his  wardrobe,  his  besom,  his  flagged 
shed,  and  his  ten  paras  a  day,  to  the  youn^ 
volunteer,  who  at  once  declared  himself  in- 
dependent, and  commenced  pilfering  the  tra- 
vellers who  frequented  the  caravanserai,  and 
cleaning  the  court,  on  his  own  account.  j 

All  this  was  truly  gratifying  to  the  paternal 
pride  of  the  khamal  ;  and  he  congratulated 
himself  in  the  contentment  of  his  heart,  that 
his  sons  were  in  a  fair  way  to  rise  in  the  world, 
and  to  become  men  of  mark.  In  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  satisfaction  he  frequently  forgot 
that  there  was  still  eight  of  his  progeny  at 
home;  but  the  fact  was  soon  forced  upon  his 
memory  as  he  passed  his  narrow  portal,  and 
bent  his  head  that  he  might  not  strike  it 
against  the  door-sill,  by  the  upbraidings  of  his 
wife,  and  the  uproar  and  tumult  of  his  grow- 
ing family.  i 

Things  were  in  this  state  when  one  day,  as 
Husref  was  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  an 
acacia  tree  which  overshadowed  the  wooden 
terrace  of  a  coU'ee-shop  near  the  meat-market. 
enjoying  the  funics  of  a  luxury  which  he  did 
not  at  that  moment  possess  a  para  to  procure. 
a  stranger  descended  from  a  jaded  mule,  notj 
twenty  paces  from  him.  and  throwing  the 
bridle  to  a  serudjhe  who  attended  him,  bade 
him  take  back  the  beast,  and  await  him  at 
tlie  house  of  the  person  he  had  named  on  their 
arrival  in  the  city  ;  while  at  the  same  time, 
he  beckoned  to  Husref  to  relieve  the  man  of  a 
moderately  sized  cypress-wood  box,  which, 
rested  on  the  neck  of  his  own  beast.  | 

The  khamal  obeyed  with  alacrity  ;  and, 
having  possessed  himself  of  the  eliest,  carefully 
.  deposited  it  on  the  ground  to  await  the  further 
commands  of  his  new  employer.  I 

*  Indian  corn.  I 


'•  Wallah  !  you  have  a  slTong  arm,  Kha- 
mal," said  the  stranger,  whom,  from  his  garb, 
Husref  supposed  to  be  a  Persian  ;  ■•  you  are 
the  very  man  I  want.  Here  are  ten  piastres :" 
and  as  he  spoke  he  placed  them  in  the  harid 
of  the  astonished  porter,  who  had  not  been 
master  of  such  a  sum  for  years  ;  •■  Bid  the 
cafeje  here  give  you  a  cup  of  coffee,  that  your 
heart  may  be  as  light  as  your  arm  is  .steady; 
and  then  away  with  you  to  the  southern  side 
of  the  Great  Mosque,  and  there  await  me, 
taking  care  not  to  lose  sight  of  the  box." 

'•  The  delighted  khamal  lost  not  a  moment 
in  obeying  this  command.  He  swalloAved  the 
coffee,  saluted  the  stranger  with  a  fervent 
'•  Allah  es  marladck — "  shouldered  tiie  chest, 
and  started  off  at  a  light  trot  for  the  Great 
Mosque  of  the  city. 

"  Ten  piastres  for  traversing  a  stadia  length 
of  the  street."  he  murmured  joyously  as  he 
moved  along ;  ''  and  with  a  mere  feather- 
weight on  my  shoulder  :  why  I  must  surely 
have  fallen  in  with  Karoon  himself !  Y' Allah  ! 
my  felech  is  bright  to-day.  What  shall  I  say 
to  Mine  ?  If  I  tell  her  that  I  have  earned 
ten  piastres,  they  will  melt  like  snow  before 
the  sun,  for  she  will  fancy  herself  a  Khamal- 
bashi's  wife;  No,  no — I  will  say  two — and 
with  two  piastres  we  shall  sup  well." 

Having  made  this  prudent  resolution,  the  con- 
tented Husref  jogged  along,  communing  with 
his  own  thoughts,  until  he  reached  the  principal 
mosque  ;  when  taking  up  the  position  which 
had  been  indicated  to  him  by  the  stranger,  he 
placed  the  chest  on  the  ground,  and  squatting 
himself  beside  it,  removed  his  turban  from  his 
head,  and  concealed  among  its  ragged  folds 
the  eight  piastres  which  were  to  be  the  com- 
mencement of  a  hoard,  amassed  from  the  pro- 
duce of  as  many  such  profitable  adventures  aa 
the  present,  as  it  might  please  Allah  to  provide 
for  him. 

An  hour  passed  away ;  an  hour  of  luxury 
to  the  toil-worn  Husref,  who  had  never  once 
changed  his  position  save  to  pick  up  a  coin 
which  was  flung  to  him  by  a  Frank  traveller, 
who  seeing  him  seated  there,  covered  with 
rags,  and  deep  in  thought,  threw  him  a  piece 
of  money  as  a  matter  of  course  and  passed  ou. 

"  The  Infidel  dog  is  subjected  by  my 
felech  :"*  murmured  Husref,  as  he  possessed 
himself  of  the  coin;  -'This  is  to  be  a  white 
day.  And  what  shall  I  do  with  this  piastre? 
shall  I  tell  Mine  that  I  bring  her  three  ?  or 
shall   I  conceal  this   also  in  my  turbaV  <>' 

shall  I "and  he  glanced  across  the  narrow 

street ;  "  shall  I  fill  my  bag  with  gebcli,  and 
smoke  a  comfortable  pijie  or  two  of  the  strong- 
savored  Latakia  ?  Chok  chay — that  is  much 
it  shall  be  so."  And  having  first  glanced  it 
every  direction  to  ascertain  that  no  person  wa; 
passing  to  carry  off  his  trust,  he  shuffled  alon( 


•  Constellation. 


THE   ROMANCE   OF  THE  IIAREJL 


166 


coveted   luxury,   ami   then   returned 
establislied  himself  beside  the  chest. 


and 


CHAPTER  LXV. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF    THE  BARBER  OF  BASSORA 
CONTINUED. 


at  his  best  speed  to  a  shop  in  the  neighborhood,    tlio  har.><li  stroke  of  tlio  iron-tipped  KtnfTof  the 
where  he  purchased  a  modest  quantity  of  tlie    liie-^uiird  on  the  rude  piivcment  of  the  street. 

He  instinctively  started    from    the   earth,  and 

rubbed  his  eyes   as  lie  perceived  lliat  he  wan 

surrounded    by    a    pitcliy    darkness,    through 

which  he  glanced  about   him  to  discover  tho 

direction  of  the  lire  ;  a  fact  wliich  he  hud  no 

sooner   ascertained,  than   in   the   contusion  of 

the  moment,  totally  tbrgclting  ihc  chest,  and 

almost  his  own  identity,  he  rushed  forward  to 

the  scene  of  ruin,  and   was  soon   busily  cm- 

[  ployed  in  rendering  assistance  to  the  sufferers. 

The  chibouque  was  soon  lighted;   and   as  i      When,  after  the  lapse  of  an  hour,  he  remem- 

the    heavy    funics   of   the   strong   and    coarse    bered  the  box,  and  hurriedly  returned  to  llie 

tobacco   curled    over   his    beard,    the    happy    spot  where  he  liad  left  it,  it  was  too  late — the 

Husref,  with  a  joyous   feeling  of  secret   pros-    chest  was  gone  ! 

perity.  began  to  muse  on  his  family  affairs.  |  Husref  dashed  his  turban  upon  the  earth, 
"  Two  sons  and  a  daughter  respectably  and  almost  yelled  in  the  ai^ony  of  his  spirit, 
established — eight  piastres  among  the  folds  of  How  should  he  face  his  cmp.lo)  er  ?  he,  who 
my  turban,  with  fifteen  paras  of  change  from  had  betrayed  his  trust.  How  should  he  take 
the  gebcli  in  my  girdle  —  Shckiur  Allah  !  his  stand  on  the  accustomed  spot.  He  who 
Husref  the  kliamal  will  yet  rise  in  the  world,  i  was  no  longer  worthy  of  confidence — who  had 
But  my  dear  sou  Moctaleb — my  favorite  son.  !  blackened  his  own  face  through  liis  mtem- 
— by  the  beard  of  the  Prophet  !  his  fortune  is  l  perate  folly — and  scattered  dirt  in  liis  beard  ? 
as  lelt-handed  as  himself,  or  his  fine  eyes  I  While  he  thus  bitterly  reproached  liiinself, 
would  ere  this  have  filled  his  girdle  with  jeb-  he  heard  a  step  rapidly  approaching  ;  lie  look- 
khargi.* — Something  must  be  done  for  Moc- j  ed  despairingly  in  the  direction  whence  it 
taleb  ;  he  desires  to  be  a  barber,  and  nothing  ,  sounded,  and  beheld  tlie  stranger  within  half- 
could  be  better  :  but  the  shop,  the  soap,  the  j  a-dozen  paces  of  hun,  in  the  gray  light  of  the 
razors,  the  towels,  and  the   basins,   must  be  i  dawn. 

paid  for  ;  and  where  is  the  money  ?"  |      •' Haidc — come  along,  k)iamal  ;"'   said   the 

This  was  an  uncomfortable  question,  for  it  well-rcmcmbcred  voice;  '1  liavo  made,  you 
was  one  to  which  the  an.\ious  father  could  not  keep  a  long  vigil,  but  it  shall  not  be  an  un- 
satisfactorily reply,  and  he  therefore  did  the  profitable  one.  But  what  is  tins  I"'  he  exclaim- 
best  thing  which  could  be  done  under  such  ,  ed,  hurriedly  glancing  round  :  "  Where  m  the 
circumstances;    he  determined    to   leave  the '  chest." 

matter  to  Providence,  and  to  think  of  some-        The  afTrightcd  Husref  sank  upon  hi*  knccfl, 
thing  else.  '  |and  with  quivering  lips  related  the  whole  hi>- 

The  next  subject  of  contemplation  that  lie  I  tory  of  his  mislbriune.  The  stranger  Imtcncd 
selected  could  not  have  been  a  very  entertain- 1  anxiously,  and  at  the  concluMon  of  tho  niory 
ing  one.  for  he  w as  just  dioppin*:  off  to  sleep,  \  he  broke  into  a  low  and  bitter  laui;li,  ax  ha 
when  an  acquaintance  who  chanced  to  be  murmured  beneath  his  breath  ;  "  Ajaib  I — the 
passing  with  a  larce  bai^in  in  his  hand,  rou.scd  kr.-z*  is  welcome  to  his  prize — ho  knew  not 
him  once  more  into  consciousness  by  offering  his  own  errand,  and  has  t-avcd  u.s  ^oinc  labor, 
to  share  witii  liim  a  copious  draught  of  bozaf  Korkma, — fear  not,  my  friend,  you  are  forgiv- 
which  had  just  been  given  to  him  in  payment  en;  but  look  well  to  yourhelf  in  future,  and 
of  some  service  that  he  had  rendered  to  a  when  you  have  a  troo-surc  In  cliar|;c,  beware 
cafejhe.  ofboza.     Will  you  promise  ine  ilii*  ?" 

The  kluimal  did  not  hesitate  to  accept  tho  ••  Boj-huMtun — on  my  liead  bo  it  !"  Mud 
offer:  and  hi.s  friend,  having  first  wcured  his  Hu>rcf  eniphaieally :  •' 1  urn  tho  klavo  of  mjr 
own  share.  Iiandcd  the  ba>in  to  Husref,  wlio  lord  for  ever.  I  am  Ic.-s  than  o  dog  bclore 
emptied  it  at  a  draught;  and  the  man  having  hiiii — and  here  ;''  and  as  he  >|>«ko  lit'  to<.k  o(f 
passed  on,  he  resumed  his  reverie,  wlncii,  his  raau^d  turban  whence  he  drew  tl»c  hidden 
blending  with  tlic  intoxicating  fumes  of  tlic  piastres,  to  which  ho  added  tht»c  which  he 
boza,  soon  completely  ovcrjiowered  him.  HiSjcarri«l  in  hm  no  los  ruRijcd  i;irdlo  ;  'here 
head  sajik  on  ilic  che*t,  his  linib«  became  re- | arc  the  wages  llial  I  havolorlciled  by  my  mad 
laxed,  his  breathing  heavy,  and  in  five  hcconds  lolly.  'Ihc  value  ol  lheehej.t  I  caimol  rrplacc, 
he  was  dead  asleep.  I  for  I  am  |>o«ir,  and  1  have  a  wilo  and  cighl 
How  long  he  had  been  in  the  land  of  dreams  cliildreii  under  my  Mjualid  n->i,  who  l<>..k  to 
he  knew  not,  wlicn  he  waa  huddenly  nroused  mo  for  bread  ;  wJiilo  I  p«  »i«i»  but  lidrcn  j  araa 
by  the  fearlul  cry  of  '  Van  gucn  var  I"J  and  lu  the  world.  Have  iiicrc)  on  inr,  Kil<  nUiin, 
I  for  Aioae  ddten  paraa  are  my  all.*' 


rocket-moB«7.  ( 

A  tUoaf   b«vtnc*,  cccDf  and  of  T%ki,   ^uMiilr    mud  i 
Bt.  I  Tb*r*  u  a  bf  i 


>TklaC 


166 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


"  Put  up  your  money,"  said  the  stranger, 
turning  a.sidc  Iiis  hand;  "  Do  you  take  me  lor 
as  great  a  brigand  as  the  pezcvenk  who  has 
run  off  \\ith  our  chest  of  cypress- wood  ?  But 
your  eight  ciiihlren — we  must  talk  of  this — I 
will  accompany  you  to  your  house " 

•'  House  !"'  echoed  the  dismayed  khamal : 
"  it  is  a  hovel — my  lord  cannot  pass  under 
Buch  a  roof." 

"  Gel,  gel — come,  come,  no  moie  of  this," 
smiled  tiie  stranger:  '-Ihave  taken  a  liking 
to  you.  in  spite  of  the  strong  boza  and  the  sto- 
len box.  I  must  see  tlie.sc  eight  children,  and 
I  have  already  fasted  many  hours — here  is 
gold — let  your  wife  prepare  for  me  a  pillauf  of 
chicken  well  spiced,  and  purchase  a  rug  for 
me  to  lie  down  upon,  and  "a  prayer-carpet  to 
enable  me  to  perform  my  devotions,  until  I  es- 
tablish myself  elsewhere.  I  wish  to  avoid  the 
public  khans." 

"  My  lord's  will  is  mine  "  said  Husref,  be- 
wildered by  the  extraordinary  -nature  of  the 
proposal,  and  the  contemplation  of  a  chicken- 
pillauf  prepared  at  his  own  mangal  :*  '•  but 
I  have  a  son,  a  youth  of  discretion  and  honesty, 
who  is  keeper  of  a  khan  not  fifty  paces  from 
my  poor  dwelling,  who  vv-ould  lay  his  forehead 
in  the  dust  before  the  saviour  of  his  father; 
and  it  is  so  long  a  time  since  Mine  has  tried 
her  skill  in  the  cooking  of  a  chicken " 

''That  this  morning  she  will  prepare  two 
for  us,  that  the  task  may  be  more  easy,"  in- 
terrupted the  stranger;  "and  now,  let  us 
away  at  once,  for  the  sun  is  rising  above  the 
city  walls,  and  we  have  both  passed  a  busy 
night." 

And  so  saying,  lie  gathered  his  cloak  about 
him  and  turtied  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
the  astonished  Husref. 


CHAPTER  LXVr. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OK  THE  BARBER  OF  BASSORA. 
CONTINUED. 

The  Khamal  and  his  companion  proceeded 
slowly  along  the  narrow  and  gloomy  streets  of 
the  city,  until  they  reached  the  quarter  in 
which  stood  the  squalid  luibitaiion  of  the  be- 
wildered Husref.  As  they  made  their  way 
the  stranger  asked  a  thousand  questions  relat- 
ing to  the  family  of  the  porter,  the  number  of 
his  children  married  and  unmarried,  the  age 
and  temper  of  iiis  wife,  and  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  his  daughters  ;  and  he  could  not 
conceal  his  amusement  when  the  confiding 
Husref.  warmed  into  good  fcllow.shjp  by  the 
condescension  of  his  stately  employer,  impart- 
ed to  him  the  singular  ill  luck  which  had  at- 

*  A  brazier  containing  heated  charcoal. 


tended  all  his  progeny,  and  the  seal  that  had 
been  set  upon  each  at  its  birih. 

"  Mashallah !  'tis  like  an  Arab  tale," 
smiled  the  stranger;  '•  they  brought  a  name 
into  the  world  with  them,  and  you  might  have 
saved  yourself  the  trouble  of  giving  them  a 
second.  However,  something  must  be  done, 
and  I  at  once  adopt  Moctaleb  as  my  own  child, 
for  he  has  the  same  defect  as  myself;  and  as 
I  have  never  found  that  it  affected  my  fortunes, 
neither  ought  it  to  mar  those  of  your  favorite 
son." 

'•Allah  buyuk  der  !"  apostrophised  the  de- 
lighted khamal ;  "  what  am  I  that  my  lord 
should  repay  my  transgression  of  the  past 
night  by  a  benefit  of  which  I  am  too  blind  to 
see  the  limit  ? — But.  yavash,  Effendimou — 
here  is  a  kibaub-shop,  where  I  shall  do  well  to 
turn  a  portion  of  your  gold  into  food.  1  will 
make  my  bargain  and  be  with  yon  in  a  mo- 
ment ;  but  I  must  go  alone,  or  the  bash  peze- 
venk*  will  make  me  pay  with  my  eyes  tor  all 
his  dainties." 

The  stranger  nodded  acquiescence,  and  the 
happy  Husref,  af^suming  a  consequential  air, 
consequent  on  the  contact  of  the  coin  which  he 
held  closely  pressed  against  his  horny  palm, 
stept  gravely  across  ihc  swoln  and  unsavory 
kennel  that  intersected  the  street,  to  the  tempt- 
ing counter  of  the  kibaub-merchant. 

Here  he  gazed  for  awhile  in  luxurious  inde- 
ci.sion,  coveting  every  thing,  and  purchasing 
nothing,  until  he  was  aroused  bytheremon-' 
strance  of  the  dealer,  who  demanded  angrily 
why  he  did  not  pursue  his  path  instead  of 
gloating  over  his  edibles,  and,  perhaps,  for 
aught  he  knew  to  the  contrary,  infecting  his 
food  by  the  influence  of  the  Evil  Eye  at  the 
very  opening  of  the  shutters. 

'•Ne  istersincz — what  do  you  want  ?"'  an- 
swered the  khamal  impatiently,  '■  I  come  here 
as  a  customer — Give  me  a  basin  of  tehorba,f 
a  dish  of  dolinas,J  a  lump  of  keftas,^  half  s 
dozen  quails  for  the  pillauf,  as  many  kibaul 
skewers,  half  an  oke  of  tchalva.H  a  dozer 
fetyrs,*'*  and  a  chicken." 

•'  Ajaib  ust — it  is  wonderful !"  said  themer 
chant,  stroking  down  liis  well-trimmed  an< 
bu.shy  beard  ;  "  a  khamal  boldly  orders  the  re 
past  of  a  Pasha ;  but  the  piastres — where  ar' 
they  ?" 

The  customer  replied  by  slowly  opening  hi 
fingers  and  displaying  the  piece  of  gold. 

'•  Chok  chay — that  is  much,"  said  the  ki 
baub-merchant ;  "  now  we  will  to  business. 
And  without  further  delay  he  began.to  pac 
the  required  dainties  into  a  small  basket. 

Wiieii  the  articles  were  safely  arranged,  th 
bargaining  commenced,  and  the  a.sseveratiot 
of  the  dealer,  who  swore  lustily  by  his  bear 

*  Great  rocue.  t  Sonp. 

t  Bills  made  of  rice  and  chopped  meat.      $  Force  me? 

II  A  composition  of  flour,  honey  and  oil. 

••  Thin  cakes  eaien  warm,  with  honey  or  sugar. 


TIIE  ROMANCE   OF  THE  IIAREM.  151 

that  lie  was  nimnst  giving  away  liis  property,  I  A  word  from  Husrrf,  as  ho  followed  cIoko 
had  nut  (he  sliylitcst  cfloct  ujion  tlic  khamal  :  boliimi  his  employer,  .sent  the  wnmmi  KJiriek- 
who,  when  he  found  tliat  the  kibaub-uierehant  ing  behind  the. ^ereen  ;  and  revealed  Inlly  to  iho 
was  deierniineii  to  hold  out  until  «)ic  ia.st  mo-  stranijer  a  faet  wlueh  lie  liad  already  .suRp«et- 
ment.  gravely  remarked  that  there  wore  other  ed— li  mu.s  indeed  ids  own  Um  che«i  which 
shops  in  the  eily  whose  owners  had  the  fear  stood  in  the  centre  of  ihc  kluunalH  lloor. 
of  the  Prophet  before  their  eyts,  and  turned  As  for  liie  astonished  Hnsref.  ho  darted  for- 
towards  the  door.  His  departure  was,  how-  ward,  and  flung  liims.df  upon  tho  box  in  an 
ever,  by  no  means  to  be  permitted;  and,  ac-  extaey  of  delight — oalled  it  his  eyen,  and  hm 
cordingly.  after  a  little  more  wrangling,  the  soul— and  eommillcd  a  thousand  '  exiravo- 
gold  coin  of  the  stranger  was  changed,  the  biu;-  gancies,  which,  in  so  crave  a  man  were  liko 
ket   shouldered   by   the  khamal,   and    himself  |  the    gambols    of    a   donkey  :  while    the  three 

youths  lookeil  on  in  a.-^tonishmcnl.  and  glanced 
Iroin  their  excited  father  to  lii.s  silent  compan- 


ion in  undisguised  amaze. 

"  Na  tone,  na  to  ne — there  it  is,  tlicre  it  is  !" 


sturdily  on  his  way  to  rejoin  his  employer. 

[n  a  short  time  alter  the  purchase  was  made, 
Husre.'  stopped  at  the  threshold  of  Jiis  dwel- 
ling.    It  was  the   remnant  of  what  had  once 

been  asulstantial  and  spacious  house,  but  time  i  at  length  exclaimed  tlie  happy  Husref:  'the 
and  fire  had  left  it  little  more  than  a  tottering  very  chest  which  my  lord  gave  into  my  keep- 
and  blackened  wreck.  Portions  of  wall,  of  a  ing  !  Allali  buyuk  der — He  is  i^real  ;  and  my 
thickness  which  might  apparently  have  defied  face  is  whitened.  Wallah  billah  I  I  mayonca 
destruction,  were  still  visible  ;  but  the  princi-  more  lift  up  my  liead  in  the  bazAr,  for  my 
pal  part  of  the  structure  had  been  composed  felech  has  wafflicd  away  my  shame — Speak 
of  wood,  and  all  that  now  remained,  save  the  Ktlendimou — my  master,  is  not  thiM  indeed  tho 
rude  and  solid  blocks  of  masonry  already  al-  .  stolen  box.'' 

'.uded  to,  were  irregularly  shaped  and  smoky- 1  '•  It  is  indeed  :"  said  the  stranger  with  a 
looking  spaces,  cumbered  with  rubbish  and  bitter  laugh;  and  all  that  it  contains  w  my 
creeping  plants,  and  grim  with   ruin.     Niched    property."' 

dmong  these  uninviting  relics  of  bygone  com-  A  faint  shriek  was  iicard  from  behind  the 
ibrt,  and  leaning  against  one  of  the  remaining  screen,  followed  by  an  angry  whisper  ;  and 
fragments  of  wall,  rose  the  wooden  tenement  the  stranger  started  and  turned  sudilenly  to- 
of  Husref  the  khamal,  like  the  abode  of  the  ward  the  tallest  of  the  ymiiiH.  an  he  demand- 
presiding  genius  of  destruction  :  and  through  ed  sternly:  ''Has  the  lid  of  lliiit  chcut  been 
the  ill-hung  door  of  this  squalid  dwelling  did  lifted  ?  And  how  came  it  lierc  ?"' 
he  lead  the  stranger:  who  however  he  might  i  "  Let  not  my  lord  nur.-^c  disj)le!i8iire  a^^ainst 
'aave  prepared  himself  for  the  sight  of  poverty  his  slave."  answered  the  youn^'  mnn  d<prccat- 
and  discomtort,  found  that  the  reality  tar  out-  ingly  ;  "•  My  father  left  his  home  )enciday  at 
ran  his  anticipations.  !  dawn  to  jdy  his  trade  in  the  eiiy.  and  forniuiiy 

The  hovel  consisted  of  one iinmcn.«erouglily-  hours  we  heeded  not  an  absence  which  wax 
paved  apartment,  a  portion  being  screened  oil  frequently  of  long  (ccurreiico;  but  wlicn  (h« 
for  the  harem  by  a  time-worn  curiain  of  baize,  niglil  fell,  our  mother  became  resilesji  ami  un- 
attached to  the  ceiling  and  walls,  by  huge  hapj>y.  Some  evil  had  |K-reliaiicc  overtaken 
skewers  of  tough  wood.  Not  an  elfort  at  her  husband — wc  all  lu«  ed.  for  wo  had  no 
ornament  or  even  comfort  was  visible  ;  all  provision  in  the  hou.-e  ;  and  oji  llie  darkiiei>a 
was  bleak,  cheerless,  uncompromising  poverty,  became  more  dense,  and  our  alarm  inen-ajicd, 
The  wretched  divan  which  occupied  one  side  I  »cl  olF  to  vcareh  for  my  foliier  in  liio  city 
of  the  outer  apartment  was  covered  with  blue  »lrecln.  For  honni  I  wandend  hilier  and 
and  white  cheeked  cotton,  patched  with  pieces  Ihi'licr,  liavin;.'  no  clue  to  direct  ii)yati-|>ii; 
of  stuff  of  all  colors  and  quililics;  and  ihc  the  i.iglil  advanced,  and  ihero  were  low  jror- 
only  object  that  relieved  the  eye  wojj  the  ■'jiis  stirring  suvo  llio  ;{uard,  who.  a'*  Ihcy  pa- 
branch  of  a  wild  fig-tree  which  hud  rooted  il-  Irolh-d  the  town.  Irt-quenlly  cbliKcd  ino  (o 
pelf  among  the  rubbish  of  the  ruin,  and  now  crouch  down,  lo  avoid  ihcin,  hut  Ihey  nhould 
flaunted  its  rich  lar;.'e  leaves  through  the  rude  make  me  prinonrr  :  and  il  Wi»»  wt.cn  ihu«  m- 
unglazed  op  ■ningthat  hcr^-cd  an  a  window,  and  dcavonng  lo  e«cai>c  Iheir  iii  lico  in  Ibo  ncigh- 
could  only  be  secured  from  the  weather  by  a  torhotxl  of  lhf> (treat  .Mumiu",  il.a-.  n*  I  skulked 
wooden  shutter.  ;  into  a  corner,  I  htruek  my  h>  ad  ngniiml  •  hard 

But.  a»iiie  stranger  i>t'"pped  across  the  threnh-  »ub«tancr.  which  I  at  once  ducovrntl  lo  be  a 
old,  he  saw  nothing  of  all  ihin,  for  hm  k^^zc  che«f.  A^lolll^h<■d  at  micIi  a  eireni-iotanro  ;— 
was  riveted  on  a  groop  in  the  centre  of  tho  for,  lu  Ihc  iwldirrii  pa>ocd  on,  I  a'eclainrd 
floor.  Kneeling  U|ion  the  atonea,  her  head  bonl  that  no  livin:;  itoul  wan  in  ihc  rlrrct,  I  alone* 
over  a  chest,  and  her  face  uncovered,  he  beheld  undcmtood  tliat  lliiii  munt  be  on  iiniiirdiala  in- 
the  wife  of  t;ie  khamal,  while  beside  her  mood  lerponilion  of  my  l'«  lech  ;  nod  I  re-olvrd  to 
thice  youths,  one  of  whom  wagtail  and  hand-  powenji  iiivm  If  of  the  box  iin'.ii  il.r  rrturii  of 
Bome  :  and  cloiic  bclund  her  a  younger  female,  my  falln-r,  w  ho  would  be  alio  lo  d.-nd"  on  the 
who  had  a  uttcrwi  shawl  flung  about hnr  head,   slcpj  nccetaary   lo  b«  token   with   my   prizA 


158 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


Having  come  1o  tliis  det'..sion,  I  slowly  left  the 
Mosque,  and  with  the  chest  on  my  shoulder, 
turned  in  the  direction  of  our  abode  :  but  the 
reappearance  of  the  city-iiuard  eoiiipelied  me 
to  diverge  Irom  the  direct  path,  and  to  take 
one  much  more  circuitous:  for  1  well  knew 
that  whatever  might  be  the  contents  of  the 
box.  my  appearance,  and  the  incoherent  ac- 
count which  I  should  giv^,  both  of  it  and  my-  j  found  by  any  passer-by 
self,    could  not  fai 


rest  the  chest  against  a  block  of  masonry  while 
I  pushed  back  the  door,  it  slipped  from  my 
hold  and  burst  open  with  the  fall." 

"And  y«u  saw  the  contents?"  asked  the 
stranger. 

'•  Even  so,"  replied  the  youth  :  "  and  havnig 
done  so,  I  determined  at  once  to  carry  the  box 
to  some  obscure  spot,  and  there  leave  it  to  be 

, J  by  any  passer-by  ;  but  as  I  prepared  to 

o  create  suspicion  which  [do  so,  I  recognized  the  cord  that  was  about  it 


might  entail  upon  me  dangei 

destruction.      While   I   was 

cry  of  '  Fire  !'  came  on  the  wind,  and  I  hastily 

looked  about  for  a  secure  hiding-place  for  my 

treasure,  that  I  might  hurry  to  the  assistance 

of  the  unfortunates  whom  Allah  had  visited 

in  his  wrath. 

"Ijeadily  found  one  ;  for,  not  a  hundred 
paces  from  the  spot  where  I  stood,  I  remem- 
bered to  have  often  remarked  a  small  enclos- 
ure containing  a  tomb  which  must  have  been 
that  of  some  one  of  note  ;  for  the  iron  grating 
that  enclosed  it  had  been  richly  wrought  and 
gilt,  and  there  were  traces  of  the  chisel  on  the 
solid  masonry  of  the  monument.     But  its  glo- 


,  if  not  absolute  j  to   be   that   of  my    father:    and    I    instantly 
thus   engaged,  a  I  changed  my  resolution,  and  having  closed  the 
lid,  I  brought  the   mysterious  chest  into  the 
house." 

"  Mysterious  indeed  !"  murmured  the  Strang- : 
er  as  if  unconsciously:  hut  instantly  recov- 
ering himself,  he  said  blandly  :  •'  Enough  of 
this  for  to-day,  good-youth  :  we  are  all  weary;: 
let  us  eat  and  drink,  and  then  endeavor  to 
sleep.  Close  the  door,  and  shut  out  the  grow- 
ing light  ;  lend  ine  a  bcenish  to  wrap  about 
me.  or  a  rug  to  lie  down  upon,  when  we  have 
finished  our  repast  ;  and  as  I  have  brought 
terror  under  your  roof  by  the  contiMits  of  that' 
unlucky  box,  I  will  to-night  make  you  ac- 
quainted with  their  history.     We   all  require 


ry  had  long  been  gone  by  :  the  iron  balustrade 

had  rusted  and  given  way  :  and  a  rank  crop  j  rest  ;  and  while  I  am   your   guest,   you   shal 

of  nettles  gr^w   about  the  stonework  of  tlie  j  have  a  respite  from  labor.     So  now,   khamal 


tomb.  Among  these  weeds  I  concealed  the 
chest,  and  then  echoing  the  thrilling  cry  of 
'  Yan  gU"en  var  ?'  I  sprang  forward  in  the  di- 
rection of  tlie  fl-imes,  which  were  already  drap- 
ing the  solemn  heavens  with  crimson,  and 
putting  out  the  stars. 

"  For  a  while  I  forgot  the  chest ;  for  as  the 
■burning  rafiers  give  way,  and  in  their  fall 
flung  showers  of  golden  stars  against  the  sky. 
I  heard  a  faint  cry  of  anguish;  it  was  the 
voice  of  a  woman:  and  I  remember  only  that 
in  the  next  moment  I  w^as  surrounded  by  fire, 
bright,   s»..orching  fire,   which   seemed   to  dry 


to  our  repast." 

After  some  delay  the  meal  was  served ;  bu 
first  the  three-fingered  Chiamil  had  to  seel' 
coals  to  heat  the  mangal,  and  the  one-sidet 
Ritfat  butter  to  stew  the  pillauf :  while  thi' 
hump-backed  Djamile,  with  a  shred  of  well 
mended  muslin  folded  about  her  face,  spreai' 
the  tray,  and  filled  the  delf  cups  with  watei 
Mine  was  all  activity  ;  she  hurried  the  exer 
tions  of  the  limping  Libabo,  restrained  tli 
volubility  of  the  hump-backed  Djamil^.  an 
shook  her  clenched  hand  at  the  mischievou 
Zei'nip,  wliose  deafness  rendered  her  inaccess ' 


the  marrow  in  my  bones  ;  and  that  I  was  busy   ble  to  wordy  menace, 
tearing  from  the  head   and   face  of  a  young        Thanks  to  these  feminine  exertions,  all  wr 
female    ?•,   blazing  veil  of  muslin  which  she   at  length  ready,  and  the  stranger  having  ii. 
clutched  with  convulsive  power — Then  I  was   sisted  that  Husrcf  and  his  sons  should  share  h 
once   more   in  the  free  air,  with  the  wind  of    meal,  they  were  soon  squatted  round  tlie  tra' 
heaven  playing  upon  my  brow  ;  and  the  young   feasting  heartily  upon  such  fare  as  they  hf  ■ 
beauty  whom  I  had  saved  was  in  the  arms  of    never  before  tasted  save  in  their  dreams  :  whi 
an  aged  Emir,  who  was  covering  her  with  the  i  the  women,  carefully  veiled,  waited  on  the 
shawl  from  his  own  waist,  and  calling  upon  '  most  assiduously,  and  dexterously  changed  tl 
her  by  every  tender  name  that  parental  fond-  \  dishes  in  time  to  secure  for  themselves  a  sul 
ness  ever  lavished  upon  the  object  of  its  idol-  '  eient  portion  of  their  contents. 


atry,  to  look  up  and  tell  her  anxious  father 
that  she  lived.  But  the  faded  lily  spoke  not 
— and  at  length — "'" 

"  You  remembered  the  chest,  and  returned 
to  seek 
khamal 


The  meal  over,  Husref  and  his  guest  lightcj 
their  chibouques,  and  established  Ihemselv 
on  the  hard,  straw-stulTcd  divan  ;  while  t 
young  men  retired  to  the  lower  end  of  t 
was  it  not  so.  my  son?"  asked  the  '  apartment,  to  converse  in  whispers  on  the  ' 
I  traordinary  events  of  the  night,  and  the  woiin 


"  I  did,"  replied  Moctaleb  ;  "  and  the  dawn   huddled  together  behind  the  screen,  rapidly 
was  breaking  as  I  reached  the  burial  place,  j  molished  the  reliques  of  the  feast. 
and  once  more  took  possession  of  my  jirize.     1 1      In  another  hour  all  slept  under  the  roof  ' 
how  dreaded  no  encounter,  and  walked  boldly  j  the  khamal;  and  the  muezzin  had  proclaim 
forward  with  iny  burthen,  until  I  reached  the  i  the  mid-day  prayer  from  the  minaret  of  eve 
threshold  of  my  home;  when  endeavoring  to  |  mosque  in  the  city  ere  the  weary  family  w< 


THE  ROMANCE  01-    THE   HAREM.  169 

again  astir.  Aiiotlici  1|  .arty  meal  commenced  I  "  My  mother,  Gumu.--li,»  wa.s  tlio  dauj-htcr 
the  business  of  the  day  ;  ami  although  to  avoid  I  of  a  lapidary  who  hiid  moio  .••eiencu  than 
the  observntion  of  the  neighbors,  Husrcf  and  |  piastres,  and  who.'^e  forlune  wiib  to  (lie  full  ua 
his  sons  bent  their  way  to  the  bazflr  and  min-  i  hard  as  the  gems  he  fiinhioned.  I  never  knew 
gled  with  llie  crowd,  they  only  purchased  pro- ;  lier  save  as  a  widow;  for  my  lather  expired  of 
visions,  and  returned  home  as  evening  set  in.  '  plague  in  the  Desert  before  I  wiih  n  )car  old  ; 
to  listen  to  the  promised  n.urative  of  the  ,  caught  a.s  we  were  told,  by  liih  huvin«  rilled 
stranger.  tlic  pockets  of  a  d\ing  hadji  who  had  joined 

The  appointed  hour  arrived,  and  the  owner  I  the  caravan  about  •nii  hour  before,  with  the 
of  the  chest  having  directed  Moctaleb  to  lift  it  |  poL^on  in  his  veins.  My  eldest  brother  took 
into  the  centre  of  the  floor,  seated  himself  upon  charge  of  the  caravan,  and  eondui-tcd  it  safely 
a  bcenish  beside  it.  and  leaning  his  elbow  upon  to  it.s  destination  ;  but  we  suddenly  lest  m^'IiI 
the  lid.  as  the  khamal  and  his  family  squatted  of  him.  and  it  was  not  until  many  years  afler- 
themsclves  beside  him,  he  calmly  desired  the  I  wards,  when  my  mother  was  no  more,  niid  I 
young  man  to  explain  the  nature  of  its  con-  was  established-in  my  native  city,  that  wo 
tents.  I  again  heard  of  liiin  as  un  eminent  Emor  Hadji 

Moctaleb    turned    pale,    and    involuntarily  i  trading  to  and  Irom  ftagdail. 
glanced  towards  his  father.  "  As  for  me,   my  motlior   having    married 

"You  are  an  ass,  and  the  father  of  asses  !'•  again,  and  her  husband,  a  handsome  young 
said  Husref  impatiently.  '■  there  can  be  neither  sekeljliif  being  to  the  full  as  mnmored  of  her 
an  afrit  nor  a  ghoul  shut  into  the  chest — Why  j  piastres  as  of  her  person,  and  finding  mc  dc- 
then  do  you  not  speak?'  [  termined  ogaiiist  following  Jus  surfeiting  trodo 

"  It  contain.':,*' replied  the  young  man  in  a  under  his  very  unpromising  auspices,  provision 
low  voice.  •'  a  human  eye.  a  human  ear,  a  foot,  !  was  soon  made  for  nie  in  the  shop  of  an  Ar- 
a  heart,  a  hand,  and  a  dagger "  !  menian  barber,  whose  skill   in  bleeding  and 

"  True,  as  though  the  Ibn  Shallah*  himself  shaving  w.is  notorious  through  the  whole  city, 
had  counted  them,'"  said  the  imperturbable  '' The  bu.slle  and  go.vsipry  of  the  public  room 
stranger:  and  then  regardless  of  the  horror  delighted  me.  Not  an  occurrenbe  could  take 
which  was  depicted  on  every  countenance  place  in  Ba^sora  but  it  was  whispered  in  tho 
around  him.  he  slowly  laid  his  spread  palm  on  liousc  of  my  master  :  not  an  event  was  prog- 
the  lid  of  the  chest,  and  began  his  story.  ,  nostieatcd  but  the  projdiecy  might  be  traced 

I  to  one  of  his  customers.     In  .'^hori,  it  was  the 
news-room    and    scaiidal-fuctory  of   tho   city. 
Many  a  worthy  Moslem  lost  his  beard  on  the 
CHAPTER  LXVII.  very  spot  where  his  wite  liad  lo>t  her  charac- 

ter not  an  hour  belbre  ;  ami  n<it  tinirequcntly 
THE  ADVENTURES  OF  Tiij:  BARBER  OF  BASSORA  1  the  cause  of  thc  OHC  asiiititcd  ut  the  duupprar- 
— CONTI.NUED.  I  an(*e  of  the  other. 

I      "  Excited  ond  amused   by  llio  converealion 

"  My  name  is  Hussein,  and  I  was  born  in  of  thc  cus'.omcrs,  I  soon  became  an  adept  in 
this  good  city  of  Bas.<:ora  just  four-and-forly  thc  businciis,  and  al  twelve  yenrx  oUI,  standing 
years   ago,   during  thc   fea.st  of  thc  Bairam,    upon  a  stool.  !  !  '     '    '      '.in  of  many 

amid  festivities  and  rejoicings  which  were  con-    of  the  least  i  :  the  rftab- 

sidered  to  be  of  good  omen  both  to  mother  and    lishnunt       1'  •  '  •  of    thingi 

child.     How  far  they  fulfilled   thc  prophecy   could  !• 
■will  appear  hereafter.  i       '' A>  I  I  began  to  twidt  my  tur- 

"  My  father  had  been  an  Emir  Hadj.f  a  man    bon  iir-  mid  to  give  an  extra  turn 

of'good  repute,  and  tolerable  fortune  :  who  had  to  my  giniie  ,  lur  an  I  walked  through  thc  bazAr 
^ore  than  once  conducted  a  caravan  of  Frankn  to  o[»cratc  »|>on  some  of  our  wrailhier  employ- 
across  the  Desert,  and  been  generously  paid  crs  at  ihcir  own  liousrn,  I  not  unfrrquonlly 
by  the  Infidels  for  his  guidance  and  protection,  caught  the  low  murmur  of  admtrnlion  which 
Some  evil  tongues  had  indeed  insinuated  more  mofe  frrni  h^i)««!»!h  (!t«-  yn.«!unt''-<  of  th"  women 
than  once   that,  in   t:  and  appa-    .      ■  1 

rently  not  altosher  a<  JcrsoJ  his    • 

caravans  with  the  pr- •■  -.rocrs  of  a    •  u 

good   understanding    nii;^lit    Lc   ilifcerned    be-    ;  jji*. 

twcen  him  and  his  enemies,  which  eoiwidrr-    :  i.ce; 

ably  militated  against  his  integniy,  while  Ihcy    L..^ If  lo- 

increascd  the  contents  of  his  jcppa:|  but  the    jurcd.  and  li>  •  rsrry  indi- 

world  is  CO  censorious  that  it  is  only  pnidrnt    vidual  who  it-  mt'tl  I  (>»• 

to  Khut  thc  oara  of  coDvicttoo  agaitwi  the  voico  J  came   convinexi   t  '.   '.hn 

of  reproach.  name  whieh  wus  if  :  ."  of 


'  Sob  of  injrt.     1  A  comioctct  of  f  llfriou-     i  Tockat.  I 


160 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREiL 


'  the  handsome  Tlarbar  of  Bassora  ;'  and  to  en- 1 
courage  a  horde  of  romantic  and  foolish  visions 
that  well  nigh  turned  my  brain. 

"  Tlie  few  spare  piastres  wliich  I  had  for- 
merly spent  in  tchalva  and  mahalibe,  I  now  j 
hoarde(J  until  they  would  purchase  for  me 
some  articles  of  finery  ;  and  I  listened  with 
avidity  to  the  talcs  of  the  massaidjis  when 
thoj  told  tlie  love  of  the  great  lady  of  a 
princely  harem  for  some  lowly  one  of  the  land. 

"My  beard  and  mustachios  were  as  black 
and  bright  as  the  wing  of  the  raven  :  and  I 
never  failed  when  I  was  about  to  apply  the 
perfumed  oil  to  the  shaven  head  of  a  customer, 
to  pass  my  open  palm  over  them  as  if  by  acci- 
dent ;  by  wliich  means  they  became  thick  and 
glossy,  ami  were  the  envy  of  many  a  proud 
young  Bey,  who  would  have  paid  every  hair 
with  a  piastre,  could  he  have  called  them  his 
own. 

"  You  may  imagine  what  ensued  ;  and  you 
will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  soon  li.s- 
tened  in  trembling  to  many  a  tale  of  scandal, 
of  which  I  previously  knew  all  the  details. 
Many  comments  were  made  upon  my  dress, 
which  had  gradually  become  more  and  more 
expensive ;  and  suspicions  of  the  truth  were 
iiOMietimcs  hinted  to  me  by  the  gay  young  Bey- 
zadehs  who  passed  occasionally  under  my 
hand  ;  but  as  my  discretion  was  even  more 
powerful  than  my  vanity,  I  affected  never  to 
unders:aud  their  inferences,  and  they  at  length 
grew  weary  of  criticising  alike  my  garments 
and  my  humor. 

"  I  led  this  life  for  3-ears;  during  wiiieh  my 
master  died,  and  left  me  sole  heir  to  his  busi- 
ness, with  a  trilling  sum  in  money,  which  I 
gave  in  secret  to  my  mother,  whose  young 
husband  had  long  ago  forgotten  that  he  owed 
to  her  his  present  prosperity,  and  who  felt  the 
Bting  of  poverty  coupled  with  the  bitterness  of 
neglect.  The  will  of  Allah,  however,  was 
soon  accomplished  :  for  the  tears  of  regret  at 
her  past  folly,  which  sl\c  continually  shed, 
brought  her  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  she 
Bank  gently  into  it.  with  a  blessing  upon  her 
lips,  which  was  all  for  me  ! 

"  I  rcsiuned  to  no  one  my  place  at  the  head 
of  her  codiii,  and  I  stood  and  saw  the  earth 
flung  upon  the  remains  of  my  misguided  but 
gentle  parent ;  and  when  I  turned  away,  I  re- 
membered that  jny  brother's  abode  was  un- 
known to  me,  and  that  1  was  alone  in  the  world. 

"  But  this  fcelin'i  of  sadne.s.s  did  not  last 
long  ;  the  path  of  life  was  strewn  with  flowers 
for  me,  and  the  death  of  my  mother  was  a 
dark  cloud  which  soon  passed  away  from  the 
sky  of  my  existence.  I  divided  my  time  be- 
tween the  duties  of  my  profession,  which  I 
lightened  by  jjiquant  anecdotes  drawn  from 
secret  and  authentic  sources,  which  bewilder- 
ed and  deliglite.l  my  listeners  ;  and  by  the  la- 
bors of  the  toilette,  where  1  worshipped  with 
ail  the  ardor  of  vanity. 


"  Years  passed  over  me,  and  a  new  race  of 
beauties  afforded  mo  new  opportunities  of  con- 
quest ;  1  was  courted  for  iny  personal  beauty, 
and  trusted  for  my  discretion  ;  and  I  should 
probably  have  lived  and  died  happily,  had  not 
my  evil  stars  led  me  one  day  at  noon  under 
the  windows  of  the  harem  of  a  wealthy  Bey, 
who  was  absent  ou  an  expedition  in  a  distant 
province. 

'•  To  amuse  the  solitude  of  his  young  wife, 
the  Bey  had  invited  to  his  palace  his  only  sis- 
ter, who  was  betrothed  to  the  Pasha  of  Damas- 
cus ;  and  this  fair  dame,  who  by  no  means 
relished  the  retirement  in  wliich  the  wife  of 
her  brother  thought  proper  to  spend  the  months 
of  his  absence,  had  already  decided  on  depart- 
ing from  Bassora;  when  on  the  day  in  ques- 
tion,  as  she  sat  playing  with  her  tusbce  on  the  ■ 
divan  under  the  easement,  gazing  through  the 
lattices,  and  wishing  herself  far  from  the  dull 
palace  of  her  kinsman,  she  chanced  to  see  mo 
pass  along  the  street. 

"  '  Tchapouk,  tehapouk — quick,  quick,  Sel- 
hai,'  she  exclaimed  to  a  slave  who  was  passing' 
through  the  apartment ;  '  for  the  first  time  I 
see  a  handsome  man  in  Bassora — kim  der— 
who  is  it  ?' 

'•  '■  Efiendim,'  replied  the  maiden,  as  she 
glanced  through  the  jalousie  ;  •  the  sun  shines 
on  our  street  to-day  :  that  is  Hussein  the  Bar- 
ber.' 

"  '  Barber  !'  echoed  the  young  beauty  incre 
dulously  ;  '  Mashallah  !  if  tiie  barbers  of  Bas 
sora  carry  such  brows  as  that,  your  BcyzaJeh 
must  touch  the  clouds  !' 

'•  'Nevertheless,  madam,  that  is  in  truth  Hus 
sein  the  barber  ;  and  if  thezamparalik*  of  th 
city  may  be  depended  on,  you  are  not  the  fin 
young  beauty  whom  his  bright  eyes  hav 
thralled.' 

'• '  Ey  vah  !'  replied  the  lady.  '  you  are  f( 
quick-wilted,  Sclhiii  ;  but  your  barber  mn 
well  turn  the  heads  of  half  the  city  beautie 
Does  he  vend  perfumes  and  essences  ?" 

'•  '  Both,  and  of  the  best,'  answered  tl 
slave;  when,  receiving  no  further  intimati( 
that  her  presence  was  required,  she  proceed' 
on  her  errand,  and  the  Bey's  sister  was  1( 
alone. 

I  shall  not  weary  you  with  words.  E 
long  the  lady  repented  her  request  to  quit  t 
city,  and  the  very  name  of  the  Pasha  of  E 
mascus  became  distasteful  to  her:  but  s. 
was  nevertheless  compelled  to  abide  by  an  >, 
rangement  which  she  had  herself  made;  a,| 
you  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  ere  f  ■ 
took  leave  of  her  brother's  wife,  I  had  alrea 
disposed  of  my  business,  settled  all  myaffai 
and  was  ou  my  way  to  the  ancient  city 
Damnscus. 

'•  I  had  taken  care  to  provide  myself  wi 
sufficient  raiment  of  goodly  fashion  and  ma' 


TKE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAUEM. 


m 


rial,  to  obliterate  every  trace  of  the  barber  '  of  tlie  fancy,  but  that  I  \vn«  really  summoned 
from  my  appearance  :  and  as  the  Paslia  had  ,  to  liio  presence  of  ilic  l*a.sliii«  brido,  my  heart 
sent  a  paity  of  his  own  people  to  escort  the  became  divided  between  joy  and  icrror.  True 
lady  and  some  of  the  slaves  of  liis  own  harem  I  loved  the  lady;  but  the  love  of  a  \uiii 
to  attend  her,  there  was  little  danijcr  of  de-  young  man  who  lias  beon  tan«ht  ihc  value  of 
tection  wiien  I  boldly  presented  niysi-h"  at  tlie  his  own  altriiclions.  is  never  hullii-n'nllv  di- 
palace  af  the  Pashalic,  and  announced  myself  vested  of  st.lfi.slnH's.s  to  impel  Inm  locxircmiiy 
as  the  youni;cr  son  of  a  noble  house,  anxious'  in  the  indulgence  of  Ins  ali'ceiioim.  A.s  I  lejt 
to  serve  under  the  Satrap  of  Damascus.  ,  towards    the   Pa.sha's  wile,  so  had    I   already 

'•The  Vuzbashi  of  the  palace-guard  was  I'ell  towards  several  oilier  beauties ;  llu.  hole 
won  by  my  appearance,  and  when,  as  we  tie  which  she  |>o.>*.-c8,>icd  upon  my  hcari  thai 
stopped  to  take  coffee  together  in  the  bazar.  I  j  was  new  to  it.s  ex|)eriencc,  wa«  the  piido  of  a 
presented  to  him  an  amber  inouth-picce  which  .  nobler  conquest  than  any  it  had  ycl  miule. 
he  chanced  to  admire  as  we  tilled  oufchibou- !  "■  With  this  divided  and  calm  spirit  of  cai- 
ques from  my  own  tobacco-purse,  he  vowed  culation,  the  idea  of  the  cnm.son  lent  of  iho 
an  eternal  friendship  with  his  new  and  liberal  harem-garden  brouulit  with  it  a  heavy  leehnj; 
ally.  IK-  was  a  brave  younu  man  and  much  of  probable  damjer.  The  walls  were  hi:;h  • 
Lcloved  by  the  Pasha;  and  he  might  have  the  night  clear  and  moonlight;  ihe  paiuce- 
alarmcd  my  vanity,  had  he  not  been  distigured  guard  zealous  and  alert;  and  J  wa<i  but  too 
by  a  scymitar  wound  which  had  distorled  his  conscious  that  if  I  were  surprised  by  the  ne- 
features.  and  given  a  grim  expression  to  his  .  groes  of  the  I'asha  they  would  extend  liillo 
^unienance.  mercy  to  my  crime. 

•With  such  an  advocate,  I  soon  found  my-  "  I  flung  iny.<«elf  upon  my  divan  in  a  tumult 
self  a  member  of  the  Satrap's  household  ;  and  .  of  tiiought.  The  very  hope  of  such  an  odveu- 
as  my  heart  was  light,  and  my  humor  joyous,  ture  had  brought  me  to  Damascus,  and  yet 
1  speedily  became  a  favorite  in  the  palace ;!  now  that  it  presenird  itself  a  forebodinn  of 
but  the  liaiem  was  a  sealed  book  :  and  des- 1  evil  grew  uj«n  me  winch  would  not  l>o  .»haken 
pile  all  my  endeavors,  I  could  not  even  succeed  i  olf.  There  wa>,  nevertheless,  no  alicrnulivc; 
ill  addressing  one  of  the  slaves.  |  my   position    in    the   Pasha's    hou.'-ehold   waji 

"As  1  had  not  abandoned  my  liberty  at  I  worse  than  precarious  should  I  oli'end  his  lut 
Bas-soia  to  lead  the  life  of  a  dependent  at  Da-  ,  and  favorite  wife;  and  in  our  inierviewii  at 
maficus.  1  soon  began  to  repenl  my  ]ireeipita-  ,  lias.sora,  1  had  had  many  opportuiiitie«  ol  lu- 
tion,  and  to  meditate  a  return  to  my  native  cerlainiug  that  the  tair  HaU;  wa*  n*  uiietn:- 
city,  when  one  evening  as  I  was  slowly  cros-  promiMim  in  her  hate  as  in  her  love  ;  and  that 
sing  the  ccurt-yard  to  visit  the  guards,  an  aged  ,  she  would  probuhly  not  hetitatc  to  Mocrifice 
woiiian.  evidently  belonging  to  the  Pasha's  even  me.  should  she  believe  me  capable  of 
harem,  passed  close  beside  me.  and  muttering  j  sliglmng  her  afreetnm. 

*'  Ekhi  kateti — there  is  something,'  in  an  uii-  •'Thus  then  I  resolved  totruat  to  my  felech,^ 
der  tone,  and  with  an  air  of  mystery,  dropped  !  and  to  obey  her  suniinonn ;  with  a  linn  delPf- 
a  small  cinbroidered  handkerchief  at  my  feet '  minution  to  repic-cnt  t4.  her  durin;;  the  inter- 
as  if  by  accident,  and  then  shuflled  hastily  ;  view,  all  the  perils  whieh  bchcl  in.  both  .  and 
away.  j  to  implore  her  for  heroMii  nake  to  bid  me  (are* 

'*  I  did  not  immediately  stoop  to  secure  the  .  well  lor  ever.  Dunnu'  my  re.-idrnco  in  the 
prize;  but  stopping  suddenly  a*  if  by  an  iin- 1  palace,  I  hoil  he^ird  fri;:hiful  laJeji  of  the 
pulse  of  thought.  I  stood  lor  a  minu.e  or  two  |  J'uelia's  jealousy,  and  it*  clTfts  and  aa  ha 
motionless;  and  then  letting  fall  my  own  ,  wa*  pajuuonalel)  attached  to  the  lovely  Habr, 
handkerchief  U|)on  that  which  lay  on  the  i  I  could  but  apprehend  the  womlnbould  he  di»- 
ground.  lest  I  miL'ht  be  walclied  from  the  pal-  cover  that  nhe  did  not  return  hii  attarhiiient. 
ace-windows.  I  picked  up  both  together,  and  |  '•  With  thia  resolution.  I  remained  quietly  la 
thrust  them  into  my  girdle.  liny  chumU-r   until   the  dark  cloudu  of  night, 

'When  I  liati  rciirc<l  to  my  chamber  I  loct  powdered  with  »ilvcr  dro|»,  dra|)ed  the  |>alo 
no  time  iii  examining  the  mysirrious  handker-  moon  in  her  tuIm*  of  midnight ;  whrn  ^t<•allhll)r 
chief,  and.  as  1  had  ex|>cc!ed,  I  found  aiiud  ila  ,  pa*»inK  the  |ialaco  gales  I  eroiielu-d  along 
folds  a  small  roll  of  paper,  on  which  were  i  under  the  wall  of  Ihe  garden  until,  amid  the 
written  tliese  words —  I  lree«,  I  »aw  the  golden  ereacrnt  ol  the  panlioa 

''Hus.'cin — you  know  the  pavilion  of  rrim-    Kl>tt«ring  m  the  mnonliuhl.     lirro   I   pauaod, 
silk  which  the  P.isba  hnii  erected  in  the    bimI  u*  1  glanced  cauiiounly  aroiinil,  I  traced  • 
garden  of  the  harcin — I  will   be  tb<  re  al  mid-    dark  »hadow  on  the  Mall  Mhieh  rttrr.d'-d  irom 
niiiht.     lie  silent  and  cautioua.     Ihe  Koa«  to    the  »ummil  to  wiihin  a  tr\%  :  und 

the  Bulbul.  '  I  oleallhily  approarhr.l  it,  a  thai 

'I    read    the    scroll    thrice    over   before    I    it  was  a  shawl  which   I   r<-. .  ..nf. 

could  believe  that  my  eyes  had  not  dreeived    ing  to  Itw  lady  llabe ;  and  1  at  euc«  uiMl«nMood 

;  and.ojt  the  cmivirtion  slowly  force<l  il»elf 

npon  my  mind  that  it  was  indeed  no  delusion  t 
11 


182 


THE  ROMAi^'CE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


that  it  was  intended  to  facilitate  my  entrance 
into  the  garden. 

"  For  a  moment  a  dread  of  treachery  glanced  I 
through  my  mind,  but  1  dismissed  the  suspi- 
cion as  it  rose;  and  having  ascertained  that 
the  shawl  was  well  secured  on  the  otlier  side, 
I  at  once  swung  myself  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  > 
and  sprang  into  the  inclosure.  My  feet  had 
scarcely  touched  the  earth,  when  my  hand  was 
Boftly  grasped,  and  I  was  rapidly  led  on  through 
the  darkness  of  a  laurel  plantation  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  pavilion. 

"  I  did  not  attempt  to  utter  a  syllable,  for  I 
was  convinced  that  the  clasp  was  that  of  Habe, 
but  I  deceived  myself;  for  as  my  guide  lifted 
the  crimson  curiam  of  the  tent,  I  discovered 
that  I  had  been  conducted  thither  by  a  young 
and  beautiful  slave,  who,  pointing  towards  a 
portion  of  the  pavilion  which  was  flooded  with 
moonlight,  silently  withdrew  to  a  distance. 

'■  To  fling  myself  at  the  feet  of  the  lady 
Habe.  and  to  lift  her  fair  hand  to  my  lips  and 
■brow,  was  the  work  of  a  moment:  and  as  I' 
igazed  upon  her  in  the  soft  crimson  light  flung 
•over  her  by  the  rich  curtains  of  the  pavilion, 
I  thought  that  I  had  never  before  beheld  anyj 
thing  so  lovely.  I  forgot  my  wise  resolutions 
of  vhe  evening — I  forgot  my  peril  and  my  per- 
fidy ;  and  I  was  pouring  out  before  her  all  thei 
passionate  tenderness  of  my  spirit,  when  a  faint ! 
shriek  from  the  young  attendant  aroused  us' 
from  our  dream  of  love,  as  a  hideous  negro 
raised  the  screen  of  the  tent,  and  glared  full 
upon  us  with  his  flashing  eyes  !  ! 

'■  •  Fly,  Hussein,  fly  !  and  fear  not  for  me  :' 
hastily  whispered  the  lady  :  •  Geosumin  nuris- ' 
sin — you  are  the  light  of  my  eyes  ;  and  your  ^ 
death  would  destroy  me — Fly!  and  ere  long, 
you  sliall  be  convinced  that  you  have  nothing  | 
to  fear  !'       _  I 

"As  she  spoke,  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and! 
would  have  seized  the  intruder,  but  she  held 
me  back. 

"'Delhibashi — Prince  of  madmen!  away 
with  you  !'  she  exclaimed,  as  the  negro  rushed 
through  tlie  garden  in  the  direction  of  the 
palace  :  '  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.'  j 

'•  With  the  disappearance' of  the  negro,  my 
reason  returned  ;  and  waiting  no  further  bid- , 
ding,  I  soon  cleared  the  wall  of  the  Pasha's 
grounds,  and  as  I  fled  I  heard  the  shrieks  of 
the  lady  and  her  attendant  ringing  upon  the 
air.  The  sound  added  wings  to  my  speed: 
and  availing  myself  of  my  knowledge  of  every 
avenue  of  the  palace.  1  was  one  of  the  first  to 
present  myself  in  the  great  hall  to  inquire  the 
causo  of  the  outcry;  having  moreover  taken 
tlie  precaution  to  snatch  up  another  turban  as 
I  passed  through  ray,  apartment,  and  to  gird  on 
my  scymitar.  I  calculated  on  the  reentrance 
of  the  negro  through  the  harem,  of  which  he 
must  possess  the  key,  a  secure,  but  circuitous 
way  :  and  I  was  aware  that  this  circumstance 
would  enable  me,  if  I  exericd  my  best  speed, 


at  least  to  reach  tha  salemliek  at  the  same  in. 
stant  as  himself. 

'•  My  good  star  was  in  the  ascendant,  for  the 
eyes  of  the  Pasha  fell  on  me  as  he  hastily  left 
Ills  chamber  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  the  dis- 
turbance. 

'•  '  La  illaha  illallah — there  is  but  one  Al- 
lah !'  he  said  in  a  tone  of  alarm  :  '  tell  mc,  my 
good  Toussun  ?'  (for  such  was  the  name  that  I 
bore  at  Damascus)  '  tell  ir.e,  what  is  all  this?' 

'•  '  May  my  lord's  prosperity  increase :'  I  re- 
plied as  calmly  as  I  could;  'I  understand 
nothing  of  this  tumult,  save  tliat  I  hear  the 
voices  of  women,  shrieking  out  in  terror,  as 
though  their  souls  were  escaping  tlirough  theii 
lips.' 

''  Further  colloquy  was  prevented  by  the  en- 
trance of  a  negro,  who,  trembling  with  rage.; 
and  breathless  with  haste,  flung  himself  atthf 
feet  of  the  Satrap,  exclaiming  : 

"  'Justice  and  vengeance,  my  lord  the  Pasha 
Justice  and  vengeance  !  Your  privacy  ha, 
been  invaded,  and  your  harem  polluted  by  ai 
officer  of  your  own  household,  by  a  slave  o). 
your  own  mercy ' 

"  'How  say  you,  wretch?'  thundered  out  th 
Satrap,  drawing  his  handjar  ;  'name  the  mis, 
creant,  that  I  may  stab  him  with  my  ow 
hand.' 

"  '  It  is  Toussun  the  Yuzbashi,'  gasped  oi 
the  negro ;  but  before  he  had  time  to  utter  ai 
other  syllabic,  I  sprang  beyond  the  reach  ( 
the  Pasha's  weapon,  and  boldly  confronted  n, 
kneeling  accuser. 

"  '  Liar  and  traitor  !'  I  yelled  out  with  a 
the  impetuosity  which  a  sense  of  my  dang', 
was  calculated  to  inspire,  and  conscious  th 
ray  fate  hung  upon  the  events  of  the  nextfe 
moments :  '  Whose  dog  are  you  that  wou 
poison  the  ears  of  his  Highness  with  such  fi) 
as  this  ?  Look  at  me.  miscreant ;  and  dare , 
sav  that  I  have  stirred  from  my  post  t). 
night ' 

"  The  negro  instantly  obeyed  ;  and  as 
turned  his  eyes  upon  me,   he  was  eviden 
struck  by  a  change  in   my   appearance  wli  , 
he  could  not  explain  to  himself:  and  this  r  • 
mentary  hesitation  saved  me. 

"  '  Vile  slave  !'  shouted  the  Pasha;  '  Co  I 
you  find  no  one  on  whom  to  fasten  a  lie  s:  J 
my  faithful  Toussun  '  the  first  of  my  chaous  3 
whom  I  met  on  entering  the  hall  ?  Wha  « 
this  mystery  ?  But  it  shall  be  unravelled  t 
once.'  And  so  saying,  he  beckoned  to  "i 
four  of  the  negro  guard  ;  and  desiring  im  o 
keep  strict  watch  over  the  trembling  wr<  h 
whose  zeal  had  brought  him  nothing  but  > 
terness,  he  passed  into  the  harem,  wiience  « 
cries  of  the  women  could  still  be  distiii  V 
heard  ;  for  this  scene,  such  as  I  have  descr  ^ 
it,  had  scarcely  occupied  a  moment. 

"  Directly  the  Sa{rap  disappeared,  I  !  '^ 
orders  to  a  couple  of  my  palikars  to  so  re 
the  arms  of  the  crest-fallen  guardfan  oi  i« 


TIIE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IIAREM. 


108 


liarein.  who  wasted  his  strength  in  rcvilin?8|  the  city ;  nnd  pioquctinrr  my  dorilo  Arahmn 
on  nie.  on  the  women,  on  fate,  and  on  his  own  lumid  tlie  tall  <»riiH.-,  1  Imd  niyholf  down  clode 
lolly  ;  and.  meanwhile,  the  Pasha  was  busilv  Inside  him,  and  soon  fell  a.slrcp.  Wlicn  I 
mvestisatiiiir  the  cause  of  an  uproar  8o  unusual  awoke  the  gray  dawn  waa  junt  hreakniK  over 
iu  his  quiet  and  orderly  household.  llhc  hills,  and  I  telt  the  noce»8iiy  of  nnmediate. 

'•  The  result  did  not  transpire  until  the  fol-lly  pursuing  my  jdurney.  I  nceonhn^ly  rnuh«d 
lowing  morning.  The  quailing  cause  of  the  I  my  horse,  who  was  lying  suiinc  up<in  tin- cnrih 
not  was  claimed  at  my  hands  by  the  four  in  all  the  luxury  of  repo.««f,  and. -prinymi,' ii^'iiin 
negroes  who  had  accompanied  the  Satrap  tolinlo  the  saddle,  incited  him  to  his  lu-.-i  sj).  ed. 
the  women's  apartments,  and  carried  away  nol. Again  my  constellation  favored  me.  Inr,  after 
one  inquired  whither.  The  Pasha  did  not  ap-  a  eoujde  of  hours  of  hard  ridiiii;,  I  l.||  mi  wiih 
pear  again  :  and  all  remained  silent  and  tran-  a  caravan  that  was  cro.«sing  the  Doeri,  wiucb 
quil.  But  I  stood  on  the  crater  of  a  volcano  :[  I  iinmcdiaicly  joined,  greatly  to  the  relief  of 
for  at  an  early  hour,  another  negro,  undcter-  my  exhausted  horse,  and  the  furtiiurancc  of  my 
red  by  the  disgrace  of  his  companion,  or  pro-  own  safely. 

bably  convinced  of  the?  truth  of  hisstatemert,!  '"At  the  next  town  we  reached.  I  once  more 
and  determined  to  revenge  him,  passed  into  changed  my  dress,  and  assumed  that  which  I 
the  garden  of  the  harem,  and  visited  the  pa- How  wear;  and  Ihen  for  the  first  time.  I  ex- 
vilion  with  the  keen  glance  of  curiosity,  ammcd  the  contents  of  the  handkcrchn-f  that 
Leaving  the  tent,  where  he  found  nothing  to  I  had  lound  in  niy  chanibcr.  You,  MootnU-b, 
gratify  his  hope,  he  wandered  along  beneath  liave  seen  them  inlhisehest.  I  know  not  with 
the  wall,  and  chancing  to  rai.se  his  eyes,  he  what  talc  the  wily  Hab«>  amused  the  ear  of 
discovered  the  sfiawl,  which  in  the  alarm  and  the  Pasha,  but  it  is  certain  that  Im*  rajje  wo* 
liurry  of  the  previous  night  had  been  forgotten,  craftily  turned  on  the  negro — and  tlial  he  lent 

•■  Fortunately  for  me.  the  ne-iro  had  a  tongue  too  ready  an  ear  to  the  accusalioius  ol  his  boau- 
•which  outran  his  wit.  and  sufTicicnt  of  hiser-  tiful  young  wife. 

rand  transpired  before  he  was  admitted  to  the  "' There  was  a  scroll  folded  about  the  di»- 
presence  af  the  Pasha,  to  impress  upon  my  ?»sting  fra:;nients  of  morlalily,  that  parliall) 
mind  the  necessity  of  an  immediate  retreat ;  explained  the  truth— thus  it  ran  :— 
and  I  at  once  passed  into  my  chamber  to  secure  "  1  lol<i  you  to  trust  to  me,  and  I  here  give 
upon  my  person  the  jewels  and  money  which  you  proof  thai  you  did  not  trust  in  vain.  A 
I  had  secreted  when  I  had  entered  the  service  husband  whose  head  is  covered  with  a  napkin, 
of  the  Satrap.  As  I  was  about  to  leave  the  and  whose  eyes  are  dim,  has  revenged  Ins  wife 
room.  I  accidentallv  turned  a  last  tilancc  to-  ui»«'n  '"^^r  enemy,  and  you  on  your  beirnycr  I 
■wards  the  divan,  where  I  was  surprised  to  .^ee  send  you  the  eye  thai  vcnturc.l  to  waich  you 
a  small  parcel  folded  in  a  dark  handkerchief  — tl'C  car  that  dared  to  listen  to  your  word*— 
-which  was  familiar  to  me.  Without  wailing  the  foot  that  followed  you— ihchun.l  that  drow 
to  ascertain  the  nature  of  its  contents,  I  con-  aside  the  screen— the  heart  that  ventured  to 
cealcd  it  beneath  mv  robe,  and  mounting  my  betray— and  the  dug-er  that  was  meant  for 
horse,  which  was  of  the  true  Arab  breed.  I  another  breast.  I  would  not  acc-pt  jwacc  un- 
made my  way  to  the  clothes-bazflr.  and  pur-  til  these  trophica  were  laid  ujwu  my  carpel- 
chased  the  costume  of  an  Arab  Schick,  which  and  I  M-nd  them  lo  you  a*  ^ornen  ol  my  love.' 
I  adjusted  in  a  nei;lccfed  mo..^que :  and  then'  "I  cruhhcd  the  ptt|*r  convuUively  oa  I 
without  another  instant's  delay.  I  ha.stcned  to  finished  reading  U.  C"Uld  I  ii.dee.1  hnv*.  !-,vr<l 
the   gate   of  the   citv,   and   pa.ssed    it  at  f.wls  tl"»  woman- licnd  ?     I    look    the  i 

pace,  as  if  careless  of  time  :  but  once  u|kiii  the  m  my  hand,  wiih  the  inirnlioh  • 
free  plain,  I  buried  the  edge  of  my  sharp  Mir-  coi.ionis  inlo  ihe  air;  but  a  »u'. 
nips  in  the  flanks  of  my  generous  Aralian.  remruiurd  me.  and  (lii.Kiiii;  tlicin  mUi  ihc  ci.d 
and  away  we  flew  like  the  wind:  danger  and  whence  1  hod  ^».lhdrawn  my  Karmei.u.,  I  de- 
dcaih  we're  behind  u.h  ;  and  liberty  and  lilV  lermii.cd  to  carry  Ihein  v»ith  mo  lo  IU«iKjr«, 
before:  the  choice  was  easy  :  and  I  never  drew  and  ibrncr.  makiiii;  »oine  horrible  addilioo 
bit  until  1  felt  the  willing  horse  quiver  under  to  iho  hoard.  l»  f..rw«r.l  U.rm  by  0."  n-»«  r^ 
mc  as  I  urced  him  forward.  ''■van  lo  iii>  ;  .       '  '  '  r 

"  A    few  mouthfuls   of  fresh    praiw,    and  a  to  rlhci   thi-- 
deep  draught    at    a  cool   stream    thai  riupled  with  »all  and 
through  the  dense  herbage,  tonn  re»lored  Ibe  by   which    incaiui 
generous  animal  ;  while  I  refrcuhed  mynelf  by  Uui  I  have  already 

laving  my  limbs  in  Ihc  clear  water,  and  »waJ-  tion  ,  for   the  disiai.  ,  > 

lowing  some  wild  figii  which  I  found  in  the  u*  ha«  Icfl  only  the  «neiu..»)  «»  Uc  u,«uij  omI 
vicinity  of  the  nvul»'l.  >»'■'■  •"*«  "pon  liie  tablet  ol  my  »oul,  while  all 

•■  \f  I  had  purj-  "  "f  a  ihe  horrom  of  our  final  inrriing  apiM-ar  but  aa 

frequented    path,    1  r.bly  a  dark  va,*ur,  ahaddiua  lU  gloom  «ver  ai 

■ccure,  many  hours  ...  .  1  IcU.ol  brighlucaa." 


164 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


The  stranger  paused  for  a  moment  amid  a 
deep  silence  ;  after  which  he  resumed  in  an 
altered  tone. 

••  Other  memories  and  feelings  hare  also 
grown  upon  me  since  1  entered  my  native  city. 
I  have  recognizod,  even  amid  tiie  disfigur- 
ment  of  poverty,  my  long  lost  pilgrim-brother 
— and  I  have  become  conscious  tliat.  life  has 
better  and  nobler  joys  than  vengeance.'' 

As  he  spoke,  the  tearful  Hu.ssein  extended 
his  arms  lo  the  Khaiiial.  who  flung  himself 
into  them,  exclaiming:  '■  1  learnt  the  truth 
from  the  very  beginning  of  your  story,  my 
lord  and  brother ;  but  I  would  not  darken  the 
sky  of  your  pro^perity  by  telling  you  that  the 
wretched  Husref  was  the  once-happy  Emir 
Hadji — Alas  !  alas  !  1  have  also  much  to  teil, 
but  not  to  night." 

'^  Alhemdullilah — be  it  even  as  you  will ;"' 
replied  Hussein,  kissing  his  lips  and  forehead  : 
"*•  1  knew  you  from  the  first  moment  when  you 
lifted  the  chest  from  the  mule  in  the  public 
street  •  and  it  was  to  test  your  probity  that  I 
left  it  in  your  charge  during  so  many  hours. 
The  will  of  Allah  is  accomplished  !  We  have 
met  again,  and  we  will  part  no  more ;  one 
roof  shall  in  future  cover  the  Hadji-Khamal 
and  the  Barber  of  Bassora." 


PART  IV. 

CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

"  Mashallah  !"  said  the  Pasha,  as  the 
story  ended;  "I  do  not  understand  why  all 
the  massaldjis,  let  them  commence  a  tale  as 
they  will,  always  finish  with  love  and  intrigue. 
One  would  think  that  no  other  wheel  set  the 
■world  in  motion.  I  had  scarcely  began  to 
relish  the  adventures  of  the  Khamal  and  his 
employer,  when  out  of  a  fair  beginning  grew 
another  history  of  a  woman's  folly!  Half, 
half. — shame,  shame  !  And  such  a  tissue  of 
improbabilities  !  One  Pasha  is  as  good  as 
another;  and  Inshallah  !  there  is  no  fear  that 
any  dog  of  a  haramzadeh  would  venture  to 
enter  7nij  harem.  Why  then  do  the  fable- 
mongers  spin  their  brains  into  silken  threads, 
to  invent  tictions  which  bear  no  likeness  to  the 
realities  of  life  V" 

"  Life,  your  Highness,"  replied  the  disguised 
Greek,  reassured  by  the  obtu.se  self-suthciency 
of  his  host,  ••  is  a  mere  every-day  affair,  which, 
■without  the  drapery  of  imagination,  would  be 
too  crude  and  bare  to  be  looked  upon  with 
pleasure;  and  thus  the  massaldji  is  compelled 
to  select  the  ornaments  that  appear  the  most 
likely  to  embellish  it.  Where  can  they  be 
found  more  readily  than  in  the  love  and  beauty 
of  woman?  Are  not  her  smiles  the  promised 
light  of  Paradise,  and  her  care  its  contemplated 
recompense  ?     Her  weakness  is  her  triumph ; 


her  tenderness,  the  bond  that  links  hci  to  those 
by  whom  she  is  beloved,  and  on  whom  she 
pours  out  all  the  treasures  of  her  soul.  It  i» 
not  that  the  daring  foot  of  either  moslem  or 
giaour  would  indeed  venture  to  profane  the 
harem  of  a  True  Believer,  (though  some  assert 
that  such  things  really  have  been;)  but  the 
fable  gives  so  many  opportunities  to  tiie  nar- 
rator of  weaving  sweet  thoughts  and  fancies 
into  his  web  of  fiction,  that  he  turns  as  trust- 
ingly to  the  conceit  as  the  pilgrim  to  the  holy 
caba." 

••  You  talk  like  a  woman :"  said  the  Pasha, 
with  an  expression  of  contempt  which  waa 
only  tempered  by  his  admiration  of  the  sen- 
tentious awali ;  "  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  con- 
tend with  you,  Inshallah  !  What  is  wTitten, 
is  written.  The  Osmanli  do  not  put  their 
beards  into  the  hands  of  their  wives  ;  they 
know  better.  The  Frank  v,-omen.  as  I  have 
heard,  wander  up  and  down  with  bold  brows 
and  steady  steps,  and  the  Prophet  only  can 
tell  the  disorder  which  must  reign  in  their  ha- 
rems, where  there  are  neither  bolts,  locks,  nor 
negroes :  but,  Mashallah  !  the  Moslems  are 
not  dogs  !  nor  their  women  hadjis,  wandering 
from  land  to  land,  and  cramming  their  brains 
with  a  thousand  idle  and  unseemly  fancies  I 
Basliustun  !  had  I  lived  in  those  infidel  coun- 
tries. 1  should  have -" 

••  Korkma,  Effendimou — fear  not  :"  said 
Carimfil  Hanoum  :  •'  no  one  will  dare  to  sus- 
pect Saifula  Pasha  of  permitting  the  dust  of 
disgrace  to  be  scattered  upon  his  head  ;  and 
thus  the  tales  of  an  idle  fable-monger  should 
not  chafe  his  humor.  The  massaldji  has  done 
her  duty,  for  she  has  whiled  away  two  weary 
hours  :  but  I  prefer  her  zebeck  to  her  story, 
and  could  almost  regret  that  I  cannot,  like  her, 
awaken  sweet  sounds  such  as  those  to  which 
we  have  listened  from  her  rapid  fingers." 

"  Alhemdullilah  !  when  you  need  music,  it 
can  always  be  purchased;''  interposed  the  Sa- 
trap abruptly  ;  "  but  the  massaldji  must  not 
go  unrewarded,  since  you  have  found  amuse- 
ment in  her  talent.  Remember,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  Aga  Baba,  "when  the  alme 
leave  the  harem,  to  let  this  maiden  have  a 
purse." 

"  And  for  myself,"  said  the  fair  Circassian, 
drawing  a  handsome  ring  from  her  ringer, 
'•  that  the  awali  may  not  forget  her  visit  to  my 
lord's  harem.  I  shall  reward  her  witli  this' 
jewel.  Approach,  SeVdika,  and  receive  il 
froin^my  own  hand." 

Maniolopolo  obeyed  with  a  joy  which  gave 
to  his  movements  as  he  traversed  the  floor,  ac 
impetuosity  almost  calculated  to  betray  him 
but  a  warning  glance  from  his  sister  recalled 
his  caution,  and  when  he  bent  his  knee  before 
tlie  lady,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips  ir 
token  of  his  acknowledgment,  although  he  helc 
it  longer  than  perfect  good-breeding  and  rcspec 
altogether  warranted  when  their  relative  situ 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  TUE  ILVIiEM. 


160 


ations  M-erc  considered,  this  slight  deviation 
from  tlic  rules  of  etiquette  was  only  attributed 
by  llic  lookers-on  to  an  excess  of  gratitude. 

The  mention  of  remuneration  implied  the 
speedy  departure  of  tlie  alme  ;  and  shortly  af- 
terwards the  Paslia.  remarking  on  tlic  hiteness 
Of  tlie  hour,  descended  from  llic  sofa ;  and 
having  t»ken  leave  of  his  young  wife  and  lier 
friend,  left  the  apartment,  followed  by  the 
negroes. 

The  screen  had  scarcely  fallen  behind  them 
■when  Maniolopolo  once  more  flung  himself  at 
the  feet  of  the  Circassian.  ''  I\Iy  life  '  my 
soul  !  mv  sultana  I"'  he  murmured,  as  slie  hid 


calmly  see  my  bulhul  caged  and  prisonrd.  with- 
out seeking  to  bur^t  tlic  bars  of  it.s  capiivity, 
and  to  lead  it  back  once  more  to  llic  wild  wood 
and  the  free  valley  of  u.s  happiness  ?  We  can- 
not deceive  oursel\\>s.  Canmtil.  wc  iniisi  live 
for  eacii  other,  or  perish.  To  save  our.M«|v(«» 
we  must  tly  together — why  do  you  trcmbio 
thus,  guzum,  my  eyes  ?  lio  you  leave  belimd 
you  one  memory  of  joy  ?  Oh,  no — nor  will  I 
think  so  meanly  of  you  as  to  believe  that  your 
chains  have  been  less  heavy,  because  ihcy  are 
of  gold.  I  thank  you  for  tliat  indiunani  blu.>-h, 
and  that  firm  |irc.>-sure  of  my  hand — I  knew  it 
— the  jnoud  I'aslia  and  ins  cilded  harcni  will 


her  tearful  eyes  upon   his  shoulder;  "  do  we    be    remembered  only  witii  horror,  while  ihe 


green  plains  and  woody  mountains  of  our  be- 
loved Circassia  will  be  welcomed  as  never  yet 
they  have  been  by  mortal.  ' 

'•  Would  that  wo  were  indeed  there  !" 
sighed  out  the  timid  beauty  ;  '"  but  we  are  I)©. 
set  by  dithcultiesj  surrounded  witli  dangers, 
watched  by  jealous  eves — How  then  can  we 
escape?'' 

••  Carimfil,  janum — my  soul."  steadily  re- 
plied the  Greek  ;    ■  all  is  possible  to  those  who 


indeed  meet  again,  after  years  of  miserable 
absence  ?  Can  it  be  your  brow  which  rests 
upon  my  bosom  ?  your  hand  that  I  clasp  in 
mine?  Am  I  still  dear  to  you  as  when  we 
parted  ? 

"  Maniolopolo,"'  whispered  the  agitated  Ca- 
rrmtll,  -  (hough  it  be  sin  to  tell  you  so,  you 
are  to  me  more  than  lite  or  light — ^janum  sin- 
indir — my  soul  is  yours — not  a  day  but  [  have 
thought  of  you — not  a  night  but  you  have  been 
in  my  dreams — not  an  hour  but  I  have  loved  i  love 
you.  The  present  has  been  nothing  to  me — I  ""  And  your  si.ster  ?" 
the  pasi  full  of  your  memory,  and  the  future  "  Think  not  of  ine,"  said  Katinka,  to*  she  ap- 
one  wild  hope  of  looking  upon  you  once  again.  '  preached  the  divan,  after  having  carelully  dis- 
The  liope  is  accomplished — you  are  here,  and  I  pcrscd  tlie  atli-mlanUs  of  the  liuly  in  every  di- 
you  love  me  still,  and  now  I  ask  only  to  die."  '  rcclion,  and  diverted  the  aiicntion  of  »lie  alin^ 

'•  Talk  not  of  death,  katoun — my  loved  one,"  i  who  were  \vhl^perlng  among  liieiiiselvcs  gay 
answered  Maniolopolo  :  "  the  grave  is  not  for  comments  on  the  prolonged  conference  of  tiie 
such  as  thee  :  or  even  there  happiness  might  I  lovers  :  -'Tiiink  not  of  me — 1  should  but  im- 
come.  Severim  seni — I  love  you  :  you  have  !  pede  your  Jlii;ht.  which  I  would  rather  htnve 
been  torn  from  me  :  and  I  have  suffered  hope-  I  to  secure.  Hut  now  you  must  consent  to  «ep- 
Icss  misery  for  years.  When  I  remember  that !  arale.  if  you  will  not  ruin  all  by  your  own 
your  youth  has  been  blighted  by  the  pa.'Jsion  i  imprudence  ;  you,  Maniolo|>«ilo.  we  can  find 
of  a  despot,  my  brain  burns,  and  my  pulses  '  whenever  wc  may  require  your  council;  and 
quiver — Derdiiiden  olduin  beihoud — my  tor-  you  will  do  well  to  t-vt  about  your  projecU 
went  makes  me  mad  !  And  can  you  let  me  without  delay,  if  your  brain  be  ^ulhcle||tly 
continue  thus  to  suffer  ?  Do  you  condemn  me  tree  from  the  cobwcbit  of  paioion  to  enable 
to  another  banL-^hment  which  can  end  only  in  you  to  act  rationally  :  and  you.  Kuioun,  have 
despair?  You  know  how  I  have  loved  you,  need  of  repohc.  irhl  your  iilrcnglh  fail  in  the 
how  I  love  you  still:  and  you  are  silcni —  hour  of  trial.  Nevrexte  and  \our  NiAlcr  almd 
cruel  Carimfil!  but  the  blow  is  less  bitter  awuil  you.  luir  .^idku."  nhr  added  laui:hiii;.'ly  ; 
from  your  hand  than  from  that  of  anotlicr;  'ami  hhould  llie  Au'a  ILiba  oliance  to  find  y.iu 
unless  that  otiier  strike  me  at  your  feet,  that  I  here  on  liih  return.  Iiih  ((iimtionN  may  bo  diilj- 
may  expire  with  your  ima<;e  belbre  my  oyc»t."    cult   to    aimwer      Away.  then,  while  y«.u  are 

"  Alas  !"  said  the  trembling  beauty.  ''  Y'AI-    uniiu»|icetcd,  and  *till  retain  your  rea.-on  " 
lab — in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  would  you  |      The  rcnionitlrancc  ot  Kalinica,  nnpaUtabio 
ask  of  me?"  !  «w   ii  wa*,  could  not  bo    negirried  :   lor  even 

'•  If  your  own  heart  wlii^per  not  my  mean- 1  Maniolopolo  iiuimrir  wa*  coinjH-IIrd  to  a<iiiiit 
ing."  replied  tlic  Greek.  ''  no  words  of  ininr  it«  jTopricly  ;  and  alter  anotlier  embrarr,  oud 
could  make  it  welcome.  My  life  and  death  onoiber  murmured  ai>»urance  of  rtmial  con- 
are  in  your  liands,  and  you  mu»t  deal  vkiWi  mc  utancy,  he  tore  hiinHcif  Inun  the  (en  of  lb« 
as  you  deem  tilting  '  '  b«-autilui   Canmtil,  and   left  the   palace   witk 

"  Maniolopolo,"    sobbed    the    i'a>lia'*    wife,    the  mliui. 
''you  break  my  heart.      Have  you  not  »j**n  llie        On  arriving   ot    the   Thenarki   Tebarebi   he 
one  dream  of  my  bli»hted  cxihtrncr  '  and  do    hastily   flunj:   oil    Inn  diK;;ui*r,  and   butUint;  a 
you  now  rpeak  coldly  to  mc  Uiat  I  may  learn    hurried  lareweli  to  Nevrcau-,  m  wIiih»«  banit  h« 
to  fear  as  well  as  love  you."  placed  tlic  purM;  winch  had  b<vn  br*lowed  oo 

''  Aslafcraliali — Heaven  forbid  !"  said  the  liim  by  tiie  i'ai>ha,  ho  waa  about  to  quit  tJte 
^Oung   Greek ;    "  but    think    you    that    1   can    buildmg,  wlicn   lie   rcmcmborcd   that  ho  had 


166 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


not  seen  Mherpirwir  since  he  left  the  harem. 
The  devotion  ot"  the  gentle  girl  had  touched  his 
heart ;  and,  even  occupied  as  it  was  by  the 
linai,'e  of  Carimtil.  he  could  not  refuse  at  least 
the  affection  of  a  brother  to  the  timid  maiden 
who  had  bruised  her  own  spirit  to  contribute 
*,o  his  happiness. 

When  he  returned  to  seek  her,  the  alm6  had 
already  left  the  outer  room,  and  had  retired  to 
the  inner  apartments,  where  they  depo.'^ited  the 
most  costly  of  their  ornaments  ;  and  he  was 
about  to  turn  away  disappointed,  when  by  the 
faint  light  of  the  solitary  and  untrimmed  lamp, 
which  stood  in  a  niche  of  the  discolored  wall, 
he  discovered  Mherpirwir,  crouched  down  in 
one  corner  of  the  saloon,  ynth  her  arms  crossed 
upon  her  knees,  and  her  head  bent  over  them. 
Her  lotus  crown  lay  on  the  ground  beside  her ; 
but  the  fever  of  lier  brain  had  withered  the 
flowers,  and  they  were  flaccid  and  faded.  Her 
zebcc  had  a  broken  string ;  and  her  veil  was 
flung  beside  it,  as  though  in  the  wretchedness 
of  the  moment  she  had  been  reckless  and  im- 
patient. 

Maniolopolo  softly  advanced  :  he  murmured 
her  name,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  the 
dancing-girl  sprung  up  and  cast  herself  at  his 
feet : — •'  It  is  in  vain  to  contend  with  destiny  !" 
she  whispered  hoarsely  ;  "  I  know  all  that  you 
would  tell  me;  I  am  an  alme — my  passion  is 
a  je.st — my  love  a  mockery — I  know  it — I  knew 
it  from  the  first — and  I  strove  against  it  until 
the  nerves  of  my  heart  quivered  with  agony  ! 
You  love  another — I  know  that  also  :  and  she 
is  fair  and  gentle  ;  and  the  world  has  never 
yet  breathed  with  its  foul  fetid  breath  upon 
her  name,  and  poisoned  her  existence.  'She  is 
worthy  of  your  affection — and  yet.  in  nursing 
it  she  becomes  even  as  I  am — a  banned  and 
blighted  thing  !  Oh,  think  of  this—it  is  a 
friglitful  truth ;  and  you  close  your  eyes 
against  it.  because  you  have  not  courage  to 
look  upon  it  calmly.  Nay,  withdraw  not  thus 
your  hand.  I  am  wild  w^ith  anguish,  and  I 
know  not  what  I  say  :  yet  you  should  pardon 
me.  You,  whom  I  have  loved  from  the  first 
moment  that  I  looked  upon  you.  I  have  been 
the  by-word  of  my  companions  because  my 
heart  was  shut  against  the  inroads  of  passion  ; 
now  I  shall  be  their  scorn,  that  1  have  bowed 
beneath  it  where  it  was  worse  than  hopeless." 

'•  Mlierpirwir,  be  calm,  be  comforted,''  said 
the  Greek  soothingly;  "it  is  but  a  passing 
fancy  ;  you  are  young  and  beautiful,  and "' 

'•  Do  you  ie\[  me  this?"  asked  the  girl  al- 
most sternly ;  '•  you,  who  have  left  your  home 
and  dareu  the  very  bitterness  of  death  to  look 
upon  one  whom  you  loved  in  your  early  years  ? 
But  you  are  right,  EfTendim,  you  are  right: 
I  am  young  ;  and,  tliey  tell  me,  beautiful  ;  and 
T  must  learn  to  suffer  patiently,  for  the  heart 
does  not  break  at  once,  and  1  may  have  to 
nurse  its  anguish  for  long  and  bitter  years. 
True,  the  lip-deep  vows  of  many  an  idler  may 


tear  the  wound  asunder,  and  the  blood-drops 
may  fall  one  by  one  like  molten  lead,  but  I 
shall  learn  to  bear  it.  So,  leave  me,  Etlen- 
dim,  leave  me  ;  and  forget  me,  unless  llie  poor 
and  despised  dancing-girl  may  hope  to  be  re- 
membered kindly." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Mherpirwir,"  said  Maniolo- 
polo, as  he  rai.sed  her  from  the  floor,  and  threw 
his  arm  round  her  trembling  form:  '-you 
know  all  my  story — I  have  concealed  nothing 
from  you,  and  I  love  you  as  a  brother  ;  your 
gentle  aud  ready  services  have  lightened  my 
task,  and  cheered  my  spirit;  and  I  would  .not 
have  you  think  of  me  as  an  ingrate.  But  my 
heart  and  my  hope  are  yonder" — and  he  point- 
ed towards  the  Pasha's  palace  :  '•  My  own 
safety,  even  my  life,  are  at  stake :  and  I  peril 
all  on  that  one  venture.  How,  then,  could  I 
be  worthy  of  your  love,  when  every  thought, 
every  care,  every  an.xiety,  would  be  lavished 
on  another  ?" 

"  You  are  right,"  murmured  the  maiden, 
calmly  withdrawing  herself  from  his  clasp; 
*■  we  can  be  nothing  to  each  other :  and  mine 
indeed  has  been  an  idle  and  a  bitter  dream. 
Farewell,  Eflendim,  I  love  you  ;  I  shall  love 
you  to  the  end  of  my  existence.  Do  you  re- 
member your  ballad  at  the  Tchorbadji's  ? 
You  can  now  judge  of  its  truth ;  you  read  my 
fate,  and  1  am  prepared  to  meet  it." 

"  We  cannot  part  thus — "said  Maniolopolo, 
deeply  moved  by  her  emotion. 

••Ne  apalum — what  can  we  do?"  asked 
Mherpirwir  sadly  :  "  Have  you  not  convinced 
ine  that  we  can  be  nothing  to  each  other? 
She  to  whom  you  have  given  your  heart  loves 
you  even  as  I  do — and  for  yourself — I  feel 
that  you  return  her  tenderness,  and  to  me  it 
will  be  easier  to  die  than  to  be  despised." 

"  Tliat  were  impossible  !"  earnestly  ex- 
claimed the  Greek. 

'•  I  thank  you  for  the  assurance,  but  I  shall 
not  dare  the  trial.  Seek  not  to  see  me  again. . 
My  good  Nevrest^  will  bear  with  my  grief, ' 
and  it  will  w^ork  its  own  cure.  Farewell, ' 
Elfendim— merhamet  eyic  bendon^— liave  pity 
on  me,  and  linger  no  longer.  Allah  esniar- 
Icdek — may  He  take  you  into  his  holy  keep- 
ing ;  and  believe  that  one  heart  will  beat  for 
you  even  in  the  death-hour — the  bruised  heart 
of  the  poor  dancing-girl  who  dared  to  love 
you  !" 

Maniolopolo  would  have  replied  with  more 
soothing  words,  but  the  alm^  waited  not  to 
hear  them.  Like  a  young  fawn  startled  by  a 
distant  sound,  she  bounded  from  the  side  of 
the  Greek,  and  lifting  the  screen  which  veiled 
the  entrance  of  the  inner  apartment  disap- 
peared in  an  instant  from  his  sight.  He  called 
her  in  his  gentlest  tone  "  Mherpirwir,  guzum ! 
only  a  moment— only  a  word — Y' Allah,  intlie 
name  of  the  Prophet  !  only  a  moment.  Mher- 
pirwir, will  you  not  reply  ?" 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


167 


The  echoes  of  the  apartment  were  the  sole 
answer. 

"  Nay,  then,  I  will  follow  you  !"  said  the 
excited  young  man ;  and  he  had  laid  his 
daring  hand  npon  the  screen,  when  it  suddenly 
raised,  and  Ncvrestti  stood  before  him. 

'•  Ne  var — what  is  this  ?"  she  a.>ked  sternly  : 
'•  Have  we  put  our  necks  into  the  noose  of 
danger  for  your  sake,  young  sir,  only  that 
yours  should  be  the  hand  to  strain  the  cord? 
What  mean.*  this  violence?  Sen  chok  adain  ! 
'tis  a  bold  deecl  to  frighten  half  a  score  of  wo- 
men." 

"  Hear  me,  mother."  said  the  agitated 
Maniolopolo  ;  "  on  my  soul  you  wrong  me  ! 
Mherpirwir  loves  me,  and  I " 

"  Bak — see  !"  exclaimed  Nevrest^  in  angry 
Bcorn  :  "an  alinee  no  sooner  serves  aslranger, 
than  he  believes  that  she  is  his,  heart  and 
spirit.  Fye  on  you.  young  sir  !  Mherpirwir 
has  been  wooed  by  Beys  and  nobles,  and  she 
has  slighted  all  their  vows  and  protestations. 
Aye,  even  with  the  blind  scorn  of  the  world 
poured  out  upon  her  fair  young  head — a  world 
which  judges  only  through  its  own  short- 
sightedness, and  which  dreams  not  that  the 
despised  and  hired  dancing-girl  has  sacrified 
her  pride  and  self-dignity  to  support  an  aged 
mother,  and  a  beggared  family  ; — even  with 
this  foul  scorn  preying  upon  her  heart,  she  lias 
been  just  to  herself;  and  would  you — you, 
whom  she  has  served,  be  among  her  enemies  ? 
Leave  us  in  peace  :  we  cannot  now  avail  you, 
and  to-morrow  we  depart." 

"  Mother,"  said  Maniolopolo,  deeply  affect- 
ed by  the  honest  energy  of  the  old  woman  : 
"  I  cannot  .suffer  you  to  bid  me  farewell  with 
Bueh  words  as  these.  Without  your  lirncly 
and  generous  a.ssistance.  I  should  now  have 
been  wretched  and  hopeles.';,  if  not  recklc.«s  and 
suspected.  How,  then,  can  you  attribute  to 
me  a  falseheartedne.-^s  for  which  I  should 
deserve  to  suffer  death  ?" 

"  Effendini."  replied  NevTe.<;t6  calmly:  '-I 
do  not  seek  to  wrong  you,  but — you  arc  a 
Greek.  We  liave  served  you,  and  you  have 
liberally  rewarded  our  exertions  :  tiicrc  can 
be  no  further  tie  between  us.  Wc  are  never 
likely  to  meet  again  ;  but  should  we  indeed 
do  80 — remember — that  for  your  own  (.aki", 
and  for  that  of  Mherpirwir,  wc  meet  an  iitran- 
gers.  Oghour  ola — Heaven  xpced  you.  Our 
conference  is  ended." 

As  she  ceiHM'd  hpcaking.  the  old  woman 
made  a  step  backward  ;  and  when  the  ncrcen 
again  fell.  Maniolopoio  wa*  once  more  alone. 


CH.M'TKR    L.XI.X. 

After  tUn  very  un^ali»ifactor>-  parlinK  frofn 
die  alm^,  Ma.iiolo|)olo  bcnl  U\n  i>t<-|ia  lo  the 
jenduk  where  he  lodtfcd  ;  and   aa   he  ii^%iflly 


and  cautiou.sly  threaded  the  sfroet.s,  lie  re- 
volved a  thousand  wild  ami  imprneticablo 
schemes  for  the  escape  of  his  beloved  C'arimfil. 
But  his  good  star  forsook  him  :  he  could 
imagine  no  plausible  method  of  nfleeting  his 
purpose  :  and  he  at  length  resolved  to  endeavor 
to  obtain  some  rest,  and  to  leave  to  the  morrow 
the  decision  at  which  he  found  it  impossible  lo 
arrive  in  his  present  excited  slate. 

In  the  morning  he  was  awoke  by  the 
entrance  of  his  servant,  who  presented  to  liim 
a  small  roll  of  papyrus,  with  a  seal  attaciied 
to  it  by  a  loii-i  lock  of  silky  hair.  He  raised 
himself  hastily  on  his  cu.shions,  and  opened 
the  scroll ;  the  character  was  that  of  hia 
sister. 

"  I  have  arranged  all ;"  thus  was  it  worded ; 
"  Your  weeping  and  trembling  beauty  ha.s  at 
last  consented.  You  will  sec  me  no  more,  but 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  let  tliis  conviction  ca.st  a 
single  cloud  over  your  fortune.  At  our  la-st 
night's  meeting  you  forgot  the  poor  Katinka 
in  a  dearer  and  more  absorbing  interest  ;  con- 
tinue to  do  still;  our  fates  cannot  now  be 
blent:  our  views  and  hopes  arc  different.  I 
shall  not  tell  you  wherefore,  for  I  will  not 
occupy  your  mind  with  thougiits  of  me,  and 
my  future  life.  Make  all  your  arrangements 
for  sudden  flight.  Remember  the  skill  of 
Carimfil  in  gtiiding  her  fiery  steed  over  the 
plains  of  Circa.s.sia — then  it  wa.s  mere  sport 
which  urged  her  on — now  she  will  peril  her 
happiness  upon  her  speed,  and  it  will  not  fail. 
Provide  for  her  the  costume  of  a  Mnmcluko  ; 
her  motions  will  thus  be  free,  and  her  sex 
unguesscd  at. 

'•  To-morrow  at  day-dawn  she  will  await 
you  at  the  western  gale  of  the  city,  near  the 
cemetery ;  place  the  dress  winch  you  dc-ign  for 
her  in  the  tomb  of  Hudji  Haliz  in  the  valley  ; 
and  receive  the  last  greeting  of 

'•  Your  Bi«tcr." 

"  By  the  Saint  Panagia  !''•  said  Maniolo- 
polo to  iiimscll,  a.i  lie  refolded  the  ^ll^»lvo; 
"  Katinka  haM  gniii<-d  no  hmall  sliiiro  of  philo- 
sophy by  her  remdi-nco  ainnng  the  Otnimiili  ! 
She  throws  inc  off  tut  a  suitanu  caittii  nvvay  her 
hlipper  :  but  hhe  do«-it  not  fnii  inc  ui  niy  nrcd, 
'  and  her  plan*  arc  clear  and  itpecdy.  Y<-t,  can 
I  I  confide  in  their  •uthciency  ? — in  their  pru- 
dence ! — I  muni,  for  doubt  m  niadiieim,  unim 
I  can  RU8<;cjit  a-inodc  of  action  more  «ure  and 
Mifc.  Why  how  now,  Sluiiclio  '■'"  he  itmtinued 
aloud,  to  a  Grc<'k  ndvpiilur«-r  whom  hr  had 
I  takf-n  into  hm  itt-rvice  on  hm  arrival  m  the 
oily  ;  "  You  have  a  brow  na  moody  aa  a  papMl 
wlio  ban  been  muielrd  of  hi»  jM-cond  Iroul  OB 
a  day  of  fa*!.     What  n'^w*  hovr  you  >' 

'•  briate,  Tchclpbm''" — •  What  la  your  pie*, 
aure.  •jr''*''  ankcd  ( 'oiuilaotine,  turning  nud- 
dcniy  towarda  hm  nwuter.  ^ 


Vlf,, 


168 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


"  Nay,  no  delay ;"  said  Maniolopolo  :  "  I 
am  in  no  mwd  to  brook  it  ;  for  I  must  be  up 
and  in  the  bazar  witliin  an  hour." 

"  You  will  do  well  to  reflect  ere  you  walk 
the  city  streets  a^ain :"  was  the  reply  of  the 
domestic;  '•  for  the  Selictar-Aga  of  the  Pasha 
has  visited  the  fenduk  this  morning,  and  has 
asked  a  few  questions,  having  you  for  their 
object,  which  are  scarcely  palatable." 

"  How  say  you  ?"  exclaimed  Maniopolo, 
turning  ashy  pale.  "  The  Selictar-Aga?  Did 
you  see  him  yours^elf  ?  Are  you  sure  that  it 
•was  not  tlie  Aga-Baba?" 

"  The  Tchelebis  knows  best  what  business 
the  chief  negro  of  the  Pasha's  harem  may  have 
to  discuss  with  him:''  said  Stancho,  drily; 
"  but  the  worthy  functionary  of  this  mornins 
■was  none  other  than  the  Sword-bearer.  The 
Aga-Baba  may  perhaps  follow." 

"  Silence,  fool  !"  thundered  out  the  young 
man  ;  "  have  you  no  wit  save  that  which  ex- 
ists in  deepening  difficulty  ?  Speak  out — what 
have  you  to  say  ?" 

"  The  Tchelebis  reminds  me ;"  said  the  un- 
abashed Siancho  :  '-of  the  fancy  of  one  of  our 
old  authors  in  the  good  days  when  Greece  was  I 
a  great  republic,  and  all  her  sons  were  heroes: 
if  I  remember  rightly,  it  w-as  that  of  a  man , 
■who  heated  and  cooled  his  pillauf  with  the 
same  breath  ;  and  by  St.  Nicholas!  the  Tche- 
lebis first  tells  me  to  be  silent,  and  then  to 
speak  :  and  doubtlessly  expects  to  be  obeyed 
in  both  cases." 

"  Do  not  urge  me  further ;"  said  Maniolo- 
polo ;  "  What  did  you  hear  ?" 

"  That  the  Pasha  desired  to  know  the  name  ! 
and  nation  of  every  stranger  in  the  city,  and] 
that  he  had  learnt  the  abode  of  one  in  this  i 
fenduk,  about  whom  he  was  most  solicitous — 
and,  in  short,  sir,"  added  the  man,  suddenly] 
dropping  his  flippant  tone,  and  exhibiting  some  ! 
feeling  ;  '■  you  have  been  kind  and  generous  to  1 
me  since  I  entered  your  service,  and  even  at  \ 
some  personal  risk  I  have  deemed  it  my  duty  i 
to  appri.se  you  that  you  are  in  danger,  either; 
in  your  purse  or  person — and,  for  you  know! 
best  where  you  have  spent  the  many  hours' 
during  which  I  have  neither  seen  nor  lieard  of 
you — perhaps,  in  both." 

"  You  are  an  honest  fellow  after  all,  Stan- 
cho." said  his  master  warmly ;  '•  but  your  zeal 
has  outrun  your  reason  :  my  personal  safety 
cannot  be  endangered,  for  I  have  done  no- 
thing  ." 

Maniolopolo  paused  suddenly,  for  his  con- 
science smote  him  ;  and  he  profited  by  his 
pause  to  bpring  from  his  cushions,  and  prepare 
himself  for  the  business  of  the  day. 

"Tchelebis;"  said  the  domestic  gravely; 
"as  you  seem  to  persist  in  your  pvirposc  of 
leaving  the  house,  I  must  speak,  and  you  will 
then  act  as  you  deem  best.  I  have  reason  to 
know  that  you  are  a  marked  person,,  and  W 
forewarn  you  that  some  evil  will  happen  ifl 


you  are  not  cautious.  Before  you  airivcd  i;_ 
this  city  I  had  suffered  poverty  and  hardsiiip : 
I  was  a  Greek;  and  twice  I  have  undergone 
the  bastinado  as  a  criminal,  in  order  that  the 
Turkish  delinquent  might  escape  :  in  my 
wretchedness  I  complained  to  the  Cadi,  and 
he  recompensed  my  faith  in  his  justice  with 
fresh  blows  and  fresh  invectives.  I  laid  my 
head  in  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the  Pasha,  and 
I  was  reviled  as  a  rai'ah  and  a  rascal ,  and  put 
forth  with  hooting  and  contempt.  You  are 
my  countryman,  and  since  you  have  taken  me 
into  your  service  I  have  been  secured  alike 
from  want  and  from  persecution :  but  you 
have  become  yourself  a  mark  for  extortion,  or 
it  may  be  violence.  Confide  then  in  me  :  let 
me  follow  your  fortunes:  and  there  is  no  risk 
I  will  not  run  for  you  ;  the  rope  is  already 
about  my  neck,  and  it  can  but  be  tightened  an 
hour  or  two  sooner  ar  later." 

"  Are  you  true  or  a  traitor,  Con.stantine  ?" 
asked  Maniolopolo  in  very  excusable  doubt. 

The  man  replied  by  flinging  himself  upon 
his  knees,  pressing  his  two  forefingers  and  his 
thumb  closely  together,  and  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross  seven  times  with  extraordinary 
rapidity  :  as  he  called  upon  the  name  of  the 
Panagia  and  half  the  saints  in  the  calendar  to 
testify  to  his  truth. 

'•Stancho,"  said  his  master  after  the  hesi- 
tation of  a  few  moments  ;  '•  I  will  trust  you, 
for  I  have  no  alternative.  If  I  can  escape  this 
day  from  the  tyranny  of  these  rascally  Turks 
(who  will  all  be  d — d  in  the  next  world,  which 
is  some  consolation  !)  I  shall  be  beyond  the 
city  walls  early  to-morrow  morning,  and  may 
laugh  at  their  beards.  And  now,  my  good 
Stancho,  wfiat  do  you  advise  for  to-day  ?" 

"  That  you  follow  me  to  the  terrace,"  re- 
plied the  quick-witted  Greek;  '-and  remain 
there  for  a  few  moments  until  I  prepare  the 
family  of  Aneste,  whose  court  it  overlooks,  to 
conceal  you  until  the  dusk.  They  are  needy 
and  avaricious  :  old  Dorcas,  the  mother,  would 
sell  you  the  lew  teeth  which  still  remain  in 
her  head  for  a  handful  of  paras  ;  and  her  hus- 
band Alexis  has  been  beaten  and  kicked  until 
he  has  learnt  to  believe  that  he  came  into  the 
world  for  no  other  purpose.  The  Virgin  help 
them  !  they  have  anotlier  misfortune  to  con- 
tend with  in  the  .'^hape  of  a  pretty  daughter, 
wlio  entertains  all  the  idle  papas*  of  the  pa- 
rish with  sweet  words  and  winning  smiles: 
and  the  papas,  while  they  look  at  her,  drink 
the  old  man's  rakti,  and  oat  the  old  woman's 
kibaubs,  which  makes  things  -worse  ;  therefore 
I  can  answer  for  it  that  the  prospect  of  gaining 
a  few  piastres  will  at  once  induce  them  to  con- 
ceal you  until  you  think  fit  to  leave  the  city. 
The  little  Estafania  will  prepare  your  food 
with  her  own  hands;  and  I  will  take  care  to 
procure  for  you  any  disguise  that  you  mav 
think  it  proper  and  expedient  to  adopt." 
*  Greek  priests. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


169 


"T.^11  me,  Conslanline."  Faitl  Maniolopolo. 
fixinii  Ids  keen  eye  steadily  on  liis  adenilant  : 
"how  Celt  you  \Yheii  you  were  siiuiiietl  fioni 
the  {,'ate  of  tlic  proud  Paslia"s  palaee.  and  ca.^t 
forth  like  an  infected  animal  ?' 

"  Do  you  ai^k  hotv  I  felt  ?'  demanded  Stancho 
in  reply,  as  lie  ground  his  teetl..  and  instinc- 
tively raised  liis  clenched  hand  to  his  breast,  and 
grappled  idly  lor  a  second  for  the  daii^cr,  which 
had  it  not  been  forbidden  to  a  rai'ah.  he  would 
have  worn  there:  "Was  I  not  a  Greek?  and 
had  1  not  been  insulted,  stricken,  and  reviled  ? 

I  swore  an  oath ."  he  paused   a   moment, 

■while  a  fierce  expression  of  vindiclivcnc^s 
swept  like  a  .storm-cloud  across  his  features  : 


CMAITKR  LXX. 

WiiKN  he  was  left  to  hiniBrlf.   Maniolopolo 
did  not  sutler  his  llioushl.s  to   Mray    into    the 
"a  deep  and  wordless  oalh,  tiiat  should  the' future:   tlie    hurried   rctinK|.pci    by    which  ha 
hour  ever  come  when  the  haughty  despol  miuhtlhad  imparted  to  Conslantinc  the  ineid.>nli»  of 
be  smitten  bv  mv  hand.   I  would  drive  the  his  past  life,  had  bn.ualil  b<-lorc  Inni.  ui  all  their 


ment.  more  «ceurely  tlian  by  any  licnlumMii  of 
a  le.ss  revoltm::  nature.  ||o  dul  not  hc'itiitr. 
lIxTcfore.  to  explain  to  iuiii  llii<  wholo  pn.jn-t 
of  the  lady  Carinilirs  c.-cajc;  nnil  win  n  Iho 
man  left  him,  it  wa.s  to  proviih-  di.'u^iiMti  for 
the  whole  party,  so  soon  nn  he  had  i^ocnr.d 
a  temporary  asylum  for  Ins  mahlcr  "in  the 
house  of  Alexis  Ancktc. 


dagiier  home — home — until  its  poisoned  blade 
had  drained  his  heart !"'  > 

"There  are  wounds  deeper  than  any  that  a 
dagger  can  inflict,  my  good  Stancho  ;"  said 
Maniolopolo.  as  he  grasped  the  arm  of  his  ex- 
cited attendant:  '-would'st  thou  a.'-sist  in 
smiting  the  soul  of  the  Salrap,  when  his  per- 
son is  beyond  thy  reach  ?"' 

"Steadily — unshrinkingly — to  have  a  full 
and  sharp  revenge  I  would  peril  alike  soul 
and  body."' 

'•Then  from  this  hour  we  are  brothers :"' 
said  Maniolopolo  :  "  and  now  listen,  and  that 


first  freshneas  and  beauty,  every  liiilc  detail 
connected  with  his  early  luvc  winch  hnd  ren- 
dered it  the  charm  and  soloee  of  lll^  rxn^lence. 
He  rePalled  every  jscene  amid  which  he  and 
his  beloved  (.'arinifil  had  wandered  to-.;rthcr 
— the  river-bank,  green  with  short  crisp  h<Tb- 
age,  and  sprinkled  \Mlli  floweri. — the  forest 
path  overhung  with  a  dciihc  f(>liai.'e  that  cast 
tlie  sunshine  aside,  or  made  it  lull  dickering 
through  the  h-aves.  painting  gohh-n  ar.ihcoquca 
upon  the  earth — the  rocky  height  where,  be- 
neath a  canopy  of  jagged  stone,  with  a  lorrcnt 
rushing  and  boilina  not  a  hundred  pnee.H  from 


attentively:  for  on  the  next  four-and-twenty  them,  and  fallin:.'  like  thunder  into  the  vallry, 
hours  depend  our  fate."  they  liad  sat  together,  with  u   jwaec   of  licort 

The  attendant  seated  himself  on  a  low  stool  and  a  bles.'.edness  of  spirit  foriiiini;  ii  Ixaiitiful 
near  the  divan:  and  with  his  gaze  rivettedcoiitru,-t  from  the  wild  and  savav  .-en- around 
on  his  ma.ster,  and  a  bitter  smile  upon  his  lips.  them.       He    reiiiemberrd.  too.    how   ibry   had 


drank  in  the  whole  history  of  Maniolojwlo's 
love,  despair,  and  renewed  hope.  The  tale 
was  a  long  one,  but  it  was  told  with  the  vol- 
uble eloquence  of  a  Greek  lover,  and  it  seemed 
to  the  delighted  Stancho  to  have  scarcely  occu- 
pied an  hour. 

And  you  have  really  trod  the  harem  floor 


been  parted  :  and  the  montli5  of  anl'Ul^ll  and 
dc!<pair  that  hud  en.'^ued.  until  the  letter  of  his 
sister  had  once  more  uwukciic<l  a  bnu'ht  hope 
witliin  liim,  and  sent  hiiii  forth  a  wanderer 
again  over  the  earth. 

And  the  pilgrim    had  rearhrd    hin  Mreca — 
the  wurhhipi'cr  hud  knelt  b<  luri'  tlie  Hlirme  of 


and  looked  upon  the  pride  of  the  despot's j  his  fondest  laiih — ond  hm  heart  teat  high  a.t 
heart — the  hidden  pearl  of  his  casket  !  May  he  felt  the  exciting  consciousnrsji  of  his  me- 
St.  Constantino  watch  over  your  death-bed  I, tcinp.-yehoiiis. 

Oh,  that  it  were  my  happy  fate  to  tell  him  I  Hm  hn.  Mster  ?  Here  all  wasmvHtrry— She 
this — to  watch  the  flushing  of  his  brow,  thclmight  have  flt-d  with  them  ;  her  bidder  Innper 
grindingof  his  teeth,  the  trembling  of  his  limbs  would  have   ^usiainrd    the  drooping  spirits  of 


—to   catch   the    ga>pinL 


that  would  fall,  the  more  timid  (^^cas^ian  :   but  hUv  had    Inlk- 


r-rt    h 


back  ujKJii  his  heart  for  want  of  breath   to  ut-|ed  of  an  elrmal  separation,    and 

ter  it — to  yell  into  his  ears  that  lie  had  1<        "         ' 

duped    and   fooled   by  a  Greek — a  rui.-ih  — 

an  infidel !    But  I  sfay  your  utterance,  T' 

bis  ;  my  joy  has  modrncd  mc — and  now  v 

remains  to  be  done  '"' 


had  bl.l.lrli 
or  rrmrmbrr  h<r  only  with 
a.H  one  over  wh<  >«'  lule  his  own 
r  exerci*'*  an  inllmiiro 
,  .>  was  still  iiMiKiii.' on  till*  infs- 
ilrriuus  rriiuiicialion  of  in*  only  rrmaininK 
The  emotion  of  Constantine  was  too  mwat  to*  relative,  his  once  fondly  allnchea  i.i»i<-r,  when 
be  fciuncd  :  and  Maniolopolo.  Greek  though  Coiistanliiir  stole  into  thero«ni,  and  ba.tr  hint 
he  was,  and  consequently  prepared  lor  guile  follow  nilpntly  and  iinmrdialrly  t«>tlir  frrrare, 
'end  .falsehood  in  his  enuntrjniati  nr  nnre  {xrr-  as  hr  had  heard  tli«"  voice  of  ihr  Srhrtir-Aea 
eeived  that  he  mi-.-ht  salVly  •  •   bit- 'in  the  court-yard  of  thr  mn,  and   bad   urn,  a 

ter   hate   which    Stoneho    ii  .  the  couple  of  the   I'a>ba'»  Koard    loon. m;;    in  ||m> 

Pasha,   and   which   would   >■■■  •  ;.   the  street,  like  men  waiting  for  a  »uinitinii> 

injury  of  which  he  would  l*ccuinc  au  insiru-l     The  young  man  needed  no  second  warning — 


170 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


the  detention,  even  of  an  hour,  let  it  terminate 
as  it  might,  would  be  ruinous  to  him  at  the 
present  juncture  ;  and  he  had,  during  the  ab- 
sence of  Stancho,  secured  all  his  most  valu- 
able property  upon  his  person.  That  active 
emissary  had  also  profited  by  the  past  hour  to 
■warm  the  hearts  of  old  Dorcas  and  her  spirit- 
bowed  helpmate,  by  the  most  ready  and  effi- 
cient means,  towards  his  master :  and  conse- 
quently on  their  arrival  on  the  terrace  beneath 
which  stood  the  hovel  of  the  sordid  couple, 
they  found  that  every  facility  had  been  afford- 
ed for  their  descent. 

Having  seen  his  employer  safely  on  his  legs, 
and  drawn  up  and  replaced  the  shawl  of  his  tur^ 
ban  which  had  assisted  in  his  escape,  Stancho 
left  the  terrace  :  and  on  his  return  to  the  cham- 
ber of  Maniolopolo,  found  that  he  had  only 
preceded  by  five  minutes  the  Selictar-Aga  of  the 
Pasha,  who  entered  and  inquired  with  great 
courtesy  after  the  health  and  well-being  of  his 
master.  The  wily  attendant  replied  with  a 
politeness  even  more  exaggerated  than  that  of 
the  Satrap's  functionary  :  and  in  reply  to  the 
next  question  of  his  visiter,  answered  readily 
that  the  Effendi  was  at  the  hammam,*  where 
he  had  just  left  him  to  seek  for  a  bottle  of 
essence  which  he  had  forgotten. 

"  I  was  told,"  said  the  Selictar-Aga,  with 
considerable  emphasis,   "  that  he  yet  slept." 

"  It  must  have  been  that  lying  Israel  the 
Tchibout.f  who  keeps  the  door,  that  so  misled 
your  highness :"  replied  Stancho,  calmly ; 
"  the  dog  is  for  ever  blundering  in  the  simplest 
matters,  jfnd  overturning  the  pillauf  of  his 
neighbors."  And  as  he  spoke,  he  busied  him- 
self in  preparing  a  chibouque  for  his  unwel- 
come guest,  who  took  possession  of  the  divan 
with  a  gravity  which  showed  that  he  had  no 
intention  of  immediately  vacating  his  position. 

Coffee  followed  the  pipe,  which  was  pre- 
pared at  a  mangal  just  without  tiie  door  of  the 
chamber ;  and  as  the  fumes  of  the  tobacco 
curled  from  the  nostrils  of  the  doughty  Sword- 
bearer,  he  saw  fit  to  pit  his  talents  at  diplo- 
macy against  those  of  the  quick-witted  and 
wily  Greek.  It  was  the  combat  of  the  fox  and 
the  buffalo. 

"  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of  your  mas- 
ter;" he  said  with  affected  unconcern;  "nor 
am  I  quite  certain  that  I  remember  whence 
he  comes." 

"  Your  highness  may  well  suffer  the  first  to 
escape  you  :"  smiled  Stancho,  as  he  stood  with 
his  arms  folded  upon  his  breast,  in  ob.'^equious 
attendance  upon  the  man  of  office;  "for  it 
has  so  strange  and  unnatural  a  sound  that  I  at 
once  abandoned  all  hope  of " 

"  But  you  are  yourself  a  Greek — your  tongue 
betrays  you  :"  interrupted  the  Selictar-Aga. 
with  what  he  considered  to  be  a  consummate 
stroke  of  policy. 


•  Public  bath. 


r  Vile  Jew. 


"  May  the  ears  of  my  lord  never  fail  him  ;" 
replied  the  imperturbable  Stancho ;  devoutly 
wishing  them  nailed  fast  to  the  wall,  beside 
those  of  one  of  his  ancient  employers,  a  cer- 
tain Greek  baker  who  was  affixed  to  his  o-mi 
door  for  supplying  bread  in  more  minute  quanti- 
ties to  his  customers  than  was  desirable ;  "  but 
I  cannot  speak  any  Frank  dialect." 

"And  is  the  stranger  whom  you  serve  really 
a  Frank ;"  demanded  the  envoy. 

"  As  truly  as  that  your  slave  is  a  Christian;" 
replied  Stancho,  who  had  some  private  doubta 
of  the  fact  when  he  remembered  that  he  had 
twice  worn  the  turban  :  and  had  made  a  pil- 
grimage  to  Mecca,  with  the  produce  of  which 
pious  journey  he  had  fled  to  this  distant  pro- 
vince, and  lived  comfortably  among  his  coun- 
trymen until  he  had  lavished  his  ill-gotten 
gains;  "'as  truly  as  that  your  slave  is  a 
Christian." 

"  La  illaha  illallah — there  is  but  one  Allah  ! 
and  you  are  an  Infidel,  and  less  than  a  dog 
before  the  eyes  of  the  blessed  Prophet ;"  said 
the  Sword-bearer,  as  he  gravely  smoothed  do^\^l 
his  beard,  and  the  Greek  bowed  meekly  be- 
neath the  taunt :  "  I  had  heard  that  the  travel- 
ler was  your  countryman." 

Stancho  replied  by  a  second  negative. 

"  I  am  weary  of  the  quiet  of  this  tranquil 
city:"  pursued  the  Selictar-Aga  condescend- 
ingly; "and  I  love  to  talk  with  strangers  of 
the  lands  through  which  they  have  passed  ;  of 
the  Rustems*  of  their  own  countries  ,  and  of 
the  wonders  that  they  have  seen.  When  will 
the  Effendi  your  master  return  from  the  ham- 
mam ?     I  would  converse  with  him." 

"He  bade  me  hasten  with  the  essence;" 
replied  Stancho :  "  and  prepare  his  horse  for 
two  hours  hence.  These  Franks,  your  high- 
ness, ever  ride  like  Tartars  when  they  return 
from  the  bath,  instead. of  quietly  smoking  or 
sleeping  like  good  Moslems." 

"  Mashallah  !  they  do  well  :"  said  the 
Sword-bearer  sententiously  ;  "  they  can  smoke 
and  sleep  on  their  divans  in  their  own  coun- 
tries, where  men  run  about  at  mid-day  with 
paper-lanterns,  or  grope  their  way  in  partial 
darkness.  Shekiur  Allah — to  His  name  be 
all  praise  !  they  come  here  to  see  the  sun.  and 
they  do  well  to  take  their  fill  of  it  while  they 
can— I  have  said  it." 

"  Janum  sinindir — my  soul  is  your's  ;"  said 
the  Greek,  in  affected  admiration  of  the  erudi- 
tion of  his  companion;  "What  are  they  but 
dogs,  and  the  fathers  of  dogs — And  what  wills 
my  lord  that  I  should  say  to  the  Effendi  ?" 

The  Selictar-Aga  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
and  then  exclaimed  ;  "Wallah  billah — by  the 
Prophet  !  I  must  know  tliis  Frank  :  he  is 
sfirely  a  hakeem,t  and  I  would  ask  his  coun  ■ 
scl ;  but  enough  for  to-day.  Tell  him  that  I 
will  dip  my  fingers  into  his  pillauf  to-morrow 


t  Doctor. 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  THE  HARI«::aL 


171 


at  the  evening  meal  :  to-day  I  have  other  pro-  > 
jects  :  but  let  him  await  my  coming,  as  I  have 
said,  for  I  shall  be  here  without  fail  ;  and  per- 
chance I  may  turn  upon  him  the  light  of  the 
Pasha"s  countenance." 

"  AUaii  esmarladek  ;"  murmured  the  Greek 
submissively :  '•  he  will  surely  be  on  the 
threshold  at  the  appointed  hour." 

"  It  will  be  well  for  both  of  you  that  it 
should  be  so,"'  said  the  Selictar-Aga,  as  he 
descended  from  the  sofa,  and  thrust  his  foct 
into  liis  slippers  to  depart  ;  and  there  was 
something  sinister  in  his  manner  of  uttering 
the  remark  which  would  have  satisfied  Stan- 
cho,  had  he  ever  entertained  a  doubt  of  the 
fact,  that  the  intentions  of  the  Sword-bearer 
and  his  master  were  anything  but  friendly  to 
Maniolopolo. 

''  The  sapient  Turk  is  as  slow-witted  as  a 
tortoise."  he  muttered  to  himself  as  the  portly 
functionary  slowly  descended  the  stair,  and 
mounted  his  over-fed  horse,  which  was  held 
by  a  couple  of  fine-looking  serudjes*  in  the 
court  of  the  fendijk:  ''we  shall  be  galloping 
over  sand  before  he  descends  io  the  city  ! 
Saint  Nicholas,  what  a  race  to  govern  a  land 
like  this,  and  to  bow  the  neck  of  the  Christian 
— but  the  day  will  come — the  day  will  come 

"  and  with  this  vague,  though  apparently 

consolatory  ejaculation,  he  bowed  low  as  the 
grave  Osmanli  rode  slowly  away  without 
deigning  to  acknowledge  his  salutation. 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

"  Kara  !"  shouted  the  Aga  Baba  of  Saifula 
Pasha  to  one  of  the  negro  guard  of  the  harem, 
about  an  hour  before  dawn  the  following 
morning,  as  they  both  lay  upon  their  cuhhions 
in  an  ante-room  off  the  great  gallery,  with 
their  unsheathed  scymitars  beside  them  ;  '•  Ka- 
ra— ne  var — what  is  that? — I  heard  a  noise'' 

"  The  wind  in  the  cedar-trees  out«ide  tiic 
casement"  perhaps;  or  that  aecun>cd  cat  thai 
spoiled  Greek  woman  choose*  to  fondle,  be- 
cau.se  she  knows  that  I  loathe  the  bca*l,"  wa* 
the  sulky  answer  :  "  Aye.  I  knew  it,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  a  second  ruhlling  in  the  gallpry 
caused  the  Aga  Baba  to  rai.ic  himnelf  on  hm 
elbow  to  listen ;  ••  there  it  goc«  ovit  ihf  ^a- 
lustradc  of  the  gallcr)-.  leaping  into  tb'  : 
light  ;  Allah  bela  vcrsiii — may  mi 
overtake  it  !  To  be  awakent-d  from  n 
of  home  and  liberty  by  an  accunt«d  cat — 
Amfln,  'tis  too  much  !"  And  with  a  deep 
sigh,  the  negro  turned  hi»  face  from  tlic  door, 
and  prepared  to  sleep  affain  ;  an  rxainple 
which  hifi  superior,  after  lixtening  for  another 
moment  and  ftulfi-ring  no  furtlier  interruption, 
Tcry  judiciously  followed. 


The  momentary  disturbance  had,  however, 
acted  so  powerfully  on  the  nerves  of  the  zeal- 
ous Aga  Baba.  that  he  slept  only  to  dream 
that  all  the  women  of  the  harem  were  ocnp- 
ing  over  the  galleries,  and  dancing  ^tt^al)and!l 
in  the  moonlight,  where  a  hundred  |>rolano 
eyes  were  looking  on  them  ;  and  when  ul  lost 
his  mai^ter's  fair  and  favorite  wile  ni>peared 
before  him,  led  into  the  very  circle  of  the  mazy 
figure  by  the  stalely  Greek  slave,  tlie  drrnmer 
awoke  with  a  groan  that  iii  an  in.stuiit  nart'.ed 
him  into  a  perfect  consciousness  of  the  cause 
of  this  terrific  vision  ;  and  dreading  lest  it 
might  not  indeed  have  been  the  cat  which 
roused  him  from  his  first  slumber,  lie  deter- 
mined to  satisfy  himself  that  all  was  quiet  in 
the  harem  ;  and  accordingly  he  made  the  tour 
of  the  apartments,  tried  the  doors,  and  startled 
more  than  one  of  the  fair  inmate.-*,  who  wcio 
not  slow  in  applying  to  liim  sundry  epithets 
by  no  means  flattering  to  his  personal  vanity. 
Reassured  by  the  result  of  his  survey,  tlio 
Aga  Baba  once  more  resigned  himself  fo  sleep  ; 
but  he  might  more  safely  have  trusted  to  his 
first  suspicion,  for  the  favorite  cat  of  Katinka 
j  had  slumbered  peacefully  on  a  cu.shion 
I  throughout  the  whole  night ;  and  neveriho- 
'  less  the  sounds  upon  the  gallery  had  been  no 
j  illusion  of  a  half-awakened  fancy. 
I  When  the  ladies  of  the  harem  came  forth 
one  by  one  from  their  chambers,  each  a>ked 
the  other  to  account  for  the  non-ap|>carancc  of 
the  beautiful  Circassian  and  her  Iriend  ;  and 
a  long  hour  went  by  before  the  small*  hand  of 
Katinka  was  seen  drawing  a.sido  the  screen 
that  veiled  the  apartmciil  which  she  shared 
with  Carimfil.  Jests  and  quehHons  welcoiiiod 
her,  but  she  did  not  return  the  pleasaiiincji  of 
her  companions  us  she  was  nceuslomed  lo  do  ; 
and  pressing  her  finger  on  her  lip,  she  benought 
'  quiet  for  her  friend,  who  waa  indisposed  and 
required  rest. 

I  On  an  instant  all  was  anxiety  and  solicitude, 
,  a  thousand  maladies  were  enumerated,  and  a« 
!  many  remedies  suijgestcd  :  but  Kutinka  put  all 
I  proffers  of  serviet-  hteadily  amde,  and  only  cn- 
I  joining  quiet,  returned,  as  she  aJliriiied,  to 
I  watch  beside  the  invalid. 

The  day  wore  on :  the  shadows  grew  shorter 

!  and   shorter — it   was   noon  :    again    they  frll 

.  u|>on  the  earth,  and  Ktrelohed  slowly  to  j,'rra!pr 

lfir.,Mh.  Iik«-   tlif  limt"  of  a  ultimbcriii;,'   i;'*"t. 

;         J,    had   Icll   the 

tiic    hot    hours 

'.H>.  aii>l  were 

,  wui.d.  rn.K  lhr..u;il*  lU«  p,i.ai.  .-ardri>»     il  was 

vcrgiiii;  towardit   kuiiscI  :   and   ulili    tlio   (irrrk 

:  Kirl  remained  in  the  closed  a|>aMiiiriit,  m  brace 

no  sound  issued  save  that  of   hrr  lijtht  foot  M 

ishe  oocajiinally  mov«'a  nrroM  iho  floor 

Twice  the   Ak^'    !'   '  ■         '     r, 

j  and  declared  hii>  ^ 

I  limchc  wasdriprr-  »        ' 

,  from  the  subdued  vi^.co  of  kaUiikA      li--  g/ow 


172 


THE  ROMAJTCE   OF  THE  HAREM. 


restless  and  unquiet,  and  walked  through  the 
harem,  tnurinuring  a  few  words  to  himself  in 
a  low  tone,  of  which  "  hakeem"  and  •'  Pasha"' 
were  alone  audible.  Occasionally  he  bent  his 
ear.  and  listened,  as  he  stopped  before  the  em- 
broidered screen  which  veiled  the  door  of  the 
apartment:  but  all  was  still;  and  at  length 
his  restlessness  grew  into  suspicion,  and  with- 
out any  preliminary  warning,  he  sofily  drew 
back  one  of  the  battants,  and  entered. 

On  a  pile  of  satin  cushions,  immediately  be- 
neath one  of  the  windows,  lay  a  lovely  form, 
but  tlie  face  was  hidden  from  the  officious  in- 
truder by  a  profusion  of  long  glos.sy  hair,  and 
by  an  arm  of  dazzling  whiteness  which  was 
thrown  across  the  face.  The  couch  of  the 
Greek  girl  had  not  been  occupied,  for  the  sil- 
ver-frinized  sheet  was  smoothly  laid  back  as  it 
had  been  left  by  the  attendant  slaves  on  the 
precedinj;  evening  ;  and  when  the  Aga  Baba 
looked  round  to  inquire  frona  the  fair  Katinka 
the  cause  of  this  unnecessary  vigil,  he  found 
that,  save  the  sleeping  beauty  on  the  cushions, 
he  was  alone.  In  an  instant  the  truth  flashed 
upon  him.  He  had  been  duped  !  Mischief 
had  been  at  work  in  the  harem,  and  his  vigi- 
lance had  slumbered  !  He  .sprang  towards  the 
low  couch  :  he  grasped  the  rounded  arm  :  he 
gazed  into  the  eyes  that  met  his  with  an  ex- 
pression half  mockery  and  half  apprehension  ; 
and  his  breath  failed  and  his  knees  smote  to- 
gether as  he  beheld — Katinka  ! 

'■  And  the  lady  Carimfil — the  sosun  of  the 
Pasha — the  wife  of  his  highness" — he  gasped 
out ;  where  is  she  ?" 

"  Ne  bilirim — what  do  I  know?"  asked  the 
wily  Greek  in  reply:  "I  have  slept;  and  I 
dreamed  that  she  had  escaped — and — " 

"  Wallah  billah— by  the  Prophet !  I  believe 
tliat  you  are  laughing  at  my  beard  :"  muttered 
the  negro  from  between  his  clenched  teeth  : 
"  but  have  a  care,  proud  slave,  have  a  care — 
there  are  deep  waves,  strong  cords,  and  sharp 
blades  wiihin  reach  of  a  ready  arm.  Beware, 
lest " 

'•  Slave  in  your  teeth,  vile  tool  of  a  dis- 
honored master  !"  exclaimed  the  Greek  girl, 
sprimiing  to  her  feet,  and  extending  her 
clenched  hand  in  haughty  menace,  her  long 
hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders  and  falling 
far  below  her  waist,  and  her  slight  frame 
trembling  with  passion  :  "Slave  in  your  teeth, 
foul  iiii.-^creant !  who  pressed  the  pillow  of  self- 
ish indulgence  when  you  siiould  have  looked 
to  the  interests  of  your  too  indulgent  master  ! 
Where  were  you,  and  your  still  more  abject 
followers,  when  the  giaour  stole  upon  the 
privacy  of  the  harem,  and  wiled  the  dove  from 
her  nest !  Where  were  you  when  the  eagle 
swooped,  that  you  heard  not  his  scream,  that 
you  marked  not  the  shadow  of  his  wings?. 
Off,  to  your  injured  lord,  and  tell  him  how 
doughtily  you  have  done  your  duty." 

"Lahuet  be  Sheitan — curse  on  the  devil, 


and  on  thee,  his  hand-maiden  !*'  exclaimed 
the  Aga  Baba,  undaunted  by  this  disiday  of 
feminine  energy  ;  "  listen  to  me,  woman  !  do 
you  know  the  price  of  this  night's  work  !"  and 
he  drew  closer  to  her,  and  hissed  out  in  a 
voice  that  was  unearthly  in  its  shrillness, 
'•can  you  estimate  the  penalty  of  your  treach- 
ery. I  was  her  guardian,  and  my  arm  and 
my  weapon  were  vowed  to  her  security — you 
were  her  companion,  you  were  beside  her 
sleeping  and  waking — our  peril  is  equal — our 
peril  is  equal — one  of  us  two  must  die." 

'■MaUuaumdr — I  know  it,"  was  the  calm 
and  unshrinking  answer :  "  and  I  can  tell  thee 
even  more  than  tltis:  the  contest  may  seem  to 
be  an  unequal  one — a  woman  is  pitted  against 
an  Aga  Baba — and  yet" — and  she  lauuhed  a 
low  and  bitter  laugh ;  ''  the  case  is  not  so  des- 
perate, when  the  woman  is  young,  beautiful, 
and  a  Greek.  This  neck,"  and  as  she  spoke, 
she  grasped  it  with  her  slender  fingers,  "was 
never  meant  for  the  bowstring." 

"  Bakalum — we  shall  see  !"  growled  the 
enraged  negro. 

"  And  we  wa.ste  time,"  added  the  fearless 
Katinka;  "the  Pasha  is  judge  between  us:  I 
have  no  words  to  lavish  on  a  slave  like  thee." 
And  the  astonished  functionary  found  himself 
urged  to  the  very  measure  with  which  he 
hoped  to  have  brought  the  trembling  Greek 
girl  quailing  at  his  feet. 

"  Allah  kerim,"  he  muttered  as  he  turned 
away  trembling  with  dissembled  rage  ;  "  this 
tigress  must  be  crushed,  or  I  am  a  lost  man  I" 

But  it  was  far  more  easy  for  the  spirit-striek- 
en  Aga  Baba  to  quit  the  pre.sence  of  the  Me- 
dusa-like beauty,  than  to  present  himself  in 
that  of  the  Pasha.  W^hat  account  could  he 
give  of  his  own  blindness?  As  he  asked 
him.self  the  question,  he  remembered  the  epi- 
sode of  the  sleepy  negro,  who  had  amused 
him  with  the  conceit  of  the  cat  leaping  into 
the  moonlight ;  and  being  bewildered  as  to 
the  next  step  which  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  take  in  order  to  secure  his  own  safety,  he 
determined  to  calm  his  brain,  and  to  collect 
his  ideas  by  applying  the  bastinado  to  the  un- 
lucky subordinate,  whose  indolence  had  con- 
duced in  so  eminent  a  degree  to  the  catastro- 
phe of  the  night. 

"  Ana  scna.  sena  babe — I  will  destroy  his 
father  and  mother,"  he  muttered,  as  he  ground 
his  teeth  until  his  jaws  ached  with  the  vio- 
lence of  their  contact  ;  "  when  the  bow-,«frii)g 
comes  to  my  neck,  if  come  it  must,  I  shall  at 
least  know  that  he  has  not  quite  escaped — 
but  that  woman — that  devil — why  did  1  shrink 
betbre  her  gaze  when  it  will  soon  be  turned  on 
me  in  supplication  ?  Why  did  I  quail  beneath 
her  voice,  which  will  so  soon  expire  in  a 
smothered  shriek  ?  Inshallah  !  I  felt  as 
though  1  withered  beneath  the  influence  of 
the  Evil  Eye."  ' 

A  few  more  moments  elapsed,  and  then  a 


iTHE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IIAREM. 


173 


stifled  groan  was  heard,  and  a  wailing  cry  ; 
a  few  heavy  blows,  a  fall,  and  the  dragging 
of  painful  footsteps,  whieli  seemed  as  though 
the  agony  of  a  lit'otiiiio  j>ressed  them  into 
the  earth. 

Tiie  Aga  Babn  was  soothed  for  the  moment 
by  this  seasonable  exercise  of  his  authority ; 
but  only  for  a  moment,  for  as  the  maimed 
negro  crawled  away,  the  recollection  of  his 
ill-starred  jiosition  returned  upon  him  with 
startling  distineiness.  and  he  felt  as  though 
his  head  was  already  rolling  at  the  feet  of  the 
incensed  and  injured  Pasha. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  His  errand,  though 
death  fraught,  must  be  executed  at  once. — 
True,  he  was  to  contend  only  against  a  woman  ; 
but  he  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that 
there  was  about  her  an  energy  which  would 
struggle  even  to  the  death,  and  that  she  was 
conscious  of  her  advantage. 

The  brute  force  was  on  his  side  ;  but  the 
subtlety  of  spirit,  the  power  of  thought,  the 
majesty  of  mind  were  all  in  arms  for  her.  The 
peace-loving  and  luxurious  Pasha,  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  her  presence,  and  by  no 
means  insensible  to  her  excelling  beauty,  be- 
reft as  he  was  of  his  fair  wife,  and  threatened 
by  an  isolation  of  heart  from  wliich  he  would 
naturally  shrink  with  a  very  pardonable  sel- 
fishness in  the  first  moment  of  his  bereave- 
ment, would  probably  yield  to  the  spell  of  her 
impassioned  eloquence — and  where  would  he 
tlien  seek  the  victim  ? 

The  head  of  the  Aga  Baba  sank  upon  his 
breast,  and  his  heart  heaved.  He  could  not 
put  the  answer  prompted  by  his  own  reason 
into  words. 

With  these  reflections  was  he  accompanied 
through  the  gallery  of  the  harem,  to  the  Se- 
lemliek;  and  no  brighter  hope  had  suggested 
itself  even  when  he  stood  before  the  veiled 
door  of  the  Satrap's  private  apartment.  How 
he  wished  at  that  moment  that  he  had  been  a 
less  privileged  intruder,  that  tlius  a  few  more 
instants  of  delay  might  have  been  his,  wliile 
the  ceremonies  of  liis  introduction  to  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Pasha  were  performed  ;  but,  alas  ! 
the  wish  was  idle  ;  and  with  the  eye  of  every 
loiterer  in  the  ante-room  upon  iiim  he  was 
compelled  at  once  to  lift  the  screen,  to  pa»« 
the  portal  and  to  stanif  before  his  master. 


CHAPTER    LXXH. 

"  How  now,  Asref."  said  the  Pasha,  as  the 
trembling  Aga  Baba  bowfd  down  before  him? 
"  ne  istcrsiniz — what  brings  you  here? — Nay, 
by  my  fathers  beard  '  you  tremble — you  avoid 
my  eye — speak,  wretch — what  of  my  wife  ? 
What  of  mv  harem  ?  ' 

In  the  energy  of  the  moment,  the  Salrap 
had  risen  from   the  sofa  :  and  a*  he  uttered 


the  last  eager  question,  he  stood  within  a  few 
puces  of  the  shrinking  slave! 

"May  he  live  to  see  the  beard  of  liis  grand- 
son white  with  years!"  gasjied  out  llic  Aga 
Baba;  "a  wolf  has  stolen  into  the  fold,  or  a 
lamb  lias  strayed  ;  is  not  the  woild  lice  for 
my  lord,  the  Pasha?  Arc  not  all  the  beanties 
of  the  earth  at  his  disposal  ?  Can  he  not—" 
"Enough  of  this,"  said  the  Satrap,  with  a 
frightful  calmness  which  was  more  iippalling 
than  the  tiercest  burst  of  passion;  "say  your 
errand  without  metaphor  or  prefaci- :  words 
are  idle;  and  I  am  in  no  humor  to  be  loided.'' 
The  negro  sank  upon  his  knees;  '•  Aman, 
aniaii — mcrcv.  mercv — the  lady  Carimlil  has 
fled— '• 

Words  have  no  power  to  paint  the  transport 
of  the  Pasha;  the  strength  of  half  a  dozen 
men  seemed  to  have  passed  into  his  arm;  lie 
lifted  the  unresisting  neuro  from  the  lloor,  and 
then  hurled  him  back  with  a  fury  that  threat- 
ened the  dislocation  of  every  tremblini,'  limb; 
j  he  spurned  him  as  he  grovelled  in  the  dust; 
and  his  fingers  clutched  the  luift  of  his  hand- 
I  jar,  as  though  his  vengeance  almost  overcamo 
I  his  prudence,  and  that  he  thirsted  to  destroy 
him  with  the  remainder  of  his  secret  still  un- 
said.    But  the  first  moment  of  phrenzicd  an- 
I  guish   over,   he   mastered   the   overwhelming 
1  passion — he  was  sure  of  his  victim  ;  and  ho 
had  yet  much  to  learn.     A  Hood  of  mingled 
j  memories  ])ressed  upon  his  brain :  and  when 
he  again   spoke,    his  voice   was    hollow  and 
husky,  like  that  of  one  whose  lips  have  long 
'  been  sealed. 

j  Tlie  tale  was  soon  told  :  nor  did  the  Sa- 
trap inteirupt  it  by  a  word  or  gesture,  until 
I  the  wily  Aslircf.  in  order  to  divert  Ins  ven- 
'  geaiice  into  another  channel,  expatiated  on  the 
I  treachery  of  Kaiinka,  who  had  not  only  fuvor- 
'  ed  the  flight  of  the  lost  beauty,  but  euimingly 
concealed  it  until  pur.>-uit  wa,**  ho).cIe.'s. 

"  And  she  knew  it  !  The  liihc  Greek  knew 
that  .'•he  was  to  (!y  In  m  me  !"'  he  then  buri>t 
forth;  '■  May  all  her  dastanl  nalion  be  \\ith- 
cred  for  her  sake  !  Wa.s  it  for  this  that  I  .-uf- 
fercd  her  dark  .>-liadow  to  rest  beside  the  light 
of  my  eyes  ;  and  her  cunning  words  to  ronjuro 
mc  into  tcmjwrary  forsclfuincss  of  my  own 
soul — But  it  IS  not  yd  t'lo  Into  for  vengeiinco  ! 
I  Follow  me.  false  slave  !  Yon  ithnll  not  ilio 
I  alone  if  Saitula  Pnsha  lives  lo  cross  once  mora 
the  ihre.shold  of  his  harem.'' 

As  he  h|)oke.  the  Satrap  strode  hau'.'lilily 
I  through  the  chamber,  and  pai>so<l  out  without 
cajitin:.'  a  backward  ghinee  upon  Iho  tuintin^ 
wretch  who  passively  followc<l  wilh  d>-alli  al- 
ready in  his  heart 

When  the  Satrap  reached  the  {•rent  hnll 
whence  the  a|nrtinenl«  of  the  women  (iiTiieii 
ni-hl  and  IcH.  he  ioiind  it  denerted.  Thr  af- 
frighted slaves,  onxioiiM  to  rj«ia|>fl  th*  firol  out- 
break of  his  vengcnnee.  had  littstily  roneealrd 
themselves  on    hi»    aj.pioach,    but   v»lieii    ha 


114: 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HAREM. 


stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  chamber,  where  i  Greek  girl  ;  "  his  breath  pollutef!  the  chamber, 
he  had  last  beheld    his  lost  Carimtll,  he  met  and   his  vile  soul  cumbers  the  earth."     Anc 


the  proud  and  unshrinking  eye  of  the  Greek 
girl  who  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
floor. 

A  bitter  and  threatful  malediction  rose  to 
the  lips  of  the  Pasha  ;  but  the  calm,  assured, 
and  thrilling  gaze  of  those  deep  wild  eyes  ar- 
rested  it  in    the  utterance  :  and   he  had  ad- 


without  waiting  the  acquiescence  of  the  Sa- 
trap, ehe  clapped  her  hands,  and  two  negroe; 
instantly  obeyed  the  summons. 

A  few  brief  words  from  the  Pasha,  whowa.- 
startled  into  instant  compliance  with  the  un-i 
yielding  will  of  the  maiden ;  and  whose  weal' 
nature  was  overwhelmed  by  the  hiva-flood  ol 


vanced  a  pace  or  two  into  the  room  in  silence. 'passion  that  poured  from  her  quivering  lips 

decided  the  fate  of  the  wretched  Aga  Baba 
who  was  borne  from  the  apartment  shriekini 
out  his  despair  with  all  the  shrill  terror  of  : 
woman. 

As  the  screen  fell  behind  the  executioner 
and  their  victim,  Katinka  flung  herself  wild] 
upon  her  knees  before  the  Paslia ;  every  trac 
of  haughtiness  had  vanished  from  her  brow- 
her  eyes  had  lost  their  light,  and  tremble 
through  a  sea  of  tears;  her  head  was  bowe 
upon  her  heaving  bosom,  and  she  was  all  th 
woman. 

"  Look  on  me,  my  lord ;"  she  murmured,  a. 
she  clasped  the  hem  of  his  robe  with  her  sma 
fair  hands  :  -'look  on  me,  and  listen  to  me.  ei 


when  the  low  sweet  voice  of  llie  maiden  broke 
the  spell. 

'•  Saifula  Pasha,  the  lord  of  a  powerful  pro- 
vince, is  come  to  seek  from  the  captured  Ka- 
tinka tidings  of  his  wife,''  she  said,  in  as  un- 
disturbed a  tone  as  though  she  knew  not  that 
the  soul  of  her  listener  shook  with  anguish, 
and  that  his  lieart  bled  from  a  fresh  and  gaping 
wound  ;  '•  Let  him  rather  ask  the  pampered 
slave  who  crouches  clo.se  behind  him,  and 
to  whom  he  had  contided  the  safety  of 
his  harem,  and  his  own  honor !  The  eye 
slumbered  that  should  have  watched — the 
ear  was  scaled  that  should  have  listened — 
the  hand  wa.s  nerveless   for  wliose  clasp  the 


naked  scymitar  had  been  prepared — and  while  you  condemn  me — I  do  not  mean  to  death— 
that  traitor  lives,  the  name  of  Saifula  Pasha  care  not  for  it — I  do  not  fear  it — but  to  tl 
will  be  a  mark  for  scorn.  What  has  the  cow-  hopeless  anguish  of  your  displeasure.  Am 
ard  whispered  to  his  master?  That  the  Greek  i  to  blame  that  the  lost  one  loved  you  not  ?- 
girl,  who  was  purchased  by  his  gold,  cher-  that  she  had  poured  the  sherbet  of  afToctic, 
ished  by  his  care,  consoled  in  her  bondage  by  over  the  flowers  of  paradise  before  she  enterd 
his  gentleness,  had  leagued  with  a  false  and  {your  harem?  and  that  she  nursed  the  memoi; 
ruiloving  wile  to  stab  him  as  he  slept — Nay,  |  of  her  first  love  until  it  grew  into  dishonor  !- 
speak  not,  wretch  !''  she  exclaimed  haughtily,  j  am  I  to  blame  :"  .«he  continued,  in  a  yet  faint 
as  the  Aga  Baba  was  about  to  make  another  murmur,  as  the  Pasha  was  about  to  interru 
desperate  effort  at  self-preservation,  while  the,  her :  "am  I  to  blame  that  my  heart  clui 
Pasha  remained  thralled  and  overawed  by  an  where  her's  had  failed  to  find  a  resting  place 
energy  such  as  he  had  never  belbre  beheld  :  I  that,  yielding  to  a  passion  I  liad  no  longer  t' 
"  speak  not,  lest  thy  false  tongue  be  torn  from'  power  to  control,  I  entered  madly  into  a  pi 
between  thy  lying  lips,  and  flung  to  the  dogs  which  was  to  ensure  the  absence  of  her  w 
who  would  turn  away  revolted  by  such  foul  hid  from  me  the  sun  of  my  existence?  I  ha 
garbage  ' — and  then,  as  though  the  interruption^  done — sen  ektiar  dcr — you  are  the  master: 
had  failed  to  break  the  chain  other  ideas,  she  i  ask  for  no  mercy  save  tliat  which  your  ha 
continued — -But  did  the  dastard  murmur  to, may  offer,  by  paying  back  the  tendernesB  \ 
his  lord  that  the  exiled  maiden  who  had  eaten,  mine,"  t 

of  his  bread  and  rested  beneath  his  roof.  The  astonished  Pasha  hesitated  for  a  ir 
spurned  at  the  cflbrts  that  were  made  to  leadjmcnt.  during  which  he  looked  down  upon  t 
her  also  to  abandon  her  princely  master  ?  Did  fair  young  creature  before  him  :  she  was  ve 
he  tell  how  she  withstood  the  prayers  and  beautiful,  and  Carimfil  was  gone:  she  lo\ 
tears  of  the  fugitive,  and  how  she  mocked  atUiim — for  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  doubt  t 
the  assurance  that  she  would  be  the  victim  of  j  fact :  and  there  is  a  charm  in  novelty  whi 
another's  crime,  and  become  the  sacrifice  of  dcejftns  loveliness  a  hundred  fold:  but  Saifi . 
her  own  devotion?  If  he  told  this  also,  let  Paslia  was  a  rigid  Moslem,  and  the  maici 
him  stand  forth,  and  bear  witness  that  his  eye,  was  a  Greek  ;  and  with  a  characteristic  st(  • 
his  ear,  and  his  arm  were  employed  in  the  dity,  he  replied  to  her  passionate  appeal  b}. 
service  of  his  lord;  but  if  he   knew  nothing  stammer-allusion  to  her  apostacy. 


of  the  struggle  between  the  lost  one  and  her 
early  friend,  then  let  him  pay  the  price  of  his 
supineness." 

"  Mashallah  !"  murmured  the  bewildered 
Pasha,  quivering  with  mingled  rage,  anguish, 
and  admiration  ;  '-ho  is  a  false  slave,  and  he 
shall  die  the  death- 


The  lip  of  the  girl  curled  in  scorn,  but  oi' 
for  an  instant ;  the  stake  on  which  she  1 1 
perilled  her  life  was  not  to  be  lightly  lost;  ;  I 
rising  from  her  knees,  her  dark  eyes  flash  ( 
once  more  with  the  intense  light  that  seen  I 
to  burn  into  the  soul,  she  exclaimed  reproa  • 
ully:  "And  has  Saifula  Pasha  yet  to  le;  i 


'•  Away  with  him  at  once  !"  continued  the  that  all  is  easy  to  those  who  love?     Shall  i 


TEE  ROiLVNCE  OF  THE  IIAREM. 


1?« 


his  faith  bo  mine?  his  will  be  my  law?  and 
his  greatness  be  my  glory  ?' 

"  InshaJlah  !"  said  tho  Satrap,  overcome  by 
the  energetic  eloquence  of  his  companion  ;  "I 
shall  offer  one  sonl  to  the  Propliet — one  con- 
vert to  the  truejaith.  Boyaz,  I  will  for;;ct 
the  falsehood  of  which  I  have  in  en  the  victim 
— sevcrim  seni — I  love  you — but — you  must 
cease  to  be  a  Giaour."' 

"  Allah  il  Allah.  Mahomet  resoul  Allah  !"' 
said  Katinka  in  a  tirm  voice,  and  without  the 
hesitation  of  a  second  ;  "  when  the  IniAum 
claims  me,  I  am  ready." 

"  St.  Estafania  be  my  witness  ;"  murmured 
the  girl  to  herself,  as  the  Pasha  left  the  harem  : 


"  I  will  hnng  tho  chainii  that  hnvo  no  louK 
prcs.sed  down  my  own  »\nr\\.  ujH>n  thr  ikuiI  of 
that  cowardhoarlfd  dcjtix>t,  or  ihc  hliM^I  that 
was  spill  at  Scio  nhall  be  on  my  head  !     I^)Vo  ! 

, 'tis  a  madman'n  dream — but  jmwcr,  wraith, 
and  a  prtuid  name  are  the  tri|>od  nn  winrh 
true  happiiicsH  in  buAcd — I  have  tniird  for  it — 
humbled  my  haughty  R|>iril  to  obtnin  it — hriit 
my  neck  to  the  oppressive  yoke,  nnd  my  liji  lo 
the  ready  he — and  ihriic  are  my  wu-i » — ' 
and  she  lauiihed  hillerly  a.<t  sin-  Hun;;  hu.k  'h- 
lid  of  an  inlaid  ca.sket  in  which  wcrr  r-^ht.un- 

'  ed  the  cosily  jewels  that  the  Circa*'. ion  had 
abandoned  in  her  flicht.      ''  The^c — aud  th« 

^  selfish  passion  of  the  Moslem."' 


(d  iu  y  :• 


THK  LND 


BALM  OF  THOUSAND  FLOWERS 

PERFDMES  THE  BREHH.  BEIDIIFIES  THE  COMPLEXIOJ, 


AND 


ERADICATES  ALL  TAN^ PIMPLES  AND  FRECKLES   FROM  THE  FACE 

This  is  the  onlj'  article  ever  yet  discovered  thnt  wi 
create  a  Siceei  oud  Per/timed  Breath,  and  Beauti/i/  th 
Comjjlej-ioii,  Uaving  (he  skin  pure,  soft,  aud  ich.te.  It  i 
a  certain  cure  for  all  Diseases  of  the  Skin,  and  is  th 
best  article  extant  for  Shaving  or  Cleansing  the  Ttctl 
and  has  no  equal  for  the  Toilet.  As  a  tooth  wash,  it  j;iv( 
a  pearly  whiteness  to  the  teeth,  and  a  delkious  fraijram 
to  the  breath. 

This  Balm  is  recommended  by  the  faculty  of  almo 
every  European  city,  and  established  under  the  patroi 
age  of  almost  every  Physician  in  London  and  Paris,  an 
thousands  of  Individuals  who  make  daily  use  of  it  in  Nc 
York,  Philadelphia,  and  Boston.     It  is 

THE    aREATEST    ZiUZURlT 

A  lady  or  gentleman  could  wish  to  have  for  the  improvement  of  health,  or  for  comfort  and  personal  embe 
lishment,  and  its  delicate,  soothing  sensation,  and  the  delightful  softness  it  imparts  to  the  complexion.     It 

REMEDIES  EVERY  DEFECT  OF  THE  COMPLEXION, 


^^LMOfr/fOUSAND 


Aa/Z) 
USING  THE 


and  establishes  in  its  stead  be 
nature,  or  disease,  have  been 


'utij  and   hralth,  at  the  time  when  both,  by  the   changes  of  age,  or  freaks 
ibseured  and  undermined. 


3E"I3VI3E=»IjE:S,    T-<a.3?a', 


eto. 


It  effectually  cures  pimples,  blotches,  chilblains,  and  chapped  hands,  tan,  sunburn,  all  kinds  of  eruptio 
barbers'  itch,  ulcers,  wounds,  cuts,  burns,  ring-worms,  erysipelas,  St.  Anthony's  fire,  salt  rheum,  sea 
head  (tinia  capitas).  It  is  a  sovereign  remedy  for  canker  in  the  mouth  or  elsewhere,  sore  or  ulcerati 
throat,  &c.     It  is  the 

BEST       THIIsrGt       E3CT-A.3>TT       FOR.       THE       TEETKC- 

For  cleansing  the  teeth,  the  genuine  Balm  is  far  superior,  and  far  more  medicinal  than  any  compoui 
yet  known.  It  quickly  renders  them  white  as  alabaster,  prevents  their  decay,  removes  the  tartar,  and  pi 
vents  ulceration,  as  well  as  strengthens  the  gums.     It  is  also  a 

SUPERIOR     ARTICLE     FOR     SHAVING. 

For  shaving,  this  Balm  gives  a  rich,  penetrating  lather,  and  has  no  equal  in  rendering  the  beard  so 
emolient,  and  tender,  so  that,  in  removing  it,  it  gives  way  at  the  slightest  re^stance  to  the  razor,  withe 
producing  the  least  sensation,  leaving  a  white,  fresh,  r-  '   '-'-'-  


rOR    THE 


id  delicate  countenance. 

JTURSERir,    ifc. 


lbs   and  refresh   their  constitutions,  and  p 
ise  of  this  article  will  prove,  to  the  infant  a| 
2V  will  increase  in  energy,  and  be  full  of  el  11 
IT  CLEANSES  THE  .»SKiX,  ai.d  drs!  IT 


For  the  Nursery,  there  is  not  an  article  more  suitable  for  suffering  infants,  to  promote  cleanliness  a 
health,  than  the  Balm  of  Thousand  Flowers.  It  is  far  more  preferable  than  any  sjiirits,  lotions,  or  Cast 
6oap,  and  any  other  cosmetics.  It  will  strengthen  their  limbs  and  refresh  their  constitutions,  and'p 
vent  and  cure  all  the  eruptions  so  afflictive  to  them.  The  use 
youth,  a  luxury,  an  antidote,  and  a  cure  of  diseases;  and  they 
ticity,  health,  and  beauty,  and  bo  the  mirror  of  admiration, 
to  the  surface  all  impurities,  and  every  species  of  pimples  and  blotches  ;  also,  removes  tan,  sunburns,  satloinu 
and  frerk-ies,  imparting  to  the  skin  its  original  purity  and  freshness,  rendering  it  clear,  pure,  and  wli 

it  P1U)>I()TES  THE  GROWTH  AND  INCREASJE  OF  THE  HAIK,  causing  it  to  curl 
the  most  natural  manner.    It  cleans  the  head  from  dandruff,  giving  vigor,  heal  th,  and  life  to  the  roots  of  the  \\. 

In  bathing,  this  sweet  and  fragrant  Balm,  of  which  the  geniine  is  manufactured  "         ~   - 
A  BROTHERS,"  will  be  a  delightful  accompaniment.     It  promotes  an  admirable 

health.  The  water,  either  cold  or  warm,  hard  or  soft,  assumes  a  delicious  feeling,  becoming  highly  p- 
fumed,  and  as  soft  as  oil.  It  will  impart  its  healing  properties  to  the  whole  body,  and  insures  health,  li 
a  purification  of  all  those  blemishes  and  diseases  of  the  skin  which  have  hitherto  resisted  all  nieilirines,  il 
baflled  the  skill  of  all  physicians.  The  greasy  and  offensive  effluvia  w  ill  be  removed  from  the  body  ;  I 
system,  ami  the  skin  will  assume  a  virginal  appearance,  and  be  embalmed  with  the  sweetest  fragrance. 
PRICE  FIFTY  CENTS  A  BOTTLE:  OR,  THREE  BOTTLES   FOR  ONE  DOLLA. 


d  by  "T.  B.  PETERS' ."    j 
increase  of  strength  1 1  ^ 


■'^^VOOIDIjjgLlSriD       CJ^LESA-nVE- 


any 


French  articl 


Dortcd, 


A   Pomadf  for   lienutlfijing  the  Hair,  Highly  Perfumed,  Super 
half  the  price.     For  dressing  Ladies'  hair  it  has  no  equal,  giving  it  a  bright,  glossy  appearance.     It  cai  ' 
Gentlemen's  hair  to  curl  in  the  most  natural  tnanner.      It  removes  dandruff,  always  giving  the  hair  • 
appearance  of  being  freshly  shampooed.     Price  only  fifty  cents  per  pot.     Address  all  orders  to 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Mamifaclurers  and  Proprietor 

Of  "The  Balm  of  Thousand  Flowers,"    and  "Woodland  Cream, 
Jt'o.  306  Chestnut  Street,  PhUadelph  - 

The  "  linlm  of  Thousand  Flowers,"  price  fifty  cents  a  bottle,  as  well  as  the  "  Woodland  Cream,"  '• 
best  Pomade  in  the  world  for  the  Hair,  price  fifty  cents  per  pot,  are  both  for  sale  by  all  A'eiM  Ag  h 
and  by  all  respectable  Druggists  all  over  the  United  States,  Canadas,  California,  etc. 


I 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL   BE   ASSESSED    FOR    FAILURE  TO    RETURN 
THIS    BOOK   ON    THE    DATE   DUE.    THE   PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY     AND     TO     $1.00     ON     THE     SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

9BP  20  \m 

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Ln21-lOC                /              A 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


